The flying things drew off and hung motionless in the sky, in a line across the Farer front, where the smoke and dust still rose. They waited for a time. Then they began to move slowly forward, and the licking tongues of fire cracked over the heads of the mob.
"Turn back!"
The Farers turned and streamed away in panic toward the mountains, leaving behind scores of dead, trampled underfoot.
The hoppers flew on to Irnan, where the battle swayed back and forth in dust and blood and weariness.
They flew in formation, a diamond pattern with Stark's craft at the leading point. They flew slowly and not very high because there was no weapon on the ground that could harm them. They flew over the knots and clots and ranks of struggling men, and faces turned upward to stare at them, petrified. Stark could pick out the colored cloaks of the tribesmen and the distinctive dress of some of the mercenary bands, but most of them were clad in indistinguishable leather, and in any case they were too closely engaged to pick out friend from foe.
"Anywhere you can, hit the ground," he said, "without hitting anything else. No good killing our own people."
The hoppers peeled off, each pilot pleasing himself. Laser bolts cracked and smoked around the broad perimeters of the battle, and in the open places where there were only the dead, beyond hurt. It was strange to watch how the fighting quieted and men stood still with their weapons half raised, looking upward. No one of them had ever seen a machine that flew in the air, nor any weapon that made lightning brighter than that of the sky god, and more deadly.
The four craft took up formation again, and Stark spoke into the pickup of the loud-hailer. His voice, magnified, echoing, tremendous, rang out across the field of battle.
"I am the Dark Man. I have come back from the Citadel and the prophecy of Irnan is fulfilled. You who fight against us, lay down your arms, or the lightning will strike you dead."
And he began to give orders, the hopper now darting swiftly here and there as he pointed. Orders to the captains of Irnan and Tregad and the leaders of the tribesmen to disengage and draw back.
This they did, leaving the enemy isolated.
Once more in formation, the hoppers quartered the field and voices said, "Lay down your arms or die."
On the ground Kazimni shrugged and said to his Izvandians: "We were paid to fight men, and we have done that." He sheathed his sword and tossed away his spear.
All over the field men were doing the same.
To the three pilots Stark said, "Bring them together and hold them. If any try to break out, stop them." He turned to the blue man. "Set down there by those hooded riders. Then join the others."
The hopper settled down.
Tuchvar and the hounds scrambled out, Stark followed. The blue man had given him first aid, and his wound had been cared for by Arkeshti's surgeon, while he waited for the three hoppers to be rigged and serviced. Penkawr-Che had given him a tunic of foreign cut that showed the color of spilled blood in the sunlight.
With Tuchvar and the hounds behind him, Stark walked toward the tribesmen, and Sabak brought him one of the tall desert beasts. He mounted.
The troop formed into line: purple Hann, brown Marag, yellow Qard, green Thorn, white Thuran, red Kref.
Fallarin and trotting Tarf fell in in their accustomed place, but this time Alderyk remained with them, leaving Stark alone with his hounds at the head of the line. Ashton was with the Fallarin, where he had been throughout the battle; he, too, stayed.
They passed the ranks of the Tregadians, who were forming raggedly, and old Delvor shouted, "Let them go first, they've marched a long way for it!"
Halk and Gerrith left the standard of Tregad and rode beside Stark.
They rode toward the city, and the Irnanese in the field lifted weapons and cried out their names, hailing them.
Stark passed through the massive gate, beneath the dim heraldic beast. The tunnelway through the thickness of the wall was as he remembered it, dark and close. Beyond was the wide square with the gray stone buildings around it, and in the center was the platform where he had stood bound and awaiting death those months ago. Then he remembered the voice of the mob, remembered the spear that pierced Yarrod's heart, remembered Gerrith stripped of the Robe and Crown, standing naked in the sunlight. He remembered how the arrows had flighted from the windows around the square, a shining rain of death that struck down the Wandsman and signaled the beginning of the revolt.
Jerann and the elders, in threadbare gowns, their starveling faces overfilled with joy, stood waiting, and all about them crowds of tattered scarecrows wept and cheered.
So the Dark Man came back to Irnan.
28
Stark still had work to do. He left Jerann and the elders, with Gerrith and Ashton, in the council hall. He had told them about Penkawr-Che and the ship. Ashton and the wise woman could tell them all what had happened in the north. He returned to the field.
Halk rode beside him, through the filthy streets where scarecrows danced and cried and caught at them as they passed.
"I see that I must still stay my hand, Dark Man," Halk said. "If I were to kill you after this, my own people would tear me to pieces. And so I lose my revenge."
"You ought to have tried taking it before."
"The Fallarin would not have given me windfavor," he said bitterly. "The tribesmen would not have followed me after Yurunna. Because of Irnan I let you live. But I tell you this, Dark Man. I will be glad to see you gone."
And he spurred away to join the Irnanese warriors.
Pensive, Stark rode out to where the mercenary bands waited under the watchful hoppers.
He had seen the distinctive dress and the lint-white hair of the Izvandians from the air, and he was not surprised to find Kazimni leading them. He had come to like that man on the cold journey across the Barrens. And he bore him no grudge for having sold the little party from Irnan into captivity with the trader Amnir, in the hope of sharing a great profit when they were delivered to the Lords Protector. Kazimni had not taken any oath of loyalty to them, and Stark had known perfectly well what he was doing. Force of circumstance, not Kazimni, had entrapped them.
"You had poor return on your trading venture," he said, "and here you are again, leaving Irnan empty-handed. The place seems unlucky for you."
Kazimni smiled. He had slanting yellow-gray eyes and pointed cheekbones, and he wore the torque and armband of a chieftain.
"Perhaps the third time will be better, Dark Man."
"There will be a third time?"
"As certainly as there will be winter. The Wandsmen are not so easily beaten. They'll gather new forces, stronger and better organized. They have learned now that their precious Farers are of little use. There will be war, Stark."
"If things go well out there among the stars, power will pass from the hands of the Wandsmen."
"There will still be war."
"Perhaps." Stark thought that Kazimni was right. But he said, "For the present, go in peace."
They struck hands, and the Izvandians marched away. One by one the other bands of mercenaries followed. The hoppers escorted them out of the valley.
Stark rode the battlefield.
The Irnanese troops and the men of Tregad were working together, carrying supplies into the starving city from the abandoned stores, gathering the dead and wounded, rounding up livestock. The tribesmen had come out to look after their fallen and to loot the ravaged encampments. Stark did not begrudge them what they found. There were enough dusty cloaks strewn about the field, a long way from home.
When he was satisfied, Stark returned to the city in search of Ashton.
He found him in one of the chambers in the great stone pile that contained the council hall. Ashton, thin and windburned but still fit, looked at him a moment and then said:
"You've decided to stay, haven't you?"
"Until the ships come. Kazimni believes there will be war again as soon as the Wandsmen can gather up new forces. I think he's r
ight, and I don't like leaving a job half done."
"Well," said Ashton, "I won't argue with you, Eric; and I suppose you might as well be risking your neck here for a while longer as on some other godforsaken planet."
Then he added, "I don't suppose you knew it, but Jerann asked Gerrith to go with the delegation to Pax, and she refused."
"I didn't know it," Stark said, "but I won't pretend I'm not glad to hear it."
He went to the hall to speak with Jerann and the elders. There was great activity, people coming and going, tending to the needs of the city. Jerann, in the midst of it, seemed to have shed ten years since Stark saw him in the square.
"I am grateful," the old man said, when Stark had told him his decision. "We shall all feel safer with you here at Irnan."
"Very well, then," Stark said. "I can handle one of the flying things. When you bargain with Penkawr-Che for the price of your passage, bargain for that also. Then Irnan will have a powerful weapon, and far-seeing eyes, and a radio to speak with the ships when they come."
The council agreed. Only Halk was not pleased, looking at Stark in a certain way, so that limping Gerd began to growl.
Stark's thoughts were elsewhere. "Where is the wise woman?"
No one knew.
The tribesmen and the Fallarin, not wishing to be housed in the noisome city, had made their separate encampments away from it. Stark visited them.
The tribesmen were well satisfied. They had considerable loot left by the mercenaries, and the elders had promised them much besides. They were content to remain with Stark.
The Fallarin would not commit themselves. Only Alderyk said:
"I will stay with you, Dark Man. Two of my people will go to this world you call Pax to see and observe and bring back news to me. We shall make our decisions when it pleases us. For the moment, at least we are secure in the north. As for Irnan, we shall see. I promise nothing, and my folk are free to return to the Place of Winds at any time they wish."
"But you yourself will stay."
Alderyk smiled his edged and mocking smile.
"I told you, Stark. Mine to control the whirlwind."
Three of the hoppers flew off to Tregad with Delvor and his aides. They would carry the news of the victory and fetch back with them such of the leaders of Tregad as wished to make the trip to Pax. The fourth hopper was maintaining radio contact with Penkawr-Che's Arkeshti, orbiting just outside the atmosphere. Not he to risk his ship until the area chosen for landing was completely cleared.
It was night when Arkeshti came in, dropping down through the glow of the Three Ladies, and all of Irnan was on the walls to watch.
Penkawr-Che, a long lean Antarean with skin like burnished gold and a crest of stiff-curling hair, came to the hall with Pedrallon and did his talking with Ashton and the elders. He made no difficulty about the hopper, and the spare power pack Stark requested.
Stark still did not like him.
Next day Stark went aboard the ship with Ashton to inspect the quarters the crew had been busy jury-rigging in an empty hold.
"This will do," said Ashton. "Anything will do that gets me away from Skaith." He took Stark's hand. They had already held their post mortems on all that had happened and said their farewells in the privacy of Ashton's room, sitting very late over a jug of captured wine. Now all Ashton said was, "We'll be as fast as we can. Have you seen Gerrith?"
"No. But I think I know where she is."
"Go find her, Eric."
The others were coming aboard. Stark spoke briefly to Sanghalain and Morn, and Pedrallon, and left the ship. He sent Ashton's mount back to the city with Tuchvar and Sabak, who had ridden out with them to stare wide-eyed at the ship. Then he rode away up the valley.
He had come this way only once before, at the start of the long journey, but it was not difficult to follow the road or to note the place where he must leave it to find the grotto. The wanton armies had ravaged even here, stripping the land for forage and firewood. He left his mount below the grotto and climbed the steep path.
Inside it was dark and cool, with the tomb-smell of places that never see the sun. The grotto had served generations of Gerriths, wise women of Irnan. When Stark had seen it before, there had been rugs and hangings, lamps, braziers, furniture, the great bowl that held the Water of Vision. Now the place was empty, naked, gutted.
He called her name. It echoed in the vaulted rooms.
She came from an inner chamber where one candle burned.
"Why did you run away?"
"I did not wish to see you go. And I did not wish in any way to persuade you not to go."
She waited, and he told her his decision.
"Then you see, I was right to come here." She came close and touched him. "I'm glad."
"So am I. But why did you decide not to go to Pax, when Jerann asked you?"
"I don't really know. Except that when I saw myself walking toward the ship, a barrier came between and I could not pass it. My trip will be made another time. There is something more I must do here, first."
She smiled, but he could not see her eyes in the shadowed cave.
"What is this thing you must do?"
"I don't know that, either. And I'm not going to think about it now."
He took her into his arms, and then in a little while they went out into the light of Old Sun and heard the thunder and watched the distant flame as Arkeshti lifted off, outward bound for Pax.
"We must send word north," Stark said, "to Hargoth and the People of the Towers, to tell them that the star-roads will soon be open."
Appendix
THE BACKGROUND
SKAITH,
dying planet of a dying star far out in the Orion Spur. Knowledge of the inevitable demise of their world has colored every facet of life for the people of Skaith, giving rise to many strange religions and customs. Over the centuries, different groups have sought salvation in different ways.
Some preferred, through controlled genetic mutation—a science now long lost—to worship a chosen deity with their whole being, as:
THE CHILDREN OF THE SEA-OUR-MOTHER,
who have returned to the primal womb whence all life sprang, losing their humanity in the process, and with it their understanding of the coming doom;
THE CHILDREN OF SKAITH-OUR-MOTHER,
who worship their equivalent of the Earth-Mother, dwelling deep within her warm, protective body, safe from the creeping death Outside;
THE FALLARIN,
who wanted wings, the better to adore their dying lord, the Sun. In them, however, the mutation was imperfect—they have wings but cannot really fly. In compensation, they have become brothers to the winds, with power to call upon the currents of the air to do their bidding. They are served by
THE TARF,
who are genetic mutations from non-human stock. The above are relatively small groups. Most of the other survivors of the Wandering—that time of chaos when the great cities of the north were abandoned to the cold—have adapted to existing conditions and lead not-uncomfortable lives in the Fertile Belt, though strange survivals still exist in the Barrens and in the Darklands of the north (such as the Harsenyi, a tribe of northern nomads, message-bearers between various groups, and the Outdwellers, a strange far-northern people given to cannibalism). The productive section of the population has been harnessed to the support of the largest body of doom-worshipers.
THE FARERS,
who, feeling that all effort is useless because there is no future for Skaith, spend their lives in faring from place to place as the mood takes them, filling their hours with the gratifications of the moment, secure in the knowledge that they will be fed, housed, clothed, and cared for by the authority of
THE WANDSMEN,
whose rule brought stability out of chaos after the Wandering, but who, after two thousand years or so, have become onerous to many, as their original plan, which was to protect the weak from the strong, to feed the hungry, and to shelter the homeless, has beco
me warped by time and the necessities of power into a serfdom under which the providers labor. The Wandsmen enforce their laws by the use of mercenary troops. The Wandsmen's superiors, or "officers," are
THE LORDS PROTECTOR,
a council of seven old men drawn from the highest ranks of the Wandsmen, chosen for their wisdom and ability. These are regarded almost as deities by the Farers, and since their rule has been unbroken and their individual personalities always hidden from the vulgar gaze, they are thought to be immortal.
THE NORTHHOUNDS
are genetically mutated animals bred as guardians of the Citadel. They are telepaths, and kill by destroying human minds with fear. Stark became their leader at the Citadel.
Skaith, in her heyday, despite advanced technology, scientific knowledge, and industrial might, never developed spaceflight, so that when she began her long dying, depleted of resources and her people slipping back into barbarism, there was no chance of escape for anyone—until the starships came. Then the poison of hope began to work, and the lines of battle were drawn between the entrenched power of the Wandsmen and the rebels who have demanded freedom to emigrate to a better world.
THE PLACES
THE CITADEL,
a half-legendary retreat of the Lords Protector, in the High North. Destroyed by the off-worlder Stark.
GED DAROD,
holy city of the Wandsmen, a place of pilgrimage, seat of their temporal power.
IRNAN,
a city-state in the north temperate zone. Here Gerrith, the wise woman, made her prophecy of the Dark Man from the stars who would destroy the Lords Protector and set her people free. For this she was slain by the Wandsmen. The Irnanese were prime movers in the fight for emigration.
TREGAD,
a similar city-state, sometime ally of Irnan.
SKEG,
a seaport and formerly the location of the only star-port, until that was burned by order of the Wandsmen and the starships banished forever from Skaith.
YURUNNA,
a northern base of the Wandsmen, where the Northhounds were bred. Captured by Stark with a coalition of desert tribesmen and Fallarin.
The Hounds of Skaith-Volume II of The Book of Skaith Page 18