The warder wrenched back the bolts and swung the door open. Dirk squinted against the dazzling sunlight, let them lead him out. As his eyes adjusted, he looked up ...
... and saw a young page with five Soldiers, in Lord Core's livery.
Suddenly the Bedlam seemed a very pleasant place to be, warm and secure ...
Then his eyes finished adjusting; he looked more closely at the page's face 'and recognized Madelon. He took a deep breath and decided he'd never been so glad to see a woman in his life.
Dirk turned to look more closely at the five horsemen and recognized Hugh and a couple of his other old acquaintances from the arena. He was sure he'd seen the other two around the campfire the night before.
"Get them up on their horses, lad," Hugh growled. "The Lord grows impatient."
"Aye, right quickly." Madelon turned to the warder. "I thank ye, goodmen. I shall bear word to His Lordship of your excellent night's lodging for his guests."
The warder looked a little worried, but he shrugged stubbornly. "We do what we can, young Gentleman. We are not, after all, given overmuch to do it with."
Public institutions were the same everywhere, Dirk decided.
"I will speak to His Lordship of it," Madelon promised. "Thanks, and farewell."
She led Dirk to a waiting horse as the warders shrugged and went back into the Bedlam. The door slammed shut with a hollow echo as Dirk swung into the saddle; he breathed a huge sigh of relief.
Then he looked down and saw the giant standing, blankly, in front of a Percheron. The horse eyed him and snorted uneasily.
Madelon frowned. "Come then, mount! Drop your pretense; no one watches but us."
"Don't worry about that part," Dirk said dryly, "he's not faking." He dismounted and went to Gar, picked up a huge foot, and set it in a stirrup. Then he lifted the two, massive hands-he hadn't known a human arm could weigh so much-and balanced them on the saddle-horn. He stepped back to survey his handiwork; the huge body still stood, unblinking, poised on one foot. Dirk sighed, went around behind, and gave him an upward shove. Reflex took over; the giant body swung up. Dirk caught the right leg and swung it up and over the horse's rump, and Gar sprawled down onto the horse's back. Dirk scurried around to the far side, secured the right foot in its stirrup, and came back to Madelon and Hugh, mopping his brow. "I think he'll do now. Once he's in position . . ." He broke off, seeing the looks on their faces.
Then Madelon turned away and mounted. He followed suit, thinking about the look on her face. Stricken, he could understand-but devastated?
"Away!" Hugh growled. He swung his horse about. The party turned away after him, toward the forest. Dirk looked back over his shoulder, at the gloomy, granite building, reflecting that, if the revolution succeeded, he had an excellent purpose for Lord Core's chateau.
As they reached the shade of the trees, a mule trotted out from a thicket to join them. Dirk nodded to its rider with a smile of thanks. "A timely rescue, Father. How did you manage it?"
"I? Not at all." Father Fletcher smiled, amused. "'Twas Madelon's scheme."
Dirk glanced at the topic of discussion and decided she wasn't in a mood to explain. "Where'd she get the uniforms?"
Hugh pursed his lips and looked up at the leaves. "Why, as to that, a few of Lord Core's men seem to have lost their way in the wood t'other night; and, taking pity on the poor lads, we thought to give them a home . . ."
"Under the roots," Dirk suggested.
Hugh shrugged. "It may have been something of the sort. Of course, I would know nothing of such details. Naetheless, there were their liveries and armor, doing no good to any man, being far too cumbersome for forest travel. So our lasses worked quickly with their needles, and we had a page's suit to fit our likely lad, here. . . ." He nodded toward Madelon; she looked up, frowning, seeming to notice them for the first time. "For the rest ..." he shrugged. "'Twas nothing at all to draw up a letter and draw Lord Core's seal on it. After that, you know the tale yourself."
"But I do not," Father Fletcher said ruefully. "You shall have to tell it to me, friend Dulain, when we have more leisure-or perhaps yourself, my great friend?" He rode ahead to catch at Gar's arm, gave him a shake. The great body rocked, came back to an even keel, and rode steadily ahead.
Dirk saw the sick realization coming into the priest's eyes. He nodded. "It was timely rescue, Father; you came as quickly as we could hope for. But even had you come at midnight, you would have come too late."
"But what has happened to him?" the priest whispered.
Dirk shook his head. "There was madness all about him, Father. It seeped into him, claimed him. Where his mind has gone, I do not know-but it's gone."
"Tell us the manner of it," Madelon whispered hoarsely. Dirk glanced at the agony of her face, glanced away-and despised himself for a bitter stab of jealousy. "He went into a rage, went stiff, and collapsed. Since then, he hasn't spoken a word, and he's looked-like that."
Madelon looked at Gar again and looked away, squeezing her eyes shut. "If only we could have come earlier . . ."
"He was gone by two hours after sunset," Dirk said quickly. "Any ordinary man could make it through at least a night in there. How could you have known? I certainly didn't."
She flashed him a look of gratitude, and there was something of appeal in it, which surprised him. In fact, it tied his tongue, but he managed to smile back at her. For a moment, their glances held; then she turned away, with a shuddering breath, and set her face toward the depths of the forest. "We must ride. Core's Soldiers must certainly have told him of the two madmen they left at the house of Saint Orthicon. Only good luck kept him from coming before us."
"Aye," Hugh growled. "He'll come behind us, never fear, when the warders tell him the tale." "Yes." Father Fletcher nodded. "And he'll call for dogs when he follows our trail to the forest." "How about it, Hugh?" Dirk said softly. "This is your country. We can run if we want to, but sooner or later we'll have to hide."
Hugh scowled. "I've thought of it-and there is only one place near to here."
The other outlaws looked up at him, startledalmost, Dirk might think, scandalized. Then foreboding settled onto their faces, and one muttered; "Hugh-desecration brings curses."
"Is it desecration to sing at the tomb of a minstrel?" 'Hugh demanded.
"But we bring the sound of battle," the outlaw objected.
Hugh flashed him a grin, and rode on.
From the brightness of the light filtering down through the trees, Dirk could tell it was midday. The outlaw Hugh had sent riding back to scout the trail came crashing out of the underbrush. "They're onto us, Hugh. A mile behind, I could hear the hounds."
Hugh nodded, and reined in. "We've gone as far as we can with horses as is. Come, free your beasts-and, friend Dulain, do you lead our silent one."
They all dismounted, unbridled their horses, bound the bridles to the cantles.
"Away!" Hugh cried, slapping his horse's rump. "Be off to your freedom-and leave a good, clear trail for hounds to follow!"
The horse leaped away into the underbrush, and its fellows followed it, inspired by a chorus of shouts from the outlaws. Then they stood, silent, listening to the crashing of the beasts fade away into the quiet, ever-present rustle of the noontime forest.
Dirk looked around him, wondering where they were to hide. They stood on a slope, heavily covered with trees, but with the underbrush thinning, because of the rocky outcrops, which seemed to be growing more frequent. Presumably, there were caves somewhere about-but he certainly couldn't see any. The leafy trees were growing fewer, and the pines were more frequent.
"Up, then!" Hugh turned his face upslope, grinning. "Ye who are new to our forest, try to keep your steps as much as you can to the rock-no sense to give our hunters any more aid than we need."
One of the outlaws cut down a pine bough, and slashed and cut at a tree trunk with it. Dirk frowned, not understanding; but he followed Hugh, leading Gar, trying to guide the big body's feet to
rocky steps-and saw the purpose of the bruised bough. The outlaw followed them backwards, dusting the ground behind him with a branch that oozed sap and odor. It might not fool the dogs at all-but then again, it might.
They had been climbing for about fifteen minutes when Hugh suddenly stopped, holding up a hand. "Hist!"
The whole party stopped dead, necks craned around and ears straining. Far in the distance, so faint it might have been imagination, came a burbling yapping.
"Core's dogs," Madelon stated.
Hugh nodded grimly. "They have made good time."
Madelon's mouth set. She threw back her shoulders and stepped ahead. "We had best move quickly, then."
"There." Hugh pointed upward. "That bar of shadow."
Dirk looked upward. There was an overhang of rock about a hundred yards upslope. He nodded. "They might even pass us by."
They started hiking again, with renewed vigor. Gar stumbled and slipped, but his body kept up with them. They broke out of the trees and pushed upward over scraggly grass with more and more rock. As they came closer, Dirk could make out the dim outline of a cave mouth beneath the overhang.
Then they forged in under the overhang and into the cave. It was low, barely tall enough for a man, and Dirk had to pull down on Gar's arm to make the great body stoop.
"It grows chill," Hugh grumbled. He took off his cloak and slung it over Dirk's shoulders. "Do not argue, my friend. We can ill afford a sneeze, now."
Dirk bit back a protest and pulled the cloak more tightly about his shoulders. "Thanks, Hugh." One of the outlaws took off his cloak and threw it over Gar's back.
Father Fletcher had slipped ahead and led the way with the air of a man retracing familiar ground. Dirk glanced at his companions and frowned; there was a taut, leashed eagerness about them, overlaid with awe. Just where had they come to, anyway?
The priest led the way to the back of the cave, his dark gray robes growing fainter and fainter as they went further from the cave mouth. Dirk could scarcely see him. Then he couldn't see him, and felt a moment of panic before he realized the old man had just taken an odd turn.
"Stoop!" Hugh muttered, standing aside; and Dirk saw a cleft in the rock, perhaps four feet high and three wide. It took some maneuvering to cramp Gar through, but they managed it, sideways. Dirk stopped and took a breath on the far side, while he waited for the others to come through, and realized with surprise that he could still see. There was light, very faint, seeping down from above.
"Up!" Hugh ordered; and Father Fletcher's voice called down softly. "The way is clear." So they set out again-climbing, this time; the floor sloped up sharply. Moreover, it was very rough; Dirk stumbled a few times, and he had quite a job keeping Gar from falling. The passage turned as they climbed in a long, shallow spiral. Then the light brightened, and the passage widened, its far wall washed with gloomy twilight. Dirk suddenly realized what a great defensive position this was; a single man could hold it against an army-while he lasted. Somehow, he suspected it wasn't entirely coincidence. He stepped up behind Hugh and turned the corner.
They came out into a sort of natural gallery-a broad, shallow cave, hung with stalactites. Off to the right, a broad limestone arch admitted a startling shaft of sunlight that charged the walls with a glory of rainbow coruscations. Dirk stopped dead, involuntarily catching his breath. "On, on!" Madelon urged behind him. Dirk frowned-there was too much eagerness in her voice-and Father Fletcher stood beside the limestone arch, beckoning, his eyes alight with something like triumph.
Hugh crossed to him, his steps quick. Dirk followed, with reluctance. He turned to look through the arch ...
It was a natural cathedral, a vast semicircular cavern, its ceiling lost in shadows, its walls of sunlight lanced in from fissures high on the walls, meeting in a pool of light in the center of the chamber.
In that pool lay the bones of a man.
He lay on a huge stone bier, a great roughlydressed slab of granite three feet high and eight long. The skeleton seemed almost as large as its bed. He'd been a giant of a man-seven feet tall, or nearly, and three feet across the shoulders. But he had been laid low. The left side of the skull was crushed in, the rib cage was shattered; the pelvis was cracked across, and each of the long bones.of arms and legs had been broken at least twice. It was brown and crusted with age.
Beside it lay an eight-foot quarterstaff, three inches thick and bound with brass at the tips, and again where a man that size would naturally place his hands. It was broken in half; the cracked ends lay several inches apart.
Dirk stood staring, awed by the solemn, serene, natural beauty of the cavern.
Then, slowly, he moved forward, tugging at Gar's hand. The giant shambled after him. Madelon came forward past him, to kneel at the foot of the bier. One by one, the outlaws followed her; even Father Fletcher came to kneel.
Dirk came up behind Madelon, to stand brooding down, beginning to understand what he was up against. Superstition was one thing; but when it assumed the proportions of a religion, it was wellnigh unbeatable.
Madelon looked up slowly, her face grave. "You wished to find our leader. Here he lies."
Dirk stood looking down at her; then he closed his eyes and turned away.
"I guess your thoughts," Father Fletcher said softly behind him. "Be assured-this is DeCade. That word has come down to us from those who laid him here. Then, too, who else would be so great, with each bone of his body broken? And who else could he by that staff?"
Dirk let that sink in a moment; then he turned thoughtfully to look at the staff. It was truly a staff for a giant. The brass bands that must have served as handholds were seven inches wide. Dirk's brows knit. That was strange-metal handholds wouldn't provide much friction. And the broken ends. Dirk knelt down, to take a closer look. There were little bits of something gleaming in there. He reached out a finger ...
"Death!" Hugh swore, catching his arm, and Father Fletcher seconded him. "There is a curse on that staff, friend Dulain."
Dirk lifted his head and turned to look straight into the priest's eyes. "I don't ... believe . . , in curses."
"Believe in this one," the priest advised. "He who tries to bear DeCade's staff he who seeks to join those broken halves-will die." He raised a hand to forestall Dirk's retort. "This is no idle threat, my friend. It has happened three times over the centuries. Three times, men who have thought they were worthy to take up DeCade's staff and lead us, have tried; and three times, lightning has struck them down where they stood."
Dirk started a sarcastic reply, but somehow it got caught.
"It is death," Hugh agreed, scowling.
And Dirk remembered that, even if he didn't believe in curses, these people did. If he wanted to stay on good terms with them, he'd have to observe their taboos. His mouth drew into a thin, straight line; he closed his eyes, nodding. "Don't worry. I won't touch it."
Then he bent over, to peer more closely at the ragged ends of the staff. A tiny glint of gold; another, and another ... He peered into the other broken end, saw similar metallic glints, spaced equally around the circumference, and a larger one in the center. He nodded thoughtfully. Electrical contacts, probably for molecular circuits ... No, they hadn't had those five hundred years ago, but they'd had integrated circuits, and, as he remembered, they'd even then managed them on a microscopic scale. Three inches thick, eight feet long ... Yes, you could pack a whale of a lot of circuitry in. that volume-enough for a computer. Not a very intelligent one, but still ... Yes, DeCade's staff had been powerful medicine once. Very powerful.
And-suddenly-he believed in the curse. Capacitors could be pretty small, too; and so could atomic batteries. Put the wrong contact together, and ... He stood up with a shudder. "Don't worry, Father. I'll leave that thing alone."
The priest breathed a huge sigh of relief. "I am very glad to hear it, my friend; for you must stay here, you and Madelon and your great friend, until Lord Core and his troops have ridden far by."
Dir
k frowned. "Won't we all?"
Hugh stood, shaking his head. "We have come only to kneel in DeCade's presence, to refresh ourselves and renew our resolve. Now we must return below to watch, so that if the hunters come too near, we can strike out across open ground and lead them away from this place."
"But if you do, they'll catch you."
Hugh looked hard into his eyes. "They must not find this place, friend Dulain. If we die, then we die.".
Dirk stared. Then he shook himself out of it. "Then why shouldn't Gar and I die with you? We're the ones they're looking for."
Hugh held his gaze. "I am not entirely a fool, friend Dulain. Of the two of us, I know which can be replaced by any man, and which cannot."
He held Dirk's eyes a moment longer; then he turned and marched out, his outlaws behind him. Father Fletcher lingered. "I will go down with them and return to tell you when the way is clear. Do you care for the giant, your friend." Then he turned away through the stone arch, and was gone. Dirk looked after him a moment, then found a handy boulder and sat down with a sigh, letting the worries roll off him. He looked up at Gar, where the giant sat not far from the bier, staring at the skeleton with unseeing eyes. Walls filled with the echoes of torment had driven his mind into hiding. Dirk wondered what echoes these walls contained. A rustle of cloth, and Dirk looked up to see Madelon sitting gracefully beside him. "Yes," she murmured, watching Gar. "It tears at your heart, does it not? A man so full of life, so proud and so vigorous, turned to less than a babe in a single night."
A stab of guilt lanced Dirk; he hadn't been brooding over that one at all. "It almost seems he should've died. It might've been kinder."
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