Thus Zarqa had insidiously planted the suggestion in the mind of Kalistus that he should retrieve the lost sky-sled, and that in his slumber he should unlock the cage wherein the Winged Man had been imprisoned.
Now he was free at last, and, with the sky-sled at his command, he had the means to free his friends and escape from this fantastic aerial kingdom of madmen.
Unaware that Clyon’s agents watched all the while with spy rays, the Winged Man climbed aboard the sky-sled and rode it as the craft glided out the window and floated through the night on its mission of rescue.
The Fifth Book
ESCAPE TO PERIL
Chapter 17
The Vengeance of Gor-ya
For what seemed like hours I lay in the damp, fetid darkness at the bottom of the pit into which the minions of Gor-ya had flung me, in a stupor of despair and dread.
Death itself I did not fear, for he who has passed once through the Dark Gate knows that beyond the grave there lies a second life. No… what filled my heart with leaden despair was that while I would soon escape from my vile predicament into another life, my friend Klygon, who had followed at my heels, would meet his doom as the helpless victim of my own adventure.
And what of Niamh, my beloved, and Zarqa and Janchan, my friends? Long days and unknown distances had parted us, and I knew not if they yet lived or had gone into the grim darkness before me. Would I ever find them again, once death had claimed me and had sent my sundered spirit drifting home to my sleeping body on the distant planet of my birth?
Black thoughts such as these prowled through my weary mind as I huddled there at the bottom of the black pit, awaiting a nameless doom.
Then, suddenly, without warning, a voice called my name and I peered up, startled, to see the cunning face of Delgan looking down at me from the edge of the pit.
Delgan, the false traitor who had caused me to face this present peril! Delgan, the mysterious blue-skinned man who had urged Gor-ya to condemn me to be eaten alive by whatever monster-god the albino savages worshiped!
My eyes were cold and hard, my lips tightly pressed together, as I ignored his urgent whisper from above. Let him taunt and revile me as he would, I did not intend to give him the pleasure of knowing my anger at his betrayal, or my fear of the doom into which he had tricked me. Had I but listened to the suspicions of canny old Klygon, matters would be different. For the ugly, faithful little Assassin had distrusted the glib tongue and silken manner of the mysterious blue man from the beginning of this dire adventure. So I made no reply to Delgan’s call and looked away, ignoring him.
A moment later a bundle of coarsely-woven cloth was tossed into the pit of sacrifice and fell with a thud into the muck at my feet. Doubtless it was food and drink to sustain me in my waiting, for the savages would want me to be strong and ready when they fed me to their God.
I opened the folded cloth with a listless hand… and froze in amazement.
For there, wrapped in my Weather Cloak, lay the Witchlight, the vial of Liquid Flame, the crystal rod of the zoukar, and my sword!
The lean, ascetic face of Delgan smiled down at me, a pale oval in the gloom, as I croaked an expletive.
“Did you think I had betrayed you, then?” He laughed. “Young fool, I saved your life, for Gor-ya would have slain you on the spot, had I not intervened. By suggesting you be sacrificed to the God of the savages, I postponed your death for a day and a night, thus giving your ugly little comrade and I time to plan your escape—and ours!”
I gaped up at him in blank amazement. My jaw hung open, and I must have looked like a witless idiot. He laughed.
“Klygon says to tell you that an Assassin learns the secrets of stealth, and makes a decent enough thief, when needs he must. He crept into Gor-ya’s cave during his absence, which I contrived, and purloined the gear taken from you when you were captured. You have everything now, except, of course, for—this!”
Something long and glossy-white came slithering over the edge of the pit and snaked down to where I crouched.
It was the Live Rope!
Never had the implements, which we had carried off from the Scarlet Pylon of Sarchimus after the magician met his doom, been more valuable in my eyes. Hastily I donned my gear, slung the cloak about my bare shoulders, fastened the sword into my waistband, and tucked the precious vial and the opaque sphere into my raiment. Then, seizing hold of the thick line, which writhed in my hands with the inexhaustible vigor of its pseudo-life, I clambered up out of the pit, and let Delgan drag me over the edge to solid ground again.
He recoiled the Live Rope and attached it to his girdle.
“I… I have misjudged you, Delgan. I thought…”
“I know what you thought. Forget it! Come—we must hurry.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the upper world again, with a bit of luck. The tribesmen slumber, drunk on the vile beer they brew from the fermentation of fungus. Klygon awaits us at the entrance to the cavern of the sluth. Within the hour we shall be on our way to freedom. Hurry!”
We crossed the great central cavern without discovery, keeping well to the shadows of the farther wall, avoiding the red-lit areas near to the fire-pit. The cavern people lay in sodden slumber, reeking of the sour fumes of the abominable beverage, and none noted our surreptitious passage.
At the gate to the cavern of the sluth we found loyal little Klygon, hopping from one foot to another in an agony of impatience. The worry faded from his eyes and his ugly face lightened with a cheerful grin of mingled relief and joy as he saw that I was free at last. Without wasting words I helped him tug loose the heavy length of root with which the entryway was barred. Two guards sprawled unconscious nearby, downed by the stout cudgel at his side.
“How do we get by the sloth?” I inquired. “I thought they were man-eaters.”
“They are.” Delgan chuckled. “But they like ordinary meat well enough. And I have here in this sack some juicy gobbets of yngoum-steak which I will throw well to one side. With any luck they will become too involved in squabbling over these morsels to pay any attention to us.”
“And if we don’t get lucky?” I asked.
“Then we fight.”
The heavy doors creaked open from the pressure of Klygon’s burly shoulders. The stench of the monstrous worms hit me in the face like a stinking mist rising from an open sewer. Glimmering faintly with the green light of putrescence, the loathsome worms began slithering toward us, sphincter-mouths slobbering hungrily. Delgan tore open his sack and began flinging chunks of greasy meat into the farthest corner of the cavern.
Although it was too dark for the sluth to see the meat, they sensed it in some manner—perhaps by its smell. And, true to Delgan’s prediction, the worms wavered, turned aside, and went for the morsels of grub-meat, leaving a path free and unencumbered.
We crossed the cavern with the greatest speed we could muster, slipping and sliding in the treacherous slime with which the stone floor was covered. Then we unlatched the door at the other end of the cavern and found ourselves at the bottom of a narrow tunnel which rose on a steep incline.
There at the top lay the open air, the floor of the forest, and freedom.
We started to climb.
An hour or so later we emerged into the open air at last and found ourselves in the immense tangle of roots at the base of one of the gigantic trees. The darkness was not absolute; our eyes had by now adjusted to the gloom of the caverns, and we could see dimly but well enough to climb.