There was only one way out of Sirk, and that by the bridge. It was there I would await them. I turned to Dara.
"We go to the bridge, but not by this road. We take the lanes until we reach the cliffs."
They wheeled their horses, and for the first time I realized that all this little troop of mine were mounted. And for the first time I realized that all were of my own guard, and that many of them had been foot–soldiers, yet these, too, were riding, and that upon a score of saddles were the colours of nobles who had followed me and the Witch–woman and Tibur through the gap of Sirk. It was Naral who, reading my perplexity, spoke, half–impudently as always:
"These are your most faithful, Dwayanu! The horses were idle—or a few we made so. For your better shield should Tibur—make mistake again."
I said nothing to that until we had gone around the burning house and were under cover of one of the lanes. Then I spoke to them:
"Naral—Dara—let us talk apart for a moment."
And when we had drawn a little away from the others, I said:
"To you two I owe my life—most of all to you, Dara. All that I can give you is yours for the asking. All I ask of you is—truth."
"Dwayanu—you shall have it."
"Why did Tibur want to kill me?"
Naral said, dryly:
"The Smith was not the only one who wanted you killed, Dwayanu."
I knew that, but I wanted to hear it from them.
"Who else, Naral?"
"Lur—and most of the nobles."
"But why? Had I not opened Sirk for them?"
"You were becoming too strong, Dwayanu. It is not in Lur or Tibur to take second place—or third…or maybe no place."
"But they had opportunity before—"
"But you had not taken Sirk for them," said Dara.
Naral said, resentfully:
"Dwayanu, you play with us. You know as well as we—better—what the reason was. You came here with that friend we have just left on his fire couch. All knew it. If you were to die—so must he die. He must not live, perhaps to escape and bring others into this place—for I know, as some others do, that there is life beyond here and that Khalk'ru does not reign supreme, as the nobles tell us. Well—here together are you and this friend of yours. And not only you two, but also the dark girl of the Rrrllya, whose death or capture might break the spirit of the little folk and put them under Karak's yoke. The three of you—together! Why, Dwayanu—it was the one place and the one time to strike! And Lur and Tibur did—and killed your friend, and think they have killed you, and have taken the dark girl."
"And if I kill Tibur, Naral?"
"Then there will be fighting. And you must guard yourself well, for the nobles hate you, Dwayanu. They have been told you are against the old customs—mean to debase them, and raise the people. Intend even to end the Sacrifices…"
She glanced at me, slyly.
"And if that were true?"
"You have most of the soldiers with you now, Dwayanu. If it were true you would also have most of the people. But Tibur has his friends—even among the soldiers. And Lur is no weakling."
She twitched up her horse's head, viciously.
"Better kill Lur, too, while you're in the mood, Dwayanu!"
I made no answer to that. We trotted through the lanes, not speaking again. Everywhere were dead, and gutted houses. We came out of the city, and rode over the narrow plain to the gap between the cliffs. There happened to be none on the open road just then; so we entered the gap unnoticed. We passed through it out into the square behind the fortress. There were soldiers here, in plenty, and groups of captives. I rode in the centre of my troop, bent over the neck of my horse. Dara had roughly bandaged my head. The bandages and cap–helmet I had picked up hid my yellow hair. There was much confusion, and I passed through unnoticed. I rode straight to the door of the tower behind which we had lurked when Karak stormed the bridge. I slipped in with my horse, half–closed the door. My women grouped themselves outside. They were not likely to be challenged. I settled down to wait for Tibur.
It was hard waiting, that! Jim's face over the camp–fire. Jim's face grinning at me in the trenches. Jim's face above mine when I lay on the moss bank of the threshold of the mirage—Jim's face under mine on the street of Sirk…
Tsantawu! Aie—Tsantawu! And you thought that only beauty could come from the forest I
Evalie? I cared nothing for Evalie then, caught in that limbo which at once was ice and candent core of rage.
"Save…Evalie!" Jim had bade. Well, I would save Evalie! Beyond that she mattered no more than did the Witch–woman…yes, a little more…I had a score to satisfy with the Witch–woman…I had none with Evalie…
The face of Jim…always the face of Jim…floating before me. …
I heard a whisper—
"Dwayanu—Tibur comes!"
"Is Lur with him, Dara?"
"No—a group of the nobles. He is laughing. He carries the dark girl on his saddle–bow."
"How far away is he, Dara?"
"Perhaps a bow–shot. He rides slowly."
"When I ride out, close in behind me. The fight will be between me and Tibur. I do not think those with him will dare attack me. If they do…"
Naral laughed.
"If they do, we shall be at their throats, Dwayanu. There are one or two of Tibur's friends I would like to settle accounts with. We ask you only this: waste neither words nor time on Tibur. Kill him quickly. For by the gods, if he kills you, it will be the boiling pot and the knives of the flayers for all of us he captures."
"I will kill him, Naral."
Slowly I opened the great door. Now I could see Tibur, his horse pacing toward the bridge–end. Upon the pommel of his saddle was Evalie. Her body drooped; the hair of blue–black was loosened and covered her face like a veil. Her hands were tied behind her back, and gripped in one of Tibur's. There were a score of his followers around and behind him, nobles—and the majority of them men. I had noticed that although the Witch–woman had few men among her guards and garrisons, the Smith showed a preference for them among his friends and personal escort. His head was turned toward them, his voice, roaring with triumph, and his laughter came plainly to me. By now the enclosure was almost empty of soldiers and captives. There was none between us. I wondered where the Witch–woman was.
Closer came Tibur, and closer.
"Ready Dara—Naral?"
"Ready, Lord!"
I flung open the gate. I raced toward Tibur, head bent low, my little troop behind me. I swung against him with head uplifted, thrust my face close to his.
Tibur's whole body grew rigid, his eyes glared into mine, his jaw dropped. I knew that those who followed him were held in that same incredulous stupefaction. Before the Smith could recover from his paralysis, I had snatched Evalie up from his saddle, had passed her to Dara.
I lifted my sword to slash at Tibur's throat. I gave him no warning. It was no time for chivalry. Twice he had tried treacherously to kill me. I would make quick end.
Swift as had been my stroke, the Smith was swifter. He threw himself back, slipped off his horse, and landed like a cat at its heels. I was down from mine before his great sledge was half–raised to hurl. I thrust my blade forward to pierce his throat. He parried it with the sledge. Then berserk rage claimed him. The hammer fell clanging on the rock. He threw himself on me, howling. His arms circled me, fettering mine to my sides, like living bands of steel. His legs felt for mine, striving to throw me. His lips were drawn back like a mad wolf's, and he bored his head into the pit of my neck, trying to tear my throat with his teeth.
My ribs cracked under the tightening vice of Tibur's arms. My lungs were labouring, sight dimming. I writhed and twisted in the effort to escape the muzzling of that hot mouth and the searching fangs.