“I heard them,” Balin said. “Only briefly, but enough.”
Lugh said, “But if they have no leader, and they are so few, how do they force the victims…”
“They don’t have to,” Stark said. “The victims get more fun out of it than anybody. It seems to be their moment of supreme fulfillment.”
Thanis said furiously, “Ban Cruach would never have promised his help to these monsters.”
“That was a long time ago,” Stark said. “I doubt that they were monsters then.” He looked around at the city, with the massive bulk of the tower rising over it. “They live in prison. They die in prison. They’ve been dying for a long time. It’s small wonder they’ve gone mad with it.”
“I do not pity them,” Balin said with a shiver of repulsion.
“Nor I,” said Stark. “Any more than they would pity me while they were watching me die.”
They came into an enormous circle. In the center of the circle was a pavilion, the roof curved and peaked, upheld on many columns, the whole thing done in shades of purple. Hrillin beckoned Stark and the others on, and from all sides now the aliens began to gather closer. Broad stripes of gold like sunrays laid into the pavement led to the heart of the pavilion, where there was a low dais holding a glitter of crystal.
Embedded in the crystal was the body of a man, a human man, and quite old, dressed in antique armor. Stark recognized him. He had seen that face before, carved in stone and turned forever toward the Gates of Death. He was looking at Ban Cruach.
A wave of awe swept over the people of Kushat. They pushed and crowded, delicately, as though they were in a temple, but determinedly, surrounding the crystal coffin, and all through what followed there was a constant motion as those in front gave way to others moving up from behind to see.
From some secret niche beside the coffin Hrillin took the mate to Ban Cruach’s talisman and held it up, and stared while it warmed and glowed between his hands.
“Now,” said Stark, “do you understand me, Hrillin?”
The alien flinched, as though he found the impact of human speech as distasteful as Stark had found theirs.
“I understand.”
“This is as Ban Cruach and your forefathers wished. Your people made these things we call talismans so that our two races might talk together.”
Hrillin glanced aside at Ban Cruach, lying still in his crystal bed.
“He promised to protect us,” Hrillin said. “He promised to guard the Gates of Death so that his world could never trespass onto ours.”
The aliens echoed that, swaying and tossing their arms. The fluting voices rang from the pavilion roof. “He promised! By the power of the talisman…”
“And he kept that promise,” Stark said, “as long as his people held Kushat.”
Hrillin started. He stared at Stark.
“Kushat? Kushat has fallen?”
A wild crying broke out among the aliens. They pressed closer around Hrillin, around the humans. Some of them, apparently in an ecstasy of excitement, pricked themselves and each other with their steel nails, drawing blood.
“Yesterday,” Stark said.
“Yesterday,” repeated Hrillin. “Yesterday Kushat fell.” Suddenly he swayed forward and screamed. “You had no right! You had no right to let it fall!”
The fluting voices shrieked in rage, in hysteria and fear. The tall thin bodies swayed wildly, whirled and tossed. Stark thought the creatures were going to attack, and perhaps they might have, but the men of Kushat drew their weapons and the aliens moved back, circling round and round. More began to gash themselves. The game was not going quite as they had thought, Stark felt. And yet they were becoming more and more excited by it, perhaps simply because it was unpredictable and new.
He said to Hrillin, “The men of Kushat died defending their city. They could hardly do more.” He could not keep all of what he was thinking out of what he was saying; the words formed themselves in his mind and Hrillin read them before he could suppress them. Some inscrutable emotion flickered in Hrillin’s eyes.
“We do not like each other,” he said. “Let it rest at that.”
“Very well. But now we come to you because Ban Cruach made us a promise, too.”
“A promise? A promise?” Hrillin was scornful. “His promise was to us. We gave him a strong weapon to fight his wars, and in exchange he gave us peace.” He placed his hand with the cruel thumb-spur affectionately on the coffin. “When he was an old man he left his people and came to us. We were a great city, then. All this valley was warm and populous. He walked our streets and talked to our philosophers and wise men. It is said that he wrote our history, in the human tongue, though no one knows if that is true.” He paused, looking at the humans. “We are the oldest race on Mars. We knew you before you walked erect. We built our cities when you lived in holes in the rock and barely understood fire.”
The aliens swayed, lifting their long arms.
“But,” said Hrillin, “you bred faster. And we grew old. We built our towers in the cold lands, and for a long time we were not troubled. But even the planet grew old, and men were everywhere, and one by one we abandoned our cities because there was no one left to live in them. This valley was our last stronghold.”
“It is a stronghold no longer,” Stark said. “Men are on their way. And this was Ban Cruach’s promise to us, the other side of your bargain. If ever need arose, we were to bring the talisman through the Gates of Death, and the great power Ban Cruach once had would be given to us again.”
He held up the talisman in a gesture of finality.
“Give us that power. We will drive away these men who are enemies to us both, and Kushat will continue to guard the Gates as she always has. Otherwise…”
He let his hands fall.
“Otherwise you must fight this battle by yourselves.”
“Fight,” said the fluting voices. There was a whirl of laughter, strange and cruel.
“Give them the power, Hrillin, why not?”
“Yes, give them the power!”
“Let them be strong like Ban Cruach and fight the world away from us.”
“Shall I?” said Hrillin, swaying, dancing where he stood, gesturing with malicious arms. “Shall I?” He bent to Stark. “Will you go?”
“Give us the weapons, Hrillin, and we’ll go.”
“Very well,” said Hrillin, and turned to his people. “Give them the weapons! Bring all we have. Give them! These are the sons of Ban Cruach our protector. Give them the weapons!”
They began to chant. “Give them the weapons!” Those who carried the bulky tubes pressed them into human hands. Others ran away and returned quickly with more. In a few minutes the men of Kushat had forty of the globed weapons.
“Are you joyous now?” asked Hrillin, and thrust the last of the tubes into Stark’s hand. “See, thus and thus do you do with it, but be careful. It will kill much more than you think.”
He drew back. All the aliens drew back. Balin held a tube in his own hands. He looked at it, his face alight with triumph, and then he turned to the crystal coffin where Ban Cruach lay. “He did it, Stark. He kept his promise.” There was a glitter of tears in his eyes. “I thank you,” he said to the aliens. “We of Kushat all thank you.” He turned suddenly and faced Ciaran. “Now you can watch your red wolves die.”
He shouted to the people, “You have the power now—the power of Ban Cruach! Let us go and take Kushat!”