“Men from the water,” the unseen one panted. “They’re bound straight for our camps. Follow your standards! I go to my chief.”
A sentry mouthed a curse and took off. The leader bawled after him in vain. Louder grew the clamour, as the strangers met hastily formed Yutho squadrons.
Pirates, Lockridge thought. Must be that fleet the Wardens saw. Could only be. They didn’t lie to after all. Instead, they rowed day and night, and this fog gave ’em cover for a landin’ up the beach a way. Yes, sure. Some sea rover from the Mediterranean’s gotten himself together a bunch o’ tribesmen. England’s too tough, from what I hear, but across the North Sea is loot to be had.
No. What can they do, as soon as Storm and Hu start shootin’ them down?
And, well, that was probably best. Avildaro had suffered enough without being sacked, without Auri’s being taken for a slave. Lockridge strained at his bars and waited for the eruption of panic when that gang found they’d tangled with the Goddess.
A shape sprang from the fog, a tall blond man with furious eyes. The Yutho leader waved him away. “By the Maruts, you Orugaray chicken,” he ordered, “get back where you belong!” The big man rammed home his harpoon. The leader clutched a pierced stomach, uttered a strangled moan, and folded to his knees.
Another guard snarled. His tomahawk swung high. A second villager came behind him, cast a fishline around his neck, and tightened it with two great sailor hands. The third sentry went also down, head beaten in by tree-felling axes.
“We’ve got them, girl,” the tall man called. He went to the door. Sufficient light lingered for Lockridge to see the water drops that jewelled his beard, and recognize a son of Echegon. He knew a few others by name of the half score who waited uneasily beyond, and the rest by sight. Two of them had been accomplices in yesterday’s attempt at human sacrifice. They stood now like men.
Echegon’s son drew a flint knife and sawed at the thongs binding the lattice together. “We’ll have you out soon,” he said, “if none chance by to see us.”
“What—” Lockridge was too stunned to do more than listen.
“We’re bound off, I think. Auri fared around the whole day, pleading with everyone she thought she could trust to help you. We didn’t dare at first, we sat in her house and muttered our fears. And then these strangers came, like a sign from the gods, and she reminded us of what powers she got in the underworld. So let the fight last only a little while more, and we’ll be on our way. This is no good place to live any longer.” The man peered anxiously at Lockridge. “We do this because Auri swore you have the might to shield us from the Goddess’ wrath. And she ought to know. But is she right?”
Before Lockridge could reply, Auri was there, to hail him in a shivering whisper. She herself trembled under the wet cloak of her hair; but she carried a light spear and he saw that she was in truth a woman. “Lynx, you can lead us away safe. I know you can. Say you will be our head.”
The nearing battle was no more loud or violent than Lockridge’s pulse. “I don’t deserve this,” he said. “I don’t deserve you.” But he had spoken unthinkingly in English. She straightened herself and said like a queen:
“He casts a spell for us. He will take us where he knows is best.”
The thongs parted. Lockridge squeezed between two poles. Fog curled around him. He tried to guess where in the twilight the combat was going on. It seemed to be spread over a wide front, moving inland. So the bayshore ought to be deserted for now.
“This way,” he said.
They moved close to his protection. A number of women were with them, children clustered near or held as babes in arms. Anyone who’ll take such a risk to be free, he thought, has a call on everything I’ve got to offer.
No. One item more. “I’ve a duty at the Long House,” he said.
“Lynx!” Auri gripped his arm in anguish. “You can’t!”
“Go on down to the boats,” he said. “Make sure you have water skins and gear for hunting and fishing aboard. By the time you are ready to go, I will have joined you. If not, leave without me.”
“Her place?” The son of Echegon shuddered. “What must you do there?”
“Something that—well, we’ll have no good luck unless I do.”
“I will come too,” Auri said.
“No.” He stooped and kissed her, a brief touch across lips that tasted of salt. Even then he caught a scent of her hair and warmth. “Everywhere else, if you wish, but not here. Go make me a place in the boat.”
He ran off before she could say more.
Huts gloomed around him, where folk lay in twilit terror. A pig grunted by, black and swift. He remembered that She kept swine in Her aspect of the death goddess. The battle sounded close—savage yells, footfalls, clashings, arrow buzz and thud of axe striking home—but Lockridge went enclosed in his own silence.
The Long House stood unguarded, as he had hoped. Though if Storm or Hu were still within. . . . He had no choice except to cross that threshold.
The hall was empty.
He ran among machines and gods. At the curtain of lightlessness, he almost stopped. No, he told himself, you mustn’t. He passed through.
The agony of Brann seared upward at him. He put the diaglossa of a terrible tomorrow into his ear, stooped, and said, “I am going to let you die if you want.”
“Oh, I beg,” the mummy voice gasped. Lockridge recoiled. Storm had said no reasoning mind was left.
Storm lied about that, too, he thought, and went to work.
Unarmed, he couldn’t cut the Ranger’s throat. But he yanked out wires and tubes. The blackened body writhed, with little mewling appeals. Not much blood trickled from the piercings.
“Lie there,” Lockridge said. He stroked Brann’s forehead. “You won’t have long to wait. Good-bye.”
He fled, the breath rough in his throat.
As he crossed the veil, racket rolled over him. Some part of the fight was swaying back into town. And there went the sizzle of an energy gun. Light Simmered lurid past the doorway curtain. So much for the pirates, Lockridge thought. If I don’t get out of here right away, I never will.
He ran into the square.
Hu the Warden appeared at its edge. “Koriach!” he was shouting, lost and frantic. “Koriach, where are you? We must stand together—my dearest—” The gun which made fountain-play further off among the huts was not the one in his hand.
His head wove back and forth, in search of his goddess. Lockridge knew he himself couldn’t get clear away, nor even back inside the Long House, before he was seen. He sprang.
Hu saw him and yelped. The pistol slewed about. Lockridge hit the green-clad body. They went over onto the earth and struggled for control of the weapon. Hu’s grip on the butt was not to be broken. Lockridge pulled from his clawing and squirmed around to the Warden’s back. He anchored himself with a scissor lock, cast an arm around his enemy’s neck, and heaved.
A dry snap came, so loud he heard it through the tumult. Hu ceased to move. Lockridge scrambled up and saw death. “I’m sorry.” He bent to close the staring eyes, before he took the gun and was off.
For an instant he was tempted to look for Storm, now that he was armed like her. But no; too chancy; one of her Yuthoaz might well brain him while he was stalemated by her energy shield. And then what would become of Auri? He owed the world to her and that handful of her kinfolk down on the strand.
Besides, he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to fire on Storm.
The water’s edge gleamed forth. He made out a big skinboat rocking shadowlike on the ripples, filled with shadow shapes. Auri waited ashore. She sped to him with laughter and tears. He gave her, and himself, a moment’s embrace, then waded out and climbed in.
“Where now do we go?” asked the son of Echegon.
Lockridge looked back. He could still see the houses as bulks in the fog, a dim outline of the grove, a hint of men and horses where they fought. Good-bye, Avildaro, he called. God keep you.