But the moment he sprang to the saddle of his deest, he saw that there was no need to worry about the events at the School itself. The mob had already surged toward the buildings in the distance, screaming and shouting. Their raucous cries were thick in the air.
He urged his mount through the moving crowd of hysterical people, heading into the foremost ranks of the mob. Behind him came his men, a tightly-packed wedge.
A group of students had lined themselves up in a desperate attempt to forestall the angry townspeople. Young men and young women, holding clubs and peych-knives, stood shoulder to shoulder in defense of the School. Behind them stood a tradition of a century of scholarship —a fine tradition, but one that lacked the strength of the older one now resurging, Kris thought.
He didn't particularly like what happened, but there was nothing he could do. The armed mob halted only for a moment when they reached the defenders. Savage cries went up from the attackers, as, pushed forward by those behind, they found themselves in close combat with the defense line of students.
Knives and clubs swung bloodily, blades flashed in the air, men fell. The students didn't stand a chance. In less than a minute, they were overwhelmed and thrown back by the maddened townspeople.
The mob pushed on, stepping on and over the bodies of the dead and dying.
Thus far, there was no sign of the Earthmen or of the priests who taught at the school. Kris tried to keep his deest moving toward the school buildings, but the stupid animal kept shying from the crowd which surged around it like an angry sea.
The priests appeared then. They held nothing in their hands, but they held their palms out before them in prayer. At least thirty of the blue-robed Grandfathers were there, clustered in a tight little group, offering their prayers and supplications to the Great Light and the Ancestors of Nidor.
But nothing could stop the mob. Those in front, who could see the priests, were pressed on by those in the rear, who couldn't. No one struck at the blue-robed men, but they went down, just the same.
"A fire! A fire!" someone shouted. "Bring a torch!"
Kris scowled. There were valuable books in that School, papers and research documents that had been brought forth by five generations of students. Kris didn't want to lose them.
He started to cut off the mob with the torch, then saw there was no point in it. The School had already been put to the flame. A fire was brought, and a torch was hurled through a window. One—and then another and another.
The job was being done too well, Kris thought.
Where were the Earthmen? Had they left before the mob had arrived? Had they deserted their school in a sudden attack of cowardice?
Kris reined in his deest and held up his hand to signal his men to stop. The crowd was so dense that there was little to be gained by trying to push through it.
"Get back!" he called.
Like dry peych-beans in a heavy wind, the buildings caught. The flames wavered over the buildings of the school, flickering and gathering strength. Building after building was put to the torch, until the entire campus was a raging hell of orange-red tongues.
"Look!" someone cried. "The Earthmen!"
"Where?" Kris demanded. He whirled in a full circle, ready to defend himself. But the Earthmen had no intention of fighting. They were gathered on the lop of the Administration Building, which was already crackling with flames in its ground floor. Twelve Earthmen stood on the roof of the doomed structure, looking at the crowd below. Kris half expected them to say something, but there was no word from any of them.
Kris squinted. He thought he recognized Smith, but it was difficult to tell one Earthman from another in the blurring red light of the holocaust.
A rifle crackled. Then another spoke out. The Earthmen seemed to take no notice, but a bright aura of blue-white light sprang up around them. Each Earthman seemed to stand in the center of a glow of light.
"The devils!" Kris murmured. As the hellish blaze from below licked up around them, the Earthmen ascended. One by one, they lifted into the cloud-laden sky, enclosed in their halos of blue-white light. They rose upward, ascending higher and higher, drifting off into the sky, fading away from sight.
Kris watched as the twelve figures became tiny dots in the sky. At last, they were gone, seeming to fade into the clouds, and there was nothing left but the raging fire of the Bel-rogas School as the buildings collapsed into themselves one by one.
The Earthmen were gone.
Kris sat unmoving in his saddle, staring at the fading bluish sparks in the sky. He felt a sense of emptiness suddenly. They were really, actually gone—the dreamed-of goal had been achieved. Somehow, the idea that the Earthmen had been driven off Nidor was too incredible for him to grasp.
Then the emptiness faded as the realization came to him in lull finality. He had driven them off. He— Kris peKym Yorgen.
He realized suddenly how still it was around him. He stood up in his stirrups and looked at the mob.
The mob had become something else—it was no longer a frenzied mass of destructive impulses, but simply a great crowd of individuals, all gazing silently at the sky. The only sound was the roar of the flames as they consumed what was left of the Bel-rogas School of Divine Law.
Chapter XIII
Kris and his hundred men rode into Holy Gelusar at the head of an oddly silent crowd of people.
He knew what the emotion affecting them all was, because he felt some of it himself. He was not ashamed of what he had done— merely overawed at the magnitude of it.
Behind the column of mounted men marched four hundred more, each bearing on his back a great loop of cobalt coins weighing a quarter of a manweight. Eight million weights in cobalt—and yet almost no one thought about the money itself.
They marched triumphantly into town. Those who had stayed behind lined the streets and began to cheer at the sight of the money. It was a vindication—a crushing proof of the iniquity of the Earthmen. Besides, it meant Dimay money was good once again.
Kris saw that the cheering seemed to brace those who had taken part in the sack of Bel-rogas. They seemed to stand a little straighter and walk a little more briskly, and the curious air of depression lifted.
By the time the procession reached the Square of Holy Light, the city of Gelusar was thoroughly aroused. A wild, demonstrative crowd preceded them, cheering and howling their joy.
"The story will be spreading," Bor pePrannt whispered to Kris. "It must be sweeping all over the city by now."
Kris nodded. "I know how it'll be. It'll keep getting more and more distorted every time it's told, until by the time it reaches the East End they'll be saying I throttled Smith with my bare hands."
He led his men into the Square and ringed them around it. Three streets led into the Square that faced the Great Temple, and Kris saw to it that each of the three was blocked with a deployment of armed and mounted men.
"Don't let anyone in!" he shouted. Then he stood up in his saddle and raised his voice so that all those who were already gathered in the square could hear.
"Leave the Square! Clear us room! Out! Move out!"
The shout was taken up, and, slowly, the people began to filter out of the Square and into the streets. Only the four hundred men who were carrying the coins were permitted to stay. They stood in the middle of the Square, hefting their loops of coins, looking proud of themselves and of Kris peKym. Rightfully so, Kris thought.