Marko took out his ax, got a grip on the rope, and chopped. At the third try he severed it.
The rope was slippery with the rain and much heavier than he expected. The weight of the long catenary snatched the end out of his grasp.
Marko sat down on the phosphor grass with his head in his hands. He almost wept with chagrin and vexation.
After a few minutes, he roused himself. His eyes had now adjusted to the darkness. Out to sea, he could just make out the black bulk of the Incredible. Would she put out to sea, for Niok or some other non-Eropian port, leaving him? He did not fear the witches in a stand-up fight, but he could not go without food and sleep indefinitely.
The guards would soon stumble upon the balloon and know that something was up. Well, he could fix that. He pushed the basket, foot by foot, until it toppled over the edge of the cliff, dragging the bag after it and almost taking Marko along by tangling him in its ropes. Halran would not like the loss of his contraption, but the balloon was of no present use and only increased his danger.
Marko looked out to sea again. The black shape was moving. At first he could not tell whither, but after a while it seemed to be headed to his lefttowards the beach. An occasional red spark flew from its stack.
Marko walked towards the town of Mnaenn, paralleling the cliff edge but tramping across country. If he followed the cliff path, he would be too likely to meet an armed witch on her rounds. The ship traveled faster than he could walk in his ironmongery, but it had to detour to avoid rocks and shoals.
The rain beat against his helmet. His boots sank into the soft muddy soil and came out with sucking sounds. He detoured the town to reach the cliff on the south side, where the landing was.
At last he saw the section of cliff top he sought, with black silhouettes marking the location of the rope ladder. Voices came out of the murk:
“… I saw them, I tell you. There’s another!”
“You’re mad, Als. What would sparks be flying around out there for?”
“You are near-sighted if you don’t see them. We should report to the sergeant.”
Marko stood still, hoping he was Invisible In his black armor.
“Another thing,” came a voice, “I could swear I’ve heard sounds as of armed men moving.”
“Your imagination is inflamed, my dear. You should…”
The muttered argument went on and on. Then one said:
“She’s right, girls; there is a ship out there! Look!”
Marko stepped forward. The guards all had their backs to him. He thought there were three or four but could not be sure. He struck one over the head with the flat of his ax.
Clang! went the ax on the helmet. The guard dropped. Clang! went another. The other guards emitted piercing shrieks. Something clanked against Marko’s shield, something else scraped his breastplate. There were footsteps running away and the jingle of accouterments. Other shouts answered from the village.
Marko felt around the rope ladder until he found the reel and the cord that held the crank. A chop severed the cord. Marko heaved on the crank, which turned, lowering the ladder down the face of the cliff. As the ladder unrolled, its increasing weight made the wheel revolve of its own accord.
Behind him, Marko heard the sound of armed witches approaching. He turned, letting the reel run on its own, and got out his ax again. With a great yammering, several of them came at him at once. He could barely see the points of their spears, which he caught on his shield.
“Get behind him!” shouted voices. “Surround him!” “Thrust for his crotch!” “He has lowered the ladder!”
One witch got too close. Marko stretched her senseless with the flat of his ax.
“Is he the only one?” “Crank up the ladder again!” “All together now, push him off the cliff!”
Marko shifted as fast as he could in the darkness so as not to present too easy a target. The darting points clicked and rasped against his defenses. From seaward came a hail.
“Hurry!” bellowed Marko. “You’ll find the ladder down. I’m holding them off.”
Clang, dzing, clank, went the witches’ weapons against Marko’s armor. Again and again he whirled, laying about him with his ax to beat them away from the ladder. One got a grip on his thigh. He struck her with his fist to knock her loose and heard her shriek as she fell off the cliff in the dark.
“They’re coming up!”
“Drop boulders on them!”
“Cut the ropes of the ladder!”
“The darkness is full of them!”
“Get the rest of the women, or we are lost!”
Marko struggled on and on. Something sharp found the unarmored back of his left thigh, and the leg turned weak under him.
“All at him at once!”
“Fetch the Stringiarch!”
“Get some lanterns!”
“See, there’s another behind us!”
Marko leaned against the reel of the ladder to take the weight off his injured leg.
“One more try!” panted a witch officer. “Push him off the cliff!”
Marko limped around the reel, stumbling over the witches he had knocked down and swinging his ax. He roared: “Curse you, stand back or I’ll give you the edge! I’ve been sparing you, but I won’t much longer!”
Lanterns bobbed in the darkness. A voice called: “Stand back to let us shoot!”
Marko dropped to one knee beside the reel, holding his iron shield up in front of him. Presently there was a snap of bowstrings, and a thrum of quarrels. Several sharp hammer blows struck the shield. Another grazed his helmet.
“Get around to the side. He cannot face all ways at once.”
Something moved behind Marko. He rose, turning and raising his ax.
“Is that you, Master Prokopiu?” said the deep voice of Ulf Toskano. Others crowded up behind him. The philosophers opened out into an armored rank and surged forwards. For an instant there arose the clangor of weapons on armor, and then with cries of despair the witches broke and fled.
“Aye,” said the Stringiarch, sitting on a chair in the Temple of Einstein before the philosophers. “I know the true story of the Descent, at least as it has been handed down from stringiarch to Stringiarch.” She glared up at the semicircle of intent faces, shiny with sweat and wet in the lamplight. “If I tell you brigands, will you spare my girls?”
“We had no intention” began Toskano, but Marko poked him and interrupted:
“If you tell the truth, madam, no harm shall befall your charges. But take care, for we have means of confirming or refuting your story.”
“Very well. The story, as it has come down to me, is as follows: Before the Descent, the men of Earth had become so many that there was not enough land to support them. So their gods ordered them to build two great ships, promising that when the ships were finished they, the gods, would waft them through the empty space between that world and this”
“She means the ships of space I told you about,” interrupted Bivar. “And the gods were nothing but the leaders political.”
Katlin glared at the little Iverianan but continued: “In time the ships set out from Earth. Between them they carried nearly two hundred people, as well as the female young of several domestic animals of that world and spells for causing them to conceive and bear without the presence of the male. Also seeds, tools,’ and other needful things. The gods’ commands were to land both ships on Kforri and set up a settlement for colonization and study. Then the crews of both ships should enter one of the two, and the gods would take it back to Earth.