With infinite slowness the sky appeared above, closer and closer, and slower and slower as the strength ebbed from his limbs.
When he finally reached the spot where his toes were actually at the lip of the rock, he had no strength left to pull himself over the edge. For a few seconds he rested, took a deep breath and straightened his legs. He twisted as he did so and clutched at the crumbling edge of rock. For a moment of time he hung there, neither falling nor able to pull himself out of the chimney. Then, ever so slowly, he pulled and scraped with bloody fingertips until he dragged himself out and lay exhausted on the tilted summit of the pinnacle.
The top was amazingly small; he saw that as he lay gasping for air. No bigger than a large-sized bed. When he was able to, he crawled to the edge and waved at the waiting men below. They saw him and a ragged and spontaneous cheer went up.
Was there anything to cheer about? He went to the fan side and looked, moving back as the waiting bowmen on the difftop below fined at him. Only two arrows rose high enough to hit him, but these were badly aimed. He looked again and sa* the enemy position spread out like a model below him. Everything was visible and within easy range, both the men on the rim of The Slash and the rows of bowmen protecting the top of the rockslide.
He had done it.
“Good man, Jason,” he said aloud. “You’re a credit to any world.”
Sitting cross-legged, he made a large loop in the end of the line and passed it around the summit of the rock itself, making an immovable anchor. Then he let the leather-tipped end over the edge and paid it out slowly, until a signaling tug told him that it had reached the ground. He shortened the rope with a quickly knotted sheepshank and gave the agreed upon signal, three tugs on the line, to show that it was secured. Then he sat down to wait.
Only when the rope began to jerk violently and stand out from the cliff did he get up. Kerk was right below, looking unwinded and fresh, with an immense load of bombs slung on his back. He had taken the rope in both hands and walked straight up the face of the cliff.
“Can you reach down to help me over the edge of the cliff?” Kerk asked.
“Absolutely. Just don’t squeeze or break anything.”
Jason lay face down, with the rock rim in his armpit, and reached oven. Kerk let go with one hand and they seized each other’s wrists in an acrobat’s hold. Jason did not try to pull, he probably could not have lifted Kerk’s weight if he had tried, but instead he spread-eagled and anchored himself as well as he could against the stone. Kerk pulled himself up, threw an ann oven the edge, then heaved his body oven.
“Very good,” he said, looking down at the enemy below. “They do not stand a chance. I have extra microgrenades that we can use. Shall we begin?”
“You’re letting me throw out the first bomb of the season? How nice.” As the explosions roared and rumbled into a continuous thunder, Temuchin’s army shouted a victorious echo and started up the rocky slope. The battle was decided and would soon be won, and after it, the war would be won as well.
Jason sat down and watched Kerk happily bombing the natives below. This part of the plan was complete. If the next step worked as well, the Pyrrans would have their mines and their planet. Their last battle would be won.
Jason sincerely hoped so. He was getting very tired.
15
Strike like lightning, magic thunder
Slew the weasels, cleansed the mountains.
Piled high, the thumbs of conquest
Reached above a tall man’s head.
Then the word of strangers coming
To his land reached Lord Temuchin.
With sword and bow and fearless army
Rode he out to slay invaders.
Jason dinAlt reined his morope to a stop at the top of the broad slope and searched for a path down through the tumbled boulders. The wind, damp and cold, funneled up through this single gap in the high cliffs, struck him full in the face. Fan below, the ocean was gray steel, flecked with the spray-blown tops of waves. The sky was dark, cloud-covered from horizon to horizon, and somewhere out to sea thunder rumbled heavily.
A faintly marked path was visible, threading down the rock-covered slope; Jason spurred his mount forward. Once he had started down he saw that the path was well-worn and old. The nomads must come here regularly, for salt perhaps. An aerial survey from the spaceship had shown that this was the only spot for thousands of kilometers where there was a break in the palisade of cliffs. As he descended, the air became a little warmer, but the dampness after the dust-dry plateau cut into him. A final turn brought him out in a circular bay, with great cliffs rising on both sides and a beach of black sand below. Two small boats were drawn up on the shone with yellow cloth tents set up beside them. Farther out in the bay a squat two, master, with a smoke-stained funnel aft, lay with furled sails, swinging at anchor. Jason’s approach was seen and, from the knot of men around the boats, a tall figure emerged and strode purposefully across the sand. Jason halted the morope and slid down to meet him.
“That’s a great outfit you’re wearing, Rhes,” he said as he shook the other man’s hand.
“No more exotic than yours,” the Pyrran said, smiling and running his fingers through the purple ruffles that covered his chest. He wore crotch, high boots of yellow suede and a polished helmet with a golden spike. It was most impressive. “This is what the well-dressed Master Merchant of Ammh wears,” he added.
“From the reports I hear that you made out very well in the lowlands.”
“I’ve never enjoyed myself more. Ammh is basically an agrarian society that is working very hard to enter a primitive machine age. The classes are completely separate, with the merchant and the military at the top, along with a small priest class to keep the peasants quiet. I had the capital to enter the merchant class and I made the most of it. The operation is going so well that it is self-financing now. I have a warehouse in Camar, the seaport closest to the barrier mountains, and I have just been waiting fon the word to sail north. Would you care for a glass of wine?”
“And some food. Trot out your best for me.”
They had reached the open-sided tent which contained a trestle table loaded with bottles and cuts of smoked meat. Rhes picked up a longnecked green bottle and handed it to Jason. ‘Try this,” he said. “A sixyear-old vintage, very good. I’ll get a knife to cut the seal.”
“Don’t bother,” Jason said, cracking the neck off the bottle with a sharp blow against the edge of the table. He drank’ deeply from the golden wine that bubbled out, then wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “I’m a barbarian, remember? This will convince your guards of my roughshod character.” He nodded toward the soldiers who stood about, frowning and fingering their weapons.
“You’ve developed some vile habits,” Rhes said, wiping the broken neck of the bottle with a cloth before he poured a glassful for himself. ‘What’s the plan?”
Jason chewed hungrily at a fatty chop. “Temuchin is on the way here with an army. Not a big one, most of the tribes went home after the weasels were wiped out. But all of them first swore fealty to him and agreed to join him whenever he ordered. When he heard about your landing here, he called in the nearest tribes and started his march. He’s about a day away now, but Kenk and the Pyrrans are camped right across his trail. We should join up tonight. I rode on here alone just to check the setup before contact is made.”