The King wandered to the window. Below me palace, beyond the tall marble walls the people of Ad were moving about their business. Six hundred thousand souls born in the greatest nation the earth had ever seen — or ever would see, he thought. Through the power of the Stone from Heaven the King had conquered all the civilised world and opened gates to wonders beyond imagination.
Fresh conquests meant little to him now. All that mattered was that his name would ring like a clashing shield down through the ages of history. He smiled. Why should it not? With Sipstrassi he was immortal and therefore would be ever present when his continuing story was sung by the bards.
A second tremor struck. They were beginning to worry him, they had increased so much of late.
Clutching his Stone, he closed his eyes.
And disappeared…
He opened them to find himself standing in the same room overlooking an identical view. There were the marble walls, beyond them the city, and the docks silent and waiting. It was perhaps his greatest artistic achievement: he had created an exact replica of Ad in a world unpeopled by Man.
Here there were no earthquakes, only an abundance of deer, elk and all the other wondrous creatures of nature.
Soon he would transfer the inhabitants here and build a new Atlantis where no enemies could ever conquer them, for there would be no other nations.
He returned to his room and considered waking Sharazad for an hour of love-making, then dismissed the thought, still angry at her stupidity. He did not mind the deaths of the Daggers; the reptiles were merely tools and, as Sharazad so rightly pointed out, could be replaced with ease.
But he hated undisciplined thought, he loathed those who could not see or understand the simplest strategies. Many of his generals dismayed him. They could not comprehend that the object of war was to win, not merely to engage in huge and costly battles with a plethora of heroics on either side. Defeat the enemy from within. First convince him of the hopelessness of his cause and then strike him down while he sits demoralised. But in victory, be magnanimous, for a defeated and humiliated enemy will live only for the day when he can be revenged. Blame the war on the defeated leaders and court the people. But did the generals understand?
Now a new dawn was beginning for Atlantis. The King had seen a world of flying machines and great wonders. So far the links had been tentative, but soon he would open the gateway wider and send out scouts to learn of the new enemy.
His thoughts returned to Sharazad. The world she had discovered was not worthy of their attention — save for the weapons known as guns. But now they had seen them, they could duplicate them — improve on them. There was nothing there of interest. Yet he would allow Sharazad to play out her game to the end; there was the faintest glimmer of hope that she would learn something of value. And if she did not, there was always the whip and her deliciously satisfying screams.
The man Shannow, at least, was of transient interest. The Hunters would kill him, of course, but not before he had provided great sport. How many to send? Five would ensure success. One would give Shannow a chance. Then let it be three, thought the King. But which three?
Magellas must be one; haughty and proud, he needed a tough task. Lindian? Cold, that one, and lethal — not a man to allow into your presence with a weapon of any kind. Yes, Lindian. And to complete the mixture, Rhodaeul. He and Magellas hated one another, constantly vying for supremacy. It should be a fascinating mission for them. They had mastered the new guns with rare brilliance.
Now it was time to see if they could use them to good purpose against an enemy of great skill.
The King lifted his Stone and concentrated on Shan-now's face. The air rippled before him and he saw the Jerusalem Man heaving a sack across the back of his saddle.
'You are in great danger, Jon Shannow,' said the King. 'Best to be on your guard!'
Shannow swung as the eerie voice filled his mind. His gun swept up, but there was no target in sight.
The sound of mocking laughter drifted away into echoes.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
The withdrawal took place just after dawn. The Parson and twenty of the men moved out to flank the straggling column as it headed across the valley towards the great gash the quake had ripped into the ancient Wall. The Parson carried a short-barrelled rifle, his pistols jutting from the belt of his black cassock. The rescued wagons carried some of the children, but most of the three hundred survivors of the raid — reinforced by farmers and settlers from outlying regions — walked in silence, casting nervous glances around them. Everyone expected the reptiles to attack, and the Parson had been hard pressed to convince the refugees of the need to move from the seeming sanctuary of the woods.
Edric Scayse had returned in the night with two wagons loaded with food and spare guns. He had volunteered with thirty others to man the defensive trench in the woods.
'This is partly my fault,' he had told the Parson before the column moved out. 'Those demons are carrying guns I supplied, may God forgive me.'
'He has a habit of forgiving people,' the Parson assured him.
As he walked, the Parson prayed earnestly. 'Lord, as you saw your chosen people from the clutches of the Egyptians, so be with us now as we walk across the valley of the shadow. And be with us when we enter the realm of the Great Whore, who, with your blessing, I will cut down and destroy, with all the beasts of Hell over whom she reigns.'
The wagons were raising dust and the Parson ran back to the column, organising children to scatter water around the wheels. In the distance the Wall loomed, but if they were found here there would be no defence. He loped back to the flanking men.
'You see anything?' he asked Bull.
'Not a movement, Parson. But I feel like I'm sitting on the anvil with the hammer over me — know what I mean? If it ain't the reptiles, we've still got to walk into the land of the Lion-men.'
'God will be with us,' said the Parson, forcing sincerity into his voice.
'Hope so,' muttered the man. 'Surely do need some edge. Look there! More survivors.'
The Parson followed his gaze and saw a wagon moving down to join them. He recognised Beth McAdam at the reins, a black-bearded man beside her. Waving them into the column, he strode across.
'I am pleased to see you are well, Beth,' he said.
'This ain't well, Parson. I just built my god-damned house, and now I'm being run out by a bunch of lizards. What's worse, I got a sick man in the back and this bumping around is doing him no good at all.'
'Within a couple of hours, God willing, we should be behind the Wall. Then we can defend ourselves.'
'Yeah, against the reptiles. What about the other beasts?'
The Parson shrugged. 'As God wishes. Will you introduce me to your friend?'
'This is Nu, Parson. He healed the convoy; he's another man of God — getting to be so I feel hip-
deep in them.'
Nu climbed down from the wagon and stretched. The Parson offered his hand, which Nu shook, and the two men strolled together.
'Are you new to this country, Meneer?' the Parson asked.
'Yes and no,' replied Nu. 'I was here… a long time ago. Much has changed.'
'Do you know of the lands Beyond the Wall?'
'Not much, I am afraid. There is a city there — a very old city. It used to be called Ad. There are temples and palaces.'
'It is inhabited now by beasts of the Devil,' said the Parson. 'Their evil keeps the Sword of God trapped in the sky. It is my dream to destroy their evil and release the Sword.'