"I captured you yesterday," the soldier said. "And that was directly after your arrival. I was watching for Parror's return from the outer world. So I knew when to strike."
"I see," Raft said, though he didn't. "What about this notebook, and the Cavern of the Flame? What's that?"
"You did not see the Cavern?"
"I saw a cavern, with some unpleasant creatures in it. Is that what you mean?"
A shudder shook Vann. Briefly a touch of fear showed in his eyes. "No—no. That is not what I mean." He changed the subject abruptly. "You must see Darum now. Are you ready?"
"As ready as I ever will be, I suppose."
"Very well." Vann stood up, turning toward the door. Raft accompanied his guard into a dimly-lighted hall and along it. After a while Vann broke silence.
"The Great Lord has fought and had his pleasure afterward, and slept. He will be strange now. A word of advice, Craddock."
"I'm—well, what is it?"
"Something hangs in the balance now," Vann said thoughtfully, his gaze on the floor as they walked. "For myself, I am not sure. I am on neither side as yet. Darum, too, hesitates.
"He had you taken from Parror before the—the final step could be taken, but he may yet side with Parror. If he does, that will be well for you. Or perhaps evil, in the end. I cannot see that far ahead. But I will say this, since you are of an alien race, you would do well to heed it. Darum—is mad."
A little shock went through Raft. He stared at the soldier.
"Mad? Your king?"
"Yes."
"And he rules?"
"Of course," Vann said. "Why not? For often he is not mad, and when he is, that does not matter much. But with you it may mean the difference between life and death. Perhaps," he went on musingly, "life and death for Paititi. Remember that Darum is not your kind."
"I hope not," Raft said candidly.
"He is of our kind," Vann murmured, and his eyes were luminous. "Now—I hope you live. For I'd enjoy a duel with you, Craddock. And here is your way." He held aside a heavy tapestry, revealing a dim corridor. "Go in."
"Thanks," Raft said.
He stepped forward. Behind him, Vann let the curtain fall. There was silence, except for the never-ceasing vibration that shook the castle. Even here its steady humming could be felt.
Raft walked toward another drapery that barred the way ahead.
A different race, he thought, and a different species. They murder for intellectual pleasure and duel for physical excitement. They see nothing amiss in a mad king.
He hesitated before the curtain. Then he pushed it aside and stepped through, into a ruddy darknenss.
The dim, faint glow came from all around. How large the room might be Raft had no way of guessing. He saw shrouded shapes looming before him, and, in heavier shadow, something stirred and looked at him with eyes that were glowing disks. A cool, sharp perfume was in his nostrils. That infernal humming seemed to shake the dark air.
There was no sound. Raft, after a moment, moved forward. The eyes watched him steadily. At last he could make out a slim figure reclining on a bulkier, shapeless mass—the smooth outline of a jaw, and the cloudy mist of hair fading into invisibility.
Raft stood there, waiting.
He sensed that this was not the same man he had seen fighting and laughing in the courtyard. There was a difference, even physically. In the gloom a change had come upon Darum, a strangeness that was indefinable and yet unmistakable.
"Sit down," the king said, in the Indio tongue. Even his voice had altered. It was passionless, like music heard from very far away.
Raft fumbled, found a couch, and dropped upon it. The eyes had a touch of green in them as they watched.
"Listen," Darum said.
At the king's feet a shadow stirred. Its soft curves were those of a woman, but from that vague figure a subtle breath of terror breathed out, chilling Raft. There was a sound, almost a voice. Woodwind and sighing strings—plaintive, questioning.
Again the king spoke.
"Yrann wonders. She wonders why you come to Paititi, Craddock. Music is her voice, for she will not speak. But she asks who are you? What is your world?"
The soft strings sang again. Sang a question.
Raft leaned forward, as though to break the spell. But the king's eyes held him.
"He is a god, Yrann. Craddock was in the beginning, and now he comes again, very near the end. Since his eyes first saw Paititi, a race has been born and draws close to the shadow. The shadow that the Flame casts over all living things."
The sighing oboe-flute spoke of a gathering darkness, of a cloud that stooped above the land,
"And yet there are other shadows," the king whispered. "There was a woman once, Yrann, whose loveliness burned like magic fires. Fires that could make men drunken. A fire that could make men mad, as I know. As I know."
Stealthy fear circled Raft's heart. Poignant, eerie, the music sang, and the dim gloom showed the half-seen, half-veiled curves of soft skin and rounded shoulders. At Darum's feet Yrann swept slim fingers across sobbing strings.
"And the fire burned," the king went on softly. "In all Paititi there was none so beautiful as this woman. When she danced, the tall trees inclined in homage. When she smiled, the stones bowed down."
A note of pride crept into the wordless song. The sundrenched spring of green forests came into the dark chamber; the sound of laughter, and flaunting bright cloaks, and clashing steel. The music pirouetted into a gay, lilting dance.
Heavily the king's voice broke in. The music sank to a whisper.
"There was a man who loved this woman. He took her for his own. And she laughed. Laughed—knowing power as well as beauty, growing drunken at the thought of ruling Paititi. Of ruling the man who was the king."
Proud, triumphant, the song rose. Ivory arms gleamed.
"And her eyes fell upon a man who was not a king. But she knew that in her arms, any man might be the emperor of the universe, and the equal of the gods. Nor was she wrong. If her embrace meant death, death would be sweet poison."
Tinkling, mocking laughter, and an undertone of sadness in the music now.
"She was faithless," the king said, his words falling heavily as stones into the still air. "Those lips were faithless. And the arms of Yrann sought another, and the white body of Yrann yearned too."
The song hushed almost to silence.
"Long ago. Very long ago. Now she is no longer faithless. Nor is the king sorrowful. Maidens dance before him. They ask his love, but he has none to give. His love is for Yrann, most beautiful of all womankind, and she—she loves him now."
Tender, obedient, the oboe murmured softly.
"But the king is mad," the quiet, cool voice said, and the music died into stillness. "There was a red hour long ago when the madness entered into him. That hour will not pass, Yrann, and love and madness dwell forever side by side."
For a long time, there was no sound but the faint vibration of the cataract making the castle tremble in its iron grip.
"We speak together, Yrann and I, of things forgotten and things that are not forgotten," the king said at last. "But music is her tongue now." His voice changed. "Yrann must not die, though Paititi does. I think that you hold a certain answer in your hand, Craddock, and whether I let you open your grip upon that great secret is something I cannot tell yet. We must talk first. There are many questions."
For the first time Raft spoke. He moistened his lips.
"One question has to be settled first," he said.
"And that is?"
"I'm not Craddock."
The eyes watched him. Raft plunged on.
"I tried to tell your soldier, Vann, but he didn't believe me. I don't know what story Parror had. It must have been a good one. For Craddock's in Parror's castle now, his captive. I came here to rescue Dan Craddock. and my name is Brian Raft."