Vann's deep voice answered heavily.
"I served you, Darum, but I serve Paititi first. Yrann was not worth any man's love."
"She was so beautiful," the king whispered. "She could not bear to die—with Paititi—without slaying me. She hated me always. And—and—" He tried to choke back blood.
He lifted himself on suddenly strong arms and dragged himself forward a few feet. He ran gentle fingers down the dead woman's arm. Her harp lay where it had fallen, almost beneath her fingers. He touched the strings, and their sad music hung forlornly in the quiet air.
"I would have crushed Paititi," Darum said. "I would have—crushed the world—for her. Rather than have her harmed. She was so beautiful."
The king's head fell upon the soft body of Yrann. The tiger eyes closed. One hand sought for and found Yrann's.
His blood mingled with hers.
The red stream flowed slower and slower —
And flowed no more.
Vann stood motionless, his heavy shoulders sagging.
"Go now, while there's time," he said. "I did this to save Paititi, and now I find myself wondering whether I have struck steel into the wrong throat."
"Vann," Janissa said.
"Take them away, Janissa. Take these men from another world out of the king's presence. Let them stop Parror if they can."
"Parror?" Craddock whispered. He touched Raft's arm. "We'll have to move fast."
"Yes," Raft said tonelessly.
He turned and led the way out of the chamber. His face was gray, and sweat stood out in fine droplets on his cheeks.
Once outside, he did not mention the king.
"We'll need the machine," he said. "It's a portable, so we can manage the weight. But I'll want some straps."
They found silken scarves that would do as well, and the machine was adjusted on Raft's back. The light alloys made its weight less than its bulk would have indicated. That would help, since fast travel would be necessary if they hoped to forestall Parror.
Silently they left the castle, darkened now for the sleep-period. Outside the cool, clear daylight of Paititi was dazzling.
"We should have remembered weapons," Craddock said.
"It's too late now," Raft told him. "Janissa, you'll guide. Do you know the secret way to the Flame?"
"I think I can find it, yes. The thought in Parror's mind was clear enough. But it is a long way."
Yet it was shorter than they expected. They did not head for Parror's castle. They angled off toward the base of the rock barrier that guarded Paititi. Four hours of fast travel brought them to it. There, however, time was lost as Janissa searched for the secret entrance.
"There are ruins here," she said. "Ruins of the Old Race. There should be a double column. Parror was thinking of it when I read his mind."
Silently Raft pointed. With a little cry Janissa ran to the spot he indicated. She felt the smooth surface of the rock-face, searching for a key.
Silently, smoothly, an oval opened in the bare stone.
Raft turned to stare back the way they had come.
"No sign of Parror," he said. "He may be ahead of us. Or he may not. We'll soon know." He followed Janissa and Craddock into the opening. Behind him the hidden door closed.
But they were not in darkness. A pale, cool glow came from the walls and roof and the smooth floor on which they stood. The tunnel wound upward at a steep slant, and the silence made Raft feel the blood beating in his ears.
"Come on," he said, shouldering the machine.
It was not long, that passage in the cliff. It made a shortcut through the rock to the cavern of the Flame. But, before them there was another cavern.
Ah oval door barred their path. Janissa opened it easily, bur she did not pass through the portal. Raft saw her slender figure poise, hesitate, and shrink back. He brushed past Craddock.
"What is it?" he asked.
Janissa did not answer.
"The First Race," Craddock said, in a breathless voice. "The First Race."
It was the cavern Raft had seen when he had first entered Paititi. Leprous violet light bathed the dripping stalactites and crept over the thrusting stalagmites that made an upthrust forest. High overhead, slanting down at a dizzying angle, was the gravity-defying, nearly transparent tube of the unseen road, made visible now only because of the hordes of creatures that crawled upon it, as though striving to break through the glassy barrier.
The monsters!
Raft had seen them before, but only dimly. Now he felt his throat go dry and close with loathing.
Bat-winged and beast-snouted, degenerate and horrible, the things swarmed in the violet light there in the great cave. They were the descendants of what had once been the First Race, the mighty civilization that had reared the proud castles of Paititi.
And fallen now—fallen into the primal pit of horror.
The baleful radiations that had once raged through Paititi when the Flame waned long ago and had changed them to demons. Few were alike. Some had immense bat-wings, while others flopped and dragged their fat, shining bulks among the stalagmites. And some were dwarfed. Some were giants. Some had the clawed feet of giant birds.
Straight as a lance across that arena of terror ran the path they had been following, a faint white glow that ended at the farther wall, before an oval panel that was obviously a door.
"Through—there?" Craddock said.
Raft looked at Janissa. She was white-faced, but she caught her breath and stepped out of the tunnel's protection, into the violet light of the cavern.
"We'll run for it," Raft said. "If we can reach that other door, we'll be all right."
They ran, panic spurring their heels. The sight of the nightmare horde flapping and crawling and leaping all about them was horrible. And the thought of those black talons actually touching them—it was not a good thought.
A stir went through the monsters, a ripple of interest. As Raft ran, he saw from the corners of his eyes that shapes were converging upon them. But the three were more than halfway across the cavern now, and there was more than an even chance mat they could reach their goal before the monsters rallied to investigate.
Raft reckoned without the winged beings. Something struck him heavily from behind, sending him to his knees. He struggled to regain his feet. Janissa, glancing back, saw what had happened, and with a little cry, ran back to help him.
A nightmare shape, scaled and horned like a medieval demon, sprang at her—caught her in its grip.
Cursing, Raft plunged forward, heedless of the creature on his back. His fist smashed out into the face of the monster. It was driven back, screaming in a thin, high-pitched wail of agony.
That was the signal. From all around the devils of Paititi swooped and lumbered and dragged themselves toward the intruders. Raft went down under the weight of foul-smelling bodies. He was blind with nausea and hatred and revulsion. His fists hammered a pulpy flesh, and the shrieking grew to a shrill crescendo.
That sickening odor almost choked him. The touch of the monsters against his skin was loathsome. They felt like fungoid things, like dead creatures raised to a ghastly similitude of life. And the faces were ghoulish demons.
Craddock came back to use as a spear a fallen stalactite he had picked up. Raft was relieved of his burden for a moment. He staggered up, looking for Janissa.
He saw her, in the midst of a group of monsters.
He had enough reasoning power left to find another fallen spike of stone before going to her rescue. The creatures, interbred and degenerate, were physically weak, but they had the advantage of numbers, and Raft realized that the sheer weight of those deformed bodies could press him down and smother him. His lips lifted in a snarl, he charged forward, stabbing with his improvised spear.
He felt flesh tear. He heard the squealing redouble in volume. The monsters came at him like a wave. They had the feeble malevolence of rats. As he went down on his back he tried desperately to turn, to shield the precious burden he carried—and failed.