The boy made no answer. Privately, he wondered if there was not something blind in this courage. To go down fighting—well, it left a brave memory, but if it gained nothing except the slaughter of many men, it seemed useless. The best leader was one who gained victory with as little bloodshed as could be. Yes, as little on both sides as possible.
In the afternoon, Ralph summoned his men, and they started the weary trek homeward. There would be little food under way, for the supply wagons were lost and the farms on the route could not help so many. The Chief had foragers ranging widely, who would bring in as much as they could, but even so it would be a cold and hungry march. He drove his followers unmercifully, forcing stiff bodies to a cruelly fast pace and taking curses without reply.
They had to get inside the walls as fast as could be managed, for, if the Lann fell on a host weakened with emptiness, it could be butchery.
Carl walked beside Tom and Owl as before. He had become very close to these brothers since they followed him to the City. The days had been so full that it seemed they had known each other for many years. Tom’s quiet thoughtfulness, Owl’s unfailing good humor—he needed them, and they in turn looked to him as a leader. It was good to have friends.
He spoke to them now, as the slow miles dragged by: “You know we haven’t much chance.
We can’t say so out loud, for everyone’s too downhearted already, but it’s true.”
“Well,” shrugged Owl, “it might be fun being a landless gypsy.”
“That’s not so!” flared Tom. “It’s right what the Chief said. Without the land, we are nothing.”
“Um-m-m—yes—can’t say I fancy sleeping in the open all my life, and working for someone else to earn bitter bread. But what can we do about this?”
Carl said softly: “We can return to the City.”
“What?” They stared at him, open-mouthed.
“Not so loud!” Carl glanced nervously about him. The nearest group of men was several yards off, and they trudged unnoticing ahead, faces blank with weariness. But the Doctors—you never knew when a Doctor might be somewhere, listening.
He went on, rapidly: “You know the powers of the ancients are locked in the time vault. You know Ronwy is our friend and will help us, and that he has some understanding of the old—science. If we can sneak away from this army tonight and make our way to the City, we can carry back the lightning to drive off our enemies!” Carl’s eyes burned with a feverish eagerness. “We can—learn.”
“Taboo!” whispered Tom. “The gods—”
“If the gods really cared about that taboo, they’d have knocked us over the first time we broke it. They’d never have let the witch-men live in the ruins.”
“But the witch-men have magic powers—” stuttered Owl.
“Bah!” Carl felt strength rising in him even as he spoke. “You saw those witches yourself.
You know they’re just frightened outcasts, trading on our fears. I—” He tumbled the words out before he should have time to be afraid. “I wonder if there are any gods at all —if they aren’t just another story.”
Tom and Owl shrank from him. But no lightning struck.
“Someone must have made the world,” said Tom at last, his voice trembling.
“Yes, yes. The great God that the time vault spoke of —that I could believe in. But the other gods—well, if they exist, they’re not very big or very smart. Why, in all the stories, they do things no child would care to do.” Carl dropped the subject. “That doesn’t matter now, though. It’s just that I’d rather listen to Ronwy, who’s spent his life among the ancient works, than to Donn, who’s never been inside the taboo circle. And Ronwy says there’s nothing to fear and much to gain.”
“But it’s Donn who’ll have you put to death,” said Owl.
Carl grinned. “When I come back with Atmik’s Power in my hand? I’d like to see him try!”
Tom shook his red head. “It’s a big thing you want to do. And we’re young yet.”
“This won’t wait till we grow up; meanwhile, there’s no one else to do the job. I tell you, boys, that vault has got to be opened, opened to the Dales—no, by Atmik, to all the world!” Carl’s voice dropped. “What have we to lose? Sure, it’s a slim chance, but you know that there’s no other chance at all. I’m going there. Do you want to come along?”
“If I had any sense,” said Owl, “I’d report this to your father, and he’d tie you up till this madness is past.”
Carl’s heart grew leaden.
“But since I’m not very sensible,” smiled Owl, “why, I’ll just have to tag along after you.”
“Good lad!” Carl slapped his back, and Owl winced.
Tom shook his head. “You’re crazy, both of you,” he said. Then, with sudden firmness: “But just so nobody can say I hung back from a dangerous mission, count me in.”
Yes—it was good to have friends!
The army marched on past sunset, through the long summer twilight and on under starlight and a thin sickle of moon. It was long after dark when Ralph called a halt.
Even then there was much to do. The men had to be disposed on the sides of a hill where they could make a stand in case of attack. Sentries had to be posted and scouts assigned to ride around the area. Foragers trickled in with whatever they had been able to beg or steal, and a cooking fire blazed low under a shielding rock. Here they had good fortune: on a near-by farm, deserted by its owners, two cows were found and led to the camp for butchering. Each man had only a taste, though many were so tired that they went directly to sleep without waiting for their ration.
Carl himself dozed off where he lay under a tree. When he awoke, it was near midnight and the Dalesmen slept around him. Wherever he looked, dark forms sprawled on the ground and a low muttering of sleep lifted to the glittering stars. The fire’s last coals were a dull-red eye against the massive darkness of the hill.
He got up, stretching stiff sinews. He was cold and wet and hungry. His wounds ached and his skin was sticky with sweat and dirt. But the rising excitement thudded in veins and nerves, driving out such awareness even while it sharpened his senses. Gently, he shook Tom and Owl awake where they lay beside him.
“We’ll have to swipe horses,” he breathed. “They’re hobbled over there. Easy now, ’ware the sentries.”
Slowly, patiently, the three crawled on their bellies toward the shadowy forms of animals.
They had to cross a guardsman’s beat. Carl lay in tall wet grass, hearing the sigh of wind and the distant creaking song of crickets. Looking upward, he saw the man go past, a dim sheen of metal against the Milky Way. Snake-like, he writhed over the line.
Metal chinked on stone. “Who goes there?” shouted the watcher.
The boys lay stiff, hardly breathing, trying to still even the clamor of their hearts.
After a moment, the warrior decided that it had been nothing and trudged on his way. Carl slid over to the nearest horse. He could hear it cropping grass, and it tried to move away as he approached.
“Steady,” he whispered. “So, so, boy, easy.” He rose beside the animal and stroked its neck. If only it wouldn’t whinny!
Gently he bridled it, using a length of rope to make a hackamore. This would have to be bareback too. But it wasn’t far to the City, perhaps a day and a half through woods. Once they got away, the boys would hardly be trailed; three missing horses at daybreak would be set down to thieves, and in the disordered mass of the army, it might well be evening before Carl himself and his followers were missed.