Mumble of witch-chant, rattle of earthernware. “Hoo-hoo-hoo! Rise, all Powers of night and death and horror, rise to me now!”
Ronwy handed Carl a copper tube. “Tamp some of the black powder into this. When it is full, find a stopper and close one end tightly.”
He stood making gestures, tall and gaunt and un-humanly stiff, a shudder of yellow light and moving darkness across his lined face, eyes burning. When Carl handed him the tube, he had a chance for another whisper: “I don’t know what they’ll do even if we succeed. I can only hope to frighten them from the City.” Loudly: “O almighty gods of earth and sky, fire and water, summer and white winter, be not angry with us. Loose not the devils which are your hounds against us.
Lenard’s voice came, not unshaken. “If it’s that dangerous, maybe we’d better forget it.”
“I can’t stop now,” said Ronwy tightly. “The Powers are already raised, now we must chain them. I hope we can! Yah-wee-nay-hah-no-nee!”
Bulak and Toom cowered behind Kuthay, who held the House of Jenzik aloft in trembling hands.
Ronwy took a length of coarse twine, put it in the open end of the powder tube, and sealed that end with tight-packed clay. He had his own materials and crude apparatus in the vault, which he had used for many years in trying to fathom the secrets here. “Gods of the great world, be not angry!”
“When is it ready?” Lenard’s voice was becoming the snarl of a frightened dog.
“Soon, soon. Then or never.” Ronwy placed the open bowls on the floor and laid the tube beside them. He took a candle in one hand.
“Now,” he said solemnly, his tones echoing as if a ghost spoke with him from the moving shadows, “comes the release of that which we have raised. There will be fire and a stench of devils—bear yourselves bravely, for the devils are like hounds and fly at the throat of anyone who is afraid.”
That, thought Carl, was a masterly touch. For how could the Lann help being frightened in their hearts? He himself was cold with sweat, and his heartbeat was loud in his ears.
“Atmik, arise!” Ronwy plunged the candle into the first bowl.
A flame sheeted up, hissing, throwing a terrible death-blue glare on walls and faces and the crouching secret machines. A warrior cried out. Ronwy shook his head so that the long white beard flew wildly.
“Don’t be afraid!” he shouted. “It is death to be afraid!”
He lit the next bowl, and the flame was a hard brassy yellow. A choking, stinging smoke of fumes roiled through the vault.
“I smell fear!” screamed Ronwy, and the echoes rolled back, “Fear, fear, fear—” He lit the third bowl, and the fire was red.
“Blood, blood!” Ronwy’s voice trembled. “The sign of death. Someone here is going to die.”
“I go!” Toom whirled and rushed up the stairs. Len-ard roared at him. The flames rushed higher. Ronwy lit the last bowl, and it burned green.
“The green of mold and death,” he wailed. “The green of grass on the graves of men. Atmik, Atmik, go back! All gods help us!”
He touched the candle to the twine fuse of the copper tube.
“Let the torch of the gods be lit to aid us,” he quavered.
A dim red spark glowed, eating inward.
“The torch will not light—the gods have turned their faces from us—now flee for your lives!”
Ronwy stumbled toward the door. Bulak howled and followed Toom up the stairs. Kuthay came after, then Tom and Owl, as frightened as their captors. The flames sheeted in the vault—blue and yellow and red and green, hard terrible light of wrath—and pain stabbed in lungs as the fumes swirled through the chamber.
Lenard spread his legs and raised his sword. “I’m staying!” he cried, and even then Carl had to admire his courage.
“Stay, then—and die!” Ronwy brushed past him, Carl on his heels. A moment later Lenard came. He had dropped his sword, and the breath sobbed in his throat.
A bang came thundering to earth, a spurting fire and the crash of echoes, as the tube blew up.
A hot metal splinter whizzed savagely from the doorway.
Lann horses plunged in terror. “We’re getting out of here!” screamed a man.
“No! Wait!” Lenard grasped at bridles, shouting, cursing. “See, the fires are dying down there. It is over!”
“Death, death!” wailed Ronwy eerily. “The glowing death is on us.”
Bulak hefted his ax and glared at Lenard. “We’re going,” he snapped. “There are ghosts and devils loose here.”
“No!” bellowed the prince.
“Yes!” Old Kuthay stood forth, shaking in his red robes, his face gray and sweating. “Even Jenzik could not halt the powers of the Doom. It will take our greatest magic and many sacrifices to lift the curse that is on us now, and the gods—our gods, too—won’t stand for more meddling.” He lifted the iron box. “In the name of Jenzik the High, I declare this place, vault and City and accursed witch-folk, taboo. Taboo forever! And may death be swift for him who breaks the law.”
Lenard stood like a bear at bay, snarling into the faces of his men. “Cowards!” he yelled. “Oh, crawling cowards and traitors!”
“We’re going,” grunted Toom. “We’ll follow you anywhere else, but if you want to lead us, you’ll come along now.”
“Well—well—” Lenard fought for self-control. Slowly, an iron smile twisted his lips. “Well, all right. We can take the Dales without need of magic.”
He mounted his horse and gestured to the prisoners. “Come along,” he snapped. “You can still be useful, dead if not alive.”
“Not the old one.” Kuthay pointed to Ronwy. “He is full of the Doom. There is no luck in him.”
“Leave him, then. Take the boys along, at least, and let’s get out of here.”
Ronwy stood for a long time, staring after the Lann and their prisoners. Then he sighed and turned back to the vault. When he came in, he went anxiously about to see if the explosion had done any harm. Finally he stopped before the bronze plaque, and his thin fingers touched it.
“You saved us,” he whispered, and there were tears glimmering in his eyes. “You saved us. But at what cost?”
Chapter 12
“RIDE TO DALESTOWN!”
’The three boys, lent extra horses which the troop had taken along, rode untied, but they were carefully watched by their captors. It was a swift, trotting journey until they were well away from the City; then the pace slowed and the men began to breathe more easily.
Carl looked about him at the great sweep of hill and forest and high blue heaven. A sigh went out of him.
They had won—well, a small victory. The time vault had been saved from the barbarians. But they were still prisoners and the Lann were still unbeaten. His head lifted. So were the Dalesmen, he thought defiantly. And by all the gods, so was he himself! The thundercloud of anger that was half fear died in Lenard’s face. Presently he was smiling, and when Kuthay began to mutter about bad luck that would pursue them, he laughed aloud and slapped the old Doctor on the back.
“Why, if the powers in the vault were so mighty and wrathful as you say, the fact that we all escaped unhurt proves that we are the luckiest men alive,” he said, and fell to joking with his men until they too grinned and relaxed.
“After all,” said Lenard, “the magic would have been helpful, but it’s not as if we really needed it. The good swords of Lann are enough.”
He rode forward again until he was at Carl’s side. “You needn’t fear for your lives right away if you behave yourselves,” he told the boys. “We’re going to rejoin our main army—it’s sweeping around the western borders now, and will soon be at Dalestown if it isn’t there already. My father and I will keep you for hostages, as you tried to keep me. I daresay that will weaken your father’s will to fight, Carl, and so save many lives on both sides.”