Farther along, winding between the tents of refugees, the little band saw two men approaching. At Carl’s hurried command, they fell into formation and moved steadily forward. The strangers fled. They must have been out to do a little thieving, and had taken the escaping ones for the watch.
Now softly, softly, glide between walls up to the great stockade, hug its shadow and slip along, slip along…
Two ladders seemed to spring out of darkness. Tom and Ezzef stood by them with drawn swords. “There you are,” whispered the young guard. “All right, Carl. The rest have gone ahead. We go by twos, up the ladders, jump to the ground outside, and then the gods get us through the enemy camp. Meet at dawn by the swimming hole in old Rogga’s woods. After that, you’re the leader.”
Carl nodded and went softly up the rungs, holding his body close to the ladder. At the top he hesitated, glancing at the watchtowers looming against the sky. It was a cloudy, dark night, but even so the guards would be alert— Nothing to do but jump!
He sprang, relaxing his body and falling twenty feet with trained ease. He landed in one of the hedges clustered below the walls, feeling branches rake him, more concerned with the noise of his armor. But that wasn’t much. The crackling twigs were louder, and he lay stiff for a moment, waiting for a challenge.
No answer, no sound. The fortress stood black and massive above him, crouched into itself, waiting for an unknown doom. Owl joined him and the two pairs of eyes turned to the scattered red flicker of enemy fires, half a mile away.
“Let’s go,” said Carl at last.
He drew his mantle up to cover the sheen of helmet and breastplate, and loped cautiously toward the besieging camp, weaving from tree to bush to thicket, waiting tense at every sound that drifted from the foe. Discovery meant flashing swords and red death. They had forfeited the help of Dalestown. Truly, thought Carl, his was a friendless gang and every man’s hand was against it. Briefly, he wondered if the great pioneers who had built the lost civilization had been as lonely in their day.
Closer, closer. Carl lay prone behind a bush and looked slit-eyed at the ring he had to cross. Some twenty yards off on either side, a dying campfire cast its dull light on sleeping men, stacked weapons, an occasional tent; between was a lane of darkness. Two fires down, several Lann were still sitting up, drinking wine robbed from some Dale house; their bawling songs came vaguely upwind. A cow taken for butchering lowed in the night. Somewhere a horse whinnied.
“Let’s go,” hissed the boy again.
He wormed a slow way from behind the shrub, through the trampled grass, between the fires. Often he halted, heart a thunder, so that anyone who had chanced to see a movement would suppose it was wind rippling the grass. He was almost through the barrier when he heard the squeak of boots.
One of the Lann who had been drinking was going back to his own campfire to sleep. He staggered a little. Glancing up, Carl saw a dim red sheen of light on the grinning face. But he lurched away, and Carl’s breath whistled out between his clenched teeth.
So far, so good. Now came the hard part.
Chapter 16
DEFIANCE OF THE GODS
Four days later, in the middle of morning, Carl looked again on the City. It had been a hard trek on foot which he and his little band had made. They went across country, avoiding the roads which were still used by occasional marauding northerners, but even so they had often had to conceal themselves as a troop of Lann rode by. The countryside had been green and quiet for the most part; houses still stood and the burned, gutted shells Carl had expected were actually few. After all, the barbarians would not ruin too many of the homes they expected to occupy themselves. But Chief Raymon had his men out scouring the Dales to find livestock and stored grain to feed the besieging army.
Now and then Carl’s force encountered people of their own tribe. Some had even stayed in their houses, hoping for a miracle before the terrible plunderers should come to them. Most wandered gypsy-like, gleaning what food they could, hiding by day and traveling by night. Many, Carl learned, had retreated into the great forests, taking up a hunter’s existence. They were not panicky, but there was a look of misery about them, the look of the defeated and uprooted, which wrenched the boy’s heart.
His men had of necessity turned thieves themselves, stealing whatever grain or animals they had been able to find. But otherwise it would have gone to the Lann, and Carl promised himself to repay such of the owners as he could identify later. If he lived!
Now he stood with his men crowding behind him, looking past the wilderness of the outer City to the distantly gleaming towers.
Ezzef’s awed whisper came to his ears: “It’s—big, isn’t it?”
“And so still.” Sam the Strong had never quailed before danger he could see and fight, but now he clutched a rabbit’s foot tightly. “But it seems to be watching. Are you sure it’s safe, Carl?”
“It hasn’t killed me yet,” snapped the boy.
“What do we do now?” asked Nicky. It was a strange feeling, having these warriors, most of them some years older than the Chief’s son, turning to him for guidance—a strange and lonely feeling. Carl was glad that to Tom and Owl he was still only a friend.
“We’ll go straight to the witch-folk,” he decided. “Might as well have it out with them now. Come on— and be careful.”
They went down the streets in a tight square. The early sun blinked off their drawn weapons.
Walls closed in on either hand, high and silent. Some of the Dalesmen looked nervously about, feeling that a trap was closing on them.
“It’s nothing to fear,” said Carl. His voice came oddly flat in that immense quiet. “Just brick and stone and metal and broken glass. Even the machines in the vault are dead until a man uses them.”
On and on. The most ruinous sections fell behind. The buildings grew taller, lifting magnificently toward a smiling heaven. Now and then a faint noise would make men start, but it was only a rat or a gopher or a wheeling bird. Until—
The arrow whizzed from above and thunked quivering into Tom’s buUhide shield. Carl yelled an order, and the Dalesmen sprang into a tight-bunched knot of warriors, holding their shields in front of them, peering over the tops. Four witch-men leaned out of a gaping third-story window and shot. Somewhere else a horn screamed, and a drum began to thutter.
“Get away—on the double!” shouted Carl.
Arrows sleeted after them as the invaders trotted down the street. The rearward men ran backward, shields aloft to protect the band. Shafts thudded home, caught in the toughened leather, rattling off helmets, now and then grazing a leg or an arm. But these were not from the hundred-pound longbows of the Dales, whose missiles could drive through an iron corselet— the witches pulled a feeble bow, and before long Carl’s party was out of range.
Then they faced forward and swung down the resounding way, hot with anger. The old skyscrapers loomed near, and the frantic drums rolled loud. A woman ran screeching from the warriors’ path. A dog yelped on their heels.
They burst into the main section and were confronted by the men of the City. The witches had grabbed weapons and gathered in a harried force. Even now, others were racing from shops and homes and gardens to join their fellows. The Dalesmen reformed their square and looked boldly at the spears slanting toward them. They were outnumbered five or six to one, but they had armor and they were trained and the purpose within them was insuperable.