“Where is Ronwy?” said Carl, speaking to an old man in a splendid cloak who seemed to be the leader. “I want to speak to your Chief.”
“Ronwy is not our Chief,” answered the witch sullenly.
His followers stirred behind him, lips tightened by fear and hate.
It was like a knife stabbing Carl’s heart. “Ronwy is—dead?” he gasped.
“He has angered the gods. His witchcraft brought fire and thunder and the devils of Atmik to earth. He cannot be our Chief. We came back after the Lann were gone and imprisoned him.”
“Ronwy lives!” Relief left Carl feeling weak.
“I know you,” said the witch-leader. “You are the ill-omened one who first came here and brought all this woe on us. I forbid you the City. Go, before we kill all of you.”
Carl shook his head. “No,” he said. “We have come to free Ronwy and open the time vault. Stop us if you dare.”
“We are more than you,” blustered the witch-man. “Many, many more. You can kill some of us, perhaps, but in the end we’ll cut you down.”
“Go ahead, then!” Carl stepped slowly forward, sword raised, glaring from behind his shield. “Who’ll be the first to die?”
His followers pressed behind him, locking their shields together, a walking wall which bristled with sharp-edged metal. The disorderly ranks of the witch-men stirred, muttering and backing up before that grim advance.
“This is our home!” The old witch-chief’s voice was almost a sob. “You’ve no right—”
“We don’t mean to violate your homes,” said Carl. “We won’t enter anyone’s shop or dwelling. But the time vault is not yours. It belongs to all the world, and we claim it for the world.”
“Kill them!” screamed the leader.
Weapons clashed and rattled, but no one stepped from the milling crowd, Carl grinned savagely and went on walking toward his opponents.
“We’ll go to the Lann!” babbled the witch-chief. “We’ll get them to help us drive you out!”
“All right, boys,” said Carl. “Scatter them.”
The Dalesmen let out a spine-shivering yell and broke into a crashing, jingling trot. Swords and axes were aloft, pikes slanted forward, arrows fitted to tensed bowstrings. They were only twenty, but at sight of that band, the witches broke. They stumbled away, some running, some slinking and snarling, but none dared to stand and fight.
Carl’s hard-held breath whistled out in a great sigh of relief. He had not been too afraid of the City men— perhaps they could have slain all his band, perhaps not—but the thought of killing men who fought for their own homes had been painful. Praise all gods, the witches had been bluffed!
He led the way to the well-remembered prison. The dwellers streamed away on either side, yelling and chattering. By the time Carl reached the jail, there was no sign of them. Ronwy was straining against the bars. He reached through to take Carl’s hands, and tears ran down his faded cheeks. “Praise all powers,” he choked. “You’ve come, my son, you’ve come. Oh, praises be!”
“You haven’t been hurt, sir?” asked Carl anxiously.
“No, no. They treated me well enough—afraid of my magic, I suppose. What brings you here again, Carl? What has happened? Fugitives passing by said the Lann were at Dalestown, and my heart grew sick within me.”
Carl told the story as Sam and Ezzef broke open the door. When Ronwy emerged, he was trembling and leaned heavily on Tom’s arm. “Outlawed?” he moaned. “Outcast from all tribes? Oh, this is bad, this is cruel!”
“It doesn’t matter,” lied Carl wearily. He was shocked to see how Ronwy had aged in these few days. But then, the old man had seen all he had striven for in his long life apparently brought to ruin. New hope should mean new life for him. “Now, my teacher, we are free to do as we have dreamed.”
“I wonder. I wonder.” Ronwy stroked his beard with thin, shaking fingers. “This is a great and terrible thing you have taken on yourself, and I am not one of the old scientists. I am only one who has read, and imagined too much—become half a ghost myself in this ghostly place. We can try, yes, try our best—but time is short if we are to save the Dales, and I know so little…”
“We’ll do it!” Carl’s defiance rang out with a hopefulness he did not feel. “But come, let us rest you first, sir. They went to Ronwy’s home, closed and dusty since his imprisonment. The old man found wine and food, and Owl, who claimed to be a master cook, prepared a meal. That was cheering and strengthening to all, and they re-entered the street with higher hearts. A strange procession met them, loaded wagons rumbling down the streets, armed men walking, women and children wailing their fright and sorrow. “What is this?” cried Ronwy.
“What are you doing?”
His rival chief stopped and looked at him with hatred. “Your madness will bring the wrath of the gods down on the City,” he answered. “We are leaving while there is still time.”
“Leaving—but where will you go?”
“We will go to the Lann at Dalestown. If the gods do not smite you first, the Lann will avenge us.”
“There will be no harm done,” protested Ronwy.
“You were warned the last time. Thunder and lightning spoke, devils howled in the vault, and still your pride has not bent.” The other old witch-man shook his head. “Perhaps the gods will not strike you even now. Perhaps they are so angered they do not care what ruin you bring on the world. But the Lann will care. They will help us.”
“Hah!” muttered Owl. “The Lann are more scared of this place than you are.”
“I don’t know,” said Tom worriedly. “Lenard, at least, fears nothing, and he may be able to break taboo with some of his men.”
“Well, we can’t stop the witches from going,” answered Carl. “They are desperate enough to fight us and overwhelm us, or at least cut a way through to safety, if we try. We’ll just have to hope they don’t succeed with the Lann.”
He and his men stood by Ronwy’s door and watched the dwellers go past. Many cursed the invaders as they went by, and Ronwy bowed his head in grief.
“What have I done?” he whispered. “These are my people. What have I done to them?”
“Nothing, sir,” said Carl as reassuringly as he could. “It’s only their own ignorance driving them to this. And they’ll come to no harm. Even the Lann have no reason to injure them, especially when they come as allies.”
“But they curse me! They—hate me!”
“I’ve made myself an outcast from my own kind,” answered Carl with pain. “The way of the pioneer is lonely. But they’ll all bless us if we succeed. And if we don’t—why, then nothing matters, I suppose.”
“Yes—yes. You’re right.” Ronwy stared after the caravan until it was lost to sight.
“Come on,” said Ezzef impatiently. “Let’s see that vault.”
The little band made its way down hollow streets, past emptily gazing walls and ruined splendors. Tom shook his head. “It’ll take hundreds of years to build all this again,” he said.
“Yes,” answered Carl, “but we can make a beginning.”
They came to the time vault and stood for a long while looking at it. “And that’s the home of magic,” breathed Nicky. “It’s all in there—in that little place?”
“It will grow if we let it out,” said Carl. “Grow till it covers the world.”
Ezzef peered about with a soldier’s eye. “We’ll have to live right next to this, boys,” he told the men. “I daresay we can clean out one of those rooms across the street for shelter, and bring in supplies of food and water in case we’re attacked.”
“Do you expect the Lann to come, then?” asked Owl.
“I don’t know,” said Ezzef practically, “but I’m not going to take chances. While you would-be magicians are snooping about inside the vault, the rest of us have work to do. We’ll pile up rubble between the walls for a barricade.” He looked keenly at Ronwy. “Just what do you expect to be looking for, anyway? What kind of weapon?”