Dalan nodded.
"The years have changed me, Dalan. I have gone through Atlantis a
vagabond and worse. I put my birthright behind me and forgot it. And I'm
not the same man who went from Cyrena years ago," Elak said softly,
laughing a little bitterly, and looking over the jetty's edge at his
face reflected in the dark swell of the water, "Only a king may sit on
the dragon throne. For me--it would be a jest. And a sorry one."
"You fool!" the Druid whispered--and there was rage in the sibilant
sound. "Blind, mad fool! Do you think the Druids would offer Cyrena to
the wrong man? Blood of kings is in your veins, Elak. It is not yours to
deny. You must obey."
"Must?" The word was spoken lightly, yet Lycon felt a tenseness go
through him, tightening his muscles. "Must?" Elak asked.
"The decision is mine, Druid. By Mider! The throne of Cyrena means much
to me. Therefore I shall not sit in it!"
Dalan's toad face was gargoylish in the moonlight. He thrust his bald,
glistening head forward, and his thick, stubby fingers twisted.
"Now am I tempted to work magic on you, Elak," he said harshly. "I am
no--"
"I have given you my answer."
The Druid hesitated. His somber eyes dwelt on Elak. Then, without a
word, he turned and went lumbering off into the night. His footsteps
died.
Elak remained staring out at the harbor. His cheeks were gray, his mouth
a tortured white line. And he whirled, abruptly, and looked at the hills
of Poseidonia.
But he did not see them. His gaze went beyond them, far and far, probing
through all Atlantis to the kingdom of the north--Cyrena, and the dragon
throne.
_3. The Gates of Dream_
Churel and ghoul and Djinn and sprite
Shall bear us company tonight,
For we have reached the Oldest Land
Wherein the powers of Darkness range.
--Kipling.
Elak's sleep that night was broken by dreams--flashing, disordered
visions of many things. He stared up at the white moonlit ceiling of the
apartment. And--it was changed. The familiar room was gone. Light still
existed, but it was oddly changed--grayish and unreal. Unearthly planes
and angles slipped past Elak, and in his ears a low humming grew. This
changed to a high-pitched, droning whine, and died away at last.
The mad planes reassembled themselves. In his dream Elak saw a mighty
crag upthrust against cold stars--colossal against a background of
jagged mountain peaks. Snow dappled them, but the darkness of the crag
was unbroken. On its top was a tower, dwarfed by distance.
A flood seemed to lift Elak and bear him swiftly forward. In the base of
the crag, he saw, were great iron gates. And these parted and swung
aside, yawning for him as he moved through.
They shut silently behind him.
And now Elak became conscious of a Presence. It was stygian black; yet
in the tenebrous darkness there was a vague inchoate stirring, a sense
of motion that was unmistakable.
Without warning Elak saw--the Pallid One!
A white and shining figure flashed into view. How tall it was, how close
or distant, the man could not tell. Nor could he see more than the bare
outline. A crawling, leprous shimmer of cold light rippled over the
being; it seemed little more than a white shadow. But a
shadow--three-dimensional, alive!
The unearthly terror of Karkora, the Pallid One!
The being seemed to grow larger. Elak knew he was watched, coldly and
dispassionately. His senses were no longer dependable. It did not seem
as though he beheld Karkora with his eyes alone--he was no longer
conscious of his body.
He remembered Dalan, and Dalan's god. And he cried silently upon Mider
for aid.
The shuddering loathing that filled him did not pass, but the horror
that tore at his mind was no longer as strong. Again he cried to Mider,
forcing himself to concentrate on the Druid god.
Once more Elak called out to Mider. And, silently, eerily, a wall of
flame rose about him, shutting off the vision of Karkora. The warm,
flickering fires of Mider were a protective barrier--earthly, friendly.
They closed in--drew him back. They warmed the chill horror that froze
his mind. They changed to sunlight--and the sunlight was slanting in
through the window, beside which Elak lay on his low bed, awake and
shuddering with reaction.
"By the Nine Hells!" he cursed, leaping up swiftly. "By all the gods of
Atlantis! Where's my rapier?" He found it, and whirled it hissing
through the air. "How can a man battle dreams?"
He turned to Lycon, slumbering noisily nearby, and kicked the small man
into wakefulness.
"Hog-swill," said Lycon, rubbing his eyes. "Bring another cup, and
swiftly, or I'll--eh? What's wrong?"
* * * * *
Elak was dressing hastily. "What's wrong? Something I didn't expect. How
could I know from Dalan's words the sort of thing that's come to life in
Atlantis?" He spat in disgust. "That leprous foulness shall never take
the dragon throne!"
He slammed his rapier into its scabbard. "I'll find Dalan. I'll go back
with him. To Cyrena."
Elak was silent, but deep in his eyes was a black horror and loathing.
He had seen the Pallid One. And he knew that never in words could he
hope to express the burning foulness of alien Karkora.
But Dalan had vanished. It was impossible to find the Druid in teeming
Poseidonia. And at last Elak gave up hope and determined to take matters
into his own hands. A galley called _Kraken_ was leaving that day, he
learned, and would beat up the western coast. In fact, by the time Elak
had hired a boatman to take him and Lycon to the vessel, the galley's
oars were already dipping into the swells.
Elak's cockleshell gained its side, and he clambered over the gunwale,
hoisting Lycon after him. He tossed a coin to the boatman and saw the
man depart.
* * * * *
The sweating backs of slaves were moving rhythmically under the lash of
the overseers. One of these came forward at a run, his bronzed face
angry.
"Who are you?" he hailed. "What do you seek on the _Kraken_?"
"Take us to your captain," Elak said shortly. His hand touched the heavy
purse at his belt, and coins jingled. The overseer was impressed.
"We're putting to sea," he said. "What do you want?"
"Passage to Cyrena," Lycon snapped. "Be--"
"Bring them here, Rasul," a gruff voice broke in. "They are friends.
We'll give them passage to Cyrena--aye!"
And Drezzar, Elak's opponent in the tavern brawl, hastened along the
poop toward them, teeth gleaming in his bushy beard.
"Ho!" he yelled at a nearby group of armed seamen. "Seize those two!
Take them--alive!" "You dog," Drezzar said with cold rage. He stood
before Elak and lifted his hand as though to strike the captive.