"Go north to Cyrena. Find Dalan, or, failing that, gather an army.
Cyrena must be ready when Kiriath marches. Tell Dalan, if you find him,
what I have done, and that I will be with him in one moon. Then let the
Druid guide your steps. And--Ishtar guide you, Lycon."
Softly came the far voice: "And Mother Ishtar be your shield. I'll obey.
Farewell."
Green darkness drifted across Elak's vision.
Dimly, through closing eyes, he vaguely saw the curtain before him swept
aside, and a dark silhouette moving forward--a shape slim and tall
beyond human stature, yet delicately feminine withal. Mayana made a
summoning gesture--and the shadows flowed into the temple.
They swept down upon Elak, bringing him darkness and cool, soothing
quiet. He rested and slept, and the enchanted strength of the sea-woman
poured into the citadel of his soul.
_8. The Dragon's Throne_
Dust of the stars was under our feet, glitter of stars above--
Wrecks of our wrath dropped reeling down as we fought and we spurned
and we strove.
Worlds upon worlds we tossed aside, and scattered them to and fro,
The night that we stormed Valhalla, a million years ago!
--Kipling.
The moon waxed and waned, and at last Elak awoke, on the further shore,
by the cavern mouth that led to the upper world. The underground mere
lay silent at his feet, still bathed in the soft green glow. In the
distance the islet was, and he could make out the white outline of the
temple upon it. The temple where he had slept for a month. But there was
no sign of life. No shadows stirred in the depths beneath him. Yet
within himself he sensed a secret well of power that had not been there
before.
Pondering, he retraced his steps through the winding passage, across the
rock bridge to the high ramp of the plateau. The plain was deserted. The
sun was westering, and a cold wind blew bleakly from the sea.
Elak shrugged. His gaze turned north, and his hand touched the
rapier-hilt.
"First, a horse," he grunted. "And then--Sepher! A blade for the king's
throat!"
So within two hours a mercenary soldier lay dead, his blood staining a
leathern tunic, and Elak galloped north on a stolen steed. Hard and fast
he rode, through Kiriath, and whispers were borne to his ears on the
gusting winds. Sepher was no longer in his city, they said. At the head
of a vast army he was sweeping north to the Gateway, the mountain pass
that led to Cyrena. From the very borders of Kiriath warriors were
coming in answer to the king's summons; mercenaries and adventurers
flooded in to serve under Sepher. He paid well and promised rich
plunder--the sack of Cyrena.
A trail of blood marked Elak's path. Two horses he rode to death. But at
last the Gateway lay behind him; he had thundered through Sharn Forest
and forded Monra River. Against the horizon towered a battlemented
castle, and this was Elak's goal. Here Orander had ruled. Here was the
dragon throne, the heart of Cyrena.
Elak rode across the drawbridge and into the courtyard. He cast his
mount's reins to a gaping servitor, leaped from the horse, and raced
across the yard. He knew each step of the way. In this castle he had
been born.
And now the throne room, vast, high-ceilinged, warm with afternoon
sunlight. Men were gathered there. Princes and lords of Cyrena. Barons,
dukes, minor chieftains. By the throne--Dalan. And beside him, Lycon,
round face set in unaccustomed harsh lines, for once sober and steady on
his feet.
"By Mider!" Lycon roared. "Elak! _Elak!_"
The Atlantean pushed his way through the murmuring, undecided crowd. He
came to stand beside the throne. His hand gripped Lycon's shoulder and
squeezed painfully. The little man grinned.
"Ishtar be praised," Lycon murmured. "Now I can get drunk again."
Dalan said, "I watched you in the crystal, Elak. But I could not aid.
The magic of the Pallid One battled my own. Yet I think you have other
magic now--sea-sorcery." He turned to the mob. His lifted arms quieted
them.
"This is your king," Dalan said.
Voices were raised, some in approbation, some in angry protest and
objection. A tall, lean oldster shouted, "Aye--this is Zeulas, returned
once more. This is Orander's brother."
"Be silent, Hira," another snapped. "This scarecrow Cyrena's king?"
Elak flushed and took a half-step forward. Dalan's voice halted him.
"You disbelieve, Gorlias?" he asked. "Well--d'you know of a worthier
man? Will you sit on the dragon throne?"
Gorlias looked at the Druid with an oddly frightened air; he fell silent
and turned away. The others broke into a renewed chorus of quarreling.
Hira silenced them. His lean face was triumphant. "There's one sure
test. Let him take it."
He turned to Elak. "The lords of Cyrena have fought like a pack of
snarling dogs since Orander's death. Each wanted the throne. Baron Kond
yelled louder than the rest. Dalan offered him the dragon throne, in the
name of Mider, if he could hold it."
* * * * *
From the others a low whisper went up--uneasy, fearful. Hira continued:
"Kond mounted the dais a month ago and sat on the throne. And he died!
The fires of Mider slew him."
"Aye," Gorlias whispered. "Let this Elak sit upon the throne!"
A chorus of assent rose. Lycon looked worried.
He murmured, "It's true, Elak. I saw it. Red fire came out of nowhere
and burned Kond to a cinder."
Dalan was silent, his ugly face impassive. Elak, watching the Druid,
could not read a message in the shallow black eyes.
Gorlias said, "If you can sit on the throne, I'll follow you. If
not--you'll be dead. Well?"
Elak did not speak. He turned and mounted the dais. For a moment he
paused before the great throne of Cyrena, his gaze dwelling on the
golden dragon that writhed across its back, the golden dragons on the
arms. For ages the kings of Cyrena had ruled from this seat, ruled with
honor and chivalry under the dragon. And now Elak remembered how, in
Poseidonia, he had felt himself unworthy to mount the throne.
Would the fires of Mider slay him if he took his dead brother's place?
Silently Elak prayed to his god. "If I'm unworthy," he told Mider, with
no thought of irreverence, but as one warrior to another, "then slay me,
rather than let the throne be dishonored. Yours is the judgment."
He took his place on the dragon throne.
Silence fell like a pall on the great room. The faces of the crowd were
intent and strained. Lycon's breath came fast. The Druid's hands, hidden
under the brown robe, made a quick, furtive gesture; his lips moved
without sound.
* * * * *
Red light flashed out above the throne. Through the room a cry rose and
mounted, wordless, fearful. The fires of Mider flamed up in glaring
brilliance and cloaked Elak!
[Illustration: "Through the room a cry rose and mounted, wordless,
fearful."]
They hid him in a twisting crimson pall. They swirled about him, blazing
with hot radiance.
They swept into a strange, fantastic shape--a coiling silhouette that
grew steadily more distinct.
A dragon of flame coiled itself about Elak!
And suddenly it was gone. Lycon was gasping oaths. The others were
milling about in a confused mob. Dalan stood motionless, smiling
slightly.
And on the dragon throne Elak sat unharmed! No breath of fire had
scorched or blistered him; no heat had reddened his skin. His eyes were
blazing; he sprang up and unsheathed his rapier. Silently he lifted it.
There was a clash of ringing blades. A forest of bright steel lifted. A
great shout bellowed out.
The lords of Cyrena swore allegiance to their king!
Now, however, Elak found that his task had scarcely begun. The armies of
Sepher were not yet in Cyrena; the king of Kiriath was waiting beyond
the mountain barrier till he had gathered his full strength. But he
would march soon, and Cyrena must by then be organized to resist him.
"Karkora didn't invade Kiriath," Elak said to Dalan one day as they rode
through Sharn Forest. "He invaded the mind of the king instead. Why does
he depend on armies to conquer Cyrena?"
Dalan's shapeless brown robe flapped against his horse's flanks. "Have
you forgotten Orander? He tried there, and failed. Then there was no
single ruler here. If he'd stolen the mind of Kond or Gorlias he'd still
have had the other nobles against him. And conquer Cyrena he must, for
it's the stronghold of Mider and the Druids. Karkora knows he must
destroy us before he can rule this world and others, as he intends. So
he uses Sepher and Kiriath's army. Already he's given orders to
slaughter each Druid."
"What of Aynger?" Elak demanded.
"A message came from him today. He has gathered his Amenalks in the
mountains beyond the Gateway. They wait for our word. Barbarians,
Elak--but good allies. They fight like mad wolves."
Cyrena rose to arms. From steading and farm, castle and citadel, city
and fortress, the iron men came streaming. The roads glittered with
bright steel and rang to the clash of horses' hoofs. The dragon banners
fluttered in the chill winds of winter.
Rise and arm! In the name of Mider and the Dragon, draw your blade! So
the messengers called; so the word went forth. Rise against Kiriath and
Sepher!
The defending swords of Cyrena flashed bright. They thirsted for blood.
And Sepher of Kiriath rode north against the Dragon.
_9. The Hammer of Aynger_
And a strange music went with him,
Loud and yet strangely far;
The wild pipes of the western land,
Too keen for the ear to understand,
Sang high and deathly on each hand
When the dead man went to war.
--Chesterton.
The first snows of winter lay white on the Gateway. All around towered
the tall, frosted peaks of the mountain barrier, and a bitter wind
gusted strongly through the pass. Within a month deep snow and
avalanches would make the Gateway almost impassable.
The sky was cloudless, of chill pale blue. In the thin air everything
stood out in startling clarity; voices carried far, as did the crunching
of snow underfoot and the crackle of rocks deep-bitten by the iron cold.
The pass was seven miles long, and narrow in only a few spots. For the
most part it was a broad valley bounded by the craggy cliffs. Canyons
opened into it.
Dawn had flamed and spread in the east. The sun hung above a snow-capped
peak. South of a narrow portion of the Gateway part of Cyrena's army
waited. Behind them were reinforcements. Upon the crags were archers and
arbalesters, waiting to rain death upon the invaders. Steel-silver moved
against a background of white snow and black grim rocks.
Elak was astride a war-horse upon a small hillock. Hira rode up, gaunt
old face keenly alert, joy of battle in the faded eyes. He saluted
swiftly.
"The bowmen are placed and ready," he said. "We've got rocks and
boulders into position to crush Sepher's army, should it get too far."
Elak nodded. He wore chain-armor, gold encrusted, with a close-fitting
helm of gleaming steel. His wolf face was taut with excitement, and he
curbed the steed as it curvetted.
"Good, Hira. You are in command there. I trust your judgment."
As Hira departed Dalan and Lycon arrived, the latter flushed and
unsteady in his saddle. He gripped a drinking-horn and swilled mead from
it occasionally. His long sword slapped the horse's flank.
"The minstrels will make a song of this battle," he observed. "Even the
gods will eye it with some interest."
"Don't blaspheme," Dalan said, and turned to Elak. "I've a message from
Aynger. His savage Amenalks wait in that side canyon--" The Druid flung
out a pointing hand--"and will come when we need them."
"Aye," Lycon broke in, "I saw them. Madmen and demons! They've painted
themselves blue as the sky and are armed with scythes and flails and
hammers, among other things. And they're playing tunes on their pipes
and bragging, each louder than the other. Only Aynger sits silent,
fondling his Helm-Breaker. He looks like an image chipped out of gray
stone."
At the memory Lycon shivered and then gulped the rest of the mead.
"Faith," he said sadly, "the horn's empty. Well, I must get more." And
off he went, reeling in the saddle.
"Drunken little dog," Elak remarked. "But his hand will be steady enough
on the sword."
Far away a trumpet shouted shrilly, resounding among the peaks. Now the
foreguard of Sepher's army was visible as a glitter of steel on casques
and lifted spearheads. Along the pass they came, steadily, inexorably,
in close battle formation. The trumpet sang and skirled.
In response drums of Cyrena snarled answer. They rose to a throbbing,
menacing roar. Cymbals clashed resoundingly. The banners of the dragon
flung out stiffly in the cold blast.
Kiriath rode without a standard. In silence, save for the clashing of
metallic hoofs and the angry screaming of the trumpet, they came, a vast
array that flooded into the valley. Pikeman, archers, knights,
mercenaries--on they came, intent on conquest and plunder. Elak could
not see Sepher, though his gaze searched for the king.
And slowly the invaders increased their speed, almost imperceptibly at
first, and then more swiftly till through the Gateway Kiriath charged
and thundered, lances lowered, swords flashing. The trumpet shouted
urgent menace.
Dalan's gross body moved uneasily in his saddle. He unsheathed his long
blade.
Elak looked around. Behind him the army waited. Everything was ready.
The king of Cyrena rose in his stirrups. He lifted his rapier and
gestured with it. He shouted:
"_Charge! Ho--the Dragon!_"
* * * * *
With a roar Cyrena swept forward down the pass. Closer and closer the
two vast forces came. The drums roared death. From the icy peaks the
clamor resounded thunderously.
A cloud of arrows flew. Men fell, screaming. Then, with a crash that
seemed to shake the mountainous walls of the Gateway, the armies met.
It was like a thunderclap. All sanity and coherence vanished in a
maelstrom of red and silver-steel, a whirlpool, an avalanche of
thrusting spears, speeding arrows, slashing blades. Elak was instantly
surrounded by foes. His rapier flew swift as a striking snake; blood
stained its length. His horse shrieked and fell hamstrung to the ground.
Elak leaped free and saw Lycon charging to the rescue. The little man
was wielding a sword almost as long as himself, but his pudgy fingers
handled it with surprising ease. He lopped off one man's head, ruined
another's face with a well-placed kick of his steel-shod foot, and then
Elak had leaped astride a riderless steed.
Again he plunged into the fray. The brown bald head of Dalan was rising
and falling some distance away; the Druid roared like a beast as his
sword whirled and flew and bit deep. Blood soaked the brown robe.
Dalan's horse seemed like a creature possessed; it screamed shrilly,
blowing through red, inflamed nostrils, snapped viciously and reared and
struck with knife-edged hoofs. Druid and charger raged like a burning
pestilence amid the battle; sweat and blood mingled on Dalan's toad
face.
Elak caught sight of Sepher. The ruler of Kiriath bronzed, bearded giant
towered above his men, fighting in deadly silence. Smiling wolfishly,
Elak drove toward the king.
From the distance came the thin high wailing of pipes. Out of the side
canyon men came pouring--barbarous men, half naked, their lean bodies
smeared blue with woad. The men of Aynger! At their head ran Aynger
himself, his gray beard flying, brandishing the hammer Helm-Breaker. The
gray giant leaped upon a rock, gesturing toward the forces of Kiriath.
"Slay the oppressors!" he bellowed. "Slay! Slay!"
The weird pipes of the Amenalks shrilled their answer. The blue-painted
men swept forward--
From the ranks of Sepher an arrow flew. It sped toward Aynger. It
pierced his bare throat and drove deep--deep!
The Amenalk leader bellowed; his huge body arced like a bow. Blood
spouted from his mouth.
A battalion charged out from the ranks of Kiriath. They sped toward the
Amenalks, lances lowered, pennons flying.
Aynger fell! Dead, he toppled from the rock into the lifted arms of his
men. The pipes skirled. The Amenalks, bearing their leader, turned and
fled back into the valley!
Cursing, Elak dodged a shrewd thrust, killed his assailant, and spurred
toward Sepher. The hilt of his rapier was slippery with blood. His body,
under the chain armor, was a mass of agonizing bruises; blood gushed
from more than one wound. His breath rasped in his throat. The stench of
sweat and gore choked him; he drove over ground carpeted with the
writhing bodies of men and horses.
Down the valley Dalan fought and bellowed his rage. The battle-thunder
crashed on the towering crags and sent deafening echoes through the
Gateway.
Still the trumpets of Kiriath called; still the drums and cymbals of
Cyrena shouted their defiance.
And still Sepher slew, coldly, remorselessly, his bronzed face
expressionless.
Kiriath gathered itself and charged. The forces of Cyrena were forced
back, fighting desperately each step of the way. Back to the narrowing
of the pass they were driven.
High above the archers loosed death on Kiriath.
With ever-increasing speed Sepher's army thrust forward. A gust of panic
touched the ranks of Cyrena. A dragon banner was captured and slashed
into flying shreds by keen blades.
Vainly Elak strove to rally his men. Vainly the Druid bellowed threats.
The retreat became a rout. Into the narrow defile the army fled, jammed
into a struggling, fighting mob. An orderly retreat might have saved the
day, for Kiriath could have been trapped in the narrow pass and crippled
by boulders thrust down by the men stationed above. As it was, Cyrena
was helpless, waiting to be slaughtered.
Kiriath charged.
* * * * *
Quite suddenly Elak heard a voice. In through the mountains. Above the
call of trumpets came the thin wailing of pipes. Louder it grew, and
louder.
From the side canyon the blue barbarians of Amenalk rushed in disorderly
array. In their van a group ran together with lifted shields. Upon the
shields was the body of Aynger!
Weirdly, eerily, the ear-piercing skirling of the pipes of Amenalk
shrilled out. The woad-painted savages, mad with blood-frenzy, raced
after the corpse of their ruler.
Dead Aynger led his men to war!
The Amenalks fell on the rear of the invaders. Flails and scythes and
blades swung and glittered, and were lifted dripping red. A giant sprang
upon the shield-platform, astride the body of Aynger. In his hand he
brandished a war-hammer.
"Helm-Breaker!" he shouted. "He--Helm-Breaker!"
He leaped down; the great hammer rose and fell and slaughtered. Casques
and helms shattered under the smashing blows; the Amenalk wielded
Helm-Breaker in a circle of scarlet death about him.
"_Helm-Breaker! Ho--slay! Slay!_"
Kiriath swayed in confusion under the onslaught. In that breathing-space
Elak and Dalan rallied their army. Cursing, yelling, brandishing steel,
they whipped order out of chaos. Elak snatched a dragon banner from the
dust, lifted it high.
He turned his horse's head down the valley. One hand lifting the
standard, one gripping his bared rapier, he drove his spurs deep.
"_Ho, the Dragon!_" he shouted. "_Cyrena! Cyrena!_"
Down upon Kiriath he thundered. Behind him rode Lycon and the Druid.
And after them the remnants of an army poured. Hira led his archers
from the cliffs. The arbalasters came bounding like mountain goats,
snatching up swords and spears, pouring afoot after their king.
"_Cyrena!_"
The drums and cymbals roared out again. Through the tumult pierced the
thin, weird calling of the pipes.
"_Helm-Breaker! Slay! Slay!_"
And then madness--a hell of shouting, scarlet battle through which Elak
charged, Dalan and Lycon beside him, riding straight for the bushy beard
that marked Sepher. On and on, over screaming horses and dying men,
through a whirlpool of flashing, thirsty steel, thrusting, stabbing,
hacking--
The face of Sepher rose up before Elak.
The bronzed face of Kiriath's king was impassive; in his cold eyes dwelt
something inhuman. Involuntarily an icy shudder racked Elak. As he
paused momentarily the brand of Sepher whirled up and fell shattering in
a great blow.
Elak did not try to escape. He poised his rapier, flung himself forward
in his stirrups, sent the sharp blade thrusting out.
The enchanted steel plunged into Sepher's throat. Simultaneously Elak
felt his back go numb under the sword-cut; his armor tore raggedly. The
blade dug deep into the body of the war-horse.
The light went out of Sepher's eyes. He remained for a heart-beat
upright in his saddle. Then his face changed.
It darkened with swift corruption. It blackened and rotted before Elak's
eyes. Death, so long held at bay, sprang like a crouching beast.
A foul and loathsome thing fell forward and rumbled from the saddle. It
dropped to the bloody ground and lay motionless. Black ichor oozed out
from the chinks of the armor; the face that stared up blindly at the
sky was a frightful thing.
And without warning darkness and utter silence dropped down and shrouded
Elak.
_10. The Black Vision_
And the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and
brimstone, where are also the beast and the false prophet; and they
shall be tormented day and night for ever and ever.
--Revelations 20:10.
He felt again the dizzy vertigo that presaged the coming of Karkora. A
high-pitched, droning whine rang shrilly in his ears; he felt a sense of
swift movement. A picture came.
Once more he saw the giant crag that towered amid the mountains. The
dark tower lifted from its summit. Elak was drawn forward; iron gates
opened in the base of the pinnacle. They closed as he passed through.
The high whining had ceased. It was cimmerian dark. But in the gloom a
Presence moved and stirred and was conscious of Elak.
The Pallid One sprang into view.
He felt a sense of whirling disorientation; his thoughts grew inchoate
and confused. They were slipping away, spinning into the empty dark. In
their place something crept and grew; a weird mental invasion took
place. Power of Karkora surged through Elak's brain, forcing back the
man's consciousness and soul, thrusting them out and back into the void.
A dreamlike sense of unreality oppressed Elak.
Silently he called upon Dalan.
Dimly a golden flame flickered up, far away. Elak heard the Druid's
voice whispering faintly, out of the abyss.
"_Mider--aid him, Mider--_"
Fires of Mider vanished. Elak felt again the sense of swift movement.
He was lifted--
The darkness was gone. Gray light bathed him. He was, seemingly, in the
tower on the summit of the crag--the citadel of Karkora. But the place
was unearthly!
The planes and angles of the room in which Elak stood were warped and
twisted insanely. Laws of matter and geometry seemed to have gone mad.
Crawling curves swept obscenely in strange motion; there was no sense of
perspective. The gray light was alive. It crept and shimmered. And the
white shadow of Karkora blazed forth with chill and dreadful radiance.
Elak remembered the words of Mayana, the sea-witch, as she spoke of her
monstrous son Karkora.
"_He walks in other worlds, beyond unlit seas, across the nighted voids
beyond earth._"
Through the whirling chaos a face swam, inhuman, mad, and terrible. A
man's face, indefinably bestialized and degraded, with a sparse white
beard and glaring eyes. Again Elak recalled Mayana's mention of Erykion,
the wizard who had created the Pallid One.
"Perhaps he dwells in his citadel yet, with Karkora. Not for years have
I seen the sorcerer."
If this were Erykion, then he had fallen victim to his own creation. The
warlock was insane. Froth dribbled on the straggling beard; the mind and
soul had been drained from him.
He was swept back and vanished in the grinding maelstrom of the
frightful lawless geometrical chaos. Elak's eyes ached as he stared,
unable to stir a muscle. The shadow of the Pallid One gleamed whitely
before him.
The planes and angles changed; pits and abysses opened before Elak. He
looked through strange gateways. He saw other worlds, and with his
flesh shrinking in cold horror he stared into the depths of the Nine
Hells. Frightful life swayed into motion before his eyes. Things of
inhuman shape rose up out of nighted depths. A charnel wind choked him.
The sense of mental assault grew stronger; Elak felt his mind slipping
away under the dread impact of alien power. Unmoving, deadly, Karkora
watched--
"Mider," Elak prayed. "Mider--aid me!"
The mad planes swept about faster, in a frantic saraband of evil. The
dark vision swept out, opening wider vistas before Elak. He saw
unimaginable and blasphemous things, dwellers in the outer dark, horrors
beyond earth-life--
The white shadow of Karkora grew larger. The crawling radiance shimmered
leprously. Elak's senses grew dulled; his body turned to ice. Nothing
existed but the now gigantic silhouette of Karkora; the Pallid One
reached icy fingers into Elak's brain.
The assault mounted like a rushing tide. There was no aid anywhere.
There was only evil, and madness, and black, loathsome horror.
* * * * *
Quite suddenly Elak heard a voice. In it was the murmur of rippling
waters. He knew Mayana spoke to him by strange magic.
"In your hour of need I bring you the talisman against my son Karkora."
The voice died; the thunder of the seas roared in Elak's ears. A green
veil blotted out the mad, shifting planes and angles. In the emerald
mists shadows floated--the shadows of Mayana.
They swept down upon him. Something was thrust into his hand--something
warm and wet and slippery.
He lifted it, staring. He gripped a heart, bloody, throbbing--alive!
The heart of Mayana! The heart beneath which Karkora had slumbered in
the womb! The talisman against Karkora!
A shrill droning rose suddenly to a skirling shriek of madness, tearing
at Elak's ears, knifing through his brain. The bleeding heart in Elak's
hand drew him forward. He took a slow step, another.
About him the gray light pulsed and waned; the white shadow of Karkora
grew gigantic. The mad planes danced swiftly.
And then Elak was looking down at a pit on the edge of which he stood.
Only in the depths of the deep hollow was the instability of the
surrounding matter lacking. And below was a shapeless and flesh-colored
hulk that lay inert ten feet down.
It was man-sized and naked. But it was not human. The pulpy arms had
grown to the sides; the legs had grown together. Not since birth had the
thing moved by itself. It was blind, and had no mouth. Its head was a
malformed grotesquerie of sheer horror.
Fat, deformed, utterly frightful, the body of Karkora rested in the pit.
The heart of Mayana seemed to tear itself from Elak's hand. Like a
plummet it dropped, and fell upon the breast of the horror below.
A shuddering, wormlike motion shook Karkora. The monstrous body writhed
and jerked.
From the bleeding heart blood crept out like a stain. It spread over the
deformed horror. In a moment Karkora was no longer flesh-colored, but
red as the molten sunset.
And, abruptly, there was nothing in the pit but a slowly widening pool
of scarlet. The Pallid One had vanished.
Simultaneously the ground shook beneath Elak; he felt himself swept
back. For a second he seemed to view the crag and tower from a distance,
against the background of snow-tipped peaks.
The pinnacle swayed; the crag rocked. They crashed down in thunderous
ruin.
Only a glimpse did Elak get; then the dark curtain blotted out his
consciousness. He saw, dimly, a pale oval. It grew more distinct. And it
was the face of Lycon bending above Elak, holding a brimming cup to the
latter's lips.
"Drink!" he urged. "Drink deep!"
Elak obeyed, and then thrust the liquor away. He stood up weakly.
* * * * *
He was in the pass of the Gateway. Around him the men of Cyrena rested,
with here and there a blue-painted warrior of Amenalk. Corpses littered
the ground. Vultures were already circling against the blue.
Dalan was a few paces away, his shallow black eyes regarding Elak
intently. He said, "Only one thing could have saved you in Karkora's
stronghold. One thing--"