They were men's voices and seemed to be coming downstream.
He pushed the other three to a hiding place behind some rocks and
bushes. When the owners of the voices came into sight around a turn,
he gasped. They weren't walking, but riding on the water itself, in
something like a big dish.
"Magicians!" Bru whispered.
Two of the men (there were seven) were stroking the water with some
kind of wands, flattened at the ends. They acted as if they were
fleeing from something, talking in low voices and staring back
upstream. Just before they came opposite, it caught up with them.
The first thing Alyar heard was a loud voice, distorted and with an odd
accent. He had trouble making out the repeated words. "Halt or I'll
shoot. Advance and be recognized. Halt or I'll shoot. Advance--"
The thing came into sight--flying! He gripped Bru's shoulder. "The Iron
Fley!"
It was made of the kind of iron that didn't rust, and had only eight
legs, not ten. All of them were folded to its sides except one with a
larger, oblong foot; that one was extended toward the fugitives.
When they saw it, they jumped out of their dish and sank into the water.
"Halt or I'll shoot," said the Iron Fley again, then hurled its spell.
The dish shattered abruptly into small bits and a hissing cloud burst
out of the water.
The terrible creature circled over the floating fragments for a few
minutes, then flew off upstream. When it was gone the seven magicians
appeared, climbing out of the river on the far side.
"Damn it!" said one. "A good boot lost, and not a bit of iron. I _told_
you we ought to wait for night!"
"It doesn't make any difference," said another gloomily. "It's always
on watch. Nobody's gotten away with any iron for three or four seasons."
"Well," said Alyar, after the magicians had straggled off down the
river, "now we've seen it. It certainly put a powerful spell on that
floating dish, but it didn't hurt the magicians. Maybe if we're careful
it won't bother us."
They followed the twisting canyon and eventually began to hear a
roaring noise ahead. It turned out to be the water falling over a
cliff, and to go any farther they had to climb out of the canyon
again. When they were on top they could see, ahead of them, what was
undoubtedly Iron Mountain.
Parts of it were broken or rusted, but most of it was the non-rusting
kind. Its shape was a surprise. It didn't look like a mountain, but
something made by giants, broken off and stuck into the ground.
It was wonderful to stand here, beholding the mightiest magic in the
entire world. Still, Alyar wasn't satisfied. He felt he must go closer,
even--possibly--touch it.
"You'd better stay here. Bru, if anything happens to me, take the
girls and run. You can get back to the beasts by going down the river."
Bru was dismayed. "Don't go any closer! You saw what happened to the
magicians' dish!"
"They were trying to steal iron." He unloaded the metal he was
carrying, smiled at them, and went on.
* * * * *
He'd only covered a hundred man-lengths or so when he heard the
distorted voice, coming from over his head. He looked up, then stood
rooted as the Iron Fley came spiraling down toward him. He tried to
think the purest, most serene thoughts he could, though the fervent
wish to be somewhere else kept intruding.
The thing paused a few lengths away. "Advance and be recognized," it
said.
He took a faltering hop forward. "Halt or I'll shoot," it said, and he
stopped.
"Advance."
He did.
"Halt."
He did.
Finally he was very close to it, and he waited for a spell to hit him.
"Name, rank, and serial number," it demanded. Then, as he was silent
"Speak or I'll shoot."
"I--I'm Alyarsmit! I don't think I'm rank, and I don't know what a
serial number is."
"Friend or foe?"
"F-friend. I haven't stolen anything. Just some girls."
The thing made a buzzing sound. "You speak, and you have the requisite
number of limbs, and one head. Are you human?"
"Y-yes, I'm human."
"Name?"
"Alyarsmit."
"Smith? Smith?" It buzzed some more. "There was a Colonel John Smith on
the roster. Are you his descendant?"
"Yes," Alyar hazarded.
"Mr. Smith, sir, Robojeep twenty-seven four nine reporting. All other
jeeps inactivated, sir. No ship's personnel or other passengers
accounted for in the last three hundred and seventy-four planetary
cycles. Damage to ship unrepairable without human direction. Sporadic
raids by savages, possibly degenerate humans, repelled successfully.
Will you assume manual control, sir?"