"Yes. The Legend said you'd be back."
Eric stopped and whirled to face his brother. "The Legend? Eric the
Bronze? What is this wild fantasy?"
"Not so loud!" Garve's voice cautioned him. "Of course the crowd called
you that because of the copper hat and your heavy tan. But the Elders
believe so too. I don't know what it is, Eric, reincarnation, prophesy,
superstition, I only know that when I was with the Elders I believed
them. You are a part of a Legend. You are Eric the Bronze."
Eric looked down at his sun tanned hands and flexed them. He loosened
the explosive pistol in its holster. At least he was going to be a well
armed, well prepared Legend. And while one part of his mind marveled
at the city and relaxed into a pleasure as deep as a dream, another
struggled with the almost forgotten desire to rescue his brother and
escape. He asked, "Who are the Elders?"
"We are going to them, to the center of the city." Garve's voice
sharpened, "Keep your head down. I think the last two men we passed are
looking after us. Don't look back."
After a moment Garve said, "I think they are following us. Get ready
to run. If we are separated, keep going until you reach City Center.
The Elders will be expecting you." Garve glanced back, and his voice
sharpened, "Now! Run!"
They ran. But as they ran figures began to converge upon them. Farther
up the street others appeared, cutting off their flight.
Garve cried, "In here," and pulled Eric into a crevice between two
buildings. Eric drew his gun, and savagery began to dance in his eyes.
The soft fur muffled sounds of pursuit closed in upon them.
Garve put one hand on Eric's gun hand and said, "Wait here. And if you
value my life, don't use that gun." Then he was gone, running deerlike
down the street.
For an instant Eric thought the ruse had succeeded. He heard cries and
two men passed him running in pursuit. But then the cry came back. "Let
him go. Get the other one. The other one."
Eric was seen an instant later, and the people of the city began to
converge upon him. He could have destroyed them all with his charges in
the gun, but his brother's warning shrieked in his ears, "If you value
my life don't use the gun."
There was nothing he could do. Eric stood quietly until he was taken
prisoner. They moved him to the center of the wide fur street. Two men
held his arms, and twisted painfully. The crowd looked at him, coldly,
calculatingly. One of them said, "Get the whips. If we whip him he will
not come back." The city twinkled, and the music was so faint he could
hardly hear it.
There was only one weapon Eric could use. He had gathered from Garve's
words that these people were superstitious.
He laughed, a great chest-shattering laugh that gusted out into the
thin Martian air. He laughed and cried in a great voice, "And can you
so easily dispose of a Legend? If I am Eric of the Legend, can whips
defeat the prophesy?"
There was an instant when he could have twisted loose. They stood,
fear-bound at his words. But there was no place to hide, and without
the use of his weapons Eric could not have gone far. He had to bluff it
out.
* * * * *
Then one of the men cried, "Fools! It is true. We must take no chance
with the whips. He would come back. But if he dies here before us now,
then we may forget the prophesy."
The crowd murmured and a second voice cried, "Get the sword, get the
guards, and kill him at once!"
Eric tensed to break away but now it was too late. His captors were
alert. They increased the twist on his arms until he almost screamed
with the pain.
The crowd parted, and the guard came through, his red silk clothing
gleaming in the sun, his sword bright and deadly. He stopped before
Eric, and the sword swirled up like a saber, ready for a slashing cut
downward across Eric's neck.
A woman's voice, soft and yet authoritative, called, "Hold!" And a
murmur of respect rippled through the crowd.
"Nolette! The Daughter of the City comes."
Eric turned his gaze to the side and saw the woman who had spoken. She
was mounted upon a black horse with a jeweled bridle. She was young and
her hair was long and free in the wind. She had ridden so softly across
the fur street that no one had been aware of her presence.
She said, "Let me touch this man. Let me feel the pulse of his heart so
that I may know if he is truly the Bronze one of the Legend. Give me
your hand, stranger." She leaned down and grasped his hand. Eric shook
his arms free, and reached up and clung to the offered hand, thinking,
"If I pull her down perhaps I can use her as a shield." He tensed his
muscles and began to pull.
She cried, "No! You fool. Come up on the horse," and pulled back with
an energy as fierce as his own. Then he had swung up on the horse, and
the animal leaped forward, its muffled gallop beating out a tattoo of
freedom.
Eric clung tightly to the girl's waist. He could feel the young
suppleness of her body, and the fine strands of her hair kept swirling
back into his face. It had a faint perfume, a clean and heady scent
that made him more aware of the touch of her waist. He breathed deeply,
oddly happy as they rode.
After five minutes ride they came to a building in the center of the
city. The building was cubical, severe in line and architecture, and it
contrasted oddly with the exquisite ornament of the rest of the city.
It was as if it were a monolith from another time, a stranger crouched
among enemies.