"I've been busy too," Tandor growled, eyeing Thordad curiously.
"I've roused the men and women of the Lower City. I've sent for the
pirates on Yassinan, sent for warriors from the cities of Streeth and
Fayalat. We've a crew of fighting men with swords and spears and a
few disintegrators. But with the scientific might of Stal Tay and the
Hierarch we're beaten before we start."
Angus laughed. "Not yet. Stasor has promised help. We're to meet him
and get the weapons he told me about. Into the teleportator on the
double--all of you."
When they were in the chairs fastened to the dais, Angus threw over the
lever. A golden mist formed about them, hardened. There was an instant
of coldness....
The golden mist disappeared. The teleportator stood before the fountain
in the Tower of the Ancients. Angus sprang from the machine. "Stasor,
I'm back!"
There was no answer. Only the silence of the dead walls of the dead
city replied.
It was Moana who found the blood-stained bit of silk that had been
ripped from Stasor's garment. Wordlessly she held it out to Angus.
His belly turned over when he saw it. He looked at the girl, then at
Tandor.
"The Diktor's come for him. With Stasor to unravel the secrets in the
Book of Nard, Stal Tay can't be beaten!"
Tandor shrugged massive shoulders. "I knew that a long time ago. We'll
all die. It's just a matter of when and where."
* * * * *
In the time Angus had allotted him, Tandor had thrown up a small city
of tents and wickiups along the stone ridges of the Bloody Cliffs. Here
came the pirates from Yassinan, the starved soldiery from the star
cities of Fayalat and Kor. Here were half-naked gypsy girls and camp
followers, fighting men and muckers. Here were dishonored captains and
untried youths who owned swords and a hot hunger to use them.
In the red fire of an armorer's forge, Red Angus handled a
ring-barreled gun that was powered by a portable dynamo set up on a
small, two-wheeled cart.
The armorer said, "It's weak and it's clumsy, but it's the best I could
do. The electroray gets its power from the dynamo in the cart. Power
travels along the fuel line to the breach. A tiny converter translates
it into a thin beam of force. I've seen them in the museums. I made
sketches. Given more time I could do better."
Red Angus put a grin on his lips and held it there by sheer will-power.
His hand clapped the man on the back. He told him, "You've done fine,
Yoth! Keep it up. Turn out as many as you can!"
The armorer shook his head glumly. "They won't be much alongside the
disintegrator that Stal Tay will have. Even their sonicbeams will do
more damage than this!"
Tandor came swaggering up through the half-naked, hairy chested men
who fought with blunted sabres and war-spears. There was dirt on his
face, and runnels of sweat ran on his barrel chest. He planted his legs
apart, and glowered at Red Angus.
"You're mad as a priest of Grom. You keep us here when we'd do better
by scattering to the six worlds."
Angus said, "These are the toughest fighting men in the galaxy. If they
can't take the Citadel no one can. Once we get within sword-sweep of
the Diktor's guards...."
Tandor bellowed. He went up on his toes and waved his arms, and his
veins stood out on his bald head. "As well get within sword-sweep of
Ashtal the Shameless!" he roared. "The Diktor will sweep the streets
with disintegrator beams when he sees us coming. Maybe you want to play
martyr, but I've better uses for my life. Take that gypsy girl...."
Angus caught him by the fur of his cloak and shook him. "Forget your
gypsy wenches. We go into the Lower City at night. All of us, over a
week's time. We bed down in different homes. Loyal homes. A fortnight
from now will be the Night of the Serpent. Singing and dancing in the
streets. Wine. Women."