"It's for the ears of his Wisdom alone."
"Then wait your turn."
"Look here," said Rikard, "you can send him a message that it concerns
certain newly found ores of power. If his Wisdom isn't interested,
I'll go my way. But if you don't do this much, I'd hate to be in your
skin when he learns what you've kept from him."
"Hmmm--well--" The captain rubbed his chin. There was a superstitious
awe deep within his eyes, and the other sentries gaped. "Well, all
right." He peered narrowly at the barbarian, "You're not of the city.
Where are you from?"
"Moonburg, if you must know. But my message!"
The captain blew a whistle, and an acolyte came forth from within to
receive the word and run back with it. Rikard stood waiting, trying not
to shiver with the gathering tautness of the moment. Rayth had told
him to give this message, and it seemed to work. The prince had added
that the Temple was seeking to recover the lost secret of the legendary
Tommic's Power, so immensely more potent than the sunlight batteries,
but had not gone far for lack of the necessary metals. To Rikard,
Tommic had merely been a local god worshipped by some towns, though in
other stories he was the devil responsible for the Fall.
"Your sword," said the captain.
Rikard shrugged. It was understandable that no visitor should bear
weapons within the Temple, especially after Rayth's last few attempts.
He unslung his glaive and handed it over, and permitted them to search
him for concealed knives. It did not seem to occur to them, in spite of
his hard-thewed size, that hands and shod feet have killed men.
The acolyte returned, a full Engineer with him. The latter spoke
hurriedly. "Who are you, stranger, and what is this word you bear?"
"I am Atli Athur's son of Moonburg, your Knowledge," said Rikard,
bowing as low as his stiff-necked soul permitted him. "If it please
you, this word I have should not be discussed out in public."
"No--no--certainly not. I'll take you to his Wisdom. Follow me."
Rikard went after the swirling red robe, his narrowed eyes taking
careful note of everything they passed. Down a long muraled corridor,
opening into rooms which seemed oddly little like religious
centers--they glittered with metal and glass and plastic, and Engineers
in drab, stained smocks labored with a bewildering variety of
instruments, past a couple of guardsmen--
The thing to do, he thought grimly, was to break the old fellow's
neck, grab a sword from the nearest armed man, and try to cut his way
out. None of Rayth's men were allowed inside the Temple, but if they
were waiting just beyond the gates he might have some chance.
The corridor ended in a tall doorway where four sentries in gold and
scarlet stood by rigidly held pikes. Beyond was the great audience
chamber.
It was lavishly furnished, gold and jewels and velvet and the lovely
ancient works. The far side was a great sheet of plastic opening on
the raw splendor of landscape and an Earth at the full, its eerie blue
radiance streaming in to blend with the soft glow of fluorotubes.
Rikard had little time for esthetics; his gaze roved in search of
enemies.
No soldiers in this room, and the Engineer who guided him was closing
the massive door on the sentries--praise the gods, it gave him a chance
to kill the Chief and burst out and surprise those men! About a dozen
Engineers stood around the Throne of Wisdom--high-ranking to judge from
their robes, most of them young and burly, not a one of them bearing
sword or dagger.
Rikard knelt before the Throne until a voice that was almost a whisper
said: "Rise, my son, and say your message."
"Thank you, your Wisdom." The rebel got up and moved closer to the old
man who sat before him. A very old man, he saw, thin and stooped and
frail, with a halo of white hair about the gaunt face and the luminous
eyes and the wonderful dome of a forehead. For an instant, Rikard
despised himself.
But Leda, Leda of the fair tresses and the low sweet laughter and the
undaunted gallantry, Leda was hostage to Rayth.
"You brought word of ores of power found on the far side of Luna," said
the Chief Engineer. He pursed his lips and tapped his knee with the
jeweled slide rule of his office. "But how would the heathen there know
what to look for?"
"They weren't looking for anything, your Wisdom," replied Rikard.
He stood some five feet away--one easy jump. "It was a certain
Engineer-educated trader from this city, Borsu by name, who several
years ago was captured by Moonburg men attacking a caravan of his. I
had him for slave, but he was so bold and wise a man that soon we were
more friends than master and servant, and it was he who organized an
expedition to the heathen lands. He thought their ores, which we on
Earthside have little exploited, could be obtained for our manufactured
goods at a fine profit and sold here in Coper City. It was he who
saw those deposits and had them mined. On our return, we found that
Moonburg had been brought under your city's rule, but nevertheless--"
They were relaxing their wariness, intent on his account.
"--we thought that we could still do business, especially with the
Temple. As Borsu was ill, I left him in Moonburg and came myself to--"
* * * * *
He hit the Chief Engineer with a smack of bodies and his hands closed
around the thin neck.
Thunder and stars exploded in his skull. He reeled aside, falling to
the ground, and the Engineer rushed on him with the club he had pulled
from his long sleeve.
Rikard kicked out, and the Coper flew backward, grunting. The barbarian
snarled and lurched to his feet. Swords and daggers gleamed as the
others yanked them from concealment.
Trapped. They weren't stupid, these Engineers, and now he was trapped!
Rikard hurled himself forward in a flying tackle, hit the nearest man
and rolled over on the floor with him. Wrenching the fellow's dagger
loose, he bounded back to his feet and rushed another Engineer.
"Alive!" screamed the old man. "Take him alive!"
For the torture cells--no! Rikard closed with the Engineer, stabbing
him in the shoulder before he could slash with his sword. He pulled the
glaive loose and backed toward the wall, growling, sword in one hand
and dagger in the other. The men formed a defensive line around their
Chief and brandished their blades.
The wounded Engineer rose suddenly and sprinted for the door. Rikard
threw the knife after him, missed, and groaned as the door was swung
wide and the four guardsmen entered.
"Ha, Nyrac!" he yelled and threw himself upon them. His sword whistled,
clanged off the metal shaft of the nearest pike, and raked the cuirass
beyond. Another guard hit him with the butt of his pike and he
staggered. Now the blows rained on him, smashing thunder of violence
and lightning-shot darkness. The sword fell from his hand and he
toppled, still cursing. Someone kicked him as he fell.
He lay there, half conscious, mumbling through a mask of blood while
they bound him. When the reeling and the blurring ended, and only the
thumping pain and the slow drip of red were left, he sat up and glared
at them where they stood around him.
"I thought Rayth was wiser than that," muttered an Engineer.
"It wasn't a bad trick." The old man fingered his throat with a wry
smile. "He almost made it. But who are you, so bold as to go alone and
unarmed in war against the Temple?"
* * * * *
Rikard shook his ringing head. The sickness in him was as much from
stupefied dismay as from his hurts. That he should have failed--that he
should have been captured and bound like a pig for slaughter the second
time!
"Hm--now let me think." The Chief Engineer stroked his chin. "Obviously
Rayth would only have tried this with an assassin so bold and strong
that there would be some chance of success, and at the same time one
over whom he had enough of a hold to drive him to this desperate
mission. Now it is only ten or fifteen hours since we heard that the
mighty Rikard of Nyrac had been captured by this same Rayth."
"Rikard of Nyrac--aye, your Wisdom, they said he was big and dark, it
must be he. Right?" A foot kicked the prisoner.
"Gently, Wanno, gently. There is no cause to maltreat him when he is
helpless. Nobody was killed in this little affair." The Chief Engineer
stooped over Rikard and smiled. "See here, my friend, I have no ill
will for you. I've chuckled for a long time over your impudent bearding
of the Coper lords, and I wouldn't mind doing you a good turn if you'd
let me."
"But first I have to do something for you, eh?" Rikard grinned without
humor. "It seems to be a city custom."
"Be reasonable, man. You've failed your mission; Rayth will have no
further use for you, and only here is there protection. I daresay
you've no love for Rayth, and he is our greatest enemy as well."
Rikard was silent.
"Now what reason did you have to do his foul work for him? I cannot
quite imagine Rikard of Nyrac turning assassin for hire."
"They say a woman was captured with him, your Wisdom," said one of the
Engineers thoughtfully.
"Ah, so. And Rayth holds her. Hm." The Chief Engineer paced back and
forth, the robes swirling around his thin stooped form. Suddenly he
said: "Bring this man a bowl of wine."
It was a fire coursing in his veins, the leaden haze lifted from his
mind and he looked at his captors with cleared eyes. The Chief Engineer
said to him:
"Rikard, this is the situation in Coper City. The old bold dynasty
of the Mayors has faded till the last of them sits bibbing in his
apartments with little interest in anything save a new wench. Meanwhile
the struggle for the real power over this growing empire lies between
the great nobles, of whom Rayth is chief, and the Temple, which
recruits from all ranks and is thus closer to the people and more alive
to their wants. The world has come down far since the Fall. What was a
wise and glorious and adventurous civilization has been destroyed, and
this, its successor, is stagnant and cruel and ignorant; it has done
little which was new or decent in a thousand years. I do not say that
the Temple is blameless; the early Chief Engineers found it convenient
to monopolize what true knowledge was left and to ally themselves with
the nobles in crushing the commons. But in the past generation we have
tried to make some amends, we have spoken against human slavery and
unjust laws, and we would like to teach all men enough to make them
more than walking bellies. Temple and nobles agree that man must be
united--"
Rikard snarled at him.
"--but it is rather for us to learn freedom from the barbarians, in
exchange for our order and culture, than for them to be enslaved by
us; and there is a sharp split between the parties. Furthermore, we
have tried to regain the ancient knowledge by the methods with which
it was won in the first place--that is, by trying our ideas to see if
they work, rather than by blind acceptance of ancient authority. You
must have noticed our laboratories as you entered. But this leads to
heretical questioning of everything, and the nobles do not like it.
"Thus Rayth has several times sought to have me assassinated. There is
little I can do save guard against it--I would get no satisfaction in
the courts. If he should succeed, he could use his influence and very
likely get one of his own hand-picked Engineers named to my office. For
we--scientists--are a small party in the Temple, and only the more or
less accidental fact that I was converted to such views shortly after
assuming the slide rule has given us our success. If we could somehow
overcome him, there would be a chance to make some improvement in human
life, perhaps even to reach Earth eventually. If we fail, as seems all
too probable, the long night will descend completely."
He stopped, and there was a moment's silence in the great chamber.
Then Rikard said: "I suppose you're telling me more or less the truth.
I don't really care, one way or the other. But why? What do you want of
me?"
"I don't know," said the Chief Engineer frankly. "I really don't know
whether it wouldn't be safer all around just to return your head to
Rayth. But--Rikard, the Temple has been at one grave disadvantage. Its
younger men are often doughty fighters, as you have seen, but they
are still mostly technicians, intellectuals, people without practical
experience in warfare. You, on the other hand, have fought all your
life. If you have any suggestions, they will be carefully considered."
"And what do I get from this?"
"Your life, of course, and your freedom. Likewise your woman's, if
we can save her. We can talk later of other rewards. You may find it
worthwhile to work with us."
Rikard leaned back against the wall, letting his mind slide over the
facts and the chances. Presently he nodded his blood-matted head and
began to talk.
* * * * *
The Temple gate burst open and the big man shot out in a flying leap
that carried him over the heads of the sentries to land on the plaza
grass. A spear flew after him. He grabbed it and whirled about and
threw it back.
"Stop him!" roared an Engineer. "Kill him! He killed the Chief!"
The guards sprang at Rikard, yelling, and others boiled out of the
Temple in their wake. He was already fleeing toward the corridor
beyond. A shrieking laborer sought to bring him down--he kicked the man
in the teeth, beat another aside with the flat of his sword, and pushed
a way into the suddenly milling throng.
Half a dozen armed men were around him, blades flashing out. One
grinned savagely in his beard. "We thought you were dead," he gasped.
"You were in there so long--"
"We'll all be dead if we don't get out of here," snapped Rikard.
The raging Temple warriors were crowding through the press of humanity
toward them. And from the swirling mob there seemed to rise one great
groan.
"_The Chief is dead.... The Chief is dead.... They killed him, the
dirty murdering nobles_--"
The old fellow's claim to be beloved of the people was not a lie,
thought Rikard tautly, and crammed a fist into the mouth of the nearest
man who rushed, weeping and cursing at him.
Swords and pikes clattered together as the guards hit the tight circle
of Rayth's warriors. Rikard led the retreat, his sword whistling and
thumping--he did not cut, but he hammered a way through the mob, and it
fell back before his great bloody shape.
"The ramp--over there--"
They braced themselves and leaped, ten feet straight up, arcing forward
to land on the upward-curving surface. Then they ran!
A hurled spear flashed, and one of Rayth's men toppled. Two more had
been pulled down by the bare hands of the commons, and another had
fallen in the retreat. The crowd, half angry, half frightened, moved
slowly after them.
They dashed into a corridor on the noble level, and the two city
guardsmen posted there clanged the gate shut in the face of pursuit.
Panting, they stopped and looked at each other.
"There'll be Mars to pay down there," said the leader hoarsely.
"Riots--"
"Take me to his Excellency," said Rikard.
"Aye--at once--and good work, barbarian! You did a job that we've tried
to do for the past five years."
They went swiftly down the long passageways, up ramps and stairs, past
the sumptuous apartments of the rich where men and women, children and
servants and slaves cowered at sight of drawn weapons and at the faint,
rising noise of the lower levels. When they came to Rayth's door, they
entered without ceremony.
The prince leaped to his feet, spilling his wine-glass, and the lean
bearded face blazed at Rikard. "Is it done?" he yelled. "Did you really
do it?"
"Aye--aye--" The rebel leaned wearily on his sword and let his eyes
rove the chamber. There were seven or eight other men seated around the
table, mostly older and fatter than Rayth but all with the rich dress
and the inbred hauteur of the rulers. There was also a high-ranking
Engineer, a sly-faced elderly man whose heavy-lidded eyes barely
flicked over the newcomers before retreating back to their own dreams.
But it was to Leda that Rikard's gaze went first, Leda who had been
sprawling sullen and splendid on a couch and who now started up and ran
to him and clung wordlessly to his bleeding form.
"Aye, he's dead," nodded the barbarian.
"It took you several hours," said Rayth. "I was sure you had failed."
"They made me wait a long time while the Chief finished an--an
experiment, they called it. But I got at him, broke his neck, and
grabbed a sword and chopped my way out." Rikard strode boldly over to
the table and grabbed up a glass and drained it.
"Do you hear that?" Rayth turned on the others and his voice rose to a
shout. "Do you hear that?" His laughter was loud and wild. "He's dead!
His Wisdom Laon XIII, Chief Engineer of Coper City, is dead! Are you
ready to assume the post, Jastur?" he cried to the Engineer, "Would you
like to take the name of Laon XIV?"
"It might be a good idea to wait for some confirmation," said the other
imperturbably.
Rayth paced the chamber, restlessly, eyes smoldering, and the guests
muttered to each other. Rikard and Leda paid no attention; they were
holding close, and his hands and lips caressed her with a new and
desperate tenderness.
Someone else entered, a strong young acolyte who saluted and said
between gasps for air: "He's dead, sirs, he's been killed, and it's
Mars down there! The commons are running wild!" There was a knife-slash
across his face; blood dripped slowly to the red of his gown.
"What did you see?" snapped Rayth. He sprang over and grabbed the
acolyte by the shoulders and shook him, "What did you see?"
"I--I heard a great uproar in the audience chamber, through the closed
doors. That must have been something else, though, for his Wis--old
Laon came out and went into a laboratory. Then some hours later he
returned to the chamber, and--and presently there was another noise,
louder and lasting longer--then I saw this man here burst out, knock
down a guard in his way, and go down the hall, I looked in--they were
lying heaped in blood, and an Engineer came in and lifted the old man
and shrieked that he was dead. Then there was panic, everyone running,
guards fighting to get out after the killer--I slipped away and came
here as you told me, sir--"
* * * * *
"Dead!" Rayth's shout echoed between the walls. "Dead, d'you hear?
After five years I've killed the old swine, and Temple and commons
alike are rioting--What more excuse do we need?"
"Excuse?" whispered a noble.
"Certainly!" Rayth grinned. "As a public-spirited gesture, we assemble
our personal guards and march them down there to restore order. With
the Temple occupied by us, your election to the slide rule becomes a
certainty, Jastur."
"There'll be fighting," said the Engineer nervously. "The young
Engineers are--were--almost all on his side, you know; they won't
receive you kindly--and then there are the commons--"
"Bah! Engineers and mobs against trained blades? Certainly there'll be
bloodletting, but it won't be our blood--at least, if we can get down
there before they have time to organize."
Rayth lifted his voice to a shout, and a guards officer stepped in and
saluted. There was something like terror under his hard-held mask.
Rayth snapped swift orders and he ran off.
"We'll unite all our personal forces," said the prince, biting the
words out as he paced from wall to wall. "The Mayor's men and the
regular city guards aren't to be relied on; I wouldn't be surprised if
half of them swung to the Temple's side if they get a chance. Most of
the regular army is out of the city, on garrison or combat duty, and
it wouldn't be too safe either. But between us we've got three hundred
trained bold men ready to follow us down there."
"_Us?_" squeaked a noble.
"Oh, stay if you want. I'm going down!" Rayth turned to clap Rikard's
shoulder, "You too, my friend. You've done well, oh, excellently well,
and you'll have a rich reward!"
The Nyracan shrugged. Inwardly, he was filled with a sudden wonder as
to whether he had done the right thing or not. He didn't much care,
really, who won; they were all Copers to him--but the prince's payment
was more certain and tangible than the Temple's, and--
Too late now.
He went into the bathroom, where Leda washed and bandaged his hurts and
whispered to him: "There is more behind this than you say, my dearest,
I know you too well."
"Aye, there is, but I can't tell you now. Stay close by me and don't be
too surprised at anything I may do."