IN THE WOLF-MEN’S HAUNTS.
SEYMOUR’S dread was not lessened by the discovery that the bodies were
those of wolf-men. Where were his friends? Evidently they had returned,
the corpses bore witness to that, for upon each and all the mark of
Chenobi’s axe was plainly visible.
He shouted, but no answering hail broke the stillness of the
underworld city. Hurriedly he descended the steps and tried the door
of the kennel chamber. It was locked, and from within came the howling
of the hounds. With half a dozen lusty blows Seymour shattered the
lock, then strode through the doorway. Unloosing the hounds he ordered
them outside, himself following a moment later, leading Muswani.
“The wolf-men must have carried them off,” he muttered, “but I’ll
track the brutes down.”
He was about to mount, when a thought came to him. If his friends
were alive, and he was able to effect their rescue, they would be
entirely defenceless unless he took them weapons.
With him to think was to act, and he rapidly made his way back to
the armoury. Here, selecting half a dozen great double-edged swords,
he strapped them together with a girdle taken from a mail suit; then,
slipping a serviceable dagger into his own belt, he returned to the
square.
Within three minutes he was galloping through the gloomy streets,
the mighty elk obeying every touch as it did Chenobi’s; seeming to
know by some subtle instinct that its master’s fate hung upon its
speed. And in front, hot upon the trail of the wolfish kidnappers,
bounded the great hounds.
At full speed they swept forward, having to round the end of the
great fire gulf as they went; then on around the base of the hills
within whose wild valleys Seymour and his friends had so nearly met
their deaths. As he rode on the baronet wondered how far ahead of him
the savages were. He knew that he had wandered for many hours in the
vaults beneath the city, but for how long he had no means of telling.
One fact was borne in upon him as he settled down to his
ride--that he was ravenously hungry, and he was glad to note a
number of edible fungi growing beside the track.
On these he quickly satisfied his hunger, pausing only for a few
moments, then pressed forward at the utmost speed of the elk upon the
trail of the savages.
Never once were the hounds at fault in the course of the chase.
The magnificent brutes were as certain of the trail as though the
wolf-men had been within sight all the time. Past cavern after cavern
in the hills they swept, Seymour exhilarating in the mad gallop. His
mail was not the easiest of riding suits, yet he was gradually
becoming used to it, and the prospect of a scrimmage with the savages
in the near future filled him with a wild delight. He even went so far
as to break into the first few bars of an old hunting song, but
checked himself as he realised the folly of thus advertising his
presence.
Suddenly the hounds stopped before a great double gateway of
stone, set in the face of the cliff, and began to scratch furiously at
its base.
“Quiet, you brutes!” Seymour cried, dismounting; repeating his
command in Ayuti as he saw that the hounds did not understand his
English words, whereat they immediately ceased their efforts.
“No chance here,” he said to himself, examining the gates. “I
must go round the back way, I suppose.”
With some difficulty he got the hounds to leave the neighbourhood
of the gateway, and pushed on towards the gully, through which he and
Haverly had passed to the rescue of Mervyn. Here he left his animals,
and plunged into the tunnel, the light from his jewel enabling him to
make rapid progress. Soon he stood once more upon the ledge above the
den of Rahee, gazing down into the temple which he had hoped never to
look upon again.
Removing his mail hose that he might descend the more easily, he
slung them around his neck, and scrambled over the brink down to the
enclosure. Thankful he was to see that the bars had been lowered over
the mouth of the spider’s cave, that Rahee was again a prisoner.
As he crossed the den the hideous brute leapt forward, his
remaining eye glaring ferociously. Furiously he gnashed his great
jaws, and shook the metal rods which imprisoned him; but they defied
even his great strength.
“Steady, you devil!” cried the baronet, as he drew on his hose;
then shook his axe menacingly towards the spider.
The action only increased the diabolical creature’s rage, and he
reared to his full height against the barrier in his mad but futile
efforts to reach his foe. But Seymour’s mission was of too great
importance for him to waste time over the sacred beast. Leaving him to
rattle the bars at his leisure, he threw open the gate of the
enclosure, and passed into the amphitheatre. Across this he strode
boldly, axe and shield in hand, the bundle of weapons intended for the
use of his friends being slung at his back.
As he went he strove to recall Mervyn’s description of the
position of the fire cell, in which he had no doubt his friends would
be confined; but the scientist had not been able to explain very
clearly. All that Seymour could remember was that a long passage,
crossed by many more passages, led from the fire cell to the temple,
and with this meagre knowledge of the geography of the wolf-men’s
caverns he had to be content. He was determined, come what might, that
he would not return without his friends if they still lived; and if
Nordhu, in his devilish hate, had destroyed them, he would act as
their avenger.
He had no fear, although he was alone--one against a myriad.
He had a strong belief in the ultimate triumph of right, and he knew
that his mission was a righteous one; therefore he did not shrink from
penetrating into the very midst of the savage’s haunts to fulfil his
purpose. He dared all to rescue his comrades from the hands of the
wolfish fiends who, for no reason save their own savage lust for
slaughter, had taken them captives--to give them back life and
liberty, sweeter than ever now that they knew there was a way of
escape from this ghostly underworld to the daylight.
He lifted his heart in a prayer for Higher help as he went
on--for Divine guidance upon his all but impossible task. Past
the great idol he strode, ears alert for the least sound that should
tell of the presence of an enemy. But the vast natural amphitheatre
was deserted, silent as the grave. Neither priest nor savage showed
himself.
At length he reached the skin curtain which veiled the mouth of
the passage, and, lifting this, passed through. And now the real
difficulties of his task became apparent. The heart of the hills
seemed literally honeycombed with passages and tunnels. Every few
yards he would pass the mouth of some gallery leading off from the one
he was following, and from each of these came sounds of life and
movement--the clanging of metal, the rattling of chains, and,
sounding high above all, the booming strokes as of some huge
hammer.
What work was being carried on down there in the bowels of the
hills? Seymour wondered. Was it the making of weapons for the use of
the savages? His musings broke off short, as a dark form flitted
across the passage ahead of him. For an instant he thought his
presence was discovered, and that he particularly wished to avoid
until he had found his friends; but the savage disappeared as silently
as he had come, and once more Seymour breathed freely. The encounter
taught him the necessity of haste, however, and he pressed on with
increased speed.
His jewel--without which he would have been in total
darkness, save for the occasional flashes of flame which leapt up from
the side galleries--he could not dispense with, yet he knew that
its brilliant light would betray his presence in these dismal caverns
should any passing savage sight it. And the alarm once given, farewell
to all hope of accomplishing his mission. In a moment he would be
surrounded by a shrieking horde of savages thirsting for his
blood.
He did not think that--strange, unearthly figure as he
looked in his gleaming mail--the wolf-men, in their barbarous
ignorance, would probably take him for a supernatural being, some
demi-god who had fallen from his place, and had entered their haunts
with intent to destroy them.
Yet such was the case; for, of a sudden, rounding a curve in the
passage, he came full upon a savage, who at sight of him dropped flat
upon his face, moaning with terror. What to do with the creature
Seymour did not know. Natural prudence suggested that he should
silence him for ever; but all the chivalry in his nature revolted
against the idea of killing him in cold blood.
The decision was mercifully taken out of his hands, however. As
he stood considering what course to pursue, the moaning of the
wolf-man ceased. Stooping, Seymour discovered that he was dead. The
superstitious terror inspired by the baronet’s appearance had proved
too much for the savage.
“It’s saved me a nasty job,” Seymour muttered as he resumed his
progress; “I should have been obliged to kill him, or he’d have raised
the very deuce in a few seconds.”
Some hundred yards further a brilliant flare came into view, and
the baronet at once conjectured that he was nearing his goal.
And so it proved. Within a few moments he stood before a cell,
across the doorway of which stretched a barrier of fire. His armour
saved him somewhat from the heat, so that he was able to approach
fairly close to the flaming wall.
For a while he could see nothing within the cell beyond; but, as
his eyes became more accustomed to the glare, he made out three
figures standing motionless against the wall.
“Mervyn!” he called softly, and at the word one of the figures
moved.
“Mervyn!” he repeated louder.
“Who calls?” came the weary reply.
“I, Seymour!” the baronet answered.
“Seymour!” in an incredulous whisper, “how can that be?”
“Never mind that now. Tell me how this fire dodge is worked, and
soon have you out of that.”
“It’s William right enough,” Haverly’s voice returned, “and I
guess he was never more welcome than at the present moment. Just
enlighten him how the fire trick works, professor.”
“There is a knob in the floor somewhere there,” Mervyn explained.
“Nordhu stamped upon it to raise the flames. If you were to pull
it----”
Almost before the words had left his lips Seymour had found the
knob he mentioned, a small, round projection in the rocky floor.
Grasping it, he gave a mighty tug, and immediately the fire
disappeared into its trench, leaving the cell open.
“Jupiter!” gasped Silas as the baronet crossed the threshold,
“wherever did you get that rig-out?”
“Explanations must wait,” Seymour returned, rapidly forcing the
chains which secured the captives to the wall.
“Where’s Wilson?” he asked an instant later, as he observed that
the engineer was absent.
“Heaven alone knows!” replied the scientist. “The priest’s still
got him hypnotised, and he’s taken him off somewhere.”
“Hypnotised!” exclaimed Seymour. “Ah, yes. I remember you told me
before that Nordhu was a hypnotist. But, wherever Wilson is, we must
find him. See here, I have brought some weapons”--unslinging them
from his back as he spoke--“do you and Haverly take a sword
apiece and make your way out through the temple. Chenobi and I will
seek for the engineer.”
At first the two comrades demurred a little at this order, but,
on Seymour pointing out that four would be far more likely to attract
notice than two, they consented to this arrangement; and, with their
weapons ready for action, strode off down the passage. Then the
baronet, handing his axe and shield to his Ayuti friend, armed himself
with another of the swords, and the twain left the cell. An instant
they paused to raise the barrier of fire again by stamping upon the
knob that the escape of the prisoners might not be so readily
discovered. This done, they moved off on their errand.
As they went, Chenobi, in low tones, gave his friend an account
of the method of his capture, telling how Nordhu had cast a spell upon
him while he fought at the head of the steps.
“Which road shall we take?” Seymour asked, as they came to the
mouth of a gallery.
“Let us try this,” Chenobi answered, and, with that, they passed
into the tunnel. In silence they strode onward now, fully realising
the dangerous nature of their enterprise. What Seymour had hitherto
accomplished was mere child’s play to the task upon which he and the
Ayuti were now set. They were about to penetrate into the heart of the
wolf-men’s caverns, to enter the busy thoroughfares through which
flowed the life of the savage community, and on a quest apparently as
hopeless as ever one could be.
The clanging noises grew louder and louder as they advanced, but
Seymour noticed with some astonishment that Chenobi seemed not at all
surprised at the queer sounds. Did he know the nature of the work
which was being carried on? The baronet was about to put the question,
when the king pulled up, pointing ahead with his axe.
Far away down the passage rose a red glare, and amid it flitted
numerous dark, grotesque figures.
“Have a care!” Chenobi warned in a whisper, as they resumed their
way. Warily they crept forward, step by step, towards the light,
unseen by the ghoulish creatures who passed to and fro bearing huge
burdens.
Reaching the end of the tunnel, the two men crouched there a
while, Seymour marvelling at the scene before him. It was stupendous,
amazing! A vast cavern, immense beyond description, seeming to stretch
away into infinite distance, all ablaze with a crimson glow which
burst from the mouth of a yawning pit; and in the midst of it--a
medley of flying rods and clanging levers--loomed a machine,
indistinct by reason of the rapidity of its motion, and vaster than
aught Seymour had ever seen before.
To and from this miracle of mechanism toiled a multitude of
wolf-men, each staggering beneath a mighty load. In the glare from the
pit they looked like demons, the illusion being heightened by the
weird cries to which they gave utterance, and which rang high above
the clash and rattle of the machinery.
“See!” roared Chenobi suddenly, his voice almost lost in the din
of the clanging levers, “our friend!”
Across the floor, walking as one dazed, came Wilson. His sleeves
were rolled up to his elbows, and in his hand he held a hammer of
curious make.
“Wilson!” Seymour almost screamed the word in his eagerness to
attract the notice of his friend; but the lad strode on, utterly
oblivious of the close proximity of the two who had come to save
him.
“Wilson! Tom”
Still no sign from the engineer. Like one walking in his sleep,
he moved on over the floor of the cavern. Then Seymour did a bold
thing. Rising from his concealment, he stepped into the glare after
his friend, and placed his hand upon his shoulder.
At the touch the lad swung round sharply, and the light of
intellect came back into his dull eyes.
“Seymour.” His lips framed the word, but no sound passed them,
and he staggered as though about to fall.
“Steady, old man,” cried the baronet, supporting him to the mouth
of the passage. Each instant he expected to hear a yell from the
savages, telling that his presence was discovered. But they appeared
too intent upon their work to note his movements, and hope rose high
within him that he would be able to get his friend away
unobserved.
“We have succeeded,” he burst out rapturously to Chenobi, as he
rejoined him.
“Not so,” thundered a voice behind him; “by Ramouni, ye have
_failed!”_
Quick as thought Seymour turned. Almost at his shoulder, a grin
of malignant triumph making his features fiend-like in their
expression, stood Nordhu, priest of the wolf-men.