Vault of the Ages (15 page)

The low trilling of a thrush came from the forest’s edge. But thrushes rarely sing at night. It was a signal. Tom stared at the camp for a moment. Nothing stirred. He heard a snore and someone talking in his sleep. Turning, he went with long, quiet steps over to the horses.

His friends were holding three by swiftly looped hackamore bridles. The others stirred and snorted, uneasy at this strange doing. Tom laid down his spear and leaped onto the back of one. Carl and Owl followed suit.

A sudden voice thundered from the camp: “Joey! Joey, where are you? What’s going on?”

“All right, boys!” Carl’s voice lifted high and clear. “Let’s go!” He plunged into the thick of the herd, screeching and howling. “Eeeeyah! Hi, hi, hi! Giddap!”

“They’re getting away—”

The horses stampeded. Neighing, plunging, they scattered in terror and a wild drumming of hoofs.

“Come on!” barked Carl. “Let’s ride to Dalestown!”

An arrow whizzed by his cheek, and another and another. The Lann were awake now, shouting, running about after their mounts, firing at the three who galloped into the forest.

Carl leaned low over the neck of his steed. There hadn’t been time to steal spare animals. The risk had been enormous as it was—and so these would flag in a long chase. And a long chase it would be, clear to Dalestown, with the Lann in hot and angry pursuit as soon as they had recovered their own horses.

Owl’s laughter pealed forth. “We seem to do nothing but steal livestock these days!” he cried.

“Ride, you ninny!” shouted Carl. “Ride to Dalestown!”

T
HE
horse stumbled. Its breath came short and gasping, and foam streaked its dusty flanks. Relentlessly, Carl spurred it with a sharp-pointed twig. The dust cloud behind was growing terribly near.

Weariness blurred the boy’s eyes. His head felt empty from lack of rest. There had been no chance to drink all this day, and his mouth was dry. The sun danced cruelly bright above him.

A night and a day, another night and now this day, fleeing, fleeing … only the shortest snatches of sleep, more to save the horses than themselves … no food, until hunger was a numb ache within them … dodging, weaving, splashing along streams, using every trick they knew to hide their trail from the hunters. Now they were on the last stretch, plunging along the well-remembered road to Dalestown, and the riders of Lann were just behind them.

Carl cast a glance to the rear. He could see the forms of men and horses, the up and down of lances and helmets, wavering in heat-shimmer and swirling dust. Since getting on the track of the boys and spotting them about dawn, Lenard and his men had steadily closed the gap between. Their recovered horses, being more in number than the masters and thus able to rest from bearing weight, were fresher. Carl wondered bleakly if his own mount might not fall dead under him.

It might have been wiser to go on foot. A man could run down a
horse on any really long stretch. But no, the horse had greater speed for the shorter jogs—such as this last wild lap to Dalestown. No time to think. Too late to think. Ride, ride, ride!

Beside him, Tom and Owl held to the hoof-thudding road, sagging a little with their own exhaustion. Their clothes were ragged, torn by branches in the woods. Their skins were scratched. They were muddy with grime and sweat, weaponless save for one stolen knife, hunted, but they plunged ahead, over the hard-baked dirt of the road, over the hills that rolled to Dalestown.

“Hi-ya!” The savage, wolfish baying of the Lann rang faintly in Carl’s ears. An arrow dropped almost beside him, its force spent. But soon the enemy would be well within bowshot-range, and that would be the end.

The land lay broad and green about him, houses growing thicker as he neared the town, grain waving in fields and flowers blooming in gardens. But nothing lived there, nothing stirred, emptiness lay on the world. The people had retreated behind the walls of Dalestown.

The long, easy rhythm of gallop under Carl was breaking as the horse staggered. The Lann howled and spurred their own mounts, closer, closer, a drumbeat roll of hoofs under the brazen heavens.

“Carl—Carl—” Tom’s voice was a moan. “We can’t make it—so near, but we can’t—”

“We can!” shouted the Chief’s son, half deliriously. His head rang and buzzed and whirled. He dug fingers into the horse’s mane and leaned over the neck. “We’re almost there. Hang on, hang on!”

They were speeding up a long slope. As they neared the heights, Carl saw that thunderheads were piling up above it. There would be rain before nightfall and the earth would rejoice. But he—would he be there to feel its coolness?

“Yah, yah, yah!” The Lann yelped and plunged ahead as their prey disappeared over the hilltop.

Dalestown lay below, a dark spot in the green, deep valley, huddled under clouds lifting mountainous overhead. A fresh east wind was springing up, stiffening, whistling eerily in the long grasses and the suddenly tossing trees.

Down the other slope, down toward the walls, gallop, gallop, gallop! Carl risked another glance behind. He could see Lenard’s face now in the van of the enemy. The barbarian was smiling.

Blackness grew bright with lightning streaks in the heart of the thunderheads. Clouds were boiling over the sky, flying gray tatters of storm, and the wind’s keening rose yet louder. The storm was coming with giant strides.

“We can’t make it, Carl.” This time it was Owl who gasped out his despair. The wind flung the words raggedly from his mouth. “We just can’t make it—”

“We can try!” shouted Carl.

Down and down and down. An arrow sang past, and another and another. Tom’s horse neighed shrilly and somehow lengthened its pace. A shaft had grazed its flank.

“Hi, there!” Lenard cupped his hands to yell above the wind and the roaring of trees and the growing boom of thunder. The voice drifted faint to Carl’s ears. “Surrender now or we’ll shoot you down!”

So near, so near… The valley sides were leveling off now. The massive log walls of Dalestown, the square towers, the high roofs beyond … two miles away, perhaps, and every flying step brought them closer … but there was no hope. The Lann were yards behind and …

Sunlight speared through the clouds, a weird, hard brass-yellow. Thunder banged from heaven to earth and back, shivering the ground. A terrified flock of crows fought the harrying wind as they neared a sheltering thicket.

Carl’s muscles tensed for the shaft that would enter his back. He set his teeth against it. He would not cry out even when it tore his lungs … but ride, ride, ride!

Laughter snarled almost in his ear. Turning his head, Carl saw the warrior who drew alongside him, thrusting his horse between Tom and the Chief’s son. Teeth gleamed in the dark bearded face as a hand reached out for the bridle on Carl’s horse.

The boy growled, almost sobbing, and leaned over. With one hand he clung to his steed’s mane; the other fingers closed on the braids that hung below the warrior’s helmet. He heaved back, reining in his horse as he did. The Lann mount still plunged ahead, and the warrior went crashing from the saddle, one foot caught in a stirrup, howling as he was dragged. Tom snatched the falling lance from the air and whirled about to meet the enemy.

Lightning glared overhead and the rain came, the heavens opening in a gray flood. Stinging silver spears slanted on a whooping
wind, splashing back from the earth, hiding the farther hills in a sudden smoke.

Owl had also reined in. A triumphant Lann rider came at him with lifted sword. But Owl still had the knife. He grabbed the raised arm with one hand and slashed it with the other. The warrior yelled, clutching at his blood-spurting wrist, and Owl jerked the sword away and tossed it to Carl.

The Lann closed in on every side, edged metal lifted against the unarmored, rain-streaming bodies. Lightning flamed white in the sky and thunder was a giant war wagon, booming and banging and crashing. Carl lifted his face to the rain, drinking life in a last joyous draught, suddenly unafraid now when hope was gone.

“Take them alive if you can,” barked Lenard.

Horses thrusting in, a sudden press of bodies, clubbing lance butts and the flat of swords… Carl swung at the nearest threatening arm, felt his steel bite deep, and then a swung shaft crashed against his head. Lightning and darkness… He toppled from his seat and the rain boiled about him.

Looking dizzily up from where he lay, he saw a horseman seeming to tower above him, lance head pointed against his throat. With a snarl, the boy grabbed the shaft, pushing it aside. His free hand picked up the sword out of the mud, and he hacked out.

He’d not be taken as a hostage and a slave, he thought wildly. He’d make them kill him!

Thunder bawled over the rushing rain and the hooting wind. Carl felt the earth tremble under his feet. Two of the Lann had jumped to the ground and were closing in on him, trying to hem him between their shields. He smote at a helmet and his blade clanged off.

Baroom, baroom, baroom, baroom
— Not the thunder shaking the ground, but nearer—sweeping nearer—

The horseman burst out of the storm. His mount was a tall black stallion, and he himself was big and golden-haired and wrathful. Save for shield and helmet, he had no armor, but a broadsword flashed in his hand. He rode full tilt against the group of men.

The great sword yelled out, its rain-wet steel suddenly red, and a warrior died. Another had no time to lift blade before he too was cut down. The plunging horse was reined in, rearing back on its hind legs, and the pawing hoofs smashed against a third barbarian. Steel clamored against steel as the newcomer hewed at a fourth man. A fifth rode against his left side, sword aloft. Raging like a tiger, the
golden-haired man straightened his left arm, and the spiked boss on his shield crashed into the face of the northerner. “Father!” yelled Carl. “Father!”

Ralph’s smile was savage in his beard. He knocked the sword spinning from his enemy’s hand and the man had barely time to skitter aside before that screaming blade scythed him down. And now other forms were coming from Dalestown. Carl saw Ezzef and three more guards in the lead, saw lances lowered and heard the faint scream of a horn.

The Lann, suddenly outnumbered, whirled their steeds about and went galloping back whence they came. Roaring vengefully, the Dalesmen swept after them, until Ralph winded his horn. Then, slowly and grudgingly, they straggled back to their Chief.

Ralph had already sprung from the saddle to fold Carl in his arms. “I saw you from afar,” he choked. “I saw them after you, and came as fast as I could. Are you well? You’re hurt.”

“A scratch.” Carl hugged his father. “Tom? Owl?”

“Still alive,” said the younger boy. The pounding rain had plastered his sandy hair flat, and the blood running from his cut scalp was dissolved before it had trickled to his breast. He grinned weakly.

Ezzef came riding up, his horse splashing mud, his face darkened. “We could’ve had ’em, if you hadn’t called us back,” he complained.

“It might have led you into a trap,” said Ralph. “The Lann, the main army, are very close.” He straightened. “Come on, let’s get back into town.”

Mounted again, Carl rode slowly with his father. The Chief’s face was grave. “You went to the City, didn’t you?” he said.

“Yes,” answered Carl.

Ralph shook his head. “That was not wise. Donn is determined to enforce the law. You’ll hardly be able to lie out of his accusation, and—well—”

“It was for the good of the tribe,” said Carl heavily.

“Of course. But the tribe may not see it that way.” Ralph clapped his son’s shoulder, “However, I’ll do what I can. I didn’t rescue my only son from his enemies to see him hanged by his friends.”

The gates yawned before them. As they entered, Carl saw that the streets were jammed with people. As far as he could see, the crowd surged in the rain, drenched and miserable and hungry-looking.
Tents and lean-tos were thrown up everywhere, in courtyards and streets and market places, a swarming city within a city. By order of the Chief and the Council, every home and warehouse and shop, any building that could hold a person, was filled with the overflow of refugees. All food had gone into a common store, and the town gave a grudging ration out of the kitchens it had taken over. Already, even before the Lann were in sight, Dalestown was under siege.

The people were packed together, townsfolk and country dwellers and the hunters and charcoal burners and lumbermen of remote forests. Women held babies in their arms, shielding them against the rain, and other children clung to their skirts. Men were armed, grim and angry of face. Old folk looked around, timid and bewildered, a lifetime had toppled to ruin about them. The crowd moved aimlessly, hopelessly, buzzing and mumbling under the steady roll of thunder. Eyes, eyes, a thousand eyes stared at the returning warriors.

“Has all the tribe come here?” whispered Carl.

“No,” said Ralph bleakly. “Only those who could make it. But that’s more than we can really hold. Keeping order in that mob is more than enough for our guards to do, besides manning the lookout posts—and the food isn’t going to last very long. And, if they’re crowded together like this for several weeks, there’ll be sickness. Oh, it’s bad, it’s very bad.”

Lightning blazed luridly in the windy heavens. A group of solemn Doctors approached the Chief. Two of them bore holy symbols aloft. Two were beating drums. Two chanted spells against witchcraft. In their lead, tall and old and grim, stalked Donn.

His robes clung to him in the lashing rain, his face was streaming with the chill watery flow, but there was no weakness and no mercy in the eagle face that lifted up to Carl. His voice came harsh and clear through the storm: “You have been to the City.”

Carl forced himself to meet those terrible eyes. “I have,” he said. It would be worse than useless to deny what was plain to everyone.

“You knew it was forbidden. You knew death is the penalty.”

“And I knew it was our only chance to save ourselves!” Carl turned to the ranked people where they stood in the rain, staring and waiting. “I know there is wisdom in the City, not witchcraft, not devils or Doom, but wisdom, craft and knowledge to drive off the
Lann and rebuild the ancient glories of man. My friends and I risked our lives to go there for the sake of the tribe. For your sakes, O people.”