Vault of the Ages Read online

  “Hi-yi!” 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 nearer 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—wel
l—”

  “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.”

  “And you brought down the anger of the gods!” cried Donn. He pointed at the boys, but it was to the Dalesmen that he shouted. “They went to the City once and entered the taboo circle and brought back a piece of the cursed magic. Our army was beaten at the battle of the river. They went again and dealt with the witches and fiends. The Lann are at our gates and our homes lie waste. People of the Dales, the gods have turned their faces from you. The wrath of the gods lies heavy on us, and we have been given into the hands of our enemies!”

  “Aye—aye—aye—” The voices rumbled, sullen, hating, the voices of a folk frightened and desperate and looking for a scapegoat. There had been nothing but bad luck. Something must have angered the gods, and the High Doctor was the man who knew their dark will. Fists were shaken and swords began to gleam.

  “The blasphemers must die!”

  “Yes, yes, yes— Hang them, hang them now—” It was like a chorus of wolves baying. The mob pressed closer, the fierce blink of lightning gleamed on eyes and bared teeth.

  “No!” Ralph’s roar was like the thunder come to earth. His sword flamed suddenly free, and his loyal guards drew their own blades and formed a ring about the boys.

  “If they have done a crime,” shouted Ralph, “let them be tried as is the right of all Dalesmen. Are you beasts that would kill on one man’s word? I swore to uphold the law of the Dales, and I’ll do it at sword’s point if I must!”

  “Then let them be thrown in prison,” shrilled Donn. “Let the Council judge them tomorrow.”

  Ralph’s sword lowered as the crowd fell away. “So be it,” he said wearily. “Let them be jailed, as the law demands.” He touched his son’s cheek, briefly and tenderly. “I’m sorry, Carl.”

  The boy tried to smile. “It’s all right, Father.”

  Ezzef led a squad of guards to take the three friends to jail. The young guardsman was outraged. “If that’s the law,” he cried, “then it’s a duty to break it!” He lowered his voice. “If you fellows want to make a dash for freedom, I don’t think any of us could, uh, grab you in time.”

  “A dash to the Lann? No, thanks!” Carl grimaced. “Anyway, I want a chance to plead my case before the Council. I’m going to try and get that stupid taboo lifted.”

  “I’ll spread the word,” said Ezzef. “There’ve been rumors about your last expedition to the City. A lot of us younger men think you’re probably right. At least, that you ought to get a fair hearing. We’ll all be at the meeting tomorrow.” His face darkened. “And if everything goes against you, if you really are sentenced to swing, we’ll see what can be done about rescuing you. Nor do I think your father is so inhumanly upright that he wouldn’t give us a hand in that case!”

  “We’ll see.” Carl’s voice was flat with weariness. “Right now I just want to sleep.”

  The jail was a small, solid building near the great market square. It was watched over by a middle-aged guard and his wife, who were themselves indignant at seeing three boys facing death after having fought for the tribe that threatened them now. They prepared baths and supper, and locked the prisoners into a small clean cell of their own. The other rooms were crowded with men serving short terms for the brawling that was unavoidable in the over-full town.

  When the door closed behind him, Owl yawned and stretched and broke into a chuckle. “First the witches jug us, then the Dalesmen,” he said. “And in between, we were held by the Lann. I guess we just aren’t popular.”

  “Who cares?” Tom’s voice was blurred with sleep, and he stumbled almost blindly for one of the straw ticks on the floor.

  Carl stood for a moment looking out of the small, iron-barred window. The rain was still falling heavily, the street was running with water and muck, the town lay dark beyond. Yes, he thought wearily, yes, his was a strange destiny. He seemed to be an outcast everywhere in the world because he bore a mystery in his heart.

  Well—tomorrow— He slept.

  That night the Lann army marched its last lap. Dalesmen saw burning houses red against the horizon and heard the tramping of thousands of feet and hoofs, the clinking of metal and the guttural voices of men. When the dawn mists lifted, they saw a ring of steel about their walls, campfires burning, horses staked out in grainfields, and the savage myriads of Lann prowling around the defense.

  The last stronghold was besieged.

  Chapter 14

  COUNCIL IN DALESTOWN

  Under the law of the Dales, every tribesman was a member of the Council and could attend its meetings on summons of the Chief if he chose, to help make new laws and reach important decisions. The Council was also the highest court, though ordinary trials were given over to a jury of elders. But this was to be no common proceeding, and the criers and drums of the meeting had been calling since dawn.

  Some warriors had to stand guard in the towers and watch the encircling Lann, and as always, there were men who would not trouble themselves to attend a Council even when they were able. But rumor had been flying throughout the night and the morning. By noon the Hall was full.

  Ralph mounted the stage at its northern end with a slow, grave step. He w
as clad in black, with a white mantle hanging from his shoulders and the golden-hilted sword of justice at his side. After him came Donn, leaning on the arm of a younger Doctor, and then the elders of the tribe. They took their seats and waited.

  Carl and his friends were led by an armored guard onto the stage and found chairs there. The buzz of voices grew almost to a roar. For a moment Carl was afraid. He saw the hundreds upon hundreds of eyes all staring at him, and it was worse than the spears of the Lann. Then a single deep voice shouted above the noise—”Give it to ’em, lads! You’ve done well!” Courage returned and he sat down, folding his arms and looking stiffly ahead.

  He knew the Hall from many past times, but he studied it now as if he were a stranger. The great building was one huge room; its rafters high, high above the men who surged and chattered below. From those rafters hung the ancient banners of the Dalesmen—that ragged flag had been carried by Valthor the Victorious, that dusty standard had lifted over the stricken field of Seven Rivers. The glories of the past stirred and rustled in their dreams. The walls were paneled in carved wood, gods and heroes and animals caught in a rich glow of polished oak. The wooden pillars that marched down the length of the Hall on either side were graven with leaves and fruits from the Tree of Life. Tapestries of the finest weave draped the windows, through which sunlight and air came streaming to the shadowy cavern of the chamber. From the stage to the door, the Hall was filled with benches, and now they were packed and crowded with men, the overflow standing in the aisles and beyond the entrance. Each man was armed, since there might be an alarm at any moment, and the sheen of metal was fierce in that hot, restless half-light.

  Sweeping his eyes over the Hall, Carl saw that he was not without supporters. John the fanner sat strick-enly in the front row. Near by was a solid bloc of young men who had apparently come in a body; Ezzef waved at Carl from that section. And there were others, old family friends, comrades of game and chase, whose looks were sympathetic.