The Unforsaken Hiero

X. OF MUSTERINGS IN THE NORTH

The Most Reverend Kulase Demero, Abbot Supreme of the Metz Republic and General-in-Chief of its armies, was a busy man. His lean, bronzed face was worn with care, and he slept little. His temper, never all that equable, was now tinder-dry, and woe betide any hapless subordinate who wasted his time.

At the moment, he was in council and he was having difficulties, both in keeping his temper and in understanding what he simply had to understand. Not for the first nor for the fiftieth time, he wished that Brother Aldo, the Elevener chief and his secret friend and ally for years, were present. The abbot had a fine mind, and so, no doubt, did this being before him, but one was human and the other was not! The abbot could use his mental powers and exchange thoughts as well as any man in the Republic. But only with men!

He sighed and once more tried to grasp what the other was telling him. Charoo, the chief engineer—for want of a better phrase—of the Dam People, was not all that easy to understand.

Charoo was as tall as the old human, even crouching on his haunches, and far vaster in bulk. His blunt, chisel-toothed head was keglike, and the small, short-furred ears were laid back tight against the long skull. He wore no clothes and needed none, being clothed in dark brown, rippling fur from his head to the base of the great, naked, paddle-shaped tail. He waved his clawed hands now, curiously delicate for the great bulk of his body, and his bright, beady eyes glittered as he tried once more to explain his thought to the man. A wave of pungent musk eddied from his body, and Demero managed to avoid coughing only with difficulty. The scent of castor fiiled the small room as it would have one of Charoo’s own lodges out on a distant lake.

Cannot—indescribable—make evil things go away if not—unknown thought—improbable image—water. Water people not—negative something movement—we must—thought of a specific place—negative again—cannot leave. Must be HERE—positive thought now. Silence.

The great, mutated beavers had appeared like many other creatures, soon after The Death. Shy and unaggressive, they had steadily spread over the remote, northern lakes. Slowly, as they occasionally helped stranded hunters or returned lost infants, the people of the Metz learned to respect them, and a system of silent barter had existed in areas where the two cohabited for many years. No Metz would have dreamed of harming one of the Dam People, but they were not exactly friends, either. Each kept to its kind. Humans avoided their lakes out of courtesy, and the great rodents did not frequent the Metz towns. They traded timber and roots for knives, tools, and vegetables, but that was all. That they were highly intelligent was well known, though only recently had it been realized that they had a written language.

It was Abbot Demero, prompted by his Elevener friend, who had made the first overtures and had been well received, since the Brotherhood of the Eleventh Commandment had laid the groundwork. The Unclean had taken to raiding the Dam People in the recent past, and the great creatures had only two things the Dark Brotherhood and their allies wanted. Meat and fur! This made the Dam People natural allies of decent humanity, but the alliance was not easy. They were simply not warlike by nature, and it was very difficult to explain to them what was needed.

They had willingly helped dig the dams and channels to bring the new Republic fleet down to Namcush, but the abbot wanted much more. And he was not getting through. The hierarchical system of the Dam People was a mystery, for one thing. Charoo appeared to have authority of some kind, but how much authority was a question. Could he speak for many of his people or only for his own village?

Sighing mentally, the abbot leaned forward and prepared to try once more. He was interrupted by a low laugh from the door of his chamber and whirled in a rage, to blast the presumptuous fool who had dared to break in upon him. His fury turned to joy in an instant.

“Hiero!” He embraced the younger man heartily, patting him on the back over and over again. “I knew you were coming, but I had no idea it would be this quick. But listen. You can perhaps help me. I am having the greatest of difficulty in understanding what this worthy person wants to say. Do you suppose… ?” He stopped talking, for Hiero had freed himself and was standing before Charoo in utter silence. Then his hands began to move in certain complex gestures.

Charoo in turn began to move his own hands, and his round eyes were now sparkling even more brightly. In the silent room, the old man felt the pulse of thought, moving on an alien level and far faster than he could grasp. The four hands continued their strange movements; now they were touching and interweaving in a queer way as they did so, as if an invisible cat’s cradle were being formed. For another moment this went on; then both stepped backward and stared at each other.

“Chirrup,” the great beaver said. Dropping to all fours, he scuttled past the two men and out the half-open door. They heard his claws in the passage, and then he was gone into the night.

“Well,” the abbot said at length. “I hope you got more out of that than I did. And how, may I ask, did you know what it was that I wanted to say?”

Hiero dropped into a chair and laughed. “Because, Reverend Sir, as soon as Maluin brought me here to Namcush, I started looking for you. And I have, I regret to add, been eavesdropping as I came to this house from well down the street.”

“I see,” his superior said slowly. “That means you got Berain to send you on ahead of the fleet in one of his precious warships. Not an easy man to persuade, Berain. And your powers really are quite extraordinary. I have been hearing things, my boy. I only hope you keep the fear of God in your heart. No man, no decent man and Christian soul, has ever had the mental strength you seem to have picked up, Hiero. You make me wonder. Do you realize what your mind would be, should it be allied to the power of evil?” He glared down at his former pupil.

Hiero met his gaze frankly. “You can hear my confession just as soon as you like, Most Reverend Father,” he said flatly. “But first, wouldn’t you like to know what Charoo and I said to each other?”

It was touch and go for a moment, and then the old man chuckled. He seated himself in another wooden chair and laughed, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, you insolent, I would like to very much. I can deal with your sins later and I’m sure there were plenty of them in a year away. Tell me what that damned old water hog wanted, because I certainly couldn’t grasp it.”

“Well, first, they have a rather complex sign language to augment their mind speech. 1 was siphoning some of that out of his brain while we were talking on another level mentally. It’s an odd band they think on, but not so odd as that of some other friends of mine you will meet presently. First, he wants to help, but is not sure how. His people are no good away from water, which is pretty obvious. What isn’t so obvious, unfortunately, is how parochial they are. Except for the young males and shes in the spring of the year, they don’t like being away from their own particular lake. They have a fantastic bond of affection for what might be called the home territory. I guess it’s ancestral, but that’s what he was trying to tell you. They have a council of sorts, and he has a lot of clout on it. They visit from village to village and from lake to lake, but—here’s the catch—not for very long at a time. He was trying to tell you that they can’t be counted on for any extended trips or journeys. They’d go crazy,”

“I see. That is certainly worth knowing. It means if there is a big fight and we want them in on it, it had better be somehow staged near where they are in the first place or it’s no go.”

“Exactly,” Hiero agreed. “And well have to think about that at length later. But just now, Father Abbot, I need some help. Is there any news of the South? Have you heard anything from Brother Aldo? No one in the fleet has heard of my wife, but you must have by this time. What news from the East? Have you heard anything—anything at all?”

Hiero had contained himself for a long time, but he was close to the breaking point. Only by rigorously shutting Luchare from his mind totally by the exercise of mental discipline had he been able to hold himself in so long. Abbot Demero saw the agony on the younger face and wished himself anywhere but in the same room.

“I suppose you learned nothing from any prisoners you took?” he asked at length. It was an answer of sorts, but not what he wished he could say.

“Nothing,” Hiero said in a dull voice, looking at the floor. “None but their adepts would have been likely to know, in any case. We saw only three of those, and they were taken in the act of murder and killed on the spot.” The room seemed darker, though the small lamp had not dimmed.

“You deserve the truth,” Demero admitted. “At least all the truth I have to give. Brother Aldo and I are far older friends than you imagine. For many years, unknown to the rest of the High Council of the Republic, I have been in contact with him. He has sought to warn me of the Unclean designs, and I have tried to spur his group to assume a more active part in our struggle. I sent messages to him when you first went south, and it was because of these that he was able to seek you out. Long ago, before your birth, he was of very high rank in your kingdom in the South.

“He brought back the books you found, and we have used them. It was only because of them that we were able to create and learn to use the computers. Without those, we could never have built the new ships so quickly, using and correlating knowledge from the old records. Those computers have saved us many months, and each day they save still more.

“But you want to hear of your princess. Aldo was here not too long ago. He had news of D’alwah—word that was passed over thousands of leagues. There is civil war. It is not good—such evil news that he left in the night to go south, where he could learn more.”

The younger man turned away. Evil word from the South, so bad that Brother Aldo had left in haste! Yet Luchare had known of the rebellion. Her father had been alive, and she had been able to send the faithful hopper to Hiero. She was forewarned. What could have happened? Whatever it was, he was helpless to do anything to aid her, lodged a thousand leagues and more to the north. There was nothing left but the soldier’s creed: Endure!

His face was masklike as he turned once more to Demero. “I know you’ll try to learn more and keep me informed, Father,” he said. “I can’t do anything to help D’alwah up here, except indirectly. Let’s drop the subject. Have I told you we took one of the Unclean Council Chambers undamaged? They had a thing like a great metal screen, set with hundreds of tiny lights, but there was no power source. At least, none that we could find. I had it dismantled as best I could. I have a strange feeling about the thing. It ought to go to the top Abbey mind-psychs at once, but I also want you to put your top computer men on it. I think it may be a computer of some strange sort, but powered by mental energy, and so…”

Listening to the iron control in the flat tones, the abbot had to make an effort to compose his own face and to pay attention. Under the disciplined voice, he heard the terrible muted passion. Yet he could do nothing to help.

From an opening in the green forest wall, there came a great black beast. Klootz strode into a broad clearing, his heavy dewlap hanging under his mighty neck. In the center of the clearing, he raised his head and sniffed the breeze, seeking any news that the wind might bring either his broad nostrils or his mule’s ears. His head bore only buds where the great antlers would come in the months ahead. He sniffed again, winnowing the airs of the great conifers and mighty oaks. Then, raising his head, he called, a far-echoing “Bah-oh.” Three times the nasal bugle rang through the woods. He seemed to listen in silence for an answer, but if one came, it would not have been audible to human ears.

Farther away, at the remote edge of the call’s carrying power, another animal abruptly checked his movement. Gorm stopped and sat up on his furry haunches, listening. His ears and nose twitched, and his eyes took on a look of mental strain. Then he grunted in satisfaction and set off in the direction of the bugling.

Klootz lowered his muzzle and suddenly lurched ponderously forward across the clearing and vanished into the woods, moving without a sound, his entry into the trees like that of a shadow—but a determined shadow.

The royal army of D’alwah was in retreat. What was left of it was moving as rapidly as utter exhaustion would permit. Many men and animals bore dreadful wounds. Every so often, tired bodies simply collapsed, the energy to continue no longer there. It was easy to lose the men and beasts that fell, for it was night and none had the time or strength to help a neighbor. The few baggage wains that remained were lagging badly, though the kaws that pulled them were being goaded until blood ran to keep them moving at all. The king was already far behind. Many of the cavalry were without mounts, trudging dumbly forward on foot. The surviving hoppers were limping and footsore. It was the remnant of a beaten host, held together by loyalty and discipline. But both were eroding fast.

Occasionally, the tired men glanced back toward the south, where a red glare lighted the sky. D’alwah City was burning. Many of the troops were natives of the city and had families there.

They closed their eyes and tried not to look, or even to think of the horrors which must be going on behind them.

The Princess Royal of the kingdom rode in the van, her hopper still surrounded by a clump of mounted troopers. At her side, his right arm in a sling, Count Ghiftah Hamili commanded, his aquiline, dark face a mask of exhaustion. The army had no goal except safety and a place to rest. They were all, man and beast, utterly fought out. That there would be pursuit in the morning, all were keenly aware.

They had fallen back into the city two days before, defeated in the first battle, but still a strong and confident force. They felt they could rest and hold the walls until the levies of east and west, the marshmen and sailors of the coast and the Mu’aman infantry of the great plains, came to join them. When that happened, then they would sally out against the rebel duke and his foul allies and cut him and them to pieces.

That was not the way it happened. What happened was terrible. The conspiracy of beggars and street rabble they had put down a week, earlier had been the merest sham of an uprising, mounted only to catch them off guard. No sooner had the city gates been shut than the real uprising started. The stone barriers of the barred sewers and the access ports to the canals were burst open in some cases, unlocked by treachery in others. Out of the slimy waters erupted all the horrid life of the deeps, the things D’alwah had guarded against for centuries. While fresh attacks from without assaulted the walls of the city, within it the army was faced with the terrified civil populace and hordes of great reptiles, ravenous for blood. Nor was this all. At intervals, strange, manlike shapes, hard to see and hideous when one did, were actually marshaling the onslaught of savage reptilian life and leading it in some fashion against the rear of the embattled troops.

As the reports came in, Luchare took counsel with her few remaining advisors. As best they could, they gave orders to fight their way to the northern gates. Some of the troops made it, but many stayed behind forever. When Luchare tried to assemble what was left outside the north walls, it was clear that the army-had no more than a quarter of its original strength remaining, and that in frightful shape. There was no alternative except retreat—really flight. Duke Amibale and his friends, the Unclean and their allies, had been grossly underestimated. Unless she could rally the rest of the country quickly, the kingdom was lost to all intents and purposes.

As she rode in a daze through the steaming night of the South, Luchare tried to form coherent thoughts. She was so tired! None of them had had more than a catnap for over three days.

She wondered where Hiero was. Her faith that he was alive, she knew at times, might prove unreal. But they were so closely linked that she simply could not believe he was gone forever. Somewhere, somehow, he would come back to her. She had to keep on believing. As she slumped lower in the high-cantled saddle of her hopper, she never noticed that Count Hamili had taken the beast’s reins from her limp fingers and transferred them to one of the guards. Numb with exhaustion, she allowed herself to be led on into the darkness.

Hiero awoke all of an instant. His narrow bed on the third floor of the new fort by the Namcush piers creaked as he sat up. Instinctively, he reached for his sword. What had wakened him? He peered at the open window, through which faint moonbeams glimmered. Listening, he heard the challenge of a sentry and the reply. The faint sound of lapping water came to him, along with other small noises of the night. There seemed to be nothing, but—he had learned to trust his instincts. Somewhere deep in his mind, a tiny warning bell had rung. Then, outside in the corridor, he heard the very faint scrape of movement, hardly more than a rustle of muted sound.

As noiseless as the night itself, he rose, sword in hand, and padded over to the door of the bedchamber, listening intently and probing with his mind as he did. Nothing, no mind, no feeling of one at all. But there had been the sound, and he knew that on the other side of the plank door was a presence! Something had stolen upon him. In this place of friends, there should be no such shielded thought!

His doubts were dramatically resolved. From deep in the wooden fort, far below his sleeping quarters, a horn sounded the alarm call, and the blast of the horn was echoed by others, all giving warning that some enemy was there.

At the same time, his door burst open with a crash, and a bulky form hurtled into the small room, arm overhead and a weapon glinting as it charged toward his now empty cot.

The assassin never had time to learn his mistake. Hiero’s heavy, short sword, sweeping from behind and one side, struck the juncture of neck and shoulder with awful force. There was a single, choked grunt of agony as the razor-sharp edge went home, and a fountain of blood spurted in the dim light. Then the shape fell forward, struck dead on the spot by that one blow.

Hiero whirled to face the dark shape of the door, but the assailant had apparently been alone. He could detect no presence outside. Yet he remained crouching and ready until the light of torches and the sound of men came down the corridor. Only then did he step out and hail the patrol guards.

Ten minutes later, after the room was cleared of all but himself and the abbot, he was staring down at what had come in the night to slay him.

“Aldo mentioned them, I recall,” Demero said. “I gather you had a previous encounter with one, out on the Inland Sea. A foul thing, even for a Leemute—and all of them are foul. What do you call it again?”

“A Glith. That was what Roke the pirate called it before we killed it and him.” He stared down at the gray skull, earless and noseless, the fanged jaws agape in death and the mighty limbs, covered with fine scales, all asprawl. The thing wore the harness of a Metz soldier, but it could not have passed for a human in any kind of light. The heavy axe it had borne lay half under Hiero’s bed.

“How did it get in here?” the old priest mused. “The alarm was given by one of those pendulum devices our scientists cooked up. I showed you one before you went off south, remember?”

“It may have been given, but it was way late,” was the answer as Hiero knelt to examine the corpse further. Already a foul stench was in the room, despite the open window. “Look here. It wears the mind shield. I expected that. God knows what warned me. I guess I’m becoming attuned to the presence of the enemy somehow. But I had only a few seconds to spare.”

He crushed the small box and crumpled the chain before going on. “What I’d really like to know is, if that shield was working—and it was—how did your pendulum thing work at all?”

“I don’t think the scientists themselves altogether understand that device,” Demero said. “The warning was late, as you say. Still, there was a warning. Perhaps it also works, though more slowly, on a level of emotion somehow. A pretty puzzle to set before the big brains when I get time to do so. But what I want to know is, how did this Glith pass the sentries at all?”

“I see what you mean. And I think I know the answer or can guess at it. Have the sentries examined as fast as you can by a psychmedic, one who knows the human brain. One of these things almost hypnotized me once. They have strong mesmeric powers. I’d be willing to bet that there is an unexplained lapse in the memory of some guard, maybe more than one. The damned brutes are probably bred for it. Anything else occur to you, Father?”

“Oh, yes. I’m not quite senile, not yet at any rate. It wanted you. It took a big risk to locate this chamber, son. And that means two things. I’ll have to have the garrison mind-probed in depth. Though I think you may be right, and it could have got its information by mental compulsion. But I see further, and so do you. It came looking for you, so that means it was sent. The Unclean know you are here or at least suspect it. Others may have been sent to other places. The important thing is that they know you are alive, and that is something we hoped was not so. I wonder how?”

“I don’t know. But only one thing makes sense. Someone or some thing saw me in Neeyana. No other way it could have happened. They move fast, don’t they?” Hiero’s eyes slitted as he stared down at the repulsive corpse on the floor. “It makes me feel proud in a funny way. They certainly hate me.”

The abbot smiled. “You were never very good at your classic studies, Hiero. Many, many thousands of years ago, far across the sea, there was a mighty king with a personal motto. Can’t recall much about the man, whether he was good or bad. But I recall the motto. It ran, Oderint dum Metuant. Let them hate me so that they fear me, that is, in Latin. You see, my boy, there’s the answer. As I told you yesterday, I worry about your powers. But you terrify the enemy. I think they would trade several regiments of our Guards if they could get you instead. I had hoped to use you as a secret weapon. Now I’ll just settle for weapon, period. Do you have any ideas?”

“I think so,” Hiero said slowly. “I think we have to keep them off balance. If you can spare me a few good men, the best of the bushrangers, I’ll take my cats and go hunting. North of the Palood and east of the Otwah League boundary. Somewhere in there I think the enemy may be gathering. The way I see it is this: We dealt them a bad blow at Neeyana. We couldn’t hold it, but we certainly wrecked it for them. We stole their records, broke up and brought back their Great Screen, sank two of their best ships, and killed three Masters of the Yellow Circle. Nothing like that ever happened to them before. If I’m right, we only have two main packs to worry about—the Blue, and that’s S’duna, and the Red, both north of the Inland Sea. I think I know where S’duna’s main base is—the isle of Manoon. Where the others are, I have no idea. But I think a hunting expedition is in order, something between a probe and a raid. I have never drought they had many of those ships, you know. Even with their powers, that much metal and technology must be very rare. I doubt if there are more than two or three left on the whole Inland Sea. Brother Aldo got one and my cats got two. I don’t think there are that many left.”

He began to pace the small room, and the older man watched and listened with veiled amusement as the younger continued to expound his plan.

“Surely some of the levies must be coming in from the Otwah League by now? They promised aid before I went south.”

“They have a long way to travel, and the fact that the Unclean have hit them only lightly so far has made them cautious. They are afraid to strip themselves of troops. Also, remember that they are not quite the same as we, Hiero. They have a far higher proportion of the old white stock and they have other mixtures as well. We are homogeneous in population to a much greater extent. Not so many nerves to soothe, not so many little patches of local divergency that have to be kept feeling they are part of the whole. But they are coming. I have had word from their Council.”

“Well,” Hiero said, “tell them to stay well north of the sea, and I mean well north of the roads anywhere near the Palood. The less the enemy knows about them, the better.

“Anyway,” he went on, “I ought to start as soon as possible. I want no more than six men and my furry friends from the South. We’ll go on foot, not mounted, though the Children of the Wind could leave Klootz standing, I think.” A look of pain crossed his face as he thought of his lost mount, but the emotion was suppressed as he continued. “On foot is better. We don’t know that terrain well and I have no idea what we’ll be getting into,”

A heavy tread shook the corridor, and the tall shape of Per Edard Malum loomed in the doorway. He was welcomed and the conversation resumed. It had not progressed very far when the newcomer interrupted loudly. “Hey there, hold up. Are you off again on some crazy trip, while I float around on that stink barge? Not on your life! Father Abbot, I appeal to you. This helpless shrimp needs protection. I resign from the navy here and now. I’m going along, that’s what!” He stared defiantly at both of them.

Demero laughed quietly. “I don’t know what Justus Berain will say, but I suppose I can quiet him down. It won’t really be desertion if I have you seconded to special duties. I presume that you have an executive officer who can handle the ship?” It was an idle question. Maluin’s noise and bulk had never disguised his keen mind. He would have had all his officers trained to a hair, and all three knew it.

Hiero was delighted. He knew his old friend’s value. They had trodden many strange trails in the past. The thought of that stout arm and strong mind at his side was a real comfort. The old abbot also felt relieved. He had guessed at Hiero’s loneliness and knew what the man must be feeling, with his wife’s fate unknown and his mind torn with divergent emotions. A tried and true comrade could be a great help.

“I think Malum has a good idea, Hiero. And though I don’t want to pick your men for you, I have another one. There’s a junior priest, just been made deacon, as a matter of fact, whom I’d like to send with you. He’s here in the garrison, and I’d like to have him up. See what you make of him, and then I’ll tell you why I think you should have him along.”

The abbot called to a guard stationed in the passage. In a short time, a young man stood at salute in the doorway. He was no larger than Hiero and quite slender. He wore the standard garb of leather and, like all the others, a silver pendant of the Cross and the Sword on his breast. He was clean-shaven and seemed hardly out of his teens at first appearance, but Hiero was not fooled. The man’s black eyes were dreaming and remote, as if he looked beyond things, rather than at them. Under the painted yellow leaf and the green caduceus on his forehead, they seemed to gaze far beyond the little, smoky room and out into vastness, Hiero felt a wave of power such as he had seldom encountered before, and not of his own kind, for that was primarily mental. This man’s power came from the spirit. Once in a while the Church Universal threw up a great leader, a healer of souls; priest though he himself was, Hiero felt humbled in the presence of the youth who stood before them. If this priest lived, the church would have a prophet and a reformer such as had been rarely known, even in ages past. He radiated calm and inner power so strongly that it was almost an aura. Hiero knew without being told that he was a celibate. No earthly ties could ever bind such a spirit.

“This is Per Cart Sagenay, Hiero. Sit down, my son, and listen to what we have to tell you. You have heard of Per Desteen, who has done mighty works for us in the South. Per Maluin you also know. I have asked them, especially Per Desteen, to look you over. While we toil back here, building our strength for the onslaught of the enemy, Per Desteen will lead a scouting party to spy out the enemy strength. I wish them to say whether you should accompany them on their journey. I know that you, of all the sons of the church I have ever known, will obey any orders given you. But it is for Per Desteen to say whether I have chosen rightly.”

Hiero had no hesitation at all. “Anyone you chose, Father, would be welcome. But I should like to hear from Per Sagenay’s lips exactly what he himself thinks.”

The young man inclined his head gracefully. His voice was soft and pleasant, but in no way weak. Indeed, it seemed to hum and ring in the room, even after the man had fallen silent. An orator, too, Hiero thought. Well, that would follow.

“Reverend Father, noble Pers of the church, I am not the world’s greatest warrior. Such small gifts as God has given me lie rather with things of the spirit. I have a small talent for the Forty Symbols—”

Demero interrupted. “He sometimes can get twelve at a time. The Abbey schools have never produced anything like him!”

Hiero’s only response to that was a mental “Wow!” Casting the Forty, the tiny, wooden, carved symbols, and trying to see the future with them was an art taught in all the Abbey senior classes. Hiero could get two or at most three and use those only uncertainly. He was about average. He had never heard of anyone who could cast and still make sense out of more than six. Any expedition which had this man as a member would be strong indeed and, he could not help feeling, blessed as well.

Giving the abbot a pained look, Per Sagenay continued. “I am greatly honored by this suggestion. If it be an order, I am more honored still, since I am young and without much experience of the world outside the Abbey walls. I can only wait upon your decision, sirs.”

The decision was unanimous. They talked and discussed plans until the dawn came stealing through the narrow window, then separated for a much-needed rest. The scouting party would leave quietly and as unobtrusively as possible on the following evening.

S’duna was raging, but it was a cold rage, as everything about him was cold. “Namcush totally gone, not that it was ever entirely and completely ours. But we had no warning! The two secret ships which guarded the south sea—gone! Neeyana taken and sacked. Only two Brothers escaped of the five who were there. Do you realize, my friends, that S’ryath, the ruler of the Yellow Circle, is a fugitive in the wilderness, barely able even to communicate with us? We are almost cut off from the South, the source of our strength! S’tarn and I, the Masters of the Red and the Blue, we are alone to all intents and purposes. All of our strength now is here in the North.”

The Blue Council of the Dark. Brotherhood was silent. Then one of them, raised a pale hand. “Surely there is some good news from the South, Elder Brother. The savages of D’alwah have been broken. The starveling slut who calls herself a princess is destroyed. Our allies hold the kingdom under our rule, do they not?”

S’duna withered him. with a glance. In the cavernous chamber, before the great screen of lights and wires, his pupilless gaze was baleful. “Oh, yes, my Brother of the Green, Slorn, has accomplished great works. He has the southern kingdom under his yoke.” The gelid eyes glowed with a light that came from the Ultimate Pit. “And what of his profound assurance about our deadliest enemy? What about Per Hiero Desteen, the prince of D’alwah? The only being ever to escape from dead Manoon? He lives, Brothers, he lives! So much for assurances in the South!”

His voice sank to a hiss. “What wots it that the barbarian kingdom of the South is felled? What does that mean for us, here and now? It is our rule of the North, steadily over the years increasing, spreading and ready to overwhelm the weaklings who call themselves the true church, that is threatened; that is what is in deadly peril. The kingdom of D’alwah may be destroyed. Their wretched king may be in our hands, the slut, as you rightly call her, may be ruined. But what of us, here in the North?”

With rising anger, he paced about the long oval table, a smaller simulacrum of the table of the Great Council. At length he paused and contained himself with an almost visible effort. “In the last year, too many unlooked-for things we never expected have happened. Item, the Eleveners have openly come out against us; only a fool would think they have no powers; they have forsaken peace, as they call it, and are for the first time in their stupid history on the other side, actively on the other side. Consider that!”

The four shining heads, the four pallid, impassive faces, moved with him as he went on. “And S’ryath saw him as he fled the wreck of Neeyana. Whatever may be said, it was he who destroyed those ships! I have heard reports from our spies of the crude things the Metz have put on the waters. They could not have done so, I swear it. No, it was Per Desteen, who will hang on my torture racks before he dies slowly. Curse him! He himself is a mutation and does not even know it. How could he leave the distant South a drugged prisoner, helpless, utterly doomed, and then appear many hundreds of leagues to the north at exactly the right time? Perhaps those accursed Eleveners know something about this. One thing is certain—he had help and help that we know nothing about. There are currents working against us; I grow more sure of it daily. Something impalpable, something that lurks and pries and frustrates our plans in ways we cannot prevent. I shall root it or them out! Exterminate them!”

He ceased pacing and turned to face the others again. With another almost visible effort, he controlled his fury, and the faint flush over the pale cheekbones disappeared. He began to give orders, seek out information, and formulate plans. His colleagues leaned forward, their styluses ready, and proceeded to make notes as he spoke.

There were no horn calls, no salutes, and no ceremony as the patrol went forth from Namcush Fort. It was the cloudy dark just before the coming of dawn. Hiero wanted no eyes to spy out his leaving. He had bidden farewell to the Father Abbot in his chambers earlier, and that was sufficient. The little party left by a small postern, not by the main gate. Its members loped along the back alleys of the port, avoiding even the few Metz guard details until they came to the edge of the small town. Here they left the path entirely and at once plunged into the fringing bush which the inhabitants burned yearly to clear their garden patches. In less than a half hour, the last trace of civilization was behind them, and they were deep in the southern borders of the Taig, the mighty forest which spanned the continent, heading north.

Hiero led, his garb no different from that of the others, except that he no longer wore the painted leaf and caduceus, the looped snakes and rod, on his forehead.

“I’m no longer ail Abbey, Father,” he had said bluntly to Demero, who had noted its absence. “Now I fight for two realms. I hope you’ll forgive me. It was you who sent me south. I am the prince of D’alwah! I cannot wear the badge of the northern armies any longer.”

The old man had looked hard at him, then laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “My son, you are still a priest, and that is what counts to God. I have no fears for your faith. And it is the work of the Faith to reclaim our brothers in every land. You still wear the Cross and the Sword and you got new insignia as soon as you went on our ships. You are still ours. If we share you with another land, the church can but approve. You are a missionary, Hiero. Wear what you will and take my blessings,”

Musing on this conversation as he paced along under the great pines, Hiero wondered. Was he still a priest? He was certainly not the same priest. When he compared himself with Per Sagenay, he wondered if he were a priest at all. Even old Demero, much as Hiero loved and respected him, was more soldier and politician than saint or preacher.

Hiero sighed. Well, they all loved God, they all called themselves Christian, and that was about all one could say. The Lord presumably needed all kinds of help, even that of non-saints. He turned his thoughts aside and looked back at his command. He thought he might have a good one, man for man perhaps the best in the whole northern array.

Right behind him came Per Maluin, shield on his arm and his favorite weapon, one he preferred to any spear, over his brawny shoulders. This was a colossal billhook, one of the oldest weapons in the world, the peasants’ tool of ancient, lost Europe and their last argument against the tyranny of their masters. On a curved axe handle, four feet long, was set a thin, brush-cutting, hooked blade like a deformed axehead. This tool, the ancestor of all later pole arms, was a dreadful implement in the hands of a master, and Per Edard was such. As Hiero looked back, the giant winked at him, his face alight with delight. A born woodsrunner, Maluin reveled in tasks such as this.

Behind him came B’uorgh and M’reen, and with them Per Sagenay. To Hiero’s amazement, the quiet young priest and the catfolk had taken to one another at once. Moreover, Sagenay was learning, with amazing speed, to tune in on the odd wavelength the Children of the Wind used for mind speech. Already he could communicate better with them than anyone save Hiero. This would not have surprised Hiero in an Elevener, but the average Metz had little contact with alien minds, while the Eleventh Brotherhood was trained for it.

The younger man bore a longbow as well as a sword and dagger; he had said modestly that he had some skill with it.

The two young warriors of the cat people, Ch’uirsh and Za’reekh, were out on opposing flanks, out of sight but keeping mind touch.

In the rear came two more humans, but they were not priests, though they were legends along the border and far beyond. These were the twins, Reyn and Geor Mantan. Dark, lean men, identical in appearance, their age was unknown. Hiero guessed they might be in their fifties, but it was only a guess. Years before, they had come back to their small forest steading and found the mangled and tortured bodies of their wives and children in the ashes of their cabins. From then on, they had but one purpose, to seek out and slay the Unclean wherever they found them. Veterans of a hundred grim battles in the shadows of the woods, they spoke little but did much. Many thousands of lives had been saved by their sudden appearance, warning of a Leemute raid or ambush.

They did not serve the Church Universal or any other organized body. They appeared like shadows at intervals, always together, and got what supplies they needed, then vanished once more into the darkness, on the trail of their unending vengeance. They were known from the Otwah League to the Beesee coast, and none would deny them anything they sought in the way of food or help. They were, Hiero thought, like two grim hounds, silent and relentless. Abbot Demero had found them through some personal, arcane method and persuaded them not only to volunteer for this expedition but even to accept Hiero’s orders, a feat that made Hiero, no soft citizen himself, wonder in amazement.

These two bore weapons of their own, used by almost no one else in the North, six-foot tubes of some strange, dark wood—blowguns which fired darts tipped with deadly poison, a secret brew of their own devising, said to slay on the instant. They carried the darts in slung pouches and also wore long knives and belt-axes, whose heads were tipped on one side with a long spike. Grim and fell they looked, like messengers of Fate in their stained leather. Hiero knew that woodsmen and hunters such as these were worth more than a host of ordinary men. Even the catfolk drew back as they passed to change positions, so dread was the fight of their sunken eyes.

Down the long aisles of the great pines and spruces and between clumps of the sprawling palmettos, silent as ghosts, the little company flitted. As it went along, the dawn came pink in the east, and the chirping and warbling of countless birds began to greet the coming day. Tiny, dark figures, moving between the shaggy boles of the trees, never stopping, never keeping to a straight path, they were in view for but a brief instant—then they were gone, and it was as if they had never been.