Vault of the Ages

Chapter 15 THE FRIENDLESS ONES

“It’s shameful!” said Ezzef. “It’s a cursed, crying shame!” He sat on a bench outside one of Dales-town’s public stables, leaning forward with fists clenched on knees. Tom and Owl had slipped from their joyful parents to meet him and stood before the young guard. Half a dozen others also gathered around, reckless youths who had shouted for blood in the Council and still chafed at its decision. All bore arms and all were angry.

Tom had just reported what had happened to Carl—he’d heard rumors that his friend was back in prison, and had stopped to talk with him through the barred window. “And tomorrow,” he finished, “the Doctors will come with their drums and rattles and vile potions, to drive out the fiend they think has possessed him.”

“I doubt if there’s any such thing,” said Owl. “But that kind of treatment will break anybody’s will in time.”

“I don’t know if they’d get an oath from Carl,” scowled Ezzef. “He’s always been a stubborn sort when he thought he was in the right.”

“In that case,” said Nicky, a son of Black Dan, “they’ll end up hanging him after all.”

“By that time,” answered Tom gloomily, “the Lann will be here and may do the job for them.”

“Yes, so.” Ezzef waved a sinewy hand at the nearest watchtower, where it bulked over the thatch and wood roofs. “They’re waiting outside—just waiting, curse them! That’s all they need to do. Hunger and sickness will fight for them within our walls.”

“I suppose Ralph will sally forth against the enemy,” said Sam the Strong, who was a blacksmith’s apprentice.

“Heh!” Willy Rattlehead’s bucktoothed mouth split in a grin. “And be mowed like ripe wheat. Oh, it’ll make a fine hero-song, when we’re all dead.”

“Now wait,” said Ezzef. “Let’s not get sidetracked. I called you fellows together because I wanted to talk with someone I trusted. Tom, Owl, tell me—how much power is there in that vault? Honestly.”

“I don’t know much about it,” shrugged Tom. “But you heard Carl tell in the meeting about that devil powder which scared the Lann from the City. Some of that, all by itself, could stampede their horses— which’d make a big difference in battle. And then the first time we were there, and old Ronwy was showing us through the vault, he was saying something about a simple flying machine. He called it a balloon, and said it wasn’t hard to make. Imagine throwing rocks and boiling water from above!”

“There must be more,” added Owl. “Lots more. We’re just trying to remember what was there that we could put to quick use. Something called rockets—fire arrows, sort of, but charged with the devil powder—”

“That’s enough,” Ezzef cut in. “I don’t understand it. Don’t think you boys do either. Carl does, a little, and this witch-chief seems to know a lot. Nor can the witches stand against even a few good warriors, so a strong band wouldn’t have to worry about them. D’you see what I’m getting at?”

Tom’s eyes glowed. “Yes!”

“We’re not the only ones who’d go on such an expedition,” said Ezzef. “I know at least a dozen others that’d jump at the chance. Didn’t have time to get word to them of this little meeting, but they’re biting the bit right now, I swear.”

“So—” Nicky’s dark face grew taut. “So we get Carl out of the jug, and sneak from this town and through the enemy lines, and make our way to the City. There we’ll have to drive off the witch-patrols. We’re taking the wild chance that Carl and this Ronwy can cook up something useful. If that doesn’t work, why, we’ve betrayed our tribe and are outlaws even if they do somehow win.”

“You needn’t go if you’re afraid,” snapped Tom.

“Oh, I’m not afraid,” said Nicky evenly. “I’ll be glad to go. I just wanted to make sure everybody understood the risks we’d have to run.”

“Not much risk,” grunted Ezzef. “Because we’ve really nothing to lose. All right, boys, are you game?”

Night crept westward. Carl’s cell darkened before the sky had faded, and he stood at the window looking out to the blue strip of heaven until it had turned black and starry. Then he sighed and lay down on his crude mattress.

It was quiet in here. Ralph had forbidden lights after dark while the siege lasted, lest they start a fire in the overcrowded town, and folk went to bed with the sun. Now there would only be the guards at gate and tower, and the night watch tramping down the streets. The town slept, and about its slumber glowed the ominous red of the Lann campfires, and the sounds of the enemy laughing and singing and sharpening swords drifted in its dreams.

Carl couldn’t doze off. He lay bolt awake, turning restlessly, staring open-eyed into the gloom. What was he to do?

He’d hurt his father, who had fought so valiantly in battle and Council to save his Me. He’d gotten himself locked away, when he might be of use patrolling the beleaguered town. In the morning he would face a crazed drumming and dancing, and be scourged and given nauseating drinks, to expel the devil they thought was in him. And for what? For a lost cause, for a will-o’-the wisp, for a stubbornness which would not surrender even in defeat.

In the end, he knew, he would give up and take the oath. While he lived there was always hope—someone else might be persuaded to break taboo. But then why did he refuse now?

Why did he suffer a useless confinement and visit an unnecessary pain on those who loved him? Was he becoming another Donn, so sternly devoted to the Tribe that he had no time or mercy for the mere tribespeople?

Was he right, even? Who was he to challenge laws made centuries before bis birth? Was he so much wiser than his elders that he could tell them what was truth?

Or even if he was right, even if the old powers could again be given to the world—was that for the best? How did he know that the ancients had been happy? How did he know that a rebuilding would not start anew the terrible old cycle of wars and cruelty and woe, until the world crashed in a second Doom?

Carl tried to shake the doubts out of his tormented mind, but they returned to plague him, little formless devils mocking and gibbering in the depths of his brain. He muttered wearily and wondered how late in the night it was.

There came a sudden, scuffing noise outside the door. A voice growled something, metal clinked faintly, feet slid over the packed dirt—Carl leaped from rest, every nerve drawn wire-taut, and strained against the solid bulk of the door.

“Carl!” The whisper drifted through, dim and unrecognizable.

“Carl, wake up!”

“I’m here,” he gasped. “Who is this?”

“It’s Owl. Stand by. We’re going to break in.”

Carl drew a shuddering breath. “What is this—”

“Not so loud! You’ll wake the other prisoners. All right, Sam!”

A hammer rang on iron, muffled by a fold of cloth laid between. Once, twice, thrice, and then the clumsy padlock jingled to ruin and the door creaked open.

The figures of Carl’s rescuers were vague shadows in the hall. There were four, armed and armored, peering nervously out the jail entrance into the silent street. Owl stepped forth. He bore equipment in his hands—helmet, breastplate, shield, knife and sword—which he gave into Carl’s amazed grasp. “Get this on quick,” he muttered.

“But—but—”

“It’s a rescue. Don’t you see? Twenty of us are here to get you out and follow you to the City. Now fast!”

For a moment longer Carl stood unmoving, and all his doubts rose to overwhelm him. Then decision came and suddenly he was swift and cool, throwing on his clothes, buckling the armor over them, no thought save the tremendous will to freedom.

Yes, one—the gentle old couple who guarded the jail and had looked after him—”What about the guard here and his wife?”

“They’re all right. We went into their bedroom, bound and gagged them, that’s all. They’ll be found in the morning. But we can’t rouse the others held in here or they’ll make a racket that’ll bring the night watch down on us like a star falling. All set? Let’s go, then.”

They slipped out of the corridor and the entrance, into the street. Houses loomed tall on either hand, shadowing, turning the narrow way into a river of darkness. A cat squalled from a roof, a dog barked answer, a man shouted something angry out of an upper window, the leather of the fugitives squeaked and the metal rang faintly—the night seemed alive with noise, and Carl started at every sound.

He had time for a brief regret. If they were caught trying to escape, it would go harder with his rescuers than with him; if they were caught by the Lann, it would most likely mean death for all; if they reached the City and failed to produce the promised magic, they would forever be marked traitors and outlaws. In any case, it would be still another cruel blow to the many that Ralph and John had endured.

His will grew tight again. This was no age for weaklings. You had to do whatever seemed best, without letting gods or men or the lower devils deter you.

The measured tramping of feet came nearer. They crouched into a narrow alley and watched the town guard go by, armored guards with axes on their shoulders. For a moment, it seemed as if the relentless march would go through their very hiding place, but the guards turned sharply and went on down the street.

Farther along, winding between the tents of refugees, the little band saw two men approaching. At Carl’s hurried command, they fell into formation and moved steadily forward. The strangers fled. They must have been out to do a little thieving, and had taken the escaping ones for the watch.

Now softly, softly, glide between walls up to the great stockade, hug its shadow and slip along, slip along…

Two ladders seemed to spring out of darkness. Tom and Ezzef stood by them with drawn swords. “There you are,” whispered the young guard. “All right, Carl. The rest have gone ahead. We go by twos, up the ladders, jump to the ground outside, and then the gods get us through the enemy camp. Meet at dawn by the swimming hole in old Rogga’s woods. After that, you’re the leader.”

Carl nodded and went softly up the rungs, holding his body close to the ladder. At the top he hesitated, glancing at the watchtowers looming against the sky. It was a cloudy, dark night, but even so the guards would be alert— Nothing to do but jump!

He sprang, relaxing his body and falling twenty feet with trained ease. He landed in one of the hedges clustered below the walls, feeling branches rake him, more concerned with the noise of his armor. But that wasn’t much. The crackling twigs were louder, and he lay stiff for a moment, waiting for a challenge.

No answer, no sound. The fortress stood black and massive above him, crouched into itself, waiting for an unknown doom. Owl joined him and the two pairs of eyes turned to the scattered red flicker of enemy fires, half a mile away.

“Let’s go,” said Carl at last.

He drew his mantle up to cover the sheen of helmet and breastplate, and loped cautiously toward the besieging camp, weaving from tree to bush to thicket, waiting tense at every sound that drifted from the foe. Discovery meant flashing swords and red death. They had forfeited the help of Dalestown. Truly, thought Carl, his was a friendless gang and every man’s hand was against it. Briefly, he wondered if the great pioneers who had built the lost civilization had been as lonely in their day.

Closer, closer. Carl lay prone behind a bush and looked slit-eyed at the ring he had to cross. Some twenty yards off on either side, a dying campfire cast its dull light on sleeping men, stacked weapons, an occasional tent; between was a lane of darkness. Two fires down, several Lann were still sitting up, drinking wine robbed from some Dale house; their bawling songs came vaguely upwind. A cow taken for butchering lowed in the night. Somewhere a horse whinnied.

“Let’s go,” hissed the boy again.

He wormed a slow way from behind the shrub, through the trampled grass, between the fires. Often he halted, heart a thunder, so that anyone who had chanced to see a movement would suppose it was wind rippling the grass. He was almost through the barrier when he heard the squeak of boots.

One of the Lann who had been drinking was going back to his own campfire to sleep. He staggered a little. Glancing up, Carl saw a dim red sheen of light on the grinning face. But he lurched away, and Carl’s breath whistled out between his clenched teeth.

So far, so good. Now came the hard part.