Storm Over Warlock

by Andre Norton

  14. ESCAPE

  "Something ahead!" Thorvald did not slacken the pace set by thebrilliant spot of green they trailed. Both of the Terrans feared to fallbehind, to lose touch with that guide. Their belief that somehow thetraveling disk would bring them to the end of the mist and its attendantillusions had grown firmer with every foot of ground they traversed.

  A dark, fixed point, now partly veiled by mist, lay beyond, and it wastoward that looming half-shadow that the spinning disk hurtled. Now themist curled away to display its bulk--larger, blacker and four or fivetimes Thorvald's height. Both men stopped short, for the disk no longerplayed pathfinder. It still whirled on its axis in the air, faster andfaster, until it appeared to be throwing off sparks, but the sparksfaded against a monolith of dark rock unlike the native stone they hadseen elsewhere. For it was neither red nor warmly brown, but a dull,dead black. It could have been a huge stone slab, trimmed, smoothed, setup on end as a monument or marker, except that only infinite labor couldhave accomplished such a task, and there was no valid reason for suchtoil as far as the Terrans could perceive.

  "This is it." Thorvald moved closer.

  By the disk's action, they deduced that their guide had drawn them tothis featureless black steel with the precision of a beam-controlledship. However, the purpose still eluded them. They had hoped for someexit from the territory of the veil, but now they faced a solid slab ofdark stone, neither a conventional exit or entrance, as they proved bycircling its base. Beneath their boots was the eternal sand, aroundthem the fog.

  "Now what?" Shann asked. They had made their trip about the slab andwere back again where the disk whirled with unceasing vigor in a showerof emerald sparks.

  Thorvald shook his head, scanning the rock face before them glumly. Theeagerness had gone out of his expression, a vast weariness replacing it.

  "There must have been some purpose in coming here," he replied, but histone had lost the assurance of moments earlier.

  "Well, if we strike away from here, we'll just get right back in again."Shann waved a hand toward the mist, waiting as if with a hunter's watchupon them. "And we certainly can't go down." He dug a boot toe into thesand to demonstrate the folly of that. "So, what about up?"

  He ducked under the spinning disk to lay his hands against the surfaceof the giant slab. And in so doing he made a discovery, revealed to histouch although hidden from sight. For his fingers, running aimlesslyacross the cold, slightly uneven surface of the stone, slipped into ahollow, quite a deep hollow.

  Excited, half fearing that his sudden guess might be wrong, Shann slidhis hand higher in line with that hollow, to discover a second. Thefirst had been level with his chest, the second perhaps eighteen inchesor so above. He jumped, to draw his fingers down the rock, with damageto his nails but getting his proof. There _was_ a third niche, deepenough to hold more than just the toe of a boot, and a fourth abovethat....

  "We've a ladder of sorts here," he reported. Without waiting for anyanswer from Thorvald, Shann began to climb. The holds were so wellmatched in shape and size that he was sure they could not be natural;they had been bored there for use--the use to which he was now puttingthem--a ladder to the top of the slab. Though what he might find therewas beyond his power to imagine.

  The disk did not rise. Shann passed that core of light, climbing aboveit into the greater gloom. But the holes did not fail him; each waswaiting in a direct line with its companion. And to an active man thescramble was not difficult. He reached the summit, glanced around, andmade a quick grab for a secure handhold.

  Waiting for him was no level platform such as he had confidentlyexpected to find. The surface up which he had just made his wayfly-fashion was the outer wall of a well or chimney. He looked down nowinto a pit where black nothingness began within a yard of the top, forthe radiance of the mist did not penetrate far into that descent.

  Shann fought an attack of giddiness. It would be very easy to losecontrol, to tumble over and be swallowed up in what might well be abottomless chasm. And what was the purpose of this well? Was it a trapto entice a prisoner into an unwary climb and then let gravity drag himover? The whole setup was meaningless. Perhaps meaningless only to him,Shann conceded, with a flash of level thinking. The situation could bequite different as far as the natives were concerned. This structure didhave a reason, or it would never have been erected in the first place.

  "What's the matter?" Thorvald's voice was rough with impatience.

  "This thing's a well." Shann edged about a fraction to call back. "Theinside is open and--as far as I can tell--goes clear to the planet'score."

  "Ladder on the inside too?"

  Shann squirmed. That was, of course, a very obvious supposition. He kepta tight hold with his left hand, and with the other, he did someexploring. Yes, here was a hollow right enough, twin to those on theoutside. But to swing over that narrow edge of safety and begin adescent into the black of the well was far harder than any action he hadtaken since the morning the Throgs had raided the camp. The green mistcould hold no terrors greater than those with which his imaginationpeopled the depths now waiting to engulf him. But Shann swung over,fitted his boot into the first hollow, and started down.

  The only encouragement he gained during that nightmare ordeal was thatthose holes were regularly spaced. But somehow his confidence did notfeed on that fact. There always remained the nagging fear that when hesearched for the next it would not be there and he would cling to hisperch lacking the needful strength in aching arms and legs to reclimbthe inside ladder.

  He was fast losing that sense of well being which had been his duringhis travels through the fog; a fatigue tugged at his arms and weighedleaden on his shoulders. Mechanically he prospected for the next hold,and then the next. Above, the oblong of half-light grew smaller andsmaller, sometimes half blotted out by the movements of Thorvald's bodyas the other followed him down that interior way.

  How far _was_ down? Shann giggled lightheadedly at the humor of that, orwhat seemed to be humor at the moment. He was certain that they were nowbelow the level of the sand floor outside the slab. And yet no end hadcome to the well hollow.

  No break of light down here; he might have been sightless. But just asthe blind develop an extra perceptive sense of unseen obstacles, so didShann now find that he was aware of a change in the nature of the spaceabout him. His weary arms and legs held him against the solidity of awall, yet the impression that there was no longer another wall at hisback grew stronger with every niche which swung him downward. And he wasas sure as if he could see it, that he was now in a wide-open space,another cavern; perhaps, but this one totally dark.

  Deprived of sight, he relied upon his ears. And there was a sound,faint, distorted perhaps by the acoustics of this place, but keeping upa continuous murmur. Water! Not the wash of waves with their persistentbeat, but rather the rippling of a running stream. Water must lie below!

  And just as his weariness had grown with his leaving behind the fog, sonow did both hunger and thirst gnaw at Shann, all the sharper for thedelay. The Terran wanted to reach that water, could picture it in hismind, putting away the possibility--the probability--that it might besea-born and salt, and so unfit to drink.

  The upper opening to the cavern of the fog was now so far above him thathe had to strain to see it. And that warmth which had been there wasgone. A dank chill wrapped him here, dampened the holds to which heclung until he was afraid of slipping. While the murmur of the watergrew louder, until its _slap-slap_ sounded within arms' distance. Hisboot toe skidded from a niche. Shann fought to hold on with numbedfingers. The other foot went. He swung by his hands, kicking vainly toregain a measure of footing.

  Then his arms could no longer support him, and he cried out as he fell.Water closed about him with an icy shock which for a moment paralyzedhim. He flailed out, fighting the flood to get his head above thesurface where he could gasp in precious gulps of air.

  There was a current here, a swiftly running one. Shann remembered theone w
hich had carried him into that cavern in which the Warlockians hadtheir strange dwelling. Although there were no clusters of crystals inthis tunnel to supply him with light, the Terran began to nourish afaint hope that he was again in that same stream, that those lightcrystals would appear, and that he might eventually return to thestarting point of this meaningless journey.

  So he strove only to keep his head above water. Hearing a splashingbehind him, he called out: "Thorvald?"

  "Lantee?" The answer came back at once; the splashing grew louder as theother swam to catch up.

  Shann swallowed a mouthful of the water lapping against his chin. Thetaste was brackish, but not entirely salt, and though it stung his lips,the liquid relieved a measure of his thirst.

  Only no glowing crystals appeared to stud these walls, and Shann's hopethat they were on their way to the cavern of the island faded. Thecurrent grew swifter, and he had to fight to keep his head above water,his tired body reacting sluggishly to commands.

  The murmur of the racing flood drummed louder in his ears, or was thatsound the same? He could no longer be sure. Shann only knew that it wasclose to impossible to snatch the necessary breath as he was rolled overand over in the hurrying flood.

  In the end he was ejected into blazing, blinding light, into asuffocation of wild water as the bullet in an ancient Terran rifle mighthave been fired at no specific target. Gasping, beaten, more thanhalf-drowned, Shann was pummeled by waves, literally driven up on arocky surface which skinned his body cruelly. He lay there, his armsmoving feebly until he contrived to raise himself in time to bewretchedly sick. Somehow he crawled on a few feet farther before hesubsided again, blinded by the light, flinching from the heat of therocks on which he lay, but unable to do more for himself.

  His first coherent thought was that his speculation concerning thereality of this experience was at last resolved. This could not possiblybe an hallucination; at least this particular sequence of events wasnot. And he was still hazily considering that when a hand fell on hisshoulder, fingers biting into his raw flesh.

  Shann snarled, rolled over on his side. Thorvald, water dripping fromhis rags--or rather steaming from them--his shaggy hair plastered to hisskull, sat there.

  "You all right?"

  Shann sat up in turn, shielding his smarting eyes. He was bruised,battered badly enough, but he could claim no major injuries.

  "I think so. Where are we?"

  Thorvald's lips stretched across his teeth in what was more a grimacethan a smile. "Right off the map, any map I know. Take a look."

  They were on a scrap of beach--beach which was more like a reef, for itlacked any covering comparable to sand except for some cupfuls of coarsegravel locked in rock depressions. Rocks, red as the rust of driedblood, rose in fantastic water-sculptured shapes around the smallsemi-level space they had somehow won.

  This space was V-shaped, washed by equal streams on either side of theprong of rock by water which spouted from the face of a sheer cliff nottoo far away, with force enough to spray several feet beyond its exitpoint. Shann seeing that and guessing at its significance, drew a deepbreath, and heard the ghost of an answering chuckle from his companion.

  "Yes, that's where we came out, boy. Like to make a return trip?"

  Shann shook his head, and then wished that he had not so rashly madethat move, for the world swung in a dizzy whirl. Things had happened toofast. For the moment it was enough that they were out of the undergroundways, back under the amber sky, feeling the bite of Warlock's sun.

  Steadying his head with both hands, Shann turned slowly, to survey whatmight lie at their backs. The water, pouring by on either side,suggested that they were again on an island. Warlock, he thoughtgloomily, seemed to be for Terrans a succession of islands, all hard toescape.

  The tangle of rocks did not encourage any exploration. Just gazing atthem added to his weariness. They rose, tier by tier, to a ragged crownagainst the sky. Shann continued to sit staring at them.

  "To climb that...." His voice trailed into the silence of completediscouragement.

  "You climb--or swim," Thorvald stated. But, Shann noted, the Surveyofficer was not in a hurry to make either move.

  Nowhere in that wilderness of rock was there the least relieving bit ofpurple foliage. Nor did any clak-claks or leather-headed birds tour thesky over their heads. Shann's thirst might have been partially assuaged,but his hunger remained. And it was that need which forced him at lastinto action. The barren heights promised nothing in the way of food,but remembering the harvest the wolverines had taken from under therocks along the river, he got to his feet and lurched out on the reefwhich had been their salvation, hunting some pool which might hold anedible captive or two.

  So it was that Shann made the discovery of a possible path consisting ofa ledge running toward the other end of the island, if this were anisland where they had taken refuge. The spray of the water drenched thatway, feeding small pools in the uneven surface, and strips of yellowweed trailed in slimy ribbons back below the surface of the waves.

  He called to Thorvald and gestured to his find. And then, closetogether, linking hands when the going became hazardous, the menfollowed the path. Twice they made finds in the pools, finned or clawedgrotesque creatures, which they killed and ate, wolfing down the fewfragments of odd-tasting flesh. Then, in a small crevice, which couldhardly be dignified by the designation of "cave," Thorvald chanced upona quite exciting discovery--a clutch of four greenish eggs, each aslarge as his doubled fist.

  Their outer covering was more like tough membrane than true shell, andthe Terrans worried it open with difficulty. Shann shut his eyes, tryingnot to think of what he mouthed as he sucked his share dry. At leastthat semi-liquid stayed put in his middle, though he expected disastrousresults from the experiment.

  More than a little heartened by this piece of luck, they kept on, thoughthe ledge changed from a reasonably level surface to a series of rising,unequal steps, drawing them away from the water. At long last they cameto the end of that path. Shann leaned back against a convenient spur ofrock.

  "Company!" he alerted Thorvald.

  The Survey officer joined him to share an outcrop of rock from whichthey were provided with an excellent view of the scene below, and itwas a scene to hold their full attention.

  That soft sweep of sand which had floored the cavern of the fog lay herealso, a gray-blue carpet sloping gently out of the sea. For Shann had nodoubt that the wide stretch of water before them was the western ocean.Walling the beach on either side, and extending well out into the waterso that the farthest piles were awash except for their crowns, werepillars of stone, shaped with the same finish as that slab which hadprovided them a ladder of escape. And because of the regularity of theirspacing, Shann did not believe them works of nature.

  Grouped between them now were the players of the drama. One of theWarlockian witches, her gem body patterns glittering in the sunlight,was walking backward out of the sea, her hands held palms together,breast high, in a Terran attitude of prayer. And following her somethingswam in the water, clearly not another of her own species. But heractions suggested that by some invisible means she was drawing thatwater dweller after her. Waiting on shore were two others of her kind,viewing her actions with close attention, the attention of scholars foran instructor.

  "Wyverns!"

  Shann looked inquiringly at his companion. Thorvald added a whisper ofexplanation. "A legend of Terra--they were supposed to have a snake'stail instead of hind legs, but the heads.... They're Wyverns!"

  Wyverns. Shann liked the sound of that word; to his mind it well fittedthe Warlockian witches. And the one they were watching in actioncontinued her steady backward retreat, rolling her bemused captive outof the water. What emerged into the blaze of sunlight was one of thosefork-tailed sea dwellers such as the Terrans had seen die after thestorm. The thing crawled out of the shallows, its eyes focused in ablind stare on the praying hands of the Wyvern.

  She halted, well up on the sand,
when the body of her victim orprisoner--Shann was certain that the fork-tail was one or theother--was completely out of the water. Then, with lightning speed, shedropped her hands.

  Instantly fork-tail came to life. Fanged jaws snapped. Aroused, thebeast was the incarnation of evil rage, a rage which had a measure ofintelligence to direct it into deadly action. And facing it, seeminglyunarmed and defenseless, were the slender, fragile Wyverns.

  Yet none of the small group of natives made any attempt to escape. Shannthought them suicidal in their indifference as fork-tail, short legssending the fine sand flying in a dust cloud, made a rush toward itsenemies.

  The Wyvern who had led the beast ashore did not move. But one of hercompanions swung up a hand, as if negligently waving the monster to astop. Between her first two digits was a disk. Thorvald caught atShann's arm.

  "See that! It's a copy of the one I had; it must be!"

  They were too far away to be sure it was a duplicate, but It wascoin-shaped and bone-white. And now the Wyvern swung it back and forthin a metronome sweep. Fork-tail skidded to a stop, its headbeginning--reluctantly at first, and then, with increasing speed--toecho that left-right sweep. This Wyvern had the sea beast under control,even as her companion had earlier held it.

  Chance dictated what happened next. As had her sister charmer, theWyvern began a backward withdrawal up the length of the beach, drawingthe sea thing in her wake. They were very close to the foot of the dropabove which the Terrans stood, fascinated, when the sand betrayed thewitch. Her foot slipped into a hole and she was thrown backward, hercontrol disk spinning out of her fingers.

  At once the monster she had charmed shot forth its head, snapped at thatspinning trifle--and swallowed it. Then the fork-tail hunched in aposture Shann had seen the wolverines use when they were about tospring. The weaponless Wyvern was the prey, and both her companions weretoo far away to interfere.

  Why he moved he could not have explained. There was no reason for himto go to the aid of the Warlockian, one of the same breed who had ruledhim against his will. But Shann sprang, landing in the sand on his handsand knees.

  The sea thing whipped around, undecided between two possible victims.Shann had his knife free, was on his feet, his eyes on the beast's,knowing that he had appointed himself dragon slayer for no good reason.