S’ryath, on S’duna’s left, hesitated for a moment, as if wondering where to begin or, perhaps, how. But he took up the tale readily enough.
“We tried, S’duna and I, something which should have been done far earlier, if only there had been time, which there had not been.” He looked about, as one would do if perceiving a challenge, but he seemed to see none and went on.
“Our thoughts ran thus: Why had the priest been sent, or why was he going to the South, far beyond the borders of his barbarous land? Indeed, had he been sent at all, or was this all his own venturing? We thought not, we two. S’duna had indeed made it plain to me that this was no false alarm but a grave and sudden danger to us and to all the Great Plan. What did he seek, this priest? Remember, we knew nothing of any Eleveners then. That knowledge came much later.
“We assembled such knowledge as we had. This Rover had S’nerg’s maps; that we knew or guessed. On those were the locations of many places of the Great Dead, the masters of the world before The Death. Could this creature be in search of one such, for some purpose of his own? It seemed a good chance, and we had little other information. S’duna’s spies were ransacking the North and so were those of Brother S’tarn across from me, the Master of the Red Circle. But spies, even such as we have in the North, take time to gather news, and we were and are stretched to the limit. We had to guess and meanwhile assemble forces for any eventuality. This we did at great speed—men, our animal slaves of all kinds, all we had at hand. It was a powerful force, and there were a half-dozen Brothers in command. And then we had a message, though undesigned by the sender!
“On the eastern edge of the great wood, this priest and his pack used their minds, having some apparent struggle with the strange life of that area. We knew that grim things laired there, bred by the atom and yet not of us. It was an unknown place to us, save for dark rumor. Many had disappeared in that country without trace, both of us and of the ordinary human scum, traders and such.
“We studied our maps, and there was a pre-Death site there, one, moreover, with an entrance marked, one we ourselves could open. It was but one of many marked for future research. We have hundreds of such, some being treasure troves, but most are useless. This is all well known.” He looked about again, an expression of defiance on his face, the control slipping as he tried to justify what came next.
“No, S’duna and I did not accompany the army. Perhaps we should have done so, in the light of hindsight. I do not apologize, though. Why do we breed and train servants and inferiors, if not for such tasks? I ask if any here question our courage, before I continue.” Seeing no disposition to do as he asked on any of the other faces, he continued, his voice lowered as if in involuntary awe.
“There was a destruction brought upon the army such as we have never seen or dreamed of in our entire history. We received messages from our Brothers of the Robe, mind messages, that they had found the place, just as the maps showed, and that they would enter. Then—nothing! All mind voices ceased, as they went underground, presumably. And there fell a great silence, one still unbroken.
“Many days later, one of our scouts, reconnoitering with all caution, found a vast area of blight and rot, full of foul growth, all of it dying and giving forth a stench which rose to the clouds above. Where the lost cavern of the Mighty Dead had lain was a smoking, tumbled waste, which still gave off heat and reeks of horrid vapor from beneath. Not the atom, not the forces of The Death, for those we can detect, but something else, perhaps older still, some great secret of the ancients, we deem, had been unloosed. And we have learned no more of what befell. My tale ends here.” He fell silent and stared at the table.
The silence continued, as if none cared to break it. The sheer magnitude of what they had heard, even though all knew the body of it in advance, seemed to have cast a spell. When a voice finally did speak, the actual sound appeared to have no place there.
“But Jean add to the tale, Brothers, and in a way that will give us a new strength.” S’lorn of the Green was actually smiling, a nasty rictus of no humor but of immense satisfaction. “Take heart, Brothers, while I unfold news from the South, from my own distant lands. Much of it came to hand only today, from my own trusted messengers. But it makes a pretty picture.”
He leaned forward as he spoke, and his long white fingers arched and touched each other upon the cold smoothness of the table.
“We all have been told that the priest arrived in D’alwah, throwing years of patient work by our minions and allies into confusion. For lo, as we could never have guessed, the ragged slave woman this woods rat had found in the distant North was the lost princess, daughter of D’alwah’s stupid king, one thought by us to be dead in the jungle long ago. The priest knew this, nurtured her, and finally married her by their absurd rites. Thus in one incredible stroke, he had himself made the de facto ruler of the kingdom.
“I had ascribed much of this creature’s past success to sheer luck and, I honestly confess it, to complaisance and bad planning in the North.” He looked around, meeting every eye firmly before going on. “I offer my profound apologies to any here who may have thought me somewhat disdainful of their efforts in the past. This stroke of genius, this mating with the seat of power, changed my views of Per Desteen overnight. If he was a mere Abbey servant— and I know little of them, save what is passed to me from your realms—who and what are they in turn? Yet if, as I suspected, he was a strange mutant, a spontaneous appearance, as it were, unplanned and unplanning, then some opportunity might present itself.
“I too took counsel and devised a plan. We have powerful allies in that kingdom, even among what they call royal blood, and their strange church is rotted with our servants, who are deep in its secrets. A new drug was under experiment in our hidden centers, a drug which kills the mind powers, even of the most powerful. We have experimented on such.” That the experiments probably had involved the death of at least one Brother of the Order who had merited Slorn’s displeasure seemed obvious to all there. It meant nothing to them. Thus was power attained and kept.
“I met with our allies far from their city,” S’lorn went on. “For I allowed no mind work near this priest creature at all. I wanted him to find nothing to suspect, and that is what he found—nothing!
“Now listen to this good cheer, Brothers. Today I have the following to tell. Per Hiero Desteen—this prince of D’alwah, this titan who has so shaken our great Order—is dead!”
There was at least one gasp. It did not come from S’duna of the Blue, whose cold face was unchanged.
“This prince-priest, this vagabond ruffian, this mental giant, was simply struck on the head, drugged with the new drug I spoke of, and spirited far away into the wilderness. He was not killed at once, lest his wife, the royal slut, sense his passing and attack our allies before they were ready. But that is the real and inescapable fact. He is dead, finally, totally, completely dead. He is gone from the gaming board, Brothers, and we can once again plan as in the past, this random and ruinous factor forever disposed of!”
This time the silence was not brief. The purring voice of S’duna cut in, and there was no pleasure in it, only coldness.
“Before we rejoice, Elder Brother, I, the youngest of you, but nevertheless the one who knows this man best, indeed the only one of us ever to see him and live, have some small questions. Who saw the body? Yes, and also, how and where was he slain? Do your allies have the body in their possession? And if so, what was done with it? When I hear answers to these humble questions, I too shall perhaps rejoice.”
A faint hint of red colored the pale cheeks of the Green Master. It was obvious that S’lorn was both angry and unaccustomed to be so taken to task. There was a noticeable rasp as he answered.
“Our chief ally in the kingdom was trained under me as a child. He sent the drugged priest under guard far to the west, by hidden paths known to none but himself. He sent trusted men, childhood servants, in two parties. This proved
wise. For the second party found the bodies of the first. All, I repeat, all were reported dead and still warm. I see no reason to doubt any of this. Who slew them all is not know, but is thought to be local outlaws who haunt the western marshes. Are you answered?”
“Yes,” S’duna said slowly, “I am answered. But I warn all here, with due respect to yourself, Eldest Brother, that this man is very hard to kill. I would a Brother, and a high one at that, had seen the corpse. I shall be honest, if nothing more. I like it not. Yet 1 may be wrong, and none hopes this more than I. That, at least, you may believe.”
“Should it prove in error, then I will answer for it,” the other snapped, annoyed by the doubt thrown on his triumph. “But we have wasted far too long on this matter already. The fact that the priest was what he was and did what he did is part of a much larger scheme. We have an organization, Brothers, now plotting against us, moving actively to challenge us, who have always been unknown to our enemies. Seldom even has an enemy ever glimpsed a Brother and lived to speak of it in the past. None knew of us, save the Eleveners, curse them, and them we scorned. Their creed of nurturing all life, of harming nothing—that, we thought, was sufficient protection from their lurking and prying. Let them skulk about, we thought, until the Great Plan comes to pass, and then let them be swept away, along with all the other vermin of no use to us!
“But now …” His voice hardened. “What do we learn? At least in part, they have abandoned their foolishness at last. They are actively helping our foes. And this is bad, could not be worse. They know much of us, and only the fact that they were passive and stupid held our hand in the past, for they have studied us a long time, longer maybe than we know. Their mere knowledge, imparted to others more prone to violence, could be a deadly weapon against us.” He paused, then went on.
“The priest is dead. But what sent him is not. He came from the North, from your Abbeys that were thought under control, Brothers. Two states of the North, both under Abbey rule or guidance— the Metz Republic to the west and the League of Otwah in the east —are the source of this one deadly troublemaker. Whence came he and—more to the point—are there more like him? We must plan quickly. This peril must be crushed at its roots—at once! It is for this, I know in my inner being, that I was told to summon this Council.”
The other three leaned forward and listened as he began to expound his plan.
In another place, far from the dark and gloomy tunnels of the Unclean, stood a grove of mighty pines or related conifers. Of vast size, their immense boles were stained with lichen and hoary with age. In the heart of the grove lay a ring, bare to the rising moon and padded with many layers of fallen needles. Nothing grew in the ring, though the bed of needles was always fresh and clean.
No sound broke the silence of the night, save for the faraway hooting of a hunting owl and the sough of the soft wind in the lofty branches. Yet the glade was not empty. Here, too, there was a meeting. Shadowy, ursine shapes lay about the ring, only their glowing eyes proclaiming life. Great, furry sides heaved as the bear people kept their attention on the smaller figure of Gorm in the center.
Deep thoughts moved through mental circuits that others in the wild could not follow. Patiently, these Wise Ones of their people studied the new information brought to them. They had long remained hidden from the other sentient races of the world. Now they were not to be hurried in any decision which might affect their future.
The night passed slowly as thoughts moved from one reflective mind to another. The moon waned. After a time, it vanished behind a large drift of cloud. When the white light illumined the clearing once again, the smaller figure of Gorm was gone from the center, but the outer ring of bodies remained, fur-covered sides heaving gently.
A still pool lay deep in the jungle, as far from the tunnels of the Unclean or the grove of the bear people as those places were from each other. Here the trees which arched over the brown water were of such size as to make the great conifers look like saplings by comparison. Their incredible branches did not start to leave the main trunks until they were almost out of sight from the ground below. Vast cables of liana and veritable forests of parasitic plants clung to the towering sides of the giant trees. In the noon warmth, insects buzzed busily and bird calls rang out.
From down a well-trodden game trail, a great, black beast came quietly to the pool. He paused and surveyed the surroundings, his wide, flaring nostrils testing the air. Upon one shining haunch lay the still-bleeding marks of some savage claw. The mighty palmate antlers which crowned his huge head were stained and smeared with caked blood. Yet he did not look fearful in any way, only alert.
Eventually, he decided that the area was safe and slowly slid into the small pool until only his head protruded, the eyes always watching, the huge ears and blubber lips twitching at the slightest sound.
At length, with antlers and hide now clean and glistening, Klootz heaved his bulk from the far bank of the pool where the game trail continued on. As silently as he had come, he vanished down it—going north.
Hiero awoke and looked about him, then stretched and yawned. Another day had come. From his tree fork, he could see far over the savanna, his vision obscured only by other clumps of towering trees like his own. With each day of travel, the ground rose, and the trees grew thicker, but there were still wide spaces between them. He could see many drifting herds of game filtering here and there down the lanes. Most were antelope and related beasts which would spend the day in the bush, avoiding both insects and the runners who preyed upon them in the open. Others were returning to the grasslands after a visit to a water hole and a night of peril, the prey of grim hunters who struck them down as they drank.
Hiero leaned down from the branches and gave a low, echoing call. He had scanned the neighborhood and seen no sign of inimical life.
Presently an inquiring head peered over a tall bush; then the great hopper bounded into sight, as perky as if he had spent a night in his straw-filled stall.
The man climbed down and dug the saddle and other gear out of a thicket where he had cached them the evening before. He was always relieved that Segi was still alive when morning came.
“The fact is, my boy,” Hiero said, scratching between the long ears as the hopper leaned down and nuzzled him, “you are something of a problem. In fact, I wish you weren’t here at all. How’s that for gratitude, after all you’ve done for me, eh?” A long pink tongue swept over his face, and he spluttered and then laughed.
But he was only half-jesting. Segi’s safety was something that indeed did worry him, and he could see nothing much that he could do about it. It was all very well for the man to climb into a tree at night, but Segi, bred for the great plains, had no such defense during the dark hours. There was still a good deal of open ground around them, but with each dawn it grew less as they neared the hills. With the encroachment of the forest, it was going to be harder and harder for Segi to look after himself at night, with the wood alive with hungry maws. A hopper’s only defense lay in his nose, ears, and huge hind legs. For the last, he needed room, room to leap and dodge, to spring and evade. And this sort of room was becoming increasingly scarce.
All that Hiero could think of was to take off every bit of the harness at evening, so that Segi had at least the total use of his freedom. The Metz hoped with half his mind that each morning would find the animal gone, drawn to his distant home and at least possible safety. Fully girt with saddle and weapons, he had found his way to his master through trackless country alive with predators. He would have had a fair chance, then, with nothing on, of making his way back alive to the distant East.
But Segi would not leave. Whatever Luchare had impressed on his simple mind, allied to plain love for Hiero, was too strong a bond. He had found his man and he proposed to stay with him. No amount of slaps and orders could make him take the trail back. When Hiero crept from the tree one night and, risking his life all the while, tried to steal away, he found the
big brute hopping along in his tracks, thereby doubling the risk. It was the last time he tried that maneuver. Had Hiero’s mind power been intact, he could have sent the hopper away in an instant. As it was … He sighed and patted the warm, brown flank absently. He had come to love the big animal a great deal in the last few days. Before, back in D’alwah, Segi had been a cherished and interesting pet, but nothing beyond that. Now there was much more, a deep, mutual affection. It was not the same as it had been with Klootz, of course. Hiero and the great morse had been raised together, and Klootz’ mind, after centuries of Abbey breeding, was far superior to Segi’s. Indeed, the Abbey men were uncertain just how clever the morses were becoming. As he ate his simple breakfast, Hiero wondered if Klootz were alive. He stilled the thought for Luchare which came next; he had no time for vain regrets.
Some hours later, he reined in Segi and peered under his hand at the heights in the west. They were in a long ride of the forest, and the trees were very tall. Hiero knew without being told that he was coming to a tip of the great jungle again, the forest of the South. The trees around him now, which would have been considered well grown in his northern home, were but the scrub and the outliers of the incredible growth of the real forest, the greatest jungle Earth had ever known. The strange life of the atom fires, spawned by the horrors of The Death, had, among its many effects, the vast increase in bulk of many of the plants. Above all, the great trees of what were now the northern tropics, aided perhaps by what the ancients called the Greenhouse Effect, had reached a size and majesty never known in the planet’s past.
And beyond those trees, no more than a good day’s march, he thought, there loomed the purple hills. He ached in his bones to be among them, and only his native kindness and good sense restrained him from spurring his mount on at too fast a pace.
Had the Metz even a third of his former powers, he would have known at once that he was being drawn and not acting under his own volition at all, though the thought that had pulled him gently but inexorably to the southwest for days was clever and subtle. But Hiero knew that he had lost all his skills-—the thought reading, the shields, the forelooking, and the sheer force of his once mighty mind—weeks in the past. He had tried, over and over again, to reach out, to listen, somehow, somewhere to detect the presence of another intelligence. Every attempt had met with failure. The foul drug of Joseato’s administering had done its work only too well. Mentally he was as blind as a newborn baby, and maybe more so if the baby possessed innate powers.
Hiero Desteen (Omnibus) Page 46
