Gaal the Conqueror

by John White

  It would be impossible to describe the depth of horror that gripped John, a horror against which the Mashal Stone gave him no protection. It was a horror of the blackest kind, a horror of being lost and undone, a horror that paralyzed him, leaving him totally unable to move. His fate was sealed. His end was upon him, and the folly was entirely his. He had been warned, and he had ignored the warning.

  Did he imagine the sounds? Or could he actually hear the sniffing and snuffling in a wide circle all round him? What kind of a fool had he been? There had been no need for him to keep the Mashal Stone around his neck once the Habesh matmon had lost him. Why had he let his foolish vanity and desire to play with the stone get the better of him?

  The snuffling grew steadily nearer. He knew he had a body now, for he could feel the hair at the back of his head coming erect. He could also smell his own sweat and feel it trickle coldly down his back. He wanted to scream, but he tightened his throat and pressed his lips together. He knew that he should be groping for the stone rose, and pressing it so as to escape. But he could not move a muscle.

  They were almost upon him, the snuffling so strong that it seemed to draw the breath out of his lungs. In desperation, he released his knees and flung his head back, fighting for air. As he did so his head struck the rose and the door swung backward behind him so that he tumbled through it, rolling and tumbling down the stairs.

  Blue light was about him again, and it was as though he came to his senses. He pulled himself to his feet and looked up toward the door, screaming at what he saw. An obscene thing was following him through the door-a browny-pink living thing that was still sniffing and snuffling as it shuffled down the steps toward him. It was an extension of something, the rest of the something remaining in the temple-a proboscis of some sort as far as he could tell. It was much bigger and thicker than an elephant's trunk, and in any case there were slobbering lips on its lower surface. And it was after him, inhaling and sucking, pulling him into itself in the same way a vacuum whisks up dust. He found himself being picked up by the air around him and dragged toward the flaring nostrils and mucus-dripping lips.

  In rage and terror he snatched the sword from its scabbard and hacked wildly at it. There came a scream and immediately, at the first stroke of the sword, it retracted with unbelievable speed back into the temple. The door slammed behind it and John was alone on the blue-lit stairway.

  But he did not wait to luxuriate in relief. Instead he ran on trembling legs down to where the steps broadened, and then faced the outer wall. In a shaky, high-pitched voice he cried, "I come to the hiding places in the name of Gaal!" Instantly the staircase was gone, and he was inside a tunnel of rock, almost in darkness, the light from widely spaced oil lamps seeming like tiny stars in the distance. He pulled the chain from around his neck, and sank to his haunches shivering with the incredible cold that still gripped his body.

  He knew where he was. Fifteen minutes walk along the tunnels would bring him to the widow Illith's chamber. But he seemed to have no will to move. An unnatural exhaustion sapped his strength and made him long to lie down and sleep. The burst of energy with which he had attacked the snuffling proboscis had forsaken him. The same torpor that had plagued him in the temple still seemed to suck the strength from his will and from his limbs. For several minutes he struggled against it, then rose unsteadily to his feet.

  Shivering and filled with dread he stumbled along rock-lined tunnels, forcing himself to take one step after another. The fifteen minutes seemed like an eternity. From time to time he would pass other followers of Gaal, for the tunnels were a city within a city. Some would stare at him and say, "You are ill, brother! Let us aid you."

  But John would reply, "I'm O.K, thanks. I'm going to the widow Illith's chamber." Had he turned he would have seen them staring after him with concern on their faces.

  At last one man refused to leave him, holding him gently by the arm, and watching his faltering steps carefully. And when they arrived, he opened the trap door that led down to the widow's chamber, calling down to her, "Help him down the steps, Widow. The darkness is upon him-the darkness of the Circle. It seems that death itself is fingering his heart."

  But it was Eleanor who leaped up the steps to guide him, shocked by what she saw. "Widow-pull back the covers on the bed in the wall. There's something terribly wrong with him."

  Thereafter his recollections grew confused. He remembered the widow Illith looking down at him and muttering, "It is the darkness. It is all through him. Where has he been?"

  He remembered hot stones wrapped in flannel being placed around him. They felt good, but they did nothing to remedy the cold inside him. But at last wine was poured down his throat, and half choking, he swallowed it. It was a wine he remembered from Rapunzel's tower and Gaal's healing. As warmth pushed out the cold, and as light caused darkness to depart he sighed and slid into a half-awake, half-asleep state.

  At times he dreamed. Gaal was staring sternly at him. Though he was unusually tall, the impression he gave was of broadness, strength, toughness and physical power. Below his rough brown tunic his lower legs were muscular, while his bare arms were knotted with muscle. His dark beard only emphasized the squareness of his jaw, and his eyes pierced. Yet his voice was surprisingly gentle as he said, "The Mashal Stone is not a toy for your enjoyment, John. Your delight will be to do my will, not to use the powers of my kingdom to satisfy your.need for excitement. Twice more you will wear the stone, then never again. And after the second time you will give it to Authentio."

  When he woke he could hear the murmur of three or more voices, but was too content, and too sleepy to care what was happening.

  "I must see him! I must see him! There must be no delay!" a man's voice protested.

  The widow talked quietly and at length. Then there was more talk. At last he heard Eleanor say, "I know where it is. I went there yesterday with Widow Illith. I'll go with you, Prodo Tehs. I'll meet you at the fountain by the Northern Gate three hours from now."

  The name Prodo Tehs sounded familiar, and for a moment he wondered where he had heard it. It was the last thing he thought of before he fell asleep.

  John slept for more than two hours, waking refreshed and thoroughly restored. He immediately remembered all that had happened and exactly where he was. He could hear someone moving about the chamber and opened his eyes to see the widow Illith.

  "Hi!" he said. "I'm sorry to have caused you trouble. Where's Eleanor?"

  The widow turned to look at him, her eyes filled with concern. "How is my lord feeling?"

  "I'm fine. I feel a whole lot better than I did. I guess I did something rather stupid." Shame reddened his face, but he was determined to continue. "I went to the temple to see if I could learn something of Lord Lunacy's plans. They very nearly caught me. Where's Eleanor?"

  She gazed at him gravely, her bright eyes contrasting strange ly with the tired lines of her face. "You might have been killed. What you did was exceedingly dangerous, my lord."

  John swung his legs over the bed in which he had been lying, a bed that fitted into a niche in the wall. "I know. It was a horrible experience." He paused, "But where is Eleanor?"

  "The lady Eleanor has gone to meet a follower of Gaal who came in from the country. He needs to see our lord and master, who is meeting with my son, Authentio, in a little while."

  "Your son? You mean Authentio is going to be rescued?"

  "Gaal plans to set him free this afternoon. They will meet in the garden of the captain of the temple guard."

  "Won't that be rather dangerous?"

  "Our Lord and Master has no fear. His love for us knows no limits. It is now two years since he set me free."

  "But what about Eleanor?"

  "Eleanor will only show Prodo Tehs where the garden is, and then return here."

  John's heart seemed to leap in his chest. "Did you say Prodo Tehs? You mean Eleanor is taking Prodo Tehs to find Gaal?"

  "Yes. You seem surprised. Do you know this Prod
o Tehs?"

  "I don't know him. But the Lord Lunacy said that he was the man who would deliver Gaal into the hands of the Circle of Light. He is no follower of Gaal. He is a traitor!" John's voice was rising. "Widow Illith, they plan to execute Gaal tomorrow!"

  The widow's hands had flown to her mouth, and she stared at him. "He came here last night with Gandra, a girl who is faithful and true. He came from a village in the country, telling the story of his need to warn Gaal of a plot he must beware of. Are you sure he is a traitor?"

  "I only know what Lord Lunacy said." For a moment neither of them spoke. Then, "When did Eleanor leave?" John asked.

  "She left here ten minutes before you awoke," the widow faltered.

  "She did? And she's meeting him? Where?"

  "At the fountain by the Northern Gate. Do you know where it is? You might catch her if you hurry."

  John hesitated. "The treasures," he murmured. "I can't carry them all. But perhaps one of them (the key would be the easiest) and who knows how it may come in handy." He did not wait for more, but seizing the key from its hiding place, and with a hurried good-by to the widow Illith, he made his way through the trap door into the tunnel. "I wonder which way she went?" he mused. He remembered that there was a way to reach the Northern Gate by the tunnel system, and that the gatekeeper of the Northern Gate was a secret follower of Gaal. The system led right into the gatekeeper's lodge. He had never explored that part of the tunnel system, but was certain he could find his way. "If I keep to the tunnels as far as the Northern Gate I can hurry all the way. If Eleanor went that way she'd get there in loads of time for the appointment. But she probably didn't. She probably took the route we've taken before. That's why she set out so early."

  It was a bad mistake. He did not know the tunnels of that section, many of which were still being worked on, and which led to a series of blind ends. He sped along a confusing interlocking of corridors, losing his way badly twice. The second time he was sure he was lost, and by the time he found his way again he had wasted considerable time. "What if I don't get there in time? I don't even know what Prodo Tehs looks like."

  When at last he emerged through the gatekeeper's lodge, he was sweating and anxious. Was he in time? He glanced at the crowded area around the fountain, but could see no sign of Eleanor among the slowly stirring sea of heads and shoulders. Perhaps she would be on the far side of the fountain. Trying not to hurry, and forcing himself to keep his eyes down much of the time, he shuffled toward the fountain.

  Why had he let himself get lost? Sweat dripped from his forehead and stung his eyes. He longed to put the Mashal Stone round his neck. It would make him feel better. Besides, he would not need to shuffle slowly or keep his head down. But he remembered his dream, and knew he dared not use it. Only two more times, Gaal had said. When would they be? And how would he know?

  He reached the far side of the fountain, but his furtive glances revealed no Eleanor. He lifted his head, not caring for the moment who might notice and stared all round him in panic. A matmon stumbled against him. "Get your head down," he hissed.

  The matmon's back was turned to John, and he was slowly shuffling away. Startled, John followed him. "Who are you?" he asked.

  The matmon tripped and fell, and without thinking John stooped down to help him to his feet. "You O.K?" John asked. The dwarf was young. A shock of yellow hair fell from beneath his soft, pointed hat, and a thin yellow fuzz caressed his chin. His eyes were veiled, and he did not look at John. "Follow me, but at a distance," he murmured, hardly moving his lips. "You seek the lady Eleanor. I know who you are. I was at Widow Illith's chamber last night."

  He turned and shuffled away again.

  "Wait!"John cried, forgetting in his panic that he must mimic the people around him. "Wait! Who are you? Where was Eleanor going?"

  The matmon swung round to face him. "Fool! Do you want the whole city to know what we are about? My name is Bomgrith. Now follow!"

  Slowly, much too slowly as far as John was concerned, yet rather faster than most of the shufflers, they made their way through the crowded area around the fountain and entered a broad street that ascended in the direction of the temple grounds. For fifteen minutes they continued to make their way upward. As they did so, the crowd gradually thinned. Eventually all the women and children had dropped away in ones and twos, until there were only shuffling men and shuffling redhaired matmon left. And there was something about the shuffling matmon that seemed wrong, but John's mind was too busy with other concerns to sort it out.

  From time to time Bomgrith, who was still leading, would cast furtive glances to the side and behind. Once he said, "There's no one behind us now, yet there's all these people ahead. Something is wrong and it bodes ill. At length he turned his head and muttered, "There they are-ahead of us on the right. We dare not approach them yet. They are being followed."

  It was then that John saw Eleanor leading a tall fair-haired Regenskind from whose shoulders a short brown cloak fell loosely. The thought flashed through John's brain, "And that is Prodo Tehs." Their two heads were bowed, and like everyone else, they shuffled. John's stomach twisted itself into a knot. How much time did they have? He longed to shout a warning. Were Eleanor and the man really being followed? And by whom?

  "If we don't act now it may be too late," he hissed. "I don't know where they're going, but it can't be too far away from here. We're almost at the temple grounds."

  The matmon made no reply, and the knot in John's stomach tightened. Two minutes later Eleanor and the stranger turned down a side street. The men and the handful of Habesh matmon ahead of them-everyone, that is, who was left in the street-broke as one man into a run, hurrying, yet with a certain furtive stealth, to the corner. And it was then that John realized what had puzzled him. Red-haired matmon never shuffled. They were in the pay of the Circle. They were members of the ragtag police force. Somehow their shuffling gait and downcast eyes had lulled his mind to danger. Meanwhile the matmon Bomgrith had cried, "I knew it!" and was also running helter-skelter for the corner. John followed. They peered round the corner and then cautiously entered the street

  Both the men and the matmon had stopped running and were walking slowly in watchful groups, as though waiting for a signal. Their attention seemed to be focused on Eleanor and Prodo Tehs who were a few yards farther ahead. Eleanor was pointing to a high wall on their left, and Prodo Tehs was nodding. Then turning round to those behind he called, "He is in the garden beyond this wall!"

  Eleanor's hand flew to her mouth as she gave a startled cry. So this was it! The wall was the garden wall where Gaal would be. Eleanor was about to be captured. John yelled, "Eleanor, look out! He's a traitor!"

  The matmon Bomgrith shouted, almost screamed, "Gaal! Gaal! Flee for your life! Your enemies are upon you! Flee Gaal, flee!"

  Even as Eleanor pointed, several men and matmon ran to the wall and were scrambling over it while others had turned at John's shout One of them took the time to open the garden gate, and proceeded through it. To John's horror another, along with Prodo Tehs, seized Eleanor. She struggled and Prodo Tehs struck her brutally about the head and shoulders with his fist and with the back of his hand. But the remainder of the men, those who had turned with surprise and anger on their faces toward the matmon and John, were not about to let them go. "Seize them!" one cried.

  Before he realized he had done so John had plucked the Mashal Stone from his tunic and flung it round his neck. A cry of astonishment broke from the men's throats as he disappeared, and for a moment they stood stock still. But Bomgrith spun round like a top and made a dash to escape. Bewildered or not, they broke into a run to pursue him, hurtling past the invisible John, whose rage grew even as his fear subsided.

  He turned to look at Eleanor, standing between her two captors, each of whom gripped an arm. A red mark where she had been struck stood out against the whiteness of her face. Her wide and staring eyes registered shocked bewilderment. Stealthily he walked toward them, wondering wha
t to do. Rage was shaking his bones. What would happen to Gaal?

  He did not have long to wait before he found out. He heard sounds of scuffling and shouts from beyond the wall. Even before John had time to reach the spot where Eleanor and her captors stood, the group emerged from the gate, pushing Gaal and Authentio ahead of them.

  They seemed exultant, breathless, eyes full of gaiety and triumph, talking among themselves about how easy it had been, looking curiously at Eleanor and Authentio. With Gaal they were more cautious. Evidently he had offered them no resistance, but standing as he did, head and shoulders above the tallest of the men, so powerful of frame and in no way cowed by their presence, the captors seemed at first hesitant to do more than push him gently toward Prodo Tehs and Eleanor.

  Moments later Bomgrith was brought back in the hands of his pursuers. John began to move and act purely by instinct, his thoughts being too confused to serve him. He wanted to be near Eleanor, and he wanted to be near Gaal. Carefully he would ease his way among their captors, trying to get next to one or another of them, but it was never possible for him to touch them.

  He touched their captors without even wanting to, bumping now into one, then into another. At any other time it would have been amusing. "Look where you're going!" one would say, glaring at the nearest of his companions. At one point he trod on the toe of one man, backed off quickly and bumped into another. Only his agility saved him from being caught in the middle as with cries of irritation they hit out at each other. Quickly he took himself out of danger.