“They have that death-ray.”
“Well, I don’t know. But all this is quite possible, Court Hardony may be planning a coup. He could have seen that the Deccan treaty never reached the Throne. He’s been trying to have my organization put down, and his own built up. Yes, he could very easily be planning to start this war, conquer Decca—and then assume total rule himself.”
THAT might be true. It was a puzzling problem.
“But how can we find out?” Court asked. “How can we be sure?”
“There’s one way.” Barlen hesitated. “Decca certainly has sent spies into Lyra, though I’m not sure, now, that their reasons were militaristic. We’ve captured a few. They’re in Hardony’s headquarters. They’ll probably be able to tell us something about Decca’s plans.”
“If they will.”
“They will,” Barlen said grimly. He threw a cape over his shoulders, buckled on a sword, and strode to the door. “But we’ll have to move fast, before Hardony’s notified we’re invading his headquarters.” The giant’s voice bellowed through the halls. By the time he and Barlen had reached the outer portal, a dozen soldiers, armed and ready, were running in their trail. Steel clashing, they swung out into the night.
aircars whisked the group across the city, to a silent dark building that was Hardony’s stronghold. He was not there now, as Barlen had anticipated, but the red-uniformed Espionage Corps agent at the gateway said a pass would be necessary before he could let them enter. Hardony could be notified.
“Do you know who I am?” Barlen roared.
The guard bowed. “Den Barlen. I know you, of course. But I am a Corps man.”
“You serve the Throne,” Barlen snapped. “So do I! I’ll put a foot of steel through that shiny uniform if you talk back to me! Where are the Deccan prisoners?”
“Den Barlen, I can’t permit you to interfere.” Barlen gestured. Two of his men sprang forward and seized the Corps man. Another soldier put a knife to the agent’s throat. “Will you take us to the prisoners?” Barlen asked gently.
The agent, it seemed, now was willing. Massaging his neck, he silently led the way, with furtive glances at his captors. But two guards flanked him as he walked.
At a branch of the corridor the Corps man turned left. One of Barlen’s soldiers pulled at Barlen’s sleeve.
“This isn’t the way, Den Barlen,” the soldier whispered. “I’ve heard Corps agents talking. When they speak of taking the left turn at the entrance, that means they’re going to Hardony’s office.”
“All right,” Barlen said. “Kill that man.” The agent let out a gasping cry.
“No! Don’t!” He thrust out a clawing hand. “I’ll take you to the prisoners! I swear it!”
“Very well.” Barlen nodded. “Keep your sword-point in his back and, if there’s trouble, push. Now, my friend. The right turn, I think you said?” Now they walked through the halls in silence, save for the soft tread of wary feet. They descended a spiral ramp, turned again into a narrow corridor and, rounding a corner, emerged into a well-lighted chamber where four agents were playing an intricate card-game. The quartet stared, then sprang to their feet. But swords were at their necks. They dropped their hands and stood motionless.
“Another trick?” Barlen asked.
“No, no! I did not know these men were here! I swear it.”
“Barlen!” Court said.
The giant turned his head. “Well?”
“That man!” He pointed at one of the agents. “I know him. He’s the Deccan spy who tried to kill me in the Green Tavern.”
“What? A Deccan?”
“Yeah,” Court said. “It’s odd he’s wearing Hardony’s uniform, isn’t it?” Barlen’s nostrils dilated. Disdaining to use his sword, he strode across the room, his great hand falling on the agent’s shoulder. The man screamed as Barlen’s muscular fingers tightened.
“Talk!” Barlen whispered, and death stared from his eyes. “Speak the truth or I’ll crush your bones into splinters! Who are you? Hardony’s man?” Words spilled out. “Hardony gave me my orders. I obeyed him. I harmed no one. The weapon was a sham.”
“The death-ray?” Court moved forward, his eyes widening. “But you killed two people with it. I saw them fall.”
“They were in Hardony’s pay,” the man gasped, writhing. “A—ah—my shoulder. The—the weapon—it was harmless. It sends out a ray of light, nothing more. Since then I have hidden here, as Hardony commanded.”
“A good way to convince me I should build weapons for Lyra,” Court said.
“And it worked. I saw a supposed Deccan kill ruthlessly with a death-ray. Yes, it worked—almost.”
“We’ll see the prisoners now,” Barlen said. “The real Deccans.” He was smiling wolfishly.
A quarter of an hour later Barlen’s aircar again was skimming through the dark, Court beside the yellow-bearded giant. Beneath them, Valyra glowed in deceptive calm.
“I’m convinced,” Barlen said. “And I’m acting. My men are ready for mobilization and they’ll obey me. I’m ordering the arrest of Hardony and the imprisonment of his Corps leaders.”
“The Throne?” Court asked.
“There’s no time even to tell Irelle. Hardony will learn of our visit to his headquarters. We must strike before the red fox can move.”
CHAPTER IX
Plotters At Bay
STANDING before the private-beam televisor in Barlen’s home, Court watched while the orders went out. He was a spectator now, passive and waiting for—what? He did not know, but he sensed a growing tension in the air.
“Find Hardony! Arrest him for treason, by Den Barlen’s orders, acting for the Throne. Arrest all Espionage Corps leaders. Action!”
To Barlen’s well-trained army, in a thousand branch and district headquarters, the command was sent out. Barlen touched a switch, stood up, and nodded briefly at Court.
“Stay here. I’m going to Hardony’s home. I’ll get in touch with you.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, stay here where you’ll be safe. You know things you haven’t told yet, and your evidence will be important. That means your life’s important too. Stay here.”
Without waiting for an answer Barlen strode out, leaving Court alone to chafe and wonder.
He did not have long to wait. Within ten minutes the televisor screen leaped into brilliant color. Irelle’s blue eyes looked into Court’s.
“Where is Barlen?” she demanded.
“Looking for Hardony,” Court said. “He’s arresting your red-head for treason.”
“So it’s true, then,” Irelle said. “Barlen’s jealousy has boiled over at last. Well, the orders are countermanded. You will remain where you are till my own men come for you.”
“Barlen’s jealousy?” Court stared at her.
“Hardony’s a traitor. Barlen’s got proof. And I have too.”
The red-gold crown of hair shook from side to side. “I don’t believe that. Hardony is loyal. I’d stake my life on it.”
“Then you’d lose your life. He’s responsible for trying to start a war with Dacca.”
“Oh, you’re mad,” Irelle said. Her hand reached to break the connection.
Court spoke in time to stop her. “Wait, Irelle!”
She hesitated. “What?”
“You won’t have to send your men for me. I’ll come to you. Furthermore I’ll bring with my proof, indisputable proof, that Hardony’s planned to depose you and take your place.” A shade of doubt came into Irelle’s blue eyes. “Proof? It cannot exist.”
“Give me five minutes. If I can’t convince you in that time, then act.”
“I do not wish to wait.”
“I’m coming to the palace,” Court snapped, and clicked the televisor into darkness. He went out, finding a guard at the street entrance.
“Get me an aircar.”
“You can’t leave, Ethan Court.”
“I’m ordered to report to the Throne,” Court said.
“Tell Hardony when he returns.”
“The Throne—oh!” The man signaled. Soon an aircar slipped silently toward the ramp on which they stood.
“Shall I go with you, Ethan Court?” Without troubling to answer, Court sent his vehicle lancing up. Against the black sky he saw the palace on the mountain, and headed for it. But the seconds seemed to drag past, lengthening into eternities, before he reached his destination. Even then, no answer had occurred to him. He had to stop Irelle from countermanding Barlen orders. But how?
There was no proof, no tangible evidence, nothing that Hardony could not explain away. But after Barlen had struck, after his men had raided and captured vital places, there would, Court thought, be evidence enough. Hardony must not wiggle out of this trap.
So he hurried to Irelle in the great tower room under the transparent dome. In the dim light he saw a silver-gowned figure seated before a televisor, silent and motionless.
She turned. Her quiet voice dismissed Court’s guide. As the door swung down. Irelle rose.
“I’ve waited,” she said. “Your proof?”
COURT gave her the Deccan treaty. She held it under a shaft of pale light, studying it intently. After a time she looked up. “Well?”
“Decca never intended to invade Lyra,” Court said. “They have no weapons. Hardony built up the whole idea through propaganda.”
She looked thoughtfully at the paper.
“How do I know this treaty is a true document? That Decca sent it?”
“You didn’t receive it,” Court said. “Hardony kept you from seeing it. He wants a war, so he can get the power he’d never achieve in peace.” Watching her averted enigmatic face, Court went on quickly, telling her what had happened—more than he had meant to tell.
When he had finished, he knew that he had failed. Irelle was silent.
“Do you believe me?” he asked.
“No. For Decca wants war, Court. So many things prove that. Only by being strong, by being able to resist, can Lyra survive.”
Court groaned. Had his words meant nothing to her?
“They have no weapons!”
“So you say.” Her voice was doubtful. “But even if they have none now, they may arm themselves later. Two nations can have peace only if each is strong.”
“My race thought that,” Court said grimly. “It didn’t work. There must be a common trust and understanding—not the piling up of weapons on each side till there’s an explosion.”
She looked at him. “Are you a coward. Court?”
Presently he answered her. “Maybe. There are some things I’m afraid of. Shall I tell you what one of them is?”
He took her arm and led her to the curve of the wall. In the dim light the metal circlet on her brow sent out faint gleamings.
There was a cold, hard knot inside of Court. Looking down at the rosy jewel that was Valyra, he saw the, fragile bridges and domes crashing into horror beneath the impact of bombs from the sky.
“There’s your city, Irelle,” he said. “It’s afraid now, but it’s still a good place. It has good people in it. But they can be turned into people who aren’t—aren’t nice at all. People who are afraid, and who hate, and who want to kill because they think that’s the only salvation for them. Who can become too blindly stupid to realize that there’s always a rebound. You can burn the cities of an enemy, but the enemy will come back. Maybe, after a while, you could ravage Decca, but unless you killed every Deccan, Lyra, in the end, would be destroyed too.”
His voice was very low. “Men don’t forget, Irelle. It’s been a long time since there was war on earth, and you don’t know much about it. You’ve got pretty pink cities and shiny uniforms and bright swords. Do you think war is a duel?”
She moved a step away from him. Court’s hand on her arm tightened.
“They who take the sword, shall perish by the sword,” he said. “There were races in my time who learned the penalty. It was my job to fight those races. I did fight them. Yes, I was a soldier, Irelle. That’s glamorous, to you. For all you know about war is shiny uniforms and shiny swords. You don’t know what weapons are.”
Something cold and horrible crept into the room from the darkness where stood stars that had watched the earth for a long, long time. She might have been a marble statue for all the emotions she showed.
“You don’t see real weapons coming,” he said. “You can’t dodge them. You hear a noise, and you drop in the mud, and maybe you fall on something that was a man, before it was tom apart, and before it began to rot. Then you wait. You’re alone. You’re all alone. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a hero or a coward, it doesn’t matter whether you’re the Throne of Lyra or a scared kid. For if a bomb’s coming, you can’t stop it. It doesn’t fall only on battlefields. It doesn’t fall on soldiers alone. Bombs can rain down on Valyra, Irelle, on civilians, right here! If a bomb misses you, or just tears a hole in your body, you can get over that. Afterward you want to kill the people who drop those bombs.”
GENTLY Court swung Irelle to face him.
“Do you wish me to make bombs for you to drop on Decca?”
Fear blazed in her eyes, purple now, and deep. For a second he held her there, and then, against the backdrop of the rose-pearl city, they came together. Irelle had said that she would never kiss Court again, but she had lied.
She was afraid, and she clung to him, for a little while. The moment did not last. Court knew it could not last. But a feeling of desperate futility rose in him as he heard a murmur and a sound of approaching footsteps, and knew he had not changed her.
Irelle drew away. She gestured. The great room grew lighter. Through the rising doorway came two figures, Hardony, red-hair ruffled, a twisted sneer on his face, and behind him, a sword pointed at Hardony’s back, Barlen.
The door slipped down. “Stand still, red fox.” Barlen growled. “Treason to the Throne needs the Throne’s decision. I think it will be death.” He nodded toward Irelle.
“Have you found evidence?” Court said quickly.
“I need pa evidence to run my sword through this traitor’s throat,” Barlen snarled. “The Deccans have no weapons, and never had. Hardony planned to foment a war and become ruler. Can you deny that, red fox?”
Irelle moved forward to stand beside Hardony, who turned his head to meet her calm gaze.
“Can you, Hardony?” she asked.
He was grinning. “Why should I, Irelle?” he asked. “AH of it is true, but two things. I would have served you loyally and I would have made you ruler of a world.”
“You hear him,” Barlen said. “He’d have a war!”
Irelle smiled a little. “And you, a soldier, are a man of peace?”
“I fight for honor, not for gain,” Barlen said.
Court saw the movement too late. Irelle had moved a few paces toward Barlen. Abruptly, without warning, her hand flickered up from the folds of her gown. A dagger caught the light’s blaze. It’s flashing gleam flicked down. The gleam was quenched in Barlen’s back.
The giant snapped erect. He swung about to face Irelle, his countenance twisted with sudden amazement. The sword rattled from his grip.
He opened his lips but only blood came out.
He fell face down, and was still.
Irelle caught up the sword and swung it, hilt-first, into Hardony’s waiting fingers. As Court sprang forward, the steel point darted up, poising, waiting, quivering with thirst.
“It isn’t wise, Court,” Hardony said.
“You killed him!” Court whispered, staring at Irelle. He still could not believe. He stood motionless now, frozen in the grip of surprise.
Irelle took Hardony’s arm and drew him, step by step, across the room. Court followed, but the sword still pointed unwaveringly at his heart.
“Irelle,” he said. “Wait.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Still guiding Hardony, she smiled with a queer, sly triumph. “Because I knew, Court. I knew all along wha
t Hardony intended. That Deccan treaty—I suppressed that myself. Hardony was going to make me ruler of Decca, and ruler of the world in the end.”
“You fool!” Court said.
“Perhaps. I know only that I must conquer. Conquer and rule. Even as a child I dreamed of power. There were voices in my blood that whispered to me, that told me stories of past greatness and future triumphs. I must rule!” Now a relentless, terrible madness burned behind the white beauty of her face.
“Barlen’s soldiers are outside that door, Irelle,” Hardony said.
She glanced at him. “We’re going the other way, by the terrace.” She opened a panel in the transparent wall and guided Hardony through. “It will be wiser to have my own men around me, when Barlen is found. Though—” she nodded at Court “—though I will say that you killed him, and no one will doubt the Throne’s word As a prisoner, there may be ways of inducing you to build weapons for us.”
COURT took another step forward. Irelle and Hardony were gone in the dark. With reckless haste he sprang to the gap in the wall and darted through. He was on a I terrace. Beyond its wall he could see Valyra below.
He saw shadows, two forms moving swiftly, and a larger shape, a bulky ovoid that looked like an aircar.
There was an aircar on the terrace! Who, then, was near?
The shadows seemed to dance before him.
He heard a faint, warning cry, and the running of hurried feet. As he sprinted forward, he glimpsed a tangle of struggling, dim forms. A wild exultation sprang into life within him. There was a chance now to save a nation!
He saw Hardony drive his sword straight through the body of someone. He saw the victim seize the sword’s hilt in a desperate grip, keeping the weapon sheathed in his own body, and resist Hardony’s furious tug.
Then Court had reached Hardony.
His fist thudded solidly into the red fox’s face, shattering bone and bringing blood spurting from riven flesh. Hardony went staggering back, a thick yell rising in his throat. He recovered, came back, his eyes searching for the sword.
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