The A. Merritt Megapack

by Abraham Merritt

  She said:

  “That was the whisper that went through the Mother-land, long and long and long ago. It became louder—and the Mother-land became desert.”

  “There might have been other reasons than Khalk’ru’s wrath for that, Lur.”

  “What were they?”

  “I do not know,” I said. “But you have never seen the sun and moon and stars. I have seen them. And a wise old man once told me that beyond sun and moon were other suns with other earths circling them, and upon them—life. The Spirit of the Void in which burn these suns should be too vast to shrink itself to such littleness as that which, in a little temple in this little comer of all earth, makes itself manifest to us.”

  She answered:

  “Khalk’ru is! Khalk’ru is everywhere. He is in the tree that withers, the spring that dries. Every heart is open to him. He touches it—and there comes weariness of life, hatred of life, desire for eternal death. He touches earth and there is sterile sand where meadows grew; the flocks grow barren. Khalk’ru is.”

  I thought over that, and I thought it was true enough. But there was a flaw in her argument.

  “Nor do I deny that, Lur,” I answered. “The Enemy of Life is. But is what comes to the ritual of the ring—Khalk’ru?”

  “What else? So it has been taught from ancient days.”

  “I do not know what else. And many things have been taught from ancient days which would not stand the test. But I do not believe that which comes is Khalk’ru, Soul of the Void, He-to-Whom-All-Life-Must-Return and all the rest of his titles. Nor do I believe that if we end the Sacrifices life will end here with them.”

  She said, very quietly:

  “Hear me, Dwayanu. Whether that which comes to the Sacrifices be Khalk’ru or another matters not at all to me. All that matters is this: I do not want to leave this land, and I would keep it unchanged. I have been happy here. I have seen the sun and moon and stars. I have seen the outer earth in my waterfall yonder. I would not go into it. Where would I find a place so lovely as this my Lake of the Ghosts? If the Sacrifices end, they whom only fear keeps here will go. They will be followed by more and more. The old life I love ends with the Sacrifices—surely. For if desolation comes, we shall be forced to go. And if it does not come, the people will know that they have been taught lies, and will go to see whether what is beyond be not fairer, happier, than here. So it has always been. I say to you, Dwayanu—it shall not be here!”

  She waited for me to answer. I did not answer.

  “If you do not wish to summon Khalk’ru, then why not choose another in your place?”

  I looked at her sharply. I was not ready to go quite that far as yet. Give up the ring, with all its power!

  “There is another reason, Dwayanu, than those you have given me. What is it?”

  I said, bluntly:

  “There are many who call me feeder of Khalk’ru. Butcher for him. I do not like that. Nor do I like to see—what I see—in the eyes of the women I feed him.”

  “So that is it,” she said, contemptuously. “Sleep has made you soft, Dwayanu! Better tell me your plan to take Sirk and let me carry it out! You have grown too tender-hearted for war, I think!”

  That stung me, swept all my compunctions away. I jumped up, knocking away the chair, half-raised my hand to strike her. She faced me, boldly, no trace of fear in her eyes. I dropped my hand.

  “But not so soft that you can mould me to your will, Witch,” I said. “Nor do I go back on my bargains. I have given you Yodin. I shall give you Sirk, and all else I have promised. Till then—let this matter of the Sacrifices rest. When shall I give you Tibur?”

  She put her hands on my shoulders and smiled into my angry eyes. She clasped her hands around my neck and brought my lips down to her warm red ones.

  “Now,” she whispered, “you are Dwayanu! Now the one I love—ah, Dwayanu, if you but loved me as I love you!”

  Well, as for that, I loved her as much as I could any woman… After all, there was none like her. I swung her up and held her tight, and the old recklessness, the old love of life poured through me.

  “You shall have Sirk! And Tibur when you will.”

  She seemed to consider.

  “Not yet,” she said. “He is strong, and he has his followers. He will be useful at Sirk, Dwayanu. Not before then—surely.”

  “It was precisely what I was thinking,” I said. “On one thing at least we agree.”

  “Let us have wine upon our peace,” she said, and called to her serving-women.

  “But there is another thing also upon which we agree.” She looked at me strangely.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “You yourself have said it,” she answered—and more than that I could not get her to say. It was long before I knew what she had meant, and then it was too late…

  It was good wine. I drank more than I should have. But clearer and clearer grew my plan for the taking of Sirk.

  It was late next morning when I awoke. Lur was gone. I had slept as though drugged. I had the vaguest memory of what had occurred the night before, except that Lur and I had violently disagreed about something. I thought of Khalk’ru not at all. I asked Ouarda where Lur had gone. She said that word had been brought early that two women set apart for the next Sacrifice had managed to escape. Lur thought they were making their way to Sirk. She was hunting them with the wolves. I felt irritated that she had not roused me and taken me with her. I thought that I would like to see those white brutes of hers in action. They were like the great dogs we had used in Ayjirland to track similar fugitives.

  I did not go into Karak. I spent the day at sword-play and wrestling, and swimming in the Lake of the Ghosts—after my headache had worn off.

  Close toward nightfall Lur returned.

  “Did you catch them?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “They got to Sirk safely. We were just in time to see them half-across the drawbridge.”

  I thought she was rather indifferent about it, but gave the matter no further thought. And that night she was gay—and most tender toward me. Sometimes so tender that I seemed to detect another emotion in her kisses. It seemed to me that they were—regretful. And I gave that no thought then either.

  CHAPTER XIX.

  THE TAKING OF SIRK

  Again I rode through the forest toward Sirk, with Lur at my left hand and Tibur beside her. At my back were my two captains, Dara and Naral. Close at our heels came Ouarda, with twelve slim, strong girls, fair skins stained strangely green and black, and naked except for a narrow belt around their waists. Behind these rode four score of the nobles with Tibur’s friend Rascha at their head. And behind them marched silently a full thousand of Karak’s finest fighting women.

  It was night. It was essential to reach the edge of the forest before the last third of the stretch between midnight and dawn. The hoofs of the horses were muffled so that no sharp ears might hear their distant tread, and the soldiers marched in open formation, noiselessly. Five days had passed since I had first looked on the fortress.

  They had been five days of secret, careful preparation. Only the Witch-woman and the Smith knew what I had in mind. Secret as we had been, the rumour had spread that we were preparing for a sortie against the Rrrllya. I was well content with that. Not until we had gathered to start did even Rascha, or so I believed, know that we were headed toward Sirk. This so no word might be carried there to put them on guard, for I knew well that those we menaced had many friends in Karak—might have them among the ranks that slipped along behind us. Surprise was the essence of my plan. Therefore the muffling of the horses’ hoofs. Therefore the march by night. Therefore the silence as we passed through the forest. And therefore it was that when we heard the first howling of Lur’s wolves the Witch-woman slipped from her horse and disappeared in the luminous green darkness.

  We halted, awaiting her return. None spoke; the howls were stilled; she came from the trees and remounted. Like well-trained dogs the whit
e wolves spread ahead of us, nosing over the ground we still must travel, ruthless scouts which no spy nor chance wanderer, whether from or to Sirk, could escape.

  I had desired to strike sooner than this, had chafed at the delay, had been reluctant to lay bare my plan to Tibur. But Lur had pointed out that if the Smith were to be useful at Sirk’s taking he would have to be trusted, and that he would be less dangerous if informed and eager than if uninformed and suspicious. Well, that was true. And Tibur was a first-class fighting man with strong friends.

  So I had taken him into my confidence and told him what I had observed when first I had stood with Lur beside Sirk’s boiling moat—the vigorously growing clumps of ferns which extended in an almost unbroken, irregular line high up and across the black cliff, from the forest on the hither side and over the geyser-spring, and over the parapets. It betrayed, I believed, a slipping or cracking of the rock which had formed a ledge. Along that ledge, steady-nerved, sure-footed climbers might creep, and make their way unseen into the fortress—and there do for us what I had in mind.

  Tibur’s eyes had sparkled, and he had laughed as I had not heard him laugh since my ordeal by Khalk’ru. He had made only one comment.

  “The first link of your chain is the weakest, Dwayanu.”

  “True enough. But it is forged where Sirk’s chain of defence is weakest.”

  “Nevertheless—I would not care to be the first to test that link.”

  For all my lack of trust, I had warmed to him for that touch of frankness.

  “Thank the gods for your weight then, Anvil-smiter,” I had said. “I cannot see those feet of yours competing for toe-holds with ferns. Otherwise I might have picked you.”

  I had looked down at the sketch I had drawn to make the matter clearer.

  “We must strike quickly. How long before we can be in readiness, Lur?”

  I had raised my eyes in time to see a swift glance pass between the two. Whatever suspicion I may have felt had been fleeting. Lur had answered, quickly.

  “So far as the soldiers are concerned, we could start to-night. How long it will take to pick the climbers, I cannot tell. Then I must test them. All that will take time.”

  “How long, Lur? We must be swift.”

  “Three days—five days—I will be swift as may be. Beyond that I will not promise.”

  With that I had been forced to be content. And now, five nights later, we marched on Sirk. It was neither dark nor light in the forest; a strange dimness floated over us; the glimmer of the flowers was our torch. All the fragrances were of life. But it was death whose errand we were on.

  The weapons of the soldiers were covered so that there could be no betraying glints; spear-heads darkened—no shining of metal upon any of us. On the tunics of the soldiers was the Wheel of Luka, so that friend would not be mistaken for foe once we were behind the walls of Sirk. Lur had wanted the Black Symbol of Khalk’ru.

  I would not have it. We reached the spot where we had decided to leave the horses. And here in silence our force separated. Under leadership of Tibur and Rascha, the others crept through wood and fern-brake to the edge of the clearing opposite the drawbridge.

  With the Witch-woman and myself went a scant dozen of the nobles, Ouarda with the naked girls, a hundred of the soldiers. Each of these had bow and quiver in well-protected cases on their backs. They carried the short battleaxe, long sword and dagger. They bore the long, wide rope ladder I had caused to be made, like those I had used long and long ago to meet problems similar to this of Sirk—but none with its peculiarly forbidding aspects. They carried another ladder, long and flexible and of wood. I was armed only with battleaxe and long sword, Lur and the nobles with the throwing hammers and swords.

  We stole toward the torrent whose hissing became louder with each step.

  Suddenly I halted, drew Lur to me.

  “Witch-woman, can you truly talk to your wolves?”

  “Truly, Dwayanu.”

  “I am thinking it would be no bad plan to draw eyes and ears from this end of the parapet. If some of your wolves would fight and howl and dance a bit there at the far bastion for the amusement of the guards, it might help us here.”

  She sent a low call, like the whimper of a she-wolf. Almost instantly the head of the great dog-wolf which had greeted her on our first ride lifted beside her. Its hackles bristled as it glared at me. But it made no sound. The Witch-woman dropped to her knees beside it, took its head in her arms, whispering. They seemed to whisper together. And then as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone. Lur arose, in her eyes something of the green fire of the wolf’s.

  “The guards shall have their amusement.”

  I felt a little shiver along my back, for this was true witchcraft. But I said nothing and we went on. We came to that place from which I had scanned the cliff. We parted the ferns and peered out upon the fortress.

  Thus it was. At our right, a score of paces away, soared the sheer wall of the cliff which, continuing over the boiling torrent, formed this nearer bastion. The cover in which we lurked ran up to it, was thrown back like a green wave from its base. Between our cover and the moat was a space not more than a dozen paces across, made barren by the hot spray that fell on it. Here, the walls of the fortress were not more than a javelin cast distant. The wall and the parapet touched the cliff, but hardly could they be seen through the thick veils of steam. And this was what I had meant when I had said that our weakest link would be forged where Sirk’s defences were weakest. For no sentinels stood at this corner. With the heat and steam and exhalations from the geyser, there was no need—or so they thought. How, here at its hottest source, could the torrent be crossed? Who could scale that smooth and dripping cliff? Of all the defences, this spot was the impregnable one, unnecessary to guard—or so they thought. Therefore it was the exact point to attack—if it could be done.

  I studied it. Not for full two hundred paces was there a single sentinel. From somewhere behind the fortress came the glare of a fire. It cast flickering shadows on the terraces of fallen rock beyond the bastioning cliffs; and that was good, since if we gained their shelter, we, too, would seem but flickering shadows. I beckoned Ouarda, and pointed to the rocks which were to be the goal of the naked girls. They were close to the cliff where it curved inward beyond the parapet, and they were about the height of twenty tall men above where we hid. She drew the girls to her and instructed them. They nodded, their eyes dropping swiftly to the cauldron of the moat, then turning to the glistening precipice. I saw some of them shudder. Well, I could not hold that against them, no!

  We crept back and found the base of the cliff. Here were enough and to spare of rock holds for the grapnels of the ladder. We unwound the rope ladder. We set the wooden ladder against the cliff. I pointed out the ledge that might be the key to Sirk, counselled the climbers as best I could. I knew that the ledge could not be much wider than the span of a hand. Yet above it and below it were small crevices, pockets, where fingers and toes could grip, for clumps of ferns sprouted there.

  Hai! But they had courage, those slim girls. We fastened to their belts long strong cords which would slip through our hands as they crept along. And they looked at one another’s stained faces and bodies and laughed. The first went up the ladder like a squirrel, got foothold and handhold and began to edge across. In an instant she had vanished, the green and black with which her body was stained merging into the dim green and black of the cliff. Slowly, slowly, the first cord slipped through my fingers.

  Another followed her, and another, until I held six cords. And now the others climbed up and crept out on the perilous path, their leashes held in the strong hands of the Witch-woman.

  Hai! But that was queer fishing! With will strained toward keeping these girl-fish out of water! Slowly—Gods, but how slowly—the cords crept through my fingers! Through the fingers of the Witch-woman…slowly…slowly…but ever on and on.

  Now that first slim girl must be over the cauldron…I had swift vision of h
er clinging to the streaming rock, the steam of the cauldron clothing her…

  That line slackened in my hand. It slackened, then ran out so swiftly that it cut the skin…slackened again…a tug upon it as of a great fish racing away…I felt the line snap. The girl had fallen! Was now dissolving flesh in the cauldron!

  The second cord slackened and tugged and snapped…and the third…Three of them gone! I whispered to Lur:

  “Three are gone!”

  “And two!” she said. I saw that her eyes were tightly closed, but the hands that clutched the cords were steady.

  Five of those slim girls! Only seven left! Luka—spin your wheel!

  On and on, slowly, with many a halt, the remaining cords crept through my fingers. Now the fourth girl must be over the moat…must be over the parapet…must be well on her way to the rocks…my heart beat in my throat, half-strangling me…Gods—the sixth had fallen! “Another!” I groaned to Lur. “And another!” she whispered, and cast the end of a cord from her hand.

  Five left…only five now…Luka, a temple to you in Karak—all your own, sweet goddess!

  What was that? A pull upon a cord, and twice repeated! The signal! One had crossed! Honour and wealth to you, slim girl…

  “All gone but one, Dwayanu!” whispered the Witch-woman.

  I groaned again, and glared at her…Again the twitches—upon my fifth cord! Another safe! “My last is over!” whispered Lur. Three safe! Three hidden among the rocks. The fishing was done. Sirk had stolen three-fourths of my bait.

  But Sirk was hooked!

  Weakness like none I had known melted bones and muscles. Lur’s face was white as chalk, black shadows under staring eyes.