“A Glith. That was what Roke the pirate called it before we killed it and him.” He stared down at the gray skull, earless and noseless, the fanged jaws agape in death and the mighty limbs, covered with fine scales, all asprawl. The thing wore the harness of a Metz soldier, but it could not have passed for a human in any kind of light. The heavy axe it had borne lay half under Hiero’s bed.
“How did it get in here?” the old priest mused. “The alarm was given by one of those pendulum devices our scientists cooked up. I showed you one before you went off south, remember?”
“It may have been given, but it was way late,” was the answer as Hiero knelt to examine the corpse further. Already a foul stench was in the room, despite the open window. “Look here. It wears the mind shield. I expected that. God knows what warned me. I guess I’m becoming attuned to the presence of the enemy somehow. But I had only a few seconds to spare.”
He crushed the small box and crumpled the chain before going on. “What I’d really like to know is, if that shield was working—and it was—how did your pendulum thing work at all?”
“I don’t think the scientists themselves altogether understand that device,” Demero said. “The warning was late, as you say. Still, there was a warning. Perhaps it also works, though more slowly, on a level of emotion somehow. A pretty puzzle to set before the big brains when I get time to do so. But what I want to know is, how did this Glith pass the sentries at all?”
“I see what you mean. And I think I know the answer or can guess at it. Have the sentries examined as fast as you can by a psychmedic, one who knows the human brain. One of these things almost hypnotized me once. They have strong mesmeric powers. I’d be willing to bet that there is an unexplained lapse in the memory of some guard, maybe more than one. The damned brutes are probably bred for it. Anything else occur to you, Father?”
“Oh, yes. I’m not quite senile, not yet at any rate. It wanted you. It took a big risk to locate this chamber, son. And that means two things. I’ll have to have the garrison mind-probed in depth. Though I think you may be right, and it could have got its information by mental compulsion. But I see further, and so do you. It came looking for you, so that means it was sent. The Unclean know you are here or at least suspect it. Others may have been sent to other places. The important thing is that they know you are alive, and that is something we hoped was not so. I wonder how?”
“I don’t know. But only one thing makes sense. Someone or some thing saw me in Neeyana. No other way it could have happened. They move fast, don’t they?” Hiero’s eyes slitted as he stared down at the repulsive corpse on the floor. “It makes me feel proud in a funny way. They certainly hate me.”
The abbot smiled. “You were never very good at your classic studies, Hiero. Many, many thousands of years ago, far across the sea, there was a mighty king with a personal motto. Can’t recall much about the man, whether he was good or bad. But I recall the motto. It ran, Oderint dum Metuant. Let them hate me so that they fear me, that is, in Latin. You see, my boy, there’s the answer. As I told you yesterday, I worry about your powers. But you terrify the enemy. I think they would trade several regiments of our Guards if they could get you instead. I had hoped to use you as a secret weapon. Now I’ll just settle for weapon, period. Do you have any ideas?”
“I think so,” Hiero said slowly. “I think we have to keep them off balance. If you can spare me a few good men, the best of the bushrangers, I’ll take my cats and go hunting. North of the Palood and east of the Otwah League boundary. Somewhere in there I think the enemy may be gathering. The way I see it is this: We dealt them a bad blow at Neeyana. We couldn’t hold it, but we certainly wrecked it for them. We stole their records, broke up and brought back their Great Screen, sank two of their best ships, and killed three Masters of the Yellow Circle. Nothing like that ever happened to them before. If I’m right, we only have two main packs to worry about—the Blue, and that’s S’duna, and the Red, both north of the Inland Sea. I think I know where S’duna’s main base is—the isle of Manoon. Where the others are, I have no idea. But I think a hunting expedition is in order, something between a probe and a raid. I have never drought they had many of those ships, you know. Even with their powers, that much metal and technology must be very rare. I doubt if there are more than two or three left on the whole Inland Sea. Brother Aldo got one and my cats got two. I don’t think there are that many left.”
He began to pace the small room, and the older man watched and listened with veiled amusement as the younger continued to expound his plan.
“Surely some of the levies must be coming in from the Otwah League by now? They promised aid before I went south.”
“They have a long way to travel, and the fact that the Unclean have hit them only lightly so far has made them cautious. They are afraid to strip themselves of troops. Also, remember that they are not quite the same as we, Hiero. They have a far higher proportion of the old white stock and they have other mixtures as well. We are homogeneous in population to a much greater extent. Not so many nerves to soothe, not so many little patches of local divergency that have to be kept feeling they are part of the whole. But they are coming. I have had word from their Council.”
“Well,” Hiero said, “tell them to stay well north of the sea, and I mean well north of the roads anywhere near the Palood. The less the enemy knows about them, the better.
“Anyway,” he went on, “I ought to start as soon as possible. I want no more than six men and my furry friends from the South. We’ll go on foot, not mounted, though the Children of the Wind could leave Klootz standing, I think.” A look of pain crossed his face as he thought of his lost mount, but the emotion was suppressed as he continued. “On foot is better. We don’t know that terrain well and I have no idea what we’ll be getting into,”
A heavy tread shook the corridor, and the tall shape of Per Edard Malum loomed in the doorway. He was welcomed and the conversation resumed. It had not progressed very far when the newcomer interrupted loudly. “Hey there, hold up. Are you off again on some crazy trip, while I float around on that stink barge? Not on your life! Father Abbot, I appeal to you. This helpless shrimp needs protection. I resign from the navy here and now. I’m going along, that’s what!” He stared defiantly at both of them.
Demero laughed quietly. “I don’t know what Justus Berain will say, but I suppose I can quiet him down. It won’t really be desertion if I have you seconded to special duties. I presume that you have an executive officer who can handle the ship?” It was an idle question. Maluin’s noise and bulk had never disguised his keen mind. He would have had all his officers trained to a hair, and all three knew it.
Hiero was delighted. He knew his old friend’s value. They had trodden many strange trails in the past. The thought of that stout arm and strong mind at his side was a real comfort. The old abbot also felt relieved. He had guessed at Hiero’s loneliness and knew what the man must be feeling, with his wife’s fate unknown and his mind torn with divergent emotions. A tried and true comrade could be a great help.
“I think Malum has a good idea, Hiero. And though I don’t want to pick your men for you, I have another one. There’s a junior priest, just been made deacon, as a matter of fact, whom I’d like to send with you. He’s here in the garrison, and I’d like to have him up. See what you make of him, and then I’ll tell you why I think you should have him along.”
The abbot called to a guard stationed in the passage. In a short time, a young man stood at salute in the doorway. He was no larger than Hiero and quite slender. He wore the standard garb of leather and, like all the others, a silver pendant of the Cross and the Sword on his breast. He was clean-shaven and seemed hardly out of his teens at first appearance, but Hiero was not fooled. The man’s black eyes were dreaming and remote, as if he looked beyond things, rather than at them. Under the painted yellow leaf and the green caduceus on his forehead, they seemed to gaze far beyond the little, smoky room and out into vastness, Hiero fel
t a wave of power such as he had seldom encountered before, and not of his own kind, for that was primarily mental. This man’s power came from the spirit. Once in a while the Church Universal threw up a great leader, a healer of souls; priest though he himself was, Hiero felt humbled in the presence of the youth who stood before them. If this priest lived, the church would have a prophet and a reformer such as had been rarely known, even in ages past. He radiated calm and inner power so strongly that it was almost an aura. Hiero knew without being told that he was a celibate. No earthly ties could ever bind such a spirit.
“This is Per Cart Sagenay, Hiero. Sit down, my son, and listen to what we have to tell you. You have heard of Per Desteen, who has done mighty works for us in the South. Per Maluin you also know. I have asked them, especially Per Desteen, to look you over. While we toil back here, building our strength for the onslaught of the enemy, Per Desteen will lead a scouting party to spy out the enemy strength. I wish them to say whether you should accompany them on their journey. I know that you, of all the sons of the church I have ever known, will obey any orders given you. But it is for Per Desteen to say whether I have chosen rightly.”
Hiero had no hesitation at all. “Anyone you chose, Father, would be welcome. But I should like to hear from Per Sagenay’s lips exactly what he himself thinks.”
The young man inclined his head gracefully. His voice was soft and pleasant, but in no way weak. Indeed, it seemed to hum and ring in the room, even after the man had fallen silent. An orator, too, Hiero thought. Well, that would follow.
“Reverend Father, noble Pers of the church, I am not the world’s greatest warrior. Such small gifts as God has given me lie rather with things of the spirit. I have a small talent for the Forty Symbols—”
Demero interrupted. “He sometimes can get twelve at a time. The Abbey schools have never produced anything like him!”
Hiero’s only response to that was a mental “Wow!” Casting the Forty, the tiny, wooden, carved symbols, and trying to see the future with them was an art taught in all the Abbey senior classes. Hiero could get two or at most three and use those only uncertainly. He was about average. He had never heard of anyone who could cast and still make sense out of more than six. Any expedition which had this man as a member would be strong indeed and, he could not help feeling, blessed as well.
Giving the abbot a pained look, Per Sagenay continued. “I am greatly honored by this suggestion. If it be an order, I am more honored still, since I am young and without much experience of the world outside the Abbey walls. I can only wait upon your decision, sirs.”
The decision was unanimous. They talked and discussed plans until the dawn came stealing through the narrow window, then separated for a much-needed rest. The scouting party would leave quietly and as unobtrusively as possible on the following evening.
S’duna was raging, but it was a cold rage, as everything about him was cold. “Namcush totally gone, not that it was ever entirely and completely ours. But we had no warning! The two secret ships which guarded the south sea—gone! Neeyana taken and sacked. Only two Brothers escaped of the five who were there. Do you realize, my friends, that S’ryath, the ruler of the Yellow Circle, is a fugitive in the wilderness, barely able even to communicate with us? We are almost cut off from the South, the source of our strength! S’tarn and I, the Masters of the Red and the Blue, we are alone to all intents and purposes. All of our strength now is here in the North.”
The Blue Council of the Dark. Brotherhood was silent. Then one of them, raised a pale hand. “Surely there is some good news from the South, Elder Brother. The savages of D’alwah have been broken. The starveling slut who calls herself a princess is destroyed. Our allies hold the kingdom under our rule, do they not?”
S’duna withered him. with a glance. In the cavernous chamber, before the great screen of lights and wires, his pupilless gaze was baleful. “Oh, yes, my Brother of the Green, Slorn, has accomplished great works. He has the southern kingdom under his yoke.” The gelid eyes glowed with a light that came from the Ultimate Pit. “And what of his profound assurance about our deadliest enemy? What about Per Hiero Desteen, the prince of D’alwah? The only being ever to escape from dead Manoon? He lives, Brothers, he lives! So much for assurances in the South!”
His voice sank to a hiss. “What wots it that the barbarian kingdom of the South is felled? What does that mean for us, here and now? It is our rule of the North, steadily over the years increasing, spreading and ready to overwhelm the weaklings who call themselves the true church, that is threatened; that is what is in deadly peril. The kingdom of D’alwah may be destroyed. Their wretched king may be in our hands, the slut, as you rightly call her, may be ruined. But what of us, here in the North?”
With rising anger, he paced about the long oval table, a smaller simulacrum of the table of the Great Council. At length he paused and contained himself with an almost visible effort. “In the last year, too many unlooked-for things we never expected have happened. Item, the Eleveners have openly come out against us; only a fool would think they have no powers; they have forsaken peace, as they call it, and are for the first time in their stupid history on the other side, actively on the other side. Consider that!”
The four shining heads, the four pallid, impassive faces, moved with him as he went on. “And S’ryath saw him as he fled the wreck of Neeyana. Whatever may be said, it was he who destroyed those ships! I have heard reports from our spies of the crude things the Metz have put on the waters. They could not have done so, I swear it. No, it was Per Desteen, who will hang on my torture racks before he dies slowly. Curse him! He himself is a mutation and does not even know it. How could he leave the distant South a drugged prisoner, helpless, utterly doomed, and then appear many hundreds of leagues to the north at exactly the right time? Perhaps those accursed Eleveners know something about this. One thing is certain—he had help and help that we know nothing about. There are currents working against us; I grow more sure of it daily. Something impalpable, something that lurks and pries and frustrates our plans in ways we cannot prevent. I shall root it or them out! Exterminate them!”
He ceased pacing and turned to face the others again. With another almost visible effort, he controlled his fury, and the faint flush over the pale cheekbones disappeared. He began to give orders, seek out information, and formulate plans. His colleagues leaned forward, their styluses ready, and proceeded to make notes as he spoke.
There were no horn calls, no salutes, and no ceremony as the patrol went forth from Namcush Fort. It was the cloudy dark just before the coming of dawn. Hiero wanted no eyes to spy out his leaving. He had bidden farewell to the Father Abbot in his chambers earlier, and that was sufficient. The little party left by a small postern, not by the main gate. Its members loped along the back alleys of the port, avoiding even the few Metz guard details until they came to the edge of the small town. Here they left the path entirely and at once plunged into the fringing bush which the inhabitants burned yearly to clear their garden patches. In less than a half hour, the last trace of civilization was behind them, and they were deep in the southern borders of the Taig, the mighty forest which spanned the continent, heading north.
Hiero led, his garb no different from that of the others, except that he no longer wore the painted leaf and caduceus, the looped snakes and rod, on his forehead.
“I’m no longer ail Abbey, Father,” he had said bluntly to Demero, who had noted its absence. “Now I fight for two realms. I hope you’ll forgive me. It was you who sent me south. I am the prince of D’alwah! I cannot wear the badge of the northern armies any longer.”
The old man had looked hard at him, then laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “My son, you are still a priest, and that is what counts to God. I have no fears for your faith. And it is the work of the Faith to reclaim our brothers in every land. You still wear the Cross and the Sword and you got new insignia as soon as you went on our ships. You are still ours. If we share you with another land,
the church can but approve. You are a missionary, Hiero. Wear what you will and take my blessings,”
Musing on this conversation as he paced along under the great pines, Hiero wondered. Was he still a priest? He was certainly not the same priest. When he compared himself with Per Sagenay, he wondered if he were a priest at all. Even old Demero, much as Hiero loved and respected him, was more soldier and politician than saint or preacher.
Hiero sighed. Well, they all loved God, they all called themselves Christian, and that was about all one could say. The Lord presumably needed all kinds of help, even that of non-saints. He turned his thoughts aside and looked back at his command. He thought he might have a good one, man for man perhaps the best in the whole northern array.
Right behind him came Per Maluin, shield on his arm and his favorite weapon, one he preferred to any spear, over his brawny shoulders. This was a colossal billhook, one of the oldest weapons in the world, the peasants’ tool of ancient, lost Europe and their last argument against the tyranny of their masters. On a curved axe handle, four feet long, was set a thin, brush-cutting, hooked blade like a deformed axehead. This tool, the ancestor of all later pole arms, was a dreadful implement in the hands of a master, and Per Edard was such. As Hiero looked back, the giant winked at him, his face alight with delight. A born woodsrunner, Maluin reveled in tasks such as this.
Behind him came B’uorgh and M’reen, and with them Per Sagenay. To Hiero’s amazement, the quiet young priest and the catfolk had taken to one another at once. Moreover, Sagenay was learning, with amazing speed, to tune in on the odd wavelength the Children of the Wind used for mind speech. Already he could communicate better with them than anyone save Hiero. This would not have surprised Hiero in an Elevener, but the average Metz had little contact with alien minds, while the Eleventh Brotherhood was trained for it.
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