“Daktablak!” cried Iroedh. “They’ll gain the wall!”
She hurled a last stone and reached for her machete. Then the gun went off deafeningly: bang-bang-bang, shooting out bright orange flashes into the dusk. The drone advance came to a halt, then the whole mass dissolved into its component drones running for safety.
Bloch, putting another clip into the gun, said: “I can kill two or three with one shot when they’re bunched like that. How many did I get?”
“There are over twenty lying there, but I don’t know how many are yours,” said Iroedh. “Where’s Antis?”
“On the other side of the grove. It would surprise me if Wythias can drive his people to another attack.” Bloch filled and lit his pipe.
The rogues had called another conference on the plain. Voices could be heard, raised in loud debate. After a long wait they got into motion again. They trickled off around both sides of the hill, as on the first attack. This time, however, instead of forming a single line, they organized themselves into a dozen or more small groups. At the signal these came bounding up the slope with almost as much élan as the first time.
“Bless my soul!” said Bloch. “Those fellows have nerve, to come back after the last strafing. Not many Terran primitives would do that.”
“Perhaps they’re more afraid of Wythias than of you,” grunted Iroedh, lifting a stone to hurl.
In the fading light it was hard to tell how effective the missiles were. From elsewhere on the perimeter came the cry:
“Daktablak! Daktablak! Come quickly!”
Iroedh had a glimpse of Bloch’s bald head bobbing away toward the sound; then in a few seconds came the crash of the rifle. Then from another section of the wall:
“Daktablak! Come!”
From Iroedh’s left there came the clash and grind of weapons. She looked along the wall toward a dark knot of struggling figures, drew her machete, and started toward them. Before she arrived she heard the high voice of Barbe:
“Stand back, you stupids!”
The group opened out and the little Terran figure stepped into the opening. Her pistol cracked several times, and the rogues who had gained the inside of the wall slumped to the ground.
A priestess looking toward Iroedh cried: “Look out!”
Iroedh turned to see the head of a drone rising over the wall beside her. She whirled and struck backhand at the neck; felt the blade bite. The head toppled out of sight and the spouting torso followed it. Somewhere across the enclosure the big gun was firing again, and among the giant trees a drone who had gained the enclosure fought priestesses. Iroedh started toward the sound, but by the time she arrived the drone was down.
Then all noises ceased save the footsteps of running drones. Bloch and Antis appeared, the former doing things to his gun and the latter wiping a slight wound on his cheek. Bloch said:
“I hope that’s the last. While we’ve only suffered three or four casualties, we have a total of six rounds left for the rifle and two for the pistol. We’re even running low on stones.”
The rogues slowly gathered themselves together again upon the plain. Antis said:
“Wythias must have lost a fifth of his band. He can’t do this many times more.”
“Once more is all that will be required,” said Bloch gloomily. “Why did I ever go in for xenological exploration? I should have stayed home and been a professor.”
Below, argument raged again among the assembled drones. Injured rogues dragged themselves from where they had fallen toward the main mass. Some of the drones lit campfires and torches.
At last one rogue mounted the path to the gate, holding a torch over his head. Iroedh recognized the herald, who called:
“O Oracle!”
“Had enough?” squealed Gildakk from the wall.
“We have not given up, if that is what you mean. Though you defy our direct assault, we can still starve you out.”
“That will take a long time.”
“We can wait. However, as all of us have other business, my leader generously offers you a parley, to see what proposal you could possibly make that would interest him as much as getting the sky peoples’ weapons.”
“Very well,” said the Thothian. “On my side there will be myself, the sky folk, and the two who came with them. Wythias may bring not more than four officers with him, unarmed, and must stand two spears’ lengths below us. We shall stand just outside the gate.”
“We don’t care about the Avtini; leave them out of it.”
“No; the proposal concerns them.”
“Very well, bring them. But your party must also be unarmed; especially the sky folk must not have their magical weapons.”
“We agree,” said Gildakk. “And since the proposal also concerns your band as a whole, it is only proper that they should hear. Let them gather with torches on the slope below Wythias, but not closer than three spears’ lengths from him…”
After some more dickering about distances, to guard against treachery, the herald agreed and departed. Gildakk said to Iroedh:
“Quick, take off your armor and tunic and put on your cloak!”
When the drones had gathered upon the slope with torches fluttering, and the logs had been dragged away from the inner side of the gate, Iroedh filed out of the gate with the others: Gildakk, Bloch, Barbe, and Antis. Iroedh, wrapped in her cloak, felt qualms at leaving her machete inside the wall and had to control a tendency to glance back at the gate every few seconds to make sure it still stood open. Antis was likewise unarmed, and Bloch and Barbe held up their hands to show they were empty. Barbe had even left her pistol holster behind.
A pair of priestesses carried lighted oil lamps out through the gate and set them on the path to provide additional illumination. Iroedh looked into the torchlit confusion below. A little group of drones, muffled in their cloaks, was ascending the hill. In front came one huge drone whose matted crest rose above a pair of fierce eyes.
Gildakk, standing beside Antis, said: “Ask which is Wythias.” It had been arranged that Antis, having the loudest voice, should do the talking.
“I am Wythias,” said the giant. “Speak.”
At least, thought Iroedh, it was lucky the drones used only bows and spears, for neither could readily be hidden under a cloak.
Gildakk squeaked to Antis, phrase by phrase, and Antis repeated the phrases in his piercing bellow. This gave the speech a somewhat jerky effect, though Iroedh found it all the more impressive for its pauses.
“Wythias, officers, and men of the band of Wythias!” began Gildakk and Antis. “You think you wish the magical weapons of the sky people to conquer the world, do you not?”
“Yes!” replied Wythias, and this was echoed by several of his drones.
“But that is not what you really desire. You may think you lead a good life; you have food and drink and games and ornaments and excitement. But there is one thing you do not have. You know what I mean?”
“Yes!” roared the drones.
Wythias said: “What do you expect to do? Provide us each with a queen, or some such fantastic idea?”
“Not fantastic, my dear Wythias. If you listen to us, every one of you can have—not some fat old queen who bosses you and whom you share with sixteen other drones—but a handsome and congenial functional female of your own. Your very own! To love and live with all your life, as the ancients used to do. Who will lay your eggs, which will hatch into children that you, and you alone, may rear up as you wish. What do you think of that?”
A murmur went through the drones. Wythias said: “A likely story! Next you’ll offer us the Treasure of Inimdhad. Where is your proof?”
“I have proof. Iroedh, show them.”
Iroedh stepped forward, threw off her cloak, and stood naked before them in the torchlight.
“There!” continued Antis-Gildakk. “A perfect functional female, once a neuter like all workers. I can change workers into functional females!”
A drone stood up. “How
do we know she’s been changed? How do we know she’s not merely some runaway princess?”
“Is there any drone here from Elham?”
“I am,” said a voice.
“Dyos, you scoundrel!” roared Antis. “You knew Iroedh of Elham, who hauled you out of the prison cell, didn’t you?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then step forward and identify her.”
Dyos came up hesitantly, looked, and said: “That’s Iroedh. Just a minute to make sure those things aren’t glued on…”
“Ouch!” said Iroedh. “You—”
“Yes, she’s turned functional. It’s true, fellows.”
“But,” said Wythias, “how do we know workers would accept this arrangement, assuming you transformed them?”
“Iroedh did. She is united to Antis by such a contract now, aren’t you, Iroedh?”
“Yes,” said Iroedh, “and I love it.”
“Of course,” continued Antis and Gildakk, “there will have to be some changes. If you go ahead with this project you must accept our leadership; you will have to stop killing workers. Every worker, remember, is a potential female! Waste not, want not. You must—”
“Ridiculous!” shouted Wythias. “I won’t give up my leadership to anybody! And this is all a hoax of some kind to get these sky folk out of my hands, and we shall be left holding an empty sack.”
“I’m not finished, please!” Antis and Gildakk went on to rhapsodize on the beauties of married life, then said:
“But most of all we urge you to join us because this revolution was foretold long ago by the divine prescience of the never-failing Oracle of Ledhwid. In the incumbency of my predecessor Enroys, of sacred memory, the divine afflatus issued the following promise:
“When the Rogue Queen wears a crown of light
The Golden Couch shall be overthrown;
When the gods descend from heaven’s height
Shall the seed be sown.
Which is interpreted as follows: The Rogue Queen is obviously Iroedh. The Golden Couch is the present sex-caste system with its queens. The sky folk are the gods; the seed is yours. And as for the crown of light—”
Gildakk squeaked over his shoulder: “Light up!”
There were faint noises from inside the wall and a whisper: “The first one won’t light!”
“Then try the next!”
The audience squirmed and rustled at the length of the pause.
“As for the crown of light—” repeated Antis.
Then it came: a sputter, a flare, a loud foomp, something soaring into the sky, a sharp pop, and a blinding magenta light drifting slowly overhead in the evening air. Then another went off, soared, exploded in a dazzling spray of green sparks, and finished with a vivid flash and an ear-shattering bang.
“There you are,” said Antis. “Down with Queen Danoakor’s so-called reforms! Back to the happy customs of the Golden Age! Let’s overturn the Golden Couch, as prophesied by the Oracle!”
The fireworks had brought cries of astonishment and alarm from the drones. One shouted:
“It’s the fire-breathing Igog!”
At the last explosion many near the edges of the crowd had started to run away. Gildakk said:
“Your music, quickly!”
Antis put the flute to his lips, and Iroedh joined Bloch and Barbe in singing the Terran song: “Main aidh av siin dhe glory…”
The audience calmed down, and those who had started to flee wandered back. A drone called:
“I know you, Antis! You’re no drone but the god Dhiis come back to Niond. I know you by that ancient instrument you play!”
Gildakk and Antis concluded: “Who’s with us? Who wants to try it?”
Iroedh, somewhat shaken by the pyrotechnics, could see the faces of the rogues turning and hear the murmur of voices. One drone raised his hand:
“Count me in!” “And me!” “And me!” “Kwa Queen Iroedh!”
Hands rose all over the assemblage. Wythias glaring, shouted:
“It’s a trick! A cowardly, treacherous, dastardly, stinking trick! You call a parley and instead make lying speeches and sing songs to turn my own men against me!”
“Not at all; you’d be just as welcome as—”
“I’ll stop your lies about every worker a queen and a queen for every drone!”
Wythias threw back his cloak, revealing that in one hand he held a spear cut to half length so that it could be hidden. His arm darted back, then forward. The spear whizzed up the slope.
Iroedh, with a little shriek, reached for the machete that was not there. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Barbe’s hand dart inside her shirt.
The spear struck Gildakk in the belly and went on until the point, now green with Thothian blood, came out its back. Barbe’s hand reappeared with her pistol. Gildakk fell backwards, twitching. The pistol barked and spat a sheet of flame: once, twice.
Wythias staggered back a step, then folded slowly into a heap.
While Iroedh braced herself to spring for the gate, Barbe, holding the pistol steady, called in a high voice: “Don’t start anything, any of you! You have all seen that treacherous murder. Calm yourselves, my littles, and give consideration to your situation. Your bad leader, he is gone and our offer is still open. Join us and forget the unhappy past. As the Oracle told you, the change is bound to come. Will you work with it or be crushed by it? If you wish time to consider—”
“I have considered,” said a drone. “I’m with you.”
“So am I,” said another. “Wythias would have had us all killed to further his ambitions.”
The others joined in assent, all but a very few who straggled off into the night. Iroedh heard Barbe murmur to Bloch:
“Hold me up, Winston darling. I think I’m going to faint. Those were my last bullets.”
“Really, Barbe,” said Bloch, “you shouldn’t have brought that gun. We promised—”
“Oh, what stupidity! He had the spear, didn’t he?”
Iroedh leaned over Gildakk. The Thothian’s beady eyes looked up at her and its voice squeaked faintly.
“Iroedh!”
“Yes? What can I do for you?”
“Nothing; I’m finished. I wanted to see the gray seas again, but no such luck. I have one piece of advice.”
“Yes?”
“If your revolution breaks down the—present Community pattern, revive the old religion.”
“Why? I don’t really believe in it, and I’m sure you don’t.”
“Without the present Communities—the Avtini will need—an emotional outlet—to take their place. And a unifying force—so you can fight the Arsuuni—and…”
The voice trailed off and the bright eyes closed. Gildakk the Thothian was dead.
XI. The Battle
Next morning Kang dropped out of the sky in his helicopter. “Was up on practice flight last night,” he said. “Saw flares.”
He went on to explain in his truncated English that he had had a slight accident, bending the alighting gear of the machine, so that it had been laid up for several days. Then it was grounded further by bad weather, and when he finally took off to search for the party (lack of radio reports from whom had aroused alarm on the Paris) he could find no sign of them along the road to Ledhwid. A well-armed ground party was now searching for them.
Bloch told Antis and Iroedh: “Well, this is nearly the end of the road for us, though for you it’s just a beginning. What are you going to do next?”
Iroedh looked with some consternation at Antis, who returned her stare. It struck her for the first time that she would soon no longer have these wise and potent Terrans to rely on. As Gildakk had said, she and Antis would have to learn to depend upon themselves, no matter how puzzling or perilous their course.
She said: “I suppose we shall get in touch with the other rogue drone bands and try to persuade them to join us. Then we’ll start a campaign to win over the neighboring Communities, either as wholes or by seducing away indivi
dual workers.”
Bloch suggested: “You might write messages, wrap them around arrows, and shoot them over the walls.”
“Splendid! And then we shall—But who is that approaching?”
A chariot was smoking up the road from the Gorge of Hwead. As it came closer Iroedh saw that it was driven by a priestess of the Oracle. As the driver neared, she pulled in her ueg at the sight of the drones encamped upon the plain and started to turn her vehicle around.
Iroedh, calling reassurance, ran toward the chariot. The driver hesitated on the verge of flight until Iroedh came up and tried to brief her on the situation in one short sentence.
“But where,” said the priestess, “is our Master?”
“Dead. Wythias killed it and then was slain himself.”
“Great Eunmar! Whom then did it choose as successor?”
“Nobody; it had no time. Won’t you come in?”
“If I can do so safely. Wythias’s drones kill on sight.”
“No more. You can see some of your fellow priestesses moving among them unmolested.”
The priestess came timorously, saying: “I have important news for the Master, but since he’s dead I don’t know whom to give it to.”
“Tell me, why don’t you? Since I find myself in a somewhat authoritative position around here—”
“Oh, it wouldn’t interest you, Queen. The Arsuuni of Tvaarm have routed the advanced force of the Elhamni and are now invading Elham’s territory—”
“What? Oh, Antis!”
“Yes?” When told the news Antis looked shaken, then put on his firm face. “So what? What did they ever do for us except try to kill us and drive us out? Let the Arsuuni have them.”
“Antis, think! We shall have to face the problem of the Arsuuni. If we don’t destroy them they’ll exterminate us sooner or later. Our only hope is to unite all the Communities, or whatever takes the place of the Communities under the new system, to crush the Arsuuny Communities one by one. And how can we start better than with our own? If we let it be destroyed we shall not only lose part of our eventual force, but others will say: They care only for their own power, so why should we trust them?”
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