by Hans Kneifel
Science Fiction Novel Atlan, Perry Rhodan
PALE COUNTRY PURSUITby Hans Kneifel
PROLOG
In the Greater Imperium of the Arkonides it is the year 10496 A (for Arkon)—a time corresponding to the Earthly year of 9003 B.C. Thus it is a time in which the inhabitants of Earth are yet submerged in primitive barbarism, knowing neither of the stars nor of the great heritage of vanished Lemuria.
By contrast—and despite the great war against the Maahks—Arkon is in its fullest prime. The present Imperator of this vast domain is Orbanoshol 111, a man of brutality and cunning who is rumoured to have instigated the death of his brother, Gonozal VII, in order to take over the rulership for himself.
Even though Orbanoshol III has firmly established his dominion, there is one man whom the Emperor of Arkon must fear: Atlan, the rightful heir to the throne. After Gonozal’s death, he had disappeared without a trace, along with the former physician to Gonozal VII.
But perhaps the trail had not been sufficiently obscured, because Orbanoshol’s brutal agents, the Kralasenes, have suddenly appeared on the remote planet of Gortavor—where Atlan has grown to manhood under the watchful eye of Fratulon and in the protection of Tarkihl without knowing anything of his true origin. It is here that they have arrested the old physician without any warning.
Atlan and his companions take flight from the Emperor’s agents–and thus begins the PURSUIT THROUGH THE PALE LAND…
CHARACTERS
ATLAN—The orphaned Prince of Arkon must flee the long arm of the usurper
FRATULON—Atlan’s mysterious foster father must use every trick he knows to reach his secret stronghold
FARNATHIA—Atlan’s childhood playmate and sweetheart, a princess faced with another’s destiny, bigger than her own
ICE CLAW—A transparent Chretkor with claws of death—and a fear of everything
SORLACK—One of the rugged Akone inhabitants of the Pale Land, a trader in Seuder’s Tent Town
UMMAN—Prince of thieves, lord of outcasts, ruler of the hell-hole of the North
THE KRALASENES—Mercenary killers of Sofgart the Blind. Like bounty hunters, they have orders to bring in the fugitives—dead or alive!
Series and characters created and directed by Karl-Herbert Scheer and Walter Ernsting.
ACE BOOKS EDITION
Managing Editor: FORREST J ACKERMAN
WENDAYNE ACKERMAN Translator-in-Chief & Series Co-ordinator
CHARLES VOLPE Art Director
PAT LOBRUTTO Editor
Sig Wahrman Stuart J. Byrne Associate Translators
PALE COUNTRY PURSUIT
by Clark Darlton
A Division of Charter Communications Inc.
A GROSSET & DUNLAP COMPANY 1120 Avenue of the Americas New York, New York 10036
PALE COUNTRY PURSUIT Copyright © 1977 by Ace Books An Ace Book by arrangement with
Arthur Moewig Verlag
All Rights Reserved
First Ace Printing: November 1977
Printed in U.S.A.
ATLAN #3
1/ TROUBLE IN TENT TOWN page *
2/ GHOSTS IN THE SNOW page *
3/ THE PHANTOMS STRIKE page *
4/ FROM AVALANCHE TO CREVASSE page *
5/ THROUGH THE VALLEY OF STEAM page *
6/ ADJOVER: HELLHOLE OF THE NORTH page *
7/ THE PRINCE OF THIEVES page *
8/ THE NARROWING CHASE page *
9/ MAD RACE ON THE GLACIER page *
10/ VICTORY & DESPAIR page *
1/ TROUBLE IN TENT TOWN
I Hated myself.
I was still an inexperienced youngster lacking in wits and cleverness. My practical background and experience could not even approach being comparable to that of Fratulon. Of course I had told myself again and again that the know-how of life could not be bought and that it could only be gained through extensive trial and reflection but this was poor consolation. I had always been and would continue to be the greenhorn young friend of a heavyset old man named Fratulon. I was confronted daily with the fact of my personal immaturity and so I hated myself and my bad-tempered moods. And during these days since we had left the border of the Spider Desert and set out on the long trek to the remote settlement known as
Seuder’s Tent Town my moodiness had by no means improved.
I threw the wrench in with the other tools and straightened up.
“Ready, Atlan?” asked Fratulon gently.
I hunched my shoulders and aimed a furious kick at the special tire of our ground vehicle. “How should I know!” I exclaimed peevishly. “I’m just not with it any more. Everything I do disgusts me.”
The pale sunlight appeared to be reflecting from Fratulon’s bald head. His beard was bristly which was a sure sign that my words had irritated him. To be on the safe side I reached into the toolbox and took the wrench out again.
Fratulon drew himself up before me. I was more than a head taller than he yet that stocky figure of his in its battered and timeworn chest armour had always instilled in me a proper attitude of respect, as it did now. Arms akimbo and with fists on his hips he growled at me: “By all the red-haired goddesses I have known my son, you begin to vex me!”
I dropped my eyes to the repair work I had been doing and to the nuts I had listlessly tightened. In the settlement there had been only one vehicle for sale and it was this one here. Half battered to pieces by uncounted trips through the pathless wilderness in these northern regions, it was technically a junk pile.
“I didn’t mean to,” I said somewhat stiffly.
“But you succeeded.” Fratulon placed a heavy hand on the hilt of Skarg, which was his broadsword. “Now you listen to me, sonny! And mark well what I say. We’ve reached the high North region of this world, which is the beginning of the Pale Land. We’re not vacationing somewhere in a metropolis. We’re being chased by the deadly Kralasenes of Sofgart the Blind—you and I and Ice Claw and your young lady love. In case your lack of enthusiasm causes that snow car to fail us you’ll be to blame for the death of four people—and that unfortunately includes you! Perhaps that thought may relieve you of some of your boredom and disgust, Atlan!” He stared at me so challengingly that it seemed he was ready to fight.
“Forgive me,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’ve been in a strange mood ever since we were forced to start running. I don’t even know myself any more, Fratulon.”
“All the more reason to get re-acquainted with yourself,” he confirmed. “We’ve got enough on our hands just getting our equipment and supplies together, so we don’t need your fits of temperament to make life any more burdensome than it is.”
I regretted having allowed myself to get carried away by my thoughtlessness. Naturally, Fratulon was right. He was always right!
“I apologize,” I told him. “When will we be leaving?”
He made a slight gesture as though to dismiss the incident between us. Old Sawbones, my friend and teacher, was in a hurry to reach his secret stronghold on Gortavor in order to save us all. But according to him the way there was fraught with unusual dangers. And one thing I knew for sure-the Kralasenes were alter us. However, they concerned me far less than the chubby-looking man before me, whose deepset eyes were regarding both me and our scrap-heap of a ground car.
“Tomorrow, day after tomorrow–who knows?” he answered. “Three days at the latest.”
“How long will it take us to get to this mysterious base of yours?”
“That will depend on the whims of Fate, which is a fickle entity as you have learned by now. It may not always be on our side, or even be less kindly disposed toward this rust buggy we’ll have to use!”
Then he also kicked the tire, with such force that the entire vehicle
rattled. “And this is the wreck that’s supposed to take us to Warm Spot and beyond? It’s a risk to even drive this thing out of the settlement!”
“How true!” I said. “How is Ice Claw doing with the food supplies?”
“Fairly well,” said Fratulon.
We were in the settlement which consisted of 30 or 40 houses made of white-bleached wood. Although they were not ‘tents’, without exception they were cone-shaped with sharp peaks and in various sizes. Smoke curled upward out of most of the pointed roof-tops. Each house was surrounded by a stockade-sized wall of stone and all the buildings in turn surrounded a circular clearing in the centre of the settlement. Each domicile’s circle of stone enclosed a small inner court that was
sheltered from the wind and could be locked for privacy but all entrance doors faced the ‘village’ circle, which was traversed by a street of sorts that was in a deplorable condition. We had come upon this circle a few days ago, approaching it from the South, and soon we’d be leaving Seuder’s Tent Town, bound for the far North—and as luck would have it, we’d be going in this rattling and puffing monstrosity.
“And…how is Farnathia?” I inquired.
“She’s a very plucky and handy girl to have around,” Fratulon assured me. “Just now she’s looking after our clothing.”
Our path together was unalterable now because none of us could risk going back. The Tatto would never be able to forgive Fratulon for having drawn his daughter into this whirlpool of events. And So we had to find our way through mysterious paths to the equally mysterious stronghold of Armanck Declanter’s strange and mysterious personal physician. To prepare for that flight we were still busy getting all our supplies and equipment in order. On the amount, quality and reliability of that would depend whether or not the Kralasenes would catch us or if we would be able to leave the planet Gortavor.
“Good!” I said and looked at the position of the sun. “I’ll have another look at the motors of this iron calamity.”
Suddenly Fratulon grinned at me. “You know the statistics of probability say that no machine can have all of its parts fail at once, except for a total explosion. Maybe this venerable old jalopy will actually hold up for awhile. I’m sure I’ll be able to change a few parts even while we’re en route.”
I pulled my gloves on tight. “You ought to go in and help Ice Claw now. I’ll try to talk some sense into this crate.”
Here on the border of the so-called Pale Land of the North it was a serious problem to even procure a litre of water. In these polar, regions, which were largely buried under ice and snow, only the hardiest and most self-sufficient of men could be found—and very few women. These people were hunters and traders. The hunters were away on their trails or traplines at present and the merchants seemed to have sold out all of their wares. After considerable persuasion and the settlement of a high cash price, Fratulon was able to pick up this ground car which seemed to have originated from the earliest days of the Greater Arkonide Imperium. Fratulon’s wealth was a matter of common knowledge but even for me it was always a source of continuing surprises. Even here and at this season it had been able to procure for us such scarce items as warm fur clothing, food supplies and a few weapons. But that was all-there wasn’t anything else available. It was our task to sort out all the things we had been able to obtain and to put together a suitable outfit for our journey. Time was pressing. Our pursuers were undoubtedly on our trail by now and we were not yet ready to start.
“You still have to pick up the snow ointment from Sorlack across the way,” Fratulon reminded me.
“When I’ve finished here.”
He nodded and disappeared into the house. I was thinking of all the strange things I had heard about the Pale Land. Many Arkonides and numerous other beings from the worlds of the Imperium had set out for that region and vanished without a trace. In order to survive in remote settlements like this one, here in the crystal coldness, one had to be extraordinarily rugged both in body and mind.
Once more I carefully went over the individual parts of the propulsion mechanism of this 6-wheeled polar exploration vehicle. I checked the universal burner unit, the steam boiler and the synchronizer of the turbines which drove the generator, plus individual cables. I also inspected the spike and claw treads of the tractor drive, which had to be lowered by hand. Then came the small cargo compartment lined with cables and conduits and I even looked over our seats and safety straps. The fuel tank leaked but all I could do with the means at hand was to stop it up with an improvised wooden plug. Then I cleaned out all the smaller storage compartments and stowed away some of our gear while hoping that all my tinkering with this beast would help hold it together.
Just as I was closing the tool box the door of our dwelling creaked open and Farnathia came down the short access ladder in front. “I’ve brought you some hot tea,” she announced.
I looked at her, enraptured as I always was when I saw her. She was unimaginably lovely, especially now in her clinging suit of animal pelts and with the fluffy fur lining of her headpiece which framed her face like drifts of fresh-fallen snow. Any man would have to fall in love with her, and of course I was already there In her heavy mittens she carried a clay mug from which a very aromatic wisp of steamy vapour arose.
I took the mug from her and grasped both of her hands. “Thank you,” I said. “Are you going to come with me?”
“Where, Atlan? You mean to get the snow ointment?” As I nodded, she answered, “Of course I will. All I’ve been doing all day is to sit around on the furs we bought.”
I put away my wrench and drank the hot tea which I found to be laced with a warming touch of alcohol. We looked at the surrounding countryside and for the firstime it seemed to register on me as the light of the sinking sun fell across the landscape. It reflected the typical sad beauty and melancholy of all such regions of solitude. The area was fairly well covered with trees but the land elevations here were relatively low and undulating. As for what lay beyond—Fratulon had spoken of mountains and glaciers, of vast treeless steppes and permafrost cliffs and even of choking vapours and snow ghosts. Had he been speaking the truth or had he only sought to frighten us? On the other hand, his hidden fortress certainly must be
real or he would never have exposed us to this risk. So we still had a fairly solid chance of being able to leave the planet.
I placed the empty mug on a fender of the machine and took Farnathia’s hand again.
She laughed. “Ice Claw is still afraid of the cold!” Our strange companion, the inhuman Chretkor, was always afraid of too much heat or too much cold but I had other things on my mind just now.
I shoved the heavy gate of the courtyard open.
Around the circle of houses facing the settlement’s plaza we could see only 2 or 3 of the outer gates of the private courts standing open, including the entrance to Sorlack’s general store. Light was shimmering already behind a few visible windows whose panes were almost frosted over. As we walked along toward the store we passed sled dogs half-buried in the snow and stretching racks where giant animal skins were curing.
Hand in hand we entered Sorlack’s inner court, trudging through crunching snow. All around were sleds up-ended against the walls and stacks of bundled pelts which were frozen as hard as boards. As I yanked open the door of the building itself we were greeted by a shout from inside.
“Shut that door!” came Sorlack’s sombre voice from the inner dimness. “I’m not supplying heat to the whole Pale Land!”
We slipped quickly inside and I pushed the creaking door shut. When our eyes accustomed themselves to our dim surroundings we could make out the figures of 6 or 7 men who were standing at the cluttered counter and bar, where they imbibed their drinks and haggled over merchandise. When they saw the aquiline face of Farnathia behind me their loud conversation was silenced. The men stared at her as though she were a creature out of fantasy or dreams.
“Fratulon sent me,” I said as I pushed my way between rows o
f casks and bundled wares and also between the men. I drew the girl along with me. “I’ve come to pick up the snow ointment, Sorlack.”
Sorlack was a bull-necked, unkempt-looking Akone with a bestial face. Without turning around, he reached behind him onto a rustically constructed shelf and then
slapped a package on the counter that contained the tube of ointment.
“Hey, listen here, sonny!” wheezed one of the men through his teeth.
I gave him a nod while I asked Sorlack how much he wanted. When he named the price I saw him staring past me at the girl. There was a menacing silence in the room, except for the crackling of the fire in the fireplace and the deep breathing of the men. I knew it had been a mistake to bring Farnathia with me. I took out money and laid it down beside the ointment package.
“I’m listening,” I finally answered my interrogator.
“How long you still staying in the ‘Tents’?”
As the girl and I moved toward the door, the men formed a wide circle around us. Not one of them was looking at me. With burning eyes they were staring at Farnathia, who was becoming more worried with each passing second.
“A day or two,” I said. “Please let us through.”
I headed for the slight gap near the door but the men did not move completely out of my way. Close beside me and slightly behind, I heard a sudden gasp from
Farnathia.
“Take your hands off me!”
I shoved the ointment into the pocket of my fur-lined cloak and drew a long dagger from my belt. I stared down the two closest men and growled at them: “Out of the way. Let go of the girl!”
I caught a side movement out of the corner of my eye and I turned. Raising my arm swiftly, I made a slicing thrust and cut. One of the fur-trappers had drawn Farnathia to him and was attempting to jerk loose her headpiece. This one cried out, both of his wrists showing bloody gashes. I pulled Farnathia close to me and sent one of the men yelling to the floor.
“Out of the way or you’ll get it!” I shouted, thrusting forward.
The injured hunter failed to draw his knife because I rammed him in the chest with my shoulder, simultaneously shoving the door open with my boot. As we went out a hue and cry went up behind us. I rammed the door shut with my foot and then braced my back against its board face and cross-braces.
