Pike was angry. Muscles tense and bulging, he paced up and down the wide
room in lengthy strides. He might well have been a bull charging at an
unlucky victim. He snorted and grumbled aloud. What do
they want from us, those black and orange—
Enjoy it; we’re being treated well enough, aren’t
we?
If Pike had taken the time to absorb his surroundings, he would have agreed that Paddelack was right. The room was huge, fifteen full meters long and at least ten meters wide. Although it was hewn out of solid rock, the thick carpets and cushions of various colors on the floor, the heavy draperies hanging languidly from the walls, and even a fountain with a pool around it served to make the room a most splendid prison.
Pike reckoned they had been here more than a week, but as his only measure of time was his broken watch and his own sleeping habits, he couldn’t be sure. And what of Valyavar and Stringer? Had they tried to follow the beacon? Were they lost? Were they on the way? No answer was forthcoming.
I’m hungry,
Paddelack remarked with some
enthusiasm. Are you?
No.
That’s your problem.
I think your appetite has increased three hundred
percent since we got here, friend.
Exactly where here
was, Pike
didn’t have the faintest idea, although he assumed it to be the Gostum
headquarters.
Paddelack called into the adjoining corridor, and within a few minutes a girl arrived, tall, slim, with waist-length hair, wearing well-fitted pants and nothing else.
At least they understand the uses of
sex on this planet,
Pike grunted. Undeniably. They
certainly do a better job than Elswer’s. One would suspect that they are
trying to make us thinking we’re dreaming.
Pike continued his pacing
without any hesitation or a break in stride.
Of course! Don’t you see that?
Paddelack laughed. What better way to get on good
terms with us than to try to convince us we’re in paradise? Maybe it is a
little crudely obvious, but enjoy it, anyhow, is what I say.
Pike was surprised at Paddelack’s perception of the situation. He wondered
why it hadn’t occurred to him also. Well, Paddy, my
companion in arms, even if this is a ten-quinten whorehouse, I’m not going
to fall for it.
Then take a walk while I do.
Pike accepted the suggestion and walked out of the room in the same athletic stride. No one opposed him. He saw a few men and women dressed in the same black and orange, but they said nothing to him as he passed. The corridors were a maze, lit only by burning torches whose heavy smoke would suffocate them all sooner or later. He found a stairway and climbed. It went this way and that, not being able to make up its mind which way it wanted to go. The corridor divided; Pike went to the right and found himself on a balcony overlooking a large rocky chamber. The walls were uneven, rough-hewn. Pike did not stay a moment longer. He took the other turn this time and climbed once more. Soon he felt a cooling breeze blowing on him from around an unseen bend. Was this an exit? His mind, fogged in anger for a week, cleared immediately and he continued all the faster. Now it was brighter. A sunlit patch of brown stood out on the corner from the darker grays and blacks. Freedom so easily? It was hard to say. He rounded the bend, and the passageway suddenly ended in a large round opening cut into the wall. Pike stepped over the threshold and out.
He stood at the tunnel’s end on a terrace cut into the face of the mountain. Beneath him the mountain curved outward in huge jagged step until it met the plain below in an unseen boundary. But this was not the coastal plain that Pike had flown over. He looked to the right and to the left, and it was the same. The same. To all horizons it was the same. And what of the horizon? At first Pike could not understand the shadow of the giant mountains stretching far into the plain. Was the horizon so close? As soon as he decided no, the shadow seemed to jump back, assuming its proper proportion in that distance. How far was he seeing beyond that shadow? Twenty kilometers or a thousand? There was no scale, no way to tell. His senses balked; the view became two-dimensional, all perspective lost. But Pike was sure of one thing, no matter what his faulty vision told him: if there was a tree or a forest or even a mountain in that desert, it was invisible, dwarfed in size by orders of magnitude and inundated by burning orange sand. He guessed that Two-Bit could have sat comfortably in the middle of the plain and been rolled about like a ping-pong ball on a table. Pike felt for the rock railing and leaned on it for support. It is an evil world, this, he thought.
Paddelack emerged from the tunnel with several of the Gostum following
behind him. He spoke to Pike slowly and not unkindly. You begin to understand what Patra-Bannk is all
about.
He took Pike’s arm. Well, come, these
men want to talk to us.
Pike stood erect, shook a fist at the desert, and paused for a moment with
silent, glazed eyes. Then: You must have finished with
the girl quickly, Paddy.
No, you’ve been away longer than you think.
Paddelack and Pike followed the Gostum to a cavernous room whose walls were roughly hewn in parts, flat in others, and, in places, still contained stalactites hanging from the ceiling. Circling the room above their heads was a relief depicting a series of events at which Pike could only guess. The carvings themselves were stained with soot from the flaming torches below. The two aliens were directed to sit at a large wooden table in the center of the room.
At the other end of the table were gathered a group of men. Two had beards, long and tangled, with gray hairs interwoven with red and strands of black. Another: beardless with a craggy face, little darker than Pike’s own, but convoluted with the lines of many years. He wore a fur mantle whose long hair draped over his arms and whose weight—if not his age—caused him to be bent over. The staff he carried was longer than he was, of black wood and intricately carved. Next to him was a tall young man, a boy by comparison. His robe was blue and light, his hair strikingly blond, and he stared off into an unknown distance.
For a moment Pike looked beyond the men to the dais at the end of the room. Two guards stood there on either side of what must have been a clock. it buzzed and whirred, lying there on its cloth-covered table, and even from this distance Pike saw a large hand move a notch at the sound of a click.
At the prodding of the staff, the young blond-haired man turned to a curious set of objects resting on the council table.
Determine the Angles, Effrulyn,
Paddelack heard
the old man say. Pike heard gibberish.
The boy picked up the first object, which consisted of many metal bars, gleaming with reflected torchlight, tied loosely together in some sort of random three-dimensional figure. He dropped it to the table, where it fell with a crash, and the bars rearranged themselves. He took another object, resembling a pair of calipers, and bent his face to the skewed latticework of bars. After a few moments of measurement—of what, neither Pike nor Paddelack could tell—he stood up and nodded wearily to the old man.
The old man took a heavy step toward Pike and spoke briefly in a raspy tenor, then left.
Pike shook his head and fidgeted with his untrimmed beard. You’ll have to translate, Paddy.
Fine with me. His name is Fara-Ny, and he is the
titular head of the Gostum. Says they want our help with a great and
glorious mission. The Trieskans are building rockets to carry their people
away from Patra-Bannk, and the Gostum must gain the knowledge of how to
build rockets so that they too can leave.
Why do they want to get off Patra-Bannk? No, never
mind that. Who are the Trieskans, anyway?
I’ve heard of them. Old enemies of the
Gostum. Not sure, but I’ve been told that they live about one hundred
thousand kilometers north of here. I could be wrong about that.
One hundred thousand kilometers! Tell me, then, would
you, how these people even know about them. They raise horses, giraffes, or
whatever you call those animals, don’t even have electricity, and here they
are talking about rockets being built at a place one hundred thousand
kilometers away. How do they even know what rockets are?
Pike was interrupted by the return of Fara-Ny. He carried a large paper,
rolled up into a cylinder. He laid it on the table and slowly unfurled
it. The ends dangled over the edge of the table. It was a map of some of
the world. Pike quickly noted some familiar features: the large ocean, the
mountains, and the desert. The Gostum pointed to a speck on the mountain
that was labeled Konndjlan, although Pike couldn’t read
it. Fara-Ny drew his fingers up along the coastline and pointed again. Triesk?
Pike guessed and let his eyes travel farther
up and down again. The map was surprisingly detailed on this continent, too
detailed to have been done by the Gostum. Pike gazed across the ocean, a
large blue channel cutting the map neatly in two. Another continent
there—or part of one. Pike’s eyes stopped for an instant and he looked up.
You can add to my questions: how did they get a map
like this?
Paddelack turned to Fara-Ny and questioned him at length. There was a momentary exchange and then silence.
The map is a copy of one from the age of the
Polkraitz, who made it for their surveys. The Gostum claim they are
descended from the Polkraitz. As to how they know what the Trieskans are
doing, Fara-Ny won’t say. That is one of their greatest secrets, which is
available only to the inner hierarchy; the Fairtalian guard. You’d have to
be sworn in before they would allow you to possess that information.
By Ostlan’s Vase, this is the most nonsensical
discussion I have ever—
Pike slammed his fist down on the table.
Don’t take them lightly; they’re Gostum, and for
reason or no, they take themselves very seriously. We’ll be in a fine fix
when they decide to get rid of us.
Pike demurred, sensibly, he thought. What do they want
from us? It would seem to me that if they can know what is going on one
hundred thousand kilometers away, they can do something about it.
They want your ship and weapons to take a few men
to Triesk and extract the vital information.
They are out of their minds, the costumed
clowns! Risk my only way off this planet in an imbecilic tribal war over
something that can’t possibly be true! Rockets! Sarek, what a joke!
Jedoval, I believe you are referring to.
As
contritely as possible, Paddelack relayed the message to Fara-Ny and then
said to Pike, He said he would be happy if we
thought about it further.
Not long afterward Pike and Paddelack were summoned out of their quarters for a second time. This time, however, they were not taken to the council chamber but to a small cubicle containing a single wooden desk on which one or two very old manuscripts were neatly piled to one side along with a few papers, also neatly ordered. Two torches burned on either side of the desk under ventilating hoods, and a candle standing near the entrance provided a little more light. On the desk, pushed to an extreme corner, was that peculiar latticework of metal rods, and at the desk itself sat the young man with the blond hair, whose name was Effrulyn.
When the guards brought Pike and Paddelack in, the young man did not even
look up. When one of the guards finally bent over Effrulyn’s shoulder and
pulled a piece of paper out from under his nose, he growled. Yes, what is it? What do you want?
The aliens are here. You were to have an audience
with them, in order to more fully explain our wishes.
That. Well, yes, I suppose it is necessary.
The two guards left and Effrulyn stood.
What is that thing?
Paddelack asked him,
pointing to the latticework on the desk, not waiting to be asked any
questions himself.
Effrulyn turned around as if he did not remember anything was on the desk
at all. That? That is the Angler. I let the Angler
fall and then read the Angles that are so formed. If conditions are right,
the Angles so formed are good ones, and the Gostum may proceed with
whatever plans they have in mind.
You are a fortune teller.
Effrulyn jerked his head in amazement. I am a
mathematician,
he said with a distinct sneer in his voice. That is my only concern.
Then why are you the Angler?
Because that is my job.
By this time Pike was getting impatient. What are you
talking about?
This man is the court astrologer—without the
stars. Evidently our fate has something to do with the outcome of his
Angles.
And, I ask you, what is our fate?
Paddelack relayed the question to Effrulyn.
You have arrived at a propitious moment,
came
the reply.
Do the Angles tell you that?
Paddelack asked
in return.
The Angles,
Effrulyn continued, have the good sense to know a propitious moment when
they see one. As I was saying, you have arrived during the twelfth Golun
Patra-Bannk—
So that’s it!
Paddelack exclaimed.
What?
Pike asked sharply, annoyed at having to
receive second-hand information.
For some reason,
Paddelack continued, the folks around here use a double-calendar
system. One’s based on the Patra-Bannk, the other on this Golun thing. Only
once in a great while—I’m not exactly sure when—they coincide. The Golun
Patra-Bannk, or Golun-Patra for short.
So?
So. It seems there is also the expectation that
the Polkraitz will return, that they vowed to return. Somehow the promise
got mixed up with this Golun-Patra business, and on the Golun-Patra great
things are expected. Not only that, but this is the twelfth
Golun-Patra. And I already told you they count in twelves. A propitious
moment indeed.
And they believe in this?
Do you believe in this, Effrulyn, this
Golun-Patra prophecy?
Effrulyn turned back to his desk and said in his high tenor. There is a thing called the Golun-Patra, though it
may in no way differ from all the others. I do not know, as I have never
seen one before. In any case, I am not concerned with these trivialities;
they only serve to disturb the peace of my being.
What are you concerned with?
My mathematics, I thought that would be
obvious. Now, if you will excuse me.
That’s all you wanted to tell us?
Since you seem to understand the Golun-Patra as
well as I do, you may yourselves decide. As I have said, you are not my
concern.
Once more Pike crossed the walkway that overlooked the stables. Once more he descended, this time to the stable floor itself. Opposite him, across the littered stone, was a door. The smell of animal was strong, but Pike did his best to ignore it. He took a torch from the wall and walked into the passageway with the uncomfortable feeling that the guard behind him was laughing. There were, as before, many turns, many forks, many rooms, many staircases, all leading not outside. Pike gave up later, hours later, very tired.
He stumbled angrily into his quarters. This place is
like a labyrinth! They make no attempt to guard us, and I still can’t find
a way out. It’s been weeks! Paddelack, where are you?
Right here. Don’t say weeks. They don’t exist
here. It’s been about six beclads; a beclad is about three of our days.
Who the hell cares? I have failed to find a way out of
here.
You could have told them you’d help.
Shut up. You know that is impossible, don’t you
understand? Remember, you’re the one who wants to get off
Patra-Bannk. You’d think you’d be doing something more productive than
lying there with that serving girl as if the world were ending. You’d
expect I’d get some gratitude after all I’ve done for you.
Paddelack compressed his eyebrows and looked as if he were going to
explode. The tension in his face subsided and he said, Pike, my friend, as you would say, I would
like you to make the acquaintance of Barbalan. She is a Gostum, trained in
more skills than you imagine at present. And she is going to get us out of
here.
He paused an appropriate instant. Need
we discuss any further how useful I have been in the past beclads?
Pike unwittingly let his mouth drop.
Sting flies, remember?
Pike shut his mouth. The girl, who had been sitting silently all this time, laughed.
Is he very stupid?
she asked Paddelack simply.
No, I don’t think so,
Paddelack answered
seriously. Somewhat ignorant of Patra-Bannk, but
not stupid and not to be brushed off easily.
What did you say, will you tell me?
Pike demanded.
She wanted to know if you were stupid or not.
And what did you tell her, aged fellow?
Paddelack just grinned.
All right, you win this time, Paddelack. How are we
going to get out of this mountain fortress? We must be up four or five
kilometers, with a desert out the window and a giant mountain peak in our
back yard. My only guess is that we’re on the other side of the range from
Massarat, because we aren’t getting any direct sun.
You’re right about that. Barbalan tells me that
we are about forty kilometers from Massarat. Not bad, considering it’s
Patra-Bannk, not bad at all. There are only two ways to get there from
here: either it’s over the top via the old pass, which takes you way north
to the old settlement, and then you have to come down on the other side and
backtrack; or you take the road. Obviously the road is more sensible since
it is fairly direct. That leaves only three problems: getting our weapons,
getting out, and getting away. Barbalan can probably take care of our
weapons, or so she tells me. I think stage two is going to be the
killer.
Let’s hope not.
Seems the entrance-and-exit procedure is pretty
tricky. Now you’ll see why nobody bothered trying to stop you from
escaping. Barbalan, could I have something to write with?
Paddelack waited a few moments until she brought a writing implement and some finely made paper. Pike grabbed the sheet and fingered it.
Not bad.
What? Do you think these people are primitives or
something? You’ll find a workshop downstairs in which sits something that
looks suspiciously like a steam engine. It may be hard living on
Patra-Bannk, but these people have as much raw intelligence as we
do. Now…
Paddelack began drawing. The
entrance here is over a gorge that is more than a hundred meters deep and
about thirty wide. You walk out the front door and down you go, with only
gravity to keep you company. However, they do have a lift which takes you
down partway. Is that right, Barbalan? Good. So the lift goes down and
stops on a wide ledge about thirty meters below the exit, maybe only
twenty.
Sounds difficult but, I’d certainly say, not
impossible.
I’m not finished yet. You land on the ledge and,
of course, you’re facing the opposite wall of the gorge, which is as high
as the one you’ve just come down, and there’s still twenty meters of space
to cross. But the ledge you’re on extends to the left, like so, until the
far wall drops off. At that point there’s something like a courtyard on the
other side and a drawbridge to reach it. They have it worked out so that
the drawbridge is up when the lift is down, and vice-versa.
Clever of them. That’s too bad.
And then you have to get through the cleft on the
far side of that courtyard. The cleft is blocked by a huge stone gate over
which is a guard turret. The slab which closes the gate—
Don’t tell me. The gate is shut when the drawbridge is
down.
Right. It’s a pretty fancy system of
counterweights, but Barbalan assures me it works, and works well. If you
cut the cable to the drawbridge, which is virtually impossible, the bridge
drops, but so does a two-thousand-kilogram slab of rock. So all you’ve done
is trap yourself.
Pike studied Barbalan’s face for what surely must have been a full
belclad. Who are these Gostum that they should be so
concerned about security?
After talking to them, I wonder if it is security
that they’re worried about.
What else could it be?
Discipline to stay alive. You can’t have mistakes
on Patra-Bannk. You must have a zero-defects system, or you don’t make it
from one Patra to the next. The Liddlefurans, and I imagine their long-lost
cousins the Trieskans, do things differently. But that’s another story,
best told once we get out of here.
Hmm…Can you raise the drawbridge without going back up
the lift?
No.
Can we throw a rope across the gorge instead of using
the drawbridge?
You’re forgetting the grask.
What? Be clear, I ask you.
Those animals you thought looked like tall horses
or short giraffes. We’ll need three of them.
Three of them? Why do we need three?
Once we’re out of here, do you think they’ll let
Barbalan live? They’re Gostum.
Yes, I suppose she is doing us a favor.
She may be saving our lives. And remember, she’s
probably a better fighter than both of us put together.
I won’t argue that question. So someone has to ride the
lift back up to let the grask over the drawbridge. Then we might get two
out, but the third is trapped on the ledge between lift and bridge. Rope,
I’d say.
Can’t see any other way of doing it.
Wait. Can Barbalan take the grask out by herself? If
she could get them out and have them waiting, it would be easier.
Paddelack transmitted the message for the narrow-eyed Barbalan. She says no. They must have permission to leave.
Can she get permission? Tell her to make up a
story. Tell them that we will help the Gostum but we need to get supplies
from our ship.
Again Paddelack translated. To Pike, Barbalan seemed relentlessly calm, intent on weighing each proposition as it was suggested, not allowing others to rush her decision. She replied to Paddelack in a fluid mezzo.
She says it might work but that it would only buy
us a little time, and we’d be on our own as far as getting out goes. Which
is more valuable: a little time or her help?
I haven’t the vaguest idea. You know her better than I
do.
Then I’d say we’d better stick together.
Fine, I’ll trade you a blooded bronze on that one.
Done.
When?
As guards seem to be around always, why not as
soon as Barbalan can get our weapons and some rope?
So all our planning degenerates into a breakaway. Not
very pretty.
Barbalan,
Paddelack said, changing languages,
you said you can get the guns.
Yes, I can do that,
she answered in her own
tongue. No one knows how to use them, and they are
relatively unguarded.
Rope?
Yes, there will be some in the stables.
Then are you ready to take your leave of the
Gostum?
Barbalan bit her lip. Why not? I think there are
better things to do in life than stay at Konndjlan.
She got up from the
cushion, grabbed her garments, and was about to leave the room when Pike
stopped her.
There is one final thing,
he said, addressing
Paddelack.
What is that?
The map. The map is necessary.
Why?
Paddelack asked in return.
Do you want to get off Patra-Bannk?
Paddelack sighed, nodded toward Barbalan, and translated.
The more things I must secure, the more difficult
this impossibility will be.
Then she walked out, naked, into the
corridor.
Well, then, I’d say it was time to get our clothes on,
wouldn’t I?
Paddelack only flushed slightly and began to get dressed. Remember, a grask is strong and fast. Keep it slow
to begin with or you’ll be thrown. Oh, hell, you’ll find out.
After Barbalan had left the two men and dressed, she made her way to the antechamber where both the weapons and the map were being stored. The single guard suspected nothing. The advantage was hers. She walked quite close, breathing normally, completely relaxed. Then with lightning speed she brought up her knife and plunged it into his throat. Barbalan caught him before he hit the floor, little fountains of blood spurting from his neck. To the right was the map. She quickly took it out of the cabinet, unrolled it, and folded it into a thick sheaf. The weapons. She searched three drawers before she found them.
Barbalan had turned to leave when she noticed the dead guard. He was one of the Fairtalian. Of course! Otherwise he would never have been permitted to guard the maps. Around his neck was a gray chain and pendant that designated him as such. Pike and his stupid map, she thought. The guard’s insignia is important. Here is the secret. Once she had been told that in a moment of carelessness by a Gostum with a loose tongue. Exactly what the secret was and how the necklace was associated with it, she did not know. But she did know she must have the medallion. Not to be removed, the chain was welded to itself. Barbalan thought quickly. This is important. She took her knife and cut the guard through the neck. The cartilage gave way with little difficulty and soon after the spinal cord crunched satisfactorily. With a final push the head separated from the torso. Barbalan grabbed the reddened necklace from the rapidly growing pool of blood, wiped her stained hands on the guard’s uniform, and was off.
Pike and Paddelack were waiting where she had left them. Pike was pacing, Paddelack yawning. Barbalan gave the folded map to Pike. Before he tucked it under his hood, he hesitated, noting a red palm print on the cloth. Barbalan handed him the grasers.
Pike armed his graser and gave the other to Paddelack. Do you know how use one of these?
It’s not been so long that I’ve forgotten,
youngster,
Paddelack replied.
Good. Two-two-one for yours.
Barbalan urged them on. They met no one before the stables. She crouched on
the now familiar balcony overlooking the feeding grask. There are three guards down there. Do you see
them?
The men nodded. Why don’t we just walk down. They
don’t suspect anything—
—yet.
Barbalan nodded. Then watch me.
She stood up
and walked down the curved stone ramp to the floor. The scene was dim. The
torch flames struggled in the strong draft, and their orange glow flickered
dimly on the rugged walls.
Suddenly Barbalan said something to the nearest guard, and within an instant he was heaped on the floor.
Paddelack burned a hole cleanly through the chest of the second guard standing nearby at an archway.
Pike raised his gun and fired swiftly, but the third guard had already
dodged and flung an object that skinned Pike on his forearm. How did he have time to throw that? I had him dead.
Be more careful next time,
Paddelack snapped,
finishing the job and then helping Barbalan loose three of the grask.
Stand here,
Barbalan directed, and Paddelack
dragged Pike over to the indicated spot. Now they were directly under the
balcony. Barbalan pulled a lever and the floor began sinking. It is steam-operated, I think.
No wonder I never found the place!
Pike exclaimed
with a mixture of admiration and anger.
Barbalan leaned toward Paddelack. A bell rings in
the council chamber every time this floor moves. They will know someone is
leaving and will soon guess who, if they haven’t already.
Paddelack
frowned and told Pike the bad news.
The platform thumped to a rest in a large tunnel that opened about fifteen meters in front of them.
Barbalan pointed. That’s the lift, right in front
of us.
Pike raised his arm and fired at the two guards. One fell with a
scream; the other spun around. Paddelack fired in time with Pike’s second
shot, and the remaining guard toppled out of the tunnel.
It is time to move swiftly. Don’t stand there to
be caught in the snow!
Barbalan shouted as she tugged on the grask
reins.
This isn’t what I’d call an elegant escape.
What difference does it make as long as we get
out of here?
Paddelack scowled in reply. It’s
a little late to worry about form, don’t you think?
A fine poet you are.
They ran out from the mouth of the tunnel onto the left. Pike and Paddelack staggered. The gorge itself dropped straight down beneath them, ending in a ribbon of a stream far below. The landing ledge, from this height, did not seem substantial enough to suit either of them. Paddelack cranked the winch and the ledge began moving closer. On his far left, Pike could see massive cables tightening as the drawbridge began to raise itself. Still no sign of anyone. No. Then Barbalan suddenly hurled her short spear at a Gostum who was running up from the bridge. She missed and cursed.
There are at least four more,
she said,
unstringing her bolo from around her waist. Watch
out!
The lift hit the ground, but Barbalan was already in the air letting fly. Her opponent threw a spear that stuck in the bottom of the lift and snapped in two as the platform struck the ground. Paddelack wounded in one arm a second guard who was racing behind the first, and watched him draw a knife with his free hand. Pike finished the man for him. Barbalan seemed still to be in midair, flying after her bolo and simultaneously unsheathing her knife. The guard recognized her and hesitated an instant, just long enough for the bolo to catch his arm and for the knife to slit his throat.
Up, Pike, up!
Paddelack cried as he
mounted a grask and dragged the other two out behind him.
Pike began cranking. It was easy; the counterweighting was perfect. His eyes flitted continuously from Paddelack on the ground to the mouth of the tunnel above. Thankfully, he couldn’t see it because of the roof on the lift, but he looked, anyway. About two-thirds of the way up, the lift shuddered from a loud thump on the roof. So they’ve arrived, he thought. The drawbridge was nearly down. Barbalan was on graskback waiting for the bridge to come down still farther. She looked in Pike’s direction. No turning back now, he decided, and kept cranking. Barbalan glanced again in his direction and suddenly spurred the grask onward. It bounded up the sloping bridge and leaped out of sight behind the far corner of the gorge wall.
Pike!
Paddelack shouted from below. On the roof! There’s one of the roof!
You’re no help at all,
Pike muttered. He stopped
cranking and listened. The guard above him stopped moving too late. Pike
fired through the roof, heard a soft groan, then silence. He bent to the
winch again. It was jammed. It would only move down. There was little to do
now but wait.
Paddelack turned from Pike and eyed the half-lowered bridge. Well, Barbalan had managed it, and he could, too. The grask was well trained and unhesitatingly bounded up and over the bridge. Even as he was touching ground, he could see Barbalan pressed against the wall of the guard turret. She pointed upward. A metal shaft whizzed by Paddelack’s ear.
We are out of our minds,
he muttered as he
hid behind an outcropping on the gorge wall. Paddelack slid his thumb
forward on the barrel of the graser, pushing a small lever to an extreme
position. Last shot, he thought. He noted the turret window’s position,
stepped out from behind the outcropping, and fired directly into the
window. There was a loud crack and the ceiling of the turret collapsed onto
the guards inside. Powerful things, those gamma
rays.
He threw the gun away.
Barbalan! The rope!
Barbalan heard the cry and flung the lasso over a post on top of the bridge. Even before Paddelack had pulled it tight, she was climbing.
From his vantage point Pike watch Barbalan lift herself over the raised end of the bridge, lower herself halfway down the other side with the rope she had pulled over, and jump on the lone grask. Once more she bounded up and over the bridge, disappearing from view.
Pike began lowering the lift. It was high time to get out of there. The
lift descended at its own speed, but that wasn’t nearly fast enough. Move! Move! Bentagen, where are you?
The roof
splintered with a crunching sound as a boulder smashed down on the lift
from above. The rock struck the platform next to Pike. His feet began
slipping out from under him, and he toppled over the edge.
Pike hit the ground hard, but it was not a far drop. His head reeled as he shook it in a desperate attempt to remain conscious. Then he sprang to his feet and ran, pausing only long enough to fire a shot over his shoulder into the mouth of the tunnel high over his head.
The bridge was now fully drawn, presenting a near-vertical wall that would
take him only straight up and not over the abyss. The gorge dropped off at
his feet to the stream a hundred meters below, a barely visible ribbon
snaking its way through the distant crags. Barbalan was at the gate, beyond
the far court, standing over a body and clasping her shoulder. Paddelack
stood immediately on the other side of the chasm, holding the reins of two
grask. The rope!
he shouted. There, can you reach it?
Pike’s eyes followed Paddelack’s outstretched arms to a rope dangling from
the top of the bridge where Barbalan had left it. I
think so.
He leaned fully against the bed of the bridge and grabbed for
the rope. A crossbow bolt buried itself into the wood next to his arm. Now what?
he shouted. Never
mind.
He began climbing up the bridge. Halfway to the top, he
straightened his legs, pushing himself out from the bridge, and swung in a
wide arc over the gorge. At maximum swing he let go of the rope and
dropped. To the ground.
Don’t stand up!
Paddelack cautioned. Look behind you.
Pike glanced over his shoulder. His right leg dangled over the edge of the
cliff. An elegant jump, wouldn’t you agree? Close
tolerance.
Well…
Paddelack sighed, unconvinced, close enough for government work.
Look! It’s coming down! The gate!
Pike pointed but
didn’t stop to gape at the huge slab of stone that was rapidly closing off
their exit. He jumped on the kneeling grask and hung on. Paddelack
followed. Move, you animal! Move!
The grask bounded forward with Pike clinging precariously to its neck, one leg trailing half a meter off the ground. Barbalan waved them onward from the other side of the gate, but Pike not only needed no encouragement but really couldn’t do anything more.
The stone monolith slammed shut. Pike breathed easily, however, knowing it was behind them.
Paddelack turned from his examination of Barbalan’s shoulder. A good day’s work!
Yes, I would agree to that.
Pike smiled, white
teeth shining through beard.
Now where?
Number Two—and Daryephna.