Абрахам Меррит - Dwellers in the Mirage

I was through the steam. I had passed the cliff. I was above the parapet. I dropped from the ladder, among the rocks—unseen. I shook the ladder. There was a quivering response. There was weight upon it… more weight…and more…

I unstrapped axe and sword—

"Dwayanu—"

I turned. There were the three maids. I began to praise them—holding back laughter. Green and black had run and combined under bath of steam into grotesque pattern.

"Nobles you are, maids! From this moment! Green and black your colours. What you have done this night will long be a tale in Karak."

I looked toward the battlements. Between us and them was a smooth floor of rock and sand, less than half a bow–shot wide. A score of soldiers stood around the fire. There was a larger group on the parapet close to the towers of the bridge. There were more at the farther end of the parapet, looking at the wolves.

The towers of the drawbridge ran straight down to the rocky floor. The tower at the left was blank wall. The tower at the right had a wide gate. The gate was open, unguarded, unless the soldiers about the fire were its guards. Down from between the towers dropped a wide ramp, the approach to the bridge–head.

There was a touch on my arm. Lur was beside me. And close after her came my two captains. After them, one by one, the soldiers. I bade them string bows, set arrows. One by one they melted out of the green darkness, slipped by me. They made ready in the shadow of the rocks.

One score—two score…a shriek cut like an arrow through the hissing of the torrent! The ladder trembled. It shook—and twisted…Again the despairing cry…the ladder fell slack!

"Dwayanu—the ladder is broken? At—Ouarda—"

"Quiet, Lur! They may have heard that shrieking. The ladder could not break…"

"Draw it in, Dwayanu—draw it in!"

Together we pulled upon it. It was heavy. We drew it in like a net, and swiftly. And suddenly it was of no weight at all. It rushed into our hands—

Its ends were severed as though by knife slash or axe blow.

"Treachery!" I said.

"But treachery…how…with Ouarda on guard."

I crept, crouching, behind the shadow of the rocks.

"Dara—spread out the soldiers. Tell Naral to slip to the farther end. On the signal, let them loose their arrows. Three flights only. The first at those around the fire. The second and the third at those on the walls closest to the towers. Then follow me. You understand me?"

"It is understood, Lord."

The word went along the line; I heard the bowstrings whisper.

"We are fewer than I like, Lur—yet nothing for us but to go through with it. No way out of Sirk now but the way of the sword."

"I know. It is of Ouarda I am thinking…" Her voice trembled.

"She is safe. If treachery had been wide–spread, we would have heard sounds of fighting. No more talking, Lur. We must move swiftly. After the third arrow flight, we rush the tower gate."

I gave the signal. Up rose the archers. Straight upon those around the fire flew their shafts. They left few alive. Instantly upon those around the towers of the bridge whistled a second arrow storm.

Hai! But that was straight shooting! See them fall! Once more—

Whistle of feathered shaft! Song of the bow–string! Gods—but this is to live again!

I dropped down the rocks, Lur beside me. The soldier women poured after us. Straight to the tower door we sped. We were half–way there before those upon the long parapet awakened.

Shouts rang. Trumpets blared, and the air was filled with the brazen clangour of a great gong bellowing the alarm to Sirk asleep behind the gap. We sped on. Javelins dropped among us, arrows whistled. From other gates along the inner walls guards began to emerge, racing to intercept us.

We were at the door of the bridge towers—and through it!

But not all. A third had fallen under javelin and arrow. We swung the stout door shut. We dropped across it the massive bars that secured it. And not an instant too soon. Upon the door began to beat the sledges of the tricked guards.

The chamber was of stone, huge and bare. Except for the door through which we had come, there was no opening. I saw the reason for that—never had Sirk expected to be attacked from within. There were arrow slits high up, looking over the moat, and platforms for archers. At one side were cogs and levers which raised and lowered the bridge.

All this I took in at one swift glance. I leaped over to the levers, began to manipulate them. The cogs revolved.

The bridge was falling!

The Witch–woman ran up to the platform of the archers; she peered out; set horn to lips; she sent a long call through the arrow slit—summoning signal for Tibur and his host.

The hammering against the door had ceased. The blows against it were stronger, more regular–timed. The battering of a ram. The stout wood trembled under them; the bars groaned, Lur called to me:

"The bridge is down, Dwayanu! Tibur is rushing upon it. It grows lighter. Dawn is breaking. They have brought their horses!"

I cursed.

"Luka, sent him wit not to pound across that bridge on horse!"

"He is doing it…he and Rascha and a handful of others only… the rest are dismounting…"

"Hai—they are shooting at them from the arrow slits…the javelins rain among them…Sirk takes toll…"

There was a thunderous crash against the door. The wood split…

A roaring tumult. Shouts and battle cries. Ring of sword upon sword and the swish of arrows. And over it all the laughter of Tibur.

No longer was the ram battering at the door.

I threw up the bars, raised axe in readiness, opened the great gate a finger's breadth and peered out.

The soldiers of Karak were pouring down the ramp from the bridge–head.

I opened the door wider. The dead of the fortress lay thick around tower base and bridge–head.

I stepped through the door. The soldiers saw me.

"Dwayanu!" rang their shout.

From the fortress still came the clamour of the great gong—warning Sirk.

Sirk—no longer sleeping!

There was a humming as of a disturbed gigantic hive beyond Sirk's gap. Trumpet blasts and the roll of drums. Clang of brazen gongs answering that lonely one which beat from the secret heart of the raped fortress. And ever Karak's women–warriors poured over the bridge until the space behind the fortress filled with them.

The Smith wheeled his steed—faced me. "Gods—Tibur! But that was well done!"

"Never done but for you, Dwayanu! You saw, you knew—you did. Ours the least part."

Well, that was true. But I was close to liking Tibur then. Life of my blood! It had been no play to lead that charge against the bridge end. The Smith was a soldier! Let him be only half loyal to me—and Khalk'ru take the Witch–woman!

"Sweep the fortress clean, Anvil–smiter. We want no arrows at our backs."

"It is being swept, Dwayanu."

By brooms of sword and spear, by javelin and arrow, the fortress was swept dean.

The clamour of the brazen gong died on a part stroke.

My stallion rested his nose on my shoulder, blew softly against my ear.

"You did not forget my horse! My hand to you, Tibur!"

"You lead the charge, Dwayanu!" I leaped upon the stallion. Battleaxe held high I wheeled and galloped toward the gap. Like the point of a spear I sped, Tibur at my left, the Witch–woman at my right, the nobles behind us, the soldiers sweeping after us.

We hurled ourselves through the cliffed portal of Sirk.

A living wave lifted itself to throw us back. Hammers flew, axes hewed, javelins and spears and feathered shafts sleeted us. My horse tottered and dropped, screaming, his hinder hocks cut through. I felt a hand upon my shoulder, dragging me to my feet. The Witch–woman smiled at me. She sliced with her sword the arm drawing me down among the dead. With axe and sword we cleared a ring around us. I threw myself on the back of a grey from which a noble had fallen, bristling with arrows.