Vault of the Ages (17 page)

Donn stood up again. “This is heresy!” he shouted. “Men only make the laws of men. They cannot change the laws of the gods.”

Carl could not suppress a grin, even then with the shadow of the noose on him. Hardly a Dalesman had any idea of what “heresy” could be; the gods were mysterious powers to which one sacrificed and made magic, that was all. Donn had spent so many years in his few old books that he had lost the feeling of life.

But others were more dangerous. Taboo was a very real and terrible thing, whose breaking was sure to cause ruin. They yelled for the boys’ deaths. But magic could be set against magic; a man armed with the sorceries of the ancients could laugh at the powers of the gods. So there were others who shook their weapons and cried they would bum the gallows first.

Ezzef’s voice lifted over the gathering roar: “Who stands
with us? Who’ll fight to save these lads and conquer the City?”

“I, I, I!” Swords leaped out. The group of young men stood up and waved their blades whistling in the air. Others, scattered through the Hall, pushed toward them.

“Kill the luckless ones!” A giant farmer rose, brandishing his ax. “Kill them and appease the gods!”

“No!” John was on his feet now. “No, I’ll fight for them—”

“Order!” wailed the elder feebly. “Order! Remember the law!”

The gong thundered. Its brazen voice was almost lost in the rising clamor. Swords were aloft and men scrambled for a place to fight.

Ralph sprang to the front of the stage. His great voice bellowed forth like angry thunder: “Stop! Stop this! Sit down! I’ll kill the first peacebreaker myself!”

That turned their heads. They saw him towering there, stem and wrathful, a spear poised in one hand. They knew he could fling it to the farther end of the Hall and slay. They knew he was the Chief.

Slowly, grumbling and growling, the men lowered their weapons and sat down. Slowly the storm died. When it was past and the silence lay heavy, Ralph’s scorn was whiplike:

“Are you the Dalesmen, or are you wild dogs? What madness is this? With the enemy at our very walls, haven’t you got enough fighting to do? Or do you want to play into their hands and make them a present of all we’ve striven for? Hah, I don’t know why I should bother leading you. I’d sooner lead a pack of woods-runners. Now be quiet and listen!”

All had forgotten that he was not presiding, that he spoke only as a common tribesman. “We have to work together,” he said, his tones now earnest and persuasive. “We have to forget grudges and differences until this common danger is past. Let us therefore reach a decision quickly, and let it be by the old method of law. Will all who favor keeping the taboo and hanging the boys raise their hands?”

There were many hands that went up, thought Carl sickly. Some rose at once, some came slowly and hesitatingly, but the majority voted for death.

Ralph did not stir a muscle, and his speech was unwavering. “Now let those who wish to change the law and release the boys raise their hands.” Perhaps a hundred were lifted, mostly by younger men.

“Very well.” Ralph smiled. Only those on the stage were close
enough to see the sweat that beaded his forehead. “As is the custom of the Dales, I suggest we compromise. Since most of us want to keep the law as it is, let it be so. But to satisfy the other party, let us set these lads free on their promise not to violate the taboo again. And if the gods grant us victory, we shall give them a double sacrifice at the next festival.”

That drew nods and muttered agreement from the bulk of the people. A few men, as usual, had to make speeches proposing this or that, or simply for or against Ralph’s suggestion, but it didn’t take long. In the end, the Council voted to adopt me motion, and Wellan closed the meeting.

The great assembly filed out slowly, talking and arguing. John sprang up on the stage and folded his sons in his arms, weeping without shame. Ralph wiped his face and grinned at Carl.

“Whew!” he said. “That was close!”

“Too close,” said Carl. He felt no relief. There was a bitter taste in his mouth.

Donn shook his head. “I do not know if this was wise,” he said. “But—” Suddenly he smiled. “But believe me, Carl, I’m glad. If misfortune is to come, then let it!” His eyes grew piercing. “Now come with me to the temple and take the oath.”

Carl stiffened his back. “No,” he said.

“What?” screeched Donn.

“I will not promise. Instead, I swear I will go back to the City whenever I can—again and again—until that vault is open!”

“You’re mad!” cried Ralph. “Carl, you’re raving!”

“You must die,” said Donn in a dead voice.

“No!” Ralph stepped forth. “Can’t you see? He’s sick. Maybe he’s possessed by a devil. I don’t know. But he isn’t himself.”

“That may be.” Donn stroked his chin. “Yes, that may well be. The curse of the City can work in strange ways.” He came to a decision. “I’ll do what I can to drive the devil from him,” he said. “Tomorrow I’ll come with all that’s needful. But meanwhile he must go back to jail.”

Ralph bit his lip. After a long while, he nodded.

Carl was led away. No one had noticed that Tom and Owl had left with their father, making no promises either. Or else they had not been thought important enough to matter. Ralph walked from the Hall out into the market square. His face was drawn, and he smote his hands together in pain.

“I
T’S SHAMEFUL!”
said Ezzef. “It’s a cursed, crying shame!” He sat on a bench outside one of Dalestown’s public stables, leaning forward with fists clenched on knees. Tom and Owl had slipped from their joyful parents to meet him and stood before the young guard. Half a dozen others also gathered around, reckless youths who had shouted for blood in the Council and still chafed at its decision. All bore arms and all were angry.

Tom had just reported what had happened to Carl—he’d heard rumors that his friend was back in prison, and had stopped to talk with him through the barred window. “And tomorrow,” he finished, “the Doctors will come with their drums and rattles and vile potions, to drive out the fiend they think has possessed him.”

“I doubt if there’s any such thing,” said Owl. “But that kind of treatment will break anybody’s will in time.”

“I don’t know if they’d get an oath from Carl,” scowled Ezzef. “He’s always been a stubborn sort when he thought he was in the right.”

“In that case,” said Nicky, a son of Black Dan, “they’ll end up hanging him after all.”

“By that time,” answered Tom gloomily, “the Lann will be here and may do the job for them.”

“Yes, so.” Ezzef waved a sinewy hand at the nearest watchtower, where it bulked over the thatch and wood roofs. “They’re waiting outside—just waiting, curse them! That’s all they need to do. Hunger and sickness will fight for them within our walls.”

“I suppose Ralph will sally forth against the enemy,” said Sam the Strong, who was a blacksmith’s apprentice.

“Heh!” Willy Rattlehead’s bucktoothed mouth split in a grin. “And be mowed like ripe wheat. Oh, it’ll make a fine hero-song, when we’re all dead.”

“Now wait,” said Ezzef. “Let’s not get sidetracked. I called you fellows together because I wanted to talk with someone I trusted. Tom, Owl, tell me—how much power is there in that vault? Honestly.”

“I don’t know much about it,” shrugged Tom. “But you heard Carl tell in the meeting about that devil powder which scared the Lann from the City. Some of that, all by itself, could stampede their horses—which’d make a big difference in battle. And then the first time we were there, and old Ronwy was showing us through the vault, he was saying something about a simple flying machine. He called it a balloon, and said it wasn’t hard to make. Imagine throwing rocks and boiling water from above!”

“There must be more,” added Owl. “Lots more. We’re just trying to remember what was there that we could put to quick use. Something called rockets—fire arrows, sort of, but charged with the devil powder—”

“That’s enough,” Ezzef cut in. “I don’t understand it. Don’t think you boys do either. Carl does, a little, and this witch-chief seems to know a lot. Nor can the witches stand against even a few good warriors, so a strong band wouldn’t have to worry about them. D’you see what I’m getting at?”

Tom’s eyes glowed. “Yes!”

“We’re not the only ones who’d go on such an expedition,” said Ezzef. “I know at least a dozen others that’d jump at the chance. Didn’t have time to get word to them of this little meeting, but they’re biting the bit right now, I swear.”

“So—” Nicky’s dark face grew taut. “So we get Carl out of the jug, and sneak from this town and through the enemy lines, and make our way to the City. There we’ll have to drive off the witch-patrols. We’re taking the wild chance that Carl and this Ronwy can cook up something useful. If that doesn’t work, why, we’ve betrayed
our tribe and are outlaws even if they do somehow win.”

“You needn’t go if you’re afraid,” snapped Tom.

“Oh, I’m not afraid,” said Nicky evenly. “I’ll be glad to go. I just wanted to make sure everybody understood the risks we’d have to run.”

“Not much risk,” grunted Ezzef. “Because we’ve really nothing to lose. All right, boys, are you game?”

Night crept westward. Carl’s cell darkened before the sky had faded, and he stood at the window looking out to the blue strip of heaven until it had turned black and starry. Then he sighed and lay down on his crude mattress.

It was quiet in here. Ralph had forbidden lights after dark while the siege lasted, lest they start a fire in the overcrowded town, and folk went to bed with the sun. Now there would only be the guards at gate and tower, and the night watch tramping down the streets. The town slept, and about its slumber glowed the ominous red of the Lann campfires, and the sounds of the enemy laughing and singing and sharpening swords drifted in its dreams.

Carl couldn’t doze off. He lay bolt awake, turning restlessly, staring open-eyed into the gloom. What was he to do?

He’d hurt his father, who had fought so valiantly in battle and Council to save his life. He’d gotten himself locked away, when he might be of use patrolling the beleaguered town. In the morning he would face a crazed drumming and dancing, and be scourged and given nauseating drinks, to expel the devil they thought was in him. And for what? For a lost cause, for a will-o’-the wisp, for a stubbornness which would not surrender even in defeat.

In the end, he knew, he would give up and take the oath. While he lived there was always hope—someone else might be persuaded to break taboo. But then why did he refuse now? Why did he suffer a useless confinement and visit an unnecessary pain on those who loved him? Was he becoming another Donn, so sternly devoted to the Tribe that he had no time or mercy for the mere tribespeople?

Was he right, even? Who was he to challenge laws made centuries before his birth? Was he so much wiser than his elders that he could tell them what was truth?

Or even if he was right, even if the old powers could again be given to the world—was that for the best? How did he know that the
ancients had been happy? How did he know that a rebuilding would not start anew the terrible old cycle of wars and cruelty and woe, until the world crashed in a second Doom?

Carl tried to shake the doubts out of his tormented mind, but they returned to plague him, little formless devils mocking and gibbering in the depths of his brain. He muttered wearily and wondered how late in the night it was.

There came a sudden, scuffling noise outside the door. A voice growled something, metal clinked faintly, feet slid over the packed dirt—Carl leaped from rest, every nerve drawn wire-taut, and strained against the solid bulk of the door.

“Carl!” The whisper drifted through, dim and unrecognizable. “Carl, wake up!”

“I’m here,” he gasped. “Who is this?”

“It’s Owl. Stand by. We’re going to break in.”

Carl drew a shuddering breath. “What is this—”

“Not so loud! You’ll wake the other prisoners. All right, Sam!”

A hammer rang on iron, muffled by a fold of cloth laid between. Once, twice, thrice, and then the clumsy padlock jingled to ruin and the door creaked open.

The figures of Carl’s rescuers were vague shadows in the hall. There were four, armed and armored, peering nervously out the jail entrance into the silent street. Owl stepped forth. He bore equipment in his hands—helmet, breastplate, shield, knife and sword—which he gave into Carl’s amazed grasp. “Get this on quick,” he muttered.

“But—but—”

“It’s a rescue. Don’t you see? Twenty of us are here to get you out and follow you to the City. Now fast!”

For a moment longer Carl stood unmoving, and all his doubts rose to overwhelm him. Then decision came and suddenly he was swift and cool, throwing on his clothes, buckling the armor over them, no thought save the tremendous will to freedom.

Yes, one—the gentle old couple who guarded the jail and had looked after him—“What about the guard here and his wife?”

“They’re all right. We went into their bedroom, bound and gagged them, that’s all. They’ll be found in the morning. But we can’t rouse the others held in here or they’ll make a racket that’ll bring the night watch down on us like a star falling. All set? Let’s go, then.”

They slipped out of the corridor and the entrance, into the street. Houses loomed tall on either hand, shadowing, turning the narrow way into a river of darkness. A cat squalled from a roof, a dog barked answer, a man shouted something angry out of an upper window, the leather of the fugitives squeaked and the metal rang faintly—the night seemed alive with noise, and Carl started at every sound.

He had time for a brief regret. If they were caught trying to escape, it would go harder with his rescuers than with him; if they were caught by the Lann, it would most likely mean death for all; if they reached the City and failed to produce the promised magic, they would forever be marked traitors and outlaws. In any case, it would be still another cruel blow to the many that Ralph and John had endured.

His will grew tight again. This was no age for weaklings. You had to do whatever seemed best, without letting gods or men or the lower devils deter you.