Changeling (Illustrated) (28 page)

As they trudged on, coming at last into the major cavern and starting across it, Pol finally glimpsed the soft glow of the master spell at its farther end.

“Tell me,” he asked, “do you see any light in that direction?”

“No. Just the one we’re following.”

Pol gestured and seized a strand. Soon it took on a pale color and something of incandescence.

“See that?”

“A line of light, running before us.”

“Good. I’ll give you one of that sort to follow out. What is that thing in your hand?”

“A pistol I’ve carried since I left Mark’s place.”

“I thought so. You won’t need it here.”

“It comforts me.”

After a considerable interval, they stood before the pied globe. Pol held the scepter as he faced it.

“I hope this works as I’d anticipated,” he remarked.

“I feel some force, but I see nothing special . . . ”

“Go and stand over in that niche.” He gestured, and for a moment the scepter blazed like a captive star. “I will tell you when it is safe to depart. There is your strand.” He gestured again, and a line of pale fire grew in the air before the niche. “Good luck!”

“To you, also,” Mouseglove replied, clasping Pol’s hand and turning.

He moved quickly and backed into the opening, unable to take his eyes from the spectacle of the younger man, who had already begun a series of seeming ritual movements, his silhouette distorted by guitar case and flapping cloak, his face pale and mask-like in the blaze of the rod, beneath the dark, silver-splashed wings of his hair. Mouseglove clutched the pistol more tightly as the slow dance of the hand and the rod progressed, for he felt a chill followed by a wave of warmth, another chill . . . and now he had momentary flashes of vision, as of a massive, burning ball of yarn being unwound.

Pol moved his hand deftly, in and out, unwinding unravelling, and old words trapped within the fabric of the structure, came to him and he spoke them as he worked, and the waves of heat came more frequently, till finally he saw through to the center, the core, the end . . . 

He thrust the scepter into the heart of the spell and spoke the final words.

A great wash of forces swept by him and he swayed, striving to keep his balance. The strands now clung to the scepter, obscuring it completely to Pol’s vision. His right arm seemed to take fire as he laid his will upon it.

A moaning rose within the cavern, growing to a mighty chorus of sounds, which echoed and reechoed about him, followed by rustling, scraping noises and the falling of stones.

“ . . . Arise! Arise! and follow me to battle!” he sang, and now there were larger movements within the darkness.

The moaning died down and ceased. The snorts, snarls, roars and rattles diminished. Now the sounds of heavy breathing came to him from every direction.

He plucked a single strand, and soon a huge, gray form moved past him on two legs, hunched forward, arms dragging on the ground, yellow eyes burning within the darkness of a triangular face, scales rustling with each stride. It paused before Mouseglove, who raised the pistol and waited, but it turned and moved on an instant later.

“Give it an hour,” Pol stated, “and the upstairs should be cleared. It knows you now and will not harm you.”

Mouseglove nodded, realizing as he did that the movement could not be seen, but unable to control his voice. Brief bonfires flared and died at all distances as dragons tested their flames.

Pol turned away, directing all his attention to impressing his identity and his commands upon the awakening creatures.

Arise, I say! We fly south to destroy the city atop Anvil Mountain! Those of you who cannot fly must be mounted upon those who can! I will lead the way!

He cast about for only a moment, and then his fingers moved unerringly to catch at a dark green strand drifting near him.

Dragon!
he called.
Name yourself!

I am called Smoke-in-the-Skies-at-Evening-against-the-Last-Pale-Clouds-of-Autumn-Day,
came a proud feminine reply.

In the interest of ready communication, I shall refer to you as ‘Smoke.’

That is agreeable to me.

Come to me now. We must lead the others.

For a time, nothing occurred, as he realized that Smoke had slept within one of the farther caverns. All of the stirring sounds grew louder as the other creatures stood, stretched, mounted. Finally, he heard a noise like a rising wind rushing toward him, and a piece of darkness detached itself from the distant shadows, to sweep in his direction and settle silently before him.

Greetings, Pol Detson.
I am ready,
she said.

He released the strand and moved to touch her neck.

Greetings, Smoke. If I may mount now, we will be on our way.

Come up. I am ready.

Pol climbed toward her shoulders and settled into position. He raised the scepter and lights danced throughout the cavern.

Follow!
he ordered. Then, to Smoke,
Now! Let us go!

Smoke was smaller than Moonbird but seemed faster. In a matter of moments, they were airborne and moving ahead quickly. Pol looked back once. He could not distinguish Mouseglove in his niche, but he saw that dark forms were rising like ashes in his wake.

You will sing us a battle-song?
Smoke asked.

Pol was surprised to find it already upon his lips.

XXI.

The bird-things sent to determine the nature and progress of the conflict at Rondoval were the first observers of the dragon-flight which began at the northern cliff-face below the castle, spiraling upward, wheeling through the west and falling into a sky-darkening pattern heading southward, led by a man mounted upon a sleek gray dragon, a shining scepter in his right hand. The sun settled as they flew, and the metallic birds climbed and moved far to the right and the left to monitor their progress.

Mark assigned troops to the various stations, and the elevators ground ceaselessly as tanks and artillery pieces were raised from the warehouse areas to the streets of the city proper. Weapons and ammunition were issued to the defenders. All available sky boats were serviced and armed. Assembly lines were shut down, and the workers went to collect their weapons.

Mark studied the array of screens in the surveillance center, showing varied views of the oncoming formation.

“I’d like to know what those things can do,” he remarked to the captain who stood at his elbow. “This could be closer than I’d care to see it. Who’d have thought he could raise something like that this quickly? Damned sorcerer! Send a dozen battle-wagons to hit them at dawn. Swing six of them wide to hit their left flank out of the sunrise, and drop six on them from above. We’ll probably lose them, but I want to see how it happens.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mark toyed with the idea of sending for Nora, but dismissed it. He visited the lab instead, to check whether a long-range jumble was yet possible. He doubted it, but something useful might yet be salvaged from that project.

 . . . 
Damn!
he mused.
A year from now and he’d never make it across the desert. I know about more things than I’ve got. Can’t get them into production fast enough . . . Damn!

His lens was a pale yellow beneath a perfectly clear sky. Stars winked at him and a warm breeze licked like an affectionate tiger at his cheek. Suddenly, a meteor shower began, and he watched it for several minutes, dismissing the shaking beneath his feet as the labors of the heavy machinery which had long since been shut down.

*  *  *

Pol fled across the night, the power of the scepter his meat, his drink and his sleep. When the attack came in the morning, he spread the formation, detached two groups of ten dragons each to deal with the sky boats and continued on. Later, sixteen dragons rejoined him, but two of them had to drop out, their injuries preventing them from maintaining the pace of the others. He led the entire formation to a greater altitude after that and began spreading it into a great line. Through the morning hazes, the ground seemed to ripple momentarily beneath them.

He saw the advancing formation of flying things just before Anvil Mountain came into view.

Destroy as many as are necessary to get through,
he ordered the leather-winged masses at his back.
But do not remain to toy with them, I doubt they will bomb or strafe once you are into their own city fighting with its defenders. Destroy anything on the mountain that offers resistance. Then burn the place. Only this girl
—and he sent a mental picture of Nora back along the strands—
must not be harmed. If you see her, protect her. And this one
—a picture of Mark followed—
is mine. Call to me if you see him.

They swept on toward the line of defenders and shortly the firing began. A little while after that, dragon vomit fell like rain upon the sky boats. Fires dotted the ground, wreckage and falling bodies filled the air. There were a great many of the ships, but their crews could not reload the guns quickly and their accuracy was far less than perfect. After several minutes of combat, it was clear that Pol’s forces would not be halted here. When they finally passed on toward Anvil Mountain, their force was diminished but the air fleet was broken.

As they came within range of the flat-topped mount, the artillery fire began. But Pol had spread his formation even more thinly by then, having seen evidence of heavy artillery on his earlier visit to the place.

Still, the great guns fired with deadly effect for several minutes, until two of them toppled, one exploded and others began firing wildly.

Sweeping even nearer, through the morning light, Pol saw that the entire mountain was shaking.

It is a mighty magic you wield,
Smoke remarked.

That is not my doing,
he replied.

A dragon can feel magic, and that which leads to the earthquake I feel upon my back.

I do not understand.

The answer hangs at your belt.

The figurines?

I know not what they are, only what they are bringing to pass.

Good! I’ll take all the help I can get!

Even if they control you?

Either way, I have no choice now but to try to win, do I?

They broke through the openings in the artillery screen, dragons landing and discharging the non-winged creatures which immediately turned and sought the defenders. Tanks rumbled along the shaking streets, some of them spewing flames back at the dragons.

A steady crackling of gunfire rose above the city. The metallic worms were out, wrestling with the attackers. Here and there, blades flashed in the hands of men as ammunition was exhausted. The howling, bounding lesser beasts of the caverns tore through the city, killing and being killed. A crack opened, diagonally, in one of the main avenues and noxious fumes rose out of it.