Oorn!
A thousand torches blazed all through the streets of centuried Sarkomand from its oceanmost limits to Oorn's temple, lining the route for the triumphant procession which now wound its way through the alien ruins, bearing aloft the bound, bruised and battered forms of Hero, Eldin, Ula and Una. And there could be no mistaking the fact that nowâsetting aside all matters of earlier, personal squabblesâthe entire enemy alliance was truly allied and in one accord in its current task: namely the physical destruction and spiritual damnation of the four prisoners in a mad and monstrous sacrifice to Oorn.
Zombies marched (or shuffled) with the throng; horned ones leaped, cavorted and played grating, inhuman tunes on nameless instruments; termen, however woodenly, paraded with the rest; and the Isharrans, led by their twin masters, slouched along in their generally degenerate fashion. And never an argument nor indeed any single sign of discord along the way. Noting this absence of enmity, Hero and Eldin began to wonder if they might not breed a little in the minds of their captors. The Dukes of Isharra were sticking close to them (their bearers were burly members of
Shantak's
depleted crew) and so the questers decided to work first upon the minds of the sinister brothers. The decision was unspoken, mutual; even in adversityâperhaps
especially
in adversityâHero and Eldin worked as a team.
“Hey, Byharrid-Imon,” called Hero, sucking sore lips and teeth where a fist had bruised his gums. “You realize of course that you and your fellow Isharrans are the only true humans in this entire bunchâexcept for us, I mean? See, I'm puzzled. I can't figure out why you've teamed up with these damned monsters.”
“You should listen to him, Isharran,” Eldin gruffly put in. “We don't know what you've been promised, but we certainly know what's in store for you! We had it from old Hrill, the horned-one Captain of a ship we sank out in the desert west of Ilek-Vad.”
Byharrid-Imon turned to smile grimly up at the two where brawny arms held them aloft. Without breaking his stride he said, “Talk all you like, questers. That's your right. But don't you think you've left it a bit late to try wriggling your way out of this one, eh?”
“It's late for all of us, Byharrid-Imon,” Hero eagerly answered. “Can't you see that with the dreamlands destroyed there'll be no room for you in the moon-God's plans? What possible service could you perform for Mnomquah?”
Now it was Gathnod-Natz'ill's turn to speak. In his shrill, half-female voice he said: “We have been promised a complete monopoly in the trading and control of all precious metals and stones throughout the length and breadth of the dreamlands. Moreover, we are to be Satraps of Oriab and the Southern Isles, Kings of all the lands and cities bordering on the Southern Seaâwith the exception of Zura and Thalarion, of course, for which we've no special desireâand High Lords of sky-floating Serannian.”
“Oh?” Eldin lifted painfully puffy eyebrows. “But surely Lathi will have something to say about that? I mean, she's been promised a nest of hive-cities stretching right across the dreamlands!”
“And what of Zura, Princess of Zombies?” asked Hero. “She has plans to go a-conquering wherever her fancy takes her. And remember: all who die monstrous deaths become Zura's to command.” He gave a wholly genuine and involuntary
shudder. “By all that's rotten, her armies will be swelled this nightâand that's for sure!”
“We know nothing of all that,” Byharrid-Imon returned, but his voice rang a little less stridently now and his tone appeared less certain. “We do know, however, that we've always had fair play in our dealings with the horned ones and their masters.”
“Of course you have,” Eldin readily agreed. “They were setting you up, using you. They needed you to distribute their damned moon-gold, so that Mnomquah would know where to fire his double-damned beam on cities full of innocents. Beware, Isharrans, for you've been out in the mad moon's glare too long! You say you'll be Kings? Kings of what? Who will your subjects be when the slaughter is over? Who will you trade with then? With Zura and her million undead?”
“Bravo!” whispered Hero admiringly as they were bundled along. “Good stuff, that. Are you sure you weren't some sort of orator in the waking world?”
“I doubt it,” muttered the other, “for then I might expect to be making an impression. But these buggersâwhy, they're mad as March hares!”
“Don't you realize what's going to happen here?” Hero raised his voice again. “There'll be fire and destruction and innocent blood spilled in a torrent! Would you set your seal upon that?”
“We shall not be here to see it,” informed Gathnod-Natz' ill. “By the time the moon-God arrives here we shall be on our way to collect our tribute from his minions on the moon.”
“To become slaves of the moonbeasts, you mean!” cried Eldin. “Or worse ⦔
“We shall fill our ship to capacity with moon-gems before returning,” replied Byharrid-Imonâbut there was a sudden tremor in his powerful voice, which sounded just a little like the strained gonging of a cracked bell.
“Before returning to what?” cried Hero. “Look about you, man! Look at the sky, the seas, the very land itself. And this
is only the beginning. Can't you see you've been duped? When Mnomquah comes the dreamlands will run red with lava and blood. Smoke will hide the sun for centuries and the skies will rain volcanic ash. The seas will be of mud and the green fields barren deserts. And as for towns and citiesâthey shall be obsolete as this very Sarkomand!”
“You'll not make fools of us!” Gathnod-Natz'ill cried, more shrilly than ever. “Not as you've done with Lathi and Zura. We are destined for greatness. We always have been!”
“I'll bet you sang the same song in the waking world,” returned Eldin. “Even when they were dropping you in the river with your feet set in fresh cement. You're not only born losers and fools, you're madmen! Especially you, you damnedâ
crone
!”
At that, and with a shrill, piercing cry of rage, Gathnod-Natz' ill hurled himself at the bearers who held the questers and girls aloft. For Eldin had been quite right and he had hit upon a very sore spot. In Byharrid-Imon there probably remained something of sanity, but his brother was utterly mad. It might well be an inherited madnessâthough more likely it resulted from long-term proximity with “Leng-gold” and, more recently, the influence of the mad moonâbut certainly the effeminate brother was completely deranged.
And such was his fury that he might well have killed all four helpless captives there and then, except that this was not to be. For even as he punched and snatched at them to bring them tumbling down from the now tired arms of their bearers, so the procession arrived at its destination, the immemorial Temple of Oorn; and from then on events were taken right out of Gathnod-Natz'ill's painted and manicured hands.
For now, as the questers and girls fell upon crumbling flagsâeven as the crazed Duke laid a hand across the hilt of his sword and snarled his madness at them where they rolled in dustâso a sigh went up from the assembled polyglot masses, and all heads turned toward Oorn's temple where its low, circular wall showed a jagged, broken rim in the center of the centuried city. Outside that wall a black silken tent had
been erected, with yellow tassels and runic, lunar symbols: the sumptuously cushioned and noxiously scented pavilion of Oorn's High Priest. And there between the arched gate in the wall and the silken wall of the tentâthe High Priest himself.
A large lumpish figure, he stood (or rather slumped) and regarded the small knot of humans, captors and captives alike, at the head of the massed, torch-bearing parade. His robe was of yellow silk figured with red signs and moon-symbols, and a yellow silken hood covered his head; with circular eye-holes almost at the sides rather than in front, where human eyes should be. Behind those holes unseen orbs stared, under whose steadfast gaze the crowd fell back, until none stood between humans and High Priest; yet still he remained silent.
Beside him, smaller and standing in his shadow, a similarly robed, bare-headed horned one waited attentively until the High Priest placed the mouth-piece of a black flutelike instrument beneath his hood to blow a series of seemingly unconnected notes. When finished, the horned oneâpatently an acolyteâturned to the vast congregation, especially to the Dukes of Isharra, and spoke these words:
“I speak for Him:
“You seem to forget yourself, Gathnod-Natz'ill Isharra. The questers and their females were to be unharmed, and yet it seems to me that you were about to harm them. Indeed, it seems you intended to kill them! Would you defy Oorn?”
Hearing these words, the crowding horned onesâwho far outnumbered all other types in the assemblyâcrept almost unnoticeably closer to the small knot of humans. All madness had fled out of Gathnod-Natz'ill by now, however, and his aspect was a ghastly white in the light of numerous torches. He stood unspeaking, seemingly hypnotized by the High Priest's staring, unseen eyes, until his brother urgently grabbed his arm. Then he gave a start, swallowed rapidly once or twice, and made a visible effort to pull himself together.
“Lord High Priest,” he began, his girlish voice quavering. “The questers angered me with their blasphemies against
Oorn and their lies concerning the validity of your own promises, made to us on behalf of the moon-God Mnomquah Himself. I would merely have chastised them, nothing more.”
The High Priest raised his flute again to blow several softer notes; which his horned-one acolyte translated thus: “It is well, for Mnomquah's word is the law, and the law is inviolable.” Now the crowding horned ones relaxed a little and a soft, concerted sigh was heard. All, it seemed, had been holding their breath, as if in anticipation of some terrific event.
Yet again the lumpish, silk-clad figure blew upon his carven instrument, more urgently this time, and again his acolyte translated, directing his words at the entire congregation. “The time draws nigh and we must soon away. Mnomquah's coming will be a wonderful, terrible thing. Even now the Lord of the Moon gazes down upon our worksâsee!” And triggered by his acolyte's words, the High Priest's jellyishâarm?âlifted to point down the wide, cliff-lined rift of Sarkomand's ancient valley to a horizon already lost in the yellow glare of the rising moon's leprously scarred and pitted dome.
Once more the weird fluting, and again the translationâa question this time, and a command. “Is the gold positioned? Then let it be revealed, that Mnomquah may know his true destination when he rushes to Oorn's fond embrace!”
More torches were lighted, a vast circle of them on the outermost extremes of what was now seen to be a tremendous cleared area; and at numerous points about this huge outer circle tarpaulins and other coverings were thrown back to reveal veritable mounds of goldâmoon-gold, as the captives well knew.
Of the questers themselves while all this was taking place: they had not been utterly idle. Trussed up as they were, they could still speak to each other ⦠for the moment at least. Eldin, in the curious way he had of detaching himself from current eventsâeven when they promised to become fatalâhad asked of his younger companion, “Hero, late as the hour appears to be for us, there's something that bothers me a bit.”
“A bit?” grunted the other, spitting out dust and gravel. “Myself, I'm bothered quite a lotâbut say on, if it will give you peace of mind.”
“It's just this: how did they know we were coming? I mean, there's a fair old bit of preparation gone into this lot. And that ambush was a superb job of planning and timing.”
“Old lad,” Hero had answered after a moment, “brace yourselfâand try not to think too badly of me, butâ” at which point Eldin had closed his eyes, groaned and cut in:
“You're not going to tell me you knew? Please don't tell me that, lad, for if you do I'll know for sure that you're as mad as these bloody Isharrans!”
“Oh, I didn't know for a certainty,” Hero answered, “or I surely would not have come, but I have to admit that I suspected. You see, knowing that Oorn had used that mind-call of hers to trap us in the first place, I reasonedâ”
“âThat she might also be able to read our minds, eh?”
Hero tried to nod but only succeeded in bumping his head on a broken pavement. “Except ⦠well, I hoped that after our trip into the sky they'd all believe us deadâOorn included. If so, she wouldn't be on the lookout for us.”
“And you were wrong!” Eldin groaned again.
Again the younger quester bumped his head. “It appears so,” he said. “She knew we lived, kept her cosmic ear on us, told her High Priest when to expect us. Why, she's probably listening to us even now; splitting her sidesâI hope!âlaughing at us.”
In the next instant as if to confirm Hero's suspicion, the questers heard again that voice in their minds which had first lured them from
Gnorri II
and into the mists, through the bowels of the mountain buttress to dread, primal Sarkomand. But this time they knew the true source of that mental voice, and it made no further pretense of disguising itself.
“Hero ⦔
it eerily mocked, clammy and alien in their heads.
“Eldin
⦔ And yet even now there remained echoes of that earlier, sweeter calling, left there deliberately to linger in their minds and remind them what fools they had been.