Dawn of Flame

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Stanley G. Weinbaum (1936)
Country of origin: USA
Available texts by the same author here

Chapter 6: The Harriers

   After a brief moment Hull sprawled half stunned, then his muscles lost their paralysis and he thrust himself to his feet, whirling to face whatever assault threatened. In the doorway the guards still scrambled, but directly before him towered a rider on a black mount, and two men on foot flanked him. The rider, of course, was the Princess, her glorious green eyes luminous as a cat's in the dusk as she slapped a short sword into its scabbard. It was a blow from the flat of its blade that had felled him.
   She held now the blunt weapon of the blue beam. It came to him that he had never heard her speak, but she spoke now in a voice low and liquid, yet cold, cold as the flow of an ice-crusted winter stream. "Stand quiet, Hull Tarvish," she said. "One flash will burst that stubborn heart of yours forever."
   Perforce he stood quiet, his back to the wall of the shed. He had no doubt at all that the Princess would kill him if he moved; he couldn't doubt it with her icy eyes upon him. He stared sullenly back, and a phrase of Old Einar's came strangely to his memory. "Satanically beautiful," the old man had called her, and so she was. Hell or the art of Martin Sair had so fashioned her that no man could gaze unmoved on the false purity of her face, no man at least in whom flowed red blood.
   She spoke again, letting her glance flicker disdainfully over the two appalled guards. "The Master will be pleased," she said contemptuously, "to learn that one unarmed Weed outmatches two men of his own cohort."
   The nearer man faltered, "But your Highness, he rushed us unexpect--"
   "No matter," she cut in, and turned back to Hull. For the first time now he really felt the presence of death as she said coolly, "I am minded to kill you."
   "Then do it!" he snapped.
   "I came here to watch you die," she observed calmly. "It interests me to see men die, boldly or cowardly or resignedly. I think you would die boldly."
   It seemed to Hull that she was deliberately torturing him by this procrastination. "Try me!" he growled.
   "But I think also," she resumed, "that your living might amuse me more than your death, and"--for the first time there was a breath of feeling in her voice--"God knows I need amusement!" Her tones chilled again. "I give you your life."
   "Your Highness," muttered the cowed guard, "the Master has ordered--"
   "I countermand the orders," she said shortly. And then to Hull. "You are a fighter. Are you also a man of honor?"
   "If I'm not," he retorted, "the lie that says I am would mean nothing to me."
   She smiled coldly. "Well, I think you are, Hull Tarvish. You go free on your word to carry no weapons, and your promise to visit me this evening in my quarters at the eldarch's home." She paused. "Well?"
   "I give my word."
   "And I take it." She crashed her heels against the ribs of the great stallion, and the beast reared and whirled. "Away, all of you!" she ordered. "You two, carry tub and water for my bath." She rode off toward the street.
   Hull let himself relax against the wall with a low "whew!" Sweat started on his cold forehead, and his mighty muscles felt almost weak. It wasn't that he had feared death, he told himself, but the strain of facing those glorious, devilish emerald eyes, and the cold torment of the voice of Black Margot, and the sense of her taunting him, mocking him, even her last careless gesture of freeing him. He drew himself erect. After all, fear of death or none, he loved life, and let that be enough.
   He walked slowly toward the street. Across the way lights glowed in Marcus Orison's home, and he wondered if Vail were there, perhaps serving the Princess Margaret as he had so lately suggested the contrary. He wanted to find Vail; he wanted to use her cool loveliness as an antidote for the dark poison of the beauty he had been facing. And then, at the gate, he drew back suddenly. A group of men in Empire garb came striding by, and among them, helmetless and with his head bound, moved the Master.
   His eyes fell on Hull. He paused suddenly and frowned. "You again!" he said. "How is it that you still live, Hull Tarvish?"
   "The Princess ordered it."
   The frown faded. "So," said Joaquin Smith slowly, "Margaret takes it upon herself to interfere somewhat too frequently. I suppose she also freed you?"
   "Yes, on my promise not to bear arms."
   There was a curious expression in the face of the conqueror. "Well," he said almost gently, "it was not my intention to torture you, but merely to have you killed for your treason. It may be that you will soon wish that my orders had been left unaltered." He strode on into the eldarch's dooryard, with his silent men following.
   Hull turned his steps toward the center of the village. Everywhere he passed Empire men scurrying about the tasks of encampment, and supply wagons rumbled and jolted in the streets. He saw files of the soldiers passing slowly before cook-wagons and the smell of food floated on the air, reminding him that he was ravenously hungry. He hurried toward his room beside File Ormiston's shop, and there, tragic-eyed and mist-pale, he found Vail Ormiston.
   She was huddled on the doorstep with sour Enoch holding her against him. It was Enoch who first perceived Hull, and his jaw dropped and his eyes bulged, and a gurgling sound issued from his throat. And Vail looked up with uncomprehending eyes, stared for a moment without expression, and then, with a little moan, crumpled and fainted.
   She was unconscious only a few moments, scarcely long enough for Hull to bear her into his room. There she lay now on his couch, clinging to his great hand, convinced at last of his living presence.
   "I think," she murmured, "that you're as deathless as Joaquin Smith, Hull. I'll never believe you dead again. Tell me--tell me how it happened."
   He told her. "Black Margot's to thank for it," he finished.
   But the very name frightened Vail. "She means evil, Hull. She terrifies me with her witch's eyes and her hellstained hair. I haven't even dared go home for fear of her."
   He laughed. "Don't worry about me, Vail. I'm safe enough."
   Enoch cut in. "Here's one for the Harriers, then," he said sourly. "The pack needs him."
   "The Harriers?" Hull looked up puzzled.
   "Oh, Hull, yes!" said Vail. "File Ormson's been busy. The Harriers are what's left of the army--the better citizens of Ormiston. The Master's magic didn't reach beyond the ridge, and over the hills there's still powder and rifles. And the spell is no longer in the valley, either. One of the men carried a cup of powder across the ridge, and it didn't burn."
   The better citizens, Hull thought smiling. She meant, of course, those who owned land and feared a division of it such as Marcus Ormiston had suffered. But aloud he said only, "How many men have you?"
   "Oh, there'll be several hundred with the farmers across the hills." She looked into his eyes, "I know it's a forlorn hope, Hull, but--we've got to try. You'll help, won't you?"
   "Of course. But all your Harriers can attempt is raids. They can't fight the Master's army."
   "I know. I know it, Hull. It's a desperate hope."
   "Desperate?" said Enoch suddenly. "Hull, didn't you say you were ordered to Black Margot's quarters this evening?"
   "Yes."
   "Then--see here! You'll carry a knife in your armpit. Sooner or later she'll want you alone with her, and when that happens, you'll slide the knife quietly into her ruthless heart! There's a hope for you--if you've courage!"
   "Courage!" he growled. "To murder a woman?"
   "Black Margot's a devil!"
   "Devil or not, what's the good of it? It's Joaquin Smith that's building the Empire, not the Princess."
   "Yes," said Enoch, "but half his power is the art of the witch. Once she's gone the Confederation could blast his army like ducks in a frog pond."
   "It's true!" gasped Vail. "What Enoch says is true!"
   Hull scowled. "I swore not to bear weapons!"
   "Swore to her!" snapped Enoch. "That needn't bind you."
   "My word's given," said Hull firmly. "I do not lie."
   Vail smiled. "You're right," she whispered, and as Enoch's face darkened, "I love you for it, Hull."
   "Then," grunted Enoch, "if it's not lack of courage, do this. Lure her somehow across the west windows. We can slip two or three Harriers to the edge of the woodlot, and if she passes a window with the light behind her--well, they won't miss."
   "Oh, I won't," said Hull wearily. "I won't fight women, nor betray even Black Margot to death."
   But Vail's blue eyes pleaded. "That won't be breaking your word, Hull. Please. It isn't betraying a woman. She's a sorceress. She's evil. Please, Hull."
   Bitterly he yielded. "I'll try, then." He frowned gloomily. "She saved my life, and--Well, which room is hers?"
   "My father's. Mine is the western chamber, which she took for her--her maid," Vail's eyes misted at the indignity of it. "We," she said, "are left to sleep in the kitchen."
   An hour later, having eaten, he walked somberly home with Vail while Enoch slipped away toward the hills. There were tents in the dooryard, and lights glowed in every window, and before the door stood two dark Empire men who passed the girl readily enough, but halted Hull with small ceremony. Vail cast him a wistful backward glance as she disappeared toward the rear, and he submitted grimly to the questioning of the guards.
   "On what business?"
   "To see the Princess Margaret."
   "Are you Hull Tarvish?"
   "Yes."
   One of the men stepped to his side and ran exploratory hands about his body. "Orders of Her Highness," he explained gruffly.
   Hull smiled. The Princess had not trusted his word too implicitly. In a moment the fellow had finished his search and swung the door open.
   Hull entered. He had never seen the interior of the house, and for a moment its splendor dazzled him. Carved ancient furniture, woven carpets, intricately worked standards for the oil lamps, and even--for an instant he failed to comprehend it--a full-length mirror of ancient workmanship wherein his own image faced him. Until now he had seen only bits and fragments of mirrors.
   To his left a guard blocked an open door whence voices issued. Old Marcus Ormiston's voice. "But I'll pay for it. I'll buy it with all I have." His tones were wheedling.
   "No." Cool finality in the voice of Joaquin Smith. "Long ago I swore to Martin Sair never to grant immortality to any who have not proved themselves worthy." A note of sarcasm edged his voice. "Go prove yourself deserving of it, old man, in the few years left to you."
   Hull sniffed contemptuously. There seemed something debased in the old man's whining before his conqueror. "The Princess Margaret?" he asked, and followed the guard's gesture.
   Upstairs was a dimly lit hall where another guard stood silently. Hull repeated his query, but in place of an answer came the liquid tones of Margaret herself. "Let him come in, Corlin."
   A screen within the door blocked sight of the room. Hull circled it, steeling himself against the memory of that soul-burning loveliness he remembered. But his defense was shattered by the shock that awaited him.
   The screen, indeed, shielded the Princess from the sight of the guard in the hall, but not from Hull's eyes. He stared utterly appalled at the sight of her lying in complete indifference in a great tub of water, while a fat woman scrubbed assiduously at her bare body. He could not avoid a single glimpse of her exquisite form, then he turned and stared deliberately from the east windows, knowing that he was furiously crimson even to his shoulders.
   "Oh, sit down!" she said contemptuously. "This will be over in a moment."
   He kept his eyes averted while water splashed and a towel whisked sibilantly. When he heard her footsteps beside him he glanced up tentatively, still fearful of what he might see, but she was covered now in a full robe of shiny black and gold that made her seem taller, though its filmy delicacy by no means concealed what was beneath. Instead of the cothurns she wore when on the march, she had slipped her feet into tiny high-heeled sandals that were reminiscent of the footgear he had seen in ancient pictures. The black robe and her demure coif of short ebony hair gave her an appearance of almost nunlike purity, save for the green hell-fires that danced in her eyes.
   In his heart Hull cursed that false aura of innocence, for he felt again the fascination against which he had steeled himself.
   "So," she said. "You may sit down again. I do not demand court etiquette in the field." She sat opposite, and produced a black cigarette, lighting it at the chimney of the lamp on the table. Hull stared; not that he was unaccustomed to seeing women smoke, for every mountainy woman had her pipe, and every cottage its tobacco patch, but cigarettes were new to him.
   "Now," she said with a faintly ironic smile, "tell me what they say of me here."
   "They call you witch."
   "And do they hate me?"
   "Hate you?" he echoed thoughtfully. "At least they will fight you and the Master to the last feather on the last arrow."
   "Of course. The young men will fight--except those that Joaquin has bought with the eldarch's lands--because they know that once within the Empire, fighting is no more to be had. No more joyous, thrilling little wars between the cities, no more boasting and parading before the pretty provincial girls." She paused. "And you, Hull Tarvish--what do you think of me?"
   "I call you witch for other reasons."
   "Other reasons?"
   "There is no magic," said Hull, echoing the words of Old Einar in Selui. "There is only knowledge."
   The Princess looked narrowly at him. "A wise thought for one of you," she murmured, and then, "You came weaponless."
   "I keep my word."
   "You owe me that. I spared your life."
   "And I," declared Hull defiantly, "spared yours. I could have sped an arrow through that white throat of yours, there on the church roof. I aimed one."
   She smiled. "What held you?"
   "I do not fight women." He winced as he thought of what mission he was on, for it belied his words.
   "Tell me," she said, "was that the eldarch's pretty daughter who cried so piteously after you there before the church?"
   "Yes."
   "And do you love her?"
   "Yes." This was the opening he had sought, but it came bitterly now, facing her. He took the opportunity grimly. "I should like to ask one favor."
   "Ask it."
   "I should like to see"--lies were not in him but this was no lie--"the chamber that was to have been our bridal room. The west chamber." That might be--should be--truth.
   The Princess laughed disdainfully. "Go see it then."
   For a moment he feared, or hoped, perhaps, that she was going to let him go alone. Then she rose and followed him to the hall, and to the door of the west chamber.