"What else? So it has been taught from ancient days."
"I do not know what else. And many things have been taught from ancient days which would not stand the test. But I do not believe that which comes is Khalk'ru, Soul of the Void, He–to–Whom–All–Life–Must–Return and all the rest of his titles. Nor do I believe that if we end the Sacrifices life will end here with them."
She said, very quietly:
"Hear me, Dwayanu. Whether that which comes to the Sacrifices be Khalk'ru or another matters not at all to me. All that matters is this: I do not want to leave this land, and I would keep it unchanged. I have been happy here. I have seen the sun and moon and stars. I have seen the outer earth in my waterfall yonder. I would not go into it. Where would I find a place so lovely as this my Lake of the Ghosts? If the Sacrifices end, they whom only fear keeps here will go. They will be followed by more and more. The old life I love ends with the Sacrifices—surely. For if desolation comes, we shall be forced to go. And if it does not come, the people will know that they have been taught lies, and will go to see whether what is beyond be not fairer, happier, than here. So it has always been. I say to you, Dwayanu—it shall not be here!"
She waited for me to answer. I did not answer.
"If you do not wish to summon Khalk'ru, then why not choose another in your place?"
I looked at her sharply. I was not ready to go quite that far as yet. Give up the ring, with all its power!
"There is another reason, Dwayanu, than those you have given me. What is it?"
I said, bluntly:
"There are many who call me feeder of Khalk'ru. Butcher for him. I do not like that. Nor do I like to see—what I see—in the eyes of the women I feed him."
"So that is it," she said, contemptuously. "Sleep has made you soft, Dwayanu! Better tell me your plan to take Sirk and let me carry it out! You have grown too tender–hearted for war, I think!"
That stung me, swept all my compunctions away. I jumped up, knocking away the chair, half–raised my hand to strike her. She faced me, boldly, no trace of fear in her eyes. I dropped my hand.
"But not so soft that you can mould me to your will, Witch," I said. "Nor do I go back on my bargains. I have given you Yodin. I shall give you Sirk, and all else I have promised. Till then—let this matter of the Sacrifices rest. When shall I give you Tibur?"
She put her hands on my shoulders and smiled into my angry eyes. She clasped her hands around my neck and brought my lips down to her warm red ones.
"Now," she whispered, "you are Dwayanu! Now the one I love—ah, Dwayanu, if you but loved me as I love you!"
Well, as for that, I loved her as much as I could any woman… After all, there was none like her. I swung her up and held her tight, and the old recklessness, the old love of life poured through me.
"You shall have Sirk! And Tibur when you will."
She seemed to consider.
"Not yet," she said. "He is strong, and he has his followers. He will be useful at Sirk, Dwayanu. Not before then—surely."
"It was precisely what I was thinking," I said. "On one thing at least we agree."
"Let us have wine upon our peace," she said, and called to her serving–women.
"But there is another thing also upon which we agree." She looked at me strangely.
"What is it?" I asked.
"You yourself have said it," she answered—and more than that I could not get her to say. It was long before I knew what she had meant, and then it was too late…
It was good wine. I drank more than I should have. But clearer and clearer grew my plan for the taking of Sirk.
It was late next morning when I awoke. Lur was gone. I had slept as though drugged. I had the vaguest memory of what had occurred the night before, except that Lur and I had violently disagreed about something. I thought of Khalk'ru not at all. I asked Ouarda where Lur had gone. She said that word had been brought early that two women set apart for the next Sacrifice had managed to escape. Lur thought they were making their way to Sirk. She was hunting them with the wolves. I felt irritated that she had not roused me and taken me with her. I thought that I would like to see those white brutes of hers in action. They were like the great dogs we had used in Ayjirland to track similar fugitives.
I did not go into Karak. I spent the day at sword–play and wrestling, and swimming in the Lake of the Ghosts—after my headache had worn off.
Close toward nightfall Lur returned.
"Did you catch them?" I asked.
"No," she said. "They got to Sirk safely. We were just in time to see them half–across the drawbridge."
I thought she was rather indifferent about it, but gave the matter no further thought. And that night she was gay—and most tender toward me. Sometimes so tender that I seemed to detect another emotion in her kisses. It seemed to me that they were—regretful. And I gave that no thought then either.
Chapter XIX
The Taking of Sirk
Again I rode through the forest toward Sirk, with Lur at my left hand and Tibur beside her. At my back were my two captains, Dara and Naral. Close at our heels came Ouarda, with twelve slim, strong girls, fair skins stained strangely green and black, and naked except for a narrow belt around their waists. Behind these rode four score of the nobles with Tibur's friend Rascha at their head. And behind them marched silently a full thousand of Karak's finest fighting women.
It was night. It was essential to reach the edge of the forest before the last third of the stretch between midnight and dawn. The hoofs of the horses were muffled so that no sharp ears might hear their distant tread, and the soldiers marched in open formation, noiselessly. Five days had passed since I had first looked on the fortress.
They had been five days of secret, careful preparation. Only the Witch–woman and the Smith knew what I had in mind. Secret as we had been, the rumour had spread that we were preparing for a sortie against the Rrrllya. I was well content with that. Not until we had gathered to start did even Rascha, or so I believed, know that we were headed toward Sirk. This so no word might be carried there to put them on guard, for I knew well that those we menaced had many friends in Karak—might have them among the ranks that slipped along behind us. Surprise was the essence of my plan. Therefore the muffling of the horses' hoofs. Therefore the march by night. Therefore the silence as we passed through the forest. And therefore it was that when we heard the first howling of Lur's wolves the Witch–woman slipped from her horse and disappeared in the luminous green darkness.
We halted, awaiting her return. None spoke; the howls were stilled; she came from the trees and remounted. Like well–trained dogs the white wolves spread ahead of us, nosing over the ground we still must travel, ruthless scouts which no spy nor chance wanderer, whether from or to Sirk, could escape.
I had desired to strike sooner than this, had chafed at the delay, had been reluctant to lay bare my plan to Tibur. But Lur had pointed out that if the Smith were to be useful at Sirk's taking he would have to be trusted, and that he would be less dangerous if informed and eager than if uninformed and suspicious. Well, that was true. And Tibur was a first–class fighting man with strong friends.
So I had taken him into my confidence and told him what I had observed when first I had stood with Lur beside Sirk's boiling moat—the vigorously growing clumps of ferns which extended in an almost unbroken, irregular line high up and across the black cliff, from the forest on the hither side and over the geyser–spring, and over the parapets. It betrayed, I believed, a slipping or cracking of the rock which had formed a ledge. Along that ledge, steady–nerved, sure–footed climbers might creep, and make their way unseen into the fortress—and there do for us what I had in mind.