AS HE drew near his own camp, some hours later, Jerry saw that the preparations for war which he had ordered were well under way. Already the city of portable huts had grown to thrice its former size, and his forces were still being swelled by large companies of rodal cavalry, and by thousands of flying warriors. The lakes were black with swimming gawrs, and the entire end of the marsh had been turned into a vast community of fur-covered dwellings.
Challenged by a strange flying guard, Jerry gave the password, “On to Raliad,” and was permitted to alight in the square before his hut. Here the guards and officers recognized his disguise, and rushed up to greet him. Among them was Yewd.
“You are back sooner than we expected you, my Viljen,” said the giant.
“Find Koha,” Jerry replied, “and bring him to me. I would hold council with you two.”
Two guards parted the silver curtains that veiled the doorway of the black hut, and Jerry went in. Since the need for his disguise was at an end, he removed it, and exchanged his huntsman’s garments for a commoner’s black and silver. A slave brought pulcho, set it on a taboret at his elbow, and withdrew. And a moment later Yewd strode in with Koha waddling behind him.
“What news, master?” asked the dwarf. “Do we join the Vil’s army today?”
“Not today, or ever,” replied Jerry dejectedly, pushing the pulcho flask toward his two sturdy henchmen. “I have failed in my mission—failed miserably and completely. The Vil would have none of me as an officer. He has made an alliance with Manith Zovil, marital as well as martial. And to top it all, my disguise was penetrated by one of his courtiers, so that I barely escaped with my life—he still deeming me the murderer of his son.”
“Why, then, that leaves us free to harass the Torturer in our own way,” said Yewd, drinking deeply. “And with the new weapons we should be able to more than hold our own.”
“You forget that the Torturer and his puppet sit in Raliad,” said Jerry. “He is no longer an outlaw, but the power behind the throne. Numin Vil, if he does not retake his capital, will himself be the outlaw. And even with the help of Manith Zovil, I do not believe he can do it. With our assistance it might be done, but he would renounce his kingdom forever rather than accept my aid.”
“If we could only find the man who slew Shiev Zovil,” said Koha, “the rest should be easy.”
“Ah, but the irony of fate prevents even that!” exclaimed Jerry.
Then what are we to do?”
“Do? Why, I will found a city of outlaws, here on this spot, that will defy all the armies of Mars. So long as Thoor remains Vil of Kalsivar with the Torturer pulling the strings, we shall be a thorn in their sides. We will . . . ”
He was interrupted by a guard, who drew back a silver curtain and said: “Algo the spy is here with an important message.”
“Admit him,” said Jerry.
The spy, resplendent in his uniform of the imperial guards, hurried in.
“What news, Algo?” Jerry asked.
“The Princess has been abducted.”
“What!” Jerry sprang to his feet. “When? By whom?”
“Only a short time ago. And by agents of the Torturer.”
“Impossible! Wasn’t Neem the black dalf with her? And was she not surrounded by the Vil’s army?”
“Neither,” Algo replied. “She was circling above the camp on the swift gawr you gave her, accompanied by two guards. Suddenly four brown warriors plunged down from high above them. Three slew the guards with their javelins. The fourth dropped a noose around the neck of her Highness’s gawr, so that it was forced to follow his bird-beast or strangle. Then he flew off in the direction of Raliad, followed by his three companions. I managed to bring you this message by pretending to follow the abductors.”
“Back to your post, then, Algo,” said Jerry. “And from now on you rank a jendus for bringing this news.”
The spy saluted smartly and departed.
The Earthman whirled on Koha.
“Have the saddles been prepared with the chains and hooks, as I ordered?”
“They have, master; four thousand of them.”
“Good. See that the gawrs are saddled, and their riders ready. And have two thousand more flying warriors prepared to join them.”
As Koha waddled away, Yewd asked: “What are you going to do?”
“First I will lead a raid upon the canal excavating crew,” he said. “Then our watchword shall become our war cry: ‘On to Raliad!’”