THERE was consternation on the face of the officers, but Jerry, standing in their midst, smiled confidently. “Just as I suspected. It is well that we did not attack the army of Sarkis, for then, weakened by our losses, we should have fallen an easy prey to the forces of Numin Vil.”
As a matter of fact, this was the last thing Jerry had suspected. But now he must think, and think fast, if his command was to be saved from annihilation. He knew, also, that his men must be given something to do to keep up their morale.
“Pack equipment,” he ordered, “but do so in such a way that the enemy will not notice. For the present, leave the huts standing. But have them ready to pack at a moment’s notice.”
As his officers hurried away to carry out his orders, Jerry sat down and poured himself a cup of pulcho.
“Why not march south or north?” suggested Yewd. “We are only hemmed in from the east and west.”
“You surprise me, Yewd. What do you think our enemies would be doing, in the meantime?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nor do I. But I believe they could and would march south or north as fast as we, in the meantime gradually converging upon us from both sides. And they might corner us in a much worse place than this hilltop, where we have some advantage of position.”
“But even our lofty position will not avail us against such superior numbers,” said Koha.
“If it could, we should have no problem,” Jerry said. “But since we have a problem, I am seeking to solve it. Fetch me a gawr, and I’ll have a look about.”
The dwarf waddled hurriedly away, returning a few moments later with a saddled bird-beast. Jerry mounted, pulled up on the guiding rod, and soared aloft. First he flew out over the Plain of Ling, and had a look at the army of Sarkis. There was considerable activity among the hordes of the Torturer.
He turned, and soaring higher, flew back across his own camp toward the forces of Numin Vil. As he urged his great flapping bird-beast onward, the sun dipped suddenly beneath the horizon, and the rolling desert below him was lighted only by the pale rays of the farther moon.
Presently, he described the advancing army of the Vil of Kalsivar. It was a formidable host, and he knew that it would be disastrous to pit his smaller force against it. He calculated that, unless Numin Vil struck with his aerial forces first, he would not be able to attack, for at least a half hour. Accordingly, he turned and flew back to his own camp as fast as his bird-beast would carry him.
Before he reached his headquarters the farther moon had set. But campfires had been lighted both in his own camp and in that of the Torturer, and by these he was able to locate his own hut, and descend.
Here he found his chief officers clustered, more panic-stricken than before. But he had made his plans now.
First, he ordered all fires quenched. Then the huts were dismantled and packed with the other equipment. As soon as this had been done, all in pitch darkness and with a minimum of noise, he formed his little army into a great triangle, with the pack-rodals in the center, the rodal cavalry forming the three sides, and the gawr riders and metal fliers flapping in wedge formation overhead. Though he might have ridden on a gawr, or in one of the metal flying machines, he chose rather to lead the main body of his army, and so rode at the point of the triangle which faced the position of Sarkis, with Yewd riding close at his left, and Koha at his right.
It was difficult for the men to see each other’s positions in the gloom, and there were some collisions as they charged straight for the position of the Torturer. Scarcely had they crossed the plain when the vanguard of Numin Vil appeared on the heights they had just deserted, carrying his baridium torches.
Urging his men to greater speed, Jerry led them up the hill. At any moment, he expected a countercharge from the forces of Sarkis, and was puzzled when it was not forthcoming. The twinkling campfires were burning as brightly as ever, and he could see men moving back and forth before them. But as he drew closer, he saw the reason. Not one of the vast city of huts which had been there that afternoon was standing, nor were there any rodals in sight.
The giant Yewd saw the situation almost as soon as the Earthman, and burst into noisy merriment.
“By the might of Deza! The Torturer played a neat trick on us. And had you not decided to give him battle, we would now be back on the Heights of Lokar, vainly striving against the powerful forces of the Vil.”
“We haven’t escaped yet,” said Jerry. “Numin Vil is close behind us, and the nearer moon is due to rise soon.” He called to the officers who rode nearest to him. “Pass the word along to break up into small groups, and scatter. Let all lorwock warriors return to their own tribes, and remain with their families and friends for the space of ten days. At that time, our meeting place will be the Marsh of Atabah. Let those who have no tribes or families to return to, live where they will in small groups until the time for our rendezvous arrives.
“I go, now, to the Atabah Marsh, with my fliers.”
He signaled a large airship which had been flying overhead, and it settled swiftly to the earth before him. Then he dismounted and entered, accompanied by Yewd and Koha.
Swiftly and quietly his orders were carried out. So that by the time the forces of the Vil had passed the Heights of Lokar and the nearer moon had risen, the trail they followed had split up into many, which spread out fanwise, and gradually grew more tenuous as they advanced, until there were a thousand small trails, no single one of which it would be worth the while of an army to follow.
Jerry led his flying contingent straight to the Atabah Marsh. A few portable huts which had been stowed in the airships were set up. But most of the gawr riders bivouacked under the clear sky, wrapped in their furs. Later, their pack-rodals, if uncaptured, would be in with the rest of the huts and supplies.
As the Earthman sat in his hut, eating a meal which Koha had hastily prepared, and sipping his pulcho, the more he thought about it the more he was convinced that the Torturer had some purpose beyond that of involving him in a battle with the forces of Numin Vil.
Accordingly, he called in the jen of his scouts, and ordered that a hundred gawr riders take the air at once, flying in all directions, to bring him news as to the locations of both Sarkis and Numin Vil.
As soon as the jen of scouts had gone out, he sent for his jen of spies. After a brief conference it was decided that twelve spies, each starting alone and leaving at irregular intervals, should fly to Raliad and attempt to learn what was taking place there.
Early the following morning Jerry was awakened by the black dwarf, who proffered him a cup of steaming pulcho, and said: “A spy has just returned from Raliad with important tidings. Will you see him now?”
“Admit him,” said Jerry.
A small, mild-mannered brown man in the garments of a slave entered on Koha’s invitation. “What have you learned, Eni?” asked Jerry.
“Sarkis is in Raliad.”
“What! You mean he has been taken prisoner?”
“Far from it. While Numin Vil was pursuing our army, the Torturer led his forces to the west gate of Raliad. His appearance was a signal for those in sympathy with the revolution to fall upon the loyal soldiers and guards who remained. The gates were thrown open to him by traitors, and he marched straight to the palace with almost no opposition.
“All the members of the white nobility who were unable to escape were either slain or made prisoners. The brown nobility have been assigned their ranks, titles, and estates and the brown prince, Thoor Movil, has been proclaimed Vil of Kalsivar.”
“But Junia! What of her?”
“She is a prisoner in the palace. And the Torturer has offered her the choice of marrying Thoor Movil, or dying under the burning disk.”
“And has she made a choice?”
“That I have not heard.”
“But what of Numin Vil?”
“He returned to Raliad late last night, but the gates were closed to him, and the warriors of Sarkis manned the walls. He attacked repeatedly, but each time was driven off with heavy losses. Early this morning he withdrew his forces and pitched his camp on the Plains of Lav, within sight of the city.”
“You have done well, Eni,” said Jerry, “and I will see that you are suitably rewarded. Await my further orders outside.”
As the spy saluted and backed out of the doorway, Jerry turned to his two guards and counselors.
“At last we begin to see the depth of the Torturer’s cunning,” he said.
“This time it seems he has outguessed me, though I was able to defeat part of his plans. It was his intention to dispose of me, to wipe out my army, and to weaken the army of Numin Vil, all this while he was capturing Raliad.”
At this instant a guard drew back the curtain and announced: “Algo the spy, from the camp of Numin Vil.”
“Let him come in,” said Jerry.
A tall, soldierly white man of middle age, dressed in the uniform of the Palace Guard, entered and saluted.
“Eni has told me what befell last night,” Jerry told him. “Who set Numin Vil on our trail?”
“It was Nisha Novil,” said the spy. “Yesterday afternoon she came hurrying into the audience chamber, and asked for an immediate hearing on a matter of grave importance. It was granted, and she told the Vil a slave of hers, returning from her country estate on the Corvid Canal, had flown near the Heights of Lokar on his gawr, and had seen your army encamped there.
“Numin Vil sprang down from his throne, ordered a force assembled, and set out at the head of it, bent on annihilating us.”
“She said nothing about the force of Sarkis being encamped opposite us on the Heights of Lokar?”
“Not a word.”
“Ah!”
Jerry sprang up from his divan.
“That will be all, Algo. You may return to the camp of the Vil, and report in two days.”
As Algo saluted and withdrew, Jerry turned to Koha.
“Fetch me the clothing of a palace slave, I am going to the imperial palace in Raliad.”