ent 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. There-
fore 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.

Tibur's eyes had sparkled, and he had laughed as I
had not heard him laugh since my ordeal by Khalk'ru.
He had made only one comment.

"The first link of your chain is the weakest,
Dwayanu."

"True enough. But it is forged where Sirk's chain
of defence is weakest."

"Nevertheless—I would not care to be the first to test that link."

For all my lack of trust, I had warmed to him for that touch of frankness.

"Thank the gods for your weight then, Anvil-smiter,"
I had said. "I cannot see those feet of yours competing
for toe-holds with ferns. Otherwise I might have picked you."

I had looked down at the sketch I had drawn to make the matter clearer.

"We must strike quickly.  How long before we can be in readiness, Lur ?"                    

I had raised my eyes in time to see a swift glance pass
between the two. Whatever suspicion I may have felt
had been fleeting. Lur had answered, quickly.

"So far as the soldiers are concerned, we could start
to-night. How long it will take to pick the climbers, I
cannot tell. Then I must test them. All that will take time."

"How long, Lur ? We must be swift."
"Three days—five days—I will be swift as may be.
Beyond that I will not promise."

With that I had been forced to be content.
And now, five nights later, we marched on Sirk. It
was neither dark nor light in the forest; a strange dim-
ness floated over us ; the glimmer of the flowers was our
torch. All the fragrances were of life. But it was death

whose errand we were on.

The weapons of the soldiers were covered so that there
could be no betraying glints; spear-heads darkened—
no shining of metal upon any of us. On the tunics of
the soldiers was the Wheel of Luka, so that friend would
not be mistaken for foe once we were behind the walls
of Sirk. Lur had wanted the Black Symbol of Khalk'ru.

I would not have it. We reached the spot where we had decided to leave

the horses. And here in silence our force separated.
Under leadership of Tibur and Rascha, the others crept
through wood and fern-brake to the edge of the clearing
opposite the drawbridge.

With the Witch-woman and myself went a scant dozen
of the nobles, Ouarda with the naked girls, a hundred of
the soldiers. Each of these had bow and quiver in well-
protected cases on their backs. They carried the short
battleaxe, long sword and dagger. They bore the long,
wide rope ladder I had caused to be made, like those I
had used long and long ago to meet problems similar
to this of Sirk—but none with its peculiarly forbidding
aspects. They carried another ladder, long and flexible
and of wood. I was armed only with battleaxe and long
sword, Lur and the nobles with the throwing hammers
and swords.

We stole toward the torrent whose hissing became
louder with each step.

Suddenly I halted, drew Lur to me.

"Witch-woman, can you truly talk to your wolves ?"

"Truly, Dwayanu."

"I am thinking it would be no bad plan to draw eyes
and ears from this end of the parapet. If some of your
wolves would fight and howl and dance a bit there at
the far bastion for the amusement of the guards, it might
help us here."

She sent a low call, like the whimper of a she-wolf.
Almost instantly the head of the great dog-wolf which
had greeted her on our first ride lifted beside her. Its
hackles bristled as it glared at me. But it made no
sound. The Witch-woman dropped to her knees beside
it, took its head in her arms, whispering. They seemed
to whisper together. And then as suddenly as it had
appeared, it was gone. Lur arose, in her eyes something
of the green fire of the wolf's.

"The guards shall have their amusement."

I felt a little shiver along my back, for this was true
witchcraft. But I said nothing and we went on. We
came to that place from which I had scanned the cliff.
We parted the ferns and peered out upon the fortress.

Thus it was. At our right, a score of paces away,
soared the sheer wall of the cliff which, continuing over
the boiling torrent, formed this nearer bastion. The
cover in which we lurked ran up to it, was thrown back
like a green wave from its base. Between our cover and
the moat was a space not more than a dozen paces across,
made barren by the hot spray that fell on it. Here, the
walls of the fortress were not more than a javelin cast
distant. The wall and the parapet touched the cliff,
but hardly could they be seen through the thick veils of
steam. And this was what I had meant when I had said
that our weakest link would be forged where Sirk's
defences were weakest. For no sentinels stood at this
corner. With the heat and steam and exhalations from
the geyser, there was no need—or so they thought. How,
here at its hottest source, could the torrent be crossed?
Who could scale that smooth and dripping cliff ? Of all
the defences, this spot was the impregnable one, unneces-
sary to guard—or so they thought. Therefore it was
the exact point to attack—if it could be done.

I studied it. Not for full two hundred paces was there
a single sentinel. From somewhere behind the fortress
came the glare of a fire. It cast nickering shadows on
the terraces of fallen rock beyond the bastioning cliffs;

and that was good, since if we gained their shelter, we,
too, would seem but flickering shadows. I beckoned
Ouarda, and pointed to the rocks which were to be the
goal of the naked girls. They were close to the clifi
where it curved inward beyond the parapet, and they
were about the height of twenty tall men above where we
hid. She drew the girls to her and instructed them.
They nodded, their eyes dropping swiftly to the cauldron

of the moat, then turning to the glistening precipice. I
saw some of them shudder. Well, I could not hold that
against them, no !

We crept back and found the base of the cliff. Here
were enough and to spare of rock holds for the grapnels
of the ladder. We unwound the rope ladder. We set the
wooden ladder against the cliff. I pointed out the ledge
that might be the key to Sirk, counselled the climbers
as best I could. I knew that the ledge could not be much
wider than the span of a hand. Yet above it and below
it were small crevices, pockets, where fingers and toes
could grip, for clumps of ferns sprouted there.

Hai! But they had courage, those slim girls. We
fastened to their belts long strong cords which would
slip through our hands as they crept along. And they
looked at one another's stained faces and bodies and
laughed. The first went up the ladder like a squirrel, got
foothold and handhold and began to edge across. In
an instant she had vanished, the green and black with
which her body was stained merging into the dim green
and black of the cliff. Slowly, slowly, the first cord
slipped through my fingers.

Another followed her, and another, until I held six
cords. And now the others climbed up and crept out
on the perilous path, their leashes held in the strong
hands of the Witch-woman.

Hai ! But that was queer fishing ! With will strained
toward keeping these girl-fish out of water! Slowly—
Gods, but how slowly—the cords crept through my
fingers ! Through the fingers of the Witch-woman . . .
slowly . . . slowly . . . but ever on and on.

Now that first slim girl must be over the cauldron . . .
I had swift vision of her clinging to the streaming rock,
the steam of the cauldron clothing her. . . .

That line slackened in my hand. It slackened, then
ran out so swiftly that it cut the skin . . . slackened

again ... a tug upon it as of a great fish racing
away ... I felt the line snap. The girl had fallen!
Was now dissolving flesh in the cauldron !

The second cord slackened and tugged and snapped
. . . and the third. . . .
Three of them gone !
I whispered to Lur :

"Three are gone !"

"And two!" she said. I saw that her eyes were
tightly closed, but the hands that clutched the cords
were steady.

Five of those slim girls! Only seven left! Luka—
spin your wheel!

On and on, slowly, with many a halt, the remaining
cords crept through my fingers. Now the fourth girl
must be over the moat . . . must be over the parapet
. . . must be well on her way to the rocks ... my
heart beat in my throat, half-strangling me. . . .
Gods—the sixth had fallen !
"Another!" I groaned to Lur.
"And another!" she whispered, and cast the end of
a cord from her hand.

Five left . . . only five now . . . Luka, a tempk
to you in Karak—all your own, sweet goddess !

What was that ? A pull upon a cord, and twice
repeated ! The signal! One had crossed ! Honour and
wealth to you, slim girl. . . .

"All gone but one, Dwayanu!" whispered the Witch-
woman.

I groaned again, and glared at her. . . .
Again the twitches—upon my fifth cord !
Another safe !
"My last is over!" whispered Lur.
Three safe ! Three hidden among the rocks. The
fishing was done. Sirk had stolen three-fourths of my
bait.

But Sirk was hooked!

Weakness like none I had known melted bones and
muscles. Lur's face was white as chalk, black shadows
under staring eyes.

Well, now it was our turn. The slim maids who had
fallen might soon have company!

I took the cord from Lur. Sent the signal. Felt it
answered.

We "cut the cords, and knotted their ends to heavier
strands. And when they had run out we knotted to
their ends a stronger, slender rope.

It crept away—and away—and away——

And now for the ladder--the bridge over which we
must go.

It was light but strong, that ladder. Woven cunningly
in a way thought out long and long ago. It had claws
at each end which, once they had gripped, were not easily
opened.

We fastened that ladder's end to the slender rope. It
slipped away from us ... over the fems . . . out
into the hot breath of the cauldron . . . through it.

Invisible within that breath . . . invisible against
the green dusk of the cliff ... on and on it crept. . . .

The three maids had it! They were making it fast.
Under my hands it straightened and stiffened. We drew
it taut from our end. We fastened our grapnels.

The road to Sirk was open !

I turned to the Witch-woman. She stood, her gaze
far and far away. In her eyes was the green fire of her
wolves. And suddenly over the hissing of the torrent, I
beard the howling of her wolves—far and far away.

She relaxed; her head dropped ; she smiled at me—
"Yes—truly can I talk to my wolves, Dwayanu !"

I walked to the ladder, tested it.  It was strong,
secure.

"I go first, Lur. Let none follow me until I have

crossed. Then do you, Dara and Naral, climb to guard
my back."

Lur's eyes blazed.

"I follow you. Your captains come after me."

I considered that. Well—let it be.

"As you say, Lur. But do not follow until I have
crossed. Then let Ouarda send the soldiers. Ouarda—
not more than ten may be on the ladder at a time. Bind
cloths over their mouths and nostrils before they start
Count thirty—slowly, like this—before each sets forth
behind the other. Fasten axe and sword between my
shoulders, Lur. See to it that all bear their weapons so.
Watch now, how I use my hands and feet."

I swung upon the ladder, arms and legs opened wide.
I began to climb it. Like a spider. Slowly, so they could
learn. The ladder swayed but little ; its angle was a

good one.

And now I was above the fern-brake. And now I was
at the edge of the torrent. Above it. The stream swirled
round me. It hid me. The hot breath of the geyser
shrivelled me. Nor could I see anything of the ladder
except the strands beneath me. . . .

Thank Luka for that ! If what was before me was
hidden—so was I hidden from what was before me!

I was through the steam. I had passed the clifi. I
was above the parapet. I dropped from the ladder,
among the rocks—unseen. I shook the ladder. There
was a quivering response. There was weight upon it . . .
more weight . . . and more. . . .

I unstrapped axe and sword——

' 'Dwayanu——''

I turned. There were the three maids. I began to
praise them—holding back laughter. Green and black
had run and combined under bath of steam into
grotesque pattern.

"Nobles you are, maids ! From this moment! Green

and black your colours. What you have done this night
will long be a tale in Karak."

I looked toward the battlements. Between us and
them was a smooth floor of rock and sand, less than half
a bow-shot wide. A score of soldiers stood around the
fire. There was a larger group on the parapet close to
the towers of the bridge. There were more at the farther
end of the parapet, looking at the wolves.

The towers of the drawbridge ran straight down to
the rocky floor. The tower at the left was blank wall.
The tower at the right had a wide gate. The gate was
open, unguarded, unless the soldiers about the fire were
its guards. Down from between the towers dropped a
wide ramp, the approach to the bridge-head.

There was a touch on my arm. Lur was beside me.
And close after her came my two captains. After them,
one by one, the soldiers. I bade them string bows, set
arrows. One by one they melted out of the green dark-
ness, slipped by me. They made ready in the shadow
of the rocks.

One score—two score ... a shriek cut like an arrow
through the hissing of the torrent ! The ladder trembled.
It shook—and twisted. . . . Again the despairing cry
... the ladder fell slack !

"Dwayanu—the ladder is broken ? At—Ouarda——"

"Quiet, Lur ! They may have heard that shrieking.
The ladder could not break. . . ."

"Draw it in, Dwayanu—draw it in !"

Together we pulled upon it. It was heavy. We drew
it in like a net, and swiftly. And suddenly it was of no
weight at all. It rushed into our hands——

Its ends were severed as though by knife slash or axe
blow.

"Treachery!" I said.

"But treachery . . . how . . . with Ouarda on
guard."

I crept, crouching, behind the shadow of the
rocks.

"Dara—spread out the soldiers. Tell Naral to slip
to the farther end. On the signal, let them loose their
arrows. Three flights only. The first at those around
the fire. The second and the thircPat those on the walls
closest to the towers. Then follow me. You understand
me?"

"It is understood. Lord."

The word went along the line; I heard the bow-
strings whisper.

"We are fewer than I like, Lur—yet nothing for us
but to go through with it. No way out of Sirk now but
the way of the sword."

"I know. It is of Ouarda I am thinking. . . ." Her
voice trembled.

"She is safe. If treachery had been wide-spread, we
would have heard sounds of fighting. No more talking,
Lur. We must move swiftly. After the third arrow
flight, we rush the tower gate."

I gave the signal. Up rose the archers. Straight upon
those around the fire flew their shafts. They left few
alive. Instantly upon those around the towers of the
bridge whistled a second arrow storm.

Hai ! But that was straight shooting! See them
fall! Once more——

Whistle of feathered shaft ! Song of the bow-string I
Gods—but this is to live again !

I dropped down the rocks, Lur beside me. The
soldier women poured after us. Straight to the tower
door we sped. We were half-way there before those upon
the long parapet awakened.

Shouts rang. Trumpets blared, and the air was filled
with the brazen clangour of a great gong bellowing the
alarm to Sirk asleep behind the gap. We sped on. Jave-
lins dropped among us, arrows whistled. From other

gates along the inner walls guards began to emerge,
racing to intercept us.

We were at the door of the bridge towers—and through
it!

But not all. A third had fallen under javelin and
arrow. We swung the stout door shut. We dropped
across it the massive bars that secured it. And not an
instant too soon. Upon the door began to beat the sledges
of the tricked guards.

The chamber was of stone, huge and bare. Except
for the door through which we had come, there was no
opening. I saw the reason for that—never had Sirk
expected to be attacked from within. There were arrow
slits high up, looking over the moat, and platforms for
archers. At one side were cogs and levers which raised
and lowered the bridge.

All this I took in at one swift glance. I leaped over
to the levers, began to manipulate them. The cogs
revolved.

The bridge was falling !

The Witch-woman ran up to the platform of the
archers; she peered out; set horn to lips ; she sent a
long call through the arrow slit—summoning signal for
Tibur and his host.

The hammering against the door had ceased. The
blows against it were stronger, more regular—timed.
The battering of a ram. The stout wood trembled under
them; the bars groaned, Lur called to me :

"The bridge is down, Dwayanu ! Tibur is rushing
upon it. It grows lighter. Dawn is breaking. They have
brought their horses !"

I cursed.

"Luka, sent him wit not to pound across that bridge
on horse!"

"He is doing it ... he and Rascha and a handful
of others only . . . the rest are dismounting. . . ,

Hai—they are shooting at them from the arrow slits
. . . the javelins rain among them . . . Sirk takes
toll. . . ."

There was a thunderous crash against the door. The
wood split. . . .

A roaring tumult. Shouts and battle cries. Ring of
sword upon sword and the swish of arrows. And over it
all the laughter of Tibur.

No longer was the ram battering at the door.

I threw up the bars, raised axe in readiness, opened
the great gate a finger's breadth and peered out.

The soldiers of Karak were pouring down the ramp
from the bridge-head.

I opened the door wider. The dead of the fortress
lay thick around tower base and bridge-head.

I stepped through the door. The soldiers saw me.

"Dwayanu !" rang their shout.

From the fortress still came the clamour of the great
gong—warning Sirk.

Sirk—no longer sleeping !

CHAPTER XX

"TSANTAWU—FAREWELL !"

THERE was a humming as of a disturbed gigantic
hive beyond Sirk's gap. Trumpet blasts and the
roll of drums. Clang of brazen gongs answering that
lonely one which beat from the secret heart of the raped
fortress. And ever Karak's women-warriors poured
over the bridge until the space behind the fortress filled
with them.

The Smith wheeled his steed—faced me.
"Gods—Tibur ! But that was well done !"
"Never done but for you, Dwayanu! You saw, you
knew—you did. Ours the least part."

Well, that was true. But I was close to liking Tibur
then. Life of my blood! It had been no play to lead
that charge against the bridge end. The Smith was a
soldier! Let him be only half loyal to me—and Khalk'ru
take the Witch-woman!

"Sweep the fortress clean, Anvil-smiter. We want
no arrows at our backs."

"It is being swept, Dwayanu."

By brooms of sword and spear, by javelin and arrow,
the fortress was swept dean.

The clamour of the brazen gong died on a part stroke.

My stallion rested his nose on my shoulder, blew
softly against my ear.

"You did not forget my horse! My hand to you,
Tibur!"

"You lead the charge, Dwayanu !"
I leaped upon the stallion. Battleaxe held high I
wheeled and galloped toward the gap. Like the point of

a spear I sped, Tibur at my left, the Witch-woman at
my right, the nobles behind us, the soldiers sweeping
after us.

We hurled ourselves through the cliffed portal of Sirk.

A living wave lifted itself to throw us back. Hammers
flew, axes hewed, javelins and spears and feathered shafts
sleeted us. My horse tottered and dropped, screaming,
his hinder hocks cut through. I felt a hand upon my
shoulder, dragging me to my feet. The Witch-woman
smiled at me. She sliced with her sword the arm drawing
me down among the dead. With axe and sword we
cleared a ring around us. I threw myself on the back of
a grey from which a noble had fallen, bristling with arrows.

We thrust forward against the living wave. It gave,
curling round us.

On and on ! Cut sword and hew axe ! Cut and slash
and batter through!

The curling wave that tore at us was beaten down.
We were through the gap. Sirk lay before us.

I reined in my horse. Sirk lay before us—but too
invitingly!

The city nestled in a hollow between sheer, unscalable
black walls. The lip of the gap was higher than the roof
of the houses. They began an arrow flight away. It
was a fair city. There was no citadel nor forts ; there
were no temples nor palaces. Only houses of stone, per-
haps a thousand of them, flat roofed, set wide apart,
gardens around them, a wide street straying among them,
tree-bordered. There were many lanes. Beyond the
city fertile field upon field, and flowering orchards.

And no battle ranks arrayed against us. The way
open.

Too open!

I caught the glint of arms on the housetops. There
was the noise of axes above the blaring of trumpets and
the roll of the kettle-drums.

Hail They were barricading the wide street with
their trees, preparing a hundred ambushes for us, expect-
ing us to roll down in force.

Spreading the net in the sight of Dwayanu!

Yet they were good tactics. The best defence. I had
met with it in many a war against the barbarians. It
meant we must fight for every step, with every house a
fort, with arrows searching for us from every window
and roof. They had a leader here in Sirk, to arrange
such reception on such brief notice! I had respect for
that leader, whoever he might be. He had picked the
only possible way to victory—unless those against whom
he fought knew the countermove.

And that, hard earned, I did know.

How long could this leader keep Sirk within its thou-
sand forts ?  There, always, lay the danger in this
defence. The overpowering impulse of a pierced city is
to swarm out upon its invaders as ants and bees do from
their hills and nests. Not often is there a leader strong
enough to hold them back. If each house of Sirk could
remain linked to the other, each ever an active part of
the whole—then Sirk might be unconquerable.  But
how, when they began to be cut off, one by one ? Isolated ?
The leader's will severed ?

Hail Then it is that despair creeps through every
chink! They are drawn out by fury and despair as
though by ropes. They pour out—to kill or to be killed.
The cliff crumbles, stone by stone. The cake is eaten by
the attackers, crumb by crumb.

I divided our soldiers, and sent the first part against
Sirk in small squads, with orders to spread and to take
advantage of all cover. They were to take the outer
fringe of houses, at all costs, shooting their arrows up in
the high curved flight against the defenders while others
hammered their way into those houses. Still others
were to attack farther on. but never getting too far from

their comrades nor from the broad way running through
the city.

I was casting a net over Sirk and did not want its
meshes broken.

By now it was broad daylight.

The soldiers moved forward. I saw the arrows stream
up and down, twisting among each other like serpents.
... I heard the axe-blows on the doors. . . .

By Luka! There floats a banner of Karak from one
of the roofs ! And another.

The hum of Sirk shot higher, became louder, in it a
note of madness. Hai! I knew they could not long
stand this nibbling ! And I knew that sound ! Soon it
would rise to frenzy. Drone from that into despair !

Hai!  Not long now before they came tumbling
out. . . .

Tibur was cursing at my elbow. I looked at Lur, and
she was trembling. The soldiers were murmuring, strain-
ing at the leash, mad to join battle. I looked at their
blue eyes, hard and cold ; their faces beneath the helmet-
caps were not those of women but of young warriors . . .
those who sought in them for woman's mercy would have
rude awakening !

"By Zarda ! But the fight will be done before we can
dip blade !"
I laughed.

"Patience, Tibur! Patience is our strong weapon.
Sirk's strongest—if they but knew it. Let them be first
to lose that weapon."

The turmoil grew louder. At the head of the street
appeared half a hundred of Karak's soldiers, struggling
against more than equal number which steadily, swiftly,
was swelled by others of Sirk pouring from side lanes
and dropping from roofs and windows of the beleaguered
houses.

It was the moment for which I had waited !

I gave the command. I raised the battle-cry. We
drove down upon them. Our skirmishers opened to let
us through, melting into the shouting ranks behind. We
ripped into the defenders of Sirk. Down they went, but
as they fell they fought, and many a saddle of the nobles
was empty, and many were the steeds lost before we
won to the first barricade.

Hai! But how they fought us there from behind the
hastily felled trees—women and men and children hardly
big enough to bend the bow or wield the knife !

Now the soldiers of Karak began to harry them from
the sides; the soldiers of Karak shot into them from
the tops of the houses they had abandoned ; we fought
Sirk as it had planned to fight us. And those who fought
against us soon broke and fled, and we were over the
barricade. Battling, we reached the heart of Sirk, a
great and lovely square in which fountains played and
flowers blossomed. The spray of the fountains was
crimson and there were no flowers when we left that
square.

We paid heavy toll there. Full half of the nobles
were slain. A spear had struck my helmet and well-nigh
dropped me. Bare-headed, blood-flecked I rode, shouting,
sword dripping red. Naral and Dara both bore wounds,
but still guarded my back. The Witch-woman, and the
Smith and his scarred familiar fought on, untouched.

There was a thunder of hoofs. Down upon us swept a
wave of horsemen. We raced toward them. We struck
like two combers. Surged up. Mingled. Flash swords !
Hammers smite ! Axes cleave ! Hai ! But now it was
hand-to-hand in the way I knew best and best loved!

We swirled in a mad whirlpool. I glanced at right and
saw the Witch-woman had been separated from me.
Tibur, too, was gone. Well, they were giving good
account of themselves no doubt—wherever they were.

I swung to right and to left with my sword. In the

front of those who fought us, over the caps of Karak
which had swirled between us, was a dark face ... a
dark face whose black eyes looked steadily into mine—
steadily . . . steadily. At the shoulder of that man
was a slighter figure whose clear, brown eyes stared at
me ... steadily . . . steadily.  In the black eyes
was understanding and sorrow. The brown eyes were
filled with hate.

Black eyes and brown eyes touched something deep
and deep within me. . . . They were rousing that some-
thing . . . calling to it ... something that had
been sleeping.

I heard my own voice shouting command to cease
fighting, and at that shout abruptly all sound of battle
close by was stilled. Sirk and Karak alike stood silent,
amazed, staring at me. I thrust my horse through the
press of bodies, looked deep into the black eyes.

And wondered why I had dropped my sword . . .
why I stood thus . . . and why the sorrow in those
eyes racked my heart. . . .

The dark-faced man spoke—two words——

"Leif! . . . Degataga!"

. . . Degataga ! . . .

That something which had been asleep was wide
awake, rushing up through me . . . rocking my brain
. . . tearing at it ... shaking every nerve. . . .

I heard a cry—the voice of the Witch-woman.

A horse burst through the ring of the soldiers. Upon
it was Rascha, lips drawn back over his teeth, cold eyes
glaring into mine. His arm came up. His dagger gleamed,
and was hidden in the back of the man who had called
me—Degataga !

Had called me——

God—but I knew him I

Tsantawu ! Jim!

The sleeping thing that had awakened was all awake

... it had my brain ... it was myself . . .
Dwayanu forgotten !

I threw my horse forward.

Rascha's arm was up for second stroke—the brown-
eyed rider was swinging at him with sword, and Jim was
falling, settling over his horse's mane.

I caught Rascha's arm before the dagger could descend
again. I caught his arm, bent it back, and heard the
bone snap. He howled—like a wolf.

A hammer hummed by my head, missing it by a hair.
I saw Tibur drawing it back by its thong.

I leaned and lifted Rascha from his saddle.  His
sound arm swept up, hand clutching at my throat. I
caught the wrist and twisted that arm back. I snapped
it as I had the other.

My horse swerved. With one hand at Rascha's throat,
the other arm holding him, I toppled from the saddle
bearing him down with me. I fell upon him. I twisted,
and threw him over the bar of my knee. My hand
slipped from his throat to his chest. My right leg locked
over his.

A swift downward thrust—a sound like the breaking
of a faggot. The Back-breaker would break no more
backs. His own was broken.

I leaped to my feet. Looked up into the face of the
brown-eyed rider. . . .

.... Evalie! . . .

I cried out to her—"Evalie I"

Abruptly, all about me the battle broke out afresh.
Evalie turned to meet the charge. I saw Tibur's great
shoulders rise behind her . . . saw him snatch her
from her horse . . . saw from his left hand a flash of
light. ... It sped toward me. . . .

I was hurled aside.   None too soon—not soon
enough——

Something caught me a glancing blow upon the side

of my head. I went down upon my knees and hands,
blind and dizzy. I heard Tibur laughing; I strove to
conquer blind dizziness and nausea, felt blood streaming
down my face.

And crouching, swaying on knees and hands, heard
the tide of battle sweep around and over and past me.

My head steadied. The blindness was passing. I
was still on my hands and knees. Under me was the
body of a man—a man whose black eyes were fixed on
mine with understanding—with love !

I felt a touch on my shoulder ; with difficulty I looked
up. It was Dara.

"A hair between life and death. Lord. Drink this."

She put a phial to my lips. The bitter, fiery liquid
coursed through me, brought steadiness, brought strength.
I could see there was a ring of soldier-women around me,
guarding me—beyond them a ring of others, on horses.

"Can you hear me, Leif ? . . . I haven't much
time. ..."

I lurched aside and knelt.

"Jim ! Jim ! Oh, God—why did you come here ?
Take this sword and kill me !"

He reached for my hand, held it tight.

"Don't be a damned fool, Leif ! You couldn't help
it ... but you've got to save Evalie !"

"I've got to save you, Tsantawu—get you out of
here——"

"Shut up and listen. I've got mine, Leif, and I know
it. That blade went through the mail right into the
lungs . . . I'm trickling out—inside . . . hell, Leif—
don't take it so hard. ... It might have been in the
war. ... It might have been any time. . . . It's
not your fault. . . ."

A sob shook me, tears mingled with the blood upon
my face.

"But I killed him, Jim—I killed him !"

"I know, Leif . . . a neat job. . . . I saw you . . .
but there's something I've got to tell you . . ." his
voice faltered.

I put the phial to his lips—it brought him back.

"Just now . . . Evalie . . . hates you ! You have
to save her . . . Leif . . . whether she does or not.
Listen. Word came to us from Sirk through the Little
People that you wanted us to meet you there. You were
pretending to be Dwayanu . . . pretending to remem-
ber nothing but Dwayanu ... to allay suspicion and
to gain power. You were going to slip away . . . come
to Sirk, and lead it against Karak. You needed me to
stand beside you . . . needed Evalie to persuade the
pygmies ..."

"I sent you no message, Jim 1" I groaned.

"I know you didn't—now. . . , But we believed
it. ... You saved Sri from the wolves and defied the
Witch-woman——''

"Jim—how long was it after Sri's escape that the
lying message came ?"

"Two days. . . . What does it matter? I'd told
Evalie what was—wrong—with you . . . gone over
your story again and again. She didn't understand . . .
but she took me on faith. . . . Some more of that stuff,
Leif. . . . I'm going. . . ."

Again the fiery draught revived him.

"We reached Sirk . . . two days ago . . . across
the river with Sri and twenty pygmies ... it was
easy . . . too easy . . . not a wolf howled, although
I knew the beasts were watching us ... stalking us
. . . and the others did, too. We waited . . . then
came the attack . . . and then I knew we had been
trapped. . . . How did you get over those geysers . . .
Big Fellow . . . never mind . . . but . . . Evalie
believes you sent the message . . . you . . . black
treachery . . ."

His eyes closed. Cold, cold were his hands.

"Tsantawu—brother—you do not believe ! Tsantawu
—come back . . . speak to me . . ."

His eyes opened, but hardly could I hear him speak——

"You're not Dwayanu—Leif ? Not now—or ever
again ?"

"No, Tsantawu . . . don't leave me !"

"Bend . . . your head . . . closer, Leif . . . keep
fighting . . . save Evalie."

Fainter grew his voice :

"Good-bye . . . Degataga . . . not your fault . . ."

A ghost of the old sardonic smile passed over the
white face.

"You didn't pick your . . . damned . . . ancestors!
. . . Worse luck. . . . We've had . . . hell of good
times . . . together. . . . Save . . . Evalie . . ."

There was a gush of blood from his mouth.

Jim was dead . . . was dead.

Tsantawu—no more I

BOOK OF LEIF

CHAPTER XXI

RETURN TO KARAK

I LEANED over Jim and kissed his forehead. I arose.
I was numb with sorrow. But under that numbness
seethed a tortured rage, a tortured horror. Deadly rage
against the Witch-woman and the Smith—horror of
myself, of what I had been . . . horror of—Dwayanu !

I must find Tibur and the Witch-woman—but first
there was something else to be done. They and Evalie
could wait.

"Dara—have them lift him. Carry him into one of
the houses."

I followed on foot as they bore Jim away. There was
fighting still going on, but far from us. Here were only
the dead. I guessed that Sirk was making its last stand
at the end of the valley.

Dara, Naral and I and half-dozen more passed through
the broken doors of what yesterday had been a pleasant
home. In its centre was a little columned hall. The
other soldiers clustered round the broken doors, guarding
entrance. I ordered chairs and beds and whatever else
would burn brought into the little hall and heaped into
a pyre. Dara said :

"Lord, let me bathe your wound."

I dropped upon a stool, sat thinking while she washed
the gash upon my head with stinging wine. Beyond the
strange numbness, my mind was very clear. I was Leif
Langdon. Dwayanu was no longer master of my mind—
nor ever again would be. Yet he lived. He lived within
as part of—myself. It was as though the shock of recog-
nition of Jim had dissolved Dwayanu within Leif Langdon.

As though two opposing currents had merged into
one ; as though two drops had melted into each other;

as though two antagonistic metals had fused.

Crystal clear was every memory of what I had heard
and seen, said and done and thought from the time I
had been hurled from Nansur Bridge. And crystal clear,
agonizingly clear, was all that had gone before. Dway-
anu was not dead, no ! But part of me, and I was by
far the stronger. I could use him, his strength, his wis-
dom—but he could not use mine. I was in control. I
was the master.

And I thought, sitting there, that if I were to save
Evalie—if I were to do another thing that now I knew
I would do or die in the doing, I must still outwardly be
all Dwayanu. There lay my power. Not easily could
such transmutation as I had undergone be explained to
my soldiers. They believed in me and followed me as
Dwayanu. If Evalie, who had known me as Leif, who
had loved me as Leif, who had listened to Jim, could
not understand—how much less could these ? No, they
must see no change.

I touched my head. The cut was deep and long;

apparently only the toughness of my skull had saved it
from being split.

"Dara—you saw who made this wound ?"

"It was Tibur, Lord."

"He tried to kill me. . . . Why did he not finish ?"

"Never yet has Tibur's left hand failed to deal death.
He thinks it cannot fail. He saw you fall—he thought
you dead."

"And death missed me by a hair's-breadth. And
would not, had not someone hurled me aside. Was that
you, Dara ?"

"It was I, Dwayanu. I saw his hand dip into his
girdle, knew what was coming. I threw myself at your
knees—so he could not see me."

"Why, because you fear Tibur ?"

"No—because I wanted him to believe he did not
miss."

"Why ?"

"So that you would have better chance to kill Tibur,
Lord. Your strength was ebbing with your friend's
life."

I looked sharply at this bold-eyed captain of mine.
How much did she know ? Well, time later to find that
out. I looked at the pyre. It was nearly complete.

"What was it he threw, Dara ?"

She drew from her girdle a curious weapon, one whose
like I had never seen. Its end was top-shaped, pointed
like a dagger and with four razor-edged ribs on its sides.
It had an eight-inch metal haft, round, like the haft of
a diminutive javelin. It weighed about five pounds. It
was of some metal I did not recognize—denser, harder
than the finest of tempered steel. It was, in effect, a
casting knife. But no mail could turn aside that adaman-
tine point when hurled with the strength of one like
the Smith. Dara took it from me, and pulled the short
shaft. Instantly the edged ribs flew open, like flanges.
The end of each was shaped like an inverted barb. A
devilish tool, if I ever saw one. Once embedded, there
was no way to get it out except cutting, and any pull
would release the flanges, hooking them at the same time
into the flesh. I took it back from Dara, and placed
it in my own girdle. If I had had any doubts about what
I was going to do to Tibur—I had none now.

The pyre was finished. I walked over to Jim, and laid
him on it. I kissed him on the eyes, and put a sword in
his dead hand. I stripped the room of its rich tapestries
and draped them over him. I struck flint and set flame
to the pyre. The wood was dry and resinous, and burned
swiftly. I watched the flames creep up and up until
smoke and fire made a canopy over him.

Then dry-eyed, but with death in my heart. I walked
out of that house and among my soldiers.

Sirk had fallen and its sack was on. Smoke was rising
everywhere from the looted homes. A detachment of
soldiers marched by, herding along some two-score
prisoners—women, all of them, and little children ; some
bore the marks of wounds. And then I saw that among
those whom I had taken for children were a handful of
the golden pygmies. At sight of me the soldiers halted,
stood rigid, staring at me unbelievingly.

Suddenly one cried out ... "Dwayanu ! Dwayanu
lives!" . . . They raised their swords in salute, and
from them came a shout . . . "Dwayanu!"

I beckoned their captain.

"Did you think Dwayanu dead then ?"

"So ran the tale among us, Lord."

"And did this tale also tell how I was slain ?"

She hesitated.

"There were some who said it was by the Lord Tibur
... by 'accident . . . that he had made cast at
Sirk's leader who was menacing you . . . and that you
were struck instead . . . and that your body had been
borne away by those of Sirk . . . I do not know. . . ."

"Enough, soldier. Go on to Karak with the captives.
Do not loiter, and do not speak of seeing me. It is a
command. For a while I let the tale stand."

They glanced at each other, oddly, saluted, and went
on. The yellow eyes of the pygmies, filled with a veno-
mous hatred, never left me until they had passed out of
range. I waited, thinking. So that was to be the story !
Hai ! But they had fear at their elbows or they would
not have troubled to spread that tale of accident!
Suddenly I made decision. No use to wander over Sirk
searching for Tibur. Folly to be seen, and have the
counter-tale that Dwayanu lived be borne to the ears of
Tibur and Lur ! They should come to me—unknowing.

There was only one way out of Sirk, and that by the
bridge. It was there I would await them. I turned to
Dara.

"We go to the bridge, but not by this road. We
take the lanes until we reach the cliffs."

They wheeled their horses, and for the first time I
realized that all this little troop of mine were mounted.
And for the first time I realized that all were of my own
guard, and that many of them had been foot-soldiers,
yet these, too, were riding, and that upon a score of
saddles were the colours of nobles who had followed me
and the Witch-woman and Tibur through the gap of Sirk.
It was Naral who, reading my perplexity, spoke, half-
impudently as always :

"These are your most faithful, Dwayanu ! The horses
were idle—or a few we made so. For your better shield
should Tibur—make mistake again."

I said nothing to that until we had gone around the
burning house and were under cover of one of the lanes.
Then I spoke to them:

"Naral—Dara—let us talk apart for a moment."

And when we had drawn a little away from the others,
I said:

"To you two I owe my life—most of all to you, Dara.
All that I can give you is yours for the asking. All I
ask of you is—truth."

"Dwayanu—you shall have it."

"Why did Tibur want to kill me ?"

Naral said, dryly:

"The Smith was not the only one who wanted you
killed, Dwayanu."

I knew that, but I wanted to hear it from them.

"Who else, Naral ?"

"Lur—and most of the nobles."

"But why ? Had I not opened Sirk for them ?"

"You were becoming too strong, Dwayanu. It is not

in Lur or Tibur to take second place—or third . . .
or maybe no place."

"But they had opportunity before——"

"But you had not taken Sirk for them," said Dara.

Naral said, resentfully:

"Dwayanu, you play with us. You know as well as
we—better—what the reason was. You came here with
that friend we have just left on his fire couch. All knew
it. If you were to die—so must he die. He must not
live, perhaps to escape and bring others into this place—
for I know, as some others do, that there is life beyond
here and that Khalk'ru does not reign supreme, as the
nobles tell us. Well—here together are you and this
friend of yours. And not only you two, but also the dark
girl of the Rrrllya, whose death or capture might break
the spirit of the little folk and put them under Karak's
yoke. The three of you—together ! Why, Dwayanu—it
was the one place and the one time to strike ! And Lur
and Tibur did—and killed your friend, and think they
have killed you, and have taken the dark girl."

"And if I kill Tibur, Naral ?"

"Then there will be fighting. And you must guard
yourself well, for the nobles hate you, Dwayanu. They
have been told you are against the old customs—mean
to debase them, and raise the people. Intend even to
end the Sacrifices ..."

She glanced at me, slyly.

"And if that were true ?"

"You have most of the soldiers with you now, Dwayanu.
If it were true you would also have most of the people.
But Tibur has his friends—even among the soldiers.
And Lur is no weakling."

She twitched up her horse's head, viciously.

"Better kill Lur, too, while you're in the mood,
Dwayanu!"

I made no answer to that. We trotted through the

lanes, not speaking again. Everywhere were dead, and
gutted houses. We came out of the city, and rode over
the narrow plain to the gap between the cliffs. There
happened to be none on the open road just then ; so we
entered the gap unnoticed. We passed through it out
into the square behind the fortress. There were soldiers
here, in plenty, and groups of captives. I rode in the
centre of my troop, bent over the neck of my horse.
Dara had roughly bandaged my head. The bandages
and cap-helmet I had picked up hid my yellow hair.
There was much confusion, and I passed through
unnoticed. I rode straight to the door of the tower
behind which we had lurked when Karak stormed the
bridge. I slipped in with my horse, half-closed the door.
My women grouped themselves outside. They were not
likely to be challenged. I settled down to wait for Tibur.

It was hard waiting, that! Jim's face over the camp-
fire. Jim's face grinning at me in the trenches. Jim's
face above mine when I lay on the moss bank of the
threshold of the mirage—Jim's face under mine on the
street of Sirk. . . .

Tsantawu! Aie—Tsantawul And you thought that
only beauty could come from the forest I

Evalie ? I cared nothing for Evalie then, caught in
that limbo which at once was ice and candent core of
rage.

"Save . . . Evalie!" Jim had bade. Well, I would
save Evalie! Beyond that she mattered no more than
did the Witch-woman . . . yes, a little more ... I had
a score to satisfy with the Witch-woman ... I had
none with Evalie. . . .

The face of Jim . . . always the face of Jim . . .
floating before me. . . .

I heard a whisper——

"Dwayanu—Tibur comes !"

"Is Lur with him, Dara ?"

"No—a group of the nobles. He is laughing. He
carries the dark girl on his saddle-bow."

"How far away is he, Dara ?"

"Perhaps a bow-shot. He rides slowly."

"When I ride out, close in behind me. The fight will
be between me and Tibur. I do not think those with
him will dare attack me. If they do . . ."

Naral laughed.

"If they do, we shall be at their throats, Dwayanu.
There are one or two of Tibur's friends I would like to
settle accounts with. We ask you only this : waste
neither words nor time on Tibur. Kill him quickly. For
by the gods, if he kills you, it will be the boiling pot and
the knives of the flayers for all of us he