Polaris and the Goddess Glorian

                         By Charles B. Stilson

            _Copyright 1917 by Popular Publications, Inc._




                             Introduction


In the antarctic wilds far below Ross Sea, Polaris Janess (Polaris--of
the Snows), was born, of a mother he never knew, and grew to manhood's
years knowing one human face only, that of his father. When that father
died, the young man set his face to the north, to find the world of
men, of which his father and his books had told him; and to deliver
to the National Geographic Society in Washington a packet containing
scientific data compiled by his explorer sire.

Journeying through the silent wastes with his dog team, the son of the
snows found Rose Emer, an American heiress, who had strayed from an
exploring party, and who waited death in the icy wilderness.

Hurled southward again in a breakup of the ice floes where they had
camped, Polaris and the girl came upon the kingdom of Sardanes--a
valley girded by volcanic hills which warmed it, and peopled by a lost
fragment, some two thousand strong, of the ancient Greeks.

The adventures of the man of the snows and the American maid in
Sardanes; how they escaped thence; how their love bloomed amid
the eternal snows; and how they won at last to America, where the
Geographic Society hailed the dead Stephen Janess as the first man to
set foot on the Southern Pole--all these things have been related.

Zenas Wright, friend of Polaris's father, and a celebrated student
of volcanic phenomena, told Polaris that the fires which had warmed
Sardanes for centuries were passing away from the valley, and that all
life in the ancient kingdom must perish.

Chartering the United States second-class cruiser _Minnetonka_,
Polaris, Wright, and Captain James Scoland set sail to rescue the
Sardanians. Scoland, who loved Rose Emer, deserted Janess and Wright in
the wilderness and went back to America to woo the Rose-maid. But Rose
Emer refused him, and gray Marcus, Polaris's dog, protected her from
Scoland's profaning lips and tore the recreant captain so horribly that
the man went mad, and in his madness revealed his inhuman treachery.

Again the _Minnetonka_ turned her nose to the mysterious South, and
Rose Emer went down the bitter seas to find her sweetheart.

Meanwhile Polaris and old Zenas Wright found Sardanes a waste of snows,
its volcanic girdle cold and dead, its people, led by the mad priest
of Analos, gone to their doom through the fiery "Gateway" of their
god Hephaistos. Only Minos, the kind, and his bride, the Lady Memene,
remained alive, hidden in a cave in the hills. Those four, Polaris,
Wright, and the two Sardanians, were picked up by the _Minnetonka_ near
the Antarctic Circle as they were making their perilous way northward
in a small launch which they had found in the wreck of Captain
Scoland's supply ship.

In the story which follows will be related the tale which was brought
back to America by old Zenas Wright--what befell Polaris and his
companions after the _Minnetonka_ turned northward--homeward.




                               CHAPTER I

                          THE GOLDEN STRANGER


On the bridge of the cruiser _Minnetonka_ stood Minos, the Sardanian
king, staring southward in the wake of the ship, southward where his
lost, dead kingdom lay buried under the soft, cruel snows beyond the
unchartered antarctic seas. Ahead of the ship, full of promise, full
of hope, was America. For the _Minnetonka_ had rounded the Horn that
morning and was on her long straight course for the port of home.

Below him, in her cabin, was the girl bride of Minos, the Lady Memene,
so strangely won and saved from the crowning horror of his kingdom's
fall. It was mid-forenoon of a cloudless day. Gay voices echoed along
the decks of the cruiser. Gladness was in the very air the voyagers
breathed--the gladness of the homeward-bound.

But the mien of the king was somber. There was a shadow on his brow
and deeper shadows in his dark eyes gazing so steadily into the south.
Bright as were his prospects, memory still whispered sadly to him of
the only spot on earth which had been home to him. He could not forget.

Far away on the dancing, sparkling waters something caught the eye of
the king, a something which flashed and disappeared and flashed again,
as the wave on which it rode dipped and arose among its fellows. Minos
watched it curiously.

Leaning against the rail beside the king, so close that their elbows
almost touched, was Lieutenant Irwin Everson, commander of the
_Minnetonka_, trim in his naval blue. Minos touched his shoulder and
said:

"Yonder--something shines on the water."

Everson followed with his eyes the course indicated by the pointing
finger of the king. Again the distant object flashed in the sunlight,
far away on the starboard quarter. "Might be ice; but I've seen enough
of that lately to know that it isn't," muttered Everson as he, too,
caught the flash, "and no wave ever shone like that."

Stepping into the pilothouse, the lieutenant returned with his glasses.
Their lenses revealed to his eyes a glittering patch from which the
rays of the sun were reflected as it rose and fell with the waves. But
even the powerful binoculars were inadequate to distinguish the form
and substance of the thing.

"I can't make it out," Everson said as he lowered the glasses. "But
here comes the keenest pair of eyes on the ship." He leaned from the
bridge and called down to a tall man who was crossing the deck below.

"Oh, Mr. Janess! Can you spare us a moment? We need your eyesight."

Polaris turned a smiling face in response to the call. He, too, was
glad of the home-going; no man on the ship more so. In a moment he
joined the king and the lieutenant on the bridge.

Though he was not so tall by the breadth of a hand as the Sardanian,
who was indeed a giant, the tawny head of the son of the snows was
inches above that of the young naval man. As they stood one on either
side of him, Everson involuntarily stepped back a pace. He felt puny
and absurd, and he was by no means a small man.

For the half of a minute, Janess gazed through the glasses, altering
their focus slightly. He lowered them suddenly and swung on his heel to
face Everson.

"Put the ship--" He stopped and his face flushed. "I beg pardon," he
continued. "It is not mine to give orders, but yonder a man floats. He
lies face downward across a piece of wreckage."

Lieutenant Everson hurried into the pilot house, and down to old
MacKechnie among his boilers was flashed the signal which swung the
gray cruiser off her course in a long arc to the southward.

"A man, you say?" the commander queried as he rejoined Polaris and the
king. "But what is it that glitters so?"

Polaris, with the glasses at his eyes again, did not at once reply.
When he did, the answer was surprising.

"It is the man that glitters. If he be not of metal himself, then is he
clothed in it from head to toe, and it glimmers--" He turned to Minos
and lapsed into the Greek of Sardanes. "It glimmers, Minos, as did that
suit of armor which thou didst leave behind thee in the cave on the
Mount of Latmos," he said.

The king stirred to quick interest. The eyes of the naval lieutenant
widened with amazement as Polaris repeated his remark in English.

"A man clothed in metal! In armor!" he exclaimed. "And floating here
in the South Atlantic! What can that mean? Poor chap; whoever he is,
he will never tell us. He must have been dead for days. But it's well
worth the investigation."

Impatiently the three men stood at the rail of the bridge as the ship
swung on.

       *       *       *       *       *

At an eighteen-knot clip, the _Minnetonka_ cut swiftly through the
waves, nearer and nearer to the flashing burden of the waves. Soon
other eyes not so keen as those of Polaris could descry the strange
objective of the ship. Forward along the rail, sailors clustered,
shouting their surprise, and staring at the unusual spectacle of the
glittering man afloat.

Presently, with a deep thrumming of her valves, the _Minnetonka_ slowed
down. With a word to Everson, Polaris left the bridge and hastened
across the deck. As a boat was swung over the side in the davits, he
sprang into it with the sailors. Less than two-score strokes of the
oars took the boat alongside the floating mystery.

Then, indeed, had the sailors cause to stare with open mouths.

On a crisscross tangle of slender beams, oddly twisted and broken, lay
the body of a man. So small was the raft of wreckage which supported
him that his head and feet projected at each side, and as the waves
tossed his unstable craft, first his face and then his heels were
dipped beneath the water. Very wide of shoulder was the stranger and
powerfully framed, if the outlines of the garb he wore did not belie
him.

From crown to sole he was dressed in jointed armor, cunningly fashioned
and decorated, and the whole of which gleamed in the sunlight as only
burnished copper or red gold can gleam. His hands only were bare;
smooth, strong hands, clenched fast about two of the broken beams
beneath him.

But it was none of those things, and they were strange enough, that
caused the coxswain to cry out hoarsely as the boat wore alongside, or
that caused Polaris Janess, bent over with outstretched hands, to draw
them back from the floating stranger, while his lips parted and his
breath came hard.

"He's alive! By the grace of God, he's alive!" cried the coxswain.

Face downward the stranger lay, as Polaris had said, loose-flung and
inert, and sprawled as though some force had pitched him there. But
though his head was more often under the water than above it, his broad
shoulders heaved and fell regularly. He was alive.

The supreme wonder of it, and that which awed Polaris and the sailors,
was that _the man breathed when his head was under water_!

When a wave tilted the raft so that his face was raised, his breath was
expelled with a wheezing, whistling sound. When he was submerged, a
stream of small bubbles arose about his neck and clung to the surface
of his metal helmet.

For a long moment Polaris stood and looked down at this amazing thing.
Then he reached out and very gently took the stranger by the shoulders
to turn his face to the sky. So tight was the clutch of those strong
bare hands about the two beams of the raft which they held that the
entire structure tipped when the son of the snows laid hold. In vain he
tried to loosen that grasp. It was not to be done without breaking the
man's fingers. To make an end of it, Janess took an axe from the hands
of the coxswain and cut through the beams.

Still gripping the wooden fragments, the man turned over on his back.

Then the mystery of the stranger's breathing was partially made clear.
Under the flare of the helmet he wore his brow was hidden. His eyes
were fast closed. Fitting tightly over the bridge of his nose and
extending down so that it covered his mouth and part of his chin, was
a projecting masklike contrivance of metal and leather. Its straps
covered the man's ears and were made fast somewhere at the back of his
head under the helmet. So tightly was the mask affixed that its straps
cut into the flesh of the man's cheeks. It much resembled the masks
worn by the soldiers in modern warfare to protect themselves from the
gas attacks of their enemy.

Through its mechanism the breath of its wearer hissed and whistled like
escaping steam.

Alive though the man was, and under circumstances which made his
discoverers marvel, he was near death. Above and below the confines of
the mask he wore, the bones of his face seemed almost thrusting through
the flesh. The flesh itself was wasted and puckered by the action of
the sea water, and the skin was cracked and raw. His hands, which clung
so tenaciously to the bits of broken wood, were bleeding about the
nails, and his wrists were gashed and water-eaten.

"Now, here is work for Dr. Marsey," Polaris said. He gathered the limp
form of the stranger into his arms and lifted him into the boat.

At the rail of the _Minnetonka_ as the boat was shipped, a curious
crowd met the advent of the man from the sea. Carrying him as lightly
as though he had been a child, Polaris laid the man on the deck. The
ship's doctor pushed through the wondering sailors and bent over him.

"Not dead?" he exclaimed when he saw the stranger's face. "A most
amazing thing!"

"What resurrection from antiquity have we here?" said old Zenas Wright,
falling on his knees beside Polaris, who was supporting the man's
head. "No museum I ever saw boasted a suit of armor like this one."
The scientist ran a finger over the delicate tracery on the glittering
corselet of the stranger.

Polaris sought and found the catch which released the chin strap and
laid the open helmet on the deck. Another chorus of exclamations
greeted the appearance of the stranger's head. It was covered with a
mass of wavy red hair, so red that it shone like flames in the sunlight.

Rumors of the wonder on deck had drawn the grizzled MacKechnie up from
his beloved engines.

"Mark me, yon laddie's a Scot--if he isna' of the wild Irish," was his
dry comment when he saw the fiery head on the deck.

Undoing its buckle, Janess next laid aside the odd mask from the face
of the stranger. Except that he had a high, bold nose and a mouth that
closed in a thin, firm line, little could be made of the features of
the man, they were so damaged by his long immersion in the sea and
impressed by the tightly drawn trappings of the mask. But he apparently
was a young man, of not more than thirty years.

In vain Dr. Marsey endeavored to force the man's clenched teeth apart
so that he might apply the neck of the brandy flask which a steward had
fetched. The jaw of the stranger was set like a rock and resisted all
effort, and the doctor was compelled to pour the liquor between the
locked teeth.

"If that doesna' fetch him, nothing whatever will," said MacKechnie,
the nostrils of his ruddy old nose twitching.

"Ah, he's getting it!" said Zenas Wright. With the first trickle of
the brandy down his throat, the unconscious man stirred faintly. His
mouth opened and closed again with a snap, and his hands unclenched and
let fall the bits of beams they had held so long. He coughed weakly. A
faint tinge of color flowed into his face. His eyelids twitched, but
did not open.

Dr. Marsey touched the man's temples and then his wrists with practised
fingers.

"I think that we shall hear his story yet," he said. "What he needs
now is a bed and nourishment. Bring him below."

Polaris looked into the battered face and was strangely stirred. The
grim plight of the man he had rescued, the mystery of him, the strength
of the spirit that seemed to dominate even that unconscious body; all
struck an answering chord in the nature of the son of the snows. For
he, too, had suffered and endured, almost to the gates of death, and
had remained steadfast. Was it a premonition that made him feel so
strongly that this man, should he live, would be his friend above many?

When the sailors would have taken up the stranger, Polaris waved them
aside, and himself carried the inert body below, the blazing head
resting on his shoulder.

MacKechnie gazed after him thoughtfully as he strode across the deck.

"Beware, laddie lad, beware!" the Scotchman muttered softly. "'Tis only
ill luck he'll be bringin' to ye, yon gowden mon. For ye hae saved him
from the sea."

       *       *       *       *       *

Shivering throughout the length of her steel hull, the _Minnetonka_
drove southward. A shrieking wilderness of wind and wave surrounded the
ship. Reft from all guidance, she sheared through the furious waters
with no more of volition than some monster projectile launched by the
battling elements. Twice had the stout cruiser come free of scathe from
the white portals of the Antarctic. Now she seemed winged by death to
enter them once more and forever. In the grip of the tempest the ship
was no more than a toy--a helpless, beaten thing.

Calamity, like a black dog, had crept hard upon the heels of the
bizarre stranger. He had not been on the cruiser for six hours when a
storm burst, the like of which for violence no man on board the ship
ever had seen.

In an attempt to breast the gale and make for some port of safety,
one of the propeller shafts--weakened perhaps by the pounding of the
ice-drift months before--had snapped short off. Unequal to the double
task, its twin had sprung beyond all use. Thereafter the scant mercy of
chance ruled the destinies of the ship and of all she bore.

Nor was the damage to the shafting all that disaster had wrought. In
her great peril the ship was stricken dumb and could not summon aid.
Her wireless was out of commission. She could send no call across the
face of the waters to sister ships, bidding them to hasten to her
succor.

MacKechnie's dismal prophecy was likely to be visited, not on Polaris
Janess alone, but upon the entire ship's company.

In the pilothouse, with the gale screeching outside his windows,
Lieutenant Everson bent above his charts; but he was helpless and
well-nigh hopeless. Down in the engine room, its busy clamor stilled,
MacKechnie sat and stared bitterly at the mechanism which he so loved.
It was useless now, its splendid powers crippled, its fires dying away
to embers. If the inward prayers of the engineer were fervent, the
flow of Scotch profanity which passed his lips at whiles was far more
eloquent. He, too, was helpless. He cursed the day when he had decided
with Everson to round the Horn and take the eastern route. They had
learned at Dunedin, in New Zealand, that the Panama Canal was closed by
another Culebra slide, and they had thought that this was the quicker
way to the port of home.

Better the delay than this!

On all the ship two hearts only were unshaken by the catastrophe. One
was that of the stranger.

Freed of his armor, his body cleared and his scarred face and arms in
bandages, he lay tossing in a bunk in one of the cabins. Dr. Marsey was
unremitting in his care of the patient whom the sea had given him. Hot
gruel and small doses of brandy, administered alternately, had turned
the ebbing tide of the man's vitality. He was gathering strength. But
his consciousness still strayed beyond the powers of any tempest to
disturb it.

Another who thought nothing of the gale and its accompanying terrors
was Zenas Wright.

Coupled with his keen and scientific mind, there was in the old
geologist the enthusiasm of a boy, and an overmastering curiosity to
learn new things. Many and wild had been the guesses which had followed
the finding of the red-haired stranger. That he had been shipwrecked
was plain enough to all. But who and what was he?

Some star out of _opéra-bouffe_, said one, out of a job and reduced to
the necessity of wearing one of his own costumes. A lunatic, another
said, and found more to agree with him. But whence the armor and the
mask?

Let guessers guess and tempests roar, said Zenas Wright to himself. He
was on the trail of knowledge. So he slipped into the cabin where the
stranger lay. He stood at the head of the bunk and looked down where
the red hair of the derelict flared on the pillow. The impressions left
by the straps of his mask had filled out, and the lineaments of the man
were more distinguishable than they had been. It was an agreeable face,
thought Zenas Wright; all of it that the bandages did not hide. There
were distinct lines of humor at the corners of the straight mouth and
tiny wrinkles at the base of the craggy nose--lines which said that the
wearer of them was a hearty fellow, who ofttimes had laughed long and
merrily at jokes, whether of his own or another's making.

"But," thought Zenas to himself, "Marsey's been giving the fellow
altogether too much brandy, or else he is in a rare fever." The
geologist laid the back of his hand to the man's cheek. He found
it cool. But it was ruddy to the ears, with the ruddiness that is
associated with an intimate camaraderie with the wine cups.

At the touch of the old man's fingers, the stranger ceased his tossing.
His eyes opened. One flash from them Zenas Wright caught, and he saw
that they were sea-blue, bright and leaping eyes. Then their lids
closed. The man shook his head wearily, and from his lips trembled what
might have been a moan or a muttered word. The scientist bent hastily
to listen, but the man made no further sound. As the old man watched
him, his form relaxed and he lay apparently in a dreamless, voiceless
slumber.

       *       *       *       *       *

From the floor, Wright took up the shining helmet, and from a stand
the queerly fashioned mask. He was about to leave the cabin when
his attention was arrested by the garb which the stranger had worn
underneath his armor and which was flung across the back of a chair.
One garment it was, even to the feet of it, like the sleeping suit of a
child. It was of a soft, fine fabric, almost of the thinness of gauze,
yet firmly and closely woven and warm to the feel. But it was neither
of cotton nor of wool, nor yet of silk, or any other material with
which the scientist was familiar.

He shook his head over it; and then, with the mask and helmet, he left
the cabin.

Straight to the deserted ship's laboratory the geologist went, and shut
himself in. And there, some time afterward, Polaris, threading his way
through the swaying corridors with Rose Emer clinging to his arm, found
him.

So busy with his work was old Zenas that he did not see or hear the
entrance of Janess and the girl. For a time they stood in silence and
watched him. They saw him spill drops from a vial on the surface of
the helmet. Then he went at it with a small drill which he had fetched
from the machine shop. That was a bit of hard work, for he puffed and
mopped his brow. He collected with care the particles which fell under
the bite of the drill. Those he tested with drops from another bottle,
and then again, opening and discarding a number of chemicals. At length
he got a reaction which appeared to satisfy him, for he chirruped
gleefully and nodded his white old head.

Next Wright donned the mask and fastened its straps. Polaris and Rose
heard the whistling of his breath through it. He then drew a bucket of
water from a tap, set it on one of the laboratory stands, ascended a
stool, and suddenly plunged his head into the pail.

Zenas had not stopped to figure out the displacement of the container
of a well-developed scientific brain. It was considerable. Much of
the water splashed out on the floor, and not a little of it went down
inside the scientist's collar. Nothing daunted by the cold trickle of
the inundation, he bravely kept his head in the bucket, from which
arose at once a prodigious gurgling and bubbling.

The old man's shoulders shook as though a fit of coughing had seized
him. One minute, two, three, passed. Zenas stood so still that Polaris
became alarmed. He stepped to the geologist's side and shook him by the
arm. The only response he got was an impatient gesture of a hand, which
seemed to say, "Go away and don't bother me."

Presently Wright raised his head from the depths of the bucket, and
ludicrous enough he looked, with the odd snout of the mask projecting
from his face, his white thatch of hair all plastered flat and the
water running from his beard and making a mess of his cravat and shirt
front. But above the mask his little dark eyes were triumphant. When he
saw Polaris at his side, he could scarcely wait to unfasten the mask.

"There," he shouted, and he shook the thing above his head, "there is
one of the greatest inventions of modern times. I don't know what is in
the inside of it, or just what it does, but I'll find out. If that chap
yonder is the inventor of it, he can take it to the United States, take
out a patent on it and make a scandalous amount of dollars, and we can
all become human submarines. How long was I down?"

"About five minutes, Daddy Wright," said the girl, who had taken a
strong liking to the plucky old geologist and his bluff ways.

"Five minutes!" Wright's tones were awestruck. "And I took every breath
regularly and naturally, except when I had to sneeze! And it was real
oxygen I got, too. Not a drop of water came through this thing, and it
was very good breathing. Well, I've made two discoveries."

"And those are?" Polaris questioned.

"That our friend yonder with the red topknot can live under the water
like a fish, _and that he wears armor of gold which makes a light in
the dark_. Look here."

Wright took up the open helmet. Stepping to the switch, he shut off the
lights in the laboratory.

Faintly at first, and then strongly and more strongly, the helmet
glowed in the darkness. The light grew, until the two men and the girl,
standing close together, could dimly see each other's faces.

It was uncanny, this strange metal headpiece with its fan-shaped crest,
all luminous with a flickering and phosphorescent radiance.

"What does it?" Rose Emer whispered, the tempest for the time forgotten.

Zenas Wright turned on the lights.

"I cannot tell," he replied. "But if it's not radium, it is something
that is closely akin to radium. The outer surface of the helmet is of
gold. I've tested it with acids. The gold is laid--not plated, but laid
on thickly--over an inner shell of steel. And finely tempered steel it
is, too, as my drill will bear me witness. But the light comes from
still another metal, which is inlaid upon the tracery in the gold here."

He turned the helmet in his hands. Over all of its surfaces were the
fine lines of a design of twining vinery, with here and there small,
conventionally shaped flowers. In the lines of the chasing was inlaid,
as Wright had said, another metal. It seemed to be a reddish and rusty
dust, which clung in the surface of the gold along all of the lines of
the graven design. It was that which made the light.

"That chap over there is no actor, and he's not a crazy man," said the
geologist earnestly; "but an enigma that I'm going to solve, if the
good Lord will give me the time. We had on this ship before he came two
survivors of a history to make an archeologist weep tears of joy. Now
we have a third, and, to my mind, more wonderful even than are they!

"Boy--" He turned and clapped Polaris on the shoulder. "I only hope
that I shall live long enough to pen the 'finis' to the book that I'm
going to write some day!"

       *       *       *       *       *

For seven days, fraught with perils through every passing hour, the
hurricane belabored the staggering ship. South by southeast, the storm
drove her on. The whip of the gale and the shock of the mighty waves
which arose to meet its lash were incessant.

Past the Falklands, their rocky headlands dimly seen through the flying
scud; past the Aurora Island group, and on past lonely Georgia, the
hard-pressed _Minnetonka_ fled down the raging sea path under the goads
of the storm demons. Nowhere might she tarry. Candlemas Island and
Saunders and Montague in turn were left behind, and then Thule, last
link between the South Atlantic and the frigid wastes of the Antarctic
Sea.

Off the adamant cliffs of far Thule the cruiser nearly left her bones.
She struck a hidden rock, struck so fiercely that the massive steel ram
was torn from her prow, and with it the triple rails, with which she
had been equipped to withstand the ice-shocks, in her antarctic voyage,
were stripped from her entire starboard side.

When Thule had disappeared in the murk, the swing of the tempest
turned, and the cruiser was forced eastward in a whirling race of
current and gale. Like a smitten thing that seeks a lonesome spot in
which to die, the ship passed on into the mysteries of the uncharted,
treacherous seas which lie east by south from Thule.

Helpless still the cruiser rode. Unable to make repairs to her
shafting, Lieutenant Everson did the only thing that he could do; he
kept her head-on with the seas and let her run before the tempest.

Through all those days and nights of peril the stranger lay in his
cabin. His consciousness had returned, and at times he sat up and gazed
curiously at those who visited him; but he seemed to be in a mental
haze. He ate heartily of what was given to him, and his strength grew.
He spoke to no one.

Among the men on the _Minnetonka_ were those who, one or another, were
conversant in nearly all of the languages of the civilized world. One
by one they were called in by Zenas Wright to try their tongues on the
stranger. He met them all with blank looks, sometimes with smiles; but
he answered none. He seemed to comprehend none.

Polaris visited the cabin often. His liking for the man grew. He
imagined that the stranger was more cordial to him than to any of
those who attended him. Once or twice the son of the snows surprised a
wistful regard in the bright blue eyes of the man, an expression that
was lost almost as soon as perceived. And once the stranger reached
Janess's hand and held it with his own for a moment, turning it and
feeling of its wonderful thews with his fingers. It was then that he
seemed the nearest to speech. Presently he let the hand fall with a
smile and a flash of white teeth.

It was after that last disaster, off the hard coasts of Thule, that
Engineer Ian MacKechnie went quite daft.

What had come upon the ship had seemed to numb the Scotchman. By day
and by night he sat in his silent engine room beside the lifeless
boilers, his cold pipe clenched between his set teeth, his lips
working. Occasionally he stumped heavily up the steel stairways to the
decks. His stays above were brief always, and always he returned to the
engine room. When he slept at all, it was only to nod in his chair.
Before his bloodshot eyes strange fantasies played themselves through,
and were sequeled in his fitful dreams. Always, they had the same
grisly climax.

In one of the night watches the old man appeared on the cruiser's
bridge. Everson, almost as sleepless as the engineer, was in the
pilothouse. The fury of the gale had subsided somewhat; but it still
roared on with a vigor that chilled the strong heart of the commander.
He saw the engineer as he came onto the bridge, and went out to speak
to him.

"Meester Everson," MacKechnie said, raising his voice to a shout to
cope with the shrieking clamor of the storm, "Meester Everson, wull ye
do a strange act and save the bonnie ship and a'?"

"Why, what is it, Mac? What do you advise now?" the lieutenant asked.

"'Tis you mon that the laddie plucked from the sea," replied
MacKechnie. "Wull ye no gi' orders to cast him o'er the side again, and
save the ship?"

Everson answered with a short laugh. "This is a poor time for joking,
Mac," he said.

"'Tisna' jokin' wi' me, Meester Everson," MacKechnie said. His tones
were deadly earnest. "Yon's no' a proper mon, whatever. He's one that
has sorely angered the big sea, and the deep rages mightily for him. If
ye dinna gi' him up, we'll all be ganging our way wi' him, down to auld
Davy Jones." His voice rose shrilly. "I'm fey," he cried. "I'm fey, and
I hae the secon' seeght! Heed me, mon!"

Everson shifted his position so that he got the light from the
pilothouse full on MacKechnie's face. It was drawn and wild-eyed.

"You're a superstitious fool, Mac," the lieutenant said. "You had
better go below and turn in. You look as though you had not had a wink
in a week."

"Supersteetious! Aye, mon, maybe, and a fu' to bootie," rejoined the
Scot. "And I've been havin' no sleep, I grant ye. Ma certes, how can a
mon sleep wi' _him_ glarin' and glommerin' yonder i' the engine room?
Heave him o'er the side, I'm tullin' ye, Meester Everson, as was done
wi' the prophet Jonah. 'Tis the only way whatever to save the ship.

"Supersteetious! An' are ye no supersteetious yer ain sel', Meester
Everson? Haven't I seen that ye always throw the deuces fra' yer hand
when ye play for siller at poker? I tull ye, yon's a deuce-mon. He
mustna' remain. Think it o'er, laddie; think it o'er. When ye hae seen
what I hae seen--"

He turned away, and the rest of his words were lost in the skirl of the
wind. Suddenly he backed up, clutching at the bridge rail and colliding
violently with Everson.

"See! See!" he screamed. "He's comin' for me the noo! I lockit him fast
i' the great kist i' the boiler room; but such as him are na' held by
bolts or bars. He's comin' for me!"

Moaning in abject terror, MacKechnie went down on his knees. He pointed
at the decks below with a trembling arm.

Everson looked in the direction indicated by the shaking finger of the
Scot.

       *       *       *       *       *

A light hung at the foot of the bridge ladder. In the patch of radiance
it made, stood the stranger. He was dressed from head to foot in his
golden armor. His helm was on his head, and the whole flashed and
shimmered in the rays from the lamp.

As Everson stared at him, the man turned away from the foot of the
ladder and walked to the rail of the ship. There he stood gazing out
into the darkness and the storm.

Unnerved by the sudden appearance of the object of their discussion,
Everson hesitated for a moment. Then he started for the ladder to
descend to the deck. MacKechnie, his teeth chattering with fright, laid
hold of the lieutenant by the leg, but Everson shook off his grasp and
went on. As the commander set foot on the ladder, the stranger quit the
rail and came back toward the bridge.

Everson, half-way down the ladder, called sharply as the man came
opposite him. But the stranger did not pause or look up. He passed
the bridge with steady steps and crossed the deck toward the main
companionway. The lieutenant was about to proceed to the deck and
follow, when a wild and wailing cry behind him, piercing above the
booming of the seas, halted his step. He turned.

It was MacKechnie who had screamed. He was on his feet and coming along
the bridge. In the set face of the Scot was a look of such frozen
horror that it shook the lieutenant. With eyes glaring straight ahead,
the engineer passed Everson by as though he did not see him, descended
the ladder to the deck, and walked to the rail. He paused where the
stranger had stood only a moment before. He raised his hand as if to
strike at some shape visible to him alone. Again he cried out wildly.

Before Everson could move to stay him, the Scot climbed the rail and
threw himself into the sea.

Shouting to the men of the watch to fetch lanterns, Everson ran aft
along the side. It was useless. The crazed MacKechnie, whirled away in
a raging swirl of waters in which no man could live, was gone beyond
their ken. No cry came back to his fellows from the blackness. Only the
wind roared and the tortured waters thundered. In the plight of the
ship it was impossible even to attempt to pick up the lost man.

Far aft Everson clung to the rail, dazed, stunned at the suddenness of
his old comrade's taking off. Knowing that he could do nothing to save
the mad Scotchman, the lieutenant at length turned back and went below,
to the cabin of the stranger. He threw open the door. The cabin was
dark, except where the curious armor shed its glow along the floor. For
that phenomenon Everson was prepared. Zenas Wright had told him of the
luminous metal. What did surprise the lieutenant was that the armor lay
on the floor. And so recently he had seen it on the cruiser's deck, and
its owner inside of it. To that he could swear. He turned on a light.

The stranger lay quietly in his bunk, apparently in slumber, his broad
chest rising and falling regularly. Not the flicker of an eyelid
betrayed that he was conscious of the keen scrutiny which the commander
bent upon him. Almost then did Everson give way to the superstitious
imaginings of MacKechnie. Then his searching eyes saw the gleam of
drops of sea water which beaded the golden corselet and helm. He drew
a long breath of relief; for he knew that he had not dreamed. Pursuing
his investigations no further, the lieutenant returned to his vigil on
the bridge.

Next day, to the gratification of Dr. Marsey and to the general
surprise of the others on the ship, the stranger left his cabin.
Clothing had been provided for him, but he would have none of it and
appeared on the deck clad in his armor. He proved to be an exceedingly
curious man, the stranger. He went everywhere about the ship,
apparently in fear of nothing, although the gale still ran high. He
watched all of the operations of seamanship with the closest interest,
but was careful to get in the way of no one.

His ruddy face and flaming hair, with the outer trappings which he
wore, made the man the object of much comment on the part of the
sailors of the _Minnetonka_; comment which was not untinged with
awe. All of that he heeded not at all. In the full possession of his
faculties, he still was speechless. What communication anyone on the
ship had with him was by means of signs, and that necessarily was
limited. He took his meals with those who shared the officers' mess.
Although it evidently was unfamiliar to him, he was quick to observe
and to imitate the table etiquette of his companions.

Only Everson was not surprised at his appearance. The lieutenant kept
his counsel and waited.

Word of the mad act of MacKechnie went abroad through the ship, spread
by the men of the watch. Among the sailors, superstitious after the
manner of their kind, grew a hostility to the strange man, an enmity
that became more and more pronounced as the hours brought to the
cruiser no relief from the battering of the elements. So strong did the
feeling grow that Lieutenant Everson feared for the safety of the man,
and told Polaris of it. Thereafter the son of the snows constituted
himself a bodyguard for the stranger in his wanderings about the ship,
and remained with him as much as possible. Zenas Wright, too, watched
over his prize with the jealous zeal of a proper scientist.

Not for worlds would the explorer allow this living conundrum to come
to harm until he had solved him. The old man continually plied the
stranger with English words, pointing out to him their equivalents and
seeking to encourage speech. For, unless the man might be taught to
talk, Zenas felt that his chances of learning more of him were slim
indeed.

To all of those advances the man answered with smiles only. He was very
courteous, extremely good-natured, but beyond the ring of silence which
he had drawn about himself, he would not or could not go.

Everson was little surprised, although he was mightily angered, when,
on the third day following the death of MacKechnie, he was waited upon
by a delegation of his sailors with a demand that the stranger be sent
from the ship. They did not ask his death--merely that he be set adrift
in one of the cruiser's small boats. A sea was running in which such a
craft could not survive for two minutes.

Shamefacedly, but sullenly, the men listened to the stern rebuke of
their commander. When they had left him reluctantly--and their ears
must have tingled to his opinions of their superstitions--Everson
redoubled his precautions for the safety of the stranger. The
lieutenant was morally certain that at the first opportunity that
should offer, an "accident" would befall the man from the sea.

Abruptly as it had struck, the storm of wind subsided. It was succeeded
by a torrential downpour of rain. The cruiser was left tossing on a
choppy sea. Dead ahead to the south was land--what land, no one on
the ship could say. A scant five miles away it loomed up before them
through the mists and the driving rain, a long and towering coastline,
the peaks of its frowning cliffs almost touching the low-rolling clouds.

In this, the first respite from many hours of perils, Lieutenant
Everson at once set about the task of repairing his crippled ship.

Then the crown was placed upon the work of calamity.

       *       *       *       *       *

Lashed no longer by the flail of the tempest, the _Minnetonka_ was laid
to. Hope returned to those who rode upon her. Those who gathered on her
decks were almost gay again.

For the first time in many days the two Sardanians came up from their
cabin. The Lady Memene had proved a poor sailor, and in her deathly
illness that came of the buffeting of the ship, Minos never had left
her side, but had nursed her with all the tenderness of a woman. The
king remembered well a time, not long before, when he had lain near
death, and her soft hands had soothed him, and her care had kept the
spark of life within him.

It was nearly noon. Chatting of their experiences in the storm, and
laughing at their appearance in the oilskins which they wore against
the rain, a little group gathered on the forward deck of the cruiser.
Almost it seemed that the hand of fate collected and placed them there.
Polaris Janess and Rose Emer, the Sardanians, old Zenas Wright, and
Ensign Willis Brooks, a happy-go-lucky youth of large dimensions and an
inexhaustible supply of good spirits, who was the second in command on
the _Minnetonka_, made up the party.

Presently Lieutenant Everson, his repair work well under way, came
up from below and joined the others. Dr. Marsey might have been with
them also, but the kindly physician delayed below to attend one of
the engineers who lay ill of a fever. Before he had finished his
ministrations, the stroke fell which was so strangely to alter the life
course of every one of that party, and the good doctor was too late to
be numbered among them.

Almost on the heels of Everson the red-haired stranger ascended the
companionway. With his armor on as usual, but dangling his helmet and
his mask from his hand, he clanked across the deck, all unheedful of
the anathemas that the sailors mouthed as he stalked past them.

From the port in his cabin he, too, had seen the new land that lay
ahead. He strode by the group on the forward deck, but his eyes were
not for them. Ever watchful, Zenas Wright noted that the mien of the
stranger was curiously excited. His blue eyes gleamed. His lips were
parted. Something seemed deeply to concern him. He stood at the rail
and studied the looming coastline long and searchingly. In his face was
the rapt expression of the man who greets again a well-loved friend
after an absence of many days. From the shore he turned his eyes to the
sea and scrutinized it keenly.

Zenas Wright, watching, started. What was the man about? Was he
signaling? And whom? The explorer took a hasty step toward the rail to
investigate.

Beneath his feet he felt the deck of the cruiser heave like the breast
of an unquiet sleeper. A terrific roar burst from the bowels of the
ship, and she quivered in every plate of steel and oaken beam.

"The magazine!" cried Everson. The commander dashed for the
companionway, but he never reached it.

Amidships the decks heaved up and opened in a yawning wound that rent
the cruiser almost from rail to rail. Through the gap shot skyward an
immense column of smoke, laced with spurts of flame, and spread fanwise
many feet in the air. With it there ascended a mass of débris torn from
the vitals of the ship. For yards around the waves splashed to the fall
of the splintered wreckage. The swaying decks were littered with it.
And some of the fragments were of steel and iron that clanged as they
fell, and others were horrible shreds of men, and made no clangor.

Paralyzed in his tracks, his eyes distended, his very flesh stirring
from his bones at the horror of it, Everson faced the wraith of ruin
that arose in his path. A new manifestation tore speech from his lips.

"Look!" he shouted aloud in a strained and unnatural voice. "My God,
look! _The color!_"

In the heart and center of the standing column of smoke, seen faintly
at first and then in blazing brilliance, towered a mighty pillar of
light. But it was not like any light that any of those who gazed
upon it had ever known. For it was neither of red nor white, nor yet
of violet, yellow, or green, or any other color or hue of the solar
spectrum. Radiant, scintillant, indescribably beautiful, it thrust up
through the murk of disaster steadily and cruelly as the flaming sword
of an unkind fate. It was this that had pierced the ship and exploded
the magazine.

Zenas Wright, who had looked unshaken on many strange things, looked
upon this and cried out, even as had Everson:

"The color! A new color! Impossible; yet it _is_!"

With chaos and death linked together and roaring in front of him, the
old man, true scientist to the last, bent his eyes on the flaming
pillar in a challenging and analytical stare. If this was to be his
final vision, why, he would learn what he might from it before he went
into the shadow where all learning is valueless.

Like painted puppets carved from wood, the men and women on the deck
stood and gazed at the appalling ruin of that fell disaster. It was
only a moment in the happening, but a moment that bore the burden of
many moments in its intensity.

       *       *       *       *       *

The pillar of light moved, and those that watched saw that everything
that it touched it destroyed. It swayed toward them, and the deck
crumpled away before its advance. It swung back. In its path was one of
the massive steel turrets of the cruiser. The light played against it.
The turret tottered; the steel of it seemed to melt and disintegrate.
The entire structure crumbled and crashed down, disappearing through
the gash in the decking. With the fall of the turret the light vanished
also.

From the companionway came the horrid remnant of a man who crossed the
deck to Everson. One of his arms had been torn away between the wrist
and elbow. His features were blackened and marred beyond recognition.
An eye was gone. His clothing hung about him in tatters, and the
tatters were burning. He halted in front of the lieutenant and raised
the maimed arm, from which the blood was spurting, in the semblance of
a salute.

"The ship--sinks. The--sea--on fire."

He croaked the words brokenly, and fell, and died at the feet of his
commander.

Up through the gap in her bottom surged the sea water, and the ship
began to settle. The _Minnetonka_ was sinking.

Everson pulled himself out of the daze which in that moment of dread
had benumbed his faculties. A glance he gave to the settling decks and
the useless boats. He had neither men nor the time to unship them.

He turned to his companions.

"Those who have prayers to say had best say them; for this is the end
of our traveling," he said simply. Suiting his action to the words, he
knelt on the deck.

At the side of Polaris Janess appeared the red-haired stranger. As he
had once before, he now caught up the hand of the son of the snows.
Holding it, he looked into Polaris's face and smiled, a fearless and
whimsical smile.

"A strong hand, my brother, strong to hold a kingdom. This is not your
death that is coming. I will save you and these with you. I promise,"
he said--and the marvel to Polaris and to the others was that the man
who before had been speechless now spoke readily and in excellent
English.

Not waiting for the answer, which, in his surprise, Polaris was slow to
give, the stranger left his side and ran across the deck. He strapped
his odd mask over his face, clapped his helmet on his head and fastened
it. He caught up from the deck a length of steel chain. With a run and
a leap, he was gone--over the fast settling rail and into the sea.

Scarcely had the golden helmet disappeared over the side when the waves
crossed the decks to meet the water that was spouting from the interior
of the cruiser.

"A madman!" Polaris muttered. He turned and gathered Rose Emer in his
arms. She clung to him, sobbing softly.

"Be brave, dear heart," he whispered. "It isn't hard to die, and
wherever we are going, we shall go together."

Around them rose the waves.

Held fast in the swirl of the sinking ship, every soul on the
_Minnetonka_ went down with her. From Everson, kneeling on his deck, to
the lowliest coal-passer in the depths of the cruiser, there was no man
but bowed his face to the waters.

Clasping his sweetheart with one arm, Polaris struck out fiercely. For
a moment he cherished the hope that he might keep to the surface and
reach the land beyond. But the suction of the sinking ship was too
strong for even his giant strength. He saw the others, his friends
struggling about him. The water came between his dear lady's face
and his. He strove to reach her lips with his own. His lungs seemed
bursting. His senses swayed.

Through the green waters he saw a great golden shape like a globe
approaching him. Another fantasy. Strong hands gripped him. They, too,
must be dreams.

The blackness became absolute.




                              CHAPTER II

                     THE LONG BLACK ROAD TO ADLAZ


In illimitable darkness a spark glowed and lived, and the soul of
Polaris Janess awoke and once more knew it was a soul. The silence
of oblivion was broken by a roaring as of a thousand mighty rivers
torrenting on their courses far underground. One by one the man endured
the tortures that those must endure who come back from the claim
of the sea. Slowly and with exquisite agony came the consciousness
that his body still lived--an agony so keen that he fain would have
wrenched himself free of the flesh and departed it. Fire, liquid and
intolerable, raced through his every vein and artery. His head, no
longer tenanted by a brain, it seemed, was a vast and empty cavern,
through which wild winds moaned.

An age it was in seeming that the soul fought its way through travail,
back to command of the faculties it had quitted, until it had regained
the mastery of its two provinces, the brain and the body. The fiery
rivers were quenched. The winds ceased their roaring. With a groan and
a shudder the son of the snows once more took up the burden of living.
Weak and dizzy and deathly sick, he opened his eyes.

He lay on a soft bed of furs in a small and swaying room. Almost at
his elbow he heard the splash of waves against metal walls. Above him,
an expression of sympathy and concern on his ruddy face, bent the
red-haired stranger.

When he saw the eyes of Polaris quiver open, the man smiled, a rare and
winning smile.

"Now, by the four rivers," he said, "I am glad to see you return to the
living. So long did you tarry in the beyond that I thought that I had
lost you."

For a moment Polaris gazed into that rubicund countenance in
bewilderment, but for a moment only. With the floods of life came
memory. He tried to spring to his feet, but the struggle in the water
and the nausea of his returning vitality had sapped the strength from
him. He fell weakly back. The look he bent upon the stranger was
poignant with its question.

"Rose--the Rose-maid? Where is she?" he gasped, wresting the words out
painfully.

With a graceful gesture, the stranger drew to one side and pointed
across the room.

"Your lady? She is there," he said.

On the other side of the room, only a few feet away, was another couch,
similar to the one on which Polaris had found himself. Rose Emer lay
upon it. The oilskins she had worn were in a crumpled heap upon the
floor. Her gown, sodden with sea water, clung to her limbs. A careful
hand had partly covered her with the folds of a robe of soft, dark
furs. The coils of her long, chestnut hair, disheveled and damp, had
fallen about her face and neck. Her long lashes lay upon her cheeks.
Her lips were slightly parted. One arm hung down from the edge of the
couch, its hand relaxed and open, the fingers limp.

Long and earnestly Polaris looked at her. He could see only her
profile. Her face was very white and still, outlined there against
the furs. The light went out of his tawny eyes, and he set his teeth
and turned his face to the wall. The sob that arose in his throat
was wrung from the depths of a spirit sorely stricken. Now death were
welcome indeed.

"Grieve not so," the stranger said hastily. "She is not dead, and I
am a fool to bring such fright upon you. She did but swoon when you
yourself were overlong in returning to the realm of the living. Here."

He passed an arm under the shoulders of Polaris, and assisted him to
rise and cross to the other couch.

Swaying like a drunken man, the son of the snows bent and touched the
wrist of the girl with his fingers. When he felt the tides of the
life-blood leaping through the warm flesh, a joy welled up within him
that was akin to pain in its throbbing. Come what might, his lady
lived, and once again there was light in his world. He laid his cheek
against hers and he was near to tears in his weakness.

Presently he raised his head, and for the first time gave a thought to
his surroundings. The room he was in was shaped like the quarter of a
circle. The couch on which he had lain was along the curved side of the
room, and there the wall was of steel or iron, against which he could
hear the lapping of waters. At each end, where the cabin narrowed to
the points of its arc, were cabinets carved of polished woods. At the
side where the girl lay the wall was of wood, also, and was pierced by
a small door. A number of garments hung from pegs in the paneling. Near
to the door, in a golden sheath, swung a heavy, short-bladed sword.

Overhead was a crisscross of slender wooden beams, and in the midst of
them was set a translucent globe of porcelain or clouded glass, through
which a strong light was shed, light that was almost as clear in its
quality as that of day.

At the sight of those crossed beams, Polaris's memory stirred quickly.
Where had he seen such before? Ah, he had it! It was just such a
lattice-work that had made a raft for the stranger when he had found
him floating in the sea. What was the meaning of it?

The screaming fury of the tempest, with its menace to all that he held
dearest; the terrible moments when the _Minnetonka_ went roaring down
to ruin; the struggle in the sea; the agony of resuscitation; the grim
fear that had choked him when he saw his dear lady lying there so pale
and still--all those transitions had shaken even the strong will and
cool brain of the son of the snows. He shook his head impatiently, as
though the fog through which his mind groped were a physical fact, to
be dismissed so.

Here at his side was the living answer to the questions that now
trooped thick and fast--the man who had promised him life on the
sinking deck of the cruiser and who had made that promise good.

"Where are we, and who and what are you?" Polaris asked him.

The answer was as ready as it was surprising.

"We are under the sea in the captain's cabin of a fademe in the navy
of the great king, Bel-Ar. And I"--he bowed slightly and smiled--"I am
the Captain Oleric the Red, also of the navy of the great king, but at
present without a fademe to command."

       *       *       *       *       *

So unusually circumstanced from his very birth had been the life of
Polaris Janess that he long before had accepted and made his own the
philosophy which the Prince of Denmark taught to Horatio. Things that
the ordinary man would scoff at and reject as preposterous had been
the incidents of his everyday existence. So now the extraordinary
declaration of him who named himself Oleric the Red did not move him to
any great show of surprise.

Instead, there came to him the sorrowful vision of the good gray
cruiser, sundered and wrecked and going down to the ocean's bed,
bearing with her many a man whom he had been glad to call his
friend--men who twice had risked their lives in the antarctic perils
that others might live. With that picture in his mind came a thought
that drove all the mists from his brain and made it burn with a sense
of outrage and anger.

He snapped himself erect, and with hands clenched and blazing eyes
looked down on Oleric.

"The breaking of the good ship yonder came not from within, but from
without," he said sternly. "That great ray of strange light that
cut her like a knife was some devil's device of these that you call
fademes. Is it not true?"

Over the face of Oleric passed a shadow that made it sad. But his eyes
were steadfast and unflinching.

"It is true," he answered. "I would have prevented it if I could have.
Your ship has gone the way of all others which have come to the coasts
of Maeronica."

"Is it, then, the custom of your 'great king' so to greet strangers who
come to his shores?" asked Polaris.

"Such have been the orders of the king of Maeronica," replied Oleric.
"Many a long century has rolled into the past since any ship, save the
fademes, cast anchor in the harbor of the city of Adlaz. It is the law.
It is so writ upon the sacred column. But it is a bad law."

"An hour ago we had not guessed of the existence even of this land of
Maeronica of yours, with its city of Adlaz and its rule of death in
the sea," said Polaris. "All that we asked was to go our ways in peace
and a safe journey to America. Now, because of the evil law of an evil
land, a great ship's company is food for the fishes. You say well that
it is a bad law.

"And, hark you, Oleric the Red, I count the reckoning between this King
Bel-Ar of yours and me as both long and heavy. I do not know how it
will fall about, or when; but my heart tells me that some time I shall
make settlement of that score."

Rose Emer stirred and moaned, and Polaris turned to her. He knelt again
at the side of her couch and chafed her hands.

Running his fingers through his red hair, Oleric looked down at
Polaris. A strange light shone in the blue eyes of the captain, and
over his face spread a crafty and satisfied smile. He nodded his head
as though a thought had come to him that pleased him much.

"Yourself and the lady here are not the only ones saved from the ship,"
he said at length.

"What? There are others that live?" Polaris asked quickly. "Who, and
where are they?"

"In the opposite cabin of the fademe is the old man Zenas," Oleric
replied, "and with him is the large and fat young man who made all
of the jokes at the table on the ship. And in another fademe is the
captain--Everson--and the two you saved from Sardanes, the giant Minos
and the dark and splendid lady, Memene."

"What know you of Sardanes?" Polaris asked. "And how comes it that you
speak our English speech, now that your tongue is loosened?"

Oleric smiled. "Though my tongue was idle on your ship yonder, my
ears were not," he said, "nor were my eyes, and they gathered me much
information. I know that you, whom they call the son of the snows, have
lived a strange life and looked upon many wonders. But they are as
nothing to the wonders which you are to see presently--and I, Oleric
the Red, shall show them to you." He laughed soundlessly.

"But the language--where learned you the English tongue?" Polaris asked
again. "Surely it is not spoken in this Maeronica, this land whereof no
man has ever heard."

"Many years ago I learned it--from the lips of a slave. He, too, had
been taken from the deck of a ship which was sunk by the fademes," was
the answer of Oleric. He regarded Polaris keenly. Nor was that reply
without its effect.

"Slaves!" Polaris cried. "Is this another of the laws of this land of
yours--to make slaves of strangers?"

"It is the law of the great king," Oleric said. "Few such have been
taken alive, but they have lived as slaves or died on the sands of the
arena to make sport for the people at the great games which are a part
of the Feast of Years."

       *       *       *       *       *

For a moment, even Rose Emer was forgotten. Polaris looked up at the
Maeronican captain with a blaze in his eyes that boded little of
submission to the laws of Bel-Ar, the king.

When he spoke, it was very quietly. "Law or no law, backs shall break
and spirits set out on their journeys before I shall become slave to
any man."

"But the maid here," interposed Oleric--"would you bring doom upon her
as well as upon yourself? Be not so rash, my brother. 'All things come
to him that waits,' was a saying of that slave from whom I learned your
tongue--O'Connell, he did call his name. I know not if his saying be
true. I know he waited many long years, and death came to him."

Polaris shook his head slowly.

"There is little cheer in these words of yours, Oleric the Red," he
said. "And I do not know why you should call me brother, for whom you
foretell a life of slavery. But these things are bridges to be crossed
when met." He turned back to Rose Emer. "Have you such a thing as wine
on this ship?" he asked. "This swoon is long in passing."

Again the red captain regarded the broad back with satisfaction and
smiled his craftful smile.

He stepped to the end of the cabin, and from the cabinet there fetched
a tall glass flagon, bound with golden filagree-work, and a slender,
twisted goblet. The liquor which he poured from the flagon was
cherry-red, and sent forth a pleasing aroma.

"Here is of the best in Maeronica," he said. "Trust a captain of the
fademes to know it."

Lifting Rose's head on his arm, Polaris held the goblet to her lips
and let the red wine trickle down. As he did so, the door of the cabin
was opened from without. A man thrust his head through and shouted to
Oleric in a strange though not unmusical tongue. The captain answered
him a word or two, and the door was closed again. Polaris saw that the
man wore armor of a pattern similar to that of Oleric, and that, like
the captain's, his face was ruddy. But his hair was black, and he wore
a short, curling beard. While the door was opened, the purr of smoothly
running machinery could be heard, and with it a steady hissing,
bubbling noise, like that of escaping steam.

Rose sat up suddenly and glanced around her with frightened eyes. She
threw her arms around Polaris's neck and clung to him.

"You lay so still," she sobbed, "I thought that you were dead. But you
are alive--alive!"

Oleric bent forward and spoke hurriedly.

"We are nearing the harbor of the city of Adlaz," he said. "I do not
know when I shall have opportunity to talk with you again. But if it be
not soon, wait; and accept with patience, even though it shall try you
sorely, all that shall happen.

"Just now you asked me why I called you 'brother.' You saved me from
the sea. On the ship yonder you and the old man Zenas, and another whom
I grieve that I could not save, tended me when you thought that I was
near to death. And after, when your sailors murmured, and they would
have cast me into the sea, you guarded me from harm. All those things I
know and shall not forget. That is why I call you brother. And back of
all of those things there is still another reason, of which I hope to
tell you soon. I learned from the slave O'Connell that the shake of the
hands between men is a bond of friendship. Will you shake my hand, my
brother?"

Polaris took the proffered hand in a grip that made its owner wince.
"It seems that despite the laws of Bel-Ar, the king, I have found a
friend," he said. "I shall try to be patient, Oleric."

"Hold your hand from anger," enjoined the red captain earnestly, "even
though you be put to serve as a slave in the mines of Bel-Ar. And
instruct your companions that they do likewise. Great days are coming
upon Maeronica, and I promise you faithfully that you shall play a
great part in them--"

He broke his speech suddenly.

Again the door swung open. Somewhere in the depths of the fademe a bell
rang clearly. The noise of the mechanism ceased. The black-bearded man
who had thrust his head into the cabin before, stood in the doorway and
beckoned to Oleric.

"Remember," warned the captain as he passed Polaris. "Patience and that
strong heart of yours shall carry you far before your sun goes down."

He went out and the door closed after him.

"What does he mean, with his talk of slaves and the mines and all those
strange names?" Rose Emer asked wonderingly. "Where are we?"

Polaris told her all that he had learned from the captain. She heard
him with wide eyes.

"_You_--a slave!" she cried. "Ah, no, not that? Is it to be like this
all our lives--to see happiness just ahead of us, but never reach it?
Fate cannot be so cruel. Think what you have endured. And now to be a
slave here in this terrible foreign land!"

Perhaps Fate was listening then--Fate, who can be both cruel and kind,
sordid and splendid, according to her whim. She had played many strange
tricks on this man. But she now decreed that he should never serve the
king Bel-Ar as a slave.

       *       *       *       *       *

Soon after the departure of Oleric, the door of the cabin was opened
again, and an armored man entered. It was he of the black beard, whom
Polaris rightly guessed to be the captain of the fademe. With him came
three other men, unarmored, who evidently were members of the crew of
the craft.

Sturdy, black-haired fellows these were, dressed alike in loose,
neckless blue tunics of some woven material, with elbow-sleeves,
and belted in at the waist. Beneath the tunics they wore long,
close-fitting nether garments like the hose of the Middle Ages, only
these were both hose and trousers, too. On their feet were shoes of
soft leather, the tops of which came nearly to their knees, and which
were laced with gay-colored cords. Their heads were covered with flat
caps of cloth which resembled somewhat the tam-o'-shanters of the
Scots. Those, too, were dyed in bright colors.

With a motion of his arm the captain indicated to Rose and Polaris that
they were to leave the cabin. The girl still was weak from her swoon,
and tottered when she stood, and her garments were wet and bedraggled.
Polaris wrapped her in the robe of furs with which Oleric had covered
her, and lifted her in his arms. As he did so, one of the sailors spoke
harshly and snatched at the robe. He was clumsy, and his fingers caught
in Rose's unbound hair and pulled it so that she winced.

Polaris set the girl down and in the same motion spun on his heel and
struck the man under the ear.

Well it was for the Maeronican sailor that the son of the snows, quick
as was his anger at the affront to the girl, remembered the counsel of
Oleric. Even as he struck, he remembered, and he opened his hand; else
the stroke, directed by his mighty thews, had ended all things for the
sailor. As it was, the blow partly lifted the man from his feet and
shot him sprawling through the open door to fall heavily outside.

From its peg on the wall the captain caught down the short-bladed sword
and tore it from the sheath. At a word from him, his two remaining men
plucked knives from their belts and closed in.

Prospects of battle cleared the last of the numbness from the limbs of
Polaris. He thrust Rose Emer behind him. He ran his eyes hastily over
the cabin in search of a weapon, but saw none which would serve him. In
another instant he would have sprung barehanded against the Maeronican
steel.

At that juncture a voice cried out, and Oleric the Red stepped over
the fallen sailor and entered the cabin. Whatever may have been the
failings of the red captain, slowness in action was not one of them.
Gripping the two crouching sailors, each by the belt from behind, he
tugged so mightily that their feet flew from under them, and they sat
hard on the cabin floor. With a catlike leap, Oleric reached the side
of the captain of the fademe and struck the sword from his hand. As the
blade clanged on the floor, Oleric set his foot across it. Then, and
not until then, did he seek to learn the trouble's cause.

"What now, comrade," he said to Polaris. "Do you then court death so
soon?"

But when he heard of the sailor's action, he nodded his red head.

"So would I have done," he said shortly. He turned on the other captain
and spoke to him sternly in the Maeronican tongue. Almost choking in
his rage, the commander answered him in sneering tones, and with a
shrug of his shoulders stalked from the cabin. The sailors slunk after
him.

Oleric watched their departing backs with a hard and level stare.
"Daelo grows insolent," he said. "He thinks, because I have had the
misfortune to lose a fademe, that I shall get no pretty welcome from
Bel-Ar. Maybe he is right. Bel-Ar loves not to lose his ships. Ah,
well--" He, too, shrugged his shoulders, and then he smiled.

"And you, my brother--" He shook his finger at Polaris. "Unless you
learn to curb that fine spirit of yours, I need to be no prophet to
foretell what shall befall you. But come; let us leave this place. The
air of it grows foul."

With Rose in his arms, Polaris stepped from the cabin and gazed
curiously about him.

He stood in a long gallery or corridor, some nine feet wide by thirty
in extent. It was lighted brightly by a number of globes similar to
that in the cabin. The flooring was of wood, the ceiling of steel.
Opposite him was the door of another cabin. A few feet along the
corridor ahead of him, toward the prow of the fademe, the floor was
pierced to admit a large post or beam, which thrust up through it and
disappeared through another opening in the ceiling of the gallery.
Around the beam spiraled a slender winding stair of yellow metal.

Oleric led on toward the bow. As he passed the stairway, Janess saw
that it led to a small, towerlike structure above. A glance through the
opening in the floor showed him another gallery, or deck, below, and he
had a glimpse of a mass of mechanism and shafting. It was the engine
room of the fademe into which he looked. Near the prow, the flooring
was cut away again to allow the passage of what seemed to be a pillar
of solid, yellow glass, as large around as the body of a man.

As they passed the second pillar by, Oleric struck it lightly with his
palm.

"There is what brought death to your good ship, my brother," he said.
"It is the secret of the power of the navy of Bel-Ar."

       *       *       *       *       *

At the end of the corridor was an open door. Beyond it was a small
chamber and another door. The chamber was constructed entirely of
steel. Both of its doors were circular in shape, and they were fitted
with valves and bars which made them resemble the breechblocks of
enormous cannon. From beyond the second door came the sound of the
splashing of waves and the hum of many human voices.

Oleric passed through the chamber. At the outer door he paused and
gave Polaris a hand with his burden. A breeze of salt air fanned their
faces. Through the door Polaris saw an expanse of blue water alight
with shafts of sunshine--for the rain had ceased--and the line of a
rocky wall.

"The harbor of the city of Adlaz," the red captain said.

They stood on a metal deck six feet square on the extreme prow of the
fademe. From the deck a narrow, swaying gangplank reached to the edge
of the quay that was built of massive blocks of masonry, alongside of
which the fademe was moored.

At their right was the tossing blue and white of a harbor large enough
to have given shelter to the ships of all the navies of the world,
could they have come to it. Nearly three miles in width and length it
lay, the whole girt round by the ring of a lofty mountain wall, in
which on the seaward side there was not a notch or a break. Two hundred
feet up from the water's edge the sheer cliffs towered, their faces
smooth and precipitous.

It was more a lake than a harbor that held the navy of Bel-Ar. Later
the Americans learned that its only entrance from the sea was a natural
tunnel many feet below the level of the water, through which the
fademes passed out and in. The harbor was the giant cup or crater of a
volcano, ages quenched.

Along the wharves of stone and anchored in the lake rocked the fademes
of the Maeronican fleet, each one resembling nothing so much as a
monstrous goldfish carrying a glass tower on its back. Gold they were,
indeed--and they shimmered and glittered in the sunlight as only gold
can glitter.

Like immense, flattened globes the fademes were fashioned--globes forty
feet through their lengthened axes, and drawn to points at their stems
and sterns. Where the dorsal fin of a fish projects from its spine,
each fademe bore a small, round deckhouse with ribs of metal and sides
of polished crystal.

Yes; the harbor of Adlaz was very like a vast bowl with many goldfish
(the fleet of fademes must have numbered one hundred and fifty). But
they were far from being the harmless toys of children, these golden
ships of the underseas. Deadly enspine, each fademe bore a small, round
bee sent forth on cruel errands.

On the dancing surface of the lake and in and out among the gleaming
fademes plied a number of small open boats, driven by oarsmen, and
here and there in the anchorage were scattered undersea craft of a make
smaller by half and more slender than the fademes. These were called
marizels.

Back of the quays and the wharves was a line of low buildings of black
and red stone, well constructed, with doors of wood and glass windows.
Except that their architecture was quaint and ran much to carved faces
of men and beasts, interspersed with squat domes and spires, they might
have been the warehouses of some well-to-do port of the old world.

An open space, a number of acres in extent, lay beyond the buildings
and reached to the frowning face of the cliff-wall. The wall itself was
pierced by a broad arch or tunnel wide enough for a squadron of cavalry
to have ridden through it abreast and so high that a galleon's masts
would not have touched its vaulted roof.

Above the center of the arch, and carved in the rock of the cliffside,
was a great round face, many feet across. It was a piece of sculpture
to crook the fingers of a miser; for it was covered with beaten gold,
so that it resembled a rising sun. That semblance was heightened
further by long shafts or rays which extended from the face across the
surface of the rock in all directions. They, too, were of gold. Work of
a master-sculptor, it was, who had guided his chisel in bold, strong
strokes. The features were noble, but the smiling lips were cruel, and
there was cruelty in the golden eyes which looked down on the golden
ships in the harbor.

All these things Polaris saw from the forward deck of the fademe, and
more. The quays and the court were black with people. At one side of
the archway was drawn up a line of horsemen clad in steel armor. In
the midst of the throng in the court a man in a yellow tunic and cap
was cleaving his way through the press toward the wharf on a big black
horse.

As he crossed the swaying plank to the wharf with Rose Emer in his
arms, Polaris heard a great cry of wonder go up from the crowd. In a
moment he learned that it was not the appearance of the strangers that
had caused the outcry. It was the return of Oleric the Red, who had
long been given up as lost. Evidently the red captain was a popular man
in his land. People crowded around him and clapped him on the back and
gave him words of welcome home. Greetings none the less hearty for that
they were tinged with a note of apprehension for his future welfare,
which even Polaris could sense, though he understood no word of it all.

Down from his horse sprang the man in the yellow tunic and enfolded
Oleric in a mighty embrace. "Ah, old red bear, it is good for the eyes
to see you once again. We had thought the fishes had you. But"--and he
lowered his voice--"you will have to think of a pretty tale to tell to
Bel-Ar. He raves at the loss of a fademe."

"That he does," answered Oleric, "but I am good at the telling of
tales, as you know. Besides, I have with me a matter of a small sack,
which was not lost with the fademe, and which shall make the eyes of
his queen to glisten. So mayhap I shall find forgiveness."

The other ran his eye over Polaris and Rose. "What, more slaves?" he
asked. "Orlas already has brought in three, and one of them a giant."

"Yes, Brunar, more slaves." Oleric's face grew sober. "Poor souls. My
heart is heavy for them, for they did save my life out yonder on the
sea, and treat me kindly."

"Here, old bear, take you my horse and ride on to Adlaz," said Brunar.
"I have business here. I will come on anon through the canal in a
marizel. And, if the hand of Bel-Ar lie not too heavy upon you, there
will be a rare night to-night, a rare night; eh, old bear?" Laughing,
he tossed the reins to Oleric and disappeared in the crowd.

From the stern of the fademe they had quitted sounded a high-pitched
voice in notes of vituperation. Oleric looked back. The captain Daelo
stood on the rear deck of his vessel. When he saw Oleric turn, he shook
his clenched fist at the red captain. With a laugh, Oleric flung back a
remark of such import that it made Daelo dance upon his deck with rage.

"Now there's a fool," grumbled Oleric, "who may be troublesome. I have
the best of him this time, though. Back to sea patrol he goes. And
there is a maid in Adlaz town--a sweet and comely maid, for love of
whom he's well-nigh witless. I just did tell him that I'd comfort her
in his absence." The captain tossed his head and laughed his soundless
laugh.

Bidding a lad hold his horse, Oleric led Polaris and Rose into one
of the buildings near the end of the wharf. There, under a guard of
sailors, they found old Zenas, the two Sardanians, Everson, and Brooks.
Lacking an interpreter, such as Oleric, these others were in sore
bewilderment. The stunning blow of the loss of the _Minnetonka_ had
cast them in a depth of gloom, which the appearance of Polaris and
Rose Emer and the few explanations they were able to give did little
to lighten. Everson, especially, was like a man distraught. Even the
scientific zeal of Zenas Wright for once was quenched, and he met the
marvels about him with a listless eye.

       *       *       *       *       *

Under orders from Oleric, men fetched from stables near the quays a
long, low car, to which two span of horses were attached, and the
Americans were bidden to take their places in it. Wild and reckless
drivers these Maeronicans were. Two of them climbed into the car,
turned their horses' heads toward the great archway and whipped them
into a gallop. With a yell, the crowd parted. The hoofs of the horses
rang on the stones of the paved courtyard. As they passed from the
court into the tunnel, the line of steel horsemen came clattering after
them. Oleric rode at the side of the car.

At intervals in the walls of the tunnel were set translucent globes
like those on the fademe, which shed a strong white light along the
way. The flooring was paved and smooth. For perhaps five minutes the
cavalcade thundered through the passage in the rock, and then it
emerged again into the light of day.

Ahead stretched a long, wide roadway, paved from side to side with
blocks of black stone, fast embedded in a cement of the same hue.
At both sides of the road were low walls, and beyond the walls were
handsome mansions and grounds, where fair trees tossed their greenery
and bright flowers bloomed amid a wealth of shrubbery. From the
splendid and fragrant lawns men and women looked forth as the car
whirled past, and children left their play to run to the walls and
stare wide-eyed at the strangers.

Most of the men were garbed as had been those of the fademe's crew and
also the crowd at the harbor, in loose, belted tunics and hose, but
finer in texture and more showy in coloring than those of the commoner
sort.

Some of the old men wore flowing gowns. The women and children were
clad in short kirtles. Everywhere was a riot of color. The garments
of the people were gay with many tints and hues. The grounds were
flecked with flowers. The dwellings, all of which were built of stone,
made their brave show of colors, too. The quarries from which the
masonry was cut yielded white and black and red stone, and in their
construction work the builders had varied them pleasingly.

From the tunnel's mouth at the base of the ancient hill, the long,
black road sloped up gradually. Far ahead loomed the walls and domes
of a great city. Oleric rose in his stirrups and pointed to where they
were outlined against the sky.

"Yonder lies Adlaz, chief city of the Children of Ad," he cried.

Midway in their course to the city, the shouting drivers pulled their
horses suddenly to one side of the road, and the riders of the escort
scattered to right and left to leave a clear passage. From far up the
wonderful street sounded the clash and clatter of pounding hoofs in
desperate haste.

But no horse it was that galloped so madly from Adlaz town to the sea,
but a giant, bronze-coated bull. On he came, head down and tail aloft,
his hoofs striking fire from the smooth, hard rock of the roadway. At
intervals he gave voice to a deep-throated bellow.

He was still three hundred yards from the car when Rose Emer screamed
out in horror. "Ah, the child! Save the child!" she cried.

From one of the mansions farther up the street, a child had strayed,
a baby girl, a fragile, black-haired little thing, not more than five
years old. Shrieking with laughter, she had eluded her mother and run
out through the gateway to the center of the road. Half-way across the
pavement, she slipped and fell. Down the street on thundering hoofs
came the great bronze death.

Upsetting one of the drivers in his haste, Polaris leaped down over
the wheel of the car. Scarcely had his feet touched the roadway, when
Minos, the Sardanian, was down behind him. Snatching a short spear from
the hand of one of the steel riders, the son of the snows bounded up
the street to meet the bull, going at a speed which few living things
could have equaled. Over his shoulder he called to Minos:

"Care for the child, Minos; leave the beast to me."

Just beyond where the baby girl lay, he met the furious mass of
charging flesh. The little red eyes of the oncoming monster saw the man
in its path, and for an instant the bull seemed to halt in its stride,
and its hoofs slid on the smooth pavement. Then it lowered its head
still farther and charged on with a roar.

From the tail of his eye, Janess saw the Sardanian snatch the baby from
the perilous path and leap to one side. Behind them the red captain,
shouting and cursing, alone of all the troop of riders strove to urge
his affrighted horse forward.

"Hold! Hold!" he shouted in English. "Let the beast go!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Even had he heard, Polaris would have been little minded to let the
bull go free. It was plain that the animal was mad. A bloody froth
dripped from its jaws as it ran. Behind the son of the snows, right
where the bull was headed, were his friends, and among them one who
meant more to him than all of the rest of the world.

Directly in the path of the lowered horns, that were coming on with
the power of a mighty battering-ram, Polaris stood. Then he sprang
sidewise, turning as he leaped. So narrowly did he time the onset that
the shoulder of the bull grazed his knee. As the huge body passed him,
the man drove the short spear home behind its shoulder, guiding the
steel with the strength of arm and the keenness of eye that had helped
him to survive through the long years when combat with the beasts of
the wild was a part almost of his daily existence.

The stroke was true. So deeply did the steel spear bite, that its shaft
was wrenched from the hands of Polaris, and he was pitched on his side
on the pavement.

Unhurt, the man was up in an instant, but his work was done. That bull
would charge no more. He lay dead at the side of the roadway, his
tongue thrust out, his eyes glazing, and his life-blood making a pool
on the stones. The Maeronican spear was set fast in his heart.

Hardly was Polaris on his feet again when the armored horsemen rode
down on him with lifted spears, cursing him in their own tongue. Oleric
had conquered his horse, and he now interposed to prevent another
struggle which would have been all too one-sided. For, weaponless as
they were, the three other American men clambered down and ran to the
aid of Polaris.

Minos, who had returned the child to her mother, who knelt half
fainting in her gateway, was the first to reach his side. Though he
bore no weapon, the giant Sardanian squared his mighty figure and made
ready to withstand the onset of horse and steel.

Polaris leaped to the side of the fallen bull and tore the spear from
its body. Then he turned on the horsemen. He could not guess the cause
of their sudden anger, but he, too, was ready.

Before blows could be struck, Oleric thrust his horse into the
open space between the friends and the Maeronican riders. By dint
of persuasion, interlarded with not a few threats, he induced his
followers to forego their hostile intentions.

"You fools!" he shouted. "Would you cheat Bel-Ar of the terrible
vengeance he is sure to take, and have a part of it fall back on you
for balking him?"

When he had quieted his men, the captain turned gloomily to Polaris.

"My brother, your doom is sealed, indeed," he said. "This is one of the
sacred bulls from the temple of Shamar, the great sun, that you have
slain. When one of these goes mad, as did this one, no man in the land
does aught to stay it. That is the law. From its horns to its hoofs,
every hair of it is sacred. Bel-Ar may forgive me the loss of a fademe,
though it will be a great vexation to him; but the death of one of
these sacred bulls of Shamar he will not forgive any man. Sooner might
you expect mercy if you declared yourself a follower of the Goddess
Glorian of Ruthar. In this matter I cannot hope to persuade him. By
the bones of the ten thousand kings, I am sorry that this thing has
happened!"

But later, as they rode on toward the city of Adlaz, the red captain
seemed to be far from rueful. He rode behind the car, and, when he
thought none was observing him, he smiled to himself, as though the
course events were taking pleased him very well indeed.




                              CHAPTER III

                            THE KING JUDGES


Like the shape of a mighty wheel with four spokes was the plan of
the city of Adlaz--or more like a circle drawn around the angles of
a cross, the curved line of the outer boundary passing through the
far-flung arms. Built in a long-ago time of perils and wars, Adlaz
was a walled city, and its wall was both stout and high, and set with
many castellated towers. It was also a very ancient wall, to which its
moss-grown, weather-worn gray stones bore witness.

In all of the sweeping circumference of the outer wall, which enclosed
some ten square miles of street and square, there were four breaks
only, and those were protected by ponderous gates of bronze and guarded
well by soldiers of the king. Those breaks were where the rim of the
wheel met its four spokes. The wall was the rim. The spokes were four
wide roadways, which ran east, west, north and south from the city's
center. The hub of the wheel was a park or esplanade, fronted on all
sides by magnificent buildings in which the colored rocks hewn from the
Maeronican quarries were blended splendidly. In the very center towered
the massive structure of the Temple of the Sun, built all of white
marble, the tips of its hundred spires capped with solid gold.

Other and many streets were laid out in all directions within the
angles of the four great avenues; but none was so wide as they by many
feet. Within the wall dwelt nearly half a million souls, Maeronicans,
if one named them from their country, but loving to call themselves the
Children of Ad, after their city, which in turn drew its name from a
certain mighty king, the time of whose rule was so lost in the mists of
dim antiquity that he was little more than a tradition in the mouths of
the people.

Across from the Temple of the Sun, and in the northeast angle of the
arms of the cross, stood the palace of the kings of Maeronica, another
immense pile of masonry, built also of a solid color, not dazzling
white as was the marble of the house of the god, but the deep, rich
red of granite porphyry. Back of the palace lay the barracks of the
king's guard of half a thousand picked men, his stables, and the
quarters of countless servants. In the southwest angle was the Place of
Games--a hippodrome and circus, with an amphitheater of black basalt
of an age and splendor that would not have shamed the proudest days of
seven-hilled Rome itself, although its foundation stones were laid long
before Remus leaped over his brother's wall.

Around the hub and extending to the wall were the homes of the Children
of Ad--nobles, captains, rich idlers, merchants, money-lenders, and the
common people. In latter years, since Adlaz, strong and triumphant,
defied her enemies, it had been the pleasure of many of her wealthier
sons to build their mansions beyond the sheltering wall of the city,
and along the four splendid roadways stretched many a fair and wide
estate. Such were those the prisoners from the fademes saw as their car
was driven up the long, black road from the harbor in the mountain.

It was late afternoon, and the sun was casting his last slant rays over
the distant mountain-rim, when the car was halted at the bronze gates
of the western entrance to Adlaz. The red captain trotted his horse
forward to parley with the captain of the gate-guard and explain why he
led Brunar's horsemen, and who were these whom he brought with him to
the city. That parleying was added to by one of the riders in steel.
Whatever he told the gate-captain, it did not add to that worthy's
esteem for the captives, for he favored them with an exceedingly evil
look as they rode through his gates.

"Ugh-h," remarked Ensign Brooks, "I can't say that I care for that
party. He has a lean and hungry look. Speaking of hunger, I wonder how
soon we will get where we are going to, and whether it will be supper
time when we get there. I could eat cat right now, I'm so near to
starvation."

Oleric heard him and replied with a smile. "You shall eat soon, and of
good fare. So much at the least I can promise."

To which the ensign replied with a stare. For the young naval man did
not like the red captain and his ways, whom he blamed partly for the
loss of the _Minnetonka_ and all of the rest of the troubles, of which
this land seemed to hold a plenty.

Soon after the car entered the gates, the sunlight faded into dusk, and
then white-capped messengers passed through the streets, plucking the
cloth hoods from globes which were fixed on posts of stone at intervals
along all of the ways. From each globe, as its hood was removed, sprang
a broad circle of white light. On the tall buildings and their many
spires and on the towers of the city wall similar lights flared up.

       *       *       *       *       *

Except for the quaint architecture of the place, and the strange
garb of the folk who thronged its streets, the Americans might have
imagined themselves entering some stately capital of the modern world,
and not Adlaz of Maeronica, the oldest of all peopled cities of the
earth--older, indeed, than many among the buried ruins in which
archeologists love to delve.

For its pavements were curbed and guttered, and between them and the
building fronts and lawns were walks of stone, bordered by well-ordered
rows of trees and many shrubs and beds of flowers. The people who
walked the streets, too, were quiet and orderly folk. They stared hard
at those who rode in the car, but there was no unseemly outcry. Only
an occasional shout of surprise and welcome went up as some group of
strollers recognized the merry face and flaming poll of Oleric the Red.

At all of these marvels the two Sardanians gazed wonderingly and talked
together of them in their tongue.

"Ah, surely here is one of the greatest cities of the world of men,
my prince," said the Lady Memene. "Note the mighty towers yonder and
how they flash and gleam. And the folk! In one short ride we have seen
enough of them to people two lands like our own lost Sardanes."

"Aye, Memene, these be wonders, indeed," Minos answered. "And here
is a kingdom and a city well worth the ruling over. Yet these, even
these, must be as nothing to the things beyond in the greater world,
whereof Polaris hath told us. I wonder if we shall ever reach them.
For myself, though, I find this land and its folk more to my manner of
understanding than the world-dwellers way to the north. Here, methinks,
one might, did opportunity offer, carve out a kingdom for the king that
is to come."

Memene flushed and hung her head, and the two of them lapsed into
thoughtful silence.

Truly, Minos of Sardanes lacked not in ambition.

"Too late, now, to hope to meet Bel-Ar the king before the morrow,"
Oleric said. "And perhaps that is as well. By another coming of Shamar
his wrath may have cooled somewhat, though 'twill still burn hot
enough, I'll wager."

The charioteers drove their car to the front of a long, low building,
the façade of which verged almost upon the pavement of the black avenue
which was known as Chedar's Flight, because of an ancient battle which
had been fought along its course. There, the riders of Brunar left the
car and clattered away up the street to their own place. A group of
street idlers surrounded the car and began to discuss its passengers,
taking note especially of the giant form of Minos and the beauty of the
two ladies.

"This was a palace, once, but it serves as a prison, now," Oleric said
to Polaris, as gates of bronze were thrust back and the charioteers
drove through and into a roomy court, partly paved and partly lawn and
trees. "Sorry I am, comrade, that this must be, but 'tis not of my
working."

"I blame you not, friend," said Polaris. "But other days bring other
fortunes. I do not think that I shall stay long in your prison. And it
comes to me also that your king best had let this party depart his land
in peace, else the next turn of the wheel may bring to him that which
he least desires. And I think that you may have a hand in that turn,
Oleric."

"Are you a prophet, my brother?" exclaimed Oleric, searching the face
of Polaris for a hidden meaning. "For if you be not one, then you have
a rare spirit."

"No prophet I," Polaris answered. He sprang down over the wheel and
stretched his weary limbs. "Only at times, when all seems black, my
heart does whisper courage, and then all things turn well. It did so
just now, when I saw the lights spring up along that splendid street
out there." He held up his arms and assisted Rose Emer to alight from
the car.

Oleric gazed at him curiously. "So you think that the wheel will turn,
and that I will have a hand in it, my brother, do you?" he whispered to
himself. "Perchance I shall."

He swung down from his horse and cast the reins to an attendant.

"What! Mordo! Where do you tarry? Here be guests for you," he shouted.

They stood in the dusk under the spreading boughs of an ancient oak and
waited while a tall, loosely built man, black-bearded, and clad in the
armor of gold that was the badge of power in Maeronica, came down from
a pillared porch on the other side of the court and shambled across.
They noticed that his step was somewhat uncertain, and once or twice he
stumbled as he approached.

"Mordo, captain, and keeper of the king's prison house," Oleric
muttered to Polaris. "He's a good fellow, but does love his wine cup
exceeding well."

As the prison keeper came across the stones and the grass, he shouted,
and an underling ran to him, swinging a lighted globe encaged in a
metal net. Mordo took the lamp and cast its rays on the party. His face
was flushed, and his eyes rolled until they saw Oleric. Then his mouth
gaped in a delighted grin.

"Hoy! Hoy!" he exclaimed. "By the wall and the beasts and the shadows
of the fathers of Ad, if it is not my old bottle-crony come sailing
home again! I thought my ears had lied when I heard that voice in the
dark." He set the lamp down and pitched forward, steadying himself with
his hands on Oleric's shoulders. "And the same old dekkar, eh?" (A
dekkar was a broad goldpiece of the coin of Maeronica.) "They said that
you were gone across the black river, but I believed them not. 'Not
Oleric,' I told them. 'Not so long as there is left unemptied a single
one of those long-stemmed bottles in old Mordo's cellar.' And I was
right, eh, old firetop? Ah! Many a glass shall clink to-night, and many
a rack be made lighter when Brunar and the others come."

Mordo threw his head back and laughed, a roaring gale of mirth.

"Why, I was so lonely to-night that already I have cracked two flagons,
just for the good wine's company."

"So it seems," put in Oleric, sniffing. "Are you sure there were only
two of those flagons?"

"Mayhap it was three; I care not; there's still space for more, as you
well know," Mordo replied, still shaking with laughter. He took up his
lantern again.

"But whom do you bring with you to Mordo's house?" he asked, peering
once more at the strangers. "Women, too! And pretty ones!"

"Have an end to your banter, Mordo," Oleric interposed. "These be six
guests for whom Bel-Ar will ask accounting. Hold them well. And harken,
old friend; treat them kindly and to the best you have, for they did
befriend me when I was in evil straits and sore in need of friends.
That tale you shall hear later. Now hasten and bestow them. They are
weary. And bethink you, man, your wine grows stale with waiting to be
drunk, and my throat aches for the smack of it."

       *       *       *       *       *

Through his porch and into the depths of the building beyond, Mordo led
the party. Along many halls and passages he led, and through gates and
doors of bronze and steel, whereof an attendant bore the keys.

An ill place, this, to come out of, thought Polaris, noting the
strength and number of the gates. Nor did the son of the snows relish
at all the grim clanking of chains which issued from certain of the
chambers which they passed along their route.

At length the jailer paused, in a hall so wide that its boundary walls
could be seen only dimly by the light of the few globes which hung from
its pillars of black stone, and so lofty that the pillars' tops were
lost in the upper dusk. The hall was circular, and all around its walls
were the doors to lesser chambers.

"Here may your stranger friends from the sea await the pleasure of
Bel-Ar in peace," hiccoughed Mordo. "And 'tis better by far for them
than some of the places that I have below, as you know, Oleric. Kings
have sat in judgment here, and the beds in yonder chambers--queens have
slept on them. May your guests sleep well, old fox; I can offer them
no better, no better lodging place than the audience-hall of the great
King Bel-Tisam. I'll send them meat and wine. Now haste we to those
bottles. Shamar send that Brunar be not long delayed."

"Here I must leave you for a space, my friends," Oleric said. "I
would have you believe that I am not ungrateful for many good deeds
remembered, and I hope yet to find the means to repay them. To-morrow I
will go with you before Bel-Ar the king."

He bowed and went out with Mordo.

Presently came men with an abundance of fresh-cooked meats and
trenchers and tall bottles of Maeronican wine.

Little heart for conversation was there among the seven friends. Each
was busy with bitter thoughts. They ate, sitting on cushions about a
low table which the attendants spread for them at the foot of one of
the pillars. The two women, weary from the events of the day, soon went
to their rest. Old Zenas Wright was not long in following their example.

"I'm growing old, boys," he said as he left the table. "And this has
been a hard day--a terribly hard day. We appear to have strayed far
into the yesterdays. To-morrow we will talk, and it will be strange
if we cannot between us figure our way out. I don't want to leave my
old bones in this place. I intend that they shall be buried in Woodlawn
Cemetery in Buffalo, near where I was born; ah me, where I was born. I
vow and vum, I've seen some mighty queer sights since I walked up Main
Street last."

The geologist turned and trudged sturdily away to the chamber which he
had selected for his own.

Soon only Polaris and Lieutenant Everson were left in the great hall,
Janess lying stretched on the floor, his head pillowed on his hand, and
the lieutenant standing gloomily with folded arms, his back resting
against one of the pillars. For many minutes those two talked of the
things which had befallen; but neither one had a plan to offer.

"We must trust to the wit of this Oleric, of which I think he has
plenty," said Polaris at length. "I believe that he wished us no ill,
and I believe, too, that he forms some scheme for our advantage, though
what it is I cannot guess."

"I don't like him," Everson said bluntly. "He is one of this nation of
devils whose submarine sank my ship. Oh, for a few files of marines and
a couple of twelve-inch guns!"

When Everson had gone, Polaris still lay at the foot of the pillar,
thinking and planning, for he was a man in whom hope never died. He
dozed at length, but suddenly he was wide awake. And, though he did not
at once open his eyes, his wilderness-trained faculties, keen as those
of any animal, were alert and watchful.

Something had come into the hall.

Nothing in living shape ever had struck fear into the heart of Polaris,
and he had a healthy disbelief in the supernatural. He was not afraid
now. But he felt that the presence that had entered the hall was both
baleful and menacing. He felt the fixed regard of hidden eyes, and it
sent an uneasy thrill through the roots of his hair at the back of his
head. Whatever it was that had wakened him, it was not in the direction
of the chambers where the others of his party lay, but far across the
hall.

Cautiously he opened his eyes.

       *       *       *       *       *

At first he could make out nothing. Then something stirred soundlessly
from behind a far pillar near the wall. Polaris stared hard, and his
eyes were almost more than mortal keen. For a fleeting instant he saw
it clearly--the shape of a tall old man with snowy beard and hair, and
with piercing eyes, full of evil. The man was dressed in flowing robes
of white, on the breast of which glittered some object of burnished
metal.

For an instant only the vision persisted on Polaris's retina. Then it
was gone, and with no sound that even his sharp ears could catch.

Polaris snapped himself to his feet and bounded across the hall on
the balls of his feet, almost as noiselessly as the shadow which had
departed. And it had departed. Along the wall and behind the pillars
Polaris glanced quickly. There was nothing there. Back of the pillar
where he had seen the white shape was the closed door of a chamber. He
tried the door and found it fast. He listened.

From the darkness beyond the closed door, he thought he heard the ghost
of a thin chuckle. Immediately his attention was drawn to another
quarter. Close behind him arose a deep growl, which had nothing ghostly
in its quality, but was most material. Polaris spun upon his heels.

Some ten feet from him, and beside one of the pillars, from the foot
of which it evidently had arisen, stood a huge dog. It was the first
animal of its kind which the son of the snows had seen in Maeronica,
and the largest he ever had set eyes on in his life; larger by far even
than gray old Marcus, his friend and comrade that he'd left behind in
Boston town.

This brute was neither Great Dane nor mastiff, though in points it
resembled both of those breeds. Its jaws were square, and its head and
neck were massive. The tips of its powerful shoulders were a long yard
up from the stone floor where it stood.

It was smooth of coat and of a glossy, blue-black color, except on its
breast, where was a triangular patch of tawny yellow. Its ears had
been clipped and stood erect and pointed. As it regarded the man, its
big eyes glittered in the dim light. Its lips were writhed back from
formidable teeth.

Another low growl rumbled from its deep chest.

Instinctively, dogs trusted Polaris. He had had much experience with
their kind, and never had he seen one that in the end he could not make
his friend. Unhesitatingly he extended his hand and crossed the floor
to where the big beast stood. He guessed that it must have come in
with the old man whom he had glimpsed, and had been left behind when
the silent visitor had made his hurried departure. As he drew nearer,
Polaris saw that the animal wore a broad leather collar, bossed with
gold.

Unhurriedly, the son of the snows approached the brute until there was
not the space of a yard between them. There he paused. The dog neither
shrank nor cowered, but waited with muscles tensed and teeth exposed.
Polaris was very watchful.

"Good fellow," he said.

At the sound of the man's voice, the dog shifted his position slightly.
His head swayed. From Polaris's face he glanced to the outstretched
hand. The bristling hackles at his neck subsided. He took a stiff
step forward, then another. The tip of his cold muzzle touched the
man's fingers. He sniffed. A long, red tongue crept forth and licked
Polaris's hand. Another step, and the brute rubbed his great head
against the man's thigh.

"Ah; I thought you would," said Polaris. "Come on." He turned and
crossed the hall to his sleeping chamber. The dog padded beside him on
silent feet. The last thing the son of the snows heard, after he had
called Brooks to take the watch, and closed his eyes to slumber, was
the sigh of the huge beast as it stretched itself before his open door.

       *       *       *       *       *

Worn of body and of nerves, Polaris slumbered deeply. Shamar rose high
in the east and lighted the golden spires of his mighty temple in Adlaz
town; still the man slept on, and as he slept, he dreamed. Far into the
white, mysterious southland his fancies led, to a waste of ice and snow
and bitter winds. He drove a team of splendid dogs--his gray brothers
they seemed to be in the dream, those tried friends who had given their
lives for their master, and of whom Marcus, if he still lived, was the
last.

On the sledge which the dogs drew, rode Rose Emer, wrapped in furs,
as in truth she once had ridden. There, too--and even in the dream he
seemed strangely out of place--was the Maeronican captain. Yes, Oleric
the Red trudged through the snows beside the sledge, clad in his golden
armor, his teeth chattering in the chill blasts of the wilderness, and
bearing in his hand a naked sword.

Danger, unseen, unknown, but frightful, encompassed the wanderers in
the snow path. The dogs snarled and tore at their harness. Oleric ran
forward, waving his sword, which seemed to drip blood on the white
snows, and shouting.

"Up, brother, and call off this beast of yours!" the red captain cried.
"For soon must we go before Bel-Ar."

With those words ringing in his ears, Polaris awoke. He sprang from his
couch to the middle of the chamber. No dream's part was the shouting of
Oleric. He stood in the hall before the chamber door, his lips still
parted and a smile on his ruddy face.

And the snarling of a dog--that, too, was real.

Planted squarely in the doorway, hackles bristling, ears erect and
fangs bared, was the immense animal with which Polaris had made friends
in the night watches. All through the dark hours and the dawning, the
beast had guarded the door, suffering none to approach it. He now
barred the way to Oleric, and the chamber echoed to his angry challenge.

"By the ten kings!" exclaimed the captain with a laugh. "You do raise
up friends wherever you go, my brother. Here is one that dearly would
love to make a breakfast off my lean shanks, armored as they are, and
all because I would tell you that Shamar has brought to us another day."

At the call of Polaris, the dog backed out of the doorway, but still
with a wary and suspicious eye to the movements of the red captain.

Mordo, the prison captain, was not in attendance, but certain of his
servants were spreading the table near the center of the hall. The
Americans and the Sardanians were gathered in a group about one of the
pillars.

Everson looked wan, like one whose pillow had been ridden by evil
visions. The others of the party seemed in better spirits and were
talking among themselves. Zenas Wright gave evidence that his
scientific zeal had only lain dormant. For now he noted all about him
with a keen and kinding interest, paying his attention especially to
the architecture of the lordly hall which had housed them, and its
sculptures, of which there were many. Young Brooks' interest was fully
as keen, if more material, as that of the geologist. The eyes of the
ensign were all for the table preparations.

Seeing the party thus, and the broad bands of sunlight which streamed
into the hall through windows of crystal high in the masonry, Polaris
grew shamefaced.

"Now it seems that I alone, who of all should be wakeful, have slept
dully like a wintered bear," he muttered.

"'Tis well. You have gained strength which perhaps shall not come
amiss," Oleric answered.

Near the center of the hall a fountain played, its spray falling
through a bar of sunshine which changed the silver drops to gold as
they fell. Calling his morning greetings to his friend, Polaris went
thither and laved his face and hands and smoothed his mass of tawny
hair. The dog followed close at heel and lapped greedily from the
fountain's basin.

"Strange that this brute should be here," said Oleric. "Do you know
what manner of beast this is that so befriends you, Polaris?"

Polaris shook his head; nor did he at that time see fit to acquaint
Oleric with the circumstances of the dog's appearance.

"This is one of the dogs the priests keep at the temple of Shamar," the
captain informed. "There are few of the breed in the land, and all are
at the temples of the god in the cities. Almost as sacred are these
brutes as are the bulls, whereof you already know, and are likely to
learn more. The holy men do say of them that they are dwelt in by the
souls of heroes passed away, whom Shamar chooses to guard his temple
gates, even as the bulls are inhabited by the souls of dead kings.

"I do not believe such tales," he added quickly. "But now you will
see why Bel-Ar will be more than passing wroth at the death of the
bull, believing as he does that it is a dwelling place for one of his
ancestors, and that you may, indeed, have slain his father or his
grandfather."

Oleric, who had breakfasted, sat by while the others ate. The dog,
from the collar of which the captain read the name Rombar, signifying
thunder, stood behind the seat of Polaris and ate with dignity whatever
his self-appointed master passed to him. But he would take food from no
other hand, not even from Rose Emer, who liked all dogs.

Thereafter, sleeping or waking, the huge beast remained at Polaris's
side, and none could coax him thence. And many Maeronicans deemed that
strange. But as no man, not even Shamar's priests, dared to interfere
with the sacred brutes, except when they played their parts in the
ceremonials of the god, the attendance of Rombar upon the stranger was
permitted.

Under a guard of mailed foot-soldiers, led by Brunar, who was a captain
in the palace regiment, the prisoners were marched from the ancient
palace of Bel-Tisam to the newer palace of Bel-Ar. At their right, as
they passed up the street called Chedar's Flight, was the wall, pierced
by many gateways, of the Place of Games, with its basalt amphitheater
and its arena.

As they passed they heard the hoofs of galloping steeds, the rumble of
chariot wheels, and the cries of the charioteers, where the young lords
of Adlaz exercised their horses. From slits in the wall low down near
the pavement, issued the howling and snarling of wild beasts; for a
menagerie was a part of the equipment of the Place of Games.

       *       *       *       *       *

Beyond the hippodrome, their way led around half the circle of the
broad drive on which the four main avenues gave, and which surrounded
the wonderful gardens of the Temple of the Sun. The Americans, three
of whose number were widely traveled, marveled anew at the splendor of
that mighty pile of white marble, its lofty columns, towers and domes,
dazzling in the sunlight, their golden caps ablaze. Luxor and Karnac in
the days when Pharaoh Rameses ruled in Egypt could not have shown the
equal of this structure.

With armed men clanking on each side, the captives entered through a
massive peristyle of vari-colored pillars which was the portal to the
house of the king. Along a corridor in which four elephants might have
found way and clearance to walk abreast, the guards conducted them. At
each end of the corridor there stood ajar tall gates of bronze, their
bars interlaced with heavy patterns of gleaming gold, encrusted with
the luminous metal, known in Maeronica as orichalcum, and set with many
precious gems.

Through the second gateway the prisoners were marched, and were in the
audience chamber of Bel-Ar, the great king. It was similar in shape to
the place where they had been quartered for the night; but there all
similitude ceased. Bel-Tisam of old had sat in a plain and massive hall
and been content. The house of Bel-Ar held treasures in metals and gems
on its sculptured walls and pillars, aye, and on its floors, too, which
could have paid the national debt of a wide and wasteful state.

Dull gold smoldered underfoot in the mosaic of the pavement. Gold
and orichalcum glittered and shimmered on pillar and wall. Chairs
and tables of stone and bronze and polished woods were heavy with
the precious metal. Set in the bases of the seventy and six pillars
which upheld the roof were patterns gorgeous in agate, lapis-lazuli,
turquoise, quartz, and rock-crystal. Other and similar panels
adorned the walls. Farther up, where the work in gold and orichalcum
began--placed so high, perhaps, to be out of reach of avaricious
fingers--were more precious stones. There topaz, moonstone, amethyst,
opal, sapphire, diamond, and priceless ruby and emerald flaunted their
hundred fires.

"Lordy!" muttered Zenas Wright under his breath to Ensign Brooks as
they crossed the hall. "Give me a pick and a ladder and a half hour
alone in which to use them, and you may have and welcome the rubies of
Sardanes which went down with the _Minnetonka_."

Near a fountain, the jets of which fell and flowed over a grotto of
opalescent glass lighted from within, sat the master of all this
splendor, Bel-Ar, king of Maeronica and lord of the underseas. On no
raised dais or lofty throne sat this monarch who was absolute in his
own land. A high-backed chair of carved black wood sufficed him, raised
from the flooring on a single slab of red porphyry, scarcely twelve
inches high. On another chair at his right sat his queen. The two
were in the center of a wide crescent of seats and benches, whereon
sat the nobles and ladies of Maeronica who made up the court. Without
the semicircle stood attendants and slaves. Farther back, ranged in
a double line, was one full company, one hundred men, of the palace
guard, all in bronze mail, and each carrying his bared sword.

Like a dull moth among a concourse of gaudy and fluttering butterflies
was this powerful Maeronican king. He was attired simply in cloth
of dark blue. A cloak of the same material had fallen back from his
shoulders. On his knee rested a flat black cap of the same pattern
that his meanest sailors wore. Only a light circlet of twisted gold,
fashioned in the semblance of a slender serpent, set on his heavy
black hair above his temples, and a short, broad sword which swung at
his belt, distinguished the garb of Bel-Ar from that of the ordinary
citizen of Adlaz.

Seeing these things, one looked into the king's face for royalty,
and found it there. He sat with an elbow on the arm of his chair,
his chin cupped in his right hand, so that it hid his mouth. His
forehead was broad and low, his nose short and tilted slightly at
its tip. His cheeks were rounded and well-shaped. His ears, almost
hidden in the black hair, which was cut evenly around his neck, were
small and delicately turned as a woman's. But every other feature was
cast into insignificance and forgotten, when one looked at the king's
eyes. Set far apart, they were extraordinarily large, and black, so
that iris and pupil seemed as one. They were the eyes of a mystic, a
far-seeing dreamer, but filled with subdued fires; eyes of a strong and
self-willed man, one not to be tampered with or led. In contrast to
them, the skin of the face was fair, almost pallid. The king's figure
was above medium height, broad and powerfully framed. His years were
not more than thirty-seven.

As the prisoners were brought near to him, Bel-Ar had fallen into a fit
of abstraction. He gazed fixedly across the hall, seeing it not, nor
its people and its walls. At his feet a little slave boy sat asleep,
his head leaned against the leg of his king's chair, his small golden
harp fallen across his lap.

If Bel-Ar was the dull moth, his consort, Queen Raissa, who sat beside
him, was the most gorgeous of all the butterflies. She was younger than
the king, by a full ten years. Her face was small and flower-like, with
pouting lips and proud blue eyes that shone like stars. Hair yellow as
the golden, shell-shaped comb which was set in it, was piled high on
her head, and was yet in such abundance that two heavy braids fell down
across her shoulders. She was robed in a graceful gown of pale blue,
the bodice of which blazed with gems. Her fingers toyed with a costly
fan, whereof the stem was ivory and the sticks the colored plumes of
rare birds. She gazed curiously at the strangers whom the soldiers
brought in, and when her eyes alighted upon Oleric they became eager.

       *       *       *       *       *

At the edge of the open space just beyond the semicircle of the
courtiers, the guards halted. For a few moments the silence in the hall
was broken only by the low-toned gossip of gay lords and ladies, who
paid scant attention to guards or prisoners. Then the queen touched
Bel-Ar's knee with her fan and spoke a few words in his ear. He started
from his reverie.

"Come hither, Brunar," he said in a deep, low voice. As he raised his
head, it was to be seen that his chin was square and heavy, but that
his mouth was lacking in the strength of his other features.

Brunar made his report, and was replaced by Oleric the Red, who bowed
low before the king, his ready smile playing about his lips.

"You would make report of a fademe lost, Captain Oleric," said the
king. "Doubtless a small matter to you, but meaning much to me, who ill
can spare my fademes." He frowned.

"Not so, O king," replied the captain, composing his features and
speaking earnestly. "As you know, not all of our engineers have learned
to govern wisely the mighty force that gives the fademes life."

Bel-Ar nodded. "That is true," he said. "Now what of this engineer of
yours?"

"Why, he was a careless fellow, and whoof! one day under his hands went
engine and fademe. They lie in fragments on the sea-bottom near the
great south cape on the way to the ocean named Pacific, and the crew
lies with them."

"How is it, then, that you stand here to make report?"

"My star watched over me, O king. I floated to the surface, alone of
all the fademe's crew. On the wreckage of the cabin I floated. I had
by me my hamess (mask). I donned it. Later my senses departed me. I
was taken up by a ship from the northern world, and was treated with
kindness by these whom you see here. Driven by storm, that ship came to
the coast of Maeronica, and--"

"Enough; I had the rest of the tale from Brunar," interposed Bel-Ar.

"But of your mission to the far Pacific? What of that?" questioned
Raissa, leaning forward eagerly.

Again Oleric smiled, and smiling, drew from his belt a small leather
bag. He advanced, and kneeling, handed the bag to the queen.

"Oh! Lovely!" she gasped as she poured a part of its contents into her
palm--pearls, five score or more of them, as fine as ever came from the
ocean bed, she held. One great and lustrous globe of faint rose-pink
she seized upon with a cry of delight. She held it out toward the
king. "See! Is it not beautiful?" she exclaimed. She turned to the red
captain.

"You have done well, indeed, good Oleric," she said quickly. "My king
shall forgive you for the lost fademe, the losing of which was surely
no fault of yours. And these--these be worth many fademes to me." She
selected two of the pearls of fair size and goodly sheen and gave them
to Oleric.

"You did venture your life to get them. Perchance some maid of Adlaz
town shall look on you more kindly for the gift," she said.

Bel-Ar frowned; then he smiled, too.

"Well, Raissa has said it. I must agree, I suppose. I forgive you the
fademe," he said, somewhat dryly, while the lords and ladies laughed.
"Only sail no more ships at present, captain. Get you to the harbor,
and there for a space relieve Atlo as captain of the port. I have need
of him at the Kimbrian Wall, where the robbers of Ruthar have grown
overbold.

"Now, another matter." The king's brow clouded. "Which of these
foreigners slew the bull of Shamar? This one surely." He pointed to
Minos. "Never saw I such a man."

"No, O king, not he," Oleric said. "He is from a far land in the
southern snow wastes, which was destroyed by the earth-fires. There he
was the king. The other one, the golden-haired man, it was, who slew
the bull--to save a child--"

"Have done. The reason for the deed avails him not," Bel-Ar broke in.
"Have him come hither, that I may judge."

       *       *       *       *       *

Oleric fetched Polaris Janess into the space before the throne. The son
of the snows advanced with a firm step and halted directly in front of
Bel-Ar, where he gazed at the king with steady eyes. Close at his heels
came the great dog Rombar.

"Why does the man not bow?" inquired Bel-Ar harshly. "Where learned he
his manners? And how does it come that he is attended by a sacred dog
of Shamar, that seems ready to do battle for him?"

In truth, Rombar, who feared not kings, was ready for battle. He stood
at the side of Polaris, his hackles raised and a rumbling challenge in
his throat.

Bel-Ar regarded the pair of them sternly, though many in his court
found much to admire in the powerful form and steadfast demeanor of the
son of the wilderness.

Oleric spoke hastily in English. "Bow, brother; bow to the king; though
I fear that 'twill not mend matters," he grumbled.

Polaris inclined his head shortly and continued to meet the gaze of the
angered king. "His bow is grudging enough," said Bel-Ar to the captain;
"but no matter."

Just then a tall old man in white and flowing robes came forward to
the left of Bel-Ar's seat. He was lean of face, like an ancient hawk,
and like a hawk's was his thin, curved beak. His eyes glittered with
malice. On his breast, done in gold in the garment he wore, was the
likeness of the rising sun, the insignia of the priests of Shamar.

Well Polaris knew that shape and face. It was the master chuckler that
had disturbed him the night before.

"This man is marked by Shamar," the priest said in a high, cracked
voice, and regarding Polaris hatefully. "As for the dog, 'tis sent by
the god to watch that the man escape not his doom."

"Oleric, hold your peace," said Bel-Ar, as the stout captain was about
to speak. "And flout not the holy Rhaen, lest it be the worse for
you. I will judge." The king paused and ran his eyes over the other
prisoners.

"He that slew the sacred bull, he shall be given over to the servants
of Shamar, to be done with as the god shall will at the feast of years.
He that was a king, he shall now serve a greater king. Let him be sent
to the harbor, where strong backs are always welcome. The other two
young men shall go into my mines. The old one shall be a scullion in my
kitchens, as harder work doubtless would kill him.

"Take the two women and the slayer of the bull to the prison and keep
them fast until Shamar claims them for the feast. The women must die.
The law commands that no foreign woman, however fair, shall live in
Maeronica. So may the ancient blood never be tainted. I have judged.
Let it be so, and so writ down, unless the holy Rhaen, chief servant to
Shamar, has other claims." Bel-Ar looked inquiringly at the priest.

Now it chanced that Lieutenant Everson, face to face with the man by
whose decree his ship had perished, had fixed on the king a glance of
undying hatred. None had noted it except the priest, Rhaen, who saw all
things. He now asked that the naval man be turned over to the god along
with Polaris. Bel-Ar nodded his assent.

At a sign from the king, Oleric led Polaris back to his companions.
The judgment was ended. The guards closed in around the prisoners and
marched them away.




                              CHAPTER IV

                       "DEAD MEN ARE BEHIND US"


Along the black avenue, back to the prison house of Mordo, the captives
were marched. For Oleric, through the friendship Brunar bore him, won
from that captain the half of a day for his friends, that they might
pass it together before the separation decreed by Bel-Ar.

Understanding little of what had taken place, and no word of what had
been said in the audience-chamber of the king--for Oleric the Red was
their only interpreter--the prisoners still had the heart to look with
curiosity upon the doings in that part of Adlaz town which lay along
the way that they traversed.

As Zenas Wright trudged, his bright old eyes were busy, and he shook
his white head often at the marvels which he saw. A group of the
young bloods of Maeronica clattered by on horses. As they passed, the
old geologist stared and stopped in his tracks, so that an impatient
soldier of the guard hustled him with the butt of a spear.

"Gold, gold, everywhere," muttered Zenas as he started on. "They even
shoe their horses with it."

In the hall where they had slept the friends gathered for council.
Oleric had come in with them, and all eyes were turned to him. Before
he would speak the captain insisted that meat and wine should be
brought, and he set his helmet on the floor and ate with them.

Fate willed that it should be the last time that the seven friends
should sit at the same table.

When the meal was ended, Oleric told simply and briefly of the judgment
of Bel-Ar, holding back nothing.

For a moment, silence was his answer. Then Zenas Wright brought his
jaws together with a snap.

"What! Me a scullion in that barbarian's greasy kitchen!" he barked.
"Why not nursemaid to the royal brats?" Then Zenas groaned as his anger
was swallowed in the realization of what was to befall the friends he
whom had come to love so well.

With his topaz eyes ablaze, Polaris Janess sprang up from the table and
stood over the captain.

"You, Oleric, who call yourself my friend, why did you not interpret
this to us while we were in the hall yonder?" he asked quietly. "Then
had this kingdom been kingless." He glanced down at his sinewy hands.
Suddenly he bent over and snatched the captain's sword from its sheath.
So he, who had seen so much of fighting, made ready to fight again, and
for the last time. For what else was left him but to give his life for
his lady and go to his appointed place?

"Of those who come to take us, some at least shall go a long journey
with us," he said as he toyed with the heavy blade.

Everson and Brooks, picked men who had sailed the seas for Uncle Sam,
nodded their heads, saying nothing. There have been traditions in that
service of which they were officers. When their time came they would
uphold them.

White and straight, the Lady Memene stood up from the table and fixed
her glorious eyes upon the Sardanian king. She plucked from the bosom
of her gown a small, keen dagger, a blade of ilium, which a certain
Kard the Smith had forged for her in far-away Sardanes. She reached the
weapon across the table and into the hands of Minos.

"If I understand the words of this man aright, death waiteth," she said
in the ancient Greek of her native land. "Memene prefers it at thy
hands, O king of mine. Slay thou me and--and the unborn king, Minos."
Her lips trembled pitifully, and her voice broke. Then she became hard
again, and with a fire in her eyes. "Join thou then with our good
brother here, and slay, and slay, and slay--for this is an evil land.
And begin with this man whom we saved from the sea, and who is evil,
also. See! He smileth, while we are about to die."

Oleric, who had made no move when his sword was taken from him, sat
quietly, studying the faces about him and smiling his enigmatical smile.

"What does the lady say?" he asked of Polaris.

Janess told him.

When Rose Emer heard, she threw her arms about the Sardanian princess
and hid her face in Memene's bosom. Presently she looked up, a mist of
tears in her gray eyes, but her voice was clear and steady as she said:

"If we are to die, let us die together. Polaris, let me go with Memene."

Oleric's smile vanished. He held up his hand.

"Let there be no more talk of dying--at least not for many long years,"
he said, and there were both feeling and strength in his tones.

The others looked at him, wondering what his words portended.

"Now the time has come for me to avow myself," continued the red
captain. "I will speak all that has been in my mind, and you shall
judge if I be worthy of your trust--for trust to me you must, if we are
to see a straight way out of this tangle."

He turned to Polaris.

"My brother," he said, "do you recall that yesterday, when you had
slain the bull of Shamar, I said to you that Bel-Ar would be as little
likely to forgive you that deed as to forgive one who confessed himself
a follower of the Goddess Glorian of Ruthar?"

Polaris nodded. "I remember," he answered, "but understand not."

"That is my crime," said Oleric. "I am of Ruthar, a follower of the
Goddess Glorian, and a faithful one. I will make clear to you what you
do not understand. Listen. I will make the tale brief.

"In the long ago, the very long ago--so long that most of the world
you know was wilderness and its peoples barbarians--a mighty people
flourished on an island in the ocean that you name Atlantic. They
called themselves the Children of Ad, or Adlaz, after the eldest of the
ten kings that once ruled in that land. Tradition has it that their
island was the first cradle of civilization; for they, because of their
isolation, alone of all the peoples of the earth, dwelt in peace and
plenty, and were not wasted by wars.

"If the ancient maps were truly drawn, that island of Adlaz lay
opposite and southward from the straits of a fair sea, and the straits
were known as the Pillars of Heracles. With time and the growth of
the nation of Ad came greed upon her children, greed and the love of
conquest. Great navies carried their armies east and west. Along both
shores of that blue sea, which you know as Mediterranean, they gained a
foothold, and made the nations bend to their yoke. Westward they sailed
to another continent across the ocean, conquering the red men of the
wildernesses there, and founding provinces and building cities.

"Then in the flower of her pride and conquests, Adlaz was cut down.
Both sides of the Mediterranean she held as far as the gates of Egypt
and the islands of the Hellenes. But the nation of the Hellenes was
the rock on which the fortunes of Adlaz split. A wise and crafty king
led the Hellenes in battle to withstand the flood of invasion from the
island empire. He beat their army and nearly destroyed it. He trapped
the mighty navy that had sailed from Adlaz against the Hellenes. While
Egypt sat quaking, waiting to bend the neck to the heel of the invader,
the Hellenes, under their wise leader, turned the tide.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Balked and broken, those who had gone forth to conquer returned to
their island. But the great sea-god whom they worshiped must have been
sorely angered at their failure. For in one day he arose and swallowed
their island. The land heaved and split; the mountains were rent, and
vomited up both fires and waters, and the entire island disappeared
into the depths of the sea. East and west on the two continents, the
barbarians rose against the colonies of Adlaz, and they too perished.
O'Connell, the slave, who was learned, told me that so utterly was the
race of Adlaz wiped from the earth that naught remains, excepting the
half-buried ruins of some of their cities, which stand in the jungles
of the western continent, concerning the very origin of which the minds
of men are vague. And of the island of Adlaz itself, he told that it
was only a dim tradition, a myth, the truth of which is doubted even by
the learned.

"But all of Adlaz did not perish. A part, a small part, of the mighty
fleet which had sailed against the Hellenes was not lost, but was
driven southward in the tidal-waves of the inundation which swallowed
the island.

"Afloat, but with every hand in the world turned against them, their
colonies crumbling before the wrath of the barbarians, those chiefs of
Adlaz turned for guidance to the son of one of their princes who was on
one of the ships. Of his wisdom that prince told them that since they
were hated of all the world, and that even the hand of the sea-god was
set against them--why, they would sail to the end of the world to find
them an abiding place, until in the fulness of time they should once
more rule the earth. So they passed like a flame down the coasts of the
western continent until they reached this place; and here they stopped
and stayed, maintaining the old traditions of their race, keeping
themselves apart--a hateful people, waiting for the day of which their
leader told them, when they shall once more conquer the world.

"But even in those days they found this land, which is warmed strangely
by the ocean currents, was inhabited. A free and fearless race of
barbarians dwelt here, and them the warriors of Adlaz were never able
to subdue. Great beasts dwelt here, also--beasts so mighty that the
earth shook when they walked--and the Children of Ad found themselves
beset by troubles in their new land. But they throve. Though they
could not conquer the barbarians, they drove them from the north of
the island. And though they could not slay the mighty beasts, they
affrighted them with fire, burning whole forests, and forced them also
to the south. At one point the land is narrow, scarcely sixty of your
English miles across. There the Children of Ad builded them a wall so
tall and thick that even the beasts might not push it down.

"On the other side of that wall--the Kimbrian Wall--lies Ruthar, a land
of forests and hills and rivers, but a fair land. And there dwell the
Rutharians and the beasts; and down through all the years to this day
there has been war across the wall.

"Now to the meat of this tale of mine, which grows long. In Ruthar
there is a prophecy, also, to match that of those who call themselves
Maeronicans. It is that there shall come up from the sea a mighty man
with yellow hair like unto gold, who shall break down the Kimbrian
Wall and let the beasts pass through, and who shall lead the chiefs
of Ruthar in a warfare that shall break the power of Adlaz, and cast
down the hateful kings and the cruel religion of Shamar. For that man
the Rutharian chieftains always wait, and with them waits the Goddess
Glorian, who is more than any king or chief."

Oleric paused, and looked long and earnestly into the face of Polaris.

"That is my tale, my brother," he said. "And if you are not the man of
the ancient prophecy of Ruthar, at least I believe that you will serve."

Breathlessly Zenas Wright had followed the course of the red captain's
words. The scientist could contain himself no longer.

"_Atlantis!_" he cried. From face to face about the table he looked,
with a shadow of awe in his eager eyes. "Just so surely as we are
sitting here--if this man tells the truth, and I think that he does--we
are among the descendants of the people of the lost continent of
Atlantis. Word for word, his story fits in with that which the old
Egyptian priest at Sais told to Solon, the Greek, and which Plato
recorded. I have read it all in the compilation by Ignatius Donnelly,
in which he gathered all the evidence which he could find in the world
to prove that Atlantis was not a myth."

Zenas sat back with half-closed eyes. A long, low whistle passed his
lips.

"What do you call the luminous metal with which your helmet and armor
are decorated?" he asked of Oleric.

"It is called orichalcum," replied the captain.

Wright nodded. "It is the same," he said. "Plato wrote that such was
the name of a similar metal, of which the Atlanteans had the secret.
They delved it from the ground. It was far more precious to them than
gold. In their temples stood columns of it, on which their laws were
carved."

"O'Connell told me that there were still traditions in the world of the
continent that was; but he never told me this," Oleric said. "You are
right. In the Temple of Shamar, here in Adlaz, such a column stands,
and on it the laws are writ. On it, too, is the prophecy of Maeronica,
against which I now match the prophecy of Ruthar, whose son I am."

He looked at Polaris. "Say, brother, how is it with you? Are you minded
to come with me to Ruthar and try a tilt at the Kimbrian Wall--a tilt
for a kingdom?"

Polaris had heard the tale of Oleric with grave and earnest attention,
studying the face of the captain as he talked. Now the son of the snows
laughed dryly.

"Mad talk, Oleric the Red," he said. "I am not the hero of your
prophecy; and if I were, how are we to come from Adlaz to this Ruthar
of which you tell us so glibly; and when we are come there, if that be
possible, how are we to break down the wall which has stood against
your armies for years--"

"So it must seem to you," interrupted Oleric, with clouding brow. "Mad
talk, indeed; and perhaps it is. But here in Adlaz is death--death and
slavery. I know a way to Ruthar. For the matter of the wall, I have one
question to put. Well answered, all will be well.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Here in Maeronica there are some few things in which the folk have
progressed as far ahead of the rest of the world as the world has
outstripped them in most others. Of these are the fademes and their
power of destruction--the mighty force of which even I know can only be
used beneath the sea. On land, that force is powerless except to use
as a light. In battle the Maeronicans fight as did their forefathers,
bearing the arms that you have seen. I know that out in the world men
have mastered the secret of engines which slay from afar, casting
globes of metal which fly apart with a loud noise, rending all that is
near. Such I saw on the ship yonder.

"We have, as you reckon time, nearly six months before the Feast of
Years, when doom will be meted out to those who are marked for death.
I know that is not time enough, nor do I think we have the means to
construct such engines. But, say--has no one among you the knowledge to
make the stuff which you feed into them? If there is such a one, why,
I know in Ruthar a laboratory where he might work, with many willing
hands to do his bidding. I have tried it myself, but have discovered
nothing. Surely one of you, who are instructed, shall do better. So
might we destroy even the great wall."

He paused, and gazed hard at Zenas Wright and then at Lieutenant
Everson.

"_An explosive!_" Zenas Wright almost shouted the words. "You have a
brain in that red head, my boy. With the proper chemicals it might be
done." He clapped Everson on the shoulder. "With you to help me, it
might be done. What do you think, lieutenant?"

"I would do most anything to get a chance at this nest of devils," said
Everson, and his eyes glittered. "I have not trusted this man. I do
not know that I trust him now. But if he is playing fair, there seems
no other way. Whatever you decide to do, I am with you, and will do my
best. If we can find the chemicals, we can make an explosive powerful
enough to move a few tons of stone, if that will do any good."

"Break you the wall, and I will promise you the rest of the trick,"
the captain cried, "or Ruthar will die to the last man on the road to
Adlaz!"

He considered for a moment.

"One man I can surely take with me to Ruthar," he said. "Two will
double, aye more than double the risk; and three would more than triple
it. Still, it may be accomplished. I must have a little time; but I
will do my best.

"Now, my brother, what say you? If I can bring it about so that you and
the old man here, Father Zenas, and this other, who, though he trust me
not, I will yet play fair by--if I can manage it that these go with me
to Ruthar--will you come, also?"

"What of these others?" Polaris asked, and looked at Rose Emer.

"Here they must stay," Oleric answered.

"'Twill be hard enough to take the three of you--and slaying will be
done before it is accomplished. It is impossible to take more. By the
way which we shall go, no woman might pass undetected. But I tell you
they shall come to no harm in your absence. The very law of the land
protects them. They be marked for the ceremonies of Shamar. Until the
appointed time, not even the king himself dare harm them. Bethink you,
brother; this is the only way."

"Yonder on the ship you made a promise, Oleric," replied Polaris. "I
think you will try to keep it. I trust you. But there are other things
to consider." He addressed himself to Rose Emer.

"Lady, you have heard this madness, which yet, as says the captain,
does seem to be the only road save that to death. In such things
ofttimes the heart of a woman is wiser than the brains of men. Let your
heart answer. Shall I go to Ruthar, and with this man and his people
fight my way back to Adlaz, if it may be done?"

       *       *       *       *       *

"The future of this company hangs on your word, lady," put in Oleric.
"And I make another promise. By day and by night I will not leave the
side of my brother. If he shall find that in any word I have lied, if
he shall meet with any treachery through me, then let him wring this
red head from off my shoulders."

"If we stay here, we must die to-day, or be separated and die later,"
Rose Emer said with a shudder. "And our friends, if they do not die,
face a life of slavery." She looked into the face of Polaris, and
though her lips trembled and the tears started to her gray eyes, she
said bravely:

"Go to Ruthar, and come back if you can. If you do not come, I will
know that you have done all that a man can do."

"I will go with you, Oleric," Polaris said simply. "Now, what is your
plan?"

"This," answered the captain. "When the guards come, as they will
presently, you, my brother, will go with them to the dungeons that lie
below this house. Though they are cut in the rock they are lighted well
and are not terrible. You will not fare badly there. The ladies will be
quartered above here, and I will exert my influence to see that they
are treated well. These others will not fare so well; but they are men,
and can stand it. Let them do as they are bid without protest. Within
ten days from this day I will plan to have you out of your prison, and
will contrive, also, to bring with me Father Zenas and the captain
of the ship. By stealth or by force, we shall seize a marizel, pass
through the hidden canal from Adlaz to the harbor, thence to the sea
and down the coast to Ruthar.

"I shall have some aid; for within the walls of Adlaz there is one
other man of Ruthar who is faithful to me. You may wonder how it is
that I, who am of Ruthar and hate Adlaz, yet am a captain in the
service of Bel-Ar. Years ago I passed the Kimbrian Wall, coming as a
spy and giving it out that I was the son of Maeronican parents taken
captive in a foray; that I had been born in Ruthar, but had escaped
into my own country. Here I have stayed at the bidding of the Goddess
Glorian, ready against the time for which all Ruthar waits. Bel-Ar
likes men of brains. I have some, and I have risen to be one of his
captains. Also, I have learned much. That is all my story."

"Who is the Goddess Glorian?" Rose Emer asked. "Is she the queen of
Ruthar?"

Oleric's eyes widened at the question; but he answered readily enough:

"Yes, lady; she is the queen."

"You say that there are great beasts in Ruthar," said Zenas Wright.
"What are they--elephants?"

"No; they are not what you call elephants," replied the captain.
"O'Connell thought they were until he saw them. Then he gave them
another name, which I have forgot. He told me of elephants; but they
must be puny beasts compared to those which dwell in the forests of
Ruthar. We call them amalocs. This man is a giant." He pointed to
Minos, who stood six feet eight on his naked feet. "But were he twice
as tall, he could not look across the back of an amaloc. But they are
shaped like the elephants of which O'Connell told, and, like them, they
are tusked. Their bodies are covered with red wool--almost as red as is
my own thatch."

"_Elephas primigenius!_ Mammoths, no less," said Zenas. And he added
under his breath, "I will believe that when I see them, my friend."

Low as were his words, Oleric heard them.

"You shall see them, Father Zenas," he said, and laughed.

Presently came the guards, and the friends were separated. Some of them
were never to be reunited.

       *       *       *       *       *

Deep in the rock below the old palace of Bel-Tisam, where Mordo ruled,
the guards led Polaris Janess, and left him there. Oleric had spoken
truly concerning the place, and the captive might have fared much worse
in a modern prison in a civilized land. For the place was roomy and
well ventilated, and, above all, it was clean. A chamber or cell, it
was, some forty feet square by thirty feet in height. Its outer wall
was the living rock. On the other three sides was masonry. A circular
door of bronze, small and of great strength, was its only entrance.

Through that door from the corridor without stepped Polaris, and behind
him, close as a shadow, padded the huge dog, Rombar, rumbling in his
throat so that the guards shrank from him. The door clanged shut, and
the bars and wards clashed into place. The guards had neither bound
nor chained Polaris. They had not even searched his clothing. The
thickness of the dungeon walls was their guarantee that he would do no
mischief; and besides, they went well armed.

Air entered the chamber through mortises in the wall near the ceiling
and above the ground level, where began the foundation of the
palace. It was lighted by a single globe, with its enclosed curious
battery--mitzl, the Maeronicans called it; but the Americans had
decided that the source of the light was some new application of
electricity.

By the light from the globe Polaris saw that he was not alone in the
cell. A small man, whose features were concealed by a mat of unkempt
gray hair and a shaggy beard, sat on a low cot in the angle of the wall
nearest to the door. He was clothed in rags.

This man did not look up when another was thrust in to break his
solitude, but bent low over something which he had on the cot, swaying
back and forth as he sat, and crooning softly to himself.

Polaris cast his fellow prisoner a glance, and then fell to pacing
up and down the length of the cell. His mood was gloomy. Above him
somewhere through those gray walls dwelt his dear lady; but, ah, how
far away! For he was powerless now to comfort her or to aid. Oleric
would keep faith. Of that he was sure; but his heart misgave him
mightily lest the plans of the captain should go awry.

Yes; above him were Rose and Lady Memene, who through the long weeks of
their prisonment, each night when they went to rest, would kneel and
pray for his welfare and that of Minos and the others, and that all
plans might prevail.

Presently the son of the snows sat himself on a second cot on the far
side of the chamber, and fell to fondling Rombar and toying with the
dog's pointed ears.

"Good Rombar," he said. "Good fellow and comrade."

At his words, the man in the corner sprang up from his cot as though
fire had touched him. He shrieked hoarsely and tottered across the
floor, moving and clawing at the air with his hands. Unheeding the
snarling menace of Rombar, he came on until he stood in front of the
cot where Polaris sat holding the dog back by the collar.

The man bent over, resting his hands on his knees, and peered into
Polaris's face with darkling, rheumy eyes.

"Hinglish!" he croaked, gasping for his breath. "Hinglish! Did Hi 'ear
a Hinglish word, or was I a-dreamin'? Sye?"

He trembled in a terrible eagerness.

"You did, indeed," Polaris said gently. "Now tell me how you came here,
who speak it also, and who are you?"

"Gor'bly me; Hi never 'oped to 'ear another Hinglish word in this
life--me wot's rottin' 'ere into my grave!" the man said. "Gor'! Gor'!"
He subsided into a tattered heap on the floor of the cell, covered his
eyes with his shaking, grimy hands, and sobbed hysterically.

Restraining the dog, which would have sprung upon the weeping man,
Polaris leaned forward and patted the poor fellow on the shoulder.

"Who are you, and how do you come to be in a Maeronican dungeon?" he
asked.

"Jack Melton's me nyme, sir," the man said brokenly. "Hi'm from old
Lunnon, Gor' bless 'er! Hi was cook on the ship _Aldine_, sir, from
'Ong-Kong to Durban, round the Cape. We got off our course, and the
bloody devils sunk us--skewered us like a mutton shank, sir, with a
streak of light. An' w'y in 'ell they did it, sir, is more than Hi can
tell.

"Hi floated free on a cask--a biscuit cask, sir. Or mayhap it was a
'encoop; Hi've forgot, Hi was that flustered. Hup bobs a bloomin' big
gold ball from the sea--it's Gord's truth. They took me aboard, an'
they brought me ashore. They sets me to work in their mines; but Hi'd
not do a stroke for them, sir. Hi near killed one of the bosses. Then
they brought me here, sir. Oh, Gor'! Oh, Gor'-a-me!"

He broke out weeping afresh and rocked himself back and forth.

"How long have you been here?" questioned Polaris.

"That Hi can't tell, sir," Melton replied. "Hi used to keep count of
the weeks an' months; but Hi lost it. Mayhap 'alf a year; mayhap a
year."

Melton fell silent for a time. Then he chuckled to himself and tottered
to his feet.

"_Hi'll_ get even with 'em, sir," he said. "Never fear; _Hi'll_ get
even. Come an' see, sir."

He took Polaris by the hand and led him across the floor to the other
cot. "Look!" he said, and fumbled back the ragged covers.

Beady black eyes glistened among the rags. A sharp and whiskered gray
snout was thrust forth, twitching and sniffing; then another and
another. A mother rat and two half-grown young ones were hidden in
Melton's bed. Out they crept to their master's coaxing, only to scurry
back, squeaking, when Rombar thrust his head from behind Polaris,
whining with eagerness to be at them.

"Keep the tyke back, sir," said Melton. "'E frights 'em. This 'ere's
'Enrietta, an' 'ere's Bobby an' Bill. 'Enrietta's an old fool, an'
Bobby's no better; but Bill, 'e's a wonner, sir. See!"

From his breast he took a splinter of wood, to which was attached a bit
of frayed red rag, on which he had rudely drawn in black the lines of
the Union Jack. He placed one of the young rats on his palm, and laid
the sliver with its frayed shred of bunting in front of the little
animal. Softly he began to whistle the bars of "God Save the King."

"Come, Bill; 'urry," he said, and resumed his low whistling. The rat
took up the flag in its teeth and sat on its haunches in its master's
hand. As long as the whistling continued the little beast shook its
head vigorously, waving the tiny emblem. When Melton ceased the anthem,
Bill let fall the flag and swarmed, squeaking, down the man's arm, to
nestle away among the rags at his breast.

"Gor'bly me, Bill, you're a wonner!" Melton said with pride. He placed
his strange pet back with the others and pulled the coverlet over them.

"Listen. Hi'll tell you wot no man knows," he whispered to Janess.
"They're hoff a plyge-ship. 'Enrietta an' Bobby an' Bill is. They
carried it to us from a bloomin' junk at 'Ong-Kong. The cap'n was
dyin' of it in 'is cabin when the ship went down, sir. And Hi'm
a-nursin' of 'em along, sir. Hi saved 'Enrietta, and she became a
mother, sir. When there's enough of them, Hi shall loose them, sir.
That's 'ow Hi'll get even. Gor'bly me! Hi'll kill hevery beggar in this
land with the plyge. 'Enrietta an' Bobby an' Bill will do it, sir."

Melton sat down on his cot again, and crooned to himself over his pets.
He seemed to forget the presence of Janess. Neither then or afterward
did he ask Polaris any questions as to how he came to share his prison.
Polaris drew away from him and went back to his own side of the cell.
He saw that the man was mad.

       *       *       *       *       *

Twice each day one of Mordo's guards brought the captives their
meals--bread and meat and water in generous measure, enough for the men
and the dog. Melton from his rations fed his whiskered family.

With his pocket-knife and a bit of wood from the frame of his cot, the
son of the snows made shift to keep track of the passing of the days,
cutting a nick in the wood for each. "God send that they be not many
before the coming of Oleric," he prayed fervently.

One night he was startled from his sleep by an uproar in the chamber.
Melton's cursing and shrieking was intermingled with the angry snarls
of Rombar. Polaris sprang up and threw off the cloth with which he was
wont to darken the mitzl globe when he slept.

Melton was crouched in the middle of the cell. His face was livid and
contorted. Tears of rage were on his cheeks, and his breath was coming
in gasps. His lips were writhed away from his ragged teeth. In front
of him, tensed and ready to spring, was Rombar. On the floor, where it
had dropped from the dog's jaws, lay a little bundle of gray fur, still
twitching feebly.

Before the impending grapple, Polaris bounded between them and jerked
the dog back by the collar.

"What is it?" he cried. "What ails you, Melton?"

Then Janess saw the maimed little fragment of life on the floor, and
his face saddened.

"'Fore Gord, 'e's murdered my 'Enrietta!" howled Melton. "The tyke's
murdered 'er, Hi sye! And Hi'll kill 'im, Hi will--and you, too, if you
tries to stop me! And you, too, Hi says!"

He staggered toward Janess and lunged out with his right hand.
Something glistened in the light as he struck. Polaris avoided the
blow, and caught and wrenched the outstretched arm. A slender bar of
iron fell tinkling to the floor. Janess picked it up. Where it had come
from he did not know; but Melton, by patient rubbing against the stones
of the wall, had ground it to a needle point.

"Let me at 'im!" the crazed man shrieked. "Hi'll tear 'im with me bare
'ands!"

Polaris pushed him back.

"I am sorry, very sorry, for what he has done," he said. "But he is my
good friend, and I shall not let him come to harm. He did but follow
the instincts of his nature."

Melton stared at him for a moment, and then, weeping and cursing,
retired to his cot. Far into the night Polaris heard him moaning and
mumbling to himself, and pitied him.

Janess hid the weapon under his own pillow. Then with strips of his
bedding he wove a stout cord, and thereafter when he slept he tied
Rombar fast to a leg of the bed.

       *       *       *       *       *

Days passed away--ten days, eleven, twelve, and still another. And yet
there was no sign of Oleric. Polaris's stout heart sank.

In the dark hours of the fourteenth day he awoke. He heard the grating
of bronze hinges. At the side of his bed, Rombar growled softly.
Polaris snatched the hood from the light.

The door of bronze was open. The mitzl rays shone on the tall form of
a man in golden armor.

Oleric had come!

"I am late at my tryst," whispered the red captain, "but I could not
manage it sooner. Now we must haste, or 'twill be too late forever."
He grinned. "I see your beard has grown somewhat," he said. "Perchance
those bristles shall serve well. You are an ill man to disguise. Who is
here?" he asked as he caught sight for the first time of Melton, who
had not awakened.

"A poor crazed English sailor," Polaris answered. He crossed the
chamber, with Rombar at his heels; for he had stopped to undo the rope.

"What? The brute, too?" groaned Oleric.

"I fear we must," Polaris said. "If I leave him, he will rouse the
prison with his howling, and I will not slay him. He has been too good
a friend. Can we not manage to take him?"

"Aye; bring him," grumbled the captain. "First fetch yonder light."

Janess took down the globe. As he swung it toward Oleric, he saw that
the hands of the captain were splashed red with blood. Oleric noted his
glance.

"Dead men are behind us," he said. "Thrice to-night have I used my
sword--once at the mines, where I got Everson, and twice above. Two of
the men of Mordo will turn no more prison keys. Come!"

He stepped cautiously out through the door.

Polaris glanced across to where the mad Cockney lay breathing heavily.

"Some day, if it be given me, I will open this door again and set you
free, John Melton," he whispered.

He stooped and went out through the doorway, and Rombar followed.

       *       *       *       *       *

Outside the door of the dungeon-chamber Polaris stumbled over the form
of a tall man in armor, who lay with his face to the floor.

"More death?" Janess asked of Oleric, who busied himself with the bolts
of the bronze door.

"Not so," said the captain with a chuckle, as he shot the last bar home
in its socket. "Only the death that good wines bring. He has the best
part of seven bottles in his skin."

He looked up at Polaris apologetically.

"Bel-Ar would flay him for this night's work, did he find him," he
said. "You say the dog has been a good friend to you. Well, this man
Mordo, with all his glum ways, is a good fellow. I will not leave my
old drinking companion to the mercy of Bel-Ar."

Without answer, Polaris handed the light to Oleric, and stooped and
swung the limp figure of Mordo to his shoulder.

Oleric glanced at the keys in his hand and then at the door.

"I'll not turn the locks," he said. "I would not have the poor slave
within starve while they made new keys."

He led the way along the corridor, past a broad stone stairway, to the
south wall of the old palace, where it fronted on the black avenue
called Chedar's Flight. There in the wall were other doors of bronze.
Oleric paused before one of them.

"Will I ever enter Mordo's wine-cellars again, I wonder?" he said. He
found the key and opened the heavy door. Within, the light disclosed
rack after rack, seemingly without end, of dust-covered flagons. They
threaded their way among them until Oleric found what he sought. In
the stone floor of the chamber in a far corner was a round trap-door
of bronze. The captain had to tug one of the wine-racks to one side to
disclose it.

"Lay Mordo down, comrade, and help," he said, when his utmost strength
had failed to stir the door.

Polaris, still balancing his burden on his shoulder, bent down and
caught the ancient ring of the door in one hand. Before Oleric could
lay hold to help him he straightened, the mighty muscles of his back
cracking with the effort. The door was open.

The trap yawned on a dark stairway leading down through the rock. Far
below sounded the plashing of waters. "Mind where you set your feet,"
warned Oleric as he started down.

"Where are Everson and the old man?" asked Polaris.

"They wait us below in the hidden canal--they and one other," replied
the captain. "They entered by another way, while I was busied in the
house of Mordo."

Oleric closed the trap and left the keys on the stair-top. Down fully
threescore steps they went, and stood on a wharf of stone at the edge
of a narrow canal that had been cut in the rock. Overhead, the roof was
arched and vaulted. At the lip of the wharf was moored a small marizel,
the golden plates of which caught the rays of the lamplike fire.

"All the way from the Temple of the Sun to the harbor of Adlaz this
canal leads, cut through the rock underneath Chedar's Flight," said
Oleric. He stepped on the rear deck of the little craft and struck
softly on its door, which was opened at once. A short man of middle
age came onto the deck. He was clothed in the garb of a sailor. As the
light fell on him, Polaris saw that his hair was almost as red as that
of Oleric.

"Now here is another good man of Ruthar," said the captain. And to the
man he said, "Urk, this is the man whereof I have told you." From head
to foot, Urk gave the son of the snows a long and searching glance.
Then he folded his arms on his breast and bowed low.

With Mordo on his shoulder, Polaris stepped onto the deck and through
the door, followed by Rombar.

Oleric closed the double doors of the craft, and Urk, who was skilled
about the engines, at once got her under way. Submerged and showing no
light, they crept cautiously down the canal toward the sea.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the cabin of the marizel were Everson and Wright--though Polaris had
to look twice and then again to recognize the geologist. Zenas wore the
mean black of a servant in the king's kitchens. His white hair had been
bobbed and his beard shaved from him. But his little black eyes were as
bright and restless as ever, and his voice was hearty as he wrung the
hand of Polaris and said:

"Lordy, son, but it's good to see you."

Everson, who had discarded the dirty garments of a delver in the earth
for the full golden armor of a Maeronican captain, caught Polaris's
hand as Zenas relinquished it.

"Our work has begun," he said, "and begun well. I shall distrust this
man no more." He pointed to Oleric. "He has kept his promise in blood.
He released me to-night, and he killed a man to do it."

As they neared the harbor, Oleric explained that they would be forced
to leave the marizel in the canal and cross the open court of the
harbor to the wharves.

"Else we must undergo inspection by the guards at the mouth of the
canal," he said. "There is a gate there, and no marizel may pass
without inspection. My lucky star it was that made Bel-Ar name me
captain of the port in Atlo's stead. But even I could not pass you
through the guards. Their eyes are keen, and one of us at least is a
marked man in Adlaz." He glanced at Polaris. "There be too many of
them to slay," he added. "I would have fitted you out with a suit of
mail, brother; but there is none in Maeronica of a size to cover those
shoulders of yours--unless it be that of Bel-Ar, which I could not well
borrow."

"When we leave this craft, what then, Oleric?" Polaris asked.

"I have another waiting at the end of the southern quay," replied
Oleric. "Urk knows the harbor as he knows the palm of his hand. Once
through the outer channel, then down the coast to Ruthar."

They left the marizel moored in the canal and went up through a passage
in the rock to where a door led into the great arched tunnel above,
where Chedar's Flight ended at the harbor of Adlaz town. Now there was
only the crossing of the wharf and all would be well.

But hark! As Oleric laid his hand on the door of the passage, came the
thunder of hoofs through the tunnel, and a steel rider on a white horse
flashed past and clattered across the court to the warehouses. He rode
furiously, and as he neared the quays he cried out.

Oleric tore the door open.

"Our work behind there is overtaking us!" he cried. "We must run for
it!"

Polaris shifted Mordo's weight from his shoulder to his arms and
bounded across the pavement at the heels of the captain. Behind came
Wright, Everson, and Oleric's Rutharian henchman. Rombar leaped at the
side of Polaris.

Lights flashed ahead of them as they ran. When they neared the south
quay, they saw that the way to it was barred by a thin line of men in
steel, among whom glittered the golden armor of the captain of the
canal guard.

Casting a glance over his shoulder as he ran, to note the disposal of
his own party, Oleric drew his sword and charged the line. The guard
captain leaped out to meet him, shield up and sword aloft. Him Oleric
cut down with a single stroke, laughing as he struck. In another
instant Everson's blade was out and busy. His cutlass exercises at
old Annapolis stood him well. The line of steel gave. The other three
fugitives, running together, dashed through and gained the quay. But
behind them came many men.

Polaris laid Mordo on the wharf and looked about him for a weapon.
The door of the nearest warehouse was made fast with a bar of bronze
or steel, nearly eight feet in length. Janess tore it from its rests.
At the end of the quay he saw the marizel of Oleric riding in its
moorings, and saw that Urk had clambered aboard it and was making all
ready to cast off.

Whirling his ponderous weapon, which was a weight to tax the strength
of an ordinary man to lift from the ground, Polaris rushed into the
thick of the press, where the red captain and the naval lieutenant
fought side by side.

"Get you to the boat!" he shouted. "When all is ready, whistle that I
may know."

_Clang!_ The metal bar fell, and three men in steel went down under its
sweep. With the agility of a panther, the son of the snows leaped and
struck again. At his side black Rombar raged like a demon. Before those
terrible blows no man, however well begirt in steel, could stand and
live.

The Maeronican fighting men drew back, aghast. The way to the wharf was
clear.

Laughing aloud, Oleric drew out of the fight and ran along the wharf to
the marizel. Everson paused at the side of Polaris.

"Best go on," Janess told him. "I shall need no aid. Or, if you stay,
stand to one side a bit. I have need for much room."

Once more the Maeronican men-at-arms closed in. Polaris, with his bar,
charged them, shouting; for his blood was up. They should take him back
to no dungeon when his freedom beckoned so near. Two more armored men
fell, their mail cracking like egg-shell under the clanging flail that
opposed them. Another went down under the murderous jaws of Rombar who
fought at his master's thigh.

Loud and clear then sounded the whistle of Oleric. Hurling the bar in
the faces of the bewildered men of the guard, the son of the snows ran
to the end of the wharf and sprang to the deck of the marizel. Everson
entered the door just ahead of him. Oleric and Urk already had stowed
Mordo within the vessel and cut loose the mooring ropes.

As he paused for an instant on the rear deck to call the great dog to
him, Polaris saw a giant figure come from one of the stone warehouses
and run out to the end of the next quay. In the dusk, and at that
distance, he yet was able to recognize Minos.

"It is I, Polaris!" Janess shouted. "We leave for Ruthar, if we may win
through. Farewell for a space, until we come again."

Back came the deep voice of the king in answer:

"Fare thee well, my brother!" he cried in the ancient Greek of
Sardanes. "May the high God guide thy footsteps."

Many a time in after years did the son of the snows recall to mind
that scene: the great, circular basin of the harbor of Adlaz, dim under
the light from the stars; the glittering fademes that were riding at
anchor; the twinkling of mitzl globes along the wharves, where men
ran to and fro; the court and its huge, black archway; the armored
men of the guard coming on across the wharf; and the tall form of the
Sardanian king standing at the end of the quay and waving farewell.

Reenforcements had come to the Maeronican guards, and they rushed
the quay. But Urk had his engine going. The marizel shot out into
the harbor. In a moment more the little craft had dived beneath the
surface. Like an arrow, it clove through the under water. Crafty
steersman was Urk. Through the harbor he drove the marizel in safety,
and through the tunnel to the sea, meeting no incoming danger. Once out
of the channel, he turned the nose of the craft southward, down the
coast toward Ruthar.

Miles away, amid the dim Rutharian forests, fierce-eyed men gripped
their sword-hilts firmer, and prayed to their stars and their goddess
for the safe making of that journey and the glory of the war that
was to come. For word had come to Ruthar--over the Kimbrian Wall it
had come--that Oleric the Red had turned his face toward home again,
bringing with him the man for whom a nation waited.




                               CHAPTER V

                     WHERE THE ILLIA MEETS THE SEA


In the watches of the night arose a great clamor and outcry in the old
palace of Bel-Tisam. So loud was the din that it aroused Rose Emer and
the Lady Memene from their slumbers in the chamber off the ancient hall
where they were quartered. In the outer corridors they heard the clang
of feet of armored men and their hoarse shouts as they called to one
another. This grew faint and passed away, and then swelled loud and
near again, as of men who had penetrated into the lower dungeons of the
prison and returned.

Sitting up in their bed and holding each other by the hand for comfort,
the two women were afraid for what might have happened.

"Something untoward is on foot," said Memene. "Perhaps this is the
night chosen by the red man from the sea" (for so she called Oleric)
"to go forth as he did promise, although it is past the time he set
for his going."

"Do you think that they have discovered the plan, and that
he--Polaris--is taken again? I pray to God that is not so," whispered
Rose.

"Something has greatly stirred the guards," Memene replied. "But I do
not think that the mighty man of the wilderness and his red friend are
taken. Those shouts we heard but now were those of disappointed men."

As the uproar continued through the rooms of the old prison, Rose and
Memene arose and donned their garments. Sleep, for that night, had fled
them.

Presently they heard, but faint and muffled through the intervening
walls, the clatter of hoofs on the pavement of the black avenue as a
horse passed by, ridden at furious speed.

A little later the door from the corridor outside the hall of audience
was opened, and through it came that captain of the palace-guard who
was named Brunar. From Oleric, the captain had learned a few words
of the English tongue, and he now made shift with them to tell the
two fair prisoners that Polaris and Oleric, and likewise the captain,
Mordo, had gone. The escape of Zenas Wright and Everson had not been
discovered as yet. Two dead guards in the rooms of Mordo, and the
absence of the marizel from its moorings in the hidden canal near the
Temple of the Sun, accounted for part of the story. A rider on the
fleetest horse in the stables of Bel-Ar, said Brunar, had been sent to
the harbor to warn the guards there, so they might trap the fugitives.

From the manner in which his news was received, the captain was able
to guess that Rose and Memene knew something of what was on foot. But
this Brunar was a very courteous man, and he forbore to question them
closely, if indeed he had enough English to do so. In the morning he
came again, and told them of the fight at the harbor and the sailing
of the marizel; for Brunar now took up his abode in the palace of
Bel-Tisam and looked after the duties of Mordo. His two wards found
him a kindly jailer, and as indulgent as circumstances would permit
him to be, who could not set them free. Brunar was angry indeed at the
supposed treachery of Oleric and of Mordo, not knowing that the one was
a spy of Ruthar and that the other had had no will in the manner of his
going forth from Adlaz.

Report was made later in the day of the escape of Everson from the
mines, and of Zenas Wright from the household of the king, and men
marveled at the daring of the deed and the craft of it. But the two
women in their prison, or Ensign Brooks in the mines, or Minos at the
harbor, got no more news of the fugitives for many a long day.

       *       *       *       *       *

With Urk, the sailor, squatting among the levers of his engine, the
marizel of Oleric swam steadily and swiftly down the western coast of
Maeronica. Under water she went, well off from the shore and showing no
lights. Oleric showed his passengers the marvelous valves in the sides
of the little vessel which were similar in construction to the mask
with which they already were familiar, and by means of which the air in
the marizel was replenished with oxygen drawn from the sea water.

Also, he told them somewhat of the land to which they were journeying,
explaining why it was that Ruthar, though smaller and more sparsely
populated by far than Maeronica, had never been conquered by the larger
power. It was a land of forests and mountains, he said, and all the
way around its ragged coastline were huge, precipitous cliffs, the
overhanging crags of which were a natural barrier to invasion. Wherever
had been a break in the cliff-line, the Rutharians, by dint of great
labors, had filled the breaks with walls, closing the gaps so that the
only places where one might land on Ruthar from the sea were certain
spots where narrow stretches of beach lay at the foot of the towering
cliffs.

At only one point could one come at the interior of the country from
the sea, Oleric said, and that was at the mouth of a river named Illia.
That place was closely guarded, and nature and the hand of man had
united to make of it a way where one man might defy a thousand.

Years before, the red captain said, the Rutharians had had a few small
ships. But they had little use for them, and with the perfection of
the fademes by the Maeronicans, nearly a century before, the Rutharian
vessels had been promptly sent to the bottom. Metals were easily mined,
and in abundance, especially gold, in Maeronica. But the materials
which produced the power for the fademes and for their terrible
destroyers were scarce and precious. Therefore, the growth of the navy
of Adlaz had been slow.

But with the fulfillment of the mighty destiny of the Children of Ad
in mind, the scientists labored unceasingly, and it was in the mind
of Bel-Ar that he was to be the man to see the accomplishment of that
destiny. He waited but the equipment of a few more fademes to send
his dreadful messengers forth to take and hold all the seas on earth,
compelling the nations of the world to bow to the power of Adlaz, as
tradition told him they once had bowed before.

"Now Ruthar, if her stars shine brightly, shall put a big stone before
his chariot-wheels and break his power," Oleric said, "repaying evil
with evil until good come of it, and the Goddess Glorian reigns from
the capes at the north to the southern seas. And in that I pray that
my part shall not be small." With a laugh he added, "This is a strange
game for me to play--Oleric the Red, loose-mouthed soldier and slayer
of men--who in Ruthar am known as Oleric the learned, a professor in
the University of Nematzin, which is hard by the hill of Flomos, on the
banks of the river Illia."

"And this Goddess Glorian--" asked Zenas Wright curiously. "Is she a
statue in a temple, or the good star of Ruthar, or is she merely a
name?"

For once the readiness in answer of the red captain deserted him, and
he stared at the geologist with open mouth. Then he said soberly:

"No statue in a temple is the Goddess Glorian. Good star of Ruthar she
is surely, and, in addition, she is the fairest woman on whom Shamar
ever had looked down from the skies. And now her time comes on, for
which she has waited many a hun--"

Oleric broke off suddenly and turned his eyes on Polaris with a strange
look.

"Nay," he said; "for the rest you must learn from the goddess herself.
My tongue does clack like a shepherd-wife's." Nor would he then or
thereafter tell more of Ruthar and its goddess.

Zenas Wright mused to himself, and the train of his musings ran thus:
"Oleric, you seem to keep your promises, and you are a good fighter,
for I have seen you fight. But when it comes to your tales of living
mammoths in this twentieth century, and of a goddess in the shape of
a woman who has _waited many a hundred years_--for that was what you
almost said, my friend--why, then, I can't follow you; and I think you
like to draw the long bow."

Swiftly as the marizel traveled, that night wore into dawn, and day and
darkness came, and still another dawning, ere Urk turned off his power
and filled the air-chambers which raised the vessel to the surface of
the sea. They had rounded the southern coast of Ruthar and beat up
along the eastern shores, and here, as they arose from the depths,
straight ahead of them lay the mouth of the river Illia. When the
voyagers saw it, they did not wonder that Adlaz found little fortune in
attacking Ruthar by sea.

An irregular fissure in the frowning face of the cliff discharged the
river into the sea. That rift was nearly thirty yards wide at its
bottom, and narrowed almost to nothingness far above, where the red
granite of the headlands towered many hundreds of feet in height. Down
the glen in the fissure the river Illia tripped to the sea like a lady
down a stately stairway. For the rock of the river-bed was shelving,
in strata which varied from less than a foot to nearly three feet in
height, and some of the shelves were as much as ten yards in breadth;
so that the water came down that great natural stair in a series of
broad cascades.

"Up yonder stairway lies the path into Ruthar," Oleric said, pointing,
as they stood on the deck of the marizel, and Urk laid the vessel as
near to the shelving bank below the river-mouth as he could. "Here we
must leave the marizel, and to the kindness of the waves; for there is
no harbor in which to store her."

Oleric clambered from the deck and stood up to his knees on the
lowermost step of the Illia's wide stairway. The others followed, Urk
last of all, haling before him the captain, Mordo, with his hands bound.

For Mordo had proved an unruly passenger. When the fumes of the wine
cleared from his brain, which was not for many hours, he had so cursed
and raged at Oleric, forswearing all friendship that had been between
them, that the Rutharian had lost his temper. He told Mordo roundly
that he wished that he had left him to the mercy of Bel-Ar and the
priests of Shamar.

"Better that than the company of a traitorous hound," growled Mordo out
of a soul in which no gratitude dwelt. Oleric deemed that it was best
to bind him, lest he do mischief.

Ascent of the river-stair was not difficult at first, for the steps
were broad, and at that season of the year the volume of water coming
down them was not so strong but that a man might keep his footing if he
used care.

Hardly were the climbers well within the shadow of the glen when there
arose from the foot of the stair a mighty shouting and splashing.
Oleric spun round with a curse on his lips.

       *       *       *       *       *

Quickly as they had come from Adlaz town, their destination had been
guessed, and others had come almost as quickly. As the fugitives
turned, they saw a Maeronican fademe swing alongside the lowermost step
of the ascent, her fore and after decks crowded with men, who swarmed
off her onto the rock and ran up the stairway. Foremost among them,
gorgeous in his golden armor, was the Captain Daelo, and he matched the
curse of Oleric with another as he shook his gauntleted fist at his
enemy.

"Haste! Haste!" Oleric cried, then pursed his lips and sent a long
whistle skirling up the glen. As he did so he lost his footing, clawed
wildly at the air and the rocks, and went down.

Though the push of the down-rushing waters of the Illia was not strong
enough to sweep a man from his feet if he were cautious, it was yet
of sufficient power to keep him going once he fell. From shelf to
shelf down the great stairway Oleric went, his armor clanging. More
than that, he swept Mordo and the sturdy Urk from their footing, also;
and all three of them slid straight into the hands of Daelo's men,
outstretched to receive them.

As the soldiers seized Oleric and stood him upright, he wrenched free
one arm and waved it at his companion.

"Tarry not for me!" he shouted. "Go on! There be friends waiting at the
top--" A soldier smote him on the mouth and silenced him.

On the step where he stood Polaris halted. He bent, and with his strong
fingers snapped the strings of his shoes and removed them--for he still
wore his own clothing in which he had been dragged from the sea. With
his feet bared, he had a better grip on the slippery rock. He snatched
the sword of Everson from its sheath and went down the river-path, all
unarmored as he was, to meet the swordsmen of Daelo. On they clambered,
cursing and shouting; but the way was difficult for their mailed feet,
and the son of the snows leaped down at them like an avalanche. With
him, breast-deep in the current, went Rombar.

First man to meet the descending danger was Daelo, and he paid the
penalty of his temerity with his life. Polaris, striking from above,
smote him from his foothold, a blow that shore away half of his golden
helm and split the skull within it, and the Captain Daelo pitched
backward into the sea.

Another bound and a stroke so bitter that it hewed off the arm of a
steel-clad soldier, severing it between wrist and elbow, and the son of
the snows had freed Oleric from the hands that held him. Straightway
the red captain drew sword and took up the tale. Daelo's men, of whom
there were nearly a score, faltered, staggering and slipping on the
rocky shelves. Almost their courage was broken, when Polaris caught
his naked foot in a crevice in the rock and tripped. Before he could
recover, a heavy sword-blade fell upon his unprotected head from
behind. He let fall his own blade and sank to his knees and then to his
face on the steps of Illia.

Short-lived was the triumph of the Maeronicans. The cry of exultation
which greeted the fall of their dreaded enemy was turned into a howl of
dismay as half a hundred fierce-eyed fighting men of Ruthar poured down
the glen, waving their bared swords and shouting:

"For the Goddess Glorian! Slay the Maeronican dogs!"

That tide overwhelmed the company of Daelo to the last man, and with
them died black Mordo. Less by one more fademe was the navy of King
Bel-Ar.

When the warriors of the forests turned up the stair once more, they
found Oleric kneeling in the water, supporting Polaris's head on his
arm, while old Zenas and Everson bound with strips torn from their
clothing the gaping wound which the sword-blade had left at the back of
his head. Beside the group, Rombar, standing nearly to his neck in the
wash of the river, lifted up his head and howled dolefully.

Six strong men took up the limp form of the fair-haired giant and bore
it away up the river staircase.

So Polaris came at last to Ruthar.

       *       *       *       *       *

Up the rocky shelves of Illia the Rutharians trudged and splashed, the
chasm becoming ever narrower and more gloomy. With the narrowing of the
rift, the water became deeper and its current stronger. Then one of the
party uncoiled a long rope from his shoulder, and the party marched on
in single file, each clinging to the rope like Alpine climbers.

Oleric urged haste and more haste.

Presently the water was too deep for Rombar, and the current set so
strongly that the dog could not swim against it. At an order from
Oleric, two Rutharian hunters seized the brute by the collar, and
though one of them got a gashed hand for his pains, they bound Rombar's
jaws and feet with ropes and carried him on their shoulders--a task
which neither they nor Rombar found pleasant.

At a point in the ascent where further progress against the deepening
stream was impossible, the party left the bed of the river and
clambered to the right, where a flight of steep and narrow steps had
been cut in the rock along a fissure which branched from the main
gorge. Up nearly two hundred of those steps they toiled, until Zenas
Wright and Everson, unused to such exertions, nearly fainted with
exhaustion. At the top of the stairs they emerged into a forest of tall
trees, oak and pine and chestnut, which grew almost to the edge of the
cliffs.

No sooner had he stepped from the rock stairway than Oleric knelt and
kissed the black earth.

"This, my friends, is Ruthar," he said as he arose and faced the two
Americans.

From among the trees came a tall, white-bearded chieftain, who was
armored from head to heel in a wonderful suit of chain mail, links of
steel that shone like silver. At his back swung a two-handed sword
which was nearly the length of a man.

He advanced to Oleric and laid his hands on the captain's shoulders.

"You are Oleric the Red, and no other," he said. "Well do I remember
you. Once I was your pupil. But that was more than three times ten
years ago." He shook his head wonderingly. "You serve Ruthar well," he
added.

Now, had Zenas Wright been able to understand the speech of Ruthar, he
certainly would have set this chieftain down as a hoary-headed liar.
For how could he have been a pupil to Oleric the Red more than thirty
years before, when it was plain for any one to see that the captain
must at that time have been a babe in his mother's arms?

"Aye, Jastla, it is the old red fox come back to his hole again,"
Oleric answered, striking the old chief fondly across his broad
shoulders.

"Which of these with you is the man--the hope of Ruthar?" questioned
Jastla. His eyes passed the stubby form of Zenas Wright by and rested
inquiringly on the square and soldierly Everson.

Oleric's ruddy face went sober. His voice choked as he answered:

"Nay, Jastla, neither of these. He comes yonder--and I fear that he is
sorely smitten."

As he spoke the six Rutharians who bore Polaris Janess came over the
brink of the stair and laid their burden down.

Jastla strode to the side of Polaris and looked down at him.

"A mighty man, with golden hair--and comely, as was written in the
prophecy," he muttered into his beard. "What has befallen him?" he
asked of Oleric.

While the captain told of the fight at the river-mouth, Zenas Wright
knelt at Polaris's head and rearranged the bandages, which had become
loosened in the rough journey through the gorge. Rombar, who had been
that moment untrussed, pushed growling through the group of men and
crouched and licked at his master's face.

"Will he live, Father Zenas? Will he live?" Oleric asked. "Tell us,
you, who are skilled."

"God knows," groaned Zenas. The hand which he laid on the steel cheek
of Polaris shook so that he snatched it away and hid it. "God only
knows. There is a little life in him yet."

"He plucked me from the sea," said Oleric wildly. "That was fated of
the gods. Twice has he fought at my side. This day perchance he has
given his life for me; and that was of his own strong spirit. I tell
you, Father Zenas, that if it would do my brother any good, here would
Oleric fall upon his sword and render up his soul unto those that sent
it forth." Then he controlled himself. "Can he be moved? Can you keep
the vital spark within him for a little space, good father? We must
haste and get him to the Goddess Glorian. If his soul be not sped when
he reaches her, she can hold it back, if any on earth can. Say, Father
Zenas, can you do it?"

"I will try," answered Zenas. "If I had a little wine, now--"

"Wine!" Oleric shouted. "Bring wine, some one of you, and haste, though
your lungs burst. And slay a kid, so that we may have broth."

A fleet-footed Rutharian lad set off through the forest, running with
the speed of a deer.

"Now, Jastla, see you to a horse-litter. Two gentle beasts, mind you,
but speedy. For we must travel fast and far. I take my brother to the
Hill of Flomos. And send on a swift messenger to the Goddess Glorian,
to tell her that the hope of Ruthar lies wounded in the forests and is
near to death. Haste, Jastla; haste!"

Wine was brought, and it was good wine; for the grapes that grow in
the valleys of Ruthar are the finest in all the world. Zenas Wright
forced apart the set jaws of the stricken man, using a sword-point
to do it, and even as Dr. Marsey, who was dead, had done for Oleric,
poured the purple wine and a little broth into Polaris's mouth. The
kindly old geologist could only pray that some of it penetrated to the
man's stomach, for most of it was spilled out again when they moved him.

       *       *       *       *       *

Chief Jastla brought a horse-litter. In it, between two powerful
beasts, Polaris was slung. The Rutharians wrapped him closely with
blankets and furs. The sun had turned to his northward journey, and in
the forests of Ruthar the air was keen with the tang of approaching
winter--felt there in the uplands long before it reached to the plains
and valleys of Maeronica.

Horses were fetched for Oleric, Wright and Everson, and they set off at
once along the mountain trails skirting the mighty cañon of the Illia.
An escort of half a score of Rutharian hunters rode with them.

All that day and night and until sunset of the next day they rode with
only brief stops at small Rutharian hamlets, where they ate hurriedly
and changed horses. Word had been sent on before of their coming, and
fresh horses were always in waiting. Sleep they did not, save in their
saddles, and the two Americans felt that they might die from sheer
weariness.

Oleric did not sleep at all, though of all the party his vitality
seemed the least impaired by that racking journey. His face grew
haggard and gaunt, and his eyes red-rimmed, but a wonderful
determination seemed to sustain his body. He spoke seldom, and then to
urge his faltering companions to renewed efforts.

Rombar ran with the horses until he was utterly done up. Then Oleric
left the dog at one of the mountain villages, to be brought on later.

In the morning of the second day the party swung to the right, away
from the gorge of the Illia, to come to it again about noon and cross
it on a bridge of steel and stone that spanned it three hundred feet up
from the torrent's course.

Everson, looking at those piles and trusses, judged the building of
that bridge to be the feat of no mean engineer. Though there had been a
waste of material, the structure would have stood comparison with many
a bridge in Europe or America.

Throughout the long ride, Polaris lay like a log in the litter.
Occasionally, at the stopping places, the scientist redressed the
wound, smearing it with a healing balsam which an old woman in one of
the villages had given him. It was a fearsome gash, and Zenas shook his
head over it whenever he saw it. The point of the sword had laid open
the scalp at the back of Polaris's head for a matter of inches, then
had glanced from the bone beneath and bitten deeply into the neck near
the spinal column.

Wright sheared the hair away from the wound and stitched it as neatly
as he could. Despite his care the edges of the cut turned blue, as
is the way with such hurts if they have not expert attention. In the
afternoon of that second day's ride he found that Polaris's hands and
feet were becoming cold, and that the geologist deemed the worst sign
of all.

Shortly after they had crossed the bridge the contour of the country
became less wild. They emerged from among the crags and peaks of the
mountains into the foot-hills, where the forests were not so dense as
above, and from time to time they came upon large spaces of cleared
lands with tilled fields and many vineyards.

In one of the forest glades the party passed a spot where a number
of fair-sized trees had been uprooted and partly stripped of their
branches and bark. Others, still standing, were mere distorted stubs of
trees, their trunks scored and twisted and their foliage gone.

"I hope such storms as the one that did this damage are not frequent
hereabouts," said Zenas, pointing out the wrecks to Everson.

Oleric heard the remark.

"'Storms,' say you, Father Zenas?" he said. "The storm that went
through here walked on four feet. When we of Ruthar see such a sight in
the forest, we know that an amaloc has breakfasted there. I forget the
high-sounding name you call him by."

"That lad should have been a writer of fiction," said Zenas to himself
when the captain had ridden on. "He almost makes me believe in him."

"Gorry-me," Zenas groaned, easing himself in his saddle, "I wish we
were at the end of this ride, wherever it is. I do not think that I
shall ever be able to walk again. You," he said to Everson, "you ride
along there in your golden armor like--what is it?--a paladin of old,
and never a word out of you. Well, I'd sooner stand it, at that,
than to go back to that roasting-spit I was put to tend in the King's
kitchen." Zenas grunted as recollection stung him.

"Why, do you know, one day I was figuring out a bit of calculus in my
head, just for practise, and I let the meat scorch; and the head cook
actually laid a dog-whip across my back. Yes, sir; me, a fellow in the
National Geographic Society, whipped across a kitchen by a greasy-faced
dough-slinger who doesn't know gneiss from rotten-stone!"

Wright grunted again at the memory of that indignity, and then rambled
on:

"But we've got to stand it all for the boy here, and for the folks we
left behind. God knows I'm willing to for their sakes, and worse yet,
if it's to come. But I must grumble once in a while, and I can't help
it. Say, Everson, do you believe any of that chaff of our red-headed
friend about the mammoths?"

The lieutenant did not answer, and Wright, peering into his face, saw
that he was asleep in the saddle.

Well down upon his course was the sun, and the shadows of the trees
were lengthening eastward, when the travelers, who for some time had
been following a smooth, straight road through rolling hills, came to
an old Rutharian villa, which stood among its gardens a considerable
distance back from the highway. A low wall bordered the grounds at the
front along the roadway, a wall with a pillared gateway, where a drive
led in from the road. At the foot of each of the pillars, sitting his
horse like a statue, was a Rutharian gentleman.

       *       *       *       *       *

As the weary cavalcade came down the road the two riders left their
posts and advanced to meet it, parleying with Oleric. Scarcely half a
dozen words passed back and forth when the red captain set up a joyful
shout. When he reached the gateway he turned his horse in, bidding the
others to follow.

"Here's hoping that some one will introduce me to a bed before I clean
forget what one feels like," said Zenas.

At the side of the ancient house the riders dismounted, Everson reeling
from his horse like a drunken man and throwing himself face downward on
the grass.

Oleric superintended the removal of Polaris from the litter.

The geologist was bending over his charge as the hunters bore him along
when he became aware of the tall figure of a woman that came down from
the porch of the mansion and hastened along the walk. She had thrown a
long, dark red cloak about her shoulders. In the dusk of the garden the
scientist could not distinguish her features, but he saw that her hair
was dark, or seemed to be, and that she was taller than most women and
splendidly formed.

"The Goddess Glorian!" Oleric cried aloud. "Oh, by the stars of Ruthar,
but you are welcome!"

Down on one knee sank the captain and kissed her hand.

"Oh, goddess, after all these years I have brought you the hope of
Ruthar. But he is sorely wounded--dying--and you alone can save him. We
were bringing him to Flomos with all the speed we might, and thought
not to find you here."

"Where else should Glorian be, but on the way to meet this man?" she
answered simply. "Jastla's messenger reached Flomos this morning. He
rode four horses to their deaths upon his way. You have done well,
Oleric the Learned."

When he heard the silvery cadences of that voice, though he understood
not a word save the name of the captain, a thrill passed through Zenas
Wright, old as he was, and through his aged veins he felt the blood
course faster. The woman came nearer. He smelled the warm perfume of
her hair as she bent and touched the cheek of Polaris with her hand.

"Bring him within, Oleric," she said, "and, oh, haste, for--" Her
glorious voice broke. "For he is nearly gone."

Swinging the still form of Polaris shoulder high, the Rutharian hunters
passed on and into the mansion, leaving Zenas behind.

"Now, what do you know about that?" gasped the scientist as he sank
wearily to the ground beside Everson. "Goddess, indeed! What, I want
to know, will Rose Emer say when she learns of this young person? Well,
I hope she saves the lad; but she'll need to be a doctor of parts, or
I'm a donkey. Poor boy! Poor boy!"

In a few moments came Oleric to show Wright and Everson to their
quarters for the night in the rear of the house. And a rare time he had
to arouse the lieutenant sufficiently to lead him to bed.

White and still, Polaris Janess lay on a bed in an upper chamber of the
old house. By the light from a mitzl globe--trophy of some Rutharian
chieftain in a foray over the Kimbrian Wall--the Goddess Glorian bent
above him and studied his pale features.

"My friend, my poor friend," she said brokenly. "How often through the
weary years I have seen you in my dreams--and now to find you--only to
lose you."

Hot tears ran down her cheeks and fell on the stricken man's face.

"Oh! It shall not be!" she said fiercely. "You shall not die--not if
Glorian must give her soul to hold you back from the gates of darkness."

Throwing aside her cloak, she drew a chair to the bedside. With her
fingers she lifted Polaris's eyelids and held them open. She gazed deep
into the tawny eyes, now, alas, so dull and lifeless. For hours she sat
there, with no more apparent movement than the man she watched over.
The whole strength of her being seemed concentrated in some inward,
unyielding struggle.

And as the long hours passed a change came over the sick man. He did
not stir. He scarcely seemed to breathe. But his face became less gray
and haggard, and the icy chill of death was driven from his hands and
feet.

Long after midnight it was when the Goddess Glorian stood up from that
bedside and in her heart said wildly, "I have won!"

Summoning her women, who waited without the door, she bade them dress
anew the now festering wound and pour a little wine and broth into his
throat.

All night long the Goddess Glorian sat and watched him.

In the morning, when Oleric came to the door in answer to her summons,
she looked up at him with a wan smile.

"Fear no longer," she said. "The man will live."

       *       *       *       *       *

On the third day after his arrival at the old Rutharian mansion,
Polaris left it. But he knew nothing of that going. He still lay in
the heavy stupor which was to hold him thrall for many days. Zenas
Wright doubted much the wisdom of moving a man so ill. The scientist
himself, after two days' rest, felt scarcely equal to the journey, and
the thought of again bestriding a horse made him shudder. Still, he
reasoned that it was by a miracle that Janess lived at all, and if she
who had wrought that miracle, the Goddess Glorian, said he might be
moved in safety, why, doubtless she knew what she was about.

A low, four-wheeled car was brought. Across the box of it the hunters
lashed light and springy poles and on them piled robes and blankets,
making a soft and easy bed for the sick man. At the head of that couch
rode the Goddess Glorian, cloaked and hooded, and at its foot crouched
black Rombar, who had been brought in from the village where he had
been left, and who seemed little the worse for his long jaunt. Wright
and the lieutenant occupied another smaller car in the rear, and in
a third vehicle rode a number of the women of Glorian's household.
Oleric, mounted and aglitter in chain armor of steel--for he had
discarded as soon as might be the hated golden livery of Bel-Ar--rode
at the side of the first car. For escort the party had the company of
nearly a score of young Rutharian zinds--zind was the only title of
nobility in Ruthar.

So they set out for Flomos, traveling by easy stages and with many
rests. The roads were smooth and the country more even than that they
had left behind. All along the way, be the time of day what it might,
they rode between two long lines of people--people silent for the most
part, who stood with bowed heads as the cars and the riders passed by.

Far and wide throughout the land had gone the word that the man who
had come to be known as the hope of Ruthar was journeying to Flomos,
and the circumstances of that journey. These who lined the road were
gathered there to do him silent homage. Satisfied were they if they
only caught a fleeting glimpse of his still face on its pillow of furs.
Over all of Ruthar went up a many-voiced and ceaseless prayer for his
welfare.

"H'm, Everson, folks will never stand like that for us, living or
dead," said Zenas Wright to the lieutenant, when Oleric had told them
the meaning of the silent lines of people. Despite his banter, the old
geologist was deeply touched.

Two days and part of a third they traveled--for they did not
hurry--stopping for the nights at the homes of Rutharian gentlemen
along the road. It was nearly afternoon of the third day when they
followed the winding of the highway around the last low hills of the
mountain range and came out upon a plateau-plain of wide extent, in
the center of which was a wooded eminence, and on its crest the white
pillars of a temple shone in the sunlight.

The road stretched straight across the plain through a broad expanse
of tilled lands and gardens, which ringed a city that stood at the
foot of the hill. It was scarcely a fifth the proportions of Adlaz,
this ancient town of Ruthar, which was called Zele-omaz, or City by
the River; but it was a pretty place of broad streets shaded by many
trees, gardens and low-built, pleasant homes, with here and there the
statelier dwellings of some zind or wealthy man.

Here, too, was the Illia, rock-bound no longer, but a fair and gentle
stream, winding through the town and spanned by many bridges.

Skirting the city at the right, the travelers followed a sloping path
that led up the hill to where the temple stood.

"Yonder," Oleric said, pointing down to where a group of low buildings
of gray stone rambled at the waterside under spreading yew trees, "is
the University of Nematzin, of which I am a professor. And there is the
laboratory of which I spoke, where we shall make the thunder-dust to
shake down the Kimbrian Wall."

"One more day's rest, and I will be fit for anything," answered Everson.

"What do you teach in this university, friend?" Zenas queried.

"A little of the science of the stars, Father Zenas--or I did, for it
is many years since I have sat among my pupils--somewhat of history and
of language," replied the red captain.

"Humph; you must have been a young teacher," said Zenas Wright, and he
ran his fingers through the sprouting stubble of his beard, as he had a
habit of doing when things vexed him. Suddenly he jumped in his seat,
though the wrench to his sore flesh cost him a wry face.

"Hey! Everson! Look at that, and then tell me if I'm dreaming."

The "that" was a gateway through which the car was about to pass.
Oleric followed with a glance the direction in which the geologist
pointed and then rode on with a smile.

It was a very curious gate, so curious that, if it still stands, and
it doubtless does, for it was built to endure, there is none other
just like it in the world. At each side of the roadway was a section
of black stone wall, extending along the path a matter of a dozen feet
and some ten feet high. At intervals along the tops of the two walls
were set round, squat pillars, also of stone. Those had been hollowed
out and served as bases for enormous ivory tusks, which were embedded
in cement in the hollowed pillars, and from them curved up to meet over
the center of the roadway, where their tips were made fast with double
sockets of bronze.

Ivory the tusks were; there was no doubting that; weather-checked and
stained yellow by age and the elements, but still ivory. But the size
of them! No elephant that ever walked the earth bore ivories of such
proportions. For they were as large around at their bases as the chest
of an average man; and from base to tapering tip there was none of them
that did not measure eleven feet. Seven pair of them there were, and
all splendidly matched.

       *       *       *       *       *

Zenas stared back at that marvelous arch--for it was more an archway
than a gate--as hard as he could stare. Not until a turn of the road
hid it, did he relax into his seat.

"Maybe he isn't so great a liar, after all," he said, and he meant
Oleric. "Everson, those are mammoth's tusks--sure's I'm a sinner."

"Strange land, strange things," answered Everson laconically.

The home or temple of the Goddess Glorian on the hill of Flomos was a
small thing by comparison with the mighty Temple of Shamar, but in its
way was quite as beautiful. Like the temple of the sun-god, the house
of Glorian was built all of white marble. Fronting north toward the
city of Zele-omaz was a façade of four-and-twenty sixty-foot pillars.
A broad, paved porch, reached by half a hundred steps, lay at the foot
of the façade. Back of the pillars were twelve double doors of bronze,
leading into a lofty hall, the marble dome of which towered high above
the pillars and could be seen from the countryside for miles about when
the sun shone on it.

Back of the hall the structure was divided into three floors, or
stories, each of many roomy chambers and corridors. The whole was well
lighted by windows of clear glass, of which an abundance was used in
both Maeronica and Ruthar. Behind the temple, southward down the hill,
were the dwellings of Glorian's personal retainers and servants.

Well back from the center of the domed hall and near the foot of a
grand staircase which led to the second floor, was a raised dais of
marble, whereon Glorian was wont to sit and give judgment in matters of
state which were too high for the administration of the zinds who ruled
in the different cities and provinces. Once Ruthar had had its dynasty
of kings, but that was many years before. The royal line died out, and
because of certain circumstances at that time the people raised up no
more kings. At the time of the coming of the strangers the Goddess
Glorian was the absolute power in Ruthar.

On the dais in the throne-room was another wonder for Zenas Wright to
see. It was a massive, double-seated chair, constructed, even to the
pegs which held its parts together, of ivory like in the giant tusks
of the arch. An artist of surpassing skill had wrought that chair and
had carved it into the semblance of tall lily-stalks with heavy-headed,
drooping blossoms and slender fronds. All around the larger stalks were
cut the clinging tendrils of a creeping vine, a tracery as fine as lace.

       *       *       *       *       *

Wright and Everson were given rooms on the second floor of the temple
at its western side. Polaris was borne to a chamber on the upper
story, where he was tended by Glorian herself and the servants of her
household. Rombar took up his quarters in that chamber also, and only
Oleric could lure the dog forth from his master's side, and then not
for long at a time.

Soon after their arrival at the hill of Flomos, and when they had
rested some of the stiffness from their joints, Everson and the
scientist went down with Oleric to the laboratories of Nematzin to
begin their work. Though the students of Ruthar were not unskilled in
chemistry of a sort, they knew nothing of explosives. So Zenas prepared
himself for a series of tests to discover the materials of which he was
in need, or, if he could not find what he desired, some combination
which would serve.

In that constructive analysis the naval lieutenant could be of little
aid. Oleric then found a task for him which was more to his liking. It
was the drilling of men.

From her center to her rock-bound coasts, Ruthar hummed with the
preparation for war.

"If we are to fight, let us first know how many men we can raise, and
how they will be disposed," said Everson. "What is the population of
this country, and how will it match up, man for man, with Maeronica?"

All told, Ruthar's people numbered something like a million and a
quarter, Oleric informed him; and in Maeronica the population was near
to three and one-half millions, at least a half a million of which
dwelt in the great city of Adlaz.

"As it is figured in the world, your army then will be made up of one
fighting man to every ten persons," the lieutenant said. "If the spirit
of the people is with us, we should be able to put at least one hundred
and twenty-five thousand men in the field--and Bel-Ar, three hundred
and fifty thousand. Those are heavy odds."

"Ruthar shall do better even than that," Oleric said with pride. "I
promise you that two hundred thousand men shall march when they hear
the war-drums--and more may be found if the need grows bitter."

"Can you equip and maintain them?" Everson asked.

"In Ruthar every man is a soldier. They will equip themselves. This day
has been awaited for long. Ruthar is ready to give all for the uses of
her warrior sons. Fear not. Besides, though I will not deny that the
men of Ad are good fighters and their country is far the richer, yet
many of them are fat city dwellers and traders, of whom two are not a
match for one of the hardy men of the mountains who will march under
the banners of the Goddess Glorian. Show them the ruins of the Kimbrian
Wall, and were the armies of Ad twice their strength, yet they should
not turn Ruthar from her purpose."

Everson nodded thoughtfully. "How will this force be divided?" he
asked. "Have you many horsemen? In such a war as this promises to be,
cavalry will be invaluable."

The red captain knit his brow in calculation.

"Forty thousand wild horsemen of the hills and mountains, who know
not fear, can I promise," he said at length. "Five thousand chariots
we can muster, each of two horses, and carrying each two fighting men
and a driver to guide the horses; twenty thousand skilled archers;
ninety thousand heavily armed men with swords and spears; ten thousand
slingers; and twenty thousand men armed with javelins--these last to
serve as skirmishers."

Everson's eyes kindled at the recital of that tale of men, and he
smiled--one of the few smiles that had lightened his face since his
ship had been lost.

"We must gather them into camps at once," he said. "The time is all too
short in which to make an enemy out of raw levies. We must drill them
all winter, and that will be a man's job."

Straightway he threw himself into the task with tireless energy. And
he vowed to himself that the men who had dared to sink a United States
cruiser should learn a lesson of tears and death, and that he would
have a hand in the teaching of the lesson.

       *       *       *       *       *

Oblivion, like a deep and dreamless sleep, was the portion of Polaris
Janess. It seemed that his soul had withdrawn itself to some place of
peace to wait until its racked and weary body should once more be fit
for tenancy. The wound in his neck closed and healed. Somewhat of color
crept back into his cheeks. His body began to thrive, but there was in
it seemingly little more of sentient life than in a tree which draws
its nourishment from the soil and knows not of days and nights and the
cares thereof.

"It is a blood-clot that presses somewhere on the brain," Glorian told
his friends, who stood often at his quiet bedside. "'Twill pass away
ere long, and he will be whole again."

To the surprise of Zenas and Everson, Glorian and a number of the
learned men of the college of Nematzin spoke English almost with the
facility of Oleric, from whom, indeed, they had learned it. And this
was a great source of delight to the old geologist, who liked to talk
and grumble over his labors. And what use is there in grumbling, if
there is no one to hear and understand?

Came a day when the curtain lifted from the brain of the sick man, and
memory peopled the vacant stage, as once before it had done when he lay
ill in the cabin on the ship _Felix_ on his first journey from his home
in the wilderness.

Wondering, he lay still with closed lids, as he had a trick of doing
when he waked from slumber. He began to reconstruct. The wreck of the
_Minnetonka_ passed before him, and then, like a series of pictures,
the events which had followed the sinking of the ship; the stranger
people; the judgment of the king; the parting from his love; the coming
of the red captain in the night and the flight from Adlaz; the fight at
the wharves and the farewell of Minos; the great stairway of the Illia--

There the pictures ceased. He could not then, or ever afterward, recall
the fight in the river, where he had gone down to aid Oleric and come
by his wound.

Into his nostrils was wafted a breath of faint perfume. A cool hand
was laid against his cheek. He opened his eyes. The details of a high,
arched room he saw; windows of glass at the north, where the sun shone
thinly and big flakes of snow were floating slowly down--for winter had
come to Ruthar; at his cheek a long, wonderfully shaped, white hand,
with tapering, ringless fingers; a slender wrist; beyond it a face. He
closed his lids again, with a frown of disbelief. The beauty of that
face was such as no mortal ever saw, save in a dream.

The hand stirred, and he looked again.

From the times of Helen of Troy on down through the pages of all
recorded history, those pages have been made bright by the faces of
fair women who were their nations' boast. Here, before the eyes of the
sick man, was a face that was the peer of any that ever shone in fable
or in fact. A broad, high forehead above two dark and well-defined
arches; beneath them, delicately veined lids and long dark lashes,
veiling red-brown eyes. Eyes so wonderfully alive with expression that
their change was like the bewildering melting of colors in a sunset;
between their marvelous valleys, a slenderly bridged nose with a hint
of the Roman. A rich, full-lipped mouth that was the playground of
smiles, but which showed also the quality of rare determination, a
promise sustained by the firmly rounded chin beneath it, a skin so fine
of texture that through it might be traced the ebb and flow of life, as
flames show roseate through a marble vase.

Her head had the poise of an empress, and at its shapely crown, piled
high, were lustrous coils of hair which at first glance seemed black;
but when the light struck on it, glowed as an ember glows when a breath
renews its dullness into fire.

Such was the beauty of the woman on whom Polaris looked--and as he
gazed, acknowledgment was forced within him that here was one that
surpassed in fairness even the Rose-maid whom he loved. And there was
no disloyalty in that acknowledgment. Rose Emer was a beautiful woman;
but she who sat before him, and who seemed of nearly the same age and
whose figure much resembled that of his own dear lady, she had the
beauty of unearthly things.

For a moment he stared in silence.

"Where am I, and who are you?" he asked, and smiled faintly in response
to her little exclamation of delight that his senses had come back to
him. Before she could speak, he muttered, "I had forgotten; she will
not understand."

"But I do understand, my poor friend," she said, "and can make answer
in your own tongue--if we keep to simple talk."

As the quality of that voice had thrilled old Zenas, so now it sent a
tremor through the veins of the son of the snows.

"You are in the city of Zele-omaz, and I, who have watched while you
lay wounded and ill, am a poor lady of wild Ruthar," she continued.

"'Poor' and 'wild' are words that ill beseem you, lady," replied
Polaris in the quaint expression that in the long years when his father
had been his sole companion, he had absorbed from the pages of Scott's
romantic "Ivanhoe," and which contact with modern English had not worn
away.

"I think that one Oleric has spoken oft of you, and that I can guess
the name you bear--and I find it a most fitting name."

Rose-pink the Goddess Glorian flushed, in a most mortal fashion, and
was glad that at that moment black Rombar thrust his head forward over
the edge of the bed to claim a share in the attention of his master.

Polaris stirred his hands, and then looked up wonderingly.

"I am weak," he said. "How long have I lain ill, and what misfortune
befell me to so lay me by the heels? I understand it not at all; for my
memory has tricked me."

Toying with Rombar's collar, Glorian told him what she had learned from
the others of the fight at the mouth of the Illia.

"And I do thank you for the life of my faithful captain," she said,
"as he will presently. It was a brave deed, a very brave deed. Now
you must talk no more, and no more must I weary you. You are worn with
sickness, and it will be many days before your strength comes back.
Rest and fret not. All things are going well."

She left him, and presently he slept.




                              CHAPTER VI

                          ZOAR OF THE AMALOCS


Beyond their knowledge of the working of metals, in which they had
great facility, Zenas Wright soon found that the scientists of Nematzin
could avail him little in his search for explosive compounds. Ordinary
gunpowder, indeed, he knew he could make easily enough, after a
fashion, but he sought for something more powerful by far than that.
From the descriptions which he had heard of the Kimbrian Wall, he
judged that it would be a rare task to shake it down.

"We might do it with nitroglycerin," he told Everson. "But we would
have to set all of the old wives of Ruthar to soap-making to get our
glycerin, and it would be a difficult job to get it pure enough to
serve our turn. Besides, nitroglycerin is mean and uncertain to handle."

The two men sat before a ruddy coal fire in the big laboratory room
which had been turned over to the uses of the geologist--a fire well
screened from the rest of the room, so that no flying spark should
raise mischief among the experiments of Zenas. Three weeks had elapsed
since their arrival at Zele-omaz. Polaris Janess was well along
the road to health. Everson and Oleric, laboring tirelessly, had
established five great training camps, one on the plain near the city,
and four others in the forests to the north beyond the Illia. Already
the levies of Ruthar were pouring into the camps, where they were
drilled by the zinds and captains, under the direction of the naval
lieutenant and the red captain.

Everson had thrown his whole heart into the work. Already he had made
considerable progress in the learning of the Rutharian language. He
was beginning to take a vast pride in the army he was welding. Born
soldiers he found these Rutharians, amenable to the strict discipline
which he preached, and to whom his word was law.

He had ridden in this day from a tour of inspection of his camps to
visit Wright and learn of the progress of the work on which depended
their entire scheme of campaign.

"Nitroglycerin," said Everson. "So you have found a source of nitric
acid, then?"

"Yes," replied Wright. "One of the first things which took my eye among
a number of specimens of rock which I found in a case here, was a chunk
of sodium nitrate. You know the stuff--Chile saltpeter, they call it."

"Why not a picrate powder, if you have nitrates to work with?"
suggested the lieutenant.

"Picrate--nitric acid--phenol," said old Zenas. "That's the way of it.
And to get phenol--lots of it--"

He broke off and stared into the depths of the fire.

"Hey!" he cried, and jumped to his feet so suddenly that Everson
started. Zenas pointed at the fire, his little black eyes dancing and
his beard wagging with his excitement.

"Well?" queried Everson.

"Coal, my boy, coal! There's oodles of it here. All I've got to do is
to rig up a kiln for the distillation of coal-tar oil, and I'll have
the phenol. God knows, these beggars are handy enough in the gentle
art of blacksmithing. Tell your red-headed master of ceremonies to
give me a little help--say two hundred or two hundred and fifty of his
armorers, till I get a few kilns in operation and build me a bank of
Glover towers, and I'll show you a line of stuff that will beat all of
the Fourth of July celebrations you ever saw. Picrates! Humph! I'll
turn out a brand of melinite for you that will jar the back door of
hell off its hinges--if I don't whiff us all to kingdom come while I'm
at the stuff."

Oleric was summoned. The red captain turned over to Zenas Wright not
two hundred, but nearer five hundred men, and the old university was
straightway turned into a munitions plant, the stench and the fires of
which ascended to heaven by day and by night.

"And bring me about all the fat you can find in the kingdom," directed
Zenas. "I'll need it to mix with my nice little patty-cakes."

"You shall have it, Father Zenas," Oleric replied. "And it will not
come amiss to make all that you can of this pastry. After the Kimbrian
Wall is down, we may find some of it useful at the gates of Adlaz."

So interested did Zenas become in this new work of his that he
scarcely stopped for meals, and he slept on a cot of skins beside
his fire in the old laboratory. One day, as he labored among his
test-tubes, the outer door opened, and a tall figure robed in
furs strode across the room and stood beside him. Zenas looked up
impatiently.

"Oh, Lordy, laddie!" he cried, his face lighting up. "It's good to see
you on your feet again."

It was Polaris--still somewhat gaunt and tottery, but with a welcome
color in his cheeks and a brightness in his topaz eyes that augured
well.

"Aye, old friend, 'tis I," he answered. "While you do wear yourself
thin in this place of many smells, and Everson rides his flesh off his
bones, shall I then be doing nothing but to lie in a soft bed and dream
the days away? I will have no more of it."

       *       *       *       *       *

From that day strength came back to the son of the snows with
surprising rapidity, considering that he had been so ill. Nor would he
chafe in restless idleness, but demanded work to do. Soon in the five
great camps of fighting men his figure and that of the huge black dog
which followed him like a shadow were as well known to the soldiers as
were those of Everson and the lieutenant. Under the tutelage of the
Goddess Glorian, he had advanced in mastery of the Rutharian tongue
much faster than either of the other two Americans; for he was a
natural linguist and did not find the ancient language difficult.

Old Jastla had come down out of his hills, and it was his particular
pride to superintend the training of the son of the snows in the use of
the arms of Ruthar. At his first trial, weakened though he was by his
illness, Polaris cast a javelin farther by half a score of paces than
could any warrior of Ruthar. Within a fortnight, although they might
touch him by tricks of fence, there was not a swordsman in the five
armies who could wear him down in the play of blades.

Jastla boasted of him throughout the land.

But though he took pleasure in all these things, he knew anxiety with
the passing of the days, and in his heart pined mightily for news of
his lady in Adlaz town. For that strong, true heart could not forget.
Occasionally Oleric had word from over the wall from some of his secret
spies in Maeronica, but never a word of the welfare of the stranger
captives.

All of his story Polaris had one day told to Glorian. And she had
smiled and cheered him with brave words. And then, when he had gone,
she had sat for the half of a day in her chamber, looking out at the
snow-capped hills of Ruthar, striving to remember that she was a
goddess, and to forget that she also was a woman. Too late she found
that the woman conquered.

Five weeks went by from the day when Polaris first went down to the
workshop of Zenas. And then the geologist announced that he would give
a show. He had some wares which he was anxious to display, he said.

Near the south bank of the Illia, above the city and beyond the camp,
stood an old stone tower which long had been crumbling into decay and
which Atra, the zind who ruled in Zele-omaz, had purposed some day to
tear down. There it was that the geologist said he would stage his
performance, and all the camp and a goodly part of the citizens of the
town went thither to see what he would do.

At the appointed hour, early in the afternoon, the scientist rode out
to the tower, attended by three of his assistants from the laboratory.
With them they took a number of cakes of what looked remarkably like
the bars of brown soap wherewith the American housewife labors o'
Mondays. As much as two men could carry of the stuff they took. The
third man bore a rude battery which Zenas had contrived, and a coil of
copper wire which the Rutharian smiths had drawn for him, and which he
had insulated with woven fiber dipped in gums from the forests.

The tower had been a massive old structure, covering nearly a half acre
of ground, and the lower parts of it were still solid. Its roof was
gone, and portions of the upper walls had fallen in.

Zenas found that there were a number of chambers below the ground level
of the structure. In the central one of them he bestowed his precious
cakes, and with them the end of his copper wire. He directed his
assistants to cover the whole over with heavy stones.

"And handle them with care," he cautioned, "or you will come a lot
closer to the stars than you are ever likely to be by any other means."

His preparations completed, the geologist bade his henchmen to make
themselves scarce, which they were very glad to do. Bidding every one
in the neighborhood of the tower to withdraw to a distance of several
hundred feet, Zenas uncoiled his wire, of which he had brought a
quantity sufficient to keep him out of harm's way. He squatted down
behind the bole of a big yew-tree and struck the knob of his battery.

For an instant nothing happened, and Zenas, peering forth from behind
his tree, felt his heart sink with disappointment. Then very quietly
the entire structure of the tower, which was nearly seventy feet in
height, quitted the earth. For a second it seemed to hang suspended in
the air like some enchanted thing. A hollow booming reverberated across
the plain. The tower flew into fragments. The ice-bound surface of the
Illia was shattered by the falling rocks. A gust of air rushed across
the plain and through the ranks of the Rutharian soldiery and with it a
shower of smaller débris, which fell among them like a storm. From the
spot where the tower had stood, a column of greenish-yellow smoke arose
and hung heavily.

From the camp and the crowds of citizens went up a low moan of awe,
followed by a shout of triumph from thirty thousand throats. Men ran
across the meadows to view the aftermath of this wonder--such a thing
as never had been seen in Ruthar. Where the tower had stood was a hole
in the earth, wherein the structure itself might almost have been
buried. No vestige of the masonry was left. Not one stone remained upon
another, and many of the larger foundation rocks had been sundered into
fragments by the terrific force of the released gases of the melinite.

Rutharians from that day on called Zenas Wright "Father of the
Thunders," and accorded him a respect second only to that in which they
held Polaris.

Janess, the red captain, and Everson, who had been witnesses to his
experiment, ran to the side of the geologist and wrung his hand.

"And now do you, Father Zenas, stay away from that laboratory," said
Oleric.

"See to it that my men keep to the trick of making this stuff; but
do you keep away. Some careless fellow might let a cake of your
earth-shaker fall--and we cannot spare you."

"Now show me this Kimbrian Wall," was the comment of Zenas. But the
scientist yielded to the entreaties of his friends, and thereafter
went no more to the laboratories, except once a day only, to test the
purity of the chemicals with which his workmen wrought.

       *       *       *       *       *

Soon after the destruction of the tower, Oleric, with Polaris and the
lieutenant, rode down through the forests to visit the Kimbrian Wall.
Now that they were assured of a means to open the way to Adlaz, they
were all of them impatient to map out their plan of campaign, in which,
as he alone of them all was skilled in such matters, they looked to
Everson for counsel.

Three days riding brought the party to the great barrier which the
Children of Ad had built far back in the dim centuries to separate them
from their hated enemies.

As the riders approached the wall, they found the land narrowed to an
isthmus, which Oleric told them was nearly eighty miles in extent, by
something less than sixty across. The Kimbrian Wall crossed the neck of
land nearly midway to its length, but if anything, a few miles nearer
to the mainland of Maeronica than it was to Ruthar. On the hither side
of the barrier stretched thick forests of oak and pine. Along the
isthmus and near its western sea-border lay the course of an ancient
road, which once had connected the two countries. To this old highway
Everson gave careful attention. In some places it was broken up and
overgrown with timber, but the lieutenant thought that little work
would be required to put it in shape for travel.

From a pine-clad knoll in the forest they had their first glimpse of
the wall, and a mighty work it was. Built of gray stone, now moss-grown
and weather-aged, it stretched away to the right and left as far as
they could see and ended sheer with the precipitous cliffs above the
sea. So enormous were the stones of which it was constructed that it
reminded Everson of remnants of the cyclopean masonry, which are to be
found in the old countries and which tradition used to tell were built
by a race of giants. Probably this work was as old as they.

The wall was nearly fifty feet high, and so broad as its top that two
chariots might pass thereon. At intervals of a mile all along its
length were watchtowers, garrisoned by the border-soldiers of Bel-Ar.
In addition to all those points of strength, the wall had been so
constructed that near its top there was an overhang of a number of
feet, making it exceedingly difficult for scaling.

Still, Oleric said, it had been scaled, and many times, by small
parties of raiders from both sides--and some of them had never returned.

"Look!" the captain exclaimed. "Here comes one of the patrols."

From the nearest tower to the east three men on horseback came riding
along the top of the wall, clearly outlined against the pale sky. As
they came nearer the forest-watchers could see that the riders were
muffled in cloaks. A sharp wind was sweeping down from the south, and
it must have been bitter indeed on the unprotected eminence of the wall.

"Ha! 'Tis Atlo himself--the captain whom I replaced at the port," said
Oleric as the patrol came opposite him. "See, the foremost of the
riders."

Sight of his enemies riding by so close proved too much of a temptation
to one of the Rutharian fighting men who had ridden down with the party
to the wall. He was a master bowman. While the eyes of his companions
were fixed on the three riders, he dismounted and slipped away among
the trees to the left. In the shadow of a pine he paused and set an
arrow to the string.

It was a long shot--nearly a hundred yards--but the winged shaft flew
straight and true. It smote the captain, Atlo, on the shoulder, and
the riders in the forest could hear the faint clink as the point fell
blunted from the armor which he wore beneath his cloak.

Atlo started in his saddle, then turned and waved his hand, with a
laugh. He rode on as if the arrow were a matter of little moment. The
other two riders were more timorous than their captain, and they sent
many a glance back toward the dark forest shadow as they rode along.

Oleric shouted to the archer to loose no more arrows.

"Let no more raids be made over the wall," Everson directed, "and have
a force of men clear and rebuild the old road yonder. Bring it up as
near to the wall as may be, without attracting attention. We must
attack and take them unawares. We will have to mine underground from
the forest to the wall and place our explosives. As soon as the wall
is down, we shall throw a force of infantry through the breach, starve
the garrison off the wall and hold the territory on the other side
against all attack until we can clear the wreck of the wall and lay a
road through the gap so that our cavalry and charioteers may pass it.
Otherwise, the Maeronicans will hold the breach against us, in which
case there would be a delay which we cannot afford--if, indeed, we
should be able to fight our way through at all."

Oleric pondered on the plan for a few moments. He looked up with
shining eyes.

"A wise counsel," he said. "All of these things shall be done, and
right speedily."

       *       *       *       *       *

Almost miracles are the things which may be accomplished by human
brains and hands, if there be enough of them and they are united to
their work by a common and all-pervading purpose.

Into the old forests above the Kimbrian barrier the Rutharian zinds
threw a force of two thousand men and half again as many horses. The
ancient roadway through the wood to the foot of the wall was cleared
and rebuilt as though by magic. Everson, visiting the scene of the
work, reflected somewhat bitterly on the contrast between the manner
of this labor and any similar task to be done in the land where he was
born.

There, he knew, there would have been the delays caused by failure to
supply the necessary materials, and failure again to get them to their
appointed places on contract time. There would have been labor strikes,
jealousies and bickering among leaders. In the end, of course, the work
would have been done, and well done--but with much trouble.

But in Ruthar there were no walking delegates. Happy were the workmen
to labor from sun to sun, and others to take up the task in the hours
of darkness. Materials were free and inexhaustible, and the zinds and
leaders worked together like brothers, each doing what was required of
him, as though his very life depended upon it.

Within a fortnight of his first view of the Kimbrian Wall, the
lieutenant deemed that the time to strike was nearly ripe. Two months
and nearly a half of another of the allotted six were past. Three
months and a half remained before Adlaz would gather for the Feast
of Years. Three months and a half in which to conquer a nation and
take a walled city, the strength of which was a tradition! Yet it
must be done. And Everson, when he saw the tools with which he had to
work, hoped high. This was an archaic people; but he found its sons
good companions; sturdy, truthful, straightforward as their own long
sword-blades. He believed they would follow to the death and that they
would not come too late to the Adlaz gates.

One day, Glorian, who of late had avoided Polaris, summoned the son of
the snows and bade him bring with him his American comrades and Oleric
the Red.

"I know that you are nearly ready to go up against the Kimbrian Wall
and the hosts of Bel-Ar," she said. "But before that day comes, there
is a pilgrimage that must be made to one without the aid of whom
perchance your greatest effort would be in vain. Bring horses; for on
this journey I ride with you."

Polaris rode a splendid black stallion, splotched with white at
forehead and fetlock, which had been the gift of Jastla, of the hills.
When they were ready to leave the temple gates, Rombar came barking at
the horses' heels.

"Best to leave the dog behind, brother," said Oleric. "We go upon a
path where he may find ill-favor."

Cloaked in a wondrous robe of red fox-skins, Glorian rode on a
cream-colored palfrey, attended by one of her women in waiting only.
Never had she seemed more fair and queenly. Like some bright daughter
of the white North of the long ago, was she, of whom the skalds have
sung in their undying sagas.

From her he glanced to Polaris, who rode beside her. The son of the
snows was clad from head to heel in the glittering chain armor which
Rutharian smiths had forged for him, and cloaked in the black skin
of a forest bear. At his back swung a two-handed sword. A winged
helm, brilliant with gold-work and curtained with a hood and cape of
delicately wrought links, sat upon his tawny hair. Long since a razor
of keen bronze had swept the beard from his cheeks and chin.

Only in the amber eyes had the troubles of the years left their mark--a
shadow of sadness when they were thoughtful or in repose, but which did
not ill become them.

"She may be a goddess," thought Zenas to himself, "and she is beautiful
enough to be a real one; but if she hasn't gone silly as a cow-girl
over this lad of ours, then I'm a donkey, and a blind one, to boot. O
Trouble, you've worn skirts ever since you quit fig-leaves."

Zenas shook his head. The geologist had never married.

It was no brief pleasure-jaunt on which Glorian led, but nearly
two days' hard riding into the northwest from Zele-omaz, across
heavily-wooded mountains and through valleys deep with snow.

Leaving the hills at last, the party came to a vast, dark forest,
silent, somber and covering the rolling land like a black pall. Into
its soundless glades the riders penetrated and rode for miles.

       *       *       *       *       *

Presently they saw ahead of them a clearing in the depths of the wood,
and a stretch of long buildings, built of stone, and with their windows
set high in the walls near their roofs.

It was late afternoon when the riders entered the clearing and
approached the buildings, which stood about the four sides of a square,
enclosing a space of nearly three acres. As they rode into this court,
following a path between two of the buildings, the travelers saw that a
number of smaller structures of stone and wood occupied a part of the
square. Here and there in the court, fires of brush were burning--for
it was bitter cold in the forest depths--and dark figures of men passed
to and fro about the fires. A pack of shaggy, wolf-bred dogs came
yapping at the horses' heels.

"Who comes?" cried a voice. Men bearing spears ran forward from the
fires.

"Glorian of Ruthar comes to visit Zoar of the Amalocs," answered Oleric.

Straightway the armed men knelt in the courtyard, and one in a stern
voice called back the dogs.

A door in one of the houses near the center of the square was opened,
and the form of a man stood there, silhouetted against a flaring light
within the dwelling.

"Methought that I heard a voice well known to me, speaking of Glorian
of Ruthar and of Zoar of the Amalocs." The tones of the man in the
doorway were low, but clear and sonorous as a bell. "I thought it the
voice of one Oleric the Learned," the man went on. He bent forward and
shaded his eyes with his hand. "Are you indeed come, red one? Ride
forward that I may see."

Oleric's answer was drowned in a terrific chorus of squealing groans,
which seemed to issue from the larger buildings on all three sides of
the square. So unearthly and piercing was the din, that Zenas Wright
would have clapped his hands to his ears; but he found his best efforts
needed to control his horse. The steeds of all the party snorted and
reared in terror of that hideous outburst. They would have bolted, but
knew not where to bolt; and presently the clamor was ceased, and they
stood still and trembling.

"What demons of the place are these?" cried Polaris. He sprang down
from his horse, tossed the reins to the man nearest him, and ran to the
head of Glorian's palfrey, which was curveting and threatening to pitch
its mistress from her saddle.

"Those are the pets of Zoar," Oleric answered, "the amalocs. They know
his voice and answer him in their own fashion." Spurring his restive
horse, the red captain rode forward to the porch of the dwelling.

"So, 'tis you, indeed," said Zoar as the captain advanced into the ring
of firelight. This time the man spoke softly, almost in a whisper, and
was not again interrupted. He stepped to the side of the captain's
horse and took him by the hand. "Who rides with you, and why do you
ride to seek Zoar?" he asked. "Is the time come, red one? Is it come?"

"Aye; the time is here, Zoar," said Oleric soberly. "Our years have not
been in vain. Yonder sits the Goddess Glorian, and holding her horse's
head is the hope of Ruthar, whom I have brought up from the sea."

"And the Kimbrian Wall?" Zoar asked.

"It waits but the coming of the amalocs, when we will push it down like
a barrier of straw," Oleric answered. "Ruthar stands in arms as she
never has before, and the land rustles with banners. We have come to
ask your aid. When we know that Zoar of the amalocs is on the march,
then will the war-drums be sounded."

"Has the ancient crown touched his brow?" asked Zoar.

"Not yet; we wait your word."

"It is given." Zoar lifted his face to the dim sky. "Beyond the mists
the stars of Ruthar shine, never so brightly," he muttered. He laid his
hand on the captain's arm.

"On the third day from now Zoar of the Amalocs will march," he
said. "Now bring your party within, and they shall enjoy what poor
hospitality I have for them, who entertain so few guests."

Men led away the horses, and the travelers entered the hall of Zoar.

"Ah, daughter of the stars," he said, and bowed, as Glorian crossed his
threshold, "many years have gone since I last looked into your eyes;
but I find that the will burns strongly still, and your beauty has not
dimmed. But I grow old, daughter, old and very weary."

Gravely and courteously Zoar welcomed his guests, and bade them rest
and sit at meat with him. It was a plain place into which he ushered
them; yet was it rich, as the world counts riches, and its wealth was
all of ivory. Seats, tables, cabinets, even the casings of the windows
and the doors were of ivory--wonderful, finely grained stuff, some of
it white as alabaster, and some of it cream-yellow with the tint of
age. And the carvings on it must have been the work of years.

Zoar, the host, the travelers found quite as remarkable as his ivory
treasure. He was a slight, short man, hardly so tall as Zenas Wright
and not so stocky as the geologist. He wore a long white beard, and his
hair, of the same silver, flowed across his shoulders. His eyes, under
bushy brows, were bright and kindly. His step was quick and firm, nor
did his limbs or hands tremble. Yet there was on him the stamp of an
unutterable, incredible age.

His skin was as yellow-pale as the oldest of his ivory, and the whole
surface of it was fretted with thousands of infinitesimal wrinkles.
When he spoke or moved it was with spirit and animation; but when he
fell into fits of abstraction--and that was often--Zoar looked very
like a mummy fresh-stripped from its tomb.

       *       *       *       *       *

Polaris the old man regarded with especial interest, and when the meal
had been cleared away he sat and talked with him and Glorian for many
minutes, recalling odd, old tales of the history of Ruthar, with which
he showed remarkable familiarity.

"But Ruthar's greatest story is yet to be made," he said in conclusion
of his tales. Then he called his servants to show his guests to their
chambers.

"What! Have I ridden all these miles, friend Oleric, and then to be
put to bed without the chance to tell you that these wonderful beasts
about which you have bragged so much are only elephants after all?"
said Zenas Wright, forgetting in his stubbornness the ivory gateway at
Zele-omaz.

The red captain grinned and put a question to Zoar. The old man
answered with a shake of his head:

"The amalocs love not to be disturbed at night, and especially they
love not fires or lights. If you and your friends would sleep in peace
this night, I counsel that you wait till daybreak to see the beasts.
Otherwise they may revile you in such fashion as will shake your
couches and drive all sleep from your pillows."

So Zenas was forced to be content and go to his bed with no chance to
crow over Oleric. All night long there penetrated occasionally through
the geologist's slumbers the noise of raucous trumpeting and the
padding stamp of ponderous feet.

When they had broken their fast in the morning, Zoar led his guests
into the court and sent men to throw open the great bronze doors in the
front of the nearest of the stone buildings.

"Now for an elephant," muttered Zenas. "Perhaps a mighty big one, but
still an elephant." Then Zenas stopped, amazed.

Out through the doors of bronze and into the open court stalked a
mountain of flesh and ivory and stood swaying restlessly from one foot
to another, flapping ears that would have made a bed covering, and
looking keenly about with little, inflamed eyes. Elephantine in shape
only was this monster. The points of its shoulders were fifteen feet
from the ground--a full yard taller than the most stalwart elephant
that ever bore the howdah of a mogul emperor.

Tusks that were ten feet long projected from its massive skull, curving
downward where they left the bone and then out and up in such fashion
that if they had been continued farther they would have formed spirals.
The body of the monster was covered with a coarse and woolly growth of
reddish-brown hair, through which there pricked long, black bristles.
On the trunk the wool was sparse and the bristles shorter, and one
could see that the hide of the beast was a drab-gray. Neck it had none;
but along the spine, just back of the skull and extending beyond the
shoulders, was a ridge or mane of coarse, black hair.

His face gone white and his eyes round and goggling, Zenas Wright stood
and stared up at this Gargantuan offspring of the hinder ages.

"_Loxodon!_" he breathed.

Never in all his life had the geologist felt so small and insignificant
as in the presence of that towering survivor of the prehistoric past.

Zoar stepped forward in front of the beast.

"Ixstus!" he called gently.

The great ears inclined forward to attention.

"_Stekkar mal!_" the old man commanded.

Down swung the vast, wrinkled trunk in a huge loop, into which Zoar
stepped and was hoisted to the table of the monstrous skull--a flat
place where five men might have sat and played at cards.

Another word of command, and the mammoth advanced a couple of paces.
The snakelike trunk groped forward, and Zenas, wriggling some as he
went, was swung aloft and found himself seated breathlessly by the side
of Zoar.

The master of the beasts smiled at the other old man.

"When you come again to your own land, you may tell your children's
children, if you have them, that you have sat on the head of an amaloc,
the grandfather of all beasts," said Zoar.

While Zenas appreciated that honor, it might be said that he was much
relieved when he got his feet on the ground again.

From building to building of the immense stables, the scientist was led
with growing wonder. Ninety and three of the giant mammals there were,
of which no one stood less than twelve feet high. But Ixstus was the
champion and patriarch of the herd.

       *       *       *       *       *

As the riders journeyed back to Zele-omaz, Oleric told again how the
Children of Ad had driven the beasts southward from their lands with
fire, and how the men of Ruthar likewise had made war upon them, until
they were in danger of becoming extinct.

"But then came the prophecy, and men of wisdom set themselves to study
and tame the beasts," he said. "And now, when the wall is down, and
Ruthar takes the road to Adlaz, the amalocs shall lead the way, and
Zoar and his servants shall drive them against the hosts of Bel-Ar."

"Won't the Maeronicans scare them again with fires?" asked Everson.

"Nay; that has been provided against," said the captain.

"Lady," Polaris said to Glorian, "I have heard and seen many strange
things in this country of yours, and I have learned much. One more
thing I would ask that you make clear to me. Oleric has, and last night
the old man back yonder did again speak of things of the long ago, in
which you had a part. What did they mean? You are scarcely of mine own
years."

Glorian glanced hastily at Oleric, and then she answered:

"When the world was younger, men had the secret of years. The slave
O'Connell told Oleric that it was written in your sacred book out
yonder in the world that such was so. That secret was lost. For ages it
was lost. But it was found again in Ruthar. I am one of those to whom
it has been imparted."

"You mean, lady, that _you_--" Polaris gasped.

"My friend, I first saw the light on Ruthar's hills well-nigh three
hundred years ago," Glorian replied, and as he involuntarily shrank
in his saddle, she added hastily, "It is a matter of the inward will
that holds the spirit and the flesh. To only a few is it given to have
the will to prevail for a time against time itself. And they are not
immortal. Presently old age will come to me as it has to Zoar, and I
shall shrivel away--and die." She shuddered.

Polaris looked at this fair, fresh woman, beautiful as a goddess
indeed, and by all earthly standards in the first bloom of her young
womanhood, and he felt that this matter was beyond his comprehension.

"Are there, then, any others, besides you and Zoar?" he asked.

"One other only--and he rides at your side," she answered. "Oleric the
Learned is younger than I by only fifty years."

"Now, my brother, are some of my wild sayings explained to you," Oleric
said. "We do not ask that you believe, for this thing is new to you and
contrary to all that you have learned. Only the years will show you the
truth of what we tell you--if they pass without accidents. For we are
not proof against mischance. A sword-stroke may end my days as swiftly
as any man's."

"Would you that I impart the secret to you?" asked Glorian. And she
turned and looked deep into Polaris's eyes. "You have a will that is
stronger than most, and I think that you might well exert it to hold
back the years, were you instructed. Say, shall we teach it you?"

"Nay, lady," said Polaris. "I will live my appointed years, be they few
or many, and die when my time comes. One short human life, it seems,
can hold all the troubles for which a man has heart. And I would not,
if this thing be possible, see my friends grow old and die, while I
lived on."

Glorian sighed. Then she seemed struck by a new thought, and asked:

"What will happen if Ruthar is too late, and you reach not your friends
in Adlaz--and the lady Rose, of whom Oleric has told me? What if you
come not to Adlaz in time to save them?"

"I think that I shall be in time," Polaris said grimly. "If I am not,
then I think death shall find me on the road--and be welcome."

Zenas Wright, hearing these things, and marveling, became troubled.

"Wow!" he said to the lieutenant. "I can believe anything now. To-day I
have seen a living mammoth, and I felt about three thousand years old
myself. And now, too, look out for squalls."




                              CHAPTER VII

                       POLARIS MAKES HIS CHOICE


Dawn, the cheerless gray of clouded winter, crept over the city of
Adlaz. In her bed in the prison-palace of Bel-Tisan the dark-haired
Princess Memene of Sardanes lay, and beside her was her new little
son. But Memene was not well, and Rose knew she would not live.

"Oh, that Minos were here to see!" Memene said faintly. And again--"It
is the king he was so sure of." She smiled at Rose. "It is the king,
my sister. And he shall be named Patrymion, after a man who is dead--a
very brave man." And smiling, she passed away.

When she could control her grief--she had come to love Memene
dearly--Rose summoned Brunar and told him what had befallen. The
captain heard her sorrowfully, for he had honored and admired the
Sardanian princess and pitied her sad circumstance. He sent the old
woman out to fetch a younger one to care for the child. And then he
brought men to bear Memene away. Out of the kindness that was in him,
the captain looked to it that she lay in a fair and pleasant spot, and
not where the common people of Ad buried their dead.

Persuaded by Rose, and because he had some knowledge of English and
could bear the message, Brunar took horse at noon and rode down to the
harbor, there to seek Minos.

This happening was nearly two months after the departure of Polaris and
the others who had gone to Ruthar. In the intervening time, Oleric the
Red had tried and tried again to get word through to Adlaz, informing
those who were left behind of the fair progress of events. Always he
had failed until one of his men, by craft and waiting, had gained a
place with the prison guard.

With him Rose Emer managed to get speech, and they arranged that on
the following day he should slip away and try to reach Ruthar again,
bearing a message from her to Polaris.

       *       *       *       *       *

On one of the quays in the harbor of Adlaz sat Minos, the Sardanian. It
was cold on the quay, but he did not feel it. His back was weary with
carrying burdens, but he was unconscious of that weariness. Why should
the body live when the soul is dead within it? Nor did his eyes see
the dancing waters of the harbor, where the fademes of Bel-Ar rode at
their anchors. Until this day he had counted the hours with hope, and
had borne his tasks with patience. Now hope had gone, and the taste of
living was as dry dust.

For Memene was dead.

When Brunar had brought him the news, he had heard the captain through,
and thanked him gravely. Then he had turned twice in his tracks and
fallen like a stone. So long had he lain that Brunar deemed him dead.
When he had come back from that swoon, Minos would work no more; nor
did any seek to force him. He had wandered aimlessly out on the quay.
When night fell, it found him still sitting there.

It was a wild night. The moon shone but dimly, and often was veiled
by scudding snow-clouds, and the stars were wan. Far to the south,
over Ruthar, a faint rose-pink against the sky told that the southern
lights, aurora australis, were playing. Somewhere beneath their
flickering radiance lay the lost kingdom of Sardanes that the snows had
covered deep. A wind, gusty and fitful, leaped over the mountain-rim
and tossed the waters of the crater-lake so that the fademes swung
restlessly and clanked their anchor-chains. One by one the mitzl globes
among the warehouses and along the quays were hooded, until only the
watch-lights were burning.

A soldier of the guard hailed Minos; but the Sardanian answered not,
stirred not.

"Now let the fool sit and freeze," said the soldier impatiently. And
then he added, "Poor fellow." For he had heard the story of the fallen
king, and had a good wife and bairns of his own in Adlaz town.

In Sardanes, Minos had been known as the smiling prince. But for all
his patient, kindly ways, he was high-spirited. And once roused, none
was quicker to strike than he. Events of the last few weeks had galled
his temper. Now, coming out of the stupor into which this final blow
had cast him, he was near to madness.

Willingly would have Minos found his way to Adlaz, plucked Bel-Ar
from his gilded bed and broken him across his knee. But the way was
treacherous, and there were many guards, and he knew that he could not
reach the king. Into the south he would have gone, to seek Polaris and
to play a man's part in the great war. But that way was closed to him
also. The few men that he might slay in the attempt before they pulled
him down and slew him would be all too few to satisfy the fires within
him that burned fiercely for vengeance. With only a great calamity
would Minos be content.

Uneasily tossed the fademes in the harbor, their anchor-chains
rattling.

Finally Minos heard them. Then he knew why they were calling to him.

       *       *       *       *       *

Many times in his work about the harbor of Adlaz the Sardanian had been
on board the fademes. He had helped to discharge the cargoes of those
which came in from the fair islands of the southern seas, bringing
strange tropical fruits, dainties for the lords and ladies of Adlaz,
and other articles of the commerce which their captains carried on
with the savage islanders. On many an atoll of the Pacific the brown
Melanesians knew all the steel and gold clad white men who came up from
the sea to trade with them.

But they kept out of the track of civilization; for that was their law.
Civilized men saw them not, though they sometimes heard tales of them
among the savages--tales which, of course, they did not believe.

Working on the ships as he had, Minos had learned much of the mode of
their operation. Himself no mean worker in metals, the mysteries of
these wonderful ships of the underseas had caught his fancy, and he
had studied them. He knew that such a lever turned would start the
fademe forward; that such another halted it; and others which caused
it to turn and to dive beneath the surface or emerge at the will of
its engineer. He also knew where were the levers which controlled
the mighty power in the four great shafts of yellow glass and which
released the terrible rays of light, the rays of the nameless color,
before which all things were destroyed, and which turned even the water
that they met into surging vapor.

With that knowledge in his mind and the red fury in his heart, Minos
knew why the clanging anchor-chains were calling to him.

It was past midnight when the Sardanian king stood up at the end of
the quay. He stretched wide his arms and the iron-sinewed thews of
his shoulders and back cracked as he stretched. He glanced up at the
distant stars.

"Once aforetime, so told the red man from the sea, those Hellenes who
were my ancestors did turn back this nation when it was swollen with
conquest and would have mastered all the world," he whispered. "Once
more the power of Adlaz rides high, and it makes ready to go forth and
subdue it again--and what I leave, may my brother Polaris finish."

In the shadow of a warehouse the king rubbed and strained his chilled
muscles back to life. At the side of the wharf he found an open boat,
and fetched its oars. Then he rowed cautiously out into the harbor.

Scarce a score of yards from the quays rode the nearest of the fademes.
Minos boarded it on noiseless feet, and cast his boat adrift.

In the cabin of the fademe were sleeping two sailors of its crew and
the engineer. Them Minos slew with his bare hands. And though the
engineer ere he died slashed the king's shoulder deeply with a dagger,
he heeded it not, scarcely felt it.

Going on deck again, he unhooked the chain of the anchor and let it
slip quietly into the water. Then he closed the double doors fore and
aft, and made them fast.

Under the lights in the lower gallery, Minos studied the levers and
the engines. At a turn of his hand he felt the vessel sink beneath the
surface. Another lever wrenched, and the fademe started gently ahead,
and the king felt that he was safely launched on his dangerous venture.

Before he had submerged the vessel, Minos had set in his mind the
location of the fademes. There were nearly one hundred and fifty of
them in the harbor. Five he knew were on patrol duty constantly off
the Maeronican headlands. There were perhaps another dozen sailing the
outer seas on the missions of Bel-Ar. Those at anchor in the harbor
were disposed in three long, irregular lines, with nearly fifty ships
in a line.

Minos had submerged the fademe, which he had taken, some forty feet.
When he reached a point which he thought must be nearly under the first
vessel in the southern line, he turned off the power and halted. He
fetched ropes and tied them, one to the starting lever and one to that
which would stop the fademe. Carrying with him the other ends of the
ropes, he climbed the ladders to the pilothouse, which rode like a
small tower at the top of the fademe.

Here in the pilothouse was a powerful revolving searchlight. Here,
also, were the levers which controlled the tubes of glass which
projected the deadly light-rays.

       *       *       *       *       *

Swinging the searchlight to point upward through the crystal roof of
the pilothouse, Minos unhooded it, and its bright, white bar of light
thrust upward through the water. By its radiance he saw that he was not
yet under the first of the fademes. Its golden hull glittered just a
few feet beyond the radius of his light. A twitch of the rope which he
had adjusted below sent his own vessel ahead.

Under the first fademe he halted; and with a grim prayer that the
destroying agency might not be out of order, he pressed the lever that
controlled the upper shaft of the glass.

With a mighty hissing and seething of the water, the indescribable
light-ray leaped upward, so dazzlingly brilliant in its unknown color
that it nearly blinded the man who had loosed it.

Full on the bottom of the fademe above him the light ray struck and
played, with the water boiling around it. The metal hull crumpled away
like solder before the tinsmith's point. So swift and furious was its
action that in an instant Minos saw the vessel above come sinking down.
He had barely time to pull his rope and get his own fademe from under.
As it was, the descending wreck grazed the stern of his vessel with a
jar that nearly unseated him. Thereafter he went more swiftly.

From ship to ship he went down the long line, scarcely pausing under
each. Ship after ship he left behind him--sunken and useless wrecks.

Minos had finished with the first row of fademes, and was coming back
on the second line, when a guardsman on shore saw an upthrust of
furious light from the deck of one of the golden ships, and then saw
the doomed fademe plunge down.

Throwing up his hands, the soldier ran across the harbor court,
shouting that some captain had gone mad and was destroying the fleet.

Then the harbor that had been still became alive. Lights flashed up.
Men ran hither and thither. A messenger was dispatched to Adlaz to
report to the king. Some sober-minded and brave men launched small
boats into the harbor to go out and warn the engineers of the other
fademes.

Well near the end of his second line was Minos when he bethought him
that his activities must draw attention to him. Then he loosed in
succession the other three tubes, and their deadly rays shot forth, one
from each side and one below. The king let them roar unchecked, and all
around his vessel the water was turned into a boiling inferno. Like the
evil genius of Adlaz, he rode on, leaving only wreckage in his wake.

Part way down the last northern line, the end found him.

Engineers on the other fademes had been awakened. Hastily they plunged
their vessels beneath the surface and set out against the destroyer.
Because of the fierce play of his four rays, they could not come at him
from either side or from above or below.

But one pilot steered in behind and, with the blazing peril a fair
target, loosed the destroying ray from his own fademe.

From behind him Minos heard a roar of steam and water entering in.
A blinding radiance shot through the gallery below the pilothouse,
withering all things as it passed. The structure of the fademe crumpled
away beneath him.

"Memene!" he cried. "I come!"

Then the rising waters and the great darkness.

So by the hand of Minos of Sardanes perished the mighty navy which
the king Bel-Ar had amassed to go forth and conquer the world. Of his
hundred and fifty fademes that had ridden in the harbor of Adlaz, a
bare score remained to him. And this is the tale which Brunar, the
captain, told in the morning to Rose Emer in the old prison-palace of
Bel-Tisam, and which she set down and sent by messenger to cross the
Kimbrian Wall to Polaris Janess in Ruthar.

       *       *       *       *       *

Meanwhile, scarcely had the riders from the forest home of Zoar of the
Amalocs come again to Zele-omaz when Everson was off to see to the
course of his operations at the Kimbrian Wall. He snatched only a few
hours of rest and sleep, and rode out in the night.

On the day after the return, which also was the day on which Zoar had
promised to set out with his mighty herd on the road to the barrier,
Oleric the Red sought Polaris in the camp to the west of the city, and
bade him accompany him to the Temple of Glorian.

Oleric told naught of the meaning of the summons, but rode with Janess
through the city, saying little and staring at his horse's ears. Never
had Polaris seen the red captain so silent and so thoughtful.

"What ails you, friend?" asked the son of the snows. "Why so moody, as
is not your wont? Has aught gone amiss?"

"Nothing amiss," the captain answered. "But a matter is toward that
concerns yourself closely--and I know not if I have been wise to keep
it from you so long."

He would say no more, and presently they were at the temple.

Oleric led Polaris into the high-domed audience-hall, which they found
empty, save for the Goddess Glorian, who sat in one of the seats on
the double throne, and who looked on Polaris with kindling eyes as he
crossed the hall.

To the northern wall led Oleric, and they paused before an ancient
panel of black rock, which had been set into the marble at about the
height of a man's head. So old was this slab or block of adamant that
its surface was all crackled, yet it was smooth as polished slate.
Across its face ran carven lines of writing, like the lines of a runic
legend.

"This stone bears the ancient prophecy of Ruthar," Oleric said. "Here
in the long ago were writ the words of that which we believe is now to
come to pass. See how the stone shines. It has been worn smooth by the
lips of countless chiefs of Ruthar."

With unwonted solemnity the captain gazed into the eyes of his friend.
"Give close heed, and I will read it you," he said, and read:

    "In a far time--more than the length of years of three amalocs--a
    mighty, fair-haired man shall come up from the sea. He shall break
    down the wall at the north. He shall lead Ruthar and the beasts of
    Ruthar through the wall. And they shall take Adlaz and destroy the
    king of Adlaz--"

The captain paused, and again looked strangely at Polaris. He concluded
the reading:

    "And the man shall be king over Ruthar and Adlaz."

Janess stared at the ancient writing in silence, and his brow clouded
over.

"This is the whole of the prophecy of Ruthar--the part of which I have
kept concealed from you--though every lad in Ruthar knows it," said
Oleric hastily. "I beg of you, my brother, that you will forgive me if
I have done ill. But I have thought it wise to keep silence this far.
Now is come the time when nothing must be kept back."

He stopped speaking, and both he and Glorian gazed earnestly at the
doubtful face of Polaris.

"You mean that I shall be king of Ruthar," Polaris said at length. From
one to the other of them he glanced.

The red captain nodded slowly.

"So it is writ in the prophecy," said Glorian. She left the throne, and
came and took Polaris by the hand.

"And, O man from the sea, for whom Ruthar has waited so long and
patiently, you cannot gainsay us now," she pleaded. A smile of
appealing sweetness came to her aid.

"But, lady, to be a king I did not bargain when I came hither with the
captain; though," and he smiled, "I was in an ill place to drive a
bargain, and might have yielded almost anything. But to be a king--I
like it not. I am neither of Ruthar nor of Ad. I am a simple American
of common birth. I do not wish to be a king, but merely to go hence
with my own people, if I may. And if I did wish it, what of the people?
Would they relish the thought of an outlander on their throne?"

Again Glorian answered him:

"It is so writ in the prophecy."

And Oleric said: "And the prophecy is known to all the people, as it
has been for centuries. From the wall to the southern cliffs, there is
no man or woman in all Ruthar who does not already look upon you as the
king. Think well, my brother."

"But would it not do as well if I were to serve you and Ruthar for a
while, and those with me, as leaders? Then, when we have won, if we
_do_ win, might I not go hence? Would that not serve as well?"

Glorian smiled faintly, and Oleric shook his head.

"Nay, my brother," the captain replied. "You must put your hands in the
hands of the zinds of Ruthar and swear the oath of kingship. That is
the only way. 'And the man shall be king over Ruthar and Adlaz,' runs
the prophecy." Oleric traced the writing on the slab with his finger.
"By those words do the zinds and the people hold. It is the only way."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then," said Glorian, "the army will not march to-morrow, nor will Zoar
drive on the beasts--unless all of the prophecy shall be fulfilled.
Then we who have stood as sponsors for you will be derided as cheats
and fools, if, indeed, worse things do not befall you and us. And
bethink you--those whom you love, who are in Adlaz, will perish
miserably, while Bel-Ar and the priests of Shamar mock their miseries.
Without you we fail, and without us and the hosts of Ruthar you, too,
are powerless."

"You argue strongly, lady, and you, too, comrade," Polaris said.
"Still, I like not this prospect of being king. I must have a little
space in which to ponder it over."

"It is now nearly noon," Oleric said. "To-day the zinds from every
province and city of Ruthar ride into Zele-omaz--to greet their king.
Until to-night, my brother."

"Then to-night will I give my answer--here in this hall," Polaris said,
and he turned and went to seek out old Zenas Wright. And neither of the
two whom he left behind could have guessed at what his answer would be,
though it seemed to them that there could only be one answer. For they
had come to know him as a man of surpassing determination, and here was
a path in which he did not want to set his feet.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the old laboratory Janess found Zenas. The work of the geologist
was completed. Melinite he had turned out of his workshops by the ton,
and the most of it had been transported carefully, and was stored in
the forests near to the Kimbrian Wall. Now his thunder factory was
deserted. Every last man of his force had gone to join the army.

"Yes, my lad, I know," said Zenas, after one glance at Polaris's face.
"They have told you about this king business. I know, too--for I know
you--that you are bucking it--hard."

"I do not want to be a king, old Zenas, but--"

"Yes, there's a 'but' in it, and a big one. What are you going to do
about it? Our red-headed, two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old youngster, the
antique lady, and their old father, Methuselah Zoar, have it all cut
and dried. If you can see any way out of it except their way, you have
devilish keen eyes. I can't, and I've been looking at it for quite a
few days. Oleric told me about it all some time ago. Take it, boy; take
it. And make the most of it. It isn't every day that one gets a chance
to be absolute ruler over a rich country and nearly five millions of
people. You'll make a better king than any they've ever had on either
side of the wall. That I'll guarantee." And the old man looked at his
troubled friend with bright eyes and patted him on the knee.

While they sat and talked this matter over, came a man to the door,
crying out that a messenger had come through from Adlaz bringing a
written word to Polaris.

The courier was brought in. He proved to be that same Rutharian who had
gained a place with the prison guard under Brunar. Already he had told
in the city of the destruction of the fademes of Bel-Ar, and Zele-omaz
was going wild with the news.

When Polaris had read the letter sent him by Rose Emer, and he and
Zenas had heard what the messenger had to add to its news, the face of
the son of the snows grew very stern. The kindly old scientist's eyes
were moist. After the man was gone, neither of them spoke for quite a
time. The two who were gone had been dear friends, and the friendship
had been knit by perils and hardships, in which each had learned the
worth of the others.

"Now is the score that I have to settle with this king of Adlaz grown
long indeed," Polaris said at length, "and I am minded to tilt him for
his kingdom, as these folk would have me do. He made a good ending, did
Minos; and I do not think that Bel-Ar, even if he come free of Ruthar,
will live to see the day when another fleet shall lie ready to go out
and win the world for him."

He became silent. While the town, filling up with the arrival of zinds
and their retinues, gave itself to rejoicing at the blow that had been
struck Bel-Ar, and the old man sat by the fire and dozed, Polaris paced
moodily up and down the long laboratory. An hour passed, and the half
of another. Then he struck one hand hard into the other.

"Now in all these happenings I think I see my way at last," he muttered.

With the fall of night he cloaked himself and went up to the temple on
the hill, and Zenas went with him.

       *       *       *       *       *

From every principality and town in Ruthar the zinds had come to
Zele-omaz. Those who were too old or infirm to make the journey had
sent their sons or representatives. In the hall of Glorian these were
gathered to the number of one hundred-and-seven--tall and stately men,
most of them, clad in chain armor plated with silver and bossed with
plates of steel--for they had come to fight for their king as well as
to crown him. A shout went up that made the torches flare, when a guard
opened one of the doors of bronze, and Polaris Janess and Zenas came
into the hall.

Eager-eyed, they pressed around the son of the snows, to welcome him
whom their prophets and their goddess had said would redress their
ancient wrongs.

Polaris met their greetings with a heightened color and a glow in his
eyes. Almost, he thought, it would be a joy to be the king of such as
these--he, the dweller in no-man's land, a waif from the eternal snows.

And the Goddess Glorian, watching him from her ivory throne, smiled
to herself, though there was a pang at her heart that she could not
manage to quench or still.

Presently Polaris stood in the open space at the foot of the throne.
The zinds gathered before him in a glittering semicircle, and made
silence in the hall.

"Chieftains of Ruthar," he began, lifting his voice so that all might
hear, "this day have I been asked to become your king, to take your
crown upon my head, to sit upon your throne, to lead you in battle, and
to rule over you as wisely as I may--all this because of certain words
on a stone which, it seems, may not be changed. Is this your wish, men
of Ruthar--to have me, an outlander, as your king?"

A deep-voiced shout was the answer, and every voice said "Aye."

"Then this is my answer, men of Ruthar, seeing that there is no dissent
among you: when I came unwillingly to the shores of Maeronica, there
came with me a friend, a true man. You have heard much of him to-day.
It was he that sank the fademes of Bel-Ar. He was named Minos, and he
was the king of a nation that has passed away. That man is dead by a
glorious means. Yonder in the harbor he struck a great blow for Ruthar
and for the world. He gave his life.

       *       *       *       *       *

"To-day word reached me by the messenger who brought the tidings of
that deed, and the word was that this Minos who is dead, left behind
him a son, an infant newly born.

"Now I will yield me to your wishes, chieftains of Ruthar. I will go
with you to the Kimbrian Wall, and beyond it. I will fight with you
to overthrow Bel-Ar. I will do all that a man may to be the king you
wish me. But it is my will that when this son of Minos the Sardanian is
grown to manhood's years and wisdom, he shall relieve me of my kingship
and become your king, and his son after him, if he have one. That is my
answer, men of Ruthar. I thank you for the high honor you would do me."

He turned and bowed deeply to the Goddess Glorian, and then stood back
at the side of the throne.

A murmur of surprise arose in the hall, and then was silenced, for
Glorian arose to speak.

"Zinds of my people," she said in her clear, low voice, "to the weight
of this man's words add that of Glorian's. He comes, this man, from a
land where there are no kings. He is willing to fight for you--to die
with you. What he promises will fulfil the prophecy by which we hold.
It is a noble choice that he has made. It is my rede that you accept
it--mine and that of Oleric the Learned, to whom you sometimes have
looked for counsel."

As she reseated herself, the red captain stood forth and said simply:

"My brother has chosen well. I stand with him. Should you not agree, I
still stand with him, and he and I and such as are faithful to us will
break the Kimbrian Wall and perish on the road to Adlaz."

For a short time the zinds took counsel among themselves. When they had
done, an aged man--he was Atra, the ruler of Zele-omaz--stood out from
among them.

"We are agreed, O goddess," he said. "We will have this man as king
until the prophecy is fulfilled and for so long afterward as he will,
until the babe be grown to manhood. He is a true man. We are content,
and perhaps"--here Atra smiled--"with the passing of the years he may
change his mind."

They brought the crown of Ruthar--a heavy torque of gold set with
fire-opals--and led Polaris to the ivory throne, and set him beside the
Goddess Glorian and crowned him. And he put his hands in the hands of
the zinds and swore the oath of kingship.

"Yonder in Adlaz is a larger palace and a wider throne," said Glorian.

"Aye, lady," he answered. "To-morrow I shall go to seek it."

A great feast followed the coronation. When it was done, all night
long through the streets of Zele-omaz and across the bridges of Illia,
sounded the rumbling of chariot-wheels and the tramp of marching feet.
Ruthar was on the march at last, and the destination was the Kimbrian
Wall.

So it fell out that the ambition of Minos of Sardanes had not been so
vain of attainment. He had won a kingdom for "the king that was to
come."

       *       *       *       *       *

As near as they dared, Everson's army of workmen had pushed the
completion of their broad highway to the Kimbrian Wall, clearing and
building up the old, disused road. Trees had been felled and removed
where it was necessary, and rocks had been dragged away with much
labor--and all with as little noise as possible, so that the men of
Atlo who garrisoned the wall might know nothing of the work, and that
when the time should come, Maeronica could be taken unawares.

To do that the road-makers had been forced to halt their work two
hundred yards from the wall, where a belt of thick forest was left
standing across the way which effectually screened their operations.

When the roadway had been completed to that point, molelike, the
engineers and sappers dug into the earth and pushed on. The old
roadway, suiting their purposes well, led to the wall at a point nearly
midway between two of the watchtowers, which were distant from one
another about a mile. Another circumstance which was favorable to the
lieutenant's plan was that the neck or isthmus which connected Ruthar
to Maeronica was, though high above the sea, comparatively level.

Back of a knoll in the forest the miners sank their shaft. Twelve feet
down in the earth they struck the living rock and proceeded along that,
excavating a tunnel, or gallery, eight feet high by ten feet across.
This work was done swiftly, for the tunnel was wide enough so that four
men might work in it abreast, and as fast as one quartet was wearied
another took its place, and the picks were swinging day and night. As
the diggers went on, a multitude of workers behind them carried back
the loosened earth and shored the gallery up with timbers so that it
might not cave.

When Everson returned from the ride to the place of Zoar, he found that
his tunnel was ended--against the face of the Kimbrian Wall, which was
founded on the rock itself. Following his instructions, the sappers had
branched the tunnel right and left along the wall, until the working
was in the shape of an elongated letter "T", the cross-arm of which lay
along the foundation stones of the wall and was sixty feet long.

With the same ceaseless industry that had built the tunnel so swiftly,
they then had attacked the face of the wall with chisels and sledges,
cutting in at intervals of about ten feet. This had been difficult
work and perilous. The rock of the wall was adamant-hard. However, by
attacking the cement in which the stones were set, the miners had been
able to remove numbers of the great blocks entire, rolling them by
dint of herculean effort across the gallery and into cavities made to
receive them.

In that work had been the danger. Eight men had been crushed under
falling fragments--first toll of Ruthar in the warfare.

The excavations had been carried into the foundation of the wall a
matter of fifteen feet when Everson arrived. He at once ordered that
work stopped. Remained only the placing of the explosive. That he
superintended in person.

Bar by bar--for the lieutenant would suffer no man to carry more than
one of old Zenas's patty-cakes at a time--and with extreme care, the
melinite was borne in through the tunnel and packed in the cavities
in the wall. The geologist's workshop had turned out a plenty of the
stuff, and it was used without stint. Everson judged that he placed
nearly two tons of the explosive in each of the six chambers under the
wall.

Banks of loose, dry earth were piled about the melinite charges;
Everson laid his wires, and his workmen then filled the cavities with
fragments of the rock taken from the wall.

Still further to retard the release of the gases when the charges
should be set off, the lieutenant set his men to wall up the openings
to the chambers, using heavy rocks and cement, having done which, they
filled in the cross-arm of the "T" with earth and fragments of stone,
tamping all in firmly.

Very workmanlike was the finished task over which Everson nodded his
approval and told his grimy legion, "Well done."

During all the progress of the labor the patrols of Bel-Ar rode to and
fro along the wall, and never guessed that sixty feet below them in the
rock their enemies were planting the fearful seeds that would put forth
the red flower of war.

It was midnight of the third day after the gathering of the zinds
in the temple of Glorian at Zele-omaz, when Everson walked out of
the tunnel for the last time, his wires laid, his batteries ready.
Retiring to one of the shelters which had been built in the forest, the
lieutenant threw himself on a couch for a few brief hours of sleep.

Five hours later one of his engineers awakened him and told him that
the zinds of Ruthar with a great host had gone into camp for the night
along the roadway ten miles back from the wall, and that the levies of
the upper hills, the light-armed archers, slingers and javelin men,
were pouring into the vast camp which had been prepared nearby in the
forest.

"And these last swear that when they sleep again it will be beyond the
wall," the engineer added.

"Many of them, poor chaps, are likely to sleep there forever," said
Everson. "Where is the king?"

"With the zinds."

The lieutenant arose and went out on the hillside; for he knew that
the time had come.

Calling a messenger, he told him to go and summon the skirmishers from
the camp. Presently he saw them coming, long, silent files of men,
ghostly in the gray light, picking their way over the snow-covered
slopes and among the trees, some of the lines led by zinds and others
by their captains.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the forests opposite the wall, Everson posted a wedge of five
thousand javelin men, who were armed also with short swords. These were
to rush the breach in the wall and deploy on the other side to hold
the gap from any assault from beyond until the gap could be cleared
and the roadway brought up and through the breach to connect with the
Maeronican highway which lay on the other side of the barrier. Back of
that force gathered the miners and road-builders.

Right and left along the wall the lieutenant sent bodies of archers and
slingers, so they might command the top of the wall and prevent the
garrisons of the watchtowers from galling the men at work in the breach.

At each of the sixty towers along the stretch of the wall were
stationed some twenty men--a force of nearly twelve hundred in all.
Everson foresaw that these in all probability, or most of them, would
come to the breach from either side, leaving but few soldiers to man
the towers. So he sent two parties of a thousand men each east and
west, to lie in the forests near the wall. These were heavy-armed
swordsmen and spearsmen. They bore long ladders with them, and it was
to be their task to scale the wall, flank the men of Bel-Ar at its
summit, and take and hold the watchtowers.

A few miles below the wall lay a Maeronican hilltown, and there Bel-Ar
maintained a prominent garrison, composed of a section of his standing
army, some ten thousand men strong. These soldiers had proved the bane
of many a Rutharian raiding party, and they now gave Everson much
trouble in his mind. If they should come up quickly to the wall and
drive back his force or retake the towers, his thrust would be all but
ill delivered and fail of much of its power. That must be chanced--and
he judged by the look of these fighting men of Ruthar that they would
stand considerable driving and still not be driven.

Silently the long lines stole into position, and the men sank out of
sight among the trees. A small patrol party of Maeronican soldiers rode
down the wall from the watchtower to the west, where the mitzl lights
burned pale against the sky. They passed on, met the patrol from the
east, and both returned--seeing nothing of the menace that lay hidden
in the shadows of the pines.

Ruthar had been quiet of late, and a few noises in the forest meant
nothing to these soldiers, strong in their position on the mighty wall.
Of such things as the pastries of Zenas Wright they had never even
dreamed.

In a clump of trees Everson attached his wires to his batteries. He
knelt by one of them, and five of his sappers knelt with him.

"One--two--_three_!" he counted.

The six poised hands fell as one.

For a moment, silence; then a burst of hell from the bowels of the
earth.

From end to end, down all its length, the roof of Everson's
subterranean gallery was torn out by the rending gases. From the mouth
of the tunnel a mass of rocks, beams and loose earth was belched down
the slope with such force that trees fell before it.

Through clouds of falling earth and a drift of smoke, the distended
eyes of the Rutharian soldiery saw the basalt structure of the Kimbrian
Wall that had stood firm for thirty centuries heave up, sunder, and
open, as a gate opens, then come thundering down to ruin. Right in the
midst of the chaos of falling rock an awful sheet of green flame arose
like a giant fan and stood for an instant against the sky.

Then came the noise. It was neither a crash nor a roar, but a sustained
rumbling bellow--as though Mother Earth herself were muttering at this
desecration of her aged bones. Such was the power of that tremulous
diapason that the forests shook and the hills trembled. Followed a
moment of the silence of the pit, and then the clatter and spat of the
débris as it showered the slopes and the forests.

"Shields up!" shouted a tall zind of Ruthar, and the next moment he was
stretched senseless by a fragment of rock because he had not been quick
to obey his own order. Many others were injured, and some were killed.
But what did a few deaths matter now? The Kimbrian Wall was down. For
eighty feet the gap extended wide and free!

And beyond lay Maeronica.

In the forests and on the hills the companies cheered wildly as they
saw the path the melinite had opened, and cheered again when they saw
that the watchtower to the west had been shaken from its perch by the
terrific concussion and lay a crumble of stonework at the foot of the
wall.

"Into the breach!" shouted Everson. "Through the wall!"

From their lair on the hillsides the five thousand javelin bearers
arose gleefully and crossed the space to the gap in the wall at a
swinging trot, singing as they went.

So clean had been the sweep of the melinite that it had torn away every
vestige of the wall down to the living rock of the isthmus, leaving a
wide trench or ditch, stone-bottomed and with sloping sides of earth,
which it was an easy matter for the light-armed men to scramble across.
But first the soldiers had to throw loose earth into the bottom of the
trench; for the terrific pressure of the melinite against the rock had
heated it until it was almost molten.

For hundreds of feet around, heaps of earth and pulverized stone sent
up columns of the greenish, acrid vapor of the explosive.

On the heels of the javelin men pressed the engineers and road-men,
swarming into the breach to fill the trench and make a way for the
charioteers and the amalocs of Zoar, which were to follow. Along the
screen of forest at the end of the road axes rang, and the trees began
to fall.

One of the first men into the breach after the skirmishers had crossed
the ragged ditch, was Everson. With Mazoe, chief of his sappers, the
lieutenant directed the work at the trench; for now was the time for
haste.

Shaken from their beds by the dull thunder of Everson's fireworks,
Bel-Ar's steel riders at the eastern tower came clattering down their
wall. Before ever they reached the gap, a trumpet sounded on the
hillside, the archers and the slingers arose like wraiths from the
forests, and the horsemen were met by a shower of shafts and stones
that rattled and clanged on their armor and drove them back.

       *       *       *       *       *

Messengers sped east and west from tower to tower. Within an hour
every garrison along the barrier knew that the gods of Ruthar had
rifted their fortress and the hillsmen were pouring through. But these
soldiers of Bel-Ar were picked men, and they did not fear. Every
man-at-arms that could be spared from the turrets was horsed, and they
came riding recklessly down their lofty pathway, firm in the belief
that their own god presently would have a say in this matter.

At the third tower to the east of the breach was Atlo, captain of the
wall. The tremor of the explosion reached even there. While the captain
and his men wondered at what it might be, a messenger reached them.
Atlo at once sent a horseman down the curving path, one of which led
from each tower to the ground on the northern side of the wall, to ride
through the forest to the town of Barme and arouse the army there.

Then Atlo armed himself, gathered his men and started west. Straight
to the brink of the gap he rode, heeding neither arrows nor stones. At
the edge of the breach he dismounted, and while the long shafts of the
archers hummed around him and the missiles of the slingers dented his
golden armor, he knelt and peered into the gorge below him.

Much the captain marveled at the force which had broken the barrier.
His quick eyes of the soldier took in the disposition of the men and
fathomed the plan of the enemy. He saw that a swarm of javelin men and
a number of companies of heavier armed infantry were through the wall
and prepared to defend their ground. More he saw; that the trench below
was black with men who labored to fill it in; on the southern side of
the wall another army of laborers was laying a broad road over which
chariots might pass; and beneath him in the breach a man in mud-stained
garments stood on a point of rock directing his grimy toilers.

Breathing a curse, Atlo lifted his spear and cast with all his might.
Then he mounted and rode back to the nearest tower to await the coming
of his garrisons.

Too late did the archers in the forests shout their warning when they
saw that spear-arm poised.

At the foot of the rock Everson fell and lay face downward among his
workmen.

Tenderly they bore him out of the trench and up the slope of the
forest, those sturdy men of Ruthar who had worked with him and loved
him. Four of his engineers carried him, and Mazoe walked beside, trying
to stanch the flow of blood. Atlo's spear-point had bitten deeply just
above the collar-bone.

At the crest of the rise Everson spoke in a weak voice and bade them
set him down. Mazoe knelt and held him.

Through dim eyes the lieutenant peered back toward the sundered wall.
He lifted his hand slowly and with infinite effort and pointed.

"We have done--good work," he said. "Go on--with it. I fear I
shall--not--be with you."

His eyes closed, and Mazoe, who thought that he was spent, burst into
tears.

Below in the camp arose a mighty clamor of shouting. Everson's eyelids
fluttered open.

"Why do the soldiers cheer?" he asked.

Mazoe listened intently to the shouting.

"They cheer because the king is coming," he answered.

Everson smiled faintly.

"Tell him--I have made--a way--for him--"

His voice trailed away, and he sank into unconsciousness. And though
he did not die, he sailed so near to the quiet coasts that it was many
weeks before he knew that the work he had begun had gone on without
him, and had been done well.




                             CHAPTER VIII

                        BEL-AR HEARS THE DRUMS


In the early brightness of the morning, the king of Ruthar rode up the
southern stretch of the slope toward the wall. With him came old Zenas
and Oleric the Red.

Bedight in chain mail rode the king, a shield of shining steel on his
arm, his two-handed sword at his back, dagger in belt, and spear and
battle-ax at saddle-bow. Behind him clattered a company of zinds. Back
of them, down the long road as far as the eye could see, marched rank
on rank of men-at-arms. These were to pass the wall at once, and push
on along the isthmus to meet and hold any force which the captains of
Bel-Ar might throw against them.

In the camp in the forest, ready to ride when the way should be
cleared, were thousands of the wild horsemen of the hills. As soon as
they might pass the breach, they would outstrip the heavy-marching
infantry, spread and harry the country, and dash into the mountain
passes at the northern end of the isthmus, which must be taken and held
before any considerable force could come up from Maeronica and occupy
them.

Behind, the horsemen would push on the footmen and the chariots which
made up the main host of Ruthar. Such was the plan which had been laid
by Everson, Polaris, and Oleric.

As they neared the top of the rise, Polaris and those with him met a
little clump of downcast men plodding along the road and carrying a
burden. Then Mazoe saw the riders and ran to meet them, holding his
arms above his head and weeping.

"What says he? Everson--"

Polaris sprang down from his horse and pushed through the tramping men.
Behind him an army halted while he stood and looked into the still face
of Everson. In the heart of the son of the snows there entered a pang
as keen as that which had stabbed it when he had heard of the passing
of the Sardanian King Minos and his lady.

But Zenas Wright, who had bent over the lieutenant, and bared his
breast and listened to his heart, spoke up:

"This boy has been hard hit; but he's still alive. With good care--and
he's going to get it--I think he has a chance. This jab over the
shoulder isn't so bad as it looks."

"Look at him, Father Zenas," said Polaris. "Let no effort that this
land can produce be spared to make him whole again; for he is a gallant
gentleman, and deserves no such death. His reward from Ruthar for what
he has done shall be great."

Mazoe told all his story, and Polaris bent and took the earth-stained
hand of the unconscious man in his own.

"Fare you well for a time, Everson," he said softly. "I shall not
forget. And I shall find the way you made."

Mazoe and the engineers bore Everson to the camp, and Zenas Wright went
with them.

Polaris touched the red captain on the shoulder.

"Captain Oleric, bide you here at the wall until the path is prepared.
I make you general-in-chief of the army. Carry out the work which
our friend has so well begun. Father Zenas will give you of his good
counsel. Build the road as Everson and you have planned it."

"But you--where are you going?" Oleric asked.

Polaris pointed northward to the breach in the Kimbrian Wall.

"I am going to tread the way he made for me," he answered. "When all is
well, come on and find me on the other side."

Giving the reins of his horse to a servant, Polaris reached his spear
from the saddle and placed himself in the first rank of the footmen,
under the great, blood-red banner of Ruthar. A mighty cheer swept down
the ranks as he joined them. The horsemen drew out to the side of the
roadway; a blare of trumpets sounded the advance; the crimson standard
dipped and went forward. Over the seamed and broken hill, past the
masses of fallen ruin, across the melinite-blasted trench, and through
the breach in the wall flowed the iron stream.

As far as they could see it, the little group on the hilltop watched
the tall form that strode under the tossing banner.

"This king of ours has a will of his own," muttered Oleric. "Now to do
the work he bade us."

But first of all the red captain sent for old Jastla of the hills. When
the white-bearded chieftain stood before him, Oleric said:

"The king has gone yonder through the wall, Jastla. Take a hundred of
your best men--men who know how to die as well as fight. Find the king.
Ring him round with a band of steel. Guard him with your lives." Oleric
grinned as he added, "'Twill be a task to your liking, old bear. Ever
you loved fighting, and this man will lead you to where it is thicker
than earth-berries. I have seen him at the game. But watch him well,
Jastla; he is of a reckless temper when his blood is stirred, and
caution is not his watchword."

Lifting his arm in salute, Jastla replied:

"When harm comes to the king, it shall have set its foot on Jastla's
corpse." The chief drew a deep breath of pride and satisfaction. "I
thank you, Oleric the Learned, for this task. I have trained the lad,
and I love him."

Jastla hurried into the forest to the camp. Presently he, too, was gone
through the wall on his mission.

When the last of the armed force had passed the gap, another army took
its place--an army of pick and shovel men, with chains and ropes and
tugging, sweating horses. Speedily the last of the screen of trees was
down and the stumps torn out. On a foundation of crushed rock Oleric
built up his roadway, and brought it through to the shadow of the
Kimbrian Wall; and there he met trouble.

       *       *       *       *       *

All of the day on which Everson was stricken, and through the night and
the forenoon following, the builders wrought at the road. Wherever was
room for a pair of hands to labor, the hands were not lacking. Still
the work was not completed, nor was the ditch filled in.

And the reason for the delay was--Atlo.

From the turrets along the wall to the east the captain had collected
a force of nearly five hundred fighting men, and led them in person.
Leaving their horses behind them, these warriors marched to the lip of
the breach and harassed the workmen of Oleric. Nor could the Rutharian
bowmen and slingers come at them with their weapons to do them much
scathe. The edge of the wall had a coping which was nearly breast-high.
Behind that the defenders were sheltered, and might creep, which they
did, to the very brink of the gap, whence they showered the men in the
trench with arrows and javelins.

Following the example of Atlo, the under captains of the towers on the
western stretch of the wall gathered another half a thousand men and
came to the end of the breach on their side. Between the activities
of these two parties, the task of the besiegers was made heavy and
perilous.

Time and again the red captain was forced to withdraw his laborers
from the cross-fire of deadly missiles which the warriors on the wall
rained into the ditch. His losses were appalling. Still his men did not
falter. When the order was given, they swarmed into the gaping trench,
and those who died there were content if they but cast one shovel of
earth before the spirit fled.

Oleric groaned in spirit as he watched this havoc, which he had little
power to hinder. The distance to the top of the wall was too great to
allow of effective javelin-casting, and such weapons as did reach the
summit were seized upon by the enemy and turned back on the attackers.
Having the advantage of the sheltered height from which to cast and
shoot, one of Atlo's soldiers was worth in efficiency a hundred of
those on the ground.

"Swords and axes on the top of the wall, and that only, will clear out
that nest," said Oleric to Zenas, when the geologist had come back from
the camp, where for hours he had labored over Everson, and of whose
condition he now had high hopes.

"Where are our ladder-men tarrying?" snarled Oleric, and the captain
ground his teeth as he saw his workmen decimated and driven back again.
"We have not the time to spare to starve these birds from their perch.
Yet if I fill that hole now it will be with the bodies of brave men
dead and not with earth and stone."

Bethinking himself of another plan, the captain ordered three companies
of heavy-armed foot-soldiers up from the camp and sent them into the
working to shelter the laborers under their shields. By that means a
little progress was made; but the work was slow and cumbersome and the
toll in lives was still heavy.

Long-delayed relief came in the shape of the fighting men whom Everson
had sent out along the wall with ladders. These had lain in the forests
until they saw the turrets depleted of their garrisons. Then they
had crept up to the wall and erected their scaling ladders, choosing
points a number of miles from the breach. That attack was not without
its perils and losses. Scant in numbers, but desperate, the defenders
sallied out on the wall to turn the storming parties. Many warriors
died under the javelins and arrows from above. Comrades took their
places as they fell, and at length, by dint of hard fighting, gained
footing on the crest of the wall.

Guessing how matters must stand at the breach, the Rutharian swordsmen
paid no further attention to the turrets which lay between them and the
sea, but set themselves to the taking of those toward the gap. As soon
as they carried one of these they were able to augment their numbers
from the forces which earlier had passed the wall through the breach,
and which now were besieging the towers from the north side, where the
sloping pathways were defended by gates and doors of bronze.

By the time the men at the east had taken the last of the watchtowers
which intervened between them and the battle at the roadway, their
brothers on the western stretch of the wall had passed the ruins of
the toppled turret there and fallen furiously on the rear of the
Maeronicans who were baiting the trenchmen of Oleric.

From across the chasm where he fought, Atlo saw the new turn of the
battle and bethought him of his own flank. Too late! The shouts of
dismay from his rear were mingled with the thunder of galloping hoofs.

At the eastern tower the men of Ruthar had found the horses which the
defenders had left behind. While the stubborn conflict of swordsmen
was waging on the western wall, these warriors mounted the Maeronican
steeds and charged down the stone road between the copings, sweeping
everything before them.

Brave men, these of the King of Adlaz. Cut off from behind and with
the yawning chasm before, they arose from their crouching and turned
to meet the new foe. Then a grim and pitiless struggle began on
the ancient wall, in which the clangor and clash of arms and the
cursing of death-locked foeman was commingled with the screaming of
pain-maddened horses.

To the rear, which had become the front, went Atlo. He rallied his men
and charged into the teeth of the oncoming horsemen, and kept charging
until he died. Neither side asked quarter or gave it. The last of the
Maeronican fighting men were pushed over the brink of the gap by the
rushing horsemen and died under the merciless blades in the trench.

At the west the fighting was more prolonged and bitter; but the
superior numbers of the Rutharians prevailed, and the end was the same.

The Kimbrian Wall was taken at a fearful cost. But Ruthar paid the toll
smiling. Now Oleric might push through with his wall speedily and in
peace.

       *       *       *       *       *

When the night of the passing of Minos had worn into morning and
disclosed the extent of the destruction which the Sardanian had wrought
in the harbor of Adlaz, Vedor, the port captain, Nealdo, head of the
harbor guardsmen, and such captains of the fademes as had escaped with
their lives met in council in one of the offices at the wharves. Fear
sat heavy at the hearts of all; for there was not one of them that
dared go up to the city and make a report to the king of the loss of
his fademes.

"Not I," Vedor said hastily, when it was suggested that he, as captain
of the port, was the logical bearer of the news. "It were worth a man's
life to tell the king that a slave has shattered his fleet. Besides, my
duties here do not allow me to absent myself. Choose ye some other to
carry the tidings to Bel-Ar."

Listening to the discussion was a rough old soldier of the guard.
Brenak was his name, and he was a brave man. When it seemed that none
of the gilded captains had heart for the task, Brenak stepped forward.

"I will carry the news," he volunteered. "Lend me a horse, and give me
a few dekkars to buy wine at the wine-shops in the Street of Sherne,
and I will go. It may be my last drinking, though I think not. I fought
with the king in the wars, and I am known to him. I think he will spare
me."

So Brenak rode up to the city and bought his wine. From the wine-shops
he went to the palace and gained admittance to the king and told the
tidings, which already were flying from mouth to mouth through the
streets.

"Fool! You are crazed!" Bel-Ar exclaimed when Brenak had made a short
tale of it. But in the eyes of the soldier the king saw the truth, and
his pallid face turned a shade more pale. In his fury, scarce knowing
what he did, he struck Brenak with his closed fist so that the soldier
died from it.

For days thereafter the temper of the king was such that those who
must come near him did so with fear and trembling. Even his queen, the
petulant, flower-faced Raissa, who dared him more than most, avoided
him and kept to her own apartments.

Weeks before, when it became known that the captives had escaped,
little heed had been paid to their going. They were only slaves, and
who cared what became of a slave! Interest in them had been swallowed
up in the general indignation at the defection of Oleric the Red and
the supposed treachery of Mordo. Only Bel-Ar and Rhaen, the arch-priest
of Shamar, had chafed, and that because of the escape of the man whom
they had doomed for the slaying of the sacred bull. The king had sent
fademes to scour the sea, and one to go up the coast to Ruthar to head
the fugitives, should they have gone that way. That fademe had never
returned.

These happenings had irked the pride of the king, who, like all
despots, was of a wild and ungovernable temper that flared to madness
when he was crossed.

Came then the blow of Minos--a calamity which shook the nation and
struck the foundation of Bel-Ar's dearest ambition. Without his
fademes, his dreams of world-conquest vanished. Small wonder that his
lords and ladies feared him and quaked at his approach.

But the king was of a courage and perseverance equal to his temper.
When the first shock of the catastrophe had worn away, he took stock of
the damage and set about to repair so much of it as might be. At the
bottom of the harbor his divers labored among the sunken fademes. Some
few of the vessels were raised and rehabilitated. By far the most of
them were useless, save for the metal in their hulks. Minos had done
his work thoroughly, and the priceless engines, the living power of
which was mined from the depths of the earth only by great labor, were
nearly all ruined.

Increasing his forces, both underground and in his workshops, Bel-Ar
drove his miners and his builders ceaselessly to the replacement of
what he had lost.

Some weeks after the destruction of the fademes, rumor came down from
the south--fleeting words in the mouths of the people, of which no man
could trace the source--that a great host was gathering in Ruthar to
assail the Kimbrian Wall. That report the king laughed at and did not
believe, or if he did believe, it fretted him not at all. The Kimbrian
Wall had stood an unshakable barrier since it had been completed,
nearly thirty centuries before. It would go on standing to the end of
time. It was well garrisoned, and Atlo was a good captain and vigilant.
Ruthar must be mad if it thought to march against the wall.

Rumor, again traceless, spoke further and told that Oleric the Red had
appeared in Ruthar, and with him the slaves who had gone with him from
Adlaz, and that they had hands in this matter of the wall-storming.
Bel-Ar heard that also, and smiled grimly. Let Oleric and the slaves,
if they were indeed in Ruthar, keep well within its boundaries, if they
set any store by life.

Progress was being made with the reconstruction of his fleet, and the
king's poise was returning. Once more his court, that had been silent
and almost deserted, echoed to the laughter of the gay courtiers, and
Raissa sat upon her throne and toyed with the pearls that she loved.

Then one afternoon a wan and haggard-faced man, spurring a weary horse
to its utmost speed, rode in through the southern gates of Adlaz and
clattered up the broad avenue to the palace. From the mountain town of
Barme he had come, riding two days and a night by relays of horses and
leaving some of his hard-ridden beasts dead along the road. So nearly
dead was the rider himself from the rack of that journey that he fell
from his horse at the palace gates, and men of the guard carried him
before the king.

From the floor of the audience-chamber where they laid him, the soldier
raised his arm in salute and cried weakly:

"The Kimbrian Wall is sundered, O king. She whom they name the Goddess
Glorian of Ruthar cracked the wall in twain with thunders and green
lightning that shook the land like a hammer." (So the messenger
described the melinite mines of Everson.) "Through the wall poured a
great host, which is rolling down upon Barme. Atlo is dead at the break
in the wall. From the center to the sea-wall, the towers are held by
Ruthar. Men say that the dreadful beasts of the forest are coming to
make war on the children of Ad. Ruthar has crowned a king--a giant
with hair of gold, who came up from the sea with Oleric the Red, who
was your captain--and he leads the armies against Barme."

Ending his tidings, the man lost grip of his wits. His head fell on his
arm, and he slept. Nor could he be roused for many hours.

"Now, here is a message with meat and spirit," said the king. Bel-Ar,
who went near to madness when he heard of the loss of his fademes,
could laugh when he heard that an army was marching against him. Of all
the news only one thing galled him, and that was that the yellow-haired
slave from the hated world to the north was kinging it in Ruthar.

       *       *       *       *       *

Summoning his captains, the king banished his court of fluttering
butterflies and filled his audience-chamber with the clash of golden
armor. No sluggard was Bel-Ar when his foe was on the march, but a
wise and resourceful leader. When his mind was not clouded by the
rages which at times came upon him, he could plan with the best of his
generals.

Bel-Ar in his early youth had been a soldier, and he, too, had fought
Ruthar at the Kimbrian Wall. Since coming to the throne of Maeronica he
had put down two rebellions, leading his armies in person and waging
with a strong and ruthless hand a warfare that had entailed the taking
of cities.

First move of the king was to despatch his messengers south and north
to raise all the levies of Maeronica and the garrisons of the cities
which were tributary to Adlaz. These he directed should be assembled
at the crook of the river Thebascu, as the birds fly, ninety miles to
the south of Adlaz. He sent Fanaer, one of his most trusted captains,
in hot haste into the south to gather what forces he might and stem the
tide of invasion until the main host could be mustered and brought up.
Before nightfall the war-drums were beating in every city and hamlet of
Maeronica.

"If these rash forest wolves and their slave-king win through Barme and
the mountain passes and overwhelm Fanaer, which I doubt, then we will
meet them beyond the Thebascu, on the plains of Nor," said Bel-Ar to
his councilors.

"How they have broken through the wall, I know not; but warrant that it
is some trick of the strangers.

"As for the great beasts whereof the soldier spoke, I believe that they
were all dead many years ago. Surely no man of Ad can say with truth
that he ever has set eyes on one. They are but a myth wherewith Ruthar
would affright us. And if they be alive, and as terrible as tradition
tells, I am not afeared of them. We will drive them back with fire, as
once before our ancestors drove them, in the days before the wall.

"Friends, I welcome this war that has come to seek me, for I was
growing dull and rusty with inaction.

"If the wall be truly down, then will we drive Ruthar speedily to
the other side of it--and having so done, we will follow on and bend
the necks of these stubborn mountain boors to the yoke that has long
awaited them."

So he dreamed; so he spoke and heartened his captains.

Two days later the trumpets blew at the southern gates, and with a
rumbling of drums and a tossing of banners overhead, the first division
of the garrison and the levies of the city of Adlaz, thirty thousand
strong, marched out the Mazanion Road for the plains of Nor. At their
head, under the rustling folds of his war-standard of gold and blue,
rode Bel-Ar, the king.

       *       *       *       *       *

To Rose Emer, grown pale with waiting, Brunar brought these tidings in
the prison of Bel-Tisam.

When she heard that the wall was down, and that Polaris had set his
face toward Adlaz, her joy, which she strove to conceal from the
captain, knew no bounds. After Brunar was gone, the girl bent over the
cradle of the little Patrymion, now a thriving youngster.

"Ah, little mischief," said Rose, and shook her finger at him, "not
much longer in this prison for you and me. Friends are coming,
Patrymion; friends who will set us free."

Patrymion, who had small care for what destiny had in store for him, so
that his immediate requirements in goats' milk were satisfied, sucked a
pink thumb and blinked up at her out of sleepy eyes.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the meantime, telling off companies of men to east and west to aid
in the fight at the wall by laying siege to the towers, Polaris pushed
straight ahead through the forests toward the town of Barme. Counting
in the forces of light-armed soldiery who had preceded him through the
wall, the son of the snows had in command a division of nearly seven
thousand men. Of these there were a thousand archers, fifteen hundred
slingers, two thousand and a half of javelin men, and nearly two
thousand more of heavy armored footmen with swords and spears.

Two hours along the way, Jastla and his picked hundred passed swiftly
up the lines and joined the vanguard. Tall and stately men of the hills
were these, led by the old chieftain, scarcely a one of the company
under six feet, and splendidly armed after the fashion of their land.

"Here be a few lads of the rocks who would have a tale to tell to their
sweet-hearts when they go home again," said Jastla as he fell in beside
Polaris.

With small scouting parties thrown out ahead of him, Polaris hastened
on. It was his plan to meet and intercept any expedition which might be
sent from Barme to the relief of Atlo at the wall, and so to prevent
interference with Oleric's work at the breach. In this fortune favored.
For the javelin men ambushed and cut down no less than three riders
sent from the wall to rouse the garrison at Barme; so that the first
news that reached the town and the Captain Broddok, who commanded
there, was brought in by the peasantry of the hills who fled through
the forests before the advance of Polaris.

Mightily disturbed, and not knowing the strength of the force which was
marching against him, Broddok held his men under arms in indecision
until it was too late for him to go to the wall. In the evening of the
day after the breaching of the wall a battered soldier who had escaped
from one of the turrets and slipped through the Rutharian cordons
brought word to Broddok of the end of the Kimbrian fighting and the
fall of Atlo. Then the Maeronican commander dispatched a relay-rider to
Adlaz and made ready to defend his own gates, around which the jaws of
Ruthar were closing.

From the lower end of the isthmus a number of passes led through the
mountains into the forests, beyond which were the plains of Nor.
Through only one of these defiles lay a direct road, broad and suitable
to the speedy passage of an army with its impedimenta and provision
trains. That path was bestridden by the town of Barme.

Midway of the pass and near the foot of its western precipice was a
low, bald hill, over which the road lay. Around the lower slopes of
the hill straggled the town, and at its summit was the walled citadel.
It was a strong place, made so both by nature and by man. So closely
did it nestle to the towering face of the defile's acclivity, and so
rounding was the bulge of the mountain wall, that if one climbed to the
top and looked down the precipice, he would see only the houses of the
lower town and the citadel would be entirely hidden from him by the
rock. At each side of the hill was rocky, wooded land, cut through by
many gullies and the ravines of mountain streams.

A hard place to come at, Polaris thought, as he stood in the gorge and
looked at the hill by the dim light of the stars--for he came to Barme
in the night. Yet it must be taken, and that speedily. The swiftest
road into Maeronica lay over the hill, and the citadel's gates were the
gates of the road also.

An hour before the dawn he occupied the town, from which most of the
people had fled, and attacked the fortress furiously, thereby losing
many men. Though the walls of the place were not high, they were ably
defended. Broddok was a skilled general, and his garrison was superior
in numbers to the force which laid siege to his stronghold. Still
Polaris, counting on the speedy arrival to his support of the van of
his main army, kept up the assault until well into the day, trying in
turn every point of the fortress--and failing at every turn.

Finding that attempts against the wall availed them nothing, for they
were without siege machinery, and Broddok's swordsmen clustered so
thickly on the parapets that no footing could be gained thereon with
ladders, the Rutharians boldly assailed the main gate to the citadel.
Cutting a tree from the forest, threescore stout men bore it to the
gate. While the archers and slingers from the tops of the nearest
houses of the town swept the citadel walls with clouds of missiles,
the men in the street swung their battering-ram until their arms were
weary. But Broddok's doors were strongly built of oak, reinforced with
bars of steel and set well within the arch of the gateway. Beyond the
snapping of a few chains, the ram did them little damage.

Maeronicans on the battlements mocked the men of Polaris with sharp
words and sharper weapons, and through mortises in the vault of the
arch poured down streams of boiling water. The Rutharians lost fifty
men-at-arms before they desisted from the assault.

"Smoke them out," was the counsel of Jastla.

Fagots were fetched up from the town and drenched with oil, and men set
fire to them and ran and cast them blazing into the archway.

This means might have succeeded in burning away the stubborn oak. But
the Maeronican captain, tiring of the din at his gates, mounted five
hundred horsemen, opened his portals, and charged so fiercely through
the fire that he cleared the street, and for a time his doors were
unmolested.

       *       *       *       *       *

Through the defile a chill wind swept from the north, carrying with it
a light drift of snow, and Polaris's men found it cold work roosting
without the walls. They had left their camp carrying food for only a
two days' march. The country through which they had come was wild and
sparsely settled, and offered little opportunity for foraging. When
they began to feel the pinch of hunger, Polaris ordered his men to go
among such of the townsmen of Barme as had not been frightened from
their homes, and gather provisions, paying for all that they took with
gold, for he would have no looting.

And those orders were in part, at least, obeyed.

Smoke was curling from the chimney of a small house in a side street
near where they stood, and Jastla said to the king:

"While these fellows are filling their bellies, let us look to our own.
I could eat the wolf for which I am named, I am that hungered. See;
here is a house and fire. Let us go and seek food."

When they had struck upon the door, it was opened by a little lad, who
stared at them, round-eyed, and then fled screaming across the room.

"Ai! Raula!" he cried. "Here be two giants from the forests. Will they
eat us, think you, as Darno said they would?"

"Not so, small man," called Polaris gently, who had learned somewhat
of the Maeronican tongue from Oleric. "We are two hungry men, indeed;
but we would not harm little boys; and Darno, whoever he may be, should
not affright you with such tales."

At his words, a lean and fierce-eyed girl stood up from the fireplace
where she had been crouched and came to the door. She clutched a baby
to her breast. While she eyed the two men sourly, there was no fear in
her regard.

"Now who may you be, who wear the arms of a forest raider, yet who know
our tongue and bespeak a child so fairly?" she asked of Polaris.

"I am a soldier of Ruthar, lady," Polaris said, bowing to her. "My
comrade here and myself are cold and hungry. May we be warmed at your
fire and eat a little of the bread and meat yonder on the table? We
have had no food for many hours. We will pay you well."

The girl pressed closer and peered up at him.

"Ah! I know who you are now," she said triumphantly. "You are no robber
of the hills, though belike your comrade is," and she shot a glance of
no favor at Jastla. "You are neither of Maeronica or Ruthar. You are
the mighty man who came up from the sea to lead the south against the
north and take Adlaz." She laughed discordantly. "Well, you have made a
good beginning, they say; but you have a man's task ahead of you.

"Come in and eat and be warmed. I care not. All the menfolks have fled
the house to the hills in fear of you. I stayed, I and little Telo,
here. I fear no soldiers. Nay, close that door behind you, old man; I
would not that winter came in with you and sat at meat."

Laughing grimly into his beard, Jastla made fast the door. While the
two men sat and ate, the girl resumed her crouching by the fire, where
she crooned over the babe, at times staring furtively at Polaris. Telo
soon conquered his fear of the strangers and climbed to the knees of
Polaris, where he fingered the big man's chain armor curiously and
prattled many childish questions.

When the hungry men had finished their meal, the girl spoke up again:

"Say, man from the sea, I have heard that there is a beautiful lady who
waits for you in a prison in Adlaz town. Is that true?"

"Yes, lady, it is true," Polaris said; and he sighed.

"And you lead a great host thither to set her free?" the girl persisted.

"Yes, if I may."

"But to get on the way to Adlaz, you must take this fortress of Barme;
and you find it a hard nut to crack. Is that not so?"

"That is true, also, lady."

"Well, hark you, man." The girl stood up and came to the table. "You
who are true to a woman as few men are ever true; perhaps the poor,
despised, cast-off Raula may aid you somewhat in this undertaking."

While Polaris stared at her and Jastla grunted, she went on:

"Oh, for your wars, and for who is king, I care not. Still, I would
see that lady in Adlaz town go free--if you are strong enough to pass
Bel-Ar and his army. Those matters you must look after later. But
listen. Other men are not so true as you are. There is one in the
fortress yonder who once thought Raula fair. Now she is a deserted
wife, while he seeks other maids to listen to his lies. Oh! how I hate
him!" She spat the words and stamped fiercely on the floor.

"I would see that man humbled and cast down. I would see his red blood
on the stones at my feet.

"There is a way into the fort, a hidden way, which is known to none but
me and Telo.

"Now, Telo here shall show you that way. There is a spring on the hill.
'Tis back of the stables, in a grove of stunted trees. It flows down
through the rock under the wall and escapes on the hillside. Years ago,
when I tended cows on the hill, I found the entrance. The water has so
worn the stone that one may climb its course from the old cowpath to
the brow of the hill. If a girl can clamber there, surely active men
will not find it at all hard to do.

"When night is fallen, bid your men to storm the gate again. Then, if
your force is strong enough to make the venture, take a part of it and
gain the hill. While those of Broddok's men who do not watch the walls
are sleeping, you may fall upon them and open the gates."

Polaris and Jastla looked on the girl, amazed.

"Stare not at me," she said. "I am an outcast and reckless woman--and I
would be revenged. Besides, we poor folk care little what the fate of
Bel-Ar may be, who does oppress us so that life is a great weariness."

       *       *       *       *       *

It was arranged that they should come back at nightfall for the boy,
and Polaris and Jastla left the house. When the chieftain fingered his
pouch and would have paid her for the entertainment, Raula would have
none of his gold.

"This night's work will be pay enough for Raula," she said.

After they had gone, Jastla set a soldier to watch the house and report
to him if any left it; for Jastla trusted no woman and feared a trap.
His fears proved to be unfounded. No one left or visited the house
through the afternoon.

For the remainder of the day Polaris rested his soldiers, and kept
up only the semblance of an attack on the walls of Barme citadel. He
wondered much at the delay of the army of Ruthar, having as yet learned
nothing of the fighting at the Kimbrian breach; but he was resolved to
delay not himself, but make the attempt on the fortress as the girl
Raula had suggested.

With the fall of night he brought the bulk of his force up into the
cross-streets near the gate and posted sentries to see that none passed
from the town to the fort. Then he went to the house of Raula and
fetched the lad. Telo was afraid of the night and the many armed men,
and would go only if Polaris, whom he trusted, would carry him.

"Show him the spring at the head of the old cowpath, Telo," said
Raula, and to Polaris, "Bend down the clump of evergreen bushes above
the spring, and you will find the way through the rock. Beware of the
sentries at the stables. Once one of them nearly slew me when I came
suddenly on him out of the dark." She bent nearer and whispered:

"Perchance you will meet and slay Broddok, the captain. I pray you do.
And ere you smite, tell him that Raula, daughter of Hecar, sent you to
him."

As Polaris went out to the street, with the lad on his shoulder, he
heard the girl's shrill laughter within the house--laughter that made
him shiver.

Followed by a thousand of his swordsmen, including the hundred men
of Jastla, Polaris marched silently around rough devious streets
to the side of the hill, and then into the rough ground where the
boy directed. It was a dark night, for the stars were dimmed by
storm-clouds, and the going was slow. Raula had said it would take at
least an hour and the half of another to gain the crest of the hill,
and Polaris had ordered his men in the town to hold their hands until
they should hear his trumpets, and then to attack the gates of the
citadel with trees and fire.

At the spring the clump of bush was found easily, and behind it in the
face of the hill was a hole in the rock, so low that a man must bend
nearly double to enter it. Here Polaris gave Telo into the arms of a
young Rutharian soldier, bidding him bear the lad safely back to his
sister.

Bending down, the son of the snows entered the hole. Jastla, who never
let his charge beyond arm's reach, crowded in at his heels. For six
feet or more they walked with their knees nearly to their chins, and
then were able to stand upright. The girl had told them that a light
in the passage could not be seen from above because of the trees, and
one of the soldiers had nursed a smouldering torch under his cloak.
That was brought in and whirled into flame, and they proceeded along a
narrow gully, over the floor of which the water trickled.

"Oof! That maid must have been very love-sick, or she has the courage
of a fighting man, to have climbed this place in the dark," muttered
Jastla, as he surveyed the gloomy cavern.

For nearly three hundred yards the party followed the subterranean
ravine, the floor of which sloped upward sharply. It ended in a shaft
that was nearly perpendicular, which the men must climb by the aid of
jagged rocks where the course of the stream had been worn for centuries.

The torchbearer was posted at the angle, so that the light might be
shed both down the passage and through the shaft. Wrapping his sword
and spear in his cloak to prevent them from clanging against the
stones, Janess, insisting that he should be first, went silently up
through the rock, and Jastla followed close behind. They came out at
the top through thick bushes into a basin or pool, where the water was
ankle-deep. They were inside the wall of the fortress on the western
side of the hill-crest. Around the pool was a grove of stunted trees,
to the east of which lay the low, wooden stable buildings. South of the
stables were the stone barracks of the garrison.

       *       *       *       *       *

Man by man, the Rutharians came up through the darksome hole and took
cover among the trees, until the grove bristled with swords. Polaris
and Jastla worked their way to the edge of the wood nearest the stables.

The chieftain pointed to the wooden buildings.

"We will fire them," he whispered, "and have a light to fight by."

As he spoke, a sentry paced out from the shadow of the stables and
passed along the edge of the grove to the wall. So near he passed
to the hidden men that they might have reached out and touched his
shoulder.

"Now that man must be disposed of," muttered Polaris, "and I like it
not, this smiting of men from behind."

No such niceties of warfare ruled Jastla. When the man came back, the
chieftain stepped noiselessly from the trees behind him. For a pace
or two the big mountaineer trod in the tracks of the unsuspecting
sentry. Then Jastla sprang, and a brief and wordless struggle under the
trees followed. A dagger flashed. Arising, Jastla took the cloak of
the fallen man and stepped calmly into his beat. At the corner of the
stable the chieftain met and slew the second sentry.

At the side of the stable the Rutharian swordsmen formed for battle.
A man with a torch ran from point to point along the rear of the
buildings and set fire to the timbers. As they caught and the flames
leaped crackling up, the frightened horses began to pound and scream.

Polaris bade his trumpeter blow. The notes blared piercing clear. The
swordsmen broke cover with a roar and charged the stone barracks.
Lighting torches at the blazing barns, men ran with them to light
the way. Hardly were they half-way across the intervening space when
there was an answering flare from the streets below, and the thunder
of the battering-ram announced that the fight at the gates was on with
redoubled fury.

While half of his force entered the barracks and fell upon the
bewildered men there, Polaris, with the remainder, swept down the broad
roadway, past the dwelling of the officers. Cutting their way through
the defenders of the gate, the Rutharians tore out the bars, and their
comrades in the streets swarmed through and up the hillside.

In the midst of the wild mêlée that followed, Broddok did the only
thing that he could do to save his skin. He rallied such of his men
as were under arms, fought through to the stables, and released the
fear-maddened horses. All who could of the Maeronicans mounted in
haste. For a moment it seemed that the captain would give the order to
charge down the street into the fighting press, where the men of Ruthar
were putting his comrades to the sword. But Broddok thought better of
it.

With nearly four hundred men, the captain rode down the northern slope
of the hill, opened the road-gates there, and galloped off through the
pass, leaving his leaderless garrison to fend for itself.

When that became known, the Maeronican soldiers, beset on both sides
and confused and disheartened by the suddenness of the stroke, threw
down their arms and surrendered, on promise of their lives.

So fell the strong fortress of Barme, because its captain had broken
faith with a woman.

With the first light of morning, Polaris sent his prisoners south
toward Ruthar under a strong guard. Leaving a thousand men under one of
Jastla's hill-captains to hold the citadel, the son of the snows pushed
on through the pass with the remainder of his division.

That move of his came near to costing Ruthar a king.




                              CHAPTER IX

                       THE COMING OF THE BEASTS


Seated on her ivory throne in the empty hall of her temple, the Goddess
Glorian fought within her heart a battle that was every whit as fierce
and hard as that of Ruthar in the field. In that sounding citadel two
forces stood arrayed, one for good and one for evil, and the conflict
between them was passing bitter. It was the world-old war of duty and
love that has ever torn the heart of woman.

No outward signal of the struggle marred the supernal beauty of her
face. She sat as one sits who is thoughtful and somewhat weary.
Light-rays that stole down from the windows in the lofty dome wrought
strange effects of fire in the wonder of her hair--fire which smoldered
and glowed and ran in tiny sparks along the silklike filaments. Her
head was slightly bowed. The slender hands, which lay in her lap, were
quiet and listless. Only in the depths of her eyes was she betrayed. In
those red-brown deeps, could one have seen them through the half-closed
lids, one would have found a pleading misery that would not still,
almost a terror.

Compelled by the ancient secret and a will that never slept, the
passing years had dealt splendidly by Glorian. Experience they had
given her, which is more than knowledge, and patience, and an almost
supernatural poise; but they had not made her more than human.

And a man had come.

Why should she give way to this other woman? Why should she not reach
out and take that for desire of which her soul yearned and her heart
was consumed by flame? 'Twould be easy. A delay, a word in the ear of
Zoar, a seeming mischance--and the priests of Shamar in Adlaz would
clear her way. Why should she shrink and hesitate?

The man had said that, were he too late, he would die upon the road.
Well, that might be prevented. Besides, men do not die so easily, and
time will heal all heart-wounds. But will it? And were that other woman
dead, could Glorian win him to herself--this man whose will was as
strong as her own?

He was through the wall now and on the road to Adlaz. Oleric had sent
messengers to tell her that. And they had told her, too, of that
brave friend of his, who had nearly given his life while opening the
way. Many had died--her own countrymen--and many more would die--and
why? Because of an ambition which she herself had nurtured and kept
bright--now hollow and of no appeal. What should Glorian care who held
dominion over Adlaz or over Ruthar--she, who desired only peace and to
rule in the heart of a man?

All of a long afternoon she sat there, and a statue were not more
still. For the better part of the night the struggle raged on above her
pillow, and left it drenched with tears. Then evil fled the field, and
she who had mastered her spirit slept dreamlessly until the morrow.

In the morning she sent away her tire-women, and ordered that a horse
be equipped for a warrior and left at the temple doors.

When that steed went down the hill there was no one in all Ruthar who
would have known that the Goddess Glorian was the rider. For she was
arrayed in the glittering armor, silver-wrought above its steel, of a
Rutharian zind. She wore a closed and vizored helm. A sword swung at
her back, and there were both ax and spear at her saddle-bow.

"I will go down with him into the battle," she whispered, "and let
things fall out as they may. Some day, somewhere, my time will come. My
soul has promised it."

She crossed the Illia and rode northward through the forests.

       *       *       *       *       *

After the fall of Atlo the fighting went on at the wall for the rest
of that day, the Rutharians storming tower after tower, until they held
every turret from sea to sea. Through the afternoon and the night and
the next day Oleric pushed on with his road, working his men in relays,
and snatching for himself only brief spells of sleep. Through the night
in which the king of Ruthar stormed and took Barme, the sappers and
miners labored on at the breach.

Morning saw the task completed.

First through the breach went a flying squadron of the horsemen from
the hills, six thousand strong, led by two of the mountain zinds,
Maxtan and Albar. After them marched a great division of infantry,
nearly fifty thousand of them, the chest of the army, each section
carrying with it a number of companies of archers and slingers. Then
a force of nearly thirteen thousand chariots rumbled through the
breach--these following the infantry because they would be of little
use until the host should pass the mountain defiles to more level
fighting ground. Followed an endless train of baggage and provision
wains.

No siege machinery was carried, for two reasons. Rutharians long ago
had found such engines as their skill had devised to be powerless
against the Kimbrian Wall, and had lost faith in them. Secondly,
certain carefully handled bundles from the laboratories of Nematzin
were judged to be of more avail than any catapult, ram or mantelet.

At intervals Oleric halted the divisions to allow of the passage of
more cavalry, which spread out at each side of the main array and rode
down through the forest paths of the isthmus.

For more than twelve hours Ruthar poured her armed men through the
breach in the barrier, with scarcely a break--and the way was wide.
Reserves in the camp and on the wall cheered the various regiments as
they went by, marching under their banners and to the music of pipe and
drum.

Last of all, over the slope and through the gap came Zoar of the
Amalocs with no less than fifty-eight of the monsters of his herd.
In single file the amalocs marched, each holding fast with his trunk
to the tail of the beast ahead, as elephants are wont to do. Ixstus,
father and patriarch of the herd, led the line, and on the mighty head
of Ixstus rode Zoar, the master.

On they came, these mountains of red-wooled flesh, swinging their
gleaming wealth of ivories. Though their shambling tread was soft and
padding, the roadway, made smooth and hard by the passing of thousands
of feet and hoofs and wheels, shook under their advance.

Zoar had been preparing against this day for many years. All of his
beasts were armored for battle. Their heads were protected by immense
bosses or shields of steel. He had also armor for their forelegs, with
chains, which could be attached in such a manner that they would swing
out when the animals charged, and strike down any living thing that
came near them. The tips of the spreading tusks were equipped with
sockets, to which sharp steel points could be fitted. More than half of
the great brutes bore fighting turrets on their backs, in each of which
was room for a half a score of men. A few tons more or less of metal
and men meant nothing to the boundless strength of an amaloc.

Until he saw that Zoar had passed the breach, Oleric waited. Then he
took horse and rode forward. Zenas and certain of his workmen had gone
through with the first of the cavalry. With them had gone the dog
Rombar. The animal had escaped from the laboratories in Zele-omaz,
where Polaris had left him, and had come into the camp half starved
and nearly frantic with anxiety to find his master. Zenas could not
withstand the appeal of the brute's dumb search, so he took Rombar
along. Everson, getting better of his wound, still sick and delirious,
had been transferred to Zele-omaz and lay at the house of Zind Atra,
tended by the best medical skill in Ruthar.

When the head of the host was some six hours upon its way, it met the
first of the long lines of captives, which Polaris had sent back from
the storming of Barme. The cheering which greeted the tale of that
exploit of their king passed down the marching regiments like a gale
and through the Kimbrian breach into Ruthar. When Zenas, with the
riders, clattered up the hill in the gorge and saw the strength of the
citadel that had been taken, his heart beat high with pride for what
his boy had done.

Learning there that the king had passed on to the north, the horsemen,
their numbers continually augmented by new companies from the rear,
pushed on along the road in the hope of overtaking him.

       *       *       *       *       *

In a dark and narrow glen, wild with rocks and trees, with a mountain
wall at his back and steel death, many-handed and triumphant, closing
in along his front, a tawny-haired giant crouched warily among his
thinning ranks of fighting men. If ever a man was hard beset, it
was the king of Ruthar. Hemmed in where there was no way of escape,
he waited with his dwindling company the fifth charge of a horde of
Maeronican warriors, who were forming for the rush at the mouth of the
glen. Gone wild with glee were the sons of Ad. They had trapped the
king of Ruthar like a wounded bear. Great would be their reward from
Bel-Ar if they took him.

Among the rocks and bushes lay a grim reminder in shattered men of four
previous charges. Some comfort it was to those who waited above to know
that for every one of Ruthar who had gone to the stars, at least two of
Bel-Ar's men had traveled the same path--or perhaps to the sun; for the
Maeronicans prayed to Shamar.

After leaving Barme, Polaris had led his followers along the main road,
and they had almost reached the end of the pass, where it debouched
into the forests of upper Maeronica, before mischance overtook them. It
came in the shape of that same Captain Broddok, whom they had driven
from his blazing hold at Barme.

Broddok had ridden through the pass at speed, and beyond it had met a
strong outpost of cavalry and five regiments of foot-soldiers, sent up
to hold the passes. For Captain Fanaer had already arrived in upper
Maeronica.

Scouts brought word of the advance of Polaris with the most of his
force through the principal pass. He, too, had sent out small parties
to explore through the outer defiles, of which there were four, and
bring him word of the lay of the land.

"Now let him come on," counseled Broddok to the Maeronican commander,
"and we shall have a surprise for him."

Swiftly galloping riders at once swarmed into the four smaller passes,
overwhelmed the Rutharians whom they found there and drove them into
the hills. The horsemen then joined forces and swept down the road in
the rear of Polaris, having come into the defile by bridle paths over
the hills which were known to them.

Turning his front to meet this menace, the son of the snows was beset
from behind by both cavalry and infantry, and his force was split up
before it could be massed or a place be found suitable for defense.
With nearly a thousand of his men of mixed armament, Janess had been
driven into the glen, discovering too late that it was a cul-de-sac,
from which there was no escape.

Four charges the Rutharians had met, and their numbers were now less
than three hundred. But Jastla's ring of steel still held, and Polaris
himself was not even wounded. Where the fighting had been the thickest,
there he had gone; but ever when some perilous blow fell, there was
one of Jastla's mountaineers to meet it or to die under it. Of the
hundred men less than fifty lived, and scarcely a score of those were
scatheless.

"All that you can do here, you have done, O king," said Jastla
earnestly, as they waited for the fifth charge. "A man unhindered might
scale yonder rocks and escape into the hills. Do you make the attempt?
I and these with me will hold back these howling whelps of Bel-Ar.
Haste you, or 'twill be too late."

Polaris turned on him sternly.

"And you have been comrade to me, Jastla, and did train and make me
skilled with arms, and yet think that I am so small of spirit," he
said. "Jastla, I take it ill of you. You and these men are fighting for
the man whom Ruthar has crowned king. What sort of a king would he be,
think you, who deserted when he had those still lines yonder before him
for example?" He pointed down where the dead warriors lay.

"Here I may die, and here I may buried be; but I will not turn back."

Under his shaggy brows old Jastla's eyes were moist.

He grunted loudly.

"I didn't think that you would go. Forgive me that I spoke of it," he
said. He turned to his hillsmen, and the word went round that every
last one of the wolves of Ruthar was to die in his tracks. There would
be no giving back before the next charge.

Broddok on foot waved his sword and gave the word, and the Maeronicans
raised their battle-cry and came swarming up through the rocks to the
attack. The mountaineers answered them with a deep-voiced shout:

"For the king! For Polaris!"

None of the combatants heard a thin cry far above them at the brink of
the cliff and the frenzied barking of a dog.

On came the Maeronicans, Broddok leading, his face flushed with triumph
and hatred. In the captain's way was a large fragment of rock. As he
sprang around it, it split in twain and flew into splinters, belching
green flame. That flash was the last thing the captain ever saw; the
thunderous roar that shook the hillside was the crack of doom for him.
A sliver of rock smote him on the temple. Raula was avenged.

Another terrific explosion tore up the earth and boulders right in the
midst of the startled Maeronicans, and then another. Men were dying by
the hundred. Bel-Ar's men turned and fled shrieking for the roadway.
The charge was turned into a rout. Hardly were they out of the glen
where such fearsome happenings had befallen them, when a cloud of
Rutharian cavalry rolled down through the main pass and swept Bel-Ar's
men and their supports into headlong flight toward the lowlands.

On the brow of the rock a small, white-haired old man, clad in armor
several sizes too large for him, stood up from his knees and patted a
great black dog on the head.

"Good shots those were, Rombar," he said. "Used to be a baseball
pitcher once, and haven't lost my wing yet. By golly! I was just in
time."

Presently Zenas was down in the road with the others to greet Polaris.
The geologist made light of what he had done, but Janess and the others
knew that they owed their lives to his quick wit.

Soldiers who had been driven into the hills had met the Rutharian
riders and told them of the plight of their king. While the cavalry
engaged the Maeronicans in the pass and cleared it, the old man and
a small party, carrying melinite bombs, some few of which Zenas had
fashioned in his laboratories, had ridden by a bridle-path to the top
of the cliff.

"Be careful, son," said Zenas, when Polaris threw an arm lovingly
across his shoulder. "This chain jerkin of mine is packed with enough
of that green hell-cake to spread us over two counties. And keep the
brute away."

For Rombar had found his master and was leaping about him like a crazed
thing and barking as if to tell the whole army about it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Despite the utmost efforts of Fanaer, the most trusted of Bel-Ar's
captains and a general skilled in all the arts of war, Ruthar held
the isthmus and the mountain passes, and through the Kimbrian defile
poured down with horse and foot and chariot into upper Maeronica.
Failing to hold back the host of the invader and fortify the passes, as
he had hoped to do, Fanaer began a harrying, guerrilla warfare. From
sea to sea he made the land barren of supplies for his enemy, sending
the peasants and hill-dwellers with their cattle and provisions down
to the coast cities of Zeddar and Aklon. He sent swarms of light
riders into the hills, where by sally and ambuscade and the breaking
of bridges and a hundred other means they fretted the advance of the
Rutharian army.

Did the way lie through a forest, Fanaer fired it, and Ruthar marched
in flames and smoke. Did the road follow the turn of a hill, there were
men at the crest to roll huge rocks down on the tramping legions. Was a
gorge to be passed, the bridges were ruined.

Days wore away, days which Ruthar could ill spare, and which Polaris
counted with a sinking heart, seeing his army go forward so slowly.
Still it did advance--slowly, painfully, but surely, the steel lines
made progress.

Craft against craft Oleric matched with Fanaer. Ruthar had her light
horsemen, too. Right and left Oleric sent them into the uplands to
clear his path of the stinging pests of Fanaer. Scores of times in
a day, on hilltop or in wooded glen, short, fierce engagements were
fought, but never a pitched battle. Maeronica was playing for delay.
Far behind the shifting screen of Fanaer's operations Bel-Ar and his
generals were consolidating the main strength of Maeronica in the
lowlands along the river Thebascu.

When hill-riding and skirmishing was done, the generals of both armies
knew that the real war would begin--that the issue would be joined and
decided on the plains of Nor.

Careful as any general in modern warfare was Oleric with regard to
his flanks and rear. Well he knew, did the red captain, that in the
slow-moving trains of provisions that crept ceaselessly along the
isthmus from Ruthar was the strength of his host in the field. Once
that line was cut, Bel-Ar might laugh indeed.

It took many men to keep the rear ways open and man the isthmian
passes. On the morning when the Rutharian army writhed forth from the
forests like a wounded but tenacious serpent onto the level stretches
of the plains of Nor, Oleric had under his banners a scant hundred
thousand men. Thirty thousand more warded the rear. Fifty thousand in
reserves were massed in the forests and on the isthmus. Twenty thousand
were with the slain.

The sun was shining as the host wound out from the gloom of the
forests. To right and to left were wooded hills and beyond them the
peaks of mountain ranges, blue against the skies. Ahead, the plains, a
reach of level land some thirty miles broad from east and west and a
score of miles across, were divided by the gleaming, irregular ribbon
of the river Thebascu.

In a loop of the river in a camp that was strongly entrenched, for all
the haste with which it had been constructed, lay the army of Ad, fresh
and unwearied and ready for battle. And it outnumbered the host of
Ruthar by nearly two to one. Across the river, down the hundred miles
to Adlaz, the Mazanion Road was choked with supply trains and reserves.

Snow still lay in patches in the forest defiles; but the plains were
faintly green with a promise of the spring-time. On the trees the buds
were swelling. Through a month of wearisome marching Ruthar had come.
In less than forty-five days the trumpets would sound from the towers
of Adlaz for the Feast of Years.

"Now by her who sits at Flomos," said Oleric to Polaris, as they sat
their horses on a hillside and looked across the plains to where the
gold and blue standards fluttered, "here will be a battle worth the
waiting of all my years."

Somewhat worn with anxiety was the face of the son of the snows; but
his eyes were bright and his strength was unimpaired. He, too, was
ready.

"Shall we not strike at the nearest point of the river?" he asked,
pointing to the west of Bel-Ar's camp. "If we gain the bank of the
stream, it will shorten our front, and it seems that we shall not
easily be flanked."

Oleric swore that the plan was good, and Ruthar's army began to fight
its way across the plain. It could scarcely be said that battle was
beginning. All the way through the forests had been one long, unending
struggle with Fanaer. Already on the plains cavalry skirmishes were in
progress. Now was to come the climax of a month of conflict.

Steadily Ruthar pressed on, and with the fall of night pitched her
tents on the plain, her left wing resting on the river below the
Maeronican camp. By common consent, the fighting ceased at dusk and the
armies rested on their arms. The next day would tell the tale, and they
were content to await it. Such was the contour of the land that there
was little ground for strategy and juggling of men. This was to be a
battle, front to front, with victory to the strongest arms. And though
their force was the greater, there was much of doubt in the hearts
of the men of Ad. Tales had been brought in of the prowess of these
mountain warriors.

Other camp gossip had put uneasiness upon the soldiers of Bel-Ar. How,
for instance, had the Kimbrian Wall been sundered, if it were not the
work of the gods? And the beasts, the mighty red beasts, against which
men were as flies. Rumor had told that they had come into Maeronica
and would fight in the field against Adlaz. The sun set that night in
a sea of fire. Men did not know how to interpret that omen. Was Shamar
angered? And if he was, on whose heads would his blows fall on the
morrow? The stars shone calm and clear. Ruthar worshiped the stars.

Those and other thoughts caused many a stout Maeronican to shake his
head over his campfire. But most of all they feared the beasts.

       *       *       *       *       *

Wary Oleric had kept Zoar and his herd well to the rear. Never in the
march had the amalocs gone forward until the way had been cleared. None
of the Maeronican fighting men had set eyes on them. The beasts were
Ruthar's strongest hope. If even the thought of them struck terror into
the hearts of the Children of Ad, Oleric reasoned that their sudden
appearance in battle might be counted upon to produce a panic.

Ruthar would try a tilt against Maeronica, the red captain planned, and
if she might would win her battle by force of arms alone. But if the
fight should swing against her, then the beasts would be better than an
army in reserve. So he bade Zoar camp in the forests, and he surrounded
the encampment with a strong guard and cordons of sentries.

In the morning Ruthar's stars paled, and Shamar came up smiling--seeing
which the men of Bel-Ar took fresh heart.

Scarcely had the first shafts of light thrust over the mountain-tops
when Oleric, from the shadows of the forest, launched a great bolt of
cavalry across the plain. Another division which had been moved in the
night swept east along the south bank of the river. While the riders of
Bel-Ar went out to meet them, the trumpets of the king of Ruthar were
sounded in the center of the camp, and long files of men-at-arms crept
forth into the dawn behind the screen of dashing horsemen.

In three deep columns Polaris moved his footmen into battle, with lanes
between them, into which the cavalry might retire, and through which
the charioteers would charge when the time came. Each of the marching
columns was tipped with regiments of swiftly moving javelin men, and
behind them came the archers, stringing their long bows and singing a
lilting chorus as they moved out on the plain.

Mounted on his black stallion, Polaris led the center, riding behind
the first ranks of his swordsmen and accompanied by the men of Jastla
and some score of the Rutharian zinds, all in full armor. Far to the
right rode Oleric the Red. The left was headed by Tarnos, one of the
zinds. That post Polaris had offered to old Jastla of the hills, but
the chieftain had declined it.

"'Tis a great honor, O king," he said when the proffer was made, and
his eyes shone. "But I pray you give it not to me. I would fight at
your side. That post will be troublesome enough, as I well know."
Jastla grinned broadly. "Give the command to a nobler man."

"There is none nobler, old wolf," Polaris replied. "But have it as you
will."

So Tarnos led the left, along the river Thebascu, and Jastla and his
ring of steel rode with his king, and he was content.

Midway between the camps, as Oleric had ordered it, the charging
horsemen swerved aside, doubled, and, as though in fear, plunged
back between the advancing columns. Hard on their flying heels came
the shouting riders of Ad. As they came the javelin men cast, and
the archers bent bows and loosed a bitter flight from their twanging
strings that shrieked among the horsemen like a white drift of blizzard
through the mountain trees. Then, before the eyes of the Maeronican
riders, the horsemen they pursued were gone; the bowmen and the
javelin-throwers melted away; fanwise the heads of the three columns
spread out and joined each to each, their front ranks kneeling; and
Ruthar received her plunging foemen on an unbroken front of leveled
spears.

Fell ruin awaited that splendid charge. Unable to turn back because
of the surging squadrons behind them, the foremost ranks were dashed
against the grim steel barrier, and went down in a horrible tangle of
struggling men and horses.

Into the mêlée, through the lines and over the shoulders of their
comrades, leaped the light-armed footmen with their javelins and
daggers, and slew hundreds of horses, whose riders fell easy prey to
the two-handed blades that now were aloft and busy.

At the rear the Rutharian cavalry formed again, and dashing around the
flanks of the columns in two flying wedges, closed like nippers behind
Bel-Ar's confused squadrons.

First cast in the game had gone to Ruthar. The horsemen of Ad were
routed and pushed back--all those who could go. Those that remained
were done with fighting.

From the earthen wall of his camp, standing among his golden-armored
generals, Bel-Ar saw his cavalry broken and flung back--saw it, and
laughed aloud.

"They fight well, these mountain wolves," he said. "But that was the
play of children. Now will we send them a taste of the swords of Ad."

Beyond the wall of the camp were massed the legions of the Maeronican
heavy infantry, flower of the fighting men of seven cities, the core
of which was formed of the garrison of Adlaz itself, fifteen thousand
veteran men-at-arms.

Bidding his captains go forward, the king called for his horse.

       *       *       *       *       *

Somber as he had appeared in his dull garments in the midst of his
butterfly court, Bel-Ar, among his captains, offered an even greater
contrast. He loved the pomp and pride of power, its show and its
glitter, but not in his own person. While his generals rode in gold,
and the armor of some of them blazed with gems and patterns in
orichalcum that made them glow like fireflies in the night, the king
wore a simple suit of arms of black steel, plain of design and undecked
by any flashing gauds. Only the majesty that dwelt in his pallid face
and the fires of his mystic's eyes distinguished him from some humble
gentleman of poor estate.

Mounting his war-horse, a gaunt, powerful roan beast of vicious temper,
the king, with a number of his favorite captains, rode down the field
in the wake of his advancing phalanxes. With them was advanced the blue
and gold battle-standard.

Bel-Ar marshaled his legions in wide divisions, each of nearly a
thousand men, marching in quadruple lines, and the divisions in such
close touch that they might form, when there was need, a solid front.
At the wings of the force were stationed the light-armed men and
archers. Behind those, two wedge-shaped masses of chariots rolled forth
from the camp gates and rumbled across the plain.

At the foot of a gentle dip of the land the Rutharians had met and
hurled back the horsemen. There they elected to remain and await the
enemy's sterner onset.

On came the shimmering lines of Ad across the meadows now dewed with
blood; on with a rattle of drums, a brazen peal of trumpets, the clank
and clash of armor mingling with the pounding hoofs on the hard turf,
the thumping of chariot-wheels, and the shouted commands of the file
leaders--the ancient, many-tongued clamor that stirs the soul of Mars.

Silent and watchful, the men of mountainous Ruthar crouched low behind
their shields and waited.

Over the bodies of their dead comrades, over the fallen horses, the
phalanxes marched. Then, closing into a living wall, they took the last
tangled barrier of corpses with a rush and a shout, and the battle was
joined. All across the field echoed the hollow thunder of the meeting
shields as the lines closed. Followed a clanging as of a thousand
trip-hammers. For now the spears were down and the swords were at work.

Following their custom, the Rutharians cast their shields behind them
after the first shock of the onset, and plied their long blades with
both hands, making them serve both as swords and bucklers.

On pushed the Maeronican wall under its tossing banners. So fierce was
the rush and pressure of those charging thousands that Ruthar's line,
strive as her warriors might, was bent backward like a bow. A wild
cheering went up from the ranks of Ad when they saw the red standard
give back. Gathering themselves again, they swept the mountain legions
to the crest of the rise.

Sitting his charger on the slope behind the line of his men-at-arms,
Polaris looked down into that hell of combat. Like the unfolding vista
of a hideous dream, it seemed to him, which he was powerless to break
or to hinder. Yet above the din of the blood-maddened legions the sky
was blue and calm, the sun shone bright, and back there in the forests
the birds of spring were calling to their mates.

Under his fascinated eyes the line of his warriors bent and came
nearer. The red banner of Ruthar--a moment ago it had been planted
at the foot of the slope, and now it was almost touching his horse's
muzzle! Down there in the field another flag was coming, and with it a
company of riders whose armor flashed back the sunlight from plates and
shields of burnished gold.

The spell was broken.

Rising in his stirrups, the son of the snows drew his two-handed sword
from over his shoulder. Among the Maeronican generals his keen eyes had
seen a face that he remembered well.

"Zinds of Ruthar!" he cried, his voice ringing above the clamor.
"Yonder rides Bel-Ar of Adlaz. Let us go and greet him."

All around him he heard the clinking of closing vizors. The zinds were
ready.

Casting down his shield, Polaris called to the swordsmen in front to
open and make way. Before the Maeronican soldiery could advantage
themselves of the gap, he was down the slope and upon them like a
living thunderbolt. Under the urge of the spurs, his horse reared
and struck out with its forefeet as it met the foemen. Leaning well
over the good beast's shoulder, the rider whirled his heavy blade and
struck so fast and so fiercely that eyes could not follow the blows.
Adlaz's stoutest warriors shrank bewildered from the menace of that
lightning-stroke and those steel-shod hoofs. Before one might count ten
he was through them, leaving a wake of crumpled men. Behind him rode
gray Jastla and the zinds of Ruthar.

As they passed, one of the zinds bent and snatched the crimson banner
from the standard-bearer.

A roar like that of angry lions went down the Rutharian front when
the hillsmen saw their flaming standard rise over the heads of the
fighting men and advance into the field. Where their king led, no wall
of steel could hold them back. As though the string had been released,
the mighty bow straightened. All down that long, grim battle-line the
two-handed swords clove through.

Rallying around their king, the golden captains waited the shock that
was coming.

For Polaris had one goal, and one only, on all that stricken field.
Outstripping the fleetest of his riders, he hewed his way through the
Maeronican nobles, nor stopped until his sable war-horse was shoulder
to shoulder with the steed of Bel-Ar, the king.

"By Shamar, 'tis the slave-king!" shouted Bel-Ar, as the apparition in
steel and silver burst through his gilded riders and bore down upon
him. Sword and shield he lifted to meet the assault, fending himself
with that skill of arms by which he oft had made good the boast of
Adlaz that he was the hardiest fighting man in the two kingdoms.

While the battle on the plain raged around them unheeded, king met king
in the play of swords.

First stroke of Polaris fell on the rounded shield and beat it down so
that Bel-Ar reeled in his saddle. Before the great blade could swing
again, the Maeronican straightened and smote with his own good sword of
tempered bronze. A clang as of a descending hammer rang in the ears of
Polaris. Under the trampling feet of the horses lay one of the golden
wings of his helmet. Another stroke fell on his shoulder, cracking a
steel boss of his armor and thrilling his arm with a sting of pain.
Heeding it not, he rose in the saddle and swung his sword to his two
arms' height. No shield or arm would stay that blow.

For the fraction of a second Bel-Ar's doom hung poised in air. Ere it
fell, Polaris's stallion reared, screaming. The mighty stroke that the
rider sped fell on empty air. Overbalanced by the weight of his own
effort, Polaris bent nearly to his saddle-bow. Beneath him the black
stallion shuddered and went down. An unhorsed captain of Adlaz had run
in and thrust the animal through the vitals with a spear.

Janess sprang free from the falling horse. Above him, Bel-Ar shouted
in triumph and hewed down with his bronze sword. But the zinds of
Ruthar had torn through Bel-Ar's riders to the support of their king,
upsetting both men and horses as they came. One of them, a slender
youth in silver armor, leaped from his steed and flashed between Bel-Ar
and his dismounted and helpless foeman, taking the king's sword-stroke
on his head.

Jastla closed his steel ring, then, and Bel-Ar was carried away in a
swirling press of his own cavalry, which had charged fiercely in to
save him.

       *       *       *       *       *

Polaris knelt beside his fallen horse and lifted the still form of the
man who had saved him. The red banner of Ruthar, held by Zind Albar,
floated above them. Around the circle of riders which Jastla had drawn
the battle whirled like a seething maelstrom around a rock in a sea of
clashing steel.

"Who is he?" Polaris asked of Albar, and pillowed the head in its
silver helm on his knee. In vain he tried to lift the vizor. The
sword-stroke of the Maeronican king had shattered the upper flare of
the helmet and bent down its crest so that the vizor would not yield.

"I know him not," said Albar, who was a hillsman. "Some zind of the
lower cities, I judge, from the armor he wears. Whoever he is, he is a
brave man. He has this day saved the life of the king of Ruthar, and
I fear that he has lost his own in the deed. Bel-Ar strikes bitterly.
See; he has cracked the helmet like an egg. Ah-h--!"

Striking the steel-shod shaft of the standard into the earth, Albar
leaped down from his horse and knelt beside Polaris.

While the zind had been speaking, the fingers of the son of the snows
had loosed the clasps of the helmet and lifted it. From under the
cloven silver shell rippling coils of red-brown hair slipped down and
flowed over his arm and his knee, where the sunlight caught and turned
them into dancing flames. The pale face turned up to the sky, unmarred
save by a small stain of blood at one of the temples, was that of the
Goddess Glorian of Ruthar!

Janess groaned. Albar stared like a man transfixed. But Glorian was not
dead. As the air struck her face she moved her head faintly and her
lips trembled.

"Illia--roars--loudly to-day," she murmured. "It must be--the
freshets--of spring."

She opened her eyes, saw the faces bent above her, and smiled wanly at
Polaris.

"Then I was not too late?" she said, the halting gone out of her voice.
"'Tis well."

"Lady, why did you come hither--into the battle?" asked Polaris. "And
why--" His voice broke; for the courage of this woman moved him almost
to tears; the memory of that crushing stroke of bronze which she had
taken in his stead made him shudder.

Glorian smiled again.

"Vex yourself not about me," she said. "Shall Ruthar's bravest shed
their lives for their land and king, and Glorian not do her part?" She
lifted her hand and pointed to the standard. "Where Ruthar's banner
goes, there goes Glorian also--even into the battle. And I am not
dying, or greatly hurt, only dizzied, and my head hums. See; I can
arise."

And arise she did, with Polaris's arm to support her. Around Jastla's
narrowing circle broke the shock of the battle-tide. But for the moment
neither the man nor the woman heeded it.

"But you are wounded, lady," Janess said. "There is blood on your
forehead."

She slipped a hand from its gauntlet and raised it to her head.

"Hardly a scratch," she said.

Just at the roots of her long tresses a splinter from the shivered
helmet had scarred the scalp--a tiny cut, scarcely a quarter of an inch
in length.

Now Albar the zind, who had hung on every word, came out of the spell
of horror that had bound him. He swung himself onto his horse. Then for
the one time in his life Albar gave orders to a king.

"Guard you the goddess and the banner," he cried to Polaris. "I go to
tell the men of Ruthar that which shall put in each one the strength of
ten!"

He rode to Jastla's side.

"Gray wolf, may your ring be strong till I come again," he said. "You
have within it a king and a goddess."

Down rang his vizor, and setting spurs to his horse Albar set out to
cross the field and find Oleric the Red.

No longer was the fight on the plains one of ordered lines of men. The
charge of Polaris had broken the Maeronicans' long front, and they
had not been able to close up the gap he had made. So they had swung
into the smaller phalanxes of their legions, and the battle was one of
division against division, with many breaks between. Here and there
the divisions had split up into still smaller groups, and occasionally
there might be seen two warriors who fought alone, one laying on for
Ruthar and one for Ad.

Gray Jastla, fighting with his face to the west, heard Albar's words as
the zind flashed past him. To find their meaning, the chieftain cast a
hurried glance over his shoulder. He saw Polaris and Glorian standing
together under the crimson standard, and was near to letting his sword
fall in his surprise. Next instant he rose in his stirrups and clove a
Maeronican from shoulder to breastbone. Out rang the chief's voice in a
hollow roar through his vizor:

"Strike as ye never struck before! Behind you is the Goddess Glorian,
come to see that ye do well. Would ye have these Maeronican hounds take
her? Strike!"

Around the circle echoed the war-cry:

"For the Goddess Glorian! Strike!"

Like living sword-blades did the Rutharian zinds answer that fierce
appeal. The circle grew smaller and drew in upon itself, but it did not
break. Under their resistless blades the zinds piled a rampart of dead
Maeronicans to defend their goddess. A riderless horse backed into the
circle, and Polaris, quitting Glorian's side, mounted the steed with
his two-handed steel and joined the zinds.

       *       *       *       *       *

Standing up on the body of Polaris's fallen war-horse, supporting
herself with one hand on the staff of the banner, Glorian watched that
deadly fray. With her long hair flowing on her shoulders, she looked in
her warlike gear like one of the valkyries of Adin come down to earth
from Valhalla to watch the passing of the souls of heroes. Ever her
gaze followed Polaris. And if she seemed like one of the Norse god's
daughters, the man who fought under her eyes was a fitting part of the
simile.

His sword wrenched from his grasp in the body of a man he had slain, he
snatched the heavy ax that swung at his saddle-bow, and with it laid on
like Thor with his hammer.

Aid was coming.

Down the field as he rode Albar spread the tidings. From mouth to mouth
flew the word that the Goddess Glorian was on the plains of Nor, and
that she and the king were in sore peril yonder where the red standard
flew. The effect was instantaneous. Each warrior became a host in
himself. Wounded men who had turned to the rear heard and forgot their
hurts and staggered into the fight again.

When Albar reached Oleric the Red on the right, the zind found that his
news had preceded him.

"Get you to Maxtan," shouted Oleric. "Charge with every horse that can
bear a rider. A messenger has gone into the forests, and another charge
is coming. Clear the way for the amalocs."

Maxtan and Albar gathered their wild horsemen and charged and charged
again. So well did they do their work that they hacked a way to the
first rank of the Maeronican chariots, deep between the two horns of
which was waging the struggle around the red banner.

Vainly Oleric urged his own charioteers forward. Bel-Ar's blood was up,
and he was smiling no longer. Battalion on battalion of his infantry he
sent in to meet the steeds and feed the blades of Ruthar. Almost within
his grasp the Maeronican king saw victory. Already he counted as taken
the slave whom his foeman had crowned. Sooner than give back a foot, or
allow that little band of riders to go free, he was prepared to spend
his army to the last man, and himself with it.

No less than three horses Oleric had killed under him. When the last
was gone, he climbed into a chariot and fought at the point of his
rumbling wedge. Behind him from the forests a force entered the plain
and the conflict that was mightier than all the red captain's horsemen
and battalions.

Zoar had come.

In the shadow of the tall trees where the bending limbs swept their
mighty backs, Zoar marshaled thirty of his amalocs and set them in
battle array--a single line, with twenty intervening feet between each
beast. If Zoar knew aught of amalocs, and he thought that he did, there
would be need for no second line. A hundred men and as many horses ran
about the legs of the monsters, tightening the broad girths that held
the basketlike turrets on the mammoths' shoulders. The beasts stood
quietly, swinging their huge trunks and weaving from side to side,
as was their habit. Occasionally one of them cocked forward a great
blanket of an ear as though in lazy wonderment at the din on the plains.

On the head of each, with his back to the turret, and clutching his
keen-pointed ankus, sat a driver in full armor.

When all was ready, the spear-throwers and archers clambered up by
rope-ladders and took their places in the towers.

At the left of the line, and nearest to the river, was Ixstus,
patriarch and giant of the herd. And on the broad head of Ixstus beside
the driver rode Zoar of the many years.

Along the line from beast to beast passed the word:

"We are ready, Father Zoar."

"Ixstus!" said the old man. The sail-like ears gave attention. "Ixstus,
I have raised you since a calf, and I think you love me after your
fashion. Do not fail me now, Ixstus. Go forward, fearing nothing. _Akko
dor!_"

Zoar's last words were spoken loudly. Thirty vast trunks lifted up.
From thirty huge proboscides pealed forth the amaloc trumpet-call--such
a call as might have shaken the forests in the ages before the first
puny man began his life of fear.

For of amalocs the records of the Garden of Eden make no mention.

Swaying their ponderous heads, and with the turrets on their shoulders
heaving and tossing like boats on a troubled sea, the amalocs went
forward.

Far in the turmoil of the fight Oleric heard that trumpeting. Over his
shoulder he looked and saw the mighty red bulk of Ixstus push out from
among the trees.

With their trunks curled out of harm's way, their thick and ropy tails
stretched straight out behind, and their ears flapping to their stride,
the amalocs came down the grim lanes of battle. Though the legs that
were as the trunks of trees for size swung with no apparent haste,
the beasts came on at a pace that it would have troubled a trotting
horse to distance. The lengths of chain fastened to their knee-harness
whistled through the air like flails.

From division to division along Ruthar's jagged battle-line sped the
warning cry:

"Way! Way for Zoar! Make way for the amalocs!"

Under the tossing ivory fronts the divisions parted and drew aside.
Zoar increased the distance between his beasts. Into thirty wide
aisles the army split. From forest to front, save for the dead, the
way was clear. From the wild vortex of the battle rose a stormy burst
of cheering as the amalocs thundered down the aisles, and Ruthar's
exultant warriors welcomed their gigantic allies.

Wilder still was the cheering when it was seen that at the ends of the
pathways the phalanxes of Bel-Ar's men-at-arms were crumbling away.
Flesh and blood could not abide the onset that was coming, and the
Maeronican legions broke and fled ingloriously across the plains in
droves, many of them casting away their arms and shields as they ran.

Bidding his charioteer pull in his horses, Oleric climbed up on the
high front of his chariot to watch how Bel-Ar would meet this new
stroke. What would meet the drive of the amalocs? As he reached his
vantage-point, the answer came--a cavalry charge!

From the wall of his camp, where he had been taken, nursing an arm
that was numb from wrist to shoulder, the Maeronican king ground his
teeth in fury as he saw the new force enter the battle and witnessed
the melting of his legions. Once before, in the morning, his cavalry
had been rudely handled, and he had laughed. Now, with tears of rage
in his eyes, he dispatched his shattered squadrons in the teeth of the
oncoming peril.

White-faced captains and quaking men scrambled into their saddles to
do their king's bidding, and the horsemen rode desperately to meet the
beasts.

What happened was simple. The amalocs plowed through the clouds of
cavalry that opposed them with scarcely a break in their stride,
overthrowing men and horses as though they had been of paper, and
leaving ghastly ruins behind them where their ponderous feet had
trodden.

One such onset was enough. No horse that ever lived could have been
forced to face another. For the amalocs, when they joined battle, set
up such a din of squealing and trumpeting as nearly split the ears that
heard it. The horse that could have met that grievous onslaught must
have been both blind and deaf.

From above, in the basket-turrets, the archers and spearsmen poured
down a deadly hail of missiles on the riders. Did a horseman avoid the
thrashing chains and get near enough to the vast side of an amaloc to
strike--and not many did so--he found his spear-point rebound from
the tough hide. The utmost power of his stroke was not a pin-prick to
an amaloc. Even as the swordsmen had fled, so fled now the riders,
betaking themselves in a fear-maddened stream to their camp, whither
the charioteers had preceded them.

"The beasts of Ruthar are a myth," had said Bel-Ar, the king. And his
soldiers had believed him, had fostered confidence with the thought
that the frightful tales that had been told of the strength and fury
of the amalocs were mere traditions which had come down from the days
of old. Now here before the camp were the beasts, red and awesome and
raging--more terrible by far than even tradition had painted them--and
among the Children of Ad there was none who had the heart to go out
and face them--unless, indeed, it were the king himself. Bel-Ar in his
rage would have fronted the overlord of all evil that day had he come
against him.

So it came about that the ring of Jastla, the chief, found the
pressure of assault slackening and falling away. Maeronicans who had
been fiercest to meet the sword-blades, now were stumbling over each
other's legs in their haste to escape the amalocs. What was left of the
ring--barely a score and five of battered men and horses--opened, and
through its gap strode Ixstus and paused beside the red banner.




                               CHAPTER X

                     THE GODDESS GLORIAN'S DECREE


Zoar quit the straps where he had held and stood on the head of Ixstus.
A triumph shone in the eyes of the master of the amalocs, and a smile
spread over his mummified old-ivory features as he looked down at
Glorian.

"Daughter, they told me that I would find you here--in the forefront of
the battle," he said. "And so it is. Your zeal for Ruthar has carried
you far--so far that Oleric the Learned could not follow, and sent
Father Zoar to find you." He laughed in his bell-like tones.

"But for the King of Ruthar and these brave men here, you would have
had a longer journey, Father Zoar," Glorian replied. "It might have
been to the camp of Bel-Ar yonder, or--to the stars. Take me up with
you, Zoar, for I am weary."

"_Stekkar deen!_" commanded Zoar, and Ixstus looped his trunk and swung
Glorian gently to a seat beside his master.

Glorian looked around at the little circle of wearied men--so wearied
that they reeled in their saddles. She looked at those others, who lay
where they had fallen, and to whom the long rest had come. Her eyes
filled with tears.

"I thought to thank you," she said, "but I find no words splendid
enough."

Old Jastla lifted his arm in salute. "Lady, to those of us who live,
it is sufficient to know that you live also. Those who are dead, died
gladly to make it so. We have held our goddess safe, and our king has
held himself." And he turned and saluted Polaris.

Of the hundred zinds and fifty tall hillsmen who had formed in Jastla's
ring, five and twenty were left. Not one was unwounded. Jastla's beard
was red with blood, where a spear-point had penetrated through the
bars of his vizor and torn his mouth. In addition to the bruised and
stiffening shoulder caused by the blow of Bel-Ar that had broken his
armor, Polaris had been gashed on the cheek by an arrow. Otherwise he
was the least harmed of the party.

It was midafternoon when Ixstus set foot in the circle. Presently
Oleric arrived in his chariot. Behind him came the host of
Ruthar--weary and with many of its battalions sadly thinned, but still
a host, and ready to go on if need be.

Another amaloc rolled up alongside of Ixstus. Over the edge of the
wicker basket it bore, a white old head bobbed up with the suddenness
of a jack-in-the-box.

"Hey, son," said Zenas Wright to Polaris, "will you never quit your
foolhardy ways? Look what you have made me do--come a-hunting you,
riding on the back of one of these animated stacks of red hay, that
should have been dead and fossilized six thousand years ago. Well,
well; we've given his majesty Bel-Ar a bellyful, I'm thinking." Out of
his basket and down the rope-ladder Zenas clambered to shake Polaris by
the hand.

"Oh, boy," the geologist said, "you're a better king than those
heathen will see again, if they all live to be as old as Father
Methuselah yonder says he is. But be careful, lad, be careful."

On the head of Ixstus the Goddess Glorian stood and pointed toward the
camp of Bel-Ar, and her beautiful face grew stern.

"There are still three hours of daylight, Father Zoar," she said. "Let
us go and finish what we have begun."

"As well now as ever, daughter," Zoar replied. "I am minded to teach
this Maeronican king a lesson that shall become a tradition in the
land. What passes in the camp? My eyes are too dim to see."

"Confusion, father, and the running to and fro of many men. They are
adding to the height of their earthen walls. They are piling their
gateways with timbers and the fragments of broken chariots."

Zoar laughed. "Think they with walls of mud to stop my amalocs?" he
muttered. He lifted his voice, and word was passed down the line that
the beasts were to be advanced against the camp.

Under the orders of Polaris, the dead zinds and men of his guard were
borne off the field, and those who were still living, but wounded,
were carried tenderly to the rear. When he learned that the amalocs
were to attack the camp, he climbed with Zenas to the turret which the
geologist had occupied. Jastla and the others he urged to seek rest.
But they were men of great spirit, and only one or two of them went.
The most of them sent for fresh horses, determined to see the fighting
through to its end.

At a word from Glorian, Jastla took up the war-standard of Ruthar and
passed it to the fighting men of Zoar, who set it fast in the wicker
tower on the back of Ixstus. Glorian caught its floating folds and
kissed it.

"Now Ixstus bears our banner. Who shall withstand it?" she said.

A blare of trumpets, a ruffle of drums, sounded the advance of Ruthar.
Louder and above all arose the roar of the thirty amalocs, strident and
deafening, as the shaggy, red line surged forward.

In the camp of Bel-Ar that call found answer in the howl of hate and
terror that went up from the ranks of the Maeronicans when they saw
that their terrible foes were coming.

"Fire!" shouted Bel-Ar to his generals. "We must meet and turn the
beasts with fire! Man the walls with torches and set a blaze before
each gate."

Bel-Ar had pitched his encampment in a loop of the River Thebascu,
a broad, swift stream, now swollen by the spring freshets into a
dun-colored torrent. From bank to bank across the loop, the soldiers
had constructed a wall of earth and stones, ten feet high, and pierced
by six wide gateways, wherein were set heavy gates of steel and oak.
Inside the line of the outer wall, with some fifty feet of space
intervening, was another rampart, also of earth, and a few feet higher
than the first. Outside of the works the camp was protected further by
a semicircular ditch, or moat, spanned at each of the gateways by a
solid bridge of timbers. The Maeronican engineers had turned the waters
of the river into the moat and filled it level full. At the rear of the
camp was the crossing of the Thebascu--three wide bridges of stone,
which had been built in the long ago.

       *       *       *       *       *

When they saw the advance of the amalocs, soldiers swarmed from the
camp with ropes and horses, and strove to pull the timber bridges away
from the ditch. But the weight of the passing and repassing of the
army had sunk the beams into the earth so deeply that they could not
be stirred. Failing in that attempt, the Maeronicans piled débris on
the floors of the bridges and set fire to it, hoping to burn away the
approaches. That, too, was a failure. The water of the moat, nearly
level with the side-beams, was ankle-deep on the bridge-floors, and had
soaked the timbers so that they would not catch from the fires.

As Zoar and his monsters came to the moat, the men of Bel-Ar shot at
them with arrows, stones, and javelins. But Ruthar could play that
game, too. Oleric lined the ditch between the bridges with slingers
and archers, who kept up so thick a bombardment that they killed many
men, and soon drove the Maeronicans to the shelter of their walls. As
they went in, Bel-Ar's men touched flames to the piles of timbers and
wrecked chariots before their gateways and closed their gates.

"Shall we cross the bridges and clear the way, Father Zoar?" asked
Oleric.

"Nay," the master of the beasts replied, "that would be at the expense
of many men, and yon is an ill place to fight in. Methinks I know a
better plan."

Under his directions, his foresters ungirthed one of the mammoths and
took from its back the wicker turret. Zoar called the driver of the
beast to him. Whatever it was that the old man said, the amaloc-driver
blanched somewhat at the words. He cast a quick glance toward the armed
camp, and under his swarthy skin his face turned pale. Then he drew
himself up proudly, saluted, and went back to his beast.

Clambering to his perch, the man found and pulled two small chains
connected with the armored plates which protected the skull of his
ponderous steed. These drew into place and closed fast two small doors,
or lids, cunningly wrought of steel, and devised to cover the eyes of
the beast. So blinded, the heart within the vast bulk became uneasy,
and the mammoth began to back and sway, groping before it with its
trunk.

While the army stood breathless to see what he would do, the driver
struck with his ankus, and with a shout launched the amaloc straight at
the center gate of the camp.

Deprived of its eyesight, the mammoth obeyed the superior will
expressed by the voice that it knew and loved. Across the bridge, where
ordinarily it would have paused and tested the timbers carefully before
trusting its immense bulk upon them, it now charged blindly, trumpeting
as it went.

Showers of missiles from the camp of Ad fell on the beast; ahead of it
roared the blazing pile. It screamed out with pain and terror when the
flames touched it, but it did not stop. Scattering the burning tangle
like fiery chaff, it tore on, and its armored frontlet clanged on the
bars of the gateway.

That shock tore the gates from their hinges and brought the amaloc to
its knees. For an instant it knelt on the fallen gate, then, trumpeting
with rage, rose up and danced on the ruin.

On the head of the beast the driver lay flat on his belly, his arms and
legs thrust under the leather bands placed there to hold him. Ahead,
scarcely fifty feet away, was the second gateway. With voice and steel
the man urged the amaloc on, and it crashed through that gate as it had
through the first, and plunged into the center of the Maeronican camp.

Began then a mad rout for safety. No one thought of fighting the terror
that had come among them; but each man for himself ran for the river,
casting away anything that might weight down his legs. Soon all three
bridges of the Thebascu were black with a horrid, writhing mêlée--a
tangle of fear-maddened men, cursing and striking at each other for
way, and screaming, terrified horses. Many soldiers, unable to fight
into the jams on the bridges, threw themselves into the swift stream
with all their armor on, and some swam across and others were seen no
more.

To and fro through the encampment raged the now thoroughly crazed
amaloc, sundering and crushing all that it met. The long, red wool
had caught fire from the blaze at the gateway and burned fiercely up
over its shoulders. Wild with the pain of it, the beast ran hither and
thither, seeking to escape from the flames. A two-horsed chariot was
in its path at one moment. It scooped it up like a toy and carried it
forward on its mighty tusks, the horses dangling in their harness. Then
with a heave of its vast shoulders the monster cast the wreck in the
air. Lying on his face, the driver closed his eyes and prayed wildly to
his stars.

At length, smelling the water of the river, the amaloc turned thither,
to quench its agonies in the rushing stream. On it drove, across the
camp, upsetting everything in its way. It reached the river to the
left of one of the bridges. In its path a horse bearing a steel-clad
rider slipped and fell. The groping trunk that sought the water found
the man, plucked him from the ground, whirled him aloft, and dashed
him against an abutment of the bridge so that his armor cracked like a
nutshell and his blood ran down the stones.

With a final shriek of fury, the amaloc plunged into the river. The
waters closed over its upthrown trunk, and its mad career was ended.
With it went the driver, well content to give his life for Ruthar.

This one beast in the outpouring of its majestic strength had done
more to shatter the power of Adlaz than had the legions of Ruthar in a
month's fighting.

       *       *       *       *       *

Soon after the death of the amaloc, night fell swiftly across the
plains of Nor. The other beasts of Zoar, made uneasy by the experiences
through which they had passed, and stirred by the screaming of their
flame-maddened comrade, were in such a state that their master deemed
it unwise to attempt to urge them farther in the darkness and against
the fires. So he drove them back to the forest, and Ruthar camped on
the plain.

In the night was heard a clamor as of men who fought on the other side
of the Thebascu, and when morning came it was seen that the host of
Bel-Ar was divided. The royal standards waved over the bridge-heads at
the crossing of the river. Farther down the stream, and opposite to the
camp of Ruthar was gathered by far the greater part of the Maeronican
host.

When the dawn was full, a boat crossed the river, bearing messengers
to Ruthar from the lords of the six cities which had fought for Adlaz.
These heralds came to Oleric and asked what terms he would make them.

"For," said they, "did we have to fight with men only, we would stand
firm until the end, and with our united power sweep Ruthar from the
field and crush her. But against such as the great beasts no men may
war."

The red captain referred them to the king of Ruthar for their answer.
Polaris bade them go back to the lords of the cities and say that he
wished to make war on none save Adlaz and the king thereof--but that
war he would wage until the death or the submission of Bel-Ar.

"Our lords will not join ye in war against Adlaz," said one of the
heralds hastily. "We be not such traitors; but our soldiers will bear
arms against the terrible beasts no more."

"Ruthar asks no help in her warfare against Bel-Ar," Polaris replied.
"Take your armies to their homes in peace."

That answer satisfied the lords of the cities, and they sent word that
so they would do; and if Polaris in the end prevailed against Adlaz,
they would bend the knee to his rule. Secretly they hoped that he
would win. Bel-Ar had been a hard master, and those who had seen the
tawny-haired king of Ruthar deemed him to be the better man to serve,
outlander though he was.

So that host was dispersed and went its various ways homeward. The
soldiers of Adlaz and the levies from the lands around the city were of
a different kidney. To a man they stood firm for their king. Beasts or
no beasts, they swore, they would die for him, did he wish it.

It seemed likely that their promise would be required of them. Bel-Ar,
stubborn and high of spirit, was resolved to fight on. He still
mustered under his banners a force of nearly sixty thousand men,
veterans of his former wars and the flower of the fighting men of the
land. Besides, he held the advantage of position.

When Ruthar would have gone on against him in the morning, it was
found that his engineers, working through the night, had piled the
bridge-heads with barricades of stones, so thick and high that
no amaloc charge would beat them down. Behind those barriers the
Maeronican generals reorganized their broken forces and sent in the
front fresh soldiers drawn from the reserves that were waiting along
the Mazanion Road.

Not for many weary miles was there another crossing of the
Thebascu--if, indeed, there were any on the course of the river where
were bridges strong enough to support an army and the weight of the
amalocs.

Taking counsel together, Polaris and Oleric and their generals decided
that they must hammer their way through at the three bridges. They
might have blown up the barriers with melinite; but they dared not, for
fear of destroying the structures of the bridges also; and they had not
the time to build new bridges. Only a sustained frontal attack, at the
cost of many men, would clear the way.

For a score and ten days and nights the furious struggle was waged at
the Thebascu. Then one of the bridges was taken. Polaris, his great
frame grown gaunt from continual fighting, and his face sunken and
haggard with anxiety and loss of sleep, saw through hollow and burning
eyes his hosts swing across the river and into the Mazanion Road.

Fourteen days were left him, and then--the Feast of Years, and the end.

Summer was coming, and with it the feast of the return of Shamar, that
could not be set forward or delayed. Though the foe were hammering at
its gates, Oleric said, the feast would be held in the city. Such was
the ancient law laid down in the early days of Adlaz.

On the Mazanion Road they found the captain Fanaer once more, tireless
and vengeful. As he had harried them all the way from the isthmian
passes to the plains of Nor, so he harried them now. Every foot of
the hundred miles down the Mazanion Road he fought them, and with him
fought Bel-Ar, his master. Wall after wall they built and lost.

It was not until afternoon of the last day that the Rutharian vanguard,
so worn with battle that it staggered as it rode, broke through the
final barrier and marched through the gorgeous suburban estates to the
wall of Adlaz. Under the leadership of Fanaer, the remnant of Bel-Ar's
army made a last desperate stand, but was swept away.

As night came on, the Maeronican king, broken-hearted, but still
defiant, entered his city and closed his gates--there to sit down and
wait for the coming of the Goddess Glorian.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was nine o'clock of a morning--the morning of the third day of the
Maeronican month of Kanar, corresponding to the fifteenth of November;
or, to reverse the seasons to the terms of our northern clime, the
sixteenth of May. A man who bore a heavy heart within his golden armor
faced a white-faced maid in the ancient audience-hall of the dead king
Bel-Tisam.

"Now am I in my heart almost a traitor to my king and land, lady,"
Brunar said. "For I have almost wished that your lover might prevail
over Bel-Ar and save you. But the day has come and the time is at
hand, and Ruthar is still without the walls. Would that I might save
you, lady--I think that to do so I would willingly give my life. But
Shamar's servants have watched this place by day and by night. It
cannot be. Already they wait for you without the doors to lead you to
the temple."

For an instant the girl's eyes swam with terror. She gazed hither
and yon about the hall like a hunted thing. Then the heritage of her
northern race came to her aid and saved her from collapse.

Bravely she faced and spoke to the captain.

She stepped to the cradle of the little Patrymion and kissed the babe.

"I am ready," she said, then.

At the doors of the prison a chariot waited, and with it were four of
the white-robed priests of Shamar. The girl was lifted into the car.
The charioteer drove up the side avenue of Chedar's Flight, past the
Place of Games, now standing empty and silent, to the grounds of the
Temple of the Sun. They saw many armed men in the street as they passed
along. As they entered the gateway of the temple grounds they heard a
dull booming that beat up with the wind from the south, where Ruthar
hammered at the Mazanion gates.

The priests carried the girl up the hundred white marble steps to
the western entrance to the temple and through the splendid arch of
a doorway that was fifty feet from pave to vault. Within all was dim
twilight, except in the mighty dome, two hundred feet aloft. There it
was light, indeed.

At the doorway the party halted, and two soldiers shackled Rose with
fetters of heavy gold at her wrists and ankles. Around her waist they
set a girdle of the same yellow metal, to which chains were attached.
That done, they placed a gag in her mouth and led her into the temple.

Here was a place of wonders, such as had its like nowhere in the world.
All around the hall, supporting the ring of masonry on which the dome
rested, were magnificent pillars of marble. The circle of the pavement
which was enclosed by the pillars, and which was nearly a hundred feet
across, was bare, except at its center. There an oblong slab of black
basalt lay from west to east across the gleaming white floor. That
block was the height of a man's waist from the pavement, some six feet
across, and at least ten yards in length.

On one end of the slab, that which pointed west, stood a solid column
of orichalcum, more than a yard in diameter and fifteen feet tall, its
whole substance glowing in the half-light like a pillar of lambent
flame. From base to top the surface of this marvelous plinth was carved
with Maeronican characters and mystic signs. It was the ancient Column
of Laws, whereon was written the prophecy of the future dominion of
Adlaz over all the world.

Over across from the fiery pillar, at the other extremity of the slab,
was a vase, cut out of solid rock-crystal, as tall as a man, but
slenderly fashioned, and as fragile in structure as thin-blown glass.

This basalt block, with its gleaming column and crystal vase, was the
altar of Shamar.

Though the light was dim in the hall below, high in the arch of the
dome was a dazzling play of light and colors. Through prismatic
windows the rays of the sun poured and were translated into all of
the changing hues of the spectrum, and as the prisms were turned by a
concealed mechanism operated from below, the multiplying and shifting
color-shafts, reflected back from the marble walls, combined into a
bewildering and fairy display.

Seated in a stone chair at the foot of one of the pillars in the
northern arc of the circle was Bel-Ar. He was in full armor of black
steel. His pallid face made a ghastly patch in the dusk. Except for the
large, glowing eyes, it might have been taken for the face of a dead
man. Back of the king, filling in the spaces between the pillars with
silent rows of bronze, were the five companies of the palace-guard.

       *       *       *       *       *

Immediately upon the arrival of the girl the ceremonies were opened.
Followed by a train of his priests, chanting a deep-voiced hymn
of praise, the arch-priest of Shamar, the aged Rhaen, entered the
hall through the western portals. Thrice the procession of singing,
white-robed attendants of the god passed around the circle within the
pillars. Then they massed themselves in the space to the south of the
altar. Rhaen retired, to come forth again, clad in a surplice of pale
blue, and with a tall cap of the same color atop of his white locks. As
he passed Rose, she fancied that she saw a frightened look in his keen
old hawk's eyes.

Four men brought in the head of one of the sacred bulls, freshly slain
in the courtyard.

This gory trophy was laid on the altar, a few feet from the crystal
vase.

At a command from Rhaen, a company of the priests bore the struggling
form of a man from behind the pillars and proceeded to chain him down
on the basalt slab near its center. He was fettered and gagged; but
even so trussed up, he fought frantically, giving the priests much
trouble before they had him chained in such a fashion that he could
scarcely move a limb.

Now came the turn of Rose.

As the priests bore her to the altar and lifted her, she saw that the
man who lay there was Ensign Brooks, of the _Minnetonka_. He had been
fetched from the mines by order of Rhaen to take the place of Everson.
When the girl saw the young sailor, chubby and cheerful no longer, but
worn to skin and bones, and with eyes that glared in their sockets, she
would have cried out in horror and pity--for to the last she thought
not of herself--but she was gagged and helpless to utter one word of
comfort.

Brooks saw her as she was borne past him, and he struggled terribly.
His utmost effort resulted only in a violent shaking of his head.

The servants of Rhaen chained Rose to the rock midway between the
sailor and the head of the bull. Aided by his priests, Rhaen clambered
onto the rock and took his stand at the foot of the orichalcum pillar.
He bent his head in prayer. While his lips moved, the priests knelt on
the pavement with lifted hands and upturned faces. Every eye was fixed
on the dome. Whatever was to come, it was evident that it would proceed
thence.

Lying on the black altar, doomed to be the first sacrifice to Shamar
in the Feast of Years, Rose for a time was dazed and near to fainting.
Then her mind cleared, and a mad whirl of tortured thought began.
What of Polaris? With the memory of her lover came a stab of grief so
keen that it banished all fear of the priests and what they could do.
No pain that they could bring to her body could be so terrible as this
anguish that made her very soul quail.

Minutes passed. Again she became calm and fell to studying her
surroundings. What manner of doom was coming? Fire in some shape, she
was sure. She had noticed that the surface of the basalt slab was
deeply scored down its center, where she and Brooks were chained,
and its substance was crumbled and calcined as if by the passing of
a fierce heat many times repeated. She besought her God that before
Shamar struck, her senses might leave her, so might she die in peace.

Rhaen prayed on. Above in the dome the brilliant colors played and
shifted. Their magnificence hurt the girl's eyes, and she closed them.
Would the end never come? Out in the city the din of war swelled louder.

Bel-Ar spoke harshly, bidding Rhaen delay not. The arch-priest quit his
mumbled prayer long enough to reply with some show of spirit that the
doings of the god could not be hastened.

The truth of the matter was, Rhaen was proceeding slowly, and with a
reason. Rhaen was a politician. He had watched through the long weeks
the course of war, and he did not find it hard to guess whose would be
the ultimate victory. When that time came, what mercy would the king of
Ruthar show to those who had given his lady to the tortures of Shamar?
He lifted his hands high above his head, finally, and led his priests
in a sonorous chant.

As the notes of the song arose, the prismatic colors ceased in the
dome. The prisms disappeared. Doors glided back in the golden roof, and
an immense circular plate, or lens, of crystal made its appearance. So
high was the arch of the dome where the crystal lens was hung, that it
was impossible from the floor to judge its size; but it must have been
at least thirty feet in diameter. It was set in a metal rim, and the
whole was swung into place by chains, the mechanism doubtless operated
by servants of Rhaen concealed in the vault of the dome.

Tilted slightly to the east, the crystal hung. Above it a round
aperture suddenly appeared in the roof. Through that opening shot a
splendid shaft of sunshine that pierced the gloom of the temple-hall
like an arrow of light. Blinding in its radiance, it cut downward and
struck on the basalt altar, full on the head of the bull.

Immediately arose the stench of burning hair and sizzling flesh. The
power of the crystal lens so condensed the light-ray that where it fell
its heat was all-consuming. Within half a minute naught was left of the
head of the sacred bull save a few cinders and bits of calcined bone
and charred tips of the horns.

Where the head had been, the basalt rock glowed ruby-red in the path of
that awful lance of fire. Inch by inch, and very slowly, the consuming
ray crept along the altar toward the head of the girl.

Rose had been nearly blinded, even through her closed lids, by the
flash of light from the dome. Although she could not turn her head to
see, she could smell the scorching flesh of the bull, and could guess
what was coming.

"Good-by, my love, good-by," she said in her heart. Then He to whom she
had prayed made answer, and she fainted.

Louder rose the chant of the priests. The merciless finger of their god
moved on. Bel-Ar strained forward in his stone seat and stared at the
sacrifice as though fascinated.

Some five feet were yet to be traversed by the ray before it would
reach the girl, when a soldier ran up the southern steps of the temple
and hurled himself through the kneeling ranks of the priests. Behind
him a wild clamor of battle arose in the street.

"Adlaz is lost!" shouted the soldier, as he broke into the open space
before the king. "Already is the foe at the very gates of Shamar!"

Without stirring in his seat, hardly removing his eyes from the altar,
Bel-Ar gave an order to the captains behind him. The silent files of
the palace-guard came from behind the pillars and ranged themselves
before the four entrances of the temple.

Across the face of the altar the relentless fire-beam seared its way.

       *       *       *       *       *

Meanwhile, at the walls of Adlaz the Rutharian army had halted.

Night had found the men of the hills battering at the Mazanion gates.
Urged on by the tireless energy of Polaris and the equally indomitable
zeal of Oleric--for the red captain had made a promise--the zinds
mustered their weary legions for a night of sleepless battle. War-worn
by a quarter-year's conflict, the echoes of which would go whispering
down their history for centuries to come, the king's battalions did not
fail him. Every man in the army knew the terrible stake that was set
for the game. None faltered. None complained.

Assault on assault was directed at the gates, but still the southern
doors of Adlaz remained unshaken. Riders had made the round of the city
and had reported that the other three gateways had been walled up with
stone masonry that it would be a work of days to dislodge--and they had
only seventeen hours to reach the temple of Shamar. Oleric, who knew,
said that the sacrifice of the Feast of Years would begin at noon of
the next day, and not one moment sooner.

Fanaer, Ruthar's most dreaded antagonist, was manning his last
barricade. As soon as he had drawn his shattered army within the gates
before the advance of his foemen, the captain ordered great rocks,
which had been brought to the top of the walls in preparation for his
purpose, cast down until they formed a jagged but powerful defense
before the gates. That was to keep back the amalocs.

Vainly the infantry of Ruthar charged over that irregular wall. Did
any of them reach the gates, their battle-axes were but puny weapons
against the bronze and steel of the doors. In vain they tried to carry
in and place the melinite with which Zenas supplied them. Fanaer
showered them with stones and blazing timbers. Three times men carrying
the deadly cakes of explosive were stricken so that the melinite blew
up and tore them to shreds.

All night long the attack was maintained. All the night Polaris raged
helplessly before that stubborn barrier of stone. In the morning light
he counseled with Oleric, Zenas, and Zoar.

"If you could but clear a way for my beasts!" groaned Zoar. "Then I
would send them against the gates, though it killed them--which might
well happen, for those gates are heavy enough to challenge even the
strength of an amaloc."

Zenas sprang up and beat himself on the forehead.

"Doddering fool that I am!" he cried. "Here we have wasted men and
time, and because my wits were sleeping in my boot-heels. Get your
amalocs ready, Zoar."

While Oleric sent one more assault against the gates, the geologist
directed his engineers, under the cover of the attack, to mine, not
the gates, but the pile of stones itself, with the melinite. Four big
charges of the explosive they placed in Fanaer's barricade, and Zenas,
with a tap of his finger on the battery, blew the barrier against the
wall.

Hardly had the stones quit falling when an amaloc rushed the gateway.
Zoar spoke truly when he said those gates were strong. Fearful as
was the impetus of the beast's charge, and though it cracked the
great steel plates which protected its head with the impact, it did
not shatter the gates. It withdrew from the onset somewhat sick and
groggy--if that word may be applied to the mental condition of the
amaloc. Zoar sent in another.

Four of the monsters were launched successively against the portals
before the gates crashed down. The last shock was so fearful that the
beast which delivered it fell just beyond the gateway and died with a
broken skull in the midst of the ruin it had made.

Through the gap and into the Mazanion avenue, almost under the lee
of the falling mammoth, flashed Polaris, mounted and in full armor.
Hard behind him rode Oleric. Ahead of them the wide street was choked
with Maeronican soldiery, and the son of the snows would have charged
without pause; for the time that was left him was reduced to minutes
now. Taking of the gates had not been quick or easy, and Shamar was
high in the heavens.

But the red captain caught at his bridle-rein.

"Hold, friend and king; you will peril your life needlessly," he
shouted. "Leave this desperate scum to Zoar, and follow where he leads.
Ah! here he comes! Now see them scatter!"

Oleric threw back his head and laughed. But Polaris, with that sun
riding high above him, was in no mood for laughter.

In through the rifted gateway thrust Ixstus. The giant amaloc was
in his full panoply of war. On his head he bore proudly his master,
Zoar the aged, and in the turret behind Zoar rode the Goddess
Glorian--Glorian coming to the end to take what gift fate had in store.

Under the swaying tusks of Ixstus terror shouted aloud in the street.
Behind him, his sons and grandsons were pushing in through the gap in
the wall. Bel-Ar's battered soldiers had had enough and full measure of
Ixstus and his family. They did not wait now for the first screaming
trumpet-call, but cast down their arms and scampered away--anywhere, so
that they might put strong walls between themselves and the tribe of
Ixstus.

Then the general Fanaer rode forward and surrendered his sword to
Oleric. He was a small, thin man, this famous warrior, with a twisted
nose between pale-blue eyes, and curling, yellow beard.

"I have fought you my best for the king, my master," he said. "But
you have taken Adlaz, and my work is done." He glanced curiously at
Polaris. "Haste you, king of Ruthar," he said, not unkindly. "They are
doing sacrifice in Shamar's temple."

Like an arrow from a bow, Polaris shot forward, spurring his horse.
Oleric galloped after him. Behind them thundered Ixstus, shaking the
pavement with his tread. Nor, strive as the fleet horses might, could
they more than barely keep ahead of the amaloc. A race with death had
begun.

Lest harm befall, the zind Maxtan led a squadron of his mounted
hillsmen in the wake of the speeding riders. Gray Jastla rode in the
front rank.

Before Polaris's galloping steed leaped and barked the great dog
Rombar, who was more fleet of foot than any horse. To keep him out of
harm's way in the battles, Rombar had been chained in hateful captivity
for months. When the Mazanion gates were down and the amalocs cleared
the street, the man who had charge of Rombar slipped his leash and let
him go.

       *       *       *       *       *

They rode madly through the splendid grounds of the temple, where the
sacred bulls fled bellowing before the approach of Ixstus. At the foot
of the long stairway, Polaris and Oleric threw themselves from their
steeds, and, drawing their swords, dashed up the marble steps. But
Zoar with a word of command, set Ixstus to the ascent, and the amaloc
distanced the running men.

Scarce two feet of Shamar's black altar separated the head of Rose Emer
from the fiery danger, and the rock where she lay was almost blistering
hot, when Ixstus, with a scream of triumph, burst through the ranks of
the guard at the southern door and strode into the lofty shrine. As the
beast paused, blinking and stretching out an inquiring trunk in the
direction of the puzzling shaft of light, two armored men ran around
his ponderous bulk and leaped onto the altar.

Rhaen would have given the word then to close the dome and stop the
ray; but the strain of his anxiety had been too much for the aged
priest. As he opened his mouth to shout, his knees loosened, and he
fell in a swoon at the base of the orichalcum pillar.

With four strokes of his sword, Polaris severed the golden chains and
swept the senseless form of Rose from the altar. Oleric the Red did
the like service for Brooks. Now might the finger of Shamar move on
unheeded.

Polaris knelt with his love in his arms. As he bent over her, Oleric
shouted in warning. The son of the snows leaped to his feet in time to
catch on his sword the blade of Bel-Ar, the king.

Once again Ruthar and Ad, personified in their two rulers, were face to
face.

From the four doorways came the devoted men of the palace-guard.
Bel-Ar, who had fallen back a pace, lifted his hand.

"There is that between this man and me which only death may take away,"
he said. "Let none interfere--unless the slave is afraid to fight." He
fixed his burning eyes on Polaris. At that last remark Oleric the Red
laughed loudly.

Under other circumstances, Janess might have been minded to let Bel-Ar
go free. Whatever were his faults, the Maeronican king was a brave
man, one who did not bow down and weep when misfortune overtook him.
But Polaris had just seen his dear lady chained to the horror of the
sacrificial stone because of this man, and his fell religion and
relentless practices against strangers. Minos, Memene, Everson, the
company of the _Minnetonka_, the fallen of the hosts of Ruthar and of
Ad--for all those deaths Bel-Ar was responsible. Surely his doors were
haunted by many ghosts!

With no word in answer to the king's taunt, Polaris swung his sword,
and the fight began. Bel-Ar pressed in with a shower of blows, seeking
to bear his adversary down by the sheer weight and fury of his attack.
He was a powerful man, perhaps the strongest warrior in all his broad
lands, as he had boasted--but he had met a stronger now.

With the skill in fence that had been taught him by Jastla, the son of
the snows guarded himself against those lightning blows, letting Bel-Ar
weary himself until an opening should come--as his patience had told
him it always would, no matter how hardy the fighter.

Jastla himself stood by the altar and watched his pupil fight. For
Maxtan and his cavalry had reached the temple. On one side of the
altar stood the men of Ruthar and Ixstus. On the other were ranged the
gleaming bronze lines of Bel-Ar's guard.

Harder and harder the Maeronican pressed the fight. His blade swung
like a circle of flame. Warily Polaris fended. Came a clash and a
clang of falling steel, and a cry of dismay from the Rutharians. Under
the stout bronze of Bel-Ar their champion's sword had snapped short off
at the hilt.

With a yell of exultation, Bel-Ar sprang in to make an end. And those
who watched the fray were bound by honor not to interfere. Oleric
groaned, and Jastla tugged at his white beard and ground his teeth in
dismay. Then he sent up a roaring shout:

"Well thrown! Oh, well thrown!"

Under the vengeful sweep of the singing blade Polaris had leaped and
caught the Maeronican around the middle. The blow of the sword fell
harmless. But Polaris swung Bel-Ar up to his shoulder, aye, and over
it, and dashed him down on the marble floor.

One of the golden captains of the guard ran to the king's side and
unhelmed him. Bel-Ar was dead, his back broken by the terrible fall.

"Heard ever a man the like?" roared Jastla. "The strongest warrior in
Adlaz tossed like a toy and slain by an unarmed man!"

Through the fierce fray Glorian had sat like a statue, unable to stir
or speak. As the Rutharians shouted in triumph, she roused and cried
out:

"Look to the priest! Haste! He burns!"

Unnoticed in the stir of the combat, the ray of Shamar had moved on
down the length of the altar. The priests in the dome had fled their
posts in terror, and there had been none to stay the mechanism. In
the path of Shamar's finger lay Rhaen, Shamar's priest, swooned and
helpless. The ray struck him. Aid was too late.

Rhaen was a horrid sight when he was pulled from the altar. His soul
had gone--perhaps to seek the god whom he had served.

On Ixstus's head stood Glorian in her silver armor.

"So ends the religion of Shamar!" she cried. With the battle-ax she
carried, she bent over and struck the crystal vase and shattered it.

       *       *       *       *       *

At the other end of the altar of basalt the great ray beat on the
pillar of orichalcum, so that the surface of the metal was melted and
the cruel laws of Ad were effaced. With the laws perished the prophecy.

Water was dashed on the face of Rose Emer, and presently she opened
her eyes and sat up and realized that she was not dead. Before them
all, Polaris took her into his arms and kissed her--for such is the
privilege of kings. Glorian, watching from Ixstus's back, turned white
with agony and clenched her slender fingers so that the nails bit into
her palms.

"Oh, be strong, my heart," she whispered to herself. "My soul has said
it--_my time will come_!"

Zenas Wright came soon, and at the altar of Shamar was held a reunion
where hearts were too full for talking, until Ensign Brooks spoke up
and Said:

"Lead me to a dinner-table, somebody. First they worked the flesh off
my bones. Then they tried to roast me along with a bull's head and a
pretty woman--but never once did they give me a decent meal."

"You shall have your dinner," said Polaris. "But first there is
something which I will have done, here and now, if may be." He turned
to Oleric, while Rose Emer's cheeks, that had been so wan, flamed rosy
red.

"Has one of these priests here the power to perform a marriage
ceremony?" Janess asked.

"Surely," replied Oleric. And then the red captain smiled broadly as he
caught the import of the question. "Hale one of them here, Jastla," he
said.

Jastla came soon, gripping a sadly scared priest of Shamar by the slack
of his gown. "Do you, Oleric, who understand more of his jargon than I
do, listen that he does a good job of it," grumbled the chieftain. "For
if he doesn't, I'll flay him."

But Glorian was great-hearted, even befitting her title of goddess. She
now stepped down from the amaloc to the altar.

"In this let Glorian of Ruthar serve you," she said. "I have the power,
and the knot that I shall tie, though it shall be more gentle than if
done by this dog of Shamar, yet will it be as binding."

So, after the long years and their perils, Polaris and his Rose-maid
were wedded, Oleric the Red producing the ring. And when she had
pronounced the words which made them one, Glorian took Rose in her arms
and kissed her on the forehead.

"May you be very happy, my sister," she whispered.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now here the pen that has written this history ceases, to give place to
that of one of its chief actors, who has a parting word to tell.

       *       *       *       *       *

I, Zenas Wright, now in my sixty-seventh year, and being in full
possession of my health, mind, and faculties (as lawyers write it in
the wills) having been asked by the writer of the foregoing work to
make some comment on it, do hereby aver, asseverate, maintain, etc.,
that it is in the main a faithful account of certain events in which it
has been my privilege to play a small part. In fact, I cannot well do
otherwise, seeing that I furnished him the information.

Such changes as I might be tempted to make in the history he has
written would only vex the writer, and so I'll let it be. They would be
in the nature of scientific details, anyhow, and I fear would make only
dry reading for any but brother scientists.

I have told the author that he has made altogether too much of my part
in the events which he has described. I am not a hero, and never will
be; but in this description of that brush in the Kimbrian defile--which
was altogether a matter of chance--he has made me almost heroic. I have
asked him to amend the account; but he will not listen to it, and so I
suppose that it will have to stand. I hereby disclaim it.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is more than six months since the fademe _Oaron_ dropped anchor in
the Potomac (where its arrival created a fine sensation), and I landed
once more in Washington. With me came Lieutenant Everson. He did not
get to Adlaz until some weeks after it had been taken, and he's not the
man yet that he was before he got that jab from Atlo's spear. But he's
improving. He had the loss of a cruiser to report; but he brought with
him a sum in gold and gems, sent by the king of Ruthar and Maeronica,
sufficient to reimburse the Government for the loss of the ship, and
with a splendid sum left over to be distributed among the relatives of
those who went down with her. The king is a man who doesn't do things
by halves.

Ensign Brooks came with us also. He was pining for a peep up Broadway
and a whiff of "America's strongest cigarette." I hope that he has had
enough to eat since he came back.

Through the kindness of Oleric, I was enabled to bring with me a
splendid pair of mammoth's tusks, which I took great pleasure in adding
to the collection of the Smithsonian Institution. Some time I hope
to be the means of bringing to these shores specimens of the _Elephas
primigenius_ themselves, which the Rutharians call amalocs.

Before this history comes to the eyes of the world--if it ever does, of
which I have some doubt--I shall have gone back to the south. I thought
that I wanted to end my days in my home in Buffalo and be buried there;
but I don't. I'm going back to be with my boy. He is making a wise
ruler there in Adlaz. Perhaps an old man's life will not be altogether
useless there, where there is so much to be done.

Before I left Adlaz, two small princes were playing in the royal
palace--Patrymion, the boy of Minos, who eventually will be king if he
lives, and another youngster, who must stagger through life under the
burden of the name of Polaris Zenas Janess. Guess that's pretty good
for an old rock-splitter--to have the first-born son of a real king
named after him. Constituting himself the special guardian of the two
little chaps is a simple-minded little cockney sailor, whom Polaris
found in prison, Jack Melton by name. Sunlight has cured him of some of
his hallucinations, and he no longer hates Rombar.

There is one thing more, which I did not find in the history, and will
now add here. It concerns that remarkable woman, Glorian of Ruthar.
One day when we were discussing the power which she and Oleric declare
they have to prolong their lives (privately, I think it is rank bosh),
Glorian told me that it was possible for one who knew the secret to
make use of it to keep another person alive, and without that person
knowing about it. Now Glorian is living in Adlaz, where she has had
the temple of Shamar fixed over to suit her. She sees Polaris often.
I am of the opinion that, if she has any such power--mind you, I'm
not admitting she has--she is using it on Polaris, and is planning
to outwait Mrs. Janess (Queen Rose, I suppose I should call her) and
eventually have him for herself. The outcome of this, only time will
tell, and I shall not live to know it. I have not the means to prolong
my life--and would not if I had.

By the way, Zoar of the Amalocs died shortly after the taking of Adlaz.
The excitement of the war was too much for his heart.

Oh, yes! And Oleric married Bel-Ar's widow, the Queen Raissa; and that
is all.

Good-by.