Thursday's Serials: "Dwellers in the Mirage" by A. E. Merritt (in English) - VIII

CHAPTER XV: THE LAKE OF THE GHOSTS

Lur paused, red lips parted, regarding me. Plainly she was startled by the difference the Ayjir trappings and the ministrations of the mutes had made in the dripping, bedraggled figure that had scrambled out of the river not long before. Her eyes glowed, and a deeper rose stained her cheeks. She came close.

                "Dwayanu - you will go with me?"

                I looked at her, and laughed.

                "Why not, Lur - but also, why?"

                She whispered:

                "You are in danger - whether you are Dwayanu or whether you are not. I have persuaded Yodin to let you remain with me until you go to the temple. With me you shall be safe - until then."

                "And why did you do this for me, Lur?"

                She made no answer - only set one hand upon my shoulder and looked at me with blue eyes grown soft; and though common sense told me there were other reasons for her solicitude than any quick passion for me, still at that touch and look the blood raced through my veins, and it was hard to master my voice and speak.

                "I will go with you, Lur."

                She went to the door, opened it.

                "Ouarda, the cloak and cap." She came back to me with a black cloak which she threw over my shoulders and fastened round my neck; she pulled down over my yellow hair a close-fitting cap shaped like the Phyrgian and she tucked my hair into it. Except for my height it made me like any other Ayjir in Karak.

                "There is need for haste, Dwayanu."

                "I am ready. Wait -”

                I went over to where my old clothes lay, and rolled them up around my boots. After all - I might need them. The Witch-woman made no comment, opened the door and we went out. The captain and her guard were in the corridor, also a half-dozen of Lur's women, and handsome creatures they were. Then I noticed that each of them wore the light coat of mail and, besides the two swords, carried throwing hammers. So did Lur. Evidently they were ready for trouble, whether with me or with someone else; and whichever way it was, I didn't like it.

                "Give me your sword," I said abruptly to the captain. She hesitated.

                "Give it to him," said Lur.

                I weighed the weapon in my hand; not so heavy as I would have liked, but still a sword. I thrust it into my girdle, and bunched the bundle of my old clothes beneath my left arm, under the cloak. We set off down the corridor, leaving the guard at the door.

                We went only a hundred yards, and then into a small bare chamber. We had met no one. Lur drew a breath of relief, walked over to a side, and a slab of stone slid open, revealing a passage. We went into that and the slab closed, leaving us in pitch-darkness. There was a spark, produced I don't know how, and the place sprang into light from torches in the hands of two of the women. They burned with a clear, steady and silvery flame. The torch-bearers marched ahead of us. After a while we came to the end of that passage, the torches were extinguished, another stone slid away and we stepped out. I heard whispering, and after the glare of the flambeaux had worn away, I saw that we were at the base of one of the walls of the black citadel, and that close by were half a dozen more of Lur's women, with horses. One of them led forward a big grey stallion.

                "Mount, and ride beside me," said Lur.

                I fixed my bundle on the pommel of the high saddle, and straddled the grey. We set off silently. It was never wholly dark at night in the land under the mirage; there was always a faint green luminescence, but to-night it was brighter than I had ever seen it. I wondered whether there was a full moon shining down over the peaks of the valley. I wondered if we had far to go. I was not as drunk as I had been when Lur had come in on me, but in a way I was drunker. I had a queer, light-headed feeling that was decidedly pleasant, a carefree irresponsibility. I wanted to keep on feeling that way. I hoped that Lur had plenty of wine wherever she was taking me. I wished I had a drink right now.

                We were going through the city beyond the citadel, and we went fast. The broad street we were on was well paved. There were lights in the houses and in the gardens and people singing and drums and pipes playing. Sinister the black citadel might be, but it did not seem to cast any shadow on the people of Karak. Or so I thought then.

                We passed out of the city into a smooth road running between thick vegetation. The luminous moths like fairy planes were flitting about, and for a moment I felt a pang of memory, and Evalie's face floated up before me. It didn't last a second. The grey went sweetly and I began to sing an old Kirghiz song about a lover who rode in the moonlight to his maid and what he found when he got there. Lur laughed, and put her hand over my mouth.

                "Quiet, Dwayanu! There still is danger." Then I realized that I hadn't been singing the Kirghiz at all, but the Uighur, which was probably where the Kirghiz got it from. And then it occurred to me that I had never heard the song in the Uighur. It started the old problem going in my mind - and that lasted no longer than the memory of Evalie.

                Now and then I caught a glimpse of the white river. And then we went over a long stretch where the road narrowed so that we rode single file between verdure-covered cliffs. When we came out of them, the road forked. One part of it ran right on, the other turned sharply to the left. We rode along this for three or four miles, apparently directly through the heart of the strange forest. The great trees spread their arms out far overhead; the candelabras and cressets and swaying ropes of blooms gleamed like ghosts of flowers in the pallid light; the scaled trees were like men-at-arms on watch. And the heady fragrances, the oddly stimulating exhalations were strong - strong. They throbbed from the forest, rhythmically, as though they were the pulse of its life-drunken heart.

                And as we came to the end of that road and I looked down upon the Lake of the Ghosts.

                Never, I think, in all the world was there such a place of breath-taking, soul-piercing, unearthly beauty as that lake beneath the mirage in which Lur the Witch-woman had her home. And had she not been Witch-woman before she dwelt there, it must have made her so.

                It was shaped like an arrow-head, its longer shores not more than a mile in length. It was enclosed by low hills whose sides were covered with the tree-ferns; their feathery fronds clothed them as though they were the breasts of gigantic birds of Paradise; threw themselves up from them like fountains; soared over them like vast virescent wings. The colour of its water was pale emerald, and like an emerald it gleamed, placid, untroubled. But beneath that untroubled surface there was movement - luminous circles of silvery green that spread swiftly and vanished, rays that laced and interlaced in fantastic yet ordered, geometric forms; luminous spirallings, none of which ever came quite to the surface to disturb its serenity. And here and there were clusters of soft lights, like vaporous rubies, misted sapphires and opals and glimmering pearls - witch-lights. The luminous lilies of the Lake of the Ghosts.

                Where the point of the arrow-head touched, there were no ferns. A broad waterfall spread itself like a veil over the face of the cliff, whispering as it fell. Mists rose there, mingling with the falling water, dancing slowly with the falling water, swaying toward it and reaching up with ghostly hands as though to greet it. And from the shores of the lake, other wraiths of mist would rise, and glide swiftly over the emerald floor and join those other dancing, welcoming wraiths of the waterfall. Thus first I saw the Lake of the Ghosts under the night of the mirage, and it was no less beautiful in the mirage day.

                The road ran out into the lake like the shaft of an arrow. At its end was what once, I supposed, had been a small island. It lay two-thirds of the way across. Over its trees were the turrets of a small castle.

                We walked our horses down the steep to the narrowing of the road where it became the shaft of the arrow. Here there were no ferns to hide the approach; they had been cleared away and the breast of the hill was covered with the blue flowerets. As we reached the narrow part, I saw that it was a causeway, built of stone. The place to which we were going was still an island. We came to the end of the causeway, and there was a forty-foot gap between it and a pier on the opposite shore. Lur drew from her girdle a small horn and sounded it. A drawbridge began to creak, and to drop down over the gap. We rode across that and into a garrison of her women. We cantered up a winding road, and I heard the creak of the lifting bridge as we went. We drew up before the house of the Witch-woman.

                I looked at it with interest, not because it was unfamiliar, for it was not, but I was thinking I had never seen a castle of its sort built of that peculiar green stone nor with so many turrets. Yes, I knew them well. "Lady castles," we had called them; lana'rada, bowers for favourite women, a place to rest, a place to love after war or when weary of statecraft.

                Women came and took the horses. Wide doors of polished wood swung open. Lur led me over the threshold.

                Girls came forward with wine. I drank thirstily. The queer light-headedness, and the sense of detachment were growing. I seemed to have awakened from a long, long sleep, and was not thoroughly awake and troubled by memories of dreams. But I was sure that they had not all been dreams. That old priest who had awakened me in the desert which once had been fertile Ayjirland - he had been no dream. Yet the people among whom I had awakened had not been Ayjirs. This was not Ayjirland, yet the people were of the ancient breed! How had I gotten here? I must have fallen asleep again in the temple after - after - by Zarda, but I must feel my way a bit! Be cautious. Then would follow a surge of recklessness that swept away all thought of caution, a roaring relish of life, a wild freedom as of one who, long in prison, sees suddenly the bars broken and before him the table of life spread with all he has been denied, to take as he wills. And on its heels a flash of recognition that I was Leif Langdon and knew perfectly well how I came to be in this place and must some way, somehow, get back to Evalie and to Jim. Swift as the lightning were those latter flashes, and as brief.

                I became aware that I was no longer in the castle's hall but in a smaller chamber, octagonal, casemented, tapestried. There was a wide, low bed. There was a table glistening with gold and crystal; tall candles burned upon it. My blouse was gone, and in its place a light silken tunic. The casements were open and the fragrant air sighed through them. I leaned from one.

                Below me were the lesser turrets and the roof of the castle. Far below was the lake. I looked through another. The waterfall with its beckoning wraiths whispered and murmured not a thousand feet away.

                I felt the touch of a hand on my head; it slipped down to my shoulder; I swung round. The Witch-woman was beside me.

                For the first time I seemed to be realizing her beauty, seemed for the first time to be seeing her clearly. Her russet hair was braided in a thick coronal; it shone like reddest gold, and within it was twisted a strand of sapphires. Her eyes outshone them. Her scanty robe of gossamer blue revealed every lovely, sensuous line of her. White shoulders and one of the exquisite breasts were bare. Her full red lips promised - anything, and even the subtle cruelty stamped upon them, lured.

                There had been a dark girl... who had she been... Ev - Eval - the name eluded me... no matter... she was like a wraith beside this woman... like one of the mist wraiths swaying at the feet of the waterfall..

                The Witch-woman read what was in my eyes. Her hand slipped from my shoulder and rested on my heart. She bent closer, blue eyes languorous - yet strangely intent.

                "And are you truly Dwayanu?"

                "I am he - none else, Lur."

                "Who was Dwayanu - long and long and long ago?"

                "I cannot tell you that, Lur - I who have been long asleep and in sleep forgotten much. Yet - I am he."

                "Then look - and remember."

                Her hand left my heart and rested on my head; she pointed to the waterfall. Slowly its whispering changed. It became the beat of drums, the trample of horses, the tread of marching men. Louder and louder they grew. The waterfall quivered, and spread across the black cliff like a gigantic curtain. From every side the mist wraiths were hurrying, melting into it. Clearer and nearer sounded the drums. And suddenly the waterfall vanished. In its place was a great walled city. Two armies were fighting there and I knew that the forces which were attacking the city were being borne back. I heard the thunder of the hoofs of hundreds of horses. Down upon the defenders raced a river of mounted men. Their leader was clothed in shining mail. He was helmetless, and his yellow hair streamed behind him as he rode. He turned his face. And that face was my own! I heard a roaring shout of "Dwayanu!" The charge struck like a river in spate, rolled over the defenders, submerged them.

                I saw an army in rout, and smashed by companies with the throwing hammers.

                I rode with the yellow-haired leader into the conquered city. And I sat with him on a conquered throne while ruthlessly, mercilessly, he dealt death to men and women dragged before him, and smiled at the voices of rapine and pillage rising from without. I rode and sat with him, I say, for now it was no longer as though I were in the Witch-woman's chamber but was with this yellow-haired man who was my twin, seeing as he did, hearing as he did - yes, and thinking as he thought.

                Battle upon battle, tourneys and feasts and triumphs, hunts with the falcons and hunts with great dogs in fair Ayjirland, hammer-play and anvil-play - I saw them, standing always beside Dwayanu like an unseen shadow. I went with him to the temples when he served the gods. I went with him to the Temple of the Dissolver - Black Khalk'ru, the Greater-than-Gods - and he wore the ring which rested on my breast. But when he passed within Khalk'ru's temple, I held back. The same deep, stubborn resistance which had halted me when I had visioned the portal of the oasis temple halted me now. I listened to two voices. One urged me to enter with Dwayanu.

                The other whispered that I must not. And that voice I could not disobey.

                And then, abruptly, Ayjirland was no more! I was staring out at the waterfall and gliding mist wraiths. But - I was Dwayanu!

                I was all Dwayanu! Leif Langdon had ceased to exist!

                Yet he had left memories - memories which were like half-remembered dreams, memories whose source I could not fathom but realized that, even if only dreams, were true ones. They told me the Ayjirland I had ruled had vanished as utterly as had the phantom Ayjirland of the waterfall, that dusty century upon century had passed since them, that other empires had risen and fallen, that here was an alien land with only a dying fragment of the ancient glory.

                Warrior-king and warrior-priest I had been, holding in my hands empire and the lives and destinies of a race.

                And now - no more!

               

CHAPTER XVI: KISSES OF LUR

                Black sorrow and the bitter ashes were in my heart when I turned from the window. I looked at Lur. From long slim feet to shining head I looked at her, and the black sorrow lightened and the bitter ashes blew away.

                I put my hands on her shoulders and laughed. Luka had spun her wheel and sent my empire flying off its rim like dust from the potter's. But she had left me something. In all old Ayjirland there had been few women like this.

                Praise Luka! A sacrifice to her next morning if this woman proves what I think her!

                My vanished empire! What of it? I would build another. Enough that I was alive!

                Again I laughed. I put my hand under Lur's chin, raised her face to mine, set my lips against hers. She thrust me from her. There was anger in her eyes - but there was doubt under the anger.

                "You bade me remember. Well, I have remembered. Why did you open the gates of memory. Witch-woman, unless you had made up your mind to abide by what came forth? Or did you know less of Dwayanu than you pretended?"

                She took a step back; she said, furiously:

                "I give my kisses. None takes them."

                I caught her in my arms, crushed her mouth to mine, then released her.

                "I take them."

                I struck down at her right wrist. There was a dagger in her hand. I was amused, wondering where she had hidden it. I wrenched it from her grip and slipped it my girdle.

                "And draw the stings from those I kiss. Thus did Dwayanu in the days of old and thus he does to-day."

                She stepped back and back, eyes dilated. Ai! but I could read her! She had thought me other than I was, thought me hare-brain, imposter, trickster. And it had been in her mind to trick me, to bend me to her will. To beguile me. Me - Dwayanu, who knew women as I knew war! And yet -

                She was very beautiful.. and she was all I had in this alien land to begin the building of my rule. I summed her up as she stood staring at me. I spoke, and my words were as cold as my thoughts.

                "Play no more with daggers - nor with me. Call your servants. I am hungry and I thirst. When I have eaten and drunk we will talk."

                She hesitated, then clapped her hands. Women came in with steaming dishes, with ewers of wine, with fruits. I ate ravenously. I drank deeply. I ate and drank, thinking little of Lur - but thinking much of what her sorcery had made me see, drawing together what I remembered from desert oasis until now. It was little enough. I ate and drank silently. I felt her eyes upon me. I looked into them and smiled. "You thought to make me slave to your will, Lur. Never think it again!"

                She dropped her head between her hands and gazed at me across the table.

                "Dwayanu died long and long ago. Can the leaf that has withered grow green?"

                "I am he, Lur."

                She did not answer.

                "What was in your thought when you brought me here, Lur?"

                "I am weary of Tibur, weary of his laughter, weary of his stupidity."

                "What else?"

                "I tire of Yodin. You and I - alone - could rule Karak, if -”

                "That 'if’ is the heart of it. Witch-woman. What is it?"

                She arose, leaned toward me.

                "If you can summon Khalk'ru!"

                "And if I cannot?"

                She shrugged her white shoulders, dropped back into her chair. I laughed.

                "In which case Tibur will not be so wearisome, and Yodin may be tolerated. Now listen to me, Lur. Was it your voice I heard urging me to enter Khalk'ru's temples? Did you see as I was seeing? You need not answer. I read you, Lur. You would be rid of Tibur. Well, perhaps I can kill him. You would be rid of Yodin. Well, no matter who I am, if I can summon the Greater-than-Gods, there is no need of Yodin. Tibur and Yodin gone, there would be only you and me. You think you could rule me. You could not, Lur."

                She had listened quietly, and quietly now she answered.

                "All that is true -”

                She hesitated; her eyes glowed; a rosy flush swept over bosom and cheeks.

                "Yet - there might be another reason why I took you -”

                I did not ask her what that other reason might be; women had tried to snare me with that ruse before. Her gaze dropped from me, the cruelty on the red mouth stood out for an instant, naked.

                "What did you promise Yodin, Witch-woman?"

                She arose, held out her arms to me, her voice trembled -

                "Are you less than man - that you can speak to me so! Have I not offered you power, to share with me? Am I not beautiful - am I not desirable?"

                "Very beautiful, very desirable. But always I learned the traps my city concealed before I took it."

                Her eyes shot blue fires at that. She took a swift step toward the door. I was swifter. I held her, caught the hand she raised to strike me.

                "What did you promise the High-priest, Lur?"

                I put the point of the dagger at her throat. Her eyes blazed at me, unafraid. Luka - turn your wheel so I need not slay this woman!

                Her straining body relaxed; she laughed.

                "Put away the dagger, I will tell you."

                I released her, and walked back to my chair. She studied me from her place across the table; she said, half incredulously:

                "You would have killed me!"

                "Yes," I told her.

                "I believe you. Whoever you may be. Yellow-hair - there is no man like you here."

                "Whoever I may be - Witch?"

                She stirred impatiently.

                "No further need for pretence between us." There was anger in her voice. "I am done with lies - better for both if you be done with them too. Whoever you are - you are not Dwayanu. I say again that the withered leaf cannot turn green nor the dead return."

                "If I am not he, then whence came those memories you watched with me not long ago? Did they pass from your mind to mine. Witch-woman - or from my mind to yours?"

                She shook her head, and again I saw a furtive doubt cloud her eyes.

                "I saw nothing. I meant you to see - something. You eluded me. Whatever it was you saw - I had no part in it. Nor could I bend you to my will. I saw nothing."

                "I saw the ancient land, Lur."

                She said, sullenly:

                "I could go no farther than its portal."

                "What was it you sent me into Ayjirland to find for Yodin, Witch-woman?"

                "Khalk'ru," she answered evenly.

                "And why?"

                "Because then I would have known surely, beyond all doubt, whether you could summon him. That was what I promised Yodin to discover."

                "And if I could summon him?"

                "Then you were to be slain before you had opportunity."

                "And if I could not?"

                "Then you would be offered to him in the temple."

                "By Zarda!" I swore. "Dwayanu's welcome is not like what he had of old when he went visiting - or, if you prefer it, the hospitality you offer a stranger is no thing to encourage travellers. Now do I see eye to eye with you in this matter of eliminating Tibur and the priest. But why should I not begin with you, Witch?"

                She leaned back, smiling.

                "First - because it would do you no good. Yellow-hair. Look."

                She beckoned me to one of the windows. From it I could see the causeway and the smooth hill upon which we had emerged from the forest. There were soldiers all along the causeway and the top of the hill held a company of them. I felt that she was quite right - even I could not get through them unscathed. The old cold rage began to rise within me. She watched me, with mockery in her eyes.

                "And second -” she said. "And second - well, hear me. Yellow-hair."

                I poured wine, raised the goblet to her, and drank. She said:

                "Life is pleasant in this land. Pleasant at least for those of us who rule it. I have no desire to change it - except in the matter of Tibur and Yodin. And another matter of which we can talk later. I know the world has altered since long and long ago our ancestors fled from Ayjirland. I know there is life outside this sheltered place to which Khalk'ru led those ancestors. Yodin and Tibur know it, and some few more. Others guess it. But none of us desires to leave this pleasant place - nor do we desire it invaded. Particularly have we no desire to have our people go from it. And this many would attempt if they knew there were green fields and woods and running water and a teeming world of men beyond us. For through the uncounted years they have been taught that in all the world there is no life save here. That Khalk'ru, angered by the Great Sacrilege when Ayjirland rose in revolt and destroyed his temples, then destroyed all life except here, and that only by Khalk'ru's sufferance does it here exist – and shall persist only so long as he is offered the ancient Sacrifice. You follow me, Yellow-hair?"

                I nodded.

                "The prophecy of Dwayanu is an ancient one. He was the greatest of the Ayjir kings. He lived a hundred years or more before the Ayjirs began to turn their faces from Khalk'ru, to resist the Sacrifice - and the desert in punishment began to waste the land. And as the unrest grew, and the great war which was to destroy the Ayjirs brewed, the prophecy was born. That he would return to restore the ancient glory. No new story. Yellow-hair. Others have had their Dwayanus - the Redeemer, the Liberator, the Loosener of Fate - or so I have read in those rolls our ancestors carried with them when they fled. I do not believe these stories; new Dwayanus may arise, but the old ones do not return. Yet the people know the prophecy, and the people will believe anything that promises them freedom from something they do not like. And it is from the people that the sacrifices to Khalk'ru are taken - and they do not like the Sacrifice. But because they fear what might come if there were no more sacrifices - they endure them.

                "And now. Yellow-hair - we come to you. When first I saw you, heard you shouting that you were Dwayanu, I took council with Yodin and Tibur. I thought you then from Sirk. Soon I knew that could not be. There was another with you -”

                "Another?" I asked, in genuine surprise.

                She looked at me, suspiciously.

                "You have no memory of him?"

                "No. I remember seeing you. You had a white falcon. There were other women with you. I saw you from the river."

                She leaned forward, gaze intent.

                "You remember the Rrrllya - the Little People? A dark girl who calls herself Evalie?"

                Little People - a dark girl - Evalie? Yes, I did remember something of them - but vaguely. They had been in those dreams I had forgotten, perhaps. No - they had been real... or had they?

                "Faintly, I seem to remember something of them, Lur. Nothing clearly."

                She stared at me, a curious exultation in her eyes.

                "No matter," she said. "Do not try to think of them. You were not - awake. Later we will speak of them. They are enemies. No      matter - follow me now. If you were from Sirk, posing as Dwayanu, you might be a rallying point for our discontented. Perhaps even the leader they needed. If you were from outside - you were still more dangerous, since you could prove us liars. Not only the people, but the soldiers might rally to you. And probably would. What was there for us to do but to kill you?"

                "Nothing," I answered. "I wonder now you did not when you had the chance."

                "You had complicated matters," she said. "You had shown the ring. Many had seen it, many had heard you call yourself Dwayanu -”

                Ah, yes! I remember now - I had come up from the river. How had I gotten into the river? The bridge - Nansur - something had happened there... it was all misty, nothing clear-cut... the Little People... yes, I remembered something of them... they were afraid of me... but I had nothing against them... vainly I tried to sort the vague visions into some pattern. Lur's voice recalled my wandering thoughts.

                "And so," she was saying, "I made Yodin see that it was not well to slay you outright. It would have been known, and caused too much unrest - strengthened Sirk for one thing. Caused unrest among the soldiers. What - Dwayanu had come and we had slain him! 'I will take him,' I told Yodin. 'I do not trust Tibur who, in his stupidity and arrogance, might easily destroy us all. There is a better way. Let Khalk'ru eat him and so prove us right and him the liar and braggart. Then not soon will another come shouting that he is Dwayanu'!"

                "So the High-priest does not think me Dwayanu, either?"

                "Less even than I do. Yellow-hair," she said, smiling. "Nor Tibur. But who you are, and whence you came, and how and why - that puzzles them as it does me. You look like the Ayjir - it means nothing. You have the ancient marks upon your hands - well, granted you are of the ancient blood. So has Tibur - and he is no Redeemer," again her laughter rang like little bells, "You have the ring. Where did you find it. Yellow-hair? For you know little of its use. Yodin found that out. When you were in sleep. And Yodin saw you turn colour and half turn to flee when first you saw Khalk'ru in his chamber. Deny it not. Yellow-hair. I saw it myself. Ah, no - Yodin has little fear of a rival with the Dissolver. Yet-he is not wholly certain. There is the faintest shadow of doubt. I played on that. And so - you are here."

                I looked at her with frankest admiration, again raised the goblet and drank to her. I clapped my hands, and the serving girls entered.

                "Clear the table. Bring wine."

                They came with fresh ewers and goblets. When they had gone out I went over to the door. There was a heavy bar that closed it. I thrust it down. I picked up one of the ewers and half emptied it.

                "I can summon the Dissolver, Witch-woman."

                She drew in her breath, sharply; her body trembled; the blue fires of her eyes were bright - bright.

                "Shall I show you?"

                I took the ring from the locket, slipped it on my thumb, raised my hands in the beginning of the salutation -

                A cold breath seemed to breathe through the room. The Witch-woman sprang to me, dragged down my hand. Her lips were white.

                "No! - No! I believe - Dwayanu!"

                I laughed. The strange cold withdrew, stealthily.

                "And now. Witch, what will you tell the priest?"

                The blood was slowly coming back into her lips and face. She lifted the ewer and drained it. Her hand was steady. An admirable woman - this Lur!

                She said:

                "I will tell him that you are powerless."

                I said:

                "I will summon the Dissolver. I will kill Tibur. I will kill Yodin – what else is there?"

                She came to me, stood with breast touching mine.

                "Destroy Sirk. Sweep the dwarfs away. Then you and I shall rule - alone."

                I drank more wine.

                "I will summon Khalk'ru; I will eliminate Tibur and the priest; I will sack Sirk and I will war against the dwarfs - if -”

                She looked into my eyes, long and long; her arm stole round my shoulder... I thrust out a hand and swept away the candles. The green darkness of the mirage night seeped through the casements. The whispering of the waterfall was soft laughter.

                "I take my pay in advance," I said. "Such was Dwayanu's way of old – and am I not Dwayanu?"

                "Yes!" whispered the Witch-woman.

                She took the strand of sapphires from her hair, she unbraided her coronal and shook loose its russet-gold. Her arms went round my neck. Her lips sought mine and clung to them.

                There was the beat of horses' hoofs on the causeway. A distant challenge. A knocking at the door. The Witch-woman awakened, sat sleepily up under the silken tent of her hair.

                "Is it you, Ouarda?"

                "Yes, mistress. A messenger from Tibur."

                I laughed.

                "Tell him you are busy with your gods, Lur."

                She bent her head over mine so that the silken tent of it covered us both.

                "Tell him I am busy with the gods, Ouarda. He may stay till morning – or return to Tibur with the message."

                She sank back, pressed her lips to mine -

                By Zarda! But it was as it was of old - enemies to slay, a city to sack, a nation to war with and a woman's soft arms around me.

                I was well content!