IN the flagship of Zinlo of Olba rode Kantar the Gunner and Narine, looking down at the city of Huitsen through several feet of the lowest cloud stratum. The ship was flying in this stratum that it might remain invisible to the Huitsenni in the streets below, yet be able to keep watch. The offensive which the allies had planned the day before was now scheduled to take place.
Ten thousand of Reabon’s brave warriors, guided by the Chispoks that San Thoy had selected, were converging on the city in an immense semicircle, and five thousand more, a contingent of Reabonian artillery, had their mattorks ready to make breaches in the walls and lay a barrage in front of the infantry as soon as the charge should commence or the enemy discover their presence.
Zinlo, who had been looking over the scene with his glass, said: “I wonder what has become of San Thoy and the two pirate vessels he was so positive he could bring through the gate. I see no sign of them in the canal. And our fleets still ride at anchor outside, waiting for our signal.”
“Perhaps we should fly down and investigate,” suggested Narine.
“Hardly,” replied Kantar. “They would be sure to see us and precipitate a battle before we are ready.”
“There’s nothing to do but wait,” said Zinlo, impatiently.
Meanwhile, San Thoy, standing in the commander’s cabin of the foremost of the two ships which had been converted to the purpose of the allies, its crew augmented by a band of Reabonian warriors who kept out of sight below decks, and which was just then entering the fiord which led to Huitsen, was issuing swift orders to the mojak of the vessel. “Put three men on each oar,” he commanded. “The steel bar which we are to drop between the stone gates to prevent their closing after us, is dragging on the bottom.”
“Can we not raise it a trifle?” asked the mojak.
“No, idiot. The guardians are already watching us. To touch those chains now would make them suspicious. Do as I say, and quickly, for the time for the offensive is almost at hand.”
Under the added propulsion of the extra rowers, the boat moved slowly forward, dragging the heavy steel bar which the smiths of the fleet of Reabon had forged especially for this occasion by working all the previous night. Behind it came the second pirate ship, manned like the first by Chispoks culled from the two crews and a concealed contingent of Reabonian warriors. Its mojak, puzzled by the slow progress of the ship ahead, ordered his rowers to back water and wait until a suitable distance should be established between the two ships.
As San Thoy’s vessel approached the massive stone gates, they did not open. Instead, there came a hail from one of the guardians.
“What ails you? Why do you move so slowly?
“We were crippled in a battle with the Reabonian fleet,” replied San Thoy. “Our hold is filling with water. Let us through quickly or we will sink and block the channel.”
There was some delay. Evidently the guardians were not entirely satisfied with San Thoy’s explanation. The mojak knew that they were being subjected to minute scrutiny from above.
“Fools!” he cried, at length. “Open the gate or the channel will be closed to all our ships. We are sinking rapidly. Besides, the enemy follows closely. Would you have them find us here?”
Evidently his words, or the fact that their rigging and upper works were damaged by shell-fire, decided the guardian’s, for the gates slowly slid apart.
San Thoy snapped an order to the rowers. “Pull, men, with all your might.”
The channel was quite shallow here, and the bar dragged heavily, but the men worked with a will. Soon the boat was half through the gateway. “Now,” commanded San Thoy, “let go the bar.”
The chains were released, and struck the water with a loud splash.
“Ho, sailors. What was that you dropped?” one of the guards shouted from above.
Freed from the heavy drag of the bar, the ship shot forward under the exertion of the rowers. At the same time, its mattorks were trained on the grotto above, where the guards manipulated the machinery that worked the gates and kept watch for ships. Without replying to the question of the guard, the Chispoks opened fire.
The guards were sheltered behind a wall of stone, and in addition, were armed with mattorks. These instantly went into action, replying to the guns of San Thoy’s ship and riddling her upper works with shells.
The second ship had, meanwhile, come up more slowly. Warriors clung to her masts and rigging. As she came half way through the gate, she dropped anchor. The men in the rigging flung grappling hooks up over the walls, and swarmed up the ropes. Many were hurled back, but enough succeeded in getting over to quickly conquer the guards. Then a mojo with twenty men took charge of the gate, and the two ships passed on through the immense black cavern.
Swiftly San Thoy ran to the foredeck of his craft. With an immense brush and a can of red pigment, he painted the word “open” in patoa, so it could be seen from the air. A moment later his craft nosed out into the canal. He dropped anchor about five hundred feet from the mouth of the cave and waited. Presently the other ship came up and anchored beside him.
A mojak with a company of warriors, whose duty it was to patrol the canal bank, came hurrying up and hailed him. “What was that firing?” he asked.
“We were pursued by the Reabonians,” San Thoy replied. “They nearly had us. We just got through the gates in time.”
“But did they not see the gates? Perhaps the secret way is not known to them.”
“Perhaps,” agreed San Thoy.
“You have lied to me,” accused the mojak. “That firing was inside the cave.”
“Go and see for yourself,” suggested San Thoy.
“I will. Let me take a boat.”
“Not you. You are too uncivil.”
“Then I’ll take one by force.”
“Try it.” San Thoy waved his hand, and fully two score mattorks were trained on the mojak and his warriors. At this, the officer turned and whispered to a fat mojo who stood beside him. The fellow evidently counseled retreat, for they turned and marched away, leaving only a dozen men to watch the ships.
“They go to warn the city,” said San Thoy’s mojo.
“What odds?” replied San Thoy. “The mojak will order an investigation. A body of troops will be mobilized and marched back here. By that time our allies will have arrived, and the Reabonian army will be storming the city. Zinlo must have seen our signal, long since, and notified the fleets of Reabon, Tyrhana, and Adonijar.”
Zinlo, in his aerial battleship, had ordered his commander to soar to the southeast of the city of Huitsen. They were hovering just above the ship canal. Kantar and Narine were watching the landscape below through one of the keel windows.
“Look!” cried Narine. “A ship is coming out of the cave.”
Zinlo, who had been consulting with Lotar, seized his glasses and leveled them on the ship.
“It’s San Thoy,” he announced, “and the way is open. To the flagship of Ad, Lotar.”
The ship shot forward with a tremendous burst of speed. In less than a minute it was far out over the Azpok, where the ships of the allies waited. The foremost of these was the flagship of Ad of Tyrhana.
With a swiftness that made Kantar’s ears ring, the airship dropped. It came to a stop beside Ad’s flagship as lightly as if it had fallen into a bed of thistledown.
Zinlo opened a side door. Not twenty feet from him, Ad stood on the foredeck of his fighting-craft.
“The way is open,” announced the Prince of Olba.
“Good! I’ll see you in the palace of Huitsen,” replied Ad. Then he waved his hand to a sailor, who instantly ran a pennant to the masthead. Almost immediately, similar flags were hoisted by the other ships, showing that they had caught the signal. Then the sails were unfurled, and with the assistance of a swift landward breeze, the allied flotillas rapidly made their way toward the secret entrance to Huitsen.
Once more the flagship of Zinlo darted back above the city, this time just over the lowest cloud stratum. Here the air fleet of Olba hovered, waiting orders. The Torrogo’s signal man stood forth on the deck just in front of the forward turret. In his right hand he held an immense red disk, and in his left, a yellow. He began making motions with one, then the other, then both, repeating them in numerous combinations which were evidently understood by the mojaks of the other battleships, as they immediately moved from their places and formed an immense circle which corresponded to the circumference of the city beneath. There they hovered, awaiting further orders.
Zinlo’s own ship dropped once more into the lowest cloud stratum, high enough to be out of sight, but low enough so that he could watch developments. Presently another ship dropped down beside him. He opened a side door, and the commander of the ship did likewise.
“What news?” asked Zinlo.
“We caught up with the column of Ibbits, Your Majesty,” replied the mojak. “Their Majesties of Reabon were not with them. The officer in command swore that Grandon of Terra had slain their Rogo and ridden away with his wife. He said they would have followed, but a blizzard obliterated the trail, so they decided to continue southward, bearing the body of their Rogo.”
“Then what did you do?”
“We circled the snowy plain in all directions, and presently found a trail. From the tracks and kerra juice which spattered the snow, we knew it was the trail of a party of Huitsenni, mounted on zandars. It led us to the mouth of a cave, before which an enormous white strid lay dead. Inside the cave we found the smoldering remains of a web, the charred carcasses of three young strids, and a number of charred eggs.
“On coming out, however, we noticed and followed another trail, which led from a near-by cave. It was the trail of a man and woman. They had not returned to the cave from which they had come, neither were their remains in the cave of the strid; so we judged they had been captured by the party of mounted Huitsenni. The fact that the return trail of the yellow men led straight back to the city confirmed our belief.”
“You have done well,” said Zinlo. “Now take your squadron and get into the formation above. I’ll signal you when to descend.” He closed the door.
Kantar, who had been listening to the conversation, said: “Your Majesty, I have a favor to ask.”
“Name it,” replied Zinlo. “You will deserve any favor within my power to confer.”
“I would be set on one of the balconies of the palace of Huitsen, with two men to assist me.”
“Impossible,” replied Zinlo. “Our plans would be betrayed, and we would lose every advantage which a surprise attack would bring us.”
“I am convinced, Majesty,” said Kantar, “that Their Majesties of Reabon are prisoners in the palace. Grandon of Terra slew Yin Yin, Rogo of Huitsen. Under the circumstances, Yin Yin’s successor can do no less than order his execution. Perhaps he has already done so, in which event I shall be too late. But I would be there to prevent it, if I can.”
“What could three men do?”
“If I could reach one of the inner balconies that overlook the throne room with a man or two to guard my back and a tork in my hands, I could do much.”
“You are right, Gunner. A tork in your hands is worth a hundred in the hands of ordinary men. And, after all, we’re more anxious to save Grandon and Vernia than to take the city.” He called to Lotar. “Send me two warriors. Then you will drop suddenly beside one of the outer balconies of the palace. As soon as the warriors have disembarked, you will swiftly return to this position.”
“I hear and obey,” replied Lotar.
Zinlo’s orders were swiftly carried out.
Kantar bent over Narine’s hand, but she snatched it free, and threw her arms around his neck.
“It may be that you go to your death, my brave gunner,” she cried. “Hold me tight. Tell me again that you love me.”
Zinlo halted the two warriors in the doorway. Then he coughed discreetly.
“We have arrived at the palace, Gunner. Come quickly, or we shall be shot down.”
A side door was flung open. Her eyes sparkling with love and pride, Narine watched Kantar and the two warriors leap to the balcony. Then the door was closed, and before a single enemy mattork could be trained on it, the ship shot aloft and disappeared into the clouds.
Hovering there in the lower cloud stratum, Zinlo kept his glasses focused on the canal. Presently he cried: “There is Ad’s flagship. Another follows, and another. It is time for the offensive.”
He turned and gave swift orders to Lotar. The flagship rose above the first cloud stratum where the fleet waited, still in circular formation. The signal man flashed his red and yellow disks. Then Zinlo’s ship took a place in the circle and began spiraling downward. Behind it followed the entire air fleet.
As soon as the flagship was through the lower cloud stratum, its keel mattorks went into action. The mattorks of the fleet instantly followed suit. There was a burst of flame from the ground beneath them as the Reabonian artillery opened fire, and great breaches began appearing in the city walls.
Then a long shout went up, and the long line of Reabonian infantry, which had been waiting in hiding, sprang forward, the light glinting from the barrels of its torks, and from its scarbos and long-bladed spears.
The ship canal was now filled with enemy vessels, following one another in close formation. Entering the landlocked harbor were the two captured pirate vessels—the first commanded by San Thoy.
The vessels which were anchored in the harbor immediately opened fire, concentrating on these two ships. San Thoy’s vessel was riddled by shell-fire, and began to sink rapidly. He instantly ran it up beside an anchored vessel, and leading his mixed crew of white and yellow warriors, boarded the new craft. Only a few sailors were aboard, and these were quickly cut down.
In the meantime, the mighty flagship of Ad of Tyrhana had nosed into the harbor. The withering blasts from its heavy mattorks literally blew some of the smaller pirate craft out of the water, and wrought havoc with the larger vessels.
It was closely followed by the huge flagships of Reabon and Adonijar, whose powerful mattorks were equally efficient. And close on the heels of these, crowded the battleships of the allied fleet.
One by one, every pirate vessel that offered resistance was sunk or captured. Soon the allies were in complete command of the harbor. This accomplished, they landed warriors under cover of a heavy barrage, took the docks and warehouses with virtually no resistance, and marched into the city.
In the meantime, the Reabonian infantry was meeting with desperate resistance around the city walls. Time and again, Grandon’s brave warriors charged into the breaches made by their artillery, only to be hurled back by the desperate defenders.
Presently, however, a contingent of fighting Traveks, Grandon’s fierce warriors from the mountain fastnesses of Uxpo, broke through and charged straight for the palace.
The commander of the Huitsenni had anticipated just such an emergency, and was prepared to meet it. Mounted on zandars, firing their torks and brandishing their heavy scarbos, a yelling horde of reserves thundered straight at the charging Traveks.
The Uxponian mountaineers in the first line instantly knelt and presented their long-bladed spears, while their comrades immediately behind them fired over their heads at the swiftly approaching enemy. The two forces met with a terrific shock in which tough spear-shafts were splintered, scarbos flashed, and torks spat incessantly. In an instant the first line was a bloody shambles of dead and wounded men and zandars. At this point, wave after wave met, until the pile of dead, inextricably mingled with wounded men and maimed and struggling beasts, was so high that neither side could advance, both using it as a rampart over which to fire their torks.
The Reabonians, however, fighting shoulder to shoulder with their Uxponian brothers on either side, had quickly widened the breach made by the Traveks. Now they too, charged into the city, soon enveloping the mounted Huitsenni until all chance of retreat for the yellow cavalry was lost. Seeing that further resistance was hopeless, they threw down their arms, and clasped their hands behind their heads in token of surrender.
Leaving a few of their comrades to guard the prisoners and aid the wounded the Traveks again charged forward with the Reabonians, helping to drive the yellow infantry toward the palace. “For Grandon and Vernia!” they shouted. “Down with Huitsen!”
From beyond the palace, a tremendous cheer answered them, as the allied warriors from the battleships drove the Huitsenni back.
While his keel mattorks kept up a continuous bombardment of the yellow army beneath, Zinlo watched these beginnings of victory with satisfaction. Then he suddenly saw that for which he had been waiting. Out from those buildings surrounding and closest to the palace, and from the fishing holes in the vicinity, there appeared a swarm of Huitsenni, armed and dressed like the others, with the exception that each man wore a white scarf knotted around his neck and thrown over his shoulders.
Part of this new force charged straight for the palace, and the remainder formed a great skirmish line to cut off the approach of the retreating Huitsenni.
“It’s the Chispoks!” cried Zinlo. “To the palace, Lotar.”