Fiction spectacular, p.46
Fiction Spectacular, page 46
But there wasn’t any chest. A huge black hole had taken its place, a sizzling black maw. Frav slumped to the floor and lay still.
Jon turned horrified eyes. Geryl stood a few feet away, her hands clutching the electro gun. The air around her was thick with the burnt smell of ozone. Her lips shook.
“I killed him! . . . I had to kill him, Jon . . .”
John hurried over to her He took the weapon from her trembling hands. His lips were grim. “I know it, Geryl. I know it.”
She glanced wildly about. “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to get out of here while there’s still time! Somebody must have heard the racket . . .” He gripped her arm hard. “I’ve got to reach the North gate before it’s too late!”
She nodded. “Through the garden—it’s the only place that won’t be guarded!”
Jon pulled slowly on the door of the cell room. It came open. He jumped into the passageway outside, the weapon held tense and ready.
Down the hall two of Vartha’s men were advancing. They let out a shout as they saw Jon.
Jon pressed the barrel of the gun. A ripping bolt of blue fire swept out ahead of him. It caught the two men in a sizzling blast of smoke and flames. They crumpled soundlessly, lifeless hulks.
“This way, quick!” Geryl sobbed behind him.
Jon followed. He was aware of twisting passages, a flight of winding steps, and then suddenly the cool night was around them. And with it the smell of flowers. The garden!
Then he became aware of dim shouts from behind. “The wall! We’ve got to get over it!” He told her urgently. She nodded, and then they were racing across the flower banks.
Jon dropped the weapon to the ground and helped the girl over the parapet. Behind him he heard running feet. He stooped, twisted, and sent blazing bolts into the shadows. There were short cries of pain and the scurrying of retreating footsteps.
Then Jon leaped at the parapet. He caught it with his free hand and swung one leg over the top. He could hear Geryl calling him anxiously from the other side.
He slid over the top. And for a moment he froze in stark despair. Far out beyond the edge of the city, over the foothills in the distance, the Moon was peeping over the horizon.
And with it came another sound, the thunder of approaching horses, and the rising volume of still distant shouts. Drego! It was Drego attacking!
And the gate was closed!
CHAPTER IX
JON hit the ground with a numbing shock. The girl was beside him, tugging fearfully at his arm.
“Jon—it’s too late! We can never reach the gate in time!”
He swore bitterly in the darkness as he fought to straighten out the turmoil that swam in his mind. It would be short minutes before the other half of the Atlan forces attacked the North gate—and they expected it to be open! With Vartha’s electro gun mounted on top of the wall it would be a slaughter!
Behind them, Jan heard loud voices coming closer on the other side of the palace wall.
“We’ll have to make a try for it!” he said grimly.
He could hear her labored breath close to his ear as he grabbed her hand. He sped toward the corner of the garden wall. Even as he reached it and the narrow street flanked with stone and metal buildings, he saw it was useless.
Above the distant din of battle at the city’s edge, came the harsh clatter of a mounted patrol from the palace gate. Jon saw the glitter of vibro-swords in the dim light of the city’s amber lamps set high in the walls of the buildings. Almost at the same instant a shout went up from the patrol.
Jon pulled the girl into the shadow, of a nearby building. “They’ve seen us!” His voice sounded hollow and lifeless as he steadied his grip on the electro gun. Inwardly he knew there were too many. He might get a few of them before the speed of the mounted attack reached them, but escape to the North gate was impossible.
The thunder of the approaching patrol grew in volume. Savagely Jon thrust the girl behind him. Then his hand tightened on the barrel of the electro gun.
Ripping blasts of flame tore through the narrow street. Screams of surprised pain rose above the blast of the gun. Jon saw horses careen to the ground, throwing their riders in lifeless arcs through the air. But the gaps filled as quickly as they opened, and the patrol thundered forward.
The weapon grew hot in Jon’s hand. He could feel the palm of his hand singe and burn. But he held on grimly, pouring blast after blast into the crowding ranks before him.
“Jon! Quickly—in here!”
He felt a sudden tug on his arm. Risking death, Jon swung his eyes from the patrol. A metal door in the front of the building had opened and Geryl was inside, a group of men beckoning madly.
Jon gave a last look ahead. He sprayed the street with bolt after bolt from the heated gun, then jumped backward.
Almost before he cleared the opennig, the door snapped shut. A tall hulking figure in peasant garments slammed bolts home.
“Follow us—do not ask questions!”
Jon stared in confusion. There were five of them, the tallest man, the one who had slammed the door shut, grabbed his arm, whispering the words urgently.
Already the patrol was storming the door. Jon shifted the electro gun to his left hand. “You’re not any of Vartha’s men!” he said cautiously.
The tall man nodded swiftly, his eyes darting to the vibrating door. “There’s no time to talk—follow us!”
Jon looked over at Geryl. The girl was already following the first of the group down a long corridor. Jon gritted his teeth and followed.
IT WAS all a haze of motion. It seemed unreal, like the figments of a wild nightmare. The fight with Frav in the palace, the narrow escape through the garden, the doomed attack of Drego’s forces outside the city, what seemed certain death a few moments before in the street outside, and now being snatched from the jaws of hell—to what?
Ahead one of the men threw open a door. They tumbled out into the night again, and Jon saw that they were in a small alleyway running in back of the building.
It was almost pitch black in the passage. Jon felt rather than saw where he was going. Behind him the tall man was guiding him with his hand at his back.
“We must hurry!”
Again the words hissed into Jon’s ear. Then ahead he heard the others suddenly halt. Miraculously a door slid open in the rear of a towering building. Light streamed out into the alleyway. Then they were inside.
The tall man shut the door quickly behind them.
Jon stared around him in abrupt confusion. He was standing in a large room, filled with grim faced men. Some of them held vibro-swords, some held metal bludgeons, all of them had the appearance of men looking for a fight. He noticed Geryl moving close beside him.
Then the tall man strode into the center of the room. He faced Jon.
“You are Jon Calthon—the son of Baltu Calthon?”
Jon nodded, his eyes still switching from one man to another.
“That—” the tall man pointed to the girl, “is Ogar Vartha’s niece?”
Jon felt Geryl stiffen beside him. He raised the electro gun protectingly.
The tall man shook his head. “You need not worry, we are friends. If you were willing to risk your life for her, we ask no questions. We want to help.” Jon lowered his weapon. He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Geryl gripped his arm. “Jon—these men are citizens of Atlan City—I’ve seen some of them before!”
Jon’s heart leapt. He turned to the tall man. “Do you know what’s happening outside the city walls?”
The tall man nodded. “Yes, the loyal Atlan forces are attacking. We knew that you had returned in the strange machine and that Vartha had captured you. We also know of your raid on the prison. We have been organizing secretly for many months undercover, hoping for a chance to strike against Vartha. The whole city is ready to rise!”
Hope soared through Jon. He moved forward and in quick sentences explained the plan of attack. He finished with:
“Every second counts. Vartha has an electro gun mounted at the North gate—and I’ve failed to carry out my part. Our forces will be cut down unless we can act swiftly!”
The tall man wheeled abruptly and gave swift orders to the men behind him. Almost instantly they began leaving, their faces eager masks as they clutched vibro-swords and bludgeons. Seconds later only the original five remained. The tall man faced Jon grimly.
“I’ve given the necessary orders. In minutes every free man m Atlan City will attack Vartha’s guards at the walls. We are prepared to die fighting.”
Jon smiled harshly. “We may all have to. Our one chance is in reaching the North gate before our forces outside are annihilated. Are you game?”
The tall man grinned. “It is suicide, but we are ready.” Then he frowned. “The girl . . .”
Jon sucked in his breath He had forgotten about her. He turned to Geryl. “You’ll wait here. After we return—”
“I’m coming with you!”
Jon shook his head definitely. “You’re staying here. You’d only hinder us—” He left the words hanging, brutal words that were necessary.
“I’ll have one of my men stay with her.” The tall man cut in. “We’ll have to hurry.
Jon caught the girl in his arms in a sudden fierce embrace. He crushed his lips to hers for a brief instant. Then he released her, feeling the wet tears of her eyes against his cheek.
“Let’s go.”
THROUGH narrow alleys, across streets choked with running men, thundering with the clash of mounted patrols and rebelling Atlan citizens, Jon and the four men sped.
It was a scene of havoc, a running avalanche of blood that threatened to stain the night itself. And above the din of fierce battles around them, Jon heard a sound growing louder with every step. It was a sizzling blast of sound, a ripping roar of it. His heart chilled, for he knew what it was—the—electro gun mounted on the North gate wall—pouring death into the guerilla forces beneath it!
They came to the end of the last street, and pulled up short.
A hundred yards ahead lay the girding wall of the city. And the sight that met Jon’s eyes chilled his last hope. A solid phalanx of mounted troops stood between them and the gate. Vartha’s mounted guards were cutting down the surging wave of Atlan citizens as they tried desperately to reach the walls. And off top of the wall was the electro gun, spitting jagged bolts of electrical force into the guerilla forces outside the wall!
“We can never reach the gate!” The tall man shouted in Jon’s ear. “That weapon on the wall—if they turn it on us—”
A wild laugh flew from Jon’s lips. He suddenly knew what he was going to do, what he had to do!
He broke away from the four men and dashed forward into the thick of the melee. He could hear the men shouting at him from behind, but he kept going.
A group of Vartha’s guards wheeled from the line around the gate and charged into the mass-of citizens. Jon was caught in the maelstrom as the horses charged down on him.
He raised the electro gun in his hand. Bolts of flame leapt from it, straight into the closely grouped riders. Half of them fell kicking to the ground, the rest turned in panic.
The wall was fifty yards away. Jon knew he couldn’t get any closer. But it was close enough.
He raised the electro gun and aimed carefully at the top of the wall. Then it was spitting death into the night.
His eyes saw the jagged streak of blue flame lick out from the barrel—straight toward the electro gun over the gate!
It struck the larger weapon in a blasting song of flame.
And the world seemed to explode.
In a thunderous detonation, the electro gun exploded on top of the wall. The night was torn asunder by a blast that knocked Jon to his knees. He fell flat on his face and his own gun flew from nerveless fingers. Then around him the air was suddenly filled with pieces of stone and twisted shredded bodies.
When the blast subsided Jon raised his eyes fearfully. A cry trembled on his lips.
A huge jagged hole had been blown in the wall!
PIECES of rock were still falling around Jon when he clambered to his feet, staring in shocked awe toward the wall. He noticed a number of things all at once. The solid phalanx of Vartha’s guards before the wall was gone! He could see the kicking shadows of wounded horses and men, lying scattered in small heaps. And through the gap in the stone wall he saw piles of silent bodies on the grass plains. Good Lord—Drego’s forces!
Jon was aware of the sudden silence of battle around him. The shock of the exploding electro weapon had riveted men in their tracks.
Then from outside the city a hoarse shout split the air.
“Blood of Atlans! The wall—attack!”
Life spurred into Jon with that cry. He would have known it anywhere! It was Drego!
He scooped a fallen vibro-sword from the ground and rushed forward as a host of mounted guerillas swarmed through the stone gap. In their fore rode a tall massive figure, swinging a sword over his head.
“Drego!” Jon shouted.
The horseman wheeled up beside him.
“Jon! By my blood, lad, we were nearly done for! That cursed gun on the wall—”
Jon snatched the reins of a riderless horse and swung into the saddle. The guerilla fighters continued to pour through the gap.
“My father, Drego, where—”
“Jon! We thought you were dead!” Baltu Calthon pulled his horse alongside them.
Jon breathed a sigh of relief. He turned swiftly to Drego.
“The people of the city have joined us! We’ll head for the palace—Maddox has rebuilt the sphere, they’re ready to act!”
Drego swore loudly and shouted orders to his men. Above his voice rose a wild cheering din. Jon stared as hundreds of the Atlan citizens rushed toward them.
Then suddenly the thunder of horses beat down on them from the center of the city. A solid wave of Vartha’s men rode toward them!
The guerilla forces swept forward. Everything faded from Jon’s mind in that moment but the deafening clash of battle. The guerillas tore into the Atlord’s forces with flashing swords. Jon was dimly aware of his own arm slashing, hacking, his breath whistling in short gasps, his horse slipping, wheeling, turning.
Hoarse screams rose on all sides. Vartha’s men gave under the onslaught. There was no stopping the battle mad waves of Atlan guerillas.
Slowly the Atlord’s forces turned back, then, as if a mighty dam had been loosened, they turned and fled.
“To the palace! Blood of Atlans!” Jon heard Drego roar. But already Jon was lashing his horse in pursuit.
IT SEEMED as if years had passed when finally the palace walls rose into sight. Jon saw a furious battle taking place around it. The last remnants of Vartha’s men had reached the stronghold and were being cut to pieces by hundreds of revolting citizens. The main gat6 to the courtyard was a milling mass of battle. Jon pulled his horse to a halt.
Drego and Baltu Calthon reined in beside him.
“By my blood!” Drego shouted. “We’ll never be able to get through that mob!”
Then Jon suddenly remembered. “The garden wall! It’s our only chance! Follow me!”
He wheeled his horse through the narrow street off to the left. Behind him Drego and his father led a shouting mass of Atlan horsemen.
Jon’s eyes were on a level with the top of the garden wall. He could see racing figures in the courtyard beyond, and something else. Resting in the middle of the courtyard was a huge glistening metal globe. It was the sphere!
Baltu Calthon saw it at the same moment. His voice reached Jon’s ears.
“Jon! The sphere—Maddox rebuilt it!”
Jon shouted over his shoulder as he grabbed the edge of the parapet. “Your plans didn’t fool him—he used a larger gyro!”
Then he was over the wall, landing in the tumble of bushes beside it. He paused only long enough to help his father to the ground, Baltu Calthon was shouting something at him, but Jon couldn’t catch his words. Drego and a score of Atlan fighters were already swarming into the garden.
A cry went up from the courtyard as Vartha’s men saw them coming. Jon drew his sword from his belt and ran forward beside Drego.
“Blood of Atlans—you swine!” the guerilla chief thundered.
Then they had reached the latticed arch entering into the courtyard. A swarm of Atlord guards tried to block the entrance. But they might just as well have tried to stop a rushing tornado.
Jon’s vibro-sword lashed out into the nearest man. Before he could pull the blade back, he was shoved forward in a surge from behind. Drego, roaring at the top of his lungs, charged into the compact mass of guards, the Atlan fighters close at his heels.
It was over almost as soon as it began. The remnants of the guards threw down their swords in surrender. Drego’s men hustled them into close bunches and shoved them back through the garden archway.
Then Jon saw his father.
Baltu Calthon lay on the flagstone slabs, his side a welling flow of blood.
“Dad!” Jon cried out. He knelt trembling beside the stricken figure.
“Vartha . . . Maddox . . . the sphere . . . Jon . . .” Words bubbled from his lips.
Jon glanced helplessly up at Drego as the guerilla chief came up.
“Blood of—” The words chopped off in mid-air. A hoarse scream split the courtyard. A high pitched scream—the voice of a woman!
Jon staggered to his feet blindly. His eyes caught the huge sphere in the center of the courtyard, and three figures running toward it!
“Geryl!” Jon cried out.
IT WAS the girl! She was screaming and kicking as Ogar Vartha dragged her toward the sphere! In front of them, Karl Maddox had already reached it and was clambering through a dark opening in its side!
Jon gripped the hilt of his sword and leaped forward. He had covered half the distance when Vartha reached the sphere. The Atlord stopped and pulled the girl in front of him. His free hand shot up holding an electro gun!
Time stood still as Jon’s mind sped. He knew what was coming. The barrel of the electro gun was centering on him. In seconds a ripping blast would tear his life out.
