Warrior of the Dawn Part 4

Dylara, blinking in the strong sunlight, sat up. In front of her, squatted on his haunches before a small gra.s.s-fed fire, was a slender, wirily built man of uncertain age, his narrow hawk-like face creased in a thin-lipped smile as he squinted at her.

"I don't.... What--" Dylara began in a dazed voice.

The man fished a bit of scorched meat from the flames and bit off a mouthful. "The next time," he said thickly, "be careful whose face you scratch. Trokar doesn't make a habit of hitting girls, but you turned on him like a panther when he tried to keep you from running away. He'll carry the marks for a while!"

Memories flooded in on her. She saw the sun-dappled trail; saw Tharn rise from the body of Bana, only to go down under the cruel impact of a heavy club; saw the horde of oddly dressed men spring from concealment and rush toward her. She had turned to run, but a grinning warrior had intercepted her. And when she had raked her nails across his cheek, his good-humored expression had darkened--she remembered no more.

"But--but Tharn?" she cried. "Where is he? Did you--Is he--"

The man shrugged. "If you mean the man who was with you ... well, we intended only to stun him. There is need in Sephar for strong slaves.

But the club that brought him down was thrown too hard."

"Then he is--dead?"

The hawk-faced one nodded.

Dylara was too shocked to attempt a.n.a.lysis of her feelings. She knew only that an unbearable weight had come into her heart; beyond that her thoughts refused to go. Sudden tears stung her eyes.

The man rose and set about stamping out the fire. Watching him, the girl began to note how greatly this man differed from one of her own tribe.

To begin with, he was smaller, both in build and in stature. His skin, under its heavy tan, was somewhat darker; his hair very black. He wore a tunic of some coa.r.s.ely woven grayish white material; rude sandals of deerskin covered his feet. A quiver of arrows and a bow--both completely unfamiliar objects to the girl--swung from his shoulders, and a long thin knife of flint was thrust under a belt of skin at his waist.

His speech, too, had shown he was of another race. While it had been intelligible, his enunciation was puzzling at times; occasionally hardly understandable. The similarity to the Cro-Magnon tongue was far stronger than basic; still, there was considerable difference in subtle shadings of p.r.o.nunciation and sentence structure.

He turned to her, finally. "Are you hungry?"

"No," she said dully.

"Good. We have delayed too long, as it is. Sephar is more than two suns away, and we are anxious to return."

He raised his voice in a half-shouted, "Ho!" In response a half-score of men rose from the tall gra.s.ses nearby.

"Trokar," called the hawk-faced one.

"Yes, Vulcar." A slender young man came forward.

"Here is the girl who improved your looks! It will be your duty to look after her on the way back to Sephar."

Trokar fingered three angry red welts along one cheek, and grinned without speaking.

In single file they set out toward the south. For several hours they pushed steadily ahead across gently rolling prairie land. The girl's spirits sagged lower and lower as she trudged on, going she knew not where. She thought of her father and the grief he must be suffering; of her friends and her people. She thought of Tharn once or twice; if he were alive, these men would not hold her for long. But he was dead, and the realization brought so strong a pang that she forced her thoughts away from him.

They camped that night at the edge of a great forest. All during the dark hours a heavy fire was kept going, while the men alternated, in pairs, at sentry duty. Several times during the night Dylara was awakened by hunting cries of roving meat-eaters but apparently none came near the camp.

All the following day the party of twelve skirted the edge of the forest, moving always due south. By evening the ground underfoot had become much more uneven, and hills began to appear frequently. The nearby jungle was thinning out, as well, and the air was noticeably cooler. Just at sunset they finished scaling a particularly steep incline and paused at the crest to camp for the night.

Not far to the south, Dylara saw a low range of mountains extending to the horizons. Narrow valleys cut between the peaks, none of the latter high enough to be snow-capped. Through one ravine tumbled the waters of a mountain stream. The fading sunlight, reflected from water and glistening rocks, gave the scene an aura of majestic magnificence, bringing an involuntary murmur of delight to the lips of the girl.

"Beyond those heights lies Sephar." It was Vulcar, he of the hawk face, who spoke from beside her.

Dylara glanced at him, seeing the great pride in his expression.

"Sephar?" she echoed questioningly.

"Home!" he said. "It is like nothing you have ever seen. We do not live in caves; we are beyond that. It is from tribes such as yours that we take our slaves. Long ago the people of Sephar and Ammad were such as you. But because they were greater and wiser, and learned many things which you of the caves do not know, we have come to think of your kind as little more than animals."

Early the following morning they were underway once more. Shortly before noon they scaled the last few yards to a great tableland among the peaks. And it was then that Dylara got her first glimpse of Sephar.

A little below where she stood was a wide, shallow valley, most of it filled with heavy forest and jungle. Directly in the center of this valley, a jewel in a setting of green, lay a city. A city of stone buildings, gray and box-like, erected in the most simple of architectural design. With a few exceptions, all buildings were of one story; none more than two. Broad, clean streets were much in evidence, the princ.i.p.al ones running spokewise to converge at the exact center of the wheel-like pattern. Encircling all this was a great wall of dull gray stone.

But the most arresting feature of the entire city was situated at the hub of it all. Here, rising four full stories above the carefully tended plot of ground surrounding it, stood a tremendous structure of pure white stone, its shining walls adding materially to the dazzling effect given the awe-struck Dylara.

A hand touched her shoulder. Vulcar was smiling at her expression.

"That," he said proudly, "is Sephar."

The girl could find no words to answer him. Here was something that all the tales repeated around a hundred cave-fires, during the rainy seasons, had never approached. Here might dwell the G.o.ds; those who sent the rain and the flaming bolts from the skies....

"Come," Vulcar said at last, and the little party started down the gra.s.s-covered incline toward the valley floor--and Sephar.

The princess Alurna was angry. A few moments ago she had driven her slave woman from the room, hastening the girl's departure with a thrown vase. Raging, the princess paced the chamber's length, kicking the soft fur rugs from her path. Bed coverings were scattered about the floor, flung there during this--her latest--tantrum.

It is doubtful whether Alurna, herself, knew what brought on these savage fits of temper. Actually, it was boredom; life to the girl--still in her early twenties--went on in Sephar in the same uneventful fashion as it had since her great-great grandfather had led a host across the tremendous valley between the present site of Sephar and the northern slopes of Ammad.

Finally the princess threw herself face down on the disordered bed and burst into hysterical weeping. She had about cried herself out, when a hand touched her arm.

"Go away, Anela!" she snapped, without looking up. "I told you to stay out until I sent for you."

"It is I," said a deep voice, "Urim, your father."

The girl scrambled hastily from the bed, at the same time wiping away the traces of tears.

"I'm sorry, father. I thought it was Anela, come back to look after me."

The man chuckled. "If I know anything, she won't be back until you fetch her. She is huddled in one corner of the hall outside, shaking as though Sadu had chased her!"

Despite his fifty years, Urim, ruler of Sephar, was still an imposing figure. Larger than the average Sepharian, he had retained much of the splendid physique an active life had given him. Of late years, however, he had been content to lead a more sedentary life; this, and a growing fondness for foods and wine, had added inches to his middle and fullness to his face, while mellowing still further a kindly disposition.

Alurna sat down on the edge of her bed and sought to tidy the cloud of loosely bound dark curls framing her lovely head. She was taller, by an inch or two, than the average Sepharian girl, with a lithe, softly rounded figure, small firm b.r.e.a.s.t.s, rather delicate features and a clear olive skin. She was wearing a sleeveless tunic which fell from neck to knees, caught at the waist by a wide belt of the same material. Her shapely legs were bare, the feet encased in heelless sandals of leather.

Urim drew up a chair and sat down. He watched Alurna as she freshened her appearance, his face reflecting a father's pride.

"Come, child," he said at last. "It is time for the mid-day meal. And that brings out what I came to tell you."