Gaal the Conqueror (5 page)

For a moment nobody spoke. Then the dog said quietly and
in a tone of infinite patience, "I know it must be hard for you
to understand. You see, he has to put me to death. Gaal said
so. Besides, I want him to. There's no other way."

John turned and looked at the dog again. "I don't know who
Gaal is and I don't care. But you're both mad. Killing is bad."

"You yourself killed the Goblin Prince-" the dragon reminded him.

Alarm bells rang loudly in John's mind, and he began to
argue in earnest. "That's different. I already told you the Goblin
Prince was only a thing-a nasty, evil thing," he snorted. And
to the dog he said, "Why in the world would you want to be
killed?"

For a moment the dog hesitated. "There's a part of me that
doesn't want to be. I'm afraid. But there's another part of meI can't really tell you what it's all about-but as soon as he's
done it, you'll know."

John shook his head angrily. "I don't want to know. This is
crazy talk." There was a longer silence, which was broken by
the dragon. "Your concern is entirely understandable. Indeed,
it occurs to me that there are many historical precedents of the
sentiments you express. On the other hand if you knew Gaal
you would care very much about what he said."

"Murder is bad," John retorted. "Who's Gaal anyway?
Anyone like this Gaal who gives such instructions is a party to
murder. I think he's worse than the murderer. I'm not going
to stick around here if you both carry on like this. How can you
both be so calm about it?" John was beginning to shout, but the
dog continued in calm, measured tones.

"We can be calm because we know it has to be," it said. "It
will be all right. You'll see. I shan't remain dead. In fact ..."

"Oh, don't be silly!" John said. "Dead's dead. It can't be
changed. You don't fool around with things like that."

"Please stay and watch what happens," the dog said.

John was stunned. "You're really going to go through with
it?" As he looked first at the dog, then at the dragon, he could
see they were deadly serious. There was a strange understanding between them that he did not share. He felt that a night mare had come upon him, that nothing was real. As fear
mounted inside him, he made a decision. "I'm going to leave
you. You are both crazy-" his voice rose, and a half sob came
from his chest. "I can't stand this. I can't. You're both absolutely
mad. . ."

He turned and walked toward the far side of the glade. His
heart was beating and his hands were shaking. Cold had penetrated even to his bones, and like the dog he was shivering.
Determinedly he did not look back until he reached the trees
at the far end of the glade. Then, unable to resist the impulse
he turned his head. To his relief he saw nothing to distress him.
Neither the dragon nor the dog had moved. Both were watching him, and with a snort of anger he turned his head away,
and plunged along a path into the trees.

"They're insane," he muttered, quickening his pace and
brushing back wet branches that impeded his progress. Such
was the fury of his pace that before long, even though the
pathway followed a gentle downhill course, he grew short of
breath. But warmth had left him. Cold gripped his body and
would not let go.

He quickened his steps still more, partly to warm himself and
partly because he wanted to be as far as possible from a horrible scene he kept trying to shut out of his mind-the picture
of a black dog with a white patch on its forehead, perishing in
the flames that enveloped it from a dragon's nostrils. Once or
twice he was half tempted to return at least as far as the edge
of the glade in order to find out what had happened. What, for
instance would happen to the big book and the key? Who was
this character Gaal? Would the dragon deal with Gaal's instructions about the contents of the chest? Would the dragon bury
the dog's ashes? The thought of ashes made him snort. "An
asher indeed! Nothing very noble about that! He ought to call
himself cremator." He shuddered.

In his haste he tripped several times, but his pace did not slacken. The path was now steeper so that soon he was slithering and stumbling over rain-slicked stones. Often through a
break in the trees, he would catch a glimpse of the jade-green
water below that was getting nearer. By and by he grew calmer,
but no warmer. Even though he was very tired, something drove
him relentlessly downward.

Then another thought struck him with such force that he
suddenly halted his downward progress. He should have fought
the dragon! That was what he had been meant to do! After all,
he was the Sword Bearer, and the Sword of Geburah was in his
scabbard. Ought he to turn back?

No, that would be useless. By now the dog would be dead.
The picture of it as it had jumped up and licked its face came
back to him. He could also see it walking its lopsided walk
ahead of him as it had led him into the glade. And now it was
dead. Filled with shame and with horror he sat down on a
stump of cedar and began to tremble again.

"I failed," he thought to himself. "That must have been it. I
was supposed to fight the dragon. And I didn't. The dog is
dead-and it's my fault. I was a coward." But the way it had
happened was confusing. It wasn't as though the dragon had
advanced threateningly on the dog and breathed fire. They had
both seemed so friendly about it-talking about death as
though the dog had only asked for its nails to be clipped. Yet
even so he might have been able to prevent the tragedy.

The rain had stopped, and a late afternoon sun was pouring
watery rays through the trees, picking out the angles on tree
trunks, leaves, stones and blades of grass and turning them into
jewels. But John felt dirty and hopeless. Where was Eleanor?
How could he find her?

And there was another matter. Last time he had been in
Anthropos, the all-powerful Changer had guided and helped
him. But how could he hope for the Changer's help now he
had failed so badly?

Eventually he rose stiffly to his feet and continued down. In
time he judged he must be almost level with the water, and
before long the path and the land on either side of him leveled
out. Then as the path turned a corner he was faced with an
open space and a village.

But it was the strangest village he had ever seen. Small bungalows that looked like the cottages in fairy stories were arranged in a circle. In the center of the circle squatted a low
round building surrounded by hideous statues. It reminded
him of a shrine or perhaps a small temple.

The village was wrapped in unnatural silence. There were no
people, no animals and no sign of movement. Yet clearly the
village was not deserted, or was it? All the houses were in good
repair, but no smoke ascended from any of the chimneys. The
grass was cut, the pathways well trodden, and there was no
litter. John decided he would knock on one or two of the doors.
Surely someone would respond. Yet the closer he got to the
houses, the more uneasy he felt. The windows of the houses
seemed like eyes that watched his approach.

Soon he was behind the nearest of the houses, and eyeing
curiously the cow barn and the chicken coop that obviously
belonged to it. Feeling very much like a trespasser he peered
into the barn. Everything was neat and orderly, though there
was no sign of any animal. He next examined the chicken coop.
And once again he found it clean and empty. He stared at the
back of the house for a moment then began to walk round to
the front of it. As he did so, out of the corner of his eye he was
sure he saw movement, and swung round to face the low templelike building to which all the houses faced. A screen sheltered the opening, and he was sure, as he stared at it that he
had seen some movement beside it. He was right. Briefly he
caught a glimpse of two men as they passed behind the screen
and entered the building. Although it was the merest glimpse,
several details were striking. One man was tall, gray-gowned and cowled. But the other impressed John more.

He was old, very, very old. But in spite of his age, everything
about him suggested alertness and power. Thick white hair and
a black velvet skull cap crowned his head. A black gown flowed
from his shoulders to his feet, almost concealing a maroon silk
robe that flashed briefly beneath it as he disappeared.

John made his way quickly to the entrance of the building
behind the screen. Light illuminated the area just inside the
door, but beyond this he could see only blackness. "Hullo! Is
anyone there?" His words were lost in silence, so he tried again.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for somebody. Is there anybody there?
Hullo! Are you there?"

Still there was no answer. Cautiously he ventured inside a
couple of paces, straining his eyes to see more clearly. He
gained the distinct impression that he was looking into an immense room. The feeling was rather like being in a large marquee in the dark. Here and there he could see little points of
light, but it was impossible to tell what they were. He held his
breath and strained his ears. There was no sound.

With extreme care John placed his right foot forward once
more, and this time he was startled to discover that whatever
he had placed it on was moving smoothly to the right, so that
he almost lost his balance, and most certainly would have done
so, had he not pulled back quickly.

Not knowing what peril he might be facing he was about to
turn round and leave the building. But suddenly he remembered the Mashal Stone. "It should be somewhere on me," he
thought. "It shows things as they truly are. And who knows? It
might even enable me to see in the dark. In any case it makes
me invisible, and that may come in handy." For a few moments
he groped for a pocket in the unfamiliar clothing he wore, and
to his joy he found the shining blue stone with its chain, and
slipped it around his neck. Immediately he was flooded with a
sense of comfort. A strange yearning came over him, a yearning never to remove the Mashal Stone, but always to wear it.

His eyes were now opened to see in the darkness. A whirlpool lay at his feet, a black and shining whirlpool that filled the
whole building, spinning in uncanny silence. He stood at its
brink where the water (or was it water?) moved slowly, increasing in speed as it approached the center, until it whirled at a
dizzying and frightening rate before plunging into the black
hole at the center of the vortex.

It was then that John noticed the figure of a man, the tall
man wearing the robe and cowl. He now was standing upright
on the silent waters, and traveling in dizzying circles with the
current. Either the man weighed nothing at all or the "water"
was not water, for the man showed no more sign of sinking
than if he had been standing on solid rock.

But there was something even more puzzling. The man was
only half size. It was almost as though he were a long distance
away. And even as John watched him whirl ever closer to the
center, he shrank steadily in size. Soon he was reduced to a dot,
and then to a whirling streak before being swallowed into the
hole. John drew in a breath and turned toward the door behind
him. But there was no door to be seen!

Startled, he glanced round the circular walls. He suddenly
realized that without taking a step he had traveled halfway
round the building while he had been watching the stranger.
He had been standing on the edge of the whirlpool all the time
without knowing it.

What he saw next frightened him even more. The old man
with the white hair and the black velvet skull cap stood facing
him in the doorway, a drawn sword in his hand. John stared
at him, his heart beating. Had he been detected as he had
entered? Could the man see him even now? Surely not. It was
pitch-black and impossible to see anything without the Mashal
Stone. Therefore the old man must have seen him enter, but
was perhaps unaware that he was now invisible.

With a wild leap, John flung himself against the wall of the
building. With his left hand against the wall he crept hurriedly
back toward the entrance. The old man gave no sign of seeing
him, constantly looking on all sides in an obvious attempt to
locate him. "Perhaps he thinks I'm trapped by the whirlpool,
and is just waiting to be sure," John thought. "And if I just creep
past him ..."

Even as the thought passed through his mind he was reassured to see the old man step forward onto the more rapidly
moving segment of the whirlpool. Indeed, instead of just standing, as the first man had done, he began to step hurriedly, and
with no apparent difficulty toward the center. John sighed with
relief. "Danger over!" he thought. "I guess I shouldn't have
come in here. But if I get out without being seen, no one else
in the village will know."

As he emerged into the evening sunshine, his fears had left
him enough to begin to remove the Mashal Stone. Yet instantly
he was aware of a strange reluctance. The stone was so comforting. But if he was to find anyone to ask about Eleanor, he
could not remain invisible. Reluctantly, and with a surprising
effort, he took it off. Then he turned to look back at the house
he had passed a few moments before.