Quest Through Space And Time Read online

  From the distance they could suddenly hear vague noises. Rhodan thought he recognized shouts and screams, intermingled with the clanging of arms, as if people were fighting each other with swords. From somewhere came the roar of an explosion.

  The walls of the dungeon began to change.

  The smooth rock surfaces gave way to roughly hewn boulders. Over to the side where the entrance to the crypt had been could be seen a crude wooden door, locked from the inside by a heavy bolt. Floor and ceiling, however, remained the same.

  The time-transformer stood in the same place as before. Nothing had changed there.

  The noise grew stronger outside. Yelling and screaming mingled with new explosions. Shouted commands could be heard from close by. Metal crashed on metal.

  "I'm afraid," said Khrest, "we landed right in the middle of some altercation. According to our records, Ferrol was torn by strife at that time— today, rather. If indeed we're now in the past, we must count on getting involved in these battles."

  "Don't let yourself be killed—those were the immortal's warning words," reminded Rhodan. "I'm glad we thought of taking along some weapons."

  "Not enough, as far I'm concerned," complained Bell, stroking the handle of his Arkonide pulse-ray gun. "We should have brought along our special Arkonide protective suits, the psycho-ray gun, perhaps also the gravity-nullifier."

  "Even old-fashioned magazine rifles would be enough here to keep whole armies at bay." Rhodan sounded rather confident. "They're hardly acquainted with fire-arms yet, at best, some muzzle-loaders. Our ray guns should do the trick to prevent potential enemies from doing us in. But we must defend our lives at all costs. After all, we'll be fighting against people who have been long since dead. Ten thousand years ago, that's a long time! It seems weird to me!"

  "Absolutely crazy! Spooky!" agreed Bell.

  The battle noise outside grew weaker. It seemed to move away.

  "We have three days," Rhodan said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I don't know if our watches are right but it should now be five o'clock in the afternoon according to Earth time. We have three days. I don't know at what time we arrived here but I'm confident that the immortal will have arranged matters in such a way that we'll have sufficient opportunity to look for Kerlon and to meet him. What I'm supposed to tell this commander of the Arkonides is still rather foggy. Khrest, do you have any suggestions?"

  The Arkonide scientist slowly shook his head. "Nothing is known in our history of a successfully executed trip through time. Since Kerlon sent his report from Venus, which he reached after having been on Ferrol, and since he didn't mention anything about having encountered human beings or Arkonides coming from the future, it stands to reason that we didn't tell him anything about it...or rather we aren't going to do so."

  "We'll see. Reg, open that door!"

  It was easy to push back the bolt. The door swung open to the outside. Very little daylight came through the narrow window slots. Wide stone steps led upstairs, ending in a wide corridor. It was brightly lit by sunlight.

  Three men in shining suits of armor were lying on the floor. Rhodan saw at once that they were dead. A terrible fight must have taken place here recently.

  "Unpleasant chronological era." Bell was visibly shaken. Cautiously he pulled his ray gun from his belt. With his thumb he adjusted it to weak intensity. That way a direct hit would mean a most unpleasant electrical shock without killing the victim.

  Marshall had drawn his handgun too. He never went without it.

  "Ras, you check out the lay of the land. Be careful—disappear the moment you meet anybody. Find out who the occupants of the Red Palace are and especially if the fleet of the three Arkonide ships has landed already. We'll wait here for your return."

  The African teleporter loosened the gun in his belt and started concentrating. The others watched in fascination as his figure grew hazy and finally vanished. They knew that he was rematerializing the same instant somewhere above in the Red Palace.

  Waiting for his return was a nerve-racking affair.

  Ras Tschubai had readied himself for a short jump.

  Before he would rematerialize, he was unable to see where exactly this would take place. This had often resulted in dangerous situations for him. His only salvation had always been to take off immediately again for a new jump.

  As he opened his eyes—he had concentrated on the throne room of the Thort—he started falling right away. Deep below he saw the towers and battlements of a low castle that bore no resemblance at all to the future Red Palace. Men in breastplates and armor stood at firing ports, firing away with heavy muskets at their enemies, who tried to storm the castle. Some enemy warriors were about to climb up ladders leaning against the heavy walls. Inside the courtyard there was hand-to-hand fighting. The attacking forces were about to overrun the defenders of the castle.

  Ras could not waste any time, unless he wanted to crash to the ground. He dematerialized quickly and landed safely the same instant a mile away from the castle.

  He set foot on the ground on a low hill. From here he could easily survey the surrounding area without rising. detection by the barbarians.

  He had an unimpeded view of the castle, which was besieged by a mighty army. In a little valley off to the side he could see the camp set up by the supply columns of the attackers. There were brightly burning camp fires; large animals were roasting on the spit. Primitive tents lined the banks of a little brook, well protected from the enemy's view by trees and bushes. Well-armed soldiers patrolled the entire area.

  Ras heard some noises coming from behind. Quickly he turned around. The slightly undulating hill was overgrown with grass and occasional clumps of bushes that offered excellent cover to an approaching enemy.

  There were four men trying to reach the summit, creeping close to the ground, avoiding any unnecessary noise. They wore no armor and this distinguished them immediately from the members of the two fighting parties.

  Well, thought Ras to himself even then there were the so-called neutral forces who helped whichever party was victorious.

  The four men wore leather jackets and narrow trousers of the same material. They were bareheaded but their long dark hair provided sufficient protection against heat or cold. Their arms consisted of long spears and short broadswords. Flat shields had been fastened to their backs with long leather belts.

  Ras looked calmly in their direction. He was holding his ray gun in his hand. He was determined to disappear from the scene only in case of extreme emergency. He didn't want to return empty-handed to the cellar in the castle. Perhaps he could make himself understood with the few sentences of New-Ferronian he had learned back on Ferrol.

  The four men were walking upright now, for they must have noticed that their attempts at concealment had failed. Filled with suspicion, they held their spears ready, while they still kept their hands off their swords. Their eyes expressed amazement at the oddly dressed stranger who looked at them without fear.

  As soon as the four men had come within ten yards. Ras raised both hands.

  "Stop!" He shouted to make sure they could hear him clearly. "I want to talk with you."

  The four Ferrons halted. They seemed to have understood his words. Their spears were still held in their hands, ready to be thrown. They seemed puzzled; they didn't know what to make of this stranger. He belonged neither to the defenders nor to the attackers of the castle. Who could he be, then?

  "Who are you?" asked a bushy-bearded Ferron.

  Ras was astonished that he could understand him so well. This dialect differed only slightly from the way the Thort had spoken; it reminded him somewhat of the language used by the Sichas, the half-wild mountain tribes of Ferrol.

  Could it be that he was confronting the forefathers of the Sichas here?

  "Sicha?" Ras asked quickly.

  The bearded man nodded his head, evidently rather puzzled. He lowered his spear gently until its point touched the ground. "You—friend?" he wanted to know.
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  Now Ras in turn nodded yea in answer. After all, why shouldn't he be a friend of the Sichas? He pushed his ray gun back into his belt and walked toward the men, his bare hands stretched out to show his good intentions. Still he didn't forget to hold himself ready for an instantaneous jump in case the Sichas should undergo a sudden change of heart.

  The bearded Sicha returned the gesture of friendship and firmly pressed the African's hand. The three other men, too, shook hands with him and quite openly expressed amazement at the strange looking weapon in his belt. Ras could fully appreciate their curiosity.

  "We are living over there in the mountains," the leader said, pointing to a mountain range far away on the horizon, only dimly visible in the haze. The setting sun was sinking closer to the mountaintops. "Many wars now. We keep peace."

  "Who is making war?"

  It turned out to be quite difficult for Ras to get the essential point of their confused explanation. The four men talked all at once, resorting occasionally to some local vernacular unknown to Ras. But finally he could piece together a picture of the situation.

  The owner of the castle was a count, who ruled over this region. His neighbor, another count, challenged his claim to power. The current battle was the third attempt to wrest the castle from the rightful owner. The outcome of the fight seemed not to be in his favor. The Sichas did not directly join in the conflict but in their own way took advantage of it. They robbed the fallen warriors of their weapons and armor, of even attacked soldiers of either side who ventured out alone into the difficult terrain.

  The bearded leader admitted this quite frankly and, when questioned by Ras why they did not try to rob him, grinned slyly and replied: "You are a foreigner and wear strange clothing. You are armed with an odd looking weapon different from those we possess. But we do know that your weapon can hurl bolts of lightning. We are afraid of you, therefore you are our friend."

  How amazingly simple and wise, thought Ras, startled by their logic. But then suddenly he was thunderstruck when he realized: how was it possible for these primitive Sichas to know that his ray gun could 'hurl bolts of lightning'?

  The first landing of the immortals, long before the Arkonides! That must be it! The memory of this encounter must still be quite vivid in the minds of this primitive people.

  "When was the last time that strangers visited your world?"

  The bearded Sicha cocked his head. "Are they your friends? Have you returned, Gods of the Sun?"

  Ras pondered for a moment. Something didn't sound quite right. They weren't surprised by his black skin. Perhaps this wasn't remarkable in their eyes, for their complexion wasn't white either. They looked quite dark, almost bluish-black.

  "Yes, they're my friends. They might return again."

  The bearded Sicha was just about to reply, when all were startled by wild yelling and warlike hollering.

  The fierce shouts came from some nearby bushes that suddenly were teeming with life. At least one dozen soldiers, in full battle armor, jumped up at a shouted command and rushed toward the five men, who were completely taken by surprise.

  The soldiers made no attempt to ask the obviously helpless men to surrender. All signs indicated clearly that they were not interested in taking them alive and making them their prisoners. For a few seconds Ras was determined to save his neck by a fast teleport-jump but then he thought better of it: it would have been most unfair to his newly won friends. After all, it was his fault that they had been trapped in this unfortunate situation.

  Resolutely, he jerked his ray gun from his belt, while the Sichas, hurled their spears toward the enemy, drawing their swords a split second later.

  Ras pressed the firing button, pointing the gun at the nearest opponent. The soldier had advanced toward them to within nearly twenty yards. He was just about to throw his spear at Ras when he was suddenly hit by the electron showers. His face distorted in a fierce grimace; he started screaming as if he were attacked by a whole company of soldiers. His fingers spread apart; his weapon dropped to the ground. Then he threw himself on the earth and began to beg for mercy.

  His companions hesitated for a moment. Then, assuming that their comrade had probably been seized by some cramp, they proceeded with their attack. Brandishing their swords, they advanced toward their intended victims.

  In the meantime, the Sichas' spears had found their targets. Four of the attacking soldiers were hit and fell down. The rest of the enemy, however, had managed to aim their spears in the direction of Ras and the four Sichas. Suddenly, one of the Sichas next to the bearded leader uttered a scream and, pierced by the enemy's weapon, he sank into the grass.

  Now Ras's patience finally came to an end.

  He immediately changed the intensity of his ray gun and directed the ray nonstop against the six or seven remaining opponents who, swords drawn, were racing closer and closer to the apparently helpless group. The soldiers' fierce faces left no doubt what fate they had in mind for them.

  The enemy's attack stopped short of its goal. The soldiers appeared to run full force into an invisible wall and bounce back violently. Their horrified cries rent the air; their swords dropped to the ground. Their limbs stiffened, as if seized by cramps, then, suddenly, they slumped helplessly into the grass.

  They were not dead but Ras was convinced that they had been knocked out completely for the next half hour. Only the first soldier, who had been hit by the initial weak electron shower, jumped up from where he had been lying begging for mercy and ran downhill, screaming in sheer horror.

  The bearded leader of the Sichas in the meantime had picked up a spear, ready to send it off in the direction of the fleeing soldier. With a pacifying gesture Ras placed his hand on the man's arm. "Let him get away, my friend!"

  "Why? He'll get other soldiers to finish us off."

  "I don't believe he'll get reinforcements. He'll tell his comrades what's happened here—then no one will have the courage to come out to this hill anymore. It's safer here than over there in the castle that will soon be taken by the enemy."

  This seemed to make sense to the Sichas.

  "It's time, anyway, for us to leave," their leader said. "Otherwise we won't manage to reach our mountains. Soon God's Eye will sink below the earth and it will become dark."

  "God's Eye?" Ras asked, astonished, but in the same instant he realized that they had meant the sun by this. "Why, of course, soon night will fall. Describe exactly where your homes are so that I can visit you later."

  "You aren't coming along with us?" The bearded man's voice revealed his disappointment.

  "No, I'm sorry, but my friends are waiting for me. I must return to them. But I promise you that I'll visit you someday. Just tell me how to find the way to your home."

  The leader looked over to the far horizon, then pointed to an especially high mountaintop. "Over there,

  beyond the triangle mountain, is where my tribe is living. A high plateau, next to a wide valley with a stream. You can't miss it."

  I most certainly won't, thought Ras, for the Sicha had described the exact spot where later on would rise Sic-Horum, their capital city.

  "I'll find it. Get home safely."

  The Sicha smiled broadly. "We know many secret paths that are unknown to soldiers from foreign lands. Farewell, stranger. And—thanks."

  Ras shook hands with the three brave warriors and led his ray gun back into his holster. He knew what surprise awaited these semi-savages. He only regretted that he would be unable to observe their perplexed faces when he suddenly vanished into thin air right in front of them.

  A final wave to his friends. Then he concentrated on the cellar underneath the castle—and jumped.

  He opened his eyes and peered into Bell's frightened face.

  4/ THE GODS INTERVENE

  The ruler of the castle, and district Thorta, recognized that his resistance was in vain. The barbarians had penetrated into the fortress and threatened to overcome the rest of his soldiers who were still alive. />
  He summoned the captain of the soldiers. "Regor, gather up your men. We're withdrawing into the vaults below the castle. We'll be able to hold out there for a few more days."

  "The enemy has already advanced as far as the cellars, Lesur," answered the captain. "But we succeeded in killing them. Wouldn't it be better to seek refuge in the secret chamber?"

  Lesur raised his hand in protest. "The secret chamber is a holy shrine. No mortal may ever see its interior without losing his life immediately. No, the other cellars will have to do. I have sufficient food stored there. Our women are there already. Order your men to withdraw at once. If we remain up here we'll all be lost."

  Regor saluted and hurried to his soldiers.

  Lesur, however, one of the many Thorts of Ferrol, stormed toward the wide, roughly hewn stone stairway leading below. Outside, in the courtyard, his troops were battling with the enemy invaders. The war was lost; the barbarians were winning. The end of civilization had come. Slavery and barbarism would be the rule from now on.

  The heavy door leading to the vaults in the basement was smashed. Heavy fighting must have place here, for the wood had been splintered by mighty word thrusts and heavy clubs.

  Lesur hesitated a moment. The battle noise coming from the pinnacles seemed to grow louder. In all probability the barbarians had succeeded in scaling the walls. There was little chance that Regor and his men could save themselves in time.

  There was precious little time left now for himself.

  He hurried down the steps, ran through long corridors and passed the first guard post. The enemy had not penetrated this far. And most likely would not do so for quite a while. The narrow window slots below the ceiling were too small to permit passage to any enemy soldier.

  The women and old men looked up as Lesur entered the wide hall through the heavy wooden door. Soldiers were standing to the left and right of the entrance. The children stopped in their play. The noise of the battle could only vaguely be heard from here. No one down here knew what fate had in store for the castle and their own lives. The Thort decided to tell them the full truth.