As the Sardanians measured time by sleeping and waking, and not by days, in a land where the days were six months long, it would be ten ordinary days until the prince made his decision.
On their way back to the Gateway to the Future, Polaris said to Kalin: "Now what shall hinder that I be gone before the time he set?"
For once Kalin, the far-seeing, erred in his wisdom, for he made answer:
"Nay, it were best to wait. I deem it not unlikely that the prince will act in despite of the wishes of the nobles and of the people. In any case, he is a faithful man, and no harm will come to thee in the time he hath named."
Neither Polaris nor the girl was contented to rest all the hours away on the grassy terraces of the gateway, but wandered together through the valley, learning more of its wonders. Everywhere they found industry. Men and women worked in their little farm plots and vineyards, tending the fruits and grains in which the valley was rich; many of them akin to those known in the outside world, and others which would have made a life study for a botanist.
In all Sardanes the work was so apportioned that the products of the soil and of the craftsman supplied evenly the demands of the valley dwellers. In one section lived and labored the weavers and the dyers of cloths; in another the makers of sandals and articles of leather; and in a roomy stone smithy they found Kard the Smith and his men, the workers in metal, beating out buckles and jewelry, daggers, spears, and implements of many other uses.
Not many of the smiths were necessary, for the metal in which they worked was of incredible hardness and durability, and was tempered by the smiths to a fineness beyond any steel. It was that which had first attracted the attention of Polaris in the Hunters' Road, when he found the dagger of Kard gleaming in the snow-path. Ilium it was named, and it was mined from the volcanic rock far up in the mountainside.
Other metals were found in the rocks, but none of a quality to compare with ilium, or none that had its iridescent beauty.
Gems they also knew, and many an ornament worn by the Sardanian men and maids flashed with bright stones. One variety, of a wonderful rich, red luster, Rose Emer thought were rubies, but she was not enough versed in gem learning to be sure. If they were rubies, they were of immense value, for they were of large sizes, and most of them were flawless to their depths.
On the wall in the library of Kalin the priest hung a necklace of such, containing a full score of magnificent stones, each of many carats weight, fairly well cut into facets by the Sardanian lapidaries who had fashioned them. Each stone was set in a ring of the glittering ilium, attached one to another with links of the metal.
One innovation the strangers took into the valley that was hailed with acclaim. Until the advent of Polaris and Rose Emer not a button was known in the length of the land. Everything sartorial was fastened with buckles.
Sardanian craftsmen and housewives were quick to note the uses of the perforated disks, and buttons were straightaway the new fashion, and were sewn on all garments. When enough were placed to answer their purpose of holding things together still more were added for ornament, until some of the Sardanian robes bore no distant likeness to the creations of a Parisian modiste, with their rows of holeless buttons.
On the fifth day after their interview with the Prince Helicon, Kard the Smith came to the gateway to repay their visit, and to bring an invitation to Polaris to go out with a party of the hunters along the Hunters' Road to the edge of the wilderness to hunt the white bear.
Six Sardanians made up the hunting-party, of whom two were Kard the Smith and Morolas, one of the tall brothers of Helicon. All were armed with spears tipped with ilium blades, axes, and daggers, and they drove with them a four-pony sledge, with which to take home their game.
Much as Polaris would have liked to take with him the seven dogs, he did not, for he dared not risk the lives of the animals in the fierce sport. With the death of his dogs would die also his last chances of winning back on the way to the North.
Some hours along the snow-path they discovered the first signs of the game which they sought, the white bear. The sledge was halted and the ponies outspanned. One of the Sardanian hunters was left to keep the camp, and the rest of the party set out on the fresh trail.
Less than a mile away across the snow hummocks they came in sight of their quarry, a magnificent specimen of the king of the pole lands, sleek and fat and powerful from the good feeding he had found in the temperate vicinity of the smoky hills.
"There is the bear. Now, stranger of the snows, how dost thou take him?" said Morolas. "I understand that thou hast taken many of his kind single-handed—unless indeed that necklace of thine was plucked from dead bones."
Paying no attention whatever to the open sneer in the words of the prince, Polaris made his preparation. He was too much pleased with the prospect of the action before him to be nettled by the peevishness of the Sardanian prince. Smilingly he loosened the long knife in his belt, took a firm grip of his spear, one of his own steel-bladed shafts, and crept forward across the snows where the monster awaited the coming of the foe.
For the bear had seen them, and paused, grumbling and sniffing, to discover if these new animals might not be worth his trouble as a meal.
Plenty of temper had that bear. Before the man was within thirty feet of him he stopped the slow swaying of his massive head, emitted a snarling roar, and charged. Polaris stood at the dip of a slope in the snow, alert and watchful for his chance to leap and thrust.
As the avalanche of angry bear dashed down the incline its claws slipped on an icy crusting, and it rolled, folding its head in almost to its belly, like a huge snowball, scratching furiously at the snow crust to stop itself and regain its footing.
Straight at the man it shot, and as it reached him he sprang aside.
The same mischance that had upset the animal now proved the undoing of the man's well-aimed thrust. As he drew back his arm to strike, Polaris felt his feet flying from under him.
By exercising all of his tigerish agility he prevented himself from rolling right under the ponderous body of his antagonist. Backward he threw himself, struck a softer spot in the snow crust, and disappeared in it up to his shoulders.
Had Bruin stopped to consider his predicament, that would have been a tight situation for Polaris; but the enraged mountain of flesh paid no further attention to him. Instead he scrambled to his feet at the foot of the slope, snarling more viciously than ever because of his downfall, and charged on into the group of Sardanians.
Before they could realize what was happening, and that Polaris had failed to wound or turn the animal, he was upon them. They scattered, thrusting their spears as they leaped from the path of the monster.
One of them, Kard the Smith, was not so fortunate as the rest. He stood directly in the path of the charge. As he leaped to one side a huge paw whirled in the air and one of the curved talons caught in the slack of his rough tunic, hurling him down as a mouse is spun from the claw of a cat. Before his companions could return to his aid the bear was tearing at the prostrate body of the smith.
As soon as he fell through the snow crust Polaris threw himself forward on his face along the surface, seeking a spot that would allow him to stand upright. In an instant he was on his feet and forward in the wake of the furious bear. His spear had fallen from his hand when he broke into the soft snow, and had glided away over the glary crust for many feet. There was no time to regain it if he was to aid Kard. Plucking the knife from his belt, he rushed in.
Seeming to sense the new danger, the bear whirled on its haunches, and, holding the body of the Sardanian beneath it with one forepaw, struck out madly at Polaris with the other.
Polaris evaded the sweep of the blow by the smallest margin. He had thrown off his gloves, and he caught the long hair on the flail-like paw with his left hand. As the bear drew in his paw to deliver another buffet, the man came with it.
Never in all his bear fights had he come to grips with one of the antarctic monarchs from the front in this wise; but there was no help for it if he would save the smith. He was swept in against the wide chest of the animal, and its terrible front paws were closed to crush him as it raised one armed hind leg to rip him with its down-stroke, and at the same time strove to bend its head down and tear with its jaws.
Menaced by the triple attack, Polaris threw his left arm over his head and jammed his elbow into the throat of the bear below the angle of its jaw, thrusting upward with all the power of his body. At the same instant, quick as a wrestler, he passed one leg over the rising hind leg of the bear.
For the space of an eye flicker the two stood, statuesque, in the snow. Then the man jerked back his shoulders, raised his right arm, and buried the long knife in the white throat.
Twice he stabbed home, and, feeling the clutching forepaws slacken, let himself go limp, slid from the embrace of the bear, and sprawled in the snow alongside the smith. He seized Kard, and with him rolled from under the toppling, roaring mass of the enemy, which floundered in the snow.
It was the end for the bear, however. Tearing in agony at its wounded throat, it reared again and fell backward, struggling terribly in the release of life.
All had happened in a matter of seconds. Kard, snatched from the very jaws of death, stood gaping at the dying bear, unhurt aside from a bad scare. Beside him, Polaris, his white surcoat streaked with blood, stooped and cleaned his knife in the snow. The other Sardanians trooped back somewhat sheepishly, all of them eyeing Polaris with manifest admiration—all save Morolas, whose face was flushed, and in whose eye was an ugly glint of anger or annoyance.
"Methinks thou wert somewhat late, stranger," he growled, "and nearly was Kard gathered to his fathers because of thy clumsiness."
In the face of the facts, the futility of his remark caused Polaris to laugh aloud. "In second thought I left him to thee, prince," he said, "and did but take up the matter again when I saw thee otherwise occupied."
Morolas framed a hot retort, but thought better of it and swallowed it unsaid. "Methinks thy laughter ill-timed," he muttered grimly to himself. But Kard without a word seized the hand of Polaris, and bent and kissed it. Morolas frowned the more.
Polaris recovered his spear. With thongs the five men dragged the huge carcass of the bear back to where they had left the pony sledge, and loaded it on the sledge.
One more bear they met that day, much smaller than the first. It was dispatched easily by the party, who bore it down with their spears. In that conflict the honors fell more to the share of Morolas, and that seemed partially to restore his temper.
In Morolas dwelt a wild and unpleasant spirit, unbridled by the discipline with which Helicon, the prince, controlled himself, and in direct contrast to the sunny soul of his twin brother, Minos, known in Sardanes as the "open-handed."
Presently they returned to the sledge, packed on it the carcass of the second bear, and made ready for their return to the city.
Polaris laid aside his long spear and bent himself to the task of making fast the bulky corpses of their quarry. Where there was work afoot he was never backward. Indeed, in the long, weary years of their lonely life, work and study were all that had kept wholesome the minds and bodies of himself and his father.
While he bent to make fast the last knot the other Sardanians drew away from the sledge. He heard a scuffling in the snow and a sharp cry from Kard the Smith—"It shall not be, Morolas!" followed by a snap like a breaking stick.
Between his left arm and his body a flash of light darted as the sun's rays glittered on the ilium tip of a hurled spear, and the weapon was buried in the side of the carcass which he had been making fast.
He whirled on his heel. Morolas stood with his body still bowed and outstretched arm as he had cast the spear. Kard had sprung in between, and it was his weapon with which he had struck that of the prince that had sounded like a breaking shaft. He had spoiled the aim of Morolas, and surely saved the life of Polaris.
Back of the prince stood the other four hunters with weapons poised.
"I tell thee, prince, it shall not be!" shouted Kard hoarsely. "He hath saved this day the life of Kard, and he shall not die thus. Look to thyself, thou man of the snows," he flung over his shoulder, "thy death waits!"
"Away, fool!" raged Morolas, and whirled the smith from his path with a sweep of his arm. He snatched a spear from one of the hunters, and would have repeated his cast.
That throw was never made.
All had happened in the space that a man might count ten. In one glance Polaris accepted the situation. His head shot forward, every muscle in his body flexed, his face hardened and under his white-furred frontlet his tawny eyes blazed like molten brass. He leaped from the side of the sledge with lightning swiftness, cleared the space intervening with a single bound, and tore the lifted spear from the hand of Morolas. He threw the weapon on the ground, and for an instant the two men faced each other, foot to foot and eye to eye.
Neither spoke. From his superior height the prince glared down at the son of the snows.
With a motion so quick that the eye could not follow the blow, Polaris struck, from the shoulder and with doubled fist. The tall prince crumpled and went down, hurled fully his own length by the fierceness of the blow.
He never moved again. The fist of Polaris, impelled by all the mighty strength stored in his muscles of steel, had struck Morolas full on the breast-bone. Such was the power of the stroke that the man's chest had caved in before it, and his heart had stopped.
He lay scarcely twitching, and the dark blood welled from his lips and stained the white snow.
Never before had Polaris struck a man in anger with his naked hand, and he was momentarily shaken by the result of his own blow. He hesitated but an instant, however, for his blood was up. A Sardanian hunter knelt in the snow by his dead master.
"Gone is Morolas, brother to Helicon the prince," he wailed, and sprang to his feet gnashing his teeth in fury. Kard cried aloud in horror, but he leaped to the side of Polaris, to confront the four hunters. But he struck no blow in defense of his friend; an ilium blade cast by one of the hunters pierced him as he raised spear; and he, too, fell in the snow.
Across Kard's writhing body and the still corpse of Morolas the Prince, leaped Polaris. The four hunters stood in a little group, he who had thrown the spear at Kard slightly in advance of the others.
That fact alone saved the life of Polaris. Before the unarmed hunter could spring aside and give his comrades space in which to throw, the man of the snows was upon them, a death-dealing fury. He caught the first man by the shoulders, and by sheer strength swung him from the ground and dashed him against his fellows. Head-on, he threw the hunter, and the skull of the flying man crashed against the head of the man next him with sickening force.
Only two antagonists were left to confront him.
An ilium spear swished past his head. He caught it out of the air, and the man who had cast it died with it in his heart. Those Sardanians were of fighting stock; the single remaining man gave back never a step. His spear had been shaken from his hand, but he carried an ilium ax in his belt, and this he whirled up to meet Polaris.
It fell upon thin air. The son of the wilds crouched under its swing like a trained boxer, came up with the Sardanian's guard, and struck once with his long-bladed knife.
The battle was finished. The trampled snow looked like a butcher's shambles.
Polaris stood with clenched hands, his face set like a stone. Under other circumstances he might have felt remorse; he certainly would have been moved to mercy. But he had been trapped like an animal, and he joyed in the fierceness of the conflict, and felt no sting of regret for the men he had slain.
A voice called his name weakly from behind. He turned and beheld Kard the Smith, not yet sped. He had dragged himself to his knees, and was clutching at the great spear that was set in his side.
"Polaris of the Snows," he gasped, "Kard dies for thee, who this day saved Kard from the beast. Kard dies a traitor—to Sardanes's prince. Haste thee—stranger—get thy strange snow-runners—get them—from Kalin! Methinks the priest loves thee. He will aid thee—to escape. Go—Helicon holds the Rose. Go—whilst thou mayest. Helicon planned—that thou—shouldst die—this day—but—one Kard—turned traitor. Farewell!"
Polaris knelt in the red snow and supported the body of the dying smith. Twice the Sardanian essayed to speak again and could not. His head rolled back, and he, too, was sped.
A strange sight was Polaris as he stood up from the corpse of Kard, his white fur surcoat besprinkled with the blood of men and beasts, his handsome face scarred by his terrible anger, his tawny eyes blazing and his broad chest rising and falling in gasps, as cold fear and hot wrath beset him together.
If he had ever doubted his love for the girl so strangely met, the griping fear that strangled his heart and choked his throat put all doubt to flight.
"Helicon holds the Rose," he muttered through his whitened lips. "What saidst thou, Kard? That I must escape? Nay, Kard; death shall find me in thy valley of Sardanes, or I shall find Helicon, thy prince, and the Rose. Yesterday, or was it many yesterdays agone?—it was all for the North. Now it is all for the Rose. I come, dear heart; I come, to win, or to die in the losing!"
He leaped to the sledge, tore away the thongs that bound the carcasses of the dead bears and rolled them into the snow alongside the dead men. He inspanned the four horses, sprang into the driver's seat, shook out the many-molded lash and drove back toward Sardanes, as though hell's door had opened and loosed its legion of furies along the Hunters' Road behind him.
Midway in his dash to the city, he halted the horses and sprang down. With nose well down to catch the scent from the trail, and with his plumed tail aflaunt as he galloped, a great gray dog toiled out through the snows to meet him.
"What, Marcus? You, too, have fought and bled!" he cried, as his loyal servant leaped upon him, whining for the joy of the meeting. The shoulder of the dog was gashed by a keen edge, so that his blood had run down and dried on his breast and legs. And on the throat and jowl of Marcus was other blood.
"Now, do you alone live of all your tribe, Marcus? Shame on you, Marcus, if you deserted to find your master while the fighting pack died for the Rose! Or did it fall some other way that you alone come to meet me?"
Wondering much and fearing more, he flung the dog onto the sledge and again lashed the ponies into a mad run. Snow fell, and they dashed on through the storm, the man ever plying the long lash, the dog riding behind him, reared, and with his paws on the man's shoulders, both looking ahead, where the smoke curled around the mighty mountain-tops.
When they came to the pass gashed in the foot-hills, where the snow waves broke at the lips of the warm slopes, Polaris outspanned the outworn ponies, and dismissed them with a parting crack of the long whip. Freed of their burdens, the tired little beasts scuttled away up the rocky hillsides, betaking themselves to soft pastures, to forget the voice of the lash and the galling harness.
Polaris and Marcus climbed the pass, and stood again at the brink of the ledge of rock that overlooked the valley. Below them in the sunshine lay Sardanes, never more peaceful. Men were working in the fields, women singing from the homes and children were at play in the meadows. Under its green bridges the little river rippled to the hill's foot, its waterfall murmuring from the distance.
Above it all, for an instant, Polaris stood gazing down, with no peace of spirit, his heart and brain a red and raging fury. Sardanes's evil genius was at her gates.
Through the forests to the left the man and dog skirted the meadows where none might see them, headed straight to the terraced declivity of the Gateway to the Future. None was there to meet them as they set foot on the last terrace and the house of the priest lay before them; but a welcome sound greeted the ears of Polaris. It was the howling of the dogs, which Marcus would have answered. A stern word silenced him.
At the very threshold of the house of Kalin, the priest met Polaris. His face was drawn and anxious and his right hand was bound in a white bandage. At sight of the son of the snows and his gray body-guard. Kalin started and a strange look passed athwart his melancholy features.
Without setting foot on the door-stone, Polaris called sternly: "Greeting to thee, Kalin the Priest. Tell me, and waste not thy words in the telling, where fares the Rose?"
Kalin threw forth his uninjured hand in a bitter gesture. "The Prince Helicon—" he answered hoarsely, but Polaris broke in:
"Ay, priest, Helicon holds the Rose. I learned as much but shortly. Now if there has been treachery here, I am minded that Marcus shall tear out a traitor's throat! Speak quickly. How falls it that the Rose is gone, that the prince breaks faith and that thou hast allowed it?"
Unmoved by the threat, Kalin bent his deep eyes on Polaris.
"No traitor dwells here," he answered. "Even now those faithful to me in the valley gather to the rescue of the lady, it may be, though it rend Sardanes with bitter strife. Ay, all that would Kalin attempt, even though he deemed that thou wert dead in the snows, as Helicon hinted. Helicon hath not had his will freely. A priest of Hephaistos lieth yonder in his dwelling with a broken shoulder, and this hand was injured in defense of the Rose. Kalin did but yield to force, that he might later win by craft. Thy words do Kalin small honor, thou who are as the brother of Kalin."
"Thy pardon, Kalin, my words were rash. Consider that the maid is dearer to me than aught I may hope to attain in the world, and this thing that hath been done hath brought upon me a rage like unto nothing I have ever known. Now tell me what thou mayest accomplish in my aid, for I go hence to find Helicon the Prince."
"Mine is half of the fault, brother," Kalin answered. "I should have foreseen, but I guessed not that Helicon was mad enough for this. Wide was the rift between us before; it hath passed all bridging now. As I have said, many of the people hold to the ancient sway of the priesthood of Hephaistos, and murmur at the changes which Helicon would have. Already my messengers are among them, calling them to my aid. Hadst thou not come, in a short space Kalin would have been on his way to the Judgement House. It was ordered that thou shouldst die this day on the Hunters' Road. How hast thou won free?"
"Kard the Smith owed me somewhat, and could not stomach my killing. He took a dead thrust for his hindrance. Yet did he warn in time, and Morolas and four hunters keep him company whither he traveleth," Polaris answered simply.
Then Kalin told him how Helicon the Prince had come to the gateway and taken Rose Emer thence by force. Kalin had made opposition, even to raising his hand against the prince. In a scuffle, wherein he was supported by one of his priests, he had been wounded in the hand by the dagger of the prince, and the priest had been hurled to the ground, so that his shoulder was cracked.
"Only we two were here to oppose him," said Kalin, "and he had others with him. Had I persisted, I had been slain by him in his fury. So I submitted that I might be left to befriend the Rose. And she, she loosed the great dog before she was taken, and set him forth on thy trail. One of Helicon's men gashed him with a spear, and he would have turned and given battle to all of them, but Rose urged him on."
"And how went the Rose—calmly, or struggling and crying?" asked Polaris, his jaws clinching at the thoughts called up by the words of Kalin.
"Nay, with head held high, tearless and saying nothing went the Rose," the priest answered him. "The lady hath greatness of spirit. She went in anger, but gave not way to fear."
"Now we go to visit this prince of thine," said Polaris. He called Marcus and shut the dog, protesting, with his fellows in the stable. "Well would you like the fight with me, if fight there is to be, I know, my Marcus, but I dare not risk you," he muttered.
He ran to his room in the house of the priest. When he came forth there swung from his waist his father's brace of heavy revolvers and the filled cartridge belt, and in his hand he bore the brown rifle. He had also an ilium-bladed spear, and in its sheath at his hip gleamed the long dagger of Kard the Smith, that he had taken from the corpse of the stout Sardanian.
He counted much on his firearms now. Here were weapons of which even Kalin knew not the secret.
Among the few books in the cabin of his father was one which Polaris had read and reread, and which, as boy and man, he had liked best of them all. It was the "Ivanhoe" of Sir Walter Scott. He had wondered much on its story of chivalry and battle in a far-off time. Unconsciously much of his own language was couched in its quaint terms.
Now, as he set forth, to fight, or to fall, if need be, for the lady of his heart, there came to him a strange conceit, born of the old romance.
Armed and ready, he stood at the top of the terrace, and while the priest wondered, he raised his voice in his own tongue, not loudly, but firmly and clearly, in the first battle cry ever heard in the valley of Sardanes:
"For the Rose of America! Polaris to the rescue!"
Together he and Kalin passed down the terraced slopes of the Gateway to the Future.
Kalin carried a bundle in his hand, and as they reached the thickets at the foot of the hill he paused.
"Now, for our purpose thou must go unknown of men. Thou canst hide thyself in one of these."
He shook out his bundle, and revealed two of the long sable robes of his priestly order. He threw one of them over Polaris and donned the other. They were loose and cowled, and covered both men entirely.
"As a priest of Hephaistos thou goest," said Kalin. "Thou must leave the spear, but that strange club of thine thou mayest hide beneath the robe."
"Nay, I can take the spear also," answered Polaris, and snapped the stout shaft off short in his hands, so that the weapon was rendered little longer than the rifle, and he could hide both of them under the garment.
"Priest," he said, as they started across the meadows toward the bridge, "but shortly I said that in anger which I fain would recall, for twice thou hast shown thyself a true man."
Kalin waved his hand deprecatingly. "It is forgotten, as though it were not," he said, with one of his rare and melancholy smiles. "Thou art as my brother."
"But now," persisted Polaris, "we fare on an errand to which thy feeling of brotherhood doth not bind thee. Why goest thou into danger with me, Kalin, into danger that may end in death, thou, who art of this land, and its priest?"
Kalin halted and regarded him strangely. "Say, thou, Polaris, thou lovest Rose?" he questioned. Into the face of the man of the snows the red blood flamed afresh.
"Ay, so it seemeth—unto death," he said simply.
The priest nodded slowly. "And the Rose—doth she return thy love, my brother?" he asked.
Then was Polaris silent for a long moment. "Nay," he answered at length. "Nay, Kalin, the love of the Rose is not mine. Somewhat I have guessed, and the rest her own words have made plain. There is a man—a brave American—" the words cost him an effort, "whom she loveth, and whom she will wed. He leadeth the party with which she came hither. He fareth forth on a dangerous quest, to return in honor and greatness to his own land—and the Rose—" He stopped.
Again Kalin looked strangely into his eyes. "And to save her for another thou darest all, even to thy life?"
"Ay, the man is worthy. And that she loveth me not, should my love for her be less that I should falter in her service? No, Kalin, that is not the way of Polaris," answered the son of the snows.
"And when thou hast won her way home, as I think thou wilt—for thou darest all things, and the high gods love those greatly daring—what then?"
"I have a duty laid on me, in the far North; and then—I know not."
Once again his strange smile passed over the face of Kalin the priest. "Now, thou Polaris, we indeed are brothers in all. Know that I, too, love the Rose, and would die even as thou wouldst, to save her, even to save her for another—but I had hoped that the other might be thee—I dearly hoped it. Nor that it may not be, lesseneth not the measure of the service of Kalin."
Polaris held out his hand, and his eyes were very bright as their fingers clasped.
"Kalin, my brother, may the gods set our feet in the same path, wherever it leadeth," he said.
As they proceeded toward the Judgement House they saw that many Sardanians were gathered there, and ever among the throng passed back and forth the black-robed figures of the priests of the gateway.
Kalin stationed Polaris by a pillar in the great hall, not far from the platform.
"Stay thou there, brother, and be silent, unless great need cometh," he said, and passed up the steps to his black stone seat near the throne.
A friendly murmur arose from the Sardanians in the hall when they saw the priest throw aside his robe and take his seat. That something untoward was on foot it was easy to guess. All over the hall, the voices of men were raised in discussion, and chiming with them the voices of women also. And ever from group to group passed the priests of Kalin, exhorting here and rebuking there, setting the stage for the denouément planned by their master.
Presently entered Garlanes and a group of Sardanian nobles, among whom towered Minos, the brother of the prince—Minos, whose twin brother lay stiffening in the snow in the Hunters' Road. Then, after some delay, came Helicon himself.
As the prince ascended the steps to his throne, Polaris leaned forward from his sheltering pillar, his whole frame taut as a bow-string, the hand that held the brown rifle clenched so that it seemed that the steel barrel itself would crumple in his terrible grip.
Helicon's face was darkly clouded. He did not glance once in the direction of Kalin, but sat a while in thought, and in all the hall was silence. His musing ended, the prince raised his head.
"Wherefore do the people of Sardanes gather in the Judgement House and summon their ruler?" he asked harshly, and bent his stern gaze on the people below the platform.
None answered him. He smiled grimly, and again he questioned: "What matter would Sardanes's people bring before Sardanes's prince? Speak."
From among the people rose a subdued murmur, a note of protest, but no man was bold enough to voice it. In a silence that followed Helicon sat impatiently, his fingers twitching on the stone arms of his throne.
From his seat Kalin the priest rose and stepped to the foot of the throne.
"Thy people murmur because of a deed that to them seemeth ill, Helicon the Prince," he said. He paused, and behind him in the hall rose another murmur of support from the people.
"They are assembled in the Judgement House to beg that Helicon the Prince shall sit in judgment on himself and render answer," continued Kalin. "Thy people murmur because thou wouldst take to wife an alien woman and place her with thee on the throne of Sardanes, supplanting the right of a daughter of Sardanes.
"They murmur," the priest raised his voice slightly, in a note of accusation, "because thou hast reft her from the hospitality of Sardanes's priest with violence, under a broken pledge, and that thou hast lifted thy hand against the priests of Sardanes, the ministers of the mighty Lord Hephaistos of the Gateway, who speak the word of Hephaistos in Sardanes—"
"Enough, priest!" shouted Helicon, red with rage. "Cease thy slander of Sardanes's ruler!" He turned his eyes on the Sardanians in the hall. "Helicon, Prince of Sardanes, rendereth account to no man," he cried. "It is his will that he weddeth with the Rose maiden. Let the man who gainsaith look to himself!"
As the voices of the people were raised in an angry babel of protest, he lifted his hand.
"Beware," he cried, his voice ringing through the hall. "Take warning! Helicon rules in Sardanes. Bitter shall be the punishment meted out to him that opposeth the will of the prince."
Before his fierce eyes the people fell silent again, and he turned again to Kalin.
"As for thee, priest," he said hoarsely, "get thee back with thy black-robed crew, to thy station, and attend thy priestly duties. Attend them well. Too long hath thy priesthood interfered in the affairs of Sardanes. It shall be so no longer. Go, ere I am moved to lessen thy number by one meddler!"
He glared at the priest, and men in the hall stood all aghast at his words. Many there were of the priest's party, but they knew that many others were for the prince and against the priest, and none knew to what lengths Helicon might go in his anger.
Still at the foot of the throne Kalin stood undaunted, and holding his last card in the game. A bitter smile came to his lips, and his voice was low and deep as he answered:
"Prince, thou growest mad, who would override the will of thy people and dare the anger of the god. It is the will of the god, as it is the will of the people that thou shalt wed a maid of Sardanes."
Assuming for his own purposes that he was unaware of the fate which had been intended for Polaris, he continued:
"When the stranger with whom the maid came hither returneth from the hunt, then he shall take her and fare again to the north, as they wish—"
Helicon, secretly worried because of the long absence of Morolas and his party, yet not dreaming of the end of their mission, broke in again.
"The stranger cometh not again to Sardanes. He hath left the maid, and fared alone on his road to the north. I will wed the maid. I, Helicon, have said it, and it shall be."
"Have thy hunters then returned?" asked Kalin pointedly.
"Be thou silent, priest!" roared Helicon. Another thought flashed into his mind. "Tarry thou here, for there shall be work for thee." He turned to his brother Minos. "Go thou and fetch the Rose maid hither," he said.
Kalin stood back with folded arms, his head held high. In all the hall was no sound, save the suppressed breathing of the people. Smiling, as was his wont, the tall Minos left the hall through the pillared entrance behind the throne. Helicon sat glowering, with his chin on his hand, until he heard Minos returning.
Then he sprang to his feet and stepped from the throne to the floor of the platform, fronting Kalin.
Minos and Rose Emer came into the hall. The girl's face was white, but she did not falter as she advanced with Minos and stood near Helicon. Only once her face lighted as she saw Kalin; then she turned her eyes, and through the pillared façade of the Judgement House she scanned anxiously the reaches of the valley.
The heart of Polaris bounded as, crouched behind his pillar, he followed the course of that gaze. She was looking for him to return—he would not fail her!
"Now, whether it be the will of the god or of the people, or of the maid herself, I, Helicon, will wed the Rose," said the prince shortly. "And thou, Kalin, of whom and of whose pratings I tire sadly, thou art still priest in Sardanes—thou shalt wed us—now! Proceed!"
An enigmatical smile overspread the face of the priest. Full in the eyes of the angry prince he looked as he towered scarce a yard away.
"Thou goest far in thy folly, Helicon," he said, and there was a note of pity in his low tones. Then he raised his voice. "I wed thee not, nor shall such a marriage ever be!"
Helicon hissed a direction into the ear of Minos, and the tall prince, still smiling, stepped toward the edge of the platform and fronted the people in the lower section of the hall with dagger drawn and spear aloft. Helicon snatched his own ilium blade from his girdle and leaped on Kalin.
He caught the priest by the shoulder, and sought to crush him to his knees; but, great as was his strength, he could not bend the wiry form to his will. Kalin stood firm.
One searching glance he sent down the hall, where men were shouting and urging forward, and where the foremost were held back by the menace of Minos. Then the priest turned his gaze back to the face of Helicon.
Up flashed the bright blade in the hand of the prince and quivered over the heart of Kalin. "Choose, priest; choose or die!" he shouted hoarsely. "Wed Helicon to the Rose and go hence, or refuse and perish—and thy religion shall give way to a better!"
"Strike, fool, and thou darest," said Kalin contemptuously, and lifted no hand to save himself.
Along the great arm of the prince the muscles tightened. The blade came flashing down. Midway in his stroke Helicon shuddered. The knife clattered on the stone floor. A crashing roar reverberated through the judgment chamber, and a cloud of dark smoke floated upward.
Helicon crashed down on his back with widespread arms—dead!
A groan of awe rose in the hall. Everywhere men fell on their knees and covered their faces. Even Kalin, greatly shaken, knelt. Rose Emer swayed where she stood, and stretched out her arms with a glad cry of "Polaris!"
With his cowl thrown back from his golden head and his topaz eyes flaming, Polaris strode onto the platform. Under the black robe he clutched the smoking rifle.
From his hiding-place behind the pillar Polaris had watched and listened, leaving matters to the diplomacy of Kalin, hoping against hope that the priest might persuade Helicon from his blind desires. When he realized that the priest had failed he had crept forward from pillar to pillar up the hall.
While all men watched tensely the scene on the platform, and none noted him, he had swung himself up on the dais, and stood behind the pillar at its edge, watchful and with finger on trigger. Even then he had held his hand until the last second of time that would avail to save his friend.
As he reached her side, Rose Emer collapsed with a shuddering cry, and he caught her swooning body with his left arm.
Of all the Sardanians, Kalin was first to command himself. Kalin, the quick-witted, alone guessed that his aid came not from the god of his people, although for a moment he, too, had bowed before what had seemed to him the supernatural. He remembered the strangely fashioned "club" which Polaris had borne from the mountain, and turned it to his purposes.
Without rising from his knees he tossed his hands above his head and cried out:
"The voice of the god hath spoken! I thank thee, Lord Hephaistos! Thou hast upheld thy servant."
Sardanians heard the words of their priest, and they believed. Nor were Sardanian nerves stout enough to withstand such a startling manifestation of the deity. With one accord the people broke from the hall like sheep, and the nobles fled from one platform. Even the sable-robed priests tarried not for another greeting from their god, but scurried away with the rest.
Only one man fled not. That was the great Prince Minos, now ruler of Sardanes. From where he had knelt at the edge of the dais he arose and came, smiling no longer, to where his brother lay, and knelt again with bowed head, paying heed to naught else; for Minos had loved his brother.
With a silent gesture Kalin bade Polaris accompany him.
Rose Emer still lay limp in his arms. He lifted her like an infant and followed the priest. Back to the Gateway to the Future they went without pausing; nor did they in all of the way thither encounter a single Sardanian. The wrath of Hephaistos was abroad in the land, and his people prayed in their homes.
Far ahead of them hurried the little band of Kalin's priests, and climbed the mountainside to their temple. None looked back.
Polaris handed the rifle and the spear to Kalin, that he might the more easily carry the girl. As they proceeded he explained to the priest the agency which had saved him and slain the prince.
"And in this tube lieth a death that striketh at a distance?" said the priest curiously. "Well, brother, thou hast paid the score that lay between us, and the score also that lay between the twain of us and Prince Helicon. Truly, it was an ill day for Sardanes's prince when Kard brought thee and the Rose maid into the valley."
"For one purpose only have I killed," said Polaris solemnly. "The deaths of the men I have slain may not be counted against me. Gladly would I have gone hence without bloodshed, but they stood blind to justice. I take the Rose safely from Sardanes again—peacefully, if may be—but I take her, though it cost the lives of a hundred men."
Shortly after they had crossed the river the girl's senses returned to her, and she had opened her eyes for a brief instant, and had then closed them again.
Softly she lay in the arms of the young giant who carried her so easily. Very close to hers was his handsome face. Very far away and faint was the face of the American captain. Unconsciously she nestled closer in the strong arms, and on his broad shoulder her head turned closer to his.
Polaris fought a conflict, short and sharp, as he carried Rose Emer up the terraced slopes of the Gateway to the Future. It was a battle fiercer by far than any that he had waged with the Sardanians, and within himself were both the friend and the foe. With that soft, warm, yielding body in his arms, the dear, proud little head at rest on his shoulder, with the perfume of her hair in his nostrils, with her whole ineffable attraction lying about him, never stronger than now, like the meshes of a magic net, Polaris was going quite mad.
Lower and nearer he bent his head. Kalin, unseeing, stalked on ahead. Nearer yet. The perfumed hair brushed his cheek.
Wild thoughts crowded one another through his brain. Why should he face the long, hard way to the north? Was there not here a kingdom ready to a strong hand—to his hand, with the aid of the priest? Youth, a kingdom to take for a little fighting, and the queen of his heart to queen it in the kingdom—what more in reason might any man ask?
Lower yet his head bent as he strode, and wild birth and bitter spirit of the barren years strove in the man's soul with book-learned chivalry and an old man's spoken precepts.
Yet was the end of the struggle a foregone conclusion. A few short days back it would have been different. Despite his strange culture, Polaris had been little better than a barbarian. The impulses in his breast were those of the primal man, and might not for long be fettered by half-learned lessons of the brain. And then came the woman and love. All of the loose strands of his being, although he knew it not, were gathered together and held in one small, soft white hand.
So, ere ever it was fought, his battle was decided.
Her hair brushed his cheek. His head swam dizzily. He knew not if he walked or staggered. Her breath intoxicated him. Their lips met, only a touch, light as the brushing of birds in flight, but it thrilled the man like racing fire.
He started in every affrighted nerve. He dared not know that her lips had answered to his touch. He dared not look at her face, swooned as he believed her. With cheeks aflame, he strode on toward the house of the priest, and did not discover the fiery signal raised in answer to his own.
Dim-eyed, he laid her on the stone bench at the priest's door, while he brought water to dash in her face. But when he came with it he found her recovered and sitting upright, with hands pressed tightly to her face. Covered as he was with his own confusion, he did not notice that which might have spared them both much trouble in the days to come.
Following a succession of events which few men in the world could have encountered, the steel-sinewed son of the snows now went on guard at the house of Kalin while the priest and the girl slept, both of them worn from their experiences in the last few hours. When they were refreshed Polaris took his rest, and the priest stood watch. They dared not relax vigilance, and there was none they might trust utterly, except themselves.
They pressed their preparations for their departure from the valley. While Kalin gathered secretly all things needed to their journey, Polaris packed the sledge. He mended his harness with care, and with light, tough wood and thongs constructed extra snow-shoes. He also cleaned and oiled his guns, and selected several stout spears.
Beyond a return from the garb of the Sardanians to the stout clothing she had worn from the outer world, the preparations of Rose Emer were few.
Within twenty-four hours from the time of their return to the mountain from the Judgement House, the storm gathered. Hard as they had labored, they were not more than half finished with their work of preparation for departure when Prince Minos climbed the slopes of the gateway. With him came a file of stout Sardanians. Every man of the party was fully armed.
"Yonder cometh trouble in haste," said Polaris, when he noted the approach of the prince and his men. "Go thou and talk with them, brother," he said to Kalin. "My temper groweth short with these Sardanians of thine; the more so with those of the royal breed. And, brother, should thy parley come to an ill end, wave thy hands and cast thyself on thy face, and I will clear the way before thee," and he patted the brown rifle.
"What is the pleasure of the Prince Minos?" asked Kalin, standing at the top of the terrace path as the prince and his men paused in front of him, where the way grew narrow.
Minos made no answer, gazing sternly on Kalin. Old Garlanes, the noble, spoke.
"No words finds Minos, the prince," he said, "for his tongue is stilled with sorrow—sorrow for the deaths of his brethren and with anger that their slayer goeth unpunished."
Kalin's start of surprise was well simulated. "How mean you, Garlanes?" he exclaimed. "The brethren of the prince—"
"Runners have come in who were sent on the trail of a hunting-party. They report the corpses of Morolas, brother to the prince, and five hunters lying in their blood in the Hunters' Road. Aye, they were done to death with violence, and their bodies damaged by the beasts of the wastes.
"Nor does the Prince Minos"—and Garlanes lowered his voice to a mere whisper—"believe that the death of his brother Helicon came from Sardanes's god. On the corpse of the dead Helicon were found two wounds, from which blood had flowed, and from the mouth of one of them there fell this thing."
Garlanes held out his hand with the leaden pellet of a rifle cartridge in it.
"This thing Minos thinketh not of the Lord Hephaistos, but rather of the stranger yonder, whom thou harborest. With him, the prince thinketh, thou mayest find others to match this which slew the Prince Helicon. But how he managed to slay Morolas and five other strong men, wounding them all in front, is beyond the power of Minos to guess. And now, O Kalin, he biddeth me say unto you that thou shall render unto us the stranger and the woman, or else we take them by force. Thou wilt give them up to us, or art thou still deluded?"
Kalin raised his hand in a gesture, commanding silence. "Let Kalin ponder on this matter," he said quickly, and bowed his head in thought, while Minos watched him with somber eyes. As he seemed to think the priest turned over and over in his palm the pellet of lead from the rifle of Polaris and pretended to attach great weight to it.
"Nay, O Minos, my master, and Garlanes, his mouthpiece," said Kalin at length, speaking lowly, so that Polaris might not hear him, "Kalin no longer is blind. He sees that it is even as thou seest. But if these things be true, and the stranger hath power to slay with a noise at a distance, it is likely that his taking will be no easy task, and may cost the lives of many. In anger, or to save himself, he might slay thee, O Minos, and thee, Garlanes."
Deeper grew the frown of Minos. Garlanes shuddered and glanced apprehensively in the direction of Polaris, who sent him a grim and unassuring smile.
"It were better," went on Kalin softly, "to leave the matter in the hands of Kalin and of the priests of the gateway. This stranger seemeth to trust us. What many of ye might not accomplish with force may be done by few of us by stealth and cunning. Leave the matter to the servants of Hephaistos. He hath brought dire trouble to Sardanes. For the doing to death of the Prince Helicon and the Prince Morolas and his servants, this stranger from the wilderness of a surety shall die, even though hedidsave the life of Kalin." The voice of the priest became a low hiss. "He and the woman with him shall go through the Gateway to the Future as an offering to the Lord Hephaistos. Kalin hath spoken!"
Minos, the prince, nodded his head slowly. "That were meet, priest," he said, speaking for the first time. "That is the order of Minos. See that it be done, and that quickly; for the blood of my murdered brethren calls to Minos for vengeance. Yes, Kalin, see to it, and much will be forgiven thee of other things wherein Minos hath had caused to doubt."
"When he sleepeth next it shall be done, prince," whispered Kalin.
Minos and his men turned away and descended the terraces, satisfied that the doom of Polaris and the Rose was sealed.
From the instant that the towering form of Minos disappeared through the shrubbery of the terrace path, the exertions of Polaris and Kalin were redoubled. In a few hours their preparations for the departure into the wastes were complete.
Cautious as they were, they could not be entirely secret in their goings and comings about the mountain, and many a curious priestly eye was cast upon their doings by the servants of Kalin. One of them, a dark-faced rascal by the name of Analos, more prying than the others, soon discovered not only that the sledge of the strangers was being stocked and provisioned to its full capacity, as though for a journey, but the nature of some of the articles packed upon it made him certain that his master Kalin was to make use of them.
Watchful for an opportunity, the priest Analos skirted the plateau and slipped over the edge of the path.
He was as stealthy as a cat, but Polaris saw him go, and caught a glimpse of his face as he disappeared.
"One of thy priests hath slipped away from thee, Kalin," he said. "Methinks he hastened to Minos with a tale to tell."
They went to the brink of the terrace. Far below them Analos was scuttling for the meadows like a scared rabbit, his priestly gown tucked well about his flying legs.
In the small court in the rear of the house Polaris and Kalin finished their work with the sledge and harnessed to it four of the small Sardanian ponies, to drag it up through the spiral way of the Gateway to the Future; for the path which Kalin purposed they should take led straight through the gateway mountain, and was the only path out of the valley, aside from the north pass, through which they had entered.
Just before they started Kalin summoned his priests and bade them farewell, giving them his blessing, which they took with bended knees and bowed heads, and several of them sobbing; for they loved Kalin well. His words forestalled words of surprise or of protest.
"Children of Hephaistos, Kalin goeth hence for a time," he said. "Perchance he will return; perchance thou shalt see his face no more. Let none gainsay his going, for it is of the gods. Now, lest the wrath of Minos lie heavily on thee, in suspicion that thou hast aided in the passing of Kalin and the strangers from Sardanes, get thou gone from the gateway to the valley, and spread diligently the report that Kalin and the strange man cast thee forth, in danger of thy lives. Fare thee well."
In a body the priests descended the terraces. As they stood at the top to see them go, Kalin caught the shoulder of Polaris and pointed over toward the white-walled Judgement House. From its pillared façade streamed forth a line of hurrying Sardanians, and the sun shone brightly on the ilium blades.
"Here come Minos and his men," said the priest shortly. "Take thy last look on the valley of Sardanes, and let it be short."
"Farewell, Sardanes—beautiful, horrible Sardanes," breathed Rose Emer. Then she, too, turned to the flight, and shuddered slightly as she turned.
Then into the darkness of the arched portal and up through the spiraled rocky way they urged the laboring ponies. Rose Emer carried two flaming torches to light the gloom of the way, and the two men bent their shoulders to the aid of the animals. Close at their heels slunk the seven dogs of the pack, with hackles erect and eyes glowing in the half dark of the place, the strangeness of which caused them many a misunderstanding whimper. Stoutly the little horses bent to their work, so that it chanced that they dragged the sledge out of the passage and onto the shelf where were the chapels, at the same time that the first of the runners of Minos leaped from the terrace path to the level of the plateau, many feet below the fugitives.
Polaris turned to the right, where the broad ledge curved away past the chapels along the mighty ellipse of the crater.
"Nay, brother, not that way!" called Kalin. "Here lieth the path," and he turned the horses to the left, where the shelf narrowed at the point where was the perch from which Polaris had witnessed the passing of Chloran, Sardon's son.
So close to the brink of the ledge loomed the bulge of the crater wall that there was but the barest room for the passing of the sledge. It required all of the skill and patience of the men to guide the snorting, frightened ponies. One misstep would have whirled the beasts and sledge into the roaring fire-pit below; but they passed the neck of the pathway without mishap, and, after a few yards' progress, found the way widening and more smooth.
Scarcely had they passed the narrowest of the path when a shout from behind told them that Minos and his men had emerged from the tortuous spiral in the bowels of the cliffside, and had gained the shelf rim. Then Polaris turned back.
"How far on lieth the vent in the wall of the mountain through which we pass?" he asked of Kalin. The priest told him that it was nearly half-way around the circumference of the crater rim. "Then haste thou on, brother," said Polaris. "Get thee well through the last gate. I will turn back and see what may be done to delay those who are in too great haste behind us."
With a word of explanation to the girl, he took several spears and the brown rifle from the sledge.
Kalin smiled at him grimly through the murk.
"Methinks they will try first the broad way, or divide, and follow both paths," he said, "and they who go by the broad way will be fooled, for it cometh to naught but a bridgeless gap yonder." He pointed across the pit. "Those who come this way, hold thou back as long as may be—and then come thou swiftly, brother, and I will show thee means to close the way behind us."
Polaris ran back along the ledge. He came to the path neck again without encountering any of the pursuers, although their voices sounded from just beyond the bulge of the rock. Catching hand and footholds, he swung himself easily to the perch above the path, crept forward, and peered down at the platform.
Like rats from a hole, fully forty Sardanians had crept up through the winding passage. When they saw the light flaring redly before them they charged forward with a shout, expecting to find their quarry; and then they stood gaping in surprise on the red emptiness of the platform, where for centuries no Sardanian had stood, save the priests of the god and those about to die.
In front of the chapels they gathered in a group, the fire vapor from the abyss reflected from their staring faces in ghastly fashion. Only Minos, the prince, tarried not to wonder. Swiftly he paced to the right and to the left, inspecting the ledge with quick glances.
"Haste on the track of the strangers!" he cried. "Of old time have I heard it that through the gateway lieth another path from Sardanes to the wastes. It is that to which the false priest guideth them. Yonder seemeth scant room for their sledge. Let us follow here."
He started along the broader way to the right, and his men, overcoming in part their awe of the fearsome pit at their feet, began to follow; albeit with care, and as far from the edge as they might walk.
"Nay, not all of ye!" called back the prince. "Garlanes, go thou with men and explore the narrower way yonder."
With most of the Sardanians trailing at his back, Minos disappeared in the murk beyond the chapels. Garlanes and fifteen men turned to the pursuit of the narrow path. The old noble moved slowly, as though the task to which he was set was little enough to his taste, and none of his men was over hasty.
In silence Polaris watched the advance. He was minded to stay his hand from strife as long as might be, and, if possible, to frighten the pursuers back long enough to give the priest the time needed to thread the pass with the sledge.
With that plan in mind, he prepared to surprise the men of Garlanes when they should come near enough for his purpose. His trained ears, deafened by the noises from the never silent crater pit, did not tell him of a number of slinking forms that sniffed and crouched along the rock wall and came to a halt almost at the foot of the jutting rock where he crouched.
Foremost of the party of Garlanes was a tall young man. It chanced that, without seeing it, he had come to the beginning of the sinister chute in the floorway of the shelf—that polished slide through which all Sardanians were shot to their fiery ends. At his feet, unnoticed in the half light cast by the flicker, lay one of the wooden shield-like vehicles in which the victims rode to death. Ahead of him the man saw that the way grew suddenly narrower.
He paused and peered under his cupped hand.
Out of the gloom ahead of him came suddenly an ear-splitting rattling, followed by a hiss and a weird moaning that caused the hair at the nape of his neck to stiffen. Immediately the place was in echo to a full throated, hideous chorus, that froze the blood in the veins of the boldest Sardanian who heard it.
Cowering, and with staring eyeballs, the members of the searching party saw their leader shaken in his tracks, apparently crumpled up by an unseen force and whirled from them—out over the abyss of fire. One glimpse only they caught of his flying body, dark against the ruddy glow of the steam and smoke from the crater heart. For an instant the great hollow of the funnel rang with his agonized shrieks as he shot downward, and he was gone.
Only Polaris saw the end. Shaken with horror, he did not neglect to turn to his advantage the accident; for accident it was. As the party of Garlanes came on, he had smitten the wall at his side with the shafts of the spears he carried, and had given vent at the same time to a deep-chested groan. He did not know that the seven of the pack had slunk back on his trail, and crouched at the foot of the rock, ready for battle. Their echoing challenge to the foe startled him almost as much as it did the Sardanians.
The young leader, in the face of that blast of clamor, had started so violently that he struck his shins against the shield of wood at his feet, collapsed into it, and was whirled down the terrible chute to instant death.
Again the Sardanians proved their innate courage. Their companion torn from them and cast to a fate that they could neither see nor explain, his death-shrieks ringing in their ears, they did not break or give back. They stood fast and made ready to advance. From the gloom in front the menacing snarling of the dogs swelled in volume. It was quieted again when spoke the voice of the dreaded stranger from the snows.
"Back, ye men of Sardanes!" thundered Polaris from the height. "Back, ere the fate of him who hath but now passed the gateway be your fate! Back, and let the servant of Hephaistos and the strangers depart from the land in peace. Here along the narrow way lie many sorts of death!"
Again he struck on the wall with the sheaf of spears.
"Now one of you," shouted Garlanes, "haste and summon the Prince Minos and the others. Tell them that here the snow-dweller and his devils hold the path, and that with them will be the Rose maiden and the priest. Haste!"
One of the Sardanians set off along the ledge, making what haste he dared. Garlanes himself advanced to the front. In the shifting light from the chasm he found the opening to the chute, and warned his men around it.
With his long arms swinging low, and his face raised to meet whatever fate might lie before him, he walked straight toward the neck of the pathway. A sudden flare from the fire-pit showed him the way at the foot of the rock bulge, showed him that it was choked with dogs, their gnashing snouts and glaring eyes thrust at him from around the turn of the wall—and showed him, towering above, clearly outlined for an instant, the form of their master with raised spear.
The time to fight had come.
Others besides Garlanes saw Polaris in the flare of the fire. As the son of the snows quitted his place and leaped down to the ledge among the dogs, several spears splintered against the rock wall where he had stood.
Wondering much how Kalin and the Rose were faring, and if he might hold off their pursuers until the sledge was through the wall safely, he slipped along to the narrowest point of the path and ordered back the dogs. Again a flare of fire from the depths showed his position to the enemy, and an ilium-bladed spear was his greeting, hissing past his cheek to go clattering down the declivity of the precipice.
Urged by Garlanes, the Sardanians had crept dangerously near. Polaris held his hand no longer. He steadied himself and hurled a spear. The man next behind Garlanes fell to the floor of the ledge and lay twitching horribly in silence. The glittering point of the spear was set fast in his throat. Once more the light gave him opportunity, and another stout Sardanian gave up the ghost before his unerring cast.
Then Garlanes waited no longer for the coming of Minos, but gathered his men and charged.