Lords of Creation Page 19

  In fact, Ellory’s heart leaped at the wealth of armament disclosed. Tens of thousands of rifles, hundreds of machine guns, great chambers of unused ammunition. They were all of the thirtieth-century design, marvelously efficient and deadly.

  But those guns would only be used once more.

  Ellory swore that solemnly as he stood in the shadows and ghosts of his civilization. After these weapon relics had served their purpose, they and all they represented would be destroyed. God help him in that resolve!

  Suddenly his eyes gleamed.

  He saw a small cannon, a futuristic model of the early French .75s, beside it a pile of amused shells. Further search uncovered a dozen more of the guns. These, too, Ellory brought to light, with dozens of strong men hauling them up on rawhide ropes.

  And later, mounted each on a ship, they became a symbol of military might. At each harbor, during the conscription of Europe’s merchant marine, one shell was sent screaming over the harbor city, to explode deafeningly. The coastal tribes hastened to bow down to Humrelly, Lord of the Outland World.

  And such he was already, in theory. His fame had gone before him. One direct campaign across Eurasia would have made it fact. But the coastal tribes supplied him with all the ships, men and supplies he needed for his Antarkan campaign.

  Events narrowed down to that climactic issue.

  Ellory’s fleet of five thousand ships and a million men sailed from the coast of ancient Spain, a week before the Lords of Antarka were due to exact tribute.

  Majestically, the great armada headed into the open sea, turned south for faraway Antarctica.

  Three months later the frowning shores of Antarka loomed into sight. The morale of the men was low, drained by the long monotonous voyage. Perhaps a hundred ships had slipped away and gone back, during dark nights. The men on those left, with powerful Antarka in sight, lost courage in proportion to their nearness. Ellory knew this by the way ships hung back.

  He cheered aloud when three Antarkan aircraft swung down. They circled, astonished at this great fleet of Outlanders.

  There was the burst of machine-gun fire. Two ships became flaming comets, one escaped. Now the secret was out, but Ellory was satisfied. A rising cheer rolling over the waters from his ships. The two Antarkan eagles brought down had restored morale. A million men had but one thought—to attack the tyrants who had ruled for a thousand long, oppressive years.

  But attack came from Antarka first—a dozen great ships spitting down fire balls. A dozen of Ellory’s ships burned to the water’s edge, but they reached Davey Jones’ Locker no sooner than the twelve twisted, crumpled masses of metal peppered with bullet holes.

  High overhead, an observing rocket craft raced back to report. They would carry incredible news—that the Outlanders had some amazing new long-range weapon. And for the first time in a thousand years, Antarka would quake with fear.

  A more concerted aerial attack came before the fleet had made harbor. Fifty Antarkan ships swooped over the fleet, at such speeds that guns could not be aimed. But neither did the fire-balls hit their marks. Most of them hissed into open water.

  The Antarkan fleet swooped again, more slowly, gauging their range. The speed that allowed Antarkan gunners to hit Ellory’s ships also allowed machine-gun bullets to retaliate. Twenty Antarkan ships in flames plunged into the sea. The price to Ellory was thirty vessels, which he could well afford.

  “Try it again!” shouted Mal Radnor, on the deck of the flagship. “It isn’t so easy, is it, Lords of Antarka? Not as easy as burning down our defenseless cities, or dropping fire-balls among our fleeing people? We bite back now. Try it again, fools!”

  And they did, stupidly.

  Ellory almost wished he could tell them not to. They could not realize they were up against a weapon that outclassed theirs. Ten more gleaming, metallic ships joined those already sunk to the bottom of the sea. The reMalning drummed back toward Antarka.

  Now perhaps they realized the formidable forces against them—and the doom awaiting them.

  Of that, Ellory himself was sure.

  Their short-range weapons could not match his guns. They had a limited number of aircraft. They could withdraw into their cities, yes, but could not last a siege forever, dependent as they were on Outland food supplies. Superior manpower they had at present, if they sent out armies, but bullets would even the score much more rapidly than their fire-balls, limited to a hundred-yard range.

  Events moved forward with the incredible swiftness of a dream. All things had come to a head. The future of mankind swung on a single pivot.

  Homer Ellory was that pivot, by the queer destiny that elevates one human being and gives him Jovian power.

  Ellory felt that suddenly and was afraid. What if something went wrong? What if Antarka fought to the last? The weapons Ellory had were limited. The caverns had been stripped. There was no chance of finding more later, with Antarka aroused.

  Everything depended on this campaign. Nerves tightened, Ellory steeled himself. A chant drummed through his mind. Smash Antarka flat! Smash at it with all he had, as quickly and brutally as possible. Force victory while he had the whip hand. In Ellory’s age, military theory had called it a Blitzkrieg—lightning war.

  The campaign lasted exactly ten days.

  Ten days from the moment Antarka was sighted till the Outland army marched on Lillamra. Ten Days That Shook The World, Ellory thought, borrowing a phrase from his own century.

  Ellory had picked Lillamra City as his first objective because he knew most about it. And it was ErMalne’s city. Avoiding attack there first, Ellory would be letting his heart sway his mind. Such was the verdict he had made, though it brought him agony to think of her life endangered.

  The harbor gained, the army landed, Ellory quickly organized the march on Lillamra, with half his forces.

  Machine guns were loaded into small wagons, dragged by men. The Norak riflemen, best-trained, took the van. Behind, in larger wagons, reposed the gleaming bulks of the small cannon, their long barrels silently proclaiming their terrific power. In this fiftieth-century world, they were the most powerful weapons in existence.

  It was a strange thought, for the weakest of twentieth-century armies, from the tiniest of comic-opera principalities, would have routed his motley, untrained horde in an hour. One great cannon, speaking from Antarka, would have blown his ships from the harbor. But Antarka, with all its science, was powerful only in contrast to the primitive Outland. Against twentieth century armament, Antarka was weak and defenseless.

  But Antarka struck before they had marched ten miles inland, toward Lillamra. First another aerial attack. Fully a hundred craft roared over their heads, dropping not just fire-balls, but cloudbursts of burning gasoline, from their wing tanks. Whole columns of Outland men writhed and shrieked in the torment of flame.

  It was a sickening sight. Ellory felt the sudden panic that assailed his men. For a moment, complete rout seemed imminent.

  But then the staccato crack of rifles began to sound, joined by the harsh rattle of machine guns. One Antarkan ship nosed down, then two—five—a dozen.

  Ellory smiled grimly.

  Aerial attack was a costly proposition to the Antarkans. Having no long-range weapons or bombs, they could only strike from close quarters.

  Decimated by half, the attacking fleet left and Ellory led the onward march, leaving the wounded for the follow-up corps.

  “I don’t think they’ll try much more attack from the air,” Mal Radnor told Ellory. “Half their total fleet must be gone already.”

  There was a glow in his face. Ellory tried to realize how he must feel, he and all the other Outland men, seeing the thousand-year power of Antarka slowly crumbling away before their eyes.

  A wave of men next came from Antarka, from Lillamra City. Silken-clad Lords
of Antarka, gaudy capes wrapped tightly around them against the polar cold. They came on without formation, in a body, with a certain lordly air, as though still skeptical of the attackers’ powers.

  They never had a chance to use the fire-ball weapons in their hands. Before coming within its range, a hail of bullets sliced through them. It was sheer slaughter, under the slanting rays of a six-month’s sun. They fled, no longer lordly, back to their underground city, like frightened rabbits.

  Ellory spoke to the image of ErMalne in his mind.

  “You asked me once to make it interesting! Is it interesting enough for you, now, ErMalne?”

  The image seemed to take life of its own, look at him in hate and horror.

  “I will hate you forever for this, Humrelly. Forever and ever!”

  That was the price he would pay.

  Chapter 30

  LORD OF EARTH

  Antarka was broken now. Ellory knew it. The Outland army, chanting the old cry “Freedom from Antarka!” knew it. Down in buried Lillamra, and the other cities, cowering and trembling, they must know it too.

  It snowed and grew bitterly cold. Fingers and lips were blue. Antarka sent no more open resistance.

  “Siege!” said Mal Radnor. “It is their last resort. They can last nine months, with stored food supplies.” He shook his head worriedly. “Perhaps in that time they will devise a new weapon—”

  “We won’t give them the chance,” Ellory returned quickly. “We’ll storm Lillamra!”

  “But the metal cap—”

  “We’ll pry it open—with that!” Ellory pointed to the cannon.

  Mal Radnor had never seen its full powers displayed. “Will it do that, Humrelly?” he queried dubiously.

  “Watch and see!”

  Mal Radnor did see. And all the Outlanders. And all of Antarka, through the eyes of a scouting ship hovering high.

  They saw shell after shell batter against the metal cap of Lillamra City. Ellory found the range by trial and error, with the big target shouldering up plainly against the horizon. Shell after shell. The metal shield of Lillamra clanged like a great bell. It must be deafening to those within.

  Ellory kept it up grimly, inexorably.

  The shield was not armor, simply a metal skin. Cracks began to appear in the smooth metal sheet, visible even for miles. Little black dots showed, where shells had battered through.

  Lillamra lay exposed to attack.

  Ellory’s men swarmed about the gaping holes in the metal ceiling. Lowering rawhide ladders, they clambered down to the first level. Antarkans stood dazed, not firing a shot. The final cannon bombardment had obviously snapped their last thought of resistance.

  Curiously, the Outland invaders crowding on the first level were also dazed, silent. They stared about, awed at the thought of being there, not as slaves or underlings, but as conquerors. A thousand years of history culminated. The tables reversed. One race falling, another rising. They could only stare at each other, realizing this stupendous change.

  And then, suddenly, Mal Radnor had raised his hands, shouting. In answer, a thunderous cheer burst from Outland throats.

  Ellory realized with a great lift of joy, that they were cheering for him. It was his supreme moment, the one he had been destined for the instant he emerged from the crypt. The other cities would fall, or surrender, as Lillamra had. In his mind he heard the crash of the colossus of Antarka. It was over!

  At last Ellory spoke, realizing he must forestall sack of the city, and future bitterness.

  “Antarka has fallen. Never again will it exact tribute. But there must be no senseless reprisal. I appeal to you, men of United Earth. Take over the city quietly. Do not destroy. Do not molest the Antarkan people. In the new world, they will live and labor with you and for you. I, Humrelly, swear it!”

  His wish was law, he who had led them to victory. The city was taken over quietly. Under Mal Radnor’s command, Outlanders hastened down to occupy all the lower levels. There were some wild, jubilant shouts, but these men were still in awe of what they saw. There were happy greetings, too, as Outland slaves met their rescuers.

  Some sixth sense made Ellory whirl suddenly, toward the palace building. His breath caught in his throat.

  She was approaching, and this was the moment Ellory had dreamed of, and dreaded.

  ErMalne, Lady of Lillamra, came forward. Imperious, erect, she stopped before him as though she, and not he, were master of the city. Her loveliness, hidden from him for long months, had the impact now of first-seen beauty.

  Swiftly the drive and elation of the past campaign left him. He could not clear his mind of a sudden, huge despair; for he had destroyed the world that belonged to this woman—whom he loved.

  Ellory stood there, voiceless, his body cravenly weak. Like a schoolboy stricken by stage fright, he wanted to run away. How could he face the accusation in her eyes?

  As in times of stress before, his mind became a temporary blank. During his short but tumultuous sojourn in the fiftieth century, he had stirred the brew of war, sure that he was right. He had bloodily conscripted the Outland world, certain of the reason for it. He was conquering Antarka now, his goal a shining light ahead. All these things had gleamed clear behind the clouds of doubt.

  But now, before ErMalne, he was sure of nothing save that in her eyes he must be a destroying monster. And for a long moment he fought against the desire to turn tail and slink away.

  But then, wretchedly aware that hundreds of eyes were watching, he gripped himself. Had they noticed? Had they seen his knees knocking together and wondered why Humrelly, who had commanded legions of warriors, scattered armies, brought a world to its knees before him, smashed the thousand-year rule of a powerful race—why the virtual Lord of Earth should now be trembling before a girl?

  He found himself speaking, in a dry emotionless tone.

  “Lady ErMalne of Lillamra, I take over your city in the name of United Earth. Your people will not be harmed, I assure you. They will have a place in the new world, as citizens of United Earth.”

  She stared at him without a word. He searched her eyes for a hopeful sign, for some small flicker of understanding. Did he see only accusation there, everlasting hatred for disrupting her world? But what more could he expect?

  Useless, now, to think in those terms. He could only speak for those who had fought with him.

  “First of all, I want all the radium you have at hand,” he went on, still tonelessly. At the slight lift of her eyebrows, he explained: “I have the means of producing unlimited metal supplies, through radium. And power. Metals and power; civilization. For the whole world.”

  Now her eyes mocked him. Though she reMalned silent, he could almost hear her taunt:

  “Still the dreamer, Humrelly?”

  “But I make my dreams come true!” he half cried. “ErMalne, listen to me! I didn’t just come to conquer, for the barbaric glory of it. Nor was it just the tyranny of Antarka. The purpose above it all is a higher sort of civilization. Perhaps higher than Earth has ever known before!”

  He went on passionately. “Do you know what I want most from Antarka—technicians, engineers, scientists! Alone in the Outland, with my new process, it would take me a lifetime even to get started. I might die before I had made the first useful engine. But with all the skill and technical knowledge of Antarka at my back, I can launch a new metal-and-power civilization within my lifetime. That’s why I came to conquer—for help!”

  Appeal crept into his voice. All the people, Antarkans and Outlanders alike, were listening in wonder. ErMalne stood, expressionless.

  He plunged on.

  “Don’t you see, ErMalne? You almost saw, once before. The Outland being lifted from backwardness—and Antarka from decadence! All mankind striving toward true civilization, with all
the mistakes from the past to benefit from. A united society without wars or tyranny, without maladjustment for any minority. Call it an ideology or a dream, or anything you like, but it’s a goal to strive for. That’s the whole meaning of life—”

  Ellory stopped.

  He had said everything he could, and it did not appear to be enough. What did it mean?

  Words and dreams, nothing more. Why go on? He had struck no spark here, among Outlanders and Antarkans. They would go on hating one another, warring, bickering…

  “Still the dreamer, Humrelly!” This time ErMalne had spoken aloud. Ellory started—and then he felt the weight of despair. In those four words, she had given him her answer—told him he was a fool.

  Yet her tone had been strange, soft, moving.

  Ellory looked at her, saw that there were tears in her eyes. He took a swift step forward.

  And then she was in his arms, sobbing against his shoulder.

  “I wanted you to come back, Humrelly! And I knew you would! I hated Antarka, and everything in it, after you left. I almost came to you, except for foolish pride. I knew you were right. Every passing hour told me that.”

  Incredulous, he held her there.

  She broke away from him suddenly. Proudly she faced her people. Her bell-voice rang out clearly.

  “I go with Humrelly, out into the new world—as First Lady of United Earth!”

  Ellory glanced at her quickly, and for an instant he frowned, hearing that last phrase. Then his face cleared in a slow smile, and he stepped toward her, to take her in his arms again.

  Back of them, though they hardly noticed, Outlanders and Antarkans were looking curiously at one another, as if suddenly aware that above all they were fellow human beings.