Adventure Magazine Cover — page 62: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

60 and all Lunden to the burying tonight. Obey them? “Nay! Jam the king! But I go, never- theless, and so do you go, and all my men, and all Lunden Town, because a king’s throne has four legs, of which the first is a druid; and the second is ceremony; and the third is mystery; and the fourth is common - sense. But the druids did not summon Tros, nor any of his new men.” He looked hard at Tros again. “They left that courtesy to me to under- take and, it maybe I forgot to mention it!” He did not wait for Fflur to answer. He rose, gesturing toward the door, through which the sound of stamping stallions came and the crunch of bronze wheels on the gravel drive. “Now, Tros,’’ he said, ‘‘I would not leave you here unless I knew this Glendwyr busi- ness is a little matter. And I know, too, that you need a hook on which to hang your coat, as it were, if you are to winter here in Britain. I need a good excuse to Jend you house and countenance in spite of jealousy and tales against you. “So—Glendwyr is no great danger but he will serve your end. If he has fifty men, that is more than I think; and the half of those will run when the first one yells as a Spear-point pricks him at Lud’s Gate! _ Glendwyr counts on Lunden turning against me, if he can steal my house. ‘Take care then that he never entersit! For my part, I will let the men of Lunden know you saved their town for them tonight when their backs were turned!” -Tros answered him never a word. “Is he a rash fool, or so wise that he can laugh at rash fools, or a desperate king with druids on his neck, or all three things at once?” he wondered. But Caswallon marched out looking like a man who understood all the rules of the game of “‘kinging it.” CHAPTER XI THE BATTLE AT LUD’S GATE SF ROS gathered his Northmen, the wounded and all, for they could eat and drink and walk, whatever else might ail them, and, with Helma at his side, brought up the rear of the procession be- hind fifty chariots that swayed in the crim- son glare of torches held by men on foot. Adventure — Far away to the north-westward, beyond the forest and the marsh, there was a crim- son glow against the sky, where druids’ fires burned; and all the distance in between was dotted with the irregular glow of torches where the folk of Lunden and the neighbor- ing villages formed one continuous stream. ‘“‘Zeus! Those druids have the Britons by neck and nose!”’ Tros muttered. “‘Would my father have asked burial at the risk of a man’s throne? Not he! He would have ordered them to throw his body on a dung- heap, and defend themselves! If he is not too busy in another world, he will forgive me for not attending his funeral!” The long procession filed through the circle of solemn yew-trees, where the altar was on which a daily sunrise sacrifice was laid; and there Tros halted, gathering his men around him, bidding Helma explain his plan to Sigurdsen: ‘“‘Now we march back. One has ridden to warn Caswallon’s enemies that his house is empty and the town unguarded. He saw us all march away, and though that man is Caswallon’s friend, the information will leak out of him like the smell of strong wine through a bottle-neck. There is none in Lunden, save the fire-guard, a few old wo- men and, it may be, a handful of drunken fishermen down by the riverside.” “Who is the fire-guard?”’ Sigurdsen asked; for he knew next to nothing of Britons, ex- cept that they were not fit to be reckoned with at sea, although great fighters on horse- back, and on foot in their forests. “They,” said Tros, “are about a score of old men, who sleep by day and are supposed to patrol by night. This night, instead of snoring in the watch-house, they shall serve a purpose. Conops! Go find the fire- guard. Wake them. Keep them awake. See that each cripple of them arms himself with two good torches. Hide them within Caswallon’s wall, with a small fire handy at which to light the torches swiftly when I blow three blasts somewhere near the town-gate. “When I do that, make all the noise pos- sible and run downhill toward the gate, as if at least fifty of you were coming to my aid. If the running kills them they will die in a good cause, so spare none! No talk now! Go about your business! Hurry!” “How much of a fight is this to be?” asked Sigurdsen. “A third of us are stiff with wounds.” Gcomicbooks.com