A regular map of the planet Tharixan was included, since this had been the home base of the expedition. I translated the symbols for land, sea, river, fortress, and so on. Sir Roger pored long hours over it. Even the Saracen chart his grandfather had brought back from the Holy Land was crude compared to this; though on the other hand the Wersgorix showed lack of culture by omitting pictures of mermaids, the four winds, hippogriffs, and similar ornamentation.
I also deciphered the legends on some of the control panel instruments. Such dials as those for altitude and speed could readily be mastered. But what did “fuel flow” mean? What was the difference between “sublight drive” and “super-light drive”? Truly these were potent, though pagan, charms.
And so the sameness of days passed, and after a time which felt like a century we observed that one star was waxing in the screens. It swelled until it flamed big and bright as our own sun. And then we saw a planet, similar to ours save that it had two small moons. Downward we plunged, till the scene was not a ball in the sky but a great rugged sweep of landscape under our footsoles. When I saw heaven again turned blue, I threw myself to the deck in thanksgiving.
The lock-bar snapped upward. The ship came to a halt and hung where it was, a mile in the air. We had reached Tharixan.
Chapter VI
Sir Roger had summoned me to the control turret, with Sir Owain and Red John, who led Branithar on a leash. The bowman gaped at the screens and muttered horrid oaths.
Word had gone through the ship that all fighting men must arm themselves. The two knights here were in plate, their esquires waiting outside with shields and helmets. Horses stamped in the holds and along the corridors. Women and children huddled back with bright fearful eyes.
‘Here we are!” Sir Roger grinned. It was eldritch to see him so boyishly gay, when everyone else was swallowing hard and sweating till the air reeked. But a fight, even against the powers of hell, was something he could understand. “Brother Parvus, ask the prisoner where we are on the planet.”
I put the question to Branithar, who touched a control button. A hitherto blank screen glowed to life, showing a map. “We are where the cross hairs center,” he told us. “The map will unroll as we fly about.”
I compared the screen with the chart in my hand. “The fortress called Ganturath seems to lie about a hundred miles north by northeast, my lord,” I said.
Branithar, who had been picking up a little English, nodded. “Ganturath is only a minor base.” He must put his boasts into Latin still. “Yet numerous spaceships are stationed there, and swarms of aircraft. The fire-weapons on the ground can blast this vessel out of existence, and force screens will stop any beams from your own guns. Best you surrender.”
When I had translated, Sir Owain said slowly: “It may be the wisest thing, my lord.”
“What?” cried Sir Roger. “An Englishman yield without a fight?”
“But the women, sire, and the poor little children!”
“I am not a rich man,” said Sir Roger. “I cannot afford to pay ransom.” He clumped in his armor to the pilot’s chair, sat down, and tapped the manual controls.
Through the downward vision screens, I saw the land slide swiftly away beneath us. Its rivers and mountains were of homelike shape, but the vegetation’s green hues were overlaid with a weird bluish tint. The country seemed wild. Now and again we saw a few rounded buildings, amidst enormous grain fields cultivated by machines, but otherwise it was bare of man as the New Forest. I wondered if this, too, were some king’s hunting preserve, then remembered Branithar’s account of sparse habitation everywhere in the Wersgor Empire.
A voice broke our silence, chattering away in the harsh blue-face language. We started, crossed ourselves, and glared about. The sounds came from a small black instrument affixed to the main panel.
“So!” Red John drew his dagger. “All this time there’s been a stowaway! Give me a crowbar, sire, and I’ll pry him out.”