CHAPTER XXVI.
THE FASCINATION OF THE PRIEST.
FORWARD they came to the base of the steps, then paused a while, as though awaiting some signal ere commencing the attack. It came at length. From somewhere at the rear arose the voice of the high priest of the wolf-men.
“Go forward, my children, and ye shall prevail. Ramouni has spoken it.”
At the words a score or so of savages leapt up the steps towards the Ayuti.
“Guard my back,” the latter cried to his three friends, and bent forward to meet his oncoming foes. A grim smile played over his features for an instant as the wolf-men hesitated a few feet from the top of the steps.
“Are ye fearful,” he cried mockingly, “oh, children of the wolf? Hath not Nordhu, your father, promised that ye shall prevail? Come, then! Chenobi awaits you.”
His words lashed the savages to fury, and, with a roar of rage, they hurled themselves upon him. Quick as thought his weapon flashed upward, then came down in a terrific swoop, and the foremost wolf-man, his head almost cloven from his shoulders, pitched backward down the steps. To right and left the great axe whirled and smote, dancing and gleaming above the heaving mass of brown bodies which surged furiously upward. And from every fresh stroke it rose dyed crimson with the life-blood of a new victim.
As yet the three behind were idle. At the stairhead they would have been in the king’s way, preventing him from the free use of his weapon, and so far not a savage had managed to break past and gain the terrace. But there was work for them before the fight was over. At present they had perforce to be content to look on, and the sight aroused their keenest admiration, while satisfying the lust for vengeance which burned within them.
Like ripened grain the wolf-men fell away before that terrible axe, and still Chenobi was untouched. Every spear-thrust or stab of knife fell harmless upon his great shield. His arm seemed tireless, as he wielded the mighty weapon which a man of average strength could barely lift. Still the carnage went on, still the pile of dead grew, until but five of the attackers remained. Then these lost heart, and, turning, bounded down the steps.
The first attack had failed.
“Cannot we help?” asked Mervyn, as Chenobi turned round, smiling triumphantly.
“Nay,” returned the king; “spears are but puny weapons against a host. Besides, ye have no shields.”
“But it becomes us ill to stand idle,” persisted the scientist.
“If I should fall your turn will come,” replied Chenobi, and, with that, he faced about to meet a fresh attack.
“God forbid!” cried Mervyn fervently, but his words were drowned in the clamour of the savage horde that came charging up towards the terrace. It was but a repetition of the previous scene, and the scientist, knowing the devilish cunning of the priest, marvelled that he should allow his followers to throw away their lives in such mad fashion. Yet in his heart was a dread that these attacks were but the prelude to some diabolical scheme, which, when complete, would land them all in the power of the wolf-men. And his forebodings were only too fully justified.
While Chenobi hacked and hewed, with his whole mind centred upon the foe before him, a fur-clad figure advanced from the shadow of the king’s palace and crossed the square to the foot of the steps.
It was Nordhu, and Mervyn shuddered as he saw the weird glitter of the fellow’s eyes as he fixed them full upon those of the king. Like twin stars they glowed through the twilight.
“Great Heaven!” the scientist ejaculated, grasping Haverly’s arm, “he’s trying to hypnotise Chenobi!”
“The devil!” snarled Silas with a shiver of rage, and, lifting his spear, he hurled it full at the priest. He missed his mark by a few inches as Nordhu leapt aside.
“Ye shall pay for that, dog!” roared the latter, once more riveting his gaze upon the form of the king.
“He’s overcoming our friend,” Mervyn gasped an instant later, as Chenobi, ceasing his efforts, dropped his weapon, and stood as one dazed. With a roar of delight the wolf-men gained the terrace, and within two minutes their gigantic enemy was fast bound by a stout hide rope, and the attackers were turning their attention to the three comrades, who had retired a few paces. There, with their backs to the altar, in the shadow of the great idol, they prepared for the final struggle against their relentless foes.
But the fascinating stare of the priest followed them, and, ere long, Wilson succumbed to its baleful power. Despite his comrades’ efforts to detain him, the lad strode calmly across the terrace, passed through the horde of savages clustered at the head of the stairs, and descended to the square, where he was immediately bound securely by the wolf-men below. The power of the priest was truly appalling.
Flushed by his double triumph, he again exerted himself to complete the fell work he had begun, by subduing the minds of the remaining two. But they were of sterner stuff. With all the strength of their natures they fought against the uncanny force which bade them surrender to their enemies. The eyes of the priest seemed to be glaring right into their brains, yet they struggled on, knowing that to submit meant their ultimate ruin. Their case they well knew was hopeless, but far better to die fighting beneath the spears of the savages than to be led captive into the caverns of the hills, there to be sacrificed to the terrible Rahee.
Oh, for a rifle and a couple of cartridges! Haverly thought, that he might at least send Nordhu to his last account ere he himself fell. As well might he have wished for the moon.
Suddenly the influence of the priest was withdrawn; his eyes ceased to glare, and from his lips came a low call. Instantly the waiting savages dashed forward, overwhelming the two comrades by sheer numbers, before either could strike more than a blow in self-defence.
So it ended, the fight that had opened so well, that had promised to finish so differently, its issue decided by the devilish arts of the priest. But for the hypnotic power of Nordhu, they might have kept the wolf-men at bay for an almost indefinite period. Haverly ground his teeth with helpless rage as he and Mervyn were led down into the square. Here the same humiliating fate befel them as had already fallen to Wilson and the Ayuti.
They were bound securely, hand and foot, the raw hide ropes being drawn so tightly that they almost cut into the flesh. Then, seized by some of their hideous captors, the four men were carried swiftly through the silent streets and out across the plain towards the haunts of the wolf-men.
* * * * * *
When Seymour felt himself gripped from behind, as he stood gazing down into the abyss, his first sensation was one of deadly fear. Overcoming this, however, he swung round quickly and grappled his hideous opponent. To and fro they swayed upon the brink, each gripping the other’s throat, each struggling to hurl his enemy over the edge of the chasm.
With all his enormous strength Seymour could barely hold his own. The wolf-man’s muscles seemed of iron, his fingers gripped like a vice, and beneath their pressure the baronet’s life was slowly choked out.
It was at this moment that he managed to gasp out the cry which attracted the attention of his friends; but, as we know, they were too late to aid him, and both he and the loathsome savage pitched over into the abyss.
His mind was a complete blank during the few moments of his fall. He did not swoon, yet his mental and physical powers were alike suspended—paralysed, as it were. Then suddenly his faculties were fully restored by a plunge into rushing water. He sank like a stone, the water roaring madly in his ears, seeming to beat him downward to a terrible depth. With all his strength he struck out for the surface, fighting his way up through the surging waters that he might empty his bursting lungs.
It was the agony of years concentrated into a few seconds of time through which he passed in that upward struggle; but he gained the surface at length, and, with the thunderous boom of a cataract in his ears, was swept forward by the current. For a time he was content to be carried along without attempting to swim, only paddling sufficiently to keep himself afloat. The roar of the fall died away behind him as he was swept on, and the speed of the current gradually slackened.
Slower and slower his progress grew, and at last he was obliged to strike out for himself. As to his whereabouts, he had no idea, but, deeming one direction as good as another in the midnight darkness by which he was surrounded, he swam boldly ahead.
Ere long he found that, strong as he was, to swim fully clothed for any length of time would be an impossibility; so, floating there, in the midst of a profound and awful silence, hedged about on either side by a solid pall of darkness, the intrepid baronet removed his boots and clothes. Then, naked as he was born, he struck out once more with long, steady strokes that ate up the distance.
Where was his enemy, the wolf-man? he wondered. Had he, too, escaped, and at the present moment was swimming somewhere in the darkness? The thought sent a shiver through Seymour’s frame, and he half expected to see a pair of fierce eyes glaring through the gloom and to feel once more those bony fingers gripping his throat. But there came no sign to show that the savage had escaped, and gradually the baronet’s anxiety on that score died.
For hours, so it seemed to him, he was swimming before his outstretched hand touched solid stone. Treading water, he reached upward, striving to discover how high this barrier was; but the top was beyond his reach.
Sheer and solid the masonry rose, without crack or crevice by means of which one might climb. Somewhat disappointed, Seymour turned and swam slowly along the base of the wall.
What this barrier meant he could not at first determine. The touch of it told him that it was no work of Nature. No natural wall had ever its smoothness and regularity. Yet for what purpose had it been built? Like a flash into his brain swept the answer. This was the ancient reservoir of the Ayutis, which fed the great tanks beneath the temple. The thought gave him hope, for, if his idea were correct, there must be some exit through which the water flowed into the conduits.
Steadily he swam forward, feeling the wall as he went, till suddenly, thrusting out his hand, he felt nothing. The wall had ended!
Eagerly he felt about him. Yes, there was no doubt about it, the masonry had ceased. Three cautious strokes, at right angles to his first course, and his feet touched the lowest of a flight of steps which here broke the regularity of the wall, running down some feet into the water. Thankfully he drew himself up, and sat a while to rest, ere ascending to the top of the flight.
His position was a most unenviable one. Naked, wet, and shivering from his immersion, buried in some subterranean cavern far away from even the ghostly light of the underworld, and, above all, entirely defenceless, it was not remarkable that he felt somewhat depressed. But summoning all his courage he rose after a few moments and mounted the steps, moving carefully, lest he should lose his footing and fall backward into the water again. Twelve of the steps he counted, then found himself upon an apparently broad pavement, across which he crept, hands outstretched before him.
The silence was intense. No sound but the gentle lapping of the water against the stonework came to his ears, and even this ceased as he increased his distance from the reservoir. Step by step he advanced, gaining courage with every yard, until, with a suddenness that sent his heart leaping into his mouth, a sound came out of the darkness ahead—the snarling yelp of some animal!
The baronet pulled up on the instant and stood listening. Again the yelp came to his ears, trembling away weirdly into the furthermost recesses of the vast cavern. What creature could it be that dwelt here in the darkness? he asked himself. Was it the wolf-man who had fallen with him into these depths? Even as his mind framed the question he knew that it was so. The savage had escaped from the reservoir, and was now prowling somewhere in the gloom ahead of him.
The idea was by no means a pleasant one, yet better the wolf-man for an enemy than some strange beast. Prepared for an attack at any moment, Seymour moved forward again, his momentary fear giving place to a revengeful passion against the brute who had caused his present predicament. For perhaps a score of yards he advanced, at length coming in touch with a wall, along which he felt his way to a low archway. This, after some little hesitation, he entered, having to bend somewhat to escape catching his head against the roof.
The floor was slimy with ooze, and there was a constant drip of water from above, but, disdaining these minor difficulties, Seymour held on. With his arms outstretched to their full extent, he could just touch the walls of the passage, and in this fashion he managed to steer himself. As nearly as he could judge, the tunnel was about two hundred yards in length, giving at last upon a chamber, which appeared to be one of considerable size. Across this he was proceeding when a bright light flickered into view right ahead.
It was too distant to illuminate much of the chamber in which he was, but, taking it as his guide, he increased his pace and moved swiftly towards it. As he went on he observed that it proceeded from a low-roofed tunnel similar to the one from which he had just emerged.
Stooping, he was about to enter the passage, when, with a snarl of rage, the form of the wolf-man rose before him. The next instant he and the loathsome savage were locked in a death-grip.