A DEADENING quiet fell over the huge room where Maya’s and Ato’s little armies were making their last stand. The flames were dying out in the tunnels and on the stairway. They fed more fuel to the fires and waited.

Maya was at Odin’s side now. They clung together. Jack Odin kissed her and swore that they would never be parted again.

“Until death—” Maya said and raised her lips to his.

He shivered. It was a promise and an assurance that might be kept too soon. The fires could not burn much longer. Grim Hagen’s power over the Lorens might be questioned after the havoc that had been wreaked in the city above. But Hagen and his white-skinned soldiers could still fight. And Grim Hagen’s hate was hotter than the fires that were now dying out in the tunnels.

Ato joined them. He had proven himself a general. Outnumbered all the way, he had broken Grim Hagen’s lines time and again during that awful night.

“I think we had better wait behind the barricades and make our last stand upon the balcony,” he said. “We can’t defend five entrances at the same time.”

Odin agreed.

“Some of Maya’s people are unarmed. We still have a few of the Lorens who joined us. They are good fighters. Better than the Lorens who are with Grim Hagen. Apparently, he drew his following from the weakest among them.”

“Aye,” Val the Loren agreed. He had fought near Ato’s side all through the night, and his lean left hand was rubbing two deep cuts across his chest. “They have already had enough. But they have asked the wild things of the moss-country to dine with them, and now they can’t get rid of their guests. If Grim Hagen and his soldiers should die, they would give up in a minute.”

“Are your men still armed, Val?” Odin asked.

“Aye. They know to hang on to their weapons.”

“Not all of Maya’s people are,” Odin said. “I don’t like the idea of the children and old men fighting.”

“Children and old men have fought before,” Ato answered simply. “If this should be the last time, then the battle would be worth the blood. Anyway, I have set them to fashioning lances and staves from wood that we saved from the fires.”

They waited. All the troops and all the weapons were moved behind the barricade.

Some of the best throwers were mounted upon the improvised balcony. They had rigged up a rude catapult from some lumber and ropes. They had barrels of nails and spikes for ammunition. Odin wished for some good bowmen, but the bow was as foreign to the Lorens as it was to the Brons. There was nothing left to do except move all the workshop’s water-pails and sand-buckets behind the barricade in case of fire.

Soon they heard the sound of war-cries and the splashing of water from the tunnels. Smoke poured into the room from the quenched and dying fires. It disappeared almost as fast as it came. Evidently the Lorens were masters of air-conditioning. Odin was thankful. Knowing Grim Hagen, he had been fearful of gas. Now that seemed unlikely. Even as Gunnar had predicted, this last fight would be with knife and sword and spear. Or, if it lasted long, with clubs and bare hands.

They had spanned space and had mocked at time. Now time was triumphant as always. Would they end up as pre-stone-age men throwing sticks at one another? And was this a sample of the end of all the thinking men who would follow after into space? If so, what a hollow, foolish end to such high endeavor. Odin remembered an old professor who had said that all races carry their own seeds of destruction with them wherever they go. The bees who steal the honey soon die, the old man had said, but the flowers are pollinated anew and life goes on forever.

But such bleak thoughts were short-lasting. For as soon as the tunnels and the stairway were cleared of smoke, Grim Hagen’s army came pouring into the room. Grim Hagen had mustered at least two-thousand men. He had divided these into five groups, and they came through the five entrances at the same time. Yelling and brandishing swords and flares, they rushed the barricade.

Jack Odin had underestimated the catapult. The crew released it. And a shower of spikes tore the invading ranks apart. Odin saw a white-skinned warrior go to his knees and scream as he tried to pull a six-inch spike from his eye.

Ato had ordered his men to try for Grim Hagen’s trained soldiers first. Odin saw an old Bron cast a home-made spear with as much ease as a trained javelin-thrower back home. A soldier tried to pull it out of his chest until his legs buckled beneath him and he tumbled over backwards.

Then a white-skinned warrior leaped at the barricade and Odin thrust him through.

Torches began to rain down upon them. Half the defending forces were now busy with water and sand, beating out the flames.

Then, after what seemed to be hours, the catapult crew cranked their awkward weapon to the trigger-point again and sent another rain of spikes into Grim Hagen’s ranks.

The floor beyond the barrier was littered with dead and slippery with blood before Grim Hagen’s men broke the barrier.

There were only two hundred to meet the charge of two thousand. The end was inevitable.

As the barrier went down, Jack Odin and Maya urged their men to climb upon the balcony. Odin was the last to retreat. A soldier caught at him as he scrambled upward and Odin turned and slashed him across the face.

Ato was calling his men around him. They drew back to a corner where two thick walls met. Ato had placed one bench there. This he stood upon, calling out orders and cheering them on as the attackers climbed the unsteady tiers of benches and tables to reach them. The defenders gathered around. There were not over fifty of them left now. Odin thrust Maya behind him. A body fell at his feet. He bent and lifted up a twelve-year-old boy who was streaming from wounds. He handed the lad to Maya.

Grim Hagen led the attack. Odin braced himself. He took one step forward and waited. Seeing him, Grim Hagen veered toward him, screaming a mad battle-cry—his eyes wild with hate. Even in what appeared to be the last moment, Jack Odin saw that only three or four of the white-skinned soldiers were left; and not over a dozen of the Brons who had stayed with Grim Hagen during all those wasting years remained.

He did not take his eyes from Grim Hagen. He was conscious only of a sudden flickering, as of many lights twinkling on and off. But he did not know what was happening. Maya told him later.

Ato was already bleeding badly from a deep slash in his shoulder. As he rallied his men around him, someone threw a knife that buried itself in the right side of his chest. He stumbled and went down to his knees. Then he struggled up, and as he stood straight he reached down to his waist and clutched the little slug-horn of moon-metal that his father had given him. His head went back as he raised the horn to his lips. Like Childe Roland, who came at last to the Dark Tower, he blew one unheard blast.

Suddenly the room was filled with lights, flashing and dancing everywhere. Whispering.

A stillness fell upon the room and the shambles. Men paused as they lifted their knives or braced themselves for a last thrust.

For a single breath, all was in silence.

Then a light began to whisper. “Ato, it is I, your father, Wolden. We have learned the secret of time and space and we have come for you, my son. But before we go, we must rid ourselves of the mischief-makers.”

The lights darted down upon Grim Hagen’s men. And as they touched them, the cold of space came flowing through. They fell one by one. And the hoar-frost covered them like spiderwebs across the faces and bodies of long-dead mummies.

There was a spattering sound, as of sleet falling against a distant roof. A strange smell filled the air.

And one by one Grim Hagen’s men went down.

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