“Yes—now that you mention it, he did. Could it be that cruel treatment has changed our gentle prince into a fighting man? Bring me a flashlight. There is a mark on Prince Thaddor’s foot that few know of, and it could not be simulated. Should it be he, we must dispatch runners to gather in all our scattered bands, for then a great feast will be in order.”
The long-suppressed hope in Bordeen’s heart was making him plan before examining the evidence. But when he and the others emerged from the sleeping Grandon’s shelter, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind.
Grandon’s awakening on the following morning, was perhaps as much of a surprise as was the memorable morning when he first opened his eyes in the quarry-slaves’ sleeping quarters.
The rude but in which he slept had been draped with curtains of shimmering scarlet cloth, and the interior hung with wreaths, festoons and shields on which were emblazoned the coat of arms of the royal house of Uxpo. The men of his command, who had occupied the but with him, had been removed to other quarters, and he beheld two who introduced themselves respectively as his valet and his armorer.
At first he thought some joke was being perpetrated by the commander, but was assured that this was not the case. He permitted his hair to be cut after the prevailing fashion of Uxpo, but when his valet commenced to trim his beard, which was cut off square below the chin, in accordance with the custom of the land, he demurred and ordered a clean shave.
As the armorer buckled a broad belt about’ him, from which descended a tork embossed with silver, and a scarbo whose hilt was gold set with jewels, he said: “As it is your duty to supply me with weapons, I am going to ask you to procure a sword for me.”
“I will procure it for your highness if it be humanly possible, but I have never heard of one. If I might have a description, perhaps…”
“Of course you have never heard of it. It is a weapon used on another planet. Have your metal workers fashion for me a weapon with a hilt like a scarbo, but with a long, straight, two-edged blade, slender and pliable, and of the strongest tempered steel.”
The armorer bowed with hand extended palm downward, and backed through the doorway.
He had scarcely departed, ere Bordeen entered, followed by a concourse of Uxponian nobles and officers. All bowed low before Grandon in the customary salute to royalty.
Accepting their homage courteously, he permitted himself to be conducted to the head of a huge banquet table on which a sumptuous feast was spread, amid the ringing cheers of a thousand Fighting Traveks.
Bordeen made the formal speech of welcome, addressing Grandon as Prince Thaddor. Then the latter arose.
“Comrades,” he began, “your mighty commander has just addressed me as Prince Thaddor. I have come among you to do the work of your prince, not to assume his name, for I am not Thaddor, nor is he any longer an inhabitant of this world. While he lives my life on the planet Earth—or Terra— it shall be my endeavor to lead you to victory. I therefore assume leadership of your armies, men of Uxpo, not as Prince Thaddor, but as Grandon of Terra.”
This speech spread consternation in the ranks of the Fighting Traveks. As he resumed his seat there was no applause—only an ominous silence. Grandon resolved to tender his resignation, when Bordeen stood up, flushed with the fever of inspiration.
“My countrymen, a prophecy has been fulfilled. Some time ago I learned that a wise man, a prophet and seer from the distant land of Olba, was in this vicinity. In my extremity and worry I sought him out. This is what he told me:
“Go back to your people and tell them to be of good cheer, for your royal leader will soon be with you. He will be young and strong, and expert with the scarbo, but his first request will be for a weapon which he calls a sword. He will resemble a prince of Uxpo who will have, by that time, journeyed to another world. Reject him and you will see him no score. Accept him, and he will lead you to victory.”
There was a brief instant of awed silence as Bordeen finished his discourse. Then, as if by a prearranged signal, a thousand scarbos flashed on high and a thousand voices thundered: “Long live Grandon of Terra, Prince of Uxpo!”
Ere the tumult had ceased, the armorer threaded his way through the crowd, holding before him a scarlet cushion on which reposed a weapon new and strange to all Zarovians. He deposited it before Grandon, just as the tumult was subsiding.
Grandon drew it from its scabbard and held it aloft, saying: “This is the sword of which your prophet spoke. I pledge it with my life to the cause of Uxpo.”
Grandon, exalted as he was, found time to marvel at the clever planning of Vorn Vangal—or whatever agent of Dr. Morgan’s had put across this prophecy. Then a courier dashed breathlessly into the hall.
“The Reabonians!” he gasped. “They are coming, a great army of them, led by the princess herself! We are hemmed in on three sides!”
By this time more runners were arriving from different directions, all with descriptions of a mighty army encircling the camp.
Grandon marshaled his men for a retreat toward the north—the only direction left open to them—urging the utmost speed; for to have those converging wings meet ahead of them meant almost certain defeat.
As it was, they were barely in time for a swift charge between them under a heavy fire of tork bullets which exacted a heavy toll from their ranks. They were still far from safety, however, for the Reabonians followed in swift pursuit.
Grandon held council with Bordeen and they decided to make for a narrow mountain pass nearly four miles distant, which led to a valley beyond.
After a running fight lasting more than two hours, they reached their objective with their numbers sadly depleted. They had reckoned, however, without the military genius of Princess Vernia; she had anticipated this move and filled the narrow pass with armed men.
The Uxpo troops were in a trap from which escape seemed utterly impossible. The pass was out of the question, for with even a small body of men defending it, it was practically invulnerable. On either side of the entrance rose sheer precipices, which even a monkey-man could not have scaled, while in front of them there was an army of between eight and nine thousand men.
Grandon kept to the front ranks, shouting encouragement to his men, and using his sword to such good advantage that at times the Reabonians fell away from him in sheer wonder at his prowess.
But the Traveks were fighting a hopeless battle; already their number was reduced to less than five hundred.
At this juncture a force intervened on which neither of the contestants had counted. Grandon’s first inkling of what was to take place was the sight of a mass of black clouds, apparently hanging midway between the tree-tops and those fleecy, silver-gray mists which are ever present in the upper Zarovian atmosphere, and moving swiftly toward them.
He had expected a storm, but when it burst in all its fury he was ill- prepared for such a violent demonstration of the power of the elements. The first torrent of rain was followed by inky darkness, punctuated at intervals by brilliant flashes of lightning. The thunder roared incessantly, reverberating through the mountains, and fighting, either by sound or sight, was made exceedingly difficult.
It was Grandon’s opportunity to save what remained of his little army, and he was not slow to take advantage of it. He called Bordeen to his side.
“Make haste and divide the command into small parties of not more than twenty men each,” he said. “In the confusion of the storm, small bodies of men can escape with little or no fighting, whereas a charge by the entire company would be sure to be detected and opposed every foot of the way. Tonight each band must shift for itself; tomorrow we will reunite. The place of rendezvous will be the base of those great twin mountains which mark the northernmost end of this valley.”
As Bordeen hastened away to carry out the plans, his commander once more took his place in the line of battle, forging steadily