Allan Quatermain

into my lung. Poor Daylight, too, was pretty nearly finished, and no wonder. But there was a smell of dawn in the air, and we might not stay; better that all three of us should die upon the road than that we should linger while there was life in us. The air was thick and heavy, as it sometimes is before the dawn breaks, and⁠—another infallible sign in certain parts of Zu-Vendis that sunrise is at hand⁠—hundreds of little spiders pendant on the end of long tough webs were floating about in it. These early-rising creatures, or rather their webs, caught upon the horse’s and our own forms by scores, and, as we had neither the time nor the energy to brush them off, we rushed along covered with hundreds of long grey threads that streamed out a yard or more behind us⁠—and a very strange appearance they must have given us.

And now before us are the huge brazen gates of the outer wall of the Frowning City, and a new and horrible doubt strikes me: What if they will not let us in?

“Open! open!” I shout imperiously, at the same time giving the royal password. “Open! open! a messenger, a messenger with tidings of the war!”

“What news?” cried the guard. “And who art thou that ridest so madly, and who is that whose tongue lolls out”⁠—and it actually did⁠—“and who runs by thee like a dog by a chariot?”

“It is the Lord Macumazahn, and with him is his dog, his black dog. Open! open! I bring tidings.”

The great gates ran back on their rollers, and the drawbridge fell with a rattling crash, and we dashed on through the one and over the other.

“What news, my lord, what news?” cried the guard.

“Incubu rolls Sorais back, as the wind a cloud,” I answered, and was gone.

One more effort, gallant horse, and yet more gallant man!

So, fall not now, Daylight; and hold thy life in thee for fifteen short minutes more, old Zulu war-dog, and ye shall both live forever in the annals of the land.

On, clattering through the sleeping streets. We are passing the Flower Temple now⁠—one mile more, only one little mile⁠—hold on, keep your life in ye, see the houses run past of themselves. Up, good horse, up, there⁠—but fifty yards now. Ah! you see your stables and stagger on gallantly.

“Thank God, the palace at last!” and see, the first arrows of the dawn are striking on the Temple’s golden dome.²² But shall I get in here, or is the deed done and the way barred?

Once more I give the password and shout “Open! open!”

No answer, and my heart grows very faint.

Again I call, and this time a single voice replies, and to my joy I recognize it as belonging to Kara, a fellow-officer of Nyleptha’s guards, a man I know to be as honest as the light⁠—indeed, the same whom Nyleptha had sent to arrest Sorais on the day she fled to the temple.

“Is it thou, Kara?” I cry; “I am Macumazahn. Bid the guard let down the bridge and throw wide the gate. Quick, quick!”

Then followed a space that seemed to me endless; but at length the bridge fell and one half of the gate opened, and we got into the courtyard, where at last poor Daylight fell down beneath me, as I thought, dead. Except Kara, there was nobody to be seen, and his look was wild, and his garments were all torn. He had opened the gate and let down the bridge alone, and was now getting them up and shut again (as, owing to a very ingenious arrangement of cranks and levers, one man could easily do, and indeed generally did do).

“Where are the guard?” I gasped, fearing his answer as I never feared anything before.

“I know not,” he answered; “two hours ago, as I slept, was I seized and bound by the watch under me, and but now, this very moment, have I freed myself with my teeth. I fear, I greatly fear, that we are betrayed.”

His words gave me fresh energy. Catching him by the arm, I staggered, followed by Umslopogaas, who reeled after us like a drunken man, through the courtyards, up the great hall, which was silent as the grave, towards the Queen’s sleeping-place.

We reached the first anteroom⁠—no guards; the second, still no guards. Oh, surely the thing was done! we were too late after all, too late! The silence and solitude of those great chambers was dreadful, and weighed me down like an evil dream. On, right into Nyleptha’s chamber we rushed and staggered, sick at heart, fearing the very worst; we saw there was a light in it, ay, and a figure bearing the light. Oh, thank God, it is the White Queen herself, the Queen unharmed! There she stands in her night gear, roused, by the clatter of our coming, from her bed, the heaviness of sleep yet in her eyes, and a red blush of fear and shame mantling her lovely breast and cheek.

“Who is it?” she cries. “What means this? Oh, Macumazahn, is it thou? Why lookest thou so wildly? Thou comest as one bearing evil tidings⁠—and my lord⁠—oh, tell me not my lord is dead⁠—not dead!” she wailed, wringing her white hands.

“I left Incubu wounded, but leading the advance against Sorais last night at sundown; therefore let thy heart have rest. Sorais is beaten back all along her lines, and thy arms prevail.”

“I knew it,” she cried in triumph. “I knew that he would win; and they called him an outlander, and shook their wise heads when I gave him the command! Last night at sundown, sayest thou, and it is not yet dawn? Surely⁠—”

“Throw a cloak around thee, Nyleptha,” I broke in, “and give us wine to drink; ay, and call thy maidens quick if thou wouldst save thyself alive. Nay, stay not.”

Thus adjured, she ran and called through the