A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, February 1950 — page 84: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

4 Rebels: Ube yogies Vaden asi mecha tw ath oll 4 pa Be ASG be abies p §7e ‘ | eit oe Bee - Peit _ white beard of Wilbur sitting at a small > ~ A * “>: Fin ea 5 er en ent ant ~ me at not mS fon Sere eet oS A Na tS tate eta ets Soret again, but for my part, I felt a cold wave of despair come over me. For there was no question but that he was telling the truth. His malice was too perfect, and the light in his eyes still gloated and gleamed up at me. And the thing was clear to my eyes— that after we had accomplished so much, Darrell was to be thrown away by the sheerest freak of chance. All hope went instantly out of me. CHAPTER 25 Evasion OW, for the first time, I have to follow Darrell by himself, as he walked down the narrow twisting ways that brought him, in a few moments, to the door behind which Sylvia was kept prisoner. Outside, three or four soldiers were keeping guard, sitting on a pair of benches. And the same number, wrapped in cloaks, were lying asleep on the floor. The sergeant in charge of the party got up to challenge Darrell, and Cleve walked __ straight up to him. He was recognized. The sergeant got out his long, straight-edged sword, and saluted, and asked for the will of his mas- ter, and Darrell said: “T have come in the name of Wilbur, - the son of John, and some others, who require the presence of the priestess in my chamber. Let her be brought out at once.” “Dost thou come, master, in the name of Wilbur, the son of John” said the ser- geant, looking bewildered. “Ves,” said Darrell. “This is a mystery even in the mysteri- ous mountain,” said the sergeant. “For mine own eyes saw Wilbur, the son of John, enter the chamber of the priestess only ten minutes ago, and now he has sent you in his name to fetch her out.” Darrell’s heart stood still. “Has he melted through the walls of the solid rock?” muttered the sergeant. However, he went to the door, and struck his heavy hand against it, then, turned the handle and thrust it wide. It revealed to Darrell the tall form and the S es a, ee A. MERRITT’S FANTASY table opposite the priestess, and in the midst of a grave discourse with her, his long arm extended to reinforce a point which he was just making. The sergeant saluted him, saying, “The priestess is called for in thy name, master, and yet thou are here present with her.” Darrell was too numb to move. He wanted, he said afterward, to take to his heels and run like a child, but there were some faster feet than his nearby, and the soldiers were closing in, anxious to get at the heart of the mystery. He only heard old Wilbur saying to the girl, “Your belief which is no belief, then, and your faith which is no faith—” However, the old greybeard broke off, and came rapidly out into the corridor. He wore a long, sweeping robe, his long, thin hair fell in a cloud about his stern face and cramped shoulders. His feet were in loose slippers, with pointed toes, and his whole appearance was at once un- kempt and grand. Straight up to Darrell he stalked, and then he roared out in a voice of thunder, months of suspicion, and real dislike and distrust and rising hatred all breaking into his words: “What foo! calls in my name when I am already here? Or what villain art thou, then? And what is thy meaning?” The fierce old man was enough to stun the eyes; but along with it, behind it, Darrell could not help seeing the form of his son, trussed like a beast for market, and lying in the recess of his room. Oh, the deaths that would be devised for all of us! He saw those deaths burning in the eye of the seer—he felt the-heat of flame and the grinding of steel through nerve and flesh and biting against the bone. But with his mind still half fixed upon’ the thought of the imprisoned youth, he stepped closer to old Wilbur, the son of John, and said: “My ancient and wise friend, come two steps with me. I have a word for you that concerns you.” “Concerns me?” said the terrible old man. “Nothing concerns me now, ex- cept to guess that thou art a villain!” “Also,” said Darrell, “it has to do with — your clever son!” And he made himself sneer at Wilbur, the son of John. pe