Argosy All-Story Weekly, August 9, 1924 — page 146: what you’re looking at

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

296 The Bas around Anglese City were mobil- izing with their dogs. Hastily Fahn equipped them with weapons—hand thun- derbolts and flame projectors. An hour and a half before dawn they were ready to start —an almost hopeless attempt to stem the horde of invaders who now held the entire west end of the island. The little rag-end of aerial army that re- turned from the battle was exhausted, but in a few hours, it too was ready to start. Fahn, with his two daughters, and Rog- ers, Loto and Georgie, took the Frazia plane. On its platform Fahn mounted a single projector—the most powerful he pos- sessed. They started an hour before dawn—si- lent as they gazed down at the island of palms that was passing beneath them. They overtook their Bas army—left it be- hind them. In the air, back over Anglese City, tiny specks showed that the aerial army was starting. Above the hum of the Frazia motors, aerial voices of the Anglese City radio sounded—voices that told the Bas peasants living between the two cities to come eastward. They were obeying; little groups of refugees—old men, women and children—were moving backward along all the roads. Ahead in the sky occasional flashes shot up from Orleen. “ The Arans went there to avoid the del- uge,” Rogers said suddenly; and his laugh was grim. But no one answered him. Behind them presently the eastern sky was brightening. Loto was driving the plane, with Rogers beside him. The day- light grew—began reddening. “ Father! See, there is Orleen!”’ CHAPTER XXIX. THE DAY OF THE DELUGE, HE second largest city of the island, Orleen lay in a hollow, with twin peaks close behind it, the mouth of the channel and the gulf in front and to the sides. It was an Aran city, more beautiful even than the capital. The plane, flying high, was circling. Loto’s gaze went to the dawn. An omen ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. of bloodshed! Azeela had called the crim- son moon that, the night of the Festival. It was more than an omen—this dawn. The sun came up a huge, distorted ball of crim- son fire, with lines of flame radiating from it to the zenith. A dark mass of rain cloud, hanging low above Orleen, lost its black- ness as it soaked up the crimson light. The sky, even to the western horizon, was steeped in blood; the water reflected it; the air itself seemed to hold it suspended. “The day of the deluge,” murmured Loto. ‘‘ Who could doubt it, seeing this? The blood that will be spilled to-day—” As though to symbolize his words, the cloud above Orleen began spilling its rain. And as the water fell, it caught the crim- son sunlight—a myriad tiny drops of blood falling upon the Aran city. The storm was transitory; the rain cloud Swept past; but the blood in the sky re- mained. In the hour that had passed since the plane left Anglese City, the Noths had oc- cupied Orleen. Its cavern was taken. The Noth men and dogs stood in solid ranks around the mountain base; the beaches were black with them. Across the chan- nel they were still coming—riders mounted upon swimming dogs—an occasional barge. There were no sounds of thunderbolts in the city—no flashes. But as the plane descended, human sounds were heard— faint screams. And the city streets were in confusion. Fahn was staring down into the city through spectacles with lenses mounted in short black tubes. He murmured some- thing that his companions did not catch. His face was white and set; he was strug- gling to hold his composure. ‘“ Descend, Loto. They are not armed with thunderbolts; those are all with Toroh and his men in the cavern.” The plane glided down, circling low above the city. The scene of carnage there be- came a series of brief, fragmentary pic- tures. Above the drone of the Frazia mo- tors, the snarling of fighting dogs sounded; the screams of men and women, the shrill treble of children—human screams of death agony from the fangs of brutes tearing at them. Conn LOOOLK CO