Read The Pool of Fire (The Tripods) for Free Online Page B

gave them better sport. He rode fast and well, and for a time avoided the Tripod’s tentacle by riding under the cover of trees. When he broke into the open again, I wanted to shout to him to stay where he was. But it would have done no good, as he must have known: the Tripod could have plucked the trees out from around him. He was making for the river, and I saw that there was another copse perhaps half a mile further on. Before he got there, the tentacle swept down. The first time he dodged it, swerving his horse at just the right moment so that the rope of metal flailed down and hit the ground beside him. He had achance, I thought, of reaching his objective, and the river was not so very much further on. But the Tripod’s second attempt was better aimed. He was plucked from the saddle and his body pulled apart, as the first man’s had been. In a sudden hush, his cries of agony came thinly to us through the bright autumnal air.
    I did not come back after that killing. There were limits to what I could stand, even in the cause of duty. Fritz stuck it out, but he looked grim when I saw him later and was even more taciturn than usual.
    •  •  •
    A few weeks later, we reached the caves. Their gloomy depths were strangely attractive, a haven from the world through which we had journeyed for almost a year. The walls of rock enfolded us, and the lamps flickered warmly. More important, though, was the release from the strain of mixing with and dealing with the Capped. Here we conversed with free men like ourselves.
    For three days we were idle, apart from the ordinary duties in which all shared. Then we had our orders, from the local Commander, a German whose name was Otto. We were to report, in two days’ time, at a place specified only as a point on a map reference. Otto himself did not know why.

Three

The Green Man on the Green Horse

    It took us two full days, on horseback, riding hard for the most part. Winter was closing in again fast, the days shortening, a long fine spell of St. Luke’s summer breaking up into cold unsettled weather coming from the west. For the whole of one morning we rode with sleet and sharp rain driving into our faces. We slept the first night in a small inn, but as the second day drew to its close we were in wild deserted country, with sheep cropping thin grass and not even a sign of a shepherd, or a shepherd’s hut.
    We were, we knew, near the end of our journey. At the top of a slope we reined in our horses and looked down to the sea, a long line beating against an unpromising rocky coast. All empty, as the land was. Except . . . Away to the north, on the very edge ofvisibility, something like a squat finger pointing upward. I spoke to Fritz, and he nodded, and we rode for it.
    As we got nearer, we could see that it was the ruin of a castle, set on a promontory of rock. Nearer still, we could make out that there had been a small harbor on the far side and that there were ruins there, too, though on a more modest scale. Fishermen’s cottages, most likely. It would have been a fishing village once, but was now abandoned. We saw no indication of life, either there or in the castle, which loomed harsh and black against the deepening gray sky. A broken, potholed road led up to a gateway from which, on one side, hung the shattered remnants of a wooden gate barred with iron. Riding through, we found ourselves in a courtyard.
    It was as empty and lifeless as everything else, but we dismounted, and tied our horses to an iron ring that had, perhaps, been used for that very purpose a thousand years before. It was very dark. If we had got our map reference wrong, we were going to have to put off our search until morning. But I could not believe we had erred. From behind an embrasure, I saw a dim flicker of light, and touched Fritz’s arm, pointing. It disappeared, and was visible again farther along the wall. I could just make out that there was a door and that the light was moving in that