Soon the floor of the cavern was slippery beneath their feet.

“The waters came up to here,” Gunnar said. “Now, take a deep breath, Nors-King, for the air gets worse before it gets better.”

He was right. The stench of dead things came crawling upward to meet them. Soon the floor was littered with the things from Opal’s sea that had crept here to die. Huge, fanged saurians, lizards, toads, snakes. The cave was strewn with their carcasses, some half-decayed, others drying into hardened shells, others already reduced to stinking bones and sinew.

Gunnar kicked several out of the way as he made a trail for Odin to follow.

The short man did not tire. He went on and on at his steady shuffling gait which left the miles behind, while Odin’s pack and rifle grew heavier and heavier. But Gunnar did not stop. So Jack gritted his teeth and stumbled after him, while the dead things grinned at them from the dark.

At last they saw a reddish light ahead.

Gunnar paused and pointed with a gnarled forefinger. “Opal ahead. All that is left of it.”

They came out upon a narrow ledge high up in the cliff wall. Odin filled his lungs with clear air and gasped at the changes. Above them the little sun had dwindled to a red coal. The crimson-flecked clouds of Opal steamed and boiled beneath it. The sluggish sea was black now, and the long low waves were crested with bloody foam.

Something was choking in his throat. All the wealth of June-land had spilled over into the night. Gone, all gone! And for what reason? It was not enough to say that time, and gravity worked against the things of men’s hands. It was not enough to say that all good things must pass. No, here was Old Loki the Mischief-maker at work. The one who destroyed for no reason at all who ran through space like quicksilver and laughed as blossoms and leaves, towers and trees, the old and the young, fell before his senseless jests.

Tears came to Odin’s eyes as he looked out there at the ruins and remembered the splendor that had been. As he thought of all who had died there, his hands were begging for the feel of Grim Hagen’s throat. Darkling he stood there on that narrow ledge and thought how strange he and Gunnar must seem. Like two trolls peering out of Hell’s Gate.

As though fanned by a tiny wind the red coal of a sun flamed up. Out there, far away, its red beams flashed upon the topmost turrets of the Tower. They bathed it in reddish light, and it loomed halfway out of the slate-black sea like something left alone in a ruined world. An emblem of man’s pride and his love for beautiful things, it stood there bravely and held back the night.

There were tears in Gunnar’s eyes also. Nearly two heads shorter than Odin, he stood beside him and clutched the taller man’s forearm with a huge, gnarled hand.

“Over there,” he said, pointing in a direction opposite from the Tower, “is where I was raised. Ah, it was good in those days, Odin. Very good. We of the Neeblings do not care for cities, but our farms and pastures were so arranged that there were several houses close together. And what fun the boys had hunting and fishing. Then I would straggle home for supper and my mother, who wasn’t old then, would be at the back door with a laugh and a joke to see that her Gunnar had come home whole, and to make him wash his hands properly. And the supper table, Odin! You ought to have seen it. It groaned. There was no end to our food in those days. And after supper, the younguns of the neighborhood would play outside until dark. One of our games was like one of yours. Some lad shut his eyes and counted while all of us hid. And then, after the counting was done, he came hunting us. And toward the last he would sing out for those who were still hiding: ’Bee, bee, bumblebee, all’s out’s in free.’ It was a great game, and then the night would fall and we would hurry home. One had no trouble sleeping in those days.” Gunnar paused to sigh a great sigh. “But it didn’t work out. No one got in free. The homes, the pastures, the players, most of them are gone and time took a heavy price. And only Gunnar is left to toss the last coin upon the counter. Well, I am ready to pay, so long as I get my hands on Grim Hagen.”

Jack Odin gave him a playful punch on the shoulder, for Gunnar’s thoughts seemed to be growing more dismal by the minute. “Well, little man, it was all a bright dream that went too fast. And are we to stay here on this ledge ’til doomsday while you try to re-spin the broken threads of the past?”

So Gunnar’s thoughts came back to the present and his big shoulders heaved when he laughed. “Eh! Spoken like a Nors-King, Odin. I must be getting old. Well, there’s a way from here to the sea. If we were cliff-swallows we could make it easily. But being men we had better trudge ”

He led the way along the ledge which did not appear to have much of a descent until they came to a place where a rocky slide had taken trail and all into the sea. The avalanche that had made it must have been a granddaddy of avalanches, for there was a steep slope of rocks and rubble from here to the water below. There, the stones had spilled out in all directions and the waves moiled over and about them for several hundred yards. Far out, the rocks had piled up into a little sea-wall, with gaps here and there where the breakers foamed through.

“We go down here now,” Gunnar instructed. “But don’t start anything rolling. The stones are loose, and we might end up in the water with a hundred feet of granite over us for a tombstone.”

Gunnar led the way. Crawling backwards like a crab, he felt his way down the precarious slope. Odin followed. Once his foot slipped and he sent a shower of stones down upon the dwarf. Gunnar caught them like a juggler and held them in place so comically that Jack Odin laughed for the first time since he had started on this journey.

“And could you do better?” Gunnar grumbled. “Maybe I let you go first and we all go tumbling into the sea ”

“Oh, Gunnar, you did fine. But you reminded me of a cartoon back home where the cat’s in the kitchen and has upset some pots and pans and is trying to catch them before they fall and make a clatter.”

“And is this a time to talk about cats? A cat’s place is in the woods. Tell me about dogs, maybe, but I have no time for cats. Besides, if you would throw that gun away you wouldn’t be so clumsy. It’s no good.”

“No. I was here once without a rifle, and I needed it badly. One bullet between Grim Hagen’s eyes and none of this would have happened.”

Gunnar retorted: “I doubt if you could have changed one thread of the Spinners ”

“But didn’t I save you back there in the tunnel with this same rifle?” Jack Odin answered.

“And nearly deafened me, too. Oh, well, I would probably have killed that thing anyway.”

Odin shrugged. Gunnar’s philosophy couldn’t be shaken.

But the dwarf was serious about the rifle. “One shot would bring the rocks down upon us, Odin. Throw the thing away. It’s no good.”

“Not until I find a better weapon.” Jack Odin shook his head.

At last they struggled through to the water’s edge. It could not be called a beach, or even a landing, for the rocks came down at a sixty-degree angle.

“I have a boat over here,” Gunnar said, and led the way.

Going parallel to the water was nearly as hard as coming down to it. Then Gunnar, who by now was a score of yards ahead, stopped and held up his hand.

When Odin came up he whispered, “We have a visitor.”

Peering behind a huge rock Odin saw a tiny motorboat moored in a little inlet that was barely large enough to fit it. But the boat, curious as it was in Opal, was not the attraction.

A great sea-serpent had coiled up in it and was taking a nap. The thing was nearly a foot thick. Though it was coiled closely its tail hung over into the water. Its head looked very much like the head of an enlarged moccasin, except that there were long barbels about its mouth. And just below the throat were two limbs that were a bit like forearms, but were made up of long spikes joined by pulsing white skin.

Gunnar reached back of his shoulder and drew his huge broadsword from its scabbard. Then, with sword upraised, he advanced cautiously toward the sleeping snake.

A rock must have grated beneath his feet, for suddenly the snake awoke and its ugly head rose nearly ten feet into the air. It looked down upon the advancing dwarf with a hungry look and its long red tongue flicked in and out. Then with a devilish hiss it swept toward him, nearly capsizing the boat. Gunnar’s sword went halfway through the thick, scaly neck, but with a leap it was upon him, its fore-limbs spread out fan-wise, flogging and clawing. The head opened. Long fangs gleamed as it struck. Gunnar ducked and dodged and the striking fangs missed. The head flashed over Gunnar’s shoulder. The weight of it sent him to his knees, and his broadsword buried itself in the snake again. Blood spouted, but it seemed as alive and vicious as ever.

Jack Odin had unslung his rifle as Gunnar, went forward. Now he knelt and took aim at the swaying head that was rising above the dwarf.

The sound of the shot was deafening. Its backbone drilled just beneath the skull, the snake dropped upon Gunnar, burying him beneath its writhing folds. Then Gunnar was loose, and running to the boat. Above them the cliff was groaning as though it were tired of hanging there.

“Hurry, Nors-King, hurry! The rocks tremble.”

The snake’s writhing tail still lay athwart the boat. Gunnar swung his sword and severed it. It slid into the water and something that was mostly triangular teeth and mouth hit the water and seized it. Then it was gone, leaving a fading trail of froth and blood.

The boat was half-full of water. Gunnar climbed in and Odin came right behind him.

Gunnar struggled with the controls. The boat sputtered, moved, and then stopped. Odin was staring at the cliff above them. A huge layer of stone was cracking and leaning outward. The boat came to life. Gunnar swung it crazily through the rock-strewn water.

Looking back, Jack Odin watched the cliff coming down. Slowly, as though in a dream, the cracks grew larger and then with a roar of pain the rocks parted and one huge section of the wall leaned outward, tore itself loose, and came at them like a waterfall of rumbling stones.

The rocks fell just a few feet short of the fleeing, sputtering boat. The huge wave that followed the settling of thousands of tons of stone into the water swiftly picked them up and hurled them through one of the gaps in the sea-wall.

Long after, while Odin was bailing water from the boat, and Gunnar was fiddling with the motor that had conked out again, the dwarf looked back at the cliff. It was shadowy now. Dust was still rising as it shook loose an occasional, crumbling ledge.

“Eh, Nors-King, we fight again,” the squat man laughed. “You saved Gunnar’s life once more and you almost killed him, too.” He paused to wipe sweat from his dripping face.

Odin grinned back at him. Then, without another word, he took up the expensive rifle and let it slip overboard. The ammunition that cost him so much trouble and pain as he lugged it all the way to Opal followed after. He watched the copper shells as they gleamed like a school of minnows and plunged out of sight.

“There, Gunnar. I have nothing left to fight with but my hands.”

“Good-riddance to that thing,” Gunnar smiled. “I will make you a blade that will slice through an anvil.”

The motor coughed, sputtered and began to purr.

The boat churned a wide arc in the water as Gunnar turned it and headed toward the Tower, which now loomed far ahead like a beacon.