"Even the Lord Sugriva can err, Ramey Winters. The dead past buries many secrets. We of Videlia have a legend that our civilization sprang from a planet now vanished from the heavens, a mighty race whose home-world was destroyed in a frightful cataclysm. Who knows but that refugees from this earlier world might have emigrated to each of our two younger ones?[10]
"But enough of this now. I see the companions of Tauthus are back, bringing with them the captains. For what reason summoned you them?"
Ramey turned to where Tauthus stood chafing impatiently for this palaver to end. As Vibhishana had said, the captains had gathered. And a rougher, tougher, meaner-looking crew, Ramey had never set eyes on in his life. But they were a sight calculated to warm the heart of a fighting man. Ramey stepped into their midst.
"Now, this—" he began—"this is my plan...."
Without artificial means, it would have been impossible to tell, in the dungeons beneath Lanka, what hour of day or night it was. No feeblest ray of sun light ever penetrated this dank depths; skins were colorless, gums sloughing-sore, and hair without lustre amongst those who had lain long in the prison.
But the candles spluttering fitfully upon the walls, and the periodic visits of the gaolers with food and drink, by these had the prisoners managed to maintain some cognizance of what hour it was outside their walls.
Thus, at the middle watch of the night, his campaign mapped out and approved by hastily-selected lieutenants, Ramey Winters waited feverishly by the outer door of the dungeon.
So long he had crouched at this post, so long counted the beat of his pulse in eager expectation, that it seemed to him the hour of appointment must have long since passed. But at last his vigil was rewarded. There came the clanking of harness, the rasp of sandaled feet on harsh stone, and the voice of Captain Thalakka.
"Warder!"