Sword in hand, Niall of the Far Travels raced down the long palace
corridor. All around him in this city of Bar Gomal, rising and falling in
cadence, were the sounds of battle. As general of the armies of Lurlyr
Manakor, lord king of Urgrik, he was leading his men against the
stronghold of Thavas Tomer, magician-king of this strange land which
threatened the safety of Urgrik itself.

For three weeks, his army had besieged the high walls of Bar Gomal.
For three weeks Niall had hurled the might of his army against those
walls. Only this morning, under shelter of a storm of war arrows, had he
been able to mount to the top of a scaling ladder and lead his men to the
ramparts.

Now Thavas Tomer was a doomed man. He had fled down the halls
and corridors, seeking sanctuary—where no sanctuary was to be found.
At his heels had come Niall, his great sword Blood-drinker in his hand,
seeking to make an end to this magician-king who had slain and raped
and robbed all those against whom he had sent his mercenaries.

Now the end was close.

A flutter of a cape, a brief glimpse of a sandal, and Thavas Tomer
was gone around a corner. Where was the man heading? To throw
himself from the top of a tower? Now he was mounting a curling
stairway toward the very topmost part of the palace.

Niall went after him, grinning wolfishly. Already the sounds of battle
had died down. The mercenaries in Thavas Tomer’s employ did not
want to die for the man who had hired them. Seeing that the battle had
turned against them, knowing that their commander had fled, they
would be throwing down their arms.

Up the staircase Niall went, always upward.

He came at last into a small room, the windows of which looked out
over the city and the plains stretching in all directions beyond it. Thavas
Tomer was standing beside a large blue cube dotted with a myriad of
bright little specks that looked like imprisoned stars.

The magician-king was tall, almost as tall as Niall. He was broad of
shoulder and lean of waist; he looked more like a warrior than a
magician. There was a cunning smile on this thin lips.

“No more, Niall,” he rasped. “I flee no further.”

“Then surrender.”

Thavas Tomer laughed: harsh, mocking laughter it was, as he drew
himself to his full height. “You can never make me surrender, general.
Na, na. I have a way to get away from you, even here and now, with you
so close.”

His laughter rang out as Niall started forward. With the ease of a
trained athlete, Thavas Tomer leaped upward to the top of that big
cube— and began to sink into it.

Niall rasped a curse as he too leaped upward. His warboots landed
on top of the stone, and remained there. Surprised, Niall stared downward
at the cube. It was hard, adamantine.

How in the name of Emalkartha of the Eleven Hells had the
magician-king disappeared inside it? For he had gone into it, Niall had
seen that much. With the sharp point of his steel sword, Niall jabbed at
the stone. It resisted his every effort.

He sprang back onto the carpeted floor, paced around the queer
cube, eyeing it suspiciously. He replaced the sword in his scabbard, put
both big hands to its edge and tilted it. The cube was heavy, but it moved
under the pressure of Niall’s great muscles.

There was no trapdoor under it, just the thick rug.

Obviously, then, Thavas Tomer was inside the cube. Ah, but how
could that be?

Magic, of course. There was no other answer.


A sound swung Niall around. Half a dozen of his men were crowding
into the room, weapons in their hands. Niall grinned at them wryly.

“He’s inside that,” he growled, gesturing at the cube, “by some trick
of an evil god. Pick it up, carry it back down to the ground. I’ll take it back
to Urgrik with me. Thavas Tomer isn’t going to escape from me that
easily.”

He watched as the burly man bent to their task. He walked with
them, supervising their carrying of the cube. His eyes never left its blue
surface, never turned away from the tiny white stars imprisoned inside it.

Out in the sunlight, he watched as other men came with hide
wrappings and bound up the cube inside them. Ropes were knotted all
about the hides, and then the whole thing was lifted onto a cart.

“We’ll take it back to Urgrik with us,” Niall growled. “I don’t want it
unguarded or unattended at any time. If Thavas Tomer comes up of
it—by some devil’s trick—run your spears into him.”

He detailed men to watch the cube, standing about the wagon. No
one was to be allowed near the cube, under pain of death for the men
watching it. He had the king-mage in his grasp, and Niall was not about
to let him go.

For a full week he remained in Bar Gomal, razing the city and
scattering salt on the gardens which had furnished it with food. When he
finally gave the signal to march back to Urgrik, Bar Gomal was only a
memory.

Niall rode at the head of his troops, the captured mercenaries, the
women and children. Everything worth taking that had been in Bar
Gomal was being brought back with him. From time to time Niall stood
in his stirrups and directed his gaze at the farm cart which held the
strange cube. It was still wrapped as he had seen it wrapped. There had
been no sign, no hint of Thavas Tomer.

They came into Urgrik to the singing of the crowds watching as he
rode at the head of his armed columns. Music blared everywhere,
mingled with the shouts of the populace. They screamed in delight as
the captives swung past, at the sight of the vast treasures that had been in
the city of Bar Gomal.

“Thavas Tomer,” they screamed.

“Where is he?”

There was no reply to that, and Niall made none. Only to Lurlyr
Manakor would he make answer, and he did not know whether or not
he would be believed. In one way, his failure to bring the king-mage
back in chains spoiled his sense of triumph.

Yet when he stood before the king and made his report, he knew
that he was being foolish. Lurlyr Manakor came down from the throne
and put both hands on his shoulders, smiling at him.

“You have done what no other man could do, Niall. You have
destroyed Thavas Tomer, you have made him flee into some magical
place where—we hope—he shall remain forever.”

Niall shook his head. “You are too kind, majesty. I fear such a man
as Thavas Tomer. I doubt that he’ll be content to stay lost inside that
cube. I mean to find a way to bring him to justice.”

Lurlyr Manakor shrugged. “The cube is yours. Do with it as you like.
But for now, forget everything but the victory celebration. There are
many of my noblemen who wish to congratulate you.”

Niall brought the cube to his little palace and set it up in an otherwise
empty upstairs chamber, cutting away the ropes that bound the hide to
it. For hours he would stand and study that cube, and he noted that the
tiny white dots moved, that they followed a set pattern, swinging
through the blue spaces of the cube as do
every night from a balcony of his palace.

There was no answer to his problem.

For a time he lost himself in the feasts and banquets which Lurlyr
Manakor held to honor him. He listened as men made much of him, and
he smiled as the lovely women of the court flattered and flirted with him.
Always at the back of his mind was the strange cube and the man it held
in its grasp.

Then on a warm spring night, he had his servants carry the cube
down to the courtyard and place it in a cart. He himself took the reins of
the big draft horse and urged the horse and cart through the city streets
until he came to a section of the city that was close to a hundred
centuries old.

Here the houses leaned against one another, weak with age, and the
windows were narrow and small. There were slops in the street here,
and ordure, and Niall told himself that only for one reason would he
come to these haunts.

He came down off the cart and knocked at a narrow doorway.
When the door opened, he saw no one there, but in the flickering light of
a fireplace, he saw a stout old man wrapped in richly ornamented robes,
lying back in a vast chair.

The old man chuckled and waved a hand. “Enter, Niall of the Far
Travels. What brings you to my humble abode?”

Niall moved into the vast room with his pantherish stride and came
to a halt before Danko Penavar. He had no eyes for the golden censers
and silver athenors, for the chests heaped high with strange and almost
unobtainable magical condiments. All his attention was concentrated on
the old man who sprawled in the big oaken chair.

Niall began to talk. He spoke of Thavas Tomer and of the manner of
his escape. As he talked, he saw that old Danko Penavar seemed
startled, then highly interested. The big old man actually rose up
straighter in his chair that so much resembled a throne, and his eyes
glistened.

Almost under his breath, the old man whispered, “I have heard of it.
In very ancient tomes have I come upon faint hints of it, fearful references
to that cube.”

He shook his head until the white hairs of his head and beard
swayed lazily. “Never did I think to lay eyes upon that thing. I believed it
lost forever.”

“Well, what is it?’

“It was created long and long ago by a great magician. It is a universe
unto itself, that cube. It is protected by secret sigils and enchantments
that have long since been forgotten.”

“Not by Thavas Tomer, it seems.”

The old man smiled wryly. “I wonder where he found it? Where he
discovered the way in which to make it work for him?’

“Can I go into it, as Thavas Tomer did?”

Danko Penavar scowled. “You would be advised not to. I know
nothing of what might await you inside that thing-always assuming
there is a way into it. For you, I mean. It would be best for you to forget
the cube—and Thavas Tomer.”

Niall scowled. He was not a man to relish defeat, nor to accept it
lightly. And Thavas Tomer had defeated him. His gaze went around the
room, studying the dusty old tomes that lay on the shelves, tomes that
held the magic of uncounted centuries. It seemed strange to him that
nowhere in all those old archives was a way to enable him to enter the
cube after the king-magician.

“He could stay in there for a century, and then reappear. If he were
not too old,” Niall announced at last.

Danko Penavar nodded. “He could, yes. He would not age in
there, I think. According to the old legends, anyhow.”

The old man sighed. “When Tarj Needal invented that cube-or
created it, rather—it was to act as an escape for him, in case he ever
needed it to escape the vengeance of some king or emperor. Whether
he used it or not, I have no way of knowing. No one does, except
perhaps Thavas Tomer.”

Niall stalked up and down the room. He was troubled. He knew the
evil of the king-magician, knew that if he himself abandoned the quest
for him, the man would escape, perhaps to return to this world when
everyone now in it was in their graves.

If he did that, with his powers he might rule the world. Niall shuddered
at that thought, for Thavas Tomer was a cruel, haughty man with
no consideration for anything but his own desires.

There must be a way. There had to be!

He turned and moved toward the door which opened for him by
itself. Framed in the doorway, he turned and regarded the old man.

“If ever I find a way into that cube, I shall go,” he growled. “No man
escapes me when I have marked him for death.”

Danko Penavar said, “Be advised, Niall. I like you. I have always
given you good advice. Leave the cube. Lock it up somewhere. Buy it
in the sea or in the river. Forget it—and live. You are too young to die.”

Niall grinned coldly. “We shall see,” he muttered.

All the way back to his little palace he sat hunched forward on the
cart seat, the reins all but forgotten in his hands. There had to be a way to
go into that cube. There had to! If Thavas Tomer had done it, so could
he.

Ah, but if old Danko Penavar, who knew the secrets of the ages and
of all magic, could not tell him how to do it, who could? Niall sighed and
shook his head.

When he was back in his palace courtyard, he called to his servingmen
and with their help carried the cube up the stone steps and into a
small room fitted out with thick rugs and a pair of comfortable chairs. He
dismissed the man, went around the cube, just touching it with his
fingertips.

He would not be defeated. He would not let himself be beaten.

“Emalkartha,” he whispered.

She could help him, the goddess of the Eleven Hells. Always she
had come to him in his world, to lend her aid. She would not refuse him
now. Or—would she?

She was a wayward goddess, was Emalkartha. Ever since that day
when he had accosted her—in her human guise as the maiden
Lylthia—she had come to him in his hours of need, to lend her
assistance-aye, and her love.

Niall grinned at his memories. She was a jealous one, was Lylthia.
She did not like him to pay attention to any woman other than herself.
Ah, but she had kept him alive on a number of times, when he had been
beset by demons as powerful as herself.

“Maybe I ought to summon a maidservant to me,” he grinned.
“That new girl from the farmland country, for instance. She’s made eyes
at me, she would come.”

“Theres no need for that,” said a cold voice.

Niall swung around.

Lylthia was sitting in one of the chairs, arms wrapped about her
knees, scowling at him. She wore a leather garment, much shredded
and rent so that he could see her pale white skin through the tears. Her
long black hair was piled on top of her head, with some of it hanging
down past her cheeks.

“You’re a fool,” she snapped. “Forget Thavas Tomer. Enjoy life.
Why must you always be poking your nose where it will only get you
into trouble?”

Niall gave a great shout of delight. He leaped toward her, caught her
bare arms and yanked her up against him. He kissed her hungrily even
while she struggled—but not too hard—to evade him.

When he had kissed her until she clung to him, he said, “Help me,
my darling. I want to go into that cube and fetch Thavas Tomer back to
stand trial for his crimes.”

Tears came into her eyes.

“I dare not,” she whispered.
 

2
Her palm stroked his cheek tenderly.

“You big foolish man! Why won’t you be guided by me? I tell you no
one—no one!—knows what is inside that cube.”

“But you are a goddess! You know—”

“Yes, yes. I have great powers. But where that cube is concerned.
. . . sit down, Niall. I want to tell you about it.”

He drew her with him, onto his lap with his arms locked about her as
she nestled against him. He nuzzled her soft throat, kissing it, until she
laughed and pushed him back.

“Behave yourself. This is important. Now listen!

“Long, long ago when Tarj Needal lived and was a mighty magician,
he sought the help of the gods to make for him a world into which he
might go from time to time when dangers threatened him here on this
world.

“They worked together, did the evil gods, to make the cube. Into it
they poured their powers, fashioning it of the stuff of the god-worlds
where they lived. They snatched stars from other dimensions and
embedded them within the cube.

“When they were done, they told Tarj Needal that they had made a
masterpiece, incapable of destruction, incapable of being made again.
There was only one cube like that. There would never be another.”

Lylthia sighed and shook her head, cuddling closer to the man who
held her. “They spoke the truth, did those evil gods. They had made a
masterpiece. And they told Tarj Needal the one and only way of
entering and leaving it.”

“But Thavas Tomer entered it.”

Lylthia sighed. “Then Tarj Needal must have left a record of it, and
this magician you seek found out where he had hidden that record.
Perhaps it was with the cube when he found that.”

Niall growled, “I can’t believe no one among the gods knows the
way to enter that thing.”

Lylthia smiled sadly. “Oh, I know the way to enter it, all right—but I
can’t tell you how to get out of it.”

“I could make Thavas Tomer tell me that.”

“No! You must not risk it. It would be too dangerous.”

Niall eyed the cube where it stood close to the flames of the fireplace.
It seemed to mock and taunt him as those tiny stars slowly revolved and
swung in their courses. Anger built in him. If Thavas Tomer could go
into that thing, so could he. If Thavas Tomer knew of a way out, he
would force him to tell it to him.

Ah, but he must not let Lylthia suspect what he meant to do.

He sighed, saying, “I guess you’re right. I’ll leave well enough
alone. ’’

A soft hand caressed his cheek. “Now you’re being sensible.”
Laughter made the corners of her mouth quiver. “As long as I’m here, I
might as well stay the night. Take me to your bedroom, Niall.”

When he woke in the morning, Lylthia was gone. Niall lay a
moment, breathing in the fresh spring air, remembering the night and
the goddess who had shared his bed. He grinned slowly. Well, Lylthia
was gone, now.

And the cube waited for him, downstairs.

During the night, as they had talked, Lylthia had divulged the way to
enter the cube. She had whispered the magical words almost under her
breath, but Niall had heard and memorized them.

He rose and dressed himself in worn leather garments, over which
he pulled a chainmail shirt. His belt and the scabbard attached to it that
held his sword he buckled about his lean middle.

Niall moved down the stone staircase, scowling blackly. He knew he
was risking his life by trying to enter the cube. Emalkartha had warned
him, as Lylthia. In the world within that cube, her great powers could not
reach.

And yet—the idea of allowing Thavas Tomer to escape the consequences
of his robberies, rapes and killings was too much to endure. He
had to make his try. If he failed. . . .ah, but he would not think of failure.

He turned into the room that held the cube. It waited almost sullenly,
its deep blues and the twinkling dots that seemed to be stars quiescent,
almost inert. Niall approached it, and with a lithe bound, leaped up onto
it. He drew a deep breath.

“Tamalka frathanis devor, hoppolis entrala porvor,” he growled.

Almost instantly, the hard surface of the cube seemed to melt away
under him. Suddenly he was sinking downward, slowly at first, and then
more swiftly. His open eyes beheld a vast firmament of dark sky and
brilliant stars through which he was being swept as by a godlike hand.
He felt no cold, no warmth. In a way, it was almost as though he were
dead.

Downward he was pulled, ever downward.

Faster those strange stars seemed to rotate in their courses, faster,
faster, until a sort of dizziness overtook him. He closed his eyes, he
gasped for breath.

Then—his feet were planted on a flat, white rock, and he opened
his eyes, staring around him. He looked out upon a lush land covered
with green grass that grew to the height of a tall man’s knee. Here and
there upon that sward were great trees, thickly boled and heavily
leaved.

Niall blinked. It was a pleasant land over which a soft, sweet wind
blew fitfully, carrying with it the scents of flowers and growing things. He
drew a deep breath and stepped off the rock.

Gods! This was like the Nirvana of which the priests of Urgrik
sometimes preached. He took a step, and then another, turning to scan
the horizon. Far away there were mountains, dim with distance and
faintly blue.

Niall began to walk

He walked for a long time, until the tireless muscles of his legs began
to feel the strain. There was no night here, apparently. Everywhere the
light—softly glowing—as all around him. There was no sun, none that
he could discover, anyhow.

The trees under which he moved at times were huge, multibranched,
shedding their shadow over the ground beneath them.
When he was tired, Niall lay down under one of those trees and fell
asleep.

He woke to a faint sound moving across the grasslands. Sitting up,
he listened, hearing the baying of wolves. Niall scowled. Could this be?
Were there wolves in this paradise?

Rising, he loosed Blood-drinker in its scabbard. Just as well to be
prepared. Standing beneath the tree, he let his eyes roam out across the
grasses.

There was movement out there. Something or someone was running
toward him. He could not make out what it was, it was so far away.
He heard the wolfcry louder now, savage and hungry, and he drew out
his sword and held it in a big hand.

Now he could make out the shape of that which ran before the
wolves. It was a woman. A girl, really. She seemed young, lithe, shapely.
There was a mane of yellow hair on her head that ran out behind her in
the swiftness of her running.

She came closer, closer. She had seen him, he knew, and she lifted
an arm, waving it, as she turned and came toward him.

“Run,” she called, “run! The wolves of Thavas Tomer are on the
hunt. ”

Niall grinned. He could fight wolves, and slay them. He stepped out
from beneath the tree and waited as the girl stumbled now in her
running, moving toward him. She was exhausted, he could see. Only
the Gods knew how long she had been running like that, with the fear of
death in her throat.

He moved toward her, caught her as she was about to fall. Her soft
body lay pressed against him as she fought for breath.

“He wants—to kill me,”she gasped. “He came to the Citadel and
now he—rules there.”

“Thavas Tomer?”

Her eyes studied his face. They were purple, those eyes, and they
were filled with fear and wonder. “Who—are you?” she whispered.
“Are you a magician such as Thavas Tomer?”

“Na, na. I came here to kill him. The man’s wicked.”

She lifted a hand to brush away some of the tumbled hair from her
face. That face was beautiful, Niall told himself. By the Gods, she was as
lovely as Lylthia herself. But who was she?

When he questioned her, she shrugged. “What does it matter who I
am? I am soon to die.” Her hand waved back in the direction from
which she had come. “The wolves are on my trail. They will be here
soon, to kill us both.”

He shook his sword. “We will take some killing. I am not afraid of
wolves. ”

Her eyes studied him more closely. “There are more than wolves
that obey the lord of this world. Devils! Evil things that crawl and fly.”
She shuddered. “Nothing can defeat them.”

Niall felt the despair in her. He shook her a little, trying to rouse up
her courage. “I’ve fought wolves before—aye, and demons, too. I’m
still alive. ”

In the back of his mind was the realization that at many of those
other times, especially when he had been dealing with demons, Emalkartha
had been there to help him. She was not here now; she could not
be, she had said.

No matter, He had depended on his wits and his skill with a sword
before Emalkartha had come into his life. He lifted his head and stared
out across the grasslands.

He could see them now, big wolves and well fed. They were strong
and powerful, and their tongues lolled in their open mouths. Their fangs
seemed huge.

They saw the man and the girl near the tree and now they howled no
longer but ran with silence, even faster. They came swiftly, heads low,
and a lust to kill shone in their greenish eyes.

Niall pushed the girl behind him and set himself with his sword up, to
defend her and himself. There was a calmness about him now, as he
was always calm before a fight. And there would be a fight He could
count ten of the great beasts as they coursed the grass to come at him.

Foremost among the wolves was a great beast even larger than the
others. It came swiftly, running low to the ground, and then it was
gathering its muscles to make the leap that would carry Niall backward
off his feet. When that happened, the rest of the pack would close in.

The wolf leaped. Niall swung his sword.



The sharp steel almost split the wolf in half. Its body fell and twitched
convulsively on the ground. Then the others were upon him.

Niall fought as savagely as he had ever fought. His great steel blade
swung in blazes of light, darkened as the steel went through a great, furry
body. He shouted in the fury of his onslaught His arm was tireless as he
drove the two edges of his blade back and forth, sometimes turning the
point into the chest of a beast as it sprang for him.

Sharp fangs gashed his thighs, his calves. They seemed to be
everywhere, those great beasts, and their fangs were sharp as knives.

One beast who sprang chest-high he caught with his left hand at its
throat and that beast he choked to death, holding it out at arm’s length,
even as he plied his steel to kill the others which attacked him. When the
wolf went limp, he dropped it.

As he fought, Niall backed up toward the big tree, crowding the girl
behind him, growling orders at her between his teeth.

“To the tree, girl! Hurry, hurry! These aren’t your ordinary wolves.
They’re demons of some sort. Back up, I say. And hurry if you want to
stay alive!”

With the treebole to his spine, he did not have to worry about one of
the animals getting behind him. He wished he had thought to bring his
dagger. He could have given it to the girl, who might then have been
able to help him.

Now he fought more carefully, thrusting savagely when a wolf
leaped, slashing fiercely when two came at him at once. There were
many dead wolves now; their bodies lay quivering here and there
half-hidden by the tall grasses. Behind him he could hear the spasmodic
breathing and the occasional frightened sobs of the girl.

Three wolves left, now! Niall grinned into their snarling faces as they
paced back and forth before him, working themselves to a final attack.
Niall rested his back against the treebole, gulped in air.

They came in a rush, all three at once, leaping high and low and in
the middle. Niall cleaved downward with his blade, felt bone give and
flesh split under its edge. One wolf he decapitated, another he cut across
its back so that it lay and flopped about, unable to rise. The third took his
point in its chest and hung a moment, slavering, before it fell away.

Niall dropped Blood-drinker’s point to the ground, dragging air into
his lungs. By the Gods! This had been a fight! He was gashed and tom,
but his wounds would heal. He was alive, at least.

He sank downward to sit at the base of the tree. The girl crouched
near him, her purple eyes wide and wondering.

“You killed them all,” she whispered. “I did not believe anyone
could harm those wolves. Who are you?”

“Niall of the Far Travels,” he muttered, and looked at her more
closely. “And you?”

“My name is Parlata. I have lived here in Norlana for all my life.”

His eyes scanned her face. “Your folks? Your father and mother?’
She shook her head. “I do not know what you mean. What is a
father? A mother?”

He explained what he meant, but she only looked the more puzzled.
“I have always been like this, for a long, long time. I was never a child. I
can remember far back, to the days when Tarj Needal came here from
time to time.”

Niall blinked. “Tarj Needal! But he lived thousands of years ago.”

Parlata shrugged. “I do not know about that. I have lived in this
world all my life. Yet I know there is another world beyond this one, a
world to which Tarj Needal went and from which Thavas Tomer came.
And you also, I suppose.”

So, then. She was a creation of magic. A plaything to amuse Tarj
Needal who had made her. Niall wondered how she spent her days.

Parlata smiled. “I roam the grasslands. I lie down and sleep when
and where I will. I tire of the palace.”

“What do you eat?”

She shook her head. “I do not know what you mean. Eat? What is
that?”

“You must have food.”

She could not understand, no matter how Niall sought to explain it.
When she explained that there was no need to swallow anything, that
the very light here gave her all the sustenance she needed, Niall began
to realize that he himself had felt no hunger since entering the cube.

It was beyond him. But then, all magic was. And this cube and
everything in it had been created by magic, the powerful magic of Tarj
Needal. Somewhere in this land, Thavas Tomer was hidden. It was up
to Niall to find him.

“It’s time to go,” he said slowly, rising to his feet.

Parlata stared up at him. “Go where?”

“To find Thavas Tomer. I have to kill him, or take him back with me
to his own world.”

The girl went white. “It is impossible! You don’t know his powers.”
She stared around her as though half expecting demons to rise up from
the very ground. “He has great powers. He can call on evil beings to aid
him. Nothing can overcome him while he is here.”

Niall grinned, extending a hand to her. “We’ll see about that. His
wolves didn’t get us, did they?”

She let him pull her to her feet, but she was visibly shaking. “The
wolves were only sent out after me,” she told him. “He wanted this
world all to himself. He said the sight of me offended him. He—he gave
me a head start, and then he let the wolves loose.”

Parlata shivered. “Who can guess what things he will send against us
now?”

“Well, we can’t just stay here forever. We can begin walking.”


“Not that way,”she begged, pulling back. “That way leads to the
palace, where Thavas Tomer is.”

“It’s the way I’m going,” Niall told her and let go of her. If she did not
want to accompany him, there was no way he was going to force her.

He strode off, moving with slow, deliberate steps. After a few
moments, the girl called to him and ran to catch up. “I am afraid to be
alone,” she admitted.

For a long time they walked across the grasslands, until Niall saw
how tired Parlata had become. She staggered as she walked, and there
were strain lines on her face. It was then that he pulled her down onto
the ground.

“Sleep now,” he ordered.

There was little tiredness in him. He lay back on the grass, his hands
beneath his head, and he stared up at the whitish sky that was flecked,
here and there, with blue clouds. A strange world, this, stranger than any
land he had ever been in. He thought of Emalkartha, and of how she
had told him that she herself could not enter into this world.

Whatever magic had made the cube and this land inside it, it must be
very powerful to be able to keep out Emalkartha of the Eleven Hells.
Niall wondered if he himself would ever be able to get out of it.

As he thought, his eyelids grew heavy and he slept. It was a dreamless
sleep, and refreshing. When he woke, all tiredness was gone from
him. Parlata was sitting up, eyeing him from under knitted brows.

“We are both of us dead, you know,” she said slowly. “It is just a
matter of time until we actually die. Thavas Tomer will want us dead,
and he will find a way to kill us.”

“He hasn’t yet,” Niall grinned.

The girl sighed. “You are very stubborn. In the old days, that were
so long ago I can scarcely recall them, Tarj Needal used to bring his
enemies into this world. He would set them free to run, as Thavas
Tomer did to me. Then he would send his—servants—to run them
down and slay them. Sometimes he would have those servants capture
them and bring them back to the palace for torture.”

The girl shivered. “I did not like it, then. I could hear the screams. I
was always ill after times like that I would run away and wander the
grasslands for a long time, hopefully until Tarj Needal had gone back to
his own world. ”

“All that was a very long time ago.”

“But I remember and—I am still afraid.”

Niall stared at her, frowning. “Why did Tarj Needal create you? Why
did he leave you here?

She shrugged. “He told me once he liked company, even such
company as mine. Oh, he would amuse himself with me. He told me
once he made the most beautiful girl in any world because he liked to
look on beauty.”

“You’re very beautiful.”

Parlata smiled at him. “Am I? I have no way of knowing. I have
never seen another woman.”

Niall sighed. It must have been almost unendurably lonely for the
girl, living alone in this world, all by herself for so many thousands of
years. It was a wonder she had not gone mad. Perhaps when Tarj
Needal had created her, he had made her in such a manner that she
would never know loneliness.

They walked on, side by side, across the rolling grasslands. They
came to some low mountains and moved over them, and then crossed
over more grasslands. Niall marveled that Parlata could have run so far
to escape the wolves.

“Oh, Thavas Tomer caused a spell that lifted me out of the palace
and put me down somewhere on the grasses. He said it would give me
more of what he termed a sporting chance.”

She shuddered. “Thavas Tomer is very cruel. Crueler even than
was Tarj Needal. At least Tarj Needal liked me.”

Parlata was close to tears. Niall felt tenderness well up inside him. He
put an arm about her shoulders, drew her against him.

“I’ll see you safely out of this. You won’t have to worry about
Thavas Tomer once I get my hands on him.”

She gasped, lifting an arm and pointing. “You will never do anything
to him. See there, low on the horizon. Thavas Tomer knows where
we are. He has sent the coorjas to find and kill us!”

Niall stared where she pointed and knew a moment of awed
wonder.

3.

Giant birds were flying low in the sky, barely skimming the tops of
the grasses. They were quite the most gigantic birds Niall had ever seen.
Indeed, they were as large as men, or perhaps even larger.

They came in a great cloud of swiftly moving brown wings. They
skimmed the ground, and they headed straight for Niall and Parlata.
Since there was no cover on these vast prairies, they must be quite plain
to see, even from a distance.

Niall growled low in his throat and yanked out his sword. He was
vastly outnumbered, there seemed no chance for him at all. Yet he was
determined to sell his life dearly. If those birdmen managed to kill him,
there wouldn’t be many of them left.

As they swooped in closer, he saw that each birdman carried a long,
slender spear. They held those spears before them like a fence of steel
points. They would spit him on those sharp barbs and he would
wriggle out his life on them.

They darted in—

Niall fell flat, knocking Parlata down with him.

As he did so, he thrust upward with Blood-drinker, slashing savagely.
The spearpoints skimmed over them, but the sharp edge of his
blade bit into flesh and blood. Three of the birdmen fell, either slashed
or with their wings hacked off.

The wingless ones flopped helplessly. Niall ran to them and stabbed
at them, dispatching them as the others wheeled in the sky and came at
him again.

Niall ran, drawing them toward him and away from the girl. He had
no experience in fighting such creatures, yet he knew they were not at
home on the ground, only in the air. He dove under their spears,
stabbing upward, catching one and then another.

Their cries of rage and pain were sharp and shrill, and they looped
upward into the sky, to come at him again. Those he had slain lay on the
ground near their fallen spears. Niall eyed those long, slender spears
calculatingly.

He knew how to fight with spears. He ran to one, lifted it, hefting it. It
was perfectly balanced. Niall smiled grimly. Now as the birdmen circled
to dive at him again, Niall stood to meet them, half a dozen of their own
spears in his hands.

He waited, seeing them come. Then he swung up a spear and
hurled it. Straight it went, as might an arrow from the bow. It pierced one
of the birdmen; Niall could hear his scream of agony as he plummeted
groundward.

Again he hurled a spear, and again.


Each spear was perfectly balanced. Each spear flew as he wanted it,
and where it went, a birdman died.

Niall ran to where their bodies lay, snatched at the spears near them.
He had destroyed half their number and those others who still lived had
drawn off, flying about in the air, speaking to each other with weird and
alien cries.

Parlata ran to Niall, eyes wide and worshipful. She wrapped her
arms about him and pressed her body against his.

“No one has ever stopped the birdmen before,” she babbled. “I did
not think it could be done.”

“We aren’t out of it yet,” he growled. “There’s more of them to
slay.’’

It seemed that the birdmen had had enough. They still circled in the
sky, but they made no move to attack. It was almost as if they were
waiting for something.

Niall picked up what spears he could, giving some to Parlata to carry.
Then he gripped her wrist and began his walk.

“They won’t attack for a time,” he told her. “We’d best be moving
onward to where I can find Thavas Tomer.”

“It is not far now,” Parlata murmured, but she shuddered as she
spoke, and as she walked, she held back as if reluctant to accompany
him.

“Now what ails you?” he demanded, turning to look down at her.

“Frightful things will happen to us if we go forward,” she breathed.
“The magician has strange and awful powers in this world.”

Even as she spoke, the ground began to ripple as though it were a
rough and choppy sea. Niall went sprawling, with Parlata to one side of
him. Up and down they heaved, with the ground bucking and falling
beneath them. Sickness churned upward from their middles, and
nausea ate inside them.

“By Emalkartha of the Eleven Hells,” Niall rasped. “I can’t take
much more of this.”

Parlata was being sick off to one side, and Niall felt like joining her,
but he fought off the illness, clamping his teeth together, and he managed
to bellow out his defiance. He rolled over and got to his feet, and
his legs kept him upright. It was like standing on the deck of a ship during
a terrible storm, he decided.

Gradually the shaking earth quieted under them. It seemed to Niall,
as he bent to assist Parlata to her feet, that he could hear mocking
laughter from a long way off.

With his arm about her middle, Parlata quieted her shakings. She
lifted a hand and brushed back her tumbled hair.

“Thavas Tomer is amused,” she whispered. “He but toys with us.”

For the first time since he had entered the world of the cube, Niall
began to have misgivings. What could he do against a man whom even
the very ground obeyed? He wished that Emalkartha were with him.
What was it she had said? Yes. She could not enter the cube, that the
very enchantment which had brought it into being was strong enough to
keep her out.

His jaw firmed stubbornly. He was not yet beaten. Thavas Tomer
would have to send something more dreadful than wolves and birdmen
against him, if he wanted to defeat him.

He yanked Parlata forward. “Come on. Let him do his worst. We’ll
see what happens.”

They moved now toward an upjut of land, covered with grass and
with here and there some underlying rock showing. That land rose
upward into the air; it would make a good point from which to scan the
surrounding countryside.

To the top they climbed, and when they stood on that great precipice,
Niall made out in the near distance another height of land, even
higher than this, and on its top there stood a castle. He knew, without
being told, that this was where Thavas Tomer had taken up his
residence.

He glanced down at Parlata, “Is it?” he asked. “Is that where the
magician lives?”

She nodded dumbly, crowding closer to him.

“Even now he will be preparing some new danger for us. I can
almost hear him laughing to himself as he does.”

“If I can get inside that castle, he won’t be able to create many more
magic spells. My steel will remove his head from his body.”

Parlata shook her head. “No. You will never be permitted to enter.
Look! Even now Thavas Tomer is sending more of his creations to do
battle.”

Niall saw them coming from the castle, a long line of centaurs, with
the bodies of men above the waist and the bodies of horses for the rest.
Each centaur carried a net. They came at a gallop across the castle
causeway and down onto the grasslands, and they rode straight for the
height of land where Niall stood with Parlata.

“He intends to capture us and bring us into the castle,” she
whimpered.

“First they have to catch us.”

Niall glanced around him. They stood on high rocks, here, and
anyone who tried to get at them must move up the grassy slope which
slid away into the vast grasslands over which they had come.

Oh, it would not be easy. He knew that. But he meant to fight as he
had always fought, without thought for anything but the slaying of as
many of his enemies as he could reach. He checked the number of
spears they still had and rested them butt down in the ground for easy
snatching.

He watched the centaurs galloping. They were big, bulky, and the
thought came to him that they might be a little clumsy. His lips widened
into a grim smile. Clumsy or not, there were a lot of them, and they
would take a lot of killing.

Fortunately, those men-horses had to come up a rise to him, which
would slow them. He bade Parlata sit down, to hide herself as best as
she could behind some rocks.

“They will throw those nets at us,” he explained. “Don’t let yourself
be caught in one.”

There was no more time for talk. The centaurs were coming up the
hill at them, their nets swinging overhead, ready to be hurled. But the
men-horses were too close together, some of the nets tangled in others,
and it was then, at that moment of disarray that Niall leaped forward.

Sword in hand, he ran down the slope and his blade winked in the
pale light as he swung it. He thrust and cut, and every time he moved his
blade, it was bloodied anew. Hands reached for him, the centaurs
sought to loop their nets over him, but he was too quick, too spy.

He hacked and stabbed, he cut and slashed, and as the blood flew,
he saw centaurs drop stricken in their death agonies. For long moments
he leaped and darted, always slaying, and then he ran back up the slope
and left behind him dying things that threshed out their life’s blood on
the grass.

Niall stood then, and waited, hearing the blood drip from his sword
onto stone. More than half of them he had already dispatched, no more
than a dozen yet remained.

“You are a great warrior,” Parlata whispered from his feet, where
she lay crouched between two big stones. “The greatest I have ever
heard of.’’

“Let’s hope Thavas Tomer realizes it and surrenders himself to me.”


“He will never do that. He is too strong, too powerful. He has only
been playing with us, so far. Soon now he will tire of it and then we shall
die.”

“You’re a cheerful little thing,” he grinned.

Aye, almost as cheerful as Lylthia, warning him of this cube-land.
Where was she now, that woman who was also a goddess? Could she
see him where he stood, surrounded by enemies, a bloodied sword in
his hand, awaiting the next charge of those centaurs?

Now the men-horses began to move. One stood forth and then
another, each one swinging his net They formed a line, one behind the
other, and while Niall knew what they meant to do, mentally he congratulated
them on their clear thinking.

The foremost came up the hill at a gallop, the net waving over his
head. In a moment it would belly out and open as it flew toward him. He
must act—and fast!

From the ground where he had planted them, butts down, Niall
snatched up the nearest of the spears. He lifted it and hurled it, and saw
it fly through the air almost as swift as any arrow.

The centaur tried to dodge it, but he was too slow. Full in the chest it
took him and the keen point slid out the other side, an inch to one side of
his backbone. He stumbled, his hooves slipped on the turf and he went
sprawling. Dead before he hit the ground.

The next centaur in line came racing forward, his net swinging high
above his head and opening. Again Niall reached for a spear and hurled
it. The centaur went down, dying.

They came swiftly, until all the spears were gone.

Niall gave a great shout, yanked out Blood-drinker, and ran down
the slope as fast as any deer. His sword made a great arc of light in his
hand as he swung it.

Sight of him may have confused them, for instead of rushing forward
to meet him, the centaurs drew back and tried to hurl their nets as
one man. Those thrown nets met in the air, became entangled, and
as they drooped, Niall ran under them, his blade already stabbing.

One centaur went down, and then another. The balance would
have turned to flee, but Niall gave them no time. Upward onto the back
of one he leaped and from that vantage point, cleaved a second’s head
from his neck and drove his blade full length into the chest of another.

Next moment the man-beast he straddled was staggering, Niall’s
sword between his shoulder blades. Niall leaped aside as the centaur
fell.

He turned his eyes toward the citadel that he could see in me
distance. No doubt Thavas Tomer stood at one of its windows, staring
out at him as he himself was staring. Niall lifted Blood-drinker and shook it. 

“I’m still alive, magician! Try and kill me—if you can!”

There was a silence over all this curious cube-world. Nothing
moved, there was no sound. And then, as clear as a bugle call upon the
still night wind, came a voice.

“I see you, Niall of the Far Travels. I hear your voice. Now—hear
mine! I vow your death, general. You have invaded the sanctity of this
world where I have come to live for a while.

“For that, you shall be stripped of life. Ah, but not easily, not lightly!
The time for a swift death is over. I have but toyed with you, thinking to
dispatch you—and that little witch with you!—so that I may be about
my studies.

“Yes, yes, I have much to learn, much to decipher of the incredibly
ancient scrolls and parchments which Tarj Needal kept here for his own
study and amusement. There is so very much that is new to me.

“You have become an infringement on my study, Niall. You annoy
me. And so, I must use my arts to bring you to your knees in abasement,
to surrender your person to me so that I may torture it throughout all
eternity.”

Laughter rose up, harsh and hateful, and Niall felt his flesh crawl at
the sound of it. There was madness in that laughter, and sharp triumph.
It seemed to rise up out of the very air and beat against the eardrums.

“Watch now,” bellowed that voice.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the air about them seemed to darken.
Blacker it became, until one could see little more than a foot or two
away. Now there were violently scarlet streaks of what seemed to be
living fire in that air. Those red lightnings shot here and there, thin and
vicious, and where they streaked, Niall could hear a sharp crackling.

The voice went on, “Dodge, if you want, but those fiery bolts of
mine will seek you out, no matter where you try to hide!”

Then there was silence, except for the crackling of those blood-red
lightning bolts. Parlata was screaming beside him, clinging to him, and
even Niall felt the hairs on the back of his thick neck stand up.

What could he do against such magics?

If only Emalkartha were here, to offset them with spells of her own!
But he was on his own, now, and so he caught the girl and dragged her
down in among the rocks.

There was shelter here, of a sort. If the lightnings hit at them, they
would strike the rocks first. Niall kept an arm about Parlata, and an eye
on the black sky which rained down those fiery bolts.

He never knew how long that eerie bombardment went on, yet after
a long time it slowed its anger, the air began to lighten once again, and
gradually everything went back to normal. Niall sighed and lifted the girl,
standing on top of the rocks.

“We live,” he breathed.

“Of what use is living? Better to have let those bolts hit us and relieve
us of this torture.”

Grimly, Niall shook his head. He still held his sword, he had life in his
body, and there was an enemy to catch.

“Come,” he growled. “We go forward, up to that castle.”

Parlata stared at him with huge eyes. “Are you mad? He will capture
us, torture us—forever! There is no escape. None.”

But he was moving forward, his hand holding hers, and she was
dragged along at his side. Down they went off that pinnacle of rock
where they stood, and began striding toward the distant lair where
Thavas Tomer made his home.

They were halfway to the mountain on which the castle stood when
Niall saw a black cloud forming above one of its spires. It swirled, that
cloud, faster and faster, and then it darted forward, straight at them.

Parlata screamed. Niall lifted his blade and as that menacing cloud
swept down and around him, he struck out at it. His blade went through
the darkness, and now that cloud was all about them, lapping at their
bodies, lifting them upward off their feet, swinging them around and
around.

They went through the air, gripped by that black cloud, heels above
their heads, parallel to the ground, rotated like spinning wheels. High
into the upper air they were swept, faster and faster, until they were no
more than leaves in a strong gale.

This is the end, Niall thought. There is no way I can fight anything
like this! His doom was upon him. They would be hurled groundward,
smashed against it, crippled and helpless. It was useless to fight any
longer.

Yet even as he consigned himself to death, Niall felt the fury of the
cloud lessening. No longer did it rotate so swiftly; its swirlings lessened,
grew feebler. Yet still it sped on, always onward.

Now the cloud began to relax a little, come closer to the ground.
Niall felt a foot touch the earth, then was swept upward again. When
next he was driven groundward, he caught hold of Parlata, wrapping his
arms about here, and hurled himself sideways.

They tumbled across the grass, and lay flat.
When Niall raised his head, the cloud was dissipating into thin wisps
of blackish smoke. And mad laughter filled the air.

“You are back where you started from, Niall of the Far Travels. How
did you like that way of traveling? You have it to do all over again. And
next time, you shall face even worse dangers.”

Mad laughter rang out. “Oh, I am enjoying this. I wait to dream up
more dangers for you to overcome. So come at me, Niall. Come at me
again and again until at last you crawl to me on your belly, begging my
pity. Ha!Ha!Ha!Ha! . . . .”

Niall shook himself, staring about him. Yes, Thavas Tomer was
right. There was the rock on which he had stood when he had first come
inside the cube. It loomed before him, flat of top and of a whiteness that
almost hurt the eyes.

Parlata shook beside him, crawling closer so that his big body might
shelter her own. He put his arms about her and held her, his eyes still
fastened to that white rock.

“I have been thinking,” he said slowly. “It is useless to try and fight
Thavas Tomer any longer. He is too strong for us.”

Eyes wide, she stared up at him. “But what can we do? No matter
where we go, he will follow and torment us.”

He dragged her to her feet, urged her along the grasses until they
came to the white stone. Lifting her in his big hands, he put her on its flat
top. Then he joined her.

“Tamalka frathanis devor, hoppolis entrala porvor,” he breathed.

Then he was rising upward, seeming to expand. . . .

Once again, he stood in his own palace, beside the strange blue
cube with the stars. Beside him, shivering and staring around her, was
Parlata. Her eyes were large and fearful as she swung them toward him.

“Where are we?” she whimpered.

“In my palace. Now, now, there’s no need to fear. You’re safe
enough here. Thavas Tomer is inside that thing, along with the world
from which we’ve come.”

She stared at the cube, brows wrinkled. Niall pushed her gently into
a chair and began to explain all that had happened ever since he had
attacked Thavas Tomer in his stronghold.

“But—but—what am I to do in this world? I know nothing about
it—or even where it is! What does it hold for me?”

“I’d like to know the answer to that, myself,” said a cold voice.

Niall swung around. Lylthia was sitting in a chair to one side, her
arms wrapped around her knees. Her eyes were angry, her cheeks
flushed.

He threw up his arms. “What could I do with her? Leave her to be
tortured to death by Thavas Tomer? I brought her with me, as I’d have
done with anyone that demon planned to kill!”

His eyes locked with those of the woman he loved. Lylthia sighed
softly, then turned her eyes toward the shrinking Parlata.

“Well, perhaps you did the right thing. I say perhaps, mind. I don’t
like the idea of your keeping her under the same roof with you. She’s
too pretty.”

“What is this ‘pretty’?” asked Parlata, leaning forward.

Niall growled, “Quiet, both of you. I have more important things on
my mind, right now. Mainly, what am I going to do about Thavas
Tomer?”

Lylthia smiled wryly. “There is that problem, isn’t there?’

Niall went on scowling at her. Even as he did, his scowl began to
relax and his lips curved into a big grin. Lylthia straightened up,
frowning.

“What’s so funny?” she snapped.

“I just thought of the perfect way to dispose of him. Now, now. I’m
not going to tell you yet. We have something else to discuss, you and I.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“What do we do with the girl? We can’t leave her to starve to death.
You don’t want me to take care of her. So what do we do?”

“Turn her loose. Let her wander our world.”

“Penniless? Oh, come now, Lylthia.”

The goddess glared at him. “Well? What would you suggest?”

“Let’s make her a rich woman. You have hoards of gold and jewels
in those eleven hells of yours. Be free with them. Give her some gold,
some jewels. Let her buy a house here in Urgrik—or even better—let
her go roaming this world and learning all about it as a rich traveler.”

Lylthia turned her green eyes upon Parlata. She studied her beauty
in the tom garments that did little to conceal her body. Slowly, she
nodded.

“Yes. I think that might be best. What do you say, girl? Would you
like to be rich, to wander as you will wherever your fancy might want to
take you in this world that is so new to you?”

Parlata stared back at the goddess. Their eyes met and their minds
seemed almost to speak, one to another. Then Parlata smiled and
nodded.

“Yes. I do not love this big man who came so suddenly into my life,
though I do admit my gratitude to him for having saved that life for me. I
find there is a curiosity in me to learn more about this world into which
he brought me. I should like to wander over it, to see it, to learn all I may
about it.”

“Good, then that’s settled. I’ll see that you have enough gold and
jewels to last you a lifetime. Oh, by the way. You will age in this land. It
isn’t magical, as the cube-world is. You will grow old. You will die, some
day. ”

Parlata shrugged. “I would have died in the cube, if Niall hadn’t
saved me.”

Lylthia turned her stare at Niall. “And now that’s settled, what do we
do about Thavas Tomer?”

“I give him to you, my darling. He’s all yours.”

The goddess blinked. “All mine?’

“Of course. Take the cube into one of your eleven hells. You are
immortal. It doesn’t matter when Thavas Tomer emerges from his cube.
You will be there to greet him and let him have the taste of every one of
the hells you rule.”

Lylthia burst into laughter and
clapped her hands. “I shall love it!
Oh, what a solution to our problem.
You know, Niall—sometimes you
prove yourself smarter than I think
you.”

She ran to him, hurled herself
into his arms and was soundly
kissed. They forgot about Parlata,
they enjoyed the pleasure of the
moment.

Only when she coughed a little,
to remind them of her presence, did
they break apart and look at her.

“What is that which you two
do?’ she asked. “I find myself oddly
affected by it.”

Lylthia tinkled laughter. “It’s
love, girl. Go find yourself a man
and let him teach you what I
mean.” She pushed away from
Niall and turned toward the cube.
“I’d better be about my business.
The sooner I take the cube away
with me and return with some gold
and jewels, the sooner you can
leave and I can have Niall all to
myself.”

Niall grinned, calling, “Hurry
back.”

Lylthia nodded soberly. “Oh, I
shall-believe me.”

Then she was gone, and the
cube with her