1.

It was her eyes that drew his stare as he sat astride the high-peak
saddle of his stallion, there on the edge of the huge slave market. They
were a brilliant green, those eyes, and it seemed to Niall of the Far
Travels as he looked, that there was a tiny flame glowing in each pupil.
Niall stood in the stirrups, lifting his giant body upright. Clad in the
silver chainmail of his rank as High Commander of the armies of Urgrik,
with the scarlet cloak hanging from his wide shoulders, he was ignorant
of the men and women who turned to regard him.

All he was aware of was the girl.

She stood on the slave-seller’s dais, all but naked, with a bit of torn
sackcloth hiding her flesh. Her head was uptilted, there was a faint smile
on her full red mouth when she saw how she interested him, and her
breasts rose proudly as if to tempt him.

The flames were gone from her eyes, now. Her long black hair
hung down her back, almost to her buttocks. There was a wild,
untamed look about her, and a pride which seemed to reach out and
caress him.

Niall urged his stallion forward. The people gathered there made
room for him; they all knew him and how he was much honored by
Lurlyr Manakor, their king. He paced the stallion to the very edge of the
dais, and his upheld hand summoned the slave-seller forward.

“The girl off there to one side, where she stands alone,” Niall
rasped. “How much is she?’

Kavith Monalong was torn with greed. His black eyes slid toward
the slave girl, then turned back to the High Commander. Never before
had he known Niall to be interested in a slave. The thought touched his
mind that he could make a very great profit here, but the cold stare of
the High Commander turned his insides to water.

“Ten durakins, highness. Or say—eight.”

Niall fumbled at a bag at his belt, loosing it and tossing it to the slave
master. He did not watch as Kavith Monalong fumbled with the coins
he poured into his palm, selecting several, and when the pouch was
handed back to him he did not look at it but only tied its drawstrings to
his belt.

“Come, girl,” he called, waving an arm.

The girl ran to him with light steps, a happy smile on her mouth. She
came to his stirrup and stared up at him with those bright green eyes
that seemed to look deep inside him.

Niall put a hand to her, lifting her easily upward behind him, onto
his stallion’s croup. Then he turned and nudged the horse with a toe,
walking it away from the crowd. After a moment he felt two soft arms
close about his middle.

“How are you named, girl?’ he asked.
“I am Mavis Deval, highness.”

He waited, but she gave no more information. Then he said. “You
come from the Southlands, I would guess. From Cassamunda, Torel
Cabbera, or perhaps even from Sensanall.”

“You are very wise. I was born in Carthia, which is not far from
Sensanall. I was working on a farm when raiders came and captured
me. But I escaped from them, fleeing away in the night, and wandered
about until I came on a slave caravan.” I felt her shrug. “I was too
exhausted to run any more. They fed me, chained me, and brought me
here.”

Niall paced the black stallion slowly over the cobblestones of the
city, wondering at the eldritch impulse that had made him buy this girl.
He owned no slaves, he did not believe in slavery, though it was
practiced everywhere in his world. Well, that was easy enough to
handle. He would free the girl, give her some gold, and send her on her
way.

And yet—

There was something about her that appealed to him. He had
never paid much attention to women, except for a tavern girl now and
then, to assuage the hungers of his flesh. Perhaps it had been the sort of
life he had, wandering here and there across his world, that had made
him lead this almost monastic life.

He shrugged. He had enough to keep him busy, as High Commander
of the armies of Urgrik, without bothering his head about some
wench. Of course, Urgrick was at peace, there were no wars to draw his
attention, and sometimes a man found Time lying heavy on his hands.

But, no. He would feed the girl, put some decent clothes on her 
and then send her packing. His shoulders straightened; his mind was
made up.

Yet he was very aware of those arms about him, and from time to
time he felt the weight of her head where she laid it against his back,
almost caressingly. It was too bad he could not look into her eyes. They
had fascinated him, from that very first moment when he had thought
to see glowing flames inside them.

He toed the stallion to a canter.

When he was within the walls of his citadel, he caught her and
lowered her gently to the cobbles. She stood there looking up at him,
and her eyes and her lips smiled at him. Almost lovingly. It was as if she
considered him to be her very own.

Niall swung down and guided Mavis Deval toward a huge oaken
door. It creaked slightly as his hand moved it inward. The girl slipped
ahead of him and walked with a lissome sway to her hips that caught his
eye.

They went up a flight of stairs and into a chamber hung with thick
drapes. Flames burned from a log in a huge fireplace. There was heavy
furniture here, of rich mahogany: big chairs thick with pillows, a long
table piled high with manuscripts, a vast oaken highboy that took up
much of one wall.

Mavis Deval paused to look around her. “You must be a rich man,
to own such a home.”

Niall grinned. “Rich? Not I. All this belongs to the king. I just live
here.”

He was about to drop his cloak when the girl ran forward to take it
from him, to fold it neatly and carry it to the highboy. As she walked,
she looked back at him over a shoulder.

“Would you like to be rich?” she asked softly.

Niall barked laughter. “What man would not?”

She put his cloak inside the highboy and straightened, to regard
him soberly. “I know where there is a treasure. A very big treasure. You
can have it, if you want.”

He grinned hugely. The idea of a slave girl telling him how to
become wealthy amused him. “Now how would you know of such a
thing?”

She looked sullen. “I have ears. I heard men speaking on the
caravan that brought me here.

Something stirred deep within Niall of the Far Travels.

Beware, Niall my love! Beware this—woman!

Sheer surprise held Niall motionless. Aye! That was Emalkartha the
Evil, the strange goddess of the eleven hells who had taken a fancy to
him long ago, and who now loved him as devotedly as might any
earthly woman.

But what would cause Emalkartha to be with him right now?

But what would cause Emalkartha to be with him right now?
Mavis Deval walked toward him. She had a pulse-stirring walk, one
that made him realize suddenly that she was a very beautiful woman.
Something about her green eyes held him.

She put her hands palm down against his mailed chest She was
very near; he could smell the perfumes of her flesh, the scents seemingly
woven into the texture of her thick black hair. He had been a long
time without a woman, and this slave girl was very close, and seemed
almost eager for his embrace.

Emalkartha stirred jealously within him.

Beware, Niall—you foolish one!

“You could have all that gold,” Mavis Deval whispered. “There is
so much of it! And —jewels, as well.”

Almost bemused, he asked, “Why should you offer so much riches
to me?”

“You bought me. You are a good man. You will make a good
master.”

He shook his head. “I’m setting you free. I’ll feed you and put some
decent clothes on your back, and give you many golden ruplets. You
will be able to go where you want, do whatever it is that pleases you.”

She inched nearer, so that he could feel her body against his own,
and she shook her head, sighing. There was no doubt about it. This girl
had an animal appeal to which his own body responded.

“I do not want to leave you, Niall.” How was it that she knew his
name? Kavith Monalong had not spoken it, nor had he. “You bought
me. I belong to you.”

“There is no room in my life for a girl.”

Her smile was subtle. “There might be—if I make myself very
pleasing to you.”

Somehow his arms had gone around her body, holding her close.
In something like surprise, he did not hear Emalkartha whispering
angrily to him. Emalkartha was a very jealous goddess. She did not like
Niall to hold or caress any other female but herself.

He was gazing down into her eyes when once again he saw those
tiny flames deep within them. Just for an instant, a mere wink of time.
Those flames seem to leap upward, as though in joy.

Niall drew back. He could not help himself, he was so surprised.
Then—the flames were gone, and it was only Mavis Deval smiling
alluringly up at him.

“This treasure,” he made himself say, “Where is it?”

The girl laughed softly. “I shall take you there, master. Oh, so
gladly! Then you shall be rich, you shall be able to have whatever it is
you most want.”

“But where can it be found?”

“In the mountains of Kareen, that lie a long distance away. We shall
need horses and much food, but the trip will be well worthwhile. And
you must bring extra horses, to carry all the gold and jewels.”

To Niall, it seemed much too easy. He had not become High
Commander of the armies of Urgrik by being a simpleton. There was
someone he must see, and soon, about this.

“Go, girl. Upstairs you will find a bath. Cleanse yourself, and by
that time, I’ll have something better for you to wear than that bit of
sackcloth.”

She thrust herself against him, but he pushed her away gently. He
needed time to think, and he could not do that with Mavis Deval so
close.

The girl laughed up at him softly, as though she felt he was afraid of
her beauty. She turned and moved away, haunches swinging invitingly.
Niall watched her go, and there was a thin film of sweat on his
forehead.

When she had gone, Niall moved to a small table set against the
wall, on which stood a massive oak chest. He lifted the lid and reached
in for some of the golden coins that lay there. He filled his leather
pouch, drew a deep breath, and closed the chest. 

This night, he must see Danko Penavar, the wizard.

2

The moon was high and silver, far above the city rooftops, as Niall
of the Far Travels walked the cobbled streets of Urgrik. Emotions
warred within him. He told himself that he was a fool, there was no
treasure in the mountains of Kareen, that lay so far away.

And yet—why should Mavis Deval speak of it, if it did not exist? Ha!
He had offered her freedom. Why had she not accepted that freedom,
and gone herself for all this gold? It was a puzzle he could not solve.

Yet if there were such a treasure, he wanted to own it. All his life, he
had been a carefree sellsword, laboring where his talents at fighting and
at swordplay put coins in his moneybag. It was time now for him to
think of himself, of his future.

He came at last to a doorway hidden in thick black shadows. He
raised the knocker there, carved in the face of a demon, and banged it

A soft wind that held a chill in it swept up the narrow lane. It made
him shiver, so that he drew his cloak more closely about his big, thickly
muscled body. His hand touched the hilt of his sword, Blood-drinker.
Its firmness seemed to reassure him.

The door creaked open. He stared into a vast room, a room filled
with golden censers and thuribles burning incense, with athenors cold
now and empty of coals, with vials and cruets and flagons containing
strange and mysterious elixirs. There was a fire glowing in the hearthstones,
and by the red glare of the flames, Niall made out an old man,
gigantic of build, who sprawled in a huge oaken chair.

The old man chuckled. “Enter, Niall. I have been expecting you.”

“Have you, now?”

Niall entered the room, closing the door. He wondered how it had
opened; the old man could not have done it, he was too far away, and
there was no sign of any servants. Well, he ought to have expected
nothing else from Danko Penavar.

The old man chuckled. “I have my ways of learning what goes on in 
the city around me. And elsewhere too, I might add. Little escapes my
notice. Sit yourself, my general.”

His hand indicated a footstool, off to one side. Niall nodded,
lowered himself onto it. His hand lifted his moneybag and put it
between his warbooted feet.

“There is much gold there,” he said slowly. “The gold is yours. Just
answer me a few questions.”

Danko Penavar smiled at him. “You bought yourself a girl today,
general. You want to know who she is, where she comes from, eh?”

“Can you tell me?”

“Oh, yes. But why do you want to know? Isn’t she attractive
enough? If I were your age, I would be in bed with her, not talking to an
old man who has more years to his life than you can imagine.”

“She has mentioned a treasure in the Kareen mountains—”

Danko Penavar started upright, so swiftly that he started Niall, who
had not thought him capable of such movement. His eyes stared hard
at Niall, and a little breeze seemed to ruffle the hairs on his head, and
those of his long beard.

“Kareen,” he whispered, “Kareen!”

His big, thickly veined hand came up to stroke at his beard, and
then he shook his head. “It has been long, long since I have thought of
Kareen. So! There is a treasure there, is there?”

He was silent, his thoughts turned inward, as though he were
tracing out the long years of his life and what he had learned in all that
time. He shifted slowly and lay back against the cushions, shaking his
head.

“It is not good, that treasure, Niall. Be advised. Forget about it.” 

Niall grinned. “But there is a treasure?”

“Oh, yes. But it is cursed. Sisstorississ himself lays claim to it, and
Sisstorississ is a jealous god.”

Niall nodded gloomily, remembering. He himself had fought Sisstorississ*, (*please see THE DRAGON, Vol. 1 No. 5: Beyond the Wizard Fog)
back there in the ruins of the Kor Magnon, on his way to
Urgrik. How long ago had it been? Ten months? A year? Yes, all of that.
There had been the girl Kathyla, who was also Iphygia the enchantress,
whom he had rescued from the reptile in the pit, and who had
later turned on him—after he had fought Sisstorississ himself—
and tried to deliver him up to the snake-god.

Emalkartha had helped to rescue him, since she hated Iphygia.

He spoke of Sisstorississ and of Iphygia, but not of Emalkartha. The
old magician listened, chin on hands, eyes half-closed. When
Niall was done, Danko Penavar nodded.

“Yes. It makes a good tale, one to stir the blood. But you made a
terrible enemy, Niall. Sisstorississ is not a demon-god whom it is safe to
defeat. Hate will live in his soul—if he has one—and that hate will stir
within him an appetite for vengeance. Be warned. Stay far away from
the mountains of Kareen. Far away.”

Niall of the Far Travels was not a man to turn his back on danger,
especially when there might be a profit to be made. Often enough he
had fought for nothing more than an ideal or a whim. He moved his
shoulders, and his left hand went to the hilt of his great sword.

“If there is gold there, and jewels . . .” 

Danko Penavar shook his head. “There is also that which is worse
than death! If Sisstorississ should discover that you are after his treasure,
he will move all the Hells there are to come at you!”

Niall moved his foot, toeing the heavy purse forward across the
floor. “Read the future for me, mage. Tell me what waits for me in the
Kareen mountains.”

The old man shifted his weight, as though uncomfortable. His
veined hands toyed with his robe, rearranging it over his knees. Twice
he opened his mouth to speak, but closed his lips. Wearily, he shook his
head.

“I shall read the future for you if you ask, Niall. But —I want no gold
for it. This is not a task I relish. There is doubt in me, and worry . . .”

Softly, Niall asked, “Is it then so dangerous?”

“To you—yes. Perhaps to me as well.” Danko Penavar sighed and
lurched to his feet. “However, I admit to a curiosity in me. I will 
summon up some imps and have speech with them. Come you with
me.”

Niall walked slightly behind the old man as he moved toward the
rear of the big room, where there was now only darkness and a hint of
golden objects off which candlelight and fireflames reflected. He stood
and watched as Danko Penavar went toward a prie-dieu and opened a
massive volume, thickly bound in leather.

“Come you and stand beside me, Niall, safely within the pentagram.”

As he stepped forward, Niall could make out the markings of a
pentagram, inlaid in ivory in an ebony floor. He watched as the mage
extended his finger and candles overhead burst into flame. He had not
seen those candles in their holders hanging by a chain from the ceiling.
He wondered at the powers of this man who could cause fire by the
mere act of stretching out a finger.

“Be quiet now. Do nothing more than breathe, and if you value the
life you have, stir not a muscle. Stay always within the pentagram.”

Niall waited, breathing softly. He saw the magician bend above the
tome he had opened, watched as he scrutinized the words limned there
in human blood. Slowly, Danko Penavar began to read, sonorously
and with music in his voice.

The air around them grew warm, then hot. Overhead, the candles
seemed almost to bend as though weary of their own weight. Here and
there tiny flames sprang up in the outer darkness. Those flames grew
and spread. The heat became almost intolerable. Sweat ran down
Niall’s cheeks.

Slowly . . . slowly . . . something began to take shape.

It was the figure of a demon. He could not see it all, not yet, but he
could guess at its contours and he felt like retching. The flames blazed
higher, the figure grew even clearer.

There were fangs jutting from the great, misshapen mouth. Thick
skin hung in ugly folds over vast muscles. The thing was bald, its head
was grotesque, and its three hands played nervously, as though the
thing wanted to reach out and rend them both.

“I come, sorcerer, to your call,” the being croaked thickly, as
though its lips and tongue could scarcely mould themselves to fashion
human speech. “What is your wish?”

“It has been long since I summoned you, Vokkoth. Not for many
years. I seek to know about the mountains of Kareen, and what awaits a
man named Niall.”

The demon lurched forward a shuffling step, but drew back when
its toe—or what served it for toes—came close to the edges of the
pentagram. Hellfires blazed in its eyes.

“Niall! Ha! I have heard of him, even in the Hells where I dwell.
Sisstorississ seeks for him, everywhere. He asks for help. Imagine! The
great Sisstorississ has even asked me to lend my powers to his quest.”

“And what is that quest?”

“He would do anything to get this Niall in his power. Anything!
Already he has hunted in the many Hells there are for some hint, some
way of drawing Niall to him, that he may get control over his body.”

The misshapen head shook so much that the loosely fleshed jowls
swung ponderously. “Be warned, Danko Penavar. Have nothing more
to do with this man.”

The old magician sighed. “Tell me, Vokkoth, out of old friendship.
What waits for Niall in the Kareen hills?”

“No one knows. No one can know. It is hidden. Hidden so deeply
that I fear Sisstorississ has flung a veil across that portion of the future.”

Niall sighed. If things were as dangerous as that, if Sisstorississ were
waiting for him to get control of him, he would forget about all the gold
and jewels that were reputedly hidden in those mountains.

“I’ve heard enough,” he told the mage.

Danko Penavar nodded his white head. “Indeed, I think you
have,” he murmured in a soft voice. More loudly, he called to the
demon swaying before him, “Go now, Vokkoth, back into your worlds.
I shall trouble you no more.”

In an instant, the heat was gone, the demon with it. Overhead, the
candles blazed more brightly, though their shapes were oddly distorted.
The magician heaved a deep sigh, put a hand to the tome and
closed it.

“It is done. Now you know,” he said heavily.

Niall chuckled. “I know, old man. And you have all my thanks. I am 
glad I came to speak with you this night.”

“I’m not so sure I am,” the magician mumbled, leading the way
toward his vast chair. He sank down into it, regarded the man standing
before him. “Forget the gold, Niall. Nothing is worth risking the vengeance
Sisstorississ has in mind for you.”

“I agree with you. I’ll tell the girl I’ve made up my mind. I stay in
Urgrik, where—hopefully—Sisstorississ cannot touch me.”

Danko Penavar smiled. “It would be best.”

It was colder, once Niall stepped outside the great doorway which
closed by itself behind him. For a moment he stood sniffing the salt and
wind blowing off the river, carrying with it the iciness of the high peaks
of the Kalbarthian mountain range to the east. Then he drew his cloak
more tightly about him and began to walk.

He was grateful that he had come this night to the old mage, and
glad that he had left his money pouch on the floor, so that Danko
Penavar should find it and have the spending of the gold coins in it. The
old man had done him a great favor.

He walked more briskly. It was quiet in these late hours. There were
no walkers abroad, nothing seemed to stir within the city. Here and
there in a house window, candles burned, but for the most part, the
moon above gave the only illumination to these streets.

Niall came into the citadel and made his way up a wide staircase to
the upper floors. He turned into his bedchamber and halted.

The girl lay sleeping on his bed, the fur coverings half off her body.
She was beautiful as she lay there, the moonlight making her ebony
hair even darker and silvering her soft skin. She seemed more innocent,
too; there was none of the wantoness in her now that her earlier
actions with him had hinted.

Niall took a few steps forward, bending to lift the fur cover and draw
it more fully over her. As he did so, she stirred and turned on her back.

Her eyes were closed, yet Niall would have sworn that those eyelids
were transparent. Almost he could see her green eyes—and in them
the lambent flames that he had noticed earlier. The flames blazed
upward, filling those eyes until they were a mass of flames.

And the flames began to whisper to him .


3.
Niall woke to the warmth of the body snuggled so closely against his
own. His arm was about her, her own arm was thrown over his chest.
He smelled the perfume of her hair, knew the softness of her flesh.

There was something he sought to remember—and could not.
There was danger; some remote corner of his mind whispered this to
him, but it fled away as the girl stirred and, lifting her head, looked
down at him.

“We ride today, Niall of the Far Travels,” she murmured.

“To the hills of Kareen,” he nodded.

What was it, hidden deep within him? A warning of deadly danger,
a hint of abominations to come? Niall tried to run down that furtive
memory, but could not. He sighed and his arm tightened about Mavis
Deval, holding her close.

She bent and kissed him, and her mouth was as soft as warm, moist
velvet. It stirred fires in his big body, that kiss, making him realize that he
was going on a long journey with this witchwoman, that he would have
her with him under the stars at night, beside glowing fires, and riding
beside him day after day.

His big hand clapped her on the rump as he laughed. “Better stir
ourselves, then. There will be matters to attend to, food to be put into
bags, horses to be made ready.”

She laughed and ran from the bed to don the garments he had
provided for her. Niall watched her, wondering at himself. He ought to
be more eager for this holiday, be anxious to get out on the road with
the wind whispering past him, his eyes on the girl, and golden coins
waiting for him to discover them.

Yet there was almost a reluctance in him. It was as if he had been
warned about going to the Kareen hills, told that there was only deadly
peril awaiting him.

Bah! He was a fighting man. He did not fear danger.

He clad himself in his fur kaunake and mail shirt, girded on his great
sword. He had fought across his world, he had faced the Swordsmen of
Chandion and battled the Dark Guards of Korapolis. No need to fear
anything in the hills of Kareen!

They left Urgrik a little before high noon, mounted on two big
stallions, and a third behind them carrying such goods as they might
need. Mavis Deval was filled with excitement and laughter. She shifted
in her saddle to stare back at the towers and rooftops of the city, then
faced forward to run her eyes over the lowlying hills in the distance, and
the great grasslands that spread out on all sides.

They rode for hours in the hot sunlight, pausing only at a stream of
cold water where they got down and lay on their bellies to drink beside
the horses. They chatted as they lay on their backs, staring up at the sky,
relieved to be out of the saddle for a time.

“What will you do with your share of the treasure, always providing
we find it?” Niall asked.

“The gold is yours, all yours. I shall stay with you, and help you
spend it.”

Niall thought about that for a time. It might be fun, having this girl
with him. And yet—

Emalkartha was a jealous goddess. It was Emalkartha, in her earthly
guise of Lylthia, whom he loved. Uneasiness ate in his middle. Emalkartha
was nobody to fool around with. She had awesome powers, and
she regarded Niall of the Far Travels as her property, as her earthly
lover.

She had been strangely silent. Usually when he found a pretty girl,
Emalkartha was there inside him, scolding him. When she felt that he
had been tempted enough, she would appear to him as Lylthia, and
they would make love for weeks at a time, before she had to go back to
the Eleven Hells she ruled.

It was not like the goddess to let him run off this way with a pretty
woman. Niall felt very uneasy about the whole thing. Still, there was
that treasure to be found. If it were anything like what he suspected,
and he could lay hands on it, he would be one of the richest men in all
Urgrik.

It was a nice thought.

They rode on, day after day, deeper into the grasslands until the
lowlying hills were before them, and then at their backs. They came
now, into wilder country, where tumbled rocks lifted upward and deep
chasms made furrows in the earth.

At long last, they could make out the hills of Kareen, far away in the
blue distance. They were old, those hills, and rounded with age, and
their slopes bore sparse vegetation. Somewhere in among them was
the golden hoard.

Now Niall began questioning Mavis Deval more closely. “Are you
sure you can find where it is hidden? If all you heard were a few words
spoken by travellers . . . . ”

She turned her eyes upon him, laughing softly. “Do you think I
would have brought you so far if I could not?”

Niall grunted. He could discover no other reason, search his mind
as he would, why the girl would want to take such a long trip with him
unless she knew—by what manner he knew not—just where the
treasure was to be found.

“The hills of Kareen are long and wide,” he muttered. “They are
very ancient. There are tales that there was a kingdom there, long ago,
and a band of men who hunted down other men, and women, to make
them slaves. It was very long ago, I realize, but—”

“The city was called Granolure, ” the girl murmured, staring straight
ahead. “It was one of the richest cities of the world, in its time. The
people who lived there were robber barons, preying on the surrounding
territories. Until a coalition of neighboring cities was formed and
sent a vast army against it, it thrived. The people there worshipped a
god—”

She broke off suddenly, starting as though she had said too much.
Mavis Deval turned her head and looked at him, but Niall rode with his
gaze on the rocky terrain before them.

She smiled with a subtle curving of her lips.

Niall stood upward in the stirrups. He had paid little or no attention
to the girl’s last few words; he was certain he had seen movement off
there to the west, along the edge of the Kareen hills. Movement meant
people—or wild animals. From what he had seen, there was more than
one—thing—out there.



“Saw you anything just then?” he asked.

She stared at him in surprise. “Something living, you mean? But
there is no life in those hills. They are dead, forgotten alike by animals
and mankind.”

“I saw something. I was not mistaken.”

It was the girl’s turn to stand in the stirrups and to put her gaze out
there where the hills seemed purple, where sunlight glinted on barren
rocks and loose shale. Mavis Deval shook her head until her thick black
hair swirled.

‘“There is nothing. All you saw was a shadow.” She added musingly,
“There can be no life in those hills. All is dead there, and long since
forgotten.”

Niall shrugged. He knew what he had seen, and he loosed his blade
in its scabbard. Just as well to be prepared. Others might have heard of
the treasure and come looking for it.

As they moved onward, he used his eyes. From hilltop to hilltop
and in between, in the low valleys, he ran his gaze. There was no more
movement, none at all. Still! It paid a man always to be on his guard.

It was sunset when they came to the foothills, and stood a moment
to blow their horses. It was cool here, and the night would be cold.

“We’ll make camp,” Niall said.

“We could go on. It isn’t far now.”

Niall shrugged. “There’s no hurry.”

Mavis Deval would have protested, but his face was grimly set, so
she shrugged and stepped down from the saddle. It had become her
task to prepare their food every morning and evening, and she set
about it with practiced dexterity.

Out of the corners of her eyes, she watched Niall. He was restless,
moving back and forth, scanning the hillsides, the empty land around
them. It was as if he feared that men would rise upward from the very
ground and rush to attack them.

She saw him sniff the air, and called, “Now what will you be
smelling?”

“Human sweat,” he growled. “Men have been here, men who
have gone long without bathing.” When she scoffed at him, he swung
about to look at her. “Girl, I know of what I speak. I’ve fought too much
not to know that stink when it comes to me.”

She got to her feet in excitement. “But it cannot be! No one ever
comes here!”

“How would you be knowing that? Or did those men you overhead
at the caravan also tell you that?”

She shook her head and knelt again to lift the steaming meat from
the fireflames. On a board she placed it and began slicing it into thick
slabs. She gestured at it, looking at Niall.

“Come eat. There is hot bread, too, almost finished baking.”

Niall found that there was an avid hunger in him. His strong teeth
tore and chewed at the charred meat, and it seemed that he had never
enjoyed anything as tasty. There was red wine from Calmanar in the
skins, and of this he drank deeply.

When he was done eating, he looked away from the fire into the
darkness. There was something—alive—out there, and something—
evil. He had no way of knowing what it was, but he had fought too often
not to be able to sense foemen, even in the dark.

“Go to sleep,” he told the girl. “I’m restless, I want to walk a little.”

She shrugged and lay down close to the flames, drawing a cloak
about her. Her eyes rested on Niall’s brawny figure as he loomed huge
beside the fire. He was a handsome man, she thought as her eyelids
closed for sleep. It was too bad, in a way, that he was doomed . . . .

Niall strode away from the girl, walking easily in his furred warboots.
He did not look at the fire any more; instead, his eyes were
directed outward toward the hills. There was a moon, and by its light he
could see a good distance.

He would sit there, with his back against a rock, and stare out into
that moonswept land. If anything moved, he would see it in time to
defend himself and the girl. His sword lay across his thighs, its blade
naked, his hand wrapped about its pommel.
You do well to be on guard, Niall!
The Wanderer started. Had that been Emalkartha, speaking inside
him as she was wont to do? He had dozed a little, sitting here—it had
been a long, hard ride all that day—but he felt certain that he had not
dreamed those words.
Na, na. You did not dream.
“Where have you been?” he whispered, almost to himself. “You
warned me about the girl and then you stayed away.”
I have been searching, witless one. Searching in the demon worlds
for word of—Sistorissis.

Niall growled low in his throat.

So you remember Sisstorississ, do you? And how you drove him
back to where he belongs, that time in Kor Magnon?

“I remember.”

Do you imagine that evil one has fogotten you? Ah, no. He hates
you with a fury that will not be satisfied by your death. No, no!

Emalkartha went on whispering inside him, telling him of the raw
fury that consumed Sisstorississ when he thought of Niall of the Far
Travels. She spoke of his vengeance, long plotted and now about to
come to pass.

He shuddered, listening to what the evil one planned to do to
him—for all eternity. The sweat came out on his skin and a tremor ran
through his huge body. It was always bad to offend the gods, and most
especially one like Sisstorississ.

However, there is hope. You may die before Sisstorississ gets his
claws in you, unless you use your eyes!

Something in that voice brought Niall to sharp wakefulness. His
hand tightened on Blood-drinker. He stared out into the darkness and
it seemed that he could make out shapes that ran, hunched over, and
the glint of moonlight on drawn weapons.

Niall grinned. “My thanks, goddess,” he whispered.
Men with weapons he could understand. He had faced up to
swords since he was big enough to lift and swing one, it seemed. Back
there in Northumbira, where he had been born, men lived and died by
the sword. He had been one who had lived, who had waxed stronger
and greater every day, until his skill with a blade was almost proverbial.

He lay down and crawled on his belly over the ground. Those men
were close now, very close. In another few moments, they would be at
the fire, and at Mavis Deval. Niall grinned and shifted his weight,
drawing up a leg under him.

They loomed up, their weapons at the ready.

“Haaaaaah!”

The screech came upward out of Niall’s guts. It was a blend of
delight and fury, a warning and a paean of joy because he had an
enemy to face. He erupted from the ground and came at them like a
maddened beast.

Blood-drinker caught the reflection of the fire on its blade an instant
before the steel was buried in human flesh. It came out, dripping blood,
and swung again at a second man.

A head rolled past the fire, as that which had been a man collapsed
to one side.

Niall, stood with widespread legs, his blade humming as he swung
it, and a tiny smile played about his lips.

“So then! You came to rob, did you? Well, I am here. Rob me—if
you can!”

The remaining men flung themselves at him, but Niall had learned
his trade of swordsman long ago, and had practised it forever since. His
muscles were as iron, tireless. He battered down the blades that faced
him and drove his own steel in a web of death at the men before him.

One by one, he slew them.

The last man died with a scream gurgling in his throat, as Niall drove
Blood-drinker through his belly. He fell and lay twitching, bloody
hands clawing at his ripped entrails, body convulsing.

Niall stood over him, staring down.

Were these men only cutpurses, landless robbers who preyed on
whatever moved this far away from any city? Or were they demons
gathered by some evil god such as Sisstorississ to slay him?

No, no. What was it Emalkartha had said? Sisstorississ wanted an
eternal vengeance on him. He would not, therefore, send mere men to
kill him. No, he would have planned something else, some way of
luring him into his clutches so that he could snatch him into the hells
where he was the supreme ruler.

The sound of a sob swung him about to stare at Mavis Deval.

The girl was standing beside the fire, her robe having fallen from
her. A hand was lifted to her mouth and her eyes were enormous with
terror.

“Are you—all right?’ she whispered.
Niall grinned. “It takes more than such as these to bring down Niall
of the Far Travels. They were after our gold. And you too, I should
guess. In this wilderness a man doesn’t often see a woman, especially
such a beautiful one as you.”

Emalkartha stirred inside Niall. He could feel the heat of her anger,
the coldness of her jealousy.

Mavis Deval nodded slowly. “Yes, you saved me. I am grateful.
Those men are vermin. They would have . . .”

She shuddered and turned away, staring into the fire. It seemed as
though she would speak again, but she did not, only lifting her eyes and
looking at him, and for an instant, Niall thought to read pity in her stare.

4.

Next day they were into the hills, riding upward over rocky terrain,
picking their way with the girl in the lead. Niall watched her as she rode
unerringly—as though she had committed this trackless wilderness to
memory—without glacing to left or right, but only moving straight
ahead.

When they had come to a rock outcropping, she reined in and
turned to him. Her arm lifted, finger pointing. 

“Over yonder, where there is only scorched earth and tumbled
rocks, is the entrance to what was once a great stronghold,” she told
him.

Niall could see nothing that suggested any entryway, and said so.
Mavis Deval shook her head.

“There is nothing to see; the door that is there is blocked by stones.
But it is there, believe me.”

The Wanderer shrugged, toed his mount off to one side, to descend
a slope which would bring him to the heaps of scattered rocks. When
he came there, he swung down and, putting big fists on his hips, eyed
the boulders.

“I’ll need an army to move those things,” he growled

The girl came up to him, touching his arm. “You can do it. Only
try.”

He laughed and moved forward, putting his big hands to a huge
rock. It was impossible to move that boulder, his common sense told
him, yet he felt it shift as he applied his strength, and then as he put his
full weight behind it, the rock tumbled to one side.

To Niall, it smacked of magic.

Still, the biggest rock was out of the way, and the smaller ones
ought to give way even more easily. He bent and pushed, and one by
one, the stones slid where he shoved them.

He could see a massive door, of oak and iron bands, half hidden
beneath a bit of stone that hung above it. There was a great lock, rusted
now, that once would have defied any effort to open it.

Niall picked up a rock, lifted it high, and smashed it down against
the lock. He heard metal snap and wood creak. He took a few steps
forward, put his hands to the door and heaved. The oaken beams of
the door protested with muffled crackings, but the door swung inward
upon blackness.

The girl was at his side. “There! You see? It was not so hard, was
it? ”

“It was too easy,” he growled.

Aye! Too easy. It seemed almost as though unearthly powers had
been used to let him clear the way into this crypt. Well, this was what he
had come for. There remained only to enter, to see what it was he had
come so far to find.

He took a step forward, and then another. Sunlight shone into the
crypt through the open doorway, and Niall could make out, as he stood
on the threshold, that this was a vast room, seemingly filled with chests
piled one upon another, with smaller caskets here and there. Where
one such casket had fallen and opened, he could make out the gleam of
fabulous jewels.

The air was stale in here, but if he waited, it would clear. Far in the
background there was blackness, yet he thought he could see something
like a walled-up archway, filled with bricks and cement. He would
need a torch to examine it, and the contents of all those chests and
coffers.

“Enter,” said the girl at his elbow. “Go in and feast your eyes on all
those riches which are now yours.”

Niall struck sparks from flint and iron, lifted the end of a dried bit of
wood that he found off to one side. With the torch in hand, he moved
into the crypt. Mavis Deval came at his heels.

He moved toward a chest, threw back its lid and gasped. The thing
was filled with golden bars, glittering in the torchlight. His eyes lifted to
stare at the other chests. If all were like this one, he would be the richest
man in all his world. The breath caught in his throat, and his heart
began to hammer.

“Did I not speak the truth?” the girl whispered at his side. “All this
gold, all the jewels in here are yours.”

Niall shook his head. There was something wrong here. He did not
know what it was, he could put no name to it, yet the tenseness inside
him, the tautness of his nerves and the worry in his mind could not be
disregarded.

“Why?” he asked softly. “Why have you given all this to me?”

He whirled and caught her by an arm, bringing her up closer to him.
His blue eyes blazed down at her. “You could have claimed all this
yourself! Yet you give it to me. Why?”

“You rescued me from slavery.”

“Na, na. There is something else. But what?”

She rubbed her arm where he had clutched her, pouting a little.
“How could I, a mere girl without money or anyone to befriend me,
have come here? Those men last night would have raped me, probably
killed me.”

All she said made sense, but Niall was not so sure. There was
something lurking behind her eyes, some secret which he could not
fathom. Those eyes that stared up at him so worshipfully hid her
thoughts. Ah! He recalled now how he had seen flames in those eyes,
too.

She turned away and moved toward the oaken door, still rubbing
her arm. When she came to the door where it hung on its bronze
hinges, he caught hold of it and slammed it shut.

For an instant, the only light in the crypt was from the torch Niall
held. And then—slowly—faint reddish light began to gleam everywhere
inside the vault. Mavis Deval stood proudly, head high, her eyes
glinting boldly, and the fireflames were alive in them.

Niall swore, “By Emalkartha! There is something wrong about all
this—”

He reeled. His head seemed to explode for an instant, then come
back to normal. Dazed, he stared around him. He remembered, now:
remembered his visit to old Danko Penavar, and his warning.

He laughed harshly. He had been mesmerized by those eyes, when
he had returned from seeing the mage. Hypnotized, and made to come
here—to fall into the clutches of Sisstorississ!

Niall tried to leap forward, to spring at the girl, but his muscles were
locked tight. He could not stir so much as a finger. And the reddish light
blazed more brightly, triumphantly.

Behind him he heard something surge against the bricks of the far
wall. Those bricks fell and shattered and now he could feel heat on his
back, fantastic heat that was unendurable.

“You belong to me, Niall of the Far Travels,” came a booming
voice. “Turn now, and see your master for all eternity!”

He swung about.

Sisstorississ was there, just as he had remembered him in the
temple at Kor Magnon. There were the red eyes, glittering with hate
and an all-consuming fury! There also was the herpetologic head,
covered with scales, the twin horns rising upward from the brow and
the flickering tongue that was twice the size of a man.

When he had beheld Sisstorississ that other time, Emalkartha had
been inside him, to shield him with her powers. Ah, where was she
now? Without her to aid him, he was doomed forever!

Those great jaws lunged forward, parting.

That huge red tongue wrapped itself about him, lifted him upward
as those jaws closed about his body. Niall could not speak, nor cry out.

He was drawn swiftly toward the bricked-up doorway which now
was gaping open. Downward he was drawn . . . ever downward. . .
into a redness and a heat that was intolerable . . . .

He lay on a flat surface that was like the red-hot top of an iron stove.
His first impulse was to leap up, crying out in agony, but the pain
seemed to subside even as he felt it, and though the stink of his
scorched flesh was still in his nostrils, he felt no other discomfort.

Niall opened his eyes. He lay on the steaming floor of a huge
chamber walled with flames. Everywhere he stared, there were fires,
leaping, dancing upward. Sweat rolled down off his flesh, but he found
he could move, and so he stood, his right hand moving toward his
sword and lifting it out of the scabbard.

He shook his head.

He was nowhere on earth. He was in a demoniac hell, a hell ruled
by Sisstorississ. Niall groaned. Aye, he was in the clutches of that evil
godling. He would be put to the torment, then rested, then tortured
again, for as long as there was Time.

Strange. He felt no especial discomfort, though he knew that steam
rose upward from the floor where he was standing. Now, how could
that be?

His eyes lifted to the flames, and Niall started. Were his eyes playing
tricks on him? For he could see, as though partially hidden by those
flames, other eyes that stared down at him almost, it seemed, in
sympathy.

Then—the eyes were gone.

He heard slithering across the tiles of the steaming floor, and
whirled. Sisstorississ was there—gigantic, looming high above him,
triumph shining in those red eyes. Suddenly, along with the triumph,
there was—doubt. Even—worry.

The snake-god hissed, “You belong to me now, Niall! Mine you
are, to torture and agonize for all Time.”

Niall held his sword up. “Come then. Take me if you would torture
me.”

The scaled body writhed undulantly forward. “Take you? I have
already done that. Yet you still defy me? Good. I like that. It will make
your breaking that much more pleasant. Behold.”

He was in a great cauldron of bubbling metal. The bubbles of
iridescent bronze broke with a popping sound, steam rose upward all
around him. By rights, he should be screaming in agony, writhing and
twisting as that molten metal ate away his flesh and bones.

Yet he felt no pain. It was as if he were in thick, viscid water. He
began to swim laboriously to the rim of the cauldron, then gripped its
edge and hauled himself upward onto that rim.

Something protected him. Niall knew that much. No man—
without the help of magical forces—could have lived through that bath
of liquid-hot metal.

Ah! So you realize that, do you?

His relief was so great he almost fell back into the stuff that bubbled
beneath him.

“Emalkartha! I thought you’d deserted me.”

Soft laughter was his answer.

You are my proof, beloved. The gods would not believe that
Sisstorississ had disobeyed their injunction. I had to let the snake-god
take you and bring you here for torment.

Niall growled in his throat. “Am I a plaything of the gods? It’s a
wonder I didn’t die of shock when Sisstorississ caught hold of me and
dragged me here.”

I protected you from pain. My protection is still around you. The
snake-god must be punished. We can only do that through you.

Niall shrugged. There was no point in arguing. Better to fall in with
Emalkartha’s plans. “What do you want me to do?”

Only be yourself.

The voice faded and he was left sitting alone on the cauldron’s rim.
How long he sat there he was never to know, but suddenly he was
standing on the steaming metal floor of the chamber where he had
been lying when he recovered consciousness.

He sat up to find Sisstorississ staring at him with his malignant red
eyes. There was fear and rage in the snake-god’s voice when he spoke.

“What’s this? You are unharmed! How can that be?”

Niall sprang to his feet and rushed upon the demon-god, Blooddrinker
held high to swing. He drove its edge at the head of Sisstorississ
and saw the being dart backward, slithering along the hot, metallic
floor.

There was panic in the crimson eyes of the demon-god, raw fear
and awful horror in them. It was as if it saw its doom staring at it.

“What gives you this power?” it hissed.

Again Niall slashed, driving it backward. He had no way of answering
the demon. By rights, he should be dead by now, or reduced to a
quivering mass of melted flesh and bones. Yet he had all his strength.
Indeed, he felt invigorated, filled with muscular power.

He knew he had enjoyed the help of something beyond the human.

Ah! So you know that, do you?

Niall slid to a halt, grinning. “It was you, Emalkartha!” he said
almost to himself.

Of course. You have served me well, Niall. But follow Sisstorississ,
follow him no matter where he goes!

He leaped forward even as the demon-god slithered backward into
a great opening in the flame-wall. As Sisstorississ went even further
backward into that recess, Niall sprang. Deftly avoiding that snapping
jaw, those rows of razor-sharp teeth, his hand caught a horn projecting
from its scaly forehead and he swung himself up onto the thin, sinuous
neck.

Instantly, Sisstorississ seemed to go into convulsions. It whipped its
titanic body about, writhing its neck and flinging its great head back and
forth, seeking to dislodge this human who clung so tenaciously to him.

When Niall clung to him, driving his sword’s edge down upon its
head, the demon-god retreated even further. Backward it slid, down a
dizzying slope, and then plunged deep into a sea of molten metal.

Niall closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Next moment he was
beneath the surface of that molten metal sea, clinging to that horn,
riding this nightmare moment with his legs locked about a scaled neck.

Where was Emalkartha? Why did she not help him?

I am here, Niall my darling—waiting!

If she didn’t help him soon, he was going to topple off, be helpless in
this thick quagmire of smoking, seething metal. He would be fair prey
for those jaws, then!

Down went Sisstorississ, downward, ever downward. It was as
though it sought to find the bottom of this sea, where it might find a
purchase for its clawed legs. Ah, then it would turn and rend this mere
human, this servitor of the gods who were aligned against mighty
Sisstorississ!

Niall was blind and helpless. He dared not open his eyes, he was
fearful lest the molten magma blind him. Yet he could breathe, his body
did not feel the awesome heat of the molten metal. He still retained his
strength.

“Emalkartha,” he shrieked in his mind. “Aid me!”

Not yet, my dear one. Not yet—but soon.

Sisstorississ found the bottom. Its claws dug in, its neck whipped
about. Despite the hold he had with his hand on that horn and his legs
about the neck, Niall felt as though he were about to be flung off.

Aye! Flung off—then to be snapped at by those terrible jaws—
swallowed alive! Could anything save him, then?

His legs loosed their hold, sliding. His hand was wrenched from that
sharp horn. Beneath him, Sisstorississ was flinging itself about like a
mad thing, emitting great bellows that sounded dulled and muted
through the molten magma.

Now, you other gods! Stike—now!

The voice in his mind was like a clarion call—sharp, bugling—
imperious and commanding.

Something bright and golden sped downward through the seething
metal. It was joined by other golden lightnings—until they formed a
shower of aureate energy striking at Sisstorississ, hitting it.

Niall could hear the violence of those blows thudding into the vast
body to which he still managed to cling. Through his flesh he could feel
the shuddering of the demon-god as those darts of yellow light struck
against its scaled hide.

Sisstorississ bellowed in agony.

It forgot the man still hanging onto him. Upward it surged, seeking
any avenue of escape it could find. And ever those golden lightnings
played about its scaled body.

Those yellow forkings weakened it. Niall could feel some of the
titanic strength of the body seep from it as he clung. From somewhere
inside Sisstorississ there came a prolonged wail of despair, almost of
resignment to what was about to happen to it.

To a rocky edge of this metal sea came the demon. It reached to
that stone and clambered out upon it and lay there, its sides heaving. It
did not seek any longer to dislodge Niall but crouched downward as
though waiting for some final blow.

Now Niall could make out, high above and scattered about in this
rocky cavern, tiny globes of white light that grew and grew until within
them he could make out faces. They were cold and implacable, those
faces—the faces of the gods, of the potent lords of the realms beyond
the world Niall knew.

Awed, he stared upward at them, knowing a vast inferiority, a
mighty humility. The eyes regarded Sisstorississ, and in their stare their
was no pity.

You have sinned, demon. You have risen up against our will!

A soft voice that sounded feminine whispered, Now you must pay
the price for your disobedience!

Niall saw the face of the womanly creature who had spoken. Her
glowing purple eyes were turned away from Sisstorississ to look down
at Niall.

So this is the human who has served us. He has done well.
Emalkartha was right in her judgment of him. He must be rewarded.

And so he shall be, sister!

That was Emalkartha, laughing deep inside him.

The womanly being who stared down at him from so high above
nodded slowly, a tiny smile playing at the comers of her mouth.

Good. I approve of it, Emalkartha. See to it, please.

Niall slid down off the great bulk of Sisstorississ, at a whispered
command from deep inside him. Still clinging to his sword he moved
backward, backward, feeling the rough stone of this vast shelf under his
warboots.

He went backward until he felt rock at his spine and there he
crouched, scarcely breathing.

From the globes of light he could see arms projecting. There were
many fingers on the hands at the ends of those arms, and each finger
was rigid, pointing.

Now from those fingers spread something black and ominous, like
tiny droplets of molten ebony. They grew as he watched, grew and
grew until they seemed to fill the entire cavern.

As one, the blackness hurtled at Sisstorississ.

The demon screamed, and then those black bolts were upon it,
hammering it, pounding in upon it. The sound of their beatings filled
the cavern with dreadful thumpings. The buffeting deafened Niall, but
he could hear Sisstorississ screaming now in utter agony.

There was no escape. The demon could not move, as those
blacknesses thundered down upon it. Under their onslaught, its very
shape seemed to change, to flatten, to swell in bubblings, to be driven
backward against the stone wall of the cavern. It screamed, thickly at
first and then more thinly, until its shriekings became only a thin wail
lifting upward.

“Gods,” breathed Niall.

Sisstorississ was being hammered into a pulp, out of which oozed a
stinking greenish ichor. Hammers and sledges of that blackness drove
upon it, pounding its flesh into the very rock on which it stood.

There was little left of Sisstorississ now, but even those scraps and
shards of quivering flesh were being beaten into nothingness. Pound
and pound and pound, until those poundings became a litany of
destruction.

Niall rose from his crouch, aching in every muscle.

It was done.

Nothing was left of Sisstorississ.

Now he heard vast creakings, saw the stone half-riven, even as the
great walls of this cavern began to split.

Now, Niall—now!

Instantly he was whirled upward, as though caught by a gigantic
whirlwind. He experienced a moment of abysmal nausea, he began to
retch—

Then he stood in the cave with the chests and caskets still catching
the gleams of the dying sunlight. Dazed, he drew a deep breath.

Had it been a dream?

Laughter came from a corner of the crypt. Niall whirled, then
grinned. Lylthia came toward him, clad in her short tunic, rent here and
there to show the tints of her flesh. Never had she seemed so beautiful.

“Take what you will of the gold and jewels, Niall,” she smiled.
“You have earned your reward.”

“Never mind the gold and jewels,” he chuckled moving toward
her. “Who can look at those when you are here?”

Lylthia laughed, her head thrown back. “I like that! You make a
good lover.”

He caught her, kissed her hungrily. After a time, she stirred in his
embrace. “We have plenty of time for this, Niall. I shall ride back with
you, all the way to Urgrik. And—we shall take our time.”

A thought touched the barbarian, and he lifted his head to stare
about the crypt. “Mavis Deval. Where is she?”

Lylthia’s fingernails dug into his arms. “What is she to you, that
woman?”

He chuckled. “Nothing. But if she should try any of her tricks on
me . . . ”

The girl-goddess laughed and nestled against him. “She will not.
When Sisstorississ was destroyed, so was she. You only have Lylthia
now.”

“I wish I did have you,” he grumbled, then brightened. “But I
suppose I should appreciate the moments when you come to me like
this. And to show you how much I appreciate them—”

He caught her to him again, kissing her. And Lylthia, who was
Emalkartha, snuggled up against him, quite content to forget for a time
that she was a goddess.