“I intend to take you with me.”
“I swore never to enter the valley.”
“I am compelling you to break that vow.”
“I will not.”
Garth was momentarily speechless. Until now, Elmil had been a timid creature, with little will of his own. Garth realized he must have underestimated the man’s terror of Shang, or else the man’s sense of honor. In either case, it hardly seemed worth arguing.
“Very well. I said I would release you, and although I had not intended to do so so soon, I shall. You may go, and take the horses with you.”
“Thank you, lord.”
Reflecting that he had gotten little use out of his captive and might as well have released him long before rather than wasted food on him, Garth made his own preparations, and shortly thereafter, two very different figures rode in opposite directions from the campsite, Garth astride his warbeast, riding down the overgrown path to the valley, Elmil on horseback, making his way back up the pass into the mountains, leading the other horse.
The sun was warm, and it was not long at all before Garth found himself sweating under his armor; even the black hair stuffed under his helmet was damp, and his body-fur was matted and sopping. Fur was all very well in colder climates, he told himself, or even in warm weather if one wore nothing else, but with the mail and breastplate trapping the heat, he felt as though he were cooking alive. He considered removing the armor, but did not want to expose himself to attacks from Shang’s hirelings and followers, who might easily be lurking hidden in the thick plants alongside the road. He compromised by removing helmet and breastplate, keeping his mail on and perching the helmet on the saddle in front of him where it could be reached and donned in seconds should danger threaten.
It was midafternoon when he neared the city gates, and Garth was moving slowly and cautiously; he was apprehensive, as the untended fields seemed indicative of something very wrong in Mormoreth. He had passed dry and broken irrigation ditches and farmers’ cottages standing open and empty; nowhere had he seen any sign of life. Had he not been told that Shang yet lived and ruled Mormoreth, he would have taken the city to be deserted. Instead he was forced to assume that the population, probably greatly reduced, somehow managed to survive without ever leaving the city walls. He theorized either vast stockpiles or some magical means of supplying food.
As he approached the walls he saw several small but comfortable-looking stone houses built outside the gate, most likely the homes of farmers and those who dealt closely with farmers-smiths and the like-which also stood abandoned, with open doors and broken windows. Garth was not surprised; it was in keeping with the deserted farms. Undaunted, the overman rode directly up to the west gate, a huge brass-trimmed wooden portal standing at least fifteen feet in height. The walls themselves were of white marble, clear and unveined and spotlessly clean, that gleamed in the sun. Garth marveled that mere men had built such a thing, and wondered that they had used marble instead of the harder and more common granite. Perhaps the builders had been more concerned with beauty than efficiency, a thought that bothered Garth with its implications of affluence; it was not in keeping with the world as he knew it.
After a brief pause to see if the gatekeeper would admit or challenge him without being hailed, Garth bellowed, “Open!”
His shout echoed faintly from the polished stone walls to either side of the gate, but elicited no other response. After a decent interval, the overman called again, with as little result, and finally for a third time.
When this last shout was met with a renewed silence — even the chirping of birds and insects stilled in response to the noise — Garth slid from his mount’s back, slipped his breastplate and helmet on and pulled his battle-axe from its boot. Standing braced, his feet well apart, he swung the axe against the weathered wood of the portal.
The blade buried itself in the oak, spraying splinters to either side, but the door did not move. Garth pulled it free and prepared for a second swing, but froze as the sound of laughter trailed down over him from somewhere above.
Stepping back, he looked up to see a figure atop the battlement, a large man who seemed somehow to be in shadow despite the bright sunlight that shown full upon him. With a start, Garth realized that the shadow was in fact the man’s skin color, that the man laughing had skin darker than his own, so dark as to be almost black. The overman had not known humans came in such a wide range of hues; he studied this apparition carefully. This curious figure appeared to be well over six feet tall, and Garth guessed his weight at perhaps as much as three hundred pounds; he had an immense barrel chest, a belly to match, and arms and legs as thick as trees. He wore a flowing black robe worked with elaborate gold embroidery; no other ornamentation, no jewelry was to be seen. His face was innocent of any beard, and his hair; as black as the overman’s own dead-straight shoulder-length mane, was clipped close to his skull. Garth could see no sword or other weapon in evidence; since no guardsman would be unarmed, this strange man was clearly no ordinary gatekeeper.
The apparition atop the wall was the first to speak.
“Greetings, overman.” The voice was deep and resonant, tinged with amusement.
“Greetings, man. I have come in peace. May I enter the city as a friend?”
“So you come in peace? Is it peaceful to bury your weapon in my front door, to hack at my city’s defenses?”
“Your pardon, man, but I received no answer to my hail.”
“Could you not then accept it that you were not welcome, and go your way?”
“I have business in Mormoreth.”
“You have no business in Mormoreth, nor does anyone save myself.”
“I regret contradicting you, but I do have business within — the performance of a task set me.”
“Ah, a quest! For what?” The voice was plainly mocking now.
“I seek to capture the first living thing I meet in the catacomb beneath the city.”
Further laughter greeted this explanation. “Pray, who set you this impossible task, and for what? Do you seek the hand of some princess? But no, that would not be in keeping with an overman’s nature. Wealth, then? Is it for gold you perform this errand?”
“My reasons are my own.”
“Oh, come! Who sent you here?”
“I serve one called the Forgotten King, who dwells in Skelleth.”
There was absolute silence for a long moment; then, slowly, the man asked, with every trace of humor gone from his voice, “You serve the Forgotten King?”
“So he calls himself.”
“Describe him.”
Although he wondered why this man, who was apparently Shang himself from his references to “my city,” would ask such a thing, Garth responded as best he could. “He is an old man who wears yellow rags. I could not see his hair or eyes when I spoke to him, so I do not know their colors, but he has a long white beard. He is tall and thin, for a human, with . . .”
“Enough!” The interruption was harsh, as though the speaker were suppressing anger. “Overman, you are unwise. Abandon this quest and have nothing more to do with this . . . this so-called king.”
“I have made a bargain.”
“Listen, overman, you do not know what you do. Although I have no love for you or your kind, I warn you, I give you my word, that only destruction can come of serving this man.”
“I gave my word that I would serve him.” Although Garth’s voice betrayed no emotion, Shang’s words worried him; he wondered just what goals the Forgotten King was pursuing.
“Then argument of your master’s treachery will not sway you? Let me warn you then, that your task is impossible. There is but one living thing in the crypts; the king-lizard, known as a basilisk.”
Garth had never heard the word. He asked, “What manner of beast is a basilisk, that its capture is impossible?”
“Ah,
I forgot; overmen know little of human legends. The basilisk is no natural beast, but the Lord of Reptiles, and the most venomous creature known to science or sorcery. Its breath slays instantly; to touch it is to die; to meet its gaze will turn a man — or overman — to stone. Should one somehow approach within reach and strike it with sword or spear, its poison runs up blade or shaft to kill the wielder before he can pierce its armored hide. It exists only as a result of the blackest magic and serves the Death-God himself. No, overman, you cannot capture this beast and carry it hence, and it can only be fatal to try.”
“Nevertheless, I am sworn to do so.”
“Fool! Why? What incentive is there, that you give up your life to serve a man, one not even of your own species?”
“I have made a bargain.”
“But . . . overman, what is it you are to receive in turn? I am myself a powerful wizard; perhaps we could strike a better bargain.”
“It was a trusted oracle that sent me to the one I serve; and though your words sound sincere, I cannot put more trust in you than in the oracle.” Garth honestly regretted the truth of his statement; Shang’s obvious concern contributed to his own growing discomfiture.
“Very well. Fool that you are, I will let you seek your destruction — but be warned, overman, that should you somehow contrive to succeed, I shall slay you myself. Neither I nor indeed any other can afford to risk allowing the so-called Forgotten King to obtain the basilisk’s venom. He could use such a poison to work magicks like none known for centuries; he could cause limitless destruction. Much of my own magic derives from scrapings of floors the basilisk has walked upon; to give the monster itself to the King in Yellow is utter insanity.”
“It is not my concern what he does with it; I am merely to bring it to him.”
“Then die, like the fool you are, in the attempt. I will neither aid nor hinder you. Although ordinarily I would slay you merely for having trespassed upon my valley, I do not care to become involved in your doom. If the Forgotten King has indeed sent you here to die, I will not help him by killing you.”
“As you will; then open the gates, that I may make my attempt.”
“Oh, no; I have just said that I will not aid in your destruction.”
Garth snarled in annoyance at this petty delay; he raised his axe and hacked again at the gate as Shang vanished from atop the wall. Splinters flew and he struck repeatedly, until at last he had chopped a hole big enough for him to squeeze through. He did so, and once inside he unbarred and opened the ruined gate to admit Koros; the beast had stood impassively throughout the assault on the portal, and now strode into the city with its usual smooth, graceful gait.
Replacing his axe in its place on the saddle, Garth flexed his arms to remove the tenseness as he looked about at the city of Mormoreth. He and his beast stood in a small plaza, perhaps a hundred feet across, its sides lined with merchants’ stalls and with a street opening from the center of each side, save where the gate occupied one. The merchants’ stalls were as empty and deserted as the farms Garth had passed outside the city, and the three streets were also uninhabited. An unnaturally complete silence hung over the scene; the overman’s footsteps on the packed dirt of the market and the snuffling of the warbeast were the only sounds.
Curious, Garth crossed to one of the abandoned stalls and saw that the goods the owner had hoped to sell still lay spread out for the customer’s inspection, a thin layer of dust hiding the details of the embroidered cloths. In the next booth an assortment of pins, needles, and bodkins lay strewn about in disarray, while a statue stood almost lost in the shadowy interior, a life-size figure of a man seated cross-legged, with dust obscuring the folds of the carven garments.
Leaving this unprofitable investigation, Garth led Koros into the street directly opposite the shattered gate, and proceeded cautiously deeper into the city.
The buildings, although dusty and falling into disrepair, were beautiful and well built, mostly of the same white marble as the city walls. Although most were two or three stories in height, Garth could see three of the dozen towers he had admired from across the valley, but still saw no indication of their purpose. Elaborate fountains, now dry and silent, and gardens and planters, now dead and brown from lack of watering, were common; the homes and shops were graceful and elegant even now. Innumerable statues stood on balconies, beside doorways, in gardens, even placed apparently at random in the streets, or blocking doorways; such a profusion of statuary seemed the only lapse in the exquisite taste of the city’s inhabitants. Garth wondered once again what had become of them; had Shang slaughtered them all?
Investigating more closely the oddly scattered sculpture, Garth saw that all were of an amazing lifelikeness; were it not for the uniform grey of the stone, many could be mistaken for living people. Nor were they limited to the usual gracefully posed noblemen of most Orûnian art; the statues represented merchants, housewives, farmers, and children. Glancing down a side-street, the overman saw a cluster that represented gaudily clad young women whose low-cut dresses and curled hair clearly marked them as ladies of pleasure — as Garth knew from his stay in Skelleth. Ordunin, of course, had no need for such, overmen being what they were.
The unbroken stillness was unsettling; further, Garth realized that he had no idea where an entrance to the crypts might be found. To search the entire city for one could easily take weeks, and although Garth himself had no objection to such a delay, he knew that Koros would be hungry again in a day or two, and that it was most unlikely it would find game in a valley of farmland. Having no wish to risk letting the monster go hungry, Garth had no intention of resorting to a systematic search; instead, he determined to find an inhabitant and question him or her. Surely Shang had not wiped out everyone!
Upon brief reflection, Garth decided that the most likely place to find either living people or other useful indications was in one of the towers. Thus he entered the nearest, to be confronted with a sight that confirmed what he had subconsciously suspected but refused to admit. Seated in a chair, poised over a table as if to eat, with spoon in hand, sat another perfect statue. The only questions remaining were whether it had been Shang, the basilisk, or some hideous mesalliance of the two that had turned the people of Mormoreth to stone, and whether any had escaped.
Appalled, Garth explored further. It was as he gazed sadly at a child, petrified while clutching a doll that had remained untransformed, that he heard a noise.
He froze. Again he heard it. The sound was in the street outside, and approaching. Moving as quietly as he knew how, Garth crossed to the nearest window; he was still on the ground floor. He peered cautiously out, and to his astonishment saw a man approaching; the astonishment was not so much that a man was walking the streets of Mormoreth, but that Garth recognized him. It was Dansin, the bandit.
Seeing in the bandit leader as good a source of information as he was likely to find, Garth sprang through the window, scattering shattered glass across the street. Before Dansin could do anything but start in surprise at the noise, he found the overman’s drawn sword at his throat.
“Man, I would know where to find an entrance to the crypts.”
Dansin stammered, “What crypts?” His hand crept toward his vest, but Garth moved faster, and drew forth an intricately carved wooden rod, perhaps an inch in diameter and a foot long.
“I take it this is the device you used to imprison me at our last encounter. How does it work?”
“I . . . you swore not to harm me.”
“I swore I would not kill you; nor shall I. However, should you refuse me, you will lose your right hand at the wrist. I want two things: the location of the crypt entrance, and the means of using this talisman.”
“I know nothing of any crypt, I swear by the Fifteen!”
“You do know how to use this rod.”
“Yes.”
“Then explain it.”
Wi
th much hesitation, the bandit did so; it was worked by pressing various of its carved surfaces in certain sequences. Garth kept Dansin within reach while he tested this information, and was gratified to find it accurate.
“Very good, thief. Now, why are you in Mormoreth?”
“I came to warn Shang of our defeat and your approach.”
“How did he respond to your warning?”
“He laughed; he said he would meet you at the gate, and permitted me to stay, so that you would not meet me on the road. Then but an hour ago he returned to the palace in a rage and ordered me thence.”
“Very well, then; you may go your way.” Garth sheathed his sword, and in an instant Dansin was fleeing toward the gate as if pursued by demons.
Garth watched him go, then turned his own steps in the opposite direction. He had now been reminded that Shang dwelt in the palace; further, Shang had admitted that he derived much of his magic from the presence of the basilisk. Therefore, it seemed likely that there was an entrance to the catacombs somewhere in or near this palace. If the palace in question were the only one in the city, which it appeared to be from the manner in which it was referred to, then in all likelihood it lay in the center of the city, there being no high ground in this flat-bottomed valley. Thus, Garth headed for the center of the city.
He called for his beast, and Koros appeared from the alley where Garth had left him. Leading the monster, he strolled on at a casual pace, mulling over possible plans for invading the palace without again confronting Shang.
Chapter Five
Before he had gone very far Garth sighted his objective. The street he was on was very nearly straight, an oddity in human cities, with only a single curve in it perhaps a mile from the gate; after rounding this bend the overman found himself looking down a broad avenue that opened into a large square. On the far side of the square, its door directly in line with Garth’s gaze, was a large and well-made structure some three stories in height, built of gleaming white stone, like most of Mormoreth, which was plainly the palace that Shang had appropriated. It was still perhaps a quarter mile distant. Garth paused to consider his approach. It was clearly impossible to attempt any kind of stealth with Koros in tow, so he led the beast into a convenient forecourt, out of sight of the square, and tied it loosely to a hitching post; he was well aware that the rope would scarcely begin to restrain the monster if it wanted to leave, but it would serve to reinforce his verbal instruction to stay. He could only hope and trust that he would be back before Koros got hungry enough to disobey him.
The Lure of the Basilisk Page 5