Kothar and the Wizard Slayer

by Gardner F Fox

  Kothar turned toward Phordog Fale and Nemidomes where the two magicians sat crouched about a little fire the plump man had made.

  "Go you also away from here," he growled. Nemidomes protested, "My backside is sore, and my legs are jelly. I shall wait and eat, and decide with the witch-woman what we shall do.”

  Kothar grinned coldly. “The witch-woman is about to sacrifice a girl who won't be here,” he rasped, waving a hand after Cybala and Flarion who moving down the cobbled street toward the broken gate. “What do you think Afgorkon will do, being deprived of his sacrifice?”

  Phordog Fale frowned worriedly. “It’s a thought to worry one,” he admitted. "I for one, would not choose to stay and face Afgorkon's wrath—having seen what his eidolon did to Antor Nemillus.”

  "Nor I,” the plump mage murmured.

  They rose to their feet and walked toward their horses, with the big barbarian treading on their heels. The morning sun was high—it was almost midday—and a soft breeze was blowing through the dead city.

  “Why not use a magic spell to leave?” wondered Kothar.

  Phordog Fale turned and stared at the barbarian, nodding. "Aye, a spell. I have been so busy riding horseback lately, I've forgotten I'm a necromancer.”

  Nemidomes beamed his delight, “Ah, to be back in Vandacia once again, not forced out of fear to hide in that charnel house. I owe you much, Kothar!”

  “And I,” nodded Phordog Fale The shook hands solemnly.

  Nemidomes wrapped himself in his cloak, closed his eyes and whispered a word. His outline shimmered. Kothar could see the stone wall behind that mistiness for an instant, then the plump man was gone.

  Phordog Fale snorted, “A clumsy spell, that one. It does not drain the body energies, true. Yet it is slow, Too slow for me. Observe!"

  The tall, lean man chanted words in a language unknown to Kothar. Instantly, he was gone. The Cumberian grinned, shaking his head. "I would rather know that little song than the word Nemidomes used, he thought, if I had to leave a place in a hurry.” He laughed and moved toward Red Lori.

  It was warm in this midday, and there was an ache in his body, now that the need for action was at an end. He sank down beside the witch-woman and closed his eyelids. Almost at the same moment, he fell asleep.

  A hand on his arm shook him awake to the sight of stars in the sky. The lovely face of his companion was bent above him. “Where are the others? Cybala? Where has she gone?”

  “I sent her away with Flarion. Go back to sleep.”

  He heard a gasp, felt fingernails sink into his bare forearm. "Wake up, you! You—thing! I promised her life to Afgorkon. You knew that!”

  "Afgorkon takes no sacrifices."

  "He does. He will. Oh, get up!” The barbarian rose to his feet. The city ruins were silent, lost and lovely, having forgotten the lives they sheltered once, long ago. The starlight was weak and pale, but Kothar could make out the eidolon standing where he had left it when he had taken its simulacra to Zoane. His eyes pierced its stone hands, folded now against its sides. Those rock fingers were stained and befouled with the blood of Antor Nemillus and with the ichor squashed from the servitors of dread Omorphon.

  “What are you going to do with it?” Red Lori stared from the barbarian to the eidolon. “I must summon its spirit, as I promised. But—without Cybala to offer it....”

  She drew closer to the Cumberian. Kothar scowled, staring at the image. Was he mistaken, was it a trick of the light—or had the statue moved? No, by Dwalka! It was moving, turning its rock head toward them.

  "Aye, Red Lori. I am here. Where is this life you offered me?”

  The eidolon grew a little. It was not the titanic monster that had slain Antor Nemillus, it rose upward only until it was the height of a tall man. Yet now it turned more fully toward the barbarian and the witch-woman, and though it had no face, the Cumberian sensed the awful life imprisoned in that thing of rock.

  “I wait, Red Lori. Where is the sacrifice?” She swallowed twice before she could reply. “I have—none! The girl fled away with Flarion.”

  A chuckle was its answer. "I saw the barbarian send them away. I have no quarrel with him for his action. Yet where shall I find my payment?”

  The girl beside Kothar shuddered. A whiteness came to her cheeks, and her eyes seemed to grow as she stared at the eidolon.

  "I know—not, Afgorkon.”

  “Then I shall take other life in its place. Your life, witch-woman!” The eidolon stirred, turned and moved toward Red Lori.

  “By Dwalka—no!” roared Kothar.

  His arm tightened about the girl, thrust her behind him. His hand he put on the hilt of Frostfire, half drawing it from—the scabbard. Red Lori was shaking fitfully, convulsed with terror.

  “What would you, Kothar?” asked the statue.

  “Her—life?”

  "And what price have you, a pauper, to offer me in exchange for that life? You own—nothing. It was not your doing, this summoning up of my spirit from where I lay in the fifty worlds of my own creation! I have no argument with you, so—step aside.”

  Kothar drew his sword. His eyes ran down the blued steel blade, slid over the golden crosspiece, the braided hilt, the red jewel affixed to its pommel. He sighed softly. There was a sorrow in him, a wretchedness of spirit, yet he did not hesitate.

  "Take—back—Frostfire,” he growled. He flung the blade across the courtyard so that it clanged on the cobblestones before the eidolon. It lay there, mute and beautiful, gathering sunbeams along its blade.

  There was a silence. “You would give up Frostfire?” His mouth was dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, but the barbarian nodded. When he could speak, he almost snarled.

  “Aye—I would Let Red Lori be. Take the Sword.”

  The witch-woman gasped beside him, she pressed closer as if to assure him that by choosing her, he chose well. His nostrils caught the scent of her perfume, his flesh knew the smoothness of her own where her arm brushed his side. She was still afraid, he sensed from the hurried rise and fall of her breasts, but she was so curious as to what Afgorkon would do, she no longer quivered.

  The faceless thing considered them as they stood side by side with the barbarian's heavily muscled arm about Red Lori's slim body. The sun beat down, and somewhere in the ruins a bird chattered. Otherwise, there was only the brooding silence.

  Then: “Take up Frostfire, barbarian! It is too lovely a thing to lie hidden in my death chamber. And besides, it comes to me that you will make good use of it in the days and years to come.

  "No, I seek not Frostfire. Nor the life of the redheaded wench you seem to love. Yet there is something I must do to her.

  "Red Lori—come you forward!”

  The woman stirred within the clasp of Kothar's arm. He caught the moan of fear in her throat. He would have moved to thrust himself between her and the eidolon except that his own body seemed turned to the same stone as that from which the statue had been carved. His arm fell away as the redhead moved forward.

  His eyes watched her walk slowly, gracefully, toward the statue. In her Mongrol garb, she seemed only a pretty girl. The blouse was torn, shredded from long usage, so he could see the pale skin of her back. Under the leather kilt, her legs were curving columns. He wanted to reach out, catch and hold her.

  The statue waited as she neared it. Then lifted its stone arms and put its hands on Red Lori's shoulders, gripping her gently. Where those stone fingers touch, a faint miasma rose upward like steam. The girl shook, but made no sound.

  The stone hands lowered.

  Red Lori crumpled and lay on the courtyard cobblestones. Over her motionless body, the eidolon stared at the barbarian. It spoke no word but turned and clumped away, its stone feet making those same thumping sounds. Kothar watched it move between the shattered columns of an ancient temple and disappear from view.

  He stirred, his chest lifted as he sucked in air. He ran to the girl, turned her over, sliding an arm beneath her pale ne
ck. Her eyes were closed, but she breathed-red lips slightly parted, breasts lifting and falling. Kothar bent his head, pressed lips to that soft mouth.

  She stirred, opened her eyes. Those green eyes saw him, but they knew him not. Her eyes went back and forth around the courtyard buildings.

  “Where—where am I?” she whispered, shrinking slightly from his arm. “Who am I? And—who are you?”

  Kothar sighed. Afgorkon had taken his sacrifice, after all. He had robbed Red Lori of her necromantic knowledge, even of her memory. She was indeed, little more than a lovely, shepherdess or milkmaid now. The barbarian grinned. This was the way he had always wanted her.

  “You belong to me,” he told her. “I—bought you in a slave market in Zoane.”

  She frowned at him prettily. "I don't remember.”

  “You had an—accident. But never mind that. Your name is Lori and you belong to me. So come, wench—stir yourself. We've a long ride ahead of us.”

  His big hand helped her to her feet. She pushed her red hair from her face, she stared down at herself, at her worn, travel-stained garments. Her cheeks flushed faintly when she saw how much of her body was revealed through the tears and rips.

  "Fetch the food bags,” he said gently. They rode together out of Radimore just as the sun was going down in the west. They had not far to go, they would be in Ebboxor before midnight. And from Ebboxor? Where would he turn Greyling after that? He was tired of spells and incantations and magicians. There was a yearning for something more substantial than necromancy in his heart.

  He rode thoughtfully beside the silent girl. When they came to Ebboxor, there was a red fire blazing and Flarion sitting beside Cybala, who leaned against his encircling arm. They would have risen, but Kothar waved them aside. He helped Red Lori down, watched as she took out meat and bread from the saddlebags.

  “What ails her?" wondered Flarion, studying the girl.

  “Afgorkon took away her memory.” They ate, and when they were done, Kothar drew the girl down beside him on his fur cloak. He made her pillow her red head on his chest, so he could put an arm about her and hold her close.

  “Who am I? What was my past life?” she whispered.

  “Later, girl. Sleep now.”

  They slept as once before they had slept amid these ruins. And with the coming of morning, as once before, the barbarian woke with a sword-point at his bare throat. He stared up at a hard bronzed face along the jaw of which ran a jagged scar. The steel camail made tinkling sounds as the war captain lowered his head slightly.

  “We meet once more, barbarian. This time, you have no bow in hand, you have no weapons of any kind.”

  The soldiers with Captain Oddo were few in number. There were only six that he saw, until a seventh came from between two stone pillars carrying half a dozen water-skins. One he handed to Oddo of Ottrantor, the others he passed among the six hard-bitten men who rode behind the war captain.

  Flarion was on the ground beside Cybala, both of them trussed like fowls for the bake ovens. Red Lori was also tied at wrists and ankles, and she stared at him dumbly, like patient beast waiting for its master to save her.

  Oddo grinned coldly. “You did me a lot of harm, barbarian. Not only on the road to Radimore, but in Zoane as well.” He lifted the water-skin, putting the narrow nozzle between his lips and quaffing deep.

  The back of his worm velvet sleeve worked across his lips. “We came so fast from Zoane, we had no time to fill our water-skins. It was a long, dusty ride.”

  Kothar growled, “What harm did I do you in Zoane?”

  "Pah! You helped destroy Antor Nemillus, who was my master. Not Midor, no. That fat slug took orders from his mage. I wore his livery, but I was the mage's man. Well, now—that's all ended, thanks to you. So you shall pay.”

  His eyes ran up and down Red Lori. "I'll take her as part payment of the debt you owe me. The other one,” his head jerked at Cybala, “my men can have. You die, barbarian—to pay the rest of the debt.”

  Captain Oddo grimaced putting a hand to his middle. “Father of demons—what foul poison was in that water? It eats in my belly like a snake!”

  Kothar glanced beyond the war captain at the Seven soldiers. They too, were making contorted faces, their hands clawing at their bellies. Captain Oddo took a step, shuddering.

  “You men—come here!” he bawled. His men were in no position to obey. Three of them were on their knees, the others were staggering about and moaning. The barbarian waited, watching Oddo of Ottrantor, who was trying to lift his sword and strike at him. Almost gently, the Cumberian withdrew the sword from those nerveless fingers.

  “The curse of Ebboxor, Oddo,” he muttered. The war captain fell to sprawl out on the ground. Kothar stood above him, asking, "Saw you not the skeletons as you rode into camp? No, I suppose not. It makes no difference, now. I think Afgorkon may have put an added thirst in your throats as you rode this way, however.”

  He waited with the animal patience of the barbarian until Captain Oddo and his men were dead. Then he cut Lori free, and from her he went to Flarion and Cybala. When they stood beside him, he nodded his head.

  "It is over, all of it. Lori and I ride west toward the lands of the robber barons. I am weary of sorcery and wizards. I would take employment with the thieves, perhaps even get to command a band of my own. It is in my mind that a smart man might unite those warring baronies and make a kingdom for himself.”

  “What of her?” wondered Flarion, gesturing at the redheaded woman who stood rubbing her wrists where the ropes had bitten.

  "She has no memory. I'll tell her only what I think she ought to know. Then may-hap I'll marry her. Who knows?”

  He walked toward the girl who smiled at him, weakly but with promise. Her green eyes met his and fell before his stare. Flarion turned and strode toward Cybala. He and the belly-dancer would head north into Makkadonia beyond Sybaros. Idly he swung his head and looked behind him.

  Kothar was lifting the smiling girl into the kak.

  END

  Thank you for purchasing Gardner Francis Fox's Sword & Sorcery classic: Kothar and the Wizard Slayer.

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