by Lin Carter
Some hours after dawn the cloud-wreathed peak of Sharimba loomed before them. It was the mightiest mountain of all Lemuria, towering above its brothers like a black giant standing amid squat dwarfs. Thongor roused his companions and they broke their fast as the floater measured off the vom between them and the Mountain of Thunder.
Sharajsha bade Thongor guide the airboat to a landing somewhere near the crest of the black mountain.
“Only I, armed with powers of magic, may ascend the uttermost peak of the mountain,” he explained. “For when I call down the lightnings of heaven to imbue the Star Sword with power, those near me who are not protected by great craft and magic skill will be charred to ash…such are the powers I must invoke.”
The black wall of rock loomed sheer before them. Then the Princess cried; “Look!” Thongor followed her pointing hand and saw a gap in the rock, and suddenly a flat table of stone appeared, where some unimaginable convulsion of the earth’s crust had shattered off a portion of the peak. There he brought the Nemedis to rest. Sharajsha clambered out, his long, wide-sleeved robe of gray and his long gray mane of hair fluttering in the howling winds that swept the mountain. In one hand he grasped the Star Sword. In the other was a small pouch of scarlet photh-skin containing magical instruments. Standing there, the naked Sword in his hand, the wild landscape of cloven black rock and wind-torn sky behind him, he suddenly became a weird and mysterious figure, removed from the common range of mankind.
“Await me here,” he commanded. “From this point I must ascend to the peak unaccompanied, so do not come after me for any reason.”
“What will happen now?” Karm Karvus asked.
“Once I have reached the topmost pinnacle of the mountain, and have evoked the powers of the Throne of Thunders, the sky will darken. Clouds will gather, blackening the very sun. Then forth from the clouds, bolts of lightning will assail the peak, filling the sky with flame. But the Sword will drink the lightning even as the green things of the earth drink the sunlight, and with every bolt the power of the Sword will grow, until at last it has been charged to the final degree with energy. Fashioned from stone, forged in fire, drenched in the powers of the air—it shall command the elements of nature.”
“And—water?” Karm Karvus hazarded.
“For water it shall drink deep of the accursed blood of the Dragon Kings,” the wizard said, and he turned and slowly began his ascent of Sharimba. Standing in a row together, they watched his thin, bent figure until it dwindled above them and vanished among the jagged rocks of the mountain peak.
Thongor spat. “Sorcery! Give me a good blade and a strong arm. That’s all the sorcery one needs to fight an enemy!”
Sumia shivered, staring up at the cloud-wrapped peak.
“What will happen—when we face the Dragon Kings with the enchanted Sword?” she wondered aloud. Karm Karvus shrugged.
“I know not, Princess. Perhaps the Sword will disgorge the lightnings upon which Sharajsha will feed it. However, we shall soon see. For within mere hours now, the destined time will come when the monsters will seek to summon their Dark Lords from the unknown realms that lie beyond the stars—beyond the very Universe itself!”
Silent, Thongor watched Karm Karvus talking to the girl. The slim, courtly noble and the lovely Princess could converse as equals—but he was a rude barbarian! Broodingly he observed her slender loveliness…the great, curling fleece of black hair, slim, pale limbs displayed in creamy glimpses through the rents of her tattered gown. Never in all his years had he seen such loveliness in a woman. Lemuria had not seen her like since the fabulous days of Queen Zandarla the Fair. He turned away and, setting his back to them, stared out over the fantastic gulf of broken stone and wind-torn vapor, illuminated by the level, ruddy shafts of the morning sun.
Ah, well! Such beauty was not for the likes of him, a rough warrior more used to trading jests with Death at the tip of a dancing blade than exchanging courteous phrases with high-born ladies.
Sumia screamed!
Thongor whirled, his broadsword flashing into his hand, his fierce golden eyes searching the rocks for an enemy. The shrill scream of the Princess was echoed by a metallic screech whose reverberations raised the hairs on Thongor’s nape—a grakk!
Down from the airy gulfs winged the terrible lizard-hawk, a very twin of the ones that had attacked him days ago over the jungles of Chush. Its wriggling, scaled, snakebody was mailed in fantastic yellow and brown. Its rustling, bat-like wings darkened the air. At the end of a long serpentine neck the hideous head reached for the girl. She was running toward the floater, slim legs flying. The head swooped toward her—grim, hooked beak clashing hungrily, cruel scarlet eyes blazing with insatiable hunger beneath the indigo-blue crest of wild, bristling spines.
Shouting, Karm Karvus whipped out his Tsargolian rapier and raced to aid the Princess. Roaring his deep-throated war cry, Thongor exploded into action. One lithe bound brought him to the side of Karm Karvus, and together they plunged their steel into the writhing body that hung in midair upon thunder-beating wings while the long neck quested after the fleeing girl. But even sharp steel could not penetrate the tough, leathery hide, and their blades slid harmlessly off the horny scales.
Sumia cried out again as the loose rocks twisted under her feet—and then she tumbled down, helpless beneath the darting beak.
Thongor sprang astride her, roaring. Clenching the sword double-handed, he swung the mighty blade with the full power of his iron thews. His edge met the clashing beak and batted it to one side with the impact. The lizard-hawk screeched deafeningly. He swung again, his blade shearing off the crest of blue bristles. Karm Karvus came up to join him.
“Get the Princess into the floater!” Thongor commanded.
“And leave you—!”
“Do as I say, man—quick, now!”
As Thongor battled with the monstrous flying reptile he was aware of the girl being taken from beneath his legs and glimpsed Karm Karvus bearing her in his arms to the safety of the Nemedis. But he was too busy to do anything but fight—and fight he did!
The grakk was gigantic—fully as large as the airboat. Its beaked head was almost as huge as Thongor’s entire body, and the tremendous muscles of its sinuous length could have torn him to ribbons in an instant, could it have seized him. But the giant Valkarthan danced over the mountainside, leaping away from each plunge of the hissing head, battering at it with great blows of his blade, never still for an instant. He roared and shouted at the hovering thing, holding its attention lest it should leave him and pursue the Princess and Karm Karvus.
Its great membraned wings beat the air like the booming sails of a ship, the wind buffeting Thongor. With great hewing strokes he tried to sever the armored neck, to extinguish one of the scarlet eyes that blazed into his, mad with fury. But the steely scales resisted his blows as might the granite mountain itself. Thongor knew it was only a matter of time until his feet would strike a loose rock, bringing him down sprawling—or before he should fail to dodge the swinging head and be caught in the viselike grip of that slavering yellow beak—but he fought on tirelessly.
And then one clawed foot seized him, dragging him down. Hooked claws the size of curved scimitars bit into his leather trappings. As the hovering monster dragged him, his skull hit a boulder and blackness enveloped him.
In the cabin of the floater, the Princess stifled a cry when Thongor fell. Breathlessly she watched as the lizard-hawk hovered on thundering wings above the helpless man. Beside her, Karm Karvus gave an oath.
“Stay here, Princess!”
The Tsargolian sprang from the floater’s deck to do what he could to save—or to revenge—his friend. But before he could reach Thongor’s side, the cruel, barbed claw closed about the barbarian’s waist and the winged monster rose slowly into the air with the unconscious man dangling from its powerful grasp.
Helpless, Karm Karvus stood beneath, watching as the monster lizard-hawk rose, knowing that at any moment he could expect to watch his mighty friend dashed in the gulf below—or devoured. As the lizard-hawk hovered, it bent its long neck and seemed to sniff at the dangling body.
From the safety of the floater, Sumia clasped her hands to her beating heart. Breathlessly she watched as the bold warrior who had saved her from death faced death himself.
And then the two watched as the lizard-hawk, seemingly satisfied that its prey was either helpless or dead, rose steeply on booming wings. It circled above them, and then slid away over the great gulf. Still bearing the unconscious Thongor, it vanished toward the east and was lost to their view among the thick vapors.
Karm Karvus slowly slid his rapier back into its scabbard. Bending, he picked up the fallen broadsword that Thongor had carried through a hundred battles. With the sword in his hands he returned to the floater.
“Can we not pursue the creature in the airboat?” Sumia asked.
“To what avail, Princess? How could we battle the lizard-hawk, even if we could find it again? And if we could somehow battle it, would it not drop Thongor in order to fight us?”
Sumia bowed her head silently, recognizing the wisdom in Karm Karvus’ words.
“Nay, there is nothing that we can do, Princess,” the Tsargolian said sadly. “Were Sharajsha here, perhaps his magic could save our friend—but he is far above, where we dare not venture. I doubt not that Thongor has been slain—crushed in the grakk’s claws by now. Let us be brave and reconcile ourselves to the fact of his death.”
And then Karm Karvus fell silent, placing the great Valkarthan broadsword upon the bunk. Even in the arena, facing the grinning jaws of death, he had never known a more terrible moment than this—forced to stand by helplessly and watch his friend carried off to a lonely death in the wind-torn skies of Lemuria.
Far above them the skies darkened and the drums of thunder rolled. Sharajsha was preparing the Star Sword. But neither of them was listening. Each was deep in thought.
CHAPTER 14
The Dragon Kings
As one by one his brothers fell, he raised the great Sword high.
He sang the runes to the Lords of Light—and thunder broke the sky—
Red lightning flashed—drums of thunder crashed—a rain of fire fell
To sweep the Kings of the Dragons down to the smoking pits of hell!
—Diombar’s Song of the Last Battle
It was the rush of cold wind over his naked body that roused Thongor to consciousness. When his eyes opened at last, he was staring straight down into a sheer gorge of black stone that lay two thousand feet beneath him. His long black mane flowed on the cold wind, obscuring his vision. For a moment he thought that he was dead and the War Maids were bearing his spirit to the Hall of Heroes beyond the world where the great Castle of the Gods lifted its mighty spires above paradisical hills.
But then he realized that he was still alive. The warm blood leaked from his brow, where the boulder had struck his head, and his waist ached abominably, as if he was being crushed in a giant vise. Craning his neck about, he discovered his terrible predicament—and for a moment even Thongor of Valkarth felt his heart falter beneath the icy hand of fear.
The huge claw of the grakk held him about the middle, as its powerful wings bore him far above the Mountains of Mommur. His sword was gone—he was completely unarmed. Were the lizard-hawk to simply open its claws, he would hurl down helplessly two thousand feet to smash his life out in a bloody smear against the black rocks far below. Never in his long, adventure-filled life had the Valkarthan felt so alone—so completely helpless.
Yet he had the comforting knowledge that the Princess was safe, and that the battle against the Dragon Kings would still go on, even though he was not there to stand beside Sharajsha when he faced the Lords of Chaos.
Since there was absolutely nothing he could do to lessen his predicament, Thongor simply composed himself and lay still in the grakk’s clutches. Rather than exhaust his strength in hopeless fighting, he resolved to await the turn of events and do nothing until some avenue of escape presented itself.
The lizard-hawk might have been flying for hours for all he knew. It was difficult to estimate the sun’s height from his position, but it seemed near the zenith. After a long time, the creature suddenly slowed in its flight and hovered above the range of mountains. Then, sliding through the misty air in long, slow spirals, it began to descend.
Out of the murk a slim needle of rock emerged. The lizard-hawk swung down toward it in sweeping circles, hovered for a moment, great wings checking its flight—and dropped Thongor.
He fell helplessly, the landscape whirling madly about him for a terrifying moment or two, then landed with stunning impact upon a thick bed of something that crackled beneath his weight. Dazed, he lay still, not daring to move lest he dislodge himself. There seemed to be no broken bones. Overhead, the black shape wheeled to the left and began to spiral up, soon becoming lost to sight.
Thongor was lying in a shallow depression filled with dry branches and stiff leaves that rustled as he sat up. All about was sky—torn mist, driven by the whistling wind—and distant peaks ringing him in. He crawled to the edge of the matted branches and peered over. Below, a sheer wall of rock fell sickeningly straight down as far as the eye could see.
He turned to see if it was the same on the other side—and looked into a flaming red eye. Three snake-tailed little monsters, only slightly less than his own six and a half feet, were glaring at him a dozen feet away. Their hideous bodies were covered with small red and yellow scales, and from the humped shoulders at the base of the long snakelike necks, peculiar stumps protruded. They had curved beaks and four cruelly clawed limbs.
In a flash Thongor realized his terrible position. He had been dropped by the giant grakk, only to plunge into an even worse nightmare. He was in the grakk’s nest! This tangled mat of dry branches and leaves was the nest of the mother grakk, and those three scaly horrors glaring at him were the offspring of that monstrous parent, who had borne him home to feed the babies!
They had not attacked him yet, probably because they were unused to food that still lived. But now one of the little monsters waddled across the nest toward him, beak clashing, hissing like a jet of escaping steam. Thongor clapped one hand to his side—the broadsword was gone, dropped on the slopes of Sharimba when the grakk seized him. He stared around swiftly, darting glances here and there about the nest, searching for a weapon. Almost at his feet lay a long white bone, scarred with beakmarks, one end broken off in a jagged, saw-toothed edge. He snatched it up and sprang to meet the infant monster.
Its beak snapped at him hungrily, but Thongor knocked the head aside with the flat of his arm and drove the sharp bone into the long snaky throat. The scaly armor of the grakklet was not as tough as that of the full-grown lizard-hawk, but it was tough enough, and the pointed bone merely ripped a long, shallow gash in its neck. The gash welled with thick, evil-smelling fluid.
Then its claws were upon him, its full weight bearing him down as the long neck snaked with distended beak to tear out his throat. Thongor protected his head and throat with crossed arms—doubled up his legs and kicked violently, hurling the thing out of the nest. It went scrabbling over the edge, squalled piercingly, and vanished far below.
But now he faced two more hissing horrors. He drove his bone-sword straight into the open jaws of one and ducked while the other’s beak snapped-to above his head, catching a few strands of his hair. Balled fists lashed out, smashing the chest of the first one. It raked his chest and belly with sharp claws, drawing thin scarlet furrows down the bronzed flesh. Then it gurgled and fell away, tail thrashing violently. The pointed bone had gone through the back of its throat and had penetrated what little brain it possessed, paralyzing
it.
But Thongor had no time to observe the death-throes of the second, for the third was upon him with flashing claws, bearing him over backward beneath its squirming weight.
He fought his way to his feet, forcing the squalling grakklet back with smashing blows. Then his mighty hands locked upon its pulsing throat, just below the clacking beak. Muscles swelled and writhed like giant snakes in his broad shoulders. The grakk struggled violently, twisting its long neck, but slowly, remorselessly, his hands closed like iron bands, crushing the monster’s throat. Its scrabbling forelimbs raked him from nipple to hip, razory talons slashing red lines through his flesh. Thongor gritted his teeth and bore the slashing pain.
Gradually, the grakk’s struggles lessened in their intensity. Its scarlet eyes glazed. A bubbling froth of slimy blood oozed from its straining, gasping beak. With every atom of strength in his terrific back and shoulders, Thongor crushed the life out of the thing and cast its quivering corpse from him.
He stood, panting, recovering his breath, ignoring the blood that flowed down his chest and belly. Then he prowled the nest from side to side, seeking an exit. On no side did anything meet his probing gaze but sheer cliff-walls of black rock, wet from the hovering veils of mist.
He was marooned atop a steep pinnacle of smooth stone. Unless—!
On one side of the nest the wall was broken. A narrow ledge jutted from the needle of rock—but it was thirty feet below the place where he stood. Thongor examined the rock wall between himself and the ledge. It was as smooth as glass. To attempt to climb down it was pure madness—to try jumping to the ledge was completely impossible, for it jutted only a foot from the wall. If he missed, he would be smashed to jelly, thousands of feet below. And yet, to remain here was to die. Within hours, perhaps within mere minutes, the mother grakk would return to the nest.