Savage

by James Alderdice

  “I have had many names. In the past I was called Tablos when I was a boy and still others called me Master Antinom, none remember those names anymore and these days I am called Lucifugis.”

  “Are you not a man?” asked Gathelaus, still blinded by the firelight. He could see a vague colossal shape moving blue-black beyond the fire.

  “Perhaps I used to be a man, but my kindred is as far removed from your own as the wolf is from the dog.”

  “That’s not that far,” answered Gathelaus.

  “Isn’t it?” asked Lucifugis, stepping into the firelight. He stood near seven feet tall and the only portion of his body not covered with a deep blue cloak was his face which was bone grey and thoroughly skeletal. He looked like a living death’s head!

  Gathelaus, taken aback, brought his sword up.

  “Hold thy blade, Northman. I am but cursed and not a threat to you. I have not had the company of men far off down the chains of time.” His eyes blazed with a baleful power.

  “I doubt that,” growled Gathelaus.

  “The gods made us all, did they not?”

  “I don’t know that they did,” answered Gathelaus ruefully.

  “I have been cursed with this form. I am the last survivor of a mighty race that was doomed by hubris and contagion magics. I was a man much the same as you. It is sorcery which has done this to me. But I am no danger to you. I hunger not for the flesh of men. Trust me.”

  Gathelaus chuckled uneasily to himself, but the growling in his stomach reminded him that he was starving. “You have meat on a spit there. Does it not look good anymore now that I am here?”

  “I am not a cannibal,” answered Lucifugis.

  “Why does a lich like you even roast meat?”

  “Because I remember what it was like once,” rasped Lucifugis. “I will share the goat with you willingly and ask, since you find yourself in this unlikely and haunted quarter, that you will endeavor to help me with something to alter the course of my destiny and remove a great evil from this world.”

  Gathelaus mulled that over. He wanted the shank of goat more than anything at the moment, but he had his own troubles and needed to be on his way soon enough to combat them.

  “The gods do little, but that they bring their servants along to accomplish them,” said Lucifugis.

  “I am my own man,” answered Gathelaus. The scent of roasted goat and the fat drizzling against the coals was almost more than he could bear.

  “Enough talk of destiny and mad gods then, we shall feast upon my catch and then continue our discussion,” said Lucifugis.

  Gathelaus ate the goat down to the bones and broke them for marrow, while a tiny spot of clouds fled away, and the moonlight shone through like a silver pillar. Gathelaus remained ever wary of his monstrous companion, but Lucifugis made no move toward him with either a knife or his fearsome claws.

  “How came you to be cursed as this?” asked Gathelaus.

  “According to legend, the most sinister and destructive of musical instruments, the Pipe of Mahmackrah, was crafted near the dawn of time by Goonayn the Enchanter, who was also credited with creating the occult sciences of metallurgy, alchemy, and music. Soon after its creation, and with a terrible blood sacrifice, the Pipe itself was dedicated to the lion-headed fire god Mahmackrah. Whether such a god exists and accepted the sanguine tribute remains a mystery. What is known, though, has been recounted in the Vedja of the priests in far off Kathul, the accounts of the Sen-Toku Admiralty, and the holy writ of the historian monks in Tiburon, each considered beyond reproach in their record keeping.”

  Gathelaus drank deep of Lucifugis’s waterskin then shook his head, asking, “You know more than that I’m sure.”

  Lucifugis nodded. “After centuries of being used merely as a symbol of status among the wealthier Dar-Al-Hambran’s, the Pipe found its way into the possession of a minor band of robbers known as Kardik’s Men. By chance, Kardik sacked the caravan which was transporting the Pipe of Mahmackrah, a gift for the princess Yasmeen who was to be wed to the son of the great pharaoh. Intrigued by both the beautiful princess and the ornate and double-barreled Pipe, Kardik deigned to play upon both. Something was summoned.”

  The howling wind broke their reverie for a moment and Lucifugis shivered before continuing. “A maddening scourge seized upon Kardik at once and proceeded to infect and contaminate all his band, the few that fled to the nearest city-states across the desert soon found themselves only spreading the pestilence to larger populations. In a matter of weeks, the subcontinental realm of Dar-Alhambra was overrun with a sonic plague. The sorcerous infection was contained because the coastal Sen-Toku Empire blockaded the harbors, forcing the small desert continent to embrace its fate and die.

  “In a fit of cannibalism and murder, the entire subcontinent was depopulated and remained a haunted landscape for generations. Ships did not dock for decades, but from a distance the sailors described hideous, shambling monstrosities that only vaguely resembled humans. Eventually the abominations were seen no more, and a few brave souls explored, colonized, and rebuilt until a new people dwelt over the face of the land and the dead were nearly forgotten but for their Cyclopean ruins. Though an intensive search was made for such a destructive instrument, the Pipe of Mahmackrah itself was never found. The nomads who still live in the hinterlands whisper that if a man goes mad in the night, he must have heard the Pipes call.”

  “You are a living victim of that sorcerous plague?” asked Gathelaus.

  Lucifugis nodded. “I have been cursed with undeath so long as the Pipe still needs destroying. My sorcery is a double-edged sword. I was a victim of the plague and could not die as other men, but at the same time I was transformed into an inhuman creature that was half man and half Ghul. I seek rest if I can have it.”

  “Where is this Pipe now?”

  “I think I know, but I need help to both retrieve and destroy it. Do this service and I shall help you reach civilization so that you may continue on your own quest.”

  “And if I were to refuse?”

  “I would not blame you, but the knowledge of your deserting a cursed soul such as myself would surely haunt you. I know you are a good man. The desert spirits told me so.”

  Gathelaus shook his head, chuckling to himself at the whims of the gods forever involving him in their schemes. “Maybe I’m not as good as they told you. But I am intrigued for this adventure and if you can help me reach a city with a port. I’ll help you with this mad quest.”

  4.

  Black Necropolis

  In the morning, the wind nipped at their heels like starving dogs. Lucifugis led Gathelaus over the hills on a winding track as if he knew exactly where he was going. He veered neither to the left nor the right but kept on a straight path toward a great mountain that jutted into the azure sky. The stark peak was alone on the desert floor and towered above the plains like a lofty sentinel. It was a deep red with sharp crenulations of black veins throughout, resembling nothing so much as a ruinous castle, though a castle built to house giant gods. Gathelaus ventured that it would take half a day just to ride around the thing.

  The shadow of the monstrosity reached them by midday and Gathelaus welcomed the shade keeping them from the blazing sun.

  “Is this it? The resting place of the cursed object?”

  “It is,” answered Lucifugis. “You will see a doorway once I work my cantrips on the glamour that conceals the door.”

  “We are in such a hostile land, who could be here to find such a marvel?”

  Lucifugis said, “Many men have sought for the artifact in hopes of having a weapon to conquer their enemies. Goonayn could never have known what strife he brought into the world by its creation. The lives that have been lost are unnumbered.”

  “Then why not leave it here?”

  Lucifugis wheeled on Gathelaus unexpectedly. “Because I cannot die until it is destroyed, and I weary of this plane of existence. I long to break through the veils and see the worlds beyond
. This one is done for me.”

  “How old are you?”

  Lucifugis shook his head. “I do not remember any longer, but I know that I have seen kingdoms rise and fall in these lands a dozen times over. Yesterday’s legends are far older than men know, yet they tell the same stories again and again, relating to what they think they know. The gods of yesterday are the demons of today and so it continues. History is corrupt and concealed so that the victors might keep men in bondage. I am done with it.”

  “Why me?”

  Lucifugis looked at him shrewdly. “Honestly, I have had pitifully few men to speak with these long centuries, but the few I have seen have either feared me too greatly to accomplish the task or they died in the trying. You, I think, have potential to succeed where others have failed. The spirits told me you are loved of the gods of light and feared by those of the dark. A more perfect champion I could not ask for.”

  “How many have failed trying to accomplish this task?”

  “I don’t remember anymore,” said Lucifugis. “Few get beyond the first few traps.”

  “And why not do it yourself? Especially if the danger of death is so great?”

  “Deep magic will not allow me beyond the threshold. No one who has already been cursed by the Pipe can do this. I know not what other dangers inside may lurk, but I am certain it can be overcome,” said Lucifugis. “This place is a door leading to where the Pipe is and therefore logic dictates that there must be a way to return with it.”

  Gathelaus didn’t like the sound of that, but he wanted to do this and be done with it to return upon his own cause.

  They stopped before a particularly dark side of the mountainous wall and Lucifugis waved his hands about while chanting a long, droning verse that was old before Gathelaus’s ancestors carved their first ship. He had a copper brazier and flung handfuls of some strange spice into the green flames that exploded and turned into blue smoke in an instant.

  “What was that?”

  “The spirits that hold the door have great affection for cobalt soma.”

  Gathelaus didn’t understand any of that but nodded to be agreeable.

  A dark mist wafted like smoke from the mountain side and an edifice of superb workmanship revealed itself. The outer portions of the black necropolis looked like obsidian and was carved to resemble scales of a serpent overlapping one another. There was a great door with steps leading to its toothlike maw while gaping windows above were in similitude of the blank eye sockets on a skull. Pointed turrets gleamed with frosty edges and if men had been at the narrow battlements, they could not have missed the intruder’s audacious approach in the open field before them.

  Before Gathelaus could ask, Lucifugis replied, “There is no one living within. Wards and spells are its only defenses, along with traps set to be triggered by a man’s passage. Be wary of where your foot falls.”

  “So, tell me what I must do to succeed where so many others have failed,” said Gathelaus, as he tightened his sword belt.

  “Do not be distracted by the illusions of past and present that will guard the Pipe. Be swift for there is never enough time. The entrance can be opened but once a day, once a year and it closes swiftly. I suspect air will run out if it is sealed.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “I have heard terrible death scratching at the door.”

  Gathelaus glanced upon the edifice once again. It had an unwholesome aura and seemed to resonate a dark foreboding as if just beyond sight and inside those dark windows and doors it was swarming with venomous insects, all writhing together in the shadows.

  The doors opened, sliding and grating against the dust and sand of ages that clogged the threshold.

  “How long will it stay open?”

  “For a space akin to twelve hours.”

  “That seems a long time if I’m not going too far.”

  “The inside of the necropolis is but a doorway to whatever realm the Pipe is now housed in. You must hurry. If you take longer than the allotted twelve hours, I cannot help you.”

  Gathelaus nodded, drew his sword, and stepped inside. It was dark and cool within, but light was granted from apertures far above recessed in the high ceiling. The mold of ages covered the stone walls with a filmy detritus, and the air was rank with age and rot. Bones littered the chamber hallway, each with their own peculiar set of accruements and weaponry. Clearly, Lucifugis had adventurers come here many times, and more than a few had gone no farther than this very first antechamber. There was a bevy of strange weapons on the floor, and Gathelaus guessed that not all of the men who had died here were warriors—some looked to be mere farmers or Bedouins, only armed with what they could carry.

  Gathelaus couldn’t help but wonder that perhaps Lucifugis had not been entirely forthcoming in the dangers inside and the fate of all those who entered here.

  A wretched sliding sound echoed from somewhere far across the hallway and Gathelaus instinctively ducked, expecting an airborne attack. But nothing came. Moving low and ready to spring, he advanced farther into the chamber, aware he could no longer hear Lucifugis’s chanting spells outside.

  5.

  Webs of Deceit

  The rattle of chains gave Gathelaus pause. Wheeling, he glanced about but saw no movement. Somewhere ahead he heard another scraping of something against the flagstones. His eyes were still adjusting to the darkness when the clear sound of metal on stone brought him around just in time to dodge the killing stroke of a rusted scimitar wielded by a reanimated skeleton. Its mouth open in a silent scream.

  Gathelaus backhanded the foul thing with his sword and knocked the crooked Tolburnian helm from its head. He slashed his blade across its shoulder and shattered the thing to kindling.

  The scrape of bone upon stone revealed three more revenants armed with corroded steel swiftly coming at him. Terror of undeath threatened to steal his courage, but Gathelaus had faced unspeakable horrors before and these were nothing by comparison. He broke into a fighting stance and smashed the bones to broken shards until they fell together in a heap.

  This place was playing with him.

  Doubt was the enemy now as he strode along the dim hallway. Why was he here? He had his own troubles, his own conquests to wrest from foul hands. What should he care for a monstrous cursed being? What responsibility was it of his? Light shifted and he expected an attack, but again nothing came, though he was aware that he had been walking a long time in the spidery hallway. How long had been walking?

  This place was playing with him.

  ***

  What had been smooth flagstones changed abruptly to soft footfalls. Glancing down he was striding across a layer of soft pine needles. The dim passageway lit only by the occasional skylight before, turned now to a starry sky. A cold full moon hid behind tall pines. The slope went up slightly and Gathelaus wondered a moment if he was back in Vjorn. He could see his own breath in the chilled air.

  How did he get here?

  This place was playing with him.

  He continued on the most direct path over the needles and between a forest of looming trees. Hearing a grunt, he paused and glanced about. He could see no one. His breath made a cloud before him. Another cloud of breath appeared beyond and up almost fifteen feet. The misshapen tree was curious and stouter than the rest of the pines beside it. The gnarled trunks were covered with long thick moss, until they joined at the… waist?

  The puff of misty breath resumed and floated before a pair of ominous eyes that glared at him as moonlight gleamed on the big tusks of the mountain giant.

  Gathelaus dodged aside just as the monster slammed its club down where he had just stood. He launched himself behind a tree and swung his sword low to slash at the giant’s calf.

  But the hairy mountain giant splintered the tree with a swift kick. Gathelaus rolled away from the crashing projectile, missing his mark.

  A heavy stomp to the ground nearly pulped Gathelaus as he rolled and got to his feet. He whipped his sword
up and stuck the tip into the giant’s side before the giant bashed it away with its club. The weapon was as long as a steersman’s oar and just as thick.

  Drawing his knife, Gathelaus slammed the blade into the giant’s foot pinning it to the soft ground. The giant howled and again stomped at Gathelaus, albeit more gingerly as it hobbled in pain, striving to retrieve the implement of its hurt.

  Gathelaus raced down the slope after his sword. He guessed he could find it, but the thick carpet of needles and the sheer force of the giant’s blow made it difficult.

  The closeness of the trees prevented the giant from running him down as it dodged the trunks left and right in pursuit.

  Roaring loud enough to wake the gods, the giant came on, crashing over and through any of the smaller trees in his wild chase. The club raked the side of Gathelaus, just enough to sheer the shirt and skin from his unarmored left shoulder. Had it been a fraction of an inch closer, it would have pulped his arm.

  Gathelaus wheeled back and ran in a new direction before the giant could compensate. Doubling back, Gathelaus raced to where he believed the sword lay.

  It was not there.

  The giant roared again as it closed with Gathelaus. There was nowhere left to run. He was out of options.

  This place was playing with him.

  The giant swung its club and rent the tree beside Gathelaus, leaving only a broken trunk. Dodging one way and then the other, the giant countered each escape Gathelaus attempted. He could smell the overpowering stench of the foul decay on its breath. The club came down wide on his left and then swiftly on his right. It toyed with him now, like a cat enjoying the desperation of a mouse.

  Right and left it slammed the club down, each time getting a fraction of an inch closer. Each time letting him dodge away just in time to survive, but know death waited behind each stroke.

  His boot knife! Gathelaus grasped the small blade and held it in his fist and took the giants strokes like a dance number, left , then right, then left, then right, as the club came down, he launched himself at the club and let the power of the giant raising his blunt weapon propel him up and toward the warped face of his antagonist. He slammed the knife into the brute’s eye and slashed back across the other. He fell in a heap atop the smashed tree trunk. The giant bellowed and fell back in a painful rage.