“I summon thee, black empress,” the man hissed, his voice deep and sepulchral. Taking up a phial of green glass from the table, he moved to a black metal brazier that had been wrought after the form of a coiled bipedal serpent, its clawed feet splayed upon the salt-stained planks in the corner of the cabin. The man emptied the contents of the phial into the gaping mouth of the iron serpent, and at once a great cloud of acrid smoke billowed forth, filling the cabin with a sickly-sweet odour. Slowly, the tendrils of smoke rising from the brazier coalesced into something resembling human form. Then, amidst the writhing plumes, the ghostly image of a beautiful, black haired woman appeared. The woman’s subtly slanted violet eyes gazed at the azure giant from beneath her raven tresses, and her full lips slowly curved into an alluring smile.
“Speak, Maalech Xul.” The woman’s sibilant voice came to him as if from far away. Her tone was soft, almost melodious, yet tinged with an unnerving edge colder than hoarfrost.
“The mortal has reached the shrine,” the giant growled. “He seeks that which lies within.”
The smile faded from the woman’s face and her ophidian eyes narrowed malevolently. “Let him take it, then seize it from him. The soul-shard endures within this one, and his dreams persist. He may yet prove to be of use to us. Bring him before me. I would speak with this man… this Caleb Blackthorne.”
“You wish him intact?” Xul said, a note of vexation in his voice.
“Yes. There is yet power in the transference gem I bestowed upon thee, is there not?”
Maalech Xul produced a small multi-faceted jewel from a hidden compartment within his gauntlet and studied its crystalline surface. The gem was dark green in hue with black veins running through its murky depths like a spider’s web, and it glowed faintly in the flickering candlelight. He nodded and secreted the stone once more. “And when he has fulfilled his purpose?”
The smile returned to the woman’s face, then her mouth curled into a sly and fulsome pout.
“Then you may do with him as you will. Take his head and send his ship to the abyss, if it pleases you.”
“It shall be so,” Xul said tersely.
“And how fares your crew, paramour? Does my spellcraft yet hold them in thrall?”
“They serve and obey, as you said they would. The dead ask no questions and seek no recompense.”
“Then command them well. Our time approaches. All for which we have striven shall soon be within our grasp. To fail me would be… unwise.”
With that, the smoke dissipated and the image of the woman rapidly faded.
Maalech Xul moved to the table and took up his helm once more. Finally, it was time for trenchant steel and slaughter. At last, the predator would descend upon the prey and redden its ravening jaws. Smiling mirthlessly, he secured his curved, serrated sword in its scabbard and strode out onto the deck of the great black ship.
* * *
Caleb, Drustan and Malachi stood transfixed in the small circular chamber, each of them gazing in awe at the centre of the ancient stone room.
“By the gods, will you look at that!” exclaimed Drustan.
The black walls of the chamber were inscribed with glowing blue sigils which cast an eerie lambent light upon the three mariners. But what enthralled them so completely was the object which glimmered at the heart of the shrine’s inner-most sanctum.
A magnificent silver sword hung suspended in a coruscant cocoon of shimmering azure light, its mirror-like blade sparkling with pulses of electrical energy. The sword’s cross-guard had been fashioned to resemble two great wings, and its hilt was bound with gleaming platinum wire. The pommel was a colossal sapphire which shone with a glorious, crystalline radiance, and arcane symbols and strange runes had been etched into the adamantine steel of the luminescent blade.
“It’s beautiful!” whispered Malachi. “What a jewel!”
Caleb strode silently to the radiant sword, ascending a low circular stone dais above which the fulgid weapon thrummed and sparkled. Slowly, almost reverentially, he extended his hand. As his fingers passed through the ethereal shell of dancing light, he beheld a sheen of frost suddenly encase his wrist and knuckles, but he felt no sensation of cold. Then, steeling himself, he boldly grasped the hilt of the sword. Instantly the sapphirean pommel burned brighter, glowing with a near blinding blue energy. A lance of white light crackled forth from the gem and touched Caleb’s forehead with its searing brilliance. A myriad vivid colours abruptly exploded before Blackthorne’s eyes, and a tremendous sound like the roar of the ocean filled his ears. Then, the confines of the stone chamber melted inexorably away around him, and Caleb surged headlong into a raging maelstrom of seething, ephemeral light.
From the writhing vortex of colours, an incredible vista rapidly coalesced before Blackthorne’s eyes, and he found himself gazing down upon a vivid dreamscape which quickly crystallized into razor sharp focus. Below him, two great armies were separated by five hundred yards of arid, sun-scorched plain. Harsh sunlight danced on the countless swords, spear-points and helmets within the massed ranks, and heat rose from the dusty earth in shimmering waves. Two hundred yards to the east of the opposing legions, a huge black pyramid brooded, its darkling stone surface appearing to wholly absorb the pitiless solar rays.
The smaller force was assembled beneath an array of huge banners emblazoned with the device of a winged horse rearing against a field of azure, and the mighty sigils billowed in the gentle breeze which caressed the desert expanse.
Astride a dun-white charger at the centre of the army’s front line was a man with the regal bearing of a king. He was resplendent in silvern chain-mail, gleaming vambraces and greaves, and a bejewelled open-faced helm crowned by a plume of white horsehair. A ruby red cloak trimmed with white tiger fur hung about his shoulders. In his grasp was a mighty lance which crackled with cerulean energy, its honed tip aglow with arcane power.
Mounted at the noble paladin’s side was a younger man, armoured in gleaming steel plate and wielding a familiar sword with quillons fashioned after the form of silver wings. His hair was the colour of the sun and a golden circlet ringed his snow-pale brow.
Despite the clamour of the great armies, Caleb found he could hear perfectly the words spoken by those he beheld.
“And so, it has come to this, my son,” the older man said, a note of sadness in his deep and powerful voice.
The younger man turned in his saddle. “We have no choice, father. This battle must be fought. The witch must be vanquished, lest the realm be lost.”
Then, Blackthorne’s dream-gaze slowly swept the enemy ranks. Men they most certainly were not. Each black clad warrior’s frame was hunched and twisted, their long limbs unnaturally jointed, their vile pallid faces toothsome and vulpine. And at the vanguard of that dark army, a giant of a man sat deathly still atop a huge, heavily muscled black steed. He was armoured head to toe in black, and at his waist was scabbarded a huge cruelly curved sword with a single crimson jewel set into the pommel. Beside him, astride an unearthly midnight horse, was a woman swathed in stygian diaphanous robes. Her cloak billowed like a shadow, and her raven hair was darker than the frozen heart of a long dead sun. Her violet eyes were fixed on the young man who rode with the opposing force, and they shone with the cold malice of a serpent.
Caleb saw the kingly warrior shake his head sorrowfully as his gaze fell upon the woman. “This is what you have wrought, queen of lies, vile empress of deceit! Well, your treachery ends here. You have sown the wind… now shall you reap the tempest!”
“Beware, father,” the younger man said. “You know full well the extent of her powers. She plots something this day. Her true intent is yet unknown.”
“Behold her vassal army, my son. Look upon her cursed war-hound, the energumen beast Maalech Xul. The perfidious magicks she has conjured to bring forth that vile abomination are an affront to the gods! She has defiled the sanctity of the Nine Temples with her blasphemous diableries!”
“The Cerulean Pha
lanx stands ready, father. Shall we send the herald?”
“No, Araklion” the man replied wearily. “The time for diplomacy is long past. All that remains is red war and the bitter song of cold steel!”
Caleb at once realized that he had seen more than one of those mighty protagonists before. Prior visions had revealed to him the armoured paladin and the dark knight, most recently when he had allowed Doctor John Dee to share his dreams via the astrologer’s ancient scrying mirror. During that communion, Blackthorne had witnessed the demise of both warriors following a brutal battle upon a desolate plateau of frozen tundra, and with grim certainty he knew that the vista below him represented a point in time before that slaughterous confrontation. And the shadow-wreathed succubus… Blackthorne would never forget that beauteous but sinistrous countenance! But who were they? What momentous events did their ethereal appearances portend?
The dreamscape suddenly shifted, the armies melting away into darkness. Abruptly, a new image manifested before Caleb’s eyes. The sun had set, and night had enshrouded the ghostly battlefield. Two moons now cast a lurid light upon the desert expanse. Now, Blackthorne gazed upon a sea of ruined corpses, and at the centre of the charnel-vista, the prone body of the young warrior Araklion lay surrounded by the riven bodies of a score of slain foes. His silver sword, its bright blade now befouled by blood, was at his side. The raven-haired woman knelt beside him like a shadow, a cruel smile upon her lips. Slowly she produced a green jewel from the shimmering folds of her black robes and held it to the fallen youth’s brow. The woman hissed a sibilant incantation in a tongue Blackthorne could not fathom, and the green gem instantly pulsed brighter, bathing Araklion’s body in an emerald light. Swiftly the woman withdrew the crystal and rose to her feet, her cloak rippling about her lissome body like black mercury. Suddenly she looked up, meeting Blackthorne’s dream-gaze. Her eyes shone with a baleful fury, and her ruby lips drew back in a malefic snarl. Searing agony tore through Caleb’s incorporeal body as he stared into the ireful depths of that ophidian glare, and the eldritch vista abruptly faded, becoming swallowed once more by a tumultuous storm of vivid, fulgid hues…
Blackthorne was torn painfully from his reverie, reeling with the intensity of the vision. Immediately, Drustan’s powerful arms had hold of his captain’s shoulders.
“Steady, old horse,” the clansman said. “We lost you for a moment there.” Caleb shook his head as the last vestiges of ethereal light dissipated before his eyes. He was still holding the great silver sword.
“The son!” he exclaimed. “The soul of the boy, doomed to roam the void, haunting the battlefields of eternity. And the winged steed is his father’s sigil!”
“Which means what, precisely?” snapped Drustan. “What did you see?”
“This blade,” Blackthorne hissed, hefting the gleaming sword. “His blade! It has revealed to me the truth of this malediction. I know now what I must do. Break the curse, and free the boy!”
“How exactly are we expected to do that?” Drustan asked guardedly.
“Before now that was beyond my ken, clansman. And yet, the events of the dreamscape have divulged at least some of their secrets. These are not mere mortals who haunt my visions, but titans! Warriors possessed of such power that they doubtless seemed as gods to the men of their era. Gods of steel and storm! John Dee named them as such, and I believe it!”
“Gods?” spat Drustan. “Feh! This all smacks of mummery to me! Are we to meddle in the affairs of immortals now?”
Caleb nodded solemnly. “Mayhap, old friend. At any rate, I am certain it is no less than a king who appears to me in my dreams… a god-king whose numinous realm has long since fallen beyond time and the meagre reckoning of human history!”
“This all sounds rather perilous,” Drustan muttered.
“I hold a facet of the boy’s soul within me,” Caleb said. “To liberate myself from this purgatory I must undo a dark deed wrought many thousands of years past. The woman! By thunder, what a vile villainess! I know not who she is, but her hatred burns bright, reaching across the aeons like a shadow beyond time. An undying malice!”
“So, it’s witchery, then?” scowled Drustan.
“Aye. It is she who has woven this dire spell of sleepless malignity, though as yet I know not why.”
“So be it. Where are we bound?”
“For a sea no ship may sail, I fear,” whispered Caleb.
Drustan’s brow furrowed. “What mean you by that?”
“When we tread our oaken boards again, I’ll disclose my intent. But for now, back to the ship!” Caleb turned and made for the chamber’s darkling entranceway, pausing before the threshold. “Where’s the lad?”
“Here!” came Malachi’s voice from the shadows. The young mariner was busy filling his pockets with an array of small blue gems which were strewn beneath the glowing glyphs engraved in the sanctum’s walls. “These are sapphires, I’m sure of it!”
“Get a move on,” Drustan growled. “Best not to overstay our welcome here.”
“Scared, old man?” Malachi chided. “Not like you to be afraid of the dark.”
“It’s what may dwell in the dark that worries me, whelp. Besides, I seem to recall it was you who nearly got us killed last summer when you were prising gems from the wall of that pharaoh’s tomb!”
“How was I supposed to know that damned jackal statue would spring to life?” said Malachi indignantly. “At any rate, those baubles bought us a fortnight in the flesh-pots of Araby and scored us six new culverins for the old girl’s deck, plus a new jib-sail to boot!”
“He’s right, I’ll warrant,” Caleb said. “And the lads deserve some spoils from this voyage. A ship doesn’t sail on goodwill alone, after all.”
“I think I’ve got them all,” Malachi said, pocketing the last of the blue shards and rising to his feet. “Not as splendid as the pommel on that pick-sticker, captain, but they’ll do!”
“Come then,” Drustan said. “It’s getting colder in here, and darker.”
The lambent runes in the black stone were fading as the three men made their way from the chamber and into the pyramid’s main entrance tunnel. As they emerged into the bright sunlight, Gunnar turned to them, clearly relieved.
“A fine sword,” the Northman said, eyeing the ornate blade in Caleb’s grasp. “Nothing happening out here.”
“Good,” Caleb replied. “Now we return to the beach!”
Drustan nodded. “And if we get back to the ship without incident I’ll down a flagon of rum tonight in praise of the gods and every blessed ancestor ever to bear my name!”
The corsairs began to move swiftly across the clearing and back to the verdant embrace of the jungle.
Then, from behind them, there suddenly came the sound of splintering boles and snapping vines. The men spun to face the black pyramid once more and beheld the trees on the far edge of the clearing swaying and bending, as if forced down by some colossal, unseen force. A tremendous bestial roar abruptly thundered from the shadows of the jungle; a guttural sound unlike any animal the mariners had ever heard on their far-flung voyages to the distant forests and unmapped atolls of the world.
“Oh, that doesn’t sound good,” whispered Malachi, all colour draining from his face.
With a final resonant crack of rending wood, a nightmare shape erupted from the breached wall of trees which ringed the bone-glutted glade. Standing twelve feet in height, the creature resembled one of the great hulking apes of the southern continent, save for its matted fur which was dun-white in hue. Its massive shoulders and arms rippled with iron-hard muscles, and where the ivory hair did not cover its colossal frame, a hide of scaled grey skin encased its abhorrent body. The creature’s head was small and vaguely simian in appearance, but its cavernous maw was studded with yellow fangs each the size of a basilard. Both of its gigantic paws terminated in a set of reddened talons, and its burning feral eyes were fixed on the men as it lumbered forth from the jungle. Another guttural roar thund
ered from the monster’s slavering jaws; a bone-chilling bellow sounding at once bestial and yet unnervingly human.
“I knew it!” snarled Drustan, hefting his cutlass. “It couldn’t have been that bloody easy!”
“Behold the god of the Bulgani!” shouted Kattikouda, lifting his twin short-swords with barely concealed glee. “Many are the tales told of him amongst the tribes of my southern brethren. The mighty spirit of the great apes made flesh! It is a rare honour to battle him!”
“That’s no ape!” Ryo hissed, sliding his katana from its lacquered scabbard. “Run or fight?”
“Pray, run!” said Malachi, clutching his arbalest. “That would be my vote.”
“Too late!” Caleb growled, as the towering beast loped inexorably towards them. “Stand your ground, men of the Starfire. Bring the fiend down!”
Instantly, Malachi loosed a bolt from his arbalest which flew true to embed itself in the scaly chest of the onrushing creature. Its charge not halted in the slightest, the white ape tore the metal projectile from its body, leaving not a trace of blood to mark the bolt’s brief presence.
“Scatter, and slay!” Caleb shouted, pulling his snaphaunce from his belt. With a thunder-crack report, the ornate pistol bucked in the captain’s hand, a gout of flame and a cloud of smoke billowing from its barrel. The lead ball took the creature square in its sloping forehead, but left no discernible wound. “Black powder won’t avail us, it seems!”
“The edge it is then!” snarled Gunnar, raising his axe and barrelling towards the beast. “Slake your steel, in Odin’s name!”
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