The Mammoth Book of Frankenstein (Mammoth Books)

by Stephen Jones

  “I am – aside from a crack on my skull,” Mavrsal answered, eyeing her dubiously.

  By the dawnlight he had crawled from beneath the overturned furnishings of his cabin. Blood matted his thick hair at the back of his skull, and his head throbbed with a deafening ache, so that he had sat dumbly for a long while, trying to recollect the events of the night. Something had come through the door, had hurled him aside like a spurned doll. And the girl had vanished – carried off by the demon? Her warning had been for him; for herself she evidenced not fear, only resigned despair.

  Or had some of his men returned to carry out their threats? Had too much wine, the blow on his head . . . ? But no, Mavrsal knew better. His assailants would have robbed him, made certain of his death – had any human agency attacked him. She had called herself a sorcerer’s mistress, and it had been sorcery that spread its black wings over his caravel. Now the girl had returned, and Mavrsal’s greeting was tempered by his awareness of the danger which shadowed her presence.

  Dessylyn must have known his thoughts. She backed away, as if to turn and go.

  “Wait!” he called suddenly.

  “I don’t want to endanger you any further.”

  Mavrsal’s quick temper responded. “Danger! Kane can bugger with his demons in Hell, for all I care! My skull was too thick for his creature to split, and if he wants to try his hand in person, I’m here to offer him the chance!”

  There was gladness in her wide eyes as Dessylyn stepped toward him. “His necromancies have exhausted him,” she assured the other. “Kane will sleep for hours yet.”

  Mavrsal handed her over the rail with rough gallantry. “Then perhaps you’ll join me in my cabin. It’s grown too dark for carpentry, and I’d like to talk with you. After last night, I think I deserve to have some questions answered, anyway.”

  He struck fire to a lamp and turned to find her balanced at the edge of a chair, watching him nervously. “What sort of questions?” she asked in an uneasy tone.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  Mavrsal made a vague gesture. “Why everything. Why did you get involved with this sorcerer? Why does he hold to you, if you hate him so? Why can’t you leave him?”

  She gave him a sad smile that left him feeling naive. “Kane is . . . a fascinating man; there is a certain magnetism about him. And I won’t deny the attraction his tremendous power and wealth held for me. Does it matter? It’s enough to say that there was a time when we met and I fell under Kane’s spell. It may be that I loved him once – but I’ve since hated too long and too deeply to remember.

  “But Kane continues to love me in his way. Love! His is the love of a miser for his hoard, the love of a connoisseur for some exquisitely wrought carving, the love a spider feels for its imprisoned prey! I’m his treasure, his possession – and what concern are the feelings of a lifeless object to its owner? Would the curious circumstance that his prized statue might hate him lessen the pleasure its owner derives from its possession?

  “And leave him?” Her voice broke. “By the gods, don’t you think I’ve tried?”

  His thoughts in a turmoil, Mavrsal studied the girl’s haunted face. “But why accept defeat? Past failure doesn’t mean you can’t try again. If you’re free to roam the streets of Carsultyal at night, your feet can take you farther still. I see no chain clamped to that collar you wear.”

  “Not all chains are visible.”

  “So I’ve heard, though I’ve never believed it. A weak will can imagine its own fetters.”

  “Kane won’t let me leave him.”

  “Kane’s power doesn’t reach a tenth so far as he believes.”

  “There are men who would dispute that, if the dead cared to share the wisdom that came to them too late.”

  Challenge glinted in the girl’s green eyes as they held his. Mavrsal felt the spell of her beauty, and his manhood answered. “A ship sails where its master wills it – may the winds and the tides and perils of the sea be damned!”

  Her face craned closer. Tendrils of her auburn hair touched his arm. “There is courage in your words. But you know little of Kane’s power.”

  He laughed recklessly. “Let’s say I’m not cowed by his name.”

  From the belt of her gown, Dessylyn unfastened a small scrip. She tossed the leather pouch toward him.

  Catching it, Mavrsal untied the braided thong and dumped its contents onto his palm. His hand shook. Gleaming gemstones tumbled a tiny rainbow, clattered onto the cabin table. In his hand lay a fortune in roughcut diamonds, emeralds, other precious stones.

  Through their multihued reflections his face framed a question.

  “I think there is enough to repair your ship, to pay her crew . . .” She paused; brighter flamed the challenge in her eyes. “Perhaps to buy my passage to a distant port – if you dare!”

  The captain of the Tuab swore. “I meant what I said, girl! Give me another few days to refit her, and I’ll sail you to lands where no man has ever heard the name of Kane!”

  “Later you may change your mind,” Dessylyn warned.

  She rose from her chair. Mavrsal thought she meant to leave, but then he saw that her fingers had loosened other fastenings at her belt. His breath caught as the silken gown began to slip from her shoulders.

  “I won’t change my mind,” he promised, understanding why Kane might go to any extreme to keep Dessylyn with him.

  V WIZARD’S BANE

  “Your skin is like the purest honey,” proclaimed Dragar ardently. “By the gods, I swear you even taste like honey!”

  Dessylyn squirmed in pleasure and hugged the barbarian’s shaggy blond head to her breasts. After a moment she sighed and languorously pulled from his embrace. Sitting up, she brushed her slim fingers through the tousled auburn wave that cascaded over her bare shoulders and back, clung in damp curls to her flushed skin.

  Dragar’s calloused hand imprisoned her slender wrist as she sought to rise from the rumpled bed. “Don’t prance away like a contrite virgin, girl. Your rider has dismounted but for a moment’s rest – then he’s ready to gallop through the palace gates another time or more, before the sun drops beneath the sea.”

  “Pretty, but I have to go,” she protested. “Kane may grow suspicious . . .”

  “Bugger Kane!” cursed Dragar, pulling the girl back against him. His thick arms locked about her, and their lips crushed savagely. Cupped over a small breast, his hand felt the pounding of her heart, and the youth laughed and tilted back her feverish face. “Now tell me you prefer Kane’s effete pawings to a man’s embrace!”

  A frown drifted like a sudden thunderhead. “You underestimate Kane. He’s no soft-fleshed weakling.”

  The youth snarled in jealousy. “A foul sorcerer who’s skulked in his tower no one knows how long! He’ll have dust for blood, and dry rot in his bones! But go to him if you prefer his toothless kisses and withered loins!”

  “No, dearest! Yours are the arms I love to lie within!” Dessylyn cried, entwining herself about him and soothing his anger with kisses. “It’s just that I’m frightened for you. Kane isn’t a withered greybeard. Except for the madness in his eyes, you would think Kane a hardened warrior in his prime. And you’ve more than his sorcery to fear. I’ve seen Kane kill with his sword – he’s a deadly fighter!”

  Dragar snorted and stretched his brawny frame. “No warrior hides behind a magician’s robes. He’s but a name – an ogre’s name to frighten children into obedience. Well, I don’t fear his name, nor do I fear his magic, and my blade has drunk the blood of better swordsmen than your black-hearted tyrant ever was!”

  “By the gods!” whispered Dessylyn, burrowing against his thick shoulder. “Why did fate throw me into Kane’s web instead of into your arms!”

  “Fate is what man wills it. If you wish it, you are my woman now.”

  “But Kane . . .!”

  The barbarian leaped to his feet and glowered down at her. “Enough snivelling about Kane, girl! Do you love
me or not?”

  “Dragar, beloved, you know I love you! Haven’t these past days . . .”

  “These past days have been filled with woeful whimperings about Kane, and my belly grows sick from hearing it! Forget Kane! I’m taking you from him, Dessylyn! For all her glorious legend and over-mighty towers, Carsultyal is a stinking pesthole like every other city I’ve known. Well, I’ll waste no more days here.

  “I’ll ride from Carsultyal tomorrow, or take passage on a ship, perhaps. Go to some less stagnant land, where a bold man and a strong blade can win wealth and adventure! You’re going with me.”

  “Can you mean it, Dragar?”

  “If you think I lie, then stay behind.”

  “Kane will follow.”

  “Then he’ll lose his life along with his love!” sneered Dragar.

  With confident hands, he slid from its scabbard his great sword of silver-blue metal. “See this blade,” he hissed, flourishing its massive length easily. “I call it Wizard’s Bane, and there’s reason to the name. Look at the blade. It’s steel, but not steel such as your secretive smiths forge in their dragon-breath furnaces. See the symbols carved into the forte. This blade has power! It was forged long ago by a master smith who used the glowing heart of a fallen star for his ore, who set runes of protection into the finished sword. Who wields Wizard’s Bane need not fear magic, for sorcery can have no power over him. My sword can cleave through the hellish flesh of demons. It can ward off a sorcerer’s enchantments and skewer his evil heart!

  “Let Kane send his demons to find us! My blade will shield us from his spells, and I’ll send his minions howling in fear back to his dread tower! Let him creep from his lair if he dares! I’ll feed him bits of his liver and laugh in his face while he dies!”

  Dessylyn’s eyes brimmed with adoration. “You can do it, Dragar! You’re strong enough to take me from Kane! No man has your courage, beloved!”

  The youth laughed and twisted her hair, “No man? What do you know of men? Did you think these spineless city-bred fops, who tremble at the shadow of a senile cuckold, were men? Think no more of slinking back to Kane’s tower before your keeper misses you. Tonight, girl, I’m going to show you how a man loves his woman!”

  But why will you insist it’s impossible to leave Kane?

  I know.

  How can you know? You’re too fearful of him to try.

  I know.

  But how can you say that?

  Because I know.

  Perhaps this bondage is only in your mind, Dessylyn.

  But I know Kane won’t let me leave him.

  So certain – is it because you’ve tried to escape him?

  Have you tried, Dessylyn?

  Tried with another’s help – and failed, Dessylyn?

  Can’t you be honest with me, Dessylyn?

  And now you’ll turn away from me in fear!

  Then there was another man?

  It’s impossible to escape him – and now you’ll abandon me!

  Tell me, Dessylyn. How can I trust you if you won’t trust me?

  On your word, then. There was another man . . .

  VI NIGHT AND FOG

  Night returned to Carsultyal and spread its misty cloak over narrow alleys and brooding towers alike. The voice of the street broke from its strident daylight cacophony to a muted rumble of night. As the stars grew brighter through the sea mists, the streets grew silent, except for fitful snorts and growls like a hound uneasy in his sleep. Then the lights that glimmered through the shadow began to slip away, so stealthily that their departure went unnoticed. One only knew that the darkness, the fog, the silence now ruled the city unchallenged. And night, closer here than elsewhere in the cities of mankind, had returned to Carsultyal.

  They lay close in each other’s arms – sated, but too restless for sleep. Few were their words, so that they listened to the beating of their hearts, pressed so close together as to make one sound. Fog thrust tendrils through chinks in the bolted shutters, brought with it the chill breath of the sea, lost cries of ships anchored in the night.

  Then Dessylyn hissed like a cat and dug her nails so deep into Dragar’s arm that rivulets of crimson made an armlet about the corded muscle. Straining his senses against the night, the barbarian dropped his hand to the hilt of the unsheathed sword that lay beside their bed. The blade glinted blue – more so than the wan lamplight would seem to reflect.

  From the night outside . . . Was it a sudden wind that rattled the window shutters, buffeted the streamers of fog into swirling eddies? A sound . . . Was that the flap of vast leathery wings?

  Fear hung like a clinging web over the inn, and the silence about them was so desolate that theirs might have been the last two hearts to beat in all of haunted Carsultyal.

  From the roof suddenly there came a slithering metallic scrape upon the slate tiles.

  Wizard’s Bane pulsed with a corposant of blue witch-fire. Shadows stark and unreal cringed away from the lambent blade.

  Against the thick shutters sounded a creaking groan of hideous pressure. Oaken planks sagged inward. Holding fast, the iron bolts trembled, then abruptly smouldered into sullen rubrous heat. Mist poured past the buckling timbers, bearing with it a smell not of any sea known to man.

  Brighter pulsed the scintillant glare of the sword. A nimbus of blue flame rippled out from the blade and encircled the crouching youth and his terrified companion. Rippling blue radiance, spreading across the room, struck the groaning shutters.

  A burst of incandescence spat from the glowing iron bolts. Through the night beyond tore a silent snarl – an unearthly shriek felt rather than heard – a spitting bestial cry of pain and baffled rage.

  The shutters sprang back with a grunting sigh as the pressure against them suddenly relented. Again the night shuddered with the buffet of tremendous wings. The ghost of sound dwindled. The black tide of fear ebbed and shrank back from the inn.

  Dragar laughed and brandished his sword. Eyes still dazzled, Dessylyn stared in fascination at the blade, now suffused with a sheen no more preternatural than any finely burnished steel. It might all have been a frightened dream, she thought, knowing well that it had not been.

  “It looks like your keeper’s sorcery is something less than all powerful!” scoffed the barbarian. “Now Kane will know that his spells and coward’s tricks are powerless against Wizard’s Bane. No doubt your ancient spellcaster is cowering under his cold bed, scared spitless that these gutless city folk will some day find courage enough to call his bluff! And against that, he’s probably safe.”

  “You don’t know Kane,” moaned Dessylyn.

  With gentle roughness, Dragar cuffed the grim-faced girl. “Still frightened by a legend? And after you’ve seen his magic defeated by the star-blade! You’ve lived within the shadow of this decadent city too long, girl. In a few hours we’ll have light, and then I’ll take you out into the real world – where men haven’t sold their souls to the ghosts of elder races!”

  But her fears did not dissolve under the barbarian’s warm confidence. For a timeless period of darkness Dessylyn clung to him, her heart restlessly drumming, shuddering at each fragment of sound that pierced the night and fog.

  And through the darkened streets echoed the clop-clop of hooves.

  Far away, their sound so faint it might have been imagined. Closer now, the fog-muffled fall of ironshod hooves on paving bricks. Drawing ever closer, a hollow, rhythmic knell that grew deafening in the absolute stillness. Clop-Clop Clop-Clop Clop-Clop CLOP-CLOP CLOP-CLOP. Approaching the inn unhurriedly. Inexorably approaching the mist-shrouded inn.

  “What is it?” he asked her, as she started upright in terror.

  “I know that sound. It’s a black, black stallion, with eyes that burn like living coals and hooves that ring like iron!”

  Dragar snorted.

  “Ah! And I know his rider!”

  CLOP-CLOP CLOP-CLOP. Hoofbeats rolled and gobbled across the courtyard of the Inn of the Blue Window. Echoe
s rattled against the shutters . . . Could no one else hear their chill thunder?

  CLOP-CLOP CLOP. The unseen horse stamped and halted outside the inn’s door. Harness jingled. Why were there no voices?

  From deep within the chambers below echoed the dull chink of the bolt and bars falling away, clattering to the floor. A harsh creak as the outer door swung open. Where was the innkeeper?

  Footfalls sounded on the stairs – the soft scuff of boot leather on worn planks. Someone entered the hallway beyond their door; strode confidently toward their room.

  Dessylyn’s face was a stark mask of terror. Knuckles jammed against her teeth to dam a rising scream were stained red with drawn blood. Dread-haunted eyes were fixed upon the door opposite.

  Slipping into a fighting crouch, Dragar spared a glance for the bared blade in his taut grasp. No nimbus of flame hovered about the sword, only the deadly gleam of honed steel, reflected in the unnaturally subdued lamplight.

  Footsteps halted in front of their door. It seemed he could hear the sound of breathing from beyond the threshold.

  A heavy first smote the door. Once. A single summons. A single challenge.

  With an urgent gesture, Dessylyn signed Dragar to remain silent.

  “Who dares . . .!” he growled in a ragged voice.

  A powerful blow exploded against the stout timber. Latch and bolt erupted from their setting in a shower of splinters and wrenched metal. All but torn from its hinges, the door was hurled open, slammed resoundingly against the wall.

  “Kane!” screamed Dessylyn.

  The massive figure strode through the doorway, feral grace in the movements of his powerful, square-torsoed frame. A heavy sword was balanced with seeming negligence in his left hand, but there was no uncertainty in the lethal fury that blazed in his eyes.

  “Good evening,” sneered Kane through a mirthless smile.

  Startled despite Dessylyn’s warning, Dragar’s practiced eye swiftly sized up his opponent. So the sorcerer’s magic had preserved the prime of his years after all . . . At about six feet Kane stood several inches shorter than the towering barbarian, but the enormous bands of muscle that surged beneath leather vest and trousers made his weight somewhat greater. Long arms and the powerful roll of his shoulders signalled a swordsman of considerable reach and strength, although the youth doubted if Kane could match his speed. A slim leather band with a black opal tied back his shoulder-length red hair, and the face beneath the close-trimmed beard was brutal, with a savagery that made his demeanour less lordly than arrogant. And his blue eyes burned with the brand of killer.