by Brian Lumley
“We’ll need to make harnesses,” reminded Hero.
“And I’m not too sure I like the idea of the gaunts simply holding me aloft in a web of ropes,” added Eldin. “Can’t we tie the harnesses to their damned necks?”
“Uh-uh,” Gytherik shook his head. “They’ll need to spell each other, remember? No, I reckon Limnar is right. Our best bet is to get as much height as we can out of the pirate. Then the gaunts won’t be flapping so much as gliding. That way they’ll last much longer. In any case, they don’t tire easily. But I do. Right now, I’m for a nap.”
“I’ll go along with that,” said Limnar, rubbing at his eyes. “While we sleep the adventurers here can fix up the harnesses and keep an eye on our course and altitude.”
“Right,” Hero agreed. “We’ll wake you in the early afternoon and get our own heads down. Then—”
“Then it’ll be evening,” Eldin rumbled ominously, “and we’ll be placing ourselves at the tender mercies of Gytherik’s gaunts.”
“Don’t you trust me after all then, Wanderer?” Gytherik chuckled.
“’Course I do,” Eldin forced a grin. And less cheerfully: “I damned well have to, don’t I?”
CHAPTER XXI
Under False Colors
As the last rays of the sun illumined the sky to the west in a golden glow, so Gytherik mounted his gaunt and his three new friends climbed into their harnesses. All four of them wore parkas roughly fashioned of sailcloth as protection against the cold, for their altitude was now such that thin ice shrouded the rigging and their breath plumed in air which made the tiny hairs crackle in their nostrils as they breathed.
Two miles or more below them and some five or six miles to the west—like flyspecks on the golden, slowly closing window of evening—Zura’s fleet forged for Serannian, and even at so great a distance that silent armada exuded its monstrous threat. And as Limnar had pointed out half an hour earlier, if they could see Zura’s ships she could probably see theirs. Which was why, just before Eldin climbed into his harness to be lifted gently up and away from the frozen ship, he threw a fire-brand down into an open hatch.
Below decks things had been quickly prepared: oil intended for the engine had been splashed over coils of rope and the flotation chambers were pre-set to vent all of their mainly mythical essence in one mad rush. When that happened the black ship would drop out of the sky like a comet, blazing as she went, and Zura would see her fatal fall. Then that Mistress of Death would worry no more about the lone pursuer and her unknown, unsung crew, and the mission of the four would be kept that much more of a secret.
And the plan worked to perfection, for indeed Zura saw the unknown vessel plummet to her doom—but she did not see the flock of gaunts (known collectively as a “grim”) which came winging down the wind to pass high overhead in a long, swift, silent glide …
The armada was silent, too, and only a single, pale blue light—insubstantial as a death-fire—bore any testimony at all to its presence there in dreamland’s night sky. That was the light from Zura’s cabin on The Cadaver, where she now lay in the arms of a fresh lover … dead only a day or two from strangulation at the hands of a jealous husband. Zura had taken the liberty of removing his purple, protruding tongue, but there was little she could do about his glaring, bloodshot eyes …
And into the cold night glided Gytherik’s gaunts, with their burden of shivering humanity clinging tight to frozen harnesses and setting their teeth against the windy rush of their flight. Mercifully, as the miles sped by and their altitude rapidly decreased, some of the numbness went out of them. Then a warm wind from the south found them and they opened their sailcloth parkas and finally discarded them, gray rags that whirled in the slipstream of the speeding gaunts before sinking in spirals and pirouettes to disappear in darkness.
Overhead the stars turned in their slow wheel and the moon arced like a slow, silver celestial discus from horizon toward distant horizon. And the hours sped by and the glide continued; and strangely, the adventurers began to discover a fantastic exhilaration in their weird journey across dreamland’s heavens. They felt like great nocturnal birds, masters of all the capricious winds of night, and the pure joy of living rose up in them like bubbles in champagne. Even their mission and its utmost urgency took a backseat to this sheer joie de vivre; so that as dawn issued its first roseate gleam far behind them, they actually found themselves despairing of the coming day. They wished that their ride could go on and on …
Then, in a faint dusting of light far ahead, they spied that darker blot in the dark indigo of the sky, that half-magical, floating mass of rock, flesh, blood, soil, myth and miles-high adventure which was Serannian. Far off as yet and below them, the night lights of the city grew brighter with their steady approach, until it seemed to the four that they sped toward some scintillant asteroid frozen in a catastrophic fall to earth.
But frozen for how long? Zura would see that fall resumed if she could—was on her way right now to do just that—and who to say her no? Thoughts such as these sobered the fliers as the miles shortened between themselves and the aerial city; and as dawn bloomed more fully behind them so Serannian’s lights seemed to dim and her bulk loomed massive in the sky.
The wings of the gaunts were beating now, but beating tiredly for their glide was long ended and they had flown for many a mile. Thus it was a weary throb of air which first alerted the pikemen atop Serannian’s walls to the grim’s arrival; that and the sight of their nightmare, prehistoric shapes growing out of the fresh risen sun as they sped toward the legended sky-island. Ah, but a change had taken place along that wall! Its once welcoming turrets and embrasures were now battlements in the fullest meaning of the word, where showed the squat snouts and shining mirrors of ray-projectors and the solid platforms and piled boulders of hastily but sturdily constructed ballistae.
Limnar Dass was first to alight upon the wall, and as he loosened himself from his harness so the challenge came from close at hand: “Who goes there? Friend or foe?” And from along the wall to both sides there were cries of alert and the scrape of weapons hastily realigned.
“Hold your fire!” cried Limnar. “We’re friends. I’m Captain Dass of Kuranes’ fleet, and these men are the King’s agents. Aye, and even the gaunts are friends … of a sort.”
“Hold fire!” the cry echoed all along the wall as an Officer of the Pike climbed up with three guardsmen to where the gaunt-riders were dismounting. A thin dawn mist hung over Serannian’s walls, and the officer came forward carefully through its swirly veil to stare hard at the sky-captain.
“Dass!” he said. “Limnar Dass. Indeed it is you. We’ve orders for you and your friends, Limnar.”
“Orders?” Limnar clasped the other’s outstretched hand. “What orders?”
“That in the event of you and your friends returning to Serannian, you’re to report to Kuranes on the double.”
Limnar nodded. “I expected some such. And I can see that Lord Kuranes has not been idle in the last week or so. Does this ring of armaments surround the entire sky-island?”
“It surely does,” answered the other. “Doubtless Kuranes will tell you all about that when he sees you. I’m sorry to be so abrupt and off-hand, Limnar, but orders are orders. You’re lucky that the Tilt is lying in your favor; you can be with Kuranes in little more than an hour.”
“Less than that,” said Gytherik, stretching his limbs. “Just give the gaunts a couple of minutes to recover their strength—” he jerked a thumb at the faceless, rubbery creatures where they huddled together at the very rim of the wall, “and they’ll be ready to take us on the last leg of our trip.”
“A magician?” said the Officer of the Pike, warily eyeing Gytherik up and down. And as Hero and Eldin approached he added: “And a pair of wandering rogues! I’ve heard plenty about these two in the last few days, and very little of it complimentary. Strange company you’re keeping, Limnar.”
“If you’ve anymore insults, constable or office
r or whatever you style yourself,” snarled Eldin through his beard, “keep them to yourself. I’d as soon cave in your tin helmet as listen to anymore of your loose, uncivil lip!” He loomed over the suddenly silent captain and glared down at him.
“Easy, old lad,” cautioned Hero, catching at his friend’s elbow. “He means no harm, and we’ve no valuable time to waste in cracking skulls.” He turned to the officer. “You run along now and, er, give your orders. We’ll be on our way again in a minute.”
“Er, well, yes—” agreed the cowering officer, staring upon into Hero’s wild-seeming face; and he retreated with his men down stone steps and into a nearby bartizan.
Now the four stretched themselves and did a few warming exercises on the wide wall. The sun rose higher and the mist lifted, and the gaunts began to shuffle about uncomfortably as they felt the sun’s rays warm on their clammy hides. Finally Gytherik said:
“Right, let’s get on our way,” and without pause he called to his great gaunt and climbed up onto the base of its neck. “And when at last we reach Kuranes’ manor house, then you’ll tell me what I want to know, right?”
“Right,” agreed Hero emphatically. “And after that it’s up to you. If you want to stay and help us fight off Zura, fine. If not—well, we won’t blame you. You can go off on your own and see to your father’s rescue. And we’ll all wish you the very best of luck. Actually, I myself wouldn’t be so keen on the coming fight if I didn’t figure that we owe Zura a bloody nose.” His eyes narrowed.
“Damn right we do,” growled Eldin. “And she’ll be sorry she ever tangled with us, you may believe it. But it’s not your fight, Gytherik. You must do as you think best. If you choose to go after your old man, well, that’s your choice. Just make sure you give him our regards when you see him.”
Moments later the grim launched itself from the wall and, with Limnar Dass taking the lead, rose into the sky over Serannian and set a course for Kuranes’ manor house. And it was then that the sky-captain spotted something in the city’s great harbor—something which caused him to call out:
“Down there, lads—look! That white ship amid the harbor’s clutter.”
“What of it?” Hero yelled back.
“Don’t you recognize her lines?”
“I do,” boomed Eldin, “and her Kraken figurehead!”
“One of Zura’s ships?” called Gytherik. “Are you sure?”
“I’d know those lines anywhere,” cried Limnar. Ships have been my whole life, remember? What say we go down and take a closer look?”
“We had better do just that,” Hero agreed. “Kuranes may not know it, but suddenly I’ve a suspicion he’s harboring a viper in his bosom. A black one painted white!”
They zoomed down out of the sky and alighted on the white ship’s deck. Hero freed himself from his harness and went to the rail where he chipped at the fresh paint with his sword. “Limnar’s right!” he growled to himself as he touched the black surface beneath the white.
“And look at this octopus figurehead,” boomed Eldin. “Even with its white paint and its sea-green eyes, still it’s the very picture of evil!”
Limnar, who had been below decks, came up white-faced and trembling. Eldin caught hold of him and steadied him. “What’s down there?” the burly adventurer demanded.
“Carboys of gas,” Limnar answered. “Green gas! And bales of straw where other bottles have lain …”
“Here now, what’s all this?” came a gruff, official-sounding voice of inquiry from the gangplank. A stout little man puffed into view followed by half a dozen pikemen with their weapons at the ready.
“And who the hell are you?” questioned Eldin in his softest, most dangerous voice, his eyes narrowing as they settled on the glinting pikeheads where they were leveled at him and his companions.
Hero stepped forward to lay a restraining hand on his belligerent friend’s shoulder. He knew that Eldin was close to eruption. He was like a smoldering volcano which suddenly rumbles and emits clouds of steam, threatening at any second to vent its fury over all who stand near. And Hero fully understood the older man’s mood. So much had happened to them—they had triumphed over so many difficulties—and yet even now, when all should be plain sailing, still there were petty obstacles to be overcome and fat, petty men asking piffling, flatulent questions. And as Hero had correctly deduced, Eldin had just about had enough.
“Dammit!” The burly adventurer shrugged Hero’s hand away. “I’m cold, tired, hungry—and I’m bloody angry!”
Before Hero could utter a word Eldin whirled on the newcomers, his straight sword leaping into his hand to shear cracklingly through six pikeshafts as if they were straws. Then its edge came magically to rest—one eighth of an inch from the little fat man’s neck. “You,” Eldin grated, his face split in a white, mirthless grin. “I asked you a question. Who are you?”
“Ulphar,” gurgled the other, his eyes threatening to pop from his head. “Ulphar Oormell. I’m the harbormaster.”
“Well, then, harbormaster,” Eldin growled, “call off your dogs, and quickly, while my patience lasts.” And he glared at the pikemen where they had backed off against the ship’s rail.
“Now then,” said Hero placatingly, getting between Eldin and the soldiers, “that’s enough fooling about for now. Limnar, be so good as to tell these fellows who we are, will you?”
Limnar quickly obliged and as the tension eased so Eldin sheathed his sword. When Hero saw that his friend once more had himself under control, he ventured, “Great oaf! We’re on their side, you know.”
“I know it,” answered the other. “It’s just that I think someone should tell them, that’s all.”
“Yes, well, Limnar’s doing that right now,” said Hero.
“So there you have it in a nutshell,” Limnar finished his brief explanation to the still goggling harbormaster. “Without a doubt this is one of Zura’s ships, disguised to get into port here in advance of her main fleet. Which means that there are spies and saboteurs already in the city. Now we have to get to Kuranes as quickly as we can. You’ll excuse us?”
The fat man nodded, his jowls wobbling like jelly. “Of course, sirs, most certainly. And what’s more, I’ll fill this ship with guardsmen like flies round a pot of honey!”
“Oh?” Eldin cynically rumbled. “Well, just make sure they’re less easily swatted than this lot. If not, Zura’s dead ’uns will surely climb all over them!”
As Gytherik remounted his gaunt and the others got back into their harnesses, Hero asked of the harbormaster: “What do they look like, this vessel’s crew?”
“A bit taller than average, white-robed, hooded, secretive, silent—and they come and go with their jars. I thought they were simple traders. Their papers say that they’re priests of Kled.”
“The Kledans are small brown men,” Hero grimly answered, “and they have no priests that I know of. But you’re right about them being traders. They trade in sudden death—and on a grand scale!”
Then the grim was aloft and the harbormaster had to turn his fat face skyward to inquire, “What if they return to the ship?”
“Have ’em killed!” Eldin roared down from on high. “They’re dead anyway, but you can always try!”
CHAPTER XXII
Kuranes: Hostage!
Sweeping down out of the sky over the manor house, Hero once again noted the striking likeness of this part of the countryside to a bit of Old England. For this area was of Kuranes’ own molding and had been modeled after an oft-glimpsed memory of his previous existence in the waking world. Like Serannian’s wall, however, the ivied manor house too had undergone several ominous changes.
For one thing, striped sentry boxes had been erected on the four approach roads close to the garden walls; and for another, within the gardens themselves a small, temporary wooden barracks had been constructed to house the King’s own guardsmen. And so by all rights Kuranes’ estate should have been perfectly safe and secure. Except—
&
nbsp; Except that as the gaunt-riders circled overhead they could see no sign of movement or life in the place—but they could see the still form of a uniformed guardsman, complete with pike and bearskin, lying crumpled on the cobbled road beside his sentry box!
As Limnar Dass alighted on the road and examined the stricken guardsman, the others flew directly into the inner courtyard. There, hastily freeing themselves from the gaunts, it soon became perfectly obvious to them that all was far from well. Something had happened during the night, something of which Serannian’s common citizens, freshly waking, were as yet unaware. Indeed Hero and his friends were the first to stumble on the thing, whose mystery was very quickly and easily fathomed.
The gates and doors of Kuranes residence stood gapingly open; all of the King’s men lay where they had fallen; signs of fighting were apparent in the great hall, where one of Kuranes’ butlers lay dead in a dark pool of his own blood; but of the Lord of Serannian himself—not a sign.
“Kidnapped!” Eldin snarled. “Stolen away in the night by Zura’s dead ’uns.”
Hero found an unconscious guardsman in an inner room and slapped his face until he came to. “What happened here?” the young adventurer demanded of the dazed man.
“Happened? Why … I—” Suddenly the soldier’s eyes sprang wide open and he tried to scramble to his feet, only to fall back weakly into Hero’s arms. “The King!” the man gasped. “Kuranes—and those wormy, nightmare horrors that came for him. And the gas—”
“Gas?” Hero growned. “Green gas?”
“No, not green—purple. The attack came an hour before dawn. Small vials of purple gas thrown at the manor house from all sides and tossed into the barrack rooms. Some of the men lasted a little longer against the knockout effect of the gas, but they were the unlucky ones. Those things in the white robes cut them down without mercy. As I lost consciousness I saw Kuranes carried out of his room and into the garden mists. It was all so quick … So well planned … Kuranes’ security wasn’t good enough … Who would have thought Zura’s forces would dare strike here, in the very heart of the sky-island?”
