Thongor at the End of Time

by Lin Carter

  If the wall of ice were no illusion, but reality, then his quest had reached his end. He knew of no way wherewith he could scale the sheer and glistening cliff. It towered fifty paces above the stone-paved surface of the road, its distant peaks and planes sparkling dimly above in the mystic twilight, catching vagrant gleams from some unknown source of light unseen above.

  He strode up to the icy surface and thrust his hand against it.

  His hand sank effortlessly in the glassy blue surface.

  He felt no obstruction, no cold. This, too, was but a mirage sensible to his vision only.

  Thongor strode forward into the chill embrace of the ice, and his bare flesh crawled in anticipation of the wet cold—but he felt it not. Instead, he found that he could penetrate the sheer face of the glistening cliff. He was now inside the wall of ice!

  It was an unforgettable experience. As far as the eye could tell, he was frozen deep within the mighty glacier. From within a dim blue vista stretched away to all sides. Fractured planes and facets, the internal structure of the ice, bent and twisted the light. He was alone in a weird world, bathed in dim blue luminance.

  He strode on, passing through fantastic crystal caverns and past dangling stalactites like mighty spears of glass and through solid inner walls of ice where his own distorted reflection strode toward him and through which he passed. Strange and terrible was the beauty of this crystal world to the sight, yet when he closed his eyes it was as if he strode through utterly empty air.

  What had he learned thus far along the road? That when he conquered his own fear, the two-headed ogre fell away before him into nothingness? That when he refused to be daunted by seemingly impassable obstacles and pressed forward against them, they proved to be not impassable at all? That the mere fact of striving to accomplish that which seemed overwhelming, was the key to all accomplishment?

  Perhaps. He was to remember these strange incidents long, and to ponder over these symbolic teachings from the gods.

  The icy ramparts vanished behind him once he had emerged beyond the wall. Looking back, he could see naught but the level surface of the road which extended to the dim mists of the horizon behind him.

  He turned and looked ahead. Now he was very near to his goal—and still he did not know what the goal of this dreamlike journey was to be. But ahead of him there, where a mighty mass of mountains rose on the very edge of this nightmarish world, the road ended at last. He continued his journey towards the mountains.

  It seemed impossible that he had nearly reached the mountains. He remembered, at the beginning of the journey, glimpsing them at the far distant edge of the world. Somehow, in this timeless half-world beyond Time, he had traversed an inconceivable distance—the full breadth of this world—and soon he stood before the titanic mountains which lifted sheer from the flat surface of the plain to tower above him against the twilit sky.

  The mountains were no illusion, as a touch proved! They rose, a mass of dark rock grown together, forming an enormous cuplike depression far over his head, with a higher wall of cliffs beyond the cup-shaped mesa. It was like a stupendous throne, he thought, for the massive mountains seemed to form into a chair of stone whose proportions were virtually unthinkable.

  And then, as he stood before the Throne of Mountains, staring up, he saw a great shadow take shape and substance out of the dim nothingness here at the very edge of this world.

  Manlike it was, cloudy and vague of outline. Two towering pillars formed its legs, swathed in the folds of cloud like some misty robe. Far, far above he could make out the colossal proportions of its vast chest and shoulders and mighty face.

  The visage that stared down at him from the heights was not unlike the face of a mortal man . . . a man old and wise and kingly, with the shadowy cataract of a majestic beard tumbling down the titanic vista of its chest. Keen eyes, piercing as stars, blazed down at him and the cloudy cowl of those dim robes shadowed the mighty head.

  Against its chest, the misty figure clasped a titanic book sealed with seven locks. One great hand lay across this book, and each finger of that hand was greater in girth and longer in length than Thongor’s body.

  He knew that tome for the Book of Millions of Years, wherein (sayeth legend) are writ the annals of all time . . . time past and time present and time unborn.

  And by the book, by the attribute of its very form, he knew the phantom being above him for Pnoth the Lord of Starry Wisdom.

  A vast awe came over him. Humbled, the shade of Thongor bowed before the misty figure on its titanic mountain-throne.

  He was in the living presence of a god.

  The Third Book: SLAVES OF THE PIRATE EMPIRE

  “Below the Gulf of Patanga, aye, where it mingles with the immeasurable waters of Yashengzeb Chun the Southern Sea, there stands a great promontory of rock whereon is budded Tarakus the Pirate City, a lawless and bloody realm that knoweth no rule save the lust of gold. Therefrom, in the long years ahead, a peril shall rise up to enshadow the Cities of the West, so beware, O Thongor . . . take warning and beware.”

  —The Great Book of Sharajsha the Wizard of Lemuria

  Chapter 9: ABOVE THE CLOUDS

  Forth from the stronghold of their foes

  They fled into the black of night.

  But from the gloom new perils rose

  To bar their freedom and their flight.

  —Thongor’s Saga, Stave XVIII

  Charn Thovis and Prince Thar flung themselves out of the palace window into the empty night. Blackness closed about them. They floated above the towers in the grip of mighty winds that whistled around them, tugging at their cloaks and blowing their hair behind them.

  The skybelts were new and scarcely tested: a plain leathern harness plated with a thin sheath of urlium, the magic metal discovered years before by the old alchemist, Oolim Phon. While urlium resisted gravity and “fell up,” the harness plates of the silvery alloy were not sufficient to render the warrior and the young boy fully weightless. Iothondus of Kathool, the wise young Nephelos whose science-magic had created powerful new weapons for the warriors of Patanga, had discovered a method which multiplied the lifting power of the magic metal.

  The secret lay in the use of sithurls, the weird power crystals found only on the trackless plains of the mysterious East where the Blue Nomads of the Five Hordes roamed and warred against cruel beast and savage enemies. Sithurls absorbed the rays of the sun and transformed solar energy into electric force. The sithurl which adorned like a brooch the flying harness Charn Thovis wore was small but potent. At a touch it released a surge of curious force which charged the urlium plating, energizing the magic metal to many times its normal lifting power.

  As Charn Thovis hurtled through the night, he strove to wring every erg of antigravitic force from the energized harness. The crystals were not inexhaustible. His flight into the palace had drained much of the power stored within the strange green crystal. Now, as he felt the pull of the earth below, despair gnawed at him. He knew the small power-charge of the sithurl was not strong enough to sustain the double weight of the boy and himself for long.

  Unless he could think of some haven or conceive of some plan, the crystal’s waning strength would give out and they would float down to earth in the very streets which were now swarming with the patrols of Dalendus Vool.

  Twisting in mid-flight, Charn Thovis came to rest on a high balcony that jutted from a building near the palace. He paused there, searching his wits for some mode of escape. He had not contemplated the need to carry the prince to safety when making his plans. His discovery of the drugged and entranced Sarkaja had thrown all his plans awry.

  “What’s wrong, Charn Thovis?” Thar demanded.

  “Nothing. The skybelt does not have enough power to lift us out of the city,” he said. He had explained just enough of their peril for the boy to grasp the dilemma they were in.

  Thar looked about him at the nighted city and the moonless sky of turgid vapors above. He was delighted with
the novelty of the experience, and felt no fear of danger—it was all a thrilling adventure to him. It was, in fact, his first adventure, and he was enjoying it hugely!

  He looked up, tossing back his unshorn mane of black hair.

  “Then let’s take an airboat,” he suggested, reasonably enough. “There’s a landing stage on the roof of this building.”

  Charn Thovis looked at the lad with some surprise. Of course the prince did not fully comprehend the depth of their difficulties—how explain to the boy that the armed forces of his city had been subverted to the will of his foe, Dalendus Vool, or that he could no longer even trust the commanders of his father’s fighting men? But he had expected the youth to be more of a burden than an active cool-headed and intelligent comrade. He grinned. He should have guessed he could hope for more, for was this not the son of Thongor the Mighty?

  “Good idea. At least, it’s worth a try,” he said. “Come, up on my shoulders again and hold tight. I hope there’s enough power in the belt to lift us to the rooftop!”

  He sprang again into the dark womb of night and felt the winds around their flying forms like great wings beating. Prince Thar laughed with joy at the thrill of flight but Charn Thovis was grimly measuring the pace of their ascent against the height of the roof still far above their level.

  The green and silver fires of the belt’s sithurl burnt low and flickered feebly. With each wavering flicker he felt the lifting force of the belt weaken, although he did not call the boy’s attention to this and hoped the youth did not notice.

  Then the sithurl’s force died and they fell. . . but slowly. The urlium plating over the harness still allayed the drag of their weight, but no longer was its lifting power sufficient to render them completely weightless. They would float down to the street far below, unless . . .

  He reached out desperately and seized a grinning stone face as he floated down past it. His sweating fingers slipped over the smooth marble of the carven monster’s beak—then caught and clung to the fanged and open mouth. For a time they hung floating to and fro in the shifting wind and Charn Thovis thanked the gods that the innate lifting power of the magic metal harness sustained the greater part of their weight. It did not also occur to him to render up thanks to the ancient architect who had adorned the upper terraces of this mansion with the protruding stone gargoyle heads.

  Now he must climb up the face of the building, hand over hand, in almost total darkness. Wind howled about him, whipping the boy’s shaggy mane in his eyes. Luckily, the façade of the building was thick with carven ornament which afforded a variety of handholds. Still, his arms were sore and aching with strain by the time he hauled the boy and himself over the lip of the roof and could rest on level ground.

  But there was no time to rest, to catch his breath. A great airboat was before them, floating free on its anchor-cable above the landing stages. And a warrior in the silver gilt harness and blue cloak of the Air Guard came forward to demand their names and their reason for being here—at sword’s point.

  He carried one of the new sithurl lamps and lifted it, sending a shaft of bright illumination to bathe the two fugitives. Then he paused, gaping with surprise, when he saw and recognized the boy’s face.

  “My Prince? What—”

  Charn Thovis sprang like a great black vandar of the jungles upon his back and pulled him down, clubbing him into insensibility with a powerful blow of his fist. Then, as the boy turned to him in surprise, he snatched his hand and gestured towards the flying boat.

  “Swiftly now, no time for questions. We must be off at once. Even now the guards of Dalendus Vool may have noticed your absence from the palace and the alarm may sound at any moment—”

  “But Charn Thovis, you struck him!” the boy protested.

  He gripped the boy’s shoulders and looked into his face.

  “My Prince, look at me! Trust me! I know all this is strange to you and that you have many questions, but trust me,” he said urgently. “At the Hills of the Thunder-Crystals, I saved the life of your father and my Lord. Believe me, Thar, I serve him no less loyally at this moment!”

  Thar stared at him, eyes wide and wondering. Then something of Thongor’s grimness came into his eyes, filling them with the steel of determination.

  “Lead, Charn Thovis, and I follow. I will trust you,” he said slowly.

  There was no time for thanks. He wrung the youth’s hand in silence, then assisted him to clamber up the rope ladder to the rear deck of the airboat which pitched and wobbled under their weight. Once in the cabin he triggered the motors into action and bade Thar cast off the mooring lines. In an instant they floated free, drifting on the wind. Then the keen blades of the rotors bit into the nightwind and they were off, rising above the great city in a vast ascending spiral.

  This was one of the newest models, with many times the speed of the older craft. Iothondus of Kathool had perfected a sithurl engine to drive the whirling blades, replacing the old spring-driven rotors of old. The craft responded superbly to Charn Thovis’ light touch on the controls. It rose like an eagle floating on the wind.

  They ascended to the twenty-thousand-foot level. Patanga was far below them now and they could dimly make out the great central plaza and the broad avenue of the Thorian Way stretching across the city to the mighty wall of flame-colored stone. Dim light twinkled on the gliding surfaces of the Twin Rivers and from this height they could see ships moored at the long stone quays. They looked like toy galleys at this height.

  He had not really expected they could fly from the city unchallenged. The keen eyes of the Air Guard patrolled these skies and as their airboat hovered above the night-black city, patrol boats darted towards them.

  “Look!” Thar cried, pointing through the forward windows. “The patrol has seen us!”

  “Hang on, my Prince,” Charn Thovis said grimly. “Perhaps we can outdistance them.”

  He had intended to strike north for the stronghold of the Lord Mael. But now he must find a different route, for it would never do to lead the enemy straight to their goal. So instead he headed west, out over the dim waters of the great gulf that cleft the continent like a mighty wedge of water from Tarakus on the coast to the very quays of Patanga.

  The rotors snarled a harsh song of power as they drove the floater through the night skies like a silver arrow. Wind whistled about the sleek lines of their glittering urlium hull. Charn Thovis, seated at the controls, aimed the needle prow of the airboat due west and they hurtled into the darkness.

  “They are still following us, Charn Thovis,” the boy observed calmly. “There are two of them, armed with lightning guns.”

  “Courage, my Prince. Perhaps we can lose them in the clouds,” he said, turning the craft south over the wide waters. Some leagues south he spied a dense cloudbank and drove toward it with every erg of power he could coax or command from the laboring engines. It was no good, however. Like hunting hounds, the two patrol boats clung on their trail.

  The pursuers and the pursued were evenly matched. Their vessels were of equal speed and size. However, Charn Thovis had a slight edge on those who followed him. They were two-man ships, weighed down with two fully-armed warriors, whereas his craft was somewhat lighter in burthen, since he had only the boy with him. And he had a few seconds’ head start. He milked these slim advantages for all they were worth.

  Now signal flags broke from the prows of the pursuit craft, colors streaming in the winds.

  “ ‘Surrender or be shot down,’ ” the boy read their code in a grave voice. “Why would they shoot us down, Charn Thovis? We have done no wrong.”

  “They think we have, my Prince. The alarm must have sounded by now, surely. They think I have kidnapped you!” he replied tensely.

  “Then, since they know that I am aboard, surely they will not dare to fire upon us,” the boy reasoned. “They are bluffing!”

  The warrior smiled. The boy had courage and a clear head, and he kept his wits about him even in direst danger
. How proud Thongor would be if he could see his son in this hour!

  “Perhaps you are right. Let us hope so, at any rate.”

  For nearly half an hour the airboat fled south, trailed by its two pursuers. It would seem that Prince Thar had guessed correctly that the patrol craft would not dare fire upon the airboat containing the prince. At least, the lightning guns remained silent. But the patrol ships still hurtled after them, neither gaining nor losing. And with every passing instant Charn Thovis felt less confident that he could shake off pursuit in the dense cloudbank that loomed ahead. Fot now the vapors above had parted and the great golden moon of old Lemuria shone through, filling the night with its serene and brilliant light. The mild waters of the gulf below were transformed into a vast blazing shield. In the clear moonlight, the urlium hull glittered brightly, and Charn Thovis feared that even amidst the heavy clouds his pursuers would be able to spot his craft without great difficulty.

  Now he was in the cloudbank. He turned the prow from due south and, under cover of the roiling mists, angled his flight to the southeast towards the city of Zangabal on the far shore. If he could elude his pursuers he and the lad might find refuge in that friendly city, now a member of the Empire, for the Sark’s brother, Prince Zuel, had been one of the loyalists who had met with Mael and Charn Thovis at Sardath Keep.

  But could he shake off pursuit?

  He looked behind him but could see neither of the pursuing craft through the seething mists.

  “Hang on, my Prince!” he called out. “I am going to drop down to the ten-thousand-foot level. Perhaps they will continue searching for us above.”

  He cut the power and let the airboat slide down through the fogs. This was somewhat dangerous, he knew. Perhaps the cloudbanks did not extend below ten thousand feet. In that case, they would lose the cover of the clouds and be clearly visible to the patrol ships if either of them ventured down to a lower level. It was a risk, but a calculated one, and Charn Thovis believed it wise to dare it.