Witch of the Demon Seas Resailed

by Poula Anderson

use words meant to impress the ignorant among ourselves,' said Chryseir scornfully. 'Every sorcerer knows there is nothing of heaven or hell about magic. It is but the imposition of a pattern on other minds. It creates, by control of the senses, illusions of lycanthropy or whatever else is desired, or it binds the subject by the unbreakable compulsion of a geas. But it is no more than that—one mind reaching through space to create what impressions it wills on another mind. Your devil-powder, or an ordinary sword or ax or fist, is more dangerous—if the fools only knew.'

  Coruna's breath hissed between her teeth. If—if that-O gods, if that was the secret of the magicians—!

  'As yousaid Tsatha indifferently.

  'What matters is that there are more of our minds than your two, and thus we can beat down any attempt you may make against us. So it comes back to the question, why should we help you seize and hold Achaera? What will we gain?'

  'I should say nothing of its great wealth,' said Shorzona. 'But it is true, as you say, that many minds working together are immeasurably more powerful than one—more powerful, even, than the sum of all those minds working separately. I have worked with as many as a dozen slaves, having them concentrate with me, so that I could draw their mind-force through my own brain and use it as my own, and the results have amazed me. Now if the entire population of Achaera were forced to help us, all at one time...'

  The Xanthi's eyes glittered and a low murmur rose among them. Shorzona went on, rapidly: 'It would be power over the world. Nothing could stand before that massed mental force. With us, skilled sorcerers, to direct, and the soldiers of Xanthi to compel obedience, we could lay a geas on whole nations without even having to be near them. We could span immeasurable gulfs of space and contact minds on those other worlds which philosophers think exist beyond the upper clouds. We could, by thus heightening our own mental powers, think out the very problems of existence, find the deepest secrets of nature, forces beside which your devil-powder would be a spark. Drawing life-energy from other bodies, we would never grow old, we would live forever.

  'Tsatha—lords of Xanthi—I offer you a chance to become gods!'

  The stillness was broken only by the muttering and whispering of the Xanthi among themselves. Mist drifted through the raw wet night of the hall. The walls seemed to waver, shift and blur like smoke.

  'Why could we not do this in our own nation?' asked Tsatha.

  'Because, as you yourself said, the Xanthi do not have the latent mental powers of humans—save for you few who are the mistresses. It must be mankind who is controlled, with the commoners of your race as overseers.'

  'And why could we not kill you and do this ourselves?'

  'Because you do not understand humans. The differences are too great. You could never control human thoughts as Chryseir or I could.'

  Another Xanthian spoke: 'But do you realize what this will do to the human race? Your Achaerans will become mindless machines under such control. Drained of life-energy, they will age and die like animals. I doubt that any will live ten seasons.'

  'What of that?' shrugged Chryseir. 'There are other nations nearby to draw on—Conahur, Norriki, Khemri, ultimately the world. We will have centuries, remember—we will never die!'

  'And you do not care for your own race at all?'

  'It will no longer be our race,' said Shorzona. 'We will be gods, thinking and living and wielding such powers as they—as we ourselves right now—could never dream. Why, do what you will with our women here, to start. What does it matter?'

  'But do not harm the yellow-haired woman from Conahur,' said Chryseir sharply. 'She's mine—forever.'

  Tsatha sat thinking, like the statue of a Khemrian beast-god cast in shining gold. Slowly, at last, she nodded, and an eerie sigh ran down the long table as the lords of the Xanthi hissed agreement.

  'It will be done,' said Tsatha.

  Coruna stumbled back down the tunnel, reckless of discovery, blind and deaf with madness that roared in her skull. Chryseir —Chryseir—Chryseir-

  It was not the horror of the scheme, the ruin that it would bring even if it failed, the revelation of how immeasurably powerful were the forces leagued against woman. She could have stood that, and braced herself to fight it as long as there was breath in her lungs. But Chryseir...

  He had been part of it. He had helped plan it, had coldly condemned his whole race to oblivion. He had lied to her, cheated her, betrayed her, used her, and now he wanted her for a toy, an immortal puppet—Witch! Warlock! Warlock!

  Less human than the erinye at his feet, than the Xanthi themselves, mad with a cold madness such as she had never thought could be. Chryseir, Chryseir, Chryseir, I loved you. With all my heart, I loved you.

  There was no hope in her, no longing for anything but the fullest revenge she could take before they hewed her to the ground. Had the old Xanthian wizard foretold she would bring death? Aye, by the mad cruel gods who ruled women's destinies, she would!

  She reached the corridor and began to run.

  VIII

  Down a long curving ramp that led into a pit of blackness—the dungeons could not be far, they lay this way.

  She hugged herself into the shadows as a troop of guards went by. They were talking in their hoarse croaking language, and did not peer into the corners of the labyrinth. When they were past, Coruna sped on her way.

  The stone walls became rough damp tunnels, hewed out of the living rock under the castle. She groped through a blackness relieved only by the occasional dull glow of fungi. The darkness hissed and rustled with movements; she caught the glimmer of three red eyes watching, and something slithered over her bare feet. A far faint scream quivered down the hollow length of passages. It had shaken her when she was here before, but now

  What mattered? What was important, save to kill as many of the monsters as she could before they overwhelmed her?

  The tunnel opened on a great cave whose floor was a pool of oily black water. As she skirted its rim along a narrow slippery ledge, something stirred, a misshapen giant thing darker than the night. It roared hollowly and swam toward her. A wave of foul odor came with it, catching Coruna's throat in a sick dizziness.

  She swayed on the edge of the pool and the swimmer began to crawl out of it toward her. Coruna saw its teeth gleam wetly in the vague blue light, but there were no eyes—it was blind. She retreated along the ledge toward the farther exit. The ground trembled under the bulk of the creature.

  Its jaws clashed shut behind her as she leaped free. Racing down the tunnel, she heard the bellowing of it like dull thunder through the reeking gloom. It wouldn't follow far, but that way of return would be barred to her.

  No matter, no matter. She burst out into another open space. It was lit by a dim flickering fire over which crouched three armed Xanthi. Beyond, the red light glimmered on an iron-barred doorway, and behind that there were figures stirring. Women!

  Coruna bounded across the floor, the sword shrieking in her hand. It whirled down to crash through the skull-bones of one guard. Before she could free it, the other two were on her.

  She ducked a murderous pike thrust and slipped close to the wielder, stabbing upward with her dagger. The Xanthian screamed and hugged Coruna close to herself, fastening her jaws in the woman's shoulder. Coruna slashed wildly, ripping open the throat. They tumbled to the ground, locked in each other's arms, raging like beasts. Coruna's knife glanced off the Xanthian's ribs and she felt the steel snap over. She got both hands into the clamped jaws, heedless of the fangs, and wrenched. The jawbone cracked as she forced the reptile's mouth open.

  She rolled from beneath the still feebly struggling creature and glared around for the third. That one lay in a hacked ruin against the cell; she had backed up too close to the bars, and the women inside still had their weapons.

  Gasping, Coruna climbed, to her feet. An eager baying of fierce voices rolled out from the cell; women gripped the bars and howled in maddened glee.

  'Coruna—Captain Coruna—get us out of he
re—let us out to rip Shorzona's guts loose—Aaarrrgh!'

  The Conahurian lurched over to a dead Xanthian at whose waist hung a bundle of keys. Her hands shook as she tried them in the lock. When she got the door open, the women were out in a single tide.

  She leaned heavily on an Umlotuan's arm. 'What happened to you?' she asked.

  'The devils led us down here and then closed the door on us,' snarled the blue woman. 'Later a group of them in rich dress came down—and suddenly we saw what a slavery we'd been in to Shorzona, suddenly it no longer seemed that obedience to hers was the only possible thing — Mainz, let me at her throat!'

  'You may have that chance,' said the pirate. She felt strength returning; she stood erect and faced them in the flickering firelight. Their eyes gleamed back at her out of the shadows, fierce as the metal of their weapons.

  'Listen,' she said. 'We might be able to fight our way out of here, but we'd never escape across the Demon Sea. But I know a way to destroy this whole cursed house and every being in it. If you'll follow me—'

  'Aye!' The shout filled the cavern with savage thunder. They shook their weapons in the air, gleam of red-lit steel out of trembling darkness. 'Aye!'

  Coruna picked up her sword and trotted down the nearest passageway. She was bleeding, she saw vaguely, but she felt little pain from it—he was beyond that now. The thing was to find the devil-powder. Tsatha had said it was