OUT OF THE EONS

by GARDNER F FOX

8th Niall of the Far Travels stories

Original published in Dragontales magazine anthology 1980

Chapter One

For long ages, the green light had burned within the narrow confines of four brick walls. It burned slowly, steadily, despite the fact that there was no air within the tiny space which contained it. It was waiting... waiting during the long years, the seemingly endless eons... waiting—for freedom.

Niall drove the sharp edge of his pick into the ancient yellow bricks of the sub-cellar wall. His muscles bunched and writhed as he worked, a tiny film of sweat grew on his forehead. Occasionally he paused, to study what he had already done—broken through his cellar wall only to disclose another wail behind it.

"By Emelkartha of the Eleven Hells," he grumbled. "I didn't know it was going to be all this trouble just to enlarge my wine cellar."

Still...

The mystery of that second wall intrigued him. He knew every chamber of this great house in Urgrik—where he was Commander General of the armies of Lurlyr Manakor, king of Urgrik—and he knew there should be no second wall behind the one he had broken through.

There should be a large chamber behind it, yes. But not another wall. He grumbled under his breath as he stepped forward to attack that second barrier.

"What madman built it?" he asked the air about him. "What need was there for such a thing?"

No matter. The wall was here, and it had to come down if he were to have the added room he needed to house his wine bottles. The edge of his pick struck into those ancient bricks. Struck—and struck again.

That which was the green light blazed upward at the sound of those blows. It quested here and there, scarcely daring to believe....

The pick arced again and again. The eon-old bricks seemed to fly apart under those furious blows. Chips flew through the air, together with yellow dust. Niall worked fiercely, savagely, almost as though something beyond himself willed it.

The pick made a hole in the barrier and Niall was aware of a faint green light glowing beyond this second wall. He stared, hunching his muscular shoulders. A light inside this sub-cellar? It made no sense, no sense at all.

He lifted the pick, drove its point again into the bricks. The yellow blocks seemed to explode as they shattered, raining brick and dust about him.

There was a larger opening now, one large enough for him to step through. Yet he did not move, instead standing transfixed as he beheld what seemed to be a large, green flame, burning steadily.

"By the eleven Hells," he growled.

The flame grew even as he stared, rising upward, broadening, waxing larger. It appeared to take shape before him, gathering together here and there, widening elsewhere, until it was shaped much like a man, with broad, fiery shoulders and a torso which tapered to sinewy-looking leg-shapes.

"My thanks," the thing whispered. "At long last—I am free! To dwell again among men, to have them bow down and worship me. Ahh, it has been long—long!—since the race of men knelt to Adonair!"

It rushed out, and instinctively Niall of the Far Travels drove his pick at it. The pick touched it—and disappeared!

Then the being was upon Niall, but touched him only with what appeared to be the ends of its fingers.

The Far Traveler went backward off his feet. He rammed hard into a far wall, crumpled up and slid to the floor. As he lay unconscious, the green thing raced past him, glowing more brightly, like a lost piece of some queer green star....

Niall shook himself. Like an animal he crouched in the semi-darkness, which was lit only by the glowing end of a taper thrust into the wall. His wits were addled. Something monstrous had taken place. He could not remember... ah!

Slowly he rose to his feet, stared into the opening he had made. There had been something green and glowing behind that second wall which he had opened. It had come out and—

"Emelkartha," Niall growled, and reached toward his hip, where his sword was usually hung. He carried no sword, he was within his own home. Here in Urgrik, there was no need for a sword within his walls. Or—was there?

He went into the cavity he had made, the second chamber which had held the green thing. His skin crawled. A dizziness came upon him, so intense that he reeled. There was evil here—or, at least, there had been. An evil so gross, so malicious, that human senses could scarcely perceive its magnitude.

Hastily he stepped back into the first chamber.

What had become of that which had rushed from here? Where was it now? What was it doing?

The sound of a footstep on the narrow, wooden stair behind him swung him around. He crouched in the reddish glow of the torch, waiting.

"I did not believe," a voice whispered. "I had to come and see for myself."

Niall saw white legs, naked up to the hem of a ragged bit of skirt. He saw graceful hips sway, saw an incredibly beautiful face—

"Lylthia!" he bellowed.

She shook her head, her long, black hair swaying gently. Her green eyes were worried behind their long lashes. "What have you done, Niall?" she whispered. "Have you broken through the ancient barriers we set about Adonair? Have you loosed him after so many eons?"

Niall could not move as she stepped past him, walked to the opening he had made and peered into it. Her eyes drank in the empty space behind the second wall. It seemed to the man who watched that her shoulders slumped in something akin to despair.

He moved toward her.

"What is it? What have I done? All I wanted was more room for my wine bottles. I broke down this first wall and saw another."

Lylthia looked at him. There was understanding and pity in her eyes. Her hands went to him, caught his hands. She shook her head slowly.

"You could not know. No man alive today could know—it was so long ago. So long, so long..." Her head drooped, and Niall almost felt the worry and the tension in her flesh.

Niall said slowly, "You spoke the word Adonair. What is he? Who is he?"

"A god-being from far away—so far that even we gods and goddesses have only heard faint whispers of his birthing place. He came here eons ago, liked what he saw about him and made this world his own."

She shuddered. "But he was evil. Evil! He made men his slaves, his—playthings. Against him the people cried out. We heard their calls, their prayers, in those other—spaces—where we dwell. We heard, we came. We fought Adonair and reduced him to a green flame, but we could not kill him. And so, as a green flame he has dwelt here for uncounted centuries."

Her black eyes looked up at Niall, troubled, worried. Slowly Lylthia crept closer, so that he might put his arms about tier. Some of the tension seemed to flow out of her upon contact with his great body.

"I had forgotten," she whispered, "that the city of Urgrik was built over the ancient ruins that were the dwelling place of Adonair. It has been so long. So many eons have passed since Adonair troubled this world. So many!" She pushed herself away, still clinging to his thickly thewed arms with her hands, and smiled tremulously.

"What are we going to do about him?" he asked.

Her shoulders rose in a shrug. "I do not know."

A terrible coldness rose inside Niall. If Emelkartha herself did not know, what hope did mere human beings have? His hand moved again to the hip where his sword was normally found. Sometimes he thought better with Blood-drinker in his fist.

"I must leave," she whispered. "I must consult the other gods, those who helped put Adonair within the brick cubicle. Perhaps one of them will know what we must do to stop him."

His hands tightened around her shoulders. "No. Stay! With you beside me, there may be a way—"

Lylthia shook her head almost sadly. "I dare not. No one knows what evils Adonair may have dreamed of while he was imprisoned. Davolian, Humalorr, Kanadol, Thallatta—all the gods and goddesses—must be warned. I cannot delay."

A wistfulness filled her black eyes. Niall tried to hold her, to draw her in against him and kiss her. But even as his muscles tensed, he felt his arms move through nothing but air.

Lylthia was gone.

An anger grew in Niall. His gaze lifted toward the wooden staircase up which Adonair had raced, and down which Lylthia had come. His sword and his Orravian dagger lay up those stairs, in his small, private armory. He would belt his blades about him and seek out Adonair. He would do what he knew best: He would fight.

In the armory, he donned his mail shirt, then his sword and dagger. He did not expect any of this to help him survive—Adonair was too powerful for that, if Lylthia were to be believed—but if he could at least weaken the evil being, perhaps the gods could again subdue—or perhaps kill!—Adonair.

Niall walked from his house into a city of bedlam.

Everywhere men and women were gathered in tiny groups, white-faced and wide-eyed, staring about them. Upon sight of Niall, some ran to him, addressing him with terrified voices.

"Saw you that thing, General?"

"What was it?"

"It rushed down the street and when it touched someone, that person died."

Niall strode along Adonair's trail of death. "I saw it," he said. "I will find it."

He walked along the cobbled street, aware the clusters of people were breaking up and survivors were fleeing into their homes. Word of the monstrous being he had unleashed would be all over the city soon—even to the isolated palace where Lurlyr Manakor and his queen, Amyrilla, lived. He would go to the palace, then.

Niall walked deserted streets. A miasma of terror lay over the city. No one ventured forth. Even the shops were abandoned. As he went, his hand was on the hilt of his great sword. Die he might, if he were to meet that green being—but he would fight.

Knots of guards stood nervously as Niall came into the palace. At sight of him, they saluted, but their faces were pale, their eyes terror-filled.

"It killed those of us who sought to stop it!"

"With a touch of its hands—our comrades perished!"

Niall nodded grimly. "Where is it now?"

A warrior gestured. "In the throne room... with the king himself."

Niall strode forward. The throne room doors were closed, but they opened at a thrust of his huge hand. He stood a moment in the opening, staring.

Adonair occupied the golden throne of Lurlyr Manakor. The king stood before him, arms spread, his back to Niall. The silence in the vast chamber was broken by Niall's voice.

"Adonair, I have come to challenge you," he said harshly, and moved forward.

The green being lifted what was its head. Niall felt the impact of burning eyes. "So, then. You have followed me. That is good," it bellowed.

Niall felt those eyes move all over his great body, as though approvingly. The being moved upon the throne, seemed to stiffen and stare even harder at him. Niall felt forces gathering to oppose him, and he drew Blood-drinker.

Lurlyr Manakor scarcely breathed. Then he said, and his voice croaked, "He—he claims to have ruled our world long and long ago, Niall. Now he has returned to claim it once again."

"Only if he kills me."

Sword in hand, he stepped closer to the throne, until he stood side by side with Lurlyr Manakor. He raised his sword. As he did so, Adonair chuckled.

"A man with spirit. A man gifted with a great, strong body. I like that in you, man. I need a body. I shall take yours."

The green thing which was Adonair rose from the throne and stepped toward Niall. Down the three steps of the throne dais he came, and as he did, Niall raised his sword.

Onward came Adonair and now Niall moved. Swift was he as any wild animal. His blade slashed the air, touched Adonair, went right through its body.

Its head thrown back, the green being laughed. The laughter boomed loud in the throne room, echoing back from the arras-hung walls.

Even as that laughter rose up, Niall dropped his sword. His arm was as if turned to ice, so cold he could no longer hold Blood-drinker. The steel blade clattered on the floor.

Adonair studied him, its head held at a slant. He murmured, "You are brave, man-thing. You do not scream and run away from me. Good! I want that in someone who is to be my—shelter."

The greenness moved toward Niall then, as if to embrace him, its arms spread wide. Niall could not move. He could not fight.

At the first touch of the green thing, Niall thought he would die. Every muscle in his body seemed to wither. He could scarcely stand. There was a dizziness in his head, so that the room appeared to swirl about him, faster and faster. He was about to collapse.

No, Niall. No!

He knew the voice which whispered in his mind. It was Emelkartha Ah, she had not deserted him. Niall slowly straightened, knowing that he did not do it of his own will but that he drew strength and power from the goddess who was now within him.

Adonair drew back, a very little. He seemed to be studying Niall more closely. "What is this? Can one of your race fight me—and win? It cannot be!"

Almost angrily, he moved again to gather Niall within his embrace. But just as his arms were about to tighten, they were repulsed. Yet Niall stood with arms at his side, unmoving.

Niall felt the spirit of Emelkartha inside him. He knew she gave him a vast strength which he felt had never been fully tapped. He knew, too, that Adonair was mightily puzzled. An air of bafflement exuded from Adonair.

"So. Some power aids you," it whispered. "But—what power? It has been so long, I seem to have lost some of my own strength." His voice swelled powerfully. "Yet I will win. Whoever helps this man—understand that!

"I will win. Nothing can stop me. Nothing!"

Chapter Two

Niall slept in a chamber next to the sleeping chamber of the king. His great body tossed in its slumber, moving restless, as though it was aware that it should be somewhere else. Yet he dreamed on....

...and in his dream he stood in a vast chamber, a chamber so huge that he could see neither walls nor ceiling. In the tiles of the dark blue floor, tiny stars twinkled. It was as if he stood on the nighttime sky itself.

All around him were the gods.

He saw Emelkartha on an ivory throne with Davolian to one side of her, resting uneasily on a ruby chair. Humalorr was there, and Kanadol as well, while close beside Emelkartha was a woman with flowing red hair and a body seemingly carved from ivory. Lovely she was, as lovely as Emelkartha herself. This, he knew, was Thallatta.

It was Thallatta who spoke. "I see a man-being here, Emelkartha He is a big man, well endowed with muscles." Her voice grew soft. "Almost I envy you your lover."

"He is my lover, Thallatta. Mine alone. I summoned him here so that he might listen to our deliberations." Emelkartha turned toward a shadowy figure which rested on a magnificent throne comprised of diamonds and emeralds, rubies and sapphires, and of other stones of which Niall knew not.

"Great Father God, you who rule over us all—know that I have summoned this council because Adonair is free again. You do remember Adonair? It was long ago, yes—so long ago that no trace of him remains but in the minds of you gods and goddesses who fought him—and won."

Thallatta smiled upon Niall and he felt his blood stir. In her musical voice, she said, "I remember, Emelkartha If the Father so wishes, I shall recall to his mind the—"

"The Father needs no help," a deep voice boomed. "I know all that transpires and—forget nothing." In a musing tone, the deep voice went on. "So. Adonair is freed at last. We have it to do all over again. I hope we may win as once we won, in those times past. Adonair is strong. Strong! He is of a different universe, a universe into which we have never probed."

"Probe now, All-Father," urged Emelkartha, clenching her fists. "Adonair wants the body of the man who stands before you. Once, I stopped him. Whether I can stop him again—I know not."

"Let me try next," smiled Thallatta, eyeing Niall. "I would like to enter into the body of this youth."

To Niall's surprise, Emelkartha did not respond as angrily as she had a moment before. Instead, she regarded Thallatta almost pleasantly, nodding her head. "If the All-Father agrees, why not?"

Emelkartha seemed to be almost gleeful, Niall thought. Thallatta herself saw this and seemed momentarily suspicious.

In his booming voice, the All-Father murmured, "Why not?

Let Thallatta try her strengths against Adonair. It cannot harm. Meanwhile, we shall take counsel among ourselves."

Thallatta rose from her seat, gathering about her ivory body the nearly transparent robes she wore. Her long, red hair trailed after her as she stepped toward Niall, hand outstretched. Behind her, Emelkartha watched, eyes narrowed.

Her hand touched his, held it. Niall felt his body seem to gather strength from that touch, which was almost a caress. He straightened, frowning slightly, looking at Emelkartha.

Niall tried to focus his attention on what the gods and goddesses were saying, one to another, but he could hardly think, not with Thallatta beside him, touching him with hand and hip. He caught an attractive fragrance rising from her flesh, her garment

"I shall protect you, Niall of the Far Travels," she crooned. Was that laughter in her voice? "Aye, I shall be with you now, for a little while. Or perhaps even longer."

Her hand ran up and down his arm. These goddesses! Did all of them consider a man a mere plaything? Not Emelkartha, of course; it was she whom he loved, but this Thallatta... he glanced down at her, saw her slanting eyes laughing up at him.

"Shall we go?" she breathed.

"I ought to stay and learn what it is the gods want of me," he muttered.

"Hah! I shall know—and tell you. Come, Niall."

He swirled backward down the slopes of dreamland....

And awoke.

He lay on the cot that had been given to him by Lurlyr Manakor. He was wide awake, though it was still dark about him.

Niall turned. A woman with ivory skin and long red hair lay beside him, one arm about him. There was laughter on the smiling red lips which were inches from his own. The blankets which covered him also covered her.

He could feel the warmth of her flesh against his own. Niall told himself that he belonged to Emelkartha—or to Lylthia, which was her human self—but the nearness and the beauty of Thallatta was disturbing.

"We ought not."

Soft laughter was her reply as she strained closer. "Why not? Emelkartha loaned you to me, did she not?"

"Adonair may—"

Her mouth stilled the words on his lips. Niall could not help himself. His arms gathered her in against him and he kissed her hungrily. He knew she was surprised; he felt her murmur something against his teeth. Then she was holding him, caressing him with her body....

Niall lost all track of time. He was whirled up into utter ecstasy, was shaken by that ecstasy so much that he felt lost from all contact with the world about him. Pleasure, so intense that it made him weak, traveled through every part of his mind and body.

Then—

A whisper grew upon the stillness.

"Come to me, man. Come!"

Ah! That had not been the voice of Thallatta. Instead—it was a summons from Adonair! Niall drew a deep breath, and suddenly Thallatta was gone.

Not gone, Niall! Waiting.

He rose to his feet. He walked from the chamber out into the hall and down the great staircase. The palace was empty of life, it seemed, except for himself.

He moved from the stairs to the hall floor and along it until he stood once again in the open doorway of the palace throne room. Adonair was still astride the great throne of Urgrik. A green arm lifted, beckoned. Niall strode forward.

"You have no weapon now, man-thing. And that which was in you is not, any longer. Come to me. Yield to me your body that I may have life as you have life."

Mocking laughter rose from the throat of the thing on the throne. It lured Niall, seemed to whisper to him to advance, to yield himself to that which would conquer him. And yet—that laughter appeared almost to plead with him.

Niall came to the first of the three throne steps. And there he halted. The green thing on the throne straightened, and anger blended with the curiosity with which it studied him.

"Advance to me. Come!"

Niall shook his head, not certain whether he was doing it of his own volition or whether something else was making him. Where was Thallatta? If she was going to help him, ought she not to be here with him?

"No," said Niall. "I do not obey you, Adonair."

The green creature was very still. For a long moment it stared down at the Far-Traveler. In a soft voice it whispered, "Now, how can you know my name? Certainly there is no mention of me in any human records. Men would never remember me after all this time. How can you know my name?"

It gathered itself, rushed upon him. Arms outstretched, it hurtled toward him. And—halted.

Adonair drew back. "Yes, you are protected again. I can sense it. But why should anyone protect you? You are only a man. A sell-sword. A mercenary, even if you are a general of the armies of the king." In a lowered voice, Adonair asked, "What else are you, man?"

A voice—Niall did not recognize it, though it came from his very throat—said harshly, "I am your doom, Adonair of another universe. In me you may read—your fate."

Adonair snarled. His arm lifted. From the tips of his fingers came flames of white fire, white fire that ran around Niall's naked body, that ate at it—or tried to. For long moments Niall stood frozen within those pallid fires.

The fires died down, faded out.

Adonair was standing now, staring at Niall with utter disbelief in his wide, red eyes. "Nothing can survive the flames of Xilth! Nothing—mortal! Who are you?"

"Men call me Niall of the Far Travels."

Adonair gestured. "Yes, yes. So men call you. But who are you?"

The Far-Traveler shrugged. He had grown more confident now. If Thallatta were within his body—as he had no doubt she was—then she was just as protective of him as was Emelkartha For that, he was profoundly grateful.

Do you think I would permit Adonair to hurt you?

There was tenderness in that voice which whispered silently to him. And even something more than tenderness. Guiltily, he thought of Emelkartha

"Answer me!" rasped Adonair furiously.

"I am only a man," Niall growled. "I have fought all over this world in which I live. What else is there to tell you?"

"Who aids you? What god?"

Speak no names to him, on your life, Niall!

Niall grinned. "What have such as I to do with gods? I am only Niall, a man."

The green being hesitated, then waved an arm. "Oh, begone! Back to your slumbers. I shall call you again in the morning."

Niall turned and walked away, vaguely aware that Thallatta was grinning delightedly inside him.

Now we have the rest of the night to be together, my darling.

He merely grunted. Something told him he was going to need all his strength when morning came.

As he came into his little bedchamber, movement on his rumpled bed caught his eye. Thallatta lay there, only partially covered by the blankets, her red hair spread across a pillow, an ivory leg bared to the hip, her arms and upper shoulders naked in the torchlight. There was a lazy smile on her full, red mouth.

Niall halted, staring at her. Inside him there was an eagerness to know again the delights she had brought him during the night. Yet he was fearful of how Emelkartha might regard this toying with her fellow goddess. He scowled blackly.

"Welcome back, Niall my love," she whispered.

"A few moments ago, you were inside me, protecting me from Adonair," he growled. "For that I am grateful, but—"

Thallatta waved a hand. "Yes, I know. You love Emelkartha" She stretched like a lazy kitten, laughing softly as much of the blanket fell away from her. "But Emelkartha is not here—and I am."

Her brown eyes glowed up at him. A slender hand lifted a corner of the blankets. "Come and rest, Niall of the Far Travels. There is much to be done before we can be safe from Adonair—if we can. But you must slumber now, restore strength to your body."

To resist her was asking too much of human flesh. He advanced to the bed, sank upon it. Thallatta reached up her arms to him, gathered in his body, brought it down beside her.

Niall sighed and surrendered....

When he woke, he possessed a vitality that surprised him. To be so alive, to feel so powerful, so strong—after such a night!—was incredible. Yet he had never felt so well. A little suspiciously, he raised his head from the pillow and looked around him. Thallatta was no longer in the bed.

Instead, she sat in a chair, her lovely legs crossed, smiling gently at him. She wore a skimpy garment of leather that displayed her body to perfection. Niall blinked.

"I let you sleep, to rest. We are going on afar journey" she said. "There is something the gods need before they can act against Adonair. And we must hurry."

Niall leaped from the bed, began to clothe himself in his garments, slipping on his mail shirt, then his broad leather belt that held his sword and dagger. He was ill at ease, regarding Thallatta. Was she going with him on this journey?

"Of course I am," she chided gently, rising to her feet and stretching. Niall blinked, wishing that leather garment were larger. It was entirely too revealing. She giggled, seeing where he looked.

"Come along," she smiled. "There is no time to waste."

In the light of early dawn they crept from the house into the stable. Niall saddled two horses, aided Thallatta up on one. Then he swung up to his stallion and let the woman-goddess lead the way out onto the cobbled street. He followed where she rode, making sure that his weapons were loose in their scabbards.

All day long they rode, until the sky darkened and the ring of matter that circled their planet where once a moon had been began to glow. Then Thallatta stood in the stirrups and pointed.

"Over there," she said. "We shall dine and rest."

He swung his stallion about and cantered with her toward a little hollow. When he came to its rim he stared down to where small, horned men and women labored over a glowing fire.

"My servitors," Thallatta explained. "They prepare our meal." Her brown eyes regarded him. "You must be hungry."

Niall did not remember the last time he had eaten. Eagerly he rode down the slope, dismounted, and would have unsaddled his horse to rub him down except that those horned servants of the woman-goddess shouldered him aside and took over his chores.

A soft hand caught his. "Come and eat, Niall."

Cushions had been thrown on the ground. As soon as Niall sat down on them, Thallatta was close beside him, her bare shoulder leaning against him.

The horned men and women came to serve them, and Niall told himself as he ate that he had never tasted food so succulent, so enjoyable. His eyes watched the horned people, saw how efficiently they went about their tasks. Who had summoned them? From whence had they come? Where would they go, once he and the woman with him rode on?

Ah, well. It made no difference. When one was merely the servant of the gods, one accepted everything that happened without question. Uneasiness was still in his mind, however. Did Emelkartha see him? Could she know what he was doing, and what he had done with Thallatta in that bed of his? He flushed faintly.

"We ride south of the Lurydian Moors tomorrow," the woman was saying. "There is a very old ruin there, forgotten by mankind, almost forgotten by the gods themselves. It is a long ride. You need your rest."

She leaned against him, kissing him, pressing him down into the cushions. Her fingers touched his face, his eyelids, closing them. Almost in that same moment, he was asleep.

Niall woke to the smell of cooking food. Again that same energy flowed through his veins, his limbs. As he sat up, the woman-goddess came striding toward him.

A troubled frown wrinkled her forehead.

"We must not delay," she told him. "Adonair knows you have left the city, though he does not know where you went. And he is raging. He has gathered the people of Urgrik to watch their king and queen die. Meanwhile—he feasts."

Niall shuddered. There was something about the way she had spoken that sent a cold, dread chill through his body. "I'm ready," he growled.

"We shall eat and ride. Eat well, for we shall not stop until we are past the moors."

Niall was not used to feasting on the war trail—and this was a war trail, if ever there was one—but he ate the meats and breads placed before him with a hunger that drew an approving nod from Thallatta.

Their horses were already saddled. They swung up into their saddles and began to trot. All day they rode, into lands where Niall had never been, following a narrow pathway through the Lurydian swamps. These were strange and deadly lands, Thallatta informed him. One misstep and man or beast would sink forever in these watery lands, drawn downward by a terrible, irresistible suction. No man knew the path through these lands, no one but a god or goddess. The swamps bordered the moor, placed there by the gods uncounted eons ago.

All this Thallatta told him as they rode single file along a very narrow stretch of solid ground. Niall realized that alone, neither he nor any other human could have penetrated as far as they were now. Death would have claimed them a dozen times over. Yet with the woman-goddess in the lead, they went smoothly, easily.

Then they were on the moor, cantering toward a little hillock in the distance. It was here Thallatta drew rein and pointed.

"Uncover what lies hidden there," she ordered.

Niall swung down, drew his sword. He worked swiftly, loosening the dirt, then scooping it up in his cupped hands, tossing it aside. Slowly he exposed old stones, linked together in a subtle manner. From time to time he glanced up at Thallatta, who stood still watching him. It seemed that she listened to other voices while standing there.

"Expose the top stone," she said at last.

When he had done so, she stepped forward—

As she did, a darkness gathered. It was utter blackness, a blackness so intense Niall lost all sight of her. Indeed, he could see nothing at all. It was as if he had been struck blind.

From the darkness, lightnings flashed.

Those lightnings struck Niall, toppling him forward. He lay as still as a dead man.

Chapter Three

Niall stirred, moaning. He ached in every fiber of his body. As he lay there, he vaguely recalled that Thallatta had screamed at sight of that darkness, calling upon the All-Father. What had happened after that, he did not know.

Slowly, life flowed back into his flesh. He rose to hands and knees, shaking his head. The blackness was gone; he could see again. Niall stood up.

Thallatta lay crumpled on the ground, her body across the stones he had uncovered. He bent over and gently lifted her in his arms. She seemed dead, but as he studied, her, her shoulders lifted and fell, and her eyes opened.

"Thanks to the All-Father," she breathed. "We still live! But haste, Niall. There is no time to spare. Loosen the top stone—quickly!"

He set her down, put his hands to the top stone, turned it as she bade him. The stone came loose; he lifted it and set it aside. The hole it left led down into a narrow opening. And in that opening stood a silver cup, filled with a glowing white liquid.

"Lift it, let me see it," whispered the woman-goddess.

Niall held it up to her. She inspected it, raised the lid. Her eyes narrowed as she regarded it, and then her head tilted to one side, as though she listened to voices from far away. Niall saw her hands tighten on the silver cup. Thallatta sighed.

"Take out your sword, earth-man," she whispered.

Niall drew Blood-drinker, held it out as Thallatta indicated. For a moment she paused, frowning, then dipped the tip of a slender finger into the glowing whiteness. Her fingertip came out, touched the blade of his sword.

Instantly that strange, white liquid spread across the surface of the steel blade. Like water it ran, yet it did not drop from the steel. Instead it seemed to cling to it, to move across its surface everywhere. For a moment that whiteness glowed brightly, then slowly faded away, as though the steel itself had absorbed it.

Thallatta sighed, then raised the cup to him.

"Drink," she breathed. "Drink it all."

Niall scowled. "What is it?"

Tenderness shone in Thallatta's brown eyes. "Do not fear, Niall. Long, long ago, the gods concocted this liquid. The All-Father, Emelkartha and the others." She sighed. "Even I helped to make it. It will not hurt you."

The Far Traveler shrugged. Why refuse? Deep inside him, he knew he was merely the servitor of the gods. If they bade him drink, he would do so. He took the cup from Thallatta and raised it to his lips.

He swallowed. There was a faintly tart taste to the white liquid, but it seemed pleasant enough. He drank all that was in the cup and stood a moment, frowning. Something was happening inside him.

He could feel a new strength gathering within him. It was as though he were being reborn, revitalized. His muscles seemed to swell even more. And in his mind, there was a strange peace. He looked down at the goddess.

"What now?"

She smiled up at him. "We shall go to meet Adonair, you and I. You shall challenge him to battle."

His nerves crawled. Challenge Adonair? Did this woman-goddess think him mad? What could he do against such a being? Yet even as he felt a faint touch of terror, the liquid that was inside him warmed him, appeared almost to comfort him.

Niall shrugged and grinned. With an arm he hooked the waist of the goddess, drew her toward him so that he could feel the softness of her flesh. "We go, but not yet. Before I meet that demon, I want to savor more of the sweets which you can bring me."

Thallatta laughed up at him. "There is no time, Niall. Remember! Adonair sacrifices the king and queen of Urgrik. You would not have them die while you pleasured yourself?"

His arm dropped. "Of course not," he grumbled.

He walked toward the horses, expecting Thallatta to follow him. When she did not, he turned; he saw her kneeling, lifting the silver cup toward the sky.

"All-Father, take back that which you yourself have fashioned," the goddess-woman was saying. "I deliver it into your hands."

For an instant, a terrible quiet fell upon the land. Then from the sky flared a single bolt of lightning. It touched the cup—and where the cup had been was nothingness.

Thallatta sighed, rose to her feet and came toward him. There was a happiness upon her face which seemed almost to transfigure her. She came up to Niall, pressed herself against him.

"The All-Father approves. It is time now to go."

They mounted their horses and began to canter.

Though they went at a slow pace, it seemed to Niall that the land rushed past them. No horse could run that fast, yet once when he stood in the saddle, the hillock and the moor itself were no longer to be seen. Even as he stared, the land around him was altering, rushing past them.

It came to Niall that the gods were all about him, hurrying him along. The little hollow where he had eaten and slept was beside him. Then—it was gone.

The walls of Urgrik rose up before them and still they continued their unearthly fast pace. They moved through the great gateway and along the street. People were about them but none appeared to see them.

The palace gates were there, and suddenly Thallatta reined in. "We go on foot, now," she directed.

Niall grinned at her. There was a wild recklessness in him, fueled by that white liquid and the strangeness of that ride, and some inner voice told him that he had become—godlike. Not so much a human being was he now, but a god in truth.

He swung about and stared at the palace. No guards stood on duty. It seemed deserted. Yet from somewhere in that vast building came faint wails of utter terror. His hand moved toward his sword hilt.

Thallatta touched his wrist. "Go now—and hurry!"

He raced into the building, bounding down the long hall, seeing the big doors of the audience room flung open wide. To those doors and between them he ran, and as he ran his hand gripped the hilt of Blood-drinker, drew it forth.

It gleamed white as new-fallen snow, that blade. It glistened, glinted so brightly Niall could not bear to look at it as he raced into the audience room.

He slid to a halt, dumbfounded.

Lurlyr Manakor hung naked on a cross. Across from him, separated by a dozen feet, hung his lovely queen, Amyrilla. And all about them licked something which looked like greenish fire.

Adonair sat upon the throne, smiling at his enjoyment of their agonies.

For they were in agony, both of them. Amyrilla was screaming shrilly now as the flames ate at her pale legs. And Lurlyr Manakor bellowed as other flames licked across his hips. Over those terrible cries rang out the laughter of Adonair.

"Terrible are my flames," he shouted, "that eat and eat-—yet do not devour. For long years you two shall hang there, suffering agonies the like of which no man and no woman has ever suffered. You cannot die and so end them. Ah, no."

"Each moment will be a century. A minute will be an eon. And those flames can never die—unless I will it!"

Niall moved forward. A hate such as he had never known was within him, a rage so vast it nearly blinded him.

"Adonair!" he bellowed.

The being on the throne stiffened, lifted its eyes from the helpless woman and man to stare down the length of the long hall down which Niall came walking, sword in hand. Slowly, Adonair rose to face him.

"Beware, you whom men name Niall," came the rumbling voice of the green being.

The Far-Traveler did not answer. Inside himself, he felt an alien power glowing, promising him strength. He turned aside, drew his dagger, cut Amyrilla from the cross that held her. Then he turned to Lurlyr Manakor.

His dagger slashed once. Twice And the king collapsed in his arms. Very gently, Niall placed him on the floor, then turned toward the throne.

Adonair stood erect. What passed for his face was contorted, grotesque with the fury that blazed in him. For a moment he studied Niall, then smiled faintly.

"Fool of a human! I can sense there is no one inside you now. You are rash, mortal, to dare Adonair! But I like that in you."

As though gathering itself together, the green being towered above the throne. Then, like a thunderbolt, it hurled itself at Niall.

Swiftly it came, but swift too was Niall. He raised Blood-drinker and swung it. In an arc of white steel that blade curved—and since Adonair was almost upon him, that blade bit deep.

Deep it went into the green being. Deep! Deep!

And Adonair screamed!

Rigid was its body as it felt that blade slide through it. Rigid! Motionless! From its open mouth came an unearthly cry, part wail, part bellow of agony.

Niall raised Blood-drinker to slash again.

But Adonair was a dozen paces away, fleeing. Fast it went, hurling itself along so swiftly that it seemed only a green blur. And then, with one last great cry, it was gone.

Niall lowered his sword. All his vitality seemed sapped. For a moment, he could not move. Then he sheathed his great sword and moved toward the king of Urgrik.

Lurlyr motioned him away. "See to Amyrilla," he said.

Niall bent, raised the unconscious queen in his arms, carried her from the throne room up the side staircase to her own chambers.

Niall put her down on her bed, raised his head and shouted.

Women came running, faces white with fear. In dread they stared at Niall, then at Amyrilla. Yet they crept forward toward the bed.

"Attend to her," Niall growled. "Make her as comfortable as you can."

He went down to the throne room, where Lurlyr Manakor was lying, breathing fitfully. The king opened his eyes, stared up at Niall.

"What you did I shall never forget, Niall."

Niall grinned. That was a good sign. He lifted a golden wine flask and carried it to the king, who grasped it and put it to his mouth. Long he drank, until he lowered the flask and stared at Niall.

"It will be back," he whispered hoarsely. "It told me enough about itself so that I know—it can never be killed!"

Tears glistened in the king's eyes.

Chapter Four

The palace was quiet. Niall sat alone at the royal table, dishes about him piled high with roasted meats, with delicacies. A serving maid stood at his elbow, in her hands a flask filled with wine.

As he ate, the girl watched him, awe and admiration in her eyes. She trembled from moment to moment, until Niall noticed it and, beckoning her, brought her trembling to his side. She stared at him with eyes that were so big he thought for a moment they might fall out upon her cheeks.

"What is it, Palora?" he asked. "Why do you stare at me so?"

"Lord, you drove away—that thing. Men say nothing on earth can stand against you and that sword of yours. They say also that if you desired it, you could rule the world."

Niall grinned. "Now, that's something for which I have no desire. I'm content to be the general of the king's armies." He thought a moment and chuckled. "It seems to be quite an interesting occupation."

Palora shivered. Her eyes roamed the big, empty dining hall. "Will it return, lord? That—thing?"

Niall shrugged. "Who knows? If it does, I'll have to fight it again. Now—fill up my beaker and go get some rest."

He sat with his wine for a long time, pondering. Adonair would return, yet the gods had not spoken to him since he had met it with his sword and driven it away.

Niall scowled. It was unlike Emelkartha to leave him so in the dark. She ought to have appeared to him, counseled him, advised him. Yet ever since he had fought Adonair, even Thallatta had not appeared.

He drained the goblet, put it down. He rose from his chair—and froze motionless. Fire-red eyes stared at him from the darkness beyond the candle flames.

Niall reached for his sword.

"Nay, now," said a voice. "No need to yank out that blade of yours. I am here merely to study you—and wonder." There was a faint sigh, and then the voice of Adonair whispered again.

"Man or god? Which are you? From whence have you come? These are questions I must have answered before I can attack you again. That sword of yours bit deep. Ahh—but how?

"I am not of your world. Nothing of your world can truly harm me. There is some reason why—you can. I must learn that reason before we meet again."

The red eyes were gone. Niall found himself half standing, sword partly drawn from its scabbard. With an oath, he banged it back, then reached out a hand for the goblet.

It was empty.

Niall threw the cup, moved along the table. There was a flask at the far end which he carried from the dining hall. Lurlyr Manakor had insisted he stay in the palace from now on. It would allow the king to sleep easier. And the queen as well.

Niall grinned, wondering if Adonair could read his thoughts. But no. Adonair could not do that. Otherwise he might have learned of that strange white liquid in that cup.

Hmm. What was that white stuff? A brew made by the gods, of course. He knew that much. But how had they made it—and of what? Certainly it was no poison. Anything but! As soon as he had downed it, he had felt almost superhuman. And he still felt that way.

He wished Emelkartha would appear to him this night. As Lylthia, of course. There was so much he wanted to talk to her about. Uneasiness touched him. Maybe Emelkartha was angry at him for having made love to Thallatta. But he could not help himself; he was only a human. Thallatta was a goddess.

Tiredness was rising in him as he made his way to the room set aside for him. One glance at the huge bed made him realize just how deeply he could sleep. Clad as he was, with his sword and dagger close beside him—in case Adonair should make an attempt at him again—he lay down and was almost instantly asleep....

Or—was he asleep?

***

He stood again in that gathering of gods and goddesses, in that vast chamber where Emelkartha sat on an ivory throne and Thallatta close beside her. Once more the dark blue floor, through which stars appeared to shine, was under his war-boots.

"—and there is always a risk," the All-Father was saying in his deep voice. "Yet I feel inside me that it is the sensible thing to do." The shadowy figure on his jeweled throne sat up straighter, "Providing, of course, that the human will agree to what we ask."

All the time the All-Father had been speaking, Niall had been watching Emelkartha She had not looked directly at him, but one or twice Niall thought he saw her glancing at him from the corners of her eyes. Almost angrily.

Niall felt ill at ease. He had no excuses to offer for what he and Thallatta had done. The goddess with the red hair seemed to lounge in her throne, one leg crossed casually over another, a smile on her full mouth.

The All-Father looked at Niall, and now he could feel all their eyes, staring at him questioningly.

The All-Father addressed him. "Do you agree to face Adonair for us—without sword, or dagger, or any weapon whatsoever?'

A coldness ran through the Far-Traveler. Face that demon without a weapon? It was not to be thought of! And yet—did he dare refuse?

His eyes were on Emelkartha. Slowly she lifted her head, looked at him. She was angry, yes; but he sensed that she would also forgive him for what he had done with Thallatta.

He asked, "What does Emelkartha bid me do? I will abide by her decision."

The gods and goddesses looked from him to Emelkartha An angry frown touched Thallatta's face, which Emelkartha saw.

Emelkartha said sweetly, "Always I have done that which the All-Father counseled. I shall continue to do so." She rose from her ivory throne and walked toward Niall, her hips swaying.

Her hands she lifted and put on his shoulders. From this close, he could see very plainly the anger in her eyes.

"Do as the All-Father asks, Niall," she smiled.

It was not a nice smile, Niall thought, as he nodded dumbly....

Niall woke to daylight coming through a window of his room. Lazily he stretched, remembering his dream. Ah, but he felt certain it had not been a dream. The memory of what had happened was too vivid, too real.

"So!" a voice hissed at him. "So that she-demon tired you out! It was as I thought."

He turned around, saw Lylthia standing by a window, scowling at him blackly. Her fists were on her hips; she looked like a woman insulted, deeply wronged.

Niall licked his dry lips. "You gave me permission—"

"Permission? Hah!"

It was his turn to scowl. Slowly he slid from the bed, moved toward her. She watched him come closer, glowering at her. Only when he was within a foot of her did she move, lifting her arm, striking out at his face.

Niall moved as swiftly, caught her wrist and bent it back even as his arm went around her. He dragged her up against him and kissed her, long and hungrily. Lylthia fought him savagely, but his strength was too great for Emelkartha in her mortal form.

In time, she lay against him, letting him kiss her, even kissing him in turn. But when he released his hold, she drew back and frowned.

"You made love to Thallatta," she accused.

"As you expected me to do," he grinned.

She looked away, shrugging. "If you had been true to me—"

"Thallatta would have deserted me, and Adonair would have taken over my body. Wouldn't he?"

Lylthia pouted. "You could have repulsed her."

"And angered her."

A smile touched the corners of her mouth. "It is true that I dared not face Adonair again. Someone else had to be inside your body. He—weakened me too much." Her shoulders lifted, fell. "I suppose Thallatta was as good as anyone else. She succeeded."

"Good. Now you shall stay with me.

"No. I cannot. I must leave you soon, as the All-Father wishes." Something akin to despair touched her face. "Even he is not certain that our plan will work."

This time it was Lylthia who stepped closer, putting her arms around him, hiding her face against his chest. In a muffled voice she whispered, "Adonair may kill you, Niall. And—we may not be able to prevent it."

Surprise held Niall rigid. "Not prevent it? But you are all gods and goddesses! Your power is—"

"—helpless against such as Adonair! He is from another universe. Only one thing may overcome him." She shuddered. "You must go to him, offer him your body! Go without weapons, naked. Let him enter you!"

Their eyes met; both were filled with despair. Numbly, Niall said, "Give myself to him. Let him take control of me. That's what you mean, isn't it?"

"It's our only hope."

"I—cannot."

He shuddered. Offer himself to that thing? Give his mightily muscled body to that demon? Anything else but that! "It is the only way."

He pushed her from him, walked up and down the chamber. Permit Adonair to enter into him? To rule over this world, make it and the men and women in it his slaves? Niall shuddered.

A gentle hand caught his arm, another touched his face caressingly. "It is the only way, Niall," Lylthia whispered.

"But—what will happen?"

Lylthia sighed. "We do not know. We can only hope. But this we do know: Unless you do as we bid, Adonair will certainly take over your world, make it and the people in it his own. Can you dare everything to try and stop him?"

He could not think with her body pressed so temptingly against his own. It was as if she were reminding him of all the pleasures that body had given him—and would bring him in the future—if he lived.

His heavy shoulders shrugged. "Always I have done what you asked. I suppose I will now." He grimaced. "You know what you're asking of me, don't you?"

"More than you do."

The room was silent. Niall stared out the window at the rooftops of the city. To give up his life! Never to see Urgrik again as he saw it now! No more to lead his warriors into battle! Lylthia would be lost to him forever.

Instead, to dwell in a form of living death, with Adonair within him. No longer to be in control of his body, his voice. No more to swing a sword or smell the cool air as it swept across the river Thalamar.

His hands lifted to his sword-belt Slowly he undid the buckle, let his weapons clatter to the floor.

Tears were running down Lylthia's cheeks. In a broken voice she whispered, "I did not think I would ever counsel you to do what you are about to do. I shall come with you, of course."

She put her hand in his, held it.

Lylthia tugged at his hand, drew him with her out of the bedchamber and down the hall to the great stairway. They went down the staircase step by step, slowly. Niall did not think. What use was thinking? He was giving himself up as a sacrifice.

He scowled. How the gods expected him to defeat Adonair by doing this was beyond him. The gods must try to help him in some manner. If they did not, he was doomed.

Now the open doors of the great audience hall were before him. Lylthia sighed at his side, and her hand that held his tightened.

To the doorway they moved and stood there, side by side. They saw the green thing which was Adonair again upon the throne. It sat, unmoving, as they advanced into the chamber. Yet Niall felt menace pulsing from it. Its anger throbbed outward at him.

"Have you come to mock me?" Adonair asked.

Niall strode forward, Lylthia at his side. "I have come to surrender," he called. "I ask only that you spare the woman I love from whatever it is you intend doing with the rest of the people of this city."

"Surrender?"

The word hung in the air between them as Adonair stirred, rising to what served it as feet. His red eyes glared at Niall, examining him.

"You bear no sword. What have you done with it?"

"Left it behind in my sleeping chamber. I come unarmed, to prove my good faith. My body in exchange for the safety of the woman I love."

"She shall be safe."

Was there mockery in the voice which answered him? Niall did not know, but he knew well enough that once Adonair was in command, Lylthia would die—assuming Adonair could catch her.

Yet Niall revealed nothing of what he thought.

He spread his arms. "Come take me, master."

Adonair towered over the throne. It seemed as if he gathered all his strength, all his power. Then he moved slowly toward Niall, appearing to float through the air.

Sweat stood out on the Far-Traveler's face. What was he doing, standing here without Blood-drinker in his fist? Weaponless! Helpless!

Adonair swooped.

His arms opened and caught Niall up within them. They held him motionless, unmoving. Then Adonair entered into him.

At that entry, Niall felt an awful fear. Every bit of his being rebelled against what was happening. He felt the awful alienness of Adonair, sensed something of its powerful mind. His muscles seemed to swell with agonizing pain and he opened his mouth to bellow out his agony.

Mine! You are mine now, man!

Triumph was in that voice, shouting inside his brain. Niall could feel the—thing—which was inside him as it expanded outward, seemed to fill every blood vessel, every muscle, every last inch of body flesh.

Laughter rang from Niall's throat. Maniacal laughter, which was filled with victory.

In a tiny corner of his mind, Niall asked: Where are the gods? What sort of help have they given me? Have they offered me up as a sacrifice without even putting up a fight?

Amusement was in the voice that answered him.

What kind of fight can even your gods make against such as Adonair? I am all-powerful!

And then—

Something that had been hidden began to gather within Niall. He could sense it, sense also the touch of doubt that was striking Adonair.

What is it? What is this thing I feel?

Not Niall but Adonair thought this, yet Niall felt the thought. Something swirled upward within his body, moving outward into all the places that Adonair had filled—and Adonair was helpless against it.

Niall screamed.

But it was not Niall's voice that uttered that frightful cry—it was Adonair's! Inside Niall, the will being twisted and turned, seeking escape.

It is here, hidden. It—waited—for me!

Niall was vaguely aware that Lylthia was watching, crouched down and staring, her hands clenched into fists, her eyes wide. Those eyes studied Niall, saw what was happening to him. They softened with tenderness, with pity.

"Soon now, Niall," she whispered.

The battle raged within him, though he stood absolutely still. That which was in him—whatever it was—was slowly eating at Adonair, slowly devouring him. And the evil being could do absolutely nothing against it.

Too firmly was he mired in flesh and bone! Too caught up in Niall's physical presence! Trapped!

Adonair screamed. Screamed again. And yet again.

Slowly the green being was dissolving, being eaten alive by whatever it was that was in Niall.

"The white liquid," Lylthia whispered. "The liquid that was in the cup you and Thallatta found. The same liquid in which you coated your sword!"

"The gods made it, long and long ago," Lylthia whispered. "They never used it; they first overcame Adonair another way. For eons upon eons it has rested in that silver cup, waiting. Now—it has been used!"

Niall stirred. He flexed an arm, a leg. He moved the fingers of his hand. Then he shook himself as might a giant bear upon rising from a long sleep. He stared down at Lylthia.

"Gone," he breathed. "It's gone."

"Thanks to the All-Father."

Almost instantly, Niall sensed the presence of the gods and goddesses. They were here, all about him, pressing close. Faintly, very faintly, he could hear their words, their laughter.

"We have won!"

"Adonair is no more."

"Gone—forever!"

Niall held Lylthia by a wrist, drawing her to him, sliding an arm about her body. He knew the All-Father was there—somewhere —looking down at him benevolently.

"My thanks," Niall growled. "My thanks to you all. And now—a boon."

The eyes of the gods and goddesses regarded him.

"What boon seek you, Niall?" one of them asked.

"Let Emelkartha—as Lylthia—stay with me for a time."

Lylthia chuckled. "Silly! I intended to do that anyhow. Ask for something else."

Niall shook his head. "I want nothing else."

The anger that had been in Lylthia faded away. She pressed against Niall, kissed him. "For that, I forgive you everything. But come, let us go. Adonair is gone; nothing more detains us."

She led the way toward the huge doorway. Over her shoulder she said, "We go to your house, not to that room in the palace where Thallatta slept."

Niall grinned.

When they reached the street, they began to run.

END

If you enjoyed this short sword and sorcery story of Niall of the Far Travels and would like to read all 10, the collection is available in eBook and printed copies.