THE COMING OF THE SWORD

by GARDNER F FOX

10th and final Niall of the Far Travels stories

Originally published in Dragon Magazine, #55, November 1981

It has been recorded, in the lost scrolls of Caractos the Scribe, of which only fragments now exist, that... from the ice-world of Norumbria, many ages ago, there came a youth named Niall, son of Thorkon the Mighty, who was destined to roam the world as he knew it, and to whom was to be given the appellation, the Far-Traveler...

For many days he had trotted across the ice field, always straining his gaze ahead, ever seeking the figure of the man he hunted. He was close now, so close that he needed no longer to stare at the ground in search of footprints. For there ahead, revealed in the weak sunlight of this northernmost region, was the man, Gunthar.

Niall grinned wolfishly. Soon would Gunthar face the death he deserved for the attempted rape of lovely young Althia, who was sister to Niall and daughter of Thorkon the Mighty. In less than an hour, Niall would be up with him, would draw his sword and take the vengeance that was due his family.

Niall shifted the white bearskin which covered his side shoulders. Under that skin he wore a mail shirt, covered by a leather kaunake. Around his middle was a broad leather belt from which hung a dagger and a sword. Over his shoulder was his horn hunting bow and a quiver of long war arrows.

Niall disdained the arrows and the bow. He wanted Gunthar face to face, to know—before cold steel killed him—what it meant to assault the daughter of Thorkon the Mighty. Niall trotted faster; his long, thickly thewed legs ate up the ground that lay between him and the man he hunted.

Suddenly the ground under his boots shifted, rolled, began to rise and fall rhythmically, as might the waves of the Cold Sea. Niall staggered and grunted.

"May the gods grant I catch him in time," he muttered.

He ran faster, and yanked out his sword. As though the still-distant man heard that scrape of blade against scabbard, he looked back. Gunthar had moved into a passage with no exit; to one side was the eternal ice of a mighty glacier, to the other a massive rock wall rising upward to an unscalable height.

It might be that Gunthar realized the futility of further flight, for now he stopped, turned and drew his own sword. Niall ran toward his quarry, shouting in exultation.

The ground still rolled and pitched, yet Niall ran across it swiftly, balancing himself. He was used to the plunging, churning deck of a longboat on the Cold Sea, and this motion of the ground was not unlike the roll of giant waves.

Gunthar waited, pale and somewhat grim. He knew Niall, knew the ferocity of his swordplay, understood that few men could stand against him—without luck. Gunthar prayed to Loki, god of mischief, hoping that the god would come to him in his moment of need.

Niall hurled himself forward, lips parting in a snarl of fury. His blade swept around, clanged against the weapon Gunthar lifted to parry its deadly sweep. Steel sang. Almost instantly, Niall was driving in again, beating back that sword which opposed him. He drove Gunthar back on his heels, making him give ground.

The earth shuddered beneath them. Ice cracked. There was a muted rumble off to one side. It was as if the very world shared his fury, Niall thought, as he beat down the sword which faced him.

"This is the day you die, Gunthar," he growled.

"I did no harm to Althia," the other panted. "She screamed, and others came to stop me. I fled..."

"You fled to your death! You know the law! To him who transgresses against a priestess of Freya, there is only one reply! Death!"

The ground rolled upward, cresting where they fought, pitching them toward the mouth of the pass and onto softer ground, where tall grasses grew. Niall bellowed his war cry and raised his sword.

"Death, Gunthar!" he roared.

His blade flashed downward. It made an arc of light where the sunlight caught it. It slanted into Gunthar's steel, brushed it aside, then continued downward into the man's neck, cleaving through flesh and bone. Gunthar's eyes rolled up into his head and he fell backward, mouth open in a soundless scream.

And in that very instant—the ground rose, pitching Niall forward, over the body of the man he had been fighting. There were the screams of tortured ice and grinding stone. The earth shook wildly.

Niall clung to the tall grasses into which he had been toppled. "Great Thor! Save me!" he breathed.

Yet the earth went on quaking and rolling. Behind him he heard stone crashing on stone, and he listened as great blocks of ice came free of the glacier and plummeted to the ground nearby.

Long he clung to the grasses, which held fast in the earth under them. Not until the last of the sounds had drifted away, until the ground had stilled, did he lift his eyes to stare about him.

"Great Wodin," he gasped. The pass was no more. It was blocked now with crumbled, splintered masses of stone, with awesome slabs of glacial ice. No one could travel through that pass. It was closed forever. He would not be able to return to the stead of his parents—at least, not the way he had left it. He was excluded from the home he had known for all his seventeen years. The youth was an outcast, thrust into a strange land.

And yet it was not the tumbled mixture of rock and ice which caught and held Niall's attention. There was something else, something within the glacial ice itself. Niall growled low in his throat.

What was this thing he saw? Covered with ice, yet it had human form. He could see an arm, and the glint of sunlight revealed what seemed to be a golden bracelet adorning that pallid arm.

Niall took a few steps forward, his flesh crawling with wonder and readiness.

Could it be human, that which he was staring at? Now he could see golden hair, lighter even than his own, appearing white rather than yellow. There was pale flesh, covered in some way by a fur garment.

And—blue eyes, wide open! Staring at him!

Those eyes pleaded! They called to him, begging!

Niall shook himself. "I dream," he murmured to himself. "There is no woman in that ice. And if there is—she must be dead! Long dead!"

Aye! How long ago must she have toppled into that ice? Or—been put there?

Was she a witch? A lamia?

No matter! For now he saw, as he moved closer to that ice barrier, that she was lovely, more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen before. Her eyes were blue, her mouth like a round, red fruit. Her body was full, her hips pleasantly rounded.

His hand lifted to touch the ice that held her.

Close were her eyes now, even more urgent the message they seemed to be sending. Free me! free me, man of the outer world! free me—and know my gratitude! It was as though her voice whispered in his mind.

Niall raised his sword and began hacking at the ice. Frozen chunks flew. Long he worked, and carefully, because he did not want to harm the white body that lay encased in this frozen sepulcher.

For hours he worked, stabbing with great care at the ice. After a time he could reach around the sides of the body, slashing with his dagger, using it as a pick. Slowly he freed the unknown woman.

Yet there was ice still close about her body. And now Niall paused, knowing that if he cut deeper into the ice, he might harm her. He turned and began cutting some of the tall grasses, arranging them in a pile about the icy statue.

He set fire to the grasses and watched as the yellow flames began to lick upward. Drops of water formed, glistened, ran down the ice. He cut more grass, piling it higher, growling as the water from the melting ice dripped and put out some of that fire.

When the fire had done its work, only a thin coating of ice remained.

The woman's body moved slightly. Some of the thin ice-crust cracked and fell away. Seeing this, Niall gripped the edge of another hunk of ice, tugged at it until it cracked and dropped.

And then the woman moved a leg. Both legs. Her arms lifted, freeing a hand on which a ring glinted. Niall worked faster, chipping away gently with his dagger so that more and more of the ice fell away.

First all of her body was free, and at last the ice fell away from around her head and shoulders.

Her blue eyes gazed upward into those of Niall. Her full mouth trembled, curved into a smile. "My thanks, stranger. Accept the gratitude of Clovia, who was once—many years ago—queen in Hellios."

Niall shook his head. "Hellios? I've never heard of it."

Clovia smiled wryly. "Is my fame so quick to fade? Once I was mistress of a mighty fleet, a great army. Kings and emperors paid me homage, until..."

Her lovely face darkened, her features twisted in anger. "Until a magician came out of the East and worked his magics in my city, and by them caused me to be borne away and imprisoned in that ice!"

She drew a deep breath, and her eyes roamed the grasslands. "Have you any idea what it was like, buried in cold and darkness—still alive!—for so many years? So many years!" Her eyes focused on him. "What is the year?"

Niall shrugged. "The year of the Boar, the month of the Ice Gods."

Clovia rubbed her hands up and down her arms. "That means nothing to me. Ah, well... This is a different world than the one I left, I know that. Even that magician is no longer alive. Dalvuus, his name was. Ha! If I could get my hands on him..."

She looked hard at Niall. "What about you? From whence came you?"

Niall explained how he had followed Gunthar, how he had killed him, how the earth had shuddered. His hand gestured at the fallen rocks and tumbled blocks of ice.

"I can go home no more. The way is closed. I must reach a seaport and find a ship to take me back to Norumbria."

Clovia eyed him musingly. "Stay with me, Niall. Be my guard, my warrior. Travel with me to Hellios, where I will make you rich."

Niall grinned. "Lady, your kingdom may no longer exist. You are an outcast, like myself." He hesitated, then said, "Still, I have a fancy to wander about this warmer world, to sip its ales and wines, to taste its foods. It might be that I will walk with you, take you to this Hellios."

Swiftly she twisted off the great emerald ring that graced her finger. To go with it, she took off a bracelet encrusted with diamonds. "Take these as first payment, warrior! They are but a small part of what Clovia will give you if you escort her safely to Hellios."

Niall chuckled, waving a hand, "Keep them, lady. They look better on you than they would in my pouch. Time enough for reward when I do what you ask—if I can."

He turned to stare out over the grasslands, which extended as far as he could see. Niall knew nothing about this corner of his world. He knew not which way to walk, did not know even what direction Clovia wanted to go. He turned to her and saw her frowning slightly as she, too, studied the vast prairie for a clue.

In almost inaudible words she was muttering, "This would be the region called Styglinia on the maps I have known. If that is so, then there will be a river running through it. But how far away?"

Niall grinned. "And when we come to this river, if we do, where will it take us?"

She turned to smile at him. "Eastward, toward the city Hellios. The river is named Thangara. It is long and winding, running across half the world. Could we but fashion a raft..."

Her words drifted off. Niall shrugged his muscular shoulders and said, "It isn't around here, so let's go find it."

He began to walk, and after a moment Clovia followed. They walked the sun out of the sky, pausing at last when the shadows lengthened and darkness began to creep across the grasses. They found refuge close by a rock formation.

Niall gathered sticks from the fallen branches of some trees that grew near that stone bulwark, set them together and made a fire, scraping a bit of flint against his dagger blade. From his pouch he took a bit of meat, some cheese, a little bread. Hunkered down, he offered half of what he had to Clovia.

They ate, and then they lay at arm's length, both within touching distance of the fire. Overhead the stars glinted in black space, and a cool wind roamed the grasses. Niall slept soon and soundly.

For three days they traveled south. The great bow and the arrows Niall carried were put into use, felling a deer and then a boar, so that the young man and the woman ate well. His companion was given to moody silences, or so it seemed to Niall. She brooded long and often, her blue eyes slightly veiled.

To Niall, it was a pleasant time. This was a new land, and there was much to see. The unchanging horizon extended as far as his eyes could reach—and he had excellent vision—but as the days went on, it became monotonous.

Something of this he said to Clovia, adding, "Even my north-land gives me a new view every so often. A bear might rush out at me, or a giant elk, or even a man who had been outlawed. But here..."

His huge shoulders lifted and fell, "...there is nothing to stem the boredom."

Clovia turned her head and smiled faintly. "Do not be too sure, Niall. Slowly, oh so slowly, I have been remembering. We are not far now from the river—and from the underwater lair of the sea serpent Xithalia."

"Sea serpent? I've heard of them. Some of them dwell in the Cold Sea. But I've never known any to swim about in rivers."

"The river Thangara is deep, very deep. It sweeps in from the ocean, and there are caverns inside its stone walls where Xithalia dwells."

Niall stiffened his shoulders. He did not like this talk of sea serpents. By Wodin! How could he fight off a sea serpent from the deck of a raft?

Three days later, they came in sight of a river. Its waters moved sluggishly between grassy banks rimmed with trees. As far as they could see, there were no habitations, neither the tents of prairie dwellers nor the mud huts of men who had been outlawed from the cities.

With his sword, Niall hacked down all the saplings he could find, trimmed them and then lashed them together with tough vines that grew nearby. With Clovia helping to twist the vines and saplings together, they built a serviceable raft, though Niall eyed it dubiously. It would have to do; they had no boat, nor any prospect of finding one in these remote regions.

They launched the raft, balanced themselves carefully on it, and pushed out into the river, Niall poling them along. The sun grew warmer as they made their way between high banks covered with wildflowers. Then they moved into an area where trees all but shut out the bright sky overhead.

Clovia sat quietly, seemingly lost in thought. Niall stared about him, his heart beating to the pace of this land where he was a stranger. How vast it was! He had never imagined that his world was so huge. All he had known until now were the cold sea waves and the little strand where his father had his steading. What wonders was he now to see?

All day they rode the river, landing at dusk to make a little fire and cook the fish Niall caught with a hook and some thin cord from the pouch on his belt.

When they were done eating, Niall asked, "How far do we have to travel to reach this city where you were queen?"

Clovia smiled grimly. "Many, many more days. We are now in a country where my people never went. Why should they? There is nothing here to tempt the merchants."

They had been traveling on the raft for four days when they saw the sailing ship. It was in the middle of the river, its sail billowed out, yet it did not move. Then Niall saw something wet and shiny moving slowly alongside the vessel. Thick and massive—and menacing—was that something.

Clovia cried out. "Xithalia! He has come from his rocky lair to feast on human flesh, to fill his belly and then retire to sleep."

Niall sought purchase for the pole, to make the raft move faster. As he did, Clovia turned a frightened face to him. "What are you doing? You're taking us toward that thing! Try to go around it. It may not see us."

"Those people aboard that ship may need help."

Clovia stared at him, her eyes wide. "What is that to us?"

The youth glared back at her. "It may be nothing to you, but I can't run away to let those folk face death."

He could see the head of the serpent now, as the beast moved out from behind the sail which had hidden it from his view. Vast was the head, wide its mouth. The creature slavered as it poised above the deck, where a group of terrified people stood huddled.

Niall reached for his bow. He knew arrows would be useless against such a creature, unless...

He pulled his bow, sent an arrow winging through the air. It hit the scaly hide of the serpent's neck and fell away. Niall grunted, lifted another arrow to the string. He took more time, studying the distant creature's movements, before he let fly again.

The arrow arced high, then as it began to descend it drove into the eye of the serpent. From its open throat came a scream of agony. Up reared Xithalia, its head turning one way and another as it sought out the cause of its pain.

Clovia hunched down upon the raft's deck. Her white hands were clenched into fists. To her continued amazement, Niall was poling feverishly, urging the raft toward that nightmare monster, and shouting as he worked.

"Have you gone mad?" Clovia yelled.

"No, no. Look—The beast is leaving the ship. It is starting to turn, to come toward us."

Niall moved to the edge of the raft, balancing himself carefully. He drew his sword and waited as Xithalia glided through the river toward him.

"What can you hope to do with that puny weapon?" Clovia panted. "He will open his mouth, gobble you up!"

Niall grinned. "That's what I hope he does."

The great head was over him now, its jaws wide apart. Long teeth glinted in the red cavern of a mouth. For a moment Xithalia paused, then its head darted downward.

Clovia screamed.

Niall sprang upward to meet the gaping jaw, his sword held up before him as if he meant to fend off that gaping mouth.

The jaw snapped almost shut—just as Niall fell sideways into the river. But before he fell, the thrust lodged his sword in the jaw of the sea serpent, with the point puncturing the roof of its mouth and the pommel lodged up against its bottom jaw. Even though impaled on the sword, those jaws gaped wide.

Xithalia bellowed. It thrashed its head and its vast body, straining to force the sword back out the way it came. When light caught the edge of the blade, it could be seen in the beast's throat cavity, lodged at an angle that made the serpent roar every time it moved its jaws up and down. Water foamed and flew about.

Niall swam to the raft and hoisted himself upon it. His booming laughter rang out. "Try now to swallow me, eater of men! Maybe now you'll starve to death."

He took up the pole, thrust it into the soft bottom of the river, and propelled the raft toward the ship which now sat sideways in the river, the people on it staring and crying out to him. Clovia rose to her knees, then to her feet, all the while eyeing the injured and enraged serpent, convulsing as it sought to free itself from that sword. Xithalia lost interest in its prey, and its thrashings carried it farther and farther away, until after a few moments it dipped beneath the surface of the water and was gone.

Almost in awe, Clovia shifted her gaze to stare at Niall. "You saved me, barbarian. You saved me."

"I saved myself," he grinned.

Ropes were flung from the ship's deck. Niall caught one, grabbed Clovia with his other arm, and leaped. His feet found the side of the boat, and willing hands grasped them and raised them upward until the deck planks were underfoot.

Sailors were running here and there, preparing to get the ship under way. The sail filled with wind, the hull turned about until it pointed into the current, and the river waters again began to glide past the hull as the vessel moved on with the raft in tow.

A man with a beard came toward them, smiling broadly. "My thanks to you," he happily growled at Niall, clasping the youth's hands. "You saved our lives and the vessel itself. I'll not be ungrateful."

Niall shrugged. "Just tell me where I can buy a little boat. I'm tired of pushing a raft along."

The captain chuckled. "You'll buy nothing. A boat shall be my gift to you." He hesitated. "But where do you plan to go upon the river Thangara?"

Niall glanced at Clovia, who said, "We travel to Hellios."

"Hellios? Where's that?"

Clovia stared. "Hellios is the most magnificent city in the world. From its docks, ships ply all the nine oceans. Its merchants eat from plates of gold."

The captain grinned. "Lady, I wish you only the best, but—Hellios? There is no such place. I know this river from the ocean to the mountains."

The captain walked away and Clovia stared at him, frowning.

Two days later the ship pulled into a wharf before a riverside city. Niall was at the railing, staring at the many rooftops, at the distant shine of sunlight on a golden dome. This was the first city he had ever seen. In his country there was no more than small steadings, or perhaps a gathering of steadings together with warehouses in which merchants stored their goods.

"You find it exciting?" Clovia asked from where she stood beside him.

"I've never seen anything like it," Niall told her, not taking his eyes off the scenes before him.

Her lips curved into a smile. "Wait until you glimpse Hellios. There is a city, a city that houses thousands upon thousands of people."

"The captain says there is no such place. I've spoken with him. He knows this river as he does his own home."

Clovia snapped, "The man is mad. I tell you, I know Hellios! I reigned there, as did my father and my forefathers."

Very gently, Niall murmured, "But that was a long time ago; Clovia. A very long time ago..." He put his arm about her. "How long were you inside that river of ice?"

"I—I don't know. But Hellios must still live. It must!"

"If it does, we'll find it."

Niall did not notice the sadness in her eyes, nor did he pay any attention to the manner in which she pulled her cloak about her. And though he sensed it when she shivered, he put that down to the cool wind blowing off the land.

They went with the captain, whose name was Dalamar, to his big stone house on a hillside north of the town. Clovia would have preferred to be alone with Niall, but the ship-master would not have stood for that. The two were to be his guests, to enjoy his hospitality.

They met his wife and children, they feasted at a huge table, they enjoyed the warmth of a great log burning in the huge fireplace. They shared bowls of rich wine, and when the children had been put to bed Dalamar brought out narrow wooden tubes which held maps.

These maps he unrolled on a table, and as Clovia and Niall bent over them, the captain's finger traced the route of the river Thangara from the mountains to the sea. On those parchment scrolls, there was no mark to point out the city Clovia called Hellios.

Her face grew paler as she examined the parchments. Her finger trembled as she pointed, "There is where Hellios should be. There!"

Dalamar's face wore a puzzled look as he stared at where she indicated. He drew a deep breath and said, "Lady, there is no city there. True, there are strange stones standing about—I've never put ashore to look at them closely—but only the wind roams between those stones. There are no people, there is no city. Believe me."

Clovia turned suddenly and walked across the room to stand at a window and stare out into the dark night. She stood there, motionless, for many minutes before she turned and came back to them.

"I have been gone far longer than I had believed," she whispered. "Far longer. When I was taken out of Hellios and put into that glacier by the magic of the wizard Dalvuus, Hellios was the greatest city in my world. Now it is dust and dead stone."

Dalamar cleared his throat. "But you still live, lady. There is much to be seen in this new world. You both must stay here with me and my family."

Clovia smiled and shook her head. "I thank you, but—no. I must look upon Hellios once again, or at least upon what remains of it."

Then she gazed at Niall. "Will you come with me? Or do you choose to stay here, or to wander elsewhere?"

"I agreed to see you safely to Hellios," the youth replied. "I will keep my word."

The next morning Niall went with Dalamar to the docks, where the captain pointed out a small boat with a mast. "It's a cock-boat I sometimes take with me when I sail out upon the ocean. It's fast, it moves well. I'll provision it for you, and give you a new sail."

"Accept my thanks, Dalamar," Niall said briskly and sincerely.

The captain chuckled. "If you hadn't come to fight the serpent, I wouldn't be here now. Speak no more of thanks."

Two days later Niall and Clovia pushed away from the wharf, with Dalamar seeing them off. The wind was brisk. It filled their sail and sent the craft speeding through the water. Niall waved once more to Dalamar, then set his face to the east and his big hand on the tiller.

Clovia sat in the prow, leaning forward, staring ahead of her as if she were trying to will the little craft to go even faster. She was huddled beneath her cloak, and every so often she shivered.

For five days they sailed, pausing only to sleep for a few hours each night along the deserted riverbank. Always, Clovia urged speed. It was as though something inside ate at her and would not be satisfied until she stood again in Hellios. They ate their meals in the boat as it scudded along; Clovia would not hear of stopping for a midday rest.

On the fifth afternoon she straightened suddenly, lifted her arm and pointed ahead. "See there, Niall! That tongue of rock jutting out into the river. My sailors called it Norban's Tongue, for the river god Norban whose tongue licks up the souls of dead sailors and carries them away to the worlds ruled by the gods. Hellios is not far now."

Niall merely grunted in acknowledgment. He was enjoying this trip. This was his chance to see more of this world into which he had been catapulted by the fates—though there was little to see, outside of the river and the plains and the forests through which they sailed.

He hoped Hellios would prove be interesting, though he suspected it would not. What was so interesting about a lot of ancient buildings? Yet he could understand why Clovia wanted to walk there, to set her eyes on those places she had known so long ago.

The little sloop seemed now to run faster through the waves. It left Norban's Tongue far behind and approached a mass of tumbled blocks of stone along its banks.

Clovia stood and cried out, "This was the harbor!"

Niall moved the tiller delicately, and the boat crept between huge boulders jutting out of the river. His eyes scanned the land, saw here and there places where buildings might have stood in the distant past. Judging by the view from the river, which was obstructed by boulders and debris, no one would suspect that a mighty metropolis had once graced this shoreline.

He ran the cock-boat in against a big flat rock, tossed its anchor about a jutting piece of stone, then stepped up onto the rock and helped Clovia ashore.

Tears were in her eyes and running down her cheeks.

"Gone," she whispered, so softly that Niall could scarcely hear her. "All gone, all the ships, all the riches. Forgotten by the world. No more do the armies march, no more do the golden banners wave in the breezes. Dead. All dead!"

Niall did not speak. He looked out over the ruins which, from this vantage point, extended as far as he could see. From the river, a man could not glimpse the extent of what had been the glory of Hellios, but from atop this high rock the truth of Clovia's memories was plain to see.

The woman moved away, walking from the rock to the earth of the shore itself, striding slowly forward on what had been paving stones but which were now half-buried under dirt and grass. She went with bowed head, and Niall knew that she was weeping.

The youth shrugged. He might as well go along with her. Who knew? Perhaps he might find something here to take away with him: a bit of buried gold, or even a rare gem or two. He needed money to live, to eat and drink until he found service somewhere as a warrior or a laborer.

Clovia wandered along what might have been a great boulevard many years ago. From time to time she would pause to run her eyes this way and that way, and the wind blew her pale hair about her face as though to hide the tears that streaked her cheeks.

"There stood my palace," she said to Niall, pointing. "Its walls were high, its buildings the glory of our city."

The young Norumbrian muttered. "There must be some gold left, somewhere around here. You would know the location of the vaults. Take us there."

She shook her head slowly. "They would have taken all the gold, the jewels, when they abandoned Hellios. There will be nothing left."

"How can you know unless you look? You know nothing of what happened here. You were locked inside the ice,"

Clovia smiled abruptly, holding out her hands to him. "You are right, as always. I have been so sunk in my sorrow that I have forgotten I am alive, and that I will need gold to go on living—if I choose to do so, that is."

"Well, I choose to live," Niall grumbled.

Laughter rang out—the first time he had ever heard such a sound from her. "Yes, Niall. You are my warrior, my army. And it is the duty of a queen to care for her warriors. Come along!"

She took but one step, and then his hand shot out to catch and halt her. He lifted his other arm and pointed.

"I saw something, some sort of movement. There may be wild animals here, Clovia. Get behind me."

He drew the sword Dalamar had given him—his old blade, he suspected, was still caught in the serpent's jaws—and held the blade, out before him as he moved forward, with Clovia following close behind:

Suddenly a shrieking sound split the air from ahead of them. From behind the tumbled stones of the dead city rushed half a dozen men. They held clubs and rusted swords. They wore the barest of rags, and their feet were bare. They looked like less than a match for the burly young Niall, but they also looked determined and desperate.

Niall roared a battle cry and ran to confront them. He easily ducked under a thrown club, and a second later he was in the midst of them. His sword lifted and fell, sliced and thrust, and suddenly three of the ragged men were down, their blood staining the grass and stones.

As he struck and parried, Niall scanned these men, seeing something besides their rags and rusted weapons. Some of them had thick bracelets on their arms, one or two possessed rings, and all of the adornments seemed to be made of solid gold.

The three men still alive whirled and fled but Niall ran after them, bellowing in his battle-lust. Where two walls stood close together he cornered them and moved in with sword swinging.

The over-matched men fought grimly, savagely, but within moments they lie on the ground, dead or near death.

Niall stood over them as Clovia came running up.

"You killed them all," she accused. "They might have told us something!"

"What could such as these have told you? They're carrion eaters, and I would guess they eat human beings, too. Still, I think they have told us a little."

"What do you mean?"

He knelt, stripping golden rings and armbands from the dead men, and held them up to Clovia, who stared at them with incredulous eyes.

"Those were made in Hellios!" she said. "I know that workmanship." Her words tumbled over themselves as she sought to explain. "This ring was made by Frondag, who fashioned jewelry for me. Ah, and this armlet by Rogonor, whose artistry in gold has never been challenged. But how can this be? It was so long ago!"

"Gold doesn't die," Niall reminded her.

She shook her head impatiently. "No, no. I didn't mean that. Where did they find these things? That's what I want to know. If they stumbled on some lost hoard of gold, so can we!"

Niall grinned exultantly. "Now where would such a hoard be hidden?"

"In the palace, of course. And it is just over there."

They ran to where colored columns and tinted stone blocks lay in mad disarray. Clovia began to search with Niall at her side. They turned over stone blocks, hey dug where she suggested, but the ruins were too heavy, and too much earth had blown into what once had been stairways.

Niall stood at last, scowling. "There is a different way into the cellars. There has to be. Those ragged men I killed would never do any digging. Besides, if they had, we'd see some sign of it."

Clovia sat on a fallen column. "Yes. There's a way in that is not blocked by rubble. All we have to do is find it."

They searched until hunger sent them back to the boat for the leathern sacks that held their food and drink. As the sun sank, Niall built afire in the shelter of two standing walls, and there he cooked a meal.

While they were eating, Niall heard the beating of wings. Outlined against the darkening sky, he saw small flying things. He was about to put more meat in his mouth when he sprang to his feet instead.

"Those bats!" he shouted. "They can show us the way in!"

Clovia stared at him. "What?"

"Bats nest in caves—or an underground place like a treasure house. Or a corridor that will lead us beneath your palace."

Clovia licked her lips. "Then let's go find it."

"Not until the bats return," Niall responded. "Now, you sleep. I'll watch for them."

When the woman had rolled up in the cloak and fur wrap which Dalamar had given her, Niall sat back against a stone pillar and let his thoughts roam. He liked the excitement of this strange land into which he had come. Even more, he liked the idea of finding treasure. For hour upon hour he yielded to his dreamings, staying alert but preoccupied.

With golden coins, he could travel leisurely about this land, discover its deepest secrets, know its fairest women. There might be jewels too, and a mere handful of pearls or rubies or diamonds would make him a rich man.

Niall chuckled. As a rich man, he could return home to Norumbria, he thought, but then he scowled. Norumbria held no secrets from him; he knew it too well. Instead, he would roam this world into which he had been cast by the ground itself, and he would make a name for himself.

He was reflecting on this when he heard a stone roll across other stones. Instantly he was ready, rising quietly, lifting out his dagger. If death or danger came crawling forth in dawn-light, he would meet it.

Then it came, a nightmare-thing with five legs and three arms, hunched over so that it seemed to be a ball of black leather with red, glowing eyes.

The thing moved in the direction of the sleeping Clovia, and Niall saw fangs glint in the dying firelight.

He rushed forward, putting his body between the leathery thing and Clovia. His shoulder hit the beasts body as he swung his dagger in a short, vicious arc.

The short blade bit deep. The beast-thing bellowed, lunged for Clovia and missed her by inches as Niall forced it to one side. They landed hard on stones and turf. Quickly Niall was back on his feet. Now he had time to yank out his sword, and he drove forward with it.

A clawed hand swiped at him. Niall ducked as he saw and felt his sword slash into a leathery shoulder. Then their bodies were twined together as he sought to free his steel from the beast-flesh where it was lodged.

The body of the thing he fought was hotter than a man's body, as if heated from within. Its breath was nauseating. Niall twisted, partially freeing himself of the grip of those mighty arms and taking scratches across his shoulders from the long, sharp claws.

Then his sword blade came free. Niall glanced at it and gasped. It looked as though acid had eaten at it. The flat of the blade was pocked with pits and holes. And its once-sharp edges were now dulled and eaten away.

"Wodin All-Father!" he gasped.

Niall dropped the sword, and in the same motion reached for a paving stone. He slammed the rock against the face of the awful being. Fierce was that blow, driven by all the power of his brawny arm, and flush against the forehead of the beast-thing it landed.

The creature bellowed. Its mouth gaped wide, showing fangs that threatened but could not penetrate Niall's defenses from such close range. Niall lifted the rock and hit with it again and again. He drove the creature backward with the rock-blows, never giving it a chance to steady itself for a counterattack.

"Water!" Clovia's voice cried from behind him. "It cannot stand the touch of water!"

Niall feinted another attack with the stone, then suddenly leaped toward the beast, his arms spread wide. He grabbed the leathery beast around the lower part of its torso, bore it backward, and rolled over and over on the ground with it. The river was not far away.

The young warrior snarled. He struggled to regain his feet and lift the thing off the ground. While straining to raise it, Niall began to move forward.

The monster's arms and claws raked at him, digging into his arms and shoulders. Niall grunted in response to the pain, but did not lose his grip. Now he was able to walk carrying the beast-thing. The river was closer... closer.

Within a few feet of the bank, Niall left his feet in a lunge. Still clinging to the leathery creature, he toppled into the water.

Immediately there was an awful hissing. A stench rose into the air. Niall choked and felt nausea all but overwhelm him. The thing he clung to was weakening quickly. Its struggles were not so savage, and in a moment it was all but inert in his grasp.

Niall felt the touch of hands from behind him, trying to help draw him upward out of the churning water. He released his grip on the beast's body and allowed himself to be dragged back onto solid ground.

He stood tottering at the river's edge. Clovia was beside him, gripping his arm tightly as she stared into the water.

The creature was disappearing—dissolving in the water! Fumes rose from the bubbling river, fumes that made Niall curse and draw Clovia away from the river bank.

He drew a breath. "How did you know that water would slay that thing?"

In a voice trying to be calm, Clovia replied, "It was a thordio, a thing that had come to my city from some forgotten world long ago. In my time it was only a legend. Something seems to have summoned it back now. But why?"

She stared at the ruins of the city and asked harshly, "What is there to protect here? What purpose would there be in summoning the thordia out of its own world to roam these ruins?"

To Niall, the answer came quickly. "Treasure."

"No. Something more important than gold or jewels," Clovia murmured, shaking her head. Her fingers tightened once again upon his arm. "Come! This has restored hope to me. There is something here, something waiting—sleeping, perhaps."

The big barbarian shrugged. "I care not for anything like that. What good would that do us?"

Clovia glanced at him slyly, smiling faintly. "Ah, but there will be treasure, young man. Treasure so great ten boats could not carry it. Are you interested?"

Niall grinned, putting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing it. "Lead on, lady. We'll forget about waiting for the bats."

Clovia walked forward, at times almost breaking into a run. It seemed as if her memory were coming back to her, as if in her mind's eye she could see Hellios as she had known it when she had walked its streets. Niall followed at a strolling pace, keeping up with her, fingering his again-empty scabbard. He felt partly naked without a sword at his side. Ever since he had been twelve years old—and a huge child for his age—he had walked with the weight of a sword dragging down his belt.

Clovia went between still-standing walls and broken columns, following an unseen path. Twice she hesitated, standing motionless and staring about her, frowning, before she resumed her stride.

At length she came to what must have been a big building. Between its walls she walked, on ornate paving stones half-hidden under grass and wildflowers Then she paused at a place where two walls met, and Niall could glimpse a larger paving stone set among the others.

"Lift this," she said, tapping the stone with a foot.

Niall knelt and slid his fingers beneath the bluish stone. Rising from his knees, he straightened his back until his arm and shoulder muscles bulged. Slowly, the stone came up. It was well over a minute later that he had raised it high enough to topple it, revealing a narrow stairway beneath where it had lain.

"Let me enter," Clovia said.

But Niall held her back, drawing his dagger. "There may be dangers down there, lady. Let me go first. You follow."

He put his feet to the stone of that ancient staircase, descending into almost total darkness. The sun's rays did not penetrate far, but they showed the barbarian the shape of a tunnel stretching out ahead of him.

Clovia was right behind him, fingertips touching his back. "Search along the walls. There ought to be torches thrust into iron holders."

By groping in the darkness, Niall discovered a length of resin-soaked wood. With flint and a bit of steel from his pouch, plus some tinder, he made a flame and ignited the torch. Holding it high, to cast the light as far as possible into the tunnel, he moved on.

It was dim in this tunnel, even with that torch, but there seemed to be nothing dangerous lurking within. At length they came to an oaken door, barred in iron and with a rusty lock.

Clovia said, "This is the treasure house of my people. Stand aside, Niall."

From her pouch she drew a small length of steel. At Niall's questioning look, she smiled wryly. "This I took with me—unknown to Dalvuus, naturally!—when they stole me from my palace."

She fitted the key into the lock, but could not turn it. Niall grasped her upper arms, moved her aside, put his hand to the key and, after grunting a bit from the exertion, turned it. His big hand pushed the door wide.

They looked in at a big room, fitted out with chests and coffers of varying sizes. As Niall strode forward, holding the torch before him, he saw what appeared to be a corpse lying atop one of the biggest chests. But it was not the sight of the body that his eyes rested on last.

"Thor!" rumbled Niall. "What a sword!" It lay beside the corpse, its haft glittering from the torchlight, its scabbard revealing the jewels with which it was emblazoned. Its blade was partly out of the scabbard and shone brightly, unaffected by rust or decay.

Niall sprang to that sword, caught hold of the scabbard, yanked free the blade. He held it up, staring at its length. Never had he seen such a weapon as this; he had not believed that one could exist.

Clovia said softly, "That is the weapon called Blood-drinker. It belonged to my father, to his father, to all my male ancestors who were emperors and kings in Hellios."

"I claim this as my reward," Niall exulted. "Just this! With it I can gain all the gold I'll ever have need of!"

Clovia gasped, fell against Niall. "Niall! Look! By all the gods of Hellios—that thing is alive!"

A rustling drew his attention to the body on the chest. The hairs on the back of his neck rose up stiffly as he saw the thing stir, move, begin to sit up. Eyelids opened, and reddish eyes peered at them from under hairy brows.

"Who disturbs my slumbers? Who comes to the treasure room of long-dead Hellios?"

Clovia moved forward, eyes wide, her lovely mouth distorted in a mixture of horror and hate. "Dalvuus! You—still—live!"

"Slay him! Slay him!" Clovia screamed.

Niall lifted Blood-drinker, but in that moment—even as he tensed himself to leap forward—he found himself frozen. The reddish eyes of Dalvuus fastened on him, held him as helpless as any babe. He could not move a muscle.

Laughter shook the corpse-like being. Dust rose from the half-rotted garments that clothed it. "Foolish youth, foolish queen. Think you so easily to overcome Dalvuus the Mage? Pah!" He raised a hand. "I banish you both to oblivion! Begone, the two of you!"

Niall felt himself being lifted upward, then plunged into cottony clouds that pierced his flesh with cold. He was vaguely aware that Clovia was beside him, screaming with terror rioting in her veins, and he reached out through that cloudiness to grasp her arm, draw her closer to him.

Like that, they fell through nothingness...

Niall opened his eyes to stare upward at a yellow sky, a sky in which no sun glowed. He rose up on an elbow and saw Clovia lying beside him, unconscious but breathing normally. He lay upon ground that was brown, riven here and there by fumeroles from which steam rose into the air.

This world was hot, wherever it was. Already, Niall could feel sweat oozing from his pores. He lifted himself to his feet, realizing that his fist still held Blood-drinker.

He looked around. Everything was desolation here. Ruin, emptiness. There was no life, except for himself and the woman who had been queen in Hellios.

"Tartarus," breathed a voice at his feet.

Niall looked down at a haggard Clovia, then put out a hand to yank her to her feet. She shuddered and great tears rolled down her cheeks.

"The gods have abandoned us," she wept. "There is no hope now. We will die here, without food and water."

Niall scowled blackly. He was not one to admit defeat so easily. He had been put here, true. Yet where he had entered, he could leave.

"Think, woman!" he urged. "If you know of this place, you must know more about it. If there is any way out of here—any way at all!—it's up to you to remember what it is."

She stared up at him, eyes rimmed by tears. She shuddered, rubbing her hands on her arms. "No one has ever returned from here. No one!"

Niall growled, "That's no answer. What is this place? What do you know of it?"

"Tartarus is a magic region created by great wizardry. Only the mightiest magicians know the way to and from it." Her eyes widened. "From it...Yes, there is a way out, but I know it not. When I was queen in Hellios, I studied the history of many magics, as a pastime..."

She broke off, stood with bowed head, deep in thought. Niall eyed her for a moment, then took to studying his sword. It was a splendid blade, the finest he had ever seen. Its edges looked sharp enough to shave the hair from his head. He moved it back and forth, getting to know its feel.

Clovia said dreamily, "There is a guardian over this dead world, placed here eons ago by those who created this place. His name is...his name is...I cannot recall!"

"Try! If ever you would return to our own world, woman—think!"

Clovia looked up at him, eyes wet, tears running down her cheeks. She shook her head, her misery plain to see. "It's no use. I just can't remember. Dalvuus has won!"

Dalvuus?

It was a word from out of the very air. Niall grunted, lifted his sword and stared about him. Clovia gasped and clung to his side.

Who Is It who speaks of Dalvuus?

A vast green shape appeared high above them, seeming to grow in size even as it lowered itself to the bare brown ground where Niall stood with Clovia. The greenness was a vast cape or cloak, or appeared as such, with a hood beneath which was utter blackness.

What know you mere mortals of Dalvuus? Long and long ago did Dalvuus live!

Niall found his tongue. "He lives still, back in that land from which we came! He sent us here, to perish."

The darkness under the hood seemed almost to meditate. The cape which surrounded that darkness swirled as though blown about by mighty winds. From it stabbed an arm tipped by a dark hand.

Would you return to where it is Dalvuus lives? Would you slay Dalvuus?

"I would," Niall rasped, "if by his charms and incantations he gave me a chance to use this sword on him!"

Only I can send you back to that world. And only I have the power to draw you back here — should you fail in your quest!

The strange voice paused, as though the black being in the vast greenish cloak were thinking. Niall spoke into that silence.

"Return us and I'll kill Dalvuus for you!"

Eerie laughter rose from the seemingly empty hood.

Rash mortal! Dalvuus cannot die. Oh, yes—as you know death, he can. But should you slay him, his soul would come here to me, Tartarus. Ah!...I have waited long for that, to exact my vengeance!

Go then—back from whence you came! With my protection!

Niall felt the world shift about him, knew an instant of queasiness, and then he stood upright in the treasure chamber of the kings of Hellios, and beside him, her arm in the crook of his arm, was Clovia. His fingers tightened about the haft of Blood-drinker.

His eyes swept the chamber. All was as it had been when they had entered it, except that the magician had vanished. The woman shuddered.

"He's gone," she whispered.

"But not far," Niall bristled. "Come on!"

He ran along the corridor, touching the wall blindly, for Dalvuus had taken the torch. In utter blackness he ran, listening to Clovia crying out his name and stumbling after him far behind. Up ahead he saw faint light, and he ran as might the leopards of Poranga, so swiftly that his feet seemed scarcely to touch the stone floor.

Up the stairs he leaped, into daylight.

His booted feet slid to a halt. "Wodin," he breathed, and stared around him.

No longer were there ruins here. No! Upward around him rose the wails of a mighty palace. Great marble columns ran here and there, upholding a ceiling on which glinted gold leaf and brilliant paintings. There was a throne at the far end of this vast chamber, and at the other end, massive doors opened onto a sun-drenched street.

Clovia sobbed behind him, half in and half out of the stone stairway, "Hellios," she breathed, "as I remember it! What magic is this, Niall?"

He growled low in his throat. "Dalvuus is behind it. By some great spell, he has made that which was, now be again. But where is the swine?"

They heard the tramp of sandaled feet from outside the huge doors. Niall knew the tread of soldiers when he heard it. He swung about, lips lifted in a silent snarl, and he held Blood-drinker ready.

Ten men in mail shirts came marching into the throne room, and Niall viewed them with narrow eyes from a hidden vantage point. A man followed them inside. It was Dalvuus—but what a change there was in his appearance! No longer did he wear age-rotted garments, but now he strode along in an ankle-length garment of ebon blackness on which were sewn thaumaturgic symbols in silver thread. A golden cloak hung from his shoulders.

Niall bellowed and leaped out of hiding, placing himself between the guards and Clovia.

Instantly Dalvuus halted. His eyes went wide, his mouth fell open. Just for a moment he was paralyzed by amazement. Then his arm came up and he cried out orders to the marching guards.

"Slay that man! And the woman with him!"

But before any of them could react to his voice, Niall was upon those warriors. His blade darted once, twice, and two men dropped. Nor did he pause, but came on like a maddened elephant, his sword out before him, slashing, cutting.

"Abaddon," chanted Dalvuus. "Great Abaddon, hear me! Slay this man who kills my soldiers. Slay him and—"

Dalvuus paused for breath. Six of his men were down, and Niall was fast upon the others Like a Styrethian lion, he moved here and there, out of reach of the blades that sought to sap his life's blood, always slashing back in return and slicing through flesh and bone.

Dalvuus turned to flee, his robes flapping as he ran, and after him went Niall, blood dripping from his sword. Niall could run like a frightened deer, but there was speed in the magician, too. He fled up one hall and down another, never pausing to glance back.

Up to a blank wall Dalvuus ran. His hands went out to the cold stone—and where he touched, the stone slid back. Dalvuus leaped through the opening, and the stone wall closed just as Niall arrived. The warrior cursed silently as he heard faint, mocking laughter from inside the passage.

From behind him came the sound of sandals slapping the stone floor. He whirled, sword-point thrust up so that Clovia almost ran herself upon it. He let the blade drop and caught her in his arms.

"He's escaped me," he growled.

Clovia tried to catch her breath, shaking her head. At last she said, "No, no. Just a trick. A trick I know. Let me at the wall."

She reached to the wall, touched it with her fingertips as Dalvuus had done. "See? It operates in this fashion. Hidden valves force air into locks and — see! The stone turns."

Niall caught her up and leaped through the opening. Into a small antechamber he ran, still carrying the woman. Ahead was an oaken door, reinforced with iron. Setting Clovia down, Niall ran forward.

He leaped at the door, boots upraised, and slammed into it with all the fury his massive body could muster. He heard wood give way, heard and felt the screech of twisting metal...and the oak door burst open.

Niall stood in the open doorway, staring into a chamber fitted out with strange vials and alembics, with horn-books and palimpsests on racks and shelves. Standing before an altar of black stone, his back to the door and arms upraised, was Dalvuus.

"Great Abaddon, do not abandon me in my time of need! Heed my call, great lord of evil! Come to—"

"Foul slug," bellowed Niall, running forward. "Prepare to die—and to be welcomed into Tartarus by one who has waited a long time to get his hands on you."

Dalvuus swung about. Utter fear was etched on his face. His lips were drawn back, his eyes distended.

"Begone, creature of this world! Begone, into that world of Tartarus where once I sent you!"

The mage lifted his arms, made mesmeric passes with his hands. Yet still did Niall come for him.

Now Dalvuus screamed, sought to escape by dodging behind the altar. His hand lifted a vial of purplish liquid and hurled it at Niall.

Clovia screamed shrilly. Niall ducked under that hastily hurled glass tube, heard it fall and break on the floor behind him. Purple, searing flames leaped upward from the spot, and Niall knew that had that vial broken on his body, he would have been burned alive.

Dalvuus whirled and fled as soon as he threw the vial. His hands reached for a corner of the wall, and that wall also turned as he touched it, revealing a narrow passageway. Dalvuus leaped for the opening.

The magician was swift, but Niall was fast as lightning. No sooner had the magician entered the narrow opening than Niall was at his heels. Dalvuus stayed in the lead as the pair threw themselves up the narrow stairs leading to the top of the tower they were in.

Dalvuus ran into the topmost room of the tower and his hands went out toward a metal canister that stood upon a stone table.

His hands grasped that metal alembic, sought to tear away its cover. Niall did not know what power was in that thing, but he knew it would be deadly to him.

He caught the mage from behind, fastened his big hands on Dalvuus' wrists, and exerted just part of the strength of his mighty muscles. Abruptly, Dalvuus' fingers were pulled from the metal top. Then Niall whirled Dalvuus' body around and drove his fist into his face.

The magician reeled back several steps, affected by the blow although he was apparently using some form of magical protection. Such a blow would ordinarily have crushed the skull of a man his size. He retreated until his back touched the cold wall of the tower-top. In a daze, he raised his hands.

"Bythagm noith juglasteros..." he began to recite.

Niall felt a coldness begin to form in the tiny room. His lips pulled back. He had had his fill of sorcery.

The young warrior drew Blood-drinker and thrust with it before the magician had time to finish his incantation. The weapon's full length went into the body of the magician. Dalvuus stiffened, his eyes went wide.

Still with that sword thrust into him from chest to back so that a foot of steel protruded from his spine, he staggered forward. Toward the canister his halting steps took him, hands outstretched.

Stop him, barbarian!

Niall leaped between the mage and the alembic he was after, intending only to forestall the magician until he must certainly succumb to the sword upon which he was impaled.

Dalvuus laid his hands on Niall, sought to push him aside. His eyes were wild, pleading. Niall did not know why, but that voice he had heard was warning enough. He stopped him: His big hands came up, caught Dalvuus, held him motionless—and in that instant, the magician collapsed and died. Niall's grip relaxed, and the magician's dead weight sifted through Niall's grasp and crumpled to the floor.

A blackness was now in the tower room, gathering slowly. Niall knew what that blackness was, and he shrank from it.

Yet that darkness held no menace for the big Northumbrian. It crept toward Dalvuus, slowly, and as though aware of its coming, the mouth of the dead magician opened as if to scream.

Then the blackness touched Dalvuus, embraced him.

And Dalvuus—or that essence which still lived within him—did scream. His body had dropped, yet some part of Dalvuus struggled as the blackness took over. Was this an act of Dalvuus' soul? Niall did not know, did not want to know.

Go, earthly being! Flee! And take with you my gratitude!

Niall yanked his sword from the cadaver that lay upon the stone floor, then ran. Swiftly had he run up those narrow stairs in pursuit of the mage. More swiftly still did he run down them, back into the room where he had left Clovia.

He said no word but snatched her up, still running. He bore her over his shoulder as he ran, with Clovia yelling questions, asking if he were mad.

Downward he ran, downward until he stood on the ground floor of what had been a palace thousands of years before, and was now again — at least for the time being. As Niall ran, he saw that the walls and floor, although still seeming solid, were shimmering and fading.

Just as he started to lower Clovia to the paving stones outside, the buildings disappeared, and they once again stood on the grass-infested debris of a ruined Hellios.

Slowly he lowered the terrified Clovia to the ground. Her eyes stared up at him, mutely questioning.

"What was it?" she quaked. "Why did you run so fast? What frightened you so?"

"The thing we saw in Tartarus. It—came for Dalvuus! It caught his soul—or something—in its grasp and carried him off."

Sweat was running down Niall's face. With a brawny arm he wiped it away, and then a grin rose on his face.

"He has what he wanted, that one. Now we shall take what we want."

Clovia asked, "And what is it you want, Niall?"

"Gold! Gold and jewels to see me on my way in this new world—new, at least, to me—into which I have been tossed." His arm went about her, hugging her. "Together, we can be rich, Clovia. We can hire a boat to take us to the south-land, into rich cities."

Clovia brooded. "I don't want to go."

Niall stared at her. "Not go? What will you do, then? Die here?"

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "It matters not to me. Hellios is dead. I might as well be dead, too."

"Nonsense. Come along! Feast your eyes on treasure and you'll change your mind."

He drew her unresisting toward the narrow stairway, relighted the torch Dalvuus had dropped, brought her with him back to the treasure chamber of the emperors and kings of Hellios. Clovia watched as Niall emptied out a section of the leather pouch he carried at his belt and began to fill it with the biggest gold coins, diamonds, rubies and pearls he could find, making his selections carefully. When his treasure pouch was full, he turned to the woman who had sat on a chest and watched him, vacantly smiling.

"Aren't you going to take anything?" he asked. "You'll need money in that world outside."

Slowly she shook her head. "I will remain here. You go, Niall—with my thanks. You helped destroy Dalvuus. You brought me here, to my birthplace. Here I shall stay, at least for a while."

He tried to argue, but she was adamant.

She walked with him to the cock-boat, watched as he tossed the anchor into the boat and then entered it himself. The wind had picked up; the sail filled rapidly.

"Come," begged Niall, making one last plea. "Come and see this world which will be new both to you and me."

Clovia only shook her head, and in that instant, Niall realized how very old she was, though her flesh was that of a mature woman only. She lifted a hand and waved it, and as she did, the breezes caught the cock-boat's sail and bore the craft out into the middle of the river.

Niall turned back once, as the wind whipped her garments about her body and she walked back to the ruins of what was mighty Hellios, long and long ago.

Niall could not see the glistening tears as they ran down her cheeks. Nor could he hear the silent sobs as they shook her body....

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.