THE CUP OF GOLDEN DEATH

by GARDNER F FOX

7th Niall of the Far Travels stories

Originally published by The Dragon Magazine, #38, June 1980

Chapter One

His fingertips brushed gently at the earth surrounding the curving edge of something that glittered with golden fire under the rays of the hot Lurydian sun. His heart thudded wildly under his mail shirt and leather jacket For a moment Niall of the Far Travels drew back away from what he had found and stared about him.

Everywhere his eyes went, he saw the flat moors, a wild desolation of empty land where once had stood part of the kingdoms of the Five Gods. Nearby were the tumbled stones of a citadel, long ago abandoned by whoever had inhabited it. Gone were the men and women of that kingdom; only remained now the fables and the legends.

Niall was hunting for one of those legends.

His huge hand went out to the sand, brushed more avidly at it. The tiny grains flew away, disclosing a rounded bit of metal. The breath came short and fast now to his lungs; excitement was awash inside him.

"Maralia!" he bellowed.

A girl came running across the flat moorland, her red hair glinting in the sunlight. She wore a thin, short skirt and a vest, and little more. The vest was held together by silver chains, and it was decorated with silver thread that bespoke her rank as high priestess of the god-being, Humalorr.

She fell to her knees beside him, her eyes hungry at the sight of that which he had partially uncovered. Her tongue came out to moisten her ripe, red lips.

"Have you found it? Is it the—cup of the god?"

Niall grunted. "Who knows? I'd stake my life on the feet that it's a ceremonial cup of some kind, but whether it belongs to your god or not, you yourself have to decide."

Maralia slid her eyes sideways at this big blond youth who was the warlord of Urgrik and a great favorite of its king, Lurlyr Manakor. He was also held in high regard by Queen Amyrilla, for was it not Niall of the Far Travels who had saved Amyrilla from the death promised her by Thyra, who had been queen before her? It was also whispered that Niall of the Mighty Arms was oddly favored by the demon-queen Emelkartha of the Eleven Hells.

Maralia was afraid of Niall.

Yet she was sworn to do what had been whispered into her ears by the high priest short days ago, when they had been last in Urgrik. Niall was to go with her to the moors of Lurydia. There they were to find the ancient cup which once had been used by the wizard Yellixin, in the ancient days when there had been a citadel standing where they now knelt.

After that—

Maralia swallowed. She was to kill Niall and bring the cup back to the high priest, to Aldan Hurazin himself. And Aldon Hurazin would hide the cup so that it might not be used to save the life of Lurlyr Manakor.

She whispered, "I can't tell. It's half hidden by the dirt. Remove it, Niall."

He put out his big hands, dug his massive fingers into the ground, tightened them about the cup. As he did so, his flesh tingled, and something in his brain whispered to him that this cup was evil. Evil!

Niall shook himself. No need now to worry about any evil. He and the girl were all alone, far out here on the moors. There were no enemies about. Even if there were, Niall did not fear them. Not if they were human enemies, anyhow.

The cup came upward out of the ground and the sun blazed down on it making it shimmer, making it seem to draw brightness from the sunlight, so that it shone as if with inner fire.

Maralia stared, whimpering.

Oh, she had heard tales of this cup! She knew how it was used by Yellixin long, long ago, of how it helped him perform some of the mightiest magic that had ever been worked by man. Now she was to take the cup, bring it to Aldon Hurazin.

Yet first, she must kill Niall.

He would never let her take the thing to the high priest. Pundor Everit, who was the king's physician, was awaiting the cup, hoping to use it and its magic power to cure Lurlyr Manakor of the illness which was slowly sapping his strength, slowly killing him.

Pundor Everit had tried everything else, to no avail. The king still lay in a deathlike trance. If something drastic were not done, he would die. And so, by order of Queen Amyrilla, Niall and she had set out far the moorlands of Lurydia

Let it go, Niall! Now! At once!

His big hands opened and the cup fell to the ground.

Ha! That had been the voice of Emelkartha speaking to him, the goddess of the Eleven Hells, who had first come to him in human shape as Lylthia. Since then, the goddess had been protector and lover to him, and looked with jealous eyes on any who sought to take Niall for her own.

He waited, but the voice spoke to him no more.

Maralia cried out and reached for the cup, catching it in her hands almost crooningly. She bent over it and stared down into its bowl, as though she sought to read the future in it. Niall eyed her wonderingly. Why should she be able to hold this thing and he not?

He sighed. It was a question to which he really wanted no answer. Sufficient for him was the fact that Emelkartha thought it dangerous to him.

Maralia lifted her eyes to stare at Niall. They were black, those eyes, and it seemed to Niall as he met them that they were merciless. But that was silly. What could a girl like Maralia do to him? True, she could slide a dagger between his ribs while he was asleep, but he did not believe her capable of that. No, he was being overly imaginative.

He rose from his knees, brushing the moor dirt from them. "We have the cup. Time now to be returning. The king is dying; we must hurry."

Maralia still knelt there, clutching the cup to her bosom. She seemed so little, so helpless, there on the ground. She was a pretty thing, too. Her body was well-rounded and her legs were very shapely. The vest was partly open, to show a swell of breast.

Niall! She is dangerous!

He had to grin. Trust Emelkartha to keep an eye on him when he went traveling across half a world with only a pretty female beside him. He wondered if she had been watching ever since they left Urgrik.

Indeed I have. For your own protection.

He could almost hear her sniff.

"You going to kneel there all day?" he asked.

Maralia shook her head so that her black hair swirled about her shoulders. "No. No, of course not."

She got to her feet and walked ahead of him toward their little encampment. His eyes dwelt on her swaying hips, her curving legs. His eyes left her almost reluctantly, but he knew better than to make Emelkartha angry at him. Something inside him made him vaguely aware that he would need that goddess very desperately before he got back to Urgrik.

As he came up to the small fire he had built to cook their evening meal, he said, "We'll sleep the night here, then make an early start."

She did not hear him. She was seated on a stool before her tent, bent over the cup, staring down at it with wide eyes, as though the golden bowl were communing to her. Niall watched her a moment, then shrugged.

He busied himself with thort steaks, with a wine-sack. They had plenty of food, enough wine. He had expected to be here far longer. It had been sheer luck that had made him see the rim of the cup where it projected above the moorland, its gold caught by the rays of the sun.

Or—had it been luck?

Were there forces here at work that he did not understand? Was some god anxious to cure Lurlyr Manakor? Could that be why he had found the cup so easily? Niall felt uneasy. He did not like gods and goddesses-—excepting always Emelkartha, of course! They were too selfish, too unconcerned with the well-being of humans.

He cooked the steaks, giving them all his attention. There was a hunger in him for meat, for wine. It may have been because he had not eaten since dawn, and it was almost sunset now. He turned the steak over and watched as the flames seared it.

He glanced over at Maralia.

She was not there. The stool stood empty.

He rose to his feet and turned.

The girl stood within three paces of his back, and there was a long dagger in her hand. In her other hand she held the cup.

Their eyes locked, and Niall told himself that Maralia looked murderous, almost as if she had been going to plunge that long Orravian dagger into him. But that was nonsense.

He grinned at her. "You going to cut me—or that steak I'm cooking for your meal?"

She seemed to emerge from a daze. "What? Oh. The steak, of course. What else?"

Her feet carried her past him to the fire. She bent down to slice a portion of a steak. Niall eyed her curving rump. He ought to slap that pretty rump of hers, bring her back to the world around them. She seemed almost to be sleepwalking.

He watched her move toward her stool and seat herself, clutching the steak with both hands and biting into its succulent meat with strong teeth. The cup was between her feet. Well, let her guard the cup, then. He didn't want anything to do with it, except to get it back to Urgrik in time to save Lurlyr Manakor's life.

They ate silently, Niall relishing the thort steak and the swallows of wine he took right from the sack itself. The girl ate nothing beyond that first piece she had sliced off. Well, that was all right with him. He could eat it all.

The stars were out now, and as he eyed them, he felt tiredness creep into his muscles. They had come fast and far from Urgrik, they were mounted on the best horses the palace could supply, and they had made good time. But now his big body was tired.

He rose to his feet, stretching.

Maralia was still crouched on her stool before her tent, clasping the cup and staring down at it. Niall said, "I'm going to sleep."

She paid him no attention. It was as if she did not hear him, that her thoughts were far away. Niall studied her a moment, then shrugged. Let the girl dream. She could sleep in the saddle tomorrow.

He lay down on the blanket that was both mattress and pillow for him, and his eyes closed. In moments, he was asleep...

Niall—wake!

His eyes snapped open. Maralia was crouching by him and that long Orravian dagger was uplifted, about to plunge into his throat.

Niall was like a wild animal in his movements. All his life he had fought, had been faced with danger. Now he reacted like a panther. His left arm lifted, hit the hand that held that dagger, drove it sideways. At the same time his right hand came up and clouted the girl on the side of her head.

He knocked her across the tent where she fell in a limp huddle. Niall had risen to his knees. His hand reached for the dagger that he had driven from her hand and tucked it into his belt. Then he rose to his feet and crossed to where she lay.

She was breathing; he hadn't killed her with that blow. But her cheek would show the mark of his hitting for a few days.

Niall caught up some rope and tied her hands behind her back, then hobbled her ankles. Let her sleep, he told himself. In the morning he would tie her on her horse and, like that, take her back to Urgrik.

He walked out into the night and scowled down at the fire. Why had the girl tried to kill him? Had this been the second time she had attempted to do so? She had been right behind him with that dagger before they had eaten. Of course, she had said she was merely going to cut the steak. But that might have been an excuse thought up on the spur of the moment.

But—why? Why should she want to kill him?

"You're a big innocent fool, that's one reason," said a voice off to one side.

Niall whirled, his hand going to the hilt of his great sword Blood-drinker. A woman stood in the shadows, barely revealed by the fire-flames. She wore a torn garment that clung to her body here and there, and exposed more of it than it hid. Long hair, as black as Corassian ebony, hung to her shoulders.

"Lylthia!" he bellowed, and ran toward her.

Laughing, she sought to dodge him, but his arms were too quick. He caught her soft body up against his own and covered her mouth with kisses. She clung to him with her arms, urging her body into his, but after a moment she tried to push away, banging on his broad shoulders with both fists.

"Let me go, silly! You're worse than a Porangan bear! You'll snap my ribs."

His arms eased their hold on her a little, but she snuggled up against him, her head resting on his chest. "Have you missed me?"

"As I've missed your kisses, your caresses."

"Ha! You've been eyeing that wench you have with you often enough."

He grinned. "She tried to knife me, the little tart. I think she's gone mad."

"No, no. She was ordered to kill you, just as soon as you found the cup."

"But why?'

"Because Aldon Hurazin wants the cup. He saw his chance when your king fell ill. He talked the physician into agreeing to send you and the high priestess for the cup."

Lylthia sighed. "The girl was to kill you and bring the high priest the cup. And so I warned you, woke you from sleep to make you save your life."

She leaned against him and shook her head. "We have a pretty tangle here, my love. Aldon Hurazin wants the cup—and so does the god he worships, Humalorr."

Niall scowled. "Maybe my wits have abandoned me, but if the god wants it, why doesn't he ask his high priest to get it for him?"

"Because if Aldon Hurazin gets his hands on that chalice, it will give him great power over his god. Humalorr will have to grant him all his wishes."

Niall sat down on a stool and drew Lylthia down beside him. His arms were about her, holding her to him, even as he asked, "So what do we do?"

"First of all, I have to keep you alive. I haven't decided about the cup. I may give it to Humalorr as a favor, or I might keep it in one of my eleven hells—just to make certain that Humalorr doesn't try to blame you for what may happen."

Niall ran his hand up and down her smooth thigh. Lylthia whispered, "You are very foolish. You should be worrying about what may happen."

His grin was infectious. "I'd rather think about you. It's been a long time since you came to me."

She sighed and kissed his lips. "Later, my big barbarian. When all this trouble has been removed." She scowled at him. "You worry me, you know. You don't take danger seriously. And there is danger. Much danger."

"But not now," he said softly, his hand caressing her back.

Lylthia sat up straighter, pulling away from him. "The cup. Where is it?"

"Somewhere about. Maralia never lets it get far away from her,"

"Go look for it, Niall. But on your life, don't touch it."

He sighed as she rose from his lap and then got to his feet. "It ought to be somewhere around. You wait here."

She did not stay where he had told her, but walked with him as he padded about the camp. The cup was nowhere to be seen. Niall stared at his tent, where he had left the girl. Could she have brought the cup into his tent while on her mission of death?

Niall walked forward, vaguely aware that Lylthia walked in his footsteps. He strode to his tent, drew back the flap. Instantly his eyes went to the figure of the tied-up Maralia.

"By the Eleven Hells!" he rasped.

The girl at his side whispered fiercely, "The cup, Niall! Throw a blanket over it—or the girl will die!"

The cup was gleaming with brilliant golden fire that reached out in all directions. But mainly it seemed to be stretching out aureate tendrils toward the unconscious girl. And where those tendrils touched her—

Her skin was tinted golden!

Chapter Two

Niall moved like a striking panther. His hand shot out, caught up a blanket, tossed it over the cup. Instantly the tent was dark, with only the faint red flames of the fire outside it touching its interior with reddish light.

The gold that had touched the girl was still upon her. Niall crouched, moving forward, hand out. His fingers went to her arm, which shone like the arm of a golden statue in the fire-flames. He touched what seemed to be cold metal.

Yet, even as he touched, warmth came to his fingers and he saw that the golden pallor of her skin was fading.

Above him, Lylthia whispered, "There was not enough time for the cup to do its task."

Her words made Niall shudder and he turned to stare up into her eyes. "Are you telling me that—"

"Yes, yes! Of course I am! Do you think me so weak as to be frightened of any normal thing? I tell you that cup is evil. Evil! Just as evil as Yellixin the wizard was evil.

"A thousand centuries ago, Yellixin dwelt here on this moor, in a castle the ruins of which have sunk into the soft ground over all the years. Yellixin, who searched the stars and the gulfs of space about them for gods to serve him.

"He found Humalorr and learned how to take control of him through a cup made of this special gold, gold he found in a big lump in a cavern deep in the Kalbarthian Mountains. He hammered out that gold himself after melting it down with special incantations. Melted it down and shaped it, always whispering spells, as though to seal each magical word into the very shape and metal of the cup."

Lylthia clutched his hard shoulder. "There is a tale told of how a man who worshiped Humalorr came to Yellixin and stole the cup. It was after the cup was stolen that Humalorr destroyed the castle Yellixin had built and all within it, and took the magician off into the worlds of Humalorr to torture him for all eternity."

Before them, Maralia stirred and murmured in broken words, and her face was a mask of awful fright. Her lids went up, her black eyes stared at Niall.

"You live," she whispered. "Oh, thank all the gods! I—I tried to kill you because Aldon Hurazin wanted you dead. I was to bring the cup to him and—the cup! Where is it?"

"Hidden under that rug. Rest easy, now. You're safe enough."

His hand touched the thick red hair of the high priestess, and as he caressed that hair and the eyes of the girl gleamed up at him, Niall felt Lylthia's nails bite into his arm.

Suddenly Maralia noticed Lylthia. Her eyes focused on her, and it seemed to Niall that they were terrified eyes. "Who is—she?' Maralia whispered.

"A wanderer on the moor," said Lylthia slowly. "I was ill and half out of my mind when I saw your fire and came toward it."

Maralia glanced at Niall. "I am afraid," she whispered. "Afraid of the cup—yet just as afraid of Aldon Hurazin and what he will do to me when I come back to him without it. He will kill me slowly by tortures."

She shuddered. Lylthia slipped past Niall and knelt, her hand to the girl's forehead. "Sleep now. No harm will come to you."

Maralia closed her eyes. In moments, she was asleep. Over her reclining figure, Niall stared at Lylthia.

"What now?" he whispered hoarsely. "Now that we have the cup, what are we going to do with it?"

"Carry it with us, until 1 can make up my mind what ought to be done with it."

Lylthia moved away from the sleeping Maralia, bent to wrap the cup more securely in the blanket. She carried it out to the fire and put it down. She stood then, staring down at it, frowning thoughtfully. Niall came up to her, put his arm about her shoulders and brooded with her at the cup....

Morning dawned across the Lurydian moorlands in a blaze of crimson sunlight. It tinted the few rocks a dull scarlet, and the edges of the thick heather a leaden bronze. Soon now those colors would change as the sun turned golden, but for now there was a dreaminess, an unreality, across the land.

Niall woke Maralia, told her to go eat while he folded their tents and made packs for their horses. It took him only a little while, then he went to squat down beside Lylthia and reach for some of the meat she had been roasting.

"We will travel fast," he told them, noting that Maralia edged closer to him. "There are roving bands of outlaws here and there on the edges of the moors. They live here because it is a lonely, abandoned countryside, yet it is close enough to the caravan routes to make it profitable for them."

"Suppose we meet these bandits?" Maralia whispered, eyes wide.

"Then we'll have to run—or fight." Niall shrugged. "We have fast horses. We may be able to outdistance any pursuit. But we must remain together."

He helped Lylthia up into the saddle, then did the same for Maralia. A moment he paused, looking up at the high priestess.

"I'll tie the blanket that holds the cup to my saddle," he told her. "Don't try to touch it again. If you do, it means your death."

She looked down at him, her eyes hooded. Niall could not read those eyes, but he told himself if she were fool enough to try and hold that cup again, she deserved the fate that would overtake her. That cup was devil-spawned. It was accursed, filled with all the magics with which Yellixin could imbue it.

His great shoulders shrugged. He had warned her; he could do no more. His head lifted and he stared north and eastward in the direction of Urgrik. They had a long road yet to travel.

He swung into the saddle and with Lylthia riding easily beside him, he headed away from the ancient ruins of the City of the Five Gods. They rode at a swift canter, then at a gallop. From time to time, Niall slowed the horses to a walk, to conserve their energies. If they were to meet danger, he did not want to be astride a tired horse.

All that day they rode, until the moorlands changed slowly into great, rolling plains where the grass was high and swayed easily to the wind which swept across them. They did not stop for a noontime meal; Niall was in too much of a hurry for that. These grasslands were the home of the bandits who preyed on the caravans following the roadway between Urgrik and distant Noradden on the shore of the Pulthanian Sea.

As he rode, Niall scanned the prairies, alert for the slightest hint of movement. As yet he had seen nothing and no one, but he was too much the realist to believe that he might go a second time unseen through these lands.

When he had crossed them on his way to the City of the Five Gods—or what was left of it—he and the high priestess had traveled at night. He might have waited until the stars were out to come this way a second time, but there was an impatience in him to be rid of the cup.

Niall did not like gods or magic. He was a man and he would have preferred to fight a dozen men than have anything to do with necromancy. Still, he lived in a world where magic was almost away of life, and so he had always to be on his guard.

As the sun set and long shadows began to creep over the prairie, his left arm lifted to signal a halt to his companions. Maralia drooped in the saddle, and even Lylthia showed some of the strain of the long ride in her lovely face.

"We camp here," he told them. "It's as good a place as any." His arm moved to call their attention to a stand of great rocks, off to one side, where a few trees grew. "That's likely to be an oasis of sorts, with water. Well stop there."

They walked their horses closer to the rocks. Niall swung from the saddle with a warning to the women to stay where they were. He drew Blood-drinker and advanced cautiously, bent over a little, his eyes scanning those tumbled rocks and the somewhat stunted trees. He leaped onto the rocks, moved from one to another with great bounds.

Then he was on the lip of a flat stone, staring downward at a tiny pool of water surrounded by grass. It was a beautiful place, unsuspected by chance passersby, a haven for the weary, a tiny fragment out of Paradise. Exultation swelled in Niall's chest. Here they would spend the night. Here they would rest for the rest of their journey back to Urgrik.

He did not notice the tiny mist that swirled lightly above the pool waters.

He went down the rocks and to the women.

"Come. We sleep here the night. There is water to drink and grass for the horses. We can build a cooking fire that will not be noticed because of the rocks around."

They led the horses up the lowest of the rocks. The animals had to scramble, but Niall was always there to lend a hand or a push at a mount's hindquarters. Within moments, they were inside the rock-bowl and standing on the grass.

They drank the pool water, then led their horses to it. Niall built a fire and Lylthia brought the thort steaks to the flames. Maralia went off by herself to a rock at the edge of the pool and sat with her bare feet dabbling in the water.

The stars came out clear and bright overhead, and there was a cool breeze whispering about them. Maralia yawned and sought her blanket. Lylthia leaned against Niall and let him caress her.

The mists upon the water thickened slightly and stirred, moving this way and that. From where they sat, staring into the fire-flames, Niall and Lylthia did not notice.

Finally the girl yawned. "I'm sleepy," she admitted. "It was a long ride and I'm not used to such things."

Niall nodded. "I can sleep myself. But let's lie here, close beside each other."

They stretched out beside the fire. Their eyes closed. They slept.

Slowly now the mists gathered, oozed slowly outward from the water, onto the land and toward the three sleeping humans, almost as if in curiosity. They touched Maralia, slipped from her feet upward onto her thighs and rounded hips, her breasts. The high priestess stirred, moaning faintly.

Her eyes opened, dreamily. She felt very relaxed, so much so that she did not want to move. And yet something in the back of her mind nagged at her. What was it that was so important? She stirred restlessly.

The mists went also to Niall, enveloping his giant frame. And since his arms were about Lylthia, holding her to him, they touched her as well.

For long moments the mists dwelt upon these invaders of their poolside. They swirled and danced, they crept into all the pores of these human bodies, and as they did, they sang softly, almost silently....

Maralia rose and stood wide-eyed, dreaming.

Niall moved his hands upon the body of Lylthia, and the girl sighed faintly, moving her body closer to that of the man she loved. Niall caught her up, drew her closer, and his lips descended on her mouth. Lylthia arched her back and murmured deep in her throat.

There was silence everywhere about the little oasis, except for the soft cries of Lylthia and the deep rumblings of the big barbarian, Maralia made no sound as she moved across the grasses to where a blanket was twisted and folded about the golden cup.

Maralia squatted down, her hands going to the blanket, lifting it away from the chalice. Now the cup was free, seeming to gather brightness from the very darkness about it.

The chalice gleamed as if with inner fires. Ever more golden it became, until it glittered so brightly it might have blinded the eyes.

Yet it did not blind the high priestess who knelt before it, hands outstretched, She gloried in that golden effulgence, gathered it to her as she might a perfume with which to salve her flesh.

The golden brightness sang to her, causing her to forget everything about herself: her name, her rank among the priestesses of the god Humalorr, her very self. Kneeling there, her arms outstretched, she became aware of nothing but that golden light....

***

Morning came slowly to the man and woman still stirring together lazily upon the grass. They had been and still were asleep, but this was a deeper sleep than any either had enjoyed. It was a sleep not only of the senses but a sleep as well of the spirit.

Niall opened his eyes. He held the sweat-drenched body of Lylthia tightly to his own. Their limbs were intermingled, they lay as lovers upon the grass. Waking so, ordinarily he would have been delighted, but there was a vague memory within him, a recollection of something which had taken possession of him so recently.

Lylthia opened her own eyes, staring into his own, He saw a sick awareness in those gray eyes that looked up at him. She groaned.

"We have been slaves to the evil gods this night!" she whispered.

Niall nodded: "I think so myself. But how did it happen? Why?"

Lylthia pushed away from him, rose to her feet. Her eyes went to the pool waters, to the rocks about it, and her palms clapped together angrily.

"Fool that I am," she breathed, "I should have known this place! It is haunted by the spirits of the dead godlings who have been cast out of their heavenly homes. They live here, weakened and almost helpless, but there is given to them at times the power to enter into people to grant humans what they most desire...."

Niall grinned. "Well, I can believe that, I want you most of all, and last night I—"

"Niall! Look!"

Her outstretched finger brought his eyes across the remains of the little fire. Niall stared.

Where Maralia had been crouching before the golden cup, there was now a golden statue. It was Maralia, but a Maralia turned from flesh and blood into solid gold!

Niall rasped a curse. Were his eyes deceiving him? But no. Maralia—or what had been Maralia—was solid gold. His hand touched her, felt the metallic hardness of what had been her flesh. Even her garments had been altered, were now also gold.

He snarled, reached for the fallen blanket, tossed it about the cup. Niall drew a deep breath, staring at what was now a statue. No longer the breathing, living Maralia, but a dead thing, an inanimate object. His eyes lifted to Lylthia.

"Can we—restore her to life?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. What the cup touches—it takes. She is dead now, her flesh and bones changed miraculously."

Niall shook himself. "Let's get out of here while we can."

Lylthia gestured at the statue. "And that?"

He shrugged. "We leave it here. We can't carry it."

He moved towards the horses, It was at that moment that his eyes caught movement off to one side, toward the rim of the little oasis, Niall straightened, his hand going to his sword-hilt

Men were moving along the rim of the oasis, men on horses, hard-faced men in ragged clothing some in mail shirts, all of them heavily armed, He glanced here and there and as he looked, more and more of these ragged desert riders came into view, until they surrounded the oasis.

They sat in their saddles, staring down at him. Lylthia stood frozen, eyeing them, turning her eyes to Niall and then up at the rim, where those horsemen stood like a wall.

Niall's sword came out into the morning sunlight, even as Lylthia sighed. She shook her head at him, saying, "It's no use. You can't defeat them all."

One man among all those at the rim moved. He was an older man, with streaks of gray in his hair and beard. He was a handsome man, broad of shoulder and tall, and the hands that held the reins of his horse were sun-bronzed and powerful.

His eyes flitted from Lylthia to Niall, and then they settled on the golden statue. They widened, and he leaned forward in the saddle the better to scan that aureate figure. The breath seemed to hiss in his throat when he straightened up.

"Where did you get it?" he asked.

Niall grinned. "We brought it with us."

The older man let his eyes study the three horses. "It would be a tremendous burden for one mount," he said softly. "Unless one of you walked, and the statue was carried between two horses. I am afraid I do not believe you."

The barbarian shrugged. He was content to talk with this man, even as his brain tried to resolve the question of how they might win free of his little army. Niall was realist enough to know that on this desert where the bandits ruled supreme, there were few travelers who met them who ever returned to tell of it.

Baradon smiled grimly. He was the captain of this outlaw band—the most powerful of the thieves who dwell upon this desert world—and he ruled them with a hard hand. In the tent-city which was his home, he had gathered the fruits of many years of raiding upon the caravans. Yet nowhere in his several tents was there anything as valuable as this golden statue.

"You brought it to me, and for that I am grateful," the bandit chief said slowly. "You also brought that one." His hand gestured at Lylthia. "For that, I am grateful, too."

Baradon chuckled. "I shall take the statue and the woman and your horses in exchange for your life. You are free to go."

Niall grinned. On foot on these sands, a man would not last long. A man would die under the heat of the sun and with only the water he might carry. If Baradon permitted him water, that is.

His sword flashed out.

"I have a better idea," Niall called. "Send your dogs to kill me, or come yourself, I refuse your offer."

Baradon whirled his horse and lifted his arm. At that signal a dozen riders came charging down the slopes, swords swinging in the sunlight.

Lylthia cried out, but already Niall was moving, circling about, making the riders rein in to follow his movements. As they did so, Niall leaped for the nearest rider. His great sword whirled, came down to split a man's skull. Instantly, Niall was in the saddle, driving the horse against the mount of his closest antagonist.

The blade sheared an arm; then Niall was in among the others, driving Blood-drinker this way and that, cutting into faces, lopping heads from necks, driving forward into chests. He fought like a man maddened by drugs, and the heavy sword seemed like a feather in his huge hand.

Men died, toppling from their saddles, and ever Niall evaded the cuts and thrusts they aimed at him. Laughter burst from his lips, together with taunting words.

"Is this the best you can do? Do you call this fighting? Fools! Every one of you are dead men! Dead men sitting their saddles, waiting for the moment my steel takes you."

The men fought him as best they could, but Niall was no common man. Born in the far north-land, in Cumberia, trained to the sword since earliest childhood, he was at once master of it and proof against it. His reactions were akin to those of the wild animals of his world. He was lightning in a human body.

As the last man fell before his steel, he drove his horse straight for Baradon. The outlaw king rasped an oath and whirled to flee. He was too slow.

The flat of Niall's blade took him across the back of his head. Baradon pitched from the saddle to lie flat on the ground. Even as he fell, Niall was dropping from the saddle to land beside him.

The point of his sword touched Baradon's throat.

"Back!" bellowed Niall. "Go back or your leader dies!"

The bandits who had come charging down the hill reined in now, sitting and glaring at this madman who could fight like the fiends of Farfanoll. Their faces were grim, their eyes hard.

Let Niall kill Baradon, those grim eyes said silently, and he would die. Powerful hands gripped the hilts of their swords, but they did not use them.

Baradon stirred. Slowly he moved, his eyes opening. Over him crouched Niall, a grim smile on his mouth. "Do you want to live, Baradon? Or shall I kill you here and now?"

"If I die—you die, barbarian!"

"I die anyhow, according to your word."

Baradon chuckled. "It seems like stalemate, then."

The sharp tip of Blood-drinker touched Baradon's throat, drawing blood. Niall growled. "I am not a patient man. Die if you want. It matters not to me."

Baradon had dealt in his life with many men. He had come to know them, to understand their individual weaknesses. But in this huge barbarian crouched above him, he saw no weakness. The man spoke truth. He would as soon plunge his blade into his neck and take his chances with his men as not.

"Wait," the outlaw gasped.

The sword tip moved away, but only slightly.

Baradon growled, "I agree. My life for yours."

"And for the girl's. And for horses to carry us away out of this forsaken desert."

"Agreed."

Niall smiled grimly. "The statue I give to you. It shall be the price of my life." He paused. "There is another gift I give you, Baradon. A golden cup."

"What cup?"

Niall rose from his crouch, moved across the grass to where he had thrown the blanket about the chalice. His hand raised the blanket so that Baradon might catch a glimpse of the golden bowl.

"This thing. You can have it, if you want it."

Baradon rose to his feet, suspicious. "Now why should you give me that? You could have snatched up the blanket that wrapped it and gone away. I am always suspicious when men give me gifts I do not ask for."

"Then I'll keep the cup."

Baradon laughed. "No, no. You made an offer. I accept it. The statue and the cup for your life—and that of the girl."

His hand waved and his men put away their swords in their scabbards, turned their horses and rode to the top of the oasis rim. Baradon himself walked toward his horse, mounted it. He sat and watched as Niall went to Lylthia, clasping her arm and leading her toward her mount, assisted her to rise up into the saddle.

Niall did not trust Baradon, yet the outlaw chief made no motion to his men, but sat and watched as Lylthia and the barbarian urged their horses up the grassy slope of the oasis and out upon the desert sands. They rode swiftly, with Niall glancing back over his shoulder every now and so often.

The barbarian grunted. "I cannot believe we are alive," he growled. "I mistrust Baradon. He will come after us, I am sure."

Lylthia shook her head. "It may be that he is satisfied with the statue of Maralia and the cup."

Niall grinned coldly. "Let's hope he unveils the cup and takes a good long look at it. If he does, his followers will have another statue to make them rich."

The sun rose higher in the molten sky, beating down at them with sullen heat. They had a long ride before them, Niall knew, before they reached the forests of Malagon. Even there, they would not be completely safe.

Lylthia said suddenly, "What will happen to you when you do not bring back the cup? Pundor Everit, the king's physician, has said the cup was needed to cure Lurlyr Manakor."

"Then Pundor Everit is either a fool—to believe what Aldon Hurazin has told him of the cup's curative powers—or a villain who works hand in glove with the high priest to encompass the king's death. I wish I knew which it was."

They rode on through the long day.

Chapter Three

Niall slept well that night, when they had made camp and eaten. He dreamed as he slept, and in that dream he walked along a road that twisted through the mountains and led toward a great black castle high atop a massive rock.

He was being drawn forward in his dream, drawn by a power against which he could not fight. Useless to him was his great sword, though it rested in its sheath. His great muscles tried to fight the forward tug which was drawing him, but they were as if turned to mush.

Step by step he advanced. Now the great rock was before him, steps carved into it. He mounted those steps, came at last to a mighty doorway. The huge door slowly opened, silently, and Niall saw a long entry hall before him, and at its far end a sullen, reddish glow.

Toward the glow he walked.

Then he stood in an archway of a great chamber. The floor of the chamber was of polished black tile. The walls were hung with thick scarlet draperies on which were worked, in black-gold stitchings, strange signs and sigils, the sight of which made Niall's flesh crawl, and caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise straight out.

There was a vast throne at the far end of the room, and on the throne sat—

Niall was not sure what it was he looked at. It seemed to be an enormous blob of blackness shining brightly from the reflection of the dark candles lighted here and there about the throne. There was no shape to that mass, yet Niall sensed the extraordinary intelligence which dwelt inside it.

"Welcome, Niall of the Far Travels. Long have I admired your daring, your warlike skills. Now I have summoned you to me, to command you to my use."

The voice was booming; it echoed from the four walls of the great chamber. Niall had the vague feeling that if the black blob had wanted to, it could have blasted him just by the sound of its inhuman voice.

"How may I serve you?" Niall asked slowly.

A chuckle was his answer. "You know me not. Yet you are willing, perhaps, to be my servant. I like that in you, Niall. It shows you are a clever man.

"This then, is what I want. You found the cup Yellixin fashioned. You gave it to the bandit Baradon. I want it. Find it, take it to my palace in Urgrik, and hold it there for me. Give it not to Aldon Hurazin, on your life!"

Niall growled, "And how am I to take it from Baradon? He is an outlaw chief with masterless men about him who obey only his voice."

"I shall be with you, I promise. Go, now. Go!"

Niall woke to the first faint rays of a cold dawn. He lay in his blankets, shivering a little, not from the cold but from the memory of his dream. It had been so real! To one side of him lay Lylthia, eyes open and staring at him.

"You dreamed of Humalorr, my love."

Niall ran thick fingers through his mane of hair. "Was that who it was? A blob of darkness on a throne in a great, dark hall?"

"Aye. that would be Humalorr. He sent for your soul last night, and brought it to his stronghold. He wants the cup, doesn't he?"

"He does. He says I am to get it for him."

Lylthia nodded. "Then let's be on our way."

Niall stared at her as she sprang to her feet. "You would go get the cup and give it to Humalorr?" he asked in astonishment.

Her mouth smiled slyly. "I would get the cup. As for giving it to Humalorr, I'm not so sure. But come. Mount up and ride."

"After I eat."

She stamped her foot. "Ride now. You can eat later. This I promise you."

Niall shrugged. He was used to obeying this god-woman whom he loved. He rose to his feet and moved toward the horses to saddle them. Lylthia walked beside him, head down, frowning in thought.

All that day they rode, back to the oasis. As the setting sun threw long shadows, they drew rein before the oasis, sitting their tired horses and staring down at the pool of water—and at what they could see grouped together to one side.

Where there had been one golden statue, now there were almost thirty. Baradon was there, turned to gold, with every one of his bandit riders. They crouched or stood, their eyes riveted to what lay in the ground before Baradon.

Niall sighed. "The fools."

“They did not have me to warn them, Niall."

"No, I grant you that. But now I have to go down there and get that accursed thing."

Lylthia slid from her saddle. "You wait here. I shall fetch the cup." Her lips quirked into a wry smile. "It's magic will have no effect on me."

He growled low in his throat, but one glance at those golden statues changed his mind. Lylthia was a goddess. If anyone could safely fetch the cup, she could. He dismounted and waited at the top of the ridge as she went down the slope and walked toward those aureate statues which had once been men.

He watched as she moved between those golden figures, lifting the rug and tossing it over the cup. She caught it up in her hands and brought it back up the slope, walking slowly, thoughtfully. Niall wondered at her thoughts.

They rode off then, side by side, and now Lylthia rode with her head bent as if communing within herself with whatever spirits the gods and goddesses spoke with, from time to time. Niall eyed her carefully, knowing that at such times he must not interrupt her train of thought.

At last she raised her head and smiled.

"Tonight we will camp and try to raise Humalorr," she announced.

"Are you giving him the cup?"

"Not yet. Not just—yet."

When the campfire was blazing, after they had eaten, Niall sat off to one side and watched as Lylthia knelt down and drew strange sigils in the earth. As she did, the air about them grew frigid, so that hoarfrost seemed to hang in space.

Niall shifted uneasily and drew his fur cloak closer about his shoulders, wondering how Lylthia could stand that eerie coldness, clad as she was in that patchwork ragged garment she was wearing.

He was about to call out to her when a deeper darkness began to gather on the other side of the little fire. An ebony blackness grew in size, shapeless yet with a strange malignancy about it.

"I have come, Emelkartha. What is it you want?"

Niall felt the hairs rise up on the back of his neck. For the life of him, he could not move a muscle. This was Humalorr, drawn from the hells he inhabited to this remote area, speaking in his booming voice.

Lylthia who was also Emelkartha began to speak, yet for the life of him, Niall could not understand what it was she was saying. He could see them both, and knew vaguely that Humalorr was responding to whatever it was she was saying to him. Maybe the gods spoke in a different tongue than the people of his world, but whatever speech it was, Niall could not follow it.

They spoke long, Humalorr objecting at first, then grudgingly agreeing to whatever it was Lylthia was suggesting. In time, the dark god began to chuckle and then roared with strange, obscene laughter.

Niall was relieved to hear him laugh. He had not thought him capable of it....

Then Lylthia was shaking his shoulder, waking him from sleep, and smiling down at him gently. "Everything is arranged, Niall. I have convinced Humalorr that the plan I have in mind is a good one."

"What plan is that?"

"It will be revealed to you in time. Now move over, I have a need in me to sleep close beside you this night, to be held in your arms and loved."

Niall grinned. His sleepiness fled away as his arms went about the soft body of this woman-goddess he loved. To Acheron's dread pit with the cup! This night he meant to forget all about it.

In the morning when he questioned her, Lylthia put him off with a hug and a kiss. "Forget what you saw and heard last night, Niall. It was talk between the gods, and not right for a man to understand."

Niall shrugged. That was fine with him, but he did need to know what plan they were to follow. "Am I to give the cup to the king's physician? Will it cure Lurlyr Manakor?"

"No to both questions. Just ride. Let Fate decide what has to be done."

He chuckled. He was hungry after what happened last night between Lylthia and himself. He lifted out what was left of the thort steaks and began to cook them over the fire. With Lylthia beside him, he told himself, he really didn't have to worry about a thing.

All day they rode and all the following day, and now they came within sight of the outlying hamlets and towns of the great kingdom which Lurlyr Manakor rules. No one paid them the slightest attention, they seemed to be just two wanderers lazily making their way along the dusty roads.

It was not until they were riding into Urgrik, with the darkness of night wrapped about them and only the reflected light off the shattered rings that encircled the planet to give a ghostly light, that the attack came.

Men rose up out of the shadows, swords and axes in their hands, and came at them. Niall cursed; his hand swept to his sword-hilt and drew Blood-drinker out into the night air. His knees urged his horse forward to shield Lylthia, and then he swung his blade.

He was not facing war-hardened warriors, he saw that at a glance. These were ruffians hastily gathered from the alehouses, cut-purses and thieves. But their very numbers—there must have been twenty of them, at least—gave them courage.

He bellowed and swung his long sword, and he lopped off a hand, then cut into a neck before he thrust the sword-point into an open mouth. His horse joined in the battle, as it had been trained to do: Its hooves lashed out, it bit into a soft neck, it trumpeted its battle-rage.

Niall's blade was everywhere, like a web of steel about him. He had no need to worry about Lylthia: no man could touch the goddess unless she so willed it. Besides, he gave them, no time to think of anything but fending off Blood-drinker:

He slashed and cut, and from time to time he bellowed in his battle-fury. These ruffians had never seen Niall of the Mighty Arms in battle; they had no way of knowing that against such enemies as they, he could have slain twice their number. Half their number were groveling in the dirt of the street, wounded or dying. The others were too concerned with tying to save their lives to worry overmuch about slaying this man, who fought like a demon out of Hell.

They broke and ran, tossing aside their weapons.

Niall watched them go, grinning. He had enjoyed this fight; it had torn the cobwebs of tiredness from him, it had made him glad to be alive. He turned and looked at Lylthia. She sat watching him with a faint smile on her mouth.

"You were born to fight," she said softly. "You revel in it."

His great shoulders shrugged. "When I'm attacked, I do. I have the thought that the high priest sent these tavern dregs to attack us and wrest the cup from me."

She nodded slowly. "Yes. I agree with you. Now we shall go on to the temple, to his house, and deliver over the cup to him."

Niall scowled blackly. "Give the cup to Aldon Hurazin? After all the trouble I've had getting it—and keeping it?"

"Humalorr and I are agreed. It is what must be done."

"I thought Humalorr was afraid of his getting the cup."

"He was. He is afraid no longer."

Niall sighed and shook his head. It was hard to follow the reasoning of the gods. Sometimes they made no sense at all. His eyes slid sideways at Lylthia. She was a goddess, too. In human form right now, but always a goddess. He supposed she knew what she was doing.

He hoped so, anyhow.

Chapter Four

It was close to the Hour of the Basilisk when Niall and Lylthia drew rein before the house of the high priest which was set close by the huge Temple of Humalorr. Niall came down out of the saddle and with the pommel of his sword beat upon the thick oaken door. Echoes sounded, yet they had to wait a little time before the door creaked open.

A lesser priest stared out at Niall, eyes wide. '"Wha—what is it? What do you wa—want?"

"I am Niall, general of the armies of the king. I have with me a cup, which is a present to the high priest."

He put his hand on the door and pushed it open. The priest might have pushed back, but Niall's great size convinced him that he would have little chance of keeping him out. Besides, there was a woman just behind the general whose eyes looked deep into the eyes of the priest caused him to know a great fear.

The priest scurried ahead of them, down a corridor and up a marble stairway. He began to run after a time, but when he slowed at the doorway of a room in which many candles blazed, Niall and the woman were right behind him.

Niall pushed the priest aside and strode into the room.

Aldon Hurazin had been studying the stars, etched out on sheets of vellum. At the interruption, the sheets fell from his hands and he started to his feet. His face was white, his eyes bulged.

"Niall," he breathed.

The barbarian grinned. "I've already met your welcoming committee," he said slowly. "They were a trifle impolite and I had to chastise them."

Aldon Hurazin swallowed hard. His eyes went to the hilt of the sword this big man carried at his side. If Niall knew that he had sent those assassins to slay him and steal the cup, why didn't he drag out that sword and cut him down?

"What do you want?" Aldon Hurazin whispered.

Niall felt the goddess enter into him, controlling his voice. "Why, to give you what you sent me for. Unfortunately, your high priestess—died—along the way. But she told me that you wanted the cup and so I brought it to you."

He lifted the rug that held the cup and placed it on the desk beside the tumbled parchments. The lamplight caught the cup and made it gleam. Aldon Hurazin stared down at it, eyes wide, his throat dry.

This golden bowl would give him everything he wanted! Power unbelievable, power to rule Urgrik no matter who sat the throne. All he had to do was give his orders, and the god Humalorr would be forced to obey him!

"Yes," the high priest whispered. "Yes. You have done well, Niall. I am a grateful man. I shall reward you for this, beyond your wildest dreams."

Niall said, "I seek no reward. It is enough for me to have served you."

The high priest shot him a glance. Had he misjudged this huge barbarian? Was Niall ready to give allegiance to him, instead of to the king?

Aldon Hurazin shook his head. "You are too modest. Yet I like that in a man who serves me. You shall have much gold, whatever women you may desire. But go now. Leave me with the cup."

His eyes ate at that golden chalice, as though they might absorb it His hands quivered with the desire to lift and fondle it.

Niall turned and with Lylthia beside him, moved out into the hall, where the priest was waiting, still shaking. It was Lylthia who touched the priest, whispering, "Go now to your bed, and sleep, Sleep well and deeply."

The priest turned and walked away. Lylthia swung about and looked at Niall. Her hands came up and made strange patterns in the air, and where they moved, something bright and shimmery came into being.

A veil hung from her fingers, gossamer-thin but oddly bright, as though glistening stars were embroidered into its material. She lifted her hands and tossed the veil into the air, where it hung across the doorway.

"Watch now," she said softly, "but move not if you value life."

Niall stared into the chamber, seeing the priest bending above the cup and staring down at it, a malicious smile on his lips.

Aldon Hurazin was muttering an incantation under his breath. "Come to me, God of the Lesser Hells, Humalorr the Mighty, the Cruel, the Evil! Come to my abode to serve me as once you served the great Yellixin."

There was silence in the chamber then, except for the harsh breathing of the priest. Niall knew a sudden fear, not for himself, but for Aldon Hurazin. The fool! If he stared so on the golden bowl, the same fate would overtake him as overtook the high priestess and the bandits.

He would have said something of this to Lylthia, but her hand on his arm, suddenly squeezing, cut off all speech.

A blackness was gathering in the chamber where Aldon Hurazin stood. In his dream, Niall had beheld a blackness such as that, formless and shapeless, and knew it for Humalorr. As he stared, that darkness grew—and grew.

"Who calls Humalorr from his Lesser Hells?"

"I do! I, Aldon Hurazin, your high priest! Long have I worshiped you, great Humalorr. But now it is time for you to serve me, as once you served Yellixin, long ago. Aye, it is I you shall serve and obey!"

The blackness oozed forward, slowly but relentlessly.

"Say you so? And what is your command, Aldon Hurazin?"

The high priest looked vaguely startled, Niall thought. There was mockery in the tones of the black god, mockery and—jubilation. It was as though he toyed with the man who stood behind his desk and gave him orders.

"I seek wealth. Wealth and power. No longer shall Lurlyr Manakor rule in Urgrik. I shall rule. Aye, in Urgrik and in Angalore, in far-off Cassamunda and in the countries bordering the Aztallic Sea."

The black blob was closer now, much closer. It oozed along, and where it went, it seemed almost to absorb all light.

"Is that all? Yellixin wanted the entire world. He almost got it. But Yellixin was a clever man. He studied the ancient runes, the all-but-forgotten tomes. Have you done that, Aldon Hurazin?"

The high priest straightened. For the first time, there was a touch of fright on his face. "I have studied—yes. But what has that to do with you and me? I have the cup. You must obey him who owns it."

"You forget, priest. Or perhaps you never knew. There are words to be spoken with the cup. Words that bind me to serve him who speaks them. What are those words, Aldon Hurazin?"

The face of the high priest was a mask of utter terror, now. He caught the power in the words that had been addressed to him, the malevolence and the derision. His eyes went this way and that about the room.

"You must obey..." he whispered.

A chuckle broke from the god who was now so close to the high priest. "Nay, now. If you know not the words—as your high priestess did not—then neither the cup nor I must obey.

"Fool!"

The god's words thundered out in the otherwise silent room.

The high priest screamed and turned to flee. But two great blobs leaped from that which was the god; leaped outward and closed about Aldon Hurazin.

At the touch of the darkness, the high priest screamed shrilly in utter agony. His body bucked and twisted as though red-hot pincers were being applied to his flesh. Again and again he screamed, trying to fend off that which was slowly but surely enveloping him.

"Come you with me, Aldon Hurazin. Come you with me down into my many Hells, each of which you shall experience again and again until time has no meaning for you beyond a pain that is everlasting.

"In those Hells I rule, your scream shall be forever. Pain such as you have never experienced shall be yours, as now it is Yellixin's. Forever, Aldon Hurazin. For all eternity...."

The high priest was gone, hidden within the dark god. Now Humalorr reached out for the golden bowl, and Niall saw it melt into aureate droplets and become absorbed within the god.

Then the chamber into which they stared was empty.

The shimmering veil disappeared.

Niall swore softly. His face was wet with sweat, and only now that Humalorr was gone could he breathe properly. Lylthia turned and smiled up at him.

"I made a bargain with Humalorr, Niall. I would give him the cup and Aldon Hurazin—in exchange for his future protection over you."

"Over me?" Niall was surprised, very much so. "You protect me. Isn't that enough?"

Lylthia snuggled up to him, and his arms went around her, "It never hurts to have another god watching over you. Besides, when you make love to me, I am very vulnerable. It's always best to be on the safe side."

Niall growled, "Well, I've done a lot, everything but what I was sent to do. I don't have the cup and the king is still sick, if he isn't dead by now."

The goddess smiled. "Oh, your king is all better. That was part of my deal with Humalorr. We cured him, he and I. Now you don't have anything to keep you busy."

Niall grinned. It was something of a wicked grin, Lylthia thought as she regarded it. "Nobody knows we came back to Urgrik. Why don't we just ride out for a week or two, just the two of us? Ill make up a story about the cup and how I had to make a deal with a god about curing him before I'd give the cup to the god,"

Lylthia laughed. "Why not, indeed?"

He put his arm about her waist, and like that they walked from the house of the high priest out into the cool night where their horses waited. By dawn they could be far away, close to the empty lands where they would camp and make love endlessly.

They mounted up and rode out of Urgrik.

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.