THE EYES OF MAVIS DEVAL

by GARDNER F FOX

5th Niall of the Far Travels stories

Originally published in The Dragon Magazine, #33, January 1980

Chapter One

It was her eyes that drew his stare as he sat astride the high-peak saddle of his stallion, there on the edge of the huge slave market. They were a brilliant green, those eyes, and it seemed to Niall of the Far Travels as he looked, that there was a tiny flame glowing in each pupil.

Niall stood in the stirrups, lifting his giant body upright. Clad in the silver chain-mail of his rank as High Commander of the armies of Urgrik. with the scarlet cloak hanging from his wide shoulders, he was ignorant of the men and women who turned to regard him.

All he was aware of was the girl.

She stood on the slave-seller's dais, all but naked with a bit of torn sackcloth hiding her flesh. Her head was up-tilted there was a faint smile on her full red mouth when she saw how she interested him, and her breasts rose proudly as if to tempt him.

The flames were gone from her eyes, now. Her long black hair hung down her back, almost to her buttocks. There was a wild, untamed look about her. and a pride which seemed to reach out and caress him

Niall urged his stallion forward. The people gathered there made room for him; they all knew him and how he was much honored by Lurlyr Manakor. their king. He paced the stallion to the very edge of the dais, and his upheld hand summoned the slave-seller forward.

"The girl off there to one side, where she stands alone." Niall rasped. "How much is she?"

Kavith Monalong was torn with greed. His black eyes slid toward the slave girl, then turned back to the High Commander. Never before had he known Niall to be interested in a slave. The thought touched his mind that he could make a very great profit here, but the cold stare of the High Commander turned his insides to water.

"Ten durakins. highness. Or say—eight."

Niall fumbled at a bag at his belt, loosing it and tossing it to the slave master. He did not watch as Kavith Monalong fumbled with the coins he poured into his palm, selecting several, and when the pouch was handed back to him he did not look at it but only tied its drawstrings to his belt.

"Come, girl." he called, waving an arm.

The girl ran to him with light steps, a happy smile on her mouth. She came to his stirrup and stared up at him with those bright green eyes that seemed to look deep inside him

Niall put a hand to her, lifting her easily upward behind him onto his stallion's croup. Then he turned and nudged the horse with a toe, walking it away from the crowd. After a moment he felt two soft arms close about his middle.

"How are you named, girl?" he asked.

"I am Mavis Deval, highness."

He waited, but she gave no more information. Then he said. "You come from the Southlands, I would guess. From Cassamunda. Torel Cabbera. or perhaps even from Sensanall."

"You are very wise. I was born in Carthia. which is not far from Sensanall. I was working on a farm when raiders came and captured me. But I escaped from them, fleeing away in the night, and wandered about until I came on a slow caravan." I felt her shrug. "I was too exhausted to run any more. They fed me, chained me, and brought me here."

Niall paced the black stallion slowly over the cobblestones of the city, wondering at the eldritch impulse that had made him buy tins girl. He owned no slaves, he did not believe in slavery, though it was practiced everywhere in his world. Well, that was easy enough to handle. He would free the girl give her some gold, and send her on her way.

And yet—

There was something about her that appealed to him. He had never paid much attention to women, except for a tavern girl now and then, to assuage the hungers of his flesh. Perhaps it had been the sort of life he had, wandering here and there across his world, that had made him lead this almost monastic life.

He shrugged. He had enough to keep him busy, as High Commander of the armies of Urgrik, without bothering his head about some wench. Of course. Urgrick was at peace, there were no wars to draw his attention, and sometimes a man found Time lying heavy on his hands.

But, no. He would feed the girl, put some decent clothes on her, and then send her packing. His shoulders straightened; his mind was made up.

Yet he was very aware of those arms about him, and from time to time he felt the weight of her head where she laid it against his back, almost caressingly. It was too bad he could not look into her eyes. They had fascinated him, from that very first moment when he had thought to see glowing flames inside them.

He toed the stallion to a canter.

When he was within the walls of his citadel, he caught her and lowered her gently to the cobbles. She stood there looking up at him, and her eyes and her lips smiled at him. Almost lovingly. It was as if she considered him to be her very own.

Niall swung down and guided Mavis Deval toward a huge oaken door. It creaked slightly as his hand moved it inward. The girl slipped ahead of him and walked with a lissome sway to her hips that caught his eye.

They went up a flight of stairs and into a chamber hung with thick drapes. Flames burned from a log in a huge fireplace. There was heavy furniture here, of rich mahogany: big chairs thick with pillows, a long table piled high with manuscripts, a vast oaken highboy that took up much of one wall.

Mavis Deval paused to look around her. "You must be a rich man, to own such a home."

Niall grinned. "Rich? Not I. All this belongs to the king. I just live here."

He was about to drop his cloak when the girl ran forward to take it from him, to fold it neatly and carry it to the highboy. As she walked, she looked back at him over a shoulder.

"Would you like to be rich?" she asked softly.

Niall barked laughter. "What man would not?"

She put his cloak inside the highboy and straightened, to regard him soberly. "I know where there is a treasure. A very big treasure. You can have it, if you want."

He grinned hugely. The idea of a slave girl telling him how to become wealthy amused him. "Now how would you know of such a thing?"

She looked sullen. "I have ears. I heard men speaking on the caravan that brought me here."

Something stirred deep within Niall of the Far Travels.

Beware, Niall my love! Beware this—woman!

Sheer surprise held Niall motionless. Aye! That was Emelkartha the Evil, the strange goddess of the eleven hells who had taken a fancy to him long ago, and who now loved him as devotedly as might any earthly woman.

But what would cause Emelkartha to be with him right now?

Mavis Deval walked toward him. She had a pulse-stirring walk, one that made him realize suddenly that she was a very beautiful woman. Something about her green eyes held him.

She put her hands palm down against his mailed chest She was very near; he could smell the perfumes of her flesh, the scents seemingly woven into the texture of her thick black hair. He had been a long time without a woman, and this slave girl was very close, and seemed almost eager for his embrace.

Emelkartha stirred jealously within him.

Beware, Niall—you foolish one!

"You could have all that gold," Mavis Deval whispered. "There is so much of it! And—-jewels, as well."

Almost bemused, he asked, "Why should you offer so much riches to me?"

"You bought me. You are a good man. You will make a good master."

He shook his head. "I'm setting you free. I'll feed you and put some decent clothes on your back, and give you many golden ruplets. You will be able to go where you want, do whatever it is that pleases you."

She inched nearer, so that he could feel her body against his own, and she shook her head, sighing. There was no doubt about it. This girl had an animal appeal to which his own body responded.

"I do not want to leave you, Niall." How was it that she knew his name? Kavith Monalong had not spoken it, nor had he. "You bought me. I belong to you."

"There is no room in my life for a girl."

Her smile was subtle. "There might be—if I make myself very pleasing to you."

Somehow his arms had gone around her body, holding her close. In something like surprise, he did not hear Emelkartha whispering angrily to him. Emelkartha was a very jealous goddess. She did not like Niall to hold or caress any other female but herself.

He was gazing down into her eyes when once again he saw those tiny flames deep within them. Just for an instant, a mere wink of time. Those flames seem to leap upward, as though in joy.

Niall drew back. He could not help himself, he was so surprised. Then—the flames were gone, and it was only Mavis Deval smiling alluringly up at him.

"This treasure," he made himself say, "Where is it?"

The girl laughed softly. "I shall take you there, master. Oh, so gladly! Then you shall be rich, you shall be able to have whatever it is you most want."

"But where can it be found?"

"In the mountains of Kareen, that lie a long distance away. We shall need horses and much food, but the trip will be well worthwhile. And you must bring extra horses, to carry all the gold and jewels."

To Niall, it seemed much too easy. He had not become High Commander of the armies of Urgrik by being a simpleton. There was someone he must see, and soon, about this.

"Go, girl. Upstairs you will find a bath. Cleanse yourself, and by that time, I'll have something better for you to wear than that bit of sackcloth."

She thrust herself against him, but he pushed her away gently. He needed time to think, and he could not do that with Mavis Deval so close.

The girl laughed up at him softly, as though she felt he was afraid of her beauty. She turned and moved away, haunches swinging invitingly. Niall watched her go, and there was a thin film of sweat on his forehead.

When she had gone, Niall moved to a small table set against the wall, on which stood a massive oak chest. He lifted the lid and reached in for some of the golden coins that lay there. He filled his leather pouch, drew a deep breath, and closed the chest

This night, he must see Danko Penavar, the wizard.

Chapter Two

The moon was high and silver, far above the city rooftops, as Niall of the Far Travels walked the cobbled streets of Urgrik. Emotions warred within him. He told himself that he was a fool, there was no treasure in the mountains of Kareen, that lay so far away.

And yet—why should Mavis Deval speak of it, if it did not exist? Ha! He had offered her freedom. Why had she not accepted that freedom, and gone herself for all this gold? It was a puzzle he could not solve.

Yet if there were such a treasure, he wanted to own it. All his life, he had been a carefree sell-sword, laboring where his talents at fighting and at swordplay put coins in his moneybag. It was time now for him to think of himself, of his future.

He came at last to a doorway hidden in thick black shadows. He raised the knocker there, carved in the face of a demon, and banged it

A soft wind that held a chill in it swept up the narrow lane. It made him shiver, so that he drew his cloak more closely about his big, thickly muscled body. His hand touched the hilt of his sword, Blood-drinker. Its firmness seemed to reassure him.

The door creaked open. He stared into a vast room, a room filled with golden censers and thuribles burning incense, with athanors cold now and empty of coals, with vials and cruets and flagons containing strange and mysterious elixirs. There was a fire glowing in the hearthstones, and by the red glare of the flames, Niall made out an old man, gigantic of build, who sprawled in a huge oaken chair.

The old man chuckled. "Enter, Niall. I have been expecting you."

"Have you, now?"

Niall entered the room, closing the door. He wondered how it had opened; the old man could not have done it, he was too far away, and there was no sign of any servants. Well, he ought to have expected nothing else from Danko Penavar.

The old man chuckled. "I have my ways of learning what goes on in the city around me. And elsewhere too, I might add. Little escapes my notice. Sit yourself, my general."

His hand indicated a footstool, off to one side. Niall nodded, lowered himself onto it. His hand lifted his moneybag and put it between his war-booted feet.

"There is much gold there," he said slowly. "The gold is yours. Just answer me a few questions."

Danko Penavar smiled at him. "You bought yourself a girl today, general. You want to know who she is, where she comes from, eh?"

"Can you tell me?"

"Oh, yes. But why do you want to know? Isn't she attractive enough? If I were your age, I would be in bed with her, not talking to an old man who has more years to his life than you can imagine."

"She has mentioned a treasure in the Kareen mountains—"

Danko Penavar started upright, so swiftly that he started Niall, who had not thought him capable of such movement. His eyes stared hard at Niall, and a little breeze seemed to ruffle the hairs on his head, and those of his long beard.

"Kareen," he whispered, "Kareen!"

His big, thickly veined hand came up to stroke at his beard, and then he shook his head. "It has been long, long since I have thought of Kareen. So! There is a treasure there, is there?"

He was silent, his thoughts turned inward, as though he were tracing out the long years of his life and what he had learned in all that time. He shifted slowly and lay back against the cushions, shaking his head.

"It is not good, that treasure, Niall. Be advised. Forget about it." Niall grinned. "But there is a treasure?"

"Oh, yes. But it is cursed. Sisstorississ himself lays claim to it, and Sisstorississ is a jealous god."

Niall nodded gloomily, remembering. He himself had fought Sisstorississ, back there in the ruins of the Kor Magnon, on his way to Urgrik. How long ago had it been? Ten months? A year? Yes, all of that. There had been the girl Kathyla, who was also Iphygia the enchantress, whom he had rescued from the reptile in the pit, and who had later turned on him—after he had fought Sisstorississ himself—and tried to deliver him up to the snake-god.

Emelkartha had helped to rescue him, since she hated Iphygia.

He spoke of Sisstorississ and of Iphygia, but not of Emelkartha The old magician listened, chin on hands, eyes half-closed. When Niall was done, Danko Penavar nodded.

"Yes. It makes a good tale, one to stir the blood. But you made a terrible enemy, Niall. Sisstorississ is not a demon-god whom it is safe to defeat. Hate will live in his soul—if he has one—and that hate will stir within him an appetite for vengeance. Be warned. Stay far away from the mountains of Kareen. Far away."

Niall of the Far Travels was not a man to turn his back on danger, especially when there might be a profit to be made. Often enough he had fought for nothing more than an ideal or a whim. He moved his shoulders, and his left hand went to the hilt of his great sword.

"If there is gold there, and jewels..."

Danko Penavar shook his head. "There is also that which is worse than death! If Sisstorississ should discover that you are after his treasure, he will move all the Hells there are to come at you!"

Niall moved his foot, toeing the heavy purse forward across the floor. "Read the future for me, mage. Tell me what waits for me in the Kareen mountains."

The old man shifted his weight, as though uncomfortable. His veined hands toyed with his robe, rearranging it over his knees. Twice he opened his mouth to speak, but closed his lips. Wearily, he shook his head.

"I shall read the future for you if you ask, Niall. But —I want no gold for it. This is not a task I relish. There is doubt in me, and worry..."

Softly, Niall asked, "Is it then so dangerous?"

"To you—yes. Perhaps to me as well." Danko Penavar sighed and lurched to his feet. "However, I admit to a curiosity in me. I will summon up some imps and have speech with them. Come you with me."

Niall walked slightly behind the old man as he moved toward the rear of the big room, where there was now only darkness and a hint of golden objects off which candlelight and fire-flames reflected. He stood and watched as Danko Penavar went toward a prie-dieu and opened a massive volume, thickly bound in leather.

"Come you and stand beside me, Niall, safely within the pentagram."

As he stepped forward, Niall could make out the markings of a pentagram, inlaid in ivory in an ebony floor. He watched as the mage extended his finger and candles overhead burst into flame. He had not seen those candles in their holders hanging by a chain from the ceiling. He wondered at the powers of this man who could cause fire by the mere act of stretching out a finger.

"Be quiet now. Do nothing more than breathe, and if you value the life you have, stir not a muscle. Stay always within the pentagram."

Niall waited, breathing softly. He saw the magician bend above the tome he had opened, watched as he scrutinized the words limned there in human blood. Slowly, Danko Penavar began to read, sonorously and with music in his voice.

The air around them grew warm, then hot. Overhead, the candles seemed almost to bend as though weary of their own weight. Here and there tiny flames sprang up in the outer darkness. Those flames grew and spread. The heat became almost intolerable. Sweat ran down Niall's cheeks.

Slowly... slowly... something began to take shape.

It was the figure of a demon. He could not see it all, not yet, but he could guess at its contours and he felt like retching. The flames blazed higher, the figure grew even clearer.

There were fangs jutting from the great, misshapen mouth. Thick skin hung in ugly folds over vast muscles. The thing was bald, its head was grotesque, and its three hands played nervously, as though the thing wanted to reach out and rend them both.

"I come, sorcerer, to your call," the being croaked thickly, as though its lips and tongue could scarcely mold themselves to fashion human speech. "What is your wish?"

"It has been long since I summoned you, Vokkoth. Not for many years. I seek to know about the mountains of Kareen, and what awaits a man named Niall."

The demon lurched forward a shuffling step, but drew back when its toe—or what served it for toes—came close to the edges of the pentagram. Hell-fires blazed in its eyes.

"Niall! Ha! I have heard of him, even in the Hells where I dwell. Sisstorississ seeks for him, everywhere. He asks for help. Imagine! The great Sisstorississ has even asked me to lend my powers to his quest."

"And what is that quest?"

"He would do anything to get this Niall in his power. Anything! Already he has hunted in the many Hells there are for some hint, some way of drawing Niall to him, that he may get control over his body."

The misshapen head shook so much that the loosely fleshed jowls swung ponderously. "Be warned, Danko Penavar. Have nothing more to do with this man."

The old magician sighed. "Tell me, Vokkoth, out of old friendship. What waits for Niall in the Kareen hills?"

"No one knows. No one can know. It is hidden. Hidden so deeply that I fear Sisstorississ has flung a veil across that portion of the future."

Niall sighed. If things were as dangerous as that, if Sisstorississ were waiting for him to get control of him, he would forget about all the gold and jewels that were reputedly hidden in those mountains.

"I've heard enough," he told the mage.

Danko Penavar nodded his white head. "Indeed, I think you have," he murmured in a soft voice. More loudly, he called to the demon swaying before him, "Go now, Vokkoth, back into your worlds. I shall trouble you no more."

In an instant, the heat was gone, the demon with it. Overhead, the candles blazed more brightly, though their shapes were oddly distorted. The magician heaved a deep sigh, put a hand to the tome and closed it.

"It is done. Now you know," he said heavily.

Niall chuckled. "I know, old man. And you have all my thanks. I am glad I came to speak with you this night."

"I'm not so sure I am," the magician mumbled, leading the way toward his vast chair. He sank down into it, regarded the man standing before him. "Forget the gold, Niall. Nothing is worth risking the vengeance Sisstorississ has in mind for you."

"I agree with you. I'll tell the girl I've made up my mind. I stay in Urgrik, where—hopefully—Sisstorississ cannot touch me."

Danko Penavar smiled. "It would be best."

It was colder, once Niall stepped outside the great doorway which closed by itself behind him. For a moment he stood sniffing the salt and wind blowing off the river, carrying with it the iciness of the high peaks of the Kalbarthian mountain range to the east. Then he drew his cloak more tightly about him and began to walk.

He was grateful that he had come this night to the old mage, and glad that he had left his money pouch on the floor, so that Danko Penavar should find it and have the spending of the gold coins in it. The old man had done him a great favor.

He walked more briskly. It was quiet in these late hours. There were no walkers abroad, nothing seemed to stir within the city. Here and there in a house window, candles burned, but for the most part, the moon above gave the only illumination to these streets.

Niall came into the citadel and made his way up a wide staircase to the upper floors. He turned into his bedchamber and halted.

The girl lay sleeping on his bed, the fur coverings half off her body. She was beautiful as she lay there, the moonlight making her ebony hair even darker and silvering her soft skin. She seemed more innocent, too; there was none of the wantonness in her now that her earlier actions with him had hinted.

Niall took a few steps forward, bending to lift the fur cover and draw it more fully over her. As he did so, she stirred and turned on her back.

Her eyes were closed, yet Niall would have sworn that those eyelids were transparent. Almost he could see her green eyes—and in them the lambent flames that he had noticed earlier. The flames blazed upward, filling those eyes until they were a mass of flames.

And the flames began to whisper to him....

Chapter Three

Niall woke to the warmth of the body snuggled so closely against his own. His arm was about her, her own arm was thrown over his chest. He smelled the perfume of her hair, knew the softness of her flesh.

There was something he sought to remember—and could not. There was danger; some remote corner of his mind whispered this to him, but it fled away as the girl stirred and, lifting her head, looked down at him.

"We ride today, Niall of the Far Travels," she murmured. "To the hills of Kareen," he nodded.

What was it, hidden deep within him? A warning of deadly danger, a hint of abominations to come? Niall tried to run down that furtive memory, but could not. He sighed and his arm tightened about Mavis Deval, holding her close.

She bent and kissed him, and her mouth was as soft as warm, moist velvet. It stirred fires in his big body, that kiss, making him realize that he was going on a long journey with this witch-woman, that he would have her with him under the stars at night, beside glowing fires, and riding beside him day after day.

His big hand clapped her on the rump as he laughed. "Better stir ourselves, then. There will be matters to attend to, food to be put into bags, horses to be made ready."

She laughed and ran from the bed to don the garments he had provided for her. Niall watched her, wondering at himself. He ought to be more eager for this holiday, be anxious to get out on the road with the wind whispering past him, his eyes on the girl, and golden coins waiting for him to discover them.

Yet there was almost a reluctance in him. It was as if he had been warned about going to the Kareen hills, told that there was only deadly peril awaiting him.

Bah! He was a fighting man. He did not fear danger.

He clad himself in his fur kaunake and mail shirt, girded on his great sword. He had fought across his world, he had faced the Swordsmen of Chandion and battled the Dark Guards of Korapolis. No need to fear anything in the hills of Kareen!

They left Urgrik a little before high noon, mounted on two big stallions, and a third behind them carrying such goods as they might need. Mavis Deval was filled with excitement and laughter. She shifted in her saddle to stare back at the towers and rooftops of the city, then faced forward to run her eyes over the low-lying hills in the distance, and the great grasslands that spread out on all sides.

They rode for hours in the hot sunlight, pausing only at a stream of cold water where they got down and lay on their bellies to drink beside the horses. They chatted as they lay on their backs, staring up at the sky, relieved to be out of the saddle for a time.

"What will you do with your share of the treasure, always providing we find it?" Niall asked.

"The gold is yours, all yours. I shall stay with you, and help you spend it."

Niall thought about that for a time. It might be fun, having this girl with him. And yet—

Emelkartha was a jealous goddess. It was Emelkartha, in her earthly guise of Lylthia, whom he loved. Uneasiness ate in his middle. Emelkartha was nobody to fool around with. She had awesome powers, and she regarded Niall of the Far Travels as her property, as her earthly lover.

She had been strangely silent. Usually when he found a pretty girl, Emelkartha was there inside him, scolding him. When she felt that he had been tempted enough, she would appear to him as Lylthia, and they would make love for weeks at a time, before she had to go back to the Eleven Hells she ruled.

It was not like the goddess to let him run off this way with a pretty woman. Niall felt very uneasy about the whole thing. Still, there was that treasure to be found. If it were anything like what he suspected, and he could lay hands on it, he would be one of the richest men in all Urgrik.

It was a nice thought.

They rode on, day after day, deeper into the grasslands until the low-lying hills were before them, and then at their backs. They came now, into wilder country, where tumbled rocks lifted upward and deep chasms made furrows in the earth.

At long last, they could make out the hills of Kareen, far away in the blue distance. They were old, those hills, and rounded with age, and their slopes bore sparse vegetation. Somewhere in among them was the golden hoard.

Now Niall began questioning Mavis Deval more closely. "Are you sure you can find where it is hidden? If all you heard were a few words spoken by travelers...."

She turned her eyes upon him, laughing softly. "Do you think I would have brought you so far if I could not?"

Niall grunted. He could discover no other reason, search his mind as he would, why the girl would want to take such a long trip with him unless she knew—by what manner he knew not—just where the treasure was to be found.

"The hills of Kareen are long and wide," he muttered. "They are very ancient. There are tales that there was a kingdom there, long ago, and a band of men who hunted down other men, and women, to make them slaves. It was very long ago, I realize, but—"

"The city was called Granolure," the girl murmured, staring straight ahead. "It was one of the richest cities of the world, in its time. The people who lived there were robber barons, preying on the surrounding territories. Until a coalition of neighboring cities was formed and sent a vast army against it, it thrived. The people there worshiped a god—"

She broke off suddenly, starting as though she had said too much. Mavis Deval turned her head and looked at him, but Niall rode with his gaze on the rocky terrain before them.

She smiled with a subtle curving of her lips.

Niall stood upward in the stirrups. He had paid little or no attention to the girl's last few words; he was certain he had seen movement off there to the west, along the edge of the Kareen hills. Movement meant people—or wild animals. From what he had seen, there was more than one—thing—out there.

"Saw you anything just then?" he asked.

She stared at him in surprise. "Something living, you mean? But there is no life in those hills. They are dead, forgotten alike by animals and mankind."

"I saw something. I was not mistaken."

It was the girl's turn to stand in the stirrups and to put her gaze out there where the hills seemed purple, where sunlight glinted on barren rocks and loose shale. Mavis Deval shook her head until her thick black hair swirled.

"There is nothing. All you saw was a shadow." She added musingly, "There can be no life in those hills. All is dead there, and long since forgotten."

Niall shrugged. He knew what he had seen, and he loosed his blade in its scabbard. Just as well to be prepared. Others might have heard of the treasure and come looking for it.

As they moved onward, he used his eyes. From hilltop to hilltop and in between, in the low valleys, he ran his gaze. There was no more movement, none at all. Still! It paid a man always to be on his guard.

It was sunset when they came to the foothills, and stood a moment to blow their horses. It was cool here, and the night would be cold.

"We'll make camp," Niall said.

"We could go on. It isn't far now." Niall shrugged. "There's no hurry."

Mavis Deval would have protested, but his face was grimly set, so she shrugged and stepped down from the saddle. It had become her task to prepare their food every morning and evening, and she set about it with practiced dexterity.

Out of the corners of her eyes, she watched Niall. He was restless, moving back and forth, scanning the hillsides, the empty land around them. It was as if he feared that men would rise upward from the very ground and rush to attack them.

She saw him sniff the air, and called, "Now what will you be smelling?"

"Human sweat," he growled. "Men have been here, men who have gone long without bathing." When she scoffed at him, he swung about to look at her. "Girl, I know of what I speak. I've fought too much not to know that stink when it comes to me."

She got to her feet in excitement. "But it cannot be! No one ever comes here!"

"How would you be knowing that? Or did those men you overheard at the caravan also tell you that?"

She shook her head and knelt again to lift the steaming meat from the fire-flames On a board she placed it and began slicing it into thick slabs. She gestured at it, looking at Niall.

"Come eat. There is hot bread, too, almost finished baking."

Niall found that there was an avid hunger in him. His strong teeth tore and chewed at the charred meat, and it seemed that he had never enjoyed anything as tasty. There was red wine from Calmanar in the skins, and of this he drank deeply.

When he was done eating, he looked away from the fire into the darkness. There was something—alive—out there, and something— evil. He had no way of knowing what it was, but he had fought too often not to be able to sense foemen, even in the dark.

"Go to sleep," he told the girl. "I'm restless, I want to walk a little."

She shrugged and lay down close to the flames, drawing a cloak about her. Her eyes rested on Niall's brawny figure as he loomed huge beside the fire. He was a handsome man, she thought as her eyelids closed for sleep. It was too bad, in a way, that he was doomed ....

Niall strode away from the girl, walking easily in his furred war-boots. He did not look at the fire anymore; instead, his eyes were directed outward toward the hills. There was a moon, and by its light he could see a good distance.

He would sit there, with his back against a rock, and stare out into that moon-swept land. If anything moved, he would see it in time to defend himself and the girl. His sword lay across his thighs, its blade naked, his hand wrapped about its pommel.

You do well to be on guard, Niall!

The Wanderer started. Had that been Emelkartha, speaking inside him as she was wont to do? He had dozed a little, sitting here—it had been a long, hard ride all that day—but he felt certain that he had not dreamed those words.

Na, na. You did not dream.

"Where have you been?" he whispered, almost to himself. "You warned me about the girl and then you stayed away."

I have been searching, witless one. Searching in the demon worlds for word of —Sisstorississ

Niall growled low in his throat.

So you remember Sisstorississ, do you? And how you drove him back to where he belongs, that time in Kor Magnon?

"I remember."

Do you imagine that evil one has forgotten you? Ah, no. He hates you with a fury that will not be satisfied by your death. No, no!

Emelkartha went on whispering inside him, telling him of the raw fury that consumed Sisstorississ when he thought of Niall of the Far Travels. She spoke of his vengeance, long plotted and now about to come to pass.

He shuddered, listening to what the evil one planned to do to him—for all eternity. The sweat came out on his skin and a tremor ran through his huge body. It was always bad to offend the gods, and most especially one like Sisstorississ.

However, there is hope. You may die before Sisstorississ gets his claws in you, unless you use your eyes!

Something in that voice brought Niall to sharp wakefulness. His hand tightened on Blood-drinker. He stared out into the darkness and it seemed that he could make out shapes that ran, hunched over, and the glint of moonlight on drawn weapons.

Niall grinned. "My thanks, goddess," he whispered.

Men with weapons he could understand. He had faced up to swords since he was big enough to lift and swing one, it seemed. Back there in Norumbria, where he had been born, men lived and died by the sword. He had been one who had lived, who had waxed stronger and greater every day, until his skill with a blade was almost proverbial.

He lay down and crawled on his belly over the ground. Those men were close now, very close. In another few moments, they would be at the fire, and at Mavis Deval. Niall grinned and shifted his weight, drawing up a leg under him.

They loomed up, their weapons at the ready.

"Haaaaaah!"

The screech came upward out of Niall's guts. It was a blend of delight and fury, a warning and a paean of joy because he had an enemy to face. He erupted from the ground and came at them like a maddened beast.

Blood-drinker caught the reflection of the fire on its blade an instant before the steel was buried in human flesh. It came out, dripping blood, and swung again at a second man.

A head rolled past the fire, as that which had been a man collapsed to one side.

Niall, stood with widespread legs, his blade humming as he swung it, and a tiny smile played about his lips.

"So then! You came to rob, did you? Well, I am here. Rob me—if you can!"

The remaining men flung themselves at him, but Niall had learned his trade of swordsman long ago, and had practiced it forever since. His muscles were as iron, tireless. He battered down the blades that faced him and drove his own steel in a web of death at the men before him.

One by one, he slew them.

The last man died with a scream gurgling in his throat, as Niall drove Blood-drinker through his belly. He fell and lay twitching, bloody hands clawing at his ripped entrails, body convulsing.

Niall stood over him, staring down.

Were these men only cut-purses, landless robbers who preyed on whatever moved this far away from any city? Or were they demons gathered by some evil god such as Sisstorississ to slay him?

No, no. What was it Emelkartha had said? Sisstorississ wanted an eternal vengeance on him. He would not, therefore, send mere men to kill him. No, he would have planned something else, some way of luring him into his clutches so that he could snatch him into the hells where he was the supreme ruler.

The sound of a sob swung him about to stare at Mavis Deval.

The girl was standing beside the fire, her robe having fallen from her. A hand was lifted to her mouth and her eyes were enormous with terror.

"Are you—all right?" she whispered.

Niall grinned. "It takes more than such as these to bring down Niall of the Far Travels. They were after our gold. And you too, I should guess. In this wilderness a man doesn't often see a woman, especially such a beautiful one as you."

Emelkartha stirred inside Niall. He could feel the heat of her anger, the coldness of her jealousy.

Mavis Deval nodded slowly. "Yes, you saved me. I am grateful. Those men are vermin. They would have..."

She shuddered and turned away, staring into the fire. It seemed as though she would speak again, but she did not, only lifting her eyes and looking at him, and for an instant, Niall thought to read pity in her stare.

Chapter Four

Next day they were into the hills, riding upward over rocky terrain, picking their way with the girl in the lead. Niall watched her as she rode unerringly—as though she had committed this trackless wilderness to memory—without glancing to left or right, but only moving straight ahead.

When they had come to a rock outcropping, she reined in and turned to him. Her arm lifted, finger pointing.

"Over yonder, where there is only scorched earth and tumbled rocks, is the entrance to what was once a great stronghold," she told him.

Niall could see nothing that suggested any entryway, and said so. Mavis Deval shook her head.

"There is nothing to see; the door that is there is blocked by stones. But it is there, believe me."

The Wanderer shrugged, toed his mount off to one side, to descend a slope which would bring him to the heaps of scattered rocks. When he came there, he swung down and, putting big fists on his hips, eyed the boulders.

"I'll need an army to move those things," he growled. The girl came up to him, touching his arm. "You can do it. Only try."

He laughed and moved forward, putting his big hands to a huge rock. It was impossible to move that boulder, his common sense told him, yet he felt it shift as he applied his strength, and then as he put his full weight behind it, the rock tumbled to one side.

To Niall, it smacked of magic.

Still, the biggest rock was out of the way, and the smaller ones ought to give way even more easily. He bent and pushed, and one by one, the stones slid where he shoved them.

He could see a massive door, of oak and iron bands, half hidden beneath a bit of stone that hung above it. There was a great lock, rusted now, that once would have defied any effort to open it.

Niall picked up a rock, lifted it high, and smashed it down against the lock. He heard metal snap and wood creak. He took a few steps forward, put his hands to the door and heaved. The oaken beams of the door protested with muffled crackings, but the door swung inward upon blackness.

The girl was at his side. "There! You see? It was not so hard, was it?"

"It was too easy," he growled.

Aye! Too easy. It seemed almost as though unearthly powers had been used to let him clear the way into this crypt. Well, this was what he had come for. There remained only to enter, to see what it was he had come so far to find.

He took a step forward, and then another. Sunlight shone into the crypt through the open doorway, and Niall could make out, as he stood on the threshold, that this was a vast room, seemingly filled with chests piled one upon another, with smaller caskets here and there. Where one such casket had fallen and opened, he could make out the gleam of fabulous jewels.

The air was stale in here, but if he waited, it would clear. Far in the background there was blackness, yet he thought he could see something like a walled-up archway, filled with bricks and cement. He would need a torch to examine it, and the contents of all those chests and coffers.

"Enter," said the girl at his elbow. "Go in and feast your eyes on all those riches which are now yours."

Niall struck sparks from flint and iron, lifted the end of a dried bit of wood that he found off to one side. With the torch in hand, he moved into the crypt. Mavis Deval came at his heels.

He moved toward a chest, threw back its lid and gasped. The thing was filled with golden bars, glittering in the torchlight. His eyes lifted to stare at the other chests. If all were like this one, he would be the richest man in all his world. The breath caught in his throat, and his heart began to hammer.

"Did I not speak the truth?" the girl whispered at his side. "All this gold, all the jewels in here are yours."

Niall shook his head. There was something wrong here. He did not know what it was, he could put no name to it, yet the tenseness inside him, the tautness of his nerves and the worry in his mind could not be disregarded.

"Why?" he asked softly. "Why have you given all this to me?"

He whirled and caught her by an arm, bringing her up closer to him. His blue eyes blazed down at her. "You could have claimed all this yourself! Yet you give it to me. Why?"

"You rescued me from slavery."

"Na, na. There is something else. But what?"

She rubbed her arm where he had clutched her, pouting a little. "How could I, a mere girl without money or anyone to befriend me, have come here? Those men last night would have raped me, probably killed me."

All she said made sense, but Niall was not so sure. There was something lurking behind her eyes, some secret which he could not fathom. Those eyes that stared up at him so worshipfully hid her thoughts. Ah! He recalled now how he had seen flames in those eyes, too.

She turned away and moved toward the oaken door, still rubbing her arm. When she came to the door where it hung on its bronze hinges, he caught hold of it and slammed it shut.

For an instant, the only light in the crypt was from the torch Niall held. And then—slowly—faint reddish light began to gleam everywhere inside the vault. Mavis Deval stood proudly, head high, her eyes glinting boldly, and the fire-flames were alive in them.

Niall swore, "By Emelkartha! There is something wrong about all this—"

He reeled. His head seemed to explode for an instant, then come back to normal. Dazed, he stared around him. He remembered, now: remembered his visit to old Danko Penavar, and his warning.

He laughed harshly. He had been mesmerized by those eyes, when he had returned from seeing the mage. Hypnotized, and made to come here—to fall into the clutches of Sisstorississ!

Niall tried to leap forward, to spring at the girl, but his muscles were locked tight. He could not stir so much as a finger. And the reddish light blazed more brightly, triumphantly.

Behind him he heard something surge against the bricks of the far wall. Those bricks fell and shattered and now he could feel heat on his back, fantastic heat that was unendurable.

"You belong to me, Niall of the Far Travels," came a booming voice. "Turn now, and see your master for all eternity!"

He swung about.

Sisstorississ was there, just as he had remembered him in the temple at Kor Magnon. There were the red eyes, glittering with hate and an all-consuming fury! There also was the herpetologic head, covered with scales, the twin horns rising upward from the brow and the flickering tongue that was twice the size of a man.

When he had beheld Sisstorississ that other time, Emelkartha had been inside him, to shield him with her powers. Ah, where was she now? Without her to aid him, he was doomed forever!

Those great jaws lunged forward, parting.

That huge red tongue wrapped itself about him, lifted him upward as those jaws closed about his body. Niall could not speak, nor cry out.

He was drawn swiftly toward the bricked-up doorway which now was gaping open. Downward he was drawn... ever downward... into a redness and a heat that was intolerable....

Chapter Five

He lay on a flat surface that was like the red-hot top of an iron stove. His first impulse was to leap up, crying out in agony, but the pain seemed to subside even as he felt it, and though the stink of his scorched flesh was still in his nostrils, he felt no other discomfort.

Niall opened his eyes. He lay on the steaming floor of a huge chamber walled with flames. Everywhere he stared, there were fires, leaping, dancing upward. Sweat rolled down off his flesh, but he found he could move, and so he stood, his right hand moving toward his sword and lifting it out of the scabbard.

He shook his head.

He was nowhere on earth. He was in a demoniac hell, a hell ruled by Sisstorississ. Niall groaned. Aye, he was in the clutches of that evil godling. He would be put to the torment, then rested, then tortured again, for as long as there was Time.

Strange. He felt no especial discomfort, though he knew that steam rose upward from the floor where he was standing. Now, how could that be?

His eyes lifted to the flames, and Niall started. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? For he could see, as though partially hidden by those flames, other eyes that stared down at him almost, it seemed, in sympathy.

Then—the eyes were gone.

He heard slithering across the tiles of the steaming floor, and whirled. Sisstorississ was there—gigantic, looming high above him, triumph shining in those red eyes. Suddenly, along with the triumph, there was—doubt. Even—worry.

The snake-god hissed, "You belong to me now, Niall! Mine you are, to torture and agonize for all Time."

Niall held his sword up. "Come then. Take me if you would torture me."

The scaled body writhed undulantly forward. "Take you? I have already done that. Yet you still defy me? Good. I like that. It will make your breaking that much more pleasant. Behold."

He was in a great cauldron of bubbling metal. The bubbles of iridescent bronze broke with a popping sound, steam rose upward all around him. By rights, he should be screaming in agony, writhing and twisting as that molten metal ate away his flesh and bones.

Yet he felt no pain. It was as if he were in thick, viscid water. He began to swim laboriously to the rim of the cauldron, then gripped its edge and hauled himself upward onto that rim.

Something protected him. Niall knew that much. No man— without the help of magical forces—could have lived through that bath of liquid-hot metal.

Ah! So you realize that, do you?

His relief was so great he almost fell back into the stuff that bubbled beneath him.

"Emelkartha! I thought you'd deserted me." Soft laughter was his answer.

You are my proof, beloved. The gods would not believe that Sisstorississ had disobeyed their injunction. I had to let the snake-god take you and bring you here for torment.

Niall growled in his throat. "Am I a plaything of the gods? It's a wonder I didn't die of shock when Sisstorississ caught hold of me and dragged me here."

I protected you from pain. My protection is still around you. The snake-god must be punished. We can only do that through you.

Niall shrugged. There was no point in arguing. Better to fall in with Emelkartha's plans. "What do you want me to do?"

Only be yourself.

The voice faded and he was left sitting alone on the cauldron's rim. How long he sat there he was never to know, but suddenly he was standing on the steaming metal floor of the chamber where he had been lying when he recovered consciousness.

He sat up to find Sisstorississ staring at him with his malignant red eyes. There was fear and rage in the snake-god's voice when he spoke.

"What's this? You are unharmed! How can that be?"

Niall sprang to his feet and rushed upon the demon-god, Blood-drinker held high to swing. He drove its edge at the head of Sisstorississ and saw the being dart backward, slithering along the hot, metallic floor.

There was panic in the crimson eyes of the demon-god, raw fear and awful horror in them. It was as if it saw its doom staring at it. "What gives you this power?" it hissed.

Again Niall slashed, driving it backward. He had no way of answering the demon. By rights, he should be dead by now, or reduced to a quivering mass of melted flesh and bones. Yet he had all his strength. Indeed, he felt invigorated, filled with muscular power.

He knew he had enjoyed the help of something beyond the human.

Ah! So you know that, do you?

Niall slid to a halt, grinning. "It was you, Emelkartha!" he said almost to himself.

Of course. You have served me well, Niall. But follow Sisstorississ, follow him no matter where he goes!

He leaped forward even as the demon-god slithered backward into a great opening in the flame-wall. As Sisstorississ went even further backward into that recess, Niall sprang. Deftly avoiding that snapping jaw, those rows of razor-sharp teeth, his hand caught a horn projecting from its scaly forehead and he swung himself up onto the thin, sinuous neck.

Instantly, Sisstorississ seemed to go into convulsions. It whipped its titanic body about, writhing its neck and flinging its great head back and forth, seeking to dislodge this human who clung so tenaciously to him.

When Niall clung to him, driving his sword's edge down upon its head, the demon-god retreated even further. Backward it slid, down a dizzying slope, and then plunged deep into a sea of molten metal.

Niall closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Next moment he was beneath the surface of that molten metal sea, clinging to that horn, riding this nightmare moment with his legs locked about a scaled neck.

Where was Emelkartha? Why did she not help him?

I am here, Niall my darling—waiting!

If she didn't help him soon, he was going to topple off, be helpless in this thick quagmire of smoking, seething metal. He would be fair prey for those jaws, then!

Down went Sisstorississ, downward, ever downward. It was as though it sought to find the bottom of this sea, where it might find a purchase for its clawed legs. Ah, then it would turn and rend this mere human, this servitor of the gods who were aligned against mighty Sisstorississ!

Niall was blind and helpless. He dared not open his eyes, he was fearful lest the molten magma blind him. Yet he could breathe, his body did not feel the awesome heat of the molten metal. He still retained his strength.

"Emelkartha," he shrieked in his mind. "Aid me!"

Not yet, my dear one. Not yet—but soon.

Sisstorississ found the bottom. Its claws dug in, its neck whipped about. Despite the hold he had with his hand on that horn and his legs about the neck, Niall felt as though he were about to be flung off.

Aye! Flung off—then to be snapped at by those terrible jaws— swallowed alive! Could anything save him, then?

His legs loosed their hold, sliding. His hand was wrenched from that sharp horn. Beneath him, Sisstorississ was flinging itself about like a mad thing, emitting great bellows that sounded dulled and muted through the molten magma.

Now, you other gods! Strike—now!

The voice in his mind was like a clarion call—sharp, bugling— imperious and commanding.

Something bright and golden sped downward through the seething metal. It was joined by other golden lightnings—until they formed a shower of aureate energy striking at Sisstorississ, hitting it.

Niall could hear the violence of those blows thudding into the vast body to which he still managed to cling. Through his flesh he could feel the shuddering of the demon-god as those darts of yellow light struck against its scaled hide.

Sisstorississ bellowed in agony.

It forgot the man still hanging onto him. Upward it surged, seeking any avenue of escape it could find. And ever those golden lightnings played about its scaled body.

Those yellow forkings weakened it. Niall could feel some of the titanic strength of the body seep from it as he clung. From somewhere inside Sisstorississ there came a prolonged wail of despair, almost of resignation to what was about to happen to it.

To a rocky edge of this metal sea came the demon. It reached to that stone and clambered out upon it and lay there, its sides heaving. It did not seek any longer to dislodge Niall but crouched downward as though waiting for some final blow.

Now Niall could make out, high above and scattered about in this rocky cavern, tiny globes of white light that grew and grew until within them he could make out faces. They were cold and implacable, those faces—the faces of the gods, of the potent lords of the realms beyond the world Niall knew.

Awed, he stared upward at them, knowing a vast inferiority, a mighty humility. The eyes regarded Sisstorississ, and in their stare their was no pity.

You have sinned, demon. You have risen up against our will!

A soft voice that sounded feminine whispered, Now you must pay the price for your disobedience!

Niall saw the face of the womanly creature who had spoken. Her glowing purple eyes were turned away from Sisstorississ to look down at Niall.

So this is the human who has served us. He has done well. Emelkartha was right in her judgment of him. He must be rewarded.

And so he shall be, sister!

That was Emelkartha, laughing deep inside him.

The womanly being who stared down at him from so high above nodded slowly, a tiny smile playing at the comers of her mouth.

Good. I approve of it, Emelkartha See to it, please.

Niall slid down off the great bulk of Sisstorississ, at a whispered command from deep inside him. Still clinging to his sword he moved backward, backward, feeling the rough stone of this vast shelf under his war-boots

He went backward until he felt rock at his spine and there he crouched, scarcely breathing.

From the globes of light he could see arms projecting. There were many fingers on the hands at the ends of those arms, and each finger was rigid, pointing.

Now from those fingers spread something black and ominous, like tiny droplets of molten ebony. They grew as he watched, grew and grew until they seemed to fill the entire cavern. As one, the blackness hurtled at Sisstorississ.

The demon screamed, and then those black bolts were upon it, hammering it, pounding in upon it. The sound of their beatings filled the cavern with dreadful thumpings. The buffeting deafened Niall. but he could hear Sisstorississ screaming now in utter agony.

There was no escape. The demon could not move, as those blacknesses thundered down upon it. Under their onslaught, its very shape seemed to change, to flatten, to swell in bubblings, to be driven backward against the stone wall of the cavern It screamed, thickly at first and then more thinly, until its shriekings became only a thin wail lifting upward.

"Gods," breathed Niall.

Sisstorississ was being hammered into a pulp, out of which oozed a stinking greenish ichor. Hammers and sledges of that blackness drove upon it, pounding its flesh into the very rock on which it stood.

There was little left of Sisstorississ now, but even those scraps and shards of quivering flesh were being beaten into nothingness. Pound and pound and pound, until those poundings became a litany of destruction.

Niall rose from his crouch, aching in every muscle. It was done.

Nothing was left of Sisstorississ.

Now he heard vast creakings, saw the stone half-riven, even as the great walls of this cavern began to split.

Now, Niall—now!

Instantly he was whirled upward, as though caught by a gigantic whirlwind. He experienced a moment of abysmal nausea, he began to retch—

Then he stood in the cave with the chests and caskets still catching the gleams of the dying sunlight. Dazed, he drew a deep breath. Had it been a dream?

Laughter came from a comer of the crypt. Niall whirled, then grinned. Lylthia came toward him, clad in her short tunic, rent here and there to show the tints of her flesh. Never had she seemed so beautiful.

"Take what you will of the gold and jewels, Niall." she smiled. "You have earned your reward."

"Never mind the gold and jewels," he chuckled moving toward her. "Who can look at those when you are here?"

Lylthia laughed, her head thrown back. "I like that! You make a good lover."

He caught her. kissed her hungrily. After a time, she stirred in his embrace. "We have plenty of time for this, Niall. I shall ride back with you. all the way to Urgrik. And—we shall take our time."

A thought touched the barbarian, and he lifted his head to stare about the crypt. "Mavis Deval. Where is she?"

Lylthia's fingernails dug into his arms. "What is she to you, that woman?"

He chuckled. "Nothing. But if she should try any of her tricks on me..."

The girl-goddess laughed and nestled against him. "She will not. When Sisstorississ was destroyed, so was she. You only have Lylthia now."

"I wish I did have you," he grumbled, then brightened. "But I suppose I should appreciate the moments when you come to me like this. And to show you how much I appreciate them—"

He caught her to him again, kissing her. And Lylthia, who was Emelkartha snuggled up against him, quite content to forget for a time that she was a goddess.

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.