THE THING FROM THE TOMB

by GARDNER F FOX

4th Niall of the Far Travels stories

Originally published in The Dragon Magazine, #23, March 1979

Chapter One

Niall of the Far Travels reined in his big gray stallion, lifting his right hand to halt the long column of riders who followed him across this comer of the Baklakanian Desert. In front of him, and far away, he could make out a dark blotch on the golden sands toward which he was moving.

The blotch did not move.

Yet it had moved, for a brief second, just then. Niall, who had been watching it as soon as he had caught sight of it, was certain of that. His hand went to his side, loosed his sword Blood-drinker in its scabbard.

Niall was commander of the armies of King Lurlyr Manakor of Urgrik. His robe was of saffron silk and it blew in the lazy winds that swept across these stretches of bleak and empty sand. His mail was silvered and bore the basilisk insignia of Urgrik. He was riding to make an inspection of the desert forts which served his king, to replace the troops stationed there with the men who rode behind him.

But now—

Caution was alive in him. Again and again he scanned these sands, seeking some explanation for that dark blotch. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he sensed, with an animal awareness, that there was danger here. Or — had been.

To the lieutenant who rode at his right elbow he said, "Keep the men here."

He toed the stallion and rode forward, and as he went, he drew his blade. Niall did not know what that dark blotch might be, but he would be ready for trouble.

He rode slowly, the hooves of his mount kicking up little puffs of sand. As he came closer to the blotch, it resolved itself into the shape of a man, a man who had been cruelly attacked, wrenched about and torn as if by gigantic bands. Sympathy touched Niall, made him snarl under his breath and urge the big gray horse faster.

He swung down from the saddle to kneel above the dying man and turn him over onto his back. The man was a grizzled veteran of Urgrik. His face was scarred with old wounds, and his body was clotted with blood from more recent ones.

The man opened his eyes.

"Death," he whispered. "Death came in the night and—" He choked and his eyes closed. Niall leaned closer, his arm about the man, half lifting him as if to ease him of his pain.

The soldier smiled, nodded. His eyes opened once again. "Beware the fort. They're all dead, inside it. Only I got away. Crawled. Crawled until I—could crawl no more."

His hand closed on Niall's wrist. "Beware the tiling in the fort. It cannot—be killed..."

The man shuddered and writhed as pain ate inside him. He gasped at the hot desert an and stared upward into the face of the man who bent above him.

"It began when they were di-digging ... digging to find more water. They—uncovered an old-tomb. And then..."

The man shuddered once more, violently, and then his body sagged. Niall looked down at him with pity in his eyes. Pity and—admiration. If this man had not struggled and fought to crawl out this far away from the frontier fort, he and his men would have ridden into untold danger.

He straightened and let the man down gently on the hot sand. He stood up and waved Ins column forward.

When the lieutenant stood before him, Niall said, "This one came from the fort. Apparently he is the only one left alive. His comrades dug for water and seemingly uncovered a tomb — or so he says. Death came out of that tomb and killed the entire company, excepting only him."

Niall scowled. His eyes ran along the column, studying the faces of these men he led. He could not take them into the fort, not without discovering what danger lay before them.

"Go back to Urgrik," Niall said slowly. "Tell Lurlyr Manakor that I have gone on alone to discover what this danger is. If I don't return," here he shrugged, "then I would advise that he consult magicians to try and learn what it is that has come up from the ground to slay his warriors."

The lieutenant would have protested, he would have urged that the entire column go on with their commander, but Niall would have none of it.

"I am one man. I may discover what the thing is that has killed. One man may hide where many cannot. Besides, now that I command the armies of the king, mine is the duty to protect them."

He would hear no argument. He waited until the dead man was wrapped in a blanket and slung across one of the pack mules. He stood and watched the column as it swung about and headed back toward Urgrik.

Only then did he mount up and urge the gray stallion onward. As he rode, his eyes were forever busy, staring out across the sands toward the low line of mountains in the distance, toward which he went.

What was this danger that could wipe out an entire detachment of hard-bitten soldiers? Each man of them was used to weapons, used to fighting the hill tribes, accustomed to swift forays or long battles. Yet something had destroyed them.

Unease lay along his muscles. Niall had met many foes, he had always defeated them, whether they were of the robber kingdoms that lay along the shores of the Aztallic Sea or the trained legions that swore allegiance to the Great Kham. He knew of nothing that could destroy an entire garrison and leave wounds on its victims such as those he had seen on the man who had crawled across the desert.

"By Emelkartha's pretty toes," he muttered. "I may be riding to my death."

Well, he had known that when he had sent back his troops. There was no need for more than one man to die, if die he must. No sense in condemning an entire troop to that method of dying.

He growled low in his throat and rode on.

In time he came to where he could sit his saddle and stare at the high walls of the frontier fort. Nothing stirred there except for the flags that bore the basilisk standards of Urgrik, limp in the still air. No man walked the walls. The big wooden gates were wide open, affording him a partial view of the parade grounds, but these were empty.

Sighing, Niall rode on.

He came up to those open gates and moved between them. In utter silence, he swung down from the saddle and moved here and there, studying the ground. Then he walked into the barracks.

There were bodies here, torn and mutilated as the dead man on the sands had been. Niall let his eyes run over them, trying to imagine what demonaic power could have done this to living men, to men accustomed to fighting. A cold chill ran down his spine.

He heard a whisper in the air and his head snapped up even as he drew his blade. Something was here in the fort. Something deadly, something hateful.

Niall was about to take a step forward, to go in search of whatever it was that quested through the halls and barracks of this frontier fort. Something touched his wrist and held it.

Do not go, Niall: It waits for you!

Ah! That was Emelkartha the Evil, goddess of the eleven hells. Niall grinned and felt himself relax. It has been some time since he had faced death on the high altar in the temple to Korvassor, with pretty Amyrilla beside him.

Now Amyrilla was queen in Urgrik, being wedded to Lurlyr Manakor. And he himself was commander of the king's armies.

"Well? What am I to do?" he asked softly. "Wait here for that thing to come and kill me?"

Anger was in the voice that whispered in his mind.

Do you think I would let you be killed? I felt your trouble and I came as swiftly as I could, to help you. I do not know what it is you are to face and so I must be—careful.

"I'd like it better if you became Lylthia, if I could see you," he growled.

You would only want to kiss me.

"What's wrong with that? I love you."

The anger was gone from that inner voice, it held only tenderness now. Perhaps. In a little while. After I learn what it is that quests for you.

The whispering in the barracks grew louder. Niall swung about, almost forgetting Lylthia. The danger that had killed an entire garrison was after him, now. Would he be wrenched about and twisted, cut up as those others had been? Would even Emelkartha herself be able to save him? It came slowly, whispering more loudly. Through the passages of the barracks and the fort it made its way, hunting him. Niall's hand was fastened tightly to his sword-blade, but of what use was a sword against something like this? Those dead soldiers had had swords and had undoubtedly used them.

Niall gasped.

A ball of blue fire hung above the floor, motionless. It had moved out of the hallway and into this larger room, and now that it sighted its prey, it paused, seemingly to gloat over him.

Even Emelkartha was silent, as though stunned by what she was seeing through his eyes. Then he heard her whisper very faint.

It cannot be! I dream! This thing was destroyed five thousand centuries ago!

The bluish ball moved forward, whispering more shrilly, as though already it were tasting the blood of this man who stood before it.

Niall! Let me!

He felt something run along his veins, felt it slip out of his hand. Instantly the steel blade of Blood-drinker blazed with crimson light. It was as though a million tiny fires blazed within its hardness.

Fight now, Niall! Fight and—destroy this thing!

He hurled himself forward, and harsh laughter-eager laughter — rose up from the blue ball to gloat at him. The blueness rushed, even as Niall swung his sword.

Into that blue ball he drove his crimson steel, felt it bite. He wrenched it out and drove in forward again, barely aware that the blueness was screaming as though in mortal anguish.

Into the ball he stabbed his blade and heard again that keening cry of wild despair. Before his eyes it seemed to shrink, sought to turn and flee.

Do not let it go, Niall! After it!

He ran as swiftly as any Thort deer and as he ran he swung Blood-drinker again. Through the blue ball he drove his crimson steel, again and yet again.

The blue ball wailed. No longer did it whisper so hungrily, for now it was shrinking, as though it were losing shape. Its roundness disappeared, jagged edges came into view. Niall stabbed again.

Suddenly the blue ball was gone.

From somewhere far away, something screamed.

Chapter Two

The crimson faded from his blade as Niall lowered his sword and stared around him dazedly. Where was the thing? Had he really destroyed it? He grew aware that sweat ran down his back.

He heard a patter of feet and swung about.

Emelkartha ran toward him, wearing those same ragged garments she had worn in Angalore. Into his arms she threw herself, to be clasped and kissed more hungrily than Niall had ever before kissed a woman.

For a long time he held her, caressing her, whispering words of love into her ears, half hidden by her long black hair, as dark as Corassian ebony. Then her bands were on his muscular shoulders, pushing him back and away.

Green eyes gazed up at him fondly.

"So. You have not forgotten Lylthia?"

"How could I forget you? Don't you know I dream of you, night after night?'

"You are a very foolish man, you know," she chided him. "You rush into dangers the way a bull rushes at a red flag."

He grinned down at her. "I always have you to protect me."

"That is only because I like you very much. But you must not expect me to be around you all the time."

"Only when there is nobody to see you. Like now."

"And because you are in trouble." She pouted. "Much trouble, if I am not mistaken." Her eyes went up to stare into his. "Do you know where you are, right now?'

"Of course. In a frontier fort that belongs to the kingdom of Urgrik."

She nodded. "Yes, of course. But it is something more. I did not realize it myself until just a little while ago. You are standing where once bloomed the ancient land of Pthest."

Niall turned the word over in his mind. "Never heard of it."

"You would not. It has long since been forgotten by mankind. But five thousand centuries ago, it was famous all across the world. Sosaria Thota lived here, where it was a garden world."

"Oh? And who was Sosaria Thota?"

"A most famous witch. Some said she was the daughter of a demon, She ruled this part of the world with cruel fingers. Kings and emperors paid her fortunes to have her cast spells for them."

"Well, she's dead now."

"Is she, Niall? I begin to think she still lives—or hopes to."

He stared down at her. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that this was nonsense, but he was remembering other times when he had encountered magic and the effects of magic. But why would this Sosaria Thota come alive again? How could she?

It was as if Lylthia read his mind when she murmured, "Because she has made a bargain with the wicked ones who dwell in mega-space, who wait outside the world you know, seeking a way to enter it."

Niall shrugged his brawny shoulders. He did not care overmuch for demons, he had a wholesome regard for them and their powers and if it were up to him alone, he would avoid them. As commander of the armies of Lurlyr Manakor, it was his duty to put this frontier fort into operation, however. He could not do that if this demonaic witch were to send her powers outward to destroy the men who inhabited it.

His eyes touched Lylthia. She was staring at the door through which the glowing blue ball had come. Was she expecting another manifestation of the powers of this Sosaria Thota?

"Well?' he asked softly. "What now?'

She turned her head and smiled at him, yet deep within her green eyes there was worry. "By rights, I ought to go back to my eleven hells. But I dare not leave you unguarded." She sighed, "You are a worry to me sometimes, Niall."

He gave a bull bellow of laughter and dragged her in against him, almost smothering her in his embrace. Lylthia tinkled laughter, but there was an undertone of concern in her throat

"You must not take things so lightly, Niall," she scolded. "No matter if I am here to guard you. There are those in the mega-worlds with powers as great—if not greater—than my own."

"The thing to do then is find out how strong this witch-woman is. We'll go exploring."

His hand caught hers and like that, with Lylthia tripping lightly along beside him, he moved from the big barracks room out into the corridor and walked past the doors of other rooms, rooms in which weapons and other gear were stored.

Silence lay like a pall on this fort which usually resounded to the curses or laughter of the men who were stationed here. It seemed to lap about them, surrounding them with menace. Niall grumbled and shifted his shoulders restlessly, and his hand was never far from his sword-hilt

They came out upon a wall-walk and stood with the hot wind off the desert brushing them. To the south lay the vast expanse of the Baklakanian Desert, and beyond that the cultivated lands of Urgrik. Westward were the vast steppes between Urgrik and the lands of Noradden. Niall had never been to Noradden, but he had heard tales of its bazaars and the ships that fled across the waters of the Pulthanian Sea. He turned and stared eastward, and could make out, dimly enough, the Mountains of the Sun, that marked the boundary of Urgrik.

Lylthia touched him with a shoulder, and he put an arm about her. The winds were cool up here, and he felt her shiver.

He swung about and looked northward toward the high hills. Whatever evil had come upon this fortress had come from those hills, where the men of this fort had been digging for water.

"I have to go there," he muttered.

Lylthia stirred. "No. It is certain death. I know that much, Niall." "It is my duty."

She drew back and stared up at him. "You men, with your ideals of duty and what you must do!" She sighed and laughed. "Perhaps that is why I like you so much, though. But you shall not go alone, my love. I will walk with you."

"First we will eat and sleep."

They turned—and suddenly froze.

In the long shadows of this late afternoon, they heard a strange and eerie keening. It was like the wail of a lost soul, rising and falling. The sound came from the north, in among those hills.

Niall swore and half drew Blood-drinker. Lylthia listened, eyes wide and head up, as though something in that sound touched a chord of memory deep inside her. After a moment, she shuddered.

"She has strange powers, that one," she whispered. "Ancient powers, long forgotten by this world." Her lovely face twisted in a grimace. "Indeed, I myself had forgotten all about them—until now."

Niall glanced down into her face. "Are you telling me that you're afraid?"

Her green eyes glowed. "You would be well advised to know fear. Such a woman as Sosaria Thota has never been known since she died."

With a hand at his fingers, she drew him down off the wall-walk They found a commissary room equipped with freezer units and with stoves. In moments, Niall had two big steaks roasting over the flames while he poured red Kallarian wine into two big goblets.

They ate without a thought for anything but the food. When they were done and sipping at the wine, Niall grinned. Lylthia eyed him suspiciously.

"Last time I took you to bed with me —in Angalore, you'll recall—you mesmerized me."

Laughter twinkled in Lylthia's eyes. "I did not know you so well, back in those days. To me, you were only someone who was interfering with my vengeance on Maylok the magician."

"And now?'

The girl shrugged. "We'll see," she muttered, and laughed. "I have a fancy to know something of this emotion you humans call love. It might not be amiss..."

Niall lifted to his feet, reached for his wine-cup and drained it. Then he reached out for Lylthia. He put an arm about her slender waist and hugged her to him. Like that, they walked out of the commissary room and up a short flight of stairs to the bedrooms of the post officers.

The room was dark, but Niall found tapers of yellow wax and lighted them. In their light, he saw a big, wide bed, together with a bureau and a desk and chair Lylthia was staring around her with wide eyes, almost as though she had never before seen a bedroom.

"Now you shall dance for me, as once you danced in a dream," he said softly.

She shook her head. "I do not feel like dancing, Niall. There is danger here — great danger. I can feel it, inside me." "What sort of danger?'

"I know not. But it is here. Somewhere. Just—waiting."

She turned and walked toward an open window, without glass, with only a leather curtain on a rod drawn back, freeing that opening to the winds. It was a still night, no breeze stirred, and there was a heaviness in the air.

Niall stared at this woman he loved. It was not like Lylthia to be given to worry. If she were concerned, there was reason for him to be, too.

He moved toward her, stood beside her looking out into the night. High above, the ring of shattered matter that encircled their world reflected back the brilliance of the sunlight that touched its edges.

It was a beautiful sight, and on more than one occasion Niall had looked up at it, wondering what it was, where it had come from.

"If you—"

"Wait!"

There was urgency in her, and he could feel the tenseness of her body where he touched it. Her eyes were wide, her arms were by her side, yet rigid. It was as if she searched with senses unknown to him somewhere out there in the night.

And then —

A beam of light shot skyward. It was pure white, almost blinding in its brilliance. For a moment it paused, as though seeking, and then it flashed downward, straight at them.

Lylthia gave a little cry.

She whirled and thrust at him with both arms, driving him backward and into the darkest shadows. Then the pale light was all about her, enveloping her.

Niall shouted, with agony in his soul.

The blazing whiteness was all around Lylthia, eating at her, dissolving her. From where he stood as though paralyzed, Niall could see her shimmer, glow with unearthly brilliance, then fade out.

Only the whiteness was left.

That whiteness sang joyously. It whispered and laughed, or so it seemed to Niall, and then —slowly, slowly—it withdrew, back into the night from which it had come.

Lylthia was gone.

Eaten.

Niall lifted his head and bellowed out his grief, his rage.

Chapter Three

Dawn found the Far-traveler moving upward along the slopes of the hills that lay north of the fort. He felt frozen inside him, dead. Lylthia was gone. So too, was her other self, Emelkartha of the Eleven Hells.

He would never see her again, never know her laughter nor the touch of her body. A rage burned inside him, cold and deadly. As he walked, his big hand fondled the hilt of his sword.

He would find this witch-woman, this Sosaria Thota, and he would run cold steel into her flesh. Lylthia would be avenged! He cared nothing for what might happen to him, nor did he pause to reckon at any odds.

He was a barbarian sell-sword. All his life had been given to using a sword in battle. He was walking toward his last battle, now. If he could avenge Lylthia, if he could kill this witch-woman, he would be satisfied. Even if he himself found death.

Life meant nothing to him any longer. Not without Lylthia. Or Emelkartha He loved that woman who was also a goddess in her demonaic worlds. He would revenge her death. Then he would die, himself.

He plodded on and upward, his great muscles rolling under his sun-bronzed hide. He felt no tiredness, no weariness, though he had been walking since early dawn. Up there in the hills, the men of the frontier fort had been digging for water, to make a stone pipe which would bring water into the fort.

And they had unearthed—Sosaria Thota.

He would search and find that tomb where she had been buried. He would run his steel into her body and destroy her. Nothing else mattered.

Sometime after high noon, he rested on a flat rock and ate the food and drank the wine he had brought with him. His eyes searched the tree-covered heights toward which he climbed as he ate, striving to discover where it was the men had been digging.

He sighed and rose and began walking again.

Toward evening, he sighted an open gap in the ground where it had been dug up, and several tools lying there, neglected. Niall moved forward.

He came to the opening, and stared down into it.

He saw rock-work and bricks, part of a subterranean chamber. Yet much dirt and rocks lay there, hiding any way in or out of it. The first thing he must do was to dig out that rubble, find a way into that structure.

But not now, not tonight. Tonight he must eat and sleep, to be ready for the morrow.

He stood before that opening, grieving. Never to see Lylthia again! Never to hear her soft laughter or be aware of the brightness of her green eyes, staring up into his with so much love! It was not a burden he could carry for the rest of his life.

No! As soon as he had killed the witch-woman he would leave this place and walk westward. He would walk until he dropped of exhaustion, and there he would die. Niall of the Far Travels no longer wanted to live.

He sat down and ate the remainder of the food he had carried with him, and finished the wine in the skin. He lay down and drew his cloak more tightly about him. In a moment, he was asleep.

When he woke in the early morning, it was to a brilliant sun that covered him with warmth. Niall lifted off his mail shirt, his other garments, until he stood almost naked, with just a bit of cloth about his loins. Then he reached for a shovel.

He began to dig.

Apparently there had been a landslide here, for the dirt was loose. Shovelful after shovelful rose upward, and as he worked, Niall saw that he was uncovering the door of the tomb.

It was a bronze door, covered over with strange signs and sigils. Niall stared at it a moment, scowling. There was an aura of evil about that door that was almost tangible. He scowled blackly, shrugged and put out a hand to it.

The door opened slowly, its hinges creaking. He had to apply all his strength to opening that door, for it had been closed for uncounted centuries.

When it was open, he waited for air to go into that dark chamber which lay beyond it. As he stood there, he bent to lift up his sword and draw it from the scabbard.

Then Niall stepped into the tomb.

His attention was caught by what seemed to be a glass case, under which lay a body. The case was on a table of ebony with carven legs, about which were entwined the bodies of demons. Niall stared at it a moment, before turning to look around him.

His eyes wandered here and there, seeing strange and unusual objects of metal, objects the purpose of which he could not understand. There was something that resembled a great glass globe mounted on golden balls, and to one side of it there was another object which consisted of slender rods and golden stars. Not far away was a great metal square with antennae rising upward from its top.

Niall turned back to the glass case.

He moved forward and caught his breath. He stared downward at the body of a woman with long golden hair, a woman so beautiful that something inside him choked up at the sight of her. Her eyelids were blued, yet were closed, and her golden lashes lay like tiny fans against her cheek.

She wore a single garment, something of diaphanous silk through which he could see the gleam of pale flesh. Her breasts pushed upward into this cloth, and for a moment, Niall thought to see those breasts move.

But no, that was merely an illusion.

This girl—or woman—was dead. There was no doubt of that. But—could this be the Sosaria Thota whom Lylthia had mentioned? How long ago was it she said the witch-woman had lived? Five thousand centuries?

Ha! If that were so, then this could not be she. This woman looked as though she had just fallen asleep.

He put a hand on the case. It felt warm, and seemed almost to quiver under his touch. Niall drew back, scowling.

There was wizardry here. He could almost smell it.

Niall waited. He could not believe that a woman as lovely as this could be as dangerous as Lylthia had suggested. Yet if she were Sosaria Thota, she had killed the woman he loved. With some sort of magic in this tomb.

He eyed those strange objects warily.

Maybe he ought to lift out Blood-drinker and use the flat of his blade to smash those queerly glittering things. There was evil in them, and a strange power which he could sense.

His hand lifted out the blade and he took a step forward.

"No!"

The word exploded inside him. There was strength in that word, spoken by a tremendously powerful will, Niall whirled around.

The woman lay as she always had, motionless. The chamber was quiet, with his breathing making the only sound. The hair rose up on the nape of his neck. More sorcery!

Niall growled low in his throat, swung back toward the strange objects. His huge hand tightened on his sword. By Emelkartha of the Eleven Hells! He was going to smash those things, destroy them forever.

He took another step, and froze.

Behind him he heard a whisper of sound. He did not know what that sound might be. he had never heard it before. With it came a sharp scent to his nostrils.

Niall wanted to swing around, to look behind him at that ancient catafalque, but he could not move a muscle. Yet his every sense strained to hear, to listen to those sounds which were like nothing else he had ever heard. And with the sounds, came that sharp acrid smell.

"You fool!"

The words were sharp, bitter. They had been spoken by a woman. Niall gave a rumbling growl. Was that corpse behind him—alive? Was that woman he had seen breathing? Could she have spoken to him?

Slowly, slowly, the rigidity went out of his muscles. Now he could move, and he swung about, staring.

The transparent covering was gone. Melted away? Evaporated into nothingness? The woman was sitting up and looking at him with calm gray eyes, very wise eyes and very old, or so he thought. She was beautiful. More beautiful than any woman Niall had ever seen.

Those gray eyes went over him from his worn war-boots to his kilt and fur kaunake that covered his mail beneath the saffron silk cloak, upward to his face. The gray eyes widened at sight of his rugged good looks, his mop of thick yellow hair.

"Who are you, who come blundering in to disturb my sleep? From whence do you come?"

"I am the commander of the armies of Lurlyr Manakor, king of Urgrik," he growled. Then he asked, with a snarl in his voice, "Are you the one who killed Lylthia?"

Mocking laughter rose upward into the air as the woman on the spotted furs of the catafalque threw back her head. Amusement was written plainly enough on her face. "And if I were? What is that to you, man? Do you not know who I am?"

She paused and stared at him. In a softer voice she went on, "No, perhaps you don't. Something tells me I have been asleep for a long time. A long, long time. Even your speech is different from the way people talked when I lived before. What is the year?"

"The fifth year of the Bear in the Cycle of the Twelve sigils"

"All of which means absolutely nothing to me."

Niall remembered what Lylthia had whispered in his mind.

"You have been dead for five thousand centuries. If you're who I think you are."

The woman gasped and sat up straighter. "You lie! So much time could not have elapsed."

"What would I gain by lying?"

She considered him, her head tilted sideways. Those eyes seemed almost to weigh him, to look deep inside him. They made Niall uncomfortable. He still held his sword in his big right hand, and he told himself that if he could get close enough to this woman, he would bury its steel in her throat.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked softly.

"Sosaria Thota."

Alarm and amazement came into her features. She swung her legs forward off the catafalque and stood upon the stone floor. Her breasts rose and fell as though to deep emotion.

"How could you know my name?" she whispered. "If what you tell me is true—that five hundred thousand years have passed since I was last here—no man could possibly have remembered me."

Niall shrugged. He was not about to admit that it had been Lylthia who had whispered that information into his mind.

She moved forward, as graceful as the hunting leopard, and—or so Niall thought—as deadly. She was beautiful as Lylthia, but there was something about this woman that chilled Niall, deep inside him.

He stood waiting, his hand still holding his sword. As though she sensed his thought, Sosaria Thota laughed softly.

"Would you kill me, man?" she asked.

"Aye. I would."

She laughed gleefully and clapped her pink palms together in an almost childish glee. She was close now, and despite the hate he felt for her, he was aware of her as a desirable woman. The garment she wore was revealing, being woven of some silken strands that seemed almost transparent.

"You are an honest man. Good! I like that. And you are a brave one. I like that, too. It will make your subjection that much sweeter."

She paused, the green eyes laughing up at him.

"Do you think you can bury your sword in my flesh, man? Do you? Try it"

He could not look away from those eyes which seemed to hold him in thrall. His knees grew weak, suddenly, and he groaned, unable to move his sword-arm She was a witch-woman, all right, this Sosaria Thota. In her hands he was like a helpless babe.

"There now," she smiled, speaking in a soft voice. "You appeal to me, whoever you are. I need a companion, a living companion. I have been too long—asleep."

She sighed. "I would look upon the world again, see it as it was, so long ago. Come you with me, man."

Sosaria Thota turned and without looking back at him, made her way out of the tomb, climbing over the loose rubble and the rocks, the wind blowing her drapery about her flesh so that at times it seemed she was almost naked.

Niall went after her, sheathing his sword. No sense in carrying Blood-drinker in his hand, if he could not use it. And he knew he could not, against this woman.

They came out upon the lip of the diggings, and the woman stood as if frozen, staring out across the desert sands. Her eyes went this way and that, as though seeking something that had been here, and was here no more.

Niall stood beside her, so close that her bare arm touched his. From her flesh rose up a sweet, stirring fragrance.

"Gone. All gone," she whispered. "No longer is there a land of Thilmagia. Instead—only dead sand."

She whirled and stared up at him with those disturbing gray eyes. "Is it like this all over the world?"

"Of course not," he growled. "This is the desert. Out yonder," and here he flung up a hand, "are the wild hordes of Pugarsk. To keep them at a distance, Urgrik has built these forts."

He turned and now his arm swept northward, toward Urgrik. "There are cities that way, and to the east and the west. There live men and women. No one but soldiers stay in such places as this."

His mention of soldiers made him think of the men this woman had killed with her devilish lights. She must have caught the anger in his throat, for she smiled faintly and nodded.

"Yes, I slew all life around me, once I was—disturbed. I lay asleep and dreaming for many centuries, it seems. Yet when men came and began to dig, I became aware of it, and sent out my messenger to kill them."

"As your messenger was slain."

Her hand stabbed out and caught his arm, her long red fingernails biting into his flesh. "Aye! Something destroyed Messarib. Was it you? No, no. You have not the power. Then—who was it?'

Niall shrugged. He was not about to tell this woman anything, though it could make little difference, since Lylthia was dead. At that thought, a fierce anger began to burn inside him, until it became a rage that made him tremble.

Her eyes were wise, they saw the fury in him, and she laughed softly. "I sent the vilaspa light to search the barracks when Messarib was destroyed. That light touched a living person—ate him. Who was that person, Niall?"

He shook his head, knowing that those eyes were on him as though they might read his mind. Let her look, let her try to discover what he knew. He would not tell.

Sosaria Thota sighed and turned away, her stare going over the desert lands once again. She stood as though she did not feel the desert winds that touched her lone garment and blew it about her. Niall wondered what she might be thinking.

At last she said, "These lands where men do live in these days — be they far?"

"A few marches away."

"Then lead me there, man."

"Not I, lady."

She turned and looked at him, haughtily. Her lips opened as if she would speak, but then they only curved at their corners into a grim smile.

"Go and fetch horses, then. One for you, one for me, and two more to carry those things I shall need. Go now."

Niall turned and walked toward the fort. In the stables there would be horses. Yet he told himself he would not take the witch-woman into Urgrik City. He would lead her out upon the desert, but in a direction away from the populated places.

There in that desert, without water, she would surely die. Of course, he would die with her, but what was his death compared to the lives of the people he would save? Sosaria Thota would kill and slay all who stood in her way. She would not rest content until it was she and not Lurlyr Manakor who ruled in Urgrik.

Aye, and in other cities as well, until with her wizardous arts she controlled all men and their lives. His big hand clenched into a fist. He would not permit it. In some way, he would find a way to kill her.

He saddled two horses, one of them the big gray stallion he had ridden here. He also selected two pack animals. He fed them and the other horses which would be left behind, and made certain they had plenty of water.

Then he brought the mounts toward where Sosaria Thota waited. He might not be able to draw and use steel against her, but she would not suspect that the desert sands might kill her.

It was his only chance.

Chapter Four

They began their march at a walk, with Niall out in front on his gray horse. He set the pace, it was an easy walk, for he was in no hurry. Apparently Sosaria Thota was content with that, for she made no comment.

All day they moved across the hot sands, until the sun sank in the west and a breeze sprang up. Only then did Niall turn and glance back at the witch-woman who sat her saddle with the ease of olden days.

Her eyes were very bright as they studied him.

"Always you move westward, man," she said softly, and her eyes were narrow and angry. "I ask myself if you are trying to trick me."

Niall shrugged his broad shoulders. "Now why should I do that?"

"Because you are loyal to this king you serve, because you don't want to lead me into this city of Urgrik." Her lips curved into a cruel smile. "I will play your little game with you, for a time."

She leaned forward in the saddle, her hands clutching its pommel, and her eyes blazed at him. "Think not to fool me, man. I am Sosaria Thota!" She moved back then, and let her laughter ripple on the air. "You take me westward, and I want to go north. Am I such a fool that I cannot see the sun?"

Niall swung down from the kak. "We'll make camp here."

The woman stared around her, brows wrinkling. "One spot is as good as another, I suppose. One can eat and sleep here."

She came onto the sands and walked back and forth, kicking little sand-puffs at every stride. From time to time she threw back her head and stared upward at the darkening sky. Then, as though making up her mind about something, she moved toward one of the pack horses and began to fumble with the straps.

Her hands lifted down an apparatus consisting of many slender rods, each of which was surmounted by a golden star. This she set down very carefully on the sand and stood a moment, brooding at it.

She turned and stared at Niall.

"I have had men flayed alive for lying to me, man. Others I have had my torturers spend a week over, making certain that the manner of their dying was extremely slow and painful." She sighed. "I should not care to order you to die in any such manner."

"In those days, you had many servants. Today you have only me."

She laughed at him. "Fool! Do you think I cannot summon up help? I can call on the denizens of the outer darknesses, which are all familiar to me, who obey my slightest whims."

Niall shrugged and turned back to the little fire he had made and over which he was cooking meat he had brought from the fort. Inside him was a coldness that seemed to stretch inward to his very bones. How did a mere man deal with such a witch? From what Lylthia had hinted, this beautiful woman who stared at him so coldly had strange and mighty powers.

Her hands did something to the rods and stars, and instantly Niall saw a dark cloud spring up about them. It was dark at first, as black as the fabled pits of Aberon, yet slowly that ebon tint faded, was streaked with brilliant scarlet — then faded.

Now he stared at a dead world. Dark were the cinders on which he crouched, lifeless and sere, while above him was a sky shot with crimson fires. It seemed that he heard a whisper, very faint, yet one which grew louder she listened.

It was the beat of wings.

The thing came on widespread wings, fluttering a moment, before it settled down near Sosaria Thota. Its three eyes were brilliant with evil, and Niall shuddered when he saw that this demonaic being eyed him hungrily.

"Can it be Sosdria Thota?" the thing croaked.

"None other, Alphanor. I am awake again, you see. I have slept a long time. Now I appeal to you for help."

"Leave the man-thing for me, and I shall be at your service."

"Na, na, Alphanor. This one I need—for a time, at least. Yet you shall be paid. This I vow."

The bird-being took its beady eyes from Niall to glance at the witch-woman For a moment it seemed to hesitate, then its armored head nodded.

"What is it you seek?"

"Long ago—in my other lifetime—the gods of the outer darknesses promised me their aid. Yet at that time they were unable to help me—and so I waited. Now my time of waiting is at an end."

She stood proudly before that black bird-beast, her head flung back, and Niall had to admire her at that moment. She was a human being, or had been, and she trafficked with demons in their own lands. Great must be her powers, great her courage.

Alphanor hesitated. "There are other powers," he grumbled. "They too, are powerful, mayhap even more powerful than we dark beings. Over the years when you have been sleeping, those others have extended their abilities."

"Are you saying you cannot help me? Or will not?"

"It is not easy. If those other powers were to guess—"

It seemed to Niall that the bird-thing shivered.

"Enough," Sosaria Thota snapped. "If you fear to aid me, there are others upon whom I can call."

The bird-god shook himself. "Look around you," he croaked. "Once this land was fair, with trees and grass and animals abounding, all over it. That was before you called on me and I—aided you.

"Those others came then and destroyed my world, even as they forced you into an eons-long sleep. Do you care to risk their wrath a second time, Sosaria Thota?"

"I do. I shall"

Her hand touched the rods and stars and instantly the dark, dead world was gone and there was a moment when Niall swayed while all about him madness cracked and thundered. Then the ground under his feet settled, and he saw that he stood in a massive hall, so large it seemed to stretch away almost to infinity.

There were tiles underfoot, and a warmth everywhere. Niall swung about, stared at a great throne upon which—something—stirred and seemed to rise upward from slumber. He could not make out its form, there was something alien and non-human about it.

"Who comes?" a voice whispered. "Who dares disturb the dreams of Xinthius?"

"I dare, great one. Long ages ago, I worshiped thee in the lands I ruled. I am Sosaria Thota!"

There was silence, then something rustled like dry leather. "I remember you. Aye. But that was long, long ago."

"And now? Are your powers so faded you cannot aid me again?'

"What is it you wish of me?"

"Help me attain to my old powers! Help me rule the world of my birth as once I ruled it?"

"Na, now. Things have changed while you slept, girl. We dark worlders are not so powerful as once we were. There are those who would contain us."

Sosaria Thota sneered. "And you fear them?"

"I do, and rightly so. I am content here in my halls, where my word is supreme. Here I sit and dream, and I enjoy my life. If I were to aid you in your plans, all this might be taken from me."

"Must I seek out Abaddon himself?"

"Go seek him, woman. I will not help. I am content with my dreamings."

Angrily, Sosaria Thota stabbed out a hand, touched the rods and stars. They glittered and gleamed and gave off a faint music. Niall swayed to the dizziness that touched him, and then he stood on rocky ground riven by great fissures. Upward from those fissures came white steam.

Yet in the near distance, Niall could make out grassy slopes and trees heavy-hung with fruit. His head turned as he stared about him. This land was like a paradise. The air was sweet, it was filled with bird-songs

"Carry that," snapped Sosaria Thota, gesturing at the rods and stars.

She turned and walked away from the rocky ground, moving steadily toward the nearest grass. Niall bent and lifted the rods and stars and carried it easily in his muscular arms. Only when Sosaria Thota halted did he set it down.

"Who intrudes on Abaddon in his domains?"

It was a whisper from the very air. There was no shape around, nothing which could have spoken. Yet the words rang in his ears, and he knew that the witch-woman heard them too, for she stiffened and glanced around her.

Was it his imagination, or did her beautiful face mirror an inner fear? No matter. She flung back her head and cried, "I come for help, Abaddon. I am Sosaria Thota, who worshiped you long and long ago as the father of all demons!"

"I remember."

"Then aid me now, great one! Restore to me those lands which once I ruled."

There was laughter all about him, Niall realized, as though the very air itself were amused. Slowly that mirth died away and there was a silence.

Then: "If I do this which you ask, what is to be my reward?" "Anything you ask."

"Then this is my demand: that all men shall adore me, on your world. There is to be no temple to any other god or goddess. I alone—Abaddon!—am to be sole god."

"It shall be done."

Niall stirred restlessly. Was this to be the end of his world as he knew it? He had heard of the powers of Abaddon, they were whispered of by priests and initiates of other gods and goddesses. He was The Black One, the Dark Destroyer. All power was his, he was supreme among the evil ones.

His hand touched the hilt of his Orravian dagger and he half drew it. Yet he knew that he could never use steel against Sosaria Thota. It was an order that was impressed upon his very brain by her wizardous arts.

Around Sosaria Thota the air seemed to glow, to brighten intensely. Swiftly that brightness shrank until it encompassed her body and then seemed to merge with it. She turned her head and stared at him, and now it seemed to Niall that another was inside that body, looking out at him.

"Come, man," said the witch-woman, and gestured at the rods and stars.

Obediently, Niall lifted the contraption. There was an instant of intense cold and darkness, and then they were standing again on the vast stretch of sand that formed the Baklakanian Desert.

Sosaria Thota was looking around her, as though considering. Niall watched her closely, then reached for his dagger. Could he throw it at her? An old warrior with whom he had served in the forces of Sensenall to the south, had taught him the way of it. Still, he was long out of practice.

He hefted the dagger in his big hand. Should he risk it?

Na, na, Niall. That is not the way.

Niall of the Far Travels froze. His heart leaped and thudded inside his great chest. Was that Lylthia? Or—to give her her true name—Emelkartha of the Eleven Hells? But—Lylthia was dead!

Sosaria Thota turned and stared at him and at his dagger. Her lips curved into a grim smile. "Are you thinking of using that against me, man? You cannot, remember. I have forbidden it."

Niall said, "Our meal is done. I was about to slice off steaks.

He knelt about the flames and lifted off the piece of meat he had brought from the fort. He sliced off pieces and handed one to the witch-woman She accepted it, her gray eyes grave on his face, as though she weighed whether or not to let him live.

You shall live, Niall. Neither Sosaria Thota nor Abaddon himself know this world. It has been eons since they were here. You do know it. You are invaluable to them.

Niall hunkered down, chewing his steak. He was at peace, within himself. Now that Emelkartha was back with him, nothing else mattered.

When he was done eating, he wandered away from the little camp to attend to the horses. He fed them, he gave them to drink from the water-skins he had brought from the fort. Then he turned and looked back at his campfire, where the witch-woman sat before it. staring into its flames.

"What shall I do?" he whispered.

Nothing. Only—wait.

Niall came back to the fire, stretched himself out and wrapped his cloak about him. Sosaria Thota glanced at him, but her eyes were lidded so that he could not see their great depths.

Niall slept.

He woke in the early dawn, when the sun was tinting the desert sands a reddish hue. Sosaria Thota was standing beside the dead embers of the fire, her body rigid, arms by her side, her head flung back. Beside her was the machine with the tall, thin rods.

Her hand touched it.

All about them there was a shifting of light, of vision. No longer was there any sand but instead green grass grew, and at some distance, Niall could see a great white wall and behind it the tops of buildings.

Yet this vision lasted only a few moments. It shifted then and faded away, and only the desert remained. Sosaria Thota sobbed.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she wailed.

"I do not understand. Always the amanathor has performed as you requested. It has great powers, has the rod-thing." That had been the voice of Abaddon.

"I saw my little city, I did. And the lands that were wont to surround it when I lived—before."

"Yet now they will not stay. Some other power is making them disappear, setting at naught the power of the amanathor."

Anger touched the witch-woman, distorted her features. "You are the father of evil, the grandfather of all devils! Help me!"

"I—cannot. There is great power here allied against us. I am seeking for it, but it is hidden."

Soft laughter rippled through Niall's mind.

They search for me, yet they do not suspect you hold me within you, as Sosaria Thota holds Abaddon. Nor shall they.

Sosaria Thota began to pace up and down, kicking sand with her feet at every stride. Confusion and fear touched her face. She halted at last and stared down at Niall where he sat on the sand.

"What power rules this desert, man? Answer me!"

"No power I know of. It is only a desert."

The witch-woman shook her head. "No. There is something here. Some great and tremendous strength, against which I am helpless."

Her hands clenched into fists. Her green eyes blazed. "It shall not defeat me. Nothing shall do that. I will not permit it."

She turned and walked away, toward the pack horses and their burdens which Niall had put upon the ground last night She walked up to the metallic thing that held the huge glass globe mounted on golden balls. Her hand touched it, set the balls in motion.

Faster those golden balls rotated. Faster, until they seemed almost to disappear. And as they whirled, the interior of the glass globe darkened, then brightened. Tiny lightnings shot outward from it.

Break it, Niall!

Sosaria Thota stood with her back to him. Niall lifted out his Orravian dagger, balanced it a moment, then hurled it with all his strength. Straight for that glass globe hurtled the steel blade.

Claaanngg!

The sound of breaking glass was loud in the desert stillness. Niall saw pieces of that globe fly to and fro through the air. Sosaria Thota whirled and screamed.

Raw was her fury, black her rage. Her arm lifted and she leveled her fingers at him. From the tips of those fingers flaring blue light sped at him.

Sped at him and—

Parted as that light was about to touch him! On either side of him it went, and faded out.

The witch-woman stared, mouth open and eyes wide.

"Who are you?" she whispered. "What are you? No human could so turn my power."

Niall found himself saying—knowing that Emelkartha was making his lips and tongue fashion those words, "It is useless, Sosaria Thota. Even your evil gods cannot help you. Can you, Abaddon?"

Her last three words were bugled, ringing clearly and loudly. Sosaria Thota shrank back as if hit, and fear lay written on her beautiful features, distorted now by terror.

"You are a demon, a god," she breathed.

Niall said, this time in his own voice, "I am only what you have named me. A man."

She shook her head so that her long golden hair flew about her head. "No! You are more than that. You have driven Abaddon from me. He has fled away, back into his own lands. He has left me to face you alone."

In a broken voice she asked, "What seek you of me?" "Your death, Sosaria Thota."

She leaped at him, fingers curled to claw at him. With one sweep of his arm, he hit her, drove her reeling backward until she fell and lay upon the sands.

"You struck me," she breathed. "You lifted your arm and struck me. You could not. I had forbidden it."

Niall lifted out his sword. Her eyes went to it, to his face. There was insane terror in her eyes now.

The witch-woman whimpered, "No. You cannot. Look at me, man!"

Look you, Niall, as she commands.

Those gray eyes fastened on his, as though they would devour him. Had not Emelkartha been inside him, he would have done what those eyes were bidding him to do: lift out his sword, put its point to his chest, and fall on it.

Yet he did nothing more than stand there, staring back at her, his sword in his right hand.

And then Sosaria Thota whimpered. Her eyes grew bigger, as though something within his own eyes were speaking to her. Slowly she rose upward, to stand before him.

As she did, Niall lifted his sword and pointed it at her, as an inner voice commanded. His blade began to glow whitely, so brilliantly that its glare blinded him.

That brightness gathered in the steel, focused at its point, became a ball if incandescent luminescence. Sosaria Thota shrieked, the agony of death alive in her throat.

From his sword that blazing radiance leaped forward, straight at the witch-woman It hit her, seemed to burst so that it enveloped Sosaria Thota. For an instant, her body was outlined within that shimmering refulgence.

A voice inside that brightness wailed.

Then the whiteness was gone, and the witch-woman with it.

Niall stood alone upon the sands, with only the horses to keep him company. He lowered the sword, and was aware that there was wetness on his forehead. He shook himself, like a great bear newly wakened from his winter sleep. Then he sheathed Blood-drinker and looked around him.

Emelkartha was gone from inside him—

Yet even as he turned, he saw Lylthia standing a dozen feet away, laughing softly.

"I thought you—dead," he whispered.

"And so did Sosaria Thota. I wanted her to think that, Niall, for she had sent one of her messengers to slay someone whom she suspected of being in the fort."

She strode toward him and he opened his arms and caught her to him, kissing her soft red lips hungrily.

When she could, she said, "We shall spend a few days together in the fort, Niall. Before you return to Lurlyr Manakor and tell him that the danger here is done with. Eh? Would you like that?"

Niall gave a great roar of laughter, lifted her high on his chest and began to kiss her even more hungrily.

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.