Gondwane - The Enchantress Of World's End Part 4

"Ho, there, friend! You seem unaccustomed to the mer-spike; if so, let Grrff caution you to avoid fracturing the tips of the triple point," said a husky, rough-edged voice from behind him. He turned to see a powerful Karjixian Tigerman stripped to his barred, tawny fur, clad only in black-leather groincup and high-strapped sandals.

"Thanks for the advice," said Ganelon. "As a matter of fact, I've never seen one of these before: how are they used?"

The Tigerman took it in his paw and upended it. 'The Merfolk of the Second Inland Sea use these when hunting sea snakes," he growled. "The p.r.o.ngs alone are frangible, containing nerve poison; the sea people hurl these like spears at the aquatic reptiles; they break on their scaly backs, injecting venom which causes paralysis. Galendil only knows why the Red b.i.t.c.h has her soldiers train in their use, unless mayhap she plans to add the Inland Sea to her cursed empire, with all the rest!"

Ganelon p.r.i.c.ked up Ms ears at the expletive. They were some yards away from where Colonel Turmus stood watching with cold, sullen eyes, and the Karjixian had spoken in gruff, low tones which had probably not been overheard.

"I gather you are no friend to Zelmarine?" he inquired quietly. "But weren't you at the moon-festival last night?"

The Tigerman gave a snarling laugh, and spit into the sawdust, wrinkling up his whiskery snout. "Not Grrff, big man! He shares a cell in the prison wing of 68 Lin Carter the Palace, albeit one slightly less snug and comfy than yours, if rumor is truth for once. If fellow-countrymen o' Grrff's were at the feast, the curs were renegades. Outcasts or renegades!"

Ganelon digested this news with considerable interest. It is always to the future benefit of a prisoner to make genial contact with his fellow-captives, it occurred to him. He introduced himself; the Tigerman blinked with surprise.

"The warrior who rallied the troops at Uth and broke the Indigons last year?" he asked. His yellow cat-eyes glowed with pleasure and his furry ears twitched "Well-met, then, big man! I am by name Grrff, a war-chief of the Farrowl clan of Xombol. Grrff led a party up against the blue vermin when they came swarming down out of the north, shortly ere they turned east at the Crystal Mountains to stampede against your town of Zermish. They were mighty fighters, and tough to kill; my hand, warrior!"

Ganelon took the furry paw and squeezed it in friendly fas.h.i.+on. He measured the Tigerman with curious eyes, and liked what he saw. The Xombolian only came to his shoulder, of course, but his mighty torso rippled with bulging thews beneath the short nap of his orange fur, which was striped with black and ivory. He had met Tigermen before, and he generally liked them. He said as much.

"I was in Xombol not long ago, with friends," he added.

"Oh, aye? How are things there? Poor Grrffs been caged up here since the d.a.m.nable Indigons crushed his warmen and left him cut off from any chances of homeward retreat. There was nowhere else to go but east, d.a.m.n the filthy luck, and of course poor Grrff ran into an ambush in Dwarfland and the little monsters sold him into bondage here. What the Red b.i.t.c.h wants with him is simple treason-knowledge of the guard-posts and troop-disposal about my King's capitol; and as Grrff will not speak, she pens him here in durance, hoping to break his spirit!"

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"King Vrowl? My master is a good friend of his, and we were guests in Xombol palace on the visit I told you of," said Ganelon. They exchanged a few more words, but then Colonel Turmus, who had been distracted by a messenger, noticed the two captives conversing in low' tones. He sent a pair of Automatons clanking over to separate them.

Till noon, Ganelon and Grrff the Tigerman exercised in the sun, using weapon after weapon against straw dummies as hacking-posts, but too widely apart for further words. When they left the field, however, they waved a friendly goodbye to each other, and exchanged conspiratorial grins and winks.

In the very stronghold of his enemies, Ganelon Sil-vermane had found a friend.

Somehow, the future looked a little brighter for that.

Every morning thereafter, Silvermane looked forward to his hours in the exercise-yard. Not only did he enjoy the opportunity to stretch and toughen his muscles, and to increase and develop his skills with the weapons of war, but he antic.i.p.ated the furtive pleasures of conversation with the Tigerman. Indeed, he and his new-found friend managed to talk a bit, for Turmus was very often absent on his Queen's business, and the Automatons stationed about the field to guard against his escape were too stupid or too uncaring to keep them apart.

It was from Grrff that he learned something about the ambitions of the Red Enchantress. "She's a cunning, unscrupulous, intelligent, ruthless female," growled the Tigerman. "She has notions to incorporate the Realm of the Nine Hegemons and the Voormlsh tribesmen, together with Dwarfland and such city-states about as Oym, Chx, and Abbergathy-to say nothing of Quay, Ixland, the country of the Holy Horxites and GrrfFs own beloved homeland of Karjixia, into one gigantic Empire. With her Redness, of course, as the Empress. She already has gotten a hold on some of the Dwarves, and she has managed to intimidate the Hegemons of Lin Carter Pergamoy, ^Sabdon and your own town of Zermish; Jargo's next on the agenda, I fancy."

"But how does she plan to manage it? She doesn't have much of an army."

Grrff shrugged, his nape-fur ruffling at the thought. "Don't put down the Red Legion till you've seen them fight, big man! Anyway, she's got some of the Dwarf-tribes under her thumb, and you know what ferocious fighters those green devils can be. Then she's got her scythe-armed Automatons, of course. There must be a thousand of them by now, maybe twice that number. And more a-building every day, in the underground factories. Oh, you didn't know about the factories? Well, Shai is a pretty place, if you like gla.s.s-and if you care for red; I'm sick to death of the color myself, after all these months-but didn't you notice how many of the pretty buildings are mere facades, with n.o.body living inside them? What's on the surface is to fool visiting amba.s.sadors and Outlander spies. Underground, it's all grimy manufactories, busily turning out the tools of war, and hordes of those metal men that can't be killed. Thirty a day come rolling off the a.s.sembly lines, Grrff hears; but that may be only prison scuttleb.u.t.t ..."

Ganelon rubbed his jaw reflectively.

"My master, the magician of Nerelon, knows a lot about her and considers her a powerful threat to Northern YamaYamaLand. I wonder if he knows about the underground war works."

"Nerelon, eh? Grrff's heard of him-a great friend of King Vrowl and an ally of his royal father, if we're talking about the same Illusionist. Skinny little geezer, keeps himself covered and gloved, and wears perfumed smoke to hide his face? The same one, then. He was also a good friend to my ancestors, in the previous two or three reigns."

"Really? Goodness, I didn't know he was as old as all that; but you can never tell with magicians, can you?"

The Tigerman grinned, revealing strong white fangs set in bright pink gums. "You can't, and that's a fact. Grrff can recall one time he had a run-in with a troublesome wizard, up Thazarian mountain country. Fellow just came down one day, riding on a Phlygul. Planned to build his tower and lord it over some of the Kar-jixian villages down that way. The King dispatched poor Grrff on a punitive expedition, at the head of a thousand warriors, to pound some sense into his skull. Turned out to be a nice old fellow, after all, and willing to listen to reason ... a thousand war-axes speak mighty eloquent, I guess . . . The whole trouble was, the wizard was so old he remembered Karjixia before we Tiger-folk evolved and got ourselves civilized. He thought the whole country was still just wild jungle-land, with n.o.body to own it! Fellow must have been all of fifty thousand years old! Name of Qesper Vol-photex, as I recall. Nice-enough old human, once you talked some sense into him ..."

Ganelon nodded absently, not really listening. His brow was furrowed with puzzlement.

"I wonder what she wants with me?" he mused. "Master was never sure about that. I don't know anything about the defences of the Hegemonic cities; no war-chief, I was only a militiaman. Why do you suppose she has me locked up in such a luxurious cell, inviting me to feasts and all?"

"Grrff doesn't know, big man," growled trje Tigerman. Then, ominously, he added: "But he's a hunch you're going to find out before the world's much older . . ."

THE SUPERWOMAN.

Lin Carter -5bGondwane 025d -The Enchantress of World's End-7.jpg That very night, as it turned out, Ganelon got an inkling of what the Red Queen wanted of him.

He was invited to partake of a private supper in the seclusion of the Queen's own suite. The apartments

of Zelmarine were situated high in the tallest of the elfin spires of ruby gla.s.s, to which he was escorted by more of the omnipresent metal men who went clinking and clanking along, looking for all the world like suits of old-fas.h.i.+oned armor with n.o.body inside them.

The dining-chamber was open to the star-lit night, crystal panes folded back to let the evening breezes float in, rustling the gorgeous draperies and sending the flames a-flickering on tall red tapers. Below, a glittering vista of Shai by starlight spread out like a jewelled carpet, with the grim, ragged ma.s.ses of the Mountains of the Death Dwarves beyond, blocking off the world to the north.

The Enchantress wore a thin gown, a mere tissue of ebony silk, on this occasion, and her glistening tresses were caught up in a loose net of jacinths. Curled in a nest of cus.h.i.+ons, she lazily waved him to a seat beside her. Across from the low crystal table, the Mentalist of Ning sat, sour-eyed and glowering. A casual light repast of sparkling, effervescent wine in fluted goblets, plates of crisp Garongaland salad bedabbled with creamy swickleberry dressing, tidbits of broiled cave-fish swimming in pepper-sauce, lay spread out on the table. Ganelon was invited to help himself.

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The conversation was casual, wandering from topic to topic without ever quite coming to rest. The Enchantress found several excuses to touch Ganelon's arm or wrist lightly, and her warm thigh brushed his under the table whenever she reached for a delicacy.

He sat there, stolidly ignoring the deep cut of her gown and seemingly oblivious to the warm, musky perfume that rose from the cleavage of her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She spoke in her deep, husky voice, and it sent s.h.i.+vers up his spine. The witchery of starlight glimmered on her thick, dark hair, and a warm glow shone in her large, lovely, slightly tilted eyes. Every word chimed with faintly seductive music; every touch was a caress. Blue-robed Varesco sat hunched across the table, chewing on his thin lip and hating him. Ganelon pretended not to notice the open invitation in Zelmarine's every word and glance, or the overpowering allure of her presence.

Or was it affectation? Perhaps he was truly oblivious to the pull of this woman, this superwoman, this sorceress who was half a witch and half a G.o.ddess. Often, back in Zermish, his mother had speculated over his lack of interest in the nubile street-girls of the neighborhood, who had cl.u.s.tered about him like cats drawn to tempting bait during the years of adolescence. His master had once discussed the problem with Phlesco, Ganelon's adoptive father, cautioning him not to expect the usual wedding and fatherhood. Ganelon was a Construct, not a True Human. The Time G.o.ds had designed him for some unknown purpose of their own, breeding him in their tissue vats; and perhaps the design had not included the normal masculine glands, emotions, instincts. It was too soon to tell; "born" fully-grown from the Ardelix Vault, Ganelon was about twelve years old, as far as the drives of manhood were concerned.

The Enchantress purred silkenly, her emotions rising at the nearness of the bronze giant. She panted, her superb bosom rising and falling, her blood afire. All of her magnificent womanliness she poured into 74 Lin Carter every sidelong glance of her glorious eyes, into every pout or smile of her lush mouth. The magic of her fleshly loveliness had captured hundreds of men before, many of them only partially human: surely, this oafish b.u.mpkin of a Zermishman was not proof against her charms, where, princes, heroes and Mysteriarchs had succ.u.mbed!

The wine she urged on him contained a secret aphrodisiac; the musky perfume she wore was a heady intoxicant blended by an alchemist in her service; the dishes from which he ate were mixed with subtle narcotics designed to arouse the desires of the male.

Through it all, Ganelon sat like a statue of cold, adamantine bronze, noticing nothing, feeling nothing. When Varesco rose at her signal to make his reluctant departure, she flashed him a fiery glance; she knew the gaunt, l.u.s.t-maddened Mentalist was enslaved by her: why, then, was Ganelon invulnerable to her lure?

As they sat alone together, she began to speak. Her deep, husky voice began to spin a web of enchantment about him. She spoke of the many lands of Northern YamaYama Land, of how they were divided by old traditions, ancient enmities, and long centuries of independence; she told him how they wasted their strength in futile strife, one state against the other, and of how mighty would be their destiny were they to combine in one gigantic alliance. One empire, built of many kingdoms (she purred huskily in his ear) could in time enlist all of'the scattered shreds and sc.r.a.ps of dwindling True Humanity under one imperial banner, to master the destiny of Gondwane itself. Should not the Last Age be one of ultimate and immortal glory for humanity? Should not the terminal remnants of mankind stand together in one last, t.i.tanic empire, to startle and amaze the world in the Twilight of Time?

Snuggling closer to him on the silken divan, she argued that it would take a superhuman combination of will, intellect and daring to create such a magnificent achievement. Such a being as, she averred, for in- 75.

stance-herself. Although not a True Human, she nurtured vast, illimitable respect and admiration for the deeds of earlier times and former civilizations; unlike so many Quasi-humans, she was a devout Humanophile, and yearned to guide the Last Men in one final, glorious enterprise which could fittingly stand as the ultimate culmination of human history . . .

But, although her powers were great, her ambition and sense of dedication splendid, she was, alas, only mortal. Such empires, constructed by a single genius, tend to swiftly erode upon their leader's demise, crumbling from internal strains and stresses. The only way such an empire could be built to last for ages, perhaps even unto the end of the world, was through the establishment of a dynasty. Zelmarine must, therefore, seek out a male whose strength, greatness and courage were as superhuman as her own. Casting him many a meaningful sidewise glance, she bemoaned the lack of supermen in this decadent age. Should such a super-mortal appear, she vowed, her lush bosom rising and falling with the tumult of her emotions, he could take her by storm: she would yield everything to his ardent a.s.sault. And that included her superb body and her unrivalled capacities for carnal pleasure . . .

Ganelon nodded noncommittally and asked if he could pour her more wine. He sipped the drink moodily, as if unaware that the wine was heavily laced with a potent aphrodisiac. She eyed him furiously, chewing on her lower lip. He seemed as unaware that her heaving b.r.e.a.s.t.s were only inches from his hand, her panting lips only a reach away, as if they were separated by continents, conversing by televisor.

The intimate supper came to its inconclusive end. Automatons escorted Silvermane back to his sumptuous cell. Varesco reentered the suite at her summons, gloating with his hot eyes, a smirk faintly visible on his thin, starved mouth. She released a tempest of tears, striding up and down the room smas.h.i.+ng furniture with blows of her powerful fists, shattering vases in her fury.

76 Lin Carter Barely able to conceal his delight at the indifference which his rival displayed towards the alluring charms of the Enchantress, Varesco strove to discredit him yet further in the eyes of the humiliated Queen of Red Magic.

"Perhaps the fleshly l.u.s.ts of the champion lie in ... ah ... more epicene directions?" he purred. She bathed him in a furious glare; then her glorious eyes were veiled in silken lashes as she pondered the possibility. Although remote, it was of course conceivable. It would at least relieve her humiliation, were it to be demonstrated that Ganelon Silvermane scorned not her, but her entire gender, favoring more effete partners.

"Test his vulnerabilities therein," she commanded brusquely, before sweeping from the room. Vares...o...b..wed and smiled covertly as she receded from him. Thereafter, the servitors who brought Ganelon's meals were slender youths with fawn-like eyes, full-lipped pouting mouths, sleek thighs and tender b.u.t.tocks. Although they presented themselves before him in every variety of dress from feminine garments, lace lingerie, leather suits to even weirder forms of apparel-as well as complete nudity-the Construct paid them little attention. He never so much as ventured a caress, although the parade of beautiful boys made it obvious that they were amenable to his pleasures, and were at his disposal, whatever form it might take. In desperation, Zelmarine exposed Silvermane to old men and women, animals, prep.u.b.escent children of all four s.e.xes, and every conceivable kind of Subhuman, Quasi-human, and Non-human, including, of course, the Pseudo-women of Chuu. Although actually a form of vegetable life, these Pseudo-women were complete duplicates of human females in all capacities save that of reproduction*; they had been bred to incredible seduc * They reproduced their kind through bud or graft instead of birth. It will be recalled that Ganelon's own foster-mother, Iminix, was of their kind.

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tive beauty through ages of scientific horticulture. To one and all, Silvermane remained aloof and unresponsive.

The private dinner proved to be but the first of many such, during which the Enchantress presented herself before Silvermane in a bewildering variety of raiment, each gown more ravis.h.i.+ngly beautiful and more revealing than the one before. The beverages served to the Construct contained half the narcotics and aphrodisiacs in the pharmacopoeia. The final supper of the sequence saw Zelmarine clothed in naught but a dusting of powdered emeralds, and the wine heady with sufficient aphrodisiacs to madden with l.u.s.t the denizens of an entire monastery.

Ganelon remained celibate and disinterested to the end. But Zelmarine had not yet given up and felt confident she could wear him down with time.

ISTROBIAN'S.

FLYING KAYAK.

Lin Carter While the Red Queen strives to seduce Ganelon Silvermane with her wiles and blandishments, let us return to Chx and learn how the Illusionist, Xarda, and Prince Erigon have fared in the meanwhile.

Finding the Bazonga bird gone, as they did during their quick visit to the Hospice of the Eleven Cardinal Virtues, after making their midnight escape from the Administratium, put a severe crimp in their plans. It makes it more difficult, escaping on foot than by air. For one thing, you can put many leagues between you and your eventual pursuers when you fly. Afoot, however, is quite another matter.

"Surely, magister, the Chxians will not awaken from their nocturnal fit of criminality to discover our escape before dawn," argued the Sirix of Jemmerdy. "By then, in sooth, we shall be far away from Chx."

"Yes; but not as far as I could wish," grumbled the old magician testily. "Whatever could have possessed that pesky Bird to break her tether and fly off on her own? It just isn't like her to be so thoughtless and uncaring . . ."

The Prince of Valardus had been staring uncompre-hendingly from one to the. other as they talked. He did not, of course, understand to whom they were referring, since Ganelon Silvermane was the only missing member of then- company, insofar as he knew.

He cleared his throat tentatively.

"Ahem! Is it, ah, a mode of transport you discuss?"

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he inquired. Nodding brusquely, the Illusionist curtly described th6 brazen animated vehicle which had been both their steed and their companion on previous adventures. The puzzlement cleared from the Prince's handsome features.

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "An aerial device, then. In that case, pray permit me to offer you the services of my aerial kayak."

"An aerial kayak?" asked the Illusionist, surprised. "How fortunate! But how do you come to be in possession of the craft, which is, unless I am mistaken, an invention of Istrobian, the celebrated sorcerer of an earlier epoch?"

"It is indeed Istrobian's flying kayak to which I refer," said Erigon smilingly. "My late mother was a distant descendent of his, and it has long been in the possession of her family, pa.s.sing thus by simple inheritance to me. As the celestial vessel travels more swiftly than could any mode of land transport, whether on ornith or nguamodon, I selected the vessel from the treasure-vault of Valardus-palace, employing it to travel swiftly and in comparative comfort to the nearby realms."

"But where is the miraculous vehicle now? Surely, the Ethical Triumvirs have purloined it-" began Xarda, but the young Prince cut off her flow of words with a lifted palm.

"It is here, in the very Hospice in whose courtyard we now stand," he smiled. "I parked it in the stables, securely tethered against any possibility of theft by use of a sentient rope. Having paid the Inn-keeper a cube of virgin copper for rental of the stable stall, and since, during the daylight hours, the Chxians are scrupulously honest, it is no doubt still tethered within."

"But at night-" began Xarda.

"At night, m'lady, the criminal Chxians have more notable malefactions to commit than theft of a stabled steed! Come, let us investigate."

He led them to the long row of stables. Within lay damp coolness, the odors of mouldy straw, the not-

80 Lin Carter unpleasant muskiness of ornith t.u.r.ds and nguamodon droppings-and the kayak!

It was a four-seater, built like a long, slim canoe, with a blade-thin point at either terminus. The seats were all in a row down the mid-section of the craft, one after the other like peas in a pod; and, kayak-like, the bright blue fabric which was stretched tightly over the light frame of the craft could be laced snugly about the waist of the pa.s.sengers. About thirty feet from stem to stem, the craft hovered four or five feet above the straw-strewn packed earth which floored the stable. It was held tightly by a gla.s.sy, odd-looking rope which resembled a fat, lucent worm.

"What holds it up?" asked the Illusionist, entranced with delight. "Our own Bazonga is impregnated with yxium crystals, which resist gravity-"

"Nothing so complicated," said Erigon, shaking his head. " 'Tis said that the sorcerer Istrobian wrought the framework of the craft from the metal found in a fallen star, but the savants of Valardus pooh-pooh this as mere mythography, arguing that the thing which fell was a fragment of the Moon itself-"

"A meteorite?"

"If you wish to call it that," said the Prince in his friendly, unargumentative manner. "At any rate, the metal yearns for its lunar home-"

"Ah, of course!" said the Illusionist with satisfaction. "A well-known property of dianium*-but pray continue your intriguing discourse, Prince."

"Thank you. As I was saying, the metal yearns for its lunar home, and seeks ever to return thence . . . the gravity of Old Earth, however, proves stronger than the pull of homesickness. It renders it somewhat more than weightless. The metal of the ribs is ferrous, hence magnetic, and the kayak is believed to ride the magnetic lines of force about our planet."

* Again I must refer the interested reader to the Glossary at the end of the book. I simply cannot impede the headlong pace of my narrative with lengthy explanations of each unfamiliar term.

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"Subtle and ingenious," marvelled the old magician. "That Istrobian was a wonder-worker, in sooth! 'Tis far simpler than our beloved Bird . . ."

"But why the blue fabric?" asked Xarda.

"Oiled and enamelled, it keeps off the rain and the night-damps," explained Prince Erigon, "which would cause the moon-metal to rust, in tune consuming the vessel utterly. Let me untie the craft and we can be off before any roving band of crazed and criminal Chxians chances upon us."

Murmurring low cooing sounds like a half-strangled dove, he approached the thick gla.s.sy rope which bound the floating kayak to the beams which upheld the stable roof. One end of the sentient rope lifted warn-ingly at his approach, swaying from side to side like a cobra. But the tether seemed to recognize its master's tone, or perhaps his touch, and soon relaxed as he stroked and patted it. At his signal they clambered with some difficulty into the bucket-like seats, the kayak straining skyward all the while. Erigon himself was the last to spring lightly aboard the craft, bearing with him the coil of sentient rope which had wound itself about his upper chest and shoulders like a friendly tame boa constrictor.

Foot-pedals controlled the aerial craft. Manipulating them, Erigon eased the floating craft out into the courtyard under the blazing stars. They were un.o.bserved. From the street beyond came happy cries, drunken singing and the jingle of shattering gla.s.s. The Chxians were busily in pursuit of their nocturnal pleasures.

Instructing them hi the mode by which the kayak fabric could be drawn snugly about their waists and secured, the Prince sent the kayak arrowing skywards. Rooftops swung below the kayak's keel; towers and spires of scarlet stone whizzed by; soon the mad city of Chx fell behind, swallowed in night's gloom, save for the ruddy glow of several burning buildings.

"Whither now, magister?" asked Erigon, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting the question.

82 Lin Carter The Illusionist shouted back that he had no idea where Ganelon might have gone, once he had managed to escape from the Administratium.

"What about your Third Eye, prithee?" sang the clear soprano of the girl knight above the wind, which s.n.a.t.c.hed her words away. The Illusionist peered about, then shrugged.

"From this height I should be able to detect his Auric pattern, were he anywhere in this city. Evidently, he is not."

"I can't understand why the big lug would just go off and leave us in jail," sang Xarda with some asperity. "He may be stupid, but he was always loyal!"

"Perhaps he had no voice in the matter," replied the Illusionist, whose agile wits had perceived something like the truth in the fact that the Bazonga and Silvermane were both inexplicably absent. He knew the ungainly and absurdly motherly Bird was devoted to the simple youth.

"Well, where would he have most likely gone, had he been able to choose?" asked Prince Erigon. Xarda shrugged angrily: "Over the border, I guess, towards Jemmerdy. That was where we were all heading."