Read Online Young Thongor by Lin Carter Adrian Cole - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lin Carter Adrian Cole
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remote voice.
Thongor made no reply, but his strange gold eyes blazed lion-like through tangled locks and his weight was on the balls of his feet, ready for action.
The Enchanter slowly extended the black wand until its tip pointed at Thongor’s breast. The cunning brain of the Enchanter seethed in a turmoil of unanswered queries— had the demon lied to him? How could the destruction of the wild boy bring about his own doom? True, Death had never entered here, but what of that? He could shrivel the boy to ash in an instant—and how could the act endanger him? Upon his cold lips a Word formed unspoken; suddenly the wand was vibrant with force. It throbbed in his hand like a live thing, eager to kill.
And in that instant a hand fell upon his arm and Zazamanc shrank with amazement and fury to find the faceless horror of old Yllimdus by his side. In his frenzy to blast down the barbarian, he had forgotten that his former councilor was imprisoned in this hall by his order. He shrugged off the hand of Yllimdus, his perfect visage a mask of fury. The old man fell back so that he stood between the rage of Zazamanc and the Valkarthan youth.
“Your end is near, Zazamanc,” the old man said. “Your reign is over. Slay not this child, but permit him to return to the outer world from which you drew him: do this, and you may yet live.”
“You dare lay hands upon your master?” Zazamanc cried, trembling with wrath. “Stand aside, fool, or die with him you would shield in your folly!”
“I do not fear death, for it is but an end to an existence of weary torment,” the old man said quietly. “It is you who fear, for all too well you know what will follow in the instant of your demise.”
Zazamanc flinched at these words, for he had never dreamt his councilors knew the nature of the vow between himself and Xarxus; for the demon was sworn to serve his will during his life, but upon the moment of his death, his spirit would enter the service of Xarxus…and Zazamanc knew all too well the horrors that awaited him beyond the grave. He shuddered, his face livid and suddenly lined and weary with age, as if his supernaturally prolonged youthfulness was fading already.
“Die, then, worm!” he snarled, lifting the rod and loosing its dormant fires.
17
Letting Death In
The shadow-thronged hall lit suddenly with a flash of supernal brilliance that seared the eye. A thunderclap shook the domed roof and echoes bounced from wall to wall. Caught full in the fury of the bolt, the faceless man crumpled and fell, robe blackening, breast burnt away, a hideous charred pit.
Old Yllimdus spoke no further word, his head falling to one side as life left his shattered body. Nape-hairs rising with primal awe, Thongor blinked away the after-images of the flash and saw to his astonishment that in the moment of death the fleshmask crawled and shrunk and molded itself into the features of an old man. Noble of brow, weary and lined was that face, but, somehow, at peace.
Zazamanc shrank back at the sight. His enchantment was broken, but he did not understand it, for it should have persisted beyond death. A cold hand closed upon his heart, for at last the grim premonition of the doom he had for so long denied came home to him. He thrust his hands wide, face a writhing mask of naked fear.
“ No—! ” he shrieked, shrilly and weakly.
And in that instant, Thongor struck.
He sprang over the charred corpse of Yllimdus, booming his savage war cry. The great sword flashed as he swung it high above his head and brought it hissing down upon the shrinking, cringing form of the Enchanter.
Zazamanc staggered and fell to his knees, his face a crimson, torn thing. The black baton fell from nerveless fingers and rolled across the stony paving. On his knees he swayed, staring blindly up into the grim face of the half-naked boy who loomed over him like a vengeful specter. With quivering fingers he dabbed at his wound, peering in horror at his own blood. His
Thongor made no reply, but his strange gold eyes blazed lion-like through tangled locks and his weight was on the balls of his feet, ready for action.
The Enchanter slowly extended the black wand until its tip pointed at Thongor’s breast. The cunning brain of the Enchanter seethed in a turmoil of unanswered queries— had the demon lied to him? How could the destruction of the wild boy bring about his own doom? True, Death had never entered here, but what of that? He could shrivel the boy to ash in an instant—and how could the act endanger him? Upon his cold lips a Word formed unspoken; suddenly the wand was vibrant with force. It throbbed in his hand like a live thing, eager to kill.
And in that instant a hand fell upon his arm and Zazamanc shrank with amazement and fury to find the faceless horror of old Yllimdus by his side. In his frenzy to blast down the barbarian, he had forgotten that his former councilor was imprisoned in this hall by his order. He shrugged off the hand of Yllimdus, his perfect visage a mask of fury. The old man fell back so that he stood between the rage of Zazamanc and the Valkarthan youth.
“Your end is near, Zazamanc,” the old man said. “Your reign is over. Slay not this child, but permit him to return to the outer world from which you drew him: do this, and you may yet live.”
“You dare lay hands upon your master?” Zazamanc cried, trembling with wrath. “Stand aside, fool, or die with him you would shield in your folly!”
“I do not fear death, for it is but an end to an existence of weary torment,” the old man said quietly. “It is you who fear, for all too well you know what will follow in the instant of your demise.”
Zazamanc flinched at these words, for he had never dreamt his councilors knew the nature of the vow between himself and Xarxus; for the demon was sworn to serve his will during his life, but upon the moment of his death, his spirit would enter the service of Xarxus…and Zazamanc knew all too well the horrors that awaited him beyond the grave. He shuddered, his face livid and suddenly lined and weary with age, as if his supernaturally prolonged youthfulness was fading already.
“Die, then, worm!” he snarled, lifting the rod and loosing its dormant fires.
17
Letting Death In
The shadow-thronged hall lit suddenly with a flash of supernal brilliance that seared the eye. A thunderclap shook the domed roof and echoes bounced from wall to wall. Caught full in the fury of the bolt, the faceless man crumpled and fell, robe blackening, breast burnt away, a hideous charred pit.
Old Yllimdus spoke no further word, his head falling to one side as life left his shattered body. Nape-hairs rising with primal awe, Thongor blinked away the after-images of the flash and saw to his astonishment that in the moment of death the fleshmask crawled and shrunk and molded itself into the features of an old man. Noble of brow, weary and lined was that face, but, somehow, at peace.
Zazamanc shrank back at the sight. His enchantment was broken, but he did not understand it, for it should have persisted beyond death. A cold hand closed upon his heart, for at last the grim premonition of the doom he had for so long denied came home to him. He thrust his hands wide, face a writhing mask of naked fear.
“ No—! ” he shrieked, shrilly and weakly.
And in that instant, Thongor struck.
He sprang over the charred corpse of Yllimdus, booming his savage war cry. The great sword flashed as he swung it high above his head and brought it hissing down upon the shrinking, cringing form of the Enchanter.
Zazamanc staggered and fell to his knees, his face a crimson, torn thing. The black baton fell from nerveless fingers and rolled across the stony paving. On his knees he swayed, staring blindly up into the grim face of the half-naked boy who loomed over him like a vengeful specter. With quivering fingers he dabbed at his wound, peering in horror at his own blood. His
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