Guide a black galleon to the lost, fear-haunted
Citadel of the Xanthi wizards--into the very
jaws of Doom? Corun, condemned pirate of
Conahur, laughed. Aye, he'd do it, and gladly.
It would mean a reprieve from the headsman's
axe--a few more precious moments of life
and love ... though his lover be a witch!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories January 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Khroman the Conqueror, Thalassocrat of Achaera, stood watching his
guards bring up the captured pirates. He was a huge man, his hair and
square-cut beard jet-black despite middle age, the strength of his
warlike youth still in his powerful limbs. He wore a plain white tunic
and purple-trimmed cloak; the only sign of kingship was the golden
chaplet on his head and the signet ring on one finger. In the gaudy
crowd of slender, chattering courtiers, he stood out with a brutal
contrast.
"So they've finally captured him," he rumbled. "So we're finally rid
of Corun and his sea-going bandits. Maybe now the land will have some
peace."
"What will you do with them, sire?" asked Shorzon the Sorcerer.
Khroman shrugged heavy shoulders. "I don't know. Pirates are usually
fed to the erinyes at the games, I suppose, but Corun deserves
something special."
"Public torture, perhaps, sire? It could be stretched over many days."
"No, you fool! Corun was the bravest enemy Achaera ever had. He
deserves an honorable death and a decent tomb. Not that it matters
much, but--"
Shorzon exchanged a glance with Chryseis, then looked back toward the
approaching procession.
* * * * *
The city Tauros was built around a semicircular bay, a huge expanse of
clear green water on whose surface floated ships from halfway round the
world--the greatest harbor for none knew how many empty sea-leagues,
capital of Achaera which, with its trade and its empire of entire
archipelagoes, was the mightiest of the thalassocracies. Beyond the
fortified sea walls at the end of the bay, the ocean swelled mightily
to the clouded horizon, gray and green and amber. Within, the hulls and
sails of ships were a bright confusion up to the stone docks.
The land ran upward from the bay, and Tauros was built on the hills, a
tangle of streets between houses that ranged from the clay huts of the
poor to the marble villas of the great. Beyond the city walls on the
landward side, the island of Achaera lifted still more steeply, a gaunt
rocky country with a few scattered farms and herds. Her power came all
from the sea.
A broad straight road lined with sphinxes ran straight from the harbor
up to the palace, which stood on the highest hill in the city. At its
end, wide marble stairs lifted toward the fragrant imperial gardens in
which the court stood.
Folk swarmed about the street, mobs straining to see the soldiers as
they led their captives toward the palace. The word that Corun of
Conahur, the most dangerous of the pirates, had finally been taken had
driven merchants to ecstasy and brought insurance rates tumbling down.
There was laughter in the throng, jeers for the prisoners, shouts for
the king.
Not entirely so, however. Most of the crowd were, of course, Achaerans,
a slim dark-haired folk clad generally in a light tunic and sandals,
proud of their ancient might and culture. They were loudest in
shouting at the robbers. But there were others who stood silent and
glum-faced, not daring to voice their thoughts but making them plain
enough. Tall, fair men from Conahur itself, galled by Achaeran rule;
fur-clad barbarians from Norriki, blue-skinned savages from Umlotu,
with a high professional regard for their fellow pirate; slaves from
a hundred islands, who had not ceased dreaming of home and remembered
that Corun had been in the habit of freeing slaves when he captured a
ship or a town. Others might be neutral, coming from too far away to
care, for Corun had only attacked Achaeran galleys; the black men from
misty Orzaban, the copper-colored Chilatzis, the yellow wizards from
mysterious Hiung-nu.
The soldiers marched their prisoners rapidly up the street. They were
mercenaries, blue Umlotuans in the shining corselets, greaves, and
helmets of the Achaeran forces, armed with the short sword and square
shield of Achaera as well as the long halberds which were their special
weapon. When the mob came too close, they swung the butts out with
bone-snapping force.
The captive pirates were mostly from Conahur, though there were a
number of other lands represented. They stumbled wearily along, clad in
a few rags, weighted down hand and foot by their chains. Only one of
them, the man in the lead, walked erect, but he strode along with the
arrogance of a conqueror.
"That must be Corun himself, there in the front of them," said Chryseis.
"It is," nodded Shorzon.
* * * * *
They moved forward for a better look. Imperceptibly, the court shrank
from them. Khroman's advisor and daughter were feared in Tauros.
Shorzon was tall and lean and dry, as if the Heaven-Fire beyond the
eternal clouds had fallen on him and seared all moisture out of the
gaunt body. He had the noble features of the old Achaeran aristocracy,
but his eyes were dark and sunken and smoldering with strange fires.
Even in the warmth of midday, he wore a black robe falling to his feet,
and his white beard streamed over it. Folk knew that he had learned
sorcery in Hiung-nu, and it was whispered that for all Khroman's
brawling strength it was Shorzon who really dominated the realm.
Khroman had married Shorzon's daughter--none knew who her mother had
been, though it was thought she was a witch from Hiung-nu. She had not
lived long after giving birth to Chryseis, whose grandfather thus came
to have much of her upbringing in his hands. Rumor had it that she was
as much a witch as he a warlock.
Certainly she could be cruel and ungovernable. But she had a strange
dark beauty over her that haunted men; there were more who would die
for her than one could readily count ... and, it was said, _had_ died
after a night or two.
She was tall and lithe, with night-black hair that streamed to her
waist when unbound. Her eyes were huge and dark in a face of coldly
chiseled loveliness, and the full red mouth denied the austere,
goddess-like fineness of her countenance. Today she had not affected
the heavy gold and jewels of the court; a white robe hung in dazzling
folds about her--and there might as well not have been another woman
present.
The prisoners came through the palace gates, which clashed shut behind
them. Up the stairs they went and into the fragrance of green trees and
bushes, blooming plants, and leaping fountains that was the garden.
There they halted, and the court buzzed about them like flies around a
dead animal.
Khroman stepped up to Corun. "Greeting," he said, and there was no
mockery in his voice.
"Greeting," replied the pirate in the same even tones.
They measured each other, the look of two strong men who understood
what they were about. Corun was as big as Khroman, a fair-skinned giant
of a man in chains and rags. Weather-bleached yellow hair hung to his
shoulders from a haughtily lifted head, and his fire-blue eyes were
unwavering on the king's. His face was lean, long-jawed, curve-nosed,
hardened by bitterness and suffering and desperate unending battle. A
chained erinye could not have looked more fiercely on his captors.
"It's taken a long time to catch you, Corun," said Khroman. "You've led
us a merry chase. Once I almost had the pleasure of meeting you myself.
It was when you raided Serapolis--remember? I happened to be there, and
gave chase in one of the war-galleys. But we never did catch you."
"One of the ships did." Corun's voice was strangely soft for so big a
man. "It didn't come back, as you may recall."
"How did they finally catch you?" asked Khroman.
* * * * *
Corun shrugged, and the chains about his wrists rattled. "You already
know as much as I care to talk about," he said wearily. "We sailed
into Iliontis Bay and found a whole fleet waiting for us. Someone must
finally have spied out our stronghold." Khroman nodded, and Corun
shrugged a shoulder: "They blocked off our retreat, so we just fought
till everyone was dead or captured. These half-hundred men are all who
live. Unfortunately, I was knocked out during the battle and woke up to
find myself a prisoner. Otherwise--" his blue gaze raked the court with
a lashing contempt--"I could be peacefully feeding fish now, instead of
your witless fish-eyes."
"I won't drag out the business for you, Corun," said Khroman. "Your men
will have to be given to the games, of course, but you can be decently
and privately beheaded."
"Thanks," said the pirate, "but I'll stay with my men."
Khroman stared at him in puzzlement. "But why did you ever do it?"
he asked finally. "With your strength and skill and cunning, you
could have gone far in Achaera. We take mercenaries from conquered
provinces, you know. You could have gotten Achaeran citizenship in
time."
"I was a prince of Conahur," said Corun slowly. "I saw my land invaded
and my folk taken off as slaves. I saw my brothers hacked down at the
battle of Lyrr, my sister taken as concubine by your admiral, my father
hanged, my mother burned alive when they fired the old castle. They
offered me amnesty because I was young and they wanted a figurehead. So
I swore an oath of fealty to Achaera, and broke it the first chance I
got. It was the only oath I ever broke, and still I am proud of it. I
sailed with pirates until I was big enough to master my own ships. That
is enough of an answer."
"It may be," said Khroman slowly. "You realize, of course, that the
conquest of Conahur took place before I came to the throne? And that I
certainly couldn't negate it, in view of the Thalassocrat's duty to his
own country, and had to punish its incessant rebelliousness?"
"I don't hold anything against you yourself, Khroman," said Corun with
a tired smile. "But I'd give my soul to the nether fires for the chance
to pull your damned palace down around your ears!"
"I'm sorry it has to end this way," said the king. "You were a brave
man. I'd like to drain many beakers of wine with you on the other side
of death." He signed to the guards. "Take him away."
"One moment, sire," said Shorzon. "Is it your intention to lock all
these pirates in the same dungeon cell?"
"Why--I suppose so. Why not?"
"I do not trust their captain. Chained and imprisoned, he is still a
menace. I think he has certain magical techniques--"
"That's a lie!" spat Corun. "I never needed your stinking woman's
tricks to flatten the likes of Achaera!"
"I would not leave him with his men," advised Shorzon imperturbably.
"Best he be given his own cell, alone. I know a place."
"Well--well, let it be so." Khroman waved a hand in dismissal.
As Shorzon turned to lead the guards off, he traded a long glance with
Chryseis. Her eyes remained hooded as she looked after the departing
captives.