Whining, squealing laughter echoed through the vaulted cavern. Baffled,
the barbarian whirled around searching for the voice. It seemed without
source.
"Alhone," he said again desperately. "You here! How?"
The gloating laughter again. "I have never left Anghore, mighty Moljar,
since it was built for me. You and all the other fools outside Anghore
have seen only my projections. You are foolish to fight now. Allow
Akare to bring you to me. Leave the freak girl. I wait."
"Wait," said Moljar. "The girl stays with me."
There was a long painful pause before the Princess Alhone spoke again.
"You have passed the many tests that only a few survive."
"Tests?" said Moljar.
"The Red Moon Games are but testing grounds. The survivors become my
warriors here. You are welcome, Moljar. You will be the greatest among
them. But this--this girl has signed herself away to the seventh plain
by entering here. You had better accept this compromise, Moljar. You
have much to gain. Otherwise, both of you will go to the seventh plain
together. I would hate to lose you, Moljar. I would make you a Jehlak
of my Guards. Forget the girl. Accept. You will be far greater than
those who have scorned you. They will be your slaves."
He hesitated, then said, "I am Moljar. I only compromise when it
pleases me. The girl stays with me. I care nothing for your plains,
whatever they are. Send us to the seventh, the thousandth. It means
nothing to Moljar."
The voice mewed merciless laughter. "Your rugged independence has
ended, half-breed. You can be overpowered instantly by any one of many
of our energy weapons. There is much duelling here, so, by decree, only
swords are worn. Otherwise my warriors would soon decimate themselves.
But for stubborn aliens we have other methods."
"Is talk and crazy laughter one of them?" said Moljar. "I am not
impressed."
He turned. His eyes sought Mahra's. She stood proud and tall, her
breasts moving with controlled breathing. Only her eyes held deep,
crawling fear. Here was dirty mystery. Alhone and her minions who had
watched the Red Moon slaughters--a three-dim projection from her eyrie
here at Anghore. He remembered again that all her public appearances
had been surrounded by the blue glow. His brains spun. He shook his
blood-encrusted hair.
His decision was a natural projection of his own character. He could
not have acted otherwise. He moved in a sudden leap sidewise. One
arm encircled the startled catman's neck. The Anghorian could have
eluded him, and offered battle. But he had not. Apparently he awaited
direction from Alhone. He held his dagger to the quivering side. The
fur was silky, soft beneath his fingers, inviting violence.
He raised his head and shouted, "Moljar waits. Does the girl stay with
me? We will die before we part."
The voice was a petulant whine now. "Fool. You will not die. You are
here to serve me. I am not served by corpses."
Akare made a quick, lightning-like jerk from Moljar's grasp. The
half-breed sank his dagger in to the hilt, ripped sidewise. Then he
leaped away, covering the girl against the wall. A stream of bright
thin blood spurted from Akare's pulsing side as he crawled toward the
far side of the cavern, mewing with pain.
Mahra's hands clutched Moljar's shoulders as they crouched against the
coruscating colors of the veined granite. Her breath came in short,
jerking gusts. "For a half-breed," she breathed, "you have honor."
Her hands stiffened, dug into his skin. Moljar's hair bristled on his
neck. Intuitively, he raised his dagger, though it was a useless, silly
gesture now.
From the far side of the cavern, moving ghost-like from a massive
opening, a dense vaporous sphere floated toward him. It eddied and
pulsed, and in its center was the dim outline of a human shape encased
in plastic, its head helmeted by a faint glowing light.
"A Mistman!" Mahra gasped. "Moljar...."
The half-breed had no time to think. Capture or death would find him
moving, though there seemed no hope in it.
A yellow beam of light slashed outward from the man in the sphere.
Moljar dropped beneath it. But it caught the girl full. His eyes saw
her stiffen into a hard stone mannikin and tumble forward. From his
hands and knees he sprang upward like a maddened beast, straight toward
the pulsing heart of the Mistman's vaporous shell.
There was one rending burst of pain. Then an explosion that seemed
to shatter his brain. Its million floating fragments drifted through
blackness.