Henry Kuttner - The Book of Iod

“Men — are fools.” And in Gesti’s voice there was a contempt that made Elak stare at him sharply. It was as though Gesti was commenting on some race alien to him. The gray-clad man went on hurriedly, as though sensing the trend of Elak’s thoughts. “We have driven a passage under Zend’s palace. We can break through at any time; that we shall do tonight. Two tasks I give you: kill Zend; shatter the red sphere.”

Elak said, “You’re cryptic. What red sphere?”

“It lies in the topmost minaret of his palace. His magic comes from it. There is rich loot in the palace, Elak — if that’s your name. So the little man called you.”

“Elak or dunce or robber of drunken men,” Lycon said, absently feeling the bosom of his tunic. “All alike. Call him by any of those names and you’ll be right. Where is my gold, Elak?”

But without waiting for an answer he slumped down in his chair, his eyes closing and his mouth dropping open as he snored. Presently he fell off the chair and rolled under the table, where he slumbered.

“What the devil can I do with him?” Elak asked. “I can’t take him with me. He’d”

“Leave him here,” Gesti said.

Elak’s cold eyes probed the other. “He’ll be safe?”

“Quite safe. None in San-Mu but our band knows of this underground way.”

“What band is that? “ Elak asked.

Gesti said nothing for a time. Then his soft voice whispered, “Need you know? A political group banded together to overthrow the king of San-Mu, and Zend, from whom he gets his power. Have you more — questions?”

“No.”

“Then follow.”

Gesti led Elak to one of the oaken doors; it swung open, and they moved forward up a winding passage. In the dark Elak stumbled over a step. He felt the cloth of Gesti’s garment touch his hand, and gripped it. In the blackness they ascended a staircase cut out of the rock.

Halfway up, Gesti paused. “I can go no further,” he whispered. “The way is straight. At the end of the stairway there is a trap-door of stone. Open it. You’ll be in Zend’s place. Here is a weapon for you.” He thrust a tube of cold metal into Elak’s hand. “Simply squeeze its sides, pointing the smaller end at Zend. You understand?”

Elak nodded, and, although Gesti could scarcely have seen the movement in the darkness, he whispered, “Good. Dagon guard you!”

He turned away; Elak heard the soft rush of his descent dying in the distance. He began to mount the stairs, wonderingly. Dagon — was Gesti a worshipper of the forbidden evil god of ocean? Poseidon, a benignant sea-god, was adored in marble temples all over the land, but the dark worship of Dagon had been banned for generations. There were tales of another race whose god Dagon was — a race that had not sprung from human or even earthly loins…

Gripping the odd weapon, Elak felt his way upward. At length his head banged painfully against stone, and, cursing softly, he felt about in the darkness. It was the trap-door of which Gesti had spoken. Two bolts slid back in well-oiled grooves. And the door lifted easily as Elak thrust his shoulders against it.

He clambered up in semi-darkness, finding himself in a small bare room through which light filtered from a narrow window-slit high in the wall. A mouse, squeaking fearfully, fled as he scrambled to his feet. Apparently the room was little used. Elak moved stealthily to the door.

It swung, open a little under his cautious hand. A corridor stretched before him, dimly lit by cold blue radiance that came from tiny gems set in the ceiling at intervals. Elak followed the upward slant of the passage; the red sphere Gesti had mentioned was in the topmost minaret. Up, then.

“Ishtar!” Elak breathed. “What wizardry’s this?”

In a niche in the wall Elak saw the head. The shock of it turned him cold with amazement. A bodiless head, set upright on a golden pedestal within a little alcove — its cheeks sunken, hair lank and disheveled — but eyes bright with incredible life! Those eyes watched him!

“Ishtar!” Elak breathed. “What wizardry’s this?”

He soon found out. The pallid lips of the horror writhed and twisted, and from them came a high skirling cry of warning.

“Zend! Zend! A stranger walks your—”

Elak’s rapier flew. There was scarcely any blood. He dragged the blade from the eyesocket, whispering prayers to all the gods and goddesses he could remember. The lean jaw dropped, and a blackened and swollen tongue lolled from between the teeth. A red, shrunken, eyelid dropped over the eye Elak had not pierced.

There was no sound save for Elak’s hastened breathing. He eyed the monstrous thing in the alcove, and then, confident that it was no longer a menace, lengthened his steps up the passage. Had Zend heard the warning of his sentinel? If so, danger lurked all about him.

A silver curtain slashed with a black pattern hung across the corridor. Elak parted it, and, watching, he froze in every muscle.

A dwarf, no more than four feet tall, with a disproportionately large head and a gray, wrinkled skin, was trotting briskly toward him. From the tales he had heard Elak imagined the dwarf to be Zend. Behind the wizard strode a half-naked giant, who carried over his shoulder the limp form of a girl. Elak spun about, realizing that he had delayed too long. Zend was parting the silver curtain as Elak raced back down the corridor.

At his side a black rectangle loomed — a passage he had overlooked, apparently, when he had passed it before. He sprang into its shielding darkness. When Zend passed he would strike down the wizard and take his chances with the giant. Remembering the smooth hard muscles that had rippled under the dead-white skin of the man, Elak was not so sure that his chances would be worth much. He realized now that the giant had seemed familiar.

Then he knew. Two days ago he had seen a man — a condemned criminal — beheaded in the temple of Poseidon. There could be no mistake. The giant was the same man, brought back to life by Zend’s evil necromancy!

“Ishtar!” Elak whispered, sweating. “I’d be better off in the hands of the guards.” How could he slay a man who was already dead?

Elak hesitated, his rapier half drawn. There was no use borrowing trouble. He would keep safely out of sight until Zend was separated from his ghastly servitor — and then it would be an easy matter to put six inches of steel through the wizard’s body. Elak was never one for taking unnecessary risks, as he had a wholesome regard for his hide. He heard a shuffling of feet and drew back within the side passage to let Zend pass. But the wizard turned suddenly and began to mount the steeply sloping corridor where Elak lurked. In Zend’s hand was a softly glowing gem that illuminated the passage, though not brightly.

Elak fled. The passage was steep and narrow, and it ended at last before a blank wall. Behind him a steady padding of feet grew louder in the distance. He felt around desperately in the dark. If there was a hidden spring in the walls, he failed to find it.

A grin lighted his face as he realized how narrow the passage was. If he could do it—

He placed his palms flat against the wall, and with his bare feet found an easy purchase on the opposite one. Face down, swiftly, with his muscles cracking under the strain, he walked up the wall until he was safely above the head of even the giant. There he stopped, sweating, and glanced down.

Only an enormously strong man could have done it, and if Elak had weighed a little more it would have been impossible. His shoulders and thighs ached as he strained to hold his position without moving. The trio were approaching. If they should glance up, Elak was ready to drop and use his blade, or the strange weapon Gesti had given him. But apparently they did not notice him, hidden as he was in the shadows of the high ceiling.