DEMONS FROM THE DEEP

DEMONS FROM THE DEEP, by Adrian Cole, with artwork by Miguel Santos.

 

 

It is a time of great change on the continent of Atlantis, following the fall of Karkora, the Pallid One and the triumph of the forces of the youthful Prince Elak. The people have now set Elak upon the Dragon Throne in the northern city state of Cyrena. While the young king’s lands enjoy the fruits of unification, other far-flung kingdoms desire power, and not merely the former scattered city states of the south. There are darker, more ancient horrors seeking sway.

 Chapter One: Crawlers from the Deep.

The southern port of Zangarza slept deeply under a swollen moon, its docks and buildings silent, seemingly devoid of life. Here, at the south eastern end of the huge Atlantean continent, the city was isolated, almost impregnable, carved as by legendary giant hands into the lower slopes of soaring cliffs, nestled in the sweep of a tight bay. A long, curling promontory prodded like a monstrous finger out at the southern ocean, its lone palace separated from the main harbor. The recent northern wars had not touched this remote area, where most people went about their lives as they had for generations, fishing and trading. Conflict on a large scale was uncommon here, and people were generally contented and not a little complacent.

On the high walls of the promontory palace and its watchtowers, the guards, who had been secretly imbibing wine brought to them by certain serving girls from a local tavern, yawned and fought off sleep. None of them could recall the last time anything had threatened the city, from either the land or the tempestuous sea, although an occasional southern blow had rocked the stones with its fury. Not tonight, however, for the air was still, the skies empty of clouds and the waters lapping in the gentlest of tides against the beach and rock pools.

Kraddus, a lone guard, had left his companions on the wall and descended narrow stone steps to a curve of sand under its shadow, where he relieved himself, humming tonelessly as he did so. Preoccupied, he neither heard nor saw what rose out of the shallows and scuttled up the narrow beach towards him. It was vaguely man-like, its hunched shape blotched with moonlight, its curved back a carapace, its elongated arms ending in fat claws resembling those of a deep-water crustacean. As Kraddus turned to face it, a scream died in his throat as one of those claws choked it off. The guard’s head sprang from his shoulders, the neck pumping blood, the body toppling.

The waters of the ocean suddenly boiled with life as more of the water beings rose up: soon hundreds of them crossed the beach, an army of monstrous intent. They climbed the near vertical wall easily, like huge crabs, their claws clattering on stone. Beyond the rim, the other guards dozed, oblivious to the rising nightmare. Too late they saw the doom close in. Along the promontory wall, the entire night watch was taken. One by one the warriors succumbed to the horrible embrace of the sea beasts, falling to their knees, feeling the cold clutch of the ocean. Their veins pulsed with something new, a freezing new marrow entered their bones and the transformations began.

Soon after the invaders had snared their victims, the guards stood upright once more, faces twisted in a bizarre mixture of pain and frightful glee. Already their arms were lengthening, their hands turned, contorted into the lobster-like claws of their assailants until, even in the brightest wash of moonlight, they were indistinguishable from them. And a score more warriors were added to the host as it turned its attention to the unguarded streets of Zangarza, where the blood feast would soon begin.

*

Not all of the city slept. In the great palace of Numenedzer, the monarch himself sat with several of his most trusted counselors, among them the High Sorcerer of the city, Querram Urgol. They had been deep in discussion for many hours, plotting and arguing over ambitious plans. The world beyond their lands was in turmoil, and they hungered for an advantage, for new powers that would strengthen Zangarza’s standing in Atlantis.

“When does King Thotmes arrive?” asked Grannodor, commander of the city’s navy. He referred to the strongest of the monarchs of the southern kingdoms that had pledged service under Numenedzer’s banner. The two kings were now by far the most influential in these southern regions. A war between them had seemed almost inevitable, until Numenedzer had recently devised a daring alternative plan. Not all his subjects, however, approved of it.

“In two days,” Numenedzer answered. “His entourage is under my sworn protection, so there will be no aggression towards him or his men, on pain of death. I will not move from that.” But if he doesn’t have the guts to see my plans through, thought the king, he will forego any protection from me.

“You trust him?” said the High Sorcerer, not for the first time. “You are sure he will agree your proposed alliance?”

“He and I are well matched in the strength of our armies. An open war between us would impoverish us both, and leave the way open for the northern dog, Elak.” There were murmurs of agreement. The rise of Elak’s empire was of real concern to those gathered here.

The High Sorcerer nodded, but his face was a cold mask. His inner thoughts were ever unreadable. Many believed his ambitions were his own, though none dared say as much. There were rumors that he had once served under Karkora, the monstrous power who had sought to control all of the lands of men before his destruction by Elak of Cyrena. “You should place your faith in the ancient powers, my lord,” he told Numenedzer. “With them you could scourge all of Atlantis and rule as a god.”

“We’ve been over that a dozen times, Querram Urgol,” snapped the king. “Those powers are far too dangerous. In time gone by they almost brought annihilation to our world. I would rather use the power of the sword!” And I’d also rather maintain control, not surrender it to a sorcerer who would likely look to establish himself as ruler of my lands – and more besides. My daughter, Hamniri is a woman now, wise for her age, and she will rule Zangarza after me. He would go to any length to protect her legacy. If that meant swatting King Thotmes aside, so be it.

Commander Grannodor, a veteran, gazed disapprovingly at Querram Urgol. “A strike in the dark with a good, clean sword, however treacherous, is preferable to sorcery.”

The king did not flinch. “War is war. King Elak has agreed to come to our peace talks, and to look for a way to bind all of the smaller kingdoms. But we know it will be under his banner. My spies in Cyrena tell me his Council wants to see him crowned over us all, even if the fledgling king has no real desire to be a conqueror.”

“Which is why we must ally ourselves with Thotmes and assassinate Elak,” said Querram Urgol. “However, without sorcery to help you after Elak’s removal, we will all be at risk. The northern armies are growing stronger by the day. Cyrena has them all under its sway. They are savoring their new union.”

“One step at a time,” said the king. “We will formalize our plans with King Thotmes before Elak arrives. Then, together, we will remove Elak, here in Zangarza.”

Querram Urgol inclined his head respectfully. “As you wish, sire.”

Yes, mused Numenedzer. Your lust for power grows harder for you to conceal. Once you’ve served your purpose, I’ll set your head on a spike along with the others.

 

 

Chapter Two: Treachery by Moonlight.

 

While the monarch and his associates brought their night’s plotting to an end, the crawlers from the deep swarmed into the city like a plague of locusts through fields of wheat. They were merciless, breaking into homes and killing the occupants without a shred of pity or compromise. Up through the tiered streets they raced, and though there were barracks and watchtowers, well staffed with Zangarza’s warriors, nothing could halt the remorseless surge of the ocean horrors. And still the abominations came from the ocean, wave after wave.

King Numenedzer had barely taken to his night chamber in the opulent palace that spanned the uppermost heights of the city, when he heard strange sounds out in the night. Drawing a thick robe around himself, he went on to the curved balcony that afforded him a sweeping view of the harbor and city spread below him in the vivid moonlight. Again he heard the sounds – now he recognized them. Screams! From all directions. And the clash of arms. Shouts. A battle? Gods of the Deep, here, in his city? How could such a thing be?

Behind him the doors to his bedchamber flew open. He had no time to be outraged, snatching up a sword, one of several he always had to hand, even here in his inner sanctum. He was a big man and had always excelled in the use of a sword, his stamina and strength legendary among his people. He scowled at the guards who had burst in on him, prepared to defend himself, if this was to be a betrayal.

“Sire!” cried the first of them, Thraxus, captain of the palace guard. He carried a sword, but clearly not for an attack on his monarch. A dozen of his elite guards were with him, all armed and prepared for conflict. “Forgive this rude intrusion, but the city is under assault! The sea has disgorged an army. Half of Zangarza has already fallen.”

“Who is behind this perfidy?” the king fumed, quickly dressing himself. Beyond the doors he could hear a tumult and the ring of steel on steel, more frightful screams as men died.

Thraxus and his loyal guards ringed the king, pulling the doors closed and ramming the thick bolts home to secure them.

“I will fight!” snarled Numenedzer. “I am no coward. If my people stand against the foe, I will lead them!”

“You cannot, sire,” said Thraxus, though he looked appalled, uneasy at correcting the king. “We are vastly outnumbered. We must get you away, sire. You must flee the city. That or die with us.”

The doors burst open as if smitten by a landslide, the thick wood disintegrating. From the shadows beyond rushed a wave of the creatures from the ocean, the hunched, clawed beings, bloodied and hissing with the lust for destruction. The king saw with utter horror those snapping claws, and the teeth of these fiends, long and sharp, like the fangs of jungle predators. What terrible hybrids were these, and what dark art had spawned them?

A ferocious battle began as Thraxus and his men tore into the devils, chopping many aside, holding back the onslaught, but only momentarily. There were far too many of the intruders. Numenedzer realized if he fought here, he would doubtless die in this maelstrom of blood. Better to let his men buy his life while he took the secret stair out of his chambers and flee into the heart of the mountain, where he could effect an escape from the city.

He was about to escape, when a tall figure emerged from behind the velvet curtains that disguised the stair to freedom. It was the High Sorcerer, Querram Urgol. A cruel smiled played upon his lips as he faced his monarch.

Numenedzer understood the truth at once. As he suspected, here was the betrayer! “You have done this!” he cried, raising his sword, intent on spitting the skull of the sorcerer. Querram Urgol swung his long staff, a black rod, carved ornately with ancient glyphs and sigils, and a bolt of blue light exploded as the weapons clashed. Numenedzer was flung aside like a rag doll, fetching up on the stone floor of the balcony. Behind him the moon blazed like the eye of a hungry god, eager to see a sacrifice.

“Unworthy dog!” gasped the king. “I spit on your treachery!”

Querram Urgol pushed the tip of his staff down at the chest of the king. “The time of change has come,” he said coldly. “A new power rises from the ocean. Xeraph-Hizer, the Leviathan Lord, is awakened. Sorcery will rule Atlantis now. From this place, it will spread and Man will fall.”

Numenedzer gazed in mute horror as the High Sorcerer raised his arms, and in the moonlight, his claws gleamed, and his face altered, testament to his transformation. He was no longer a man. Nor were the guards who had rallied to him. All of them, chopped down in a bloody rain, rose again, their bodies contorted, their limbs transmuted. Down in the city, the last of the screams had ended, replaced by a new sound, a discordant, alien shriek of victory as the massed crawlers from the deeps gave voice to their triumph.

The last thing the king thought of as the sorcerer’s staff again dug into him, parting his flesh with searing heat and agony, was his daughter, Hamniri. She and her entourage were in the palace along the harbor side. It had always been a secure place, but against these things, could it possibly have stood unscathed? And if so, for how long? He was spared the misery of dwelling on this, as darkness closed over him and he collapsed.

Querram Urgol turned to the victorious clawed ones. They were silent now, misshapen heads bowed as they awaited new commands. The city was theirs. Already many of the fallen outside were rising, newly shaped, obedient to a fresh cause.

*

The early morning sun beat down, already bathing the land in a dry, wearing heat. Slowly the large body of men rode across an open terrain, watching the rocky slopes ahead of them where the road wound to the uppermost watchtowers of the city.

Scouts galloped back to the company of guards who rode with the young king, Thotmes. He was clad in war gear and well armed, though this was a peaceful mission. Numenedzer, the king of Zangarza had sworn an oath, claiming a deep desire to form a union. Thotmes had enjoyed banding his city-states into a kingdom since taking its throne at sword-point almost a year since. A war with Numenedzer had its appeal, but there was always the danger of losing the campaign and becoming thrall to Zangarza. Whereas unification could lead on to greater conquests to the north, perhaps even the Dragon Throne of Cyrena. Often had Thotmes thought of that.

“Zangarza, sire,” said the first of the scouts. “It lies beyond the cliffs. It is strangely silent. They have sent no ambassadors to greet you.”

Thotmes scowled. Why should Numenedzer insult him at this stage in the negotiations?

 

Chapter Three: Carnage in the Streets.

Thotmes studied the winding road carefully, his unease mounting. There were low walls along the ridge; the road fed into an open gateway. Up on the walls, a number of figures waited, draped in hooded cloaks, black and motionless in the sunlight’s glare. These guards resembled huge crows, not men, though there were no birds visible. The oncoming army had startled them into flight. A lone rider galloped to the warriors at the young king’s side.

“The way ahead is clear, sire. Zangarza’s watch has waved us forward.”

Thotmes nodded and his guards formed a shield in front of him, leading the way to the gates. The king had brought a strong force with him, taking no chances with his potential allies. If there were to be treachery, his army would waste no time in attacking, though his ambassadors had told him the city was built into the cliffs and would not be a good place for either an ambush or an open conflict. The outcome of any such battle would be completely in the lap of the gods. Numenedzer would hardly risk success in such a way.

Inside the gates the road curved downward and back on itself as it threaded the vertiginous buildings. Everywhere remained silent, as though this uppermost part of Zangarza consisted of nothing more than tombs, a necropolis looming high over the city’s suburbs and temples.

Where are the inhabitants? Thotmes asked himself. The place seemed dead, abandoned. Far below, the restless waves of the great ocean curled into the sickle-shaped bay, but there were no ships berthed. That seemed extraordinary for a port that was famed in these southern lands for its sea-trade, its mariners respected the length of the southern coasts and beyond.

Further down the road, a group of men at last appeared, on foot and waiting to receive Thotmes and his entourage. Like the guardians on the wall, these men were hooded and cloaked, their faces shielded from the fierce heat, their arms held beneath their cloaks. They had the appearance of priests. Zangarza was known to worship strange sea gods, with a secret sect running the priesthood. There had even been rumors of sorcery, though this was not uncommon here in the southlands. Thotmes had quashed the powers of the sorcerers in his own city and revived the cult of sun worship, much to the delight of his people.

A spokesman for the hooded men stood before the king, but his face remained invisible. His voice came clearly on the still air. “Greetings, o king, from Numenedzer, our ruler. He awaits you in his palace. We will escort you.”

Thotmes masked his reaction to the strange voice, which seemed flat and lacking in emotion. His commanders turned to him, equally surprised. It was obvious they feared a trap. Did Numenedzer, after all, plan to eliminate his main rival? Zangarza’s king was reputed to be a devious man. Was the suggested alliance to topple Elak of Cyrena a trick? Thotmes spoke quietly to his warriors.

“Be prepared for bloodshed. Send scouts out into the side streets. At the slightest hint of betrayal, form ranks and pull back. If it is to be a contest, we’ll burn this city to ash!”

His men were deployed as he asked, slipping unseen by the hooded escort into several of side streets. The first group were assailed by a pungent smell, a mixture of the sea and something else, a foul aroma. As fighting men, they knew that stench as spilled blood, and worse. Shadows clung to the buildings, deep in the alleys, where shapes appeared fleetingly in windows and doorways before withdrawing, like huge spiders scuttling to safety.

One of the groups entered a wider doorway which opened onto an enclosed square, heaped with what at first appeared to be rubble, but as a shaft of sunlight moved across it, its shapes emerged and the soldiers gaped in horror. These were bodies, scores of them. And among them, something scavenged. Bulbous, misshapen heads looked up, mouths crammed with dripping red meat. Scavengers, they fed on the mound of bodies. Cannibals! These creatures seemed less than human, their elongated arms raised to display horrific claws, crimson with the blood of the fallen.

“Back!” cried the leader, Immuz. “We must warn King Thotmes.” It was already too late. A host of the clawed beings burst up through the carpet of dead and surrounded the soldiers. Without warning these horrors flung themselves forward. Swords hacked at their chitinous bodies and clashed with the massive claws, but to no avail. There were too many of the mutated beings and their bloody work was soon over as they overwhelmed the intruders.

In the street outside, other warriors were looking into buildings and outhouses. They heard the sound of battle and rallied, approaching the wide doorway to the square, preparing for an assault. Before they could go through to the square, several shapes emerged into the sunlit street, led by Immuz. He was splattered with blood, his beard and hair thick with it. His short cape was twisted around him, covering his arms for a moment. He approached his second line of men and they read something alien in his eyes, and in those of the soldiers who had emerged with him.

Immuz flung back his cape and revealed a thick, ridged claw. With one terrible sweep he used it to partially decapitate the first of his men. A fresh fight broke out in the crowded street, as terrible as the one fought in the inner square. Immuz and his first wave of men were all changed, possessed by creatures from some other realm, the sea perhaps: the saline smell and the hardening of their new skin testified to a grim transmogrification.

This grim fate befell all of those sent by Thotmes to reconnoiter the streets and alleyways, although the king had no inkling of what was happening. The city walls muffled the sounds of bloodletting and slaughter. Protected by his senior guards, he rode slowly down into the city. He was still high above the harbor when the hooded guides led his company along the wider slope to the palace gates. Another group awaited them. One of its members stepped forward. He wore a long robe and headgear that marked him as either a priest or sorcerer, and he bowed to Thotmes.

“Welcome, lord of Kanda Kara. I am Querram Urgol, High Sorcerer of Zangarza. My king, Numenedzer, awaits you within.” He raised a long staff in salutation. “I am at your mercy, Thotmes. Please use me as an insurance for your safe passage.”

Thotmes nodded, though he knew how dangerous these sorcerers were. It had not been easy ridding his own city of them. Querram Urgol exuded power, and the young king felt it as surely as he felt the hot sunlight.

Inside the palace, Thotmes and his guards were taken to the throne room, an opulent place, lit by the sun from openings in its curved dome, its statues and carvings no less regal and impressive than those of Thotmes’ own city. He stood before the throne, which had been cut from a single huge stone of marble, its striated colors dazzling. The man seated upon it was heavily cloaked, in spite of the clammy heat. His thick black hair obscured most of his face, his arms resting on the sides of the throne, hands inside long sleeves.

“Welcome, Thotmes,” he said.

The younger king bowed, though Numenedzer’s voice seemed unduly cold and hollow. An overpowering smell of the sea permeated everything.

 

Chapter Four: The God from the Ocean.

Numenedzer’s soulless voice rang out in the great hall. The king remained as immobile as the many statues behind the throne and lining the sides of the temple. “This is a momentous occasion for our cities, this coming together in preparation for greatness. Our ocean lord, Xeraph-Hizer, will soon rise from his deep cradle and pour his energies into his servants! Between us we will sweep his enemies from all of Atlantis!”

Thotmes, the visiting king, scowled. He looked around him, seeing the details of the statues properly, realizing they were not sculptures of gods or demi-gods that he knew or worshiped. All represented beings of an aquatic nature, finned and gilled, with long spines more commonly seen on the larger fish of the seas. And who was Xeraph-Hizer? Some dark, oceanic monster, summoned from the ocean bed by the sorcery of this robed devil, Querram Urgol? Thotmes glanced at the High Sorcerer, who stood close to the throne, his face serene, a hint of mockery in those brooding eyes. He had the appearance of a man, though his robes hid much of his shape, and Thotmes had a deeply uneasy feeling about him.

“I worship no such god,” said Thotmes. “I came here to discuss an alliance, a combined force to overthrow Elak of the north.”

“And we shall have one! Your army is here. Already your men are being shown to their new barracks. Tonight we shall celebrate with a feast to end all feasts! Tomorrow the northern dog arrives. Xeraph-Hizer’s children will overwhelm him.”

“Who is this god of the sea?”

Behind Numenedzer there were two huge columns rising up to the dome. Between them hung thick curtains of very dark material, woven with bright green symbols, suggestive of the ocean. Thotmes’ question was answered as the curtains were drawn aside by invisible hands, revealing yet another statue. It was twenty five feet high, and at sight of it Thotmes and his retinue drew back, shocked by the bizarre nature of the thing towering over them. It was cut from deep green stone, gleaming as if it had been oiled, giving it the impression of having just risen from the sea, which made it disturbingly life-like. Its arms were like the long appendages of a giant squid, its head long and bulbous, with a curved beak of a mouth. The eyes, immense jewels, reflected the sunlight in a way which suggested they were alive, studying the company.

“Behold, the great ocean lord, Xeraph-Hizer! Gaze upon his likeness and bow down. Soon he will rise from his deep city and come to us. He will bestow upon us all we need to overrun the continent – and beyond!”

Thotmes spoke softly to his men. “We are finished here. This is sorcery of the darkest kind. I’ll swap blood for blood with any warrior, Elak included, in an honest fight. But I’ll not sell my soul to this dweller in the deepest hells. Prepare to fight your way out.”

The High Sorcerer, Querram Urgol, stirred, as though he had caught the whispered words. He held his staff aloft and light speared down from above, striking along its length and reflecting across to the huge statue. The monstrous thing seemed to quiver, its eyes even more fixed on Thotmes and his men. “It is written in your fate,” said the sorcerer. “You cannot avoid a union with us now. Tonight, the conjunction of the stars will be mirrored here in Zangarza as your men and ours become one unit, children of the god. Revel in the power, Thotmes. You will be a god among men.”

“We have our own gods,” Thotmes replied, drawing his sword. His men did likewise. “And we will have none of this bowing to an alien. It belongs in the deep ocean. Let it remain there. We will leave. I will take my army and return to Kanda Kara.”

A hollow laugh rang out from the enthroned monarch, or whatever being sat on his throne. “It is too late for that, Thotmes. Put away your swords and embrace your fate.” Numenedzer had spoken as though his body was wracked by severe pain, that or held in a rigid grip.

Thotmes heard the rattle of arms behind him. Scores of warriors were entering the palace and lining its walls. Their numbers swelled, blocking off the young king’s retreat. It would be suicidal to engage them, Thotmes knew. Instead he barked a command to his warriors and as one they launched themselves at the steps to the throne.

Querram Urgol struck the paving slabs with his staff and the ground shook as though an earth tremor ran through it. Thotmes and his men were thrown aside, some losing their swords as they fell. Numenedzer still had not moved, gazing down at the fallen men impotently. Thotmes rose and made a renewed attempt to challenge the king, but a deep dizziness shook him and he stumbled, darkness swirling about him. One by one, his men subsided, unconscious. The last thing Thotmes saw before he succumbed to the churning night was the triumphant rush of Numenedzer’s transformed warriors and the claws they raised in murderous intent.

*

Elak, young King of Cyrena, rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, studying the scrolled map. Here in his tent, Lycon, his most trusted companion, had joined the Cyrenian king with Dalan, the Druid, and Arborax, commander of the royal army. Dawn had not long departed and today Elak and the not insignificant armed force he had brought with him would reach Zangarza, where a potential alliance awaited them. Elak had not long been elevated to the throne, and already he was bored with the strictures of his administration. How he longed to swim out to a ship and sail off to adventure among remote islands. Those days, he thought ruefully, were probably behind him.

“I’m surprised we haven’t been met, as we are so close to our destination,” said Lycon, yawning, and stretching his considerable bulk. He’d spent a restless night, not having had an opportunity to imbibe his usual daily quota of wine. Life on the road, marching with the army, was not his idea of fun. Dalan and Arborax remained more stolid.

“My forward scouts have reported very little,” said Arborax. He was no more than a year or two older than his young king, but already his remarkable skills as a warrior and commendable bravery in the recent conflict with Karkora had won him promotion to the demanding role of commander of the army. He was loyal to Elak, and the two men were good friends.

Dalan, an introverted, somber man, seemed unduly thoughtful. “It’s an uneasy calm,” he said. “If we were at sea, it would presage a storm.”

A cry from outside made the four men all look up. Dalan’s brows contracted in an even deeper scowl. “The way ahead is cloaked in darkness. Bad news approaches.”

 

 

Chapter Five: A Council by Night.

Two heavily armored guards entered the tent, bowing low before Elak. “Sire, news from Zangarza. One of its citizens has come.”

“Bring him in,” said Dalan, as though the Druid already knew what the southerner would say.

When the man entered, carefully watched by the guards, his appearance was a shock to Elak and his companions. The man was badly disheveled, his clothes torn and bloody, his hair matted. He wore a look of horror, falling to his knees, gabbling so quickly he had to be stopped.

Dalan put a hand on the man’s head, instilling a little calm into the shaking body. “Slowly. Give us your news. You will not be harmed here.”

“They came!” cried the man. “From the ocean. Hundreds of them, as countless as the stars. Men, yet not men. And they struck. Zangarza’s people fell, cut to pieces. Those claws – those frightful claws!”

Elak and his companions exchanged puzzled glances. The man gabbled on.

“I hid with a few of my closest companions. By dawn, when all had gone quiet we slipped like ghosts up into the city, where the streets were strangely abandoned. And we saw the coming of Thotmes, king of Kanda Kara. He and his warriors rode down into a trap! The creatures from the deeps. And worse! Many of our people who had fallen in the night, rose again, imbued with strange powers, transformed into the likenesses of these sea horrors! Their hands were – claws!”

“What of Numenedzer?” said Elak.

The man shook his head, tears streaming down his agonized face. “Who can say? He and his new ally may have fallen. One of my fellow guards, fatally wounded, told me with his last breath that, Hamniri, daughter of King Numenedzer, has locked herself in the lower palace with a handful of guards. The sorcerer wants her alive for some reason. He must have some vile plan for her.”

“How do you know these things?” Dalan challenged him.

“I was with the king when Querram Urgol betrayed him and I was beaten senseless and left for dead. Somehow I managed to escape, along with two others. My companions took to the sea, but I fear for them. The sea devils must have taken them. Am I all that is left of Zangarza?”

“Where are these sea creatures now?” said Lycon, towering over the man.

“As I crept from the city, I saw they have made a new home there, killing or horribly converting the people! And they wait. If you take your army there, they will trick you and draw you in. Beware of sorcery! Querram Urgol has called up the powers of the deep night. His treachery has unleashed living nightmare upon the world.” The man could say no more. He broke down, sobbing as he was gently led away.

Dalan wore a look of thunder. “The High Sorcerer,” he growled.

“You know him?” said Elak.

“I do. He was banished from the northern cities where he once sought power, drawing on ancient rituals long denied to his fellows, for fear of bringing the fell spirits of outer regions into our world. Doubtless he played a part in Karkora’s rise. He may have been banished and broken, but it seems he has mended himself. If he is behind this perfidy, it will take sorcery to crush him.”

Arborax, the commander, looked again at the map on the table. “Our scouts say the army of the visiting king, Thotmes, was substantial. It seems incredible it entered the city and was absorbed by these ocean invaders.”

“Thotmes has scourged his city and lands of sorcery,” said Dalan. “He’ll not allow such things, and I doubt if he would have tolerated me, or my Druidic followers. He and his men would have been susceptible to the workings of Querram Urgol. We are better protected. When we enter the city, we will be shielded from sorcery. We will meet it on level terms, aye, and better!”

Elak nodded. “Certainly that must be what this sorcerer expects. A confident new king in me and a strong force, fresh from triumph in another series of battles in the north. Why wouldn’t I attack, driving straight into the teeth of the enemy?”

Lycon was chuckling. “Oh-ho, I smell something devious. Our young ruler may be confident and arrogant, but he is not without guile.”

Arborax shot the king’s huge companion a glare. Lycon was the only man who would dare speak of Elak this way.

Elak, however, was laughing softly. “It must have rubbed off from the company I keep,” he said.

“You have a different strategy?” said Dalan.

“We must give the sorcerer the impression we are walking into his trap. Thus a slow march forward to Zangarza, though we’ll camp the army some distance from its gates. We should be there well before nightfall, but we camp overnight. That will give me time to effect a clandestine entry into the city.”

Dalan’s face clouded anew. “You, sire? If you wish to send spies into the city, by all means do it. But it is work for others. You cannot risk yourself. Not as king.”

Elak again laughed gently. “I won’t be alone. Arborax will lead the pick of his warriors, and Lycon will, as ever, be my right arm.”

Dalan shook his head. “Your skill with a sword and your athleticism has become a talking point across the whole of the north, Elak, but you are facing sorcery of the darkest hue. Your steel will not be enough.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Dalan. Which is why you will also accompany us.”

There followed a brief, candid argument, but Elak, as king, had the last word. In spite of Dalan’s objections, the plan to enter the city secretly was agreed.

Arborax tapped the map. “The cliffs at the city’s northern boundary are the way in. Steep and dangerous, especially by night. But unlikely to be guarded.”

Lycon had paled. “By Ishtar, those cliffs will be vertical! Exposed to the blasts of the eastern ocean. They are wide open, unprotected.”

Elak nodded. “A challenge, yes. But we’ve all been grumbling about the monotony and boredom of the ride across the land to get here. This little adventure will make our blood sing!”

Lycon gaped. It was bad enough having no wine among the supplies, but this! By the Nine Hells!

*

The full moon daubed brilliant light across the cliffs and the narrow path winding across their crumbling face. Elak and his picked company of a score, gritted their teeth against the stiff ocean breezes and occasional buffets of the night winds. Elak insisted that he and his commander took the lead as they began the difficult horizontal climb, finding the vital footholds that enabled them to traverse the cliffs and round the jutting headland that gave on to the outer structures of Zangarza. Dalan cloaked the company in such magics as he possessed, though there were no guards set here in such a dangerous approach. Lycon made much of the journey with his eyes almost closed in terror, but he masked his discomfort well. As a younger man he had happily shinned up a ship’s mast, but these days his great weight hampered him.

Slowly the company eased it way downwards towards the foot of the cliffs and the spume that scattered over the lower rocks. Beyond the headland, the promontory on which the lower palace of the city squatted like a huge beast ran like an arm into the churning waters. The palace was dark, not a single light visible in its upper windows. The man who had escaped the city and spoken of the coming of the horrors from the sea had said the lower palace had sealed itself against the attack. And within its thick walls, Hamniri, daughter of the king, had locked herself away with her guards. If the gods willed it, she would yet be unharmed, a possible key to the city.

 

Chapter Six: Lair of the Sea Beast.

Elak’s small company slipped silently across the last of the rocks to the base of the long promontory. The sheer walls of the palace rose over them, blotting out the moon, their few windows high up, no more than dark smears. Two of Arborax’s nimblest climbers, men who had been weaned on the precipitous northern cliffs of the continent, climbed upwards like spiders, ropes wrapped around them. Inch by inch they braved the buffeting sea winds and melted into the mass of shadows. Eventually the trailing ropes were secured. Elak was the first to grip one and begin his own ascent. One by one the party climbed, even Lycon managing to find footholds in the stonework, though he cursed and spluttered with the effort.

There were no guards on the higher battlements. Doubtless the invaders had seen no point in setting any. The windows above were simple openings, and had not been shuttered or barred against the elements or intruders—none were expected. Thus Elak and the company entered the palace’s main watchtower, its narrow upper corridors shrouded in darkness, apparently empty. Dalan carried a short staff, its bulbous head glowing a dull blue, enough for the company to see by.

Elak, rapier in hand, moved down the first flight of stairs. Still he met no opposition. Everything was still, utterly silent. Down they went, coming at length into a hall. It, too, had been abandoned. Elak wondered if anyone was in this eerie palace. Had the enemy captured the king’s daughter and gone up into the city? It seemed probable. Why did Querram Urgol want her? Surely the sorcerer did not intent some ungodly marriage with her, to cement his plans for dominion?

Elak sent his scouts out into the hall, looking for any signs of life, or clues to Hamniri’s whereabouts.

Dalan sniffed the air like a wolfhound, nodding to himself and muttering curses. The Druid held his staff aloft and its head flared, the shadows in the hall leaping back like startled ghosts. There had been furnishings in here, and small statues, bowls and fat candles, but in the blue glow all could now be seen to have been overturned and flung aside, as though a great brawl had taken place here. In the center of the hall, a dark pit gaped, a black maw which emitted a strong smell of the sea. Dalan stood on the edge and gazed into the silent depths.

“What has caused this?” said Elak. “It is not natural.”

Dalan pointed to a slick substance, globules smeared around the sides of the huge, angled hole. “Something from the sea,” he said. “A creature large enough to burrow through rock and soil. Summoned by more sorcery.” He leaned forward and cursed anew. “See! Is that an item of clothing, stuck to the rocks?”

One of the warriors swung down lithely and retrieved the cloth.

“The king’s daughter,” said Arborax. “Could it be hers?”

“Ishtar!” said Lycon. “If so, she must have been taken below, into that dark hell.”

Elak nodded slowly. “We have no choice. We must follow.”

Dalan’s face was clouded with unease. “There’s great danger here. It was not men who tore that hole from the rock below. Some creature, and not a small thing.”

“Yes, I know,” replied Elak. “It will be at great risk, but at least we will not be expected. If Hamniri is alive, we must attempt her rescue.”

“What is it you fear, Elak?” said Dalan. “The girl’s life, of course. But there is more?”

“I wonder if she has become a pawn in Querram Urgol’s game. If her father, Numenedzer is killed and she becomes queen of Zangarza, she could wed Thotmes and secure the union against me. Or worse, the sorcerer might wed her himself! Either way, we cannot leave her to her fate.”

“I gather she’s a handsome lass,” said Lycon, beaming. “She’d make a good bride for any king. Not least of all yourself, Elak.”

“This is hardly the time to make such plans!” Elak snapped. “I’ll take a bride in my own good time.” He covered his evident embarrassment with difficulty. “Meanwhile we need to see to Hamniri’s safety.”

Dalan and Lycon knew it would be pointless trying to dissuade Elak from such a reckless course. He had a unique sense of honor, one of the reasons men were glad to stand beside him in a crisis. Soon the company was once again using the ropes they had brought, this time to descend the sharp incline. It was impossible to tell how deep the hole would be, though the sounds of the sea could be heard far below, drifting up on a breeze that also carried a carrion stench, that and an indefinable miasma that made them all pause.

It was a long, nerve-shredding climb, but at last it ended as the tunnel curved and leveled out to become a long, fat area resembling a burrow. Water dripped from the walls and the floor was a foot deep in brine. Slowly the party made its way along until it came to a wider, cave-like area. Dalan’s staff lit up the immediate surroundings. Twisted stone columns had been chopped into the cave’s sides, and long stones had been set out like altars. There were bones scattered about, and skulls that identified the remains as human. Dalan studied the walls, where narrow cracks led back into the bedrock. As his light shone into them, there were movements. The attack was sudden.

Scores of creatures squirmed out of the crevices, as large as horses, curved and slippery as jellyfish, many floating in the air, their numerous filaments of cilia waving beneath them like myriads of feet. Each creature had two long antennae that served both as sensors and as weapons. They struck out at Elak’s company. Swords cut back at them as the men defended themselves, hemmed in on all sides, in danger of being engulfed by the sheer number of these horrors. The aerial advantage of the floating monsters almost won them the conflict, as they dived down on the already occupied warriors. As the assailants were cut from the air, they fell, a further danger, their gelatinous bodies like bloated sacks, threatening to smother Elak and his fighting companions.

The young king roared with youthful defiance, his blade a blur of light, an inspiration to the warriors around him. Dalan used his staff to blast many aside, the damaged creatures bursting into vivid flames. It held back the tide and enabled the company to cross the cavern and exit at another, low-ceilinged tunnel, barely in time to escape being choked under the massed sea-beasts.

The pursuit stopped as suddenly as it had begun, for the aerial creatures avoided this secondary tunnel, unable to press an assault other than at ground level. Elak led the way onward, pausing some distance in. “Do you hear anything?” he asked.

“Cries,” said Arborax. “Someone’s in trouble.”

The place was a maze, but the sounds of distress, coupled now with the ring of clashing steel, led Elak’s party to another chamber that opened on to a stunning vista of green, crystallized buildings, spread far below under a vast dome, also made of crystal, pure as glass. On the ledge that overlooked this alien city-scape, there was a melee, as a group of people, apparently human, were fighting off a small crowd of robed, priest-like figures. By the light of a few blazing brands, Elak discerned the assailants and their claws – beings who had once been men but who had mutated into quasi-human things, snared by the sorcery of whatever powers lurked in this deep ocean realm.

Elak and his company quickly flung themselves into the affray, chopping at the rear of the crab-men, cutting them down mercilessly, for they expected no quarter. Encouraged by fresh hope, the people who had been ringed in found renewed strength and between the two parties, the sea beings were beaten down, the last of them quickly scurrying away like broken crabs, absorbed by the darkness of the tunnels. Elak noticed that some of them carried manacles and chains. They had intended to take captives.

Arborax was first to the rescued party and found himself standing before a tall warrior woman, her tunic splattered in gore, her sword dripping with the blood of her fallen assailants. Her eyes met his and for a brief moment both figures were very still. Then she laughed, the sound ringing back from the low ceiling.

“Well met,” she said. “I am Hamniri, daughter of Numenedzer.”

 

Chapter Seven: Dark God of the Ocean.

Arborax bowed. “We are from Cyrena. This is our king, Elak.”

Elak also bowed, a knowing smile on his lips. “It is a pleasure to be of service,” he said. “This is the commander of my armies, Arborax. Consider him your protector.”

Hamniri frowned. “I am perfectly capable of protecting myself,” she said, but then smiled.

Elak glanced at Arborax. The king could see his commander was clearly smitten by the girl. “What place is this?” Elak asked her.

“The evil outlying city of Xeraph-Hizer’s servants. They plan to exercise numerous human sacrifices to raise up their ocean god. See, outside the dome! Those shapes – they are the sea guardians of the Leviathan Lord.”

They all looked in horror at the horrific things, wrapped in shadow, swimming in the ocean murk like gigantic flying beasts, long, distorted heads studded with countless eyes, scarlet jewels that exuded a terrible menace.

“Once Xeraph-Hizer is awake, they will rise up through the waters to the surface and absorb all those who live in Zangarza. I was to be chained and possessed by their powers and used to deceive their enemies, such as you, Elak. The last of my warriors defended me.” Hamniri held up the dripping sword. “I will defy them to the last drop of my blood!”

Elak grinned. “We are with you, princess. We must get back to your city. I have an army poised at its gates.”

“Quickly!” called Dalan urgently. He had seen the shadows down in the crystal city rising up, an obscene tide, clearly intent on finishing the work their priest-things had failed to accomplish. As the Druid watched, he realized with deepening horror those shadows were part of one vast whole, a leviathan, Xeraph-Hizer. “The monstrous demi-god has been partially awakened. The more lives that are sacrificed, the quicker it will rise up. That must not happen!”

Elak led the way back into the tunnels. There were no signs of the aerial horrors they had met on the way down, and they reached the huge cavern, the sloping tunnel at its far end. It would be a difficult climb.

“The creature that carved this tunnel,” said Hamniri. “It has been held back, while the people of the ocean city tried to capture me. I cannot say how long it will be hide in its lair.”

As they crossed the cavern, something vast shifted in the tunnel ahead—the huge globular beast was blocking their retreat. It filled the tunnel, its gaping maw a crimson cavern, ringed with a thousand teeth, its long, serpent-like tongue lashing the air.

Dalan stepped forward, raising his staff. “Gather brands,” he called, indicating several cressets in the walls, where dry brands had been set. Elak’s men grabbed a dozen of them as Dalan ignited his staff. Each of the men with a brand plunged it into the white light and immediately all the brands were flaring. “Come!” shouted Dalan, striding forward. The men moved in a line with him, driving straight at the monster in the tunnel. Dalan used his staff to toss a fireball at the beast and it exploded in the heart of that gaping mouth. The men rushed in, tossing their firebrands until a wall of flame rose up. Hideous sounds beyond it attested to the distress of the creature, and thick, black clouds of smoke billowed outwards, forcing Dalan and the men back.

Elak saw the smoke clear—the huge worm-like thing had slithered back up the tunnel. Dalan led the pursuit, his staff-light held high, as the pursuer became the pursued. The company waded through the rank waters of the tunnel to the place where it sloped more steeply upward. High up in its choking shadows, something moved, wrapped in flames.

“It will emerge in the palace,” said Dalan. “We must kill it there, before it gets into the city.”

“Sire!” called one of the vanguard. “We are followed.” In the pitch darkness behind them, sounds suggested a living tide. More forces from the crystal city had boiled up into the tunnels, a mass of serpent-like horrors and was flowing forward with only one intention – to smother Elak and the escaping company.

“Climb!” shouted Elak. At once the company sprang forward, eager to ascend, though the rocks were slippery and sharp. Again Dalan used the fires of sorcery to delay the assailants below, where a black flood filled the floor of the pit, long, snaking tendrils of darkness probing upwards, mere yards from the lowest of the warriors. Yet the swirling, pitch mass did not boil upwards, seemingly fixed at one level. Dalan fought off the grasping tendrils and from his staff sparks fizzed and crackled, showering the entity below.

It was a gradual, tortuous climb, but the company at last reached the rim of the pit, clambering out into the hall of the palace. Many of its columns had been shattered, smashed aside, and one wall had partially collapsed. Elak watched as moonlight slanted in through a gaping hole high above, the silver glow limning the far end of the hall. The darkness abruptly flew apart as the great worm-thing boiled out from the detritus of shattered statues.

Dalan stood firm, casting yet another white bolt of light at the gelatinous spawn of the sea. Fire terrified it, ripping into it like a mighty, searing blade, and once again it swung about and sought escape, battering another wall until it crumbled.

“Will nothing kill it?” Lycon shouted.

“See, it is aflame,” said Arborax. He was right, for the Druid’s fire had ignited the monster and now white flames licked up one side of its vast, barrel-shaped trunk. The thing thundered out into the night, but its destruction was not complete. It could have plunged into the waters of the adjacent ocean, but instead, maddened by the fire, rose up and drove hard into the warehouses and lower buildings of Zangarza. From the upper parapets of the palace, Elak and the company watched its frenzied flight.

“It is beyond control,” said Dalan.

“My father!” cried Hamniri. “And the people! We must help them.”

“They have been changed,” Elak told her. “The sorcerer, Querram Urgol conspired with the god from that undersea city. Your people, and the army of Thotmes, are no longer human. Unless this sorcery can be reversed. Dalan – is that possible?”

The Druid scowled. “Once the beast is dead, perhaps. And there will be worse to come.” He pointed to the waters of the wide bay below them. “The things we saw beyond the sea dome – I sense them rising. And beneath us, something much more vast and terrible. It will feed on those who die. That worm-thing will kill to quench its thirst for human blood.”

“Xeraph-Hizer,” said Hamniri. “Once he is loose here, everything will be lost to him.”

As if in response to his words, the sea exploded in a mountainous welter of spray and spume, the waves churning and rolling landward, engulfing the lower city and shattering buildings, ships and docks alike. In the bay, several gargantuan shapes burst from the water, long tendrils flicking the air, testing it as though in preparation for a new life, a life within the city, where they would feast on all that lived there.

Elak gripped Dalan’s arm. “Is there nothing to be done?”

Dalan’s face was a ghastly mask, his jaw set. “There is one working, but it is dangerous beyond words. The gods alone know what catastrophe it would unleash. I fear the consequences.”

Elak pointed to the horrors in the bay. “Could it be any worse than what these nightmares will bring, to us and all the world?”

 

Chapter Eight: Molten Fire.

The company crossed to the mid-point of the promontory and grouped together around Dalan, looking down at the waves as they crashed on the lower walls, almost powerful enough to sweep the construction away. Yet it had endured the most savage storms of the southern ocean for many years and it held yet. In the bay the seas still thrashed as the things from deep below drew closer to the lower city. Elak looked up at the buildings cut so dramatically into the cliffs, towering up to the starlit sky. Zangarza was normally well-disguised by moonlight, but this night its shadows and vague outlines, its blurred buildings and walls were garishly lit in places by the light from the blazing worm-thing. Fires had broken out in the tortuous streets as the great worm continued its frantic rise, away from the blazing white light Dalan had hurled at it. The creature left a trail of streaming fire and thick, stinking smoke. Buildings crumbled and slid downwards in its wake as it made for the upper palace. Zangarza had become an inferno as grim as any vision Elak had imagined of the Nine Hells.

Dalan began his working. He drove the end of his staff into a crack between two of the mighty harbor stones and gripped the head of the staff, shouting out words from the secret language of his brethren, the words of a sorcerer. His voice rose above the thunder of the waves and mingled with the tumultuous air, and as the company watched, that air seemed alive, an overhead whirlpool of spirits and demonic beings, the sound of their discordant screams directed by the Druid’s power. Bolts of blue fire shot down from the pandemonium above, and Elak gasped, afraid that Dalan would be blasted apart. But instead the energy flowed down through the brilliantly-lit figure and into the promontory.

The great stones shook, but this was not the sea. This was deep below, far down in the hidden caverns, the roots of the city and the mountainous cliffs. Elak and his companions felt the earth shift, their ears filled with a terrible roaring. The sea rolled back to expose its bed, a tangled mass of weed and jagged rocks, where shapes slithered and scuttled away, a frightful army, dredged up from the deeps. Great gouts of steam blew upward and the sea bed began to glow, a deep, rich red. Molten lava belched out of it and out in the bay the huge beings twisted and turned in agony, forced back under the waves, away from the coast.

Elak and the others turned to watch the city. Its southern section had been cut into the cliffs before they curved around a high headland. An entire slice of the city crumbled like sun-baked soil and fell in a gigantic landslide, revealing tongues of liquid lava. They poured down after the fallen buildings and into the sea, boiling it and giving rise to a great bank of steam.

“Zangarza!” cried Hamniri. “No one will survive!”

They could only watch as another huge slab of rock and buildings slipped down into the pounding waves, more banks of steam hissing and spreading. Elak turned to Dalan, but the Druid had dropped to his knees, his eyes tightly closed, his energy and magic almost spent. It was impossible to rouse him. The destruction could not be halted.

“Come!” shouted the king, as he and Lycon dragged Dalan to his feet. The Druid still clung to his staff and it pulled free as they tugged him away, moving along the shuddering promontory as quickly as they could. It felt as though an earthquake would soon strike the land, a deeper roaring underground presaging its coming. The sea beasts were gone, and with them all signs of life beyond the promontory.

Elak watched Zangarza. For the moment the dreadful landslides that had plunged a portion of the city into the boiling waters had ceased, although red hot lava still poured from the wide fissure near to the fallen headland.

“If we are to get away from this hell,” said Lycon, “we must go up through the city. There’s no other way.”

Elak nodded. They reached the harbor and wormed their way up through the narrow, steep-sided streets beyond. Dalan began to come around, shaking his head dazedly. “We must go up. The gods alone know what chaos has broken out up there.”

“My father,” said Hamniri. “Is he alive? Can he be saved?”

Arborax glanced at his king. “A few of us can enter the palace -” he began, but Elak stopped him.

“We’ll do this together,” he said. “But be warned,” he told the warriors, “the worst is yet to come.”

As one, they climbed the streets, conscious of the enormous damage inflicted by the fleeing worm-thing, and the many fires it had left in its wake. If Zangarza did not slide into the sea this night, its remains would take years to rebuild. When they reached the lower area of the palace, they saw its main buildings had been broken open like shells. Smoke poured from numerous gaping holes in its walls and a sickening stench wafted over them in a cloud. The worm-beast had battered its way here, under the spells of the High Sorcerer, Querram Urgol, but it was no longer his, or anyone’s servant. Its charred and disintegrating corpse had burst, spilling a mass of internal organs and thick, viscous ichor across the lower steps. Hundreds of corpses littered the area, people that had been transformed by the powers unleashed by Querram Urgol. What few were left to defend the palace cowered back as Elak and his company entered the final chamber.

Behind the throne, the statue of Xeraph-Hizer had split in two and each half leaned to one side, irreparably broken. Numenedzer sat yet upon his throne, motionless as stone, his glazed eyes fixed on a point far out in the bay. Beside him, only Querram Urgol remained defiant.

“Fools!” he snarled. “You cannot prevent the coming of the Leviathan Lord!”

Dalan managed to pull himself upright, summoning his last reserves of strength. “You have failed, traitorous vermin!” he said, raising his staff. Light poured from it, though not as fiercely as it had down on the promontory. Querram Urgol shrieked with the laughter of a madman and hurled sparks from his own staff of power. The energies smashed into each other like oceanic waves, filling the immediate air with thunder. Elak and his men were thrown to their feet, and could only watch as the two magicians clashed, rocking back on their heels, the fate of both held in a cosmic balance.

Elak saw a blur of movement. Before he could react, Hamniri had rushed forward, her sword raised. She looked like some manic demon from hell itself, hair streaming out behind her, lips drawn back in a feral scream of fury. She reached Querram Urgol, who could do nothing to stay her hand, his power snarled up in the mesh of Dalan’s magic. Hamniri brought her blade down with horrific force and it sliced through the Sorcerer’s head, neck and upper chest. His staff exploded in a flash of blinding light.

When Elak and his companions at last staggered to their feet, the air around them was thick with smoke. Elak broke through it and saw two figures beside the throne. Arborax had lifted Hamniri to her feet, his arms around her. In a moment she came out of her daze and smiled up at the commander. Elak heard a laugh behind him, where Lycon staggered out of the pulsing air.

“If Hamniri is to become the new monarch, how better to seal an alliance than with a royal marriage?” he said. “I’d certainly drink to that.”

Elak grinned. “Arborax will have his hands full.” However, he sounded more than pleased.

Their laughter was curtailed as yet another shape manifested itself. King Numenedzer stood up, drawing on last reserves of power. His body had seemingly grown in girth, his face a mask of anger and fury. Around him and up in the skies, the elements poured the last of their energies into the warrior king and he roared his defiance at the intruders who had wrought so much havoc on his kingdom and people. Hamniri would have rushed to him, but Arborax held her back, seeing the potent sorcery yet writhing in her father.

Numenedzer’s blazing eyes fixed upon his daughter. “I have done this for you!” he roared, his blade flashing in the bizarre light, coruscating with undoubted magics yet to be quashed. “Xeraph-Hizer will fill you with his power and all Atlantis will sit at your feet!”

Hamniri broke free of the commander’s grip and ran to stand before her father. “No!” she cried. “You are king, and will be cleansed of this foulness. You will make Zangarza a great ally of Atlantis, not its conqueror.”

Elak and the others watched in trepidation as Numenedzer’s flickering blade hovered over the girl, as if the king would kill her rather than concede. Suddenly a pain wracked him, deep in his chest and upper body. The sword fell from his now nerveless fingers and clattered away down the steps. He dropped to his knees, his face contorted in agony.

“Father!” cried Hamniri, rushing to him.

“You are right,” he gasped. “I am indeed gripped by a foulness, a cankerous disease. This last year it has gnawed at me, my death inevitable. It is what drove me to elevate you. Querram Urgol’s sorcery subdued it, but now he is no more, it surges anew in my blood and bones.” His voice was a rasp, blood frothing at his lips. “I put off my death long enough to give you dominion over these foreign kings.”

“There are better ways than war to make our world stronger,” said Hamniri. She glanced back at Arborax. “Father, there are no more enemies here.”

Numenedzer had shrunk down, seemingly half his former size. He nodded, exhausted, no fight left in him.

Among the scattered bodies in the palace, others were stirring. Many warriors had died, including men from Thotrmes’ kingdom, but not all, and as the dawn light began to pierce the chamber, those that lived stumbled to their feet, waking, as the king had, from their private nightmares. Where their bodies had been contorted and monstrously re-shaped, they were now restored. Thotmes himself was one such survivor. Elak greeted him warmly as he came through a crowd of dazed survivors. The two men approached the throne and bowed before Numenedzer.

“I came to Zangarza in search of allies,” said Thotmes. “I came to stand against sorcery and the dark gods of the ocean. For now, they have been bested and have withdrawn.”

“Well met,” Elak said to the ailing monarch. “Cyrena and all Atlantis would be your friend. Between us we’ll rebuild the city, if Numenedzer will accept our aid.”

Numenedzer hugged his daughter and managed a smile. “My daughter will rule Zangarza now. It is to her you must address your plans. I am spent. The darkness waits for me, but for you, a greater dawn is coming.” He said no more, and soon after his daughter set him down for the last time upon his throne, where a deep peace claimed him.

 

Epilogue

Dalan stood high on the palace wall and studied the wide bay spread out below him, where the southern ocean now lapped calmly at the lower city walls. Beside him, Elak and Lycon also watched.

“The gods favored us this time,” said the Druid. “Though we have wounded the serpent, not killed it. Xeraph-Hizer lives yet, and there will come a day when the Leviathan Lord seeks to rise again.”

Elak raised his fist to the heavens. “We’ll be ready for him! Our new allies will give our Empire more power, and the people of Atlantis will be united under one banner, one throne.”

Lycon grunted. “Then you’ll accede to the Council in Cyrena and be king of this new empire?”

Elak scowled. He was on the point of scoffing, preferring to stand aside and let another rule the continent, but even he had come to realize the will of the gods seemed to be, that the mantle must fall across his shoulders.

Dalan, meanwhile, was deep in thought. The working that had caused the movement of the earth and the setting free of the molten fires had won them the day. But at what price? What damage had been done to the foundations of the continent? And when would it manifest itself?

 

– O –

________________________________________

Adrian Cole is a native of and live in North Devon, England.

His first published work was a ghost story for IPC magazines (UK, 1972) followed by a trilogy of sword & planet novels, THE DREAM LORDS (Zebra, US, 1970s). Subsequently he has had more than 2 dozen novels and numerous short stories published, many translated into foreign editions.

He has written science fiction, heroic fantasy, sword & sorcery, horror, pulp fiction, and Mythos as well as two young adult novels, MOORSTONES and THE SLEEP OF GIANTS (Spindlewood, UK, 1980s).

His best known works are the OMARAN SAGA and STAR REQUIEM fantasy quartets, both reprinted recently as e Books (Gollancz SF Gateway) and as audio books (Audible).

His collection NICK NIGHTMARE INVESTIGATES (Alchemy UK), the first arc of stories about his hard-boiled occult private eye was the recipient of the 2015 British Fantasy Award for best collection. This is to be reprinted by Pulp Hero Press, together with 2 further volumes, NIGHTMARE COCKTAILS and NIGHTMARE CREATURES. He also have another collection, ELAK, KING OF ATLANTIS, being the new adventures of the character created by Henry Kuttner, due from Skelos Press this year.

He has previously appeared in Year’s Best Fantasy and Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror anthologies and contributes regularly to the revised WEIRDBOOK Magazine (US) and have had numerous short horror stories in anthologies in both the US and the UK, most recently in The Mammoth Book of Halloween, The Alchemy Book of Horror, Hinnom and Occult Detective Quarterly Presents. His best known Sword and Sorcery tales were collected in the 3 volume VOIDAL SAGA (Wildside Press, US) described by Black Gate as “…intoxicating. Cole’s imagination is apparently boundless…”

Miguel Santos is a freelance illustrator and maker of Comics living in Portugal.  His artwork has appereared in numerous issues of Heroic Fantasy Quarterly, as well as in the Heroic Fantasy Quarterly Best-of Volume 2.  More of his work can be seen at his online portfolio and his instagram.