The Enchantress of World's End
- Автор: Картер Лин Спрэг
- Серия: Gondwane Epic #2
- Год: 101
- Язык: английский
- Год: DAW
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Enchantress of World's End». Краткое содержание книги:
Gondwane... When all the kingdoms of all the peoples of Earth had come and gone and new ones arose, it was on Gondwane they created their ephemeral glories.
On Gondwane, amid the turmoil of the last wars and the last quests and the last efforts of scientists and alchemists, there arose one final hero, the mighty Ganelon Silvermane.
The saga of Ganelon is the telling of master fantasist Lin Carter. And it is in the story of the Scarlet Enchantress that Ganelon first found the meaning of manhood.
“It’s all right, Phadia,” said Ganelon gently. “It’s all over now.”
The boy raised his head and looked at Ganelon, lips trembling with astonishment. He wiped his tear-stained cheeks and rubbed his eyes. “I thought you were … dead!”
Ganelon grinned, sat up, snapping his bonds as if they were bits of rotten twine. “Outside of a skull-splitting headache,” he said, “I am unharmed.”
He got off the table, reached over and brushed the long blond curls back from the boy’s face, tousling his hair affectionately. He said nothing.
“Did I … did I do right?” the boy asked.
He nodded somberly. “You did just fine. Where do they keep Grrff?”
Grrff did not seem particularly surprised to see the big bronze man and the slender boy. He grinned, wrinkling up his muzzle, yellow eyes glistening with lively spirits. While Ganelon broke his fetters with a twist of his mighty hands, the Tigerman hugged the boy till he gasped. Then he turned to clap Ganelon’s bare shoulder with one huge paw.
“Ho, big man!” he roared. “How many guards did you have to kill to get down here to set Grrff free?”
“Five or six,” grunted Silvermane, hefting a severely dented copper bar. “C’mon, the whole palace is on our heels.”
“Which way?”
“The crypts beneath the dungeons. This way!”
They ran down a spiral stab-case, feet pounding, the boy breathlessly pattering after them. It was a remarkable sight: the huge, burly-shouldered, furry Tigerman with his lashing tail, the slim effeminate boy in the skimpy abbreviated lavender silk tunic, his long bare legs slender and girlish, and—Silvermane, his bronze hide gleaming, as bare as the day he was born.
“Hah!” snorted the Tigerman. “I see time was of the essence.” He winked at Ganelon’s bare hide. The silver-haired giant flushed.
“No tune to look for my harness,” he grunted unhappily. “Quang stuck his nose in the door and ran off squeaking to sound the alarm. So I escaped like this!”
“How do we get past the metal men?” huffed Grrff a few moments later.
“We turn them off,” said Ganelon. “Phadia told me how.”
The door loomed before them, a slab of crimson metal set flush with the stone wall. The Omega Triskelion was blazoned huge across the double leaves of the portal, black enamel on scarlet metal.
Before the door, metal men were ranked. Motionless as so many empty suits of armor they stood, their arms thrust out before them, terminating in hooks, claws, scythes, power drills, hammers and axes. As the three escapees came pelting down the stair towards them, suddenly they became animate, clanking to attack position. The drill-arms started up with a whirring sound.
“If you know how to do it, you’d better do it now,” rumbled Grrff, eyeing the Automatons warily.
Ganelon stepped forward until the hook-arm of the foremost Automaton almost touched his naked chest.
“Turn yourselves off!” he roared.
The metal men collapsed on all sides, leg-joints clattering, like a cast of wooden puppets whose strings are simultaneously cut. Snatching up Phadia in his arms, Ganelon wove through the mound of lifeless metal, grasped the handle of the door and jerked. It came open with a groan of rusty metal, revealing a yawning blackness.
“Does anybody know where we’re going?” asked Grrff, as they lingered for a moment at the mouth of the Cavern.
“Does anybody care?” grunted Ganelon, as he stepped across the threshold—
17. THE CAVERN OF A THOUSAND PERILS
The moment they stepped across the threshold, the doorway dwindled and vanished far behind them. Huddled against Ganelon’s breast, the boy gasped and cowered.
They had taken one step only. Since the hyperspatial tube collapsed space in upon itself, that one step might have been the equivalent of a hundred miles, or a thousand. Or a million! It was enormously risky: they had no idea of where they were, or of where the next step might take them. To the Isles of Quadquoph, or the far side of the Moon, or Beta Draconis! Presumably, when powerful and cunning sorcerers like the Illusionist or Zelmarine used the labyrinth, they had some knowledge of how to get to where they wanted to be.
Ganelon stood motionless, straining every nerve. Beneath his bare soles he felt gritty cavern floor, naked stone, wet and sandy. His nostrils, however, reported the heady odor of jungle orchids and decaying leaves, while the wind that blew upon his nakedness was sharp dry and chill as Arctic winds. He could see nothing at alclass="underline" impenetrable blackness veiled his sight.
“I’m af-f-fraid!” the boy whimpered, burying his face in against Ganelon’s breast.
“Hush!” said the giant fondly. “Don’t you think we all are? Grrff!”
“Right beside you, big man,” said that worthy, “and beginning to wish he had stayed behind to take his chances with the Red Magic legionnaires.”
“We’d better go carefully, from here on in,” counseled the giant. “Half a step difference between us could separate us by thousands of miles. Hold onto me and take a step when I do.” The big furry paw fastened itself to his upper arm. “Together now! One—big— step—”
Seawater, bluely-green, closed around them. Instinctively, all three hyperspatial travelers held their breaths. Pale sand squelched underfoot, strewn with glimmering moony pearls and human skulls, mossy with sea-growths. In the distance the elfin-slim coral towers of a marine city leaned against the tides, flashing with huge gems. Mounted on enormous, goggle-eyed sea-horses, a troop of sea-folk sped towards them, waving tridents angrily. They were male and female, naked with green hair like seaweed floating out behind them; minute, pearly scales glittered with highlights on smooth thigh, breast, shoulders.
They took another big step—
Jagged peaks zoomed above them, standing against wind-torn cloud-wracks like tall chimneys. Each was crowned with a huge nest. Scrawny female figures with flying hair and beaked faces shrieked and gobbled down at them, waving long skinny arms which terminated in hooked claws. A loud halloo came down the wind: gaunt man-birds, black wings spread, came soaring down, angry eyes flashing, beaks snapping. They staggered to keep their footing in the winds which streamed about them, drying the sea-bottom .wetness in moments. Grrff tried to say something but the wind snatched his words away.
They took another wide step—
Forest greenery closed in about them, leaves dark green and silvery where floods of moonlight poured through ragged branches. Gnarled, ancient trees grew all about; green aisles ran in all directions, thick with red and yellow mushrooms. Small, stunted figures ran squeaking to hide behind knotted roots and to peer out at the strangers. The gnomes had huge noses, tiny squinting eyes, and thick, bedraggled beards like moss. Some puffed on huge meerschaum pipes, others clutched quaint musical instruments they had been tootling on mere moments before. They squeaked and peered, waving tiny fists in a threatening manner. Suddenly hooves drummed through the forest stilclass="underline" a huge manlike figure, but faceless, black as tarnished silver, crowned with slender needles of ice, rode through the underbrush to rein before them. He was mounted upon a milk-white Unicorn whose arched, noble neck, blazing ruby eyes and long, spiral-fluted horn of purest gold flashed before them like something from a fantastic dream. The black-silver man with no face gestured towards them with a long sceptre of crystal or ice. They took another step—
Flames roared up, gold and crimson. Hot, scorching winds smote them, stinking of sulphur and brimstone. Beneath their feet, stone glowed hotly, threaded with sluggish, crawling rivulets of bubbling lava. Huge, lumpish figures rose amid the seething flames, peering out at them with astonishment, heavy jaws hanging wide, blunt tusks gleaming. The fire-ogres had armored skins like crocodiles, horns grew at brow and temple, elbow, knee and shoulder. Their heavy, splay-feet were those of monstrous lizards. One ogre burst bellowing through the curtain of flames, whirling a whistling club around his head broken from a stalagmite. He howled, gushing steam from his mouth, and loped towards them.