The Forgotten Gods of Earth Page 2

  Goreater’s first bite split it in twain. Kymon jerked back the hinged half and descended into darkness.

  And descended. He counted to ten and folded down a finger and began again, and then repeated the action.

  There were nine-and-forty steps, seven times seven, taking him far into the earth. Yet somehow the air remained fresh, although it grew steadily cooler and damper. He stalked forward into the gloom, wishing he had brought a light. But ahead was a glow.

  He rounded a corner into light, so sudden and bright that he squinted and put up a hand before his eyes. Then he swung up his dripping glaive as he saw the man.

  He wore arms and armor, the nosepiece of his helmet making his face a sinister mask. He raised a hand in command to halt, then carried it quickly to his mouth as he sneezed. Kymon grinned, an ugly animal-baring of his teeth. Well he recalled his sojourn in such a place. Dungeons were universally damp and chill. But there was no time for commiserating with the fellow’s discomfort.

  Kymon raised his sword and started toward the small man.

  The man’s hands sprang to his buckle, let belt and sword and pistol clang to the dewy floor.

  “Thank the gods!” he said nasally. “You’ve come to rescue the Princess Yssim — and me! Two years have I remained down here, locked in, held here by locks and iron of sorcery. Photon beams had no effect on his locks. Guard he called me; unwilling warder have I been, bearing food and water and occasional wine to the poor girl here.” He stepped back and extended his arm, offering Kymon a ring bearing one huge key. “It will not open the door,” the man said. “Gundrun has sealed it with his spells.”

  Kymon sheathed his sword and took the key. “It will now,” he said. “Gundrun and his spells have gone to meet Lilith and Satanas.” In the light of a score of ancient globes, fed by some forgotten science or magic in this chthonian place, he peered into the barred cell.

  She was beautiful. Her hair was liquid gold, flowing down over her shoulders to cap arms round and snowy white. Her bosom was to the liking of any man; it was big, Kirian-big and swaying and shuddering beneath the shift with her excited breathing. The dirty shift she wore, he saw more with interest than compassion, was too thin for the chill dampness of her prison. Her eyes swept his tall figure.

  He bent to the lock, his eyes shaded by their lids, still on the girl. She was a trifle pale — but he was not looking at her face. “A man named Fejj sent me hither, princess. He said you alone knew the whereabouts of some treasure . . . which I promised to him. I came here only to rescue you from that villainous Gundrun. But I have found my treasure . . .”

  She nodded silently, seeming not to hear his words. Her eyes were bright on the lock. “Ah!” she breathed, as the keys clicked and he swung open the grille. She stood within, lovely and fair, and Kymon thought that never had he seen such a comely woman. He held out a hand. She came toward him —

  — and past. He turned to stare as she fairly hurled herself into the arms of her guard.

  Kymon sighed. Well, the fellow had said he was her unwilling gaoler, and he had mentioned two years. In that time a man and a girl who had seen no one else might certainly grow to love one another. Kymon flexed his weary muscles. But such a man! He sighed again, licking his lips as he watched the little guard drink the nectar from Yssim’s lips. Well, there was still the treasure.

  At last they drew apart, and, after gazing long down into the man’s eyes, Yssim turned to her rescuer. “Sirch and I can never thank you enough, O hero. Who are you? Whence came you?”

  “My name is Kymon. I was born on Kir, but it has been long since I have felt the sun on her mountains.”

  “We are your slaves, Kymon of Kir.”

  “I have no need of slaves,” Kymon said. “But . . . Fejj mentioned that you had knowledge of a great treasure, the horde of Senek. Perhaps . . .”

  She smiled. “Aye! The treasure trove! Enough for you and me and Sirch and Fejj; enough for a score, a hundred! The space pirate Senek did indeed bury it on Earth. Tis a big planet, but we need not search. It is not I who possess the secret of its whereabouts, Kymon; ’tis Gundrun. He alone knows the secret. You have conquered his guardians and his keep; now we shall wrest the secret from him!”

  Kymon stared unbelievingly at her for a moment. Wrest the secret from the lips Goreater had cleft in two?

  He began to curse . . . and at last to laugh and, laughing, turned to retrace his steps to the open sky, and space.

  END

 

 

  Andrew J. Offutt, The Forgotten Gods of Earth

 

 

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