The Chronicles of Caylen-Tor Page 17

  A sneer suddenly curled Nalani’s fulsome lips. “Dolts! Dullards! If you place such scant value on your lives, you are beyond help. Spend this night well, for it will most certainly be your last!”

  “Gods, woman!” growled Caylen. “You’ve a sharp tongue! Do you harry all your guests so?”

  “Guests?” laughed Nalani icily. “The last outlander who ventured here from beyond the mountains was much like you, seeking jewels and plunder. His vessel was dashed to ruin upon the rocks and only he and six of his companions were cast ashore. The white beasts of the caverns claimed most of them, and the jungle took the rest. Alone and on the verge of death, he chanced upon our settlement and told us his tale.”

  “Where is this man?” exclaimed Caylen. “I would speak with him!”

  Nalani’s delicate brow arched impassively. “After Akamai deemed him of no worth, we made a sacrifice of him, to appease the God of the Fire Mountain. So, outlander… perhaps you should be thankful that the lash of my sharp tongue is the worst thing you’ve suffered during your visit to our village.”

  Chapter V

  In the Hall of the Serpent King

  As the sun crested the eastern peaks of the black mountains, Caylen crouched in the jungle verdure flanked by Guthlac and two lean, hard-muscled tribesmen. Before them stretched a vast clearing devoid of vegetation and littered with an array of colossal, sun-bleached bones each broader than the keel of a longship. Towering imperiously above the skeletal remnants was a gigantic statue hewn from stygian, moss-encrusted stone. The great effigy stood some forty feet in height and was carved in the form of a hulking serpent-lord, its adamantine claws clutching a vast stave crowned with curved finials akin to the teeth of a titanic snake.

  “There stands the monument to the vile one,” spat the first tribesman contemptuously. “Carved in his infernal image.”

  Guthlac uttered a mirthless laugh. “This serpent king has a rather lofty opinion of himself, don’t you think?”

  Caylen nodded, gazing at the looming statue in scornful silence.

  “Follow the path of bones,” hissed the second tribesman. “Beyond the next ridge you will find the approach to the Black Pyramid. We will go no farther. Die well, outlanders.”

  And with that, the two hunters swiftly disappeared into the shadowed embrace of the jungle.

  “They were a cheerful pair,” muttered Guthlac mordantly.

  “Aye,” replied Caylen, gazing in awe at the gigantic, time-worn skeleton. “What manner of beasts once roamed this isle, I wonder?”

  “Dragons, or mayhap something even more fearsome,” mused Guthlac. “Bigger than that Kraken we encountered off the coast of Atlantis, judging by the size of those bones! At any rate, I’m thankful such titans seem to have long since perished.”

  “Indeed. Though the foes which await us may well prove no less deadly.”

  “It’s a pity that feisty, whip-tongued wench didn’t see us off this morning.”

  “She’s a fey one,” growled Caylen. “But there’s some fire in her blood, to be sure. She fair reminds me of my wife.”

  Guthlac grinned. “Except Astrid Grimmsdottir isn’t likely to cut your throat as you sleep!”

  The trace of a smile touched Caylen’s lips. “You don’t know Astrid as well as I do.”

  The raucous cry of a great bird alighting upon the shoulder of the towering statue suddenly drew Caylen’s attention. The long-taloned creature sported feathers of a myriad vivid hues and its broad beak was bristling with countless tiny, needle-sharp teeth. “This is a damned strange place. Like nowhere I’ve seen before, and my travels have taken me far and wide, make no mistake!”

  “What are the chances of us getting off this blasted atoll?” gnarred Guthlac bitterly.

  “Well, if Eirik paid any heed to my command, the White Wolf should have put to sea with the dawn.”

  “And do you think he gave the order to sail?”

  “Of course not!” laughed Caylen. “Eirik’s a stubborn old goat. He’ll wait another day, at least!”

  “So, are we to simply walk up to the serpent lord’s front gate? Tell me you have a plan in mind, Wolfclan.”

  “Keep to the treeline. Be wary, and we’ll see what warp and weft the loom of fate has in store for us.”

  “I thought as much,” sighed Guthlac.

  “Faith, reaver! You may yet have a fine tale to tell your chieftain, old Oughtred One-Eye, when you get back!”

  “Come then,” said Guthlac, donning his battle-scarred helmet. “Let us venture into that nest of vipers, and pray that the gods may take pity upon the mad!”

  * * *

  For half a mile, Caylen and Guthlac traversed the periphery of the sweltering jungle in tense silence, ever flanking the broad, bone-strewn trail. The matted morass of ferns and vines teemed with insects and snakes of varying hues and sizes, some of the serpents boasting such girth that they were nigh indistinguishable from the gnarled boughs around which their scaly bodies were encoiled. In the midst of the tangled green labyrinth the reavers suddenly caught sight of a great sabre-cat hunched over the bloodied carcass of some manner of large cervine animal. The massive beast raised its ensanguined head and fixed the mariners irefully with its gleaming amber eyes, uttering a resonant growl of warning as its muscles rippled beneath its golden fur. The two men froze momentarily before moving slowly away from the creature, breathing a sigh of heartfelt relief when it grudgingly returned its attention to its ravaged prey. For another five hundred yards they crept through the matted undergrowth with as much stealth as they could muster, ever vigilant lest the jungle disgorge some primal and deadly predator upon them. At length they crested a low rise and clambered from the dense verdure to gaze out incredulously upon a wide, craterous caldera wherein squatted the Black Pyramid of the Serpent King. The brooding ziggurat appeared to be constructed at least in some measure from caliginous obsidian, its vine-entwined edifice towering some ninety feet skywards. The great temple’s wide base was cracked and riven with age and the vast slabs of black stone which formed a stairway to its upper reaches were fissured and crumbling. Standing silently before the hoary shrine, still as a graven effigy, was a lone serpent warrior. The ophidian sentry’s sinewy, glaucous frame was encased in armour of fulgent scale-mail and in his taloned hands he clutched a wickedly serrated trident. Fixing the mariners balefully with his gleaming, yellow eyes, the creature’s jaws abruptly parted and a forked, crimson tongue darted forth from between his acicular teeth.

  “Come hither, humans!” the guardsman rasped, his voice deep and sibilant. “The High One has foreseen your arrival.”

  Caylen and Guthlac exchanged pensive glances and warily descended the asperous slope, approaching the hulking serpent with their weapons poised.

  “We are expected, then?” said Guthlac, forcing a nervous smile.

  The snake-man’s leathery brow creased and his cranial ridge reddened in vexation as he motioned silently towards the cracked stairway.

  “Come on, old horse,” growled Caylen as he strode past the sentry and cautiously began to ascend the ancient steps.

  “I have a very bad feeling about this,” hissed Guthlac, squinting up at the black escalier with ill-concealed trepidation. “Only one guard, and he knew we were coming.”

  “Just keep your wits about you,” whispered Caylen. “And make sure your steel is at the ready.”

  As they reached the lofty summit of the temple’s steps, the mariners beheld a rough-hewn doorway beyond which writhed a bitumen void of deep shadow. Steeling themselves, they swiftly crossed the atramentous threshold and immediately found themselves in a narrow passageway studded with an array of lucent green crystals which illumined their path with a pulsating, viridescent light. Gazing at the glimmering gems, Caylen mused that they were not unlike the jewel which Nalani had worn about her slender neck, but more disquietingly, he recognized that they appeared to be composed of the same multifaceted crystallic substance as the eldritch altar-stone which he had
shattered deep beneath the ancient fortress of Gul-Azlaan so many years ago. Tightening his grip upon his axe, Caylen supressed a shudder and strode grimly onward. The reavers traversed the lambent tunnel for several minutes before finally emerging into a cavernous, quadrate antechamber. The sanctum’s obsidian walls were adorned with countless more scintillant crystals which served to bathe its tenebrous depths with a gently fulgurating glow. Halting in their tracks, Caylen and Guthlac stared in rapt and silent awe at the room’s shadowed interior. Strewn about the chamber were many knurled and cracked leathery eggs each the size of an ale cask. An array of well-gnawed bones littered the floor around the sundered shells and a viscous, yellow ichor seeped noisomely from the empty vessels. And yet it was the awesome spectacle ensconced at the vestibule’s centre that commanded the two mariners’ absolute and unalloyed attention. Before them, reclining upon a pellucid throne evidently carved from a single colossal emerald, was the imposing figure of the darkly renowned Serpent King. The mighty saurian liege was heavily muscled and clad in gleaming lamellar armour which bore the hue of polished jade. Upon his ridged, ophidian brow he wore a circlet fashioned from lucid zircon and in his trenchant talons he gripped a sceptre of gnarled ebony crowned with the crystalline head of a hooded cobra. Atop a low plinth to the left of the lustrous throne stood a large triangular frame of limpid viridian crystal, its pointed apex towering some nine feet from the obsidian floor. Encased within the glimmering shell was a great slab of piceous glass, which although seemingly polished to relucent brilliance, nevertheless reflected nothing but abyssal shadow from its crepuscular surface.

  Without exchanging a word, Caylen and Guthlac slowly and warily approached the emerald throne. As they closed to within ten feet of the crystal dais, the array of green gems encircling the chamber suddenly flared markedly brighter and a ghostly, sibilant voice echoed from the shadows to split the leaden silence. “Welcome, manlings. Know now that you stand before His Ineffable Majesty the Great God-King Sauruuk, Sixth Serpent Liege of the Ophidian Hegemony, Supreme Commander of the Serpentem Vectem Legion, Immortal Overlord of the Glorious Order of Ningishzida, Herald of the Thirteenth Avatar of Apophis and Draco-Imperator of the Exalted Acolytes of Xiuhcoatl. Bask now in His divine radiance and be forever humbled by His malefic splendour.”

  For several moments, a deathly silence once more held sway within the obsidian sanctum. Then, Caylen levelled his steely gaze at the Serpent King and spoke, his voice deep and resonant. “I am Caylen, known to some as the Wolf of the North. Once a king, now but a storm-scored reaver. I am the Scourge of the Nine Seas and the Bane of the Witch-Queen. Hearken to me, snake-lord, for today I mean to liberate this realm from your capricious rule.”

  Guthlac cast a fraught glance at Caylen. “Liberate?” he whispered anxiously. “Since when did this expedition become a blasted crusade?”

  A sonorous sound not unlike icy laughter abruptly welled in Sauruuk’s throat. “Well met, human,” he rasped, his tone harsh and guttural. “From a monarch to a lowly pirate, eh? A graceless fall indeed. At any rate, your arrival upon these hoary shores did not escape my notice. I have watched you, sirrah. You are not the first man to stand before me and boast of his mettle, and you shall most assuredly not be the last. Many have aspired to dethrone me over the centuries. I’ve picked clean the bones of every last one of them and worn their flayed skin as a mantle.”

  “I’m sure,” grumbled Caylen.

  “Ah, but you are no stranger to the lore of the Elder Races are you, fallen king? You have encountered the power of the Viridian Stone before, that much is clear.”

  “Aye,” growled Caylen. “Beneath the fortress of Gul-Azlaan. Those fiend-haunted catacombs were evidently hewn from that accursed green rock.”

  “A thousand plagues upon those traitorous infidels!” hissed Sauruuk furiously, his cranial crest flaring scarlet. “Long before your people raised their vaunted fortress upon that desolate site, the serpent-priests of our ill-fortuned temple forsook the Pax Ophidia and willingly embraced the black tenets of the Z’xulth! The deluded fools heedlessly defiled the sanctity of the sacred shrine and forever befouled it with the taint of the Outer Darkness! And yet the Shadow Sect paid a woeful price for such brazen blasphemy, for their vile sanctum was pitilessly purified and buried beneath the eternal sands. Now, their impure Order is forgotten and their thrice-cursed names are forever expunged from the hegemony’s chronicles.”

  “I’ve blackened my steel with the blood of chaos-spawn before,” muttered Caylen. “We at least share a measure of common ground in our contempt for those insidious devils. Be they abominations from the pit or demons in the thrall of a vile empress, my blade invariably makes short work of them.”

  “Empress?” hissed Sauruuk, his crimson tongue flickering fitfully between his translucent fangs. “Ah yes, the Witch-Queen of whom you spoke. She is known to us, as is her foul debasement of the elder serpent-rites. The duplicitous Zyrashana supped deep of the Envenomed Draught. She dabbled in neophyte ophidian magicks to serve her petty earthly ambitions. Such a pity that she wasted her arcane talents on debauched summoning rituals to conjure vulgar demons. In that regard she is not unlike her grandmother… another fey and ageless witch of my dubious acquaintance. The women of your race have a penchant for snakes, it would seem.”

  Guthlac turned to Caylen irately. “I’ve no qualms about admitting that all this cryptic prattle is quite beyond my ken, Wolfclan. So, let us ask about something entirely more earthly and tangible! The remnants of the fabled jewelled city, mayhap?”

  “Ha! How predictable and banal,” rasped Sauruuk, his yellow eyes gleaming malevolently. “Although not overly surprising, I must confess. I have long observed that your ape-spawned race is incessantly enthralled by the scintillant glimmer of gems and the lustrous lure of gold. Well, know that there are jewels beyond measure hidden on this isle, human. Once, great spires hewn from rubies and emeralds glittered beneath the pitiless sun. Now they lie in ruins, to be trampled heedlessly beneath the hooves and paws of the beasts of the jungle. Moreover, the cavernous vaults beneath this temple are glutted with a plethora of gems! And yet, such a glorious surfeit of riches means naught to one such as I. Their gleam is hollow, and their value inconsequential.”

  Guthlac grinned broadly. “We would be more than willing to relieve you of such a wearisome burden, your highness.”

  Sauruuk’s scaly snout abruptly contorted into a toothsome leer. “Those sparkling baubles would avail you nothing, manling. For you shall never leave this verdant atoll.”

  “Did your snake-thralls seal the entrance to the ice-caves?” asked Guthlac guardedly.

  “Most certainly,” replied Sauruuk. “It has been a very long time indeed since one of your kind escaped this enchanted isle. In my realm, humans either swear fealty to me or serve as fodder for the hatchlings. In your case, I strongly anticipate the latter.”

  “We shall see,” growled Caylen. “It is not my intention to tarry here overlong.”

  “Ah, but you shall perish here, most assuredly,” rumbled Sauruuk. “As will your shipmates.” In response to a wave of the Serpent King’s clawed hand, the nubilous glass within the great triangular frame suddenly flared with azure light and an image manifested upon its shimmering surface with crystal clarity. “Behold!”

  Caylen and Guthlac abruptly found themselves gazing once more upon the barren beach of black sand and the familiar shape of the White Wolf drawn up on the desolate shore. So compellingly vivid was the lucid vista that the mariners could hear the breaking of the waves against the ship’s keel and discern the briny scent of the frigid ocean.

  “Ha!” bellowed Caylen joyously. “I knew Eirik would pay no heed to my command! My valorous sea-wolves await my return, bless their defiant souls!”

  “Their forlorn vigil shall soon end,” hissed Sauruuk. “Ere long I shall dispatch my serpent warriors through this mystic portal and slaughter your baseborn lackeys without mercy. I thought perhaps that such a revelatio
n might amuse you during your sojourn here.”

  Caylen gripped Guthlac’s shoulder and whispered gravely to him. “Don’t wait for me, my friend. Sail the White Wolf home, and remember to warn Drogha Tul about that damned dream I had!”

  “Eh? Why do you say this?” snapped Guthlac. “I don’t…”

  Before Guthlac could protest further, Caylen seized hold of the burly mariner and hurled him roughly through the glimmering portal. With a half-uttered curse upon his lips, Guthlac disappeared instantly across the lucent threshold, his sudden passage causing the eldritch witch-glass to ripple idly like the surface of a tranquil millpond in his wake. A heartbeat later, Caylen lunged at the triagonal frame and drove his axe furiously into the ornate structure. With a deafening crash and an explosion of viridian light, the portal shattered into a thousand crystal shards.

  Turning to face Sauruuk’s emerald throne once more, Caylen smiled coldly. “You’ll not be sending any of your kinsmen through that gateway, snake-man!”

  Sauruuk’s ophidian eyes narrowed. “A useless gesture, human. There are other portals upon this isle, hidden deep within the labyrinthine caverns beneath the mountains.”

  “I shall search for them once I’ve dealt with thee, devil.”

  “I think not,” whispered Sauruuk.

  Caylen brandished his axe and took a single step towards the Serpent King. “Too long have you enslaved and slaughtered this island’s people. I’m putting an end to your tyranny!”

  Sauruuk’s forked tongue darted forth from between his jaws in a cascade of viscid spittle. “A bold claim indeed. And how, pray tell, do you intend to liberate those lowly savages?”

  “By cutting the head off the snake,” growled Caylen, his knuckles whitening about the wolf-axe’s notched haft.

  Sauruuk rose from the scintillant throne and hefted his gnarled sceptre, the sharp ridges upon his great echinate head suddenly flaring a deep shade of crimson. “Deluded primitive. Did you actually think I would have allowed you to enter this sanctum bearing your crude weapons if I thought you posed even the remotest threat to me?”