Swords Against the Shadowland

The vertigo passed again, but Fafhrd let the girl slip her arm around his waist, and he put his arm around her shoulder. He dared not lean on her, though. Her head barely rose to his chest, and she was slender as a willow branch.

She looked up at him with a worried expression as she tried to steer him toward the bed. Her eyes were green as a cat's, her face round and white as the full moon. He ran a hand boldly through the black sweep of her hair.

She hesitated, as if sensing that he didn't need her help. Her gaze ran down his torso. A blush colored her cheeks. Averting her eyes, she stepped away. "My lord, you should get back in bed. Your poor head ..."

Out of consideration for the girl, Fafhrd drew his black cloak out of the wardrobe and wrapped it around himself. "I'm not a superstitious man," Fafhrd interrupted. He reached for the rest of his clothes and, turning his back to the girl, began pulling them on under the cloak. "But I'm damned if I'll crawl willingly into a dead man's bed."

He glanced back at her, acutely aware of how silly he looked wiggling and struggling into his garments with only the cloak to screen him from her eyes. "It would be easier if you turned around," he suggested. "Who are you, anyway? How did I get here?"

The blush deepened on her cheeks as she turned quickly around. "I am Sameel," she answered. "My mistress will answer all your questions. If you feel well enough, I'll take you to her."

Fafhrd put his cloak back onto a peg long enough to draw on his tunic and lace his jerkin over it. "Is that hot gahveh I smell?" he said, casting his gaze toward the tray with its steamy bowls.

Sameel went to the thorn-wood desk and picked up a small bowl. "Most of these contain aromatic herbs to ease your slumber and speed healing," she answered. With a quick, nervous glance to assure herself that Fafhrd was decent, she carried the bowl to him. "But I brought gahvey to drink while I sat by your bedside. Please take it." She made a small curtsey as she offered it to him.

Draping the cloak over his right arm, Fafhrd took the cup with his left hand and drained half its contents. Satisfaction lit up his face, and he exhaled a dramatic sigh. "The nectar of the gods," he proclaimed. "Or it would be if the gods had any taste."

Sameel's face lit up. "I grow the beans myself, lord."

Taking a smaller sip, he smiled. "Now lead me to your mistress, Sameel," he said with a gracious bow, careful not to spill his precious beverage. For an instant, the room spun a little. Fafhrd righted himself and touched the tender place on the back of his head. A vaguely crooked grin flickered over his lips, and he added in a self-mocking tone, "But perhaps at not too swift a pace."

She led him from Sadaster's bedroom through a hallway made airy by numerous narrow windows that overlooked the once-beautiful garden. At the opposite end of that corridor stood a pair of tall double-doors ornately carved with figures of trees and flowers, birds and deer, and such.

Catching hold of gold knobs, Sameel pushed open the doors.

Fafhrd caught his breath, struck by two wonders at once.

Never had he seen so many books, nor even dreamed of so many! From floor to ceiling, books lined three walls. On a stand in one corner, a thick tome lay open. On a table in another corner stood more books neatly stacked. In all the rest of Lankhmar, an awestruck Fafhrd thought, there could not be so many books.

However, in the very center of the room, waited another, more mysterious wonder. Fafhrd moved a step closer, treading carefully upon the room's rich carpet with its lushly embroidered vines, flowers, and garden motifs to marvel at a silver sarcophagus, nine feet tall and fashioned in strange form.

Upon its polished front, the gleaming shape of a nude woman, eyes closed as if in slumber, emerged in carefully sculpted relief. Three pairs of graceful silver arms reached as if from behind the amazing box to modestly embrace her. The fingers of those hands clasped tightly over her breasts, her navel, her most private region.

No lid or seam showed to mar the perfect finish.

Fafhrd walked slowly around the device, admiring it. How it shimmered in the beam of sunlight that speared in through the only window!

Sameel knelt down before the carven figure. Her black hair spilled forward over one shoulder as she bent lower still to press her head upon the elaborately woven carpet. "Mistress?" she whispered.

A moment of silence passed as Fafhrd watched. Without warning, a metallic creak sounded. A single finger on the topmost pair of hands twitched. One by one the interlocked digits stirred to impossible life. The second pair of hands, then the lowest pair, also came alive, trembling and shifting eerily, as if unlimbering. Three sets of fingers wiggled, creaking and groaning in a cacophony of straining metal.