Swords Against the Shadowland

After a moment, he began to wander the bank. He gathered pieces of driftwood, tore up small handfuls of dry grass and piled them together. With his sharp eyes, he searched the water's edge for the whitest, smoothest stones. Carefully, he rinsed them clean of any mud. Upon each stone, he blew a stream of breath, and when he had enough, he built a small, crude pyramid beside his pile of grass and driftwood.

Rummaging in his purse, digging past Laurian's jewels, he found the tinderbox he had purchased earlier that day and set to work over the grass and driftwood. When the grass at last took fire, he seized the pitch torch, which he had set aside, and lit it. He forced the end into the ground so that it stood beside his pyramid.

In his circle of light, Fafhrd knelt down and drew out his dagger. Extending his left arm over the pyramid, he drew the razor sharp blade across his flesh. A thin red stream splashed upon the white stones.

"Kos," he whispered, murmuring a prayer to that grim northern god of his ancestors as he watched his red essence seep over and around the stones. "I seldom call your name except for the most blasphemous of reasons. But taste this blood of your wayward son upon this small altar and hear me now. Reach out from the silence of the Icy Wastes, place your hoary hand in my enemy's back, and compel him to me."

He bent closer over the makeshift altar as a few more drops of blood splattered the stones. His green eyes glittered, and his copper curls shone like liquid gold in the firelight. "Cold Kos," he urged, "do this—and the next three virgins I take, I'll deflower in your name."

A sharp wind gusted at his back. The torch and the campfire fluttered wildly. A thin spray lifted from the river, dampening his neck, and a veil of dust swept upward from the grassy bank to roll inland.

Through that veil of dust a cloaked form stood suddenly revealed.

"Your frozen god can't help you, barbarian," the figure hissed. With one hand, it pushed back a concealing hood. Firelight gleamed on a bald head and small spidery eyes.

A hideous smile turned up the corners of Fafhrd's lips. Rising calmly, he tossed back the edge of his cloak to reveal Graywand. He wrapped his fingers slowly, deliberately, around its hilt, not defensively, not out of surprise. From that cool gesture issued a deadly threat and promise of battle.

"Truly, the gods move in mysterious ways," Fafhrd said in a grim voice, "Kos is generous to have delivered you up so quickly." Touching the wound on the back of his sword arm with two fingers, he drew a pair of red streaks on each cheek, his gaze never leaving Malygris's face.

"Pathetic dog," the wizard said. "I've watched you all night and day and into this night again, since the moment you left Laurian's side, waited to punish you for daring to defile my true love!"

"As you have dared to defile the memory of my one true love!" Fafhrd shot back angrily. "I realized today. It isn't Vlana's ghost that haunts me through the city streets, but a damnable trick of your illusions!"

"Fool, and ranting fool!" Malygris answered bitterly. A hand thrust from under the folds of the wizard's cloak. In response, the small campfire flared. Tongues of flame shot outward, catching in the grass, burning with unnatural fury. A hot, crackling ring swiftly encircled Fafhrd.

Waves of heat whipped at the Northerner. For a reflexive instant, he threw up an arm to shield his eyes. Then grinning, he lowered his arm and drew Graywand from its sheath. The red light shimmered on the impressive length of steel.

"Spare me your cheap mirages," Fafhrd sneered, ignoring the circle of fire that drew ever tighter about him. He snatched up the torch standing at his side where he'd planted it in the earth. "Have some real fire," he said, flinging it.

The pitch torch whooshed through the night like a blazing missile, propelled by Fafhrd's might. A startled Malygris stared in wide-eyed disbelief, seemingly transfixed. At the last possible instant, voicing a small cry, he ducked and leaped aside. His foot caught in the grass, and as he tumbled backward, his cloak parted to reveal one arm bound tightly against his body. His face wrinkled in pain.

"So I did mark you," Fafhrd gloated, remembering that he'd hurled a stone and struck the wizard's elbow at their first meeting. "Well, I'll carve a deeper mark and rid Lankhmar of a rabid rat." Clutching Graywand in both hands, he swung the blade high. "Now a nightmare ends," he hissed.

Suddenly the world tilted. The ground began to spin. Earth and sky traded places and traded again. Fafhrd lurched backward, fighting for balance like a man on the deck of a tempest-tossed ship. He spun about, fell, landed on his back barely clinging to his sword as he cried out in rage and fear.

"Mock me now, barbarian." Malygris's voice laughed in his ears, but the wizard could not be seen. "You cannot even stand."