Swords Against the Shadowland

In a dim and desperate corner of his brain, Fafhrd realized that all he saw was still just illusion. He struggled to rise and toppled sideways again as the earth shifted under him and the sky whirled. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that would end the deception, but Malygris's power seared deeper into his mind. Though he fought disorientation, all his senses betrayed him. Still struggling, he opened his eyes again.

A ring of wizards surrounded him, all wearing the angry face of Malygris.

"I found you naked in her house," the wizards accused in chorus. "Tell me that you never touched her, and I'll kill you quickly."

"I can see you're beside yourself at the thought," Fafhrd answered sarcastically. By force of will, he fought to his knees. Gripping Graywand in both hands, he plunged it deep into the earth and clung. At least it was some small anchor, some point of reference, in this dizzying madness.

Instantly the world turned upside-down, and he screamed, expecting to find himself dangling from his sword's hilt. Instead, his posture relative to the weapon remained the same. With some relief, he stared at the ring of wizards. Which was the real one? How could he tell? Were any of them real?

A horrible thought struck him. The real Malygris, made invisible to him by illusion, might at this very moment be sneaking up on his backside. Clinging to Graywand with one hand, he grabbed his dagger and swung it in a wild arc as he tried to look around.

Malygris laughed again. "I can make this torment last all night," the wizard said. "Tell me! Did you touch Laurian?"

"How long will your torment last," Fafhrd shot back, "if I refuse to answer?" Again the world tilted. Desperately, he flung his arms around Graywand, his anchor, and tried to drive the illusion from his mind. "She chose Sadaster over you. What if she chose me over you, as well? What if she chose a thousand men, but never you?"

The images of Malygris threw back their heads and howled.

"I could tell you what an idiot you've been," Fafhrd muttered under his breath, feeling a growing sickness in his stomach. "Were I not about to lose my lunch."

"Laurian!"

The wizard's outcry startled Fafhrd. Even in his state, he heard the anguish and despair in that tortured shriek, and he wondered if, in some black corner of Malygris's evil heart, the wizard had, indeed, not merely coveted and desired Sadasters wife, but loved her.

Fafhrd swallowed. Steeling his courage, he gripped Graywand's hilt and carefully levered himself off his knees. At first, he crouched experimentally with his legs on either side of the sword. Then he stood precariously, not daring to let go.

"What kind of love," he said, his voice turning cold with contempt, "drives a man to murder? To lay a curse, not just upon his enemy, but upon uncounted innocent lives?"

Red anger flashed suddenly in the eyes of Malygris's images. "What do I care for innocent lives?" he shouted bitterly. "A spell got out of hand, that's all. To win Laurian's heart, I would burn Lankhmar to the ground!"

Fafhrd swallowed again. He thought of Vlana, his one true love, and a memory of her dark hair and bright eyes flashed softly through his mind. He smiled, recalling how he had climbed a high tree to catch his first sight of her as she danced in a tent for the men of his village.

His mother, Mor, had sought to keep him from that show and from the beautiful culture dancer. So Fafhrd and Vlana ran away from the show, from family, from the Cold Wastes—and from Mor, who in her anger and jealousy tried to kill them both with her ice magic.

Fafhrd shook his head. His mother, for all her faults, had been a good teacher, and her last lesson came home to him, suddenly clear.

It wasn't love that drove Malygris—only jealousy that had festered, poisoned, and turned into something monstrous.

"I touched her," Fafhrd said, a grim lie. "I topped her like a great ram. I rocked her bed until the walls shook with the force of our lust, and still she called out, 'More! More!'"

The wizards howled again. They flung out their good arms, and bolts of blue lightning lanced toward Fafhrd, burning him with furious cobalt energy.

But Fafhrd didn't burn, for these were the old, weaker illusions. '"Fafhrd! Fafhrd!' she cried. And once, 'Oh my poor Sadaster!'" He continued, mocking the wizard now, determined to cut Malygris deeper with words than any sword ever would. "Never once did she murmur your name."

For a moment, the spinning slowed and the world resumed its natural positioning. A single wizard stood before Fafhrd again, turmoil written in the wretched expression he wore. Malygris stared at the ground, his eyes filled with visions of lost opportunity and lost hope.

Fafhrd saw his chance. He still held his dagger. It sprouted from his fist like a steel thorn. Fighting through the after-effects of his disorientation, he drew back and threw the blade with all his strength.