WITCH of the demon seas
A Novel of Alien Sorcery by A. A. CRAIG
Guide a black galleon to the lost, fear-haunted
Citadel of the Xanthi wizards—into the very
jaws of Doom? Corun, condemned pirate of
Conahur, laughed. Aye, he'd do it, and gladly.
It would mean a reprieve from the headsman's
axe—a few more precious moments of life
and love ... though his lover be a witch!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories January 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Khroman the Conqueror, Thalassocrat of Achaera, stood watching hisguards bring up the captured pirates. He was a huge man, his hair andsquare-cut beard jet-black despite middle age, the strength of hiswarlike youth still in his powerful limbs. He wore a plain white tunicand purple-trimmed cloak; the only sign of kingship was the goldenchaplet on his head and the signet ring on one finger. In the gaudycrowd of slender, chattering courtiers, he stood out with a brutalcontrast.
"So they've finally captured him," he rumbled. "So we're finally ridof Corun and his sea-going bandits. Maybe now the land will have somepeace."
"What will you do with them, sire?" asked Shorzon the Sorcerer.
Khroman shrugged heavy shoulders. "I don't know. Pirates are usuallyfed to the erinyes at the games, I suppose, but Corun deservessomething special."
"Public torture, perhaps, sire? It could be stretched over many days."
"No, you fool! Corun was the bravest enemy Achaera ever had. Hedeserves an honorable death and a decent tomb. Not that it mattersmuch, but—"
Shorzon exchanged a glance with Chryseis, then looked back toward theapproaching procession.
The city Tauros was built around a semicircular bay, a huge expanse ofclear green water on whose surface floated ships from halfway round theworld—the greatest harbor for none knew how many empty sea-leagues,capital of Achaera which, with its trade and its empire of entirearchipelagoes, was the mightiest of the thalassocracies. Beyond thefortified sea walls at the end of the bay, the ocean swelled mightilyto the clouded horizon, gray and green and amber. Within, the hulls andsails of ships were a bright confusion up to the stone docks.
The land ran upward from the bay, and Tauros was built on the hills, atangle of streets between houses that ranged from the clay huts of thepoor to the marble villas of the great. Beyond the city walls on thelandward side, the island of Achaera lifted still more steeply, a gauntrocky country with a few scattered farms and herds. Her power came allfrom the sea.
A broad straight road lined with sphinxes ran straight from the harborup to the palace, which stood on the highest hill in the city. At itsend, wide marble stairs lifted toward the fragrant imperial gardens inwhich the court stood.
Folk swarmed about the street, mobs straining to see the soldiers asthey led their captives toward the palace. The word that Corun ofConahur, the most dangerous of the pirates, had finally been taken haddriven merchants to ecstasy and brought insurance rates tumbling down.There was laughter in the throng, jeers for the prisoners, shouts forthe king.
Not entirely so, however. Most of the crowd were, of course, Achaerans,a slim dark-haired folk clad generally in a light tunic and sandals,proud of their ancient might and culture. They were loudest inshouting at the robbers. But there were others who stood silent andg