Swords Against the Shadowland (Fritz Leiber's Lankhmar) Read Online Free
Author: Robin Wayne Bailey
Northerner turned his gaze in the direction of Lankhmar City, and the Mouser's followed. It was still too far away and much too dark to see its soaring walls, but memories of that hated place were enough to draw them both like beacons. "I must admit, Mouser," Fafhrd said slowly, "if what this Sheelba says is true, no one ever more deserved killing."
"Then let us do it quickly, my friend," the Mouser agreed. "Find Malygris and steal his heart's blood, then put this vile city behind us once more."
"Steal?" Fafhrd began. "Steal?"
The Mouser was in no mood for his companion's bluster. He turned back to Sheelba, but the faceless creature was no longer there, nor was the silver statue of Malygris. Far out on the marshy expanse, barely visible against the starlight, Sheelba’s elevated hut walked away on its stilted legs toward the deeper swamps.
TWO
SUNLIGHT AND SHADOWS
M uttering curses under his breath, the Mouser watched Sheelba's hut walk away. Those strange, stilted legs made wide, graceful strides, yet it moved soundlessly until it disappeared in the darkness.
"Giddiyup, house," Fafhrd said in quiet wonder as he sheathed his great sword. "I guess this means we go on to Lankhmar after all."
The Mouser growled, curling his lips and causing the sound to rattle deep in his throat. Wordlessly, he bent and scooped handfuls of damp earth over the coals of the campfire. Then he snatched up his blanket only to throw it down in disgust, finding it sodden with the ground’s moisture.
Fafhrd only looked at his bedroll, scratched his short red beard, and shrugged.
As if by unspoken agreement, they turned and walked in the opposite direction from the way Sheelba had gone, the moon and the brighter stars lighting their way. There were few trees and few bushes. The Great Salt Marsh was little more than a sea of grass. In some places, the grass grew tall as their shoulders while in others it barely broke through the spongy earth, alternately creating sharp-bladed forests and vast open stretches.
Emerging from one such forest, Fafhrd stopped and threw an arm across the Mouser's chest. The Mouser, who had been looking downward at his feet, grunted as if he'd walked into a tree. On the verge of an acid comment, he held his tongue and stared across the expanse that confronted them.
Farther out across that wet plain, thousands of tiny golden-yellow lights swam in the air, blinking rhythmically as they bobbed and darted and danced, always orbiting, never venturing far from a squat, dome-shaped hive constructed from marsh mud.
"Glow wasps," Fafhrd whispered uneasily.
The Mouser nodded as he listened to the low, droning hum the creatures' wings made. The tall grass had muffled the sound before, and it was only upon reaching the clearing's edge that the terrible music had caught his attention.
Left alone, the insects were no threat, but the venom of a single wasp was potentially lethal. Few men ever had to worry about a single buggie, however. Once enraged, glow wasps attacked in swarms—and being temperamental by nature, it didn't take much to enrage them.
The two friends slipped silently back into the tall grass, deciding to take a wide course around the open plain and its glow wasp population, and keeping a sharp eye peeled for single hive-scouts.
The ground became damper. Water began to trickle up around their footsteps. Soon, little pools and thin streams, half hidden by the darkness and thick grass, revealed themselves. The Mouser cursed as, unexpectedly, he sank past his ankle in a muddy patch.
"Were this not midsummer," Fafhrd said, trying to hide a snicker as his comrade shook mud from his foot, "we'd be wading in muck up to our necks."
Daybreak began slowly to color the eastern sky while the moon yet lingered low in the west. For a time, dawn painted the marsh with a glimmering chiaroscuro. Waves of grass quivered in a rising breeze, and silvery patches of water rippled. Here and there,
"Then let us do it quickly, my friend," the Mouser agreed. "Find Malygris and steal his heart's blood, then put this vile city behind us once more."
"Steal?" Fafhrd began. "Steal?"
The Mouser was in no mood for his companion's bluster. He turned back to Sheelba, but the faceless creature was no longer there, nor was the silver statue of Malygris. Far out on the marshy expanse, barely visible against the starlight, Sheelba’s elevated hut walked away on its stilted legs toward the deeper swamps.
TWO
SUNLIGHT AND SHADOWS
M uttering curses under his breath, the Mouser watched Sheelba's hut walk away. Those strange, stilted legs made wide, graceful strides, yet it moved soundlessly until it disappeared in the darkness.
"Giddiyup, house," Fafhrd said in quiet wonder as he sheathed his great sword. "I guess this means we go on to Lankhmar after all."
The Mouser growled, curling his lips and causing the sound to rattle deep in his throat. Wordlessly, he bent and scooped handfuls of damp earth over the coals of the campfire. Then he snatched up his blanket only to throw it down in disgust, finding it sodden with the ground’s moisture.
Fafhrd only looked at his bedroll, scratched his short red beard, and shrugged.
As if by unspoken agreement, they turned and walked in the opposite direction from the way Sheelba had gone, the moon and the brighter stars lighting their way. There were few trees and few bushes. The Great Salt Marsh was little more than a sea of grass. In some places, the grass grew tall as their shoulders while in others it barely broke through the spongy earth, alternately creating sharp-bladed forests and vast open stretches.
Emerging from one such forest, Fafhrd stopped and threw an arm across the Mouser's chest. The Mouser, who had been looking downward at his feet, grunted as if he'd walked into a tree. On the verge of an acid comment, he held his tongue and stared across the expanse that confronted them.
Farther out across that wet plain, thousands of tiny golden-yellow lights swam in the air, blinking rhythmically as they bobbed and darted and danced, always orbiting, never venturing far from a squat, dome-shaped hive constructed from marsh mud.
"Glow wasps," Fafhrd whispered uneasily.
The Mouser nodded as he listened to the low, droning hum the creatures' wings made. The tall grass had muffled the sound before, and it was only upon reaching the clearing's edge that the terrible music had caught his attention.
Left alone, the insects were no threat, but the venom of a single wasp was potentially lethal. Few men ever had to worry about a single buggie, however. Once enraged, glow wasps attacked in swarms—and being temperamental by nature, it didn't take much to enrage them.
The two friends slipped silently back into the tall grass, deciding to take a wide course around the open plain and its glow wasp population, and keeping a sharp eye peeled for single hive-scouts.
The ground became damper. Water began to trickle up around their footsteps. Soon, little pools and thin streams, half hidden by the darkness and thick grass, revealed themselves. The Mouser cursed as, unexpectedly, he sank past his ankle in a muddy patch.
"Were this not midsummer," Fafhrd said, trying to hide a snicker as his comrade shook mud from his foot, "we'd be wading in muck up to our necks."
Daybreak began slowly to color the eastern sky while the moon yet lingered low in the west. For a time, dawn painted the marsh with a glimmering chiaroscuro. Waves of grass quivered in a rising breeze, and silvery patches of water rippled. Here and there,
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