David Smith - Against the Prince of Hell

High in the southern mountains, where autumn comes on slicing winds with the dry clatter of dead leaves, rides a solitary traveler. She is a woman in armor, a tall, red-haired outlander with a sword at her hip and a blade in her riding boots. The roads dust is caked upon her brow and her bright hair is drenched with sweatfor she burns with fever.

Seldom fatal in itself, the mountain-fever, she knows, nonetheless weakens and stultifies. Too weak to find food, she could starve to death; too ill to build shelter, she could fall victim to the freezing winds or the claws and fangs of predatory beasts. It is her fourth night on the mountain road.

The stars, high in a blue-black sky, wheel in a mad pattern, folding in and blossoming out. She hears herself breathing laboriously, and she rocks in the saddle as the horse plods on. She must find some place of safetysome little cave or delve, some place protected by rock or foliage. It takes all of her strength and concentration to keep from slipping from the saddle and down into oblivion. . . . Then she sees

Dawn in the mist? No. Lights, distant lights glimmering in the darkness at the bottom of the mountain road. A city. Somehow, she must reach it.

But an hour before dawn she falls from the saddle at last and knows she has not the strength to climb up again. She crawls instead into a patch of shrubbery beside the road and, huddled against a tree, her worn woolen cape pulled about her shoulders, she gives in to the demands of sleep. Nightmares claim her.

Who are you, O Beingneither man nor woman? You glow with light; it is painful to my eyes. Put on your mask again!

I never wanted your curseyou should have left me to bleed to death. The sword you have given me is heavier than a mountain. Shall I put this burden down? And if I do, who then am I? I am no one. No one! Red Sonja they call mered hair, white flesh, black heart. I am a woman cursed never to love. Cursed, I am cursed . . . And always alone . . .

Is she still alive? asked a deep voice.

Aye, still alive, Lord Omeron. Shes babbling, I cant make out the words. Hyrkanian, I believe, sir. She has a bad fever, Im afraidcant tell how long shes had it. Pulse is still strongthats a good sign.

That must be her mount over there, in that grass. Beautiful animal. Bring her along, you two. Carefully, now! Sponge her down with some cold water, thatll help her fever. Try to get some food into her.

She wears strange armor, sirnothing matches. She must be a mercenary. Zamoran boots, Kothian mail shirt, Hyrkanian swordand she doesnt have a helmet.

Just bring her along.

Sir, you dont think shes with

With that monster Du-jum and his black crew? Hardly, Sadhur. Hardly. Look at her. Shes a traveler, though probably a hired sword, as you say. We can use her if she gets well. Tend her carefully, now.

A comely woman.

Aye, aye. But handy with her blade, I think. Look at the callous-pattern on her right hand; shes wielded a sword often, Ill swear! Take her along easy, now. Well send a man back for the horse when we reach camp. And post a double watch, too, for nights coming down.

Du-jum wont try anything tonight, surely, not while the lootings still good in the city.

Hell try anything he can, Sadhur, to find us and murder us. Trust to it. Easy, now, with that girl. Weve got to get her fit if we can; well need every sword we can muster.

Shortly after sundown, Sonja awoke to voices discussing death, outrage, conquest. So she yet lived.

She tried to sit up, but could not; her muscles would not respond. As she became more aware of herself, more awake, she realized how heavy she felt.

There were bootsteps nearby. She opened her eyes more fully, shuddered as she saw looming above her a huge, armored man with scowling face and tumbling dark beard. Her instinct was to reach for her sword, spring to her feet.

Sonja tried to lurch forward, groaned, and coughed.

Are you awake? rumbled the big man. His dark eyes studied her carefully, then he turned his face away. Shes awake, My Lord.

Another pair of boots approached, another face appeared, this one fair-skinned, moustached, handsomehandsome beneath the metal brow of a notched war-helmet, handsome despite evident lines of ache and weariness.

Are you awake, woman?

Sonja shook her head to clear it, took several deep breaths, as if the aftereffects of fever could be gotten rid of as easily as a hangover.

Here. . . .

Strong hands gripped her upper arms to help her sit. Sonja pulled herself forward weakly, settled herself into a sitting position, and shook her head again. The world swama world of dusk, campfires, and torchlight. She saw crowds of armed men, and beyond them horses, supplies, more men, and more dusk.

Where . . . ?

Just take it easy for a moment. The handsome man turned and gestured. Sadhur?

The huge, scowling warrior nodded and proffered his waterskin; the other took it, opened it, placed it to Sonjas bruised lips.

Water. Take it down slowly. Not too much; youve been leaking sweat, you cant force it.

But she gulped down the cold water until the man took the skin from her. Then she sat back, and the two men helped her prop herself against a tree bole for support.

Where . . . am I?

In the foothills just east of Thesrad.

Thesrad?

No, youre not in Thesrad, youre in hills just beyond it. Its down there in the valley. My name is Omeron, and Thesrad is my city-state.

What happened? How did I?

Rest easy. Do you think you can hold down some food? Yes? Sadhur, please. As the large warrior walked off, Omeron continued, You caught the mountain fever. Youre past the worst of it now, but youre lucky you got this far. If youd fallen in the mountains, youd be dead by now.

Sonja tried to recollect it. Stark and blurred memories of revolving stars, nausea, wheeling birds and moonlit trees cascaded in her mind. She looked at Omeron, focused as well as she could. He had deep blue eyes, clear and strong. Sonja liked his eyes, felt she could trust them now.

How did you happen to find me?

Were renegades. His voice became touched with bitterness. For the past week weve been fighting for the survival of Thesrad. We were forced out, so weve taken refuge in the mountains.

Thesradyour city-state.

Yes. Heres your food.

Sadhur had returned with a cracked wooden bowl; he bent and handed it to Sonja. She tried to lift her hands, could not. Omeron took it, stirred the soup in the bowl with a big wooden spoon.

Its not much. Gruelmade from what we could take when we left Thesrad, plus what game weve been able to catch. But its nourishing. He offered her a spoonful; Sonja tasted it and swallowed.

Iprefer to feed myself, she said, fumbling for the bowl.

Sure you can handle it? Omeron said, smiling.

She set the bowl in her lap and lifted spoon to mouth with shaking hand, dripping soup with every lift.