Elak of Atlantis Read Online Free PDF Page A

and—wait!”
    Something was happening within the crystal. The sharply defined image shook and wavered, like a reflection in water. It misted and faded and changed—and a face swam into view: the face of a youth, rounded as a child’s. Blue eyes, clear with candor, met Elak’s; soft flaxen hair fell about the man’s shoulders. And, for all the innocence of that cool gaze, Elak subtly sensed an ageless, malefic evil that dwelt within the blue eyes, a black horror utterly incongruous with the beauty of the face.
    “Mider!” the Druid snarled. “Elf—watches us! He—”
    The red lips parted in a singularly sweet smile. Dalan thrust his face down close to the crystal.
    “Elf!” he roared. “Hear me! Ho, you stinking spawn of devils—hear me! Not all your foul wizardry can keep me from Cyrena, or the man I bring with me. Tell Guthrum that! Let him pray to Odin and Thor—and I’ll grind their faces in the dust as I’ll grind yours.” He cursed the warlock bitterly, foully, while Elak watched fascinated.
    The smile did not leave Elf’s face. The crystal dimmed, grew cloudy—and was transparent. The vision had gone before Dalan paused in his tirade.
    Sweating, he mopped at his gross face. “Well, you’ve seen Elf now. For the first time, eh?”
    Elak nodded.
    “What do you think of him?”
    “I—scarcely know. Hehas my brother captive?”
    “He holds Orander. And Guthrum, the Viking king, does as Elf wishes. You must fight Guthrum, Elak, as I Elf. And Granicor’s galley comes swiftly.”
    “I don’t see why you fear him,” Elak said. “Your own powers—”
    “Are limited. And Mider knows what magic aids Granicor. D’you see that storm?” He gestured toward a porthole. Black clouds were drifting up from the south. “All the winds of hell are there—yet our sails hang without a breeze to lift them. Look.”
    He turned to the north. “See that land, far distant? It’s Crenos Isle, a place best shunned. We go past Crenos to Cyrena—but I think Granicor will find us first.”
    Dalan was right. The long galley of the duke swiftly drove before the storm, and just off the southern extremity of Crenos Isle the two ships met.
    “One thing’s in our favor,” Dalan grunted, issuing weapons to the oarsmen. “Slaves man their oars. But ours are men, and warriors—men from Cyrena who’ll not ask for quarter. But we have no fighting crew, and Granicor has.”
    “It’s my fault,” Elak said morosely. “If I hadn’t got the duke on our trail—”
    “Forget it!” Lycon swaggered up, brandishing his sword and exuding a strong aroma of spirits. “We’ll run that dog up by the heels at his own masthead. Besides, Velia’s a girl worth fighting for, by Ishtar!”
    Velia, looking like a slim youth in her soft tunic, laughed almost gaily. “Thanks, Lycon. At least I’ll not have to go back to Granicor. There are many ways to die here—to die easily.”
    “None o’ that,” Elak told her. “Though I suppose you’re right. You can’t enjoy life with your skin off. And that’s the duke’s favorite torture.”
    The sky darkened. Wind buffeted them. The oarsmen bent to their oars, swords at their sides. Granicor’s ship lowered sail, but double banks of oars propelled it swiftly forward.
    “They mean to ram,” Dalan muttered. “Well, two can play at that game. Ready, now—”
    He roared an order intothe gale. Oars were lifted; the ship came around, and timbers cracked and groaned and shuddered at the shock as the galleys scraped almost prow to prow.
    “Up oars!” Dalan bellowed. “Cast off grappling irons!”
    His intention had been to cripple Granicor’s galley by smashing one bank of oars, but he was too late. A dozen hooks snaked out, were drawn taut. The ships were locked together—and a wave of shouting, blood-hungry men came pouring over the gunwales.
    “Get in the cabin,” Elak commanded Velia, but she did not heed; there was a slim blade in her hand, and she stood coolly at his