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This page intentionally left blank
Emergency Department Analgesia
An Evidence-Based Guide
Emergency Department
Analgesia
An Evidence-Based Guide

Edited by
STEPHEN H. THOMAS
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo

Cambridge University Press

The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge CB2 8RU, UK
Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York
www.cambridge.org
Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521696012

© Cambridge University Press 2008

This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provision of

relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place
without the written permission of Cambridge University Press.
First published in print format 2008

ISBN-13 978-0-511-42884-5 eBook (EBL)

ISBN-13 978-0-521-69601-2 paperback

Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of urls
for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication, and does not
guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Every effort has been made in preparing this publication to provide accurate and up-to-
date
information which is in accord with accepted standards and practice at the time of
publication.
Although case histories are drawn from actual cases, every effort has been made to disguise
the
identities of the individuals involved. Nevertheless, the authors, editors and publishers can
make no warranties that the information contained herein is totally free from error, not
least
because clinical standards are constantly changing through research and regulation. The
authors, editors and publishers therefore disclaim all liability for direct or consequential
damages resulting from the use of material contained in this publication. Readers are
strongly
advised to pay careful attention to information provided by the manufacturer of any drugs
or
equipment that they plan to use.
Contents

List of contributors page viii

Foreword by Peter Rosen xiii
Preface xix
Acknowledgments xxi
List of abbreviations xxii

General considerations 1
Introduction and general approach to pain 3
Assessment of pain 10
Prehospital analgesia 19
Epidemiologic overview of pain treatment in the emergency department 31
Geriatric analgesia 42
Chronic pain 52
NSAIDs and opioids 61
Nonstandard medication delivery 70
Reflections on analgesia in emergency departments 77

Chief complaints and diagnoses 85

Abdominal aortic aneurysm 87
Aortic dissection 91
Arthritis 94
Biliary tract pain 111
Bites and stings – marine 117
Bites and stings – terrestrial 124
Breast pain 133
Burns 138
Bursitis and periarticular inflammation 145
Cancer and tumor pain 151
Cardiac chest pain 162
Chest wall trauma 168

v
vi Contents
Chronic low-back pain 175
Cluster headache 180
Corneal abrasion 184
Cystitis, urethritis, and prostatitis 188
Dysmenorrhea 193
Endometriosis 197
Esophageal spasm 200
Fibromyalgia 204
Gastritis and peptic ulcer disease 213
Gastroesophageal reflux disease 225
Hemorrhoids and perianal pain 232
Migraine and undifferentiated headache 243
Mucositis and stomatitis 254
Neck and back pain – mechanical strain 263
Neck and back pain – radicular syndromes 268
Neck and back pain – spinal spondylitic syndromes 273
Neuropathy – complex regional pain syndrome 277
Neuropathy – diabetic 280
Neuropathy – HIV related 285
Neuropathy – overview 289
Neuropathy – phantom limb pain 301
Ocular inflammation 306
Odontalgia 314
Orthopedic extremity trauma – sprains, strains, and fractures 323
Osteoporotic vertebral compression fracture 331
Otitis media and externa 335
Pancreatitis 339
Pharyngitis 344
Postdural puncture headache 351
Post-herpetic neuralgia 354
Renal colic 359
Sialolithiasis 363
Sickle cell crisis 365
Temporomandibular disorders 380
 Contents vii

Tension-type headache 384

Trigeminal neuralgia 389
Undifferentiated abdominal pain 392

Tables 398
NSAIDs 399
Opioids 402
 Contributors

Jeremy Ackerman, MD David Cline, MD

Resident in Emergency Medicine, Associate Professor and Research
Stony Brook State University of Director, Department of Emergency
New York and Medical Center, Stony Medicine, Wake Forest University
Brook, NY, USA Baptist Medical Center, Winston-
Salem, NC, USA
Polly Bijur, PhD, MPH
Professor of Emergency Medicine, Rita K. Cydulka, MD, MS
Albert Einstein College of Medicine, Associate Professor and Vice Chair,
New York, USA Department of Emergency Medicine,
Case Western Reserve University
Hans Bradshaw, MD School of Medicine and MetroHealth
Resident, Emergency Medicine/ Medical Center, Cleveland, OH, USA
Pediatrics, University of Arizona,
Tucson, AZ, USA Deborah B. Diercks, MD
Associate Professor of Emergency
Ciaran J. Browne, MB, BCh Medicine, University of California
Resident, Harvard Affiliated Davis Medical Center, Sacramento,
Emergency Medicine Residency, CA, USA
Brigham & Women’s Hospital and
Massachusetts General Hospital, James Ducharme, MD
Boston, MA, USA Professor and Clinical Director of
Emergency Medicine Dalhousie
John H. Burton, MD University and Atlantic Health
Director of Emergency Medicine Sciences Corporation, St. John,
Residency, Albany Medical College/ NB, USA
Albany Medical Center, Albany,
NY, USA Megan L. Fix, MD
Attending Physician, Maine Medical
Lisa Calder, MD Center Department of Emergency
Clinical Investigator, Medicine, Portland, ME, USA
Ottawa Health Research Institute and
Department of Emergency Medicine,
University of Ottawa and Ottawa
Hospital, Ottawa, ON, Canada

viii
 List of contributors ix

Michel Galinski, MD Adam Levine, MD, MPH

Attending Physician, Service d’aide Resident, Harvard Affiliated
medicale d’urgence de Seine Saint- Emergency Medicine Residency,
Denis, Avicenne Hospital, Bobigny, Brigham & Women’s Hospital and
France Massachusetts General Hospital,
Boston, MA, USA
Ula Hwang, MD, MPH
Assistant Professor of Emergency Todd M. Listwa, MD
Medicine, Mt. Sinai School of Resident, Harvard Affiliated
Medicine, New York, USA Emergency Medicine Residency,
Brigham & Women’s Hospital and
Jonathan S. Ilgen, MD Massachusetts General Hospital,
Resident, Harvard Affiliated Boston, MA, USA
Emergency Medicine Residency,
Brigham & Women’s Hospital and Frank LoVecchio, DO, MPH, ABMT
Massachusetts General Hospital, Professor of Emergency Medicine at
Boston, MA, USA Arizona College of Osteopathic
Medicine and Research Director of the
Andy Jagoda, MD Maricopa Medical Center Department
Professor and Emergency Medicine of Emergency Medicine, Phoenix,
Residency Site Director, Mt. Sinai AZ, USA
School of Medicine, New York, USA
Sharon E. Mace, MD
Samuel Kim, MD, MDiv Director of Observation Medicine and
Resident in Emergency Medicine, Pediatric Education, Cleveland Clinic
Albany Medical College/Albany Foundation/MetroHealth Medical
Medical Center, Albany, NY, USA Center, Cleveland, OH, USA

Robert Knopp, MD Alan P. Marco, MD, MMM

Professor and Assistant Emergency Chairman and Residency Program
Medicine Residency Director, Director, Department of
Regions Hospital and University of Anesthesiology, University of Toledo
Minnesota, St. Paul, MN, USA Medical Center,Toledo, OH, USA

Jason B. Lester, MD, MBA Catherine A. Marco, MD

Resident in Emergency Medicine, Clinical Professor of Emergency
St. Vincent Mercy Medical Center, Medicine, St. Vincent Mercy Medical
Toledo, OH, USA Center, Toledo, OH, USA
x List of contributors
Chris McEachin, RN, EMTP Adam J. Singer, MD
Paramedic, Wayne State University Professor and Vice Chair for Research,
and William Beaumont Hospital, Royal Stony Brook State University of New
Oak, MI, USA York and Medical Center, Stony Brook,
NY, USA
James R. Miner, MD
Assistant Professor and Director of Robert A. Swor, DO
Quality Assurance, University of Clinical Associate Professor and EMS
Minnesota and Hennepin County Fellowship Director, Wayne State
Medical Center, New York, USA University and William Beaumont
Hospital, Royal Oak, MI, USA
Kalani Olmsted, MD
Resident in Emergency Medicine, Joshua H. Tamayo-Sarver, MD, PhD
University of California Davis Medical Resident in Emergency Medicine,
Center, Sacramento, CA, USA Harbor-UCLA Medical Center,
Torrance, CA, USA
Sohan Parekh, MD
Resident in Emergency Medicine, Stephen H. Thomas, MD, MPH
Mt. Sinai School of Medicine, New Director of Academic Affairs at
York, USA Massachusetts General Hospital and
Associate Professor of Surgery at
Peter Rosen, MD Harvard Medical School, Boston,
Visiting Lecturer, Harvard Medical MA, USA
School and Beth Israel Deaconess
Medical Center, Boston, MA, USA Michael Turturro, MD
Clinical Professor and
Michael S. Runyon, MD Vice Chair and Director of Academic
Director of Medical Student Affairs, University of Pittsburgh and
Education, Carolinas Medical Center, The Mercy Hospital of Pittsburgh,
Charlotte, NC, USA Pittsburgh, PA, USA

Michael T. Schultz, MD Michael Walta, MD

Resident in Emergency Medicine, Resident, Harvard Affiliated
Carolinas Medical Center, Charlotte, Emergency Medicine Residency,
NC, USA Brigham & Women’s Hospital and
Massachusetts General Hospital,
Boston, MA, USA
 List of contributors xi

Benjamin A. White, MD Dale P. Woolridge, MD, PhD

Resident, Harvard Affiliated Director of Emergency Medicine/
Emergency Medicine Residency, Pediatrics Residency Program and
Brigham & Women’s Hospital and Assistant Professor of Emergency
Massachusetts General Hospital, Medicine and Pediatrics, University of
Boston, MA, USA Arizona, Tucson, AZ, USA

Beth Wicklund, MD Andrew Worster, MD, MSc

Resident in Emergency Medicine, Associate Professor of Medicine and
Regions Hospital and University of Clinical Epidemiology/Biostatistics
Minnesota, St. Paul, MN, USA and Research Director, McMaster
University and Hamilton Health
Susan R. Wilcox, MD Sciences, Cambridge, ON, USA
Resident, Harvard Affiliated
Emergency Medicine Residency, Janet Simmons Young, MD
Brigham & Women’s Hospital and Assistant Professor of Emergency
Massachusetts General Hospital, Medicine, University of North
Boston, MA, USA Carolina, Chapel Hill, NC, USA

Nathanael Wood, MD Kelly Young, MD

Resident in Emergency Medicine, Associate Professor of Clinical
Albany Medical College/Albany Medicine, Harbor-UCLA Medical
Medical Center, Albany, NY, USA Center, Torrance, CA, USA
Foreword

There is a current fashion that I would label “arousal of emergency physician

guilt.” Far too many articles in our literature – and far too many hidden
agendas – are addressed by declaring that the emergency physician must be
aware of some rare entity, usually in an article that declares itself the first to
report that entity in the emergency medicine literature. Moreover, there are
many groups outside of emergency medicine that wish to blame the emer-
gency physician for any error that is made. Such a one is the special interest
group that has decided not to pay for care should we fail to draw a blood
culture before treating a community-acquired pneumonia. The results of
such culture might be of interest for the infectious disease specialists but
cannot be shown to alter therapy, improve outcome, or lower the cost of
medical care. We all profess belief in evidence-based medicine, but only if
our own interests are served.
Nevertheless, there are areas of medicine in which our practice needs
improvement, and it is part of the intellectual honesty of emergency medi-
cine practitioners to obtain the evidence upon which an improved practice
can be based. Pain management is certainly one such area. For too long the
emergency physician has had a reputation for being very stoic about the
patient’s agony. That there is merit to this criticism is borne out by the reality
that we often fail to treat painful musculoskeletal conditions, that we often
underdose our analgesic therapy, and that for too long we perpetuate legends
about pain that reinforce our unnecessary failure to treat pain adequately.
For example, for years we were taught that infants did not perceive pain, and
did not require analgesia. Another example is the often-present notion that if
we give analgesia to patients with abdominal pain, we will mask their disease
and prevent timely diagnosis and surgery.
The root cause of all of this is the reality that nowhere in medicine is the
doctor as dependent upon the patient’s history as in the presence of pain. If
God had been a more helpful biomedical engineer, there would be a color

xiii
xiv Foreword
code to light up the part of the body hurting in a brilliant color, the intensity of
which would vary with the degree of pain. Unfortunately, there are no
objective findings that define the presence of pain. A change in vital signs
(e.g. tachycardia) does not mean that there is pain, and stable vital signs do not
mean pain is absent. Moreover, the vital sign changes are often inconsistent;
pain can simultaneously elevate blood pressure and decrease heart rate.
Furthermore, we are conditioned to worry about causing or contributing
to addictive behaviors, although it is impossible to show that diseases (e.g.
sickle cell) that cause significant episodes of pain lead to addiction. Because
of these worries, we often underdose analgesic therapy, and formu-
late incorrect perceptions about patients when they are in-between pain crises.
For example, if one sees a patient with renal colic, the perception of the
patient’s pain is quite different if the patient is viewed during stone movement
rather than during the periods between movement.
This text is an effort to help to solve some of the dilemmas that exist in the
recognition and management of a patient’s pain. By reviewing the data that
exist concerning the efficacy of various forms of pain relief in different
conditions, we hope to assist the physician in forming intelligent judgment
about which therapies are efficacious, what dosages to use, and what therapy
does not work despite the legends that surround it.
The book cannot replace an empathetic and sensitive physician evalua-
tion. There is no question that some patients cannot describe the nuances of
their pain; they either do not have the language skills, or they are so focused
upon their distress that they cannot talk about it. They know they are hurting,
and whether the pain is throbbing, stabbing, radiating, or the worst they have
ever felt is colored by their individual abilities to withstand discomfort, as
well as their individual abilities to describe it. It requires experience and
sympathy, as well as a willingness to trust the patient, to obtain an apprecia-
tion of how the patient feels. Many older patients appear stoic, but this may
be because they cannot perceive or describe pain as readily as a younger
patient, even though they are hurting. Some patients are so frightened of pain
that any degree is enough to induce hysteria and even collapse. Some of this
may be learned behavior, induced by the patient’s historic and immediate
culture. Some of this is variation on how patients tolerate discomfort. Some
 Foreword xv

patients do not describe pain because they wish to deny the presence of a
disease, such as a heart attack. Some do not describe pain because they do
not want to appear demanding or cowardly. It is useful, therefore, for the
physician to know what conditions produce pain, search to find the patients
who possess it, and trust the answers that the patient gives. I personally am
more concerned about relieving a patient’s pain than I am about giving pain
medicine to a patient who has a drug dependency rather than true pain.
There are many places in medicine where we are frustrated by not having
adequate answers to solve problems, and pain management is one of these.
There are certain kinds of pain for which we have no good answer (e.g.
chronic back pain syndrome). The book has tried to find evidence to support
practices that have utility, but there are many patients who remain in tor-
ment, and who also torment the medical staff because we cannot relieve their
problems.
It is useful to recall that even when we do not possess good evidence from
effective, well-executed prospective studies, which have been successfully
blinded and have enough patients to avoid a type II error, we may still have a
clinical problem to deal with. In those cases, we would recommend, as
described appropriately in the book, a useful (even if not optimal) approach.
Where there are no data for changing a practice, we would recommend using
what your experience dictates. Historic anecdotal experience should not
supersede good prospective evidence, but where there is no good evidence,
it only makes sense to continue to do something that seems to work. There is
no doubt there often is a placebo effect that can occur from a concerned
physician who is trying to relieve discomfort. The fact that this may not be
reproducible in a long clinical trial with multiple physicians does not negate
some efficacy for a single physician.
It is also easy to fall into the trap of trusting anything that is written from a
controlled study, even when it contradicts your own experience. For exam-
ple, meperidine has fallen out of favor in some measure because of theoret-
ical dangers. One can find rare examples of meperidine causing seizures
when given in repeated doses, but it is inappropriate to deny a half-century’s
experience with millions of doses of the drug that produced analgesia with-
out problem.
xvi Foreword
The authors of the book are aware of all these problems and try to make
allowances for varying attitudes about evidence, as well as varying quality of
the evidence. Upon reading many of the chapters concerning the difficult
pain areas, I was often struck by the absence of a superior management, but
overall, was left with a sense of comfort that, by drawing upon clinical
experience, I would not be harming the patient.
In many chapters, one finds recommendations for how to avoid problems
that the reader might otherwise not have considered, such as systemic
absorption of ocular medications – therefore NSAID drops should not be
used in pregnant patients. Most readers would probably know that the
NSAIDs can prematurely close a ductus that needs to be patent in the fetus,
but would they think of it in relationship to an ophthalmic drop?
This book is very useful for a wide group of readers with varying experi-
ence. Many students and residents will be commencing their clinical practice
and attempting to learn appropriate dosages as well as which medications
are preferable. For them, this book will provide an indispensable reference. It
is probably best read in conjunction with caring for a given patient rather
than trying to absorb the material by reading the book from cover to cover,
which could be confusing and would certainly represent an unretainable
amount of information.
The more experienced physician will also profit from the material in the
book. There is always room to discover what your own individual style of
practice is based upon, alter it where there is new information that you did
not previously possess, or continue with your old style as you supplement the
book evidence with your own clinical experience.
While the book is oriented towards the emergency physician and acute
care provider, the material is broad enough that it would certainly also be
useful for any office practice, as well as for many inpatient physicians in a
variety of specialties.
The book has been very carefully edited to try to make the language, and
the recommendations, uniform. In this respect, the book’s broad subject
matter and international scope render drug names a challenge. One thing I
found particularly helpful is the tabulated lexicon of brand and generic
names. While I understand the reason for using generic names, that is not
 Foreword xvii

the way most new agents are learned, and I am frequently lost as to what drug
is being talked about when only the generic name is used.
While we have earned some of the opprobrium that is connected with pain
management, it is quite clear that reading this book will alter the way one
thinks about pain management and remind one to be more empathetic and
generous. It will give the emergency physician good sound evidence upon
which to base practice. I am sure that our patients will be grateful for this
guidance to their improved care.

Peter Rosen MD
Boston
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
image was strangely fading in his heart now, for it was Chryseis who
was beside him.
"It has been a hard life," she said at the end. "It took a giant of a
man to endure it." She smiled, a small closed smile that made her
look strangely young. "I wonder what you must think of this—sailing
with your sworn foes to the end of the world on an unknown
mission."
"You're not my foe!" he blurted.
"No—never your enemy, Corun!" she exclaimed. "We have been on
opposite sides before—let it not be thus from this moment. I tell you
that the purpose of this voyage, which you shall soon know, is—
good. Great and good as the savagery of man has never known
before. You know the old legend—that someday the Heaven-Fire will
shine through opening clouds not as a destroying flame but as the
giver of life—that men will see light in the sky even at night—that
there will be peace and justice for all mankind? I think that day may
be dawning, Corun."
He sat dumbly, bewildered. She was not evil—she was not evil—It
was all he knew, but it sang within him.
Suddenly she laughed and sprang to her feet. "Come on!" she cried.
"I'll race you around the ship!"

IV

Rain and wind came, a lightning-shot squall in which the Briseia

wallowed and bucked and men strained at oars and pumps. Toward
evening it was over, the sea stilled and the lower clouds faded so that
they saw the great dull-red disc of the Heaven-Fire through the upper
clouds, sinking into the western sea. There was almost a flat calm,
the glassy water was ruffled only by a faint breeze which half filled
the sail and sent the galley sliding slowly and noiselessly northward.
"Man the oars," directed Shorzon.
"Give the men a chance to rest tonight, sir," begged Imazu. "They've
all worked hard today. We can row all the faster tomorrow if we
must."
"No time to spare," snapped the wizard.
"Yes, there is," said Corun flatly. "Let the men rest, Imazu."
Shorzon gave him a baleful glance. "You forget your position aboard."
Corun bristled. "I think I'm just beginning to remember it," he
answered with metal in his voice.
Chryseis laid a hand on her grandfather's arm. "He's right," she said.
"So is Imazu. It would be needless cruelty to make the sailors work
tonight, and they will be better fitted by a night's rest."
"Very well," said Shorzon sullenly. He went into his room and
slammed the door. Presently Chryseis bade the men goodnight and
went to her quarters with the erinye trotting after.
Corun's eyes followed her through the deepening blue dusk. In that
mystic light, the ship was a shadowy half-real background, a dimness
beyond which the sea swirled in streamers of cold white radiance.
"She's a strange woman," said Imazu. "I don't understand her."
"Nor I," admitted Corun. "But I know now her enemies have foully
lied about her."
"I'm not so sure about that—" As the Conahurian turned with a dark
frown, Imazu added quickly, "Oh, well, I'm probably wrong. I never
had much sight of her, you know."
They wandered up on the poop deck in search of a place to sit. It
was deserted save for the helmsman by the dimly glowing binnacle, a
deeper shadow in the thick blue twilight. Sitting back against the
taffrail, they could look forward to the lean waist of the ship and the
vague outline of the listlessly bellying sail. Beyond the hull, the sea
was an arabesque of luminescence, delicate traceries of shifting white
light out to the glowing horizon. The cold fire streamed from the
ship's bows and whirled in her wake, the hull dripped liquid flame.
The night was very quiet. The faint hiss and smack of cloven water,
creak of planks and tackle, distant splashing of waves and invisible
sea beasts—otherwise there was only the enormous silence under
the high clouds. The breeze was cool on their cheeks.
"How long till we get to the Sea of Demons?" asked Imazu. His voice
was oddly hushed in the huge stillness.
"With ordinary sailing weather, I'd say about three ten-days—maybe
four," answered Corun indifferently.
"It's a strange mission we're on, aye, that it is." Imazu's head
wagged, barely visible in the dark. "I like it not, Corun. I have evil
feelings about it, and the omens I took before leaving weren't good."
"Why then did you sail? You're a free man, aren't you?"
"So they say!" Sudden bitterness rose in the Umlotuan's voice. "Free
as any of Shorzon's followers, which is to say less free than a slave,
who can at least run away."
"Why, doesn't he pay well?"
"Oh, aye, he is lavish in that regard. But he has his ways of binding
servants to him so that they must do his bidding above that of the
very gods. He put his geas on most of these sailors, for instance.
They were simple folk, and thought he was only magicking them a
good-luck charm."
"You mean they are bound? He has their souls?"
"Aye. He put them to sleep in some sorcerous way and impressed his
command on them. No matter what happens now, they must obey
him. The geas is stronger than their own wills."
Corun shivered. "Are you—Pardon. It's no concern of mine."
"No, no, that's all right. He put no such binding on me—I knew better
than to accept his offer of a luck-bringing spell. But he has other
ways. He lent me a slave-girl from Umlotu for my pleasure—but she
is lovely, wonderful, kind, all that a woman should be. She has borne
me sons, and made homecoming ever a joy. But you see, she is still
Shorzon's and he will not sell her to me or free her—moreover, he did
put his geas on her. If ever I rebelled, she would suffer for it." Imazu
spat over the rail. "So I am Shorzon's creature too."
"It must be a strange service."
"It is. Mostly all I have to do is captain his bodyguard. But I've seen
and helped in some dark things. He's a fiend from the lowest hell,
Shorzon is. And his granddaughter—" Imazu stopped.
"Yes?" asked Corun roughly. His hand closed bruisingly on the other's
arm. "Go on. What of her?"
"Nothing. Nothing. I really have had little to do with her." Imazu's
face was lost in the gloom, but Corun felt the one eye hard on him.
"Only—be careful, pirate. Don't let her lay her own sort of geas on
you. You've been a free man till now. Don't become anyone's blind
slave."
"I've no such intention," said Corun frostily.
"Then no more need be said." Imazu sighed heavily and got up. "I
think I'll go to bed, then. What of you?"
"Not yet. I'm not sleepy. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."

Corun sat back alone. He could barely discern the helmsman—

beyond lay only glowing darkness and the whispering of the night. He
felt loneliness like a cold hollow within his breast.
Father and mother, his tall brothers and his laughing lovely sister, the
comrades of youth, the hard wild stout-hearted pirates with whom he
had sailed for such a long and bloody time—where were they now?
Where in all the blowing night were they?
Where was he and on what mission, sailing alone through a pit of
darkness on a ship of strangers? What meaning and hope in all the
cruel insanity of the world?
Suddenly he wanted his mother, he wanted to lay his head on her lap
and cry in desolation and hear her gentle voice—no, by the gods, it
wasn't her image he saw, it was a lithe and dark-haired witch who
was crooning to him and stroking his hair—
He cursed tonelessly and got up. Best to go to bed and try to sleep
his fancies away. He was becoming childish.
He went down the catwalk toward the cabin. As he neared it, he saw
a figure by the rail darkly etched against a shimmering patch of
phosphorescence. His heart sprang into his throat.
She turned as he came near. "Corun," she said. "I couldn't sleep.
Come over here and talk to me. Isn't the night beautiful?"
He leaned on the rail, not daring to look at the haunting face pale-lit
by the swirling sea-fire. "It's nice," he said clumsily.
"But it's lonely," she whispered. "I never felt so sad and alone
before."
"Why—why, that's how I felt!" he blurted.
"Corun—"
She came to him and he took her with a sudden madness of
yearning.
Perias the erinye snarled as they thrust him out of her cabin. He
padded up and down the deck for a while. A sailor who stood watch
near the forecastle followed him with frightened eyes and muttered
prayers to the amulet about his neck.
Presently the devil-beast curled up before the cabin. The lids drooped
over his green eyes, but they remained unwinkingly fixed on the door.
 V

Under a hot sullen sky, the windless sea swelled in long slow waves
that rocked the tangled kelp and ocean-grass up and down,
heavenward and hellward. To starboard, the dark cliffs of a small
jungled island rose from an angry muttering surf, but there were no
birds flying above it.
Corun pointed to the shore. "That's the first of the archipelago," he
said. "From here on, we can look for the Xanthi to come at any time."
"We should get as far into their territory as possible, even to the
black palace," said Shorzon. "I will put a spell of invisibility on the
ship."
"Their sorcerers can break that," said Chryseis.
"Aye, so. But when they come to know our powers, I think they will
treat with us."
"They'd better!" smiled Imazu grimly.
"Steer on toward the island of the castle," said Shorzon to the pirate.
"I go to lay the spell."
He went into his cabin. Corun had a glimpse of its dark interior before
the door was closed—draped in black and filled with the apparatus of
magic.
"He will have to be in a trance, physically, to maintain the
enchantment," said Chryseis. She smiled at Corun, and his pulses
raced. "Come, my dearest, it is cooler on the afterdeck."
The sailors rowed steadily, sweat glistening on their bare blue hides.
Imazu paced up and down the catwalk, flicking idlers with his whip.
Corun stood where he could keep an eye on the steersman and see
that the right course was followed.
It had been utter wonder till now, he thought, unending days when
they plowed through seas of magic, nights of joy such as he had
never known. There had never been another woman such as
Chryseis, he thought, never in all the world, and he was the luckiest
of men. Though he died today, he had been more fortunate than any
man ever dared dream.
Chryseis, Chryseis, loveliest and wisest and most valiant of women—
and she was his, before all the jealous gods, she loved him!
"There has only been one thing wrong," he said. "You are going into
danger now. The world would go dark if aught befell you."
"And I should sit at home while you were away, and never know what
had happened, never know if you lived or died—no, no, Corun!"
He laid a hand on the sword at his waist. They had given him arms
and armor again after she had come to him. Logical enough, he
thought without resentment—he could be trusted now, as much as if
he were one of Shorzon's ensorcelled warriors.
But if this were a spell too, the gods deliver him from ever being
freed of it!
He blinked. There was a sudden breath of chill on him, and his eyes
were blurring—no, no, it was the ship that wavered, ship and men
fading—He clutched at Chryseis. She laughed softly and slipped an
arm around his waist.
"It is only Shorzon's spell," she said. "It affects us too, to some
extent. And it makes the ship invisible to anyone within seeing
range."
Ghost ship, ghost crew, slipping over the slowly heaving waters.
There was only the foggiest outline to be seen, shadow of mast and
rigging against the sky, glimpses of water through the gray smoke of
the hull, blobs of darkness that were the crewmen. Sound was still
clear; he heard the mutter of superstitious awe, the crack of the
whip, and Imazu's oaths that sent the oars creaking and splashing
again. Corun's hand was a misty blur before his eyes. Chryseis was a
shadow beside him.
She laughed once more, a low exultant throb, and pulled his lips
down to hers. He ruffled the streaming fragrant hair and felt a return
of courage. It was only a spell.
But what were the spells? he wondered for the thousandth time. He
did not hold with the simple theory that wizards were in league with
gods or demons. They had powers, yes, but he was sure that
somehow these powers came only from within themselves. Chryseis
had always evaded his questions about it. There must be some
simple answer to the problem, some real process, as real as that of
making a fire, behind the performances of the sorcerers—but it
baffled him to think what it might be.
Blast it all, it just wasn't reasonable that Shorzon, for instance, should
have been able actually to change himself into a jungle monster
many times his size. Yet he, Corun, had seen the thing, had felt its
wet scales and smelled its reptile stink. How?

The ship plowed slowly on. Now and then Corun looked at the
compass, straining his eyes to discern the blurred needle. Otherwise
they could only wait.
But waiting with Chryseis was remarkably pleasant.
It was at the end of a timeless time, perhaps half a day, that he saw
the Xanthian patrol. "Look," he pointed. "There they come."
Chryseis stared boldly over the sea. The hand beneath his was steady
as her voice: "So I see. They're—beautiful, aren't they?"
The cetaraea came leaping across the waves, big graceful beasts with
the shapes of fish, their smooth black hides shining and the water
white behind their threshing tails. Astride each was a great golden
form bearing a lance. They quartered across the horizon and were
lost to sight.
The crew mumbled in fear, shaken to their hardy souls by the terrible
unhuman grace of the Xanthi. Imazu cursed them back to work. The
ship went on.
Islands slipped by, empty of man-sign. They had glimpses of
Xanthian works, spires and walls rearing above the jungle. These
were not the white colonnaded buildings of Tauros or the timbered
halls of Conahur—of black stone they were, with pointed towers
climbing crazily skyward. Once a great sea serpent reared its head,
spouted water, and writhed away. All creatures save man could sense
the presence of wizardry and refused to go near it.
Night fell, an abyss of night broken only by faint glimmers of sea-fire
under the carpeting weed. Men stood uneasy watch in full armor,
peering blindly into the somber immensity. It was hot, hot and silent.
Near midnight the lookout shouted from the masthead: "Xanthi to
larboard!"
"Silence, you fool!" called Imazu. "Want them to hear us?"
The patrol was a faint swirl and streaking of phosphorescence,
blacker shadows against the night. It was coming nearer.
"Have they spotted us?" wondered Corun.
"No," breathed Chryseis. "But they're close enough for their mounts
—"
There was a great snorting and splashing out in the murk. The
cetaraea were refusing to go into the circle of Shorzon's spell. Voices
lifted, an unhuman croaking. The erinye, the only animal who did not
seem to mind witchcraft, snarled in saw-edged tones, eyes a green
blaze against the night.
Presently the squad turned and slipped away. "They know something
is wrong, and they've gone for help," said Corun. "We'll have a fight
on our hands before long."
He stretched his big body, suddenly eager for action. This waiting
was more than he could stand.
The ship drove on. Corun and Chryseis napped on the deck; it was
too stiflingly hot below. The long night wore away.
In the misty gray of morning, they saw a dark mass advancing from
the west. Corun's sword rasped out of the sheath. It was a long,
double-edged blade such as they used in Conahur, and it was thirsty.
"Get inside, Chryseis," he said tightly.
"Get inside yourself," she answered. There was a lilt in her voice like
a little girl's. He felt her quiver with joyous expectation.
The ghostly outlines of the ship wavered, thickened, faded again,
flickered back toward solidity. Suddenly they had sight; the vessel lay
real around them; they saw each other in helm and corselet, face
looking into tautened face.
"They have a wizard along—he broke Shorzon's spell," said the
Conahurian.
"We looked for that," answered Chryseis evenly. "But as long as
Shorzon keeps fighting him, there will be a roiling of magic around us
such that none of their beasts will approach."
She stood beside him, slim and boyish in polished cuirass and plumed
helmet, shortsword belted to her waist and a bow in one hand. Her
nostrils quivered, her eyes shone, and she laughed aloud. "We'll drive
them off," she said. "We'll send them home like beaten iaganaths."
Imazu blew the war-horn, wild brazen echoes screaming over the
sea. His men drew in the oars, pulled on their armor, and stood along
the rails, waiting.
"But did we come here to fight them?" asked Corun.
"No," said Chryseis. "But we've known all along that we'd have to
give them a taste of our might before they'd talk to us."
The Xanthian lancers were milling about half a league away, as if in
conference. Suddenly someone blew a harsh-toned horn and Corun
saw half the troop slide from the saddle into the water. "So—they'll
swim at us," he muttered.
The attack came from all sides, converging on the ship in a rush of
foam. As the Xanthi neared, Corun saw their remembered lineaments
and felt the old clutch of panic. They weren't human.
With the fluked tail, one of them had twice the length of a man. The
webbed hind feet, on which they walked ashore, were held close to
the body; the strangely human hands carried weapons. They swam
half under water, the dorsal fins rising over. Their necks were long,
with gills near the blunt-snouted heads; their grinning mouths
showed gleaming fangs. The eyes were big, dark, alive with cold
intelligence. They bore no armor, but scales the color of beaten gold
covered back and sides and tail. They came in at furious speed,
churning the sea behind them.
Chryseis' voice rose to a wild shriek. "Perias! Perias—kill!"
The erinye howled and unfolded his leather-webbed wings. Like a
hurled spear he streaked into the air, rushed down on the nearest
Xanthian like a thunderbolt—claws, teeth, barbed tail, a blinding fury
of blood and death, ripping flesh as if it were parchment.
The ship's ballista chunked and balls of the ever-burning Achaeran
fire were hurled out to fall blazing among the enemy. Chryseis' bow
hummed beside Corun, a Xanthian went under with an arrow in his
throat—the air was thick with shafts as the crew fired.
Still the Xanthi rushed on, ducking up and down, near impossible to
hit. The first of them came up to the hull and sank their clawed
fingers into the wood. The sailors thrust downward with pikes,
howling in fear-maddened rage.
The man near Corun went down with a hurled javelin through him. At
once a huge golden form was slithering over the rail, onto the deck.
The sword in his hand flashed, another Umlotuan's weapon was
knocked spinning from his hand and the reptile hewed him down.
Corun sprang to do battle. The swords clashed together with a shock
that jarred the man backward. Corun spread his feet and smote out.
His blade whirled down to strike the shoulder, gash the chest, and
drive the hissing monster back.
With a rising cold fury, Corun followed it up. That for the long
inquisition—that for being a horror out of the sea bottom—that for
threatening Chryseis! The Xanthian writhed with a belly ripped open.
Still he wouldn't die—he flopped and struck from the deck. Corun
evaded the sweeping tail and cut off the creature's head.
They were pouring onto the ship through gaps in the line. Chryseis
stood on the foredeck in a line of defending men, her bow singing
death. Battle snarled about the mast, men against monsters, sword
and halberd and ax belling in cloven bone.
A giant's blow bowled Corun off his feet, the tail of a Xanthian. He
rolled over and thrust upward as the Sea Demon sprang on him. The
sword went through the heart. Hissing and snapping, his foe toppled
on him. He heaved the struggling body away and sprang back to his
stance.
"To me!" bellowed Imazu. "To me, men!"
He stood wielding a huge battle ax by the mast, striking at the beasts
that raged around him, lopping heads and arms and tails like a
woodman. The scattered humans rallied and began to fight their way
toward him, step by bloody step.
Perias the erinye was everywhere, a flying fury, ripping and biting and
smashing with wing-blows. Corun loomed huge over the men who
fought beside him, the sword shrieking and thundering in his hands.
Imazu stood stolidly against the mast, smashing at all comers. A rush
of Xanthi broke past him and surged against the foredeck. The
defenders beat them off, Chryseis thrusting as savagely with her
sword as any man, and they reeled back against the masthead
warriors to be cut down.
A Xanthian sprang at Corun, wielding a long-shafted ax that shivered
the sword in his hand. The Conahurian struck back, his blade darting
past the monster's guard to stab through the throat. The Xanthian
staggered. Corun wrenched the blade loose and brought it down
again to sing in the reptile skull.
Before he could pull it loose, another was on him. Corun ducked
under the spear he carried and closed his hands around the slippery
sides. The clawed feet raked his legs. He lifted the thing and hurled it
into another with bone-shattering force. One of them threshed wildly,
neck broken—the other bounded at Corun. The man yanked his
sword free and it whistled against the golden head.

Back and forth the struggle swayed, crashing of metal and howling of
warriors. And the Xanthi were driven to the rails—they could not
stand against the rallying human line in the narrow confines of the
ship.
"Kill them!" roared Imazu. "Kill the misbegotten snakes!"
 "Kill them!" roared Imazu. "Kill the misbegotten snakes!"

Suddenly the Xanthi were slipping overboard, swimming for their

mounts beyond the zone of magic. Perias followed, harrying them,
pulling them half out of the water to rip their throats out.
The ship was wet, streaming with human red and reptile yellow
blood. Dead and wounded littered the decks. Corun saw the Xanthi
cavalry retreating out of sight.
"We've won," he gasped. "We've won—"
"No—wait—" Chryseis inclined her head sharply, seeming to listen,
then darted past him to open a hatch. Light streamed down into the
hold. It was filling—the bilge was rising. "I thought so," she said
grimly. "They're below us, chopping into the hull."
"We'll see about that," said Corun, and unbuckled his cuirass. "All
who can swim, after me!"
"No—no, they'll kill you—"
"Come on!" rapped Imazu, letting his own breastplate clang to the
deck.
Corun sprang overboard. He was wearing nothing but a kilt now, and
had a spear in one hand and a dirk in his teeth. Fear was gone,
washed out by the red tides of battle. There was only a bleak, terrible
triumph in him. Men had beaten the Sea Demons!
Underwater, it was green and dim. He swam down, down, brushing
the hull, pulling himself along the length of the keel. There were half
a dozen shapes clustered near the waist, working with axes.
He pushed against the keel and darted at them, holding the spear
like a lance. The keen point stabbed into the belly of one monster.
The others turned, their eyes terrible in the gloom. Corun took the
dirk in his hand, got a grip on the next nearest, and stabbed.
Claws ripped his flanks and back. His lungs were bursting, there was
a roaring in his head and darkness before his eyes. He stabbed
blindly, furiously.
Suddenly the struggling form let go. Corun broke the surface and
gasped in a lungful of air. A Sea Demon leaped up beside him. At
once the erinye was on him. The Xanthian screamed as he was torn
apart.
Corun dove back under water. The other seamen were down there,
fighting for their lives. They outnumbered the Xanthi, but the
monsters were in their native element. Blood streaked the water,
blinding them all. It was a strange, horrible battle for survival.
In the end, Corun and Imazu and the others—except for four—were
hauled back aboard. "We drove them off," said the pirate wearily.
"Oh, my dear—my dearest dear—" Chryseis, who had laughed in
battle, was sobbing on his breast.
Shorzon was on deck, looking over the scene. "We did well," he said.
"We stood them off, killed about thirty, and only lost fifteen men."
"At that rate," said Corun, "it won't take them long to clear our
decks."
"I don't think they will try again," said Shorzon.
He went over to a captured Xanthian. The Sea Demon had had a foot
chopped off in the battle and been pinned to the deck by a pike, but
he still lived and rasped defiance at them. If allowed to live, he would
grow new members—the monsters were tougher than they had a
right to be.
"Hark, you," said Shorzon in the Xanthian tongue, which he had
learned with astonishing ease. "We come on a mission of peace, with
an offer that your king will be pleased to hear. You have seen only a
small part of our powers. It is not beyond us to sail to your palace
and bring it crumbling to earth."
Corun wondered how much was bluff. The old sorcerer might really
be able to do it. In any case—he had nerve!
"What can you things offer us?" asked the Xanthian.
"That is only for the king to hear," said Shorzon coldly. "He will not
thank you for molesting us. Now we will let you go to bear word back
to your rulers. Tell them we are coming whether they will or no, but
that we come in friendship if they will but show it. After all, if they
wish to kill us it can be just as easily done—if at all—after they have
heard us out. Now go!"
Imazu pulled the pike loose and the yellow-bleeding Xanthian writhed
overboard.
"I do not think we will be bothered again," said Shorzon calmly. "Not
before we get to the black palace."
"You may be right," admitted Corun. "You gave them a good
argument by their standards."
"Friends?" muttered Imazu. "Friends with those things? As soon
expect the erinye to lie down by the bovan, I think."
"Come," said Chryseis impatiently. "We have to repair the leak and
clean the decks and get under way again. It is a long trip yet to the
black palace."
She turned to Corun and her eyes were dark flames. "How you
fought!" she whispered. "How you fought, beloved!"

VI
The castle stood atop one of the high gray cliffs which walled in a
little bay. Beyond the shore, the island climbed steeply toward a
gaunt mountain bare of jungle. The sea rolled sullenly against the
rocks under a low gloomy sky thickening with the approach of night.
The Briseia rowed slowly into the bay, twenty men at the oars and
the rest standing nervous guard by the rails. On either side, the
Xanthi cavalry hemmed them in, lancers astride the swimming
cetaraea with eyes watchful on the humans, and behind them three
great sea snakes under direction of their sorcerers followed
ominously.
Imazu shivered. "If they came at us now," he muttered, "we wouldn't
last long."
"We'd give them a fight!" said Corun.
"They will receive us," declared Shorzon.
The ship grounded on the shallows near the beach. The sailors
hesitated. To pull her ashore would be to expose themselves almost
helplessly to attack. "Go on, jump to it!" snapped Imazu, and the
men shipped their oars and sheathed their weapons, waded into the
bay and dragged the vessel up on the strand.
The chiefs of the Xanthi stood waiting for them. There were perhaps
fifty of the reptiles, huge golden forms wrapped in dark flowing robes
on which glittered ropes of jewels. A few wore tall miters and carried
hooked staffs of office. Like statues they stood, waiting, and the
sailors shivered.
Shorzon, Chryseis, Corun, and Imazu walked up toward them with all
the slow dignity they could summon. The Conahurian's eyes sought
the huge wrinkled form of Tsathu, king of the Xanthi. The monster's
gaze brightened on him and the fanged mouth opened in a bass
croak:
"So you have returned to us. You may not leave this time."
"Your majesty's hospitality overwhelms me," said Corun ironically.
A stooped old Xanthian beside the king plucked his sleeve and hissed
rapidly: "I told you, sire, I told you he would come back with the ruin
of worlds in his train. Cut them all down now, before the fates strike.
Kill them while there is time!"
"There will be time," said Tsathu.
His unblinking eyes locked with Shorzon's and suddenly the twilight
shimmered and trembled, the nerves of men shook and out in the
water the sea-beasts snorted with panic. For a long moment that
silent duel of wizardry quivered in the air, and then it faded and the
unreality receded into the background of dusk.
Slowly the Xanthian monarch nodded, as if satisfied to find an
opponent he could not overcome.
"I am Shorzon of Achaera," said the man, "and I would speak with
the chiefs of the Xanthi."
"You may do so," replied the reptile. "Come up to the castle and we
will quarter your folk."
At Imazu's order, the sailors began unloading the gifts that had been
brought: weapons, vessels and ornaments of precious metals set with
jewels, rare tapestries and incenses. Tsathu hardly glanced at them.
"Follow me," he said curtly. "All your people."
"I'd hoped at least to leave a guard on the ship," murmured Imazu to
Corun.
"Would have done little good if they really wanted to seize her,"
whispered the Conahurian.
It did not seem as if Tsathu could have heard them, but he turned
and his bass boom rolled over the mumbling surf: "That is right. You
may as well relax your petty precautions. They will avail nothing."

In a long file, they went up a narrow trail toward the black palace.
The Xanthian rulers went first, with deliberately paced dignity,
thereafter the human captains, their men, and a silent troop of
armed reptile soldiery. Hemmed in, thought Corun grimly. If they
want to start shooting—
Chryseis' hand clasped his, a warm grip in the misty gloom. He
responded gratefully. She came right behind him, her other hand on
the nervous and growling erinye.
The castle loomed ahead, blacker than the night that was gathering,
the gigantic walls climbing sheer toward the sky, the spear-like
towers half lost in the swirling fog. There was always fog here, Corun
remembered, mist and rain and shadow; it was never full day on the
island. He sniffed the dank sea-smell that blew from the gaping
portals and bristled in recollection.
They entered the cavernous doorway and went down a high narrow
corridor which seemed to stretch on forever. Its bare stone walls
were wet and green-slimed, tendrils of mist drifted under the invisibly
high ceiling, and he heard the hooting and muttering of unknown
voices somewhere in the murk. The only light was a dim bluish
radiance from fungoid balls growing on the walls, a cold unhealthy
shadowless illumination in which the white humans looked like
drowned corpses. Looking behind, Corun could barely make out the
frightened faces of the Umlotuans, huddled close together and
gripping their weapons with futile strength.
The Xanthi glided noiselessly through the mumbling gloom, tall
spectral forms with faint golden light streaming from their damp
scales. It seemed as if there were other presences in the castle too,
things flitting just beyond sight, hiding in lightless corners and
fluttering between the streamers of fog. Always, it seemed, there
were watching eyes, watching and waiting in the dark.
They came into a cavernous antechamber whose walls were lost in
the dripping twilight. Tsathu's voice boomed hollowly between the
chill immensities of it: "Follow those who will show you to your
quarters."
Silent Xanthi slipped between the human ranks, herding them with
spears—the sailors one way, their chiefs another. "Where are you
taking the men?" asked Imazu with an anger sharpened by fear.
"Where are you keeping them?" The echoes flew from wall to wall,
jeering him—keeping them, keeping them, them, them—
"They go below the castle," said a Xanthian. "You will have more
suitable rooms."
Our men down in the old dungeons—Corun's hand whitened on the
hilt of his sword. But it was useless to protest, unless they wanted to
start a battle now.
The four human leaders were taken down another whispering,
echoing tunnel of a corridor, up a long ramp that seemed to wind
inside one of the towers, and into a circular room in whose walls
were six doors. There the guards left them, fading back down the
impenetrable night of the ramp.
The rooms were furnished with grotesque ornateness—huge
hideously carved beds and tables, scaled tapestries and rugs, shells
and jewels set in the mold-covered walls. Narrow slits of windows
opened on the wet night. Darkness and mist hid Corun's view of the
ground, but the faintness of the surf told them they must be
dizzyingly high up.
"Ill is this," he said. "A few guards on that ramp can bottle us up here
forever. And they need only lock the dungeon gates to have our men
imprisoned below."
"We will treat with them. Before long they will be our allies," said
Shorzon. His hooded eyes were on Chryseis. It was with a sudden
shock that Corun remembered. Days and nights of bliss, and then the
violence of battle and the tension of approach, had driven from his
mind the fact that he had never been told what the witch-pair was
really here for. It was their voyage, not his, and what real good could
have brought them to this place of evil?
He shoved his big body forward, a tawny giant in the foggy chill of
the central room. "It is near time I was told something of what you
intend," he said. "I have guided you and taught you and battled at
your side, and I'll not be kept blindfolded any longer."
"You will be told what I tell you—no more," said Shorzon haughtily.
"You have me to thank for your miserable life—let that be enough."
"You can thank me that you're not being eaten by fish at the bottom
of the sea right now," snapped Corun. "By Breannach Brannor, I've
had enough of this!"
He stood with his back against the wall, sweeping them with ice-blue
eyes. Shorzon stood black and ominous, wrath in the smoldering,
sunken eyes. Chryseis shrank back a little from both of them, but
Perias the erinye growled and flattened his belly to the floor and
stared greenly at Corun. Imazu shifted from foot to foot, his wide
blue face twisted with indecision.
"I can strike you dead where you stand," warned Shorzon. "I can
become a monster that will rip you to rags."
"Try it!" snarled Corun. "Just try it!"
Chryseis slipped between them and the huge dark eyes were bright
with tears. "Are we not in enough danger now, four humans against
a land of walking beasts, without falling at each other's throats? I
think it is the witchcraft of Tsathu working on us, dividing us—fight
him!"
She swayed against the Conahurian. "Corun," she breathed. "Corun,
my dearest of all—you shall know, you shall be told everything as
soon as we dare. But don't you see—you haven't the skill to protect
yourself and your knowledge against the Xanthian magic?"
Or against your magic, beloved.
She laughed softly and drew him after her, into one of the rooms.
"Come, Corun. We are all weary now, it is time to rest. Come, my
dear. Tomorrow—"

VII
Day crept past in a blindness of rain. Twice Xanthians brought them
food, and once Corun and Imazu ventured down the ramp to find
their way barred by spear-bearing reptiles. For the rest they were
alone.
It ate at the nerves like an acid. Shorzon sat stiff, unmoving on a
couch, eyes clouded with thought; his gaunt body could have been
that of a Khemrian mummy. Imazu squatted unhappily, carving one
of the intricate trinkets with whose making sailors pass dreamy
hours. Corun paced like a caged beast, throttled rage mounting in
him. Even Perias grew restless and took to padding up and down the
antechamber, passing Corun on the way. The man could not help a
half smile. He was growing almost fond of the erinye and his honest
malevolence, after the intriguing of humans and Xanthi.
Only Chryseis remained calm. She lay curled on her bed like a big
beautiful animal, the long silken hair tumbling darkly past her
shoulders, a veiled smile on her red lips. And so the day wore on.
It was toward evening that they heard slow footfalls and looked out
to see a party of Xanthi coming up the ramp. It was an awesome
sight, the huge golden forms moving with deliberation and pride
under the shimmering robes that flowed about them. Some were
warriors, with saw-edged pikes flashing in their hands, but the one
who spoke was plainly a palace official.
"Greeting from Tsathu, king of the Demon Sea, to Shorzon of
Achaera," the voice boomed. "You are to feast with the lords of the
Xanthi tonight."
"I am honored," bowed the sorcerer. "The woman Chryseis will come
with me, for she is equal with me."
"That is permitted," said the Xanthian gravely.
"And we, I suppose, wait here," muttered Corun rebelliously.
"It won't be for long," smiled Chryseis softly. "After tonight, I think it
will be safe to tell you what you wish to know."
She had donned banqueting dress carried up with her from the ship,
a clinging robe of the light-rippling silk of Hiung-nu, a scarlet cloak
that was like a rush of flame from her slim bare shoulders,
barbarically massive bracelets and necklaces, a single fire-ruby
burning at her white throat. Pearls and silver glittered like dewdrops
in her night-black hair. The loveliness of her caught at Corun's throat.
He could only stare with dumb longing as she went after Shorzon and
the Xanthi.
She turned to wave at him. Her whisper twined around his heart:
"Goodnight, beloved."
When they were gone, the erinye padding after them, Imazu gave
Corun a rueful look and said, "So now we are out of the story."
"Not yet," answered the Conahurian, still a little dazed.
"Oh, yes, oh, yes. Surely you do not think that we plain sailormen will
be asked for our opinions? No, Corun, we are only pieces on
Shorzon's board. We've done our part, and now he will put us back in
the box."
"Chryseis said—"
Imazu shook his scarred bald head sadly. "Surely you don't believe a
word that black witch utters?"
Corun half drew his sword. "I told you before that I'd hear no word
against Chryseis," he said thinly.
"As you will. It doesn't matter, anyway. But be honest, Corun. Strike
me down if you will, it doesn't matter now, but try to think. I've
known Chryseis longer than you, and I've never known anyone to
change their habits overnight—for anyone."
"She said—"
"Oh, I think she likes you, in her own way. You make as handsome
and useful a pet as that erinye of hers. But whatever else she is after,
it is something for which she would give more than the world and not
have a second thought about it."
Corun paced unhappily. "I don't trust Shorzon," he admitted. "I trust
him as I would a mad pherax. And anything Tsathu plans is—evil." He
glared down the cavernous mouth of the ramp. "If I could only hear
what they say!"
"What chance of that? We're under guard, you know."
"Aye, so. But—" Struck with a sudden thought, Corun went over to
the window. The rain had ceased outside, but a solid wall of fog and
night barred vision. It was breathlessly hot, and he heard the low
muttering of thunder in the hidden sky.

There were vines growing on the wall, tendrils as thick as a man's

leg. The broad leaves hung down over the sill, wet with rain and fog.
"I remember the layout of the castle," he said slowly. "It's a warren
of tunnels and corridors, but I could find my way to the feasting hall."
"If they caught you, it would be death," said Imazu uneasily.
Corun's grin was bleak. "It will most likely be death anyway," he said.
"I think I'll try."
"I'm not as spry as I once was, but—"
"No, no, Imazu, you had best wait here. Then if anyone comes prying
and sees you, he'll think we're both here—maybe."
Corun slipped off tunic and sandals, leaving only his kilt. He hung his
sword across his back, put a knife in his belt, and turned toward the
window.
"It may be all wrong," he said. "I should trust Chryseis—and I do,
Imazu, but they might easily overpower her. And anything is better
than this waiting like beasts in a trap."
"The gods be with you, then," said Imazu huskily. He shook a horny
fist. "To hell with Shorzon! I've been his thrall too long. I'm with you,
friend."
"Thanks." Corun swung out the window. "Good luck to both—to all of
us, Imazu."
The fog wrapped around his eyes like a hood. He could barely see
the shadowy wall, and he groped with fingers and toes for the vines.
One slip, one break, and he would be spattered to red ruin in the
courtyard below.
Down and down and down—Twigs clawed at him. The branches were
slick in his hands, buried under a smother of leaves. His muscles
began to ache with the strain. Several times he slipped and saved
himself with a desperate clawing grip.
Something moaned in the night, under the deepening growl of
thunder.
He clung to the wall and strained his eyes down. A breath of wind
parted the fog briefly into ragged streamers through which winked
the savage light of a bolt of lightning, high in the murky sky. Down
below was the courtyard. He saw the metallic gleam of scales, guards
pacing between the walls.
Slowly, he edged his way across the outjutting tower to the main wall
of the castle. Slantwise, he crept over its surface until a slit of
blackness loomed before him, another window. He had to squeeze to
get through, the stone scraping his skin.
For a moment he stood inside, breathing heavily, the drawn sword in
his hand. There was a corridor stretching beyond this room, on into a
darkness lit by the ghostly blue fungus-glow. He saw and heard
nothing of the Xanthi, but something scuttled across the floor and
crouched in a shadowed corner, watching him.
On noiseless bare feet, he ran down the hall. Fog eddied and curled
in the tenebrous length of it, he heard the dripping of water and once
a shuddering scream ripped the dank air. He thought he remembered
where he was in that labyrinth—left here, and there would be
another ramp going down—
A huge golden form loomed around the corner. Before the jaws could
open to shout, Corun's sword hissed in a vicious arc and the
Xanthian's head leaped from his shoulders. He kicked the flopping
body behind a door and sped on his way, panting.
Halfway down the ramp, a narrow entrance gaped, one of the tunnels
that riddled the building through its massive walls. Corun slithered
down its lightless wet length. It should open on the great chamber
and—
Black against the dim blue light of the exit, a motionless form was
squatting. Corun groaned inwardly. They had a guard against
intruders, then. Best to go back now—no! He snarled soundlessly and
bounded forward, clutching the sword in one hand and reaching out
with the other.
Fingers rasping across the scaly hide, he hooked the thing's neck into
the crook of his elbow and yanked the heavy body back into the
tunnel with one enormous wrench. Blind in the darkness, he stabbed
into the mouth, driving the point of his sword through flesh and bone
into the brain.
The dying monster's claws raked him as he crouched over the body.
He reflected grimly that no matter how benevolent the Xanthi might
be, he would die for murder if they ever caught him. But he had no
great fear of their suddenly becoming tender toward mankind. The
bulk of the reptile race was peaceable, actually, but their rulers were
relentless.
The tunnel opened on a small balcony halfway up the rearing
chamber wall. Corun lay on his belly, peering down over the edge.

They sat at a long table, the lords of the Demon Sea, and he felt a
dim surprise at seeing that they were almost through eating. Had his
nightmare journey taken that long? They were talking, and the sound
drifted up to his ears.
At the head of the table, Tsathu and his councillors sat on a long
ornate couch ablaze with beaten gold. Shorzon and Chryseis were
reclining nearby, sipping the bitter yellow wine of the Xanthi. It was
strange to hear the hideous hissing and croaking of the reptile
language coming from Chryseis' lovely throat.
"—interesting, I am sure," said the king.
"More than that—more than that!" It seemed to Corun that he could
almost see the terrible fire in Shorzon's eyes. The wizard leaned
forward, shaking with intensity. "You can do it. The Xanthi can
conquer Achaera with ease. Your sea cavalry and serpents can smash
their ships, your devil-powder can burst their walls into the air, your
legions can overrun their land, your wizardry blind and craze them.
And the terror you will inspire will force the people to do our
bidding."
"Possibly you overrate us," said Tsathu. "It is true that we have great
numbers and a strong army, but do not forget that the Xanthi are
actually a more peaceful race than man. Your kind is hard and
savage, murdering even each other, making war simply for loot or
glory or no real reason at all. Until the king-race arose, the Xanthi
dwelt quietly on the sea bottom and a few small islands, without wish
to harm anyone.
"They have not even the natural capacity for magic possessed,
however undeveloped, by all humans. As a result they are much
more susceptible to it than men. Thus, when the king-race was born
with such powers, they were soon able to control all their people and
make themselves the absolute masters of the Xanthi. But we, kings
and wizards and lords of the Demon Sea, are all one interbred clan.
Without us, the Xanthi power would collapse; they would go back to
what they were.
"Even Xanthi science is all of our making. We, the king-race,
developed the devil-powder and all that we have ever made is stored
in the dungeons of this very building—enough to blow it into the sky."

Tsathu made a grimace which might have been a sardonic smile. "Do
not read weakness into that admission," he said. "Even though all the
lords who make Xanthian might are gathered in this one room, that
power is still immeasurably greater than you can imagine. To show
you how helpless you are—your men are locked into the dungeons
and your geas has been lifted from their minds."
"Impossible!" gasped Shorzon. "A geas cannot be lifted—"
"But it can. What is it but a compulsion implanted in the brain, so
deeply as to supersede all other habits? One mind cannot erase that
imposed pattern, but several minds working in concert can do so, and
that I and my councillors have done. As of today, your folk are free in
soul, hating you for what you made them. You are alone."
The great scaled forms edged closer, menacingly. Corun's fist
clenched about his sword. If they harmed Chryseis—
But she said cooly: "It does not matter. Our men were simply to bring
us here, nothing else. We can dispense with them. What matters is
our plan to impose magic control over Achaera."
"And I cannot yet see what benefit the Xanthi would get of it," said
Tsathu impatiently. "Our powers of darkness are so much greater
than yours already that—"
"Let us not use words meant to impress the ignorant among
ourselves," said Chryseis scornfully. "Every sorcerer knows there is
nothing of heaven or hell about magic. It is but the imposition of a
pattern on other minds. It creates, by control of the senses, illusions
of lycanthropy or whatever else is desired, or it binds the subject by
the unbreakable compulsion of a geas. But it is no more than that—
one mind reaching through space to create what impressions it wills
on another mind. Your devil-powder, or an ordinary sword or ax or
fist, is more dangerous—if the fools only knew."
Corun's breath hissed between his teeth. If—if that—O gods, if that
was the secret of the magicians—!
"As you will," said Tsathu indifferently. "What matters is that there
are more of our minds than your two, and thus we can beat down
any attempt you may make against us. So it comes back to the
question, why should we help you seize and hold Achaera? What will
we gain?"
"I should say nothing of its great wealth," said Shorzon. "But it is
true, as you say, that many minds working together are
immeasurably more powerful than one—more powerful, even, than
the sum of all those minds working separately. I have worked with as
many as a dozen slaves, having them concentrate with me, so that I
could draw their mind-force through my own brain and use it as my
own, and the results have amazed me. Now if the entire population
of Achaera were forced to help us, all at one time—"
The Xanthi's eyes glittered and a low murmur rose among them.
Shorzon went on, rapidly: "It would be power over the world. Nothing
could stand before that massed mental force. With us, skilled
sorcerers, to direct, and the soldiers of Xanthi to compel obedience,
we could lay a geas on whole nations without even having to be near
them. We could span immeasurable gulfs of space and contact minds
on those other worlds which philosophers think exist beyond the
upper clouds. We could, by thus heightening our own mental powers,
think out the very problems of existence, find the deepest secrets of
nature, forces beside which your devil-powder would be a spark.
Drawing life-energy from other bodies, we would never grow old, we
would live forever.
"Tsathu—lords of Xanthi—I offer you a chance to become gods!"

The stillness was broken only by the muttering and whispering of the
Xanthi among themselves. Mist drifted through the raw wet night of
the hall. The walls seemed to waver, shift and blur like smoke.
"Why could we not do this in our own nation?" asked Tsathu.
"Because, as you yourself said, the Xanthi do not have the latent
mental powers of humans—save for you few who are the masters. It
must be mankind who is controlled, with the commoners of your race
as overseers."
"And why could we not kill you and do this ourselves?"
"Because you do not understand humans. The differences are too
great. You could never control human thoughts as Chryseis or I
could."
Another Xanthian spoke: "But do you realize what this will do to the
human race? Your Achaerans will become mindless machines under
such control. Drained of life-energy, they will age and die like
animals. I doubt that any will live ten seasons."
"What of that?" shrugged Chryseis. "There are other nations nearby
to draw on—Conahur, Norriki, Khemri, ultimately the world. We will
have centuries, remember—we will never die!"