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Fantasy Fan, v. 1, issue 12, August 1934

Page 182

THE FANTASY FAN, August, 1934
risen. Soon would the far mountains be illuminated in yellow light, and Zath shine its metal towers like the armor of a weary knight sprawled upon the hills. The black stone of the precipice directly under the fasthold served only to set it off. Soon too would the rich rice fields of cultivated vegetation gleam pleasingly and the jungle come to animated life. But not yet were the gates open, for it had been the rule in Zo to keep fast-closed till full dawn, ever since the Night of The Monster in neighboring Droom, close unto the mountains. There was a smell of spice hanging in the air, for the breeze was small, but this lovliness was wholly wasted upon the angrly little sorceror as he chaffed before the giant gate. His robe was bedraggled from the mud and he was wearied of no sleep. 

"Ho, guard!" he shouted irritably, "can you not let an honest traveler within your cursed village before the nigh noon?" 

This was on the whole a misrepresentation for his travelling was unintentional and he was by no means honest but he did not consider the moral aspect of the matter. 

After a time sounds of distant shuffling reached his ears, and after prodigious squeaking and bangings a slcepy-faced man gave him entrance. Volnar entered the nadsome city and made his way along the vast paving-stones of yellow and brown, and at length arrived at a lodging-house, the lighted lantern yet glimmering in the shadow of the sleeping town. 

For a long time none saw the bearded little sorceror upon the streets of Zo. He purchased an old house with curious artificial gold of his own contriving-a secret of wizardry he held to be pleasingly unique-and busied himself most industriously in the dank, ill-lit cellar. Twice he ventured forth, after nightfall, to obtain certain odd ingredients from men to whom he was known, and the man to whom he was known, and the man (who had no ears, but patches of fur that he concealed beneath his head-gear) saw what was up, and left the city straightaway. Volnar worked on with his charms and spells, occasionly sighing for his abandoned mondal, and frequently pondering upon his revenge. 

He pottered amidst his instruments. The thin cold light streaming through a crack in the rocky ceiling was aided by that of the small fire beneath the pot of bulging iron. Yet though with even these the gloom was little disspell, Volanr did not car, for his eyes were familiar with darkness, in which his long apprenticeship had been spent. That students of the dark lore were not appreciated had become increasingly clear to him, ever since the night of his departure from Perenthines. Consequent descretion called for subterranean quarters. These he had obtained, and thus did he work upon the Doom for Perenthines. And before he had completed the strange substance that bubbled so obscenely and which cast off the odour of fresh blood mingled with some nausseating aroma, Volnar sent a messenger to Sarall, the Lord of Worms, to obtain a certain ingredient most accessable to maggots. Frequently did he consult the parchments that were said to have been copied from the Hsothisn manuscripts by a slave of the Lord Krang very long ago, and elaborate care was exercised upon the concoction. 

Then, at last, it was completed, and Volnar gazed speculatively about the cellar, thinking for some time. He arose

Saving...

THE FANTASY FAN, August, 1934 risen. Soon would the far mountains be illuminated in yellow light, and Zath shine its metal towers like the armor of a weary knight sprawled upon the hills. The black stone of the precipice directly under the fasthold served only to set it off. Soon too would the rich rice fields of cultivated vegetation gleam pleasingly and the jungle come to animated life. But not yet were the gates open, for it had been the rule in Zo to keep fast-closed till full dawn, ever since the Night of The Monster in neighboring Droom, close unto the mountains. There was a smell of spice hanging in the air, for the breeze was small, but this lovliness was wholly wasted upon the angrly little sorceror as he chaffed before the giant gate. His robe was bedraggled from the mud and he was wearied of no sleep. "Ho, guard!" he shouted irritably, "can you not let an honest traveler within your cursed village before the nigh noon?" This was on the whole a misrepresentation for his travelling was unintentional and he was by no means honest but he did not consider the moral aspect of the matter. After a time sounds of distant shuffling reached his ears, and after prodigious squeaking and bangings a slcepy-faced man gave him entrance. Volnar entered the nadsome city and made his way along the vast paving-stones of yellow and brown, and at length arrived at a lodging-house, the lighted lantern yet glimmering in the shadow of the sleeping town. For a long time none saw the bearded little sorceror upon the streets of Zo. He purchased an old house with curious artificial gold of his own contriving-a secret of wizardry he held to be pleasingly unique-and busied himself most industriously in the dank, ill-lit cellar. Twice he ventured forth, after nightfall, to obtain certain odd ingredients from men to whom he was known, and the man to whom he was known, and the man (who had no ears, but patches of fur that he concealed beneath his head-gear) saw what was up, and left the city straightaway. Volnar worked on with his charms and spells, occasionly sighing for his abandoned mondal, and frequently pondering upon his revenge. He pottered amidst his instruments. The thin cold light streaming through a crack in the rocky ceiling was aided by that of the small fire beneath the pot of bulging iron. Yet though with even these the gloom was little disspell, Volanr did not car, for his eyes were familiar with darkness, in which his long apprenticeship had been spent. That students of the dark lore were not appreciated had become increasingly clear to him, ever since the night of his departure from Perenthines. Consequent descretion called for subterranean quarters. These he had obtained, and thus did he work upon the Doom for Perenthines. And before he had completed the strange substance that bubbled so obscenely and which cast off the odour of fresh blood mingled with some nausseating aroma, Volnar sent a messenger to Sarall, the Lord of Worms, to obtain a certain ingredient most accessable to maggots. Frequently did he consult the parchments that were said to have been copied from the Hsothisn manuscripts by a slave of the Lord Krang very long ago, and elaborate care was exercised upon the concoction. Then, at last, it was completed, and Volnar gazed speculatively about the cellar, thinking for some time. He arose