This is the beginning of an adventure yarn I wrote many years ago, influenced, of course, by the great pulp writer Robert E. Howard. I even drew a map of Karn's fantasy world that is similar to the one Howard sketched for his Hyborian Age. I'm in the process of preparing that map for publication here.
THE GLOWING DARKNESS
Karn leaned out over the rock projection and surveyed the gulf stretching out below him. A faint smile played upon his lips. He was poised on a jutting cliff edge overlooking an expansive gorge that curved away at angles on either side, affording spacious views in both directions.
The outlines of an empty riverbed could be seen winding its way through the center of the dry gorge. Pushing through the canyon floor were only a few blades of grass, appearing like specks of failed growth against the desolate ground, their valiant attempt at multiplying virtually denied by the water-starved terrain.
Beyond the valley and fading into every direction was an illimitable sea of sandstone stratum, an abstracted horizon filled with reddish-hued ramparts, deep-walled canyons, towering precipices, and enormous plateaus. High overhead hung the burning desert sun, its intense rays saturating everything below, creating a sweltering dry heat that turned the light of midday into shimmering waves of refraction.
Looking around at the scorched undulating vista, Karn had an eerie impression that he was trapped like a proverbial sinner in the center of Hell itself. But he knew he wasn't the only one condemned here in this godless wasteland.
From his position about two hundred feet above the valley floor he could see a large group of men approaching from his left, and another smaller band of men approaching from his right. The curve of the gorge (even withstanding its wide nature) prevented both groups from seeing each other until they would be nearly clashing, face to face. Karn assumed that the noise created by booted feet, weapons, and gear would alert both parties just prior to any visual contact being made. Even so, he anticipated a volatile reaction when they converged that would allow for an amusing spectacle on his part. Hence the smile.
He recognized the contingent on the left as Tunuthians soldiers; their emerald sashes and breeches were unmistakable in the full sun of midday. He counted thirty men in their group. The band approaching from his right appeared to be Waurons, numbering but ten men, but Karn knew that what they lacked in numbers they made up for in barbaric verismilitude. They wore black and grey mottled outfits with raven feathered wide-brimmed hats. Both parties were armed with bows, knives and swords, but the green clad Tunuthians were burdened with additional gear and provisions, mostly satchel bags, knapsacks, canteens and the like.
Karn leaned downward, squinting. There was an outsider among the Tunuthians; a woman, held prisoner, with her hands bound in front. She walked with her head slightly bowed and Karn could not see her facial features, but the tight fitting clothes and the narrow stride clearly indicated a feminine persuasion. But what she was doing here in far reaches of the Wasteland? And why was she being led by a wayward pack of Tunuthian soldiers?
The nearest settlement was the port city of Sunarth, the last trade destination on the southern shipping lanes, and more than a hundred miles due north. Few people, if any, risked traveling below Sunarth and into the confines of what was commonly called The Wasteland, a foreboding uninhabited region of stone and sand, where visitors met only searing heat and extreme indifference. The Wasteland covered an area almost three-hundred miles across and two-hundred miles down, and contained no known water sources, recognizable travel routes, or indigenous peoples. Those who had willingly explored its bleak interior proclaimed it to be thoroughly inhospitable-- a vast tractless maze, where the the only accommodation to be found was death itself. There were no outposts or villages established within the Wastland; all paths, roads and trading routes leaving Sunarth led only west or northeast along the coastline, and towards more favorable human environments.
The area was held in on the west by the pounding Atlas Ocean, and on the north by the gentle Argrean Sea. To the east rose an immense wall of mountainous black rock, nearly four-thousand feet high in places, that loomed over the entire region like an ominous shadow. Along the southern edge the Wasteland was buffetted by yet another force as great as itself, when it merged inexorably with the vast Durube Desert, a terrible sea of white sand and scorching temperatures where human life had never been sustained, or at least not long enough to be remembered.
Karn could think of no discernible reason for anyone to be this far south, so close to the Durube, let alone upper-continent denizens like Waurons and Tunuthians. Unless... they too shared an enterprise that was similar to Karn's own ambitious plan.
The Glow Cavern! Of course. Each faction must be trying to ransack the cave's treasure for themselves. But again-- what was the woman's involvement in all of this-- and why is it all happening now?
Karn knew that the legend of the Glowing Cavern began long ago as a folk tale spread among the coastal peoples of the lower continent. Its oral history was kept alive at candle-lit supper tables, recited in colorful convention by Sunarthian elders as a way to entertain children or guests. It was reputed to be a giant cathedral cave hidden deep within the Wasteland's broad emptyness, with massive glittering walls covered in rare gemstones. The gems themselves were described as having a unique color, a color completely outside the visible spectrum. To own one was to possess a king's equivilant in wealth, magic, and power.
To reach the bejewelled cave, treasure hunters had to surpass treacherous pitfalls and deadly antechambers, but only if they survived the arduous trek through the vast canyonlands first. The cathedral chamber was said to be fiercely guarded by a hideous, devilish monstrosity, the description of which would change according to the whims of each storyteller. With rare exception, all those attempting to remove the precious stones were met with catastrophe, madness, and death. Or so the legend is told. But Karn was knew that it was more than mere myth. He alone had definitive knowledge of the cave's existence and had risked his life to gain that guarded information. Could both of these factions have similar insights, or even explicit knowledge of its general location? And both at the same time? It seemed unlikely to Karn, but here they all were, pitched together in an improbable situation. And yet what other possible reason could they have for wandering this far into the southern desert.
In a few moments, he surmised, much would be revealed.
The Waurons were the first to become suspicious. They halted their advance while a scout rushed ahead to peer around the bend. The Tunuthians saw him almost immediately and an bellow rang out instantly from several men. To Karn's astonishment the scout merely waved back in response. Then turning quickly, he motioned at his own troop to continue forward.
What's this? An alliance between ancestral enemies? Karn had to shake his head in disbelief; it was absurd of course, and yet it somehow made sense considering the circumstances.
Both parties immediately assembled. After a brief exchange of words between leaders the female prisoner was suddenly thrust in front of the Wauron clan for inspection. Karn strained to hear exactly what was being said from his vantage point, high overhead. He began to sense something vaguely familiar about the woman too.
"She was alone -- we found no provisions -- must be others -- must take precautions!"
Then a Wauronese subordinate grabbed the woman by her throat and spat harsh words in her face. She stared back insolently, lips pursed. Unexpectedly he struck her forcibly with an open hand. The woman staggered from the blow, fighting to keep her legs upright in the soft sand.
A Tunuthian soldier quickly intervened, shoving the brute aside and reprimanding him for his actions. Affronted, the man roared in response, making a mad grab for his hilt. His countrymen followed suit; Wauronese blades were suddenly half drawn from scabbards. The Tunuthians reacted in similitude, bristling with vehemence. Both parties surged at each other, exchanging insults and spittle. At least one sword flashed in the sunlight.
Now, Karn thought, a melee was inevitable!
But suddenly two officers seized control of the mob, one from each opposing faction. They pushed men back into formation, snapping orders, their voices ringing loud with militarian authority. Through sheer force of will it seemed, or frank intimidation, they separated the angry participants, somehow restoring order amid what should have become outright chaos and bloodshed. A miracle to be sure.
Karn could only grit his teeth in bitter chagrin.
The woman was then yanked to her feet unceremoniously, and just as hurriedly both military parties turned and marched back towards Karn's right, retracing the footprints left by the Waurons, their two officers urging them on magnanimously.
The soldiers were suddenly back on purpose, the fray quickly forgotten, the unholy alliance forged anew.
Karn was on his feet too, also moving with purpose, following high above along the cliff's edge. He was a tall man, well over six feet in height and powerfully built. He moved across the rock surface with a feral stealthiness, agile and lithe even withstanding his commanding size, treading softly like a large puma does when stalking its prey on padded paws. His weapons, water and gear were secured to his torso in a way that would not create noise; his sword firmly lashed to his backside, long knife sheathed tightly to his outer thigh. He wore a hooded leather tunic and reinforced silk breeches, and on his feet were soft yet sturdy boots. Karn wore no hat; his shock of dark hair was just long and thick enough to afford a semblance of protection from the sun's burning rays.
The group marched about a half mile through the gorge, and then abruptly plunged into a narrow crevice at the base of the cliff face opposite Karn. The cleft was very narrow, allowing only one man to pass at a time. It took several minutes for all the men to disappear into the black void.
They left no guard at the entrance. So much for taking extra precautions.
Karn selected a place to descend that would not expose him to the soldiers if they reappeared. He did this quickly and with little exertion; climbing was a natural skill he had acquired while growing up in his homeland, Kevron, a rugged, mountainous region, thousands of miles north of Sunarth in the cool, upper reaches of the northern continent.
Within a short time he had his feet on the sandy floor of the gorge. A few minutes more and he stood before the narrow crevice, eyes and ears alert for any sounds within. He was about to enter when he noticed a small imperfection in the sandstone wall next to the opening. It was a lightly carved depression, shaped like a strange eye and about the size of a man's hand.
"By Mordis," Karn swore under his breath. This was the clue he had been searching for, the true mark that indicated the way to the Glowing Cavern. It was right here as he had suspected.
He was sure that this main gorge would lead him to the telling eye-mark symbol, somewhere along its interminable length, and it was only the shock of finding fresh footprints on the sandy floor that had forced him to delay his quest, seeking concealment at the top of the cliff face.
Now he knew with certainty that these soldiers had the same destination as himself-- and the same greedy purpose.
Their arrival was an unexpected turn for the Kevronan. But no matter-- he was not someone who could be intimidated; he would simply adjust his strategy to fit the new situation, maybe even use the natural hostility that existed between the Waurons and Tunuthians to his advantage.
Karn entered the narrow crevice and began moving forward. The slot-canyon rose slightly in elevation, stair-stepping as it went, and stayed very narrow and tight for its entire length. At various places he could extend his arms out and touch the crevice walls with his fingertips. There were pools along its path in the wider sections, carved out by flash floods, but now utterly dry. Karn thought this would be a hazardous place to be caught in during a sudden torrential downpour, a rare, but occasional occurrence, even in this arid climate.
The sun even at its zenith never directly penetrated this slot canyon. The light that did filter in was a kind of twilight gloom, and this kept the temperature cool and comfortable as he made his way through. Finally, after traversing for nearly an hour, Karn saw the bright glow of an exit hole. It was partially obscured by scrub brush and Karn was able to use this for cover while he peered ahead into the glaring daylight.
Beyond was a large natural amphitheater, filled with immense boulders and slabs of rock. The high imposing cliffs circling the open space were composed of red sandstone, rising up for several hundred feet. These sheer ramparts formed a fan shape around the canyon floor, perhaps 300 yards at its widest position, with the floor sloping down to a delta point where Karn was concealed among the foilage. A dry sandy creek split the length of the amphitheater, winding its way through the rocks and scrub-bushes that dotted the floor, and ending at the crevice where Karn crouched.
On the far side another defile opened up at the base of the cliff-face, a dark slash in the red sandstone from which the dry creek had once initiated. Karn thought he could discern unusual markings on the rock surface around the opening, paintings perhaps, or hieroglyphic symbols.
Again-- this was what he expected-- more resolute evidence.
The Tunuthians and Waurons had already reached the distant place in the cliff, and were now entering one by one in a steady procession. This time, however, they stationed a guard at the entrance, one of the more brutish looking Waurons, a massive thick-hewed soldier armed with a heavy broadsword and crossbow.
Karn glanced at the sky overhead; it was several more hours before the sun would go down. He would wait until nightfall before trying to manuever the lone guard and gain entrance to the mysterious Glowing Cavern. Already, a plan was forming in his mind...
~ To Be Continued ~
[Copyright © 2009 - Berserker Books - Jeff Christoffersen]
