Free Elak of Atlantis by Henry Kuttner Page B

feet as he fought to hold his steed.
    Then the flames died. Where the door had been was a white-hot puddle of melted iron, and the stones of the portal were blackened and cracked by the intense heat. The Druid spurred forward his horse, and it hurdled the searing liquid iron easily. Elak followed, just in time to see fire burst out from the grill of the barbican.
    “So far, so good,” Dalan grunted, watching the iron melt and drip to the stones of the courtyard. “But Elf doesn’t depend on doors and walls alone.”
    Elak, looking up, did not answer. On the summit of the inner wall a gargoylish figure was carved seemingly of rugose dark stone, a creature that might have sprung from any of the Nine Hells. Stunted and huge and hideous it seemed to crouch above the courtyard, glaring down menacingly. Wide wings swept out from its gnarled shoulders. Somehow Elak sensed evil in the posture of the thing, the tiny eyes that seemed to watch him.
    “Come! The barbican’s down—”
    The Druid’s black warhorse stepped forward—and simultaneously Elak caught a flicker of movement from above, sensed rather than saw a great figure that hurtled down, wings sweeping, talons clutching murderously. He clapped spurs into the stallion, sent him driving against Dalan’s steed. With the same movement he unsheathed his rapier, thrust up almost without aim.
    A flapping of wings buffeted him.The weapon was torn from his grasp, and he crashed down on the stones, battling for his life with a monster that clawed and bellowed and ripped with vicious tusks—the thing he had thought carved from stone, the gargoyle, brought to evil life by Elf’s dark sorcery. Exhausted as he was, Elak was no match for the creature. The fangs drove toward his throat; a foul breath was strong in his nostrils.
    Then the weight on Elak’s body was gone; gasping for breath, he saw the monster gripped by the Druid, lifted above the bald, gleaming head. There was tremendous strength in Dalan’s gross frame. He crushed the struggling monster down on the flags, leaped on it with crushing feet. His sword swung redly….
    “By Bel!” Elak murmured, retrieving his rapier. “Is that a devil? I’ve never seen beast or man like that before, Dalan.”
    “Nor has anyone else,” the Druid informed him, staring down at the monster’s still body. “It’s an elemental, and devil’s a good name for it. Elf set it to guard the gate. Well”—he swung his blade—“if I can cut through the warlock’s neck as easily—good! Leave your horse, Elak. We must go on foot from here.”
    Hidden in a niche nearby, Duke Granicor watched, wondering. But when Dalan and Elak passed the threshold, vanishing from sight in the depths of the fortress, Granicor sprang out and followed them.
    And down from the hills rode a half-dozen horsemen, led by King Guthrum, spurring and yelling as they galloped. Only the Viking chief was silent, gripping his war-ax on which the blood had dried in dark red splashes.…
    “To the vaults,” Dalan said, hurrying swiftly along empty stone corridors. “I know the way. I’ve seen it often in my crystal. Hurry!” The Druid almost seemed to sense the danger that followed at their heels.
    Elak’s quick gaze searched the depths of side passages that led into enigmatic depths of the fortress. They raced on, through high-vaulted tunnels, down winding stairs dimly lit or in darkness, across great rooms that housed the magnificence of a king’s palace.
    They met no one. The vast citadelwas deserted, or seemed so. And at last, when Elak guessed they had penetrated far underground, they came to a metal door, strangely figured with cabalistical signs, before which Dalan paused.
    “This is the heart of Elf’s castle,” he said softly. “Here he holds your brother captive. Elak—” The Druid fumbled under his robe, drew out a long object wrapped in cloth. He unwound the casing, revealing a short dagger apparently carved out of crystal.
    “There is strong