Rachel: Wasteland barbarian Queen #1 (Part 2)
The Vale of Springs (Part 2)
Atop the rise beyond the now sealed Vault 101, Rachel did not look back. That life, those times, were dead now. Gazing ahead, the valley below was a blasted ruin of desert. The remains of a half-score of homes littered the landscape. She descended warily.
A loud voice startled her. A man, speaking through a floating abomination. It approached. She brandished her sword, warning it to keep distance. As it closed, she split the foul metal beast in half with her blade. The shock and flame numbed her off-hand arm.
Favouring her wound, Rachel crept through the ruins, taking the lay of the land. One house stood still. Within, she lowered her sword when greeted by a woman demanding to know if she had been sent to collect her bounty.
The woman was named Silver. She had fled a place called Megaton, where a cruel master called Moriarty kept her as a harlot in his tavern. She had fled after he cheated her of wages. Rachel agreed to let the foul beast think her dead, allowing her to flee to safer climes.
Silver warned her that alas, she was kept here by a tribe of rough men who pirated treasures and forbade her leave without pay.. either in flesh or coin. Silver insisted they would have neither, as she had no coin to give.
Rachel's eyes flashed with old impulses that had caused her much trouble. “Treasure? Tell me more.”
Rachel strode to the fortress of the raiders. She called them out, leaping across a break in the wall they were using as an access point to exposed ruins. The first charged her with a knife. His head came off with one clean stroke.
Rushing up the stairs, she was pursued by others from above and below. They cornered her, brandishing bent rods of thick metal, wooden clubs, and blades.
Rachel threw the head of their watchmen at their feet. She sensed their uncertainty and grinned mirthlessly and ferociously. "Who dies first?" (1)
The one with the metal club volunteered. His brothers in violence died swiftly beside him, the one with the wooden club actually managing to hold her off for several blows before she split his weapon in two. Rachel carried the stroke back across his throat.
Within, she faced a dozen more, on three levels. A merry chase indeed, two and three at once. By the end of it, corpses littered her feet. She was cut, bruised, and fighting swooning unsteadiness, black and purple shadows threatening to overwhelm her vision and drag her into darkness.
Struggling to remain upright, she found a key on one of the bodies, and locked herself in a room with bedclothes and a Churgeon pouch mounted to the wall. The potions and salves therein caused her much comfort, and she slept a piece.
Awaking to the darkness outside the windows, Rachel traveled further into the fortress. On the floor above, an ambusher landed her a solid fist-blow to the chin. She repayed the kindness by showing him his last meal.
Another three flooded out into the hallway. She traded blows with them until her sword found its moment, and they were felled in order.
Again she bled, her hand slashed by one of their blades, an ugly bruise on her sword-arm making her swings less precise. She chose to wrap the soreness in cloth rather than resort to the healing elixirs just yet.
Another level above, she faced a wizard. A wand of stinging fire burned a crease on her shoulder, then a bolt of lightning caused a punishing spark to her mail. Rachel spun and dove behind a shelf, rolling to her feet in time to thrust the blade blindly behind her. Fortune favoured her, as her steel slid cleanly into the attacker rounding the corner.
Another burst of mage-fire greeted her beyond the room. Gritting her teeth, she lunged, slicing the hand holding the foul demon-staff away from the offending wizard's wrist. Another thrust ended him. His dog died valiantly protecting its master. She wiped her sword clean on its hide.
The Oracle there told her Talisman of monsters. Likely summoned by the wizards, the demons below were sequestered in a sealed pit. Thinking of Silver, she strode down the stairs to the chamber of the beasts.
“CROK!” (2)
She spat the name of the ancient god of Grognak's people as a curse. Ants. Enormous ants twice the size of the fierce and loyal hound above. Her sword whirled as she carved a path through their nest.
Treasure was found below as well. Poor fools who doubtless were used as sacrifices to summon the infernal creatures. As she approached the corpses, more swarmed. By the time the last died in a flashing battle of blades against mandibles, Rachel was again bleeding from a dozen or more wounds.
This time, she made use of the potions and salves she had found.
That night was spent in the company of Silver, hot food and warm flesh sating the barbarian's hungers. In the morning, she would set out for Megaton.
(1) "The Phoenix on the Sword", novelette; Weird Tales 20 6, Dec 1932
(2) Conan's “Crom” was likely based by Howard on the Irish deity Crom Cruach.
Atop the rise beyond the now sealed Vault 101, Rachel did not look back. That life, those times, were dead now. Gazing ahead, the valley below was a blasted ruin of desert. The remains of a half-score of homes littered the landscape. She descended warily.
A loud voice startled her. A man, speaking through a floating abomination. It approached. She brandished her sword, warning it to keep distance. As it closed, she split the foul metal beast in half with her blade. The shock and flame numbed her off-hand arm.
Favouring her wound, Rachel crept through the ruins, taking the lay of the land. One house stood still. Within, she lowered her sword when greeted by a woman demanding to know if she had been sent to collect her bounty.
The woman was named Silver. She had fled a place called Megaton, where a cruel master called Moriarty kept her as a harlot in his tavern. She had fled after he cheated her of wages. Rachel agreed to let the foul beast think her dead, allowing her to flee to safer climes.
Silver warned her that alas, she was kept here by a tribe of rough men who pirated treasures and forbade her leave without pay.. either in flesh or coin. Silver insisted they would have neither, as she had no coin to give.
Rachel's eyes flashed with old impulses that had caused her much trouble. “Treasure? Tell me more.”
Rachel strode to the fortress of the raiders. She called them out, leaping across a break in the wall they were using as an access point to exposed ruins. The first charged her with a knife. His head came off with one clean stroke.
Rushing up the stairs, she was pursued by others from above and below. They cornered her, brandishing bent rods of thick metal, wooden clubs, and blades.
Rachel threw the head of their watchmen at their feet. She sensed their uncertainty and grinned mirthlessly and ferociously. "Who dies first?" (1)
The one with the metal club volunteered. His brothers in violence died swiftly beside him, the one with the wooden club actually managing to hold her off for several blows before she split his weapon in two. Rachel carried the stroke back across his throat.
Within, she faced a dozen more, on three levels. A merry chase indeed, two and three at once. By the end of it, corpses littered her feet. She was cut, bruised, and fighting swooning unsteadiness, black and purple shadows threatening to overwhelm her vision and drag her into darkness.
Struggling to remain upright, she found a key on one of the bodies, and locked herself in a room with bedclothes and a Churgeon pouch mounted to the wall. The potions and salves therein caused her much comfort, and she slept a piece.
Awaking to the darkness outside the windows, Rachel traveled further into the fortress. On the floor above, an ambusher landed her a solid fist-blow to the chin. She repayed the kindness by showing him his last meal.
Another three flooded out into the hallway. She traded blows with them until her sword found its moment, and they were felled in order.
Again she bled, her hand slashed by one of their blades, an ugly bruise on her sword-arm making her swings less precise. She chose to wrap the soreness in cloth rather than resort to the healing elixirs just yet.
Another level above, she faced a wizard. A wand of stinging fire burned a crease on her shoulder, then a bolt of lightning caused a punishing spark to her mail. Rachel spun and dove behind a shelf, rolling to her feet in time to thrust the blade blindly behind her. Fortune favoured her, as her steel slid cleanly into the attacker rounding the corner.
Another burst of mage-fire greeted her beyond the room. Gritting her teeth, she lunged, slicing the hand holding the foul demon-staff away from the offending wizard's wrist. Another thrust ended him. His dog died valiantly protecting its master. She wiped her sword clean on its hide.
The Oracle there told her Talisman of monsters. Likely summoned by the wizards, the demons below were sequestered in a sealed pit. Thinking of Silver, she strode down the stairs to the chamber of the beasts.
“CROK!” (2)
She spat the name of the ancient god of Grognak's people as a curse. Ants. Enormous ants twice the size of the fierce and loyal hound above. Her sword whirled as she carved a path through their nest.
Treasure was found below as well. Poor fools who doubtless were used as sacrifices to summon the infernal creatures. As she approached the corpses, more swarmed. By the time the last died in a flashing battle of blades against mandibles, Rachel was again bleeding from a dozen or more wounds.
This time, she made use of the potions and salves she had found.
That night was spent in the company of Silver, hot food and warm flesh sating the barbarian's hungers. In the morning, she would set out for Megaton.
(1) "The Phoenix on the Sword", novelette; Weird Tales 20 6, Dec 1932
(2) Conan's “Crom” was likely based by Howard on the Irish deity Crom Cruach.
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