Dark Crusade by Karl Edward Wagner Read Free Book Online

still uncertain whether this was reality or some hellish apparition born of the opium-tainted hashish.
    "The choice is yours," whispered the priest, advancing as she pressed her back to the parapet. "Sataki or death. Choose now, girl!"
    Erill's hand closed upon the hilt of the poniard, then froze there. For now the moonlight shone brightly enough to see that there was nothing but shadows without the black cowl.
    "Choose!
    "Sataki!" breathed Erill in a gasp, as the creature of shadow loomed before her.
    "Wisely chosen, girl. But be certain that there is no turning back."
    Erill nodded dumbly.
    "Take this." A shadow-filled sleeve extended above her outstretched hand. A cold smooth weight fell against her palm. It was a jet-black disc of stone. Vaguely Erill knew it for a replica of the gold medallions worn by the priests of Sataki. Her skin shrank from its alien touch.
    "No one will pay you heed," the whisper continued. "You shall serve Sataki in this."
    The shadow whispered further commands, made snickering promises and insinuations that burned through Erill's consciousness like acid on bare flesh.
    Erill cried out, as one from nightmare. With a dry laugh, the black robe collapsed upon itself, rustled hollowly onto the rooftop, dissolving as it fell. When she gaped in terror at her feet, the roof tiles were barren of cloth or flesh.
    A hashish nightmare?
    A cold, sinister disc of jet lay clutched in her palm.
    Dimly Erill heard a voice within her soul, shrieking for her to hurl the evil medallion into the night. But the shadow had given her certain commands, and she could only obey. With dream-like steps, Erill turned from the parapet and descended into the fear-laden streets.
    There had been an attempt to enforce military curfew, but the mobs of refugees seeking vain asylum within Gillera had so overflowed the city that the effort was abandoned. Inns, hostelries and caravanserai were all filled beyond floorspace. When disused buildings and empty hovels were filled to the point of collapse, refugees spilled into streets and squares in makeshift huts, tents, wagons, or whatever fell to hand. Others filled alleys and doorways with nothing but their tattered garments for covering. The city fathers had at first thought to swell the ranks of Gillera's defenders by admitting all who sought shelter within its walls. When they at last closed the gates to all without, the flood of refugees had overburdened Gillera's facilities for food, water and sanitation. While the city's high walls might withstand the Satakis, Gillera could never endure a lengthy siege.
    Terror strangled Gillera in a thousand chill tentacles. The city was doomed. All within recognized its inexorability. All that remained was the hour of its coming. The Satakis were merciless. No army, no city could stand before them. The choice was capitulation or annihilation. Gillera had chosen to defy the Dark Crusade.
    The chants of the Satakis carried from the nighted forest and over the beleaguered walls and into the terror-haunted streets. A hundred thousand within listened to the voice of doom, knowing in an hour or a day or another day that doom would engulf them.
    Dull faces watched Erill without interest as she passed by them. Taverns overflowed into the streets, until their stores of wine and ale were exhausted. Men and women reeled and sprawled along the streets, heedless in the final haze of dissipations. Houses stood barred and barricaded, frightened eyes squinting past shuttered windows. Temples were mobbed with wailing throngs, beseeching Thoem or Vaul to protect them from the terror of the hordes of a far older god. In the hidden recesses of secret fanes, certain horrible mystic rites were performed with anxious speed.
    Now and again a voice called out to Erill, inviting the girl to share a cup or an embrace, begging her for food or coin, challenging her to join in prayer or sacrifice in this final hour. Erill passed by, seeming neither to hear their voices, nor to