Chapter XII: The Flying Grampites

Cursing the foolhardiness that led him to leave the girl unguarded, even for an instant, Grandon hurled the fatal cluster of fruit far out into the lake. He found his clothing and weapons intact and dressed rapidly. He had no sooner buckled on his sword and tork than a creature that surpassed in hideousness anything he had ever seen, swooped down on him.

Elevating the muzzle of his tork, he sent a stream of bullets at his assailant, and had the satisfaction of seeing it fall to the ground, where it fluttered feebly for a moment, then lay still.

He examined it minutely and shuddered as he thought of the beautiful Vernia in the clutches of so loathsome a thing. The specimen he had brought down was about eight feet long from head to toe, and covered with a soft, mouse-colored fur.

Its head was shaped like that of a gorilla, but the ears were set high and were pointed like those of a fox. The nose was nothing more than a pair of flat, broad nostrils, set almost on a level with the eyes, and the mouth at the apex of the projecting muzzle resembled the mouth of a leech, being merely a round, puckered hole, whose sucker lips were furnished with tiny, razor-sharp protuberances that were not exactly teeth, although they served that purpose to the extent of instantly opening a wound through which the arteries of a victim might be easily drained.

The arms were fully as long as the body, and formed the framework for the membranous wings, the web of which stretched to the center of the back above and the rear of the legs below, ending just above the heels. The trunk and lower limbs were shaped much like those of a man, the feet being most manlike in form, except that the five toes on each foot were armed with strong, up-curling claws.

Drawing his knife, he bent to cut the furry throat with the resolve that this grampite, at least, should nevermore feast on human blood. Then something landed on his back with considerable force, two long, bony arms wound tightly about him, and he felt a sharp pain at the back of his neck as a sucker mouth gripped and lacerated his flesh.

He could not, in this position, use his sword or tork, but he gripped his knife firmly and plunged it again and again into the thing on his back, though with no apparent effect, for it hung on like the fabled old man of the sea. At last he found a vital spot, and just in time, for his strength was fast passing from the terrific loss of blood. The iron grip of the arms relaxed, and as the creature fell away from him the lips tore loose with a pop like that of a champagne cork.

For a moment he imagined the attack was over, but in reality it had just begun. Five of the monsters now came hurtling at him from all directions. He fired his tork as they approached, and one fell in the lake, where it floated, looking at a distance much like an old, broken umbrella. The foremost grampite did not alight on him as the other had done, but used new and unexpected tactics. It swooped straight toward him, head on, then rose slightly and raked him with its sharp upcurved claws.

His shoulder was bleeding profusely from the onslaught when the second attacker arrived, but this time Grandon was prepared. Leaping lightly to one side he plunged his sword into the furry body, and another enemy was _hors de combat_. The last two, made wary by the unexpected demise of their companions, wheeled and joined the leader, now circling high above Grandon. Evidently they decided to go for reënforcements, for they turned suddenly and flew straight across the lake in the direction from which they had come.

* * * * *

Grandon marked their course, and noted that they flew straight toward a distant mountain peak, from which a wisp of smoke lazily ascended. He decided that if Vernia had been carried off by grampites, this was the direction in which they had taken her. He would follow, and do his utmost to save her or avenge her.

With the smoking mountain as his objective, he walked around the rim of the lake, cut through the surrounding tree ferns and emerged on a broad, rolling plain that was covered with a carpet of resilient moss. Several hours were consumed in crossing the plain, then he came to another fern forest.

A short walk brought him abruptly to the edge of a small, crystalline lake, similar to the one he had just left. Instantly he leaped back in the shadow of the trees, for the place was literally alive with grampites. They were apparently engaged in harvesting the underwater fruit, and he watched the process with interest.

Skirting the lake with great care, in order that he might not be discovered, he again pressed forward toward his smoking guide post. He dodged and circled several more grampite-infested lakes. Then he came to a chain of low-lying, rocky hills that were without vegetation of any kind.

As he clambered over the jagged rocks, he noted a pungent odor in the air like that of sulphur, or perhaps some sulphurous compound. The atmosphere grew warmer and warmer until the heat was almost unbearable, and the acrid odor stung his nostrils and smarted his lungs. The rocks over which he scrambled now took on a uniform greenish-yellow hue.

Several times Grandon had wondered why these flying monsters which guarded the desirable subaqueous gardens had not been exterminated by the soldiers of the princess. He learned the reason as he brought up at the edge of a natural barrier which no man could hope to cross. It was a body of boiling water more than half a mile in width, and stretching in a broad, sweeping curve to his right and left. From this gigantic, seething caldron rose a poisonous greenish-yellow vapor, the stifling sulphur fumes, of which would have asphyxiated any one attempting to cross in a boat.

The huge mountain was in plain view now, its peak less than a mile from where Grandon stood. Countless myriads of grampites swarmed about the summit.

Some of the incoming messengers were laden with fruit, others with the bodies of animals, and one, which flew low over Grandon's head, carried the limp form of some venturesome sailor, its talons hooked through his belt. Filled with rage, he aimed his tork and was about to press the button, when the thought came that perhaps the man still lived, and a shot would precipitate both victim and captor into the bubbling, hissing sulphur lake.

Evidently the grampites had not sighted Grandon as yet, although he took no pains to conceal himself after reaching the rocky margin of the lake.

As it was evident that he could not possibly cross the fuming barrier before him, he decided to follow the margin in the hope that he might find some means of ingress. Accordingly, he turned to the right, keeping just out of reach of the deadly vapors, and traveled as swiftly as the rugged character of the rocky formation would permit.

He had covered a distance of more than six miles before he realized the ghastly hopelessness of his quest, for he brought up at the very point from which he had started. The mountain was completely surrounded by boiling, fuming sulphurous water!

* * * * *

Disheartened by his discovery, and fatigued to the point of exhaustion, Grandon sat down on a bowlder to plan his next move. Obviously, he could not hope to rescue the girl now. No doubt she was already dead, or would be, soon. As he pictured her lovely body lying, limp and bloodless, in some corpse-littered, stinking den, a great rage obsessed him.

No, he could not save her, but he would die avenging her. He would show himself to the grampites, then fight--fight until death should claim him--not with the temporarily paralyzing tork, but with sword and knife. He hoped the whole colony would attack him at once. As he bathed in grampite blood, his battle cry would be the one his enemies had used two days before: "For Vernia! For Vernia!"

As he rose to carry out his foolhardy purpose, his attention was attracted by an airship, similar in shape to Vorn Vangal's, but considerably larger, flying low over the rocky hills. While he watched, it made a landing less than a quarter of a mile from him, and two men stepped from the cab. Without a moment's hesitation, Grandon ran toward them. Undoubtedly they were men of Olba, a nation at peace with all Zarovia. If he could but prevail on them to land him on the mountainside--

One of the men raised a cylindrical object to his eyes, evidently a telescope, and pointed it toward the mountain. He gazed for some time, then handed it to his companion. Both were so engrossed by the strange sight before them that they did not see two menacing forms swooping down on them from behind.

Grandon saw, and shouted a warning, but too late. The curved talons hooked their quarry with unerring precision, and both men were carried struggling, out over the boiling water.

The man with the telescope turned and beat his assailant with the instrument. The grampite struck him, first with one wing, then the other, but he kept manfully at it, gripping the furry belly with one hand as he swung his weapon with the other. Apparently he succeeded in breaking a wing, for captor and captive plunged to a terrible death a moment later. The other Olban was carried, still struggling, to a fate that was perhaps more awful.

Grandon, saddened and infuriated by this new atrocity, walked to where the airship lay. Just as he reached the side of the craft, darkness descended.

* * * * *

When Vernia failed to dissuade Grandon from diving in the crystal lake for the tempting fruit, she leaned far over and watched him with breathless interest as he swam from plant to plant. Suddenly something struck her between the shoulders, knocking the breath from her body, and she felt herself lifted into the air and carried out over the lake. As she was whirled along, she caught a last fleeting glimpse of him, deep under water, cutting a cluster of fruit.

Her captor flew with amazing speed, high above moss-covered plains, fern forests, and crystal lakes, where the fruit-gathering grampites far below them took on the appearance of swarms of mosquitoes. When they came to the boiling lake, the grampite rose high in the air before crossing, but even at an altitude of more than two thousand feet, the stifling fumes made breathing most difficult.

Straight up the mountainside he flew, passing more and more of his companions as he ascended, until, when the summit was reached, the sky was black with grisly swarms of his fellows, wheeling, circling, darting hither and thither, and uttering hoarse, croaking cries, the weird sound of which added to the horror of the frightened girl.

Suddenly the grampite dipped over the edge of the crater and Vernia beheld the creatures' great stronghold. The walls slanted in a series of ledges, perhaps twenty feet wide, downward and in toward the great central pit, whence issued the smoke and gases, and occasional flashes of lurid light from the glowing lava.

At regular intervals around the ledges were holes in the solid rock, which led to the dark caves that honey-combed the entire mountaintop. In front of each entrance was a circular pit about ten feet in diameter and twelve feet deep. As they passed above these pits she noticed that they contained captive animals of various kinds.

Her captor hovered for a moment above the ledge near one of the caves, then lowered her gently to her feet. She was so weak from fear that she could scarcely stand, but he seized her roughly by the arm with a bony hand-like claw, and dragged her through the entrance.

The sight that greeted her within sickened her with horror. In the center of the cave sat a huge female grampite in the act of draining the last remaining blood from the body of a sailor whose uniform she recognized as that of the navy of a neighboring empire. Her long, claw-like fingers gripped the corpse just under the armpits, and her leech-lipped mouth was fastened to the back of the neck.

Vernia's captor stood humbly awaiting the pleasure of his hideous mate, who at length cast the body from her with a grunt of satisfaction, and lay down on her side with her belly distended to a drum-like tightness by the blood of her victim.

The male grampite now dragged the shrinking girl close to the huge female, who seized her eagerly and felt her over from head to foot as a butcher might inspect a prime young heifer. Evidently the she-grampite had been surfeited by her ghoulish repast, for she made no move to fasten her sucker-mouth to the girl's neck.

Her mate had retired to a corner of the cave where he was industriously absorbing the juice from a large specimen of the underwater fruit, but he rose at a croaking call from his mate and seized the girl by the wrist, stooping also to pick up the bloodless corpse of the sailor, which he heaved far out into the great lake of molten lava when they reached the ledge.

He then lowered the girl into the deep, smooth-sided pit in front of the cave and threw down some fruit and spore-pods. Evidently she was to be kept alive until the blood-bloated she-grampite was ready for her next meal. Huddled against the wall of the pit were three frightened frellas, small animals somewhat resembling terrestrial sheep, but absolutely without hair or wool of any kind. Apparently the female grampites drank the blood of these creatures when their human quarry was lacking.

All through the rest of the day Vernia sweltered in the pit, awaiting the inevitable end. Soon the loathsome creature in the cave would become hungry and she would be dragged from her prison, clutched in those bony hands, and--She shuddered at the thought of feeling her life-blood slowly ebb away in that filthy den with no human being to see, to pity, or to rescue.

Night fell, but in the crater its blackness was partly dispelled by the red glow from the molten lava, punctuated at times by brilliant flashes of light as gas explosions or other disturbances occurred in the fiery lake.

The shadow of her captor loomed at the edge of the pit. The she-grampite was ready for her victim. As she felt the grip of that bony hand on her arm, Vernia screamed again and again.