Sorely Beset in Nishagog

By Euan S Mackenzie

Something terrible stalks the corridors of August Casolari’s riverside Palace. Rooms which once reverberated with music and revelry are now silent and blood-soaked. Into this nightmare comes Xandar, the most famous thief in Nishagog, with a score to settle with Casolari. But Casolari is already dead and now Xandar must confront the monster responsible if he wants to discover the fate of the woman he loves, Casolari’s own daughter.

However, her fate may prove to be more dreadful than he can imagine.

With blood splattered action, romance and supernatural horror, Sorely Beset in Nishagog is a tale of rogues inspired by the great pulp masterpieces of the past. It is a must read for fans of Howard, Leiber and Vance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Euan S Mackenzie
• Release date: May 2, 2014

Euan S Mackenzie

Euan Mackenzie is a Scottish Fantasy writer and storyteller.

Book preview

Sorely Beset In Nishagog

Copyright 2014 Euan S Mackenzie

Published by Euan S Mackenzie.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the authors imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, to business establishments, events or whatever is entirely coincidental.

The author accepts no responsibility for any cults or religions which are created as a result of, or influenced by, this work.

Cover art The Forgotten Antediluvian Past - Copyright 2014 Euan S Mackenzie.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

A Note on Pronunciation

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Find Out More

For Nadia

SORELY BESET IN NISHAGOG

Being a Nishagogian Tragedy

In Six Parts

[1]

August Casolari opened his eyes and saw his study in ruins - the door had been forced, a bookcase overturned and his favourite writing chair smashed to kindling.

For several seconds he struggled to remember what had happened. His memories were a confused jumble and everything seemed unreal, like this was some extraordinarily vivid dream.

Then he felt a sudden twinge of pain.

Something had happened, something bad, he was sure of that. The pain was getting worse, spreading across his chest, it was becoming difficult to breathe, and he could feel dampness around his groin…

August Casolari suddenly felt afraid.

He looked down then and saw that he had been torn open, that his own intestines were spilling out and that his robes were soaked by his own blood.

Casolari remembered and he sobbed and wished that it was only a dream.

Tears streaked his face as he writhed in agony and tried to push himself up from the floor. It was futile, Casolari realised, he was too weak and his every movement only brought more unbearable pain and caused him to utter another sharp gasp or cry.

That was when Casolari heard the distant Machiacum as it struck four in the morning, its faint chimes drifting in through the open balcony windows, borne on a cooling river breeze. The thin net-curtains billowed ghostly in the pale moonlight and beyond these Casolari could just see the silver lit treetops in his gardens, the lights and spires of the city of Nishagog, and the great dark expanse of the river Mardark. When he felt the caress of that gentle wind upon his sweat and blood stained cheek he relaxed somewhat and for several moments he stared open mouthed up at the moon.

Casolari’s blood pooled around him and spread across the polished marble floor while his right arm hung limp and bent at unnatural angles. He was aware of a throbbing pain whenever he tried to move the arm and he could not even make a finger twitch. Just beyond his right hand, literally a finger’s breadth away, was the knife - it was still there! He had been so close it was almost funny. Casolari gasped, shook his head and then coughed blood.

August Casolari realised that he was going to die.

In the distance the Machiacum’s chimes faded. Then, after a moment’s silence, came the first echoing, ‘Dong’.

Casolari was not afraid of dying. Or rather, he was, but given his options he felt he would welcome death. Because what really scared him was what if that Thing came back before he died. Because it would come back, Casolari knew it and the prospect terrified him.

He thought then of his daughter and tried not to think about what had happened. Tried not to think about the carnage, the screams, the… No, he thought of his daughter not as she had been when he last saw her but instead he thought of her as a little girl sitting on her mother’s lap. His beautiful, smiling, blonde haired little girl who had been so happy and… Casolari could not stand it. His wife was long dead and that little girl was gone as well. Worse, Casolari knew he was responsible for his daughter’s fate. He might not have intended it but he had brought about the ruination of his house, his family and perhaps the entire city.

Dong! The Machiacum’s distant bell peeled a second time.

August Casolari was not a particularly religious man but he was, in his way, a typical Nishagogian. And like all good Nishagogians, during times of great stress or hardship he turned to his city’s eponymous deity, Great Nishagog – whom the people of Nishagog in equal parts loved and dreaded and who was usually depicted artistically as a colossal shambling half-crocodile, half-cuttlefish horror.

Great Nishagog, went the familiar prayer, devour my soul. He briefly wondered if, once his soul had been consumed, he would truly live for eternity as part of Great Nishagog’s living flesh and if he would be reunited with his wife? Yes, he told himself, yes that must be it. They would be together as one flesh. This thought gave him comfort and he hoped that his daughter might eventually join them. Although, he knew, this might not be possible anymore.

Dong! The third peel.

Casolari was shaken from his thoughts by a gentle thud, like that of a footfall. He felt hopeless terror. No, he thought, not yet - let me die first! A shadow moved across the room. Looking up, Casolari saw a large man framed between the balcony doors and silhouetted by moonlight. Despite his size, the man moved with the easy grace of a dancer. He stepped closer and even in the semi-darkness Casolari saw him clearly.

The man held a sword in his left hand and his arms and chest were bare allowing Casolari to see that he was thickly muscled, sun-bronzed and covered with faded scars. He wore only a pair of dark Nishagogian summer breeks, those short trousers which cut off just below the knee, a black sash of fabric which served as a belt and held his scabbard to his side, and a pair of the ‘House-breakers friends,’ the pliable, below ankle, shoes ingeniously made from a type of ‘sticky’ tree sap only found Up-Country. His long brown-blonde hair was tied back by a dirty white headband and his familiar face sported two days worth of uneven stubble. The man’s emerald eyes widened as he looked upon Casolari’s broken form.

Casolari licked thin lips, tasted blood, and said in a croaked whisper, "You..."

Aye, me, came the reply.

"Dong!" The Machiacum struck four with awful finality.

Casolari looked again at the knife. Too late, he whispered as another tear rolled down his cheek.

The intruder clenched a fist. Who did this to you, Casolari? he demanded.

Fate, Casolari decided, had a peculiar sense of humour. This man, he knew, had come to kill him. Only, here he was cheated of his vengeance! Even dying Casolari took such pleasure from this thought that it prompted a weak smile.

Only death... awaits you... here... Casolari said. Every word was a struggle, every word hurt.

The man sheathed his sword and knelt. Casolari was surprised to feel him take his hand in his own and to clasp him not unaffectionately on the side of his head.

Ferryman take you, Casolari, we will settle our scores in the afterlife.

Casolari looked him in the eye then and he saw the man he had ordered killed looking back at him not with anger but with regret. This was almost too much. The events of the last forty-eight hours tumbled through his mind in a confused jumble until his thoughts settled upon his daughter.

He gasped as if struck, Xandar! he cried.

Three Months Earlier.

XANDAR? August Casolari pounded Captain Chadwell’s desk with his fist. "Are you telling me that a fictional character stole my Grandfather’s sword? That a fictional character broke into Lady Isabella Fiori’s mansion, took her jewellery and used them to crown some