WITCH of the Demon Seas A Novel of Alien Sorcery by A. A. CRAIG Guide a black galleon to the lost, fear-haunted Citadel of the Xanthi wizards--into the very jaws of Doom? Corun, condemned pirate of Conahur, laughed. Aye, he'd do it, and gladly. It would mean a reprieve from the headsman's axe--a few more precious moments of life and love ... though his lover be a witch! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories January 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Khroman the Conqueror, Thalassocrat of Achaera, stood watching his guards bring up the captured pirates. He was a huge man, his hair and square-cut beard jet-black despite middle age, the strength of his warlike youth still in his powerful limbs. He wore a plain white tunic and purple-trimmed cloak; the only sign of kingship was the golden chaplet on his head and the signet ring on one finger. In the gaudy crowd of slender, chattering courtiers, he stood out with a brutal contrast. "So they've finally captured him," he rumbled. "So we're finally rid of Corun and his sea-going bandits. Maybe now the land will have some peace." "What will you do with them, sire?" asked Shorzon the Sorcerer. Khroman shrugged heavy shoulders. "I don't know. Pirates are usually fed to the erinyes at the games, I suppose, but Corun deserves something special." "Public torture, perhaps, sire? It could be stretched over many days." "No, you fool! Corun was the bravest enemy Achaera ever had. He deserves an honorable death and a decent tomb. Not that it matters much, but--" Shorzon exchanged a glance with Chryseis, then looked back toward the approaching procession. * * * * * The city Tauros was built around a semicircular bay, a huge expanse of clear green water on whose surface floated ships from halfway round the world--the greatest harbor for none knew how many empty sea-leagues, capital of Achaera which, with its trade and its empire of entire archipelagoes, was the mightiest of the thalassocracies. Beyond the fortified sea walls at the end of the bay, the ocean swelled mightily to the clouded horizon, gray and green and amber. Within, the hulls and sails of ships were a bright confusion up to the stone docks. The land ran upward from the bay, and Tauros was built on the hills, a tangle of streets between houses that ranged from the clay huts of the poor to the marble villas of the great. Beyond the city walls on the landward side, the island of Achaera lifted still more steeply, a gaunt rocky country with a few scattered farms and herds. Her power came all from the sea.