Conan The Valiant

by Roland Green

  "I once heard Yakoub say that 'if is a word never to be used in war," Bora said.

  "In that much, Yakoub is wise," the priest said. "If this is not war, the gods only know what it is." He lengthened his stride, until for all his youth and strength Bora had to strain to keep pace with him.

  The Spell of the Eyes of Hahr took all of Eremius's strength and attention. Unguided, the Transformed milled about short of the village, squabbling over the last scraps of the horse and its rider.

  Before those squabbles could turn bloody, their Master took command again. The human guards had already pressed on beyond the village, to cut off the retreat of any not bound by the Eyes. Eremius sent a firm message to them, not to enter the village.

  If you do, you are at the mercy of the Transformed, and you know how much of that they possess!

  As he finished that message, he heard one of the Transformed howl in rage or pain. Into his mind flooded all it felt—the pain of being struck in the eye by a flung stone. No, by a volley of them, as though a score of men were throwing.

  Eremius felt outrage equal to his creation's. There could not be so many people in the village so free of the Eyes that they could throw a straw, let alone a stone! He opened his mind wider, likewise the senses of his body.

  His hearing gave him the first clue, and the only one he needed. The streets of Crimson Springs were thronged with people, hurrying away from the Trans-formed or standing and sneezing violently.

  Who among these wretched villagers could know the arcane secret of the Powder of Zayan? Who? He almost screamed the word aloud, at the unsympathetic sky.

  It mattered little. Clearly the intruder to the valley some days ago had done more than escape. He had warned the maker of the Powder. Crimson Springs was defended in a way Eremius had not expected.

  That also would matter little. If they thought they could fight the Master of even one Jewel, it would be their last mistake.

  Eremius cast his mind among the villagers, counting those bound by the Eyes of Hahr. Enough of those, and he could still sow chaos by sending yet another spell into their minds.

  Unnoticed by an Eremius intent on his counting, the strands of Illyana's hair binding the Jewel to his staff began to writhe, then to glow with a ruby light.

  Twelve

  EMERALD LIGHT CREPT around the edge of the door to Illyana's chamber. The light held no heat, but Conan could not rid himself of the notion that he stood with his back to a blazing furnace.

  That was still better by far than seeing such magic with his own eyes. He would have refused to do so, even had not Illyana and Raihna both warned him that it was no sight for eyes unaccustomed to sorcery.

  "If this seems to be doubting your courage—" Illyana had begun.

  "You're not doubting my courage. You're doubting that I'm the biggest fool in Turan. Go do your best with the magic. I'll do my best to keep anyone from ramming a sword through your—" Conan sketched a gesture that made Illyana blush.

  The door rattled. Conan took a cautious step away from it. As he did, the innkeeper stamped up the stairs, puffing and red-faced.

  "Has your lady witch set my house afire, besides everything else?" the man muttered. He looked as if no answer would surprise him.

  "Not that I know," Raihna said. She had clothed herself in trousers and tunic. The landlord's eyes said this was no improvement over her previous attire.

  "Has the cursed spell worked?"

  "I don't know that either."

  "Mitra and Erlik deliver us! Do you know anything about what's going on in there?"

  "As much as you do."

  "Or as little," Conan added.

  The innkeeper looked ready to kill everyone in sight, including himself. His hands clutched at the remnants of his hair. His bald spot and the rest of his face shone with sweat.

  "Well, I know that there's a mob on the way, to burn this inn if your lady witch doesn't!"

  Conan and Raihna cursed together. Even Dessa added a few rough jests about some people's manhood.

  "If your servants had the courage of lice, no one would have known of our work until it was done," Raihna snapped. "As it is, I'll be cursed if I let my mistress work in vain."

  Her hand darted toward her sword but Conan halted her draw. "No reason to harm this man. He did warn us."

  "That won't save us if the mob gathers before we can flee," the swordswoman replied.

  "No, but our friend can do more." Conan turned to the innkeeper. "I much doubt this inn has no hiding places or secret ways out. Keep the mob out until Illyana's done, let us use the secret way, and we'll make it seem you were our prisoner. If they think you're afraid of us—"

  "They'll know the gods' own truth!" the man blurted. "I don't know why I'm doing this. Really I don't."

  "Either you're too brave to betray guests or too cowardly to want your throat slit," Raihna said. "I care little. Now go downstairs and do your work while we finish ours!"

  "Yes, and have some food sent up," Conan added. "Cold meat, bread, cheese—travelers' fare."

  "I'll do my best," the innkeeper said, with a shrug. "If the cooks haven't all run off as well!"

  From inside the house a child screamed like a mad thing. Bora tried the door and found it locked.

  "To me! Zakar, try your axe!"

  The village woodcutter was one of the first men Bora had freed with the Powder. His head was clear and his body at his command. He came running, swinging an axe as if he would cleave not just the door but the house.

  A few strokes shattered the door. Bora and Zakar dashed inside. Bora snatched up the abandoned child, to find it a girl unhurt but witless with fear. As he ran to the door, he saw a basket of bread and smoked goat meat, also left behind in the family's panic.

  "Zakar, take that as well. The gods only know where we'll next eat."

  "Not in this world, likely enough," Zakar replied, shouldering his axe. "But I won't go alone, because my friend here will eat first. I don't care if we face every demon in creation. There's no demon can do much harm with his skull split!"

  Bora could only hope Zakar was right. Something was holding back the demons from the village, giving its people a reprieve. Most of them were now free of the spells and fleeing west. Could they flee far enough before the demons were unleashed again? Bora knew how fast the demons could cover ground.

  Outside, Bora looked for someone to care for the child. It was a long search, for the village was now all but deserted. Those who remained were more likely to be held by fear than by magic, and against that the Powder had no strength.

  At last two girls a trifle younger than Caraya appeared, leading an aged man between them. "Here," Bora said without ceremony. The little girl began squalling again as she was handed over, but Bora took no heed.

  "Your own home's not far now," Zakar said. "We could be there and back before anyone missed you."

  "Ivram said he freed them at once." Everything in Bora cried out to be Rhafi's son and not the village's leader, just for a little while. "What he did will have to be enough."

  "The gods keep me from—what in Mitra's name is that?"

  A cloud of dust danced at the far end of the street, where the village gave way to orchards. Out of the dust loped a stooped figure, a monstrous caricature of a man. In the green light its thick limbs shimmered.

  One of those arms snatched at a branch. Thick as Bora's arm, the branch snapped like a twig. A second branch armed the demon's other hand. Brandishing both clubs, it broke into a shambling run.

  Zakar met it halfway down the street. One club flew into the air, chopped in half by the axe. The second swung. It crashed into Zakar's ribs as his axe came down on the demon's head.

  Came down, and bounced off. Not without effect— the demon staggered, and Bora saw blood run. But without slaying—or saving Zakar. One clawed hand drove into his belly and ripped upward. He barely had time to scream before the demon's fangs were in his throat.

  The demon threw the dying woodcut
ter down and looked about for fresh prey. For a moment Bora would gladly have sold his whole family for a spell of invisibility.

  Then heavy footsteps thudded behind him. A robed arm flung a small clay vial down the street. It landed at the demon's feet, shattering and spraying the Powder of Zayan.

  "I don't know if it will work against whatever spells bind those—creations," Ivram muttered. "A good pair of heels might work better."

  "But—there must be—"

  "Only the gods can help them now," Ivram said. "Your kin are safe. The village needs you as a live leader, not a dead memory!"

  "As you wish," Bora said. He recognized in his own voice the same note he'd heard in the priest's. They both spoke lest chattering teeth otherwise betray their fear. The demon was kneeling, snuffling at the Powder on the ground, as they turned and ran for the other end of the village.

  With a sharp ping, the strands of Illyana's hair parted. The Jewel arched down from the head of Eremius's staff.

  Never in all his years of sorcery had Eremius cast a spell so quickly. The Invisible Hand gripped the Jewel halfway to the ground and lowered it the rest of the way as lightly as a feather.

  To slow his heart and breathing, Eremius told himself that the Jewel would not have shattered in a fall from such a height. The message accomplished nothing. Heart and lungs knew that it was a lie. He had contrived a narrow escape from disaster as well as defeat.

  He reached for the Jewel, to rebind it with strands of his own hair. His fingers seemed to strike invisible glass a hand's breadth on all sides of the Jewel. He prodded the barrier with his staff, and felt the same sensation.

  As he considered his next counter to Illyana's spells, his staff suddenly flew from his hand. Before he could regain his grip, it plummeted down to the Jewel, into it, and into the earth beneath the Jewel!

  Eremius was still gaping when the ground erupted with a crash and roar of shattering stone. Dust and rock chips stung as his staff flew into the air, part of a geyser of stone and earth. Eremius lunged for the staff, plucked it out of the air, and hastily backed away from the Jewel.

  The Jewel itself now seemed to dissolve into a pool of emerald light, flowing like some thick liquid in an invisible bowl. A disagreeably high-pitched whine rose from it. Eremius cringed, as he would have at an insect trapped in his ear.

  Then he sighed, stepped back, and began to test the fitness of his staff for use. As it passed one test after another, his confidence began to return.

  With the staff alone, he could still command the Transformed well enough to doom Crimson Springs. He could not command the Jewel, for Illyana had bound his Jewel and hers into a spell of mutual opposition. She also could not command her Jewel, and had no more power against him than he against her.

  Did that matter to her? Had she sought to destroy his

  Jewel, even at the risk of her own? She had always seemed as ambitious as himself to possess both the Jewels. Was she now ready to abandon supreme power for a modest prize? Being known as she who destroyed the Jewels of Kurag would certainly bring little, compared to what might come from possessing them both!

  Enough. The Transformed awaited his commands. Eremius composed himself and began forming a picture of the village in his mind.

  The door of Illyana's chamber quivered, then fell off its hinges. Conan and Raihna leaped back. Raihna nearly knocked the innkeeper back down the stairs he had just mounted.

  The innkeeper looked at the ruined door, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, then handed Raihna a basket.

  "Mostly bread and cheese. The cooks not only fled, they took most of the larder with them!" The innkeeper sat down and buried his head in his hands.

  Illyana staggered out of her chamber and nearly fell into Conan's arms. After a moment she took a deep breath, then knelt and tore the cover off the basket. Without bothering to don any garments, she began wolfing bread and cheese.

  Conan waited until she stopped for breath, then handed her a cup of wine. It vanished in two gulps, followed by the rest of the basket's contents. At last Illyana sat up, looked ruefully at the empty basket, then stood.

  "I'm sorry, but—Cimmerian, what are you laughing at?"

  "You're the first sorceress I've ever seen who'd admit to being hungry!"

  A brief smile was the only reply. Raihna went to gather Illyana's clothes, while Conan handed the empty basket to the innkeeper.

  "Again? I suppose I can expect to be paid by the time King Yildiz's grandson ascends the—"

  A furious pounding on the street door broke into the man's speech. The innkeeper rose and handed the basket to Conan.

  "Time to go down and play my part. Ah well, if I can no longer keep an inn, there are always temple pageants needing actors! Best make haste, though. I heard some outside say that Lord Achmai had reached town. If he takes a hand, I will not make an enemy—"

  "Achmai?"

  "So they said. He's a great name in these parts. I've heard—"

  "I've heard all the tales told of him, and more besides," Conan snapped. "Now—is there a place on the roof where I can overlook the town without being seen?"

  "Yes. But what—?"

  "Show me."

  "If this is against Lord—"

  "It's for all of us! Now choose. Show me to the roof, keep the rest of your promises, and take your chances with Achmai. Or be stubborn, fear him more than me, and die here."

  The innkeeper looked at Conan's drawn sword, measured his chances of escaping it, and judged wisely.

  "Down the hall and to the right. I'll show you."

  From downstairs, the pounding redoubled, and curses joined it.

  Bora's own rasping breath drowned Out the struggles of those around him to climb the hill. He was younger and stronger than most, but tonight he had run five times as far as any.

  Any, that is, except the demons, and they knew not human limits. Most of them, at least—the demons could be slain, hurt, or made cautious. Otherwise, they seemed as insensate as an avalanche or an earthquake.

  Stopping to look downhill, Bora saw most of the laggards had somebody helping them. Thank Mitra, the Powder had done its work well. The people of Crimson Springs might be homeless, but they were still a village, not a mob ready to fight each other for the smallest chance of safety.

  Bora waited until most of the laggards had passed him. Then he walked downhill, to meet the half-dozen strongest youths and men who'd formed themselves into a rearguard. To his surprise, Ivram was among them.

  "I thought you were long gone," Bora nearly shouted.

  "You thought an old fat man like me could outstrip a youth with winged feet like yours? Truly, Bora, your wits are deserting you."

  "He came back down to join us," Kemal said. "We spoke as you doubtless will, but he would not listen."

  "No, so best save your breath for climbing the hill again," Ivram added. "I confess I had hopes of taking one more look at a demon. The more we know—"

  "He hoped to make one senseless with the last of the Powder, so we could carry it to Fort Zheman!" one of the men shouted. "Ivram, have you gone mad?"

  "I don't think so. But—would anyone but a madman have imagined those demons, before—?"

  "For the Master!"

  Four robed shapes plunged down the hill toward

  Bora and the rearguard. Their human speech and their robes told him that they were not demons. The swords gleaming in their hands showed them to be dangerous foes.

  Bora's hands danced. A stone leaped into the pouch of his sling. The sling whined into invisibility, then hurled the stone at the men. Darkness and haste baffled Bora's eye and arm. He heard the stone clatter futilely on the hillside.

  Then the four swordsmen were among the rearguard, slashing furiously at men who had only one sword for all seven of them. The man who had complained of Ivram's plans was the first to fall, face and neck gaping and bloody. As he fell, he rolled under the feet of a second swordsman. His arms twined around the man's legs and his teeth sank in
to a booted calf. The swordsman howled, a howl cut off abruptly as a club in Kemal's hands smashed his skull.

  A second swordsman died before the others realized they faced no easy prey. Tough hillmen with nothing to lose were not a contemptible foe at two to one odds.

  The third swordsman's flight took him twenty paces before three villagers caught him. All four went down in a writhing, cursing tangle that ended in a choking scream. Two of the villagers rose, supporting the third. The swordsman did not rise.

  The fourth swordsman must have thought himself safe, in the last moment before a stone from Bora's sling crushed his skull.

  Bora was counting the stones in his pouch when a faint voice spoke his name.

  "Bora. Take the rest of the Powder."

  "Ivram!"

  The priest lay on his back, blood trickling from his mouth. Bora held his gaze on the man's pale face, away from the gaping wounds in belly and chest.

  "Take it. Please. And—rebuild my shrine, when you come back. You will, I know it."

  Bora gripped the priest's hand, wishing that he could at least do something for the pain. Perhaps it had not yet struck, but with such a wound, when it did—

  As if Bora's thoughts had been written in the air, Ivram smiled. "Do not worry, Bora. We servants of Mitra have our ways."

  He began to chant verses in a strange guttural tongue. Halfway through the fourth verse he bit his lip, coughed, and closed his eyes. He contrived a few words of a fifth verse, then his breathing ceased.

  Bora knelt beside the priest until Kemal put a hand on his shoulder.

  "Come along, Bora. We can't stay here until the demons get hungry."

  "I won't leave him here for them!"

  "Who said we would do anything of the kind?"

  Bora saw now that the other unwounded men had taken off their cloaks. Kemal was taking off his when Bora stopped him. "Wait. I heard a horse on the hill. Did you save Windmaster?"

  "I freed him. The rest he did himself. I always said that horse had more wits than most men!"

  Not to mention more strength and speed than any other mount in the village. "Kemal, we need someone to ride to Fort Zheman. Can it be you?"