by Roland Green
"Are my wits straying, or was your mistress trying to make me desire her?"
"Trying?" Raihna's laugh was harsh, both frightened and frightening. "I judged she was succeeding admirably. That's as well. The gods only know what she might have done, if she had thought she was undesirable."
"If she ever thinks that, I hope some man will have a chance to prove how wrong she is!"
"Not you?" Raihna asked, with a twisted grin.
"I think I was safer as a thief in the Tower of the Elephant than I'd be in Illyana's bed. Less pleasure there, but less peril."
Raihna stood close against him, and ran one hand lightly down his back. "But she did make you want a woman?"
Conan did not need the message carved in stone. He returned the embrace.
"Yes. I hope it also made you want a man!"
Raihna's happy cries echoed from the walls of the valley. Nonetheless, Conan could not shake off the memory of Illyana's eyes and voice, still less her mention of the Jewels.
Twenty
THEY REACHED THE Valley of the Demons so early in their last day's march that Conan ordered them back.
"We want a place beyond the reach of Eremius's scouts, to lie up for the day. Everybody should try to sleep."
"Indeed. It may be our last," Massouf said. He sounded rather as if he welcomed the prospect.
Conan's urge to shake some wits into the man rose again. He forced it down. Massouf might want to die, but he had proved himself hardy and careful, not to mention a good hand with the bow and the spear. If he died, he would likely enough take some of the enemy with him.
Bora found them a refuge that Conan himself could not have bettered. It had a spring of clear water, shelter from the sun, and concealment from the enemy. It even offered a safe way of flight, if needed.
"Bora, if you ever join the army, I'll wager you're a captain before you can turn around," Conan said.
"You are not the first to say so, and I thank you all," Bora said soberly. "But I cannot think of that until I know my father is pardoned and safe. Even then, I will be needed for the rebuilding of Crimson Springs."
Conan found himself exchanging looks with the two women. Bora's optimism was easier to hear than Massouf's grim despair. It altered not a whit their slim chances of both winning and surviving to enjoy their victory.
The night mists swirled up from the valley in their natural silver-gray. No magic or at least no Jewel-spells were at work. Conan crawled to the crest and looked at the scree-strewn slope plunging away into the mist.
"If this is the best way down," he whispered, "Erlik spare me seeing the worst!"
"I am not a god, to arrange these mountains to make our task easier," Bora said. "I can only tell you how they are arranged."
"Without any thought for us, that's certain," Raihna said.
The banter kept their spirits up, but it took time. Conan signed for silence, then one by one led the party to the crest.
"Can you climb down that?" he whispered to each one. "Can you climb up it again, with the Transformed at your heels?"
He did not ask Bora, who could have taught climbing to goats. The others all nodded, save Massouf, who shrugged.
"If you can't climb, we may not be able to carry you," Conan said, in a final effort to wean Massouf from his dark intent.
"If I am not climbing, I can make better practice with spear and bow," Massouf replied. His eyes dared Conan to press him further.
"Likely enough there will be places we can defend lower down," Bora said. "If the sentries are alert, they will give the alarm before we reach the heart of Eremius's domain."
"Pray that it is not too soon," Illyana said. "The necessary spells must be cast with the two Jewels as close as we can contrive."
"You've persuaded us of that," Conan said. "Otherwise why would we be sticking our head into a wasp's nest to count the wasps?"
What they were doing was in fact many times worse than that. It was also utterly necessary. Illyana had said a wearying number of times that she could no longer fight Eremius's magic from a distance. Before the Jewels' will grew in them, it might have been otherwise. Now, however, they had to draw Eremius close. Otherwise she might exhaust her strength and her Jewel with nothing accomplished, leaving them with no magical protection against Eremius.
"Besides, if Eremius unleashes the Transformed, he must use some of his power to command them. I will have no such burden."
"No, you've a band of thick-witted sword-wielders to save you from it!" Conan had growled. "Proof that my wits are thicker than the mist is that I'm here!"
"Thank the gods for that," Illyana said, softly but with unexpected passion.
Even Massouf managed the climb down with little trouble. Conan was sure they had made enough noise to awaken sentries in Stygia, but no one barred their path.
"Could Eremius be resting his men while he heals the Transformed?" Illyana asked.
"Perhaps," was Conan's whispered reply. "I'd wager he's resting them by patrolling a smaller area. Sooner or later, we'll find somebody ready to welcome visitors."
They moved on in silence. No more words were needed, and the mist seemed to eerily distort speech. It was also thick enough to make their bows and Bora's sling tar less useful.
Conan no longer despised the bow as a coward's weapon, but it was still not his favorite. He would gladly have given up his sword, however, in return for not having to trust to Illyana's spells. If he could have been altogether certain they would be hers alone, it would have been different. With the Jewels friends or foes in their own right—
"Hssst!" came from Bora, in the lead. "Somebody ahead."
Before Conan could reply, he heard the whirr of the sling winding up, then a hiss, a thump, and a faint clatter.
"That's one—" Bora began.
"Hoyaaaa! Guard! Turn out the guard!" came a scream from the left. Whoever was screaming was frightened nearly witless, but giving the alarm like a soldier.
Conan cursed. It was all very well to speak of drawing the enemy after you, but when you could not see each other in this cursed mist—
Half a dozen human fighters stormed out of the mist, spears and swords raised. Conan and Raihna met them head-on, to keep them from Illyana. In the flurry of steel that followed, Conan had no eyes for anyone save those in sword's reach of him. Two men went down before his blade, then suddenly the mist lay empty before him. Silence returned, save for the diminishing hammer of panic-stricken feet.
"I had one," Raihna said. "Bora picked off another with that sling of his. Will you teach me to use it?"
"The gods willing. How is Massouf?"
The young man raised a bloody spear. He looked as if he did not know whether to sing in triumph or spew in horror. At least first-kill fright was better than black despair!
"Let's be on our way back," Conan said.
"The Transformed are not yet unleashed," Illyana said. She had one hand pressing the other arm where the Jewel-ring sat. It let her make some use of the Jewel without revealing herself with its emerald light.
"They will be, when somebody finds these bodies," Conan said. "Come along. Best we don't let ourselves be surrounded."
"That's putting it delicately," Raihna began.
Then the whole world seemed to turn an eye-searing green, of no hue Conan had ever seen or imagined. A moment later the mist vanished, as if a giant mouth had sucked it out of the valley. The light turned the familiar emerald of the Jewels.
As the vanishing mist revealed the valley around Conan's party, it also revealed at least fifty of the Transformed swarming down the north side.
"Eremius comes!" Illyana screamed.
"Set to devour Eremius!" growled Conan, unsling-ing his bow. "Stop talking and start shooting, woman. We've a chance to improve the odds!"
Raihna was already unleashing arrows. The range was long even for her stout Bossonian bow, but the target was hard to miss. Every arrow from her bow, then from Conan's, then from Illyana's and Massouf's
, struck Transformed flesh.
Struck, but did not pierce. At this range the scales of the Transformed were as good as the finest mail. Conan saw human fighters running downhill on the flanks of the Transformed and shifted to them. He killed four of them before their courage broke. By then he was nearby out of arrows.
The Transformed reached level ground. With arrows jutting from them, the Transformed looked even more monstrous than before. Jewel-light seared Conan's eyes again, as Illyana slung her bow, flung back her sleeves, and began wielding her magic.
When he could see clearly again, the Transformed had ceased their advance. Instead they huddled together, glaring in all directions. Some snatched arrows from their hides, others bit their taloned hands and whimpered like starving dogs.
"I have turned the fear back against them," Illyana cried exultantly. "I did not think to do this!"
"Well, start thinking what comes next!" Conan shouted. "Make them run around in circles until they're all too dizzy to fight, for all I care!"
Raihna sent her last two arrows into the motionless target. One struck a Transformed in the eye. His dying scream made Conan's flesh leap on his bones. Not all the fear was returning to the Transformed!
The light diminished, until it flowed from a single source, glimmering like a giant bonfire behind the Transformed. It seemed that the Master of the Jewel had indeed come forth.
"Back, and they will follow!" Illyana cried.
Conan turned to see her fleeing with a doe's grace and swiftness, breasting the slope with ease. Was the Jewel giving her strength and speed, and if so at what price?
Meanwhile, the Transformed were rallying and starting across the valley, in no particular order but at a good pace. Even the wounded ones moved as fast as a man could walk.
Their carrion reek marched ahead of them. So did a hideous cacophony of hisses, growls, whimpers, clawed feet on stones, even belches and gulpings.
Conan had seen more than his share of unclean magic in his life, but the Transformed were a whole new order of nightmare. Once more he knew he might not easily find it in him to give Eremius a clean death.
Then he had to think about his own death and how to prevent it. His comrades were all on their way up the slope. Two of the Transformed hurled themselves forward. Perhaps they hoped to overtake Bora or Massouf.
Instead, they faced Conan. He hewed at a hand, slashing deep into the webbing between the fingers. Whirling, he slashed the second Transformed across the face, taking its sight. A thrust between the ribs with his dagger reached vital organs.
Conan had to leap backward to avoid the grip of the first Transformed. With sword and dagger at the guard, he watched it stop and stand over its fallen comrade. Then it knelt beside the fallen, trying to stanch the blood from the belly wound and the ruined face.
So the Transformed were not lower than the beasts. Conan thought no better of Master Eremius, but he vowed to give the Transformed warriors' deaths whenever possible.
Conan retreated again. He had nearly overtaken his comrades before the Transformed started mounting the slope. Bora was casting back and forth like a dog for a trail. "I smell a cave around here somewhere."
"If you smell it, perhaps the Transformed are already at home," Conan said. "I doubt if they will welcome us to dinner."
"No. For dinner, perhaps," Massouf said. He was limping but held his spear jauntily on one shoulder.
"There it is!" Bora shouted. He pointed uphill to the right. Conan had just time to see a dark mouth, before the Transformed broke into a run.
Light from both Jewels at once seared Conan's eyes. Dimly, he saw Massouf seemingly turned to a statue of jade. Even his eyes glowed green, as though he had become a creature of the Jewel.
Had he in truth become one? Were the Jewels reaching out for others besides their wearers?
Those uneasy thoughts had barely left Conan's mind when Massouf stripped off his quiver and bow, tossing them to Conan. The Cimmerian caught mem as Massouf charged downhill toward the Transformed.
"Crom!"
The Transformed were giving way before Massouf's charge. They hissed and cringed and cried as if Massouf had been a whole army.
Massouf actually contrived to spit one of the Transformed like a chicken, before they regained their courage. A moment of clawing and trampling, and Massouf was gone.
From first to last, he had not made a sound.
Conan stormed up the slope, to where Illyana stood before the cave mouth. Raihna was already piling stones to narrow it
"Conan!" the hill boy cried. "There will be room inside for me to use my sling. If you will stand to either—"
"Did you kill Massouf?" Conan roared.
Illyana had been drawing off her boots. Now she flinched and stood barefoot, a boot in either hand.
"Did you? Answer me, woman!"
"Conan, I did not command him. I heard no command from the Jewels. I can only say that under the spell cast, the Transformed might be more easily frightened."
"Massouf couldn't have known that!"
"I may have told him without remembering it. Or—"
"Or the Jewels might have told him," Conan finished for her.
Illyana shook her head, as if beset by stinging insects. Suddenly she flung herself into Conan's arms.
"I beg you, Conan. Believe me, that I meant Massouf no harm. He came here seeking death and found it."
That at least was the truth, and for the moment Conan was ready to be content with it. Not that he had any choice, either. The Transformed were halfway up the hill, some still gnawing fragments of Massouf.
Illyana contemplated them, all her unease of a moment before gone. "Good. We have them closing swiftly. If we can hold until they have closed just a trifle more—"
"And how long will that be?" Conan asked.
Illyana stripped off her tunic and waved it like a flag. "Look, Eremius. Look and dream, but know that you will die before you touch!"
"Haw long?"
"I do not know," Illyana said. Then she ran toward the cave, with Conan at her heels.
Twenty-one
CONAN LOWERED A rock the size of a newborn calf onto the pile in the cave mouth. Then he stepped back, dusting off his hands and looking into the cave for any more loose stones.
He had all the light he could wish, pouring from Illyana's Jewel. Unclothed save for the Jewel, the sorceress stood forty paces inside the cave, chanting in an unknown tongue. The world beyond her duel with Eremius might have ceased to exist.
Conan saw no more stones worth adding to their barricade. He was about to tell Raihna when a stone went wheeet between them. Conan whirled, glaring at Bora.
The boy was reloading his sling and grinning. "As I said, there is room to send a stone between you."
"Warn us the next time, you young—"
"Captain, I might not be able to warn you. What if you and Raihna are close-grappled with the Transformed? Best you trust me to hit them and not you."
Conan couldn't help laughing. The boy was right, of course. And anyone who could grin like that, in what might indeed be his last minutes of life—
"Bora, perhaps you shouldn't join the army after all. In five years, you would be giving me orders!"
"They would never make a hillman—" Bora began soberly. Raihna's shout interrupted him.
"Here they come!"
Conan sprang to his post by the barricade. Eremius had taken longer than they expected to form up his creations for battle. What Illyana had done with that time, Conan did not know. He and Raihna had narrowed the cave mouth so that only two or three of the Transformed could attack at once. He had also placed a few throwing stones ready to hand.
The Transformed stormed up the hill in two ragged lines. At Raihna's signal Bora sent a stone hurtling low through the cave mouth. It struck a Transformed in the chest, without so much as knocking him down. Conan flung a fist-sized stone. He aimed for eyes and struck a forehead. Again the Transformed did not even fall. It howled in
rage and pain and seemed to climb faster.
"I think we have the pick of the Transformed coming up," Conan said.
"The pick of Bossonia and Cimmeria stand here," Raihna replied. She tossed her head. The Jewel-light shimmered on her hair as it flowed about her shoulders. Then she tossed her sword and caught it by the hilt.
A Transformed flung a stone. It drove chips and dust from the barricade into Conan's face. As he blinked, Bora replied. The slingstone struck a Transformed in the knee, hard enough to leave it limping.
Then the spearhead of the attack reached the defenders. Conan and Raihna had practiced together since the return to Fort Zheman. Now Conan's training in the rude school of surviving and Raihna's training from Master Barathres merged as easily as their bodies did in love.
Conan feinted high to draw the attention of a Transformed upward. His sword crashed into a scaly arm. That upraised arm left an armpit exposed. Raihna's dagger leaped upward into the armpit, finding the expected weak spot where the scales were thin to allow free movement.
The Transformed reeled back, holding a crippled arm. A human would have been dead, and this one at least was out of the fight.
Another Transformed gripped the top of the barricade. Conan hewed at the nearest hand, three, four, five cuts, as if chopping firewood with his sword. At the fifth stroke, the hand flopped limply. At the sixth it fell off entirely, landing on Conan's side of the barricade. Reeking blood sprayed into Conan's face, neither looking nor smelling anything like human gore. The Transformed's howls echoed around the cave.
Conan's fight against the climbing Transformed left Raihna to hold the opening single-handed. Two Transformed who came at her jammed in the opening, letting her slash and thrust until they reeled away bloody and daunted. The next enemy was swifter.
Conan turned to find Raihna in the clutches of a Transformed, being drawn toward it. She had blinded it and thrust deep into its chest, without reaching its unnatural life. The talons were already gashing her flesh. The fangs would reach her throat before the creature died.
They had not done so, when Conan's sword came down across the bridge of the creature's nose. Under the scale armor, the bones there were still thin enough to be vulnerable. Shattering under the Cimmerian's sword, they drove splinters into the Transformed's brain. It convulsed, arching backward. Raihria leaped free, kicking out. The Transformed crashed into an approaching comrade. Both went down.
