Conan the Liberator

by Lyon Sprague de Camp

  Amazement burned in the inscrutable eyes of Ascalante, for the news astounded him. All knew that Procas was the ablest commander Aquilonia could put in the field, now that Conan had left the king’s service. K anyone could subdue the restive barons in the North and crush the rebellion in the South, it was Amulius Procas. To remove him from conmiand at such a time, before either menace had been obHterated, was madness.

  “I can divine the feelings that yom: loyalty reius in," purred Thulandra with a narrow smile. “The fact is that our General Procas has led a rash and ill-planned raid across the Alimane, thus risking open war v^dth Milo, King of Argos."

  “Forgive me, lord, but I find this almost impossible of credence," said Ascalante. “To iuvade a friendly neighboring state without our monarch’s express command is tantamount to treason!"

  “It is precisely that,” smiled the sorcerer. “And

  that the king imprudently did order a punitive expedition ipto Argos is a datum that, I fear, history will fail to record, since every copy of the document has strangely disappeared. You take my meaning, sir?"

  Amusement gleamed in Ascalante’s eyes. "I believe I do, my lord. But pray continue." The Count of Thune appreciated a subtle act of villainy much as a connoisseur of wines might savor a rare vintage.

  "The general might have avoided censure,” Thulandra Thuu added with mock regret, “if he had stamped out the last sparks of the rebellion; for the rumors you have heard about the self-styled Army of Liberation, now gathered north of the Rabirians, are true. An adventurer who called himself Conan the Cimmerian— ‘'

  "That giant of a man who last year led the Lion Regiment of Aquilonia to victory over the marauding Picts?" cried Ascalante.

  "The same," repHed Thulandra. "But time presses and aflFords us little leisure for profitless gossip, however diverting. Had General Procas shattered the rebel remnant and then retreated across the Alimane before King Milo learned of the incursion, all had been weU. But Procas bungled the mission, stirred up the wrath of Argos, and fled from the field of battle without spilling a single drop of rebel blood. He so botched the fording of the Alimane that rebel archers targeted scores of our finest soldiers. And his errors were compounded in Messantia by the blunders of a stupid spy of Vibius Latro-—a Zingaran named Quesado—^whom His Majesty had impulsively urged upon the diplomatic corps.

  "The upshot was that, during the retreat, the general himself was wounded—so severely that, I fear, he is no longer able to command. Fortunately for us, the rebel leader Conan also perished. So to return to you, my dear Count— “

  THE CHAMBER OF SPHINXES

  “To mer^ munnured Ascalante, a£Fecting an air ot infinite modesty.

  "To yourself,” said the sorcerer witii a sliver of a smile. "Your service on the Ophirean and Nemedian frontiers, I find, qualifies you to take command of the Border Legion, which has fallen from the failing hands of General Procas—or shortly will, once he receives this document.”

  The sorcerer paused and withdrew from the deep sleeve of his garment a scroll, richly embellished vntii azure and topaz ribbons, upon which the royal seal blazed like a clot of freshly shed blood.

  'T begin to understand,” said Ascalante. And eagerness welled up within his heart, like a bubbling spring beneath a stone.

  'Tou have long awaited the call of opportunity to ascend to high oflBce in the realm and earn the preferment of your king. That opportunity approaches. But,” and here Thulandra raised a warning finger and continued in a voice sibilant with emphasis: "You must fully imderstand me, Count Ascalante.”

  -My lord?”

  “I am aware that the Herald’s Court has not as yet approved your assumption of the Countship of Thune, and that certain—ah—irregularities surround the demise of your elder brother, the late lamented coimt, who perished in a limiting accident.’”

  Flushing, Ascalante opened his lips to make an impassioned protest; but the sorcerer silenced him with lifted hand and a bland, imcaring smile.

  'These are but minor disagreements, which shall be swept away in the acclaim that greets the laureled victor, I wiU see you well rewarded for your service to the crown,” Thulandra Thuu continued craftily. "But you must obey my orders to the letter, or the County of Thune will never fall to you.

  "I am aware that you have Httle actual experience

  in border warfare, or in commanding more men than constitute a regiment. The actual command of the Border Legion, then, I shall place in the hands of a certain senior oflScer, Gromel the Bossonian by name, who has been well blooded in our recent warfare against the Picts. I have long had Gromel under observation, and I plan to bind him to me with hopes of recompense. Therefore, while he shall deploy and order the actual battle lines, you will retain the nominal command. Is this quite understood?”

  'lt is, my lord,” hissed Ascalante between clenched teeth.

  “Good. Now that Conan lies dead, you and Gromel between you can easily immobilize the remaining rebels south of the Alimane until the fractious horde disintegrates from hunger and lack of accom-pHshment.”

  Thulandra Thuu proffered the scroll, saying: '^ere are your orders. An escort awaits you at the South Gate. Ride for the ford of Nogara on the Alimane with all dispatch.'’

  “And what, lord, if Amulius Procas refuses to accept my bona fides?” inquired Ascalante, who liked to make certain that he held all the winning pieces in any game of fortune.

  "A tragic accident may befall our gallant general before your arrival to assume command,” smiled Thulandra Thuu. "An accident which—^when you oflScially report it—^will be termed a suicide due to despondency over cowardice in the face of insubstantial foemen and repentance for provoking hostilities against a neighboring realm. When this occurs, be sure to send the body home to Tarantia. Alive, Procas would not have been altogether welcome here; dead, he will play the leading role in a magnificent fmieral.

  “Now be on your way, good sir, and forget not to obey orders to be given to you from time to time by

  THE CHAMBER OF SPHINXES

  one Aldna, a trusted green-eyed woman in my service.”

  Grasping the embossed scroll, Ascalante bowed deeply and departed from the Chamber of Sphinxes.

  Watching his departure, Thulandra Thuu smiled a slow and mirthless smile. The instruments that served his will were all weak and flawed, he knew; but a flawed instrument is all the more dispensable should it need to be discarded after use.

  ^EATH IN THE DARK

  For many days, the presence of the army of Amuhus Procas on the far side of the Alimane deterred the rebels from attempts to ford the river. Although Procas himself, injured and unable to walk or ride, remained secluded in his tent, his seasoned oflBcers kept a vigilant eye alert for any movement of the rebel forces. Conan’s men marched daily up and down the river’s southern shore, feinting at crossing one or another ford; but Procas’s scouts remarked every move, and naught occurred to give pleasure to the Cimmerian or his cohorts.

  “Stalematel” groaned the restive Prospero. “I feared that it might come to thisl”

  “What we require for our success,” suggested Dexitheus, “is a diversion of some kind, but on a colossal scale—some sudden intervention of the gods, perchance.”

  “In a lifetime devoted to the arts of war,” responded the Count of Poitain, “I have learned to rely less upon the deities than on my own poor wits. Excuse me. Your Reverence, but methinks if any diversion were to deter AmuHus Procas, it would be one of our own making. And I believe I know what that diversion well may be; for our spies report that the pot of my native coimty is coming to the boil.”

  DEATH IN THE DARK

  That night, with the approval of the general, a man clad all in black swam the deeper reaches of the Alimane, crept dripping into the underbrush, and vanished. The night was heavily overcast, dark and moonless; and a clammy drizzle herded the royalist sentries beneath the cover of the trees and shut out the small night soimds that might otherwise have alarmed them.r />
  The swimmer in dark raiment was a Poitanian, a yeoman of Count Trocero's desmesne. He bore against his breast an envelope of oiled silk, carefully folded, in which lay a letter penned in the count’s own hand and addressed to the leaders of the simmering Poitanian revolt

  Amulius Procas did not sleep that night. The rain, sluiced against the fabric of his tent, depressed his fallen spirits and inflamed his aching woimd. Growling barbarous oaths recalled from years spent as a junior officer along the frontiers of Aquilonia, the old general sipped hot spiced wine to ward oflE chills and fever and distracted his melancholy with a board game played against one of his aides, a sergeant His wounded leg, swathed in bandages, rested uneasily on a rude footstool.

  The grumble of thimder caused the army veteran to lift his grizzled head.

  “‘TIS only thunder, sir,” said the sergeant "The night’s a stormy one.”

  “A perfect night for Conan’s rebels to attempt a crossing of the fords,” said Procas. “I trust the sentries have received instruction to walk their rounds, instead of lurking under trees?”

  "They have been so instructed, sir,” the sergeant assured him. "Your play, sir; observe that my queen has you in check.”

  “So she has; so she has,” muttered Procas, frowning at the board. Uneasily he wondered why a cold

  CONAN THE LIBERATOR

  Board Gome

  chill pierced his heart at hearing those harmless words, "my queen has you in check.” Then he scoflFed at these womanish night fears and downed a swallow of wine. It was not for old soldiers like AmuHus Procas to flinch from frivolous omens! But still, would that he had been in fettie personally to inspect the sentries, who inevitably grew slack in the absence of a vigilant commander.…

  The tent flap twitched aside, revealing a taU soldier.

  “What is it, man?^ asked Procas. “Do the rebels stir?”

  "Nay, General; but you have a visitor.”

  "A visitor, you say?” repeated Procas in perplexity. "Well, send him in; send him inl”

  It’s Tier,’ sir, not liim,'” said the soldier. As Procas gestured for the entry of the unknown visitor, his partner at the board game rose, saluted, and left the tent.

  Presently the soldier ushered in a girl attired in the vestments of a page. She had boldly approached the sentries, claiming to be an agent of King Numedides' ministers. None asked how she had traveled thither, being impressed by her icy air of calm

  DEATH IN THE DARK

  authority and by the strange light that bmned in her wide-set emerald eyes.

  Procas studied her dubiously. The sigil that she showed meant little to him; such baubles can be forged or stolen. Neither gave he much credence to the documents she bore. But when she claimed to carry a message from Thulandra Thuu, his curiosity was aroused. He knew and feared the lean, dark sorcerer, whose hold over Numedides he had long envied, distrusted, and tried to counteract.

  "Well,’' growled Amulius Procas at length, “say on.”

  Aleina glanced at the two sentries standing at her elbows, with hands on sword hilts. "It is for your ears only, my general,” she said gently.

  Procas thought a moment, then nodded to the sentries: 'Very well, men; wait outsidel"

  “But, sirl" said the elder of the two, “we ought not to leave you alone with this womcm. Who knows what tricks that son of evil, Conan, may be up to—”

  “ConanI” cried Aleina. “But he’s deadr No sooner had she uttered those impetuous words than she would have gladly bitten off her tongue could she have thus recalled them.

  The older sentry smiled. “Nay, lass; the barbarian has more lives than a cat. They say he suffered a wasting illness in the rebel camp for a while; but when we crossed the river, there he was behind us on his horse, shouting to his archers to make hedgehogs of us.”

  Amulius Procas rumbled: “The young woman evidently thinks that Conan perished; and I am fain to learn the reason for her view. Leave us, mefa; I am not yet such a drooling dotard that I need fear a wisp of a girL”

  When the sentries had saluted and withdrawn, Amulius Procas said to Aleina with a chuckle: “My lads seize every opportunity to stay in out of the rain.

  CONAN THE LIBERATOR

  And now repeat to me the message from Thulandra Thuu. Then we shall investigate the other matters.”

  Rain pomided on the tent, and thunder roUed as Alcina fumbled at the fastenings of the silken shirt she wore beneath her rain-soaked page’s tunic. Presently she said:

  "The message from my master, sir, is …”

  A bolt of lightning and a crash of thunder drowned her following words. At the same time, she dropped her voice to just above a whisper. Procas leaned forward, thrusting his graying head to within a hand’s breadth of her face in an effort to hear. She continued in that same sweet murmur:

  "—that the time—^has come— "

  With the speed of a striking serpent, she drove her slender dagger into Amulius Procas’s chest, aiming for the heart.

  "—^for you to diel” she finished, leaping back to escape the flailing sweep of the wounded general’s arms.

  True though her thrust had been, it encountered a check. Beneath his tunic, Procas wore a shirt of fine mesh-maiL Although the point of the dagger pierced one of the links and drove between the general’s ribs, as the blade widened, it became wedged within the link and so penetrated less than a fingers breadth. And, in her frantic struggle to wrench it free, Alcina snapped off the blade’s tip, which remained lodged in the general’s breast

  With a hoarse cry, the old soldier rose to his feet despite his injury and lunged, spreading his arms to seize the girl. Alcina backed away and, upsetting the taboret on which the candle stood, snuffed out the flame and plunged the tent into darkness deeper than the tomb.

  Amulius Procas limped about in the ebon dark, until his strong hands chanced to grasp a handful of silken raiment. For a fleeting instant Alcina thought

  DEATH IN THE DABS

  that she was doomed to die choking beneath the general’s thick, gnarled fingers; but as the fabric ripped, the old soldier gasped and staggered. His injured leg gave way, and death rattled in his throat as he fell full-length across the carpet The venom on Alcina’s blade had done its work.

  Alcina hastened to the entrance and looked out through a crack in the tent flap. A flash of Hghtning limned the two sentries, huddled in their sodden cloaks, standing like statues to the left and right She perceived with satisfaction that the rumble of the storm had masked the soimds of struggle within the general’s tent

  Fumbling in the darkness, Alcina discovered flint, steel, and tinder and, with great difficulty, relighted the candle. Quickly she examined the general’s body, then curled his fingers aroimd the jeweled hilt of her broken dagger. Darting back to the tent flap, she peered at the soldiers standing stiffly still and began to croon a tender song, slowly raising her voice until the flowing rhythm carried to the sentinels.

  The song she sang was a kind of lullaby, whose pattern of sound had been carefully assembled to hypnotize the hearer. Little by Httle, unaware of the fragile, otherworldly music, the sentries sUpped into a catatonic lethargy, in which they no longer heard the rain that spattered on their helmets.

  An hour later, having eluded the guards at the boundaries of the camp, Alcina regained her own smaU tent on a wooded hilltop near the river. With a gasp of fatigue, she threw herself into the shelter and began to doff her rain-soaked garments. The shirt was torn—a ruin …

  Then she clapped a hand to her breast, where had reposed the obsidian tahsman; but there it lay no longer. Appalled, she realized that Procas, in seizing her in the darkness, had grasped the slender chain on which it himg and snapped it off. The glassy half-circle

  must now be lying on the rug that floored the general’s tent; but how could she recover it? When they discovered their leader s body, the royalists would swarm out like angry hornets. And at the camp hard-eyed sentries would be everywhere, with orders instantly
to destroy a black-haired, green-eyed woman in the clothing of a page.

  Shivering with terror and uncertainty, Alcina endured the angry rolls of thunder and the drumming fingers of the rain. But her thoughts raced on. Did Thulandra Thuu know that Conan had survived her poison? Her master had revealed no hint of such unwelcome knowledge the last time they conferred by means of the lost tahsman. If the news of the Cimmerian’s recovery had not yet reached the sorcerer, she must get word to him forthwith. But without her magical fragment of obsidian, she could report only by repairing to Tarantia.

  Further black thoughts intruded on her mind. If Thulandra Thuu had known that Conan Uved, would he have ordered her to slay Amulius Procas? Might he not be angry with her for killing the general, even though he had himself ordained the act, now that Procas’s leadership was needed to save the royaHst cause? Worse, might flie sorcerer not punish her for failing to give the rebel chieftain a sufficient dose of poison? Worst of all, what vepgeance might he not exact from her who lost his magical amulet? Stranded weaponless, without communication with her mentor, resourceless save for her puny knowledge of the elementary forms of witchcraft, Alcina lost heart and for a moment wavered between returning to Tarantia and fleeing to a foreign land.

  But then, she reflected, Thulandra Thuu had always used her kindly and paid her weU. She recalled his hinted promises of instruction in the higher arts of witchcraft, his talk of conferring on her immortahty like his own, and—^when he became sole ruler over

  DEATH IN THE DABK

  Aquilonia, to reign forever— YAs assurance that she would be his surrogate.

  Alcina decided to return to the capital and chance her master s wrath. Besides, being both beautiful and shrewd, she had a way with men, no matter what their station. Smiling, she slept, prepared to set forth with the coming of the Hght.