And the wine I... fetched you. Sorry, Conan, sorry...'
'Of course you are. The rest of it. Arkhaurus stabbed you?'
'My brother Nardius was to... kill the princess, with your... sword.' She was having more difficulty talking. We were to be rich,' Arkhaurus said. He met me here. Instead... in... stead...'
'Instead he met you where you were to be congratulated and paid, and paid you with sharp steel, did he? The dog didn't even do a clean job, but belly-stabbed you and left you to die slowly. You weren't a confederate to be made rich, Rosela. You were hired help, and you know more than you should. So — he disposed of you.'
She lay staring up at him, and tears slid down towards her ears. And then her mouth and eyes went wide and she was rigid, all over. That spasm ended only with the sighing release of her last long breath.
Conan rose from the fifteen-year-old temptress and monster he had told himself was his woman, and he vowed not to love again, to be wary and but use girls where he found them, and he left her there, dead, without closing her eyes.
The three decided to say nothing of the attempt. Who knew aside from Arkhaurus?
'Let me just spit him,' Conan said, looking ugly, 'and we can put Rosela's brother there, as if he killed Arkhaurus, and we came too late, but slew him. Before he died, he implicated Sergianus...'
'Conan, no!' Khashtris strode about, gnawing her lips, wringing her hands until they were red. 'No! This is the palace of Khauran! My cousin is involved-I think the poor dear girl loves Sergianus!'
'Suppose you invite him to dinner,' the Cimmerian gritted, 'and I will "go berserk" and kill him! The queen will be spared knowing what we know-and saved, along with Khauran. All you need do is give me a little time to be far from here.'
'You-you'd take it all on yourself?'
"Why not? I am a foreigner, and what holds me here? I want away from this accursed queendom, Khashtris. I
do owe a debt to Queen lalamis... you think I mind the blood of Arkhaurus and Sergianus on these hands?' He held diem up and stared ferally over his fingertips. 'I want their blood there!'
But no, and Khashtris convinced them. They removed the body of Rosela's brother, in cloaks. Khashtris, after mopping and mopping the rug with her own hands, at last sliced her forearm; she'd say the remaining bloodstains were hers, after she'd accidentally cut herself. And she would talk with her cousin. Conan would not remain in the palace, saying that if he saw Arkhaurus, he'd surely kill him.
He drank much that night.
Two days later, Khashtris talked with the queen, alone. She returned unhappily to report to her two fellow conspirators.
'She wanted only to talk of Sergianus, dear Sergianus,' Khashtris told them. 'I tried to tell her. I tried. I could not. She has agreed to see you two, though she does not know why.'
Conan and Shubal looked at each other, and nodded. An overwrought Khashtris wanted Conan that night, and he refused her.
IX
A Wolf is Loose in Khauran
Conan and Shubal had audience with the queen, and tried to tell her what they knew and thought they knew. She would not believe. She was horrified at the very thought; she would not listen; she ordered them from her and told them they were no longer welcome in the palace. For tomorrow night's dinner, she would send her own guards to escort her cousin to her.
The two men stalked from the palace. We must confide in Acrallidus,' Shubal said. 'Gods! Will no one believe?'
'Easier if I just go and shove steel through that damned charmer Sergianus or Sabaninus or whatever his treacherous name is... she loves that demon!'
'How did you feel about Rosela?'
'Shut up, Shubal!'
Shubal sighed and faced his friend, there in the square betwixt lofting palace and imposing temple. 'No, Conan. Don't think of it. You would never escape the palace. We are suspect, now. The queen will never let us near him! Come, listen; stop staring at walls and thinking foolishly of scaling them! We must sit down with Acrallidus, who is wise, and with Khashtris. We four must plan. He will believe. He must; he is our only hope.'
'Our best hope lies in our sheaths, Shubal.'
'Damn it, barbarian — must you think only of leaving trails of blood wherever you go?'
Conan stared at him, and after a while Shubal apologised, and Conan agreed to share their knowledge and suspicions with City Governor Acrallidus.
'But how?' the queen's governor of her capital city wondered aloud, once he'd heard their story. He looked around Khashtris's most private chamber as though tapestried walls might provide the answer. 'How can this Baron Sabaninus
make himself younger, or look younger, or-'
'-steal a younger man's body?' Conan suggested. His eyes were beginning to blaze. Talk, talk, and talk. He was tired of talk. His patience was like a wolf on a leash.
'And the way he came here, afoot, tattered, bloodied —'
'None of the blood was his own. He rode up from Koth. Koth, Acrallidus, with two retainers – and he killed them! As he smote, their blood splashed him. Then he drove off his own horses, and tore his own clothing and rolled in the filth. Thus he was a pitiful object to be taken to the queen, helped, sympathised with — damn!' Conan slapped the table around which they sat, and silver-chased goblets of bronze danced and sloshed mulled wine. 'You people, you so-civilised people, have you no power to suspect? Have you no ability to believe? It is SORCERY! By Ishtar and Crom and Bel and... Erlik, do you who are victims of a demon's curse on your very queen.. do you not see? Believe! It is sorcery!'
Conan pounced to his feet and paced from them. He wheeled. He had become a great impatient wolf, eyes aflame, every muscle poised to pounce and fight.
listen! You three smugly civilised people with your walls and marble halls and magistrates and your clack-clack shoes and swirly robes and ridiculous coiffures – listen! Give listen to one you call barbarian, who was born on a battlefield and has been warrior and thief and has lost and regained his very soul, of sorcery... and who has sent off to join the Lord of Death enough men to staff your very palace!'
And he told them of the battle of Venarium in which he'd fought at fifteen, and how he had fought and defeated a dead thing in a crypt because he wanted its sword; he told them of Yara of Arenjun and the elephant-creature in his Tower of Sorcery, creature from the starry gulf beyond the world; and of the dark wizard Hisarr Zul, and his brother who lived on, as sand - 'Sand.' - even ten years after his death, and how he had bested them both. He showed them the clay amulet he wore pendent on his chest, and he told them what it was. And they listened.
'Now we know what we know. We cannot be wrong! Arkhaurus and Sergianus plot together, and they know I know, and Shubal – and now they must assume you know too, Khashtris! Sergianus does not know this amulet, or what it is. He does not know but that I am a sorcerer-we have twice escaped his snares, Shubal and I! I, Conan, foreigner and barbarian as you civilised folk say – see now how to make that demon expose himself. You have only to aid me. Do it!'
Three staring products of the civilisation of the west, almost in shock, as if under the Cimmerian's spell, agreed.
'Shubal and I are banned from the palace. We'll not be permitted to enter with you at tomorrow night's dinner-at which we all assume that your queen assuredly intends to announce her betrothal to a trickster determined to hand your land over to Koth. Khashtris: Shubal and I need your help in getting into the palace. We may have to down a royal guardsman or two, but that is small price for Khauran itself!'
She looked about at the robed man with brown hair and grey beard, and at the Shemite mercenary from a warrior clan; they sat as if enthralled, gazing at the youthful Cimmerian – a warrior and the manager of a city waiting to be instructed; told, led. Khashtris swallowed.
only I'd had such a son... if only he were my son... if only I could bear his... if only I were younger!
Ishtar! Acrallidus was thinking. A wolf is loose in Khauran – and he fights for Khauran!
This man will lead armies s
ome day, Shubal was thinking. I hope I am there to see and to participate!
Khashtris spoke. We will be in the Askhaurian Room,' she said. 'It is used as a smaller dining-room, and lalamis loves it. It is also your means of entry. A secret palace escape route leads off it, through the pantry. You two will enter that way.' She thought a moment. 'Shubal: you must make straight for the dragon-carved door and secure it against the royal guards. Conan —'
'Conan,' Conan said low, almost snarling, 'will see to the rest.'
X
Conan Magus
All present at the queen's dinner party remarked how she was dressed as a girl, and looked younger. Almost shockingly, her hair was down and bound by a fillet of silver I hat held a flashing sapphire on her forehead. Pearl-sewn bands of gold encircled both forearms and each wrist was braceleted in silver set with amethysts. Otherwise, she wore above the hips only a pearl-sewn bandeau of white silk imported from afar, supported by a neck-strap of woven cloth-of-gold. Her low-slung skirt was side-slit nearly to the hip-band, from which depended plackets of black cloth that were scintillantly alive with rubies and garnets, sapphires and carnelians, topazes and emeralds, and a single great piece of amethyst.
Her happiness and brightness infectiously carried to most of her guests: Arkhaurus and his so-thin wife, once of Koth; Sergianus the Nemedian dukeson whose tunic and overtunic were both sleeveless to display his youthful arms; the two lord cousins of the queen, and the wife of one. Present too, though less festive, were Noble Khashtris and Governor Acrallidus and his wife.
Servants passed to and from the pantry bearing dish after savoury dish to set before the diners, whose goblets of gold were kept filled with several wines of fine vintage and bouquet.
Khashtris waited nervously. No untoward sound emerged from the pantry; Conan and Shubal did not come. She had taken leave of them at her home, after forcing upon each a little figurine of Ishtar, for Khashtris was a believer. Her heart thudded and she was hot and prickly. Already she had drunk too much wine to assuage her thirst; it was exerting the opposite effect now, drying her mouth already dry with apprehension.
At last the fruit was brought, and the queen arose.
Khashtris gripped the table's edge, awaiting the terrible announcement of betrothal. It did not come. Telling them happily that she had as unique entertainment the illusionist Crispis from down in Kandala, lalamis clapped her hands. The tall door of carven wood, edged with filigree in bronze, was opened from without.
The diners gaped at the advent of the illusionist. Crispis was an uncommon tall man, and apparently a burly one as well, though he was swallowed within a great black robe like a tent. Its hood was up and within could be seen only shadows, darkness and the tip of a nose-and the great dark brown beard that flowed forth. He wore a single black glove; the left sleeve of his robe dangled loose and empty.
'I smell... horse,' Arkhaurus's wife whispered, and was shushed by her husband.
The only break in the darkness of Crispis's appearance drew every gaze. The amulet lay on his chest just below the beard, a small golden sword-shape set with a topaz at the end of each bar of its guard; they were like eyes.
Welcome,' the queen said, seating herself, 'O Master Crispis! Though I have not seen you before now, I have heard naught but praise of your skills.'
The tall robe bowed, straightened. A gloved hand rose to finger the amulet. When the voice emerged from the cowl, it was so deep as to be obviously artificial, and one or two of lalamis's guests smiled.
'Crispis will amaze you with his knowledge of yourselves, Lady Queen and noble guests, with the aid of the twin all-seeing eyes of the magic amulet: the Eye of Erlik! Ah! Already I perceive that the glorious Queen of Khauran contemplates the making of an important announcement! Fear not; Crispis will say no more of it, for the revelation is yours to make.'
While he bowed, lalamis and Sergianus exchanged a look, and smiled.
Again the gloved hand fingered the amulet. 'Oho... Noble K —Noble Khashtris, is it not? A woman of softness and sentiment and religious beliefs! I see that you wear concealed an image of Ishtar... though far from Crispis to name the place wherein you have it tucked. It belonged to your mother.'
Though she blushed and tried to smile, the importunities of the others coaxed Khashtris to confirm the seer's words: she produced from between her breasts the little figurine Conan and Shubal had seen her tuck there. Now she wondered: in what dark closet was poor Crispis of Kandala bound and gagged, and what horse had given up much of its mane to provide the beard that flowed from the cowl of the black robe?
'How now!' Arkhaurus called, smiling, and lifted his goblet to Crispis. We have with us a seer indeed – and well up-brought, too!'
While others chuckled, Crispis spoke: 'Aye, O lord, for with the aid of this amulet from the mages of far Iranistan, Crispis sees all. I see you, great adviser to a queen enthroned, riding a high-stepping horse. It is a Kothic horse and bears Koth's arms, I see... and why is my lord's table dagger dripping with blood?'
All were silent. Arkhaurus had gone red as Khashtris had been, save for his knuckles. They were white around his goblet. He stared down at the jewelled eating utensil on his plate. Its blade was unsmeared.
'Cryptic seer,' Acrallidus said. 'Plan you a trip to Koth, Lord Arkhaurus?'
'I do not.'
'Ah,' Crispis said, drawing it out until he had regained their attention. 'Perhaps I see awrong. Yet beside you on another horse, a royal palfrey of Koth, I see riding an old, old man. Dry as dust he is, thin, shaky of hands, bald of crown yet with strings of hair hanging down like a fringe of yellowish white. A man two of whose lower fore-teeth are missing. A man wearing a medallion... ah. Your pardon my good lord. I'd not seen you sitting there next the queen, in the blaze of her glory. The congratulations of Crispis on how well you bear the weight of your many, many years, and even the baronial weight of that medallion of Korveka.'
What means he? You, Lord Sergianus?'
'Korveka?'
'Speaks he to young Sergianus?'
'See here, Crispis... '
'Ah! Now I see the source of the blood on your dagger, Lord Adviser to the Queen... it is that of a girl... a tool,
helpless and young... wait, do not speak, her name comes -Ah! Rosela!'
Arkhaurus half rose; amid deadly silence, Crispis's voice asked a question. "My good lord Baron Sabaninus of Koth... why call you yourself "Sergianus", and pretend to be young? Behold-when I cover all my amulet and even the eyes, all here see you as you really are!'
Gone pale, Sergianus could only sit stiffly, looking back at staring eyes; the eyes of everyone at table, their gazes fixed on him...
Then the queen rose. What means this?' She spoke to Crispis. Poor Sergianus, already believing that his true form had somehow been made visible to all, made the logical error; he assumed that she spoke to him. 'It means this Crispis must be a-a-some sort of spy!' Sergianus cried desperately, while he rose. From a side slit in the long-skirted overtunic he drew a sword, and rushed down-table on its left, towards the black-robed magus. 'I'll have that amulet, dog '
The pantry door swept open. 'No, Sabaninus of Koth,' Shubal said, 'you'll have what you deserve, Kothic plotter against Khauran I'
Perhaps the game was not quite up until then; Sergianus of course remained Sergianus. Arkhaurus's hand snatched up his dagger, and he swung, and drove it into Shubal's thigh. Meddling Shemite!' Shubal groaned aloud; the blade caught in muscle and while Arkhaurus strove to free it, Shubal twitched his sword so that it touched the neck of my lord Arkhaurus.
'Release the blade, traitor,' the Shemite said. 'It can remain where it is. Others will remain still, else I slit the throat of this mis-advisor!'
All in the room froze; Sergianus already had, at the sudden bursting of Shubal among them. Now he returned his attention to Crispis-who, having slit his robe up the front with the dagger he held within, left-handed, threw back his cowl. He dropped the robe to reveal a huge young man in a mail
corselet. 'It's-that barbarian ' 'Conan!' 'You!'
"Khashtris!" the queen cried. What means thi —guards!'
Conan kicked violently backward. The door slammed and his dagger-hand swung back to drop the heavy bar into its brace. A moment later the door was struck by a shoulder on its other side; it did not yield. This room was haven and means of escape in the event of siege, and the bar was of iron.
Sergianus drove at the Cimmerian. Pouncing away, Conan whipped up his own sword and struck hard. Sergianus was able to dodge the stroke, and a moment later Crispis's 'beard' was thrown at his face.
"Here, my lord of Korveka — a gift from a horse!'
While Sergianus fought away the mass of hair, Conan pounced far to his right, and sent his blade skimming over the head of a woman who shrieked and fainted. Had he intended his point for her, she's have been bloody rather than with her face in her gravy; the first inch of Conan's blade drove just where he had aimed: into the throat of Arkhaurus.
'For Rosela, murdering traitor-I feared Shubal would steal you from me!'
Arkhaurus's wife shrieked. Sergianus, recovered, swung high his blade and began his swing as he pounced at Conan. The Cimmerian's sword clanged off the Kothian's; both men staggered and Conan went to one knee – and his left hand flashed up to embed a foot of his dagger's blade in Sergianus's belly.
Every breath was held while Sergianus stood very still, so rigid that he quivered all over.
'He's DEAD!' Arkhaurus's wife screamed into the silence. 'O Ishtar, no, NO, my love! It was not WORTH it! I BEGGED you not to ally yourself with that Korvekan impostor! O Ishtar help me-why did I not tell the queen when first you and he plotted? My lord is dead,' she wailed, hugging a seated corpse, 'dead... a traitor!'
Sergianus remained standing, shaking as though caught in an icy wind. Conan's left arm twisted viciously and he withdrew his dagger. A splash of blood followed, and continued freely flowing.
'Not – enough,' Shubal gritted, and dropped his sword. With a grunt he plucked the dagger from his leg, swiftly dragged its bloody tip across the front of his tunic, reversed it, and slammed it at Sergianus with all his strength. His leg scarlet to the ankle, Shubal begin sliding down, his back against the pantry door.
Conan the Mercenary Page 9
