Conan the Guardian

by Roland Green

  “And now, Captain, I think it best you be on your way, you and your men. As the last part of my healing them, I gave my mother’s men a sleeping draught. The sun will be high in the sky before they waken. With luck, it will be tomorrow before they even remember how they came by their wounds or who healed them.” Harphos’s tone made the request an order. An order that Conan decided he would do well to obey. He had hopes of seeing Lady Doris again. He did not care much whether they had another bout in bed, pleasant as the thought was. He was reluctant to leave the house without a few words with its mistress, lest there was really a secret she alone knew that might help Livia.

  No matter. Battles seldom went as captains would have them, and Conan knew now that the battles of Argos went by that rule even when no one laid a hand on steel!

  Lady Livia’s eyes were the colour of an ice cave in Vanaheim as they studied Conan. They also seemed to make the lady’s chamber as cold as that cave.

  “So, Captain Conan. You lost a man and endangered the rest. You yourself barely escaped a trap. Yet you say you have no notion of this ‘secret’ of House Lokhri?”

  “Only a guess, my lady.” Since he left the Lokhri palace before dawn, Conan had found scant time to consider what Lady Doris might be about. Bringing his men home, finding a place for Jarenz’s body, and speaking a few words to the prisoners Reza was leading out had taken much of the morning. Then posting the men Reza left behind to cover every point of danger took much of the afternoon. By the time Lady Livia’s demand for his presence became dangerous to ignore, twilight’s shadows were embracing the garden.

  “Guesses are of small use in war,” Livia said. “My father and keeper-father both told me this. You yourself have said as much.”

  “I don’t deny it, my lady.”

  “Then why do you offer a guess as the best you can do?”

  “My lady, sometimes it is the best a captain can do. At least when he can’t just sit and wait for his enemy to make the next move. If you think we’re that lucky—”

  The blue eyes narrowed, and Livia licked her full lips. It seemed to Conan that those lips were redder than before, and the perfume clinging to her stronger and more subtle at the same time. Livia also seemed to have her breasts thrust out a trifle farther than before.

  Conan shook his head. “I think we’ve used up about all the luck the gods or anybody else is going to give us. We need to decide what we’ll do as soon as Reza and his men return.”

  “I agree. Very well, Captain. I will listen to your guess, if you will tell me why you have nothing better. You did have a chance to speak to Lady Doris after the fight, did you not?”

  Conan’s tongue would not obey his command. Silence filled the room, a silence like water. It flowed around Conan and made his breath come hard. In that silence, he heard from the garden the sound of a lyre played softly.

  The blue eyes went in an instant from ice to fire. “So! You spent the night with Lady Doris, but had no chance to speak to her?”

  Conan could no more have lied to Livia than he could have to a goddess. Indeed, he suspected that Livia’s vengeance for a lie would be much swifter and surer. “Yes. I’m afraid that when a man and a woman—” “Are wallowing in bed until they lose all sense—” “My lady—”

  “Well, I can’t see what else you could have done. And don’t call me unmaidenly. I never want to hear that word again. A woman doesn’t have to be a high-born trull like Doris to know a few truths about bedsport!” Unmaidenly was the last thing Conan would have called Livia, if only because he did not wish his head broken with a perfume jar. Indeed, it seemed best to let his tongue lie still, until Livia’s rage abated.

  That took some time, and during that time Conan heard himself called names that few women of any land had ever flung at him. Half of what Lydia called him would have earned most women a brisk spanking or a plunge into the nearest midden.

  Neither being wise with Livia—at least, not right now—Conan held his peace, barely, until she exhausted both her stock of names and her breath. When she finally collapsed into a chair, he even ventured to pick up a fan and wield it. She did not protest, only raising a hand to wipe the sweat from her face.

  Another long silence followed, until Livia could command her tongue.

  “Conan—I will not ask forgiveness. If you thought Doris would cast off all her secrets along with her robe— no, I already called you that, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “While we are alone, you need not call me that.”

  “As you wish, my—Livia.”

  She sat up, her robe falling away from one arm, and rang for a maid. When the maid had left with a message for wine and cakes, she motioned Conan to draw up a chair beside her.

  “Now, your guess?”

  “My guess is that Doris is no friend of Akimos. She told you the truth when you last met, but you doubted her. True?”

  Livia had the grace to flush. “I more than doubted her. I called her—well, not as many names as I called you. But enough.”

  “Too many, you mean. That woman’s frightened, and frightened people are like frightened animals. They’ll claw you without meaning to.”

  “Conan, you were born a hundred years old.” “Livia, I was born a Cimmerian. It’s a harsh land, and its first and last law is: fools don’t grow old.” “We could use a law like that in Argos. Except that we already have too many laws, you said.”

  Conan shrugged. “Perhaps you could do with that one. But as for Lady Doris—she wanted to disgrace or perhaps wound me, not kill. She thought I was a bad influence on you.

  “When I told her that someone had tried to kill me and my men on the way, she was horrified. I can’t be mistaken about that.”

  “You know so much of women?”

  “I know when somebody’s stepped off a cliff and learned there’s no bottom to the fall. That was Doris. She thought I was going to butcher her men, because I suspected her of having a hand in the attempt.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought she’d care about her servants. She has an evil reputation for casting them off when they displease her or grow old.”

  “Livia, maybe that happens sometimes. But I’d wager all the wine in your cellars that it’s mostly a tale she puts about. That way her servants shrink without anyone learning that she’s too scant of silver to keep them.”

  “Poor Doris.” Then the blue eyes widened, and Livia stared wildly about the room. “Poor Doris! What am I saying? Conan, have you infected me with madness?” “Livia, I-”

  “You will address me as ‘Lady Livia,’ or lose your place and your men along with me. Go, and may the gods teach you manners if I cannot!”

  Conan went, and not unwillingly. He had indeed been hoping for dismissal for some time, as the farewell to Jarenz would soon be starting. His “place” now was much more beside the lad’s bier than here in this lavish chamber listening to his second madwoman of the day.

  No, not a madwoman, Conan realized as the door closed behind him. A jealous woman. Which often enough led a woman to the same end.

  As long as it wasn’t his end. Reza’s jealousy was enough to have behind his back; with Livia’s added to it he’d be safer in Stygia! Thank the gods it was a night for drinking good wine with his fighting men, and not worrying more about women and their ways!

  The spy crept cat-footed away from where he had been eavesdropping on the lady’s meeting with Captain Conan. He felt more like dancing, singing, and emptying jugs of wine.

  It had not been easy, having to stand aside the night Akimos sent his men against the House. He had seen friends among the dead, more among those sent to slave in the mountains. It had been harder still, when he had not yet found a safe way to listen to what was said in the lady’s chambers.

  But the gods smiled, his luck turned, the way opened, and now he had not only heard but seen what happened there. If there was no desire in Lady Livia for Captain Conan, he could not tell desire in a woman when he saw it. Sinc
e he had once practised. the profession of pleasing women with more desire than beauty, he thought himself well-versed in the matter.

  This was knowledge that Akimos must have. It could give him a weapon worth all the men he had lost, and ten more besides. It might even avenge on Captain Conan the friends of his that great-thewed oaf had slain or taken!

  The spy hurried back to the kitchen. The hours would crawl, before he could leave the palace to deliver his message. He could not sing or drink until he did, and indeed even a smile would not be prudent. Not when Reza or someone who would tell him might see it, and wonder whence it came.

  XI

  “Conan is in our path. This must not be.”

  Akimos looked at his tame sorcerer, knowing that bewilderment and weariness mingled on his face. To learn what had come of his effort to abduct Lady Livia was no pleasure. To endure yet one more outburst from Lord Skiron was even less so.

  “Why?” Akimos said. He did not glare, but his voice did as well to show his impatience. “Have you learned that he is truly a sorcerer, a rival to you?’

  If that was by some miracle so, then Akimos intended to win Conan over, if it cost him a thousand drachmas and half the tavern wenches in Messantia. Skiron needed a rival to keep him honest—or at least no more dishonest than the gods had made him.

  “Conan has not the magic to heat a bowl of soup,” Skiron sneered. “But—I cannot speak the whole truth about this, for it is an arcane matter—”

  “Arcane or not, can you at least speak plainly? Or must I listen to riddles? I have little patience for the latter, I warn you.”

  “How little patience has the great master of intrigue, Lord Akimos!”

  Akimos drew back, so that he would not be tempted to strike the sorcerer with his open hand. He hooked his thumbs into the belt of his riding leathers and grunted.

  “I have enough to listen to what you fear about Conan. That is all you can expect for now.”

  “Very well. There is a darkness in Conan. A darkness and a destiny. To have such a man anywhere near our affairs—all our resources might not be equal to meeting him.”

  Akimos nodded, more in politeness than in agreement. Skiron certainly seemed truly frightened. But the merchant prince suspected it was more fear of Conan’s solid sword than of anything so arcane as a dark Cimmerian destiny.

  Akimos would not say it aloud, for Skiron would not tamely endure the charge of cowardice. Indeed, it might not be wholly just. Conan was a vastly formidable warrior, and leaving such an enemy free was dangerous.

  Also costly. Akimos had not yet added up the cost of silencing the kin of his slain men and ransoming the captives from the lumber camp. It would be more drachmas than he cared to lay out when matters were coming so swiftly to a head.

  “I will seek ways of removing Conan from our path. It is possible that he may serve us better remaining where he is. But even if that is so, I will see that he does not halt your work. Is that within reason?” Skiron’s nod was grudging, and he left without a further word. Akimos ignored the rudeness, sipped his wine, and considered choices.

  The spy was trustworthy. Therefore Conan and Lady Livia could not be many days from making a scandal of themselves. If Conan was locked deep within the Watchhouse of the Guardians, that could not happen so swiftly, if it happened at all.

  Yet did it matter if the Cimmerian truly bedded Livia? A tale to that effect, spread about the streets, would make enough scandal. If the girl then received a chance to redeem her reputation by a suitable marriage—to the son of a woman Akimos was about to wed—would she not leap at the opportunity?

  Unless she was a fool or a wanton, she must. Then the matter would be settled, except for Conan himself. He would offer no great trouble, as the Guardians in the Watchhouse could be paid to look the other way. Then poison or a dagger in the night would end the Cimmerian’s mischief.

  Akimos poured himself more wine. Indeed he had not lost his gift for intrigue, if he could think so far ahead. He would need Lady Doris’s goodwill, of course, but his plans for winning that could hardly fail.

  Now it was time to think of his friends among the Guardians. Who would do the best work against Conan, and for the least gold?

  Conan was inspecting the gate guards when the band of Guardians marched up. He could tell at once that this was no ordinary visit.

  The Guardians numbered close to two score, with two captains over them, one mounted. The mounted captain remained in his saddle, and Conan recognized Helgios, from the Great Bridge.

  “The Guardians of Argos, on a matter nearly concerning the Lady Livia and House Damaos,” the sergeant of the band shouted.

  Conan assumed his most formal Argossean manner. “The Lady Livia is within, but at her music. What may I tell her of the matter? ’ ’

  “It concerns Captain Conan, of her guards.”

  “I am Captain Conan,” the Cimmerian said, baring all his teeth. “If it concerns me, there is no need to disturb the Lady Livia.”

  “Is your name really Conan of Cimmeria?” the sergeant said, peering with near-sighted eyes at the head of a parchment scroll.

  “It’s the name on my—what’s that pox-ridden paper?—oh, my bond warrant. Is that good enough?” “Insolence to the Guardians!” the captain on foot shouted. “Note that down, Sergeant.”

  “What about the insolence of telling a man he lies about his own name?” Conan asked, more politely than he felt. His eyes met Helgios’s.

  Conan decided in favour. of caution. With Helgios present, he had small chance of either surprising or deceiving these Guardians. Without surprise or deception, thirty to one was long odds even when the one was a hill-bred Cimmerian warrior and the thirty city-bred Argossean Guardians. To say nothing of the problems that a battle royal at her gate would make for Livia.

  Helgios nodded to the sergeant. “Conan of Cimmeria, you are arrested for unlawfully assuming the rights belonging only to Captains of the Guardians. Further charges are under investigation and may be laid against you. You are warned that anything you say may be made the base of a fresh charge, and that resisting the Guardians in such a matter as this is an enslavement offence. You are warned—”

  “Oh, bog-trolls carry off your warnings,” Conan said. He thought he had spoken quietly, but the entire band drew back two paces, except for a few who drew back four. No one actually raised a weapon, but many hands were closer than they had been to sword hilts and quivers.

  Ignoring the Guardians as if they had sunk into the cobblestones, Conan turned to the gate guards. “One messenger to Lady Livia, concerning what is happening here. Another to Sergeant Talouf. He is to consider himself Captain over Conan’s Company until my return.”

  Some of the Guardians could not keep from smiling at that. As if it had been written on the air, Conan knew then that he was not intended to emerge alive from wherever the Guardians were taking him.

  So there would be a battle royal after all. But it still would not be at Livia’s gate, or anywhere else that would bring blame to her. She would have enough problems if the Guardians could be bought so easily.

  Conan considered that perhaps he should have told Livia of Harphos’s passion for her. Then she might consider him friend rather than foe. To be sure, she would need a way of reaching him that his mother could not overhear. If Harphos could not find such a way, though, it would hardly be beyond Livia to do so.

  Conan looked at Helgios. “May I visit my chambers, for food and clothing?”

  “Only if four of my men go with you and search everything you bring,” the captain said.

  Conan bowed. “I will not presume to ask the Lady Livia to tolerate such an invasion. If she values my comfort more highly than the honour of her House, she will no doubt—”

  “What will I no doubt do, Conan?” came a voice from behind the Cimmerian.

  He turned slowly when he wanted to spin, and saw Livia in a cloak, hastily thrown on over a house robe. Her feet were not bare, as he thought, but cl
ad only in light silken slippers embroidered with roses.

  “My lady,” Conan said, emphasizing the title. “I’m going to have to leave your service for a while, until a certain matter is done.”

  He explained, standing so that he could watch both her and Helgios at the same time. At first Livia’s lips trembled, and she gripped the hem of her cloak. Then she sensed that Helgios was watching her like a cat studying a bird, seeking any signs of unease. Conan saw her straighten, tighten her mouth, and fold her hands in front of her. Again he thought that he had seen queens of twice Livia’s age show half her dignity.

  When he had finished, Livia nodded. “Captain Conan, I suspect that someone has taken—false information.” She looked hard at Helgios, who suddenly could not meet her eyes. Conan almost laughed.

  “I will send food and clothing and everything else necessary for your comfort,” she continued. “Sergeant Talouf will rank equal to Steward Reza—unless he is suspected of pissing in the Chief Archon’s roses or some such crime?”

  Even the sergeant laughed at that, and Helgios’s mouth opened soundlessly before he shook his head.

  “Very well. Then—the gods be with you, Captain Conan.” She gripped both his hands, but stopped her fingers from reaching higher than the Cimmerian’s elbows. On his part, it took a heroic effort not to embrace her hard enough to lift her feet off the gravel!

  Then Conan stepped out the gate, laughed as the Guardians drew back still farther, and with his own hands pulled the gate shut behind him.

  “Well, my friends? Do I have a nice cool dungeon waiting for me, as you promised? Or do we stand here all day in the sun?”

  Akimos did not drink or shout for joy when word came from the Watchhouse.

  “Conan the Cimmerian is safely within, locked in the House of Charof.”