The Conan Chronology

by J. R. Karlsson

  This was a disappointment. The woman spoke in riddles, like the dragons of old tales. 'Are you saying that she is dead?'

  'No. There are—other places. Some of them are open only to sorcerers, others may not be entered by mortals at all. She has been taken to one of those places by the working of dark forces.'

  'Lilma,' he half whispered. 'Is she alone?'

  'My sight cannot penetrate to the other worlds, but she was followed by two men who crossed over close after her. One was an old man, a wizard. The other a huge man with hair as black as mine. He is no ordinary man, but one with the mark of a strange destiny upon him. He is a sojourner, for his fate lies not in these northern forests.'

  'Those will be her wizard, Rerin, and her foreign champion, whose name I know not. It may be that her plight is not wholly desperate, then. And what of her people, the Cambres?'

  After another pause, she said, 'They are leaderless and despondent. Should they be set upon now, they would fall easy prey, for the heart is gone from them.'

  He chose his next words with great care. 'I do not ask what I should do, nor whether I shall die upon the morrow or many years hence. But where would lie my wisest choice of action?'

  She smiled. 'You are cautious. That is good, for cautious men frequently live longer than rash ones. I give you advice, then, not prediction. Go to the Cambres and their queen. For good or ill your fate lies with them, and no man does well by striving to avoid his fate.'

  'The Cambres it is, then.'

  Leovigild felt as if a great burden had been lifted from him. A decision had been reached, and he need trouble his mind no further. When he left here he would climb from the valley and make his way to Alcuina's holding in the field of great stones. Even that uncanny place would seem familiar after his strange day in the valley.

  'There is still the matter of my payment,' Atalia said, and now her green eyes glowed with a different light.

  'And what might it be?' Leovigild asked.

  She rose from where she sat and seemed to flow into his arms. Even through his clothing he felt the heat of her naked body, warmer than was natural to any human woman. 'As I told you,' she gasped, 'it is a fee you will not be sorry to pay.' Slowly she drew him back into her hut.

  It was a frosty morning, and Siggeir was on watch. As he often had these last few weeks, he kept especial watch upon the stone circle out on the plain, in futile hope that he would see Alcuina returning from the place where she had disappeared so mysteriously. He had tried to urge the others to make an expedition against Totila, to slay that king and seize his wizard Lilma. Like

  most of them, Siggeir was certain that Alcuina's disappearance was the work of the wizard, and he felt that Lilma might be persuaded to return their queen to them. A few had wanted to go, but most were too fearful of both Totila and Lilma, and Siggeir's urgings had come to naught.

  It was with some interest that he saw the lone figure mounted upon a small horse approaching from the west. Few were the travellers upon the ways at this season. Was it a messenger, or perhaps a wandering bard come to sing for a few meals and a night's lodging? He saw as the man drew near that it was a handsome youth in fine clothing.

  'Who might you be?' Siggeir called down.

  The young man looked up and grinned at him. 'I am Leovigild, once a prince of the Thungians, now an exile. Who is in charge here in the absence of Queen Alcuina? I have some words that may be of interest to her people.'

  King Totila was bored. Winter life was a weary round of eating, sleeping, gaming, and trying to pass the long, dark hours until the return of spring. Then would resume the exciting pastimes of fighting, hunting, and raiding, which were the proper amusements for a man of good blood. The rare winter hunts helped, but now they were past the great midwinter feast, and game was scarce. Unless his huntsmen turned up an incautious sag or boar, they would be reduced to smoked meat and dried fish until spring brought the beasts from their winter dens.

  It could be worse. He had seen winters when he and his warriors had had to subsist on cheese and porridge, just like the thralls. He shuddered at the thought. A clean death in battle was better than a life such as that. He had heard of the great kings of the South, where the land enjoyed spring all year round, where there was always sparkling wine instead of sour beer that had been in the cask too long. That was the way for a king to live, and that was how he intended to live as soon as he had settled with his neighbours. Then he would push his borders southward and establish a southern capital near the Zamoran border.

  That was for the future, though. The problem now was how best to subdue those neighbours. He had come to depend upon the wizard Lilma. He was not sure that this was a good thing, but what else could he do? A king needed a counsellor, for a king's true vocation lay in war-leadership.

  As if on signal, Lilma came rattling into the hall. A few of the warriors looked up from their game boards, but they gave the mage no more than passing attention. He was a common sight, and in winter men developed the ability to ponder their moves in a game with awesome intensity and patience.

  'I bring you news, my liege,' said Lilma.

  'I could use diversion,' Totila said. 'I trust that it is about Alcuina. Have you come to tell me that your vaunted allies in the spirit world have delivered her to me?'

  'It is not that, my liege. As I have told you, time in the spirit world is not the same as time here. While many long weeks have passed among us, no more than a day or two may have passed there.'

  The wizard was uncomfortable with this questioning. What Lilma said was true in general, but he knew that something must have gone seriously wrong in the spirit world. He could not imagine what factor might have

  been introduced to throw his plans awry. He was not sure how much longer he could keep Totila waiting. Now, though, he had a distraction.

  'The burden of my news concerns your neighbours, the Thungians and the Cambres.'

  'Say on.' Now Totila's interest was aroused. Idly the king picked up his helmet and turned it in his hands, admiring its workmanship. Like all the northern warriors, he loved fine metal work.

  'I have found that King Odoac has driven forth his heir, young Leovigild. He rode from the king's hall some days ago, and no man knows where he has gone.'

  Totila barked a short laugh. 'That makes a clean sweep of the family, then. That foolish pig Odoac rushes to his own doom. With no heir of their own blood, the Thungians shall be all the more willing to acknowledge me their king when I have slain him.'

  'You have no heir either, my liege,' said the wizard.

  Totila glanced at him from beneath lowered brows. 'I shall have, as soon as you produce Alcuina for me. Besides, I am far younger than Odoac, and no man doubts my ability to produce an heir. And I am a proven war-leader. am of royal blood. Thus, Alcuina's people as well as Odoac's can have no objection to my overlordship. Once I have wed Alcuina, who comes of an ancient line, our son must be an heir satisfactory to all concerned. Is that not so, wizard?'

  'That is so, my liege. It is also of the Cambres that I bear news. Since Alcuina's abduction by my allies, they have been shut up within their garth on the plain of the Giants' Stones. I have found out that Odoac plans to take advantage of their leaderless state and attack them within a few days.'

  'A winter hosting!' said Totila eagerly. 'Who would have thought that old Odoac would show such enterprise? It is more like him to doze away the winter in a drunken stupor.' He fell to pondering, and his shrewd mind turned over the various ramifications of this stunning news. 'But, yes, I see now what his thinking is. He has exiled his heir. Now he must quickly prove that he is still a good war-leader, lest his own men slay him and send to young Leovigild to return and be their king. He dare not attack me, but the Cambres are a tempting target.'

  Lilma nodded at these words. Once again he knew that he had chosen well in picking Totila to groom as a mighty king. The man had a quick mind as well as a strong arm and a ruthless will.

  'So tempting are
they in fact, that I think I shall go conquer them myself,' said Totila. 'I shall swallow up both peoples at once. Such an opportunity must not escape me. Warriors!' He bellowed the last word at the top of his rafter-shaking command voice. 'Gather your gear and summon your kin! Prepare for a winter hosting!'

  A mighty cheer greeted these words, and another northern nation prepared for war.

  XI

  A Hunter Comes

  'Are you certain that you know where we are going, old man?' asked Conan. He forged ahead of the other two, his eyes alert for solid, fightable enemies, while Rerin kept his senses open for sorcerous danger.

  'As certain as one may be in this place, which is not all that certain. A gate lies in our path somewhere up ahead, and it is one through which we may return to our world, somewhere near where we left it. Beyond that, I know little.'

  They were traversing a forest of towering trees, the ground almost devoid of underbrush. Great winged forms were to be discerned from time to time, soaring above the treetops, but creatures on the ground were for the most part small and shy, avoiding the approaching humans.

  'I pray to Ymir we get there soon,' said Alcuina.

  She now wore Conan's tunic and trews, which she had roughly altered to fit her smaller form. The Cimmerian retained his wolfskin overtunic and leggings. Alcuina had fashioned crude boots from the excess of Conan's fur cloak. The relatively mild climate here made these makeshift garments adequate.

  They had not eaten that day and had only had the carcass of a small beast slain by Conan to share among themselves the day before. Still, they were northerners and used to extended periods of deprivation.

  'Black Erlik's throne, but I hope we find some game soon,' said Conan, his stomach growling loudly.

  'Wait,' interjected Rerin.

  'What is it?' Conan asked.

  'I feel—I am not sure. Something has come near us, and it is charged with the evil of this world.'

  'Know you anything of its nature?' asked Alcuina.

  'I cannot say. It is nothing I have ever seen in the spirit-trance. It is not like the folk of the castle, nor is it like the demons who bore you hither. More than that I cannot say.'

  'I hope it is not another of those scorpion things,' Conan said. 'One of those was enough.'

  'No,' Rerin said, 'I think not, but—' Then he looked upward, beyond Conan. 'Look!'

  The others followed his pointing finger. Far ahead, on a high ridge of ground beyond the trees, was a mounted figure. Its long cloak billowed in the wind as it stared down at them. Its features were masked by a shining, silver helm, but a baleful red glow shone from within its vision-slots. Of its arms they could tell nothing from so great a distance, but its warlike aspect was nonetheless apparent. Conan was minded of what the demon he had questioned about Alcuina had told him: 'A hunter comes.'

  'If it's a man,' Conan said, 'then it's a bigger man

  on a bigger horse than the common run. And I think it means us no good.'

  'Do you think it is human?' Alcuina asked Rerin.

  'I do not think that there are any true humans here,' Rerin said, 'save for ourselves and perhaps captives brought here from the world of men. But what it is I cannot say.'

  With no warning, the creature whirled its mount and sped across the ridge, away from them. In an instant it was lost to sight.

  'I like not the look of that rider,' said Alcuina.

  Conan shrugged. 'I could tell little in this accursed thick air. It looked like a giant, but that might be some trick of the light or the air.'

  Inwardly he was not so sure. He saw no reason for communicating his unease to his companions, though. If this thing boded ill, which he did not doubt, then time enough to worry about it when the danger was directly upon them.

  They proceeded through the great wood, which gradually gave way to a more sparsely vegetated upland where stands of smaller trees predominated, separated by small valleys and meadows. It looked to Conan much like the area where he and Rerin had originally entered the demon land. He felt slightly more comfortable here, as visibility was somewhat improved in these surroundings. There was little he feared, even in a place such as this, as long as he had a clear field of view and time to ready himself against attack by an enemy.

  That night they camped in a clearing, and grilled cuts of meat over a smoky wood fire. Before stopping for the night Conan had brought down a vaguely deer-like animal by casting a makeshift javelin consisting of a straight sapling trimmed of its branches, its thicker end whittled to a point by Conan's dagger. It proved sufficient for a short cast, and they all ate well for a change.

  'We shall reach the gate early tomorrow,' Rerin said. 'I can feel its nearness much more clearly now. It is not far.'

  'What of that rider we saw today?' asked Conan. 'Can you feel his presence now?'

  Rerin concentrated for a few moments. 'I cannot tell for certain,' he said at last. 'Everything magical casts a certain aura, and this may be detected by one who is trained in these arts. However, some auras are stronger, and a weaker one may be masked by a stronger, as the light cast by a candle is hidden within that cast by the sun. Here there are so many magical auras that it is difficult to separate one from another. The signal sent out by the gate is very strong and is unmistakable. The rider'—he shrugged—'his aura is not so strong, although it is intensely evil.'

  'Conan,' Alcuina said, 'think you that you can best this weird horseman?'

  'If it is mortal, I can slay it. And it must be mortal.'

  'How can you be sure of that?' she asked.

  'Because it wears a helm,' he said imperturbably. 'Immortals have no need of armour. It wears a helm because it does not want a cleft skull.'

  'I hope you are right,' said Rerin. 'I feel we shall know upon the morrow, at any rate.'

  The next day found them trekking through the upland into a high valley of great stone formations and scattered, low trees. The air was still dense and water-like to vision, causing shapes and shadows to waver subtly. Once, distantly, they seemed to hear a pounding of great hooves. They moved warily, for their enemy was sure to strike before they could gain the gate.

  'There!' shouted Rerin as they crested a small hillock. Before them, in a depression of the ground, was a stone gate such as the one they had come through. It stood in a grassy glade that seemed to be devoid of animal life. They approached it cautiously, ready for anything.

  'How much time will you need?' Conan asked.

  'An hour, perhaps two, but no longer,' said Rerin. From his pouch he took plants he had collected on their way, and bits of stone, animal bones, and the like. 'Alcuina, help me gather fuel and kindle a fire. I must work quickly, but I dare not risk rushing through the spell too rapidly. If so much as a word or a gesture is left out, I must begin all over again.'

  'Is there aught I may do to help?' asked Conan. He hated taking part in sorcerous doings, but he was willing to overcome his distaste to save their hides.

  'Nothing except to keep watch. If our pursuer arrives, he must not be allowed to interrupt me.'

  'I'll try to keep him away from you,' said Conan, smiling sourly. 'Get to work. I shall go to the top of yonder mound to keep guard.'

  So saying, he walked to the indicated elevation. From its crest he could see nothing except more of the landscape. Who was the rider, and what might be his powers? Conan found himself regretting the loss of his cuirass. Although he rarely let himself depend on armour, Conan knew that the extra protection could be crucial in a close-fought combat. As it was, he had sword and helm, but no shield. He had fought with considerably less, and he was yet alive. He sat and waited.

  Much smoke and chanting came from where Rerin and Alcuina sat by their fire before the great stone gate.

  The colours of the smoke changed from moment to moment, and within the gate the view shifted and wavered. The old wizard's voice came sometimes as a high-pitched wailing, at others as a deep rumble. Such things set Conan's teeth on edge, and it was almost with
relief that he heard the pounding of great hooves.

  Conan rose from his cross-legged position and drew his sword. Idly he thumbed its edge as he awaited the coming of the rider.

  From the tree line it came, a man-shape mounted upon a horse-form. But as it neared, Conan saw that rider and mount were neither man nor horse. The two seemed to be clad in gleaming armour, although much of the man-shape was hidden by a voluminous cloak. The horse-thing walked slowly forward, and its gait was not quite that of a natural beast. Its eyes gleamed red, as did those of its rider, through the smooth, featureless helm.

  'That's far enough,' Conan called out. 'State your business. Do not attempt to interfere with these people.' He jerked his head in the direction of his companions, never taking his gaze from the rider.

  'I am a hunter.' The voice rang hollowly from within the thing. 'I have come to fetch you all for my master.'

  'And who might that be?' Conan asked. He really was not interested in the answer, but every second he kept the thing occupied was more time for Rerin to complete his spell-casting.

  'I serve the Lord of the Demon Land. Come with me.'

  'If we wished to visit your master,' Conan said, 'we would not be here. Now be on your way. If you wish to live, do not seek to hinder us.'

  With no further negotiation, the hunter charged. Conan

  was almost caught off-balance. A natural horse rears back slightly, digging in its rear hooves before springing forward. The hunter's mount did no such thing. All four hooves dug in as one and the beast was coming forward with blinding speed. The rider made no motion to draw weapon, but suddenly there was a blade in its right hand, and the long, narrow length of keen steel was descending upon Conan almost before the startled Cimmerian could react.

  Conan sidestepped the whistling blade, and it but sheared away a piece of wolfskin from the shoulder of his tunic. Reflexively Conan swung a backhand blow against the side of the beast, seeking to chop off one of the rider's legs. The blade rang hollowly against armour, and Conan darted a few paces away. Not only had he failed to cripple the rider, there had been nothing beneath his sword that even felt like a leg.