Mightily puzzled, Conan awaited the thing's next move. He seldom fought defensively, but he knew that it would be unwise to carry the fight to the enemy until he had some slight knowledge of that enemy's strengths and weaknesses.
The thing charged again, the rider leaning forward along the neck of the mount, blade at full extension to skewer Conan like a bird on a cooking spit. This time Conan was ready for its instantaneous charge, and he dodged to the left, planting his feet for a powerful blow to the rider's left side. He barely began to bring his sword from behind his shoulder when suddenly a four-foot blade appeared in the rider's left hand, coming down to split Conan's skull. Desperately Conan stopped his blade in mid-swing and turned the chop into a block, interposing his sword at an angle sufficient to deflect his enemy's steel from his head, but receiving a painful cut on his left shoulder.
'Crom!' Conan shouted as he darted away once more. 'Where did that blade come from?' He ran to where Rerin and Alcuina seemed to be finished with their rites. 'How much longer?' he growled.
'Just a few more moments,' Rerin said. 'The spell is finished, but its effect requires some small time.'
'Try to speed it up,' Conan urged. 'This thing fights like nothing I've ever encountered.'
Then the thing was charging again, and Conan ran to meet it. He knew that it was not human and flight might be more sensible than battle, but he was duty-bound to keep this hunter away from his queen while he had breath and blood. It charged with arms spread wide, the great blades glistening to either side, ready to strike. Conan halted and braced himself, sword slanting back over his right shoulder. If he could not dodge to the side, then he would split the mount's skull. He had never encountered armour that would not split when he struck with his full force.
When the hunter was no more than ten paces away, a yard-long horn sprang from the frontlet between the mount's eyes, and it began to rotate, transforming the jagged, saw-toothed steel into a silver blur. Conan stooped, picked up a heavy rock, and cast it at the rider. It struck full across the vision-slots, and for an instant the mount broke stride and the blades wavered. Conan dove forward into a tumble as the spinning 'horn' was within a handsbreadth of his chest. He sprang to his feet at the rider's side and hewed at his shoulder joint. The rider wavered slightly, but the blade made little impression on the steel armour.
As the rider went by, Conan grasped his cloak and
hauled back, hoping to unseat him. The heavy cloth ripped loose from its fastenings, and for the first time Conan got a clear look at what he was fighting. The smooth helm surmounted a series of flexible neck-rings. Similar rings covered shoulders and arms. A series of broader, interlocking bands covered chest and midsection, and a complicated joint covered the place where the human torso was merged with the horse-body. The mount was likewise made up of steel bands and plates. Not man and beast, this, but a single creature. So far his weapons had not left so much as a mark on it.
As it prepared for another charge, Conan sought for any kind of weakness in the thing. Its armour joints seemed to be tight enough to repel a needle, but there had to be some access to its vulnerable innards. The only possibility Conan could imagine was the vision-slots. There might not be eyes behind them, but he was willing to wager that they would be less impervious than the steel encasing the hunter.
As it came toward him Conan readied himself. He had a sense of its timing now, and he sidestepped the horn and ducked the right-hand sword as it came whistling down. He grasped the hunter around the waist and swung himself up behind it, dropping his sword and drawing his dagger as he did so.
He was about to embrace the thing closely and seek its eyeslots with his dagger point when a row of viciously-edged blades erected itself along the thing's spine. Instantly Conan tumbled over the crupper of the horse part, and not a second too soon, for a similar row of blades, but much longer, shot up from the spot where he had been sitting. He snatched up his sword and wondered when this nightmare would end. He hated the feeling of helplessness.
'Come!' shouted Rerin. 'The gate opens!' Conan ran for it. In the midst of the stone gateway, the air flickered and boiled with movement and colour. Alcuina was urging him onward, and he did not dare to spare an instant's glance to see how close the hunter followed. He ran up the mound and shoved Rerin and Alcuina through, then he whirled to face the hunter. He could not leave their vulnerable backs exposed to the thing.
It was bearing down upon them swiftly, but there was still enough distance for him to stride a few paces backward, beneath the lintel.
First there was a whirling disorientation, then a sense of cold, and he realised that he was standing in ankle-deep snow. The air was chill and blessedly thin. He continued to back away from the gate, and he was aware that they were surrounded by people. He risked a quick glance around and saw that they were on the field of Giants' Stones, surrounded by Alcuina's men, and more people were coming across the field from the garth.
'Back!' Conan shouted. 'Away from the gate!' There was a collective shout of awe and terror as the hunter burst from the gate. For a moment it stood, seemingly disoriented. Slowly its head turned, as if searching out its prey from among this mass of mortal flesh. Desperately Conan scanned the crowd as well. Then he saw the weapon he wanted. A man stood by with a twelve-foot spear, the kind used by footmen against mounted men.
'By Crom, hurry!' Conan called to the man. 'Give me your spear!' Not taking his boggling eyes from the hunter, the man tossed the spear to Conan. With the weapon in his hands Conan quickly examined the point; it was long and narrow, just what he needed.
The hunter had turned its head at the sound of Conan's voice, and now it dug its steel hooves into the snow for a charge. This time wide, curving steel blades sprang from the flanks of the horse-body and a pair of barbed spears shot forth from the chest between the forelegs. Its movements did not seem to be quite so swift or sure as before.
There was an awed sigh from the encircling crowd as the seemingly unstoppable monster bore down upon the relatively small form of Conan. How could mere flesh and blood stand up to such a terrible machine? They looked for him to be minced upon the instant.
Conan stood fast, gripping the spearshaft. He would have one try, then he would be victorious or dead. He made sure that the spear-blade was turned flat. The eyeslots were narrow, and a vertical blade would jam without penetrating.
In the very moment when the hunter came within range, Conan thrust. Unerringly the blade went into the left eyeslot, crunching through something, then the forward momentum of the hunter thrust Conan backward. He tightened his grip on the spearshaft, although an unearthly tingle shot through it. It would do him little good to slay the thing only to fall beneath its toppling, razor-edged bulk.
Sparks and smoke shot from the damaged eyeslot, and a strange odour filled the air, as when lightning strikes near. The hunter reeled and thrashed wildly, swinging Conan on the end of the shaft like a boy swishing a wand, but the strong ash held. Abruptly a great gout of blue flame shot from the eyeslot and smoke burst from the armour joints. The rider sagged while the horse stood and trembled, then was still.
Conan loosed his stiffening grip. The form of his opponent stood unmoving, as if its glittering metal were frozen. The thing was dead, if it had ever been truly alive.
'What was it?' asked Alcuina wonderingly. She had come from somewhere to stand beside him. The others were closing around as well.
'We saw the lights coming from the stones, my lady,' said Siggeir. 'We came to see if it was you and the wizard returning to us. Come back to the garth now. We are all in danger here in the open.'
'Danger?' Alcuina said. With the passing of the hunter, she could not imagine anything representing a danger.
'Our enemies are on the march,' Siggeir insisted. 'Let us get behind the walls, where we can meet them on equal terms.'
'Look!' said someone.
They all looked at the metal hunter. Red rust was spreading across it with unearthly speed, and
it began to groan and creak from inside. An arm fell off, then the horse-legs gave way, and the thing came crashing down. It split open, and out poured a spill of gears, levers, wheels, and other things no one there could put a name to. These, too, began to rust or crumble.
'This was not its place,' commented Rerin.
'I rejoice to see you safe, my lady.' They looked up from the pile of rust to see a handsome young man with yellow hair and beard. 'I am Leovigild, nephew of King Odoac of the Thungians.'
Alcuina glared at him, but her interest was obvious.
'Has my garth been taken by enemies that Odoac's heir sits among my men?'
'I am his heir no more,' the youth assured her. 'And I swear that I am not your enemy. Come, let us return to the garth, where you may find more suitable raiment, and where we may discuss these matters fully and in comfort.'
Nodding regally to the young man, Alcuina set out for the garth. The others fell in behind. Last of all was Conan, feeling a little put out that the glory of his recent monster-slaying had been eclipsed by these new political developments. Rerin came up to him and surveyed the remains of the hunter, now little more than a pile of reddish powder. 'Come, Conan. There will be warmth and food inside. If you wished eternal glory, you should have arranged for a bard to stand by during your battle.'
'Does she hold my services so cheap?' Conan demanded. 'That downy lad will need a few years before he's any kind of warrior.'
'Warriors come and go,' Rerin reasoned as they walked, 'but Alcuina is a queen, and has the welfare of her people to think about. Actually, I had discussed with her the possibility of selecting you for her consort—'
'Hah!' Conan broke in. 'I'll be on the first ship heading south come spring. If I want a kingdom, I'll conquer it, by Crom! I'll not marry one.'
'It may be just as well, then. He is of royal blood, as is she. Between them, they may save their peoples.'
XII
Blood on the Snows
Conan sat brooding into his ale cup as the queen of the Gambles and the exiled heir of the Thungians held counsel. Much as he hated to admit it, the boy spoke wisely and forthrightly, if somewhat too cautiously for Conan's taste. He noticed that Alcuina's men regarded die Thungian with respect, something he would not have expected from people as clannish as this. Of course, royalty was never treated in quite the same fashion as the lower classes. Kings and queens virtually had to wed with foreigners, lest the stock grow degenerate.
'Alcuina, we face two enemies,' Leovigild explained. 'First, the Thungians, led by my uncle. Second, and far more dangerous, Totila and the Tormanna. Odoac is a murderer and grown a bit crazy in his old age, but Totila is a great warrior in his prime, and he has not allowed his men to grow soft through inaction. The Cambres are not numerous. You might hold off either one of your enemies here within your stone wall, but not both.'
'Need it come to that?' asked Siggeir. 'Perhaps the Tormanna and the Thungians will fight one another instead of come against us.'
'Both kings want a queen,' Alcuina pointed out. 'They want me. Soon they shall know that I have returned and will move all the more quickly. They will settle with one another after we have been dealt with.'
'That is so,' Leovigild concurred. 'And I think I know how it will happen: Totila will propose to Odoac a temporary alliance. Between them the two armies will attack this place. Once that is accomplished, they will contest between themselves for Alcuina and her lands and people. My uncle, who is a fool as well as a madman, will probably agree.
'Totila did not build a kingdom from nothing by being a fool. Sometime during the fighting he will murder Odoac. The Thungians, without a king and with me exiled or dead, must turn to the only available war-leader Totila.' There were nods and murmurs of admiration for this sagacious reasoning.
'You speak with great wisdom for so young a man,' said Rerin. 'Now we must make our plans. How may we avert this disaster?'
'Let's march out and meet Odoac,' said Siggeir. 'He and the Thungians will be easier to deal with than the Tormanna. We can defeat them, then march back to meet the Tormanna from behind our walls.'
'Even should we defeat the Thungians,' Alcuina said, 'we would be severely weakened. In any case Totila might take the garth while the warriors were away.'
Conan smiled to himself. Nobody even proposed the solution that to a southern queen would be the most obvious: to agree to marry the weaker of her two enemies, who could then be murdered at leisure, while he slept. In the North a queen would only do such a thing in order to accomplish an extraordinary vengeance. Since Alcuina had nothing personal against either king, she would never even think of it.
'I do not feel competent to advise in matters of tactics,' Leovigild said, 'as my experience of warfare has been limited. Also, although I am exiled, I cannot take arms against my kin, though I shall be more than happy to do battle with the Tormanna. However, one among us has not been heard from. Queen Alcuina's champion is not only a great warrior, he has served in many armies in far climes. I suspect that he can see possibilities that would not occur to us. Conan, will you give us your counsel?'
Conan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. In the North a warrior of high standing was as valued for his wise counsel as for his sword arm. This was another matter in which the northern war-bands differed from southern armies. 'In open battle we have a slight chance against either enemy, and none at all against both. This we all agree. I know of a way we may seriously weaken both armies before it comes to a battle or a siege. It will take skill and daring. First you must summon all your huntsmen.'
'My huntsmen?' Alcuina said. 'Why?'
'Because they know this land far better than any warrior. When Odoac and Totila come they will have great, straggling war-bands slogging through the snow. We shall have huntsmen stationed near all the forest roads to inform us of their movements. Instead of a single army we shall divide into many small bands, with every man mounted. Without warning we must strike them on the march, kill a few, then turn and run,
to hit them at another point. The minute they band together to make a shield-wall, we return to our camp, to strike one enemy or the other on another day. Even if we only kill a few, they will be more than half defeated before they arrive here. The bravest of warriors lose their edge when they face unfamiliar tactics.'
'Who ever heard of such fighting?' Siggeir said doubtfully.
'It is certain that Odoac and Totila never have,' Leovigild said. 'I think Conan has given us our only chance.'
'We can use this tactic many times against Odoac,' Conan cautioned, 'but only once or perhaps twice against Totila.'
'Why is that?' Alcuina asked.
'Because of those damned magpies!' Conan growled. 'Totila will soon understand what is happening, and Lilma will have the birds high overhead, searching for us. Who can hide from a flying enemy?'
'We could hide beneath the densest trees until it was time to attack,' Leovigild suggested.
'They would see our tracks in the snow,' Conan pointed out.
'I think I could help,' Rerin said.
'Speak on,' Alcuina urged him. 'We need all the help we can find.'
'I have never been able to fight Lilma or his magpie-familiars,' the old man admitted. 'His wizardry is too powerful for me. However, I have mastered a spell by which, in winter, I can cause a brief but dense snow-fill. Once we are in position in wait for the marching Tormanna, this snowfall will mask us from the birds.'
Conan grinned and took a long swallow of his ale.
'Old man,' he said, 'you may have won the war for us.'
The queen's huntsmen were short, sturdy men for the most part, clad in leather and rough homespun. Most of them were darker than the warrior class, and Conan judged that their people had been native to these parts long before the fair-haired folk had wandered hither. They had charge of the game in the forests and were expected to guide the aristocratic hunters to the best sport. As such, they enjoyed privileges far greater than most commoners a
nd could be expected to be loyal to their queen.
'Some of you,' Conan began, 'will be detailed to lead the raiding bands to secure camping places. Others will keep track of the two armies heading this way.' His breath steamed on the chill air. 'Still others will be guiding the thralls who will be bringing fodder for the horses. When you move, keep out of sight, but keep to the ridgelines and other high ground. That way the armies will not see your tracks. They will stick to the low roads where the going is easiest. You'll operate in small bands, with some always keeping watch on the enemy while others come back to report. If they chase you, run. Do not try to fight; that is the task of the warriors. Now go to the warrior Siggeir. He will assign each of you to your tasks.'
The huntsmen left, and Conan turned to a far more difficult task: He had no more than a day, or at the most two, to teach these men the rudiments of fighting from horseback. He was grateful that they needed only to learn how to hit and run. He would need months to teach them anything more complicated. Their swords were too short to be wielded effectively from horseback,
so he was teaching them to use their spears from the saddle. Armourers were cutting down their shields to make them more wieldy from horseback.
Straw dummies had been set up on posts outside the garth, and the men were riding down on them, stabbing wildly with their spears. They all laughed uproariously every time one of them misjudged his thrust and toppled from his horse.
'This is not sport!' Conan yelled in exasperation. 'This is war! Stop thrusting so hard! All that does is unbalance you. You don't need to pin a man to the ground; just thrust a few inches of steel into him. Thrust too deep, and you lose your spear. Sit easy in the saddle, and brace yourself only as you thrust. These are not trained warhorses, and you don't want to confuse them.' Another man fell off and there was a gusty roar of laughter. Conan sighed disgustedly.
That evening as the men and the horses trudged exhaustedly back into the garth Alcuina took Conan aside. 'Do they have a chance?' she asked bluntly.
The Conan Chronology Page 345
