The Conan Chronology

by J. R. Karlsson

  Conan hesitated no longer. Cupping his hands around his mouth and filling his great lungs, he bellowed: 'Morenus, come back! Get out of the Notch! Spur your horses, all. Come back!'

  There was a moment of confusion in the Notch, as the command was passed along and the soldiers sought to turn their steeds on the narrow way. Above them on the cliff, the sorcerer shrieked a final invocation and struck the rocks outside his pentacle with his curiously carven staff.

  A rumble-a deep-toned roll that scarcely could be heard -issued from the earth. Above the retreating cavalrymen, the cliffs swayed. Pieces of black basalt detached themselves and toppled, with deceptive slowness, then faster and faster, striking ledges, shattering, and bounding off to crash into the gorge. From the River Bitaxa, towering jets of spray fountained aloft to dwarf the downward fall of the cascade.

  Conan found his stirrup with some difficulty, as his terror-stricken beast danced around him in a circle. His foot secured, he swung cursing into the saddle and wheeled to face the column of infantry, still marching briskly towards the Notch.

  'Get back! Get back!' he roared, but his words were lost in the grumbling, grinding thunder of the earthquake. He moved his horse into the column's path, making frantic gestures. The lead men understood and checked their gait; but those behind continued to press forward, so that the column bunched up into a milling mass.

  Within the Notch the cliffs swayed, reeled, and crumbled. With the roar of an angry god, millions of tons of rock cascaded into the gap. The earth beneath the soldiers' feet so swayed and bounced that men clutched one another to

  stay erect; a few fell, their weapons clattering to the rocky

  Around.

  Down from the deadly flume raced Conan's troop of cavalry, lashed by their panic. The leaders crashed into the infantry column, downing some horses, spilling riders from their saddles, and injuring many foot soldiers caught in the jaws. Men's shouts and horses' screams soared above the thunder of the 'quake.

  The Bitaxa River foamed out of its bed, as waves sent downstream by the fall of rock spread out on the flatlands below and lapped across the road. Soldiers splashed ankle-deep in water and prayed to their assorted gods.

  Controlling his frantic mount by a savage grip on the reins, Conan sought to restore order. 'Morenus ' he shouted. 'Did all your men get out?'

  'All but a dozen or so in the van, General.' Glowering at the Giant's Notch, Conan cursed the loss. A vast cloud of dust obscured the pass, until a wind sprang up and swept it out. As the dust thinned, Conan saw that the Notch was now much wider than before and that its slopes were less than vertical. The flume was filled with a huge talus of broken rock-stones of all sizes, from pebbles to fragments as large as a tent. From time to time small slides continued to issue from the sloping walls and clatter down upon the talus. Any man caught beneath that fall of rock would be entombed forever.

  One section to the left side of the cliff had curiously remained in place; it now rose from the slope like a narrow buttress. At the pinnacle of this strange formation, Conan saw a pair of small figures, black-robed and cowled. One tossed its arms on high, as if in supplication.

  'That's the king's sorcerer, Thulandra Thuu, or I'm a Stygian!' rasped a voice nearby.

  Conan turned to see Gromel at his elbow. 'Think you he sent the earthquake?'

  'Aye. And if he'd waited till we were all within the Notch, we'd all be dead. He's too far for a bow shot; but if I had a bow, I'd chance it.'

  An archer heard and handed up his bow, saying: 'Take mine, sir!'

  Gromel dismounted, drew an arrow to the head, sin IN, I aim by a hair's breadth, and let fly. The arrow arced high and struck the cliff a score of paces below the top. The small figures vanished.

  'A good try,' grunted Conan. We should have set a ballista. Gromel, there are broken bones in need of splint; see that the physicians do their work.'

  Under lowering brows Conan stared at the talus. Ilia barbarian instincts told him to rally his men, dismount tin-cavalry, and lead them all in a headlong charge up the steep incline, leaping from rock to rock with naked steel in hand. But experience warned him that this would be a futile gesture, throwing away men's lives to no good purpose. Progress would be slow and laborious; the struggling climbers would be raked by arrows from above; those who survived the climb would be too winded to do battle.

  He looked around. 'Ho there, Trocero! Prospero! Morenus, send a trooper to tell Publius and Pallantides that I want them here. Now, friends, what next?'

  Count Trocero reined his horse closer to Conan's and studied the mass of broken rock. 'The army can in no way ascend the slope. Men afoot might slowly pick their way up -if Numitor did not assail them and the sorcerer cast no other deadly spell. But horses never, nor yet the wains.'

  'Could we build our own road, replacing the rock-ledge path that lies beneath the rocks?' suggested Prospero.

  Trocero considered the idea. 'With a thousand workmen, several months, and gold to spare, I'd build you as fine a road as you could wish.'

  'We do not have such time, nor money either,' rumbled Conan. 'If we cannot go through the Notch, we must go over, under, or around it. Order the men to march a quarter-league back along the road and pitch camp under the forest trees.'

  In the royalist camp Thulandra Thuu confronted a furious

  ,. ..... The exhausted sorcerer, looking much older than

  As was his wont, leaned on Hsiao's sturdy shoulder. The area from which his pentacle was marked had not fallen with the luiluiuc of the cliff, and he had walked the narrow bridge to iilriy.

  'You fool necromancer!' grumbled Numitor. 'Since you would resort to magic, you should have waited till the Notch I WHS tilled with rebels. Thus we had slain them all. Now icy have fled with little scathe.'

  'You do not understand these matters, Prince,' replied Thulandra coolly. 'I withheld the final step of the enchantment until I saw that something-or someone-had warned the rebel leader of the trap and the rebels had begun to flee. Had I withheld my hand the longer, they would have all escaped scot-free. In any case the flume is blocked. The rebels must needs march east to the Khorotas or west to the Alimine, for they cannot now breach the escarpment.

  'And now Your Highness must excuse me. The spell has rained my psychic forces, and I must rest.'

  'I never did think much of miracle-mongers,' growled Numitor as he turned away.

  n the sheltered forest camp that evening, Conan and his officers reviewed a map. 'To bypass the escarpment,' said Conan, 'we must return to the village of Pedassa, whence the roads depart for the two rivers. But that's a lengthy march.'

  'If there were some little-known break in the long cliff wall,' said Prospero wistfully, 'we could, by moving quietly through the woods, steal a march on Numitor and fall upon him unawares.'

  Conan frowned. 'This map shows no such pass; but long ago I learned not to trust mapmakers. You're lucky if they show the rivers flowing in the true direction. Trocero, know you any alternate route?'

  Trocero shook his head. 'Nay.'

  'There must be streams other than the Bitaxa that cut a channel in the cliff.'

  Trocero shrugged helplessly. Pallantides entered, saying:

  'Your pardon, General, but two men of Serdicus's company have deserted.'

  Conan snorted. 'Every time we win, men desert from the royalists to join us; every time we lose, they desert us for the king. It is like a game of chance, following Fate's decree. Send scouts to look for them and hang them if you catch them; but do not make a public matter of it. Order woodsmen at dawn to study the cliff face in both directions for the distance of a league to see if they can find a pathway to the top. And now, friends, leave me to ponder further on the matter.'

  Beside his camp bed Conan brooded over a flagon of ale. He restudied the map and cudgelled his brain for a way his army might surmount the escarpment.

  Absently he fingered the half-circle of obsidian, which once had hung between the opulent breasts of the dancing gi
rl Alcina, and which was now clasped around his massive' neck. He stared down at the object, thinking how right had been his friend Trocero's suspicion that she had caused the death of old Amulius Procas.

  Little by little, the pieces of the puzzle fitted together. Alcina had been sent-either by the king's spy-master or by the royal sorcerer-to try to murder him. Later she succeeded in slaying General Procas. Why Procas? Because with Conan in his grave, Procas was no longer needed to defend Aquilonia's mad king. Hence, neither she nor her master knew, at the time of Procas's death, that Conan had recovered from her deadly elixir.

  Well, thought Conan, not without bitterness, he must hereafter be more cautious in choosing his bedmates. But why should Procas die? Because Alcina's master, whoever he might be, wanted the old man out of his way. This thought led Conan to Thulandra Thuu, for the rivalry between the sorcerer and the general for the king's favour was notorious.

  Conan gripped the ebon talisman as this enlightenment burst upon him. And as he did so, he became aware of a

  curious sensation. It seemed that voices carried on a dialogue within his skull.

  A shadowy form took shape before his eyes. As Conan tensed to snatch his sword, the vision solidified, and he saw a female figure sitting on a black wrought-iron throne. The vision was to some extent transparent - Conan could dimly see the tent wall behind the image-and too nebulous to recognise the woman's features. But in the shadowy face burned eyes of emerald green.

  With every nerve atingle, Conan watched the figure and hearkened to the voices. One was a woman's dusky voice, and her words followed the movements of the shadow's lips. The voice was Alcina's, but she seemed unaware of Conan's scrutiny.

  The other voice was dry, metallic, passionless, and spoke Aquilonian with a sibilant slur. Conan had never exchanged a word with Thulandra Thuu, although he had seen the mage across the throne room during courtly functions in Tarantia when he was general to the king. But from descriptions of the wizard, he imagined the king's favourite would speak thus. The voice proceeded:

  '. . . I know not who betrayed my plan; but some treacher must have forewarned the rebel chieftain.'

  Alcina replied: 'Perhaps not, Master. The barbarian pig has senses keener than those of ordinary men; he might have detected the coming cataclysm by some stirring of the air above the earth. What do you now?'

  'I must needs remain here to guard that ninny Numitor against some asinine misjudgement, until Count Ulric arrives. The stars inform me of his coming in three days' time. Yet I am weary. Calling up the spirits of the earth has prostrated me. I can work no further spells until I recoup my psychic forces.'

  'Then, pray, come back forthwith!' urged the vision of Alcina. 'Ulric will surely arrive before the rebels can surmount the cliffs, and I have need of your protection.' 'Protection? Why so?'

  'His maggotty Majesty, the King, importunes me constantly to join him in his bestial amusements. I am afraid.'

  'What has this walking heap of excrement been urging you to do?'

  'His desires beggar all description, Master. At your command, some men I have lain with, and some I have slain. But this I will not do.'

  'Set and Kali!' exclaimed the dry male voice. When I have finished with Numedides, he'll wish he were in hell I I shall set forth for Tarantia on the morrow.'

  'Have a care that you fall not into rebel hands along the way! Insurgent bands have been reported along the Road of Kings, and the barbarian pig might lead a swift raid into loyal territory. He is a worthy adversary.'

  The male voice chuckled faintly. 'Fear not for me, my dear Alcina. Even in my present depleted state, I can with my peculiar powers slay any mortal at close quarters. And now, farewell.'

  The voices fell silent, and the vision faded. Conan shook himself like one awakening from a vivid dream. With Thulandra gone from the scene of battle and Ulric not yet arrived, he had a chance to fall on Numitor's army and rout it - if only he could reach the plains above before the Count of Raman came with reinforcements.

  He needed air to clear his rampant thoughts and rose to leave his narrow sleeping quarters. In the adjacent section of the tent, the bodyguards whom Prospero had assigned him were so engrossed in a game of chance that none looked up as Conan, soundless as a shadow, glided past them.

  Outside, the sentries, used to his night prowls, supposed that he was making an inspection. They saluted as he wandered to the edge of the encampment and continued into the nighted woods. Prospero, he thought with a grim smile, would be perturbed to know that Conan once again had given his bodyguards the slip.

  He fumbled in his wallet for the bone whistle Gola had given him, retrieved it, and fingered it. The satyr had said that if he ever wanted help from the people of these woods, he had but to blow upon it. Half in jest, he put the tiny whistle to his lips and blew. Nothing happened. More intently, he blew another silent blast.

  Perhaps the remnant of the satyrs had departed from the area of their destruction. Even if they heard the call, they might need time to come to him. Conan stood motionless with the wary patience of a crouching panther waiting for its prey, listening to the buzz and chirp of insects and the rustle f a passing breeze. Now and then he put the soundless whistle to his lips and blew again.

  At length he felt a movement in the shrubbery. 'Who you, blow whistle call satyr?' asked a small high-pitched voice in broken Aquilonian.

  'Gola?'

  'Nay, me Zudik, chief. Who you?' The shrubbery parted.

  'Conan the Cimmerian. Do you know Gola?' Conan, whose eyes had adjusted to the darkness, could see this was a bent and ancient satyr, whose pelt was tinged with silver.

  'Aye,' replied the satyr chieftain. 'He tell about you. Save him and four others. What you want?'

  Tour help to kill the men atop the cliff.'

  'How Zudik help big man like you?'

  We need a pathway to the top,' said Conan, 'now that the Giant's Notch is filled with rocks. Know you another way?'

  The night sang with the sound of insects in the silence. Then Zudik answered slowly: 'Is small path that way.' The satyr pointed eastward.

  'How far?'

  The satyr replied in his own language, and his words were like the caws of crows.

  Puzzled, the Cimmerian asked: 'Can we get there within a day's march?'

  Walk hard. Can do.'

  Will you show us the way?'

  'Aye. Be ready before sun-up.'

  Later Conan sought out Publius and said: We move at dawn for a path the satyrs say leads to the bluff; but it's

  too narrow for the wagons. You will take the baggage train back to Pedassa and follow the road thence to the Khorniu If we join you on the road to Tarantia, we shall have vanquished Numitor; if not-' Conan drew a finger across his throat -'you'll go alone.'

  The second gap in the escarpment was much narrower than the Giant's Notch. From below it was invisible, hidden by lush greenery and overhanging rocks. The horsemen had to lead their mounts across the brook that gurgled at the bottom of the cleft and up the rocky way. More than one horse, frightened by the narrowing canyon walls, held up the others while it whinnied, rolled frightened eyes, and reared. The men afoot, walking in single file, could just squeeze through. When dusk made the path darker and more sinister, Conan urged each man to grasp the garments of the man ahead and stumble forward. Morning saw the last man through.

  While the Army of Liberation rested from their forced march and arduous climb, Conan sent scouts to probe Numitor's position. On their return the leader reported:

  'Numitor has struck his camp and fallen back for several leagues along the road. His men have pitched camp in the forest, straddling the highway.'

  Conan looked a question at his officers. Pallantides said: 'What's this? Even if Numitor is stupid, I've never heard he was a coward!'

  'More likely,' Trocero put in, 'he learned that we have found a way up the escarpment and feared we would drive him to the precipice.'

  'The sorcerer might have warned hi
m,' ventured Prospero.

  'That is not all, General,' said the chief scout. 'Four more regiments have arrived to reinforce the enemy. We recognised their banners.'

  Conan grunted. 'Numitor has stripped the Westermarck of regulars, leaving the defence against the Picts to the local militia. So we are again outnumbered; and the Royal Frontiersmen are skilful fighting men. I've fought beside

  them and I know.' He paused a moment, then added: 'That satyr Gola said something about using pipes against a foe. What think you that he meant?'

  None knew. At last Conan said; 'I see I must consult our III lie folk again.'

  As dusk drew a grey veil of mist along the tumbling licam, Conan worked his way down the narrow path up winch his men had so laboriously clambered. He stood alone in he enshrouding dark of the Brocellian Forest, listening in vain for any footfall. He blew on the bone whistle and, as before, he waited in the shadow of an ancient tree. When at lust: his call was answered, he was relieved to find it was Zudik, the satyr who had directed his army to the pass. In answer to a question, Zudik said:

  'Aye, we use pipes. Make your men stop up ears.'

  'Plug up our ears?' asked Conan wonderingly.

  'Aye. Use beeswax, cloth, clay-so can no longer hear. Then we help you.'

  Numitor's Frontiersmen lay in a crescent across the highway Tarantia. The prince seemed prepared to stand on the defensive until the arrival of Count Ulric. His men were digging earthworks with implanted pointed stakes to impede an attacker. Because of the dense stands of trees, the rebels could not outflank the royalists's long line.

  Silently, the Army of Liberation spread out before the crescent, their presence hidden by the shrubbery. But when a royal sentry perceived a movement in the bushes, he sounded an alarm. Men dropped their shovels, snatched weapons, and took positions on the line.