"You know of him?"
"Nay, only the name."
Elashi continued her story. "My father, Lorven, was chief of our tribe. Neg had him slain. A valuable . . . object was taken. I seek to avenge my father and retrieve the stolen property."
"Have you no brothers? Vengeance is a man's job."
Her eyes flashed then, and Conan saw the anger rise to her face from deep within. "I am firstborn! My brothers tend their beasts and wives! It is the eldest who must do such duties!"
"And this 'valuable object'-would it be called the Source of Light?"
This statement shook her, literally. "How did you know that?"
"A dying man's legacy."
She waited a moment before proceeding. "Aye, it carries death with it, I think. My father found it in the ruins of an ancient city uncovered by the shifting sands. He was killed for it, and those who killed him died in turn. You saw what happened to the priest who recovered the talisman after that."
"The object is cursed?"
She sighed again. "Perhaps. It is filled with power. Some arcane magic sleeps within, according to the shaman of our tribe. He could not divine its function."
Conan felt uneasy about this revelation. Magic was better left alone, in his experience. Those who dabbled in witchery often became ensnared by it in ways they had not foreseen.
"Why have you not gone directly to this Neg?" Conan asked. " 'Twould seem simpler."
"Nay. He commands power. One cannot just approach him directly. I thought to take that which he seeks and use it to gain admittance. He would see Black-Souled Set Himself to obtain the Source of Light. Once within his guard, I will kill him."
Conan thought about that. A complicated plan, too indirect for his tastes, but it might work.
"What now? You have lost your chance."
Her face hardened. "I know Skeer's visage, and to where he travels. I shall catch up with him."
The young Cimmerian regarded the woman. She was somewhat older than he, perhaps by three or four winters, and her face was attractive enough. He had reason to know she was very womanly under her priestly robes. And yet, despite her sex, she was a woman of deadly resolve. He had never met such a one before, and it attracted him. He was a loner, but he saw the common goals.
He said, "I have no use for your talisman, but I would see this Skeer and his master cross into the Gray Lands. Perhaps we can travel together."
She regarded him for a moment. "Aye, perhaps. If our common goal is all you desire."
Conan was quick to take her meaning. In truth, the thought of bedding her had crossed his mind; but, if she was uninterested, he had no problem with that. He did not force himself on women-there had never been need of that.
"Aye. Then let us depart and locate our quarry. He gains even as we speak."
The Cimmerian and the woman of the desert turned and started down the mountain.
Chapter Five
The High Brythunian Road was, in the best of seasons, a desolate place. Even when the sun warmed the lower lands to the heat of a man's blood, cold shrouded the mountain passes with permanent blankets of snow. Narrow paths were kept clear in the summer by the tramp of travelers' boots and mounts, but winter saw thickening of the white overlay to depths thrice the height of a tall man. In the fields far below, the crops were ripening toward the harvest moon. Winter had yet to blow his icy breath along the High Road, but his younger sister, Autumna, had sent warning chills of her own. Her winds carried cold, but no snow, at least.
It was along this windswept path that Tuanne trudged. She had long ago ceased worrying about the cold. It was a constant, no less than night and day, and she bore it stoically.
Ahead, according to directions she had received, lay a small village. This nameless place squatted at a juncture that virtually ensured that travelers from either direction would stop for rest or refreshment. She felt very strongly that the thing she sought approached the village from the opposite direction; the emanations of magic energy touched her with feathery fingers. If she could reach the village before the bearer of the magical device, she could set a snare for Neg's agent. Care would have to be taken; while she was impervious to death in the ordinary sense, the magic she sought to use to bring release for others might release her too soon if wielded improperly. That must not happen. She must collect the talisman, and she must return to free her zombie kin.
From ahead there came the sudden cough of a mountain cat. The sound caused her to break stride for a moment. She was not armed, at least not with weaponry that animals would respect. She knew fear, then. To be eaten by a beast-would that affect zombie charms against true death? Would she still be somehow alive in the belly of a great cat? She shuddered at the thought.
The cat slunk from behind an outcropping of cold, gray granite, belly low to the ground, its tail twitching.
Tuanne stopped and stood very still, watching the animal. She could not outrun it, there was no point in trying. If it came for her, there was little she could do.
The wind blew from behind her, toward the lion.
The cat stopped its stalk all of a moment, and Tuanne saw it wrinkle its nostrils as it caught her scent. It roared at her then, and she jumped. But the sound was not one of intention to attack; no, rather, it sounded a note of something she could not quite identify: frustration, perhaps. Or maybe it was . . . fear. For the great cat, easily twice her size, began to back away, watching her warily. When it had moved nearly to the granite outcrop, it turned and leaped, vanishing in a heartbeat.
So, she thought. Even a beast recognizes the stench of unnaturalness and refuses to feed upon it. Her curse was, she supposed, a blessing in this case. But it brought her little joy. To be such that a hungry predator would flee was not a thing in which one would rejoice.
Sighing, Tuanne started walking along the trail once more. Night stole upon her quietly, but she only slowed to be certain of her tread. Darkness held few dangers for a zombie. Fewer now, it seemed, than before . . .
Skeer was cold and tired and more than a little hungry. He had left the monastery in a great hurry, and the horse he had cleverly hobbled for his escape had somehow managed to slip its bonds before he reached it. The missing horse carried his food and blankets as well, and there was nothing for it but to move as quickly as he could on foot. A return to the monastery for a mount and supplies would be the epitome of idiocy as well as quick suicide.
Ah, well. The village lay just ahead another hour or so. He had money, he could feast, rest indoors, and mayhaps even purchase feminine company to warm his bed. True, he would have to depart with the rising sun, upon a mount, he hoped. The priests were apt to be more than a little irate at the killings and theft, and pursuit would surely follow. Fortunately, more than one path led away from the monastery, once the major trail juncture was attained, and he hoped the false signs he had left indicating his flight elsewhere would be taken as valid. Such a fortunate happening would buy sufficient time that his pursuers would never catch him. He could afford the stop, certainly. They could not track him at night, certainly.
Darkness laid its ebon shroud upon the cliffs, but he was nearly there. He would be at the village soon, and the lights of the place shined ahead of him, beckoning.
"Surely he went this way," Elashi said. She gestured at the left-hand path that wound toward the south.
"I think not," Conan said.
"I am a woman of the desert," she said, "and not some simpering tavern slut with slack wits! I can read trail signs as well as any man in my tribe, and here they are so obvious a one-eyed goat could see them. That broken branch, used to slow the slide-see the way the dirt has been disturbed?-and the rocks kicked loose from their beds, there and there"-she pointed at the gravel as she spoke-these things tell the tale. He passed this way, slipped upon the damp earth and may as well have left us a message telling us to follow him!"
"Perhaps he did," Conan said. He pointed to the right-hand path. "I shall go this way." He started along the
trail. He did not look back. After a moment he heard Elashi's footsteps padding up behind him.
Her voice, when she spoke, was angry.
"Barbarian, have you no sense? I have explained the signs to you! And yet you ignore them! Why do you behave this way?"
Conan kept walking, but he spared her a glance. "This one you call Skeer is not a careless man," he finally said. "Many places along the upper trail were more treacherous, and yet he left no sign in half a dozen places where you lost your balance and slid and I nearly did so. For him to slip here, at such a simple and crucial turning, would seem unlikely. "
"What are you saying?"
"That perhaps he did leave the signs, but deliberately."
She thought about that for a moment in silence. Then, "But what if you are wrong?"
He shrugged. "I have been wrong before. It will not kill me in this instance."
She did not speak to this, but continued to walk alongside him.
Tuanne attained the village and found what proved to be the single inn. The portly innkeep kept smiling nervously at her, as if both attracted and repelled. He answered her question through dry lips.
"Nay, mistress, none other than yourself have sought lodging this evening."
She nodded. It confirmed her sense of where the talisman was: close, but not yet here.
"I wish a room. And I will sit in the common room for a while, by the fire. Bring wine."
"Y-yes, mistress."
The man scuttled to fetch the wine as Tuanne moved to sit at a rude table set near the dwindling embers. The place was smoky and more than a little dirty, and the guttering of several fat lamps added as much to the smoke as to the light.
Several men sat drinking at the rough-cut tables: two who seemed Brythunian by dress and manner; one hawk-faced and dusky-skinned man who might be of the Stygian mid-class; a fourth who wore dark furs over darker skin, and might be Kushian or perhaps a Keshanite. A skinny woman with dirty-blond hair stood near the first pair and laughed too-loudly at their jokes; likely she was the village trull, to judge from her clothing. She wore a simple thin shift and obviously nothing beneath it.
The men cast hungry glances at Tuanne as she seated herself. Some smiled and tried to lock glances with her, but she ignored them. The dark man made a sign against evil, and looked quickly away. Perceptive, that one. The trull seemed merely to resent the competition.
The innkeep arrived with the wine. Tuanne made no offer to pay, and he hesitated only a moment before scurrying away. She touched the earthen cup, twirling it upon the table, but did not drink. Mortal food and drink held nothing for her, neither taste nor sustenance. The wine served merely as an excuse, for appearance only. She would sit here and await Neg's lackey.
Her plan was simple enough: she would attempt to lure the man to her room. Failing that, she would follow him to his room, or elsewhere, and using the stone she bore within her belt pouch, she would bludgeon the man into insensibility and capture the talisman.
He was coming. She could feel it.
She toyed with the wine cup, and waited.
Skeer entered the inn and, within a moment, spied the pale and beautiful woman sitting alone by the dying fire. How could such a one as that be alone? Were the men seated in the room all lacking in essential maleness? At the sight of the woman, Skeer immediately felt his own manhood stir. Food could be ordered, and would be, and drink to chase the chill from his bones, but he must speak to the woman as soon as possible; else she might disappear-surely she was some mystical creature from a delightful dream?
He said as much to her as he sat in the chair across the table from her. Her smile told him his attentions were not unwelcome. It was going to be a much better night than he had dared hope for; this was a woman to remember!
He spoke of himself as he ate the half-raw pork and stale bread the innkeep sat before him. Most of his speech consisted of lies, including the name he gave, his place of birth, and his occupation. He knew how to present himself in the best light to a skeptical woman; he had practiced it many times. It hardly seemed necessary with this gorgeous creature. Aside from what seemed a certain . . . coolness, she smiled at all his crude jokes, and seemed to hang upon every falsehood he devised. He washed both bread and lies down with draughts from the bottle of wine, and soon felt both warmer and more amorous. This woman drank little, but it hardly seemed to matter-she seemed perfectly willing to follow his lead without the assistance of the grape.
"I was thinking," he said, "that perhaps you might accompany me while I engage a room for the night."
Again, that cool and stimulating smile from her. "I have already taken a room," she said. "Perhaps you would care to . . . share it with me?"
"By Mitra, I would like nothing better! Come, let us go there."
"Wouldn't you like to finish your wine first?"
"We shall take the bottle with us. And another, for good measure." He could hardly believe his fortune. He would not even have to pay for the room.
He stood, wobbled but a little, and extended a hand to assist her-what was her name again?-ah, well, no matter-to her feet.
"Your hand is like ice," he said, when he felt her touch.
"Surely a man such as yourself can bring warmth to it?"
He grinned. "Aye. I can warm all manner of things, my lady. "
Tuanne followed Neg's minion down the narrow hall way toward the room indicated by the leering innkeeper. A stub of a taper provided flickering shadows and only a feeble glow against the darkness. They entered the unlit room, and she smiled in the gloom. It would be easier in the darkness. She reached into her purse and touched the smooth stone nestled there.
Sparks danced just ahead of her, accompanied by the chink! of flint on steel.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Lighting a taper, lady."
"Why? You have no need of eyes for this particular engagement. "
The sparks danced upon the wick of the candle he held, and a small flame glowed into life. "Ah, my lady, such beauty as yours must be seen as well as touched. Here we are. Come, remove those concealing garments and allow me to feast my eyes."
Tuanne hesitated only a moment. He seemed more alert than he had in the common room, and he could see her too easily. Better not to chance an attack now-he had the talisman upon his person, and she was uncertain as to what might happen if she were exposed to it incorrectly. In a few moments, when he was either occupied or sated, the timing would be better. It did not matter if she did that which he wished. She began to disrobe, removing her boots and breeches, then her vest and shirt. In a minute, she stood naked before him, the candlelight glimmering over her form. Her skin made the palest ivory seem dark, even in the dim light, and her body was as lush and rich as any living woman's.
The man sucked in a startled breath. "You are more beautiful than I imagined," he said, his voice hoarse. Quickly, he began to remove his own clothing. He took special care with his purse, and Tuanne knew this was where he had hidden that which she sought. Once it was safely out of his grasp, she could proceed.
"Come here," he ordered. He lay back on the pallet and extended his arms to her.
Tuanne smiled and moved toward him. Unseen, her foot nudged her own purse toward the edge of the pallet, so that the stone within would only be a short reach away.
At the base of the rickety stairs leading to the inn's sleeping quarters, Conan and Elashi stood, talking in low whispers to the innkeeper.
"My patrons deserve their privacy," the portly man said. But he rubbed his thumb across the fingertips of his left hand several times, as though feeling an imaginary coin.
In answer, Conan dropped his own hand to touch the hilt of his sword. There was no need for speech, for the innlord took that meaning quickly enough. "Ah, the third room from the end. He-he is with a woman."
"Return to your business," Conan ordered.
As the innkeep shuffled quickly away, Conan started up the stairs. Elashi started to follow, but he h
eld out his hand. "No. I shall deal with the killer of my friend."
"But the Source of Light-"
"I have no need of magical devices. I shall bring it to you when I am done."
"How can I trust you?"
Conan's blue eyes smoldered in the faint light. "You have my word."
They stood silently for a moment, and when he turned to ascend the stairs, she stood her own ground.
Before he reached the hallway at the stairtop, he drew his blade. Three doors down, was it? He trod carefully, settling his not-inconsiderable weight onto each footstep as though walking upon fragile ice he wished to avoid breaking.
"By Bel, you are as cold as the pit of winter!"
Tuanne pressed herself against the man, and said, "I have been standing bare in this chilly room. A draught of wine will warm me. I'll get it."
"Hurry."
But what her hand found when it left their bed was not wine in an earthen bottle, but a stone that fit comfortably within her grip.
"What are you doing? What is that?"
He was alarmed; something in her motion must have given her away. She twisted away from him and raised the stone.
There existed a number of things he could have done, several of which would have produced results in his favor. He could have leaped from the bed and fled; he could have caught Tuanne's wrists and struggled, for her strength was no more than that of a mortal woman; he could have ducked the striking hand. What he did instead, however, was to snatch at his clothing for the knife he carried. In a smooth and practiced motion, he thrust the short blade up at the woman, sinking it to the hilt in her stomach, then jerking it free so that her blood might flow fast and freely.
Tuanne smiled as she saw the satisfaction on his face turn to horror. There was no blood, and had he managed to stay conscious for another moment, he would have seen the edges of the wound seal and vanish back into perfect whiteness. But she continued her own motion, and the stone met flesh and bone just over his ear, and his senses were clouted from him. He went limp without a sound.
Tuanne dropped the stone and arose. She spared the unconscious man a single glance, then turned toward his clothing.
The Conan Compendium Page 32
