Smiling sadly, he reached for his dark gray doublet and donned it, then pulled on a pair of black woolen trousers and boots made from the thick but supple hide of the rare Kothian black rhinoceros. After fastening his weathered sword-belt around his waist, he decided he was beginning to feel a little better. He straightened up and felt the familiar weight of his father's Kezankian sword, its heavy steel blade pressing reassuringly against his side.
With the morning sun shining on him through the window, Eldran looked more regal than he believed himself to be. His short-cropped dark hair was streaked with gray and white, and he kept his beard short out of habit. Steely gray eyes, shaded with blue by the dawn's light, reflected his inner personality: a man of iron will and iron integrity, honest, simple, and strong. His years of war in the borders of northeastern Brythunia had earned him a muscular frame, and he was renowned for his skill with the sword. His face, though scarred over the years, was handsomely rugged.
Eldran's agreeable nature and respect for others made him easy to befriend, and men had always found him a resourceful and successful leader. His rise in the small Brythunian army had been rapid, but seldom were any envious of him, as he earned his reputation through deeds that were brave and unselfish. His personal losses had hardened him, as a smith tempers a blade when he forges it. Many of those who served as his personal guard had been saved by him in the course of harrowing border conflicts.
He had become a general at about the same time as his friend, Valtresca. The two had campaigned together for years, each commanding forces that guarded the eastern border. Valtresca was from the south, closer to Brythunia's capital city, but they had always cooperated to repel invaders from Hyperborea or Turan.
Eldran had been surprised when the officers and nobles of Brythunia had requested that he replace the previous king, Khullan, who had died in an accident a few years before, leaving no heir. Brythunian monarchs typically came from a military background, but usually they bore a nobler bloodline than Eldran's. Eldran had expected that Valtresca would be chosen as the new ruler of Brythunia when the former king had passed on to the land of his fathers. He had even considered deferring to Valtresca, doubting his own abilities to be adequate for the task.
After struggling with the decision, he had accepted the kingship. He made Valtresca general of the armies in all regions of Brythunia.
Eldran had worried that his new general would have been dissatisfied, but Valtresca had expressed no resentment at this turn of events.
Several Brythunian nobles had told him that his acceptance of the kingship would quell their endless power squabbles, which were often fueled by the choice of a king who was from one particular nobility.
Eldran was also the first king in many generations to have the loyal support of the hillmen. In the end, it was this that swayed him. The hillmen had never been fully respected by the past kings of Brythunia; they had no real wealth to speak of, and were by and large a crude and reclusive people.
Eldran saw that if he accepted the kingship, he could hope to unify Brythunia into a powerful nation and put a stop to the endless harassment of its borders by neighboring realms. He had no dreams of empire; Brythunia had no resources with which to equip a large army for long campaigns to conquer its powerful neighboring kingdoms, and he had not the inclination to make war and slay others for land. Blood was too costly to trade for dirt. Eldran's hopes were for a country that wouid be safe and peaceful for its people. He had begun to negotiate with the lords of Corinthia, Zamora, and mighty Nemedia. They took him more seriously than they had taken the Brythunian kings of the past, since Eldran could raise an irregular army from his loyal following that would be large enough to pose a threat.
In the meantime, there were constant raids, explained away as "accidents" committed by "renegades." Eldran believed that in reality these skirmishes were tests of his strength and resolve. Valtresca's skill had been invaluable in proving the capabilities of the Brythunian armies. The more raids that were routed, the better the negotiations went. Unfortunately, there were thosehNemedians or Zamorans for the most parthwho had seen Eldran as a threat. Within recent months, there had been several unsuccessful attempts to assassinate him. He had made powerful enemies, he realized, but he could do little to prevent this from happening. He regarded the attempts as a measure of his success; his plans must be working or these hidden rivals would not be seeking to eliminate him.
The very recent effort to poison him had resulted in his becoming even more cautious. He did not like being guarded more carefully, though he realized the necessity. He actually enjoyed the company of the hillmen, many of whom had fought at his side in the northeastern mountain battles. He wistfully considered that he should have protected Elspeth better, but it was too late now. He shook the thought from his mind, trying to concentrate on the pressing aspects of his dealings with the surrounding kingdoms.
Eldran again glanced out the window. Lamici might bring news of the Zamoran prince's response to his last proposal for use of border land.
From just outside his room, he could hear the heavy tread of his closest friend and guardsman, the Kezankian chieftain Kailash.
"The eunuch Lamici is outside your chambers, Lord Eldran," the robust hillman said in his booming voice. "By Erlik, I would sooner bathe with a Khitan water viper than take counsel with him. His very voice taxes me. How you can stand him, I do not know."
"Peace, old friend. He serves the people, just as you and I do, though I do not like him either. A kingdom is made up of many men, great and small, each with his own tasks. Who is to judge which men are more important? There are many in this city whom I do not like, but I have learned to get along with them. We have had this conversation before, but I see that your mind will never change, Kailash; you are as stubborn as the grizzled mountain goats that your brother herds.
Nevertheless, please bring Lamici in. We have much" Eldran paused, wiping his brow, " much to discuss."
With a slightly bewildered expression, Kailash squinted at the king.
"Are you ill, Lord? You look pale."
"Eh? Oh, a passing ailment of no importance. You worry too much, Kailash. I am no stripling, to be coddled so. Have the men see to breakfast, and let me do the worrying for myself. And let the eunuch in, before we wile away the morning with our idle chatter."
"Of course, Lord." Kailash grinned and pounded Eldran solidly on the back, laughing. Eldran winced at the blow, but his friend missed this as he hastened toward the outer doors to admit Lamici.
The king moved over to a massive stone table that dominated the room and sat down in one of the roughly upholstered chairs positioned around it. He began reviewing his map of Brythunia and its surrounding kingdoms, although he knew every pen-stroke of it by heart.
"Good morning, sire. A glorious sunrise today!" Lamici spoke enthusiastically, but his eyes were cold and flat. He walked toward the table, bowed, and stood stiffly by a chair, facing the king. Eldran gestured for him to take a seat, then noticed that the eunuch was eyeing him curiously. "Sire, you seem troubled this morning. Shall I fetch the healer to attend you?"
"Nay, Lamici. 'Tis of no concern." Eldran spoke with some irritation, for he was growing tired of these constant inquiries into his health.
"What news from the Zamoran prince today?"
"The messenger has not returned yet, sire. He was dispatched a fortnight ago, and the roadsh" Lamici began, but he was interrupted.
"Yes, yes, the roads are fraught with peril, as you have said before.
Still, the fellow could have gone to Vendhya and been back by now. I will send a patrol to see if our messenger was delayed." Eldran again brushed sweat from his brow, the droplets larger than before. He was annoyed with himself for losing his temper with the eunuch. His patience had been worn thin by his affliction, compounded with his sorrow over the loss of Elspeth. "Perhaps we should adjourn, Lamici. I suppose you are right, I am troubled this morning. I slept poorly and could do with more rest before we
continue our discussion."
"Is it the princess, sire? The people mourn your loss. I mean no intrusion into your personal matters, but if there is anything I can do to comfort you, just name it. I have heard that Valtresca has found out who committed this heinous deed and even now is hunting down the foul villain. The headsman has begun sharpening his ax, although a quick death is too just for such an outrageous crime."
"The execution will give me no gratification; beheading the murderer will not bring Elspeth back. Still, for his crime, the murderer must be sent to hell, where he will be judged more harshly and suffer more punishment than mortal man could inflict. Tell me his name, so that I may know who has caused me this anguish."
"Conan, sire. A wandering barbarian vagrant, who slew her for the jewelry she wore. Even now his neck would be lowering onto the headsman's block but for the gross mistake of Captain Salvorus. He had Conan in his grasp, but let him slip through it last night."
"Salvorus? Oh, yes, the young man from the southwestern border. A solid warrior. Years ago, he held the river while badly outnumbered by the blasted Nemedians. Unfortunate that he could not apprehend this Conan.
If Salvorus could not catch him, the barbarian must be resourceful. See to it that the guards proceed with caution when dealing with him. A man who would foully murder the king's daughter is an even greater danger to the people. If he cannot be taken alive safely, have the guards slay him themselves. Prepare an order of execution. I will sign it now."
Lamici unrolled a parchment scroll he had carried into the room with him. Without questioning why the eunuch had produced the document so quickly, Eldran scanned it, then pressed his signet ring to the bottom of it. Lamici noticed with great satisfaction that the king was sweating freely, breathing rapidly, and shivering slightly. Eldran's hand trembled as he embossed the parchment with his ring, and his complexion paled visibly. Good! Azora had kept her part of the bargain; soon this oafish hillman would die.
Lamici decided that he rather enjoyed watching this son of a goatherd suffer. If only you knew how your slut of a daughter had really died, bumpkin! Would that you could have heard her pitiful screams while she writhed in agony, "sire." Soon you will join her in hell. "Valtresca personally assured me that this evildoer will be found and punished, sire. Is there anything else you require?"
"No, thank you, Lamici. Please leave me. I have much to think about and will send for you when I am ready to discuss these matters. Tell me at once when you hear from the Zamoran messenger. You may go now."
"Yes, sire. I hope you will feel better soon," Lamici added, drawing on all his skill to sound sincere. He bowed and left the room, his slippered feet treading noiselessly across the thick rugs that covered the stone floors.
Eldran rose slowly from the chair and called out for Kailash. Fighting the dizziness that had come over him, he realized that his condition was worsening. He moved slowly toward the bed and eased himself onto it. Kailash rushed in, his voice full of concern.
"I have already sent for a healer, Lord. Forgive me for doing so without your consent, but I know you well enough to tell when you need one. You stubborn Kezanki, you would be gasping out your dying breath before you would send for a healer yourself." Kailash was doing his best to sound cheerful, but his tone of voice was betraying him. "Why, nine years agohthe Graskaal Mountain warshI remember you walking ten leagues with a Hyperborean arrow stuck deep in your gut. It was darker than a Stygian tomb that night, so we did not even know you had been hit until you fell flat on your face."
Eldran smiled grimly. "Truly, we have been through hard times together.
However, you exaggerate. As I recall, it was only two or three leagues that we walked. Let me rest. How am I to feel better with you braying in my ear like a donkey?" He sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose. "Not to mention that you smell like a donkey. Worry not, friend donkey, I will be better soon." Eldran made his best effort to sound cheerful, but he doubted he was deceiving Kailash. He closed his eyes and sighed, laid back onto his bed, and soon fell asleep.
He began to dream a strange dream. In it, he saw people, some of them close friends, gathered around an odd-looking old black stone altar, staring up at its top. In the background, he heard Lamici playing a funeral dirge with a lyre. Valtresca stood with the crowd around the altar, but when Eldran tried to speak to him, he turned his face away silently. Then Eldran moved through the crowd, asking them whom they mourned. None would answer him, not even Kailash, who looked straight at him but did not seem to recognize him. Nearing the altar, he saw an alluring woman with jet-black hair and fair, smooth skin standing atop it. She reached a hand out to him, which he took; then he ascended the altar effortlessly. The crowd turned away and began to leave.
The woman, whom he did not recognize, embraced him and kissed him passionately. Taken by surprise, he struggled but could not break free of her embrace. He looked past her and saw that his wife and daughter were standing motionless before the altar, staring at him. Lamici continued to play the dirge, his fingers moving ever more rapidly over the lyre until the strings blurred.
Then a powerfully built man with black hair and blazing blue eyes burst into his view, brandishing a western broadsword. He rushed straight for Eldran's wife and daughter, sword upraised! Opposite him, Valtresca appeared suddenly, but he had no weapon. He looked up to Eldran, pleading for Eldran to throw him a weapon. The king drew his own blade and tossed it toward the general, who caught it with the ease and grace of a juggler. The general raised the blade and slashed at the black-haired man before he could reach the two women.
When Valtresca struck with the Kezankian blade, the man dissolved like a handful of dust scattered into a gusting wind. Without warning, Valtresca spun around and drove the blade through one woman, then the other, while Eldran screamed soundlessly. Lamici crooned and strummed the lyre fervently, now playing an old Brythunian dance song, often heard during celebrations of victory.
The strange woman who held Eldran in an iron embrace tilted her head back and laughed, revealing rows of teeth sharper than a serpent's. She leaned forward and plunged her long, razor-sharp teeth deep into his unprotected throat. His struggles weakened as she fastened her mouth on his neck, sucking blood out of him like a human leech. Soon he felt consciousness slip away.
Eldran awoke with a start, his veins afire, shivering and sweating. He tried to cry out, but there was some sort of pressure on his throat, choking the sounds back. He felt weak and disoriented, his vision blurring, then clearing. How long had he slept? He dimly remembered a horrifying nightmare, with a woman, an altar, and The memory faded quickly, the details slipping from his feverish mind. He could see Kailash and the healer speaking in low murmurs at his bedside. He tried to raise himself from the bed, but his leaden limbs would not respond.
The healer wiped Eldran's brow with a cool, damp cloth, saying something to Kailash that was unintelligible to the king.
" wake suddenly he yesterday he herbs sorcery was tossing, and
find priest" was all that Eldran could hear before the healer stopped speaking and left the room. Kailash bent down to stare gravely at Eldran, placing a meaty hand on the king's shoulder. He spoke directly, but Eldran had trouble hearing him.
"Old friend, be strong healer back. Will find him" Eldran heard, before his eyes closed and he fell again into an agonizing sleep wherein the dream repeated itself, like a mad play set on a stage in the lowest pit of hell.
Kailash took his hand from the king's shoulder and stood up, pacing the chamber. Over the years, he had seen Eldran drunk, feverish from the sickness of battle wounds, and suffering from fatigue or sunstroke.
Never had he seen his friend succumb so quickly, without warning, to any disease. Only yesterday the king had looked pale, but nowhere near as ghostlike as he was now. He had fallen into an unrestful slumber, tossing and crying out. The healer could not awaken him or ease his pain, though his eyes would open, then close again after a short time.
No food or
water could pass down his throat; their attempts to feed him had resulted in nearly choking him to death.
Kailash suspected that foul sorcery was afoot, some spawn of hell summoned from the abyss to wrack the spirit and body of Eldran. No healer could hope to protect the king from these black arts. Only a priest or a wizard could help Kailash's ailing friend now. He had sent three of his most fleet-footed men to the border for a Kezankian shaman, but even if they flew on the wind like winged eagles, they would not return to the city for many days. Be strong, my friend, he urged. Resist this demon that gnaws at your heart. By Erlik, I know you can do it.
Kailash continued pacing, wondering just how much time his friend had left, feeling helpless to stem the flow of life ebbing from Eldran at a steady, unstoppable pace.
Five
The Lurker Below
Conan grunted in disgust as he stepped on something wet, slimy, and hairy wriggling out from underneath his sandaled foot. He had been trudging for hours in the tunnels of the city's ancient sewer and was growing weary of wallowing knee-deep in the endless pools of reeking, filth-ridden ooze. He nearly gagged as a new, particularly vile odor assaulted his nostrils, rising from the syrupy sludge he waded through.
He had thought his sense of smell had mercifully deserted him a few hours ago, but apparently it had not. Fortunately, the sewer system was either forgotten or simply unused in many areas, or his journey would have been even more unpleasant.
He looked along the ceiling of the tunnel he was in, hoping to catch sight of the faint ray of light he had seen toward the tunnel's end. A growing feeling that he had lost his way had begun gnawing at him. He had not seen light from the street's sewer grates for several hours, but he was certain that he had gone in the general direction of the palace.
At a juncture of three tunnels he had passed over an hour ago, he had been unable to decide which branch to take. The one leading toward the palace had a very slight downward bend to it, which he found disturbing. Nevertheless, he had taken it, not being one to shy from the dark like a frightened child. As he followed the passage, the almost nonexistent light had diminished to an inky blackness that even his keen eyes, adapted to the dark, could scarcely penetrate. He paused, realizing that the light he thought he had seen was actually some stone or rubble protruding from the wall, lighter in color than the others. By Crom, he had had enough of this! Turning around, he decided to go back to the juncture and take a different path.
The Conan Compendium Page 51
