"Captain Conan of the King's mercenaries and a lady sent to bring him to Mishrak," Conan said before the woman could speak. She started.
"I am no mute, like our friends at the first gate," Conan went on. "I am a Cimmerian and a soldier, and both have a certain quaint custom. When we have twice fought side by side with someone and they owe us their lives, we enjoy knowing their names. I know not what barbarous land you call home, but―"
The woman's nostrils flared and she had the grace to flush. "I am Raihna of the Stone Hill in the Marches of Bossonia. I serve the Mistress Illyana."
Which, Conan reflected, answered his question without telling him much.
He set his wits to devising a new question. Before he found words, a voice like a bull's bellow filled the room.
"Come and let us be about our business. We do not have the whole day!"
Conan took Raihna firmly by the arm and led the way into Mishrak's innermost refuge.
From the splendor of the way in, Conan expected more of the same beyond the arch. Instead everything was bare, whitewashed stone walls and ceiling. Only on the floor did rich Iranistani carpets and dyed Hyrkanian fleeces offer softness to both the eye and the foot. On the floor―and around the pool in the middle of
the room.
Five women and a man sat on benches around the pool. Four of the women were a pleasure to any man's eye, the more so as they wore only sandals, gilded loinguards, and silver collars set with topazes. It took nothing from Conan's pleasure in the women to detect small daggers hidden in the sandals and loinguards. He wondered what weapon might lurk in the collars. Like much else in Mishrak's house, the women were both a delight to the senses and a menace to unsuspecting enemies.
The fifth woman had the air of a guest rather than a guard. She wore a white robe, held a wine cup, and seemed older than the others.
Before Conan saw more, the bull's bellow came again. "Well, Captain Conan? Will you be once more a thief, and of women this time?"
The bellow came from the man on the bench. Conan doubted that he could rise from it unaided; below the knees his legs were shrunken nightmares, seamed and ravaged with scars. Above the waist, he was as thick as the mast of a galley, with arms like tree-roots. The hair of arms and chest was gray shot with white.
So were the few strands of beard and hair that escaped the black leather mask covering Mishrak from crown to chin.
Conan grinned. "Keeping stolen gold is hard enough. Keeping what has legs to run with, if it likes not your company or your manner in bed… Do I look so great a fool?"
"You've been gaping about you like one, I must say."
"Call it gaping if you will, Lord Mishrak. I call it admiring fine work. I know
now why you have so many enemies, yet live to serve King Yildiz so well."
"Oh? And what magic do I have to perform this miracle?"
"It's neither magic nor miracle. It's making ready to kill your enemies faster than their courage can endure. Most men can be brave if they have some hope of life or victory. Losing all hope of either would turn most into cowards."
"Save yourself, no doubt, Cimmerian?"
"I have not tested the defenses of your house, Mishrak. Nor do I have any cause to do so. I am not yet your enemy, and I doubt you plan to make me so. Killing me here might do injury to your rugs and ladies."
"So it would. Yet I would suggest that you learn why I have summoned you, before you call me friend."
"It will be a rare pleasure to be told something, for once," Conan said.
"I predict the pleasure will be brief," Mishrak said, in a tone that told of a grim smile under the mask. "Yet your life might be even more so, if you do not accept what I offer you."
"No man lives as long as he wants to," Conan said. "That's the way of the world, just as no man can have every woman he desires," he added, grinning at Raihna.
She flushed again. "What is going to shorten my days this time?"
"Lord Houma. Ah, I see I have finally driven a dart deep enough in that thick Cimmerian skull to gain your attention."
Conan wasted no breath denying it. "I understand he's rather fonder of his son than the young witling deserves. You should understand that Raihna and I met his first band of hired swords on our way here. Only one of them left alive, and he
only because he fled." Conan would have sworn Raihna threw him a grateful look for not mentioning her mistake.
"As you say, they were the first band sent against you. They will not be the last. Your eye is keen, but can it stay open forever? Who will guard your back when you sleep?"
Almost imperceptibly, Raihna shook her head. Conan shrugged. "I could take leave for a time. Or are you going to tell me that Lord Houma is one of those men with short tempers and long memories? Such have sought my life before, with what success you can see."
"You could not be away from Aghrapur long enough to foil Lord Houma without breaking your oath of service. Are you ready to give up your captaincy?"
"Out of fear of Houma? Lord Mishrak, you can make your offer or not, as you choose. Do not insult me in the bargain."
"I would insult you more by implying that you are too stupid to be afraid. Houma has not the strength he once had, but he is still more than a match for you."
Conan did not doubt the first part of that statement. Houma had owed some of his former strength to his friendship with the Cult of Doom. Conan himself had cast the Cult down to utter and final destruction the best part of two years ago.
As for the rest―"Granting that Houma might be my match, how would you change that?"
"If you will leave Aghrapur on―a task―for me, I will find ways to change Lord Houma's mind. The task. should not take you more than a month. By then you can return to Aghrapur and sleep in peace."
"And this task?"
"In a moment. While you are traveling, I will also protect those you leave behind, who might also feel Houma's vengeance. I do not imagine that you care much what happens to Sergeant Motilal, but―would you see Pyla's face turned into something like my legs?"
Conan cursed himself for a witling. Houma was clearly the kind of coward who would hurt a foe however he could, whether honorably or not. He should not have forgotten the women.
"I would not like that at all," Conan said, then grinned at the look in Raihna's eyes. So let the swordwench be jealous! He owed Pyla and her friends more than he owed Raihna of Bossonia! "If you can protect them, it would indeed make your offer worth hearing."
"Although," Conan added more calmly than he felt, "I imagine you have plans for Lord Houma whether I'm part of mem or not. You might be keeping him too busy to worry about taverns and their girls anyway. He has more in hand than letting his son misbehave, doesn't he?"
In the silence that followed, Conan clearly heard the snik of a crossbow being cocked. He laughed. "Best tell that archer to cock his bow while people are still talking. When everyone's gaping like dead fish, it's too easy to hear―"
The white-robed woman broke the silence with warm if high-pitched laughter.
"Mishrak, I told you several times. I have heard Raihna speak of this man and I have studied his aura. He is not one to be led by the nose, or by any other part of his body. Lead him by his sense of honor, and he will go where you will.
Otherwise do not waste your breath."
A choking noise crept from under the leather hood. Conan suspected that if Mishrak could have strangled anyone, he would have started with Conan and gone on to the woman. Beside Conan, Raihna was pressing her face into a pillar to hide her blush and what looked remarkably like laughter.
"May I deserve your praise, lady," Conan said. "Would I be speaking to Mistress Illyana?"
"You would."
The woman also seemed to have northern blood in her, but her hair was brown with tints of auburn. She wore a simple flowing gown of white silk with saffron borders and silver-decorated sandals. The gown was too loose to show much of her body, but from the lines in the long face Conan
judged her to be upwards of thirty. A trifle thin-flanked for his tastes, but not unhandsome.
Illyana accepted Conan's scrutiny in silence for a moment, then smiled. "With Lord Mishrak's permission, I will tell you what is asked of you. But first I will thank you for saving Raihna from death or shame. She began as a hired sword, but the years have made us spirit-sisters."
Conan frowned. "Auras" and "spirit-kin" were things of priestcraft if not wizardry. What was this woman?
"I ask your aid in a search for the missing Jewel of Kurag. It is a thing of ancient Atlantean magic, set in an arm-ring of Vanir work―"
She went on to describe the history of the Jewels, as much as was known of it, from their mysterious origins in Atlantis to the present day. It seemed they had
a long and bloody history, for the spells needed to use them safely were hard to learn even for the most accomplished sorcerers.
"Then why bother with the Jewels at all?" Conan asked.
"Even separately, they confer great power on a skilled user. Together, no one knows what limits there might be on the magic of their possessor."
Conan reflected that he had learned nothing about sorcerers he had not long since known.
Illyana continued with the possession of the Jewels by her master Eremius, his growing ambition to use the powers of the Jewels to rule the world, their quarrel, her flight with one of the Jewels, and much else. She ended by saying that the tales of demons coming out of the Ibars Mountains hinted of Eremius's presence.
"With all in fear of him, his strength will grow steadily. Soon it will make him a valuable ally to ambitious men like Lord Houma. They will aid him, thinking to use his powers against their enemies. They will only be buying themselves the strongest chains of all, forged by the most ancient and evil magic."
"Ancient and evil magic…" Conan heard those words with icy clarity, although he had heard most of what went before with only half an ear.
Mishrak was not only asking him to flee like a thief from Aghrapur and Lord Houma's vengeance. He was asking a Cimmerian to guard the back of a sorceress on a quest for a menace no honest steel could face. He would also have wagered his sword that Illyana was telling less than the whole truth about the Jewels.
No honor in any of this. But even less in leaving Pyla and Zaria and young
Thebia (who might grow no older) to the mercy of those who had none, either.
Curse all women and whatever god created them as a joke on men! They might be a mystery themselves, but they certainly knew how to bring a man to them, like a trainer with a half-grown hunting dog!
"By Hanuman's stones!" Conan growled. "I never thought listening could be as dry work as talking. Bring me and Raihna some wine, and I'll promise to fly to the moon and bring back its queen's loinguard!"
Two of the guardswomen sprang up without an order and vanished like hares fleeing the wolf. Conan sat down cross-legged and drew his sword. Sighting along the blade for nicks, he concluded he'd best put it in the hands of a smith before setting out on serious business.
When he knew he had everyone's attention, he laughed. "You want me to run off to the Ibars Mountains, with a half-mad swordwench and a more than half-mad sorceress. Then we hunt for a magic jewel and steal it from a completely mad wizard, fighting our way through whatever magic-spawned monsters we find. If we snatch the jewel, you'll win, whether we live or die."
Mishrak laughed for the first time since Conan mentioned Houma. "Conan, you should be one of my spies. I have none who could say half as much in twice as many words."
"I'd rather be gelded!"
"Why not do both? A fighting eunuch would be a valuable ear and eye in Vendhya.
I'm sure you would rise high in my service."
Raihna gave up trying to stifle her laughter and buried her face in Conan's
shoulder. He put an arm around her and she did not resist, only shaking the harder until tears streamed down her face.
By the time she was sober, the guardswomen had returned with the wine. Mishrak poured out the first cup, drank from it, and then watched in silence until the others were served.
"Well, Conan?" he said at last.
"Well, Mishrak. It's not to my taste, running like a thief because I didn't want my drinking spoiled by seeing a woman mishandled. It's less to my taste going anywhere in the company of a wizard.
"But you don't have the name of a fool, Mishrak. If you want me for this nonsense, I suppose you can have me."
Raihna threw her arms around Conan. From the look on Illyana's face, she would have liked to do the same. From under the black leather hood came only a harsh laugh.
Four
"Now HERE'S A finer mount than I'll wager you thought I had," the horse dealer said exuberantly. "Look at those legs. Look at that depth of chest. Look at that noble―"
"How is his wind?" Raihna said.
"He's no colt, I'll not deny that. He's better. A seasoned, trained mount fit to
carry either of you wherever you might want to go. Begging your pardon, Captain, my lady, but neither of you has the look of dwarfs to these old eyes. To be sure, I'm a better judge of horses than of men, but―"
Raihna ignored the dealer and stepped up to the horse. He gave her what seemed to Conan a wary look, but showed no obvious skittishness or signs of mistreatment. He stood patiently for Raihna's examination, then tossed his head and whinnied when she patted his neck.
"No colt indeed," Raihna said. "Were he a man, I'd say he was most fit to sit in the sun until his days were finished."
"My lady!" The dealer could hardly have seemed more outraged if Raihna had questioned his lawful birth. "This fine, long-striding beast has many more years―"
"A few more years, perhaps. Not enough to be worth half what you ask for him."
"Lady, you insult both my honor and this horse. What horse so insulted will bear you willingly? If I reduce the price by a single brass piece, I will be insulting him. Mitra strike me dead if I wouldn't!"
"I'm surprised that someone you sold a vulture's dinner disguised as a horse hasn't saved Mitra the trouble!" Conan said. He was far from sure why Raihna was spending so much time bargaining for a huge gelding clearly at home only on level ground. He did know that if the dealer thought he could appeal to Conan, he would do so and all would waste more time.
The bargaining waxed hot and eager. Conan was reminded of a game he had seen among the Iranistani, where men on ponies batted a dead calf about with
long-handled mallets. (He had heard tales that sometimes a dead enemy's head took the place of the calf.) At last the dealer cast up his hands and looked much as if he would gladly go and hang himself. "When you see me begging for alms in the Great Square, remember that it was you who made me a beggar. You will offer no more?"
Raihna licked dusty lips. "By the Four Springs! I will have precious little to put in your begging bowl if I pay more! Would you have me selling myself in the streets because you know not the true value of a horse?"
The dealer grinned. "You are too fine a lady for the likes of those you would meet in the streets. The watch would also demand their share. Now, if you wished some time to come privily to me, I am sure―"
"Your wife would notice what was missing, the next time she bedded you," Conan growled. "Shape more respectful words on your tongue, or carry it home in your purse!"
"There will be little else in that purse," the dealer grunted. "Oh, well and good. For what you're offering, I can hardly throw in much beyond the bridle and bit."
That was no loss. Mishrak had ordered Conan and Raihna to scatter his gold widely about Aghrapur. They would purchase their remaining horses from other dealers, their saddles and tack from still others, and so on.
Conan was prepared to obey. Reluctantly, because he knew little of Mishrak's reasons and those he suspected he much disliked. But he would obey. To make an enemy of both Mishrak and Houma would mean leaving Aghrapur with more haste than
dignity.
Conan
was footloose enough not to mourn if that was his fate. He was proud enough to want a worthier foe than Houma to drive him forth.
The dealer was still calling on the gods to witness his imminent ruin when Conan and Raihna led the horse out the gate. In the street beyond, she stopped, gripped the bridle with one hand and the mane with the other, and swung herself on to the horse's back.
"So you can mount unaided and ride bareback," the Cimmerian growled. Raihna had managed no small feat, but he'd be cursed if she'd know it from him! "Small help that will be, when we take this great lump into the mountains. He'll starve in a week, if he doesn't break a leg or maybe his rider's neck sooner."
"I know that, Conan."
"Then why take him at all?"
"There's a good long ride across open country before we reach the mountains. If we took mountain horses all the way, it would take longer. Time is something we may not have.
"Also, mountain horses would tell those watching us too much about where we are going. We would be followed and perhaps run down, because those who followed would surely ride heavy mounts! Do you deny that we are being watched?"
"I think that fruitseller over there―and don't look, for Erlik's sake!―is the same man as the painter who followed us yesterday."
"You told me of neither."
"Crom! I didn't think you needed telling!"
Raihna flushed. "You were hiding nothing from me?"
"I'm not that big a fool. You may not know Aghrapur, but you'll be fighting beside me until this witling's errand is done!"
"I am grateful, Conan."
"How grateful, may I ask?" he grinned.
The flush deepened, but she smiled. "You may ask. I do not swear to answer." She sobered. "The next time, remember that what I know of Aghrapur, I know from Mishrak. Anything you can teach me about this city will be something I need not learn from the lord of spies!"
"Now I'll listen to that. I'd teach a serpent or a spider to spare him needing to learn from Mishrak!"
The Conan Compendium Page 292
