Conan the Hunter Part 11

"Crom!" he swore, exhaling. "The door is barred from the other side.

Only a battering ram could break it down. We are stuck in this accursed place, like rats in a trap!"

Madesus frowned, his brow furrowed in concentration. "We should wait for the guards to let us out. Surely they will arrive soon, to see what became of Valtresca and his patrol."

"Wait here? Nay, there must be another way out."

Pacing like a caged tiger, Conan scowled as he racked his brain. As he gazed at Salvorus's body, an idea struck him. He dug into his vest and took out the tiny gla.s.s phial. Very carefully, he drew out the tightly stoppered cork, then stood back from the iron door. Taking aim, he splashed the liquid generously on the front of the portal. Immediately the hard metal began to bubble and hiss like boiling water. Acrid smoke billowed from the door, making Conan's eyes and nose burn.

Slowly the smoke dissipated. The potent fluid had chewed a hole, as big as Conan's head, right through the door. Holding his hand steady, Conan reached into the hole and lifted the bar on the other side from its brackets, letting it clatter to the floor. Groping, he found the bolt and drew it. His upper arm brushed against the edges of the hole, and he felt the agony of contact with the residue. His flesh burned as though stung by a hundred wasps, but he kept his grip on the bolt, drawing it and flinging it aside. An ugly red welt formed on his arm and spread slowly. Madesus looked at it with concern but said nothing.

Conan kicked the door open viciously. It swung out easily, slamming into the wall with an echoing clang. "Quickly, Madesus! We must find the king and his man Kailash, before the guards reach us. Follow me!"

Nodding, Madesus hastened to keep up with the fleet footed barbarian.

He managed to stay within sight of the Cimmerian, whose uncanny sense of direction chose the right path through the winding corridors. They saw no one during their flight to the palace's ground floor. At the top of the stairs, Conan paused to check for guards. Madesus leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, puffing from his exertion. After catching his breath, he ascended the stairs slowly, watching Conan.

The Cimmerian waved him forward and moved quietly into the guardroom.

The area was deserted, and this put Conan's nerves on edge. Still, the sun had not yet risen, so perhaps this was normal. With a hand on his sword-hilt, Conan crept through the palace's ground floor, following Madesus's directions to the king's chambers.

Finally, he reached a large, copper-plated door that Madesus had described as the outer portal to King Eldran's lodgings. The door was firmly shut, and Conan wondered why there were no guards standing before it. He looked over his shoulder, checking to see if Madesus had followed him. Conan had grudgingly begun to respect the priest even more. He had kept up with Conan, and moved quietly. Never had the Cimmerian known a priest like him. Madesus was unlike many of the pompous, altar-bound slugs of the Mitraic priesthood whom Conan had met in times gone by. He was curious about this priest's past, but he had avoided asking questions, deeming it wise to stay out of the affairs of priests, wizards, and their ilk.

With a start, Conan saw a form emerging from behind a tapestry on the wall beside Madesus. He shouted a warning, but Madesus was grabbed before the cry escaped Conan's throat. Then the copper doors opened with a crash, and the Cimmerian was caught in an outpouring swarm of Brythunian hillmen. By reflex, he began drawing his sword, but stopped as a huge, dark-haired Kezankian hillman loomed in the doorway and called out in a booming voice.

"Wait! Harm them not, dogs!" His commanding voice stopped the hillmen, who stood warily around the giant Cimmerian. The ma.s.sive hillman pointed at Conan and smiled grimly. "You," he said with an emphatic pause, "must be Conan. The priest, I do not know. We owe a great debt to both of you for exposing the traitor and his plot to usurp the throne." The hillman looked down at the huddled form of a guard by his feet. With a sandaled toe, the Kezankian flipped the body over. 'This wretch was one of the traitor's guards. We caught him fleeing from the dungeon. After I showed him some steel, his tongue flapped like a pennant in high wind. When I learned of his involvement, I sheathed my sword in his yellow guts. Pah!" He spat contemptuously on the crimson-stained tunic of the dead guardsman.

"I am Kailash, King Eldran's friend and protector. Come inside and tell me your tale. Is Salvorus with you?"

"Nay," said Conan, his eyes downcast. "He fell in battle with Valtresca."

Kailash's eyes clouded, and he clenched his fists so tightly that the knuckles turned white. "This is evil news! Speak not the name of the fiend! Henceforth, he shall be know as traitor. May a thousand devils tear at his foul heart while he roasts in h.e.l.l! Salvorus was a good man. He deserved better than to die by the knife of treachery. The mourners will croon a dirge for many days, and his memory will be honored by all who serve the king. Release the priest!" he called over to the hillman who held Madesus. "Come forward, priest. Join me and Conan, and tell me all that has happened!"

Conan pushed his sword into his belt and released his grip on the hilt as he and Madesus followed Kailash into the king's outer chambers.

Nine.

Descendant of Xuoquelos -----------------------.

Conan talked briefly with Kailash, sketching an outline of the desperate fight in the dungeon. Madesus interrupted in an impatient tone of voice.

"King Eldran's time is short! You must take me to him now. As you talk, the king's life is draining away like water from a cracked goblet. An ancient evil has risen, and has your king in its deadly, sorcerous grasp."

"How do you know this?" Kailash asked.

"I regret that I have no time to explain. Trust me, or your king will die." Although his tone of voice was controlled, Madesus tightly clenched his hands, and his face was drawn tight with frustration.

"I know not all his motives," Conan broke in, "but no man may know the inner mind of a priest. Madesus means your king no harm, and his actions have spoken louder than words."

Kailash fell silent, his thoughts in turmoil. He had suspected that the king was the victim of sorcery, not of poison, as others thought.

Still, how could he trust the priest with the life of his friend? He was desperate for a solution; the king was in the third day of his sickness and showed no signs of recovering. Attempts to offer him food or drink had failed. How long could Eldran last? The king was strong, and his will was harder than forged steel, but Kailash knew that his friend was dying.

"I will take you to him, healer, but I will be right beside you. I will not leave him alone with you. Conan, follow if you wish."

His mind reluctantly made up, Kailash led them to the king's inner chamber, where Eldran lay as still as a dead man. Three days had taken their toll on the Brythunian monarch. His face was pale and drawn; his eyes had sunk into his skull. Although he slept, his eyes were wide open, frozen in a glazed expression of terror and loathing. A dry, unrecognizable choking sound issued from his open mouth occasionally, and his fingers twitched spasmodically.

Even Kailash, who had seen the king's gradual decline, was still horrified by Eldran's appearance. Conan could see that death had its icy hand wrapped around the king; he began to doubt that even Madesus could do anything for the dying monarch. A gloomy sense of dread settled over the room as each man mulled over dark thoughts similar to Conan's.

Only Madesus did not falter at this grim spectacle. Gripping his amulet in one hand, he whispered a prayer and laid his other hand on the king's brow. There was a sharp, crackling sound, and a deep blue spark leaped from the king's brow to the priest's hand. Kailash cursed and drew his sword, but Conan restrained him. Madesus let out a cry of pain as the spark touched him, and pulled his hand back as if he had plunged it into a basket of venomous serpents.

"Mitra protect us! I can feel the presence of evil, gnawing at the cords that bind this man's life. A Mutare has risen from the abyss to bring death and despair to the living. Her hold is strong, but by the will of Mitra, I will free your king from her grasp. Put your blade away, and put your mind at ease. I am no p.a.w.n of darkness. Behold!"

As Kailash and Conan looked on in wonder, Madesus drew forth his amulet, lifting it from around his neck and holding it high. A blinding white light blazed forth, bathing the room in its warm, cheering glow.

The two warriors blinked, then stepped back in astonishment. Madesus's robes and eyes had also begun to glow. The glare was so bright that Kailash had to s.h.i.+eld his eyes, while Conan squinted.

"I am from an ancient and secret Order. I am one of the last descendants of Xuoquelos, the greatest prophet of Mitra ever to walk upon the face of this world. He was not a priest, nor am I truly a priest. We of the Order are guardians. For thousands of years, our Order has kept a silent and thankless vigil, seeking to rid the world of ancient evils lurking in forgotten chasms and corners. Our Order has faced evil that would freeze a man's soul and stop his heart merely to look upon the face of it. As my master followed Mitra's bidding to fight this evil, so do I. The Holy Father has seen fit to set this task to me. I must not rest until the priestess of the Mutare has been utterly destroyed!"

Madesus's voice had deepened steadily as he spoke, increasing in volume. The last words crashed into the room like a thunderbolt. When he stopped speaking, he relaxed, letting his shoulders slump. The light dimmed to a bearable level, and Madesus lowered his hand to the king's brow. Once again a blue spark jumped from the p.r.o.ne man's forehead to Madesus's outstretched palm. This time, instead of pulling back, the priest closed his hand around the spark and tightened his grip.

His clenched fist began to glow redly, like a hot piece of iron in a smith's forge. A loud, crackling sound filled the room, and thin curls of smoke issued from Madesus's clenched fingers. The red glow subsided as he slowly opened his hand. The blue spark was gone. The white-garbed healer again stretched his hand out to the king's brow, this time meeting no resistance. He closed his eyes and recited a prayer in a low, steady voice. The language was unfamiliar to Conan, who had traveled through many lands and heard many languages. He instinctively dreaded sorcery and the supernatural; as he watched Madesus perform the ritual, he felt a chill run down his spine. Kailash, evidently feeling some of the same dread, stood speechless as the priest uttered his prayer.

After a few minutes, Madesus turned to Conan and Kailash. "He is out of immediate danger, but far from being healthy and safe," he said. "I have banished the demon that tortured him from within. His strength will return slowly; he may even awaken. His respite will be brief at best, for another demon will come to finish what the other had begun. I have been weakened by the rite of banishment; I dare not perform it again until tomorrow at the soonest."

"Who is this 'Mutare'?" demanded Kailash. His eyes blazed with anger.

"I will lead a thousand swords against her! By Mitra and Wiccana, no man will rest until we hack her to pieces. Tell me where we may find her!"

"Even ten thousand swords would be in vain," replied Madesus wearily.

'The Mutare are not flesh, and it is said that they have no blood to spill. The enemy-our enemy-of your king is female, a priestess. This much I know, but I know not where she is. All I have are clues and shadows to chase, but I a.s.sure you, I will find her." His words were spoken in a tone of iron resolve.

"Now that the general is dead, why would she bother to keep her bargain with him?" Conan asked.

"The Mutare need no reason to kill," replied Madesus. "But the king would die without any further effort from her. The death spell she has woven is very old, and very powerful. Your king will be out of danger only when she is destroyed. Our Order has knowledge of these spells, and I have sensed the presence of such a spell here. The Mutare made a pact with a Demon Lord, offering the soul of a mortal-most likely a blood relation of the king's."

Kailash's eyes narrowed at this statement, and he paled visibly. "The princess! Her body was found, just before the king was taken sick!"

"As I feared," Madesus said gravely. "The Demon Lord will keep sending formless servants of darkness to rend the king's soul. The blood of the king's daughter has opened a gateway leading from the abyss to the king. Only through the destruction of the Mutare can the gateway be closed. The pact between the priestess and the Demon Lord will be dissolved when she is gone."

"How can she be slain?" Kailash burst out in frustration. "You said that not even ten thousand swords could harm her. Is she invincible, then?"

"Be not so quick to despair, hillman. The Mutare priestess is an enemy of Mitra, whose powers are as limitless as the heavens above. By his will, the amulet I bear will accomplish what ten thousand swords cannot. There were many ancient objects of power, enchanted with spells deadly to the Mutare. Most of them are lost or destroyed; our Order has preserved a few others. On the morrow, I will find her. Yet I cannot face her alone. I need your help and your swords to win this battle.

While I bear the amulet, there is nothing she can do directly to harm me, but she is sure to have allies of flesh and blood, against whom the amulet is powerless. The traitorous Valtresca was only one of her minions. There is little doubt that more blood will spill before we reach her. I only pray it will not be ours!"

"My oath to Salvorus binds me," Conan interjected grimly. "Until the king is out of danger, I will come with you, and let no man stand in our way."

"I will go with you also," Kailash said solemnly. "I owe Eldran my life a dozen times over. He is my friend, and my king. 'Tis time I repay my debt to him. Within the hour, we will have a thousand men-at-arms to-"

"No, Kailash," Madesus broke in, shaking his head. "As skilled as your warriors are, their numbers would only hinder us. To be certain of victory, we must catch the priestess unawares. If she has time to prepare for us, the consequences will be dire indeed. She would easily detect the approach of so many, as the Mutare have keen senses, sharper and farther-reaching than those of man. Only the three of us know of her existence; let us keep this secret among ourselves. Tell no one, no matter how certain you are of their trustworthiness."