Conan the Hunter Part 18

"The next day, the sharp-toothed priests of Yog disappeared, even the hierarch. No trace of them was seen until the moon rose again that night. Their skeletal remains were found piled in the pit, still clad in their feathered robes and Khari finery. Terrible was Targol's vengeance, but futile. His temple in Zamboula fell into ruin, and eventually a new Yoggite priesthood was established. Texts of history agree that to this day, Targol bears a deadly grudge against Yog and his kind, but both are unwilling to confront each other directly.

Balberoth no doubt fell victim to this grudge."

"I have heard that no man can look upon the face of a G.o.d and live,"

Kailash stated solemnly, looking Madesus straight in the eye. "Yet we have done so."

"We may have, hillman, but we may have not," Madesus replied cryptically. "Little is known of Targol, and much of what is written about his appearance is contradictory. However, Targol's mastery over the elements of earth and fire has been hinted at by several scholars.

The bronze colossus we saw may have been a golem, crafted and animated by Targol to serve his purpose. As I said before, the G.o.ds prefer to avoid confrontation. For instance, Conan, your Crom-"

"This is no time for a lesson, priest," the Cimmerian interrupted, s.h.i.+fting his feet impatiently. "I know all I wish to know of Crom.

While we stand here prattling, our chances of finding this accursed priestess grow lesser and lesser. We have a task to finis.h.!.+" He threw a murderous glance at Kailash, as if to warn him not to get the priest going again with further questions.

"Yes, of course," Madesus agreed. "You are quite right. Indeed, our task is now more difficult than ever. We must pursue the priestess to the Shan-e-Sorkh. Many leagues must we travel, to the desert wastes of eastern Shem. On horseback, the journey will take over a month."

"Over a month!" Kailash exclaimed in dismay.

"Longer," Conan interjected. "Only a fool would take a horse into the waterless sands of the Shemitish desert. Even camels cannot survive there. We can ride to the southern borders of Khauran, but from there, we will have to continue on foot." He shook his head ponderously. "A few years ago, I was in a tavern, speaking with an old Nemedian campaigner. He had once journeyed to Sabatea, a Shemitish city near the Taian Mountains, just west of the Shan-e-Sorkh. Many times did he fill his wine cup when he spoke of this journey, and his hands shook. He had been escorting for a merchant caravan through the area. 'What the desert lacks in water, it makes up for in bandits,' he said."

Kailash snorted. "No bandit has ever crossed swords with the son of Kranarous and lived."

"The Nemedian's hands trembled not at the memory of the bandits, but of something else," the barbarian retorted. "The deserts of Shem are places of deaths forsaken entirely by the living. What the Nemedian had seen, he would not say. Anything that can strike terror in the hardened heart of a jaded Nemedian mercenary, we would do well to avoid. I propose we take a different route than his; let us cross the Kezankian Mountains to the east, avoiding Corinthia, Zamora, and Koth. If we follow the mountains southward, we will find the trade road leading from Khauran to Zamboula. We can use the Taian Mountains for bearing. I have only one question, priest. The Shan-e-Sorkh is a vast area of desert. Where in it will we find our quarry?"

"An excellent question, Conan. I have a few questions of my own, more difficult to answer than yours. Why would she go there, and how did she get there so quickly? The traces of her presence I felt were very strong; they could not even have been a few days old. Yet, as you say, the journey takes a month. No doubt she has mastered translocation, another of the magical arts. Only those who wield incredible magical power can manage this feat. I did not antic.i.p.ate that even she had such abilities. Still, I have an idea of where in the Shan-e-Sorkh she has gone. My master said that Skauraul, greatest of the vanquished Mutare, had dwelt in the land of Shem. Perhaps she has gone to the ruins of his palace, to seek something there, or to restore the palace and build her powers there."

"Even so, we do not know where these ruins lie," Conan pointed out.

'True enough; we do not know... yet. However, all we need do is to come close. The sorcery that s.h.i.+elded the Mutare from me in Targol's temple will not s.h.i.+eld her in the desert. We will head for the center of the region, until I feel some trace of her presence. Then we will know what direction to take."

"I will have horses and provisions prepared," Kailash added, looking ruefully at his empty sword-belt. "I also must find a new sword.

Hopefully, I will test its edge on bandit-necks."

They descended the temple steps and made their way past the nearby old buildings, quickly reaching the street. A few clouds had drifted into the path of the afternoon sun, and an autumn breeze whispered among the buildings, brus.h.i.+ng them with cool fingers. Conan ignored the chill, thinking that the place to which they were headed would be more than warm enough.

The Cimmerian was calmer than Kailash about the impending journey.

Conan had traveled through many lands, from the icy, frozen tundra of the north to the sweltering jungles of the south. Each had its likeable and dislikable qualities. He called none of them home; even Cimmeria was homeland but not truly his home. His restless nature kept him constantly moving from land to land. Seldom did he ever return to Cimmeria. There he grew bored with the grim, gray mountains, ceaseless winter, and dull life-style.

His homeland had proven no less perilous than other countries he had traveled through. His kin were a fierce, warlike race, bearing grudges against enemy clans for uncounted centuries. No battle that Conan had fought in the lands of civilized men had been as savage and elemental as the clan-wars of Cimmeria. Nonetheless, the men of the south could be as cruel as their deserts.

Conan reached into his memory to recall details of the terrain they would soon encounter. For ease of navigation, he reckoned that the simplest course would follow the Kezankian Mountains south, until their craggy ridges and peaks gave way to the Mountains of Fire. This forbidding range along the northern border of Shem formed a barrier of land that few men would dare cross. They would have to avoid these mountains altogether by heading southeast for several days. Then the most difficult stretch of their trek would lie before them: the crossing of the Shemitish desert to its sunburnt heart, known to some as the Shan-e-Sorkh.

This G.o.dforsaken area was shunned by even the hardiest of Shemitish desert dwellers. Its endless leagues of hard-baked earth and waterless dunes of sand were the setting of many a grim campfire tale. Conan had oft heard soldiers spin yarns about their daring adventures in this desert land. If one believed every tale told, the place teemed with savage desert beasts, fierce, marauding nomads, and evil spirits haunting the crumbling stones of ruined castles. As superst.i.tious as he was, Conan discounted many of the stories he heard as the boasting of soldiers inspired by excesses of cheap wine.

What Conan really hoped to find in the desert was the ruins of some forgotten palace, with its treasure-store intact. If he could fulfill his oath to Salvorus and fatten his purse in the process, so much the better. He had planned to journey south to Zamora anyway. When he arrived in Shadizar, he would have enough coin to do more with his nights than practice thievery. When all this was over, he would relish a few drunken evenings of wenching and debauchery.

Thinking cheerfully of Shadizar's flesh-pits, Conan moved with Madesus and Kailash. As if by unspoken agreement, the Cimmerian was now in charge of the expedition. Hillman and priest followed him quietly to the palace, where they would rest and prepare themselves for their arduous journey. Though each man had his own reasons for undertaking the quest, they were united in a single main purpose: to find and destroy the Mutare priestess.

Nearby, another man followed behind them, moving with silence that a panther would have envied. The man was wearing a lightweight cloak, with its dark-gray hood cast over his face. The cloak concealed his robes of powdery-blue silk, rustling softly like the scaly skin of serpents in an underground den. In the shadows beneath the hood, eyes colder than winter in Vanaheim dogged every step Conan and his companions made, and ears strained to hear their every word. Lamici's fanatical mind was bent on revenge. He cared not that they planned to travel south; he would follow them to the mouth of the River Styx and beyond, if necessary. For the good of Brythunia, he would strike down Madesus. The accursed priest had revived the false king and destroyed Lamici's dreams of bringing honor and respect back to his homeland.

Conan and Kailash had aided him, and they also deserved death; Lamici planned to deal with them, too.

The eunuch felt the rea.s.suring weight of his deadly stiletto, its envenomed blade still strapped to his forearm. Soon, Lamici would sheath it in the priest's heart. The meddler could not hide behind the two warriors forever, Lamici reasoned grimly. When the moment of vulnerability came, the eunuch would be there, ready to strike.

Lamici's pale lips drew back tightly into a cruel smile, shadowed by a hood as gray as the clouds now filling the brooding sky.

Fourteen.

Southbound ----------.

Eldran sat up slowly. Even this simple act was a difficult feat for him. He had awakened less than an hour ago, to find that the Mutare's death-spell had dreadfully weakened his body.

His mind, once as sharp as an Aquilonian sword, was now duller than a stone ax. He knew that his appearance was shocking, although he had not seen his face in a looking-gla.s.s. When his friends gazed upon him, their expressions told him as much as a looking-gla.s.s would have.

Even Kailash, standing before him, could not hide the pity he felt.

Eldran could see it in the corners of his friend's eyes and hear it in the edges of his voice. He was disgusted by his weakness. He prayed silently to Wiccana for quick restoration of his health, before word of his frailty could spread to neighboring kingdoms. If loose tongues wagged news of his unstable health, the Nemedians and Hyperboreans would swoop down on Brythunia like buzzards, tearing at his people and s.n.a.t.c.hing away pieces of their land. Shred by shred, they would pick apart the kingdom he was trying to bind together.

He pushed these depressing thoughts to the back of his mind. What had the hillman just said? He grimaced and spoke raspingly to his old comrade. "Forgive me, my friend. I cannot hold my thoughts together.

Please explain to me again why you must go south."

"Of course," Kailash said, gritting his teeth in frustration. He was outraged to see Eldran reduced to such a state. The priestess would pay for her misdeeds! Clearing his throat, he repeated his tale to Eldran.

To the king's credit, the hillman's account was jumbled, and even a man in full possession of his wits would have found the tale confusing.

However, with the help of Madesus and Conan, Eldran soon understood the events that had pa.s.sed since he had fallen ill. Feebly, he held up a shaking hand to silence Kailash.

"I am indebted to all of you," he said, letting his hand drop to his lap. "And Salvorus's name shall be honored in the historian's chronicles henceforth. Yet this journey you plan will rob me of a chance to pay back my debts. Would that I had the strength to go in your place."

Eldran finished this declaration with a wracking cough that nearly doubled him over, causing Kailash to tense. Madesus simply offered an expression of quiet concern; he opened his mouth as if to speak, then quickly shut it, saying nothing.

Conan happened to be watching Madesus at that moment, when a realization struck him. The priest could do nothing further for Eldran, and his helplessness was frustrating him. Madesus had always come through when pitted against the magic of his enemies, although the priest's spells had been very selective, as if evoked at the whim of some unseen ent.i.ty. Strange were the priests of Mitra. The Cimmerian was looking forward to parting company with Madesus and his priestly embroilments.

"Conan, I am sorry that you have become involved in this affair,"

Eldran apologized in a hoa.r.s.e, uneven voice. "I absolve you of the oath you made to my captain. You need not venture south. In fact, if you would consider it, I would offer you the position of captain in the city guard. You have proven yourself worthy. If you do not wish to be captain, I would ask at least that you accept a full purse of gold, and pa.s.sage through the gates of the city to wherever you wish to go. This is the least I can do to even the score between us."

"Nay," the Cimmerian responded. "You cannot discharge my oath. The oath of a Cimmerian is no cloud in the sky, to be swept away by a pa.s.sing breeze. Salvorus's spirit will not rest until the priestess is slain.

Your captain was a stalwart man, and the wrongful death of such a man must be avenged." Conan snorted. "To think that men call me and my kin barbarians! I will live or die by my oath. However, I would accept the bag of gold, for the expenses of our journey."

Eldran's head drooped wearily, but the ghost of a smile was on his face. "Last night you were in my dungeon, awaiting the fall of my headsman's ax, and now you will travel hundreds of leagues to vanquish my foe. You speak truly. We civilized people could learn much from you.

I am grateful that my borders do not cross with those of Cimmeria! Go south then, if you must. Equip yourselves as you will from the armory, and take the finest stallions our stables have to offer. With such resolve as you have, you will triumph over this depraved priestess and return to the city. My prayers go with you."

Completely drained, Eldran slid back down onto the dais, his chest heaving as violent spasms of coughing wracked him again. Sweat drenched his furrowed brow, and all color had fled from his face. The monarch said nothing more to them, finally closing his eyes and drifting into a troubled slumber.

They left his chamber without comment, their eyes downcast. Several of Kailash's fellow hillmen swarmed around the chamber's only exit.

Kailash gave them specific orders for the king's safekeeping. He trusted every man in the chamber implicitly. He had fought side by side with these men at one time or another; over the years, they had become like brothers to him.

Kailash's main concern now was to find a suitable blade, and a horse on which to ride south. He realized that in a way, he was looking forward to the journey. Many years had pa.s.sed since he had been on a campaign in the wilds. Recently he had been confined to the city with the king, leaving only to escort Eldran to places within a day's ride. His initial suspicion of Conan and Madesus had been replaced with respect, even with admiration. Conan was a finer warrior than any in Kailash's memory, and Madesus wielded power that Kailash had never seen the like of.

Like the hillman, Conan was also reflecting on the imminent journey. He was neither eager nor apprehensive about the quest. For all his talk of oaths, he still harbored other good reasons to travel south. Madesus's tale of Skauraul and his fortress had reminded him of tales he had heard from others of the vast hordes of forgotten wealth lying heaped in dusty treasure-vaults.