Conan The Valiant Part 50

Conan knew that Illyana had declared war. Illyana and the Jewels, rather. Whatever she did, it was no longer wholly as her own mistress.

He was surprised to feel this much charity toward a sorceress. But a sorceress who was also a battle comrade was something new.

"Raihna, give me the other Jewel," Illyana said, holding out her hand.

"It is time to let them unite."

Raihna looked down at her Jewel-ring as if seeing it for the first time. Slowly she drew it off and dangled it from her right hand.

Conan willed his body and his mind to avoid any movement or even thought that might betray him.

What powers the Jewels had given Illyana or themselves, he did not know. He was certain that he would have only one slender chance of defeating the Jewels. Unless Raihna was ready to turn her back on ten years of loyalty to Illyana, and Conan would rather wager on King Yildiz's abdicating the throne to become a priest of Mitra-

Raihna's right arm flashed up, as swiftly as if it were thrusting a dagger into a mortal enemy. The ring flew into the air.

Conan barely contrived to catch it before it struck the ground.

Rolling, he rubbed the Jewel across his bleeding shoulder. Then he sprang to his feet and flung the Jewel-ring with all his strength toward the spring.

Neither a sorceress nor the power of the Jewels were as swift as the Cimmerian's arm. The Jewel-ring plummeted into the spring and vanished.

Conan drew his sword. He did not suppose it would be much use against whatever the Jewels might be about to unleash. Somewhere in his thoughts was the notion of dying with it in hand, like a warrior.

Somewhere, also, lay the notion of giving Illyana a cleaner death than the twisted power of the Jewels might intend.

Conan had barely drawn when he suddenly felt as if he had been plunged into frozen honey. Every limb seemed constrained, nearly paralyzed.

Cold gnawed at every bit of skin and seemed to pierce through the skin into his vitals. From somewhere near he heard Raihna's strangled cry, as if the honey was flowing into her mouth and nose, cutting off her breath.

It would be so easy to stand here or even lie down. So easy to let Raihna the traitoress perish, and live on, satisfying Illyana's desire and his every night and sometimes every day. Satisfying a queen and leading her armies was enough for any man.

Was it not so?

"I know you," Conan growled. "Whatever you are, I know you. You don't know me."

He twisted desperately. One after another, his limbs came free. The cold remained, but now he could move his feet. As if through a frozen marsh, he lurched toward Raihna.

She could move only her eyes, but now they turned toward him. She tried to lift an arm. As her hand came above her waist, her face contorted in pain.

The Jewels might have nothing left but vengeance, but they would have that. Or was it Illyana?

"Bora!" Conan shouted. Or tried to shout. It was as if one of the Transformed was gripping him by the throat. He tore at the air in front of his face, but the grip was stronger than he was after a night's fighting.

Conan felt his neck beginning to twist and strain. He fought harder, and the twisting stopped. He even sucked in one deep treath before the grip tightened further.

How long Conan stood grappling with the invisible, he never knew. He knew only that in one moment he was on the brink of having his windpipe crushed. In the next moment the spring began bubbling and seething, spewing foul steam-and the death grip eased.

Conan still felt as if he was wading through a deep stream against a swift current. Compared with what had gone before, it was easy to overcome it, easier still to reach Raihna. The pain still racked her, but she let herself be drawn after him, one torturous step at a time.

At every moment Conan expected the Jewels to return to their vengeance and complete it. Instead the steam from the spring only rose higher, until no water flowed and the gap in the rock looked near-kin to a volcano.

At last Conan felt his limbs moving with their normal ease. All his wounds were bleeding again as he drew Raihna out of the magic. She fell against him, clad only in sword and Bora's sling.

"Run!" Conan shouted. It was an order to both of them. For Raihna it was also to gain her attention. Her eyes were vacant and her mouth slack. It seemed as if it would not take much for her to collapse and die with her mistress, letting the Jewels have their vengeance after all. Conan swore to unknown powers that he would not let this happen, if he had to carry her all the way to Fort Zheman.

Raihna had a warrior's will to abandon no fight until she was dead. Her first steps were stumbling, as if the ground was hot. The next steps were cautious, as if she could not altogether command her limbs. Then Bora took her other arm and with support on both sides she broke into a clumsy run.

They plunged down the hill to the bottom of the next valley, then began climbing the opposite slope. Conan did not know where they were going, or how long they could keep running. He only knew that he wanted as much distance as possible between him and whatever the Jewels were brewing up. Otherwise they might take their vengeance purely by chance!

Behind Conan, steam hissed and the grind and clash of moving rocks joined it. He did not dare turn around to be sure, but it also seemed that a green glow was spreading across the land.

They reached the crest of the hill with barely a single breath left between them. Conan contrived to stand, holding his comrades upright.

He could not have done that and also kept running, not to save himself from all the Transformed at once.

It was then that he finally heard Illyana scream. He had never heard such a sound from a human throat. He had never imagined that a human throat could make such a sound. He did not enjoy knowing that it could.

Then the whole landscape turned green and the ground underfoot heaved.

"Down!"

Conan hurled himself and his comrades down the far slope of the hill.

They rolled halfway to the foot, bruising and gouging already battered skins. What little remained of Conan's garments remained behind, as did Raihna's dagger.

Unable at last to rise, they lay and saw a vast cloud of smoke towering into the sky. It swirled and writhed and flashed lightning. Dreadful shapes in gray and green seemed to form themselves in the cloud, then vanish. The sound was as if the whole world was tearing itself apart, and the shaking of the ground made Conan wonder if this hill too was about to dissolve in magic-sp.a.w.ned chaos.

The shuddering of the ground and the thunder in the sky died away. Only the smoke cloud remained, now raining fragments of rock. As Conan sat up and began to count his limbs, a fragment the size of a man's head plummeted down barely ten paces away.

Raihna flinched, then looked down at herself.

"Conan, if you are going to embrace me in this state, let us seek a-a-ahhhhh!"

All her breath left her in a long wail. Then she began sobbing with more strength than Conan had thought she had in her.

Bora discreetly withdrew. When Raihna's weeping was done, he returned, wearing only his loincloth and carrying his trousers in his hand.

"Raihna, if you want some garb, I'll trade you this for my sling."

Raihna managed a smile. "Thank you, Bora. But I think it would be better cut up into strips and bound around our feet. We have some walking to do."

"Yes, and the sooner we start the better," Conan growled. Another rock cras.h.i.+ng to earth nearby gave point to his remarks. "I think my sword has a better edge than my-Crom!"

A bladeless hilt rattled to the ground from Conan's scabbard. Raihna clutched at her own belt, to find both dagger and sword gone.

"The Jewels' magic has a long arm, it would seem," she said at last.

"Well, Bora, I was right about your sling being free of magic. Would you care to try it?"

Conan reached into his boot and drew his spare dagger. "Illyana didn't touch this either." He stood. "Now, my friends, I am starting for Fort Zheman. I don't propose to stand around here gaping until a rock cracks my skull."

"At your command, Captain," Bora said formally. He offered a hand to Raihna. "My lady?"

The Bossonian woman rose, and together they turned away from the smoke cloud that marked the grave of Lady Illyana, briefly mistress of the Jewels of Kurag.