Conan the Fearless Part 30

Sovartus was seated near his talisman table, working the intricate spell of the Rain of Cosmic Fire, from the unholy book called the Zilbermankarikatur, the use of which nearly always brought ruination to its object. That powerful and cursed energy now focused upon Vitarius of the White Square, a shower of annihilation that rarely failed.

Let's see you escape this time, old cla.s.smate!

One of his black hoods arrived then, and interrupted Sovartus's gloatings. The shrouded form bowed low and pointed speechlessly.

Sovartus turned to see what the hooded servant wished him to see.

A brace of demi-whelves stood there, looking nervous at being inside Castle Slott. More important, however, was the child held between them: It was her! The Child of Fire, his, at last!

So taken by this vision was Sovartus, that at first he did not notice the young woman standing near to the girl. When he did, Sovartus asked, "And who are you?"

The woman drew herself up stiffly. "I am Kinna, half-sister to those children you have stolen!"

Sovartus smiled, to reveal teeth as white as bleached bone. "Ah," he said, "then you are sister to me as well."

"Nay, black-souled warlock, I am not! Stepsister, perhaps, and that reluctantly."

Sovartus swept his gaze over the girl's comely form.

"No matter," he said. "I am certain I can find some good use for you, dear. But later we can discuss our mutual pleasure; for now I have other matters to which I must attend." The wizard clapped his hands, and more hooded figures appeared. Sovartus pointed to the girl. "You two, take Eldia to join her brothers and sister." To Eldia he said, "I have been waiting for you since you were born, girl. You will no doubt enjoy meeting your long-lost kin-for a few moments anyway."

Kinna said, "What are you going to do with them?"

Sovartus shrugged. "After they are drained of the essences I need, I shall have no further use for them. Magically, that is. I suppose I can devise some entertainment utilizing such tender things."

He waved at the remaining hoods. "Take her to a lockroom; see that she is well fed and made comfortable against my future use." To the two demi-whelves Sovartus said, "You may depart. And see that you advise the whelves that it would be wise to descend to your lowest tunnels for a time; the surface of Dodligia Plain will not be a healthy place to be in a few hours."

Sovartus spun, his robe flaring widely as he started for the tower. At last! At last!

The morning sun shone brightly, but not so brightly as the conflagration spraying from the skies onto Dodligia Plain. The panther had to swing wide to avoid the fires. Had he worn a man's body, the cat would have cursed; this would delay him, and he had already done one stupid thing by falling asleep at the wrong time. This act had allowed the witch to pull away from him. There had been no help for it; even his supernormal panther abilities had limits, and he had been stretching them for days, resting and eating little. He now thought to hurry and catch Djuvula, only this magical a.s.sault upon the empty plain slowed him again-

Wait. The plain was not empty. Squinting against the splashes of brilliant red and orange, the panther saw a seated figure, protected from the incandescent air by a s.h.i.+mmering white glow. The old magician?

It must be, though the eyes of the feline watcher were not efficient enough to discern such details amid the surrounding brightness.

But, as the panther-who-had-been-a-man looked, the seated figure managed to stand. It raised one arm, and the hand seemed to ignite with a cooler flame, more blue than red. The flame grew into a ball half the size of the figure, then an indigo beam shot out, undimmed and unhampered by the fiery rain. The line of glowing energy arced away from its generator and splashed against the mountain with the castle atop it, creating a fountain of blue sparks where it hit.

The panther turned and loped away. He wanted no part of this, whatever it was. He had his own problems that must be attended to, and they did not include being fried by an angry wizard.

Djuvula stood by the cave, staring into the darkness. That it would be guarded she was certain; that she would try to pa.s.s those guards unaided she was certain she would not. The way inside meant risk, for Sovartus would have his privacy even from those who walked the Black Path, as did he. Her strength was hardly a match for one so steeped in thaumaturgy as was Sovartus. Womanly wiles would avail her little over the hooded ones who served the master of the Black Square, since these were not born of woman and were not equipped as men who might desire women. But there was a way: The hooded ones had weak minds and could be commanded by only a medium-complex spell. This she could do, though Sovartus would hardly approve. Still, the fastest and safest way into Castle Slott would be with an escort of those who guarded it. And one of those creatures stood near a corral of horses only a short distance away.

Djuvula went to her wagon to prepare the proper spell.

Conan clung to a sheer rock face, his fingers and bare feet clutching at the narrowest of cracks like a human fly. Just above, another body length, gaped a narrow entrance to what seemed a small cave. Likely just what he searched for, he thought.

The Cimmerian had climbed to a fair height-he was at least the spans of thirty large men from the ground, and a fall from here would certainly be fatal. He was not afraid, since falling from a climb had never worried him greatly. He had first climbed only shortly after learning to walk, and grown Cimmerians seldom fell from their cold mountains.

As Conan reached for a new fingerhold, however, a sudden jolt shook the mountain, as if it were struck by a giant's fist. The Cimmerian caught only a short peripheral glimpse of blue fire splas.h.i.+ng against the rocks a dozen arm spans above him; then he was too busy trying to maintain his precarious grip upon the mountain's face. One hand slipped, and the vibration from the rock cast his feet away. For a moment Conan hung by the tips of four fingers, and only his great strength saved him from a deadly drop. He spent no energy in cursing, but snaked his feet against the rock, scrabbling for purchase with his toes. In a moment he managed to dig his toes into a fault; his left hand found an outcrop of rock and clamped onto it. Safe again, for the moment, at least.

Conan began to climb quickly, his earlier tiredness gone. He knew not what the blue light had been, nor did he care; he wished only to be in a more secure place soon. What happened once could happen again, and the next time the blue fire might be closer or stronger.

With that thought as a spur. Conan reached the lip of the ledge bounding the cave. He pulled himself onto the wide ledge and paused to take several deep breaths. Then he untied his sandals from his belt and pulled them on.

Now, to see where this cave led. He drew his sword and stepped into the darkness.

Sovartus started as the floor beneath his feet shook suddenly. He looked at the four children, each chained under a window of the tower room. There flowed no real power from them toward him, though the new girl strived to turn him into ash with her thoughts. His skill was proof against that; besides, the force a.s.sailing his castle came from without-

Vitarius! He had forgotten the mage of the White Square in his joy at collecting the child. Sovartus cast his perception forth, feeling for the old man.

Yes, it had been Vitarius who had sent a tongue of White magic at Slott. He was indeed much stronger than Sovartus had thought. The Cosmic Fire fell upon him, and still he had sufficient force to attack.

Amazing.

Briefly, Sovartus considered his response. It galled him that his castle should be attacked. On the other hand, the castle could withstand much worse without major damage; and, of course, he had more important things to do. Yes, to be certain, he had not the time to waste upon Vitarius.

Let Vitarius rail against him: it would not matter shortly. Once the Thing of Power came into being, all of the White Square combined could not stand against it. He would ignore the old mage. When he was done with his business, he would crush Vitarius with less effort than a man would expend to swat a mosquito.

Sovartus strode to his talisman table and laid his hands upon it. He uttered the first part of the phrase he had memorized a decade past.

The table began to glow redly.

When he spoke the second part of the phrase, the four children moaned softly, surrounded by that same infernal glow. Sovartus smiled, and it was all he could do to keep from laughing.

Conan felt the mountain shake again, but the force seemed weaker this time. Perhaps it was because he was inside.

After walking in darkness down a narrow tunnel, feeling his way along, he came to a lighted hallway cut from the rock. Torches guttered from their holders every dozen paces; the new pa.s.sage stretched for a long distance in either direction, with no clue as to which way he should turn. He decided to take the left path, for it seemed to climb slightly, and his direction must eventually lead him upward, were he to attain his destination.

He pa.s.sed several smaller corridors branching to either side. These confirmed his feeling that he traveled the correct track, for this corridor seemed a major artery, much larger than the others.

Now and again the floor would vibrate, as if shaken by a mild earth tremor, but the effect was small, and Conan had no difficulty maintaining his footing.

After a time he came to a widening of the tunnel. The corridor opened into a vast room carved from the solid rock, a room with a ceiling so distant, the flickering torches could not cast their light far enough to touch it, a room with walls so wide, the torches set upon them looked no more than slender tapers.

He decided against traversing such a vast cavern in virtual darkness.

He retreated a few paces and reached for one of the torches set upon the wall. But as the Cimmerian touched the smooth wood of the light, he saw another such flickering torch moving toward him up the corridor along his previous path. He s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand away and reentered the cavern until he was hidden in deep shadow. He held his sword ready.

A black-robed figure, face hooded and hidden, moved slowly up the corridor, pausing now and then. Conan saw that the man-if a man, in fact-was replacing burned-out flambeaus with fresh brands, removing these unlighted sticks from a large pack upon his back. He-it?-would pause only long enough to flame the new torch into life, then trudged onward.

Conan's first reaction was a strong desire to behead this robed figure, for he now felt certain that whatever inhabited the black cloth was not a true man. Something in the way the figure moved cried out of foul wrongness to the sharp-eyed Cimmerian. Aye, likely the black mage's minions were evil constructs.

The young Cimmerian slid farther back into the embrace of the cavern's dark arms. He could slay the robed figure. On the other hand, he could allow it to live and follow it; certainly, it must eventually run out of torches and return to some central supply area for more, if it were not already headed for such a place. Aye, that was a better plan, to have a guide.

In the darkness the robed figure pa.s.sed, moving slowly across the giant room. Silently as a shadow, Conan followed.

Led by her enthralled guide, Djuvula moved easily along the gently sloping corridor deeper into the bowels of Castle Slott. Aside from the spell that ensnared the hooded one leading her, she dared not use her magic, for fear of being detected by Sovartus. The hooded creature had been taken outside the mountain, the actual working of the diablerie done there, and done quickly, so that Sovartus might miss it. Much as she would have liked to use the sword and clothing that the creature now bore, strapped to its back, for a locating spell, she feared to do so. The barbarian walked within the bounds of Castle Slott, she knew that much. She would find him somehow.

The stink of the things dressed in black robes offended the nostrils of the panther as he slunk along the rocky ground, hidden by his coloration and the shadows. Not-men, and foul, they were, and also not very alert. A dozen of the robed things stood guard within the entrance of the cave mouth, each armed with a double-edged pike with a blade as long as a man's arm. And those pikes were no doubt drenched in some spellery or another that would make them effective against the panther's were. Still, they could not hurt that which they did not observe. A beast with the skills of a great cat and the cunning of a man had the advantage of these. Lemparius, once-senator, moved past the guards unseen, unheard, and unknown by them.

Past the stench of the hooded things the panther could detect the scent of his prey, the perfumed witch. And since she sought the barbarian, he, too, must be within. Soon, the panther thought, his time would be soon.

Chapter Twenty.