The conan compendium, p.307
The Conan Compendium, page 307
Bora was finding it easier to be a gentleman, or at least an alert sentry. Conan would have wagered a month's pay that the toothsome Maryam had something to do with this.
Illyana finished binding up her hair and started to pull off the Jewel-ring.
Conan reached for it, to put it in his belt pouch. Illyana looked down at his left hand and drew back.
"No, Conan. Your other hand. You've cut this one."
"So I have," the Cimmerian said. He held up the bleeding hand. From the look of the cut, it must have been an edged stone, so sharp that he had not felt it.
"I'll wash it out and bind it up. I've cut myself worse shaving. It will be healing before we reach the mountains."
"That is not so important. Even were it far deeper, I could heal it with little use of the Jewel. No, the danger is letting blood fall on the Jewel."
"Does it get drunk if that happens, or what?" Conan's light tone hid fear crawling through him. Illyana had spoken in a deadly sober tone.
"One might call it getting drunk. It is certain that when blood falls on it, a Jewel becomes much harder to control. It is said that if a blood-smeared Jewel then falls into water, it cannot be controlled at all."
Conan shrugged and reached for the ring with his right hand, then stuffed it
into his pouch. It was in his mind to ask how Illyana proposed to keep the Jewel free of blood while they were battling the Transformed or whatever else Eremius might send against them.
The words never reached his lips. Illyana sat on the edge of the pool, thrusting her long legs over the edge until her feet dabbled in the water. She raised her arms to the sun and threw her head back. Her breasts and belly rose and tautened, as fine and fair as a young girl's.
She held the pose and Conan held desire for a long moment. Then she slipped into the pool, to bob up on the far side, next to Raihna.
Conan rose and began to stride back and forth along the edge of the pool.
Another such display by Illyana, and he was going to find it a burden to be a gentleman!
As desire left Conan's mind, an idle thought entered it. Suppose the Jewels were indeed living beings, with their own wills? And suppose they offered Illyana magic and bedmates, in return for her obedience?
Never mind the Jewels. Suppose Master Eremius had the wits to offer such a bargain?
Conan's thoughts ceased to be idle, and the mountains about him ceased to look peaceful. Uneasily and suspiciously, he pondered whether he had just guessed Illyana's price.
"Now follow me. Run!" Yakoub shouted.
The twelve men obeyed more swiftly than they would have even two days ago. Once
more Yakoub knew that until now Eremius's captains had been the one-eyed leading the blind. By himself, he could do only so much to change this.
But if he taught twelve men everything he knew, then each of them taught it to six more and they to six beyond that―well, inside of two months all of Eremius's men would be decent soldiers. Not the equals of the Golden Spears or other crack units of foot, but as good as most irregulars.
If only he could train them with the bow! But Eremius had passed judgment on that idea.
Yakoub writhed within as he remembered Eremius's words. The sorcerer had been surprised to see Yakoub appearing and offering to train his men. He had even allowed his pleasure to show, when the training started to bear fruit.
Gratitude was beyond him, however. So was what Yakoub considered military wisdom.
"In these mountains, Master, an archer is worth three men without a bow."
"We shall not be in the mountains much longer."
"Even in the plains, an archer has value against horsemen."
"No horsemen will dare close with the Transformed."
"Perhaps. But if you have to retreat, a rearguard of archers―"
"There shall be no retreats when we march again."
"You are―you have high hopes, Master."
"As indeed I should. You have brought me your own skills, which are considerable. You have also brought me news which is still better. The Jewels of Kurag are about to be reunited."
Eremius turned his back, in a manner that told Yakoub the matter was settled.
Not wishing to provoke the sorcerer into using magic to frighten him, Yakoub departed.
He had wondered then and he wondered now what afflicted Eremius. Was it as simple as not wishing to give his human fighters a weapon that could strike down the Transformed from a distance? If so, what did that say about Eremius's trust in the humans, even when he had made them nearly witlings to keep them from rebelling?
Or had Eremius given over thinking like a captain of human soldiers, and become entirely a sorcerer who might soon have the Jewels of Kurag in his power? If half of the tales about the Jewels Eremius told were true, it was no surprise that Eremius had fallen into this trap.
A trap it was, however, and one that Yakoub son of Khadjar must dig him out of!
Yakoub looked back at the running men. Most were pacing themselves as he had taught, rather than exhausting themselves in a swift frenzy. He increased his own pace, to put himself well out in front.
When he had done this, he suddenly whirled, staff raised. Without waiting for him to single out a man, the nearest five all raised their staves to meet him.
He darted in, striking shoulders, thighs, and shins in rapid succession.
Doggedly, the men fought back. Yakoub took a thrust to his knee and another close to his groin.
I would do well to wear some padding the next time. These men are indeed learning.
Then a staff cracked him across the shoulders. He whirled and leaped. The other runners had come up behind him.
For a moment fear and rage twisted his face. Those fools could have killed him by accident!
Then he realized that the men who had come up behind were smiling.
"We did as we would have done with a real enemy," one of them said. "We came up behind him while others fought him in front. Is that not what is to be done?"
"Indeed it is." Not just padding, but a helmet as well. He clapped the man who had spoken on the shoulder. "You have done well. Now let us finish our run."
Yakoub waited for all the men to pass before he began to run again. For today at least, he would be happier without any of them behind him!
For the days to come, though, he saw much pleasure. He had often heard his father speak of how the gods gave men no greater joy than teaching the arts of the soldier. He had not understood how true this was, until today.
"Conan, will Dessa come to any harm―as she is now?" Massouf still could not bring himself to say "as a tavern girl."
Conan shrugged. The truth would depend on what she was made of. He did not suppose Massouf would enjoy hearing it. The young man had not given up Dessa so completely that he refused to worry about her.
Even for a man not careless of his life, being worried about someone else was a good way to get killed. As he was, Massouf was less than ever someone Conan cared to have at his side in a fight.
"If she lived as well as she did at Achmai's Hold, I doubt that anywhere in Turan will hold many terrors for her." A thought came to him. "I have a friend in Aghrapur by the name of Pyla. She is also a friend to Captain Khezal. If we both urge her to help Dessa find her feet in her new life, I am sure that help will come."
It might need a trifle of silver, because Pyla did little even for friends without asking payment. Besides, launching Dessa properly would not be cheap.
Worth it, though. If Dessa began her career known as a friend of Pyla, she would have few enemies. The rest could be left, as he had said several times, to the girl's natural talents.
Remembering those talents made Conan's blood race. He muttered a polite farewell to Massouf and returned to the pool. The stone where he had been sitting was wet and dark. There was no sign of either woman.
Either they were playing ill-timed jests, or―Conan was standing on the edge of the pool when Illyana burst from the water.
She rose half her height out of it, like a water sprite seeking to fly. Her arms wrapped around Conan's knees and she flung herself backward.
She might as well have tried to upset the Lord of the Winds. When she realized her mistake, Conan had already gripped her by the shoulders. He lifted and she rose, until her long legs were twined around Conan's waist. She lay back in his arms and smiled invitingly. His lips crushed hers.
For a long moment nothing existed for the Cimmerian, save Illyana in his arms, naked, wet, and beginning to writhe in pleasure. Pleasure was not a sufficient
word for what he felt. Madness would have been closer.
Even when Illyana untwined her legs and stood, she pressed against Conan. His hands ran down her back, pressing her tighter. He felt her breasts against his chest, as delightfully firm as they had seemed―"No," Illyana said, or rather gasped. Her voice was husky with desire. She stepped back, forgetting that they were on the edge of the pool. With a splash and a shriek she plunged into the water again, to come up coughing.
Conan helped her out of the pool, careful to grip only her hands. Illyana herself kept a pace away from him as she began to dry herself with her clothes.
"That is not a no for all time, the Jewels―the gods willing. It is only for now, that we cannot―" Her voice was still unsteady, and her eyes seemed glazed. The desire was leaving Conan, but he still judged it wise to turn his back until Illyana was dressed.
It was not until Conan had finished his own bathing that he had a chance for words alone with Raihna.
"Are my wits straying, or was your mistress trying to make me desire her?"
"Trying?" Raihna's laugh was harsh, both frightened and frightening. "I judged she was succeeding admirably. That's as well. The gods only know what she might have done, if she had thought she was undesirable."
"If she ever thinks that, I hope some man will have a chance to prove how wrong she is!"
"Not you?" Raihna asked, with a twisted grin.
"I think I was safer as a thief in the Tower of the Elephant than I'd be in
Illyana's bed. Less pleasure there, but less peril."
Raihna stood close against him, and ran one hand lightly down his back. "But she did make you want a woman?"
Conan did not need the message carved in stone. He returned the embrace.
"Yes. I hope it also made you want a man!"
Raihna's happy cries echoed from the walls of the valley. Nonetheless, Conan could not shake off the memory of Illyana's eyes and voice, still less her mention of the Jewels.
Twenty
THEY REACHED THE Valley of the Demons so early in their last day's march that Conan ordered them back.
"We want a place beyond the reach of Eremius's scouts, to lie up for the day.
Everybody should try to sleep."
"Indeed. It may be our last," Massouf said. He sounded rather as if he welcomed the prospect.
Conan's urge to shake some wits into the man rose again. He forced it down.
Massouf might want to die, but he had proved himself hardy and careful, not to mention a good hand with the bow and the spear. If he died, he would likely enough take some of the enemy with him.
Bora found them a refuge that Conan himself could not have bettered. It had a
spring of clear water, shelter from the sun, and concealment from the enemy. It even offered a safe way of flight, if needed.
"Bora, if you ever join the army, I'll wager you're a captain before you can turn around," Conan said.
"You are not the first to say so, and I thank you all," Bora said soberly. "But I cannot think of that until I know my father is pardoned and safe. Even then, I will be needed for the rebuilding of Crimson Springs."
Conan found himself exchanging looks with the two women. Bora's optimism was easier to hear than Massouf's grim despair. It altered not a whit their slim chances of both winning and surviving to enjoy their victory.
The night mists swirled up from the valley in their natural silver-gray. No magic or at least no Jewel-spells were at work. Conan crawled to the crest and looked at the scree-strewn slope plunging away into the mist.
"If this is the best way down," he whispered, "Erlik spare me seeing the worst!"
"I am not a god, to arrange these mountains to make our task easier," Bora said.
"I can only tell you how they are arranged."
"Without any thought for us, that's certain," Raihna said.
The banter kept their spirits up, but it took time. Conan signed for silence, then one by one led the party to the crest.
"Can you climb down that?" he whispered to each one. "Can you climb up it again, with the Transformed at your heels?"
He did not ask Bora, who could have taught climbing to goats. The others all
nodded, save Massouf, who shrugged.
"If you can't climb, we may not be able to carry you," Conan said, in a final effort to wean Massouf from his dark intent.
"If I am not climbing, I can make better practice with spear and bow," Massouf replied. His eyes dared Conan to press him further.
"Likely enough there will be places we can defend lower down," Bora said. "If the sentries are alert, they will give the alarm before we reach the heart of Eremius's domain."
"Pray that it is not too soon," Illyana said. "The necessary spells must be cast with the two Jewels as close as we can contrive."
"You've persuaded us of that," Conan said. "Otherwise why would we be sticking our head into a wasp's nest to count the wasps?"
What they were doing was in fact many times worse than that. It was also utterly necessary. Illyana had said a wearying number of times that she could no longer fight Eremius's magic from a distance. Before the Jewels' will grew in them, it might have been otherwise. Now, however, they had to draw Eremius close.
Otherwise she might exhaust her strength and her Jewel with nothing accomplished, leaving them with no magical protection against Eremius.
"Besides, if Eremius unleashes the Transformed, he must use some of his power to command them. I will have no such burden."
"No, you've a band of thick-witted sword-wielders to save you from it!" Conan had growled. "Proof that my wits are thicker than the mist is that I'm here!"
"Thank the gods for that," Illyana said, softly but with unexpected passion.
Even Massouf managed the climb down with little trouble. Conan was sure they had made enough noise to awaken sentries in Stygia, but no one barred their path.
"Could Eremius be resting his men while he heals the Transformed?" Illyana asked.
"Perhaps," was Conan's whispered reply. "I'd wager he's resting them by patrolling a smaller area. Sooner or later, we'll find somebody ready to welcome visitors."
They moved on in silence. No more words were needed, and the mist seemed to eerily distort speech. It was also thick enough to make their bows and Bora's sling tar less useful.
Conan no longer despised the bow as a coward's weapon, but it was still not his favorite. He would gladly have given up his sword, however, in return for not having to trust to Illyana's spells. If he could have been altogether certain they would be hers alone, it would have been different. With the Jewels friends or foes in their own right―"Hssst!" came from Bora, in the lead. "Somebody ahead."
Before Conan could reply, he heard the whirr of the sling winding up, then a hiss, a thump, and a faint clatter.
"That's one―" Bora began.
"Hoyaaaa! Guard! Turn out the guard!" came a scream from the left. Whoever was screaming was frightened nearly witless, but giving the alarm like a soldier.
Conan cursed. It was all very well to speak of drawing the enemy after you, but
when you could not see each other in this cursed mist―Half a dozen human fighters stormed out of the mist, spears and swords raised.
Conan and Raihna met them head-on, to keep them from Illyana. In the flurry of steel that followed, Conan had no eyes for anyone save those in sword's reach of him. Two men went down before his blade, then suddenly the mist lay empty before him. Silence returned, save for the diminishing hammer of panic-stricken feet.
"I had one," Raihna said. "Bora picked off another with that sling of his. Will you teach me to use it?"
"The gods willing. How is Massouf?"
The young man raised a bloody spear. He looked as if he did not know whether to sing in triumph or spew in horror. At least first-kill fright was better than black despair!
"Let's be on our way back," Conan said.
"The Transformed are not yet unleashed," Illyana said. She had one hand pressing the other arm where the Jewel-ring sat. It let her make some use of the Jewel without revealing herself with its emerald light.
"They will be, when somebody finds these bodies," Conan said. "Come along. Best we don't let ourselves be surrounded."
"That's putting it delicately," Raihna began.
Then the whole world seemed to turn an eye-searing green, of no hue Conan had ever seen or imagined. A moment later the mist vanished, as if a giant mouth had sucked it out of the valley. The light turned the familiar emerald of the Jewels.
As the vanishing mist revealed the valley around Conan's party, it also revealed at least fifty of the Transformed swarming down the north side.
"Eremius comes!" Illyana screamed.
"Set to devour Eremius!" growled Conan, unsling-ing his bow. "Stop talking and start shooting, woman. We've a chance to improve the odds!"
Raihna was already unleashing arrows. The range was long even for her stout Bossonian bow, but the target was hard to miss. Every arrow from her bow, then from Conan's, then from Illyana's and Massouf's, struck Transformed flesh.
Struck, but did not pierce. At this range the scales of the Transformed were as good as the finest mail. Conan saw human fighters running downhill on the flanks of the Transformed and shifted to them. He killed four of them before their courage broke. By then he was nearby out of arrows.
The Transformed reached level ground. With arrows jutting from them, the Transformed looked even more monstrous than before. Jewel-light seared Conan's eyes again, as Illyana slung her bow, flung back her sleeves, and began wielding her magic.
