Conan and the Emerald Lotus Part 6

The woman bristled, coming to her knees on the bed.

"a.s.sa.s.sin! Have you come here to gloat over my impending death?" she spat.

"On the contrary, sweet lady, I have come to offer you life. I am the master of the Emerald Lotus. You have tasted its glorious power and felt its mortal demands. I am fresh from a visit to the home of Shakar the Keshanian, and I fear that he will not last another two days. His appet.i.te escalates as his supply dwindles. You seem to be in much better health, so I infer that you have shown greater control than the Keshanian. You may live another week or two, but be aware that without a steady supply of my lotus, you are doomed."

"You have a price?" asked Zelandra bitterly. The shadow figure continued as though she had not spoken.

"The Emerald Lotus is a wondrous gift to sorcerers. You have experienced but a meager fraction of its strength in your own wizardry.

Its power is limitless. With enough of the lotus a mage might become all-powerful, while those seduced by it and then abandoned must die. In the guise of Eldred the Trader, I approached both you and Shakar the Keshanian. Two petty sorcerers locked in a trifling rivalry over which would be privileged to become King Sumuabi's lackey. The lure of the mythical Emerald Lotus proved as strong as I knew it would be. I sold it to you for a pittance, but I would have given it to you for nothing had you chosen not to buy."

"Why?" The rage had faded from Zelandra's voice, leaving only a profound weariness.

"Why?" The veils of stark light throbbed brighter. "Because I wondered how much power such a small amount would grant you. Because I wondered how long you could make it last. But most of all, because I wondered how long it would take you to die once it was gone. I have learned so much from you, sweet lady, and from Shakar the keshanian. It is knowledge I shall use to good effect. I have found the seeds of the Emerald Lotus, lost since the time of black Acheron, and I am its master. It shall strengthen me and slay my enemies. All the mages of Stygia shall soon have the opportunity to sample my lotus, and those who accept it will either obey me as loyal followers or be left to die.

Can you not see it, sweet lady? I will command a legion of lotus-enslaved wizards, while that which holds them in bondage grants me greater and greater power. Who can say what the limits of my dominion might be?" The ebon outline fell silent, pausing as though to savor the moment. "I am destined to become a great force in the world, Zelandra, but you need not fear me. I am not here to slay you; rather I would ask you, lady, would you share this power with me?"

"Who are you?" The woman on the bed spoke without emotion.

The moving curtains of fiery mist drew apart, dimming into the background as the figure became visible: a tall man dressed in a regal gray robe trimmed with ermine. Great dark eyes set in a n.o.ble, sharp-featured face surveyed the room with calm intensity. A subtle, golden radiance played about him as he bowed deeply toward the Lady Zelandra.

"I am called Ethram-Fal."

"Ethram-Fal?" Zelandra's voice cracked. "I have heard of you, Stygian.

A reject of the Black Ring. Why do you present yourself as a normal man rather than the twisted dwarf that you are?"

"b.i.t.c.h!" The invader all but choked in astonishment. "I offer you life and a place by my side and you would mock me?" The sorcerer's words burst inside their skulls with staggering force, scalding with shock and rage. The figure fell in upon itself, its outline collapsing into the image of a much smaller, hunched man in plain gray robes. Bulging eyes glared furiously from beneath a dark and beetle brow. The haze of light around him paled and then vanished entirely, revealing a rocky desert landscape touched by the first pallid rays of dawn. Sharp spires of ruddy stone rose to his immediate left, while on his right a small, unusually regular formation of jagged peaks lay upon the azure horizon.

Ethram-Fal's clenched fists shook by his sides while his thin mouth worked in an uncontrollable fury of outrage.

"I will return to you in three days. By then my lotus will have tightened its grip. I swear by the Crawling Chaos that I shall hear you beg for my acceptance. And then, by Set, then I shall decide if you are worthy!"

The image winked out like a snuffed candle, leaving the four of them staring at a blank wall in a room gone suddenly dark.

Chapter Nine.

The Lady Zelandra fell back among her pillows as if in a faint, then sat up abruptly, twisting one hand in the air. Four torches set in wall mounts flared into brilliant orange flame, flooding the room with light. She was still staring at the wall.

"d.a.m.n him," she said softly, "and d.a.m.n me for a fool."

"Milady," cried Neesa as she crossed the bedchamber, towing Conan by one muscular arm. Heng Shih, the Khitan, brandished both of his weapons, the flare-bladed scimitar whistling as it cut the air. He did not speak.

"What's this?" Lady Zelandra swung her fine long legs over the bedclothes and came to her feet. She advanced upon the Cimmerian, her eyes slitted and mouth tight with contempt.

"Milady," said Neesa, "this is Conan. He broke into the house, and Heng Shih and I just managed to overcome him. He has an interesting story to tell. He is-"

"A p.a.w.n of Shakar's," cut in Zelandra. "The Keshanian amulet about his neck reveals the truth. Is that third-rate trickster so desperate that he sends barbarian thieves to rob me? What did you come seeking, oaf?"

Zelandra's hair was black, straight, and shot through with silver.

Though she was well into middle age, her body was still erect and firm, beautiful in her silken nightrobe. Her keen black eyes inspected her uninvited visitor with obvious repugnance.

"I am no friend of Shakar's, lady. If you know the amulet, then you must know its purpose. If I do not return to the Keshanian by dawn, its flame will burn my head from my shoulders. Shakar sent me here to steal from you a silver box. I had no choice in the matter."

"Of course," muttered Zelandra as if speaking to herself, "without more lotus the rascal dies."

"With this d.a.m.ned amulet around my neck, I die in any case." Conan's voice grew louder. "Release me so that I may at least try to force the dog to remove it. Swear to give me that chance, and I shall help you against the Stygian who calls himself Ethram-Fal."

"Derketo, but you have gall," Zelandra grinned briefly in reluctant admiration. "And how might an unwashed savage like yourself be of a.s.sistance in a war of wizards?"

Conan tossed his black mane with manifest impatience. "The sorcerer who made himself appear upon the wall, the one who claimed mastery over the thing he called the Emerald Lotus, I know where he is to be found."

Heng Shih slid the scimitar into his wide yellow sash, then fluttered the fingers of his right hand as though drawing quick pictures in the air. Conan recognized the movements as a form of sign language, but had no notion of what message was conveyed.

"Perhaps," said Zelandra soberly, "but who can say?"

She took two swift steps to the Cimmerian's side and laid a cool hand upon his amulet and throat. Conan clenched his teeth. Expecting the thing to blaze into murderous life, he fought an impulse to shrink away.

"Hie Nostratos-Valkallar," she whispered, as her fingers slid between the egg-shaped amulet and Conan's throat. The muscles of the barbarian's frame locked into taut knots, but he held himself in place.

The sorceress smiled lazily into Conan's tense face and spoke: "Hie Nostratos-Nectos."

White fire erupted before the Cimmerian's eyes as Zelandra jerked the amulet free. She stepped back, her hand full of livid molten brilliance. The barbarian clasped both hands around his naked throat as a thick wave of searing heat struck his body.

"Crom and Ishtar!" The curse ripped from Conan's lips.

The sorceress opened her hand and liquid metal streamed down her fingers in bright rivulets, spilling to the floor, It seemed to flee her fingers, every drop shedding itself to sizzle in the carpet. Her hand was unmarked.

"Just a toy," she said. "Now where is Ethram-Fal, and how do you come by such convenient information? If you are lying, I shall devise a death for you that will make the amulet seem most merciful."

"To h.e.l.l with you and your threats," snarled Conan. "I've been drugged, beaten, and blackmailed all night long. I said I knew where he was and I meant it. I could use a drink."

Heng Shih advanced menacingly, hefting his wooden mace. Conan stood his ground, glaring, and Neesa spoke up.

"I'll get some wine, milady. With your permission?"

"Certainly," said Zelandra, the reluctant smile playing about her lips again. "Being drugged, blackmailed, and beaten does sound like thirsty work."

Neesa bolted from the room, leaving Conan and Heng Shih to glower at one another while Zelandra examined the barbarian as though seeing him clearly for the first time.

"The Khitan is mute, then?" asked Conan, relaxing a little.

"Yes, though his hands and his weapons speak most eloquently when he wishes."

Conan rubbed the back of his head ruefully. "His club spoke to my skull earlier this evening, though I'll wager that if I had not felt the lingering fumes of Shakar's drugs, I would have heard him stealing up behind me." Heng Shih's round face split in a wolfish grin, the fingers of his right hand working in the air before him.

"He says that you have the hardest head of any man he's ever met," said Zelandra wryly.

"Others have said the same," replied the Cimmerian. "Tell him that he's the fastest-moving fat man I've ever seen."