Conan The Valiant Part 11

"He may be our only one!" Bora almost shouted. The wine on a nearly empty stomach was making him light-headed. "Besides the G.o.ds, of course," he added hastily, as he remembered that he was guest to a priest of Mitra.

"The G.o.ds will not thank us for sitting like stones upon the hillside and waiting for them to rescue us," Ivram said. "Yakoub seems a better man than those who seek only rebels when they should seek wizardry.

Perhaps he will not be good enough, but-"

"Ivram! Quickly! To the south! The demon fire burns!"

Maryam's voice was half a scream and wholly filled with terror. She stood in the outer doorway, staring into the night. Bora took his place beside her, seeing that her dark-rose face was now pale as goat's milk.

Emerald fire climbed the slopes of the Lord of the Winds. The whole mighty peak might have been sinking in a lake of that fire. At any moment Bora expected to see the snowcap melt and waft away into the night as green-hued steam.

Ivram embraced Maryam and murmured to her. At last she rested her head on his shoulder in silence. He looked beyond her, to the demon light.

To Bora he seemed to be looking even farther, into another world.

When he spoke, his voice had the ring of prophecy. In spite of his wine-given courage, Bora shuddered at the priest's words.

"That is the light of our doom. Bora, I will join my words to yours. We must prepare ourselves, for what is about to come upon us."

"I cannot lead the villages!"

"Cannot, or will not?"

"I would if they listened to me. But I am a boy!"

"You are more of a man than those who will not hear you: Remember that, speak as you have spoken to me tonight, and the wise will listen."

A witling's thought pa.s.sed through Bora's mind. Did Ivram mean that he should stay drunk until the demons had pa.s.sed? The idea tempted him, but he doubted that there was so much wine in all the villages!

Eremius flung his arms toward the night sky, as if seeking to conjure the stars down from the heavens. No stars were to be seen from the valley, not through the emerald mist around the Lord of the Winds.

Again and again his arms leaped high. Again and again he felt the power of the Jewel pour from them like flames. Ah, if he could unleash such power with one Jewel, what might he do with both?

Tonight he would take a step toward possessing both. A long step, for tonight the Transformed would pour out of the mountains to strike far and wide.

Thunder rolled down the sky and echoed from the valley walls. The ground shuddered beneath Eremius's feet.

He took a deep breath and with the utmost reluctance reined in the power he had conjured. With his senses enhanced by the Jewel, he had seen the flaws and faults in the walls of the valley. One day he would cast it all down in rubble and ruin to show the world his power, but not tonight.

"Master! Master! Hear me!" It was the captain of the sentries.

"Silence!" A peremptory gesture held menace.

"Master! You put the men in fear! If they are to follow the Transformed-"

"Fear? Fear? I will show you fear!" Another gesture. Eremius's staff leaped into his hand. He raised it, to smite the captain to the ground in a pile of ashes.

Again he took a deep breath. Again he reined in the power he would have gloried in unleashing. Near witless as they were, his human fighters had their part in everything he did until he regained the second Jewel.

The Transformed could be unleashed only when Eremius was. awake to command them. When he slept, so did they. Then the spellbound humans must do the work of guarding and foraging, however badly.

With both Jewels, one like Eremius could command the loyalty of the finest soldiers while leaving their wits intact. With only one, he could command only those he had made near-kin to simpletons.

The thousandth curse on Illyana shrieked through his mind. His staff danced in the air, painting a picture between him and the captain.

Illyana appeared, naked, with nothing of the sorceress about her.

Rather, it was her younger self, ready to receive a man as the real Illyana never had (though not for want of effort by Eremius).

The staff twitched. Illyana's image opened its mouth and closed its eyes. Its hands curved into claws, and those claws began to twist in search of the man who had to be near.

At Eremius's command, the image did all that he had ever seen or imagined a woman doing in the grip of l.u.s.t. Then the image surpa.s.sed l.u.s.t, entering realms of blood and obscenity beyond the powers of most men even to imagine.

They were also beyond the powers of the captain to endure. He began by licking his lips at the display of l.u.s.t. Then sweat glazed his face, except for dry lips. Under the sweat the face turned pale.

At last his eyes rolled up in his head and he crashed to the ground. He lay as senseless as if Eremius truly had smitten him with the staff.

Eremius waved the staff, now to conjure sense back into the captain instead of out of him. The man lurched to his knees, vomited, looked wildly about him for the image, then knelt and kissed the ground at Eremius's feet.

For the moment, it seemed to Eremius that the man had learned enough of fear.

"Go and send your men up to the valley mouth," Eremius said. "They are to hold it until the last of the Transformed are past. Then they are to fall in with the pack animals."

The human fighters were not as the Transformed, able to endure for days between their meals of flesh. They would need rations until the raiders reached inhabited farms. Pack horses would serve, their scents altered by magic so that they would not rouse the hunger of the Transformed.

"I go in obedience to the Master of the Jewel," the captain said. In spite of his fear, he vanished swiftly into the darkness. Or perhaps his fear gave wings to his feet. Eremius hardly cared, as long as he was obeyed.

Oh, for the day when he would hear "I go in obedience to the Master of the Jewels" from a soldier worthy of the name! A soldier such as High Captain Khadjar or even his obedient son Yakoub.

The thought that this day drew closer hardly consoled Eremius. To punish only an image of Illyana instead of the real woman reminded him of how far he had to go.

So be it. Only a fool feared to unroll the parchment, lest he miscast the spell!

Eremius cast his thoughts up and down the valley, in a silence more complete than the tomb's.

Come forth. Come forth at your Master's command. Come forth and seek prey.

The Transformed came forth. A carrion reek rode the wind ahead of them, thickening until the stench seemed a living, palpable ent.i.ty. Eremius conjured a bubble of clean air around himself. As an afterthought he added the scent of Illyana's favorite bath oil to the air.

The Transformed filed past. They shambled, lurched, and seemed perpetually about to stumble. This was as Eremius wished it, when they were close to him. Unleashed and ranging free, the Transformed could overtake a galloping horse.

Emerald light glowed on scales and red eyes. Here and there it shone on the spikes of a club slung from a crude rope belt or on a bra.s.s-bound cestus encasing a clawed hand. Even after the Transformation, the Transformed were not wholly alike. Some had the wits to chose and wield weapons. Others lacked the wits, or perhaps were too proud of their vast new strength.

At last the Transformed were gone into the night. Eremius chanted the words that would bind the spell of control into the staff. For some days to come, he would need no other magic, unless matters went awry.

Even if they did, a single Jewel of Kurag was no mean weapon in the hands of a sorcerer such as Eremius. Those who doubted this might find themselves learning otherwise before long, although they would hardly live to profit by this lesson.

Six.

To THE EAST, the foothills of the Ibars Mountains crept upward toward the blue sky. Somewhere among them the Shimak River had its birth. In those hills it swelled from a freshet to a stream. Flowing onward, it turned from a stream to a river before it reached the plains of Turan.

Here it was halfway to its junction with the Ilbars River. Already its width and depth demanded a ferry rather than a ford.

The ferry herald blew the signal on a bra.s.s-bound ivory horn the length of Conan's arm. Three times the harsh blast rolled across the turbid waters. Three times the pack animals rolled their eyes and pecked uneasily.