Conan The Valiant Part 28

He had the horse up to a canter and his sword drawn as he pa.s.sed the gate. To the people in the street, it must have seemed that the blackfaced Cimmerian was a demon conjured up by the witch. They might hate witchcraft, but they loved their lives more. They scattered, screaming.

Conan took a street opposite to the one Illyana had used and did not slow below a gallop until he was out of town. It was as well, for he had not gone unseen by men with their wits about them. Torches and fires showed half a dozen men riding hard after him.

Conan sheathed his sword and unslung his bow. Darkness did not make for the best practice. He still crippled three horses and emptied one saddle before his pursuers saw the wisdom of letting him go.

Conan slung his bow, counted his arrows, then dismounted to let his horse blow and drink. His own drink was the last of the innkeeper's wine. When the leather bottle was empty, he threw it away, mounted again, and trotted away across country.

Eremius raised his staff. The silver head bore gouges and scars from its pa.s.sage through rocks and earth, but its powers seemed undiminished.

From his other wrist the Jewel glowed, its fire subdued by the dawn light but steady as ever. Once again he considered whether Illyana sought harm to his Jewel, even at cost to her own? That was a question he would surely ask, when the time came to wring from her all her knowledge.

This morning, it was only important that his Jewel was intact. Now he could regain some part of his victory. Not all, because too many of the villagers yet lived. But enough to give new heart to his human servants and even the Transformed, if their minds could grasp what they were about to see.

Eremius rested the head of his staff on the Jewel. Fire blazed forth, stretched out, then gathered itself into a ball and flew across the village. It flew onward, up the hill beyond the village and over its crest.

"Long live the Master!"

Human shouts mingled with the raw-throated howls of the Transformed.

The crest of the hill shuddered, heaved itself upward, then burst apart into a hundred flying boulders, each the size of a hut.

The end of that thrice-cursed priest's shrin!

If the man lived, he would have an end nearly as hard as Illyana's. He and the youth who helped him cast the Powder and free the villagers!

Eremius would recognize them if he saw them again, too. He had torn their faces out of the prisoners' minds before letting the Transformed tear their bodies. Slowly, too, with both minds and bodies. The Transformed had not learned to love the agony of their prey, but they could be taught.

Meanwhile-

Staff and Jewel met again. Once, twice, thrice b.a.l.l.s of emerald fire leaped forth. They formed a triangle encompa.s.sing the village, then settled to the roofs of three houses.

Where they settled, flames spewed from the solid stone. Eremius lifted staff and Jewel a final time, and purple smoke rose above the flames.

Stonefire was smokeless by nature. Eremius wanted to paint Crimson Spring's fate across the sky, for all to see.

Maryam lifted her eyes from Ivram's dead face to the eastern sky. Those eyes were red but dry. Whatever weeping she had done, it was finished before Bora came.

"A child," she said in a rasping voice.

"Who?" Bora knew his own voice was barely a croak. Sleep had begun to seem a thing told of in legends but never done by mortal men.

"The demons' master. A vicious child, who can't win, so he smashes the toys."

"Just-just so he can't smash us," Bora muttered. He swayed.

Two strong arms came around him, steadying him, then lowering him to the ground. "Sit, Bora. I can do well enough by a guest, as little as I have."

He heard as from a vast distance the clink of metal on metal and the gurgle of liquid pouring. A cup of wine seemed to float out of the air before his face. He smelled herbs in the wine.

"Only a posset. Drink."

"I can't sleep. The people-"

"You must sleep. We need you with your wits about you." One hand too strong to resist gripped Bora's head, the other held the cup to his lips. Sweet wine and pungent herbs overpowered his senses, then his will. He drank.

Sleep took him long before the cup was empty.

Conan reached the meeting place as dawn gave way to day. Raihna was asleep, Dessa and Ma.s.souf had found the strength for another quarrel, and only Illyana greeted him.

She seemed to have regained all her strength and lost ten years of age.

Her step as she came downhill was as light as that of her dancer's image, and her smile as friendly.

"Well done, Conan, if you will accept my praise. That was such good work that even a sorceress can recognize it."

In spite of himself, Conan smiled. "I thank you, Illyana. Have you any new knowledge of our friend Eremius?"

"Only that he once more commands his Jewel, as I

do mine. That is not altogether bad. Some part of-of what I sensed last night-told me his Jewel had been in danger."

"Wouldn't smashing Eremius's Jewel be winning the battle?"

"At too great a price. The Jewels are among the supreme creations of all magic. To grind them to powder as if they were pebbles, to lose all that might be learned by using them wisely together-I would feel unclean if I had a hand in it."

Conan would not trust his tongue. He already felt unclean, from too long in the company of too much magic. Now he felt a sharp pang of suspicion. Perhaps the Jewels could teach much, to one fit to learn.

Likely enough, though, it would be what their creators or discoverers wanted learned.

Something of Conan's thoughts must have shown on his face. Illyana feigned doubt.

"Also, it is said that destroying one Jewel without destroying the other makes the survivor far more dangerous. No one can command it."

"A fine mess of 'it is saids' the Jewels carry with them! Didn't you learn a little truth while you studied with Eremius?"

Illyana's face turned pale and she seemed about to choke. Conari remembered Raihna's advice and started to apologize.

"No," Illyana said. "You have the right to ask, a right I grant to few.

I also have the duty to answer. I learned as much as I could, but Eremius gave me little help. What he wished me to learn was-other matters."

She shook herself like a wet dog, and the nightmares seemed to pa.s.s.

"Where do we go now, Conan?"

"Fort Zheman, and swiftly."

"A garrison may show us scant hospitality, unless we use Mishrak's name."

"Time we did that anyway. We're close to country where we need mountain horses. Besides, we owe it to Dessa to leave her among enough men to keep her happy!"

At Illyana's laugh, Raihna stretched catlike and began to waken.