CONAN THE VALIANT

by

Roland Green

CONTENTS

Prologue , One , Two , Three , Four , Five , Six , Seven , Eight , Nine , Ten , Eleven , Twelve , Thirteen , Fourteen , Fifteen , Sixteen , Seventeen , Eighteen , Nineteen , Twenty , Twenty-one , Twenty-two , Twenty-three

Conan drew back as far as the hall would allow. When he plunged forward, he was like an avalancheon a steep slope. The bolt was made to resist common men, not Cimmerians of Conan's size andstrength. The bolt snapped like a twig and the door crashed open.

Conan flew into the room, nearly stumbling over Illyana, who knelt at the foot of the bed. Sheclutched the bedclothes with both hands and had a corner of the blanket stuffed into her mouth.

She wore only the Jewel of Khurag in its ring on her left arm. The Jewel seared Conan's eyes withemerald flame.

"Don't touch her!" Raihna cried.

"She needs help!"

"You will hurt, not help, if you touch her now!"

Conan hesitated, torn between desire to help someone clearly suffering and trust in Raihna'sjudgment. Illyana settled the question by slumping into a faint. As she fell senseless, the flame in the Jeweldied.

The Adventures of Conan published by Tor Books

CONAN THE BOLD by John Maddox Roberts

CONAN THE CHAMPION by John Maddox Roberts

CONAN THE DEFENDER by Robert Jordan

CONAN THE DEFIANT by Steve Perry

CONAN THE DESTROYER by Robert Jordan

CONAN THE FEARLESS by Steve Perry

CONAN THE HERO by Leonard Carpenter

CONAN THE INVINCIBLE by Robert Jordan

CONAN THE MAGNIFICENT by Robert Jordan

CONAN THE MARAUDER by John Maddox Roberts

CONAN THE RAIDER by Leonard Carpenter

CONAN THE RENEGADE by Leonard Carpenter

CONAN THE TRIUMPHANT by Robert Jordan

CONAN THE UNCONQUERED by Robert Jordan

CONAN THE VALIANT by Roland Green

CONAN THE VALOROUS by John Maddox Roberts

CONAN THE VICTORIOUS by Robert Jordan

CONAN THE WARLORD by Leonard Carpenter

and coming soon:

CONAN THE INDOMITABLE by Steve Perry

CONAN THE VALIANT

by

Roland Green

TOR

A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and anyresemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

CONAN THE VALIANT

Copyright © 1988 by Conan Properties, Inc.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

A TOR Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

49 West 24 Street

New York, NY 10010

Cover art by Ken Kelly

ISBN: 0-812- 50082-2 Can. ISBN: 0-812-50083-0

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 88-50472

First edition: October 1988

First mass market edition: August 1989

Printed in the United States of America 0987654321

To L. Sprague and Catherine de Camp, with respect and gratitude, and with special thanks tothe Guild of Exotic Dancers of the Middle Kingdom of the Society for Creative Anachronism,Incorporated.

Prologue

SUNSET TINTED GOLD and crimson the snows of the Lord of the Winds, monarch of the IbarsMountains. Twilight had already swallowed its lower slopes, while night shrouded the valleys.

Bora, son of Rhafi, lay behind a boulder and studied the valleys before him. Three stretched awayfrom the foot of the Lord, like the spokes of a cartwheel. Mist rose from all. Had he been citybred, givento such fancies. Bora might have discerned monstrous shapes already forming out of the mist.

Instead, Bora's family had been shepherds and wolf-hunters in the village of Crimson Springs, whenthe forebears of King Yildiz of Turan were petty lordlings. These mountains held no strangeness for him.

Or rather, they had not, until two moons before. Then the tales began. In one valley, the mists turnedgreen each night. Those who ventured into the valley to see why did not return, except for one whoreturned mad, babbling of demons unleashed.

Then people began to disappear. Children at first—a girl filling water jugs by a lonely stream, ashepherd boy taking food to his father in the pasture, a baby snatched while his mother bathed. Neverwas there any trace of the reavers, save for a foul stench that made the dogs turn away howling andsometimes a footprint that might have been human, if humans had claws a finger long.

Then grown men and women began to vanish. No village was spared, until people dared not leavetheir houses after dark and went about even in daylight in stout, armed bands. It was said that caravansstruggling over the passes and even patrols of Yildiz's soldiers had lost men.

Mughra Khan, Yildiz's military governor, heard the tales but doubted them, at least where the villageswere concerned. He saw nothing but rebellion looming and his duty clear: to put it down.

He was not such a fool as to arrest men at random and try to persuade the Seventeen Attendants thatthey were rebels. The Seventeen were not fools either. Mughra Khan strengthened his outposts, arrestedthe few men who protested, and waited for the rebels to either strike or skulk back into their lairs.

Neither rebels nor anything else human did either. But entire outposts began to disappear. Sometimesa few bodies remained behind, gutted like sheep, beheaded, dismembered by more than human strength.Once, two men reached safety—one dying, both mad and babbling of demons.

This time, the tales of demons were believed.

Of course Mughra Khan continued to believe in rebels as well. He saw no reason why both could notbe menacing the peace and order of Turan. Messengers rode posthaste to Aghrapur, with requests foradvice and aid.

What fate those messengers might meet, Bora did not know, and hardly cared. He was moreconcerned about the fate of his father, Rahfi. Rahfi accused some soldiers of stealing his sheep. The nextday the soldiers' comrades arrested him as "a suspected rebel."

What fate suspected rebels might meet, Bora knew too well. He also knew that pardons often cameto those whose kin had well served Turan. If he learned the secret of the demon reavers, might that notprocure his father's release?

It would be good if Rahfi could be home in time to attend his daughter Arima's wedding. Though notas fair as her younger sister Caraya, Arima would bear the carpenter of Last Tree many fine sons, with

Mitra's favor.

Bora shifted slightly, without dislodging so much as a pebble. It might be a long wait, studying thesenighted valleys.

Master Eremius made a peremptory gesture. The servant scurried forward, holding theornately-shaped chased silver vials of blood in either hand. Thos hands were filthy, Eremius noted.

Eremius snatched the vials from the servant and plunged them into the silk pouch hanging from his beltof crimson leather. Then he struck the rock at his feet with his staff and threw up his left hand, palmoutward. The rock opened. Water gushed, lifting the servant off his feet, then casting him down, gaspingand whimpering for mercy. Eremius let the water flow until the servant was as clean in person andgarments as was possible without flaying him.

"Let that be a lesson to you," Eremius said.

"It is a lesson, Master," the man gasped, and departed faster than he had come.

The wet rock slowed Eremius not at all as he descended into the valley. His long-toed feet were bareand hard as leather, seeking and finding safe holds without the least spell bringing light. At the foot of thepath two more servants stood holding torches. The torches were of common rushes, but burned with arubicund light and a hissing like angry serpents.

"All is well, Master."

"So be it."

They followed him as he climbed the other side of the valley to the Altar of Transformation. Hewished to arrive in time to correct whatever was not indeed well. The assurances of his servants told himlittle, except that the Altar had not been carried away by vultures or any of tonight's Transformationsescaped.

Ah, would that Illyana was still friend and ally, or that he had snatched the other Jewel of Kurag fromher before she fled! Then it would have mattered little whether she escaped or not. Before she found anyway to oppose him, the twin Jewels would have given him irresistible power, both in his own right andthrough human allies.

Eremius nearly thought a curse upon Illyana. He quickly banished the impulse. The magic he used in aTransformation was unforgiving of anything less than total concentration. Once, he had sneezed in themiddle of a Transformation and found its subject leaping from the Altar, partly transformed and whollybeyond his control. He had to summon other Transformations to slay it.

The Altar seemed part of the hillside itself, as in truth it was. Eremius had conjured it into being out ofthe very rock, a seamless slab as high as a man's waist and twelve paces on a side. Around the edge ofthe slab ran in high relief the runes of a powerful warding spell.

Like the runes on the great golden ring on Eremius's left forearm, these runes were an ancient Vanirtranslation of a still more ancient Atlantean text. Even among sorcerers, few knew of these or any of theother spells concerning the Jewels of Kurag. Many doubted the very existence of the spells.

Eremius found this to his advantage. What few believe in, fewer still will seek.

He stepped up to the Altar and contemplated the Transformation. She was a young village woman,fully of marriageable age and exceedingly comely, had Eremius been concerned about such things. Thewhole of her clothing was a silver ring about her roughly-cropped dark hair and silver chains about herwrists and ankles. The chains held her spread-eagled on the slab, but not so tightly that she could notwrithe from side to side in an obscene parody of passion. In spite of the night chill, sweat glazed her

upthrust breasts and trickled down her thighs. Her eyes held shifting tints that made them look now ebonydark, now silver gray, then the fiery tint of a cat's eyes seen by firelight.

Indeed, all seemed well. Certainly there was nothing to be gained by waiting. Eight moreTransformations awaited him tonight, nine more recruits for his army.

Soon he could bargain from strength, with the ambitious or the discontented at the court of Turan. Nocourt ever lacked for such, and the court of Turan had more than most. Once they were his allies, hecould set them in search of the other Jewel. Illyana could not hide forever.

Then the twin Jewels would be his, and bargaining at an end. It would be time for him to commandand for the world to obey.

He raised his left hand and began to chant. As he chanted, the Jewel began to glow. Above the Altarthe mists took on an emerald hue.

Bora's breath hissed between his teeth. The mist in the westernmost valley was turning green. It wasalso the nearest valley. In daylight he could have reached it in an hour, for he was as keen-sighted bynight as by day. Tonight, speed was not his goal. Stealth was what he needed, for he was a wolf seekingprey—an odd fate for a shepherd, but Mitra would send what Mitra chose.

Bora sat up and unwrapped the sling from around his waist. In the dry mountain air, the cords andleather cup had not stretched. In the mist-shrouded valley, it might have been otherwise; still, he couldface anything but heavy rain. He had practiced almost daily with the sling, ever since he was no taller thanit was long.

From a goatskin pouch he drew a piece of dry cheese and five stones. Since he was fourteen, Boracould tell the weight and balance of a stone by tossing it thrice in either hand. He had studied and chosenthese five stones as carefully as if he were going to wed them.

His fingers told him that none of the stones were chipped. One by one he eased them back into thepouch, along with the last crumb of cheese. Then he tied the pouch back at his waist, picked up his staff,and started down the mountain.

It was no marvel that the mist turned the color of emeralds. The light pouring from the great stone inthe ring was of such a hue. The stone itself might have been taken for an emerald the size of a baby's fist.Some men had done so. Two had been thieves; both would have preferred King Yildiz's executioners towhat actually befell them.

Whether the Jewels of Kurag were natural or creations of sorcery, no living man knew. That secretlay beneath the waves, among the coral-armored ruins of Atlantis. For Master Eremius, it was enough toknow the secrets of the Jewels' powers.

He chanted the first spell in a high-pitched singsong that might have been mistaken for the tongue ofKhitai. As he chanted, he felt the vials of blood grow warm against his skin, then cool again. Theirpreservation spells were set aside. Now to make them his instruments of Transformation.

He set the first vial on the Altar beside the young woman. The herb-steeped cloth forced into hermouth had sapped her will but not destroyed it. Her eyes rolled back, wide with terror, as she saw theblood in the vial begin to glow. A faint moan forced its way through the cloth.

Eremius chanted three guttural monosyllables, and the lid of the vial flew into the air. He struck theAltar, five times with his staff, and chanted the same syllables twice more.

The vial floated into the air and drifted over the girl. Eremius' staff rose like an asp ready to strike.

The light from the Jewel became a single beam, bright enough to dazzle any mortal eye unshielded bymagic.

With a flick of his wrist, Eremius directed the beam straight at the vial. It quivered, then overturned.The blood rained down on the girl, weaving a pattern like silver lace across her skin. Her eyes were nowwider than ever, but no thought now lay behind them.

Holding his staff level, Eremius passed it and the beam of light over the girl's body, from head to toe.Then he stepped back, licked his dry lips, and watched the Transformation.

The girl's skin turned dark and thick, then changed into scales, overlapping like plates of fine armor.Great pads of muscle and bone grew across her joints. Her feet and hands grew hard edges, then ridgedbacks, and claws a finger long.

The spell did not alter the structure of the face as much as the rest of the body. Scaly skin, pointedears, pointed teeth, and eyes like a cat's still turned it into a grotesque parody of humanity.

At last, only the eyes moved in what had been a woman. Eremius made another pass with his staffalone, and the chains fell from wrists and ankles. The creature rose uncertainly to its hands and knees,then bowed its head to Eremius. Without hesitation or revulsion, he laid his hand upon the head. The hairfell away like dust, and the silver ring clattered upon the stone.

Another Transformation was accomplished.

From the darkness beyond the Altar stalked three more of the Transformed. Two had beenpurchased as slaves, one a captured caravan guard; all had been men. It was Eremius's experience thatwomen fit for a Transformation were seldom found unguarded. Girls to yield up their blood for theTransformation of others were easier to come by.

The three Transformed lifted their new comrade to her feet. With a wordless snarl she shook off theirhands. One of them cuffed her sharply across the cheek. She bared her teeth. For a moment Eremiusfeared he might have to intervene.

Then a familiar recognition filled the new

Transformed's eyes. She knew that for better or for worse, these beings were her chosen comradesin the service of Master Eremius. She could not deny them. Whatever she had worshipped before, shenow worshipped only Eremius, Lord of the Jewel.

Eyes much less keen than Bora's could have made out the sentries at the head of the valley. Althoughno soldier, he still knew that they would bar entry that way. Nor was he surprised. The master of thedemon light in the valley would not be hospitable to visitors.

With sure, steady paces, Bora passed along the ridge to the south of the valley. He reached a pointhalfway between the mouth and the source of the light. It seemed to lie in the open, not within one of thecaves that honeycombed the valley's walls.

Below Bora's feet now lay a cliff two hundred paces high and steep enough to daunt the boldest ofgoats. It was not enough to daunt Bora. "You have eyes in your fingers and toes," they said of him in thevillage, for he could climb where no one else could.

To be sure, he had never climbed such a cliff in the dark, but never had he hoped to win so much orhad so little to lose. The family of a convicted rebel would be fortunate indeed if Mughra Khan did noworse than to exile them.

Bora studied the cliff as far as he could see, picking out the first part of his route. Then he loweredhimself over the edge and began his descent.

By the time he was halfway down, his hands were sweating and all his limbs had begun to tremble. Heknew he should not be so tired so soon. Was the sorcery of the light-maker sapping his strength?

He drove the thought away. It could only bring fear, which would sap his strength and wits alike. Hefound a foothold, shifting first his right and then his left foot to it, then sought the next.

Below, the emerald light came and went. It now seemed to be a beam, like a lantern's. When itshone, he thought he saw dim figures in a ragged circle. Their form seemed other than human, but thatmight be the mist.

At last he reached a ledge of rock wide enough for sitting. To the right, toward the light, the cliffplunged straight to the valley floor, and the ledge vanished. Only a bird could find its way down there.

To the left, the slope was much easier. A carrion reek hinted of a lion's den, but lions were hard torouse at night. Halfway down the slope, a sentry paced back and forth, a short bow on his shoulder anda tulwar in his hand.

Bora unwound the sling from inside his shirt: That sentry had to die. Unless he were deaf, he wouldhear Bora climbing down behind him. Even if Bora passed him going down, he would be well-placed tocut off retreat.

A stone dropped into the cup. The sling rose and whirred into motion, until no human eye could haveseen it. Nor could any human ear more than fifty paces away have heard its sound.

The sentry was thrice that far. He died between one heartbeat and the next, never knowing what flewout of the night to crush his skull. His tulwar flew out of his hand and clattered down the slope.

Bora stiffened, waiting for some sign that the sentry's comrades might have heard the clatter. Nothingmoved but the mist and the emerald light. He crept along the ledge, half-crouching, the loaded sling in onehand.

The carrion reek grew, clawing at his nose and chest. He took shallow breaths, which helped little.There was more than carrion in that reek. Ordure and filth he dared not name lay behind it. No lion lairedhere. The thought of sorcery returned, this time not to depart.

Perhaps that thought saved his life by sharpening his ears. He heard the clawed feet on the rockswhile their owners were still inside their cave. He was already recoiling when they burst into the open.

There was nothing dim about those shapes, for they shone with their own light. It was the sameemerald demon-light that had drawn Bora into the valley. Now it showed monstrous travesties ofmen—taller, broader, scaled and clawed, their eyes blazing and fanged mouths gaping wide.

They neither spoke nor made any sound as they rushed toward Bora. They did something far worse,reaching into his very thoughts.

Stay a while, lad. Stay a while, and have the honor of serving us who serve the Master. Stay,stay.

Bora knew that if he obeyed for even a moment, he would lose the will to leave. Then he wouldindeed serve the servants of the Master, as the lamb serves the wolf.

His sling moved as if his arm had its own will. The being's skull was of more than human thickness,but then, the range was short. The stone drove in deep above the right eye, flinging the being into thearms of the one behind it. They toppled together.

The rearmost leaped over his fallen comrades. Bora felt his will attacked once more:

Obey me, or lose pleasures and treasures undreamed of by those who do not serve the Master.

In truth, Bora had never dreamed that being eaten alive could be a pleasure. He saw no cause tothink otherwise now. His feet and hands carried him up the cliff as if they were wings.

The being hissed like a snake. Raw rage tore at Bora's mind. Almost, his fingers abandoned theirsearch for holds.

The being leaped high, its clawed hands searching for Bora's ankles, its clawed feet scrabbling for ahold. It found neither. The being slid down, overbalanced, and toppled backward off the ledge. A finaldesperate hiss ended in a thud and the sliding of a body on stone.

Bora did not stop, and barely breathed until he reached level ground. Even then, he only stopped longenough to reload his sling. He had heard in tales the words "as if demons were after him." Now he knewtheir meaning far too well.

If he lived to return home and find anyone to believe his tale, he would have the secret of the mountaindemons.

Unseen behind him, the beam of emerald light abruptly died.

When Eremius stood at the Altar, he closed his ears. He remained deaf to the falling tulwar. Only thecall of the Transformed reached him, appealing to whomever they saw before them. Their appeal, thenthe death cries of first one, then the second.

Eremius shivered as if he were standing naked in the wind from a glacier. The syllables of theTransformation Spell grew muddled. On the slab, the nearly-complete Transformed writhed. Muscleswrithed and heaved, strengthened by magic and driven by madness.

The ankle chains snapped first. Flying links scattered like sling stones. The Transformed rolled, freeingfirst one wrist, and then the other. It was on its hands and knees when Eremius launched his staff like aspear, smiting the Transformed across the forehead.

Eremius flinched at the cry in his mind. The Transformed sprang to its feet in one convulsion, thentoppled off the Altar. It rolled over on its back, kicking and writhing. Then its outlines softened, as scalesand claws, muscle and bone sagged into red- and green-streaked jelly. The jelly turned to liquid, and theliquid sank into the rock, leaving a greenish-black stain. Even with his human senses dulled, Eremiusgagged at the stench.

He turned from the Altar, letting his arms fall to his sides. His concentration was broken, his spellsuncontrolled, the night's Transformations ended.

A captain of sentries hurried forward and knelt. "Revered Master, Kuris has been found slain. Astone fell from the cliff and struck him on the head. Two of the Transformed are also slain, one byanother stone and the other by a fall."

"A stone—?" Rage and contempt drove Eremius beyond speech. Those dead Transformed werepursuing some intruder when they died. One now probably beyond reach, thanks to this witling'sblindness.

The staff came down on the captain's shoulders, twice on each side. He only flinched. Unless Eremiuswilled it so, the staff held no magic. The captain would still have bruises.

"Go!"

Alone, Eremius raised both hands to the sky and shrieked curses. He cursed the sorcerers of ancientAtlantis, who found or made the Jewels of Kurag so strong together and so weak apart. He cursed theweakness of his Jewel, that forced him to use such human servants. If they were not witlings by nature,they had to be made such lest they escape his control.

Above and beyond all else, he cursed Illyana. Had she been more loyal to him, or less shrewd in herescape—

Such thoughts were as futile now as ever. Bossonia was ten years gone and as unchangeable as theIbars Mountains. It was the future that held hope—hope of human allies, who might still crown his questwith victory.

Bora stalked out of the gray dawn and into Crimson Springs before anyone was awake to see him.Before his own house, he stopped. Did he hear the sound of lamentation from within?

He knocked. The door opened a crack. His sister Caraya appeared. Red eyes and a puffy,tear-streaked face marred her beauty.

"Bora! Where have you been?"

"In the mountains. Caraya, what is it? Have they executed—?"

"No, no! It is not Father. It is Arima. The demons took her!"

"The demons—"

"Bora, have you been out all night? I said, the demons took Arima!" Suddenly she was pressing herface into his shoulder, weeping again.

He patted her hair awkwardly and tried to urge her inside. It finally took both him and Yakoub: Borahelped her to a chair, while Yakoub shut the door. From the other room, the sound of lamentation beganagain.

"Your mother mourns," Yakoub said. "The other children—the neighbors have taken them in."

"Who are you, to play host in this house?" Bora asked. He had never quite trusted Yakoub, who wastoo handsome and too clearly city-bred, although a good man with the stock. He had come to CrimsonSprings two years before, speaking of enemies in Aghrapur. His skill with the animals had made himwelcome enough, and not only in Crimson Springs. Nor had he gone against the customs of his hosts.

"Who are you, to turn away help?" Caraya snapped. "Will you play master in this house, if it takesbread from the mouths of your kin?"

Bora raised his hands, feeling more helpless than usual in the face of his sister's tongue. It was not thefirst time he agreed with Iskop the Smith, who said that Caraya's tongue was deadlier than any weaponhe had ever forged.

"Forgive me, Cara. I—I have not slept this night, and my wits are dulled."

"You look weary," Yakoub said. He grinned. "I hope she was worth it."

"If you spent the night with—" began Caraya, her voice tight with rage.

"I spent the night learning the secret of the demons," Bora snarled.

After that he lacked no attention. Caraya heated water and wiped his face, hands, and feet whileYakoub listened intently.

"This is not easy to believe," Yakoub said finally.

Bora nearly choked on a mouthful of bread. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"Nothing of the kind. I but state an important truth. What good does it do you to have seen this, if noone believes you?"

Bora felt ready to weep. He had thought of that as he left the valley, but had somehow forgotten itduring the long walk home.

"Do not fear. I—I do not know if I have friends in Aghrapur, after two years. I am sure that myenemies will have enemies, who may listen to me. May I bear word of this to the city?"

Bora gathered his wits. He still did not wholly trust Yakoub. Yet who with the power to send thearmy into that demon-haunted valley would believe the son of a suspected rebel? A city-bred man withknowledge of Aghrapur the Mighty's mightier intrigues might be heard.

"By the bread and the salt I have eaten in this house," Yakoub said, "by Erlik and Mitra, and by mylove for your sister Caraya—"

Again Bora nearly choked. He stared at Caraya. She smiled defiantly. Bora groaned.

"Forgive me," Yakoub said. "I could not make an offer for Caraya until Arima was wed. Now youare a troubled house, in mourning. I will wait until I return from—wherever I must go, to find those whowill believe. I swear to do nothing to dishonor the name of the House of Rahfi, and to do everything tosecure his release and your reward. Has it struck you, Bora, that you are blessedly lucky to be alive andsane?"

The only reply was a snore. Bora had fallen asleep on the rug, with his back pressed against the wall.

One

AGHRAPUR BEARS MANY names. Some are fit to be written down. Among these are "Aghrapurthe Mighty."

"Aghrapur the Splendid," and "Aghrapur the Wealthy." None is a lie, but none is the whole truth,either.

Among men who know this royal city well, one name is thought the most truthful. It is a translationfrom the tongue of Khitai, for the man who first uttered it was a Khitan. He called Aghrapur "The CityWhere Anything That Cannot Be Found Does Not Exist Under Heaven."

An unwieldy name, as even its inventor admitted. But also the most truthful name ever given toAghrapur.

The sun was long down, although the warmth of the day still clung to the stones and tiles. Those whocould strolled in their courtyards or opened shutters to catch the breeze from the Vilayet Sea. Few wereon the streets, save for the watch or those who had urgent business.

Much of that urgent business was less than lawful. Anything that could be found in Aghrapur could befound by day or by night, but if it was unlawful, it was easier to find it by night.

The captain of mercenaries, known as Conan the Cimmerian, sought nothing unlawful as he lopedthrough the dark streets. He sought only a tavern called the Red Falcon, some of its best wine, a meal,and a wench for the night. Among them, they should take away the sour taste of the day's work.

To himself, Conan admitted that High Captain Khadjar had the right of it, when he said, "Just becauseyou travel to Khitai and escort royal ladies doesn't mean your stones are rubies. You've a company totrain. That means taking your share of the new recruits."

"Is a full score of witlings, ploughboys, and thieves really my share, Captain?"

"If you think yours are witlings, talk to Itzhak." Khadjar pushed the wine jug across the table toConan. "By Black Erlik's beard, Conan, I show my trust in you! I know no captain twice your age whocould knock more sense into recruits in less time. You owe it to those poor wretches to teach them whatwill keep them alive in the face of a Kozaki charge or an Iranistani ambush! Now drink up, hold yourtongue, and go pay your debt."

Conan obeyed. He owed Khadjar not only obedience but respect, even when the Captain spoke as if

Conan himself were but a recruit. It was Khadjar who had urged his promotion, put him forward for thesecret journeys that made his name, and taught him much of what he knew about civilized warfare.

Cimmeria did not breed men who gave their loyalty easily. Its chiefs led by their own prowess and bythe consent of the warriors who chose to follow them. Only the valor of those warriors and theremoteness and harsh climate of Cimmeria had kept it free of the rule of some more disciplined race.Cimmeria also did not breed fools who refused loyalty where it was deserved and earned. Khadjar hadearned Conan's loyalty, but there was an end to it—for all that, Conan took as much pleasure in drillingrecruits as he did in cleaning stables.

The Red Falcon stood near the top of the Street of the Twelve Steps, on the Hill of Madan. Conanclimbed the hill with the ease of a hillman on a slope and the sinewy grace of a panther on the prowl. Hiseyes never ceased to roam from shadowed doorway to alley to rooftop, seeking lurkers. Twice he sawthem; each time they let him pass. Robbers might take their chances with the watch; only fools challengeda man they could neither slay nor flee.

Conan's rank would have entitled him to a palanquin, but he never used them, save for when dutyrequired it. He trusted neither the legs nor the tongues of slaves. Besides, he had been a slave himself onthe winding road that brought him to Aghrapur.

A patrol of the watch trotted out of the shadows.

"Evening, Captain. Have you seen any trouble abroad?"

"None."

Another profession Conan had followed was that of thief. Thief-catchers, he believed, should do theirown searching.

The patrol tramped off. Conan took the stairs at the Eleventh Step in two bounds, splashed waterfrom a fountain on his hands and face, then turned in at the door of the Red Falcon.

"Ho, Conan! You look like a man who lost gold and found brass!"

"Moti, you've drunk too much of your own camel sweat to see anything clearly. Have you never spenta day breaking in new recruits?"

The scarred former sergeant of cavalry grinned. "Enough so that I pray to be an officer in my next lifeas a soldier."

Conan crossed the room, skirting the center where a pale-skinned Iranistani girl danced totambourine and drum. She wore only a black silk loinguard, a belt of copper coins, and a shimmeringcoat of jasmine-scented oil. The rythmic swirling of her hips seemed about to divest her of even thesescant garments. Watching her appreciatively, Conan noticed that the nipples of her firm young breastswere rouged. She also seemed able to move those breasts independently of one another.

Moti thrust a massive silver cup in the Vanir style at Conan. It came to the Red Falcon as a pledge forits owner's debt, which he never returned to pay. He was bones bleaching on the Hyrkanian shore, andthe cup was Conan's when he drank at the Red Falcon.

"To worthy opponents," Conan said, lifting the cup. Then he pointed at the girl. "New, isn't she?"

"What of our Pyla, Conan?"

"Well, if she's free—"

"I am never free," came a cheerful voice from the stairs. "You know my price, and stop trying to beatit down, you son of a Cimmerian bog-troll!"

"Ah, the beautiful Pyla, as gracious as ever," Conan said. He raised his cup to the raven-hairedwoman swaying down the stairs. She wore crimson silk pantaloons and carved mother-of-pearl platesover her breasts. Only the ripe curves of those breasts hinted that she was any older than the girl.

"I hardly know why I am gracious, either," Pyla said, with a mock pout. "Everyone insults me,claiming that I am worth no more than a wharfside trull."

"You are worth more, of course," Moti said. "But not as much as you think. Indeed, you would be farricher if you charged much less. I doubt not that thinking of your price unmans half of those who wouldotherwise knock on your door—"

Moti broke off as five men entered from the street. Four wore leather tunics and trousers, with mailglinting at throats and wrists. Their heavy bronze-studded belts carried swords and short clubs.

The fifth man also wore tunic and trousers, but his were dark green silk, richly embroidered in gold.Gold likewise covered the hilt of his sword. Conan dismissed the party as some young nobleman and hisbodyguards, wandering the city in search of pleasure. He doubted they would spoil an honest soldier'sdrinking if they did not overstay their welcome.

Moti and Pyla seemed to think otherwise. Pyla vanished like smoke, and when Conan turned aroundit seemed she had taken the dancing girl with her. Moti pulled out his own cure for unruly customers, ashipyard maul that even Conan needed two hands to swing easily. Then he poured wine into Conan's cupuntil it slopped over the edge.

Very surely the five were not what they seemed to Conan. Just as surely, nothing short of torturewould loosen Moti's tongue. Conan moved until he could see the whole room while he spoke to Moti,then drank until the cup no longer overflowed.

"You said you hoped to be an officer the next time?," he prompted the innkeeper.

"If I remember what I learned this time, yes. Otherwise, small honor in being like him." Moti made asilent and subtle gesture at the silk-clad man.

"Best hope you serve under High Captain Khadjar in his next life," Conan said. "He could teach ashark or a hyena."

"I thought he was the one who had you sweating the recruits."

"So he is. He says it's a compliment. Perhaps it is." Conan drank again. "Is there food to be hadtonight? Or has your cook been carried off by demons? I'll not take kindly to gnawing oats with yourhorses—"

As if in answer, Pyla and the Iranistani appeared with loaded trays for the newcomers. Conan sawthat both wore loose, nearly opaque robes covering them from throat to ankles, and did not take theireyes off the five men. Neither did Moti, until they were served. Without moving more than his hand,Conan made sure that his sword rested lightly in its scabbard.

"There is no 'perhaps' about it," Moti said. "Conan, if Khadjar thinks you worth teaching, the godshave been generous. Too generous to an outlander, by my way of thinking."

"Yes, yes, O son of a Vendhyan dancing girl," Conan replied. Moti's voice was as brittle as anill-tempered sword. A sense of danger crept up the Cimmerian's spine like a spider.

"My mother was the greatest dancer of her day," Moti said, "as Khadjar is the greatest soldier ofours." He looked at Conan. "You are—how old?"

"By the Turanian reckoning, twenty-two."

"Ha. The same age as Khadjar's bastard son. Or the age he would have been, had he not died twoyears ago.

Perhaps Khadjar seeks another son in you. He had no other kin and few friends, save for the boy. Itwas said, too, that the boy—"

The door opened and a woman entered. She could hardly have drawn more eyes had she risen fromthe floor in a cloud of crimson smoke, to the blare of trumpets.

She was tall and of a northern fairness, with wide gray eyes and scattered freckles under a tan. In ageshe was clearly a woman rather than a girl, and her figure could contest honors with Pyla's. Conan's eyesfollowed the line of her thigh up to the slender waist, then marched across the breasts that strained thebrown woolen tunic and rested on the long fine neck.

When he had done this, he saw that the eyes of every other man in the room had marched with his.

The woman took no notice. She strode across the room with a grace that few dancers could haveequalled. The men's eyes followed her, but they might have been the eyes of mice for all she seemed tocare. Conan doubted that this woman would have broken stride crossing the room even if she had beenas bare as a babe.

She reached the bar and said, in accented Turanian, "Honorable Motilal, I would have business withyou." Bawdy laughter rippled around the room. She went on, as if blushing was beneath her. "I wouldbuy a jug of wine, bread, cheese, and smoked meat. Any you have ready will do, even horse—"

"Do not insult Moti by thinking he serves horsemeat, good lady," Conan said. "If your purse issomewhat scant…"

The woman's smile did not reach her eyes. "And how am I to repay you?"

"By drinking some of that wine with me, no more."

This woman looked like a goddess in disguise, and could hardly be given to sporting with Cimmerianmercenary officers. She would give no pleasure save to his eyes, but that would be enough.

"If your purse is empty, girl, we can fill it before dawn," a bodyguard said. His comrades joined in thebawdy laughter. Few others did, least of all Conan. They saw the ice in the woman's eyes.

Moti struck the bar with the handle of his maul. The drummer pulled his drums into his lap and beganpounding out a sensuous Zamoran beat. "Pyla! Zaria!" Moti shouted. "To work!"

The women whirled onto the floor. The shouting and clapping rose, until the drummer was sweating tomake himself heard. First Pyla, then Zaria , threw off their robes. The man in green silk drew his swordand caught Zaria's on the point, without taking his eyes off the northern woman.

Conan considered the man anew. A fop he might be, but likely enough a dangerous one.

A kitchen girl appeared with a rush basket of food and a jug of fine Aquilonian wine. Moti handedthem to the woman, counted the coins she drew from inside her belt, then slapped the girl on the rump.

"No more cooking tonight, Thebia. Dancers are what we need!"

In spite of the din, Conan heard in Moti's voice the tone of a man ordering a rearguard to stand anddie. The tickling spider-legs of danger on Conan's spine became sharp hooves. Two years ago he wouldhave drawn his sword.

Pyla cast aside her breast plates. They clattered to the floor amid cheers, as the northern womanturned for the door. Conan followed her with his eyes, and saw that the silk-clad man was doing thesame. Pyla, Zaria ,

and Thebia might have been carrion birds pecking at ox bones for all he saw of them.

The woman could avoid the dancers only by passing close to her watcher and his guards. The mansaw that in the same moment as Conan. His fingers did a dance of their own. Conan had taken two steps

when one of the guards thrust a thick leg into the woman's path.

In the next moment Conan knew she was a warrior. She dropped both jug and basket to free herhands and save her balance. When she knew that her balance was lost, she twisted in midair and crasheddown with both hands free. Rolling, she drew a dagger from one boot and uncoiled like a snake.

The lordling leaped from his chair, one hand on his sword hilt and the other held out in what Conanmuch doubted was friendship. As his guards also rose, the woman gripped the lordling's hand, then heldon as she twisted again. The man's pearl-sewn shoes were no aid on the wine-slick floor. He sat downwith a thump.

Conan was now close enough to hear the woman say, "Forgive me, my lord. I only wished—" Twoof the guards turned toward him. Conan's instinct to draw his sword seethed and bubbled beneath a skinof civilization.

The lordling contemplated the ruby stains on his clothes, then he contemplated the woman. His voicerose to a screech. "She attacked me! My clothes are ruined! Do your duty!"

The woman had her back to one of the guards. As his comrades drew swords, he drew a club. Itcame down to meet the flat of Conan's out-thrust sword. Conan's massive right arm easily .held thesword, as the club slid down to strike the woman a glancing blow to her shoulder, instead of a stunningone to her head.

The woman rolled again, giving Conan fighting room. For a moment he had no need of it. The lordlingand his guards seemed bemused at being opposed. Conan shot a quick glance at Moti. Sweat streamedfrom the innkeeper, and his white-knuckled hands gripped the handle of the maul.

Conan much doubted that he would drink again at the Red Falcon. The lordling had put Moti in suchfear that he would see an honest customer attacked. Conan would call no man a coward without proof,but neither would he be bound by his host's fears.

"This woman no more attacked you than a she-mouse," Conan growled. "If we're to talk of attacks,what about that great barge of a foot I saw thrust at her?"

The woman unwisely turned to smile at Conan. One guard had recovered his wits. His sword raspedfree, thrusting clumsily but hard at the woman. She whirled, enough so that steel intended to pierce herbelly only raked her ribs. A red stain spread across the side of her tunic.

The guard nearest to Conan owed his life to the Cimmerian's scruples about cutting down a man whohad not yet drawn. A stool, flung like a stone from a catapult, took the guard's legs out from under him.Conan's boot crashed into his ribs, then into his belly. The guard doubled up, trying to spew and breatheand scream all at the same time with precious little success.

By now, more than half of Moti's customers had recalled urgent business elsewhere. One guardretreated among the empty tables and benches. Two others and their master charged Conan, stayingclose together rather than spreading out. They also took their eyes off the woman.

Bloody ribs and all, the woman sprang onto a vacant table. The closest guard turned on her, hissword snaking toward her thigh.

"Don't kill her, you fool!" the lordling screamed.

The guard's reply was hardly respectful. Conan knew a moment's sympathy for the man. No ordercould be harder to obey than to take a she-lion alive. No man but a fool gave it, save for better causethan wounded vanity.

The woman drew a second dagger from her boot, then sprang down. She landed so close to theguard that he lacked room to use his sword. Before he could open the distance she locked his sword armwith one dagger, then thrust the point of the other up under his chin. His outraged scream turned into a

gurgle as blood sprayed from his nose and mouth.

"Look out, woman! Behind you!"

The guard who had retreated was advancing as his dead comrade took all the woman's attention.Conan could only shout a warning. The lordling and one guard were coming at him. Both seemed toknow the curved Turanian sword well enough to demand the Cimmerian's full attention. Greater speedand longer reach could too easily be set at naught by ill-luck.

His warning to the woman might still have been too late. By the gods' favor, the guard tried to obeyhis lord's orders to take the woman alive. He closed and grappled her from behind, one arm around herthroat, one gripping her right arm. She wriggled like an eel, trying to stab backward. His mail turnedaway one dagger, and he hammered her wrist against the edge of a table until she dropped the other.

Conan's own fight of two against one would have been easier if the three women of the Red Falconhadn't gone on dancing. They had no one to dance for now, or at least none with eyes to spare for themsave for Moti behind the bar and the drummer on his stool. Pyla and Zaria were now wholly nude. Thekitchen girl Thebia was bare to the waist Her skirt slid farther down her thighs with each wriggle of herhips. They had been commanded to dance, and would do so until the command came to stop.

"Crom, women! Either give me room or give me help!"

Suddenly the girl's skirt slipped its moorings, slid to the floor, and tangled around her feet. Shestumbled and would have fallen, save that she stumbled against the lordling. He thrust her back savagely,forgetting that his free hand now held a dagger. The keen edge scored a long, bloody furrow across herthigh.

She gave a high, shrill wail, clapping one hand to the wound while she cast the skirt wholly aside withthe other. This drew the lordling's attention again, a mistake for which his guards paid dearly.

Conan closed with the first and slashed his arm off at the elbow. The second had the womandisarmed and was discovering that was only half the victory when Moti charged out from behind the bar.His maul swung, striking the guard with a glancing blow on the hip. That broke the guard's grip on thewoman, freeing her to ram an elbow into his throat. The guard reeled back, clear of another swing of themaul, fell backward over a chair, and crashed to the floor at the feet of the drummer. The drummer liftedone of his drums—Kushite ebony bound with brass—and slammed it down on the fallen man's head. Helay still.

"Now, son of more fathers than you could count with your shoes on—" Conan began.

The lordling looked at Conan as he might have at a horde of demons, dropped his dagger, and boltedout the door. The northern woman stayed just long enough to retrieve her daggers, then also vanishedinto the night. Still nude, Pyla and Zaria set themselves to binding Thebia's wounds, then turned to theguards.

"No doubt the watch will catch him, if she does not," Conan said.

Moti shook his head. He was now as pale as the Iranistani. The maul thudded to the floor, his handssuddenly unable to grip it.

Conan frowned. The expression had made new recruits tremble. Moti turned paler, if such waspossible. "Or is our departed friend in the green silk a royal prince or some such?"

"He—he is not far from that," Moti stammered. "He is the son of Lord Houma."

That name was not altogether unknown to Conan. Houma was one of the Seventeen Attendants, aproven soldier and a great partisan of a larger army and an expanded Turanian empire.

"Then he needs to thrash some manners into that little cockerel. That, or else geld him and sell him for

a eunuch, to get some profit from him."

"Conan, I had to be sure the matter was past settling peacefully. It—"

"It was past settling peacefully the moment they laid hands on that woman!" Conan growled. "I'll sayso to the watch and anyone else who'll listen, up to King Yildiz himself! If Thebia hadn't been attacked, Imight be chasing Houma's pretty pimp of a son through the streets now, hoping to finish him off beforethe woman did!"

Moti drew in breath like a frog. "That was no attack," he said slowly. "She deliberately drew thatstroke, so that I would have to fight.

"By Hanuman's stones, girl, I'll have you out on the streets with a name to make you stay there! Andyou, Pyla! She'd never have thought of it without you. You're no longer— gkkkhhhh !"

Conan lifted Moti to the top of the bar, picked up the maul, and held the handle in front of theinnkeeper's nose.

"Moti, my former friend and host, you have two choices. I can ram this up your arse sideways andleave you that way to explain tonight's matters to the watch. I can also leave you intact and help explainthem, in return for a few favors."

Moti licked his lips. "Favors?"

"Your best room free whenever I want it, with food and wine as well. Not the best wine, I'll allow,but enough for me and any company I keep. Oh, yes—and any woman I entertain doesn't have to pay you a single brass piece!"

Moti squalled as if he were already being impaled. Conan's frown and the women's giggles silencedhim. He tried to throw up his hands in disgust, but they were shaking too hard to make the gestureconvincing.

"Well?"

"As you wish, miner of my name and destroyer of my house. May you have much joy in it, beforeLord Houma's men burn it over your head."

"Lord Houma may have fewer but wiser men if he tries that," Conan said. "Now, I want a roomtonight, and food and wine for—" He looked at the women.

"One," with a nod to Pyla.

"Two," smiling at Zaria.

Thebia grinned and put her hands behind her back. Her young breasts rose, quivering. Conan pointedat her bandaged thigh. "You want to be the third, with that? Oh, very well. I'm no great hand at arguingwith women."

"Just as well, then, that our northern friend took herself off," Pyla said. "Otherwise, she might bejoining us. I much doubt that even a Cimmerian can do justice to four !"

Two

"THAT'S A BOW in your hands, you son of a cull!" Conan snapped. "It's not a snake. It won't biteyou. Even if it did, that's not half of what I'll do to you if you don't string it now!"

The gangling youth turned the color of the dust underfoot. He looked at the cerulean sky overhead, asif imploring the gods for mercy. Conan drew breath for more advice. The youth swallowed, gripped thebow, and managed to string it, gracelessly but without dropping it again.

One by one, Conan took his recruits through the art of stringing the powerful curved Turanianhorsebow. Certainly, some were destined to be midden-sweepers. Others already knew everything thatConan proposed to teach them.

He would not ask how they had learned the bow. Among the mercenaries of Turan, the life of asoldier began the day he took the copper coin of enlistment. What he had been before, no one asked. Itwas a custom that Conan thought wise, and not only because his own past would not have borne theweight of too much curiosity.

At last Conan spat into the dust and scowled at the men. "Why the gods addled your wits, makingyou think you could be soldiers, they only know. I don't. So I have to do what King Yildiz pays me for.That's turning you into soldiers, whether you like it or not. Sergeant Garsim! Take them on a run, tentimes around the range!"

"You heard the Captain," shouted Garsim, in a voice that could have been heard in King Yildiz'spalace. "Run!" He flourished his stick until it whistled, then fell in behind the recruits with a wink toConan. Although Garsim could have been grandfather to some of the recruits, he could easily outrun anyof them.

As the recruits vanished through the gate, Conan sensed someone behind him. Before he could turn,he heard Khadjar's voice.

"You talk to those men as though you have heard your own words from others."

"I have. Captain. Sergeant Nikar said much the same when he was teaching me archery."

"So old Nikar was your instructor? I thought I saw his touch in your draw. What happened to him, bythe way?"

"He went home on leave, and never reached it. A band of robbers disappeared that same month. I'dwager Nikar won a fine escort."

"Would you wager on your archery against mine? Five arrows a turn, three turns?"

"Well, Captain—"

"Come, come, oh defender of dancing girls. Did I not hear of your winning free hospitality at the RedFalcon two nights ago? Your purse should be ready to burst with the weight of unspent coin!"

Conan was ready to burst with curiosity, as to how the Captain had learned so much so soon. Heonly said, "It was no dancing girl I defended, at least at the start. It was a northern woman, and a finefighter if a trifle overmatched against four."

Khadjar laughed. "Most would be, save yourself. I trust the lady was grateful?"

"Not so a man would notice it," Conan said. He grinned. "The dancing girls were, though. So gratefulthat I much doubt I am fit to shoot against you."

"Conan, you say a mere three dancing girls have drained your strength? Go back to your hills, then,for Turan is making you old before your time!"

"Take a bow, Captain. Then we shall see who may call whom 'old'."

"As you—Mitra! Who let her in?"

Conan whirled at Khadjar's words. The woman from the Red Falcon was striding toward them fromthe gate. She walked as she had that night, although the gate guards were openly stripping her with theireyes. If her wound hurt, none could have told it from her gait

She wore the same cut of tunic and trousers, in fine blue linen with vines and trees embroidered in redat the wrists and throat. She also wore a well-sheathed broadsword and a dagger just too short to be

called a second sword. A headdress of white silk in the Turanian manner shielded her northern fairnessfrom the sun.

"You look as if you know the wench, Conan," Khadjar said

"No wench she, Captain. That's the woman from the Red Falcon."

"Oho! Well and good. You learn what brought her here. I shall learn why those camels' bastards atthe gate let her in!"

Conan unstrung his bow and waited impassively for the woman's arrival. By the time she was withinspeaking distance, Khadjar was shouting at the guards.

"He will learn that I showed them this," the woman said calmly. Dark against her freckled palm andlong fingers lay an ancient gold coin, cast in the reign of King Ibram two centuries ago. Over Ibram'sfork-bearded face were stamped three letters in the Zamoran script.

Such stamped coins were the mark of Mishrak, lord of King Yildiz's spies, and those who went abouthis business. It did not occur to Conan to doubt the sign, curious as it might be for this woman to becarrying it. Those who disobeyed the command of Mishrak were wise to be far from Aghrapur bysunrise of the next day.

"So Mishrak sent you. Why?"

"To bring you, Captain Conan."

"To bring me where?"

"To Mishrak, of course."

"I see your tongue is as well guarded as ever."

"Give me one reason why it should be otherwise."

Perhaps this woman knew little, which would be much like Mishrak. The spy lord never told any ofhis servants enough to let them piece together any of his secrets. Whether she knew much of little, shewould clearly tell Conan nothing.

At this moment Khadjar returned, in an evil temper. A look at the coin did nothing to soothe him. Hegrowled like a winter-waked bear and jerked a hand toward the gate.

"Go, Conan. Neither of us is the kind of fool to quarrel with Mishrak. I'll have Garsim finish the day'sdrill."

"As you wish, Captain. Now, woman, if you'll let me wash and arm myself—"

"Arm yourself as you wish, Captain Conan. Otherwise, Mishrak says that you will lack nothing if youmake haste."

"Nothing?" Conan said with a laugh. His eyes ran lightly over a figure that lacked only garb fit todisplay it properly. Or perhaps lacking all garb would display it best?

The woman blushed. "Nothing that his hospitality can supply."

"I will not be long." No longer than it would take to don mail under his clothes and secrete a fewdaggers in unexpected places, at any rate.

"Mishrak lies in the Saddlemakers' Quarter," the woman said, as she led Conan out the gate. TheCimmerian was a head and more taller, but found the pace she set no child's play to match. Hillfolk bloodin her, perhaps?

In the Coopers' Square Conan started to turn south. The woman planted herself by the fountain,

ignoring a cartload of staves that all but ran her down.

"Captain, the Saddlemakers lie to the north."

"Anyone would think you were no stranger to Aghrapur."

"Anyone who thinks would know that a stranger can learn if she meets those willing to teach."

"Then teach me what you learned," Conan growled. The Saddlemakers' Quarter did in truth lie to thenorth. He'd hoped to lead the woman some distance by devious routes, where none could easily followor lay ambushes.

If she would not follow where he led, though, there was nothing to do but follow where she led.Otherwise he'd earn her wrath, lose her guidance, fail Mishrak, and thereby earn a wrath more to befeared than any in Turan save perhaps that of King Yildiz.

Besides, any ambush was most likely to come within the rat's warren of the quarter itself. Conantrusted to his sword and mail to make that ambush a most unhappy affair for any who took part,beginning with the woman herself.

"One moment," the woman said. She lifted her headdress, drank from the fountain, then darted intothe nearest alley.

Alleys and byways and reeking dark flights of stairs where Conan had to stoop were their roaddeeper and deeper into the quarter. Conan followed three paces behind and to the right, hand on the hiltof his sword. Eyes and ears searched for signs of danger, meeting only the din of fifty saddlemakers'shops hard at work. Turning leather and wood and metal into saddles made one din. Masters roaring attheir apprentices made a second.

Another turn. Conan had a good view now of the woman's dagger. The pommel was a silver-washediron apple, and the quillions were double, set at right angles to each other. He resolved to ask the womanto show him the dagger's use, if the laws and customs of steel ever allowed.

They came forty paces from the last turn when the attackers swarmed out of an alley to the left and awindow to the right.

Conan counted six opponents as his sword leaped into his hand. One was the guard who'd fled theRed Falcon. Odds enough to make the best careful, unless the woman was better than she'd been thatnight

Right now she seemed struck witless by fear as the three from the alley closed.

At least she was no foe, if a poor friend. Conan cut down the odds a trifle by hamstringing the lastman out of the window. The man dropped farther and harder than he'd planned, going to hands andknees. A Cimmerian boot in the belly lifted him like a dog, hurling him against a comrade. The secondman was rising when a Cimmerian broadsword split his skull from crown to the bridge of his nose.

A scream danced off the stones. The guard reeled back, blood streaming from blinded eyes. Thesame blood dripped from the woman's dagger. Conan grinned as he realized the woman's craft. She'dfeigned fear, to draw the three men close. There she had two blades against their three, one more agilethan any of theirs.

Two more men darted from the alley. The woman had the wall to guard her left and two opponents ather front. The newcomers ran to take her from the right. Conan faced the last man from the window.

Taking his opponent's measure, Conan feinted high. He took the man's riposte on his mail, thenfollowed the same line again. The second cut tore into the side of the man's neck. His half-severed headlolled on his shoulders. He reeled backwards into his comrades, drenching them in his blood.

They were men of stout nerve, casting the dying man aside without breaking stride. This took just long

enough for Conan's sword to fall like an executioner's ax. The righthand man gaped as his swordarmdangled ruined and bloody. Conan freed his sword and gave ground with a backward leap that took himclean over the fallen men behind him.

He landed in a half-crouch. The cut aimed by an upright opponent whistled over his head. His owncut took the man's right leg off just below the knee. The man contrived one more desperate slash, thentoppled.

With time at last to think of the woman, Conan saw she needed little thought and hardly more help.She'd thrust one opponent through the throat. He sat against the wall, fingers laced around his neck. AsConan watched, the fingers unlaced and the eyes rolled up in the pale face.

The woman no longer used her dagger as a weapon. Instead she'd made it into invisible, swift-movingarmor, catching every cut on the quillions. Her opponent wore mail, so her own slashes had shredded hiscoat but not his flesh.

"Mine!" she shouted, as fierce as if Conan were another foe.

"Yours," Conan replied. That pride demanded more than a nod. So did those sharp, ready,deadly-swift blades.

The woman stepped back, freeing her dagger and her opponent's sword. Doubtless she expected anattack. Instead he turned and plunged into the alley. In a moment he was only the fading sound ofpounding feet.

"Gods, woman! Why did you do that? You think he'd have done as much for you?"

"I suppose not. There's still time to remedy matters, if you choose."

"Chase a man through this maze when he may have been born here? Every time you open yourmouth, more of your wits seem to fly out of it!"

"If you're afraid—" She blanched at Conan's face, as she had not at the ambush. "Forgive me. Truly. Imerely thought to give him an honorable end, not butcher him like a hog." *

"Shake off your whims about honor, woman, if you want to live long in Turan. Mishrak will tell youthat, if you won't listen to me."

"He did. But—Master Barathres taught me well. Gratitude to him, old habit—they will make me thinkof honor when perhaps I should not." For the first time a smile lit her whole face. "You are not so free ofhonor yourself. Else why did you take my part at the Red Falcon?"

"I hate to have a quiet night's drinking spoiled. Besides, I took your part only after I saw that Motiwas too afraid of that lordling's kin to lift a finger for you. That's the first time I had to brawl at the RedFalcon. If it isn't the last, Moti will pay more than he did that night!"

"What did he pay, if you think it fit to tell me?"

No woman likes to hear of a man's exploits in bedding others. Learning that lesson had nearly costConan his manhood. "He paid dearly enough, but I'd rather tell you when we've put a few streetsbetween us and our late friends. The man you let flee may be summoning help."

"I pray not."

"Pray all you wish, but the sooner Mishrak's door closes behind us, the better."

The woman nodded, grimaced at the nicks in her dagger, then sheathed it. Conan knelt, to examinethe bodies, frowning as he recognized another. The man whose leg he'd slashed off was a soldier inCaptain Itzhak's company. He'd seen the man at the Red Falcon once or twice, gambling and losing. Hadhe hired out his sword to pay his debts, or did his secret lie deeper than that?

Well, the woman was leading him to the man in all Turan most likely to know, if least likely to tell. Shewas already turning down the alley, sword in hand. Conan followed, considering that this was twice he'dfought shoulder to shoulder with the woman without knowing her name.

Three

"WHO SEEKS ENTRANCE to this House?" said a soft voice. It seemed to come from the airabove the great iron gate in the whitewashed stone wall.

"Captain Conan and she who was sent for him," the woman replied.

They waited, while the owner of that voice studied them. At last Conan heard a series of clangs like ablacksmith at work, then a faint scrape of metal on metal as the gate slid open.

"You may enter this house," came the voice again.

Entry was through a gateway more deserving of the name of tunnel. The walls of Mishrak's housewere two men thick and solid stone every finger of the way. Conan counted four arrow slits and twodropholes in the walls and ceiling. At the far end lay another gate, this one of Vendhyan teak, lavishlycarved with dragons and tigers in the Khitan style.

Beyond the second gate they entered a guardroom. Two of the guards were black, one of Vanaheim,and the last clearly a native of Shem. None but the Shemite was as small as Conan, and that one woreenough knives to let out the blood of six men before his own flowed.

The four exchanged looks, then elaborate gestures. Conan judged them all to be mutes. At last one ofthe blacks nodded and pointed to a door in the far wall, plated in mirror-bright silver. It swung open, as ifthe black had cast a spell on it.

A distaste for sorcery lay deep within all Cimmerians, and Conan was no exception. Moreover, hisexperience with the breed of magic-wielders had taught him that magic ate at a man's honor andjudgment faster than gold. Most of that breed he'd met had ended in seeking to rule all who would obeythem and ruin all who would not. Being little inclined to be ruled or ruined at another's whims, Conancould hardly be other than a foe of such wizards.

Reason told him that if Mishrak had magic at his command, he would hardly need the guards. Thelord of spies clearly had other resources, beginning with a house built like a fortress.

How like a fortress, Conan began to learn as he and the woman penetrated deeper into it. Their routeseemed to have as many turns and windings as the Saddlemakers' Quarter. At every turn was somedisplay of splendor—Aquilonian tapestries, Vendhyan statues of dancing gods, rich ebony carvings ofasps. Conan's danger-sharpened senses picked out spy holes in the tapestries, the sharpened daggersheld ready in the hands of the gods, the live asps nesting among the carved ones.

From time to time they passed iron-bound doors set in deep recesses. Conan pitied any man foolishenough to think they offered a safer way to the heart of Mishrak's kingdom. They would lead anystranger nowhere except to death—and probably not a quick one.

At last the way grew straight. No longer was the floor alone tiled. Walls and ceiling shone with gildedmosaic work or dripped with tapestries done in cloth of silver and the finest silk. They ended in anotherguardroom, with an open arch beyond it and the sounds of splashing water and a flute.

"Who conies?" demanded the chief guard.

This room held six instead of four, one another Shemite and the rest with an Iranistani cast to theirfeatures. Neither mutes nor giants, the six all wore silvered mail and helmets and the plainest and

most-used swords Conan had seen in Turan.

"Captain Conan of the King's mercenaries and a lady sent to bring him to Mishrak," Conan saidbefore the woman could speak. She started.

"I am no mute, like our friends at the first gate," Conan went on. "I am a Cimmerian and a soldier, andboth have a certain quaint custom. When we have twice fought side by side with someone and they oweus their lives, we enjoy knowing their names. I know not what barbarous land you call home, but—"

The woman's nostrils flared and she had the grace to flush. "I am Raihna of the Stone Hill in theMarches of Bossonia. I serve the Mistress Illyana."

Which, Conan reflected, answered his question without telling him much.

He set his wits to devising a new question. Before he found words, a voice like a bull's bellow filledthe room.

"Come and let us be about our business. We do not have the whole day!"

Conan took Raihna firmly by the arm and led the way into Mishrak's innermost refuge.

From the splendor of the way in, Conan expected more of the same beyond the arch. Insteadeverything was bare, whitewashed stone walls and ceiling. Only on the floor did rich Iranistani carpetsand dyed Hyrkanian fleeces offer softness to both the eye and the foot. On the floor—and around thepool in the middle of the room.

Five women and a man sat on benches around the pool. Four of the women were a pleasure to anyman's eye, the more so as they wore only sandals, gilded loinguards, and silver collars set with topazes. Ittook nothing from Conan's pleasure in the women to detect small daggers hidden in the sandals andloinguards. He wondered what weapon might lurk in the collars. Like much else in Mishrak's house, thewomen were both a delight to the senses and a menace to unsuspecting enemies.

The fifth woman had the air of a guest rather than a guard. She wore a white robe, held a wine cup,and seemed older than the others.

Before Conan saw more, the bull's bellow came again. "Well, Captain Conan? Will you be oncemore a thief, and of women this time?"

The bellow came from the man on the bench. Conan doubted that he could rise from it unaided;below the knees his legs were shrunken nightmares, seamed and ravaged with scars. Above the waist, hewas as thick as the mast of a galley, with arms like tree-roots. The hair of arms and chest was gray shotwith white. So were the few strands of beard and hair that escaped the black leather mask coveringMishrak from crown to chin.

Conan grinned. "Keeping stolen gold is hard enough. Keeping what has legs to run with, if it likes notyour company or your manner in bed… Do I look so great a fool?"

"You've been gaping about you like one, I must say."

"Call it gaping if you will, Lord Mishrak. I call it admiring fine work. I know now why you have somany enemies, yet live to serve King Yildiz so well."

"Oh? And what magic do I have to perform this miracle?"

"It's neither magic nor miracle. It's making ready to kill your enemies faster than their courage canendure. Most men can be brave if they have some hope of life or victory. Losing all hope of either wouldturn most into cowards."

"Save yourself, no doubt, Cimmerian?"

"I have not tested the defenses of your house, Mishrak. Nor do I have any cause to do so. I am notyet your enemy, and I doubt you plan to make me so. Killing me here might do injury to your rugs andladies."

"So it would. Yet I would suggest that you learn why I have summoned you, before you call mefriend."

"It will be a rare pleasure to be told something, for once," Conan said.

"I predict the pleasure will be brief," Mishrak said, in a tone that told of a grim smile under the mask."Yet your life might be even more so, if you do not accept what I offer you."

"No man lives as long as he wants to," Conan said. "That's the way of the world, just as no man canhave every woman he desires," he added, grinning at Raihna. She flushed again. "What is going to shortenmy days this time?"

"Lord Houma. Ah, I see I have finally driven a dart deep enough in that thick Cimmerian skull to gainyour attention."

Conan wasted no breath denying it. "I understand he's rather fonder of his son than the young witlingdeserves. You should understand that Raihna and I met his first band of hired swords on our way here.Only one of them left alive, and he only because he fled." Conan would have sworn Raihna threw him agrateful look for not mentioning her mistake.

"As you say, they were the first band sent against you. They will not be the last. Your eye is keen, butcan it stay open forever? Who will guard your back when you sleep?"

Almost imperceptibly, Raihna shook her head. Conan shrugged. "I could take leave for a time. Or areyou going to tell me that Lord Houma is one of those men with short tempers and long memories? Suchhave sought my life before, with what success you can see."

"You could not be away from Aghrapur long enough to foil Lord Houma without breaking your oathof service. Are you ready to give up your captaincy?"

"Out of fear of Houma? Lord Mishrak, you can make your offer or not, as you choose. Do not insultme in the bargain."

"I would insult you more by implying that you are too stupid to be afraid. Houma has not the strengthhe once had, but he is still more than a match for you."

Conan did not doubt the first part of that statement. Houma had owed some of his former strength tohis friendship with the Cult of Doom. Conan himself had cast the Cult down to utter and final destructionthe best part of two years ago.

As for the rest—

"Granting that Houma might be my match, how would you change that?"

"If you will leave Aghrapur on—a task—for me, I will find ways to change Lord Houma's mind. Thetask. should not take you more than a month. By then you can return to Aghrapur and sleep in peace."

"And this task?"

"In a moment. While you are traveling, I will also protect those you leave behind, who might also feelHouma's vengeance. I do not imagine that you care much what happens to Sergeant Motilal, but—wouldyou see Pyla's face turned into something like my legs?"

Conan cursed himself for a witling. Houma was clearly the kind of coward who would hurt a foehowever he could, whether honorably or not. He should not have forgotten the women.

"I would not like that at all," Conan said, then grinned at the look in Raihna's eyes. So let the

swordwench be jealous! He owed Pyla and her friends more than he owed Raihna of Bossonia! "If youcan protect them, it would indeed make your offer worth hearing."

"Although," Conan added more calmly than he felt, "I imagine you have plans for Lord Houmawhether I'm part of mem or not. You might be keeping him too busy to worry about taverns and theirgirls anyway. He has more in hand than letting his son misbehave, doesn't he?"

In the silence that followed, Conan clearly heard the snik of a crossbow being cocked. He laughed."Best tell that archer to cock his bow while people are still talking. When everyone's gaping like deadfish, it's too easy to hear—"

The white-robed woman broke the silence with warm if high-pitched laughter. "Mishrak, I told youseveral times. I have heard Raihna speak of this man and I have studied his aura. He is not one to be ledby the nose, or by any other part of his body. Lead him by his sense of honor, and he will go where youwill. Otherwise do not waste your breath."

A choking noise crept from under the leather hood. Conan suspected that if Mishrak could havestrangled anyone, he would have started with Conan and gone on to the woman. Beside Conan, Raihnawas pressing her face into a pillar to hide her blush and what looked remarkably like laughter.

"May I deserve your praise, lady," Conan said. "Would I be speaking to Mistress Illyana?"

"You would."

The woman also seemed to have northern blood in her, but her hair was brown with tints of auburn.She wore a simple flowing gown of white silk with saffron borders and silver-decorated sandals. Thegown was too loose to show much of her body, but from the lines in the long face Conan judged her tobe upwards of thirty. A trifle thin-flanked for his tastes, but not unhandsome.

Illyana accepted Conan's scrutiny in silence for a moment, then smiled. "With Lord Mishrak'spermission, I will tell you what is asked of you. But first I will thank you for saving Raihna from death orshame. She began as a hired sword, but the years have made us spirit-sisters."

Conan frowned. "Auras" and "spirit-kin" were things of priestcraft if not wizardry. What was thiswoman?

"I ask your aid in a search for the missing Jewel of Kurag. It is a thing of ancient Atlantean magic, setin an arm-ring of Vanir work—"

She went on to describe the history of the Jewels, as much as was known of it, from their mysteriousorigins in Atlantis to the present day. It seemed they had a long and bloody history, for the spells neededto use them safely were hard to learn even for the most accomplished sorcerers.

"Then why bother with the Jewels at all?" Conan asked.

"Even separately, they confer great power on a skilled user. Together, no one knows what limits theremight be on the magic of their possessor."

Conan reflected that he had learned nothing about sorcerers he had not long since known.

Illyana continued with the possession of the Jewels by her master Eremius, his growing ambition touse the powers of the Jewels to rule the world, their quarrel, her flight with one of the Jewels, and muchelse. She ended by saying that the tales of demons coming out of the Ibars Mountains hinted of Eremius'spresence.

"With all in fear of him, his strength will grow steadily. Soon it will make him a valuable ally toambitious men like Lord Houma. They will aid him, thinking to use his powers against their enemies. Theywill only be buying themselves the strongest chains of all, forged by the most ancient and evil magic."

"Ancient and evil magic…" Conan heard those words with icy clarity, although he had heard most of

what went before with only half an ear.

Mishrak was not only asking him to flee like a thief from Aghrapur and Lord Houma's vengeance. Hewas asking a Cimmerian to guard the back of a sorceress on a quest for a menace no honest steel couldface. He would also have wagered his sword that Illyana was telling less than the whole truth about theJewels.

No honor in any of this. But even less in leaving Pyla and Zaria and young Thebia (who might growno older) to the mercy of those who had none, either.

Curse all women and whatever god created them as a joke on men! They might be a mysterythemselves, but they certainly knew how to bring a man to them, like a trainer with a half-grown huntingdog!

"By Hanuman's stones!" Conan growled. "I never thought listening could be as dry work as talking.Bring me and Raihna some wine, and I'll promise to fly to the moon and bring back its queen'sloinguard!"

Two of the guardswomen sprang up without an order and vanished like hares fleeing the wolf. Conansat down cross-legged and drew his sword. Sighting along the blade for nicks, he concluded he'd bestput it in the hands of a smith before setting out on serious business.

When he knew he had everyone's attention, he laughed. "You want me to run off to the IbarsMountains, with a half-mad swordwench and a more than half-mad sorceress. Then we hunt for a magicjewel and steal it from a completely mad wizard, fighting our way through whatever magic-spawnedmonsters we find. If we snatch the jewel, you'll win, whether we live or die."

Mishrak laughed for the first time since Conan mentioned Houma. "Conan, you should be one of myspies. I have none who could say half as much in twice as many words."

"I'd rather be gelded!"

"Why not do both? A fighting eunuch would be a valuable ear and eye in Vendhya. I'm sure youwould rise high in my service."

Raihna gave up trying to stifle her laughter and buried her face in Conan's shoulder. He put an armaround her and she did not resist, only shaking the harder until tears streamed down her face.

By the time she was sober, the guardswomen had returned with the wine. Mishrak poured out thefirst cup, drank from it, and then watched in silence until the others were served.

"Well, Conan?" he said at last.

"Well, Mishrak. It's not to my taste, running like a thief because I didn't want my drinking spoiled byseeing a woman mishandled. It's less to my taste going anywhere in the company of a wizard.

"But you don't have the name of a fool, Mishrak. If you want me for this nonsense, I suppose you canhave me."

Raihna threw her arms around Conan. From the look on Illyana's face, she would have liked to dothe same. From under the black leather hood came only a harsh laugh.

Four

"Now HERE'S A finer mount than I'll wager you thought I had," the horse dealer said exuberantly."Look at those legs. Look at that depth of chest. Look at that noble—"

"How is his wind?" Raihna said.

"He's no colt, I'll not deny that. He's better. A seasoned, trained mount fit to carry either of youwherever you might want to go. Begging your pardon, Captain, my lady, but neither of you has the lookof dwarfs to these old eyes. To be sure, I'm a better judge of horses than of men, but—"

Raihna ignored the dealer and stepped up to the horse. He gave her what seemed to Conan a warylook, but showed no obvious skittishness or signs of mistreatment. He stood patiently for Raihna'sexamination, then tossed his head and whinnied when she patted his neck.

"No colt indeed," Raihna said. "Were he a man, I'd say he was most fit to sit in the sun until his dayswere finished."

"My lady!" The dealer could hardly have seemed more outraged if Raihna had questioned his lawfulbirth. "This fine, long-striding beast has many more years—"

"A few more years, perhaps. Not enough to be worth half what you ask for him."

"Lady, you insult both my honor and this horse. What horse so insulted will bear you willingly? If Ireduce the price by a single brass piece, I will be insulting him. Mitra strike me dead if I wouldn't!"

"I'm surprised that someone you sold a vulture's dinner disguised as a horse hasn't saved Mitra thetrouble!" Conan said. He was far from sure why Raihna was spending so much time bargaining for a hugegelding clearly at home only on level ground. He did know that if the dealer thought he could appeal toConan, he would do so and all would waste more time.

The bargaining waxed hot and eager. Conan was reminded of a game he had seen among theIranistani, where men on ponies batted a dead calf about with long-handled mallets. (He had heard talesthat sometimes a dead enemy's head took the place of the calf.)

At last the dealer cast up his hands and looked much as if he would gladly go and hang himself."When you see me begging for alms in the Great Square, remember that it was you who made me abeggar. You will offer no more?"

Raihna licked dusty lips. "By the Four Springs! I will have precious little to put in your begging bowl ifI pay more! Would you have me selling myself in the streets because you know not the true value of ahorse?"

The dealer grinned. "You are too fine a lady for the likes of those you would meet in the streets. Thewatch would also demand their share. Now, if you wished some time to come privily to me, I am sure—"

"Your wife would notice what was missing, the next time she bedded you," Conan growled. "Shapemore respectful words on your tongue, or carry it home in your purse!"

"There will be little else in that purse," the dealer grunted. "Oh, well and good. For what you'reoffering, I can hardly throw in much beyond the bridle and bit."

That was no loss. Mishrak had ordered Conan and Raihna to scatter his gold widely about Aghrapur.They would purchase their remaining horses from other dealers, their saddles and tack from still others,and so on.

Conan was prepared to obey. Reluctantly, because he knew little of Mishrak's reasons and those hesuspected he much disliked. But he would obey. To make an enemy of both Mishrak and Houma wouldmean leaving Aghrapur with more haste than dignity.

Conan was footloose enough not to mourn if that was his fate. He was proud enough to want aworthier foe than Houma to drive him forth.

The dealer was still calling on the gods to witness his imminent ruin when Conan and Raihna led thehorse out the gate. In the street beyond, she stopped, gripped the bridle with one hand and the mane with

the other, and swung herself on to the horse's back.

"So you can mount unaided and ride bareback," the Cimmerian growled. Raihna had managed nosmall feat, but he'd be cursed if she'd know it from him! "Small help that will be, when we take this greatlump into the mountains. He'll starve in a week, if he doesn't break a leg or maybe his rider's necksooner."

"I know that, Conan."

"Then why take him at all?"

"There's a good long ride across open country before we reach the mountains. If we took mountainhorses all the way, it would take longer. Time is something we may not have.

"Also, mountain horses would tell those watching us too much about where we are going. We wouldbe followed and perhaps run down, because those who followed would surely ride heavy mounts! Doyou deny that we are being watched?"

"I think that fruitseller over there—and don't look, for Erlik's sake!—is the same man as the painterwho followed us yesterday."

"You told me of neither."

"Crom! I didn't think you needed telling!"

Raihna flushed. "You were hiding nothing from me?"

"I'm not that big a fool. You may not know Agh-rapur, but you'll be fighting beside me until thiswitling's errand is done!"

"I am grateful, Conan."

"How grateful, may I ask?" he grinned.

The flush deepened, but she smiled. "You may ask. I do not swear to answer." She sobered. "Thenext time, remember that what I know of Aghrapur, I know from Mishrak. Anything you can teach meabout this city will be something I need not learn from the lord of spies!"

"Now I'll listen to that. I'd teach a serpent or a spider to spare him needing to learn from Mishrak!"

Raihna reached down and gripped Conan's massive shoulder. Her grip was as strong as many aman's, but no man could have doubted that those fingers were a woman's.

They passed on down the street in silence for another hundred paces. At last Conan lifted his waterbottle, drank, then spat the dust from his mouth into the street.

"I'd lay a year's pay on Mishrak having it in mind to use us as bait," he said. "What think you?"

"Much the same," Raihna replied. "I would be less easy if Illyana were not so determined to come togrips with Eremius. It is not just ending the danger of the Jewels of Kurag that she seeks. It is vengeancefor what she suffered at his hands." Her tone made it plain she would not speak of those sufferings.

"If your mistress is going to join us on Mishrak's hook, she'd best be able to ride anything we putunder her. This is no stroll in a country garden!"

"My mistress is a better rider than I am. Remember that Bossonia is in great part hill country." Thatexplained her stride, so familiar and so pleasing to Conan's eye.

Raihna's voice hardened. "Also, her father was a great landowner. He kept more horses than I sawbefore I left home." Her voice hinted of a tale Conan would have gladly heard, if he'd dreamed she wouldtell him a word of it.

Conan sought a subject more pleasing to both of them. "Will bringing the Jewels together end the

danger? Perhaps they'll be safer apart."

"There is no corruption in Illyana!" Raihna snapped.

"I didn't say it was her I doubted," Conan replied. At least he doubted her no more than any otherwizard, and perhaps less than some. "I was thinking of other wizards, or even common thieves. Oh well,once we have the Jewels they'll be a boil on Mishrak's arse and not ours!"

"Hssst! Ranis!" Yakoub whispered.

"Tamur!" The guard called him by the name under which Yakoub had dealt with him.

"Softly, please. Are you alone?"

Ranis shrugged. "One man only. I could hardly travel alone to this quarter without arousing suspicion."

"True enough." Yakoub covertly studied Ranis's companion. Given no time to flee or call for help, hewould be even less trouble than his master.

"So, Ranis. What brings you here? I already know that you failed."

Ranis could not altogether hide his surprise. He had the sense not to ask how Yakoub knew this.Indeed, he suspected Yakoub would not have needed Houma's aid to hear of a fight that left seven mendead or maimed in an alley of the Saddlemakers' Quarter.

"I want to try again. My honor demands that I try again."

Yakoub swallowed blistering words about the honor of those who flee and leave comrades deadbehind them. Instead he smiled his most charming smile. "That speaks well of you. What think you will beneeded, to once more face the Cimmerian? Remember, the tale in the streets runs that any man whofaces him is cursed for self-destruction!"

"I can believe that. I've seen him fight twice. But by all the gods, no barbarian is invincible! Even if hewere, he's insulted my lord and me twice over!"

So Ranis had enough honor to recognize an insult when it was given? A pity he had not enough torecognize the need of dying with his men, thereby saving Yakoub a trifle of work. Not that the workwould be dangerous, save for the odd chance, but there was always that.

Part of Yakoub's disguise as a crippled veteran was a staff nearly his own height. A single thrustcrushed the throat of Ranis's companion before he knew that he faced an armed foe.

The staff whirled, then swept in a low arc as Yakoub sought to take Ranis's legs out from under him.Ranis leaped high and came down on Yakoub's unguarded left side. Or at least, the side he thoughtunguarded. The staff seemed to leap into his path and that of his sword. The blade sank into wood, metsteel, and rebounded. Before Ranis could recover, one end of the staff smashed against his temple. Hestaggered, sword hand loosening its grip but desperation raising his arm once more to guard.

He was too slow to stop the lead-shod end of the staff from driving into his skull squarely between hiseyes. Ranis flew backward as if kicked by a mule, striking the wall and sliding down to slump lifeless inthe filth of the tavern's rear yard.

Yakoub saw that Ranis's companion had died of his crushed throat and would need no mercy steel.Kneeling beside each body in succession, he closed their eyes and placed their weapons in their hands.Such was honorable treatment. Also, to any who did not look too closely at the wounds, it would seemthat they had slain each other in some petty quarrel.

Doubtless Mishrak would be suspicious, when word reached him. By that time, however, the bodieswould be too far gone to tell anyone without magic at his command very much. Not less important to

Yakoub, he himself would be some distance on the road back to the mountains and his work there. Hissaving Bora's father Rhafi should assure him, if not a hero's wel-come, at least freedom from awkwardquestions.

"You know what to do," Conan said to the four tribesmen. "Have you any questions, besides whenyou will be paid?"

The men grinned. The eldest shrugged. "This is no matter for pay, as you well know. But—we cannot kill those who would steal what is yours?"

"He whom I now serve wishes live prisoners, who may tell him what he needs to know."

"Ah," the man said. He sounded much relieved. "Then you have not grown weak, Conan. Those wholive may yet be killed afterward. Do you think your master will let us do the work for him?"

"I will tell him all that the gods will permit me to say," Conan replied. "Now, is anything else lacking?"

"This food of the city folk is hardly food for men," the youngest man said. "But I do not suppose it willturn us into weaklings or women in a few days."

"It will not. And if you are needed for longer than that, I shall see that you have proper food. By whatis known but may not be talked of, I swear it!"

The tribesmen made their gesture of respect as Conan turned and led a mystified Raihna out of thestable. In the courtyard between the stable and the inn, she turned to him with a bemused expression.

"Those were Hyrkanians, were they not?"

"Your eye improves each day, Raihna."

"They look as likely to steal our goods as to guard them."

"Not those, nor any of their tribe. We owe each other blood debts."

"The Hyrkanians honor those, or so I have heard."

"You have heard the truth."

Much to Conan's relief, Raihna did not seem disposed to pursue the matter further. His battle againstthe Cult of Doom in company with the tribesmen was not for the ears of anyone who might tell Mishrak.

Raihna strode across the courtyard and into the inn with her back even straighter than usual. As theyclimbed the stairs, Conan heard the jingle of her purse.

"How much have you left?" She told him. "I'd be happier with more, if we're going to buy horses forthe mountains."

"Mishrak expects us to find them at the army outposts."

"Meaning he has his own men in the outposts? Likely enough. I'd still much rather have a secondchoice, one that won't take us close to the outposts. If Mishrak can put his men into them, why can'tHouma do the same?"

"You see clearly, Conan."

"I'm still alive, Raihna. I've always thought being alive has it over being dead. If Mishrak will spend alittle more of his gold, we may not have to spend our blood. Tell that to your mistress, since she seems tohave his ear!"

They were at the door of her room. Mishrak's gold had bought them not only horses and gear, butseparate rooms at one of Aghrapur's best inns. Of a certainty their enemies would hear of their presence,but could hope to do nothing. Between the watch and the inn's own guards, nothing could be attempted

without a pitched battle.

Why attack a bear in his den, when you knew he would soon have to leave it?

"Sleep well, Raihna." She turned to unlock her door. As always, Conan's blood stirred at the swell ofbreasts and hips, the long graceful lines of back and leg. Well, the inn did not ask a man to sleep alone—

Raihna gripped his hand and led him through the door. She kicked the door shut, and before he couldspeak had lifted her tunic over her head. The upper slopes of her breasts were lightly freckled; their firmfullness seemed to cry out for a man's hand.

Conan's blood no longer stirred. It seethed, on the verge of boiling over.

"You wished me a sound sleep, Conan. Well, come here and let us both find it. Or must I disrobe youas well as myself? I warn you, if I must do that I may be too weary for bedsport—"

"Hah!" Conan said. His arms went around her, lifting her off her feet. Desire thundered in him, and hefelt the same in her. "If it's weary you want to be, Raihna, then I can give you the soundest sleep of yourlife!"

Five

"ENTER IN MITRA'S name," Ivram said. Hinges long unoiled screamed as the priest opened thedoor for Bora. Bora followed Ivram inside. In the center of the chamber a hearth of bricks was at workon Ivram's dinner. Pungent smoke tickled Bora's nostrils, as did the more appetizing odors of bakingbread and bubbling stew. They reminded Bora that he had eaten not a bite since morning.

Around the hearth lay dyed fleeces and rugs of simple design but exquisite workmanship. More rugshung on the wall above a richly-carved chest. The figure of Mitra on the lid had eyes of amber and coral.

From beyond the door to an inner chamber floated the soft murmur of a flute. The priest's "niece"Maryam was playing for the night's devotions and for whatever else might be expected of her during thisnight. Few in Crimson Springs could name her "niece" without smiling, at least when Ivram waselsewhere. Most suspected that she had learned the art of the flute in the taverns of Aghrapur.

"Sit, son of Rhafi," Ivram said. He clapped his hands and the flute was silent. "Maryam, we have aguest."

The woman who emerged from the inner room was barely half the priest's size or age. She bore abrass tray covered with a piece of embroidered linen. On the linen rested honeycakes and bits of smokedlamb. She knelt gracefully before Bora, contriving to let her robe fall away from her neck and throat. Theneck was slender and the dark-rose throat firm and unlined. Bora knew other sensations than hunger.

"Wine?" Maryam asked. Her voice was rich and soothing. Bora wondered if this was another art ofpleasing she had learned in taverns. If so, she had learned it well.

"Forgive me if I seem ungrateful for your hospitality," Bora said uneasily. "I need wise counsel morethan anything else."

"My ears are open and my heart at your service," Ivram said. In another priest's mouth the ritualwords might have rung hollow. In Ivram's, they could hardly be doubted. The villages around his shrineforgave him gluttony and a "niece" and would have forgiven him far more, because he listened.Sometimes he also gave wise counsel, but as often, the mere knowledge that he listened eased those whocame to him.

"I know the secret of the mountain demons," Bora said. "Yet none will believe me. Some call memad, some a liar. A few have sworn to have my blood if I do not cease to put them in fear.

"They say it is their women and children they do not wish frightened, but I have seen their faces. Theythink that if they do not know what the danger is, it will not come near them!"

"They are fools," Ivram said. He laughed, so that his jowls danced. "They also do not care to have aboy be more of a man than they are."

"Do you believe me, ihen?"

" Something stalks these mountains, something reeking of uncleanness and evil magic. Any knowledgeof that is more than we have had before." He took a honeycake between thumb and forefinger. Itvanished in two bites.

Bora looked at the plate, to discover it half-empty already. "Maryam, I will be grateful for that wine."

"It is our pleasure," she replied. Her smile made Bora's head spin as though he had already emptied acup.

Now that he had found someone of the hills ready to believe him, Bora could hardly credit his goodfortune. Nor could he muster the courage to speak, without strengthening himself with drink.

Ivram scanted neither his guests nor himself in the matter of wine. By the time the second cup washalf-empty, Bora had done more than tell his story. He had begun to wonder why he had ever beenreluctant to tell it. Maryam was looking at him with wide, worshipful eyes. He had never dreamed ofhaving such a woman look at him so.

"If you saw half what you describe, we are in more peril than I had dared imagine," Ivram said at last."I almost understand those who did not care to hear you. Have you told anyone outside the village? Thisis not our secret, I think."

"I—well, there is one. Not quite outside the village, although he has gone to Aghrapur—" The winenow tangled Bora's tongue rather than freeing it. Also, he did not much care to talk of his sister Caraya'sunmaidenly passion for Yakoub.

"It is Yakoub the herdsman, is it not?" Ivram said gently. Bora nodded without raising his eyes, fromthe floor.

"You do not trust him?" Bora shook his head. "Who else do you know who would both listen to youand bear your tale to Aghrapur? Mughra Khan's soldiers have arrested your father. They will be slow tolisten to you.

"The friends of Yakoub may not be in high places. Yet they will not be the men of Mughra Khan.Yakoub is your best hope."

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

"The gods 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 seekwizardry. 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 asgoat's milk.

Emerald fire climbed the slopes of the Lord of the Winds. The whole mighty peak might have beensinking in a lake of that fire. At any moment Bora expected to see the snowcap melt and waft away intothe 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 anotherworld.

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

"That is the light of our doom. Bora, I will join my words to yours. We must prepare ourselves, forwhat 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 spokento me tonight, and the wise will listen."

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

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 themlike 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 wouldpour out of the mountains to strike far and wide.

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

He took a deep breath and with the utmost reluctance reined in the power he had conjured. With hissenses enhanced by the Jewel, he had seen the flaws and faults in the walls of the valley. One day hewould 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. Nearwitless as they were, his human fighters had their part in everything he did until he regained the secondJewel.

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

With both Jewels, one like Eremius could command the loyalty of the finest soldiers while leaving theirwits 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 wantof 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 gripof lust. Then the image surpassed lust, entering realms of blood and obscenity beyond the powers ofmost men even to imagine.

They were also beyond the powers of the captain to endure. He began by licking his lips at thedisplay of lust. 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 Eremiustruly had smitten him with the staff. Eremius waved the staff, now to conjure sense back into the captaininstead of out of him. The man lurched to his knees, vomited, looked wildly about him for the image, thenknelt 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 theTransformed 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 offlesh. They would need rations until the raiders reached inhabited farms. Pack horses would serve, theirscents 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 vanishedswiftly into the darkness. Or perhaps his fear gave wings to his feet. Eremius hardly cared, as long as hewas obeyed.

Oh, for the day when he would hear "I go in obedience to the Master of the Jewels" from a soldierworthy 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 Illyanainstead 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 stenchseemed a living, palpable entity. Eremius conjured a bubble of clean air around himself. As anafterthought 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. Thiswas as Eremius wished it, when they were close to him. Unleashed and ranging free, the Transformedcould overtake a galloping horse.

Emerald light glowed on scales and red eyes. Here and there it shone on the spikes of a club slungfrom a crude rope belt or on a brass-bound cestus encasing a clawed hand. Even after theTransformation, 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 spellof control into the staff. For some days to come, he would need no other magic, unless matters wentawry. 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 theywould hardly live to profit by this lesson.

Six

To THE EAST, the foothills of the Ibars Mountains crept upward toward the blue sky. Somewhereamong them the Shimak River had its birth. In those hills it swelled from a freshet to a stream. Flowingonward, it turned from a stream to a river before it reached the plains of Turan. Here it was halfway to itsjunction with the Ilbars River. Already its width and depth demanded a ferry rather than a ford.

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

Raihna dismounted to gentle them, leaving Conan to tend to her mount. Illyana remained mounted,eyes cast on something only she could see. Without looking closely, a man might have thought herhalf-witted. After looking closely, no man would care to do so again.

She rode as well as Raihna had promised and made little extra work, for all that she did less than hershare of what there was. No one called sorcerer was easy company for Conan, but Illyana was moreendurable than most.

It did not hurt that she was comelier than most sorcerers Conan had met! She dressed as thoughunaware of it, but a handsome woman lay under those baggy traveling gowns and embroidered trousers.

A handsome woman, whose magic required that she remain a maiden even though of an age to havemarriageable daughters. It was wisdom for her to be companioned by another woman—who was nomaiden.

Indeed, Raihna was enough woman for any man. After a single night with Raihna, Conan could hardlythink of Illyana as a woman without some effort. Doubtless this was Raihna's intent, but Conan hardlycared.

Three hundred paces away, the ferry left the far bank and began its return across the Shimak. Todescribe the craft as bargelike would have insulted any barge Conan had ever seen in Aghrapur's teemingport. Amidships a platform allowed human passengers to stand clear of their beasts and baggage. Oneither side slaves manned long sweeps, two on each.

Behind Conan other travelers assembled—a peasant family loaded with baskets, a solitary peddlerwith his mule and slave" boy, a half-dozen soldiers under a scar-faced sergeant. The peasants hardlylooked able to buy a loaf of bread, let alone ferry passage, but perhaps they would trade some of theirbaskets.

The ferry crept across the river until what passed for its bow scrunched into the gravel by the pier.Conan sprang on to the pier, which creaked under his weight.

"Come along, ladies. We were first at the landing, but that won't count for much if we're slow off themark!"

Raihna needed little urging. She helped her mistress dismount, then led the three riding mounts on tothe ferry. It had two gangplanks, and the one for beasts was stout enough to support elephants, let alonehorses.

Conan stood on the pier until Raihna had loaded and tethered all five animals. No one sought to pushpast him, nor did he need to draw his sword to accomplish this. The thickness of the arms crossed on thebroad chest and the unblinking stare of the ice-blue eyes under the black brows were enough to daunt

even the soldiers.

Illyana sat down on the platform under the canopy. Conan and Raihna stood in the open. The soldiersand the peddler watched Raihna appreciatively.

Conan hoped they would confine themselves to watching. He and the women were traveling in theguise of a merchant's widow, her younger sister, and the merchant's former captain of caravan guards.That deception would hardly survive Raihna's shedding the blood of even the most importunatefellow-traveler.

The peasants and the peddler joined Conan's party aboard the ferry. Two deckhands heaved theanimals' gangplank aboard. Then the soldiers tramped onto the pier, leading their mounts. Theferrymaster gasped in horror and turned paler than the muddy river.

"By the gods, no! Not all of you! The ferry cannot bear the weight. The gangplank still less. Sergeant,I beg you!"

"I give no ear to beggars," the sergeant growled. "Forward, men!"

Conan sprang off the platform. The planks of the deck groaned as if a catapult stone had struck. Hestrode to the edge of the deck and put his foot on one end of the passenger gangplank. The sergeant puthis foot on the other end. He was only a trifle shorter than Conan, and quite as broad.

"Sergeant, the ferrymaster knows what he can carry and what he can't."

"Well and good. You can get off. Just you and the livestock, though. Not the ladies. My men and Iwill take care of them. Won't we, lads?"

A robust, lewd chorus of agreement drowned out sulphurous Cimmerian curses. Conan spread hisarms wide.

"Sergeant, how well can you swim?"

"Eh?"

"Perhaps you should take a swimming lesson or two, before you try overloading a ferry."

Conan leaped, soaring half his own height into the air. He came down on the gangplank. He was outof swordreach of the sergeant, but that mattered not at all.

The gangplank writhed like a serpent. The sergeant staggered, fighting for balance, then lost the fight.With a mighty splash he plunged headfirst into the river. It was shallow enough that he landed with hislegs waving frantically in the air.

Conan pushed the passenger gangplank clear of the ferry, to discourage the soldiers from taking ahand. Then he bent, grasped the sergeant by both ankles, and swung him back and forth until he coughedup all the water he had swallowed.

When the coughs gave way to curses, Conan set the sergeant down. "You need more lessons,sergeant. No doubt of that. My lady's younger sister will be glad to teach you, if you've a mind to bepolite to her. Swimming only, mind you, and nothing else—"

More curses, this time on "the lady's younger sister" as well as Conan. The Cimmerian frowned.

"Sergeant, if I can't mend your manners with water, I'll try steel the next time. Meanwhile, do youwant to cross with us or do your men need you to change their smallclothes—?"

The sergeant threw out a final curse, then lurched off the deck into the water. This time he managed toland on his feet. Finally too breathless to curse, he splashed to the pier. His soldiers helped him up,glaring at Conan all the while.

"Ferrymaster, I think we'd best push off," Conan said.

The ferrymaster, even paler than before, nodded vigorously. He waved to the drummer amidships,who raised his mallet and began pounding out a beat for the slaves. Gravel scraped and growled underthe ferry, then she was once more afloat and underway.

Compared to the ferry, a snail had wings. In the time needed to reach the middle of the river, Conancould have eaten dinner and washed it down with ale worth savoring.

The ferrymaster stood on the platform, eyes roaming between the slaves and the receding bank withits cursing soldiers. Instead of fading, his pallor seemed to be growing on him. Had he taken a fever?

"Hi, ha, ho, hey!"

Frantic shouts erupted from aft Conan whirled, to see half of one of the steering oars vanish over theside. A deckhand made to strip and swim after it, but it vanished before he could leap.

"Vendhyan teak," the ferrymaster said, as if the words were a curse. "Heavy as iron and sinks like ittoo. An ill-favored day, this one. We must turn about in midstream and make our bow our stern. I hopeyou are in no great haste, you and your ladies."

Nothing in those words made other than good sense. They still rang strangely on the Cimmerian'sears. Since he could put no name to that strangeness, he watched the ferrymaster hurry aft, calling to thehands.

"How long do we spend out here because some sailor was fumble-fingered?" Illyana snapped.

"As long as it takes to turn this drunken sow of a ferry," Conan said. "How long that will be, the godsknow. Maybe the ferrymaster, too. Best not look at me. I'm no sailor."

"Perhaps. But can you at least ask the master?"

"As you wish, my lady."

Conan turned to head aft, where the master and two hands were now wrestling with the ferry's lightskiff. Raihna put a hand on his arm in what to all eyes would seem a gesture of affection. Her whisperwas fierce but unheard by anyone else, including her mistress.

"Be careful, Conan. I would go with you, but Illyana's back needs guarding more than yours."

"That's the truth. But who from?"

"I don't know. But what the master said—I've seldom heard a speech that smelled more of longpractice. He spoke like an old beggar who's been asking for alms on the same temple steps for twentyyears."

"Maybe this happens every third crossing," Conan grunted. "With this floating lumberpile, anything'spossible."

"I need no reassurance!" Raihna's whisper was fiercer yet. "I need to know that you're not a fool."

"Woman, you can warn me without insult. If the master's plotting anything, he's outnumbered."

"How so?"

"You're worth two of him, and as for me—" He shrugged. "You be the judge."

"You great Cimmerian oaf—" Raihna began. Then she laughed softly. "The gods be with you."

"With all of us, if the master has any friends aboard," Conan said. He was ruefully aware of the helpthe soldiers might have given. Well, only the gods had foreknowledge, and they only if the priests told thetruth, which likely as not meant mat no one knew what lay before him!

Loosening his sword in its scabbard, Conan strode aft to join the master.

By the time Conan reached the stern, the two hands were lowering the skiff into the water. Themaster, paler than ever, stood watching them. Watching the master, Conan saw that his hand did notstray far from his dagger. Nor did his eyes stray far from the peasant family. In their turn the peasants hadtheir eyes on the master, with the attention of a cat watching a bird's nest. Gone were the dull-wittedstares with which they had come aboard.

Conan felt more than sweat creeping down his spine. Raihna had most likely seen clearly. Somethingwas afoot.

The skiff splashed into the river. One of the hands set the oars into their locks, while the other held theline. The master turned to Conan.

"With two stout fellows at the oars, the skiff will turn us about in good time. Then we can steer again,and seek a landing."

In the shallows by either bank the Shimak had hardly more current than a millpond. Here inmidstream matters were otherwise. The ferry was already well downstream from the pier on the far side.

Not far downstream, Conan saw that the banks rose steep and high on either side. A man landingthere would have a fine scramble before he reached open ground. In that time he would be an easy targetfor archers on the river. Farther downstream still, if Conan remembered rightly, lay rapids, their fangsmostly drawn at this season of low water but not harmless to this ferry…

The second hand climbed into the skiff and took his oar. The master reached into the shadowsbeneath the platform. He came out with a stout purse in one hand. A hooded peasant woman steppedforward, hands raised as if to beg for alms.

Conan drew his sword and raised it hilt-first. He and Raihna had agreed on that signal to be ready fora fight but let others begin it. The master scurried for the edge of the deck, thrusting his purse into thebosom of his shirt as he ran. At the edge of the deck he drew his dagger and leaped.

As he leaped, so did the peasant woman. The hood flew back, revealing a gap-toothed, hook-nosedbrown face whose curling black beard no woman had ever grown. A long knife leaped from under therobes to slash at Conan.

It reached only where Conan would have been. A backward leap took him clear of danger. Hetossed his sword. It came down with hilt cleaving to his hand as if it had grown there.

From over the side came the crunch of wood and shrill curses. Eager to escape, the master hadleaped too swiftly and come down too heavily. One foot had gone straight through the bottom of theskiff.

"I hope you swim better than the sergeant," Conan shouted. Then it was time to think of his ownopponents, three "peasants" advancing with the air of trained fighting men.

Not only trained but trained to fight together. Conan saw this in their movements and in that sawdanger. Three men were not enough to overcome him swiftly, or indeed at all. They were doomed. Theycould also well take long enough dying to let their comrades reach Illyana and Raihna.

First of all, let us make this one and not two . Again Conan leaped backward, his sword cleavingthe air to discourage too close a pursuit. He hoped for no more; a swordsman could hardly strikeaccurately without his feet firmly planted.

The arcing gray steel did its work. The three let Conan open the distance. One tried to close, drawinga second dagger. A desperate parry brought the dagger up as Conan's sword descended. The daggerflew with a clang and a clatter. A moment later the man sagged to his knees, clutching at his useless arm.Clear sight left his eyes as the blood left his body.

One of the man's comrades used his death well. He slipped past Conan to block the Cimmerian'spassage forward. Another "peasant" joined the remaining man. If Conan tried to pass the first man, theother two would have time to come up behind him.

A sound stratagem, against any other man than Conan. They should have learned more abouthillfolk before they tried to fight one , was his thought.

Conan leaped to the edge of the deck, then dropped onto the first sweep. The slaves' eyes grewround and their hands loosened their grip. The sweep slanted down and trailed, but Conan had alreadyshifted his weight to the next one.

The man who'd thought to block Conan waited too long to believe what the Cimmerian had done.Raihna came leaping aft, like a she-lion upon prey. Her sword split the man's skull and her dagger droveinto his bowels. He collapsed without a sound, dead too swiftly even to foul himself. Conan heavedhimself back aboard, to stand beside Raihna.

"Leave these to me," she cried. "Look to Illyana!"

Frantic braying and the drumming of hooves sounded on the far side of the ferry. Hard on their heelscame curses, then a shrill scream from Illyana.

Another cry hammered at Conan's ears as he pushed through the baggage and animals underneath theplatform. He reached the open in time to see a "peasant" leap overboard, frantic to flee the peddler'smule. The beast was thrashing about madly, panic-stricken out of what wits he had. In another momentthe panic would spread through all the animals aboard. Then Conan and his ladies would have more thanLord Houma's hired swords to concern them.

Illyana was backed against one of the platform's supporting posts, facing three foes. In his mindConan both cursed her for coming down from comparative safety and praised her courage. She held along dagger, the twin of Raihna's, with a trained grip. Her slow movements would still have done littleagainst even one opponent, had they been free to come at her. For Illyana, the mule was as good asanother guard. The men feared to come within reach of its hooves and teeth.

That fear gave Conan time he put to good use. One man died with his skull split before he knew a foestood behind him. The second whirled, sword leaping up to guard. He was both subtle and strong.Conan knew that he had the edge on the man, but would have to take care.

The meeting of two expert swordsmen drove the maddened mule back. The last man found a gap andslipped through it. He had no sword, but his two knives danced with swift assurance against Illyana'sclumsy parries. He might have been playing with her, seeking to put her in fear and see her cringe andsweat before taking her life.

Conan cursed and shouted for Raihna, neither of which he expected to do much good. Somethingthat Illyana could do, on the other hand—

"Put a spell on him, can't you?" he roared. "Or what good is your magic?"

"Better than you would dare to believe, Cimmerian!" Illyana shouted. A lucky parry held one knifeaway from her left breast. She gripped the man's other arm and held on with desperate strength.

Conan knew that neither her strength nor her desperation would be enough for long. If either failedbefore he could deal with this opponent—

"Then if it's so cursed good!—"

"It—is—not swifter—than— uhhh !" as the man tore his arm free. Illyana drove her knee up towardhis groin but he shifted his footing so that she only struck his hip. A moment later one hand was wound inher hair while the other raised a knife toward her throat.

In that same moment Conan's sword found his opponent's life. Shoulder and chest poured blood ontoalready-stained robes. The man neither cried out nor fell. Instead he lurched toward Conan, still a barrierbetween him and Illyana, who had only a few heartbeats of life left to her.

As the knife blade touched Illyana's throat, a loop of iron chain tightened around the knife wielder'sfoot.

He kicked to clear his foot, sending himself off balance. The chain tightened again, pulling him awayfrom Illyana. He threw out an arm to save himself— and Conan's sword came down on that arm.Severed arm and knife wielder fell to the deck at the same time.

Illyana stood, gripping the post with one hand. The other she held to her throat, stroking it as if shecould scarcely believe it was not gaping from ear to ear. Her dagger lay unheeded on the deck. Conanpicked it up and handed it to her.

"Don't ever let loose of your steel until the last enemy's dead!"

She swallowed and licked full lips. Her face would have made fresh milk look brightly colored, and avein pulsed in the side of her long neck. She swallowed again, then sagged forward into Conan's arms.

It was not fainting. She babbled words that would have made no sense even in a language Conanunderstood and gripped him with arms seemingly turned to iron. Conan freed his sword arm and put theother around her, holding her as he might have held a puppy or a kitten.

Under the sorceress was enough woman to crave a man's touch when she needed assurance. Conanwould leave matters there. To steal her maidenhood would be the kind of theft he had always disdainedeven as a new-fledged thief in Zamora. It was still not unpleasant to find in Illyana more kinship withordinary folk than he'd ever expected to find in a sorceress.

"Come," he said at last. "Embracing men is like dropping your steel. Best save it until we've heardfrom our last enemy." Gently he pushed her away, then followed the chain around the dead man's leg tothe edge of the deck and looked down.

One of the slaves stood on tiptoe, staring over the edge of the deck. There had been just enoughslack in the chain that held him to his sweep to let him use it as a weapon.

"My friend," Conan said. "I don't know if you've earned yourself freedom or impalement." From theslave's gaunt face and lash-marked back, it seemed unlikely that he cared greatly.

The eyes in the gaunt face were still steady. So was the voice. "The master was plotting, and I owedhim nothing. You be the judge of your debt to me, you and your woman."

"I'm not—" Illyana began indignantly, then found the strength to laugh. She was still laughing whenRaihna appeared, wiping blood from her sword.

"The two you left me are both down, Conan. One may live to answer questions if you have any. Oh,our friend speaks the truth about the master. He was to join the fight, too, but lost his courage at the lastmoment."

"Where is he?"

"Clinging for his life to the end of the skiff's line," Raihna said with a wicked grin. "The two handsthrew him overboard and cut it loose. They were still well short of the bank when it sank under them.One of them could swim. I saw him clambering up the bank."

Conan wished sunstroke, snakebite, and thirst upon the treacherous hand and strode aft. The masterwas no longer pale, but red as if scalded with the effort of hanging to the line.

"For the love of the gods, don't let me drown!" he wheezed. "I can't swim."

"The gods don't love traitors and neither do I," Conan said. "Nor does Lord Mishrak."

The master nearly lost his grip on the line. "You serve Mishrak!"

"I can make him interested in you or not, as I choose. It lies in your hands."

"Then have mercy! To name me to Mishrak—would you slay me and all my kin?"

"I'd see you drown without blinking," Conan said brusquely. "Your kin may be worth more. Tell mewhat you know about these knifeman and I may hold my tongue."

For a man nearly at his last gasp, the master managed to tell a great deal in a short time. It appearedthat the knifeman were indeed Lord Houma's. The master had never heard of Master Eremius or theJewels of Kurag, nor did Conan choose to inform him.

At last the master began to repeat himself. Conan decided that there was little more to be heardworth the danger of losing the man to the river.

He reached down, heaved the man aboard, then shook him over the side like a wet dog. When hefinally set the master down, the man's knees buckled. Conan tied his hands behind his back with his ownbelt.

"You swore—" the master began.

"I didn't swear a thing. You don't need hands to give orders. All you need is a tongue you had bestshape to something like respect. Or I may kick you overboard and not trouble Mishrak with the work oflearning any more from you."

The master turned pale again and sat mute as a stone, watching Conan turn forward and stride away.

It was a while before they could bring the ferry to a safe landing on the far bank of the Shimak. Themaster could barely speak at all. The peddler and his boy seemed concerned only that their mule wasunhurt.

"Demons take you!" Conan swore at their fifth refusal to help handle the ferry. "Will it help yourprecious pet if he dies of thirst or drowns in the rapids?"

"When we know Lotus is well, then you can call on us," the peddler said. "Until then, leave us."

"Please, lady," the boy added, addressing Illyana. "If you can do magic, can you do a healing onLotus? We couldn't pay very much, but we'd miss him a lot."

Conan wrestled notions of spanking the boy or throwing the mule overboard. It helped that Illyanawas smiling at the boy.

"My magic isn't the kind that can help animals," she said. "But my sister was raised around horses.Perhaps she can help you."

Conan strode away with a curse, as Raihna knelt to take the mule's left hind foot in both hands.

It was Massouf, the slave who'd saved Illyana, who finally brought them to safety. Freed from hischains with a key Conan found in the master's purse (along with a good sum in gold that he decided themaster had no further use for), Massouf put his comrades to some sort of regular stroke. With Conan tolend strength if not skill to the steering oar, they eventually crunched ashore some ways downstream.

"We're in your debt once more," Illyana said, as she emerged from behind a boulder in clean garb."You already have your freedom. Is there more we can give? We are not ill-provided with gold—"

"Best not say that too loudly, my lady," Massouf said. "Even the rocks may have ears. But if you havegold to spare—" For the first time he seemed to lose his self-assurance, so unlike a slave's.

"If you have gold, I beg you to take it to the house of Kimon in Gala and buy the slave girl Dessa.

They will ask much for her, comely as she is. But if you free her, I will be your slave if I can repay you noother way."

"What was she to you?" Raihna said. "We are not unwilling—"

"We were betrothed, when—what made us both slaves came about. It was ordered that we be soldseparately, and each serve as hostage for the other. Otherwise, we would long since have fled or diedtogether."

Conan heard an echo of his own thoughts as a slave in the young man's words. "What made you turnagainst your master this time? If Dessa is still a slave—"

"If you perished, Captain, I would not long outlive you. All the slaves would have been impaled asrebels. That is the law. With no hold over Dessa, Kimon might have sold her to Vendhya, or slain heroutright." He straightened. "I had nothing to lose by aiding you."

"Mishrak didn't send us out here to rescue slave girls," Conan growled.

"He didn't send you out here to be rescued by slaves, either," Massouf said cheerfully. "But that'sbeen your fate. Take it as a sign from the gods, Captain."

"You may take this as a sign to hold your tongue," Conan said, raising one massive fist. "I'm a gooddeal closer than the gods, too. Never fear. We'll pay a visit to Gala and free your Dessa. We'll even payfor her out of your master's gold." Conan hefted the master's purse. "If Kimon thinks this isn't enough, I'llshow him reason to change his mind.

"But don't think you can jaunt along with us beyond Gala! Or I'll send your name to Mishrak, forkeeping us from going about his business!"

Seven

THEY RODE INTO Gala as sunset flamed in the west. The Three Coins, where Dessa had worked,lay shuttered and silent, its garden a rank tangle of weeds. Inquiries of passing villagers took them to theHorned Wolf at the far end of the village. Illyana's nostrils flared in distaste as she contemplated thesecond inn.

"Is that the best we can hope for?"

"That depends, mistress," Conan said. Tales of the battle at the ferry might well have reached Galaalready. It still seemed best to continue their masquerade until they knew it was useless.

"On what?"

"On how comfortable you find sleeping in open fields among sheep turds. The Horned Wolf may offeronly lice-ridden straw, but—"

"You lie! Not the smallest louse ever found a home in my inn!"

A broad, florid face topped by a haystack of gray hair thrust itself out the nearest window. Thewoman shook her fist at Conan and drew in breath for another accusation.

"Mistress," Conan said, in a chill voice. "Perhaps the sheep will offer better hospitality. Turds and all,they'll not call us liars."

Ruddiness turned to pallor at the prospect of losing a customer.

"Forgive me, my lord and ladies. I meant no insult, You'd have a cold hard bed with the sheep. Iswear I can offer better than that."

"We're neither lords nor ladies," Raihna snapped. "We're honest merchants, who know what a thing'sworth. We can also recognize lice when we see them. Now, what are your prices?"

Conan let Raihna do the bargaining, with accustomed skill. He used the time to study the village, withan eye to where the houses might let foes wait in ambush. He also took a moment to counsel Massouf tostop fidgeting.

"You'll make the whole village remember you without freeing Dessa a moment sooner. She'll notthank you if that keeps her captive."

From Massouf's horror-stricken gape, this was clearly a new idea. Conan's curses were silent; theyowed Massouf too much.

At last Raihna struck a bargain that Conan suspected was nothing of the kind, from the glee on theold woman's face. Louse-ridden straw still offered more comfort than stones. Perhaps the woman alsoknew where Dessa was.

They ate their own food but drank the inn's wine, near kin to vinegar. Two women brought it, bothlooking old enough to be Pyla's mother.

At last Conan felt he could cease insulting his stomach without insulting their hostess.

"Goodwife," he called. "The last time I was here I stayed at the Three Coins. They had a fine dancinggirl who went by the name of Dessa. She wore rose scent and precious little else. It would be worthmuch, to see her dance again."

"Ah, you'll have to guest with Lord Achmai. Not that he's much of a lord, but he does have the Hold.He'd long had his eye on Dessa too. When Master Kimon died, he left so many debts that his kin wereglad to sell all they could. Dessa went up to the Hold, and Mitra only knows what happened to her then."

Conan ignored strangled noises from Massouf. "What's this 'Hold'? I saw no such thing, the last time."

"Oh, perhaps you did. But it was only a ruin then. Achmai's put it to rights. Even in the old days itcouldn't have been half so fine. Lord Achmai struts around now, like he was one of the SeventeenAttendants."

Conan made some ill-natured sounds of his own. This part of Turan was dotted with the old forts ofthe robber lords who'd infested the countryside before the early kings put them down. From time to timesome lordling would bribe a governor to let him move back into one of them.

Doubtless Achmai would overreach himself one day. Then Mughra Khan would descend on the Holdwith an army and an executioner. That would help neither Dessa nor those who wished to rescue hertonight.

"Well, I shall see if Lord Achmai's hospitality is worth having," Conan said, feigning doubts. "Whoknows? If he's open-handed, perhaps I'll come back to serve him when my mistress and her sister aresafe with their kin."

"Oh, he'll not refuse a fine stout young soldier like yourself," the innkeeper said. She giggled lewdly.

"Nor will the women he keeps, I'll wager. Half the men in his service are old enough to be father tosuch as you."

"How can you stand here talking, when Mitra only knows what Dessa may be suffering?" Massoufshouted. "Mistress, you owe me— ukkkh !"

A massive Cimmerian hand closed on the neck of Massouf's tunic. An equally massive arm lifted himuntil his feet were kicking futilely in the air two hands above the floor.

With a harsh ripping, the filthy tunic gave way. Massouf thumped in a heap on the floor. He glared atConan but the look on the Cimmerian's face froze the words on his lips.

"Outside!" Conan snarled. Massouf regained his feet and bolted as if the inn had caught fire. Thewomen followed at a more dignified pace.

Conan said only the smallest part of what he wanted to say, nor did he raise his voice. He still leftMassouf looking much like a recruit caught stealing. At last the young man fell to his knees, not to begmercy but because his legs would no longer support him.

Illyana turned her gaze from the sable sky above to Conan. "I wonder now about the wisdom oftrying to rescue Dessa."

Massouf leaped up, with a choking cry. "Lady, for the love of all the gods—!"

"Leave the gods in peace, and us as well," Illyana snapped. "Because I say I wonder aboutsomething, does not mean I will not do it. I use my wits before I use my tongue. Do not think that I haveas little honor as you have discretion!"

"What will you do if I think otherwise?" Massouf said uneasily. "Turn me into a frog?"

"Turn you into something useless to Dessa or any other woman, more likely," Illyana said. Her smilegrew wicked. "If you spend less of your few wits on women, you will have more to spend on othermatters.

"Now be silent. You can hardly help us rescue your Dessa. Have the goodness not to hinder us.Now, I must seek something in my baggage. I shall return as swiftly as I can."

Conan much doubted that anything short of stuffing Massouf into a sack would silence him.Nonetheless, he and Raihna took places where they could see each other, Massouf, and all approachesto Horned Wolf. They would also have a quick and safe way to the stables.

The last glimmers of light died in the village and the west. Even the cries of the night birds fell silent, asone by one they found their nests. In the stables a horse stamped restlessly; another whickered softly.

"Raihna,?"

"You fear for Illyana?"

"She's been inside a good while. Our innkeeper may have decided to settle matters herself."

"Her and what army, Conan? I've seen only lads and women inside. Illyana's no fool. If she's to betaken, it will need more than our hostess—"

The inn door creaked open and a woman appeared. She moved with the gliding step of anaccomplished dancer and the sway of a woman who knows everything about exciting men. She was ofIllyana's height but a trifle less slender in those places where it mattered, fairer of skin and with hair thatfell in a crimson cascade over freckled shoulders. Conan could see all the freckles, for the woman woreonly a brief silk garment that covered her from breasts to loins.

Massouf stared as if he had indeed become a frog. At last he closed his mouth and stepped forward,reaching for the woman. Her hand leaped toward his, then batted it playfully aside.

"Come, come, Massouf. Have you forgotten Dessa so swiftly?"

Massouf swallowed. "I have not. But if she is in the Hold, perhaps I should. Will you help me forgether? I have—"

"Massouf, my friend," the woman said again. "I will do better than that. I will help her escape fromLord Achmai and all his old soldiers. She deserves a—"

"By Crom!" Conan growled. He'd finally recognized the voice and set aside the evidence of his eyes."Mistress Illyana, or have my ears been spelled as well as my eyes?"

"Ah, Conan, I thought you would not be long in seeing through the glamouring. I do not imagine thatLord Achmai or his men will be as keen of ear or wits.''

"Very likely not," Conan said. "But what good is that going to do us?"

"Conan, we do not know what we face in the Hold. I much doubt that even you could snatch Dessafrom within it unaided."

'That doesn't mean your help will be better than none. If I had Raihna's—"

"Oh, we both will. I will go with you and use this glamouring. When Achmai and his men arethoroughly bemused, you will seek and rescue Dessa. Raihna and Massouf will await us outside, to helpus if we need it and cover our retreat."

Raihna had her mouth open to protest, but Massouf silenced her by falling on his knees before Illyana.He threw his arms around her waist and pressed his face into her supple belly.

"Mistress, oh, mistress, forgive me that I doubted you! Forgive me—"

"I will forgive you much and that swiftly if you stop blubbering and stand like a man. Dessa will needone when she is free, not a whimpering child." Slowly Massouf obeyed.

"I've heard worse schemes," Conan said. "I'll go as a soldier looking for work. You can enter theHold disguised as a man. Or will that glamouring hold for a whole day?"

"Not without more effort than I could make and still be fit for other work," Illyana admitted. "I am notusing the Jewel for this. Not unless all else fails. Together, the Jewels build each other's strength. Apart,each Jewel must be rested between spells."

"I'll leave the magic to you," Conan said, resting a hand on his sword hilt. "Now I'd best find outwhere the Hold lies. If it's close enough, I can spy it out tonight and return before dawn. If we knowbeforehand—"

"Oh, you have no need to trouble yourself, Conan." Illyana's smile held a sensuousness that Conanmuch doubted was all the glamouring.

"How is that? Did you read our hostess's thoughts?"

"Just so. She came by and asked what I wanted in our chambers. While she was close, I read in herthoughts that she would send warning and where she would send it. Then I altered her thoughts. She willsend warning only of those who will come to the Hold tomorrow night—you and I."

"Well and good." That sounded grudging and mean, even to Conan's ears. By Crom, good work wasgood work, even if a sorceress did it! Why complain about your sword because the smith wasloose-living?

"I'm grateful, Mistress Illyana. Now, let's agree on a place to meet if you must flee this inn. Then I'll beoff to the Hold—"

"You have little need to roam this nighted land, Conan. The innkeeper has been at the Hold. What Itook from her mind, I can show you."

Ice filled Conan's bowels. Put himself at the mercy of a spell reaching into his mind?

"It is my spell, Conan. Surely you can trust me? And no, I did not read your thoughts. You spokealoud without knowing it."

"Captain Conan, if I might speak—" began Massouf.

"Would you care if I said no?"

Massouf laughed. "It is only that you do not know what you may face there. I am sure Mistress

Illyana will do all that she can. But unless she can conjure up dragons and trolls, you will have much hardwork. Why not save your strength for it?"

"I suppose your first post as a free man will be advising King Yildiz on strategy," Conan growled."There may be some sense in what you say, if our hostess can tell a gate tower from a privy!"

"Trust her, Conan," Raihna said. "Everything the innkeeper has ever seen, you will see as clearly as ifyou were there yourself. You can learn enough and still sleep tonight."

All three of them were right, much as Conan disliked admitting it. Rescuing Dessa at all wascrackbrained enough; why make matters worse?

His eyes met Raihna's, and she smiled. Conan had no art of reading thoughts, but hers were plain onher face. She was not saving his strength entirely for fighting, and as for sleep, she did not intend to allowhim much.

Eight

GRAVEL RATTLED UNDER the hooves of the hired horses as Conan and Illyana reined in beforethe frowning gate of Achmai's Hold. The stout timbers were yet unweathered and the massive iron hingesshowed only a faint tinge of rust.

Otherwise the ruddy stone walls stood much as they had for centuries. Conan had seen a few of theseold bandit-lords' strongholds and heard tales of many. This seemed larger than most. When it rose on thehill, the looting must have been good.

From a tower to the right of the gate, a voice hailed them.

"Who comes?"

"Two soldiers, seeking speech with Lord Achmai."

"Why should he speak with soldiers?"

"Does he then hire men unseen and unheard?"

"You wish to enter his service?"

"If his service seems fit for us, yes."

Two heads thrust out of the tower. One was shaven, the other wore an old cavalry' helmet Under thescrutiny, Conan saw unease in Illyana's eyes. He could see nothing else, so thoroughly did her man's garbconceal her. Had he not known she was a woman, he himself would have taken her for a youth.

"Is this wise?" she whispered. "Speaking as though we do Achmai a favor by seeking his service?"

"No soldier with pride in his sword does otherwise," Conan assured her. "If I spoke otherwise, theygrow suspicious."

Before Illyana could reply, the voice hailed them again.

"Enter, and be welcome."

The size of the courtyard within the walls told Conan that indeed this had once been a mighty fortress.Now the courtyard was half-filled with outbuildings, stout but roughly-built stables, sheds, and. barracks.Only the keep had been restored to its original strength, and the Great Hall to at least some of its originalsplendor.

Six men met them in the center of the courtyard. Their arms were well-kept and their clothes clean, ifragged. Their features bore the stamp of more different races than Conan could have numbered on thefingers of both hands.

"We'll take your horses," one said. He seemed to be mostly a Shemite, with a hint of Vanir in thefairness of his beard.

"Show us the stable, and we'll lead them there ourselves," Conan said. Like the horses, the saddleswere hired. The saddlebags bore certain items best not closely examined.

The fair-bearded Shemite seemed to hesitate, then shrugged. "As you wish."

The quick yielding made Conan more suspicious than a long argument. He signed Illyana to staymounted. The gate was still open. If the worst came, she'd have a hope of flight.

The Cimmerian swung lithely from his saddle and strode to the head of the horses. As he took thereins, he felt a hand on the hilt of his sword.

The reins flew from Conan's hands as he whirled. One hand seized the sword hilt and the intruder'shand, imprisoning it as if a boulder had fallen upon it. The other hand paused only long enough to clenchinto a fist. Then it crashed into a beardless jaw. The intruder flew backward to spread-eagle himself onthe stones.

Conan glared down at him. "Learn to keep your hands off other men's swords, my young friend. Thenext lesson may cost more than a sore jaw."

Only then did the Cimmerian notice that Fairbeard and the rest were watching him with catlikeattention. He almost drew his sword. Then Fairbeard laughed.

"Well done, my friend. It will be worth Lord Achmai's while to speak with you."

"That's as may be," Conan said. "Now, what test shall I set him, to be sure it's worth my speakingwith him ?"

Again the sky outside held only stars. The men gathered in the Great Hall had better light. Torchesblazed in iron sconces along the walls, and lamps filled with scented oil glowed on the high table.

Lord Achmai grinned at Conan and arranged his oily black beard with a beringed hand.

"You should have come to me at once, after your old master's death. You'd have been high in myservice long since."

"I had to see the widow and her sister safe to their kin," Conan replied. His fingers were making shortwork of a fat quail, slow-roasted and stuffed with succulent fruit and herbs. "My oath would have boundme, if common sense had not."

"Ah yes. You Cimmerians put much stock in your oaths, when you bother to take them."

Conan knew a chill along his spine. To be recognized as a Cimmerian was not a common experience.Was Achmai playing with him again?

"Will you tell me that I was mistaken, in calling you Cimmerian?" the man added. "If that bloodshames you—"

"Ha! I know my forefathers and kin as well as you do."

Probably better, in truth. The innkeeper said that Achmai's family had been lords for five generations.Perhaps they had, if one counted lordship of another's kitchen or stables.

"Doubtless. It is only that one seldom sees a man of your coloring who is not a Cimmerian. And one

sees few Cimmerians in Turan."

"Most of us have the sense to stay at home, where we need not listen to insults," Conan growled, witha grim smile to set Achmai at ease.

"Well, if you have the greater sense to come to me, when you have no more duty to your ladies, therewill be a place for you. Likewise for your comrade.

"As for Dessa, whom you sought—-you need seek no further."

Once more Conan contemplated the serving girls, clad only in nearly transparent trousers with bellson wrists and ankles. Once more he saw none who could be the Dessa Massouf had described.

Then a drum began a swift, insistent beat, and a girl danced into the room. She wore only a shortrobe of transparent red silk, and that cut so that it flew out like wings as she whirled. Otherwise she woreonly bells, not just at wrists and ankles but at her throat, in her ears, and on a silver chain at her waist.The torchlight played on her oiled skin, sometimes wreathing her in light, sometimes revealing her moreclearly.

Back and forth across the room she wove a path of tinkling bells, light, and lush beauty. Conan hadseen fairer women, but never one so likely to make a man forget them.

Her path wove closer to the high table. Closer still—and Achmai's arm shot out like a javelin. Theberinged fingers snatched the robe from Dessa's shoulders, waving it like a trophy.

The men cheered. Dessa grinned and executed a somersault that slapped her feet down on either sideof Conan's plate. Then she leaped up, flowed down, and flung her arms around Conan.

Two perfumed breasts enveloped his face, but his ears were free to hear the roars of laughter. Healso caught a glimpse of Illyana. Again he could see only her eyes, but they told him clearly enough thatshe was in a cold rage. The Cimmerian contemplated what might happen if that rage turned hot.

Conan wondered if it would have been wiser to come here openly, invoking Mishrak's name to gainDessa's release. Most likely, disguise had been the best course. Achmai had gold from somewhere farbeyond this province, perhaps beyond Turan. He would not enjoy having Mishrak learn where, and hehad two-score well-trained and well-armed men to guard his secrets.

Dessa turned a back somersault off the table, landing on the piled rugs, flaming scarlet and orangewith threads of gold woven into their swirling patterns.

Almost as easily as if she'd risen to her feet, she stood on her hands, waved a foot at the drummer,and began once more to sway to his beat.

As Dessa's gleaming body blazed against the rugs, Conan felt as if he sat between two blazinghearths.

A strangled cry burst from Illyana. She leaped up from the table, knocking her plate to the floor. Sheclutched her wine cup as she fled, but dropped it as she vanished out the door of the Hall. The guardswere too bedazzled by Dessa to stop her.

"What means this?" Achmai said. His voice was even, but his hand was close to his sword hilt. "Isyour companion so young he cannot bear the sight of a woman?"

"Or would he prefer the sight of a man?" shouted someone. "No doubt Pahlos could oblige him—"

"Oh, bite your tongue out and your cods off," snarled someone else, likely enough Pahlos.

"Silence!" Achmai roared. His eyes drifted back to Conan.

"Oh, you will find little to complain of in my companion," Conan said. "Perhaps the flux he had lastyear is returning. We shall doubtless learn soon enough. If you have any potions—"

"Oh, we know how to ease the flux," Achmai said. His smile did not reach his eyes. "We also knowhow to cure liars and fools."

"You will not need those cures tonight," Conan said, with an ease he did not altogether feel. Erliktake the woman, what is she planning? Or have the wits to plan deserted her now, of all times ?

"I hope not," Achmai said. "Dessa has given us all too much pleasure, to have the evening end in aquarrel."

Dessa had indeed given pleasure. Conan began to doubt that returning the girl to her betrothed wasgoing to be half as simple as he'd expected.

Dessa knew the power her dancing gave her over men. Knew it and savored it like fine wine. Conancould not imagine her putting all that behind her to settle down as the wife of a clerk and the mother of apack of squalling brats.

Well, that was Massouf's problem. Conan had his own, a well-formed one named Illyana. Where hadthat magic-wielding wench taken herself, and how long would it take before Achmai sent his men insearch of her?

At least Dessa was still dancing. If Achmai ordered his men out of the hall before she stopped, he'dhave a mutiny on his hands!

Dessa's dancing now grew slower, as her strength at last began to flag. She knelt, swaying her torsoback and forth until it was almost level and her breasts rose almost straight up. Her belly rippled, herarms curved and recurved, her bells made wicked music, and the light gleamed still brighter as sweatjoined the oil on her skin.

At last she found the strength to execute a final somersault. She landed on her back, feet resting onthe high table. Achmai pushed a cup of wine between them. The long toes curled, then gripped. Slowly,without spilling a drop, Dessa rocked back on her haunches. Still more slowly, using her hands only for_balance, she brought the cup to her lips. Silence as thick as a fog on the Vilayet Sea filled the room.

Then the silence shattered, as the door guards sprang aside and Illyana returned.

She returned with the glamour upon her, so that she seemed as she had when first Conan saw it. Hewas proof against the surprise that stunned every man in the room.

He was not proof against the sensuality wafting like perfume from Illyana's magical image. No womanhe had ever bedded had so heated his blood. He gulped wine, and found it odd that the wine did not boilin his throat!

All this, with Illyana only standing in the doorway. To be sure, she was clad only in a gilded loinguardand a silver ring about her red hair, from which flowed a long red veil. Firm young breasts with rougednipples, a faintly curved belly, legs that seemed to go on without end—all lay bare to the eye, all glowedwith oil or magic or both.

"You rogue!" Achmai growled. He seemed to be having difficulty breathing, for it was some momentsbefore he could say more. Then he added, "Were you traveling with that ?"

"Kindly refer to the woman as her ," Conan said with a broad grin. "Or do you think she is somewizard's creation?"

"Ah—well, there's magic in her, more than in most women. But—to think of hiding her!"

"Does a wise man show a purse of gold to a band of robbers?"

Achmai was too bemused by Illyana to reply for a moment. Conan used that moment to study theroom. If Illyana truly needed her maidenhood to work her magic, she'd best have ready to hand either

mighty spells or a fleet pair of heels.

"Such a woman—it's an insult to compare her to gold," Achmai said at last. Something seemed to bestuck in his throat. He was trying to clear it with wine when Illyana began dancing.

Clearly there was only Illyana's own suppleness and skill under the glamouring. She did not vie withDessa in somersaults and other feats. Nor did any music follow her, except the beat of the drum whenthe drummer stopped gaping like a thirsty camel.

Instead she whirled across the floor, her feet moving too fast for even Conan's eye to follow. Shewove a complex path among the rugs, over and around the piles, swaying from head to toe like a bladeof grass in a spring breeze. Her head swung from side to side, tossing the veil. Not that it concealedanything even in those rare moments when it hung straight.

Conan felt his head pounding with more than the fire in his blood and the beat of the drum. He turnedhis wine cup mouth down and searched for Dessa. She stood by the doorway, ignoring one of theguards' arms resting lightly across her shoulders. She stared at Illyana with the look of a barely-fledgedjourneyman watching a master display her art.

Now Illyana bent down, one leg thrust out gracefully for balance, swaying as she gripped a rug. Ahowl of outrage rose as she lifted the rug and wrapped it around herself from neck to knees. Then it diedas she whirled across the room again.

Far from concealing her movements, the thick rug seemed to make them more provocative. Crimsonand wine patches leaped like flames under the thrust of hips and breasts.

A spearlike thrust of Illyana's head cast the veil aside. It floated across the hall as if a breeze blew it.Conan knew magic lifted it. No one else knew or cared. Tables tilted, spilling their loads, or toppledentirely as men leaped for the veil. A half-score reached it in the same moment. Without drawing steel,they rent it into a piece for each man.

Or had the veil rent itself, before the men reached it? Conan could not have sworn one way or theother.

Illyana now essayed a somersault. The rug stayed almost in place. Magic, of a certainty. Again Conansaw none who seemed to either understand or care.

The headring leaped free of Illyana's flame-hued hair. It rolled across the floor, chiming with aninsistent, maddening music, avoiding all the rugs. It rolled almost to Achmai's feet before anyone thoughtto catch it.

Before any could move, Achmai's hand snatched up the ring. Conan noted the sureness and grace ofthe man's movement. He would still be clear of wit and swift of sword if matters came to a fight.

Then everyone surged to his feet as Illyana cast off the rug and the loinguard in the same movement.The rug rolled itself up as it crossed the floor. The loinguard flew like an arrow to Conan's outthrust hand.

"Cimmerian, my friend," Achmai said. "I offer you and your—friend—a place in my service. Now,next year, five years from now. What me gods allow me to give you, you shall have!

"Only—that woman..I want her for a night. Just one night. By all that either of us holds sacred, I willnot force her or hurt her. No other shall so much as give her an unseemly look—"

"I call you friend too," Conan said, laughing. "But I also call you mad, if you think your men will castno longing looks. Indeed, the lady would be much offended if they did otherwise. Only promise what thegods will allow you to do, and one thing more."

"Anything—if the gods allow it," Achmai said, without taking his eyes from Illyana's sinuous writhings.

She now lay on the rugs, describing a serpentine path toward the high table.

"Dessa, for tonight."

For a moment both wine and desire left Achmai's eyes and a shrewd bargainer looked out at Conan.Then the man nodded.

"As you wish." He clapped his hands. The guard removed his arm from Dessa's shoulder, patted her,and gave her a little shove. She strode across the room, head high, too proud to show that she knewevery man's eye was on Illyana.

"Tonight, be a friend to this new friend of mine," Achmai said. "I did not think you found himunpleas-ing, and certainly no man ever found you so."

"As you wish, my lord," Dessa said, with a smile that widened as she saw Conan now had eyes onlyfor her. "Since it is no secret that this is my wish too…"

She vaulted over the table and settled on Conan's lap. Illyana showed no sign of ending her dancing.Still less did she show any sign of telling Conan what her plans were—if any.

Conan had asked for Dessa with the notion that the closer she was to him, the easier their escapewould be if matters went awry. Of course they might now go awry from Illyana's jealousy, but Conanknew no cure for jealous women and expected to find none tonight!

He shifted Dessa to a more comfortable position on one knee and picked up Illyana's discardedloinguard. As his fingers tightened on it, he felt a tingling. Surprised, he nearly dropped the garment. Hisfingers would not obey his will. The chilling presence of sorcery drove out both wine and pleasure inDessa's company.

Then a familiar voice spoke in his mind:

Be at ease, Conan. I have other glamourings besides

this one. One of them will make Achmai think he has taken more pleasure from me than hecould have imagined from six women. Neither of us will lose anything we yet need.

When I am done, I shall come to you. Be ready, and Dessa likewise.

The voice fell silent. The tingling ceased. Conan's fingers obeyed his will, and he stuffed the loinguardinto his tunic.

Dessa ran her fingers up his arm and across his cheek. "Ah, you will soon forget her. That I swear."

Conan tightened his grip. Illyana seemed to have her wits about her, he had a willing bedmate for thenight, and the rest could be left to chance.

Nine

DESSA LAY SNUGGLED on Conan's shoulder like a kitten. Had they been elsewhere, her gentlebreathing might have lulled him as deeply asleep.

Instead he was as alert as if he had been standing sentry on the Hyrkanian frontier. Only a fool slept inthe house of a man who might swiftly become an enemy, in spite of good wine and willing women.

A faint knocking sounded at the door. Conan listened for the rhythm until he heard three strokes, thenone, then two. He pulled his sword out from under the blankets, padded catlike to the door, and drewthe bolt.

Illyana stood in the doorway. She wore her man's clothing save for the headdress. Deep indigo circlesbeneath both eyes made them look twice as large as before, and her face was pale.

She stepped into the room, pushed the door shut, then slumped onto the chest beside the bed. Conanoffered her wine. She shook her head.

"No. I am only a trifle weary. I would like to sleep, but not as soundly as our friend Achmai. He willhave sweet dreams of what he thinks happened between us, as sweet any man could wish."

"How does a maiden sorceress learn of men's dreams after bedding a woman?"

Illyana shivered, then bowed her head. Her throat worked. For a moment Conan thought she wasabout to spew.

The moment passed. She drew in a rasping breath and stared at him without seeing.

"I have learned. That is all I can tell you."

With that look on her face, Conan would not have asked her more for the Crown of Turan. After amoment he drank the wine himself, donned his clothes, and set about waking Dessa.

From the wall outside, a sentry called.

"The fifth hour, and all's well!"

The sentry could barely be heard over the drunken snores of the men in the Great Hall. He alsosounded a trifle drunk himself. He was still on duty, though, ready to give the alarm.

Conan led the way to the outer door of the hall, to find the door locked from the inside. Illyanastepped forward, holding up the arm bearing the Jewel of Kurag.

The Cimmerian shook his head. He had never studied under the master thieves of Zamora, men towhom no lock held many secrets for long. He could still open a crude lock such as this in less time andwith less uproar than any spell.

Outside, the courtyard was deserted and seemingly lifeless. Only the faint glow of a brazier outsidethe stables showed a human presence. Conan gave the ruddy glow a sour look. Well, it was a soldier'sluck, to find that the only place guarded was the one he wanted.

The cool night air awoke Dessa from her near-sleepwalking. She looked about her, and her darkeyes widened.

"What—where are you taking me? This is not the way to Lord Achmai's—"

"You will not be going back to him," Conan said. "We have come to take you to Massouf, yourbetrothed. He is wailing for you."

"Massouf? I thought he was long dead!"

"You received no messages from him?" Illyana asked. "He sent all he could."

"Oh, some reached me. But how could I believe them?"

Illyana looked bewildered.

"Believe me," Conan said. "It's easy to believe everyone's lying to you when you're a slave. Most do."

Dessa smiled, as if he had praised her dancing or beauty. Then her face changed to a mask ofdetermination. She opened her mouth and drew in breath for a scream.

None but the Cimmerian could have silenced Dessa without hurting her. His massive arms held her asgently as an eggshell, but she could make no more sound than a man entombed.

As Conan shifted his grip, Illyana stepped close. One hand rested on Dessa's forehead. Conan felt atingling in his arms, his head swam, and Dessa slumped boneless and senseless against him.

"What—what did you do?" The effort to stand and speak made his voice grate harshly. As through amist, he saw light fading from within the Jewel.

"A simple sleeping spell."

"Cast so quickly?"

"Against Dessa, yes. Against someone alert and strong-willed, it would not be so easy. I would notcare to cast it against you at all."

"So you say."

"Conan, you still see evil in my magic? What can I do to persuade you otherwise?"

The Cimmerian smiled grimly. "If your magic made me King of Aquilonia, I wouldn't call it good. Iwouldn't call you evil, though."

Illyana contrived a smile. "With such crumbs I must be content, I suppose."

The brazier still glowed before the stable door when Conan's party reached it. The stable guardswere nowhere to be seen. Illyana vanished into the stable to retrieve their mounts, while Conan laidDessa on a bale of straw and drew his sword.

He had begun to think of searching for Illyana when the stable guards returned. Neither was quitesober, and they supported between them a giggling girl, less than half-clad and rather more thanhalf-drunk.

"Ho, Cimmerian," one man called. "Come to join our sport?"

"It will be better sport if there's some wine," Conan replied.

"In truth," the second man said. "Faroush, go and find that jug you—"

"You go and find your jug ," the first man began indignantly.

"What, and leave you alone with Chira?" the second man growled.

Faroush was about to reply when Illyana emerged from the darkness, leading the horses.

"Ho, ha, sweet lady. Have you come to dance for us?" said Faroush.

"In truth, no," Illyana said. "I beg you to excuse me." Her voice was steady, but to Conan her eyeshad the look of a trapped animal's.

"Beg all you want," the second man said. His voice was all at once level, and his hand on the hilt of hissword. Conan marked him as the more dangerous.

"Again, I must say no," Illyana went on. "I am far too weary for any dancing that would please you."

"That I much doubt," said the second man. "It's the kind of dancing best done lying down, and—"

The man had talked a moment too long and not drawn his sword fast enough. A Cimmerian fisthammered into his jaw like a boulder. He flew backward, crashing into the stable door and sliding downto sprawl senseless in the dung-laden straw.

Faroush drew his sword, apparently sobered by his comrade's fate. Conan saw fear in his eyes, but inhis stance and grip a determination to fight even against such an opponent.

Mishrak will want to know how Lord Achmai commands such men , was Conan's thought. Forthat matter, so do I .

Meanwhile, the girl had been swaying as she pulled her clothes into order. At last she drew a deepbreath, and Conan cursed. From where he stood, he could only silence the girl by cutting her down, and

that he would not do.

A moment later, the girl let out all her breath in a wild shriek.

"Help! Help! Guards! Thieves in the stables! Help! Help!"

Then she turned and ran. Faroush seemed to consider the alarm given and did the same, sword inhand.

Conan turned to Illyana. "Do you have a spell to speed our way out of here, by chance?"

Illyana frowned. "I cannot fly us all. Not the horses, certainly, and we will need them to outstrip—"

"Curse you, woman! Is this a time for bantering? Yes or no?"

"Yes. If you can give me a trifle of time and find some way to slow the pursuit."

Conan looked at the stable door. It looked stout enough to defy anything short of a battering ram orfire. Achmai's men would hardly burn the stable over the heads of their own horses.

Conan bent to pick up Dessa and jerked his head toward the stable. "Inside, and be quick about it."

The door crashed shut. Darkness embraced them. Conan fumbled for the bar. As he slid it into place,fists began pounding on the outside.

A dim emerald glow swelled behind him. He turned, to see the Jewel glowing on Illyana's wrist. Shewas taking off her tunic.

"What in Erlik's name—?"

Illyana drew her tunic off and bared all her teeth in a grin. "Have you never heard that one must beunclothed to cast a spell?"

"I've seen a good many women who could indeed cast spells unclothed, but they weren't your kind."

"Well, Cimmerian, you learn something new of magic every day you are in my company."

"Whether I wish it or not!"

Conan listened to the din outside the door, the shouts, the curses, the rasp of drawn swords, and a"few men trying to make their orders heard. By the time he knew they faced no immediate danger, Illyanawas bare save for the Jewel on one wrist and a rune-carved ivory bracelet on the other.

The emerald light from the Jewel flowed over her fair skin, turning the hue of bronze long under thesea.

She might have been some Atlantean goddess, risen from the waves to strike at those who overthrewher city.

Conan drew his dagger and stalked down the line of horses, cutting their tethers or opening their stalldoors. By the time all were free, Illyana was standing by her mount, wearing an impatient look as well asthe Jewel and bracelet.

"All that I can do here has been done. It is time to ride."

Conan heaved Dessa over the neck of his horse and swung into the saddle. Illyana lifted the Jeweland chanted.

"Chaos, thrice-cursed, hear our blessing—" followed by something about twice as long in a tongueConan neither knew nor wanted to know.

A whirlwind burst the straw and hay bales apart. The loose straw and hay rose above Conan's head,then fell back into a corner, piled as high as a man. As if kicked, the brazier toppled over, scatteringburning coals into the straw and hay. Flames ran up the pile, touched the pitch-laden walls, and leaped

toward the ceiling.

Then Illyana made a fist of the hand bearing the Jewel and brought it down like a blacksmith'shammer. The stable door burst apart as if a battering ram had indeed struck it.

"Hiyaaa!"

Conan screamed the war cries of half a dozen races as he spurred his horse into the ranks ofAchmai's men. His broadsword leaped and flashed in the firelight, slashing to either side.

He still made poor practice. His mount was hardly war-trained, besides carrying double. It matteredlittle, since his foes were scattering even as he reached them. A good many had fallen to the scythingtimbers of the stable door. The rest might have fought against men, but not against magic. Illyana'sappearance, nude and blazing with emerald light, finished them.

It was as well that the courtyard was swiftly clear. Illyana had to ride thrice in a circle, chanting morearcane words, before flame leaped once more from the Jewel. It struck once, twice, at each hinge andfastening of the gate. At each stroke of fire, metal smoked, then melted and ran. A final stroke pushed thegates down altogether, like a child pushing down a sand castle.

Over the smoldering ruins of the gates, Conan and Illyana rode into the night.

They stopped about halfway back to the meeting place with Raihna and Massouf, to rest the horsesand listen for sounds of pursuit. Conan heard none, nor was Illyana much surprised.

"Few of the horses will take much harm, if the men lead them out of the stable in time. Fewer still willbe fit for work tonight."

"They won't be coming after me?" Dessa sounded half-outraged, half-relieved.

"With no horses and their chief so sound asleep an earthquake couldn't wake him? Those are men,not wizards!" Conan growled.

" She's a wizard," Dessa said, pointing at Illyana. "And you're some kind of soldier. Why did you takeme away from the Hold?"

"We told you. We are returning to your betrothed."

Illyana burrowed into her saddlebags and started pulling out clothes. She had ridden naked from theHold, uncaring of the night chill.

Dessa was less enduring. She snatched the clothes from Illyana, then dropped them as if they were anarmful of nettles.

"Now what?" Conan growled.

"I won't wear her clothes. They might be tainted with her magic."

"Then wear mine," Conan said. One of his tunics came down nearly to Dessa's knees, but it did moreor less clothe her.

"I suppose I should thank you," Dessa said at last. "But—did you ever think I might have wanted tostay? I did, you know."

Conan's and Illyana's eyes met above Dessa's head. The sorceress was the first to find her tongue.

"Dessa, Massouf loves you. Or so he says," she added.

"What he says and what he does are two different things, lady. His real love is gold. That's why hewas enslaved. Even if he'd succeeded at his schemes, he wouldn't have given me half as much as Achmaiand his men. I was better off even at the Three Coins, for Mitra's sake!"

She looked beseechingly at Conan. "Captain, if I might have something for my feet, I'll trouble you nomore. I can make my own way back to—"

"Crom!" The oath flew out of Conan's mouth like the flame from the Jewel. Both women flinched.Conan drew breath.

"Dessa, we swore an oath to bring you back to Massouf. We're somewhat in his debt. The gods donot love unpaid debts." Dessa opened her mouth but a glare from Conan pushed the words back into itunuttered.

"You won't find yourself welcome back at the Hold, either," Conan went on. "They can't be sure youdidn't want to escape. You'll be scrubbing the pots and being scrubbed out by the potboys if you goback."

Dessa still looked obstinate. "If you don't fear the gods or Achmai's men, try fearing me," Conanfinished. "Dessa, if you take one step toward the Hold, you'll have to meet Massouf standing. I'll leaveyou in no state to sit down!"

Silently consigning all women to a place as far as possible from him, Conan unhooked the waterbottles and went in search of a spring.

Ten

THEY RODE OUT at dawn, as the Iranistanis measured it—when a man could tell a black horsehairfrom a white one.

For a while Conan and Raihna led their mounts, to ease their way across the broken ground. With thetwo hired horses for Dessa and Massouf, no one needed to ride double for lack of mounts.

Lack of riding skill was another matter. Dessa rode like a sack of grain and Massouf hardly better. Ifit came to swift flight, Conan and Raihna would be taking their saddle-shy charges up on their ownmounts.

So far they had seen no sign of pursuit, and Conan aimed to put off that moment as long as possible.They kept away from the main roads and indeed from the greater part of the mountain byways. Sheeptracks or bare hillside saw them pass, and of men only an occasional herdsman and once a hermit.

"They are a close-mouthed breed, these mountain folk," Conan said. "Oh, gold or torture can opentheir mouths like any man's. But it takes a while. Besides, torturing free Turanians is a fine way forAchmai to lose whatever good will he has in Aghrapur."

"Their flocks can see anything the herdsmen see," Illyana said.

"All the sheep and goats I've known were even more close-mouthed than the herdsmen," Conanreplied, with a grin. It was a fine fair morning and although tired he was in high good humor. A battlefairly fought and splendidly won always left him so.

"There are ways to make even the dumb speak," Illyana said soberly.

"How?" Conan laughed. "I can just imagine Achmai shouting at a ram—'Who passed this wayyesterday? Answer, or I'll roast you for our dinner!' I can't imagine him getting an answer."

"Not that way, no."

Conan's grin twisted. "Are there spells for making animals speak?"

"For learning what they have seen, yes."

"Does Achmai command them?" The upland morning suddenly seemed as cold as a Cimmerian

autumn.

"Neither he nor anyone who serves him commands any magic. But if he wished vengeance enoughand knew of Eremius—the Master of the other Jewel knows all the spells. He might even have learned tocast them over such a distance. It has been ten years since we met. I no longer can be sure I knoweverything he does."

She forced a smile. "At least there is one consolation. He can no longer be sure that he knowseverything I know. And I have not spent those ten years in idleness or debauchery."

The smile widened. "Why, Conan, I truly begin to think you are curious about magic. Are youbecoming willing to live with it?"

"Maybe, when I can't live without it," Conan growled. "Of course, I can live with the kind of magicyou danced up, any day or night. I wonder if your whole scheme came from wanting to show yourselflike that—"

The smile vanished and the fair skin flushed. Illyana dropped back to ride beside Dessa and Massouf.Conan spurred forward, to ride level with Raihna, muttering rude remarks about women who could beneither chaste nor unchaste.

"That was an ill-spoken jest," Raihna said, when the Cimmerian fell silent.

"Am I to learn why, or must I guess?"

"You will learn if Illyana chooses to tell you. Not otherwise. It is not my secret to tell."

"Not telling me all I need to know is sending me into this fight blind."

"Ah, Conan. Surely not that. One-eyed at worst."

"That's bad enough, against an opponent with two eyes. Or didn't Master Barathres teach you that? Ifhe didn't, you should go back to Bossonia and get your fees back from him, at the point of a—"

Raihna's hand leaped at his cheek so swiftly he had no time to seize it. Instead he blocked the blow,then gripped Raihna's arm just above the elbow.

"Another ill-timed jest?"

"Let me go, curse you!"

"I've been cursed by a good many men and women, and I'm healthier than most of them."

Then he saw that tears were starting from her eyes. He released her and guided his horse to a safedistance, while she reined in and sat in silence, shaking and weeping silently.

At last she pushed her fists into her eyes, sighed, and faced Conan once more.

"Conan, forgive me. That was a cruel jest indeed, but you could not have known how much so. I aman exile from Bossonia. I have no home save where Illyana chooses to lead me. Illyana or someoneworse.

"So I owe her silence about her secrets and perhaps a trifle more. Tell me, my Cimmerian friend.What would you say to a jest, that High Captain Khadjar was in the pay of Lord Houma?"

Conan felt the blood rush to his face. Raihna laughed, pointing at a fist he'd raised without realizing it.

"You see. I owe Illyana as much or more as you owe Khadjar. Let's follow an old Bossoniansaying—'if you won't burn my haystacks, my cattle won't befoul your well.'Truce?"

Conan guided his horse close again and put an arm around her. She nestled into it for a moment.

"Truce."

From the ravine, the last frantic bellowings had died. So had the last of the herd of cattle. EvenMaster Eremius heard only the gobbling, tearing, and cracking as the Transformed dismembered thebodies. From time to time he heard growls and squeals as they quarreled over some particularlysucculent piece.

He did not fear the quarrels would turn bloody. The Transformed were no disciplined army, but theelders among them had ways of keeping the peace. At times, Eremius suspected, those ways meant thedisappearance of one or two of their number. A waste, but not a great one.

Today nothing of that nature would happen. The Transformed had a feast under their claws. Theyalso had foreknowledge of a greater feast tonight, with human flesh to rend and human terror to savor.

Captain Nasro scrambled up to Eremius's perch and knelt.

"Master, the stream at the foot of the ravine grows foul. Blood and ordure make it unfit for drinking."

"It matters not at all to the Transformed. Or have you forgotten that?"

"I remember, Master." He swallowed, sweat breaking out on his face. "Yet—do you—I alsoremember —that our men, those not Transformed—they need clean water."

"Then let them go upstream from the ravine and drink there!" Eremius snarled. The force of his angermade his staff lift from the ground and whirl toward the captain's head. Eremius let the staff come soclose that the man flinched, then made it tap him lightly on the cheek.

"Think, man. Would I have let your men go thirsty? I have left you and them alike enough wits to findfood and water. Go use them, and leave me in peace!"

Nasro flinched again, bowed again, and retreated.

Alone save for his thoughts and the din of the Transformed feeding, Eremius sat down, staff across hisknees. It was a pity he could not hope that Nasro and all his men would perish in tonight's battle amongthe villages. The villagers would hardly offer enough resistance.

Besides, he still needed Nasro and the rest of his witlings. Only when both Jewels were at hiscommand could he amuse himself by disposing of them.

That promised to be a most agreeable day. So did another, the day he made the Transformed able tobreed and breed true. Transformed and commanded by the powers of a single Jewel, they were barren.When Eremius held both Jewels, matters would be otherwise. Then he would also command a regulartribute of women to be Transformed and bear more such.

It was said that the children of those Transformed by both Jewels reached their full growth in a singleyear. Eremius would most assuredly put that to the proof at the earliest moment. If it was true, he wouldhave one more irresistible gift to offer his allies.

Of course, with Illyana's aid or at least her Jewel he could have proved the matter and offered the giftten years ago! That thought no longer ruled his mind, as the day of open battle and victory drew closer. Itstill lurked in his spirit, snarling like a surly watchdog and able to darken the brightest day.

"The stream's turned all bloody!"

"The demons have cursed it!"

"Who brought their wrath upon us?"

"Find him!"

At those last words Bora broke into a run. He wanted to reach the stream before the crowd decidedhe was the one they should find and turned into a mob searching for him.

The shouting swelled. Bora had never run so fast in his life, save when fleeing the mountain demons.He burst out of the village and plunged through the crowd. He was on the bank of the stream beforeanyone saw him coming.

There he stopped, looking down into water commonly as cool and clear as his sister Caraya's eyes.Now it was turning an evil, pustulant scarlet. Bits of nameless filth floated on the surface and an evil reeksmote Bora's nostrils.

Around him the villagers were giving way. Did they fear him or was it only the stink of the stream? Helaughed, then swallowed hard. He feared that if he began laughing now, he would not easily stop.

Holding his breath, he knelt and scooped up a bit of floating filth. Then he smiled.

"Now we know what became of Perek's cattle!" he shouted. "They must have fallen into some ravineupstream. Hard luck for Perek."

"Hard luck for us, too!" someone shouted. "Can we all drink from the wells, until the stream runs clearagain?"

"What else is there to do?" Bora asked, shrugging.

This reasonable question made some nod. Others frowned. "What if the cattle died—in a way againstnature?" one of these said. None dared say the word "demons," as if their name might call them. "Will thewater ever run clean again?"

"If—anything against nature—had a hand in this, it will show in the water," Bora said. He had to takea deep breath before he knew he could say the next words in a steady voice. "I will step into the water. IfI step out unharmed, we need fear no more than rotting cattle."

This speech drew both cheers and protests. Several arguments and at least one fight broke outbetween the two factions. Bora ignored both and began stripping off his clothes. If he did not do thisquickly, he might well lose the courage to do it at all.

The water was chill as always, biting with sharp, angry teeth that began on his toes and ended at hischest. He would not sink his face and head in that filthy water.

Bora stayed in the stream until numbness blunted the water's teeth. By then the crowd was silent asthe mist in the demons' valley. He stayed a trifle longer, until he began to lose feeling in his toes andfingers. Then he turned toward the bank.

He needed help to climb out, but enough villagers rushed forward to help a dozen men. Others hadbrought towels. They surrounded him, to chafe and rub until his skin turned from blue to pink and histeeth stopped chattering.

Caraya came, with a steaming posset cup and a look he had seldom seen on her face. Her tonguewas no more gentle than usual, however. "Bora, that was a foolish thing to do! What would have becomeof us if the demons took you?"

"I didn't think there were any demons. But I could hardly ask anyone to believe me, unless I provedit. If I hadn't—what would have become of you if they thought I'd brought the demons and stoned me todeath!"

"They wouldn't dare!" If her eyes had been bows, half the crowd would have dropped dead witharrows in them.

"Caraya, men in fear will dare anything, if it lets them strike back at that fear." It was one of Ivram'spieces of wisdom. Now seemed a good time to bring it forth.

Another charitable soul brought a bucket of hot water and a sponge. Bora sponged himself into asemblance of cleanliness, then pulled on his clothes. The crowd still surrounded him, many gaping as if hewere a god come to earth.

Anger sharpened his voice.

"Is there no work that needs doing? If nothing else, we must bring water from Winterhome if our wellscannot give enough. Doubtless they will share if we ask. Not if we stand about gaping until the birds buildnests in our mouths!"

Bora half-feared that he had finally said too much. Who was he, at sixteen, to order men old enoughto be his grandfather?

Instead he saw nods, and heard men offering to walk to the other village with a message. He refusedto decide who should go. He took one of the towels, dipped it into the stream, then wrung it out and tiedit around his left arm.

"I will take this to Ivram," he shouted, raising the arm. "The demons were too weak to harm me, sothere is little to fear. There may be much to learn, and Ivram will know how to learn it."

Bora hoped that was true. The priest was said to know many odd bits of arcane lore, without beingtruly a sorcerer. Even so, Ivram might not be able to answer the most urgent question.

How close were the demons? To send men out to seek them would be murder. To wait and let themcome at a time of their own choosing would be folly. What else could be done? Bora did not know, butIvram could at least help him hide this ignorance.

Also, Ivram and Maryam were the two people in the whole village to whom Bora could admit that hewas frightened.

By mid-afternoon Conan judged it safe to leave the hills and press on to the next town. He wouldhave felt safer pressing all the way to the garrison at Fort Zheman, but that would have meant riding bynight.

Also, Dessa and Massouf were near the end of their strength.

"They might go farther if they hadn't spent so much time quarreling," Conan told Raihna. "I won't turnthat young lady over my knee, but I'll pray Massouf does and soon. For all our sakes, not just his!"

"I much doubt he'll find it in himself to do that," Raihna said. "He sounds like a man who isn't quitesure now he wanted his dream to come true."

"If he doesn't know what he wants, then he and Dessa will be well-matched," Conan growled. "I'lleven pay for their wedding, if they have no kin left. Anything , just so we don't have to carry thosewitlings into the mountains!"

Unmoved by Conan's opinion, the reunited lovers were still quarreling when the party rode intoHaruk. They fell silent while Conan found rooms at an inn with stout walls, a back door, and good wine.Then their quarreling began again, when Illyana announced thatlthey would share a room to themselves.

"I won't!" Dessa said simply.

"I won't touch you, Dessa," Massouf said. He sounded genuinely contrite. "Don't be afraid."

"Afraid! Of you ? A real man I'd fear, but—"

Glares from Illyana, Raihna, and Conan silenced her, but not soon enough. An angry flush crept upinto Massouf's face and his voice shook as he spoke.

"I'm not man enough for you? What are you, Dessa? Did you find a trull's heart in—"

The slap Dessa aimed would have floored Massouf if Conan hadn't stepped between them. He heldone hand over Dessa's mouth while he opened the door of her room with the other. Then he shifted hisgrip, to the collar and hem of her borrowed tunic, swung her back and forth a few times, and tossed herneatly on to the bed.

"Now, Massouf," Conan said with elaborate courtesy. "Would it be your pleasure to walk into theroom? Or would you prefer to imitate a bird?"

Massouf cursed but walked. Conan kicked the couple's baggage in after them, then pulled the doorshut and bolted it from the outside.

"Here," Illyana said. She held out a cup of wine. Conan emptied it without taking it from his lips.

"Bless you," he said, wiping his mouth. He stopped short of adding that she knew well what a manmight need. Such jests clearly reached some old, deep wound. If he could give her no good memories,he could at least not prod the scabs and scars.

"I don't know if they'll have a peaceful night," Raihna said. "But I intend to." She put an arm aroundConan's waist.

"If it's peace you want, Raihna, you may have to wait a while for it."

"Oh, I hope so. A long, long while." Her attempt to imitate a worshipful young girl was so ludicrousthat even Illyana burst out laughing.

"If you're that hot, woman," Conan said, "then let's see what this inn has for dinner. Man or horse, youdon't ride them far on an empty stomach!"

Eleven

SOMEWHERE NEARBY A woman was screaming. Pleasantly entangled with Raihna, Conan wasslow to spare the woman a single thought. Even then, his thought was that Dessa and Massouf had finallycome to blows. Dessa, in Conan's opinion, could well take care of herself without help from people whohad more important matters at hand—

The screams grew louder. Raihna stiffened, but not in passion. She stared at the door.

"Woman—!" the Cimmerian muttered.

"No. That—it's Illyana. She is in pain or fears danger."

Raihna flung herself out of bed and dashed to the door. She stopped only to snatch up sword anddagger. Similarly clad, Conan followed.

In the hall, Dessa and Massouf stood before Illyana's door. Dessa was clad as Conan and Raihna,without the weapons. Massouf had a blanket wrapped around his waist. As Conan reached them, thescreaming ceased.

"Don't just stand there!" Conan snarled.

"We tried the door," Massouf said. "It is bolted from within, or perhaps spell-bound." His voice wassteady, although his eyes ran up and down Raihna.

Thank the gods the lad isn't so besotted with Dessa that he sees no other woman!

From behind Illyana's door came the mewling of someone in pain or fear, now fighting to hide it.

"Give me room!" Conan snapped. "And Massouf— find the innkeeper if he isn't already summoningthe watch!"

Conan drew back as far as the hall would allow. When he plunged forward, he was like an avalancheon a steep slope. The bolt was made to resist common men, not Cimmerians of Conan's size andstrength. The bolt snapped like a twig and the door crashed open.

Conan flew into the room, nearly stumbling over Illyana, who knelt at the foot of the bed. Sheclutched the bedclothes with both hands and had a corner of the blanket stuffed into her mouth.

She wore only the Jewel of Khurag in its ring on her left arm. The Jewel seared Conan's eyes withemerald flame.

"Don't touch her!" Raihna cried.

"She needs help!"

"You will hurt, not help, if you touch her now!"

Conan hesitated, torn between desire to help someone clearly suffering and trust in Raihna'sjudgment. Illyana settled the question by slumping into a faint. As. she fell senseless, the flame in the Jeweldied.

Raihna knelt beside her mistress, listening for a heartbeat and breath. Conan mounted guard at thedoor, while Dessa pulled blankets off the bed to improvise garb for everyone.

"You've your wits about you, girl," Raihna said grudgingly.

"You think a witling could have lived as I have?"

"No," Conan said, laughing harshly. If Dessa truly wanted to queen it over a tavern, best send her toPyla. In Aghrapur, any friend of Pyla had few enemies. If that friend was a woman, she was off to a finestart in the taverns.

At this moment Massouf returned. The innkeeper and two stout-thewed manservants either followedor pursued him. Conan showed them steel and they halted, while Massouf darted into the room.

"What is this din?" the innkeeper bellowed. He contemplated everyone's improvised garments andIllyana's lack of any. "I'll have you know I keep a quiet house. If it's a woman you want—"

"Oh, go play with your women!" growled Conan. "If you're man enough, that is. My lady mistress hasbeen having a nightmare. She's a widow, and her husband met a hard death."

The landlord seemed mollified. He was turning, when Illyana began to mutter, "The Transformed. Nohope—stopping them—this far away. Try to—weaken —power over them. Try—everyone (somethingwordless) doomed—"

"Witchcraft!" one of the servants screamed. He clattered off down the stairs. His comrade followed.Raihna ran to her mistress's side, dropping her blanket in her haste. The innkeeper remained, his mouthagape, whether at Raihna or the witchcraft Conan didn't know.

"The watch!" the man finally gasped. "I'll call the watch. If they won't come, I'll raise the town. There'llbe no witcheries done in my house. No, not by all the gods—"

"Go raise the town and much good may it do you!" Raihna shouted. Her sword nearly slit theinnkeeper's nose. He backed away, reached the top of the stairs, and would have fallen backward downthem if Conan hadn't gripped his arm.

"Look you, my witless friend," the Cimmerian said. He would have gladly flung the man after hisservants, but a small chance of peace remained. "My mistress does have some magic at her command.That's true. She can also sense others casting spells. The one she's sensed is old and evil. Leave her be,and perhaps she can protect you!"

The man frowned, but some of the panic left his face. When Conan released him, he walked down

the stairs, instead of running.

"I may have won us time," Conan said. "Then again, I may not. Those fools of servants will have thetown here before you can spell a pot of soup to boiling!"

"I must do what I can," Illyana said, shaking her head. "Horror is on the march, and I must do what Ican to fight it."

"If it's not close—" Conan began.

"That matters not," Illyana said, drawing herself up with a queen's dignity. "When I fled from Eremius,I swore to fight Eremius whenever I had the slightest hope of doing so. Now I have more than a hope, ifyou will give me time, you and Raihna."

She clearly had her mind made up, and Raihna would stay, fight, and if needs be die whether Conanstayed or not. The matter was settled.

"As you wish," Conan said. "Get on with it, while Raihna and I pack what can't be left behind. Dessa,you and Massouf need not come with us. I much doubt they'll blame you—"

"Before this, perhaps not," Dessa said. "But as you said last night—now it's too late. I'll be accusedwhether I deserve it or not." She grinned wickedly, then stuck out her tongue at Conan.

The soft night wind carried the carrion reek, the growls, the shuffling feet of the Transformed toEremius. Ears sharpened by magic judged that they were close to the village's sentries.

Those sentries had not long to live. Doubtless they would not die silently, but that would hardlymatter. In fact, their dying would begin the sowing of fear in the village. Enough of that, and Eremiuswould hardly need to—

A horse's scream sundered the night. The Transformed howled in triumph. Raw with fear came ahuman cry.

"Demons! Demons! The demons are upon us! Fly, fly— yaaaagggh!" as claws and teeth tore theman's life from him.

Eremius allowed himself a frown of displeasure. Had the village contrived to mount their sentries? Orhad the Transformed stumbled upon a man riding out on some entirely different matter? Yet once more,Eremius would have sworn to guard Illyana's maidenhood, to have the services of a good war captain athis command!

At least he needed no captain's advice to know that the village had been warned too soon. Thevillagers would have more time to flee. The Transformed could pursue them only so far before theyescaped from Eremius's command.

A village hurled into panic-stricken flight would send a powerful message to would-be allies. A villagereduced to rubble and corpses would send one still more powerful.

Eremius raised his staff. For tonight, the Jewel flamed from its head, bound there by a silver ring andcarefully-hoarded strands of Illyana's hair. Eremius had proven several times over that the Jewel was notbonded to the ring. He had long known the spells for removing it from the ring and returning it, but tonightwas the first time he had removed it for serious work.

Eremius began to chant, calling on every craftsman of ancient Atlantis whose name was known. Itwas a long list. He then passed on to all the Atlantean gods and demons, a list nearly as long.

One day he would receive a clear sign of who had made or found the Jewels, and what had aidedhim. Perhaps it would even happen before the other Jewel came into Eremius's hands. For now thesorcerer knew only that this invocation wearied him exceedingly and could make the spell uncertain—or

vastly more powerful.

"Chyar, Esporn, Boker—"

Over and over again, more than two-score names of power. As he chanted, Eremius thrust the staffand Jewel alternately to the left and to the right. On either side of him a space in the air began to glowwith emerald fire.

The Spell of the Eyes of Mahr could enthrall a dozen men even at its common power. Enhanced, itwould hold the village as motionless as the stones of their huts while the Transformed descended uponthem.

"Boker, Idas, Gezass, Ayrgulf—"

Ayrgulf was no Atlantean, but he had a place in the history of the Jewels. History, not legend, namedhim the first Vanir chief who had possessed the Jewels. More history and much bloody legend told ofwhat befell him, when the Jewels filled him with dreams of power he had no art to command.

History and legend alike would speak otherwise of Eremius the Jewelmaster.

To left and right, the glowing green spheres began to flatten into the oval shapes of immense eyes.

Bora saw the eyes take form as he ran from Ivram's house. As he reached the head of the pathdownhill, the eyes seemed to stare directly at him.

His legs seemed to have a will of their own, and that will was to turn and flee. It would be soeasy—much easier than descending the path to the doomed village and dying when the demon behind theeyes swooped.

But—what would men say of him? What would he think of himself, for that matter?

Bora had never known before so much of the truth about courage. Little of it was-freedom from fear.Some of it was mastering your fear. A great part was fearing other men's tongues more than whatevermenaced you, and the rest was wishing to sleep soundly at night the rest of your days.

Not that he would have many more days or nights if he went down that hill.

Bora descended the four steps Ivram had carved into the rock at the top of the path. As his feetstruck bare ground, he realized that the eyes seemed to be following him. Moreover, they were drawinghim on down the hill.

He had not fled because he was being ensorceled not to flee! Like a snake charming a bird, the eyeswere drawing him, a helpless prey, toward what awaited at the bottom of the hill.

Feet thumped on the stairs behind him. A pungent powder floated about him. ft stung nose and mouthlike pepper. Bora's face twisted, he clapped hands over his face, his eyes streamed tears, and he sneezedconvulsively.

"Go on sneezing, Bora," came Ivram's voice. "If you need more—"

Bora could not speak, half-strangled as he felt. He went on sneezing until he feared that his nose mightleap from his face and roll down the hill. His eyes streamed as they had not since he wept for hisgrandfather's death.

At last he could command his breath again. He also discovered that he could command his feet, hissenses, his will—

"What spell did you put on me, Ivram?" he shouted. The shout set off another fit of coughing.

"Only the counterspell in the Powder of Zayan," Ivram said mildly. "The Spell of the Eyes of Hahr is

one of those easily cast on an unsuspecting, unresisting subject. It is just as easily broken by the Powder.Once broken, it cannot be recast on the same subject—"

"I'm grateful, Ivram," Bora said. "More than grateful." In his worst nightmares, he had not imaginedthat what menaced the village would wield such powers. "But can we help the whole village in time?" Hewas fidgeting to be off down the hill, half-afraid that the urge to flee would rise again if he waited.

"There is ample Powder. I have been making it since you told me of the demons."

"Then give it to me!"

"Patience, young Bora—"

"Oh, the demons devour patience and you too!

Crimson Springs is dying, priest! Can't your Mitra tell you that much, you—!"

"Bora, never abandon patience. I was about to say, that many in the village may well have beensleeping or had their eyes averted when the Eyes appeared. The spell will not bind them.

"Also, I am going down to the village with you. Two of us casting the Powder—"

"Ivram!" Maryam squalled like a scalded cat. "You're too old to die fighting demons—!"

"Life or death are in Mitra's hands, sweetling. No one is ever too old to pay a debt. Crimson Springshas sheltered us for many years. We owe them something."

"But—your life?"

"Even that."

Bora heard Maryam swallowing. "I should have known better than to argue with you. Am I losing mypower to understand men?"

"Not at all, and Mitra willing, you'll have many years to practice it on me. For now, I'd rather youloaded up the mules. Take the shrine, but don't forget clean clothing in your haste."

Now Bora heard a faint sigh. "Ivram, I've fled in more haste, and from places I was happier to leave.I've had a traveling pack ready since Bora warned us."

"Mitra bless you, Maryam, and keep you safe."

After that Bora heard only an eloquent silence. He hastened down the hill, having already heard toomuch of the farewell for his peace of mind.

Ivram caught up with him halfway down the hill. For the first time Bora saw the man clearly. Hecarried his staff of office in his right hand and a straight-bladed short sword on his belt. Over his shoulderhung a bag of richly-worked leather, with images of Mitra sewn in semi-precious stones.

"There's enough Powder in this sack to unbind the whole village, if we just have time," Ivram said."We may. If whoever is casting this spell thinks he has all the time in the world—"

"I once heard Yakoub say that 'if is a word never to be used in war," Bora said.

"In that much, Yakoub is wise," the priest said. "If this is not war, the gods only know what it is." Helengthened his stride, until for all his youth and strength Bora had to strain to keep pace with him.

The Spell of the Eyes of Hahr took all of Eremius's strength and attention. Unguided, the Transformedmilled about short of the village, squabbling over the last scraps of the horse and its rider.

Before those squabbles could turn bloody, their Master took command again. The human guards hadalready pressed on beyond the village, to cut off the retreat of any not bound by the Eyes. Eremius sent a

firm message to them, not to enter the village.

If you do, you are at the mercy of the Transformed, and you know how much of that theypossess !

As he finished that message, he heard one of the Transformed howl in rage or pain. Into his mindflooded all it felt—the pain of being struck in the eye by a flung stone. No, by a volley of them, as thougha score of men were throwing.

Eremius felt outrage equal to his creation's. There could not be so many people in the village so freeof the Eyes that they could throw a straw, let alone a stone! He opened his mind wider, likewise thesenses of his body.

His hearing gave him the first clue, and the only one he needed. The streets of Crimson Springs werethronged with people, hurrying away from the Trans-formed or standing and sneezing violently.

Who among these wretched villagers could know the arcane secret of the Powder of Zayan? Who?He almost screamed the word aloud, at the unsympathetic sky.

It mattered little. Clearly the intruder to the valley some days ago had done more than escape. He hadwarned the maker of the Powder. Crimson Springs was defended in a way Eremius had not expected.

That also would matter little. If they thought they could fight the Master of even one Jewel, it wouldbe their last mistake.

Eremius cast his mind among the villagers, counting those bound by the Eyes of Hahr. Enough ofthose, and he could still sow chaos by sending yet another spell into their minds.

Unnoticed by an Eremius intent on his counting, the strands of Illyana's hair binding the Jewel to hisstaff began to writhe, then to glow with a ruby light.

Twelve

EMERALD LIGHT CREPT around the edge of the door to Illyana's chamber. The light held no heat,but Conan could not rid himself of the notion that he stood with his back to a blazing furnace.

That was still better by far than seeing such magic with his own eyes. He would have refused to doso, even had not Illyana and Raihna both warned him that it was no sight for eyes unaccustomed tosorcery.

"If this seems to be doubting your courage—" Illyana had begun.

"You're not doubting my courage. You're doubting that I'm the biggest fool in Turan. Go do your bestwith the magic. I'll do my best to keep anyone from ramming a sword through your—" Conan sketched agesture that made Illyana blush.

The door rattled. Conan took a cautious step away from it. As he did, the innkeeper stamped up thestairs, puffing and red-faced.

"Has your lady witch set my house afire, besides everything else?" the man muttered. He looked as ifno answer would surprise him.

"Not that I know," Raihna said. She had clothed herself in trousers and tunic. The landlord's eyes saidthis was no improvement over her previous attire.

"Has the cursed spell worked ?"

" I don't know that either."

"Mitra and Erlik deliver us! Do you know anything about what's going on in there?"

"As much as you do."

"Or as little," Conan added.

The innkeeper looked ready to kill everyone in sight, including himself. His hands clutched at theremnants of his hair. His bald spot and the rest of his face shone with sweat.

"Well, I know that there's a mob on the way, to burn this inn if your lady witch doesn't!"

Conan and Raihna cursed together. Even Dessa added a few rough jests about some people'smanhood.

"If your servants had the courage of lice, no one would have known of our work until it was done,"Raihna snapped. "As it is, I'll be cursed if I let my mistress work in vain."

Her hand darted toward her sword but Conan halted her draw. "No reason to harm this man. He didwarn us."

"That won't save us if the mob gathers before we can flee," the swordswoman replied.

"No, but our friend can do more." Conan turned to the innkeeper. "I much doubt this inn has no hidingplaces or secret ways out. Keep the mob out until Illyana's done, let us use the secret way, and we'llmake it seem you were our prisoner. If they think you're afraid of us—"

"They'll know the gods' own truth!" the man blurted. "I don't know why I'm doing this. Really I don't."

"Either you're too brave to betray guests or too cowardly to want your throat slit," Raihna said. "Icare little. Now go downstairs and do your work while we finish ours!"

"Yes, and have some food sent up," Conan added. "Cold meat, bread, cheese—travelers' fare."

"I'll do my best," the innkeeper said, with a shrug. "If the cooks haven't all run off as well!"

From inside the house a child screamed like a mad thing. Bora tried the door and found it locked.

"To me! Zakar, try your axe!"

The village woodcutter was one of the first men Bora had freed with the Powder. His head was clearand his body at his command. He came running, swinging an axe as if he would cleave not just the doorbut the house.

A few strokes shattered the door. Bora and Zakar dashed inside. Bora snatched up the abandonedchild, to find it a girl unhurt but witless with fear. As he ran to the door, he saw a basket of bread andsmoked goat meat, also left behind in the family's panic.

"Zakar, take that as well. The gods only know where we'll next eat."

"Not in this world, likely enough," Zakar replied, shouldering his axe. "But I won't go alone, becausemy friend here will eat first. I don't care if we face every demon in creation. There's no demon can domuch harm with his skull split!"

Bora could only hope Zakar was right. Something was holding back the demons from the village,giving its people a reprieve. Most of them were now free of the spells and fleeing west. Could they flee far enough before the demons were unleashed again? Bora knew how fast the demons could coverground.

Outside, Bora looked for someone to care for the child. It was a long search, for the village was nowall but deserted. Those who remained were more likely to be held by fear than by magic, and against thatthe Powder had no strength.

At last two girls a trifle younger than Caraya appeared, leading an aged man between them. "Here,"Bora said without ceremony. The little girl began squalling again as she was handed over, but Bora tookno heed.

"Your own home's not far now," Zakar said. "We could be there and back before anyone missedyou."

"Ivram said he freed them at once." Everything in Bora cried out to be Rhafi's son and not the village'sleader, just for a little while. "What he did will have to be enough."

"The gods keep me from—what in Mitra's name is that ?"

A cloud of dust danced at the far end of the street, where the village gave way to orchards. Out of thedust loped a stooped figure, a monstrous caricature of a man. In the green light its thick limbs shimmered.

One of those arms snatched at a branch. Thick as Bora's arm, the branch snapped like a twig. Asecond branch armed the demon's other hand. Brandishing both clubs, it broke into a shambling run.

Zakar met it halfway down the street. One club flew into the air, chopped in half by the axe. Thesecond swung. It crashed into Zakar's ribs as his axe came down on the demon's head.

Came down, and bounced off. Not without effect— the demon staggered, and Bora saw blood run.But without slaying—or saving Zakar. One clawed hand drove into his belly and ripped upward. Hebarely had time to scream before the demon's fangs were in his throat.

The demon threw the dying woodcutter down and looked about for fresh prey. For a moment Borawould gladly have sold his whole family for a spell of invisibility.

Then heavy footsteps thudded behind him. A robed arm flung a small clay vial down the street. Itlanded at the demon's feet, shattering and spraying the Powder of Zayan.

"I don't know if it will work against whatever spells bind those—creations," Ivram muttered. "A goodpair of heels might work better."

"But—there must be—"

"Only the gods can help them now," Ivram said. "Your kin are safe. The village needs you as a liveleader, not a dead memory!"

"As you wish," Bora said. He recognized in his own voice the same note he'd heard in the priest's.They both spoke lest chattering teeth otherwise betray their fear. The demon was kneeling, snuffling atthe Powder on the ground, as they turned and ran for the other end of the village.

With a sharp ping , the strands of Illyana's hair parted. The Jewel arched down from the head ofEremius's staff.

Never in all his years of sorcery had Eremius cast a spell so quickly. The Invisible Hand gripped theJewel halfway to the ground and lowered it the rest of the way as lightly as a feather.

To slow his heart and breathing, Eremius told himself that the Jewel would not have shattered in a fallfrom such a height. The message accomplished nothing. Heart and lungs knew that it was a lie. He hadcontrived a narrow escape from disaster as well as defeat.

He reached for the Jewel, to rebind it with strands of his own hair. His fingers seemed to strikeinvisible glass a hand's breadth on all sides of the Jewel. He prodded the barrier with his staff, and felt thesame sensation.

As he considered his next counter to Illyana's spells, his staff suddenly flew from his hand. Before hecould regain his grip, it plummeted down to the Jewel, into it, and into the earth beneath the Jewel!

Eremius was still gaping when the ground erupted with a crash and roar of shattering stone. Dust androck chips stung as his staff flew into the air, part of a geyser of stone and earth. Eremius lunged for thestaff, plucked it out of the air, and hastily backed away from the Jewel.

The Jewel itself now seemed to dissolve into a pool of emerald light, flowing like some thick liquid inan invisible bowl. A disagreeably high-pitched whine rose from it. Eremius cringed, as he would have atan insect trapped in his ear.

Then he sighed, stepped back, and began to test the fitness of his staff for use. As it passed one testafter another, his confidence began to return.

With the staff alone, he could still command the Transformed well enough to doom Crimson Springs.He could not command the Jewel, for Illyana had bound his Jewel and hers into a spell of mutualopposition. She also could not command her Jewel, and had no more power against him than he againsther.

Did that matter to her? Had she sought to destroy his

Jewel, even at the risk of her own? She had always seemed as ambitious as himself to possess boththe Jewels. Was she now ready to abandon supreme power for a modest prize? Being known as shewho destroyed the Jewels of Kurag would certainly bring little, compared to what might come frompossessing them both!

Enough. The Transformed awaited his commands. Eremius composed himself and began forming apicture of the village in his mind.

The door of Illyana's chamber quivered, then fell off its hinges. Conan and Raihna leaped back.Raihna nearly knocked the innkeeper back down the stairs he had just mounted.

The innkeeper looked at the ruined door, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, then handed Raihna a basket.

"Mostly bread and cheese. The cooks not only fled, they took most of the larder with them!" Theinnkeeper sat down and buried his head in his hands.

Illyana staggered out of her chamber and nearly fell into Conan's arms. After a moment she took adeep breath, then knelt and tore the cover off the basket. Without bothering to don any garments, shebegan wolfing bread and cheese.

Conan waited until she stopped for breath, then handed her a cup of wine. It vanished in two gulps,followed by the rest of the basket's contents. At last Illyana sat up, looked ruefully at the empty basket,then stood.

"I'm sorry, but—Cimmerian, what are you laughing at?"

"You're the first sorceress I've ever seen who'd admit to being hungry!"

A brief smile was the only reply. Raihna went to gather Illyana's clothes, while Conan handed theempty basket to the innkeeper.

"Again? I suppose I can expect to be paid by the time King Yildiz's grandson ascends the—"

A furious pounding on the street door broke into the man's speech. The innkeeper rose and handedthe basket to Conan.

"Time to go down and play my part. Ah well, if I can no longer keep an inn, there are always templepageants needing actors! Best make haste, though. I heard some outside say that Lord Achmai hadreached town. If he takes a hand, I will not make an enemy—"

"Achmai?"

"So they said. He's a great name in these parts. I've heard—"

"I've heard all the tales told of him, and more besides," Conan snapped. "Now—is there a place onthe roof where I can overlook the town without being seen?"

"Yes. But what—?"

"Show me."

"If this is against Lord—"

"It's for all of us! Now choose. Show me to the roof, keep the rest of your promises, and take yourchances with Achmai. Or be stubborn, fear him more than me, and die here."

The innkeeper looked at Conan's drawn sword, measured his chances of escaping it, and judgedwisely.

"Down the hall and to the right. I'll show you."

From downstairs, the pounding redoubled, and curses joined it.

Bora's own rasping breath drowned Out the struggles of those around him to climb the hill. He wasyounger and stronger than most, but tonight he had run five times as far as any.

Any, that is, except the demons, and they knew not human limits. Most of them, at least—the demonscould be slain, hurt, or made cautious. Otherwise, they seemed as insensate as an avalanche or anearthquake.

Stopping to look downhill, Bora saw most of the laggards had somebody helping them. Thank Mitra,the Powder had done its work well. The people of Crimson Springs might be homeless, but they werestill a village, not a mob ready to fight each other for the smallest chance of safety.

Bora waited until most of the laggards had passed him. Then he walked downhill, to meet thehalf-dozen strongest youths and men who'd formed themselves into a rearguard. To his surprise, Ivramwas among them.

"I thought you were long gone," Bora nearly shouted.

"You thought an old fat man like me could outstrip a youth with winged feet like yours? Truly, Bora,your wits are deserting you."

"He came back down to join us," Kemal said. "We spoke as you doubtless will, but he would notlisten."

"No, so best save your breath for climbing the hill again," Ivram added. "I confess I had hopes oftaking one more look at a demon. The more we know—"

"He hoped to make one senseless with the last of the Powder, so we could carry it to Fort Zheman!"one of the men shouted. "Ivram, have you gone mad?"

"I don't think so. But—would anyone but a madman have imagined those demons, before—?"

"For the Master!"

Four robed shapes plunged down the hill toward

Bora and the rearguard. Their human speech and their robes told him that they were not demons. Theswords gleaming in their hands showed them to be dangerous foes.

Bora's hands danced. A stone leaped into the pouch of his sling. The sling whined into invisibility, thenhurled the stone at the men. Darkness and haste baffled Bora's eye and arm. He heard the stone clatterfutilely on the hillside.

Then the four swordsmen were among the rearguard, slashing furiously at men who had only one

sword for all seven of them. The man who had complained of Ivram's plans was the first to fall, face andneck gaping and bloody. As he fell, he rolled under the feet of a second swordsman. His arms twinedaround the man's legs and his teeth sank into a booted calf. The swordsman howled, a howl cut offabruptly as a club in Kemal's hands smashed his skull.

A second swordsman died before the others realized they faced no easy prey. Tough hillmen withnothing to lose were not a contemptible foe at two to one odds.

The third swordsman's flight took him twenty paces before three villagers caught him. All four wentdown in a writhing, cursing tangle that ended in a choking scream. Two of the villagers rose, supportingthe third. The swordsman did not rise.

The fourth swordsman must have thought himself safe, in the last moment before a stone from Bora'ssling crushed his skull.

Bora was counting the stones in his pouch when a faint voice spoke his name.

"Bora. Take the rest of the Powder."

"Ivram!"

The priest lay on his back, blood trickling from his mouth. Bora held his gaze on the man's pale face,away from the gaping wounds in belly and chest.

"Take it. Please. And—rebuild my shrine, when you come back. You will, I know it."

Bora gripped the priest's hand, wishing that he could at least do something for the pain. Perhaps it hadnot yet struck, but with such a wound, when it did—

As if Bora's thoughts had been written in the air, Ivram smiled. "Do not worry, Bora. We servants ofMitra have our ways."

He began to chant verses in a strange guttural tongue. Halfway through the fourth verse he bit his lip,coughed, and closed his eyes. He contrived a few words of a fifth verse, then his breathing ceased.

Bora knelt beside the priest until Kemal put a hand on his shoulder.

"Come along, Bora. We can't stay here until the demons get hungry."

"I won't leave him here for them!"

"Who said we would do anything of the kind?"

Bora saw now that the other unwounded men had taken off their cloaks. Kemal was taking off hiswhen Bora stopped him. "Wait. I heard a horse on the hill. Did you save Windmaster?"

"I freed him. The rest he did himself. I always said that horse had more wits than most men!"

Not to mention more strength and speed than any other mount in the village. "Kemal, we needsomeone to ride to Fort Zheman. Can it be you?"

"Let me water Windmaster, and I'll be off."

"Mitra—" The words died in Bora's throat. He would not praise Mitra tonight, not when the god hadlet his good servant Ivram die like a dog.

Conan crouched behind the chimney of the inn. Enough of the mob now carried torches to showclearly all he needed to see. Too many, perhaps. If he could see, he might also be seen, for all that he'dblacked his skin with soot from the hearth in Illyana's chamber.

Both the mob and Achmai's men were where they had been the last time he looked. Most likely theywould not move further—until he made them move.

Time to do just that.

Conan crawled across the roof to the rear of the inn and shouted, "All right! We hold the stables.They won't be in any danger from there!"

As he returned to the front, Conan heard with pleasure a shout from Achmai's ranks.

"Who said that? Sergeants, count your men!"

Conan allowed the counting to be well begun, then shouted, imitating a sergeant's voice, "Ha! I've twomissing."

Then, imitating the captain:

"These town pigs have made away with them. Draw swords! That's two insults to Lord Achmai!"

Angry, confused shouting ran along the line of Achmai's men. Conan raised his voice, to imitate ayouth.

"Achmai's hired swords want to save their witch friends. Well, take that, you sheep rapers!"

A roof tile placed ready to hand flew over the heads of the mob, driven by a stout Cimmerian arm. Itplummeted into the ranks of Achmai's riders, striking a man from his saddle.

"Fools!" the captain screamed. "We're friends. We want—"

His protests came too late. Stones followed Conan's tile. A horse reared, tossing his rider from thesaddle. Comrades of the fallen men drew their swords and spurred their mounts forward. When theyreached the edge of the mob, they began laying about them.

The mob in turn writhed like a nest of serpents and growled like a den of hungry bears. One boldspirit thrust a torch at a swordsman's horse. It threw its rider, who vanished among dozens of handsclutching at him. Conan heard his screams, ending suddenly.

The fight between Achmai's men and the mob had drawn enough blood now. It would take theleaders on either side longer to stop it than it would take Conan and his people to flee Haruk.

Conan ran to the rear of the inn, uncaring of being seen. "Ride!" he shouted at the stable door. Itsquealed open, and Raihna led the others toward the street.

Illyana came last. As she reached the gate, curses and shouts told Conan that the street was notwholly deserted. Illyana waved, then put her head down and her spurs in.

Conan leaped from the roof of the inn to the roof of the woodshed and landed rolling. He let himselfroll, straight off the woodshed on to straw bales. His horse was already free; he flew into the saddlewithout touching the stirrups.

He had the horse up to a canter and his sword drawn as he passed the gate. To the people in thestreet, it must have seemed that the blackfaced Cimmerian was a demon conjured up by the witch. Theymight 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 hewas out of town. It was as well, for he had not gone unseen by men with their wits about them. Torchesand 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 stillcrippled 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 owndrink was the last of the innkeeper's wine. When the leather bottle was empty, he threw it away, mountedagain, and trotted away across country.

Eremius raised his staff. The silver head bore gouges and scars from its passage through rocks andearth, but its powers seemed undiminished.

From his other wrist the Jewel glowed, its fire subdued by the dawn light but steady as ever. Onceagain he considered whether Illyana sought harm to his Jewel, even at cost to her own? That was aquestion 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 hisvictory. Not all, because too many of the villagers yet lived. But enough to give new heart to his humanservants 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 itselfinto 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 hillshuddered, 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 himcast 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. TheTransformed had not learned to love the agony of their prey, but they could be taught.

Meanwhile—

Staff and Jewel met again. Once, twice, thrice balls of emerald fire leaped forth. They formed atriangle encompassing 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, forall 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 inlegends 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 cando 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 ofwine 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 grippedBora'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 Massoufhad 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 downhillwas 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 canrecognize it."

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

"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 Jewelhad 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 topowder as if they were pebbles, to lose all that might be learned by using them wisely together—I wouldfeel 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 muchmagic. 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 moredangerous. 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 studiedwith Eremius?"

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

"No," Illyana said. "You have the right to ask, a right I grant to few. I also have the duty to answer. Ilearned as much as I could, but Eremius gave me little help. What he wished me to learn was—othermatters."

She shook herself like a wet dog, and the nightmares seemed to pass. "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 oweit to Dessa to leave her among enough men to keep her happy!"

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

Thirteen

THE WESTERING SUN glowed a hand's breadth above the horizon. Fingers of blue shadowgripped the commander's garden in Fort Zheman. Beside one of his predecessor's rose bushes, CaptainShamil turned to face Yakoub.

"There has to be more than you're telling me, my young friend," Shamil growled.

Yakoub spread his hands in a gesture of dismay that was not altogether feigned. Was this fool aboutto seek wisdom at a most inconvenient time?

"Why should I lie to you? Even if I did, is not a fair woman in your bed worth much?"

" If she's as fair as you say. I remind you that I haven't yet seen the woman, even clothed."

A whiplash of anger cracked in Yakoub's voice. "Must I need to remind you of how long you'veserved us? Of how this would seem to Mughra Khan? Of how easy it would be for him to learn?"

The reply was not what Yakoub expected. It was a dour smile, spread hands and a shrug.

"I have forgotten none of these things. There is something you may have forgotten. My under-captainKhezal is not of our party. If I were removed, he would command Fort Zheman."

"Who cares what a well-born lapdog like that may do or leave undone?"

"Khezal's less of the lapdog and more of the wolf than you think. The men know it, too. They'd followhim where he led, even if it was against us."

If I could only be sure he was telling the truth!

Khezal seemed no more than a nobleman's foppish son doing a term on the frontier before returningto a more comfortable post close to court. Having such a man commanding Fort Zheman would be nosmall victory. Under him the fort would surely fall to Master Eremius's servants.

Then the whole province would be ablaze with rebellion or fleeing in fear. The greater the menace, thelarger the army sent to deal with it. The larger the army, the more men under Lord Houma's command.The more men, the more power in Lord Houma's hands on the day he chose to act. If Shamil told thetruth, however, Khezal would lead Fort Zheman well enough, besides being no part of Lord Houma'sfaction. Yakoub pretended to contemplate a creamy yellow rose with a deep russet heart while heweighed risks. He remembered his father's words, "Remember that decision in war is always a gamble.The difference between the wise captain and the foolish one is knowing how much you're gambling."

Yakoub chose to be a wise captain. He could not gamble away power over Fort Zheman.

"I won't command or beg. I'll just offer my help in keeping Raihna's guardians away. Once she knowsthey're looking the other way, she'll be hot for your bed."

"Now you begin to talk sense. What kind of help? If you're trying to make me think you can fight off awhole merchant family—"

"Am I a fool? Have I seemed to think you one?"

"Better if I didn't answer that, I think."

Yakoub sighed. The fear of failure was giving way to weariness at dealing with such as Shamil.Caraya was so different, so clean in heart and mind and body. It was impossible not to love her.

It was impossible, also, not to wonder. When victory crowned Houma's banners, he could offer hermore than she could have ever dreamed of. Would she forgive what he had done, to reach the place

where he could offer it?

Yakoub shook off the forebodings. "Well, I don't think you a fool, and the gods grant I am noneeither. I can make free with my purse. That should keep the lady's guards looking the other way for anight and silent afterward. Can you have some of your men ready to hand, in case my gold does not doall that it should?"

"If you'll pay them."

"That's within reason."

The price they finally negotiated was not. Yakoub considered that if matters went on in this way, LordHouma might face taking the throne as the only alternative to being imprisoned for debt!

To be sure, Shamil's price had to be considered in the light of what the men would face. Yakoub didnot expect many of the men to survive the Cimmerian's sword. This did not matter, as long as theCimmerian himself did not survive either.

With Conan dead and Raihna the plaything of the garrison, Illyana would be easy prey. To gain theJewel of Kurag and deliver it to Eremius would be at least imaginable for one swift of blade, foot, andwit. Even if Yakoub could not himself snatch the Jewel and earn Eremius's reward, victory would be farcloser.

The shadow fingers gripped almost the whole courtyard when Yakoub left the garden. He turnedtoward his quarters under a darkening sky and a rising wind. By the time he pulled the shutters of hisroom, he could hear it whining above. On the keep, the banner of Turan stood stiff and black against theflaming hues of sunset.

"All's well," came Raihna's voice from behind Conan.

The Cimmerian finished his turn more slowly than he had begun it. "Don't slip up behind anyone elsehere, Raihna. They might finish their turn with sword in hand, ready to push through your guts."

"The men wouldn't be such fools."

"The veterans, no. The others, I don't know. Not the kind to listen to tales of demons on the marchwithout seeing enemies everywhere. And even the veterans lost friends in those outposts that vanished."

"I'll take care." She stood on tiptoe and kissed Conan in a way that might have looked chaste from adistance. It set the Cimmerian's blood seething. With a will of their own, his arms went around her.

Self-command returned. "Come, my lady's sister," he said with a grin. "We must not make anyonesuspicious."

"Indeed, no. The family's pride—it would not countenance a caravan guardsman's suit ."

" I shall not always be what I am, Raihna," Conan said, still grinning.

"That's as certain as anything can be," Raihna replied. She gently pushed him away, with hands notaltogether steady in spite of the smile on her face.

Both knew that being welcomed at the fort without having to mention the name of Mishrak was eitherunexpected good fortune or a subtle trap. Until they knew, they were all determined to play out theirmasquerade as long as possible. If they could play it out for their entire sojurn at Fort Zheman, it mighteven confuse those who had set any trap, until they sprang it too late.

With the garrison under strength, this wing of the barracks was nearly deserted. Conan and Raihnamet no one on their way to her room. From the stairway floated the sound of crude revelry, as the

soldiers' drinking hall on the ground floor began its evening's work.

Conan threw the bolts on Illyana's room and likewise that of Dessa and Massouf. Then he shifted oneof his knives from boot to belt.

"I'm going down for a cup of wine or two. It's what I'd be expected to do. I may also learn moreabout the demons."

"Learn more about where to find mountain horses, if you can. I'd rather buy them somewhere elsethan the fort. It's easier to silence tongues with gold."

"You have your wits about you, Raihna.'•'

"Alas, he praises only my wits. Yet I have heard not one word of complaint about—"

"I wouldn't dare complain about the other matters, woman. You'd leave me fit only for that workMishrak promised me, in the Vendhyan harems!"

He slapped her on the rump and gave her a kiss without the least flavor of chastity. She returned it inthe same manner, then unbolted her door and slipped inside.

The barracks roof rose higher than the walls of the fort. That it held no sentries was a pleasantsurprise to Yakoub. Either the garrison was even more slack than he had expected, or Shamil hadremoved the sentries to ease his own way to Raihna.

Yakoub would be the victor, in either case.

Black clothing and a soot-blackened face made Yakoub one with the night as he crouched at theedge of the roof. Setting the hook took little time; unrolling the knotted rope took less. From his belt hehung the tools he hoped he would not need. They had been made for him and others like him by a masterthief, as payment for a gold-paved road out of Agh-rapur.

Entering the chambers of a sorcerer could be a chancy undertaking. Always in legend and often intruth, they used their arts to defend themselves and their possessions in ways difficult to imagine andimpossible for common men to defeat. Sometimes the defenses gave intruders a horrible death.

Just as surely, sorcerers had this in common with ordinary men: they could grow forgetful or careless.If tonight Yakoub could at least learn what Illyana might have left undone…

And if she has left so much undone that you may snatch the Jewel tonight?

Then Captain Shamil and his men need not look for reward or protection.

Hope lifted Yakoub for a moment. He fought it down. He would not climb down that rope with ahead full of dreams. That would only end with him shattered on the stone of the courtyard, with the fliesfighting for space on his eyelids.

Conan joined the soldiers with the resolve to drink little and listen much. The wine was better than hisresolve and the tales he heard were equal to either.

Rumors of demons swarmed like flies on a dungheap, and some tales went beyond rumor. Therecould be no doubling green lights in the sky and a pillar of smoke where there was neither forest norvolcano.

Conan drew out of his fellow drinkers the times of both. The hour of the green lights was the same asIllyana's battle against her old Master's demon-conjuring.

No patrols had gone out from the fort, to seek what lay behind these portents. The greater part of the

recruits seemed relieved, not to be facing demoncraft without the aid of stone walls.

Conan was tempted to tell them how little the walls would aid them, if half of what Illyana said wastrue. He recognized the temptation as a child of the wine and held his tongue.

The veterans seemed less content with the decision about patrols. They also seemed to blame it moreon Shamil than on Khezal. That the veterans should trust an elegant lordling of the same stamp as LordHouma's son was curious. It was also a matter on which Conan could think of no questions subtleenough to be safe.

It was then that he knew he had drunk enough. Best to seek his bed and a trifle of sleep, if Raihnawas not to watch all night!

Besides, the veterans were outnumbered two to one by the recruits. Fort Zheman would stand or fallon what the recruits could do or be led into. Conan resolved to give whoever led them as much help ashe would accept, emptied his cup in a final toast to King Yildiz, and marched out.

Conan took no pleasure in being awakened by a barnyard din in the hall. It seemed that he had barelyclosed his eyes. He dashed water in his face as the din swelled. He was fully clothed save for boots andsword. Snatching his blade from under the blankets, he flung the door open.

As he did, Raihna's door crashed open. Captain Shamil seemed to fly through it, sword in hand butotherwise helpless. Had Conan not caught him by the sleeve as he shot past, Shamil would have bashedhis head into the opposite wall.

"Unhand me, you Cimmerian dog!" the man snarled. "I have somewhat to settle with your mistress'soh-so-chaste sister!"

Conan frowned. "Perhaps I should have let you knock yourself against the wall. Then you wouldn't bespeaking in riddles."

"You know what I mean!" the captain shouted, loud enough to raise echoes. "Or are you a eunuchwithout knowledge of when a woman will open her bed to a man ?"

Conan was not too drunk to know a question best left unanswered. Also, he would have had tooutshout Raihna had he wished to speak.

"He is no eunuch, and I can—give you the names of a half-score women who know it!"

Conan was glad of Raihna's discretion. He would have been gladder still, had she not been standing inthe doorway of her room, wearing only her sword and a look of fury.

"He is no eunuch, any more than I am a toy for such as you!" she went on. "Be off, Captain. Be off,and I will call this only a misunderstanding and say no more of it. Otherwise—"

"Otherwise what , you brazen bitch? Your Cimmerian ape may be no eunuch, but I am no witling. Iknow that you play the chaste woman only when he may bear tales. Let me settle with him, and you willnot call this night ill-spent."

Conan had his sword drawn before the captain's speech was half-uttered. The Cimmerian crouched,parrying with flat against edge while drawing his dagger. The subtleties of Raihna's two-blade style werebeyond him; he simply thrust his dagger upward into Shamil's arm. A howl, a momentary loosening ofgrip, broadsword smiting tulwar like the wrath of six gods —then the captain's sword clanged on thefloor and he was holding his bloody forearm.

He was also cursing a great many things and people, not least someone unnamed who had misled himabout Raihna's willingness to share a bed. He only stopped cursing when Raihna stepped up behind himand rested the point of her sword on the back of his neck.

"As the lady said, it seems there's been a misunderstanding," Conan said soothingly. "No harm to herand little to you. If we leave it—"

Four soldiers pounded up the stairs. Had they been elephants, they could not have given Conan morewarning or been clumsier in their attack. He gave ground, letting them crowd together around theircaptain. Their efforts to both fight Conan and aid the man left Raihna with time to dart into her chamber.

She returned wearing loinguard and mail shirt over arming doublet, with dagger added to sword.Conan laughed. "I thought you would fight as you were. You might have distracted these donkey's sons."

"Slashes in my skin might have distracted me't't" Raihna replied, tossing her head. Then she lunged atthe nearest man, driving him away from both captain and comrades.

Conan noted that she seemed to be fighting to defeat without killing. He had hoped she would do this,for killing these fools would be no victory. They might be the only four soldiers loyal enough to theircaptain or sufficiently well-bribed to come to his aid. If they died, though, their comrades would all becalled on to avenge them. Not all of Illyana's spells together could stand off the whole garrison of FortZheman.

Conan chose a piece of wall to guard his back, stood before it, and raised his sword. "Ho, children ofFort Zheman. Who wants to be the first to become a man by facing me?"

The shutter swung open and Yakoub peered over the windowsill. Illyana's room lay exposed to hisgaze.

So did Illyana. She wore no bedgown, and the blankets had slipped down to her waist. The curves ofher breasts were subtle but enticing. They cried out for the hands of a man to roam over them.

Between those breasts shone a great emerald. For a moment, Yakoub wondered at her wearing sucha jewel to bed. Then the breath left him in a single gasp as he realized what he beheld. The Jewel ofKurag lay within his grasp, as defenseless as its mistress.

Seemingly as defenseless. Yakoub reminded himself of sorcerous defenses, to quell a rising sense oftriumph. He climbed over the windowsill and crouched in the shadowed corner. Illyana did not stir.

From the hall outside rose the uproar spawned by

Captain Shamil's visit to Raihna. If that did not wake Illyana, no sound Yakoub intended to makewould do so. He rose to his feet and stalked toward the bed.

Five paces from the bed, a fly seemed to creep into his ear. He shook his head angrily, resisting theurge to slap it. The buzzing grew louder, then faded into silence.

Yakoub looked at the woman on the bed and shook his head. He had been deceived about herwealth. That was no emerald on a gold chain gently rising and falling with her breasts. It was a mere pieceof carved glass, cleverly mimicking an emerald to the careless eye. Its chain was only brass, no richerthan the pommel of a common sword.

Such a woman would hardly pay well for a night of pleasure. Nor indeed would she have need to.The tales of her being fat and ugly were even less truth than the tales of her wealth. She was past youth,but not past fairness, even beauty. She would hardly be buying men for her bed. Rather would she havethem seeking to buy her for theirs!

Best leave now, and seek her again knowing what she was and how slender his hopes were. Asslender as the long fingers of the hands that rested lightly on the edge of the blanket, or the fine hair thatflowed across the pillow.

The desire to leave with dignity filled Yakoub. He drew a silver ring from a finger of his left hand and

placed it next to the green glass. It rolled down between the woman's breasts, to rest on her belly justabove the navel. The curves of that belly were also subtle and exquisite.

Boldly, Yakoub rested one hand on the curves of belly. Bending over, he kissed both nipples. Theyfilled his mouth with sweetness, as if they were smeared with honey.

Illyana sighed in her sleep, and for a moment one hand crept across her belly to rest on his. Yakoubknew no fear. Had he seen his death approaching in that instant, he would not have moved from its path.

Another sigh, and the hand rose. Yakoub withdrew five paces, half-expecting to hear the fly again.He heard nothing. In silence he retraced his steps to the window, gripped the rope, and began to climb.

Between them, Conan and Raihna dealt with Shamil's four loyal friends or fellow plotters in as manyminutes. All were disarmed and only one wounded.

By then some dozen or more additional soldiers had mounted the stairs. Few were fully sober, fewerstill eager to close with Conan and Raihna. Some seemed full of zeal for tending the wounded, at a safedistance from the fight. Most contented themselves with standing about, swords raised and ferociouslooks on their bearded faces.

"If black looks could kill, we'd vanish like a puddle in the noon sun," Conan taunted them. "If that's allyou can muster, what are we fighting about? If you have more in your arsenal, let's see it!"

This brought a couple of the laggards forward, to be disarmed swiftly and painlessly. Conan spared aglance for the doors to his comrades' chambers. Both remained shut and bolted.

Conan hoped Dessa and Massouf would have the wits to stay inside and Illyana to not only stayinside but cast no spells. He would not see honest soldiers enmeshed in magic without good cause.Besides, the smallest smell of magic about the party would lead to more questions than Conan was happyabout answering.

The lack of any will to press the fight was becoming plain. Some of the veterans Conan rememberedfrom the evening's drinking appeared, to lead away the wounded and some of those befriending them. Aslong as they felt their captain's eye on them, however, a few soldiers were determined to make at leastthe appearance of fighting.

Conan was now prepared to meet and disarm every one of them if it took until dawn. The wine wasentirely out of him. Raihna, on the other hand, had worked herself into a fine fighting passion.

"What do we face here, my friend?" she shouted at Conan. "If this is the best Fort Zheman can do,we'll only die from stumbling over their fallen swords!"

Taunted into rage, a man slashed at Raihna. She twisted clear and his rage blinded him to his openflank. Conan's fist took him behind his right ear and he crashed to the floor.

"This will soon pass beyond a jest," Conan said. "I have no quarrel with any of you save your captainand not much with him. He's been led astray—"

"No woman lies to me without paying!" Shamil roared, waving his bandaged arm.

"Who says otherwise?" Conan asked. "But I wonder. Is it Raihna who lied? Or is it someone else?"

Caught off-guard, Shamil let his face show naked confusion for a moment. He could have no notionthat he had been overheard, cursing his deceiver. Then the arm waved more furiously.

"The woman lied, and so did this man! They may not be the only ones, but they're here! Avenge theFort's honor, you fools, if you can't think of mine!"

The veterans, Conan observed, were altogether unmoved by this argument. The recruits were not. Six

of them were pushing forward to within sword's reach of the Cimmerian when a voice roared at the footof the stairs.

"Ho, turn out the guard! Captain to the walls! Turn out the guard! Captain to the walls!"

A leather-lunged veteran mounted the stairs, still shouting. Behind him ran Under-captain Khezal,sword belted on over an embroidered silk chamber robe that left his arms and chest half-bare.

The scars revealed made Conan think anew of the man, for all his silk clothes and scented beard. Itwas a wonder he still had the use of his arm, or indeed his life. Conan had seen men die of lesser woundsthan the one that scarred Khezal's chest and belly.

"What in the name of Erlik's mighty member—?" Shamil began.

"Captain, there's a messenger outside, from Crimson Springs. He says they were attacked by demonslast night. Some of the villagers died. Most fled, and are on their way here."

"Demons?" The captain's voice was a frog's croak.

"You'd best go ask him yourself, Captain. I can settle matters here, at least for now."

Duty, rage, wine, and pain seemed to battle for Captain Shamil. Duty at last carried the field. Hestumbled off down the stairs, muttering curses until he was out of hearing.

With a few sharp orders, Khezal emptied the hall of all save himself and Conan. Raihna had returnedto her room, to finish clothing herself. The others still slept or hid.

"Will you keep the peace from now on?" Khezal asked.

"It wasn't us who—" Conan began.

"I don't care a bucket of mule piss who began what!" the man snapped. "We're facing either demonsor people in fear of them. Either is enough work for one night. I'll not thank anyone who gives me more."

"You'll have no trouble from us," Conan said. "By my lady's honor I swear it."

Khezal laughed. "I'm glad you didn't swear by your—maid's—honor. That little brazen's been eyeingeveryone in the garrison, from the captain on down. I'd ask you to keep her leashed too, if there was anyway to do so with such a woman."

"When the gods teach me one, you'll be the first I tell," Conan said.

As Khezal vanished down the stairs, Raihna emerged from her chamber, fully clothed and more thanfully armed.

"Is that all the satisfaction we have, being asked to keep peace we didn't break?" Her face twisted, asif she had bitten a green fig.

"It's all we'll have tonight," Conan said. "Khezal's not what I thought him. He's not on Shamil's side.That's as good as being on ours. Besides, we do indeed have enough work for one night."

Raihna nodded. "I'll go waken Illyana."

"I'm going down to the gate. I want to hear this tale of demons myself, not what somebody sayssomebody else said they heard!"

Fourteen

CONAN REACHED THE gate as the messenger from Crimson Springs began the retelling of hisnightmare tale. The Cimmerian heard Kemal tell everything, from Bora's foray into the valley of the

demons to the flight of the villagers.

"They'll need shelter when they come," Kemal added.

This messenger could be scarcely more than eighteen. A man, though. Conan remembered what hehad survived by the time he was eighteen. War, slavery, escape, treachery, and battles with a score ofopponents, human and otherwise.

"Shelter? Here? What do you think we are, the Royal Palace of Turan?" Captain Shamil's temperseemed little improved. "Even if we were, no pack of smelly hillmen will overrun—"

Kemal glared. The captain raised a hand to the archers on the wall. Conan sidled to the left, ready tofling the messenger clear of the arrows. He would happily have flung Shamil over the walls like a deadgoat from a siege engine. Had he and his charges not so direly needed peace with Fort Zheman and all init—

"Captain, I'd wager we can bring at least the women and children inside," Khezal said. He must haveconjured his armor on to his body by magic, for he was now fully dressed for the field. His helmet andmail were silvered, but both showed an admirable array of patches and dents.

"We have room," Khezal continued. "Or at least we will, once we have formed a column to marchupcoun-try. If we guard their women and children, will the men of the village join us? We shall needguides, and all the stout arms we can find."

Conan observed that Khezal said nothing of the garrison being well under strength. His opinion of theman's wisdom and prudence rose further.

"By Mitra and Erlik, I swear to ask." Kemal swallowed. "I cannot swear that all will follow. If Boralends his voice, however—"

"We don't need to bribe cowards with our own roof and rations!" Shamil shouted. It seemed toConan that, foiled in his designs against Raihna, the captain sought someone to bully.

Conan was equally determined to defeat him. "Are the other villages in the area in flight as well?" heasked Kemal.

"I rode to none, for Bora's orders were to come here at once. I am sure Bora has sent messengers onfoot or on lesser horses than Windmaster to all he thinks in danger."

"Mitra! We are to follow the whims of a stripling, who may be mad or a traitor for all I know. Indeed,isn't he the son of the Rhafi who lies in Aghrapur, suspected of—"

"Rhafi is innocent of everything except quarreling with your greedy louts of soldiers!" Kemal shouted.His hand leaped to the hilt of his knife. Shamil's hand rose to signal the,archers.

Neither hand completed its motion. Conan gripped both wrists and twisted, until he had the completeattention of both men.

"Are you demons in disguise, or what? If there are demons, we're fools to fight among ourselves. Ifthere are none, something besides too much wine is frightening people!"

"Exactly so," Khezal said, like a mother seeking to calm fractious children. A second glance toldConan that the man was balanced and ready to draw his sword, against whoever might need it.

"If all the villages come down, we can pick the best men to march with us. The rest can help garrisonthe fort, or escort those who travel on to Haruk."

"They'll find scant hospitality in Haruk, after last night's riot," Shamil said. "Scanter here, though,unless we feed them all the rations we'll need for the march." He shrugged. "Do as you wish, Khezal. Youspeak with my voice. I go to see to my armor and horses."

The captain turned away. Before he could depart, a dulcet voice spoke up.

"Captain, permit me to help you. I know it is not easy to garb oneself with a wounded arm. I havesome experience in helping men in such trouble."

It was Dessa, standing between and slightly in front of Illyana and Raihna. Massouf stood behind thewomen, wearing trousers and a ferocious look. The girl wore an ankle-length robe, but, Conan judged,not a stitch under it. Certainly Shamil could not have been staring at her more intently had she beennaked.

Then he smiled. "Thank you—Dessa, is it not? If you will help me arm, I have some wine too fine tojounce about in a saddlebag. We can share it before we march."

"All I can do for you, shall be done." Dessa said. She slipped her arm through Shamil's and theywalked off together. Massouf's glare followed them, and the man himself would have done so but forConan's grip on his arm and Raihna's dagger pointed at his belly.

"You filthy panderers," Massouf hissed, struggling vainly to escape the Cimmerian's iron grip.

"We send Dessa nowhere she does not gladly go," Raihna replied.

Conan nodded. "Use your wits and not your tool, Massouf. The gods made Dessa a free-spiritedwench. You won't make her a .quiet little wife. There's a woman somewhere fit for that, if you really wanther. Spend your time seeking her, not trying to change Dessa."

Massouf shook himself free and stalked off, muttering curses but at least traveling in the oppositedirection to Dessa and Shamil. Khezal looked after him.

"I'll have a watch kept on that young man," he said. Conan grinned. Khezal was probably a year ormore younger than Massouf, but seemed old enough to be his father. "Best you keep a watch on yourown backs, too. At least until Captain Shamil's been so well bedded he'll not be thinking of women for awhile."

"Dessa's the one to do that," Raihna said.

"I believe you," Khezal said. "She puts me in mind of a younger Pyla."

"You know Pyla?" Conan exclaimed.

"Did she never speak of the young officer she spent a week with, last year?" Khezal's scarred chestseemed to swell with pride and pleasurable memory.

"No. She's never been one to bed and brag. But if she endured your company for a week—" Conanmade a parody of the court bow.

Khezal nodded, his smile fading. He stepped closer to Conan and said, voice pitched barely above awhisper, "In truth—what are you? I'll not say you told us tales without reason, but…"

"Raihna?" Conan said.

The swordswoman nodded and drew from between her breasts the coin badge of Mishrak's service.Khezal studied it for a moment, then nodded again, his face still more sober.

"As well you told us tales. Nor will I tell the captain, unless it's life or death. I've heard things ofhim—no, I'll hold my peace on that, too, unless it's life or death. But I would ask you to give whateverhelp you can, all three of you. We're scantily supplied with leaders even for the trained men. With therecruits and Mitra knows how many villagers thrown in…"

"We'll help," Conan said. "I've served—the owner of that coin—just long enough to want a goodfight, sword in hand!"

By night, stonefire could be turned to any color, none, or a hideous travesty of a rainbow. It alldepended on the spell.

Eremius chose a spell that would make the stonefire in Winterhome not only colorless but invisible.Until he felt the heat, anyone who wandered close would have no idea what he faced. If he drew back intime and fled, he would flee with his mind reeling with fear and run until his body reeled with exhaustion.

The more fear, the better. Too many villagers had already fled beyond the reach of the Transformed.Only fear would keep them fleeing, until they brought the garrison of Fort Zheman out to destruction.Then the land would be defenseless and the villagers could be rounded up at leisure. Their fear wouldfeed what the Transformed used in place of souls, before their flesh fed the Transformed's hunger.

Eremius held his staff at waist height and swept it in a half-circle, across the whole front of the village.Five times he stopped the movement. Each time, a globule of stonefire leaped from its head, soaredacross the hillside, and plunged into the village. Each globule glowed briefly, then settled down to invisiblydevour all in its path.

By dawn Winterhome would be smoking rubble like Crimson Spring. So would the other threevillages denuded of their inhabitants by fear of the Transformed.

Eremius turned and snapped his fingers at his Jewel-bearer. The prisoner had knelt throughout thefirecasting, eyes wandering mindlessly. Nor had Eremius called on the power of the Jewel. He hadmastered stonefire years before he had touched either of the Jewels of Kurag.

The prisoner now lurched to his feet. Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he began to toss his armsand flap his hands. Like some impossibly clumsy bird, he actually rose a finger's breadth into the air.Eremius raised his staff in front of him and hastily gave ground.

The Jewel-bearer rose higher. Smoke boiled from either edge of the great arm ring. The stench ofburning flesh assaulted Eremius. Only iron will kept him from spewing like a woman newly with child.

The Jewel-bearer now floated a man's height above the ground. His mouth gaped so wide that itseemed his jaws could hardly remain in their sockets. His eyes had turned the color of sour milk.

Suddenly his body arched, lungs and chest and mouth together hurled out a single gurgling scream,and the Jewel-ring burned through the arm holding it. It clattered to the rocky ground. Eremius's heartseemed to leap from his breast in the moment before he saw that the Jewel was intact. He knelt andhooked the ring clear of danger with his staff.

Barely had he done this when the Jewel-bearer crashed to the ground. He sprawled as limp as an eel,every bone in his body save for the severed arm seemingly broken. Eremius hastily left off his prodding ofthe Jewel-ring and once more gave ground.

Only when he saw the man still dead and the Jewel still intact did he approach either. Not for someminutes after that did he venture to pick up the Jewel. Some minutes after that , he found courage to callhis human servants to attend.

As they scrambled up the hill toward him, he contemplated the Jewel glowing on the ground at hisfeet. All sorcerers who knew of the Jewels also knew the tales of what they had seemingly done (andwhom they had seemingly slain) of their own will.

Eremius was no exception. Until tonight, like most sorcerers, he had also believed the tales weremostly that. Now he wondered. Had Illyana contrived the fate of the Jewel-bearer, he would havesensed her efforts, perhaps defeated them. He had sensed nothing.

What did soldiers do, when they found their swords coming alive in their hands? Eremius doubtedthat even such as Khadjar would be equal to that question.

By dawn Conan had finished his work. The last pack mule had been loaded with ration bread and saltpork and led to the corral just beyond the north gate.

The Cimmerian broke his fast with wine and a stew of onions and smoked goat's meat. Time enoughto burden his belly with field rations! As he poured a second cup of wine, he considered how little hewould have cared for his present work a few years ago.

Cimmerian war bands could live off the land for a month. Conan had despised the men of civilizedlands for needing to bring food with them. Khadjar and experience alike had taught him the error of that.

Illyana took shape out of the grayness, so subtly that for a moment Conan wondered if she'd come bymagic. At the look on his face, she laughed softly.

"Fear not, Conan. I use no arts where they might put men in fear. I would ask you, though—have youseen anyone wandering about as if mazed in his wits? Besides Captain Shamil?"

"Ha! That's nothing to what he'll be, when Dessa lets him out of bed!" Conan frowned. "Not that Ican remember. But I've had other work at hand, and in the dark it's enough to tell man from woman!"

"Ah well. You and Raihna were the only ones I could ask, except perhaps Khezal. Raihna had seenno one."

Conan sensed an explanation forthcoming, if he would give Illyana time to find the words for it. Hehoped she would be swift. The column had to be on the road before midmorning, to have the smallesthope of reaching the villagers before the demons did.

"You are right to suspect a plot last night. Someone sought to enter my chamber and steal the Jewel."

"None of us heard any sound."

"You were not expected to. I contrived a spell in the Jewel, to make whoever entered my chamberlose all memory of why he came. He might not have regained all his wits yet. He was confused enough toleave this ring."

She held out a ring of finely-wrought silver, but

Conan had never seen it on the hand of anyone in the fort. He shook his head.

"Why not contrive a spell to kill or stun him?"

"Conan, I think as do you and Raihna. The fewer who know what I truly am, the better. Not evenKhezal has been told, has he?"

"No. But I'd not wager a cup of poor wine on his remaining ignorant. That's a very long-headed manwe'll have leading us."

"Two long-headed men, Conan. If Khezal allows you to do all you can, as he must if he's no fool."

Conan smiled politely at the flattery, but no more. He sensed things still unspoken, and perhaps bestleft so. Except that if you went ignorant into battle you might as well cut your throat beforehand and saveyour enemies the trouble—

"I did work another spell. It was to make the Jewel hold a picture of who sought to steal it. From thatpicture, I could have recognized the man at a glance."

"That would have meant revealing your powers, but I suppose one less enemy is never a bad thing.Am I to take it that the spell didn't work?"

Illyana colored slightly. "It did not. I thought I was past making such a foolish mistake. I believe I am.Yet the spell was not wrought as I intended. Was it my failure—or the Jewel's own will?"

The dawn sky seemed to darken and the dawn wind grow cold. No gesture of aversion Conan could

think of seemed adequate. He emptied his cup at a gulp, poured it full again, and held it out to Illyana.After a moment, she took it. Although she only seemed to sip, when she handed the cup back it wastwo-thirds empty.

The wine gave more color to Illyana's cheeks. It also seemed to strengthen her own will, to say nomore of what might be happening to her Jewel—still less that held by Eremius.

Conan set the wine cup down and rose. If Illyana wished to say no more, it was not a whim. Hewould honor her judgment that far.

For no sorcerer before her would he have done this. Illyana, though, had her wits about her morethan any other sorcerer, besides a true sense of honor.

It was still a cold thought to take to war, that sorcerers might not truly be masters of all the magic theycalled to their service.

Fifteen

IN THE TWILIGHT behind Bora, a child wailed. Was it the same one he had rescued in the village,after her parents fled in panic? Bora was too weary to care.

Indeed, he was now too weary to flee even if being the new leader of his village had not chained himlike an ox to a millstone. It was a burden to put one foot in front of another swiftly enough to stay aheadof the women and children.

To slough off that burden, to sit upon a rock and watch the village file past—he was almost ready topray for it. Almost. Each time he was ready for that prayer, he thought of the whispers of the villagers.Bora knew he was one of those men who became heroes because they feared whispers behind themmore than swords and bows in front.

The twilight crept up from the valley, deepening from blue to purple. Even finding good footing wouldbe hard work before long, Yet they could not stop. With darkness, the demons' master might unleashthem again. Even now they could be on the prowl along the villagers' trail, thirsting for blood—

"Hoaaa! Who approaches?"

The shout came from the archer sent ahead to strengthen the scouts. The other archers of the villagemarched in the rear, where the demons were most likely to attack.

Bora was loading his sling when the reply came, in an unexpectedly familiar voice.

"Kemal here. I'm with soldiers from Fort Zheman. You're safe!"

Anything else Kemal said was lost in the cheers and sobs of the villagers. Bora himself would havedanced, had he possessed the strength. He had just wit enough to walk, not run, down the path toKemal.

His friend sat astride a strange horse. "Where's Windmaster?" was Bora's first question.

"He was too blown to make the return journey. Captain Conan procured him a stall and fodder, anda new mount for me."

Bora saw that his friend was not alone. A massive dark-haired man sat astride a cavalry mount, andbehind him a fair-haired woman in male dress, with a warrior's array of weapons openly displayed.Beyond them, the hoof-falls and blowing of horses told of at least part of a troop at hand.

Relief washed over Bora like a warm bath, leaving him light-headed and for a moment wearier still.Then he gathered from somewhere the strength to speak.

"I thank you, Captain Conan."

The big man dismounted with catlike grace and faced Bora. "Save your thanks until we're well clearof this hill. Can your people march another mile to water? Have they left anyone behind on the road?How many armed men do you have?"

"I—"

"Curse you, man! If you're leading them, it's your duty to know these things!"

"Conan, be easy with him," the woman said. "This is his first battle, and against no human foe. You'veno call to behave like your chief Khadjar with a drunken recruit!"

Even in the twilight, Bora recognized the looks passing between Conan and the woman as thosebetween bedmates. He blessed the woman for giving him at least a chance not to make a fool of himself.Captain Qonan could hardly be more than five or six years older than Bora, and his accent showed himno Turanian. Bora still felt a greater desire to win the approval of this man than he had felt with any other,save his father Rhafi.

"We certainly will march on to water. We have few waterskins and those mostly empty. We alsoneed food. At sunset, all those who left the village last night were still with us. Above forty of our menand some half-score women are armed. Only a dozen or so have bows or good swords."

Conan jerked his head in what Bora hoped was a nod of approval. "Good. Then we won't be havingto send patrols up the hills into the demons' jaws, to save your laggards. What of the other villages inyour land?"

"What—oh, will they need rescuing?"

"Of course!" The captain bit off something surely impolite.

"Here." The woman handed Bora a waterskin. The water was cool with evaporation and pungentwith unknown herbs. Bora felt the dust in his mouth dissolve and the fog blow from his head.

"Bless you, my lady."

"I am hardly a lady. Calling me Raihna the Bossonian will be enough. My Cimmerian friend isplain-spoken but right. We need to know the fate of the other villages."

Water or herbs or both seemed to be filling Bora with new strength, with tiny thunderbolts strikingeach limb in turn. "I sent messengers to all the villages I thought within reach. Three returned, three didnot"

"What of the demons?" The way the man said the word, he seemed to know that they weresomething quite different.

"They burned our village with their magic. We saw the smoke. They did not pursue us. That proveslittle about the other villages, though. We would have been on the road many hours before they were."

"If they believed your messengers at all, before it was too late," Conan said. His lips curled in a smilethat to Bora seemed better suited to the face of a demon.

Then the smile warmed. "Bora, you've done well. I'll say so, and I'll say it where I'll be heard."

"Will you speak for my father Rhafi, against those who accused him of rebellion? Our carpenterYakoub went to Aghrapur to speak also, but he has not yet returned."

"What did your father do? Or was it something he left undone?"

Bora retold the tale briefly. The Cimmerian listened, with the air of someone smelling a midden-pit.Then he looked at the Bossonian woman. She seemed to be smelling the same pit.

"Our friend Captain Shamil has a real art of charming people," she said. "Bora, can you ride?"

He wanted to say "Of course." Prudence changed his words to, "If the horse is gentle enough."

"I think you will find Morning Dew's gait pleasing. Mount and ride among your people, urging themonward. Captain Conan and I will post our men here until you have passed, then join your rearguard."

"Why can't you join them now?" Bora knew he was nearly whining, but could not help himself.

Conan stared hard at him. Perhaps it was meant to be only a curious look, but the Cimmerian's eyeswere an unearthly shade of ice-blue. Bora had never imagined, let alone seen, eyes of such a shade. Theirregard made him feel about ten years old, standing before his father ready for a whipping.

"Simple enough, Bora," the' captain said at last. "There's scarcely room on this trail for your people,let alone them and my troop. Would you rather have them taking to the fields in the dark, or trampled byour horses?"

"Forgive me, Captain. As you said, it is my first battle. I still don't know why the gods chose me,but—"

"If the gods want to answer our questions, they'll do it in their own good time. Meanwhile, Raihna'soffered you a horse. Are you fit to ride?"

Bora stretched and twisted. All his limbs pained him, but each had enough life to make riding apossibility if not a pleasure.

"If I am not, we shall learn soon enough." He reached for the reins the Bossonian woman held out tohim.

As Bora's fingers touched the leather, he stopped as if conjured into stone. Borne by the night windand perhaps more, a nightmare chorus of screams tore at his ears.

Screams, from the throats of men, women and children in mortal agony. Screams—and the howls ofthe demons.

Bora bit his lip until he tasted blood, to keep from screaming himself.

Conan and Raihna might also have been statues guarding the gates of a temple. When they finallyspoke, however, their words held a calm courage that seemed to flow out of them like water and washaway Bora's fear.

These folk could be put to death. They could not be put in fear. Bora started to thank the gods forsending them. Conan had to shake him to gain his ear.

"I said, the demons must have overtaken a band of your neighbors! Either they were closer than wethought, or someone is—sending—the sounds of that battle to us. Raihna has a—friend—who can learnwhich."

"With the help of the gods, yes. I'm sorry, Bora, but I'll have to ask for my horse back."

Without further words or touching the stirrups, Raihna was in the saddle. In another moment she hadturned her mount and was trotting off downhill.

"Bora," Conan said. "Get your people off this trail. All except the rearguard. My men are coming up.Move, by Erlik's beard!"

Bora was already striding back uphill. He would have hung by his fingers from the top of a cliff, if itoffered the smallest chance of shutting out those screams.

Two of the Transformed were quarreling over a man from Well of Peace. Over the body of a man,

rather. No one could live with his bowels laid open and a leg sundered from his trunk.

One of the Transformed brandished the leg like a club. It cracked hard against his opponent'sshoulder. The other Transformed howled more in rage than in pain and sought some other part of thevictim to use as his own weapon.

A guard ran up to the Transformed, thrusting at them with his spear. Eremius could not hear hiswords, but saw his mouth working as he doubtless tried to make them hear reason. He looked down atthe Jewel, lying on the ground at his feet. Only with the aid of the Jewel could he hope to save that fool ofa guard.

In the next moment, the guard's fate passed beyond even a sorcerer's power to alter. The lunge of ataloned hand sent the spear flying. The guard halted, eyes now as wide as his mouth. The second lungereduced those eyes and the face around them to bloody ruin. The guard had time for only one screambefore the other Transformed rent open his chest and began feeding on the heart and lungs laid bare byshattered ribs.

Eremius shrugged. His guards were not so numerous that he could cast them away like worn-outsandals. Neither were they so few that he needed to keep such utter witlings among their ranks. Anyonewho had not learned by now to stand clear of the Transformed while they fed needed no spells to renderhim mindless. He had never possessed a mind to begin with!

The two quarreling Transformed now seemed loyal comrades as they devoured the guard. When theyturned back to their previous victim, they seemed almost satiated. All around them, other Transformedwere reaching the same state.

Nor was Eremius surprised. The Transformed had fed on most of the men, women, and children ofWell of Peace. It was hard to imagine that any had not fed full.

With their bellies packed to repletion, the Transformed were like any great flesh-eater. Their onethought was sleep. Eremius watched them drifting away from the field of carnage in twos and threes, toseek comfortable sleeping places. When he was not watching them, his eyes were on the Jewel at hisfeet.

He was unsure of the safest course to follow with it, other than to wear it as little as possible and useit still less. Tonight he had used it only to send the sounds of Well of Peace dying across the miles to allthose who might hear and be frightened. Then he had laid it down, ring and all, and kept close watchupon it without so much as thinking of using it.

Slowly dawn laid bare the little valley, splashed halfway up either side with blood and littered withreeking fragments. The carrion birds circled high overhead, black against the pallid sky, then plunged.Their cries swiftly drowned out the full-bellied snores of the Transformed.

When the red valley had turned black with the scavengers, Eremius sought his own sleeping place.His last act was to cautiously pick up the Jewel, ring and all, and drop it into a silk pouch. The spells castby the runes on that pouch should at least give him time to snatch it from his belt and fling it away!

Eremius did not know which will, other than his, was now at work in his Jewel. He would have givenhis chance of vengeance against Illyana to know.

Sixteen

CONAN UNSLUNG HIS bow and nocked an arrow from the quiver on his back. For his target hechose a vulture feeding on some unidentifiable scraps of carrion. The smears of blood on the vulture'ssable breast showed that it had long been feeding here.

Shot from a Turanian horsebow drawn by massive Cimmerian arms, the arrow transfixed the vulture.It squawked, flopped briefly, and died. A few of its mates turned to contemplate its fate, then resumedfeeding. Others lacked even the will to notice. They sat as motionless as the blood-spattered stones, toogorged even to croak.

Conan turned away, resisting the urge to empty his quiver. Even the gods could now do no more thanavenge the people of the sadly misnamed village, Well of Peace. When the time came for men to avengethem, there would be better targets than vultures for Conan's arrows.

From behind a boulder came the sounds of Bora spewing. Hard upon his silence came booted feetcrunching upon the gravel.

Khezal emerged from behind the boulder. "Your lady Illyana says that this was demon work. Hasshe—arts—to learn this?"

Conan would rather not have answered that question. With a man of Khezal's shrewdness, a liewould be even worse. The death of Well of Peace had taken the matter out of his hands.

"It takes no art to see who must have done this," Conan said, sweeping his arm over the valley. "Allthe tigers of Vendhya together couldn't have done it. But to answer you—yes, she has certain arts."

"I confess myself hardly surprised," Khezal said. "Well, we shall place the lady in the middle of thecolumn. There can be no safety, but there may be less danger. Also, Raihna can guard Illyana's backwhen she isn't guarding her own."

"Did Dessa leave your captain still hungry for a woman? Or is he only short of wits?"

Khezal's answer was a silent shrug. Then he said, "If my father still lived, I might long since havearranged matters better at Fort Zheman. With no resources save my own…" He shrugged again.

"Who was your father?"

"Lord Ahlbros."

"Ah."

Ahlbros had been one of the Seventeen Attendants, and in the eyes of many the shrewdest of them.As soldier, diplomat, and provincial governor, he had served Turan long and well. Had he lived a fewyears longer, he might have discerned the menace of the Cult of Doom and left Conan with no battles tofight against it.

"Your father left a mighty name," Conan said.

"But you are on the road to making one yourself, I judge."

"If I live through tonight, perhaps. And if I do, I will owe much to High Captain Mekreti. In his daysas a soldier, my father was Mekreti's favorite pupil."

Conan nodded, his opinion of Khezal rising still higher. Mekreti had been to his generation ofTuranian soldiers what Khadjar was to this one, the teacher, mentor, and model for all. Had he not fallenin battle against the Hyrkanians, he would doubtless have commanded the whole army of Turan. Anyonewhose father had passed on to him Mekreti's teachings had been well taught indeed.

They looked once more at the scene of carnage, then Conan walked behind the boulder to slap Boraon the shoulder. He found him companioned by a man of Conan's own age, whom the Cimmerian hadseen about the fort last night.

"Bora—?"

"My name is Yakoub," the young man said. "How may I serve you, Captain?"

"If Bora is finished—"

"At least until my next meal," Bora said, with a travesty of a smile. "And that next meal may be a longtime away."

"Well, then. Bora, return to those of your people who march with the soldiers. Everyone who's not fitto face the demons in a pitched battle, send back to guard the women and children."

"No one will admit that they are other than fit, Conan. Not even the women. Besides, are not some ofthe Fort's recruits also to be sent back?"

"Turanian soldiers go where they are ordered!" Khezal snapped.

"Yes, but if he is not a fool, their captain will order the weak ones out of the battle. Is that not so?"

Khezal looked upward, as if imploring the gods for patience. Then he cast a less friendly look atBora, which suddenly dissolved into a grin.

"Trained to arms, you would be a formidable foe. You have an eye for an opponent's weak spots.Yes, the recruits will be going back. But there are too many women and children for my men alone. Eachvillage will need to send some of its fighters with their kin, and some forward with us."

He gripped Bora by both shoulders. "Come, my young friend. If you dispute with me, you will onlygive Captain Shamil the chance to make mischief and leave your friends and kin weakly defended. Is thatyour wish?"

"Gods, no!"

"Then it is settled."

"What of me, noble Captains?" Yakoub said.

"Yakoub, if it will not shame you—please go with the women and children," Bora said. "I—my familylives yet. With you watching over them…"

"I understand. It does not please me, but I understand." Yakoub shrugged and turned away.

Conan's eyes followed him. Did his ears lie, or had Yakoub only pretended reluctance to seek safety?Also, Conan now remembered seeing Yakoub wandering about Fort Zheman at dawn after the attempton Illyana's Jewel. Wandering about, as if astray in his wits.

His wits, or perhaps his memory?

Conan saw no way to answer that, not without revealing more than he could hope to learn. Seen bydaylight, however, he noticed that Yakoub showed signs of soot or grease in the creases of his neck andbehind his ears.

Men who blacked their faces often found the blacking slow to wash off.

More intriguing still was Yakoub's profile. It was a youthful rendering of High Captain Khadjar's,complete even to the shape of the hose and the cleft chin. Coincidence, or a blood tie? And if a blood tie,how close—if Yakoub was as he seemed, about the age that Khadjar's dead bastard son would havebeen—

A horseman rode up. "Captain Khezal, we have met the people of Six Trees. Their armed fighterswish to join us." He looked at the ground and seemed reluctant to speak further.

"Captain Shamil resists this, of course?" Khezal said.

"Yes, Captain."

"Well, it seems we have duties too, Captain Conan. Shall we go down and do them?"

Conan followed Khezal. Yakoub was a mystery but not a menace. He could wait. Captain Shamirand his follies were no mystery but a dire menace. They could not.

Yakoub would gladly have run like a fox, to escape the eyes of that Cimmerian wolf. By the utmosteffort of will, he held his feet to a brisk walk until he was out of Conan's sight.

Then he ran most of the way back to the improvised camp of the villagers and dog-trotted the rest.On passing the sentries, he went straight to Bora's fam-ily.

"I greet you, Mother Merisa."

"Where is Bora?"

"He will march with the soldiers. All those not fit to fight are returning to Fort—"

" Aiyeee ! Is it not enough that the gods have taken my Arima and may take my husband? Will theytempt Bora to his doom also? What will become of us without him?"

Merisa clutched the two youngest children to her as she wailed. She did not weep, however, and in aminute or so was silent, if pale. Yakoub was about to ask where Caraya was, when he saw her returningfrom the spring with a dripping waterskin.

"Yakoub!" Burdened as she was, she seemed to fly over the ground. Merisa had to snatch thewaterskin to safety as Caraya flew into Yakoub's arms.

When they could speak again, they found Merisa regarding them with a mixture of fondness andindignation. Yakoub's heart leaped. Now, if Rhafi would be as kindly disposed toward his suit, when hewas free—

"Yakoub, where is Bora?"

"Your brother is so determined to prove himself to the soldiers who took away his father that he willmarch with them tonight," Merisa said.

Yakoub nodded. "We tossed pebbles, to see who would go and who would not. Bora won the toss."He prayed this lie would not be found out. If the gods ever allowed him to wed Caraya, he would neveragain tell her a lie.

"A good thing, then, that I went for the water," Caraya said practically. "If the younglings can go tothe jakes, we'll be ready to march."

Yakoub kissed Caraya again and blessed the gods. They had sent good blood to both Rhafi andMerisa, and they had bred it into their children. Saving such a man was a gift to the land. Marrying hisdaughter was a gift to himself.

Eremius raised both staff and Jewel-ring to halt the mounted scout. The man reined in so violently thathis mount went back on its haunches. Forefeet pawing the air, the horse screamed shrilly. The messengersawed desperately at the reins, his face showing the same panic as his mount.

The sorcerer spat. "Is that how you manage a horse? If that is your best, then your mount is only fit tofeed the Transformed and you hardly better."

The scout went pale and clutched at the horse's neck, burying his face in its ill-kept mane. The releaseof the reins seemed to calm the frantic beast. It gave one final whinny, then stood docilely, blowingheavily, head down and foam dripping from its muzzle.

Eremius held the staff under the scout's nose. "I would be grateful if you would tell me what you saw.I do not remember sending you and your comrades out merely to exercise your horses."

"I—ah, Master. The soldiers come on. Soldiers and the fighters of the village."

"How many?"

"Many. More than I could count."

"More than you cared to count?"

"I—Master, no, no—!"

The Jewel blazed to life, flooding the hillside with emerald light dazzling to any eyes not shielded bysorcery. With a scream, the scout clapped both hands over his eyes. The movement unbalanced him, andhe toppled from the saddle, to thump down at Eremius's feet.

Eremius contemplated the writhing man and listened to his cries and wails. The man seemed sure hewas blinded for life.

Capturing a few horses in the village and saving them from the Transformed now seemed a smallvictory. The horses could move farther and faster than the Transformed, save when Eremius was usingthe Jewel to command his creations. The Jewel seemed less self-willed of late, but save when rageoverwhelmed him, Eremius continued to be prudent in using it.

As always, however, the human servants he could command with only a single Jewel lacked theresourcefulness, courage, and quick wits heeded for scouting. They were better than using the Jewelpromiscuously, wearying the Transformed, or marching in ignorance. No more could be said for them.

Eremius allowed the Jewel's light to die and raised the scout to his feet. "How many, again? Morethan a thousand?"

"Less."

"Where?"

"Coming up the Salt Valley."

Eremius tried to learn more, but the man was clearly too frightened of blindness to have his wits abouthim. "By my will, let your sight— returnl"

The man lowered his hands, realized that he could see, and knelt to kiss the hem of Eremius's robe.The sorcerer took a modest pleasure in such subservience. He would a thousand times rather have hadIllyana kneeling there, but a wise man took those pleasures that came to him.

At last he allowed the man to rise and lead his horse away. Forming a picture of the countryside in hismind, Eremius considered briefly where to send the Transformed. Victory would not really be enough.The utter destruction of everyone marching against him would be better.

Could he achieve that destruction? The Transformed were neither invulnerable nor invincible. Enoughsoldiers could stand them off. Still worse might happen, if Illyana (or the Jewels themselves, but he wouldnot think of that) struck back.

The Transformed had to be able to attack together, and retreat together. That meant attacking fromone side of the valley—

Bora was kneeling to fill his water bottle at a stream when he heard voices. He plugged the bottle andcrept closer, until he recognized the voices.

A moment later, he recognized a conversation surely not meant for his ears. An argument, rather, withLady Illyana, Shamil, and Khezal arrayed against one another.

"My lady, if you're sure the demons are coming, why don't you use your magic against them?" Shamilwas saying.

"I am not complete master of all the arts that would be needed." As if it had been written across thetwilight sky, Bora understood that the lady was telling less than she knew.

"You mean you don't have any arts worth more than pissing on the demons, if there are any!" Shamilgrowled. "All we'd have is a lot of shrieking and dancing that'd scare the men." He contemplated Illyanain a manner Bora recognized even in the fading light. "Of course, if you were to dance naked, it wouldn'tmatter what else you did."

Bora hoped that Illyana really did have the power to transform Captain Shamil into a pig. From thelook on her face, she wished the same. Khezal sought to play peacemaker.

"Captain, if Lady Illyana needs privacy, she needn't stay in the middle of the column. I can take atroop back a ways, to guard her while she works. Or Captain Conan can take some of the villagers—"

Shamil spat an obscenity. "The villagers would run screaming if Lady Illyana sneezed. And I won'tspare any of our men. What do you think this is, the Royal Lancers? We'll set sentries and buildwatchfires as usual, and that's the end of it. You do anything more without my orders, and you go backto Fort Zheman under arrest."

"As you command, Captain."

Shamil and his second in command walked away, stiff-backed and in opposite directions. Bora wasabout to creep away, when he heard more people approaching. He lay still, while Conan and Raihnaemerged into the glow of the fire. The woman wore short trousers, like a sailor's, that left her splendidlegs half-bare. The Cimmerian wore nothing above the waist, in spite of the chill upland air. Illyana, Borarealized, had tears in her eyes. Her voice shook as she gripped Conan by one hand and Raihna by theother.

"Is there nothing we can do about Captain Shamil?"

"Watch our backs and hope the demons will come soon to keep him busy," Conan said. "Anythingelse is mutiny. Bad enough if we do it, twice as bad if Khezal does it. We split the men, and we'rehanding the demons' master victory all trussed up and spiced!"

"You listen too much to lawbound men like Khadjar and not enough to—"

"Enough!" The one word from Conan silenced Illyana. After a moment, she nodded.

"Forgive me. I—have you never felt helpless in the face of danger?"

"More often than you, my lady, and I'd wager more helpless too. Mutiny is still mutiny."

"Granted. Now, if I can have my bedding—?"

"Not your tent?" Raihna asked.

"I think not. Tonight a tent is more likely a trap than a protection."

"I'll pass that on to anyone who'll listen," Conan said.

The talk turned away from matters Bora felt he needed to know. Staying low, he crossed the stream,then trotted back to the camp of the villagers.

Bora now led only the men of Crimson Springs, and Gelek of Six Trees had done everythingnecessary by way of posting sentries and the like. With a clear conscience if an uneasy mind, Borawrapped himself in his blankets and sought the softest rocks he could find.

Sleep would not come, though, until he swore a solemn oath. If Captain Shamir's folly slew the menhe led, and the gods spared the man, Bora would not.

Unless, of course, the Cimmerian reached Shamil first.

Seventeen

CONAN HAD SLEPT little and lightly. Now he inspected the sentries under a star-specked sky.Somewhat to his surprise and much to his pleasure, he found them alert. Perhaps Khezal's disciplinecounted for more than the laxness of Captain Shamil. Or did the ghosts of comrades dead in vanishedoutposts whisper caution?

Toward the end of his inspection, Conan met Khezal on the same errand. The young officer laughed,but uneasily; Illyana's warning was in both their minds. Even without it, Conan had the sense of invisibleeyes watching him from deep within the surrounding hills.

"Let us stay together, Captain," Khezal said. "If you inspect the men with me, none will doubt yourauthority. Except Shamil. He would doubt the difference between men and women!"

"I'll wager your friend Dessa taught him better!"

"She's hardly a friend of mine."

"I've never seen a woman look at an enemy the way she looks at—"

"Captains!" came a whisper from beyond the camp-fire. "We've seen something moving on the crestof that hill." Conan saw a soldier, pointing with his drawn sword into the night.

Conan stepped away from the fire and stared into the darkness until his eyes pierced it. The sky heldno moon, but as many stars as he had ever seen. On the crest of a hill to the south of the camp,something was indeed obscuring the stars. More than one, indeed, and all of them moving.

The Cimmerian drew his sword. Khezal sought to stop him. "Conan, we may need you—"

"You do indeed need me, to scout that hill. There's no demon yet conjured who can outfight aCimmerian. Or outrun him, if it comes to that."

He left no more time for argument, but stalked away into the darkness.

Eremius sat cross-legged atop a boulder on the far side of the valley from his Transformed. With theSpell of Unveiling, he could see them crouching, ready to swoop upon the soldiers like hawks upon quail.He also saw one man already climbing the hill toward the Transformed, as if eager to embrace his doom.

Eremius would do nothing to deny the man his last pleasure.

Looking toward the head of the valley, he sought a glimpse of the human fighters sent there. He sawnothing. Had the men lost their way, gone too far, or merely found places to hide in until they saw theTransformed attacking? It would do little harm if the humans stumbled on the villagers—at least little harmto Eremius's cause. What it would do to the villagers was another matter.

It would still be better if the men could take the soldiers in the rear, as Eremius planned. With theTransformed on one side and the humans in their rear, the soldiers would feel themselves mightily beset.

With Eremius's spells on the other side, they might well feel themselves surrounded. Oh, they wouldhave one road open, one that led into a waterless wilderness of hills. They would learn this only too late,and at the same time they would also learn that the Transformed were on their trail.

Eremius contemplated the coming hours with a pleasure almost as great as he could have gained fromcontemplating a suppliant Illyana. If his plan gained the victory it deserved, perhaps he would have noneed of a captain for his wars. A few underlings, to spare him the tedious work of training the men, butnone to command in battle. He would be equal to that task himself!

Eremius scrambled down from the boulder and stepped behind it, then drew the Jewel from itspouch. It would be best if he began the necessary spells now. They gave off a trifle of light, though, andfor a little while longer the soldiers would not have a horde of demons to draw their attention.

The staff resting against the boulder quivered, straightened, then floated into its master's hand. Threepasses of the silvered head over the Jewel, and Eremius stood in a circle of emerald light as wide as hewas tall.

He thrust the staff into the ground and began to chant softly.

Conan mounted the slope standing upright. Haste was needed. Also, it was for once desirable that hebe seen by the enemy, perhaps to draw them into attacking too soon. He trusted Bora's judgment thatthe demons did not know archery.

Halfway up the hill, Conan scrambled to the top of a large flat boulder that let him see in all directions.The crest of the hill now seemed empty of movement. He would not have sworn that all the rocks on thatcrest had been there at sunset, but none moved.

Lighted torches did move in the camp. Conan saw two men joining the nearest sentry post, then twomore. Had Khezal awakened his captain over this reinforcing of the sentry posts, or was he leaving theman to dreams of Dessa?

The hills on the north side of the valley were lower than those on Conan's. The Cimmerian could lookdown upon the crests of several. On one, he saw a faint glow, more like a dying campfire than anythingelse. He watched it, waiting for it to fade.

Instead it grew brighter. Nor had Conan ever seen coals glowing with the emerald hue of the Jewelsof Kurag.

Conan realized he had made a mistake, climbing the hill alone. With a companion, he could have senta silent warning to the camp, that the magic of the Jewels was about to be unleashed. Alone, he couldonly alert both sides at once.

"Camp ho! Magic at work on the crest of the white hill! This is Conan the Cimmerian!" He turnedtoward the crest of his own hill. "You heard me, you spawn of magic and camel dung! Come down andlet's see if you have the courage to fight a man who's ready for you!"

Torches danced in the camp as men began to run. A hum of voices rose, like bees from a disturbedhive. Before Conan heard any reply, he saw the crest of his hill sprout dark shapes. For the space of asingle deep breath they remained motionless.

Then they spread their arms, howled like lost souls, and plunged downhill toward Conan. A carrionreek rode the night breeze before them.

Nature had given the Cimmerian the art of being able to move backward nearly as fast as he couldmove forward. Since he had learned that retreating was not always the act of a coward, it had saved hislife several times.

Tonight it did so again. Before the onrush of the demons was well begun, Conan had reached theboulder. He leaped over it and landed on the downhill side. The two foremost demons ran past theboulder, one on either side. Conan slashed at one's legs, with a strength that would have amputated anyhuman leg.

The demon howled, stumbled, clutched at a gaping wound, but did not fall. Instead it came at Conanfrom the front. In the same moment the Cimmerian sensed the other demon coming at him from behind.

He leaped clear, felt his feet slip on loose stone, and turned the fall into a roll. He came up in the

perfect position for two quick slashes. One took the second demon in the groin, the other disabled thefirst one's other leg. Once again Conan would have expected one or both to go down, but drew onlyhowls of agony.

The demon struck in the groin clapped one taloned hand to its wound. The other lashed out at Conanas he closed, with terrible speed and strength. Conan twisted so that the talons only cut the air. Histwisting lent extra force to his riposte. The demon's arm should have flown from its shoulder; instead itonly sagged limp and torn.

Seeing that arm from close at hand, Conan ceased to be surprised at the slight damage he was doing.The arm was armored thickly in overlapping scales. His sword had hewn flesh, but barely touched boneor sinew. As for blood, only now was it flowing into the wound.

Fear swept through the Cimmerian like a gust of winter wind. It was not fear of the demon itself.Hideously transformed though its flesh might be, no flesh could stand up against a well-wielded sword.Archery, too, should have its effect, if the archers' hands were steady and their eyes clear.

Conan feared the magic that had conjured these creatures into being. It stank of ancient evil, for allthat Illyana also used it. Must use it tonight, if the soldiers and villagers were not to die screaming undertalons and teeth.

The demon wounded in the groin now hurried off down the hill, crouching low but moving at the paceof a man walking briskly. The demon with the two disabled legs had finally toppled to the ground. It layhissing and growling at Conan's feet. Clearly it was past fighting for tonight, and too many demons in rudehealth had already passed between Conan and the camp.

He gave the fallen demon one last look, and his stomach writhed as he saw the shape of its groin andchest. Whatever this demon was now, it had been born into the world a woman.

Conan disliked torturing enemies as much as he disliked killing women. As he passed his sword overthe fallen she-demon, he knew it would take an iron will for him to give Eremius an easy death.

From downhill, the howls of the demons now mingled with the voices of soldiers, shouting the alarm,crying out in fear, or screaming as teeth and talons rent their flesh. Conan looked to either side, thenplunged downhill like a boulder unleashed in a land-slide.

Bora had heard any number of soldiers' tales and survived the demons' attack on Crimson Springs.He had still never imagined that a battle was so loud .

The war cries and death cries of both men and demons, the clash of weapons, the hiss of arrows fromthose few archers who had unlimbered their bows and found targets—all smote his ears savagely andendlessly. He forced both the sounds and the sights of the battle out of his awareness, turning all hisattention to rallying the men of Crimson Springs.

Only a few needed rallying. This handful had exhausted their courage in the first battle and were nowempty wineskins. They might have fled, had they not encountered Iskop the Smith.

"You puling jackal-spawn!" he roared. "Choose now! The demons or me!" He flourished a hammer ineither hand.

One man tried to brush past Iskop. He misjudged the length of the smith's arm. A hammer lunged,catching him on the side of the head. He threw up his arms and fell as if pole-axed.

The rest of the would-be fugitives chose the demons as the lesser danger.

"My thanks, Iskop!" Bora shouted.

Then there was no time for speech, as the demons closed all along the lines of the villagers. Arrows

thrummed, axes and swords rose and fell, spears leaped and thrust. A handful of the demons fell. Morehad flesh torn and pierced, but came on. Far too many bore no wound at all when they reached the lineof the villagers.

The men of Crimson Springs still held their ground.

Some died, but few as easy victims, and more of the demons suffered. When three or four men facedone demon, they might all take wounds. Sooner or later one would slash or thrust hard enough to pierceeven the scaly armor.

Bora ran back and forth behind the line, sling in hand. As clear targets offered themselves, helaunched stones. Quickly he exhausted his supply of picked stones and was reduced to scrabbling on theground for more. Few of these flew truly. He shifted his aim to the demons coming downhill behind theones fighting the villagers. They were a target that even the most misshapen, ill-balanced stone couldscarcely miss.

Once while he sought fresh stones Bora wondered why he did not feel fear clawing at his mind. In thebattle at the village, only the Powder of Zayan had lifted the burden of fear. Now he and his peopleseemed to be fighting the demons with no more fear than if they had been misshapen men.

A quick look behind him told Bora that if he felt no fear, it was not for lack of someone's efforts. Onthe north side of the valley, a man-high wall of green fire danced along the crests. Sometimes longtongues licked downward, almost reaching the camp.

The flames were dazzling and terrible, but were they doing what their master intended? To Bora, itseemed that they were filling the men around him with an iron will to stand and fight. Better the demonswho could be slain than the fire that could not!

Three demons flung themselves in a wedge at the men of Six Trees. The line sagged, bent, cameapart. Headman Gelek ran to rally his men. A demon leaped completely over the head of the men in frontof Gelek. It landed before him, as he thrust with his spear. A taloned hand snapped the spear like astraw. A second raked across Gelek's face. His scream turned Bora's bowels to water.

Its victim disarmed and blinded, the demon gripped him with both hands. Gelek rose into the air, andthere he was pulled apart like a rag doll. Stopping only to gnaw on a piece of dangling flesh, the demonflung the body into the ranks of the villagers.

Gelek's death was beyond enduring, for many of those who witnessed it. They broke and ranscreaming, throwing away weapons and boots.

Bora felt his own courage beginning to fray. Desperately he sought to calm himself by seeking anotherstone and a target for it.

Again Iskop the Smith saved the villagers. "On the left, there! Pull back. Pull back, I say, or thebastards'll be behind you. Oh, Mitra!"

Still cursing, Iskop flung himself into the ranks of the demons. Their armor of scales served wellenough against swords and spears, not ill against arrows. Smitten on the head by hammers wielded by aman who could lift a half-grown ox, the demons were as helpless as rabbits.

Iskop smote four of them to the ground before he went down himself. Bora and an archer killed twomore out of those tearing at Iskop's body. By then the men of Crimson Springs no longer presented anaked flank to the foe.

The demons still came on. They were fewer, though. At their rear, Bora now saw a towering figure,taller and broader than any demon. A bloody sword danced in his hand, and he roared curses in half ascore of tongues and invoked thrice that many gods or what Bora hoped were gods.

"Hold! Hold, people, and we have them! Mitra, Erlik, defend your folk!" Bora cried. He knew he

was screaming and did not care. He only cared that the Cimmerian was driving at least some of thedemons straight into the arms of the villagers.

The gods willing, it would be the demons' turn to feel doomed and terror-stricken.

Conan knew that he must be making a splendid show in the eyes of the villagers. The mighty warrior,driving the demons before him!

The mighty warrior knew better. Few of those demons had taken serious hurts. Too many remainednot only alive but fighting. If enough passed through the lines to reach Illyana, all would know how littlethe demons had been hurt. Also what magic their master could bring to bear, where his servants failed!

Conan's legs drove him forward. He hurled himself through the demons without stopping to strike ablow. A wild cut here and there was all he allowed himself. Even the preternatural swiftness of thedemons did not allow them to strike back.

As Conan passed the ranks of Crimson Springs, he saw Bora unleash his sling. The stone flew like anarrow from a master archer's bow. A demon clutched at its knee, howling and limping.

"Go on, go on!" Conan shouted, by way of encouragement. He had seldom seen a boy becoming aman more splendidly than Bora son of Rhafi.

Conan heard no reply. Stopping only to cut at the head of a demon sitting alone, he reached the littlerise where Illyana stood.

Had stood, rather. Now she knelt, one hand supporting herself, fingers splayed across the rock. Theother hand clutched at her bare breast, as though the heart within pained her.

Two paces in front of her, the Jewel glowed in its ring. Glowed, and to Conan's eyes seemed to quiver faintly.

"Illyana!"

"No, Conan! Do not approach her! I tried, and look at me!"

Raihna came over the rise, sword in one hand, the other hand dangling at her side. Conan looked,and saw that the dangling hand was clenched into a fist, with the muscles jumping and twisting like miceunder a blanket. Sweat poured off Raihna's face, and when she spoke again Conan heard the agony inher voice.

"I tried to approach her," Raihna repeated. "I thrust a hand too close. It was like dipping it in moltenmetal. Is it—do I yet have a hand?"

"It's not burned or wounded, that I can see," Conan said. "What did Illyana mean by casting such aspell, the fool?"

"She—oh, Conan. It is not her spell that commands here now. It is the Jewel itself—perhaps both ofthem together!"

What Conan might have said to that remained forever unknown. The demons he had outrun reachedthe foot of the rise and swarmed up it. At the same moment, so did Captain Shamil and a half-score ofhis veterans, seeking to cut off the demons.

Demons and men alike died in uncounted numbers in the time needed to gulp a cup of wine. Conanshouted to Raihna to guard her mistress and plunged down into the fight. He was not in time to keep onedemon from gutting Shamil. The captain screamed but kept flailing with his sword, until a second demontwisted his head clean off his shoulders.

Conan caught the first demon as it bent over Shamil, to feed on his trailing guts. Even beneath the

scale armor, the spine gave way to a Cimmerian sword-stroke. The demon slumped on top of its prey asits comrade dashed up the rise.

Conan knew that he would be too late to save Raihna from having to meet the demon one-handed.Prudently, Raihna did not try. She leaped back, losing only most of her tunic and some skin from her leftbreast. The demon lunged again, and this time Raihna feinted with her sword to draw its gaze, thenkicked it hard in the thigh.

Its clutching talons scored Raihna's boot deeply. A trifle closer, and it would have gained a death-gripon her leg. Raihna had made no mistake, however. Off balance, the demon staggered and fell, within apace of Illyana.

It never reached the ground. A child's height above the ground, an invisible hand caught it. A spasmwracked the demon's body, as if every muscle and sinew was being twisted and stretched at once. Itscreamed, then flew through the air, landing among its comrades just as they overcame the last ofShamil's men. Conan turned to face the demons, suspecting this might be his last fight.

Instead the demons turned and ran. They ran back through the gap in the line before anyone couldthink to close it and cut them off. Bora sent a final stone after them, but hit nothing.

Wiping sweat and blood from his eyes, Conan gazed about the valley. Everywhere the Jewel-fire orcamp-fires let him see clearly, the demons were retreating. They were not running, save when theyneeded to evade enemies. They were retreating, some limping, others supporting comrades who couldnot walk, fpr the most part in good order.

Conan turned his eyes back to Illyana. She now lay curled up like a child, eyes closed. After amoment he held out his hand for Raihna's tunic. He knelt beside the sorceress and cautiously thrust ahand toward her. A faint tingle ran from the tips of his fingers to his shoulder, but that was all.

He thrust the hafld farther. The same tingle was his reward. He gripped Illyana's hair with one hand,lifted her head, and pushed the tunic in under it.

Then he had to hold Raihna, while she wept on his shoulder. It was not until life returned to her handand Khezal's voice sounded from the bottom of the rise that she realized she was half-naked and hermistress wholly so.

"Best think of some clothing, yes?" she said.

"Unless you're hurt—" He fingered the red talon-weal on her left breast. She smiled and pushed hishand away.

"Not hurt at all. Quite fit for whatever your hands do, when we're alone." She swallowed. "As long asmy mistress is not hurt. If you can find some clothing while I see to her—"

"Conan, there's a time for fondling wenches and a time for taking counsel!" Khezal shouted.

"Coming, Captain," the Cimmerian replied.

Eremius allowed the Jewel-fire to burn on the hillside until the Transformed were safely clear of thevalley. He needed to see the battle out to the end. Had the soldiers the will to pursue, they might put theTransformed in some danger. They might also worsen their own defeat, letting the Transformed turn onsmall bands of pursuers.

Magic could have pierced any darkness, but such magic meant drawing still more on the Jewel. Thisseemed unwise. Indeed, Eremius could not avoid wondering if his quest to reunite the Jewels was a fool'sundertaking. Their will apart was becoming worrisome. Their will together—

No. He was the master of Jewel-magic. He might not make slaves of the Jewels, but surely he would

not allow them to make slaves of him!

Nor did his own fate bear contemplation, if by abandoning his quest to reunite the Jewels he allowedIllyana success in hers. Consummating his desire for her, and avenging her theft of the Jewel, were goalshe could abandon without feeling that his life was at an end. It was otherwise, with Illyana's desire forvengeance on him.

The last of the Transformed fled over the crest of the far side of the valley. Eremius cast his mindamong them and rejoiced at what he learned.

Fewer than a score of the Transformed were slain. Thrice that many had greater or lesser hurts, butnothing that could not be healed in a few days. They had taken no captives to strengthen their ranks, butthey had slain several times their own strength.

He had not won the sort of victory that ends a war at a stroke, but he had made a good beginning tothe campaign. With this, Eremius was prepared to be content for one night.

He willed the Jewel-fire to blaze higher yet for a moment, then allowed it to die. Then he set aboutcalling the Jewel to him. He had not quite mastered the art of casting a mighty spell in the form of a politerequest to a greater than he. Indeed, it was not an art he had ever expected to need!

He still contrived well enough. The Jewel rode peacefully in his pouch as he hurried down the far sideof his hill. He sensed no magic on his trail, but human foes were another matter. If that toweringCimmerian who rode with Illyana were to stalk him, even the Jewel might not be enough!

Yakoub cast his gaze to the right and the left. As cat-eyed as Bora, he could still make out no otherenemies flanking the man he faced.

Either the man was a fool who had strayed apart from his comrades or he was the bait in a trap.Yakoub much doubted it was the second. From all he knew of the demon-master's human servants, theylacked the wits for such subtleties.

Yakoub lowered himself over the edge of the little cliff until he hung by his fingers, then dropped. Hisfeet slid on the gravel. The man whirled at the sound, but too late. Yakoub clamped a hand over hismouth and drove the knife up under his guard and his ribs. His heels drummed frantically on the stonesfor a moment, then he went limp.

The man did have comrades, close enough to hear his fate if not to prevent it. They shouted, and onerose into view. The shouts alerted the other sentries around the villagers' camp. Feet thudded on stonyground and arrows hissed in high arcs, to fall as the gods willed.

Yakoub crouched in such shelter as the cliff offered. He feared the demon-master's men little, the wildshooting of "friendly" archers rather more.

Screams hinted of arrows finding their marks. Scurrying feet interspersed with shouts told Yakoubplainly that the demon-master's men were fleeing. He remained below the cliff until the guards reachedhim.

The old sergeant in command looked at the body, then grunted approvingly. "Good work, knifeagainst sword."

"It would have been better, if I hadn't had to kill him so soon. That may have warned the rest."

"Maybe. Maybe his friends would've got in close, too. Then half the recruits and all the hillfolkwould've been wetting themselves and screaming their heads off. No way to fight a battle. You saved usthat. Sure you don't want to take King Yildiz's coin?"

"Not when I'm betrothed."

"Ah well. A wife's an old soldier's comfort and a young soldier's ruin."

They walked back to the camp together, under a sky bleached gray in the east with hints of dawn.Once parted from the sergeant, Yakoub made his way straight through the sleeping villagers to whereBora's family lay.

Like most of the villagers, they were too exhausted to have awakened during the brief fight. Carayalay on her side, one arm flung over her two younger brothers. Yakoub knelt beside her, and he neitherknew nor cared to what gods he prayed when he asked that she be kept safe.

Prayers or not, she was likely to be safer than he was, at least for some days. The Transformed hadnot swept all before them, that was certain. Otherwise fleeing soldiers would long since have awakenedthe camp. As they were, Eremius's human witlings could not stop the march of a column of ants. Thevillagers would have a safe journey to Fort Zheman.

Yakoub, son of Khadjar, on the other hand, would be marching in the opposite direction. If hesurvived the march, he would then have to persuade Eremius that he was the man to lead the humanfighters and turn them into soldiers.

In silence, he allowed himself another prayer, that

Eremius might be easier to persuade than the normal run of sorcerers. Then he kissed Caraya, forcinghimself not to take her in his arms. With eyes stinging from more than the dawn breeze, he rose andturned his face toward the mountains.

It took the rest of the night to put the camp in order, count the dead, care for the wounded, and scoutthe surrounding hills. Only when all the scouts brought back the same report, of a land empty of demonsif not of their traces, did Khezal call his council of war.

"I'd say we won a victory, if we hadn't lost three to their one," he said. "Perhaps they carried off moredead and hurt, perhaps not. Also, I'd wager that was a retreat ordered by whoever gives those monstersorders, not being driven off."

"You see clearly, Captain," Illyana said. She was paler than Conan cared to see, and from time totime a spasm would shake her body. Her voice was steady as she continued. "The orders were given,because of the fight we gave the Transformed. Had the full powers of our enemy been unleashed, wecould not have done so well."

"Then we have you to thank for a fair number of lives, if you set bounds on the master of theTransformed."

Illyana shuddered. "Forgive me, Captain, but I cannot accept that praise. I did what I could, and Iknow I had some effect. Yet I could not use all the strength of my Jewel. We owe our lives in great partto the fact that neither could Eremius."

Khezal looked at the ground as if he expected monsters to erupt from it at any moment. Then hestared hard at Illyana. "I feel I am being told other than the truth. That is not well done."

"There are matters you and your soldiers could not understand without—" Raihna began. Conan laida hand heavily upon her shoulder and Khezal glared. Between them she fell silent.

"Captain, I do not know as much as I might in a day or two," Illyana said. "When I know it, or learnthat I shall not know it, then will be the time for us to speak frankly. I shall hold nothing back. By theSeven Shrines and the bones of Pulaq I swear it."

"A cursed lot of good your hesitation will do us if the Transformed attack again!"

"They will not, if we return to Fort Zheman."

"Retreat with our tails between our legs! Who's the captain here, Lady Illyana? I don't rememberseeing your commission from King Yildiz—"

"You may remember seeing one from a certain Lord Mishrak," Conan growled. "Or did some buffeton the head last night take your memory?"

The silence gave Conan time to reach for his sword, time to fear he might need to draw it. Then allKhezal's breath left him in a gusty sigh.

"Don't tell anyone, but I've been thinking of returning to the Fort also. There are too cursed manyvillagers to guard in the open field. Behind walls, at least those monsters will have to climb to come atus!"

Eighteen

THE TOWER OF Fort Zheman had thrust itself above the horizon, when Bora rode up onWindmaster.

Raihna patted the gray's neck. "A fine steed. I am glad he is in fettle again. Also, that he still has amaster worthy of him."

All were silent for a moment. Kemal had survived the battle, but with wounds that took his life beforedawn. He had some measure of good fortune; he was senseless and felt no pain.

"Thank you, Raihna," Bora said. "But I did not ride up here to seek praise for Windmaster. I seekYakoub. He seems to have vanished."

Conan and Raihna exchanged looks that did not include Illyana. This was no matter for her, they hadboth agreed. Moreover, she was in the saddle at all by sheer force of will. The less she was troubledwithout cause, the better. "I thought you did not much care for him," Conan said.

"I did not and I do not," Bora replied. "My sister Caraya thinks otherwise."

"You're the head of the family, until your father is freed," Conan said. "I thought that gave you the rightto say yea or nay to anyone's courting your sister."

Bora laughed harshly. "You do not know Caraya. She can smite as heavily with her tongue asMistress Raihna can with her blades." He frowned. "Also, Yakoub has labored to secure my father'srelease. He has not yet succeeded, but who knows if this is his fault?"

"You have a great sense of justice in you, Bora," Raihna said. "The gods love such."

"Best pray the gods keep you alive long enough to practice that justice," Conan said. "And spare aprayer or two for Yakoub as well. He may have left the villagers once the demon master's scouts weredriven off, hoping to join the soldiers. If he met some of those scouts on the road—well, I am sure thescouts are fewer, but I'd not wager on your sister marrying Yakoub."

"Yes, and that means you do not ride about alone, either," Raihna said. "We have some cheese andbread, if you have not eaten."

Bora devoured half a cheese, then took his place in the column behind Raihna. Conan mused on themystery of Yakoub. Could he really be what his face hinted, Khadjar's bastard son? If so, one mysterylay behind his being alive, another behind what he was doing. Best if honest folk like Bora and Carayakept well clear of either mystery, particularly with a father already arrested as a suspected rebel.

Best also to say nothing of that to Bora. And best of all for Conan not to think too much on the matterhimself. If the mystery was deep enough for High Captain Khadjar to be part of it—

Very surely, best to think of other matters, such as how to make some of the Powder of Zayan andhow to contrive a night with Raihna.

Again Yakoub lowered himself down a small cliff. This time he landed silently, on firm ground, behindthose he sought. He also left his knife and sword sheathed and held out his empty hands.

"Hssst! Servants of the master."

Had he stabbed them, the two scouts could not have whirled faster. Both drew their swords, but didnot advance. Instead they stood in silence, gape-jawed and dull-eyed.

The silence went on so long that Yakoub half-expected to see the sun touching the western horizon.At last one of the men spoke. His words were slurred and indistinct, as though he spoke with a mouthfulof nutmeats.

"We serve the master. You do not."

"I wish to serve him."

This brought on another long silence. Yakoub began to consider whether decent fighting men couldbe made out of such dullards. Perhaps they were only tired, or some had more wits than others?

"Show us a sign," one said at last.

What they would take as a sign, Yakoub could only guess. It hardly mattered, as he had only onething that might serve. He opened the secret pouch in his belt and held out the ring with his father's seal.

The scout who had spoken took the ring, with such fumbling hands that Yakoub half-expected him todrop it. At last he returned it to Yakoub.

"We do not know this sign."

"Your master will know it."

"Our master is not here."

"Is there some reason I cannot go to him?"

"We would have to lead you."

"Is that forbidden?" Yakoub knew that to shout at these wretches would gain little and might losemuch. He still felt his patience being rubbed thin.

The two scouts looked at each other. At last they shook their heads together, like two puppets withthe same master.

"It is not forbidden."

"Then I ask you, in the name of the master's victory, to take me to him."

Yet another long silence followed. This time it ended without words. The two scouts grunted andtogether turned away eastward, beckoning Yakoub to follow.

Khezal pushed himself back from the table and began to pace up and down the chamber. Outside,the villagers camped in Fort Zheman had begun to lose their fear and find their tongues. Womenquarreled over a place in the line for water, children shrieked in delight or wailed for their parents, dogsbarked and howled.

"Thank the gods we were able to keep what livestock they brought outside," Khezal said. He strodeto the window and slammed the shutter. "They may not survive the coming of the de—the Transformed.

But this is a fort I have to defend, not the Royal Menagerie!

"I'll have to send them on to Haruk when I've called in all the outpost garrisons. There won't be roomand we'd be courting fevers and fluxes. The gods have spared us that, so far ."

"What does Mughra Khan say to all this?" Illyana asked. "Not that I complain, you understand. Youare a gift from the gods, compared to Captain Shamil."

Khezal's face twisted. "I have looked into Shamil's letters. He was so deep in the toils of those whoplot with Lord Houma, the gods themselves could not have pulled him out! Hie Transformed gave him amore honorable end than he deserved.

"As for Mughra Khan, anything he says will be said after I have done what I know is needed. I havesent the messengers to the outposts this very afternoon. A messenger to Mughra Khan will followtomorrow."

Conan laughed. "I'd wager you'll one day command an army, Khezal. If not, then Turan's wasting agood man."

"I could do with less praise and more weapons fit to stand against magic," Khezal said. "But thePowder of Zayan will be better than nothing. How long will Lady Illyana need, to make enough of it?"

"I will need two days, to enspell sufficient bowls for mixing the Powder," Illyana said. "Once thebowls are fit, I must then mix the first bowlful and test it. If that proves fit, I can leave matters in otherhands for a month or more. I would urge Maryam, the niece of Ivram, as the best hands."

"So you cast the spells on the cooking pots, not on the food?" Khezal said.

"Well put. The spell of the Powder is little-known, otherwise we would have much less peril from evilmagic. Also, to place it upon the bowls will call less heavily upon the Jewel."

"What if it doesn't play at all?" Conan put in. The four in the chamber had no secrets, including theself-will of the Jewels.

"Then Fort Zheman must trust to the valor of its men under the leadership of Captain Khezal," Raihnasaid.

"Remember what I said about less praise and more weapons?" Khezal shrugged. "How long do youneed after the Powder is done, before you march into the mountains?"

"A day for the Jewel to regain its strength, another day for gathering mounts and supplies," Illyanasaid.

"Tell me what you will need and I will see about gathering it now," Khezal said. "The faster you move,the better your chances of catching Eremius before he returns to his stronghold. If that makes anydifference in this kind of war?"

"It does. Thank you, Captain."

"I'm also sending ten picked veterans with you. Yes, I know the smaller the party, the less chance ofdiscovery. Once you reach the mountains, you can order them to stay behind. But Eremius's scouts,bandits, starving villagers, wild animals—you need guarding against all of these."

"We do?" Conan growled.

"You do, and more of it than even a Cimmerian can offer," Khezal said. He rang a bell on the table.From outside the door came a girl's voice.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Wine and four cups. Then go heat me a bath, with enough water for two."

"At your pleasure, Captain."

This time Conan recognized the voice as Dessa's. He looked a question at Khezal. The man grinned.

"I've inherited Shamil's responsibilities. Why shouldn't I inherit a few of his comforts as well?"

Bora shifted the sack of charcoal to his left arm and knocked on the door.

"Maryam, it is Bora. I have the charcoal."

The sound of bare feet gave way to a bolt being drawn. Maryam peered out. She wore only achamber robe of scarlet silk, belted lightly about her with a gold-tasseled cord. The color went well withher dark skin, Bora noticed. He also noticed how much of that skin was revealed. He knew he shouldnot savor such an immodest display, but found it hard to turn his eyes away.

"Come in, come in. Put the charcoal by the north wall."

Bora nearly stumbled over the dyed fleeces on the floor as he entered. Crimson, indigo, a rich greenhorribly like the emerald fire of the Jewels, they dazzled the eye but laid traps for unwary feet.

At least he needed no guidance to the north wall. It was piled high with sacks of charcoal and salt,pots of spices and herbs, and stacks of brass bowls. He dropped the charcoal on top of the nearest pileand straightened up, stretching to untwist his muscles.

"How much Powder do they plan to make? This looks like enough to baffle every spell from here tothe Iranistani frontier!"

Maryam smiled. "Mistress Illyana keeps her tongue between her teeth, as well she should. Certainlyno one will have an easy time, sending magic against Fort Zheman."

She knelt to open a small chest. As she did, her robe dropped away, to expose yet more skin,halfway down the ripe curves of her breasts. Bora twisted again, to look away.

When he looked back, Maryam was holding out two cups of wine. "Shall we drink a toast, to yourvictory?"

"Best make it to my safe return."

She embraced him, clumsily because she was still holding the wine cups. Her lips nuzzled the side ofhis neck and caressed his throat.

"So they have the sense to take you with them? The gods be praised!"

"I never thought they were fools, Maryam. That big Cimmerian above all. I'm the best guide theycould find, without using magic."

They drank. It seemed to Bora that Maryam was using a trifle of magic of her own, for a single cupseemed to make his head lighter than usual. He noted that she only sipped her wine, and had yet to finishher first cup when he was nearly done with his second.

He would have drunk a third, but she put a hand over the mouth of his cup. "No more, Bora. Nomore. Young as you are, wine can still do you harm."

She set down her own cup and put her other hand over Bora's mouth. She drew her fingers along hislips and across his cheek, then thrust a hand into the open throat of his shirt.

"Maryam. This is not proper."

At least those were the words that formed themselves in Bora's mind. They seemed to stick in histhroat, so that only a croak came out. Then he gasped as if he had run miles as Maryam undid the sash ofher robe.

As she stood, she shrugged herself out of it. Bora had never imagined that a woman's breasts couldbe so splendid. Breasts, and all the rest of the dark lushness now revealed.

"Bora," she said, and the word itself was a caress. "Bora, you have never lain with a woman, haveyou?"

He had no words, but his eyes seemed to speak clearly. Maryam moved to him and pressed herselfagainst him, from shoulder to knee.

"Then you must have a chance, before you ride into the mountains." She continued to press herselfagainst him, while her hands went deftly to work on his clothes.

Presently he had the wits to help her with that work, and at last to follow her to the bed.

Raihna rolled over in the bed as Conan entered. Bare shoulders alone showed above the blankets.He sat on the bed and ran his hand along the curves under the blankets. He knew that Raihna usuallyslept naked.

His hand ran back up to the edge of the blankets and started to dive under them. Raihna rolled on herback, letting the blankets slide down to her waist. Before Conan could touch what this movementexposed, she caught his hands and held them against her breasts.

"You're all but healed, from that gash at the Red Falcon," Conan said.

"I heal quickly, Conan. I wish the same could be said of Massouf."

"His wound is elsewhere. Has he been whining again?"

"I would not call it that, Conan. He wants to come with us, into the mountains."

"He does?"

"He spoke to both me and Illyana."

"Supposing that he did, what will I hear that you said to him?"

"We will let him come."

"Crom! Where's the Powder?" Conan started to rise.

Raihna shifted her grip, so that he could not do so without some discomfort. She looked at hisdiscomfited expression and laughed.

"Raihna, this is a poor jest. Massouf wants to kill himself."

"So we surmised. Since Dessa jumped lightly into Khezal's bed, he has known she is not for him."

"Then why, by Erlik's yard, can't he find another woman? That little trull isn't the only bedmate in thewhole world for a lad like Massouf. He's a fool. It's like my pining away because I can't bed Illyana!"

Something passed over Raihna's face at those words. Jealousy? No, something different, morecomplicated, and likely to be revealed only in Raihna's own good time. Conan gently disengaged himselffrom Raihna's grasp and sat down at the foot of the bed.

"You don't love Illyana," Raihna said at last. "Massouf—well, he would not believe what you justsaid. He loves Dessa too much."

"Conan, Illyana and I—we have never been allowed love. It is our fate. How could we spit inMassouf's face? How, I ask you?" She turned her face to the pillow and wept softly.

Conan cursed under his breath. He could not imagine a world without women, and he would hardlywant to live in it anyway. Certainly, though, such a world might be a trifle simpler!

All the sympathy in the world didn't make a man who seemed determined to die a good companionon a dangerous journey. Conan vowed he would do everything in his power to send Massouf back withthe soldiers, when they left.

He also vowed that he would do everything in his power to make Raihna remember this night.Gripping her by the shoulders, he turned her over. Her tear-filled eyes widened, but when his lips camedown on hers her arms rose. Strong, sword-calloused hands locked behind his neck and drew him toher.

Nineteen

THE MOUNTAIN STREAM plunged from the little cliff, splashed on a flat rock, then flowed into adeep still pool. Where it went after that Conan neither knew nor cared. He knelt by the pool and lifted acupped hand to his lips.

"Good and clean. Drink up, people, and refill your waterskins too."

"If it is so clean, I think we should bathe as well," Illyana said. She sat down, pulled off her boots, andflexed her long toes with a look of bliss.

"We had no chance to bathe while we marched with the soldiers. Nor will we have any between hereand the valley, I fear."

Conan looked beyond the little valley, toward the peaks of the Ibars Mountains. Well to the fore, theLord of the Winds rose silver-helmeted, its snowcap blazing in the noonday sun.

The Cimmerian sensed no danger lurking close by, but knew that it could not be far away. Preciouslittle they could do about it, either. These mountains could hide enough enemies to overcome them hadthey still been guarded by a thousand soldiers instead of ten. The sergeant commanding their escort hadswiftly realized this, and made no protest against his dismissal two days before. He had made noneagainst their leaving their horses, either. Hill-born himself, he knew a horse in such country gave neitherspeed nor stealth.

Speed, stealth (all were masters of it save Massouf, and he was learning), the mountains, and Illyana'smagic—together these gave them a chance of reaching Eremius and defeating him.

How good that chance was, Conan would not have cared to wager.

"Well enough. Women first, then Bora and Massouf, then me."

The two young men hurried to posts at opposite ends of the pool. Raihna was the first to strip andplunge in. She vanished completely, then rose spluttering and cursing like a drillmaster.

"Gods, this is cold !"

Illyana laughed. "Have you forgotten our Bossonian streams? They were not quite Vanir bathhouses,as I remember."

Raihna ducked under again. This time when she came up, she was in reach of Illyana's bare legs. Amighty splash, and water cascaded over Illyana. She yelped and jumped up.

"You—!"

"I had not forgotten, mistress. But I thought you had, so I would remind you."

Illyana uttered what Conan suspected was an impolite description of Raihna in an unknown tongue.Then she stood up and drew off her tunic, her last garment. Clad only in sunlight and the Jewel-ring, shestarted to bind up her hair with her neck ribbon.

Conan sat sword across his lap, contemplating both women with pleasure but without desire. Apartfrom being younger, Raihna was definitely the comelier. Yet had Illyana not been obliged to remain amaiden, she would not have had to sleep alone more often than she wished.

Certainly she could have had Massouf for snapping her fingers. He was trying so hard not to starethat it was more evident than if he had been doing so openly. Bora was finding it easier to be agentleman, or at least an alert sentry. Conan would have wagered a month's pay that the toothsomeMaryam 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 itin 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 havebeen an edged stone, so sharp that he had not felt it. "I'll wash it out and bind it up. I've cut myself worseshaving. 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, thedanger 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. Illyanahad 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 harderto 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 inhis mind to ask how Illyana proposed to keep the Jewel free of blood while they were battling theTransformed 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 theedge until her feet dabbled in the water. She raised her arms to the sun and threw her head back. Herbreasts 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 bobup 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 byIllyana, 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. Uneasilyand 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 Yakoubknew that until now Eremius's captains had been the one-eyed leading the blind. By himself, he could doonly 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 sixbeyond that—well, inside of two months all of Eremius's men would be decent soldiers. Not the equalsof 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 seeYakoub appearing and offering to train his men. He had even allowed his pleasure to show, when thetraining 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 alsobrought 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 toprovoke 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 wishingto give his human fighters a weapon that could strike down the Transformed from a distance? If so, whatdid that say about Eremius's trust in the humans, even when he had made them nearly witlings to keepthem from rebelling?

Or had Eremius given over thinking like a captain of human soldiers, and become entirely a sorcererwho might soon have the Jewels of Kurag in his power? If half of the tales about the Jewels Eremius toldwere 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 thanexhausting 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 inrapid 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 comeup 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 himwhile 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 theshoulder. "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 thegods gave men no greater joy than teaching the arts of the soldier. He had not understood how true thiswas, 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 Massoufwould enjoy hearing it. The young man had not given up Dessa so completely that he refused to worryabout her.

Even for a man not careless of his life, being worried about someone else was a good way to getkilled. 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 manyterrors for her." A thought came to him. "I have a friend in Aghrapur by the name of Pyla. She is also afriend to Captain Khezal. If we both urge her to help Dessa find her feet in her new life, I am sure thathelp 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 andreturned to the pool. The stone where he had been sitting was wet and dark. There was no sign of eitherwoman.

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 herheight out of it, like a water sprite seeking to fly. Her arms wrapped around Conan's knees and she flungherself backward.

She might as well have tried to upset the Lord of the Winds. When she realized her mistake, Conanhad already gripped her by the shoulders. He lifted and she rose, until her long legs were twined aroundConan'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, andbeginning to writhe in pleasure. Pleasure was not a sufficient word for what he felt. Madness would havebeen closer.

Even when Illyana untwined her legs and stood, she pressed against Conan. His hands ran down herback, 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, forgettingthat they were on the edge of the pool. With a splash and a shriek she plunged into the water again, tocome up coughing.

Conan helped her out of the pool, careful to grip only her hands. Illyana herself kept a pace awayfrom 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—" Hervoice was still unsteady, and her eyes seemed glazed. The desire was leaving Conan, but he still judged itwise 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 succeedingadmirably. That's as well. The gods only know what she might have done, if she had thought she wasundesirable."

"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 pleasurethere, but less peril."

Raihna stood close against him, and ran one hand lightly down his back. "But she did make you wanta 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 thememory 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 orderedthem back.

"We want a place beyond the reach of Eremius's scouts, to lie up for the day. Everybody should tryto 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 todie, but he had proved himself hardy and careful, not to mention a good hand with the bow and thespear. 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 thatuntil I know my father is pardoned and safe. Even then, I will be needed for the rebuilding of CrimsonSprings."

Conan found himself exchanging looks with the two women. Bora's optimism was easier to hear thanMassouf's grim despair. It altered not a whit their slim chances of both winning and surviving to enjoytheir victory.

The night mists swirled up from the valley in their natural silver-gray. No magic or at least noJewel-spells were at work. Conan crawled to the crest and looked at the scree-strewn slope plungingaway 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 youhow 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 theparty to the crest.

"Can you climb down that?" he whispered to each one. "Can you climb up it again, with theTransformed 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 Massouffrom his dark intent.

"If I am not climbing, I can make better practice with spear and bow," Massouf replied. His eyesdared 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 asclose as we can contrive."

"You've persuaded us of that," Conan said. "Otherwise why would we be sticking our head into awasp's nest to count the wasps?"

What they were doing was in fact many times worse than that. It was also utterly necessary. Illyanahad 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 drawEremius 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. Iwill have no such burden."

"No, you've a band of thick-witted sword-wielders to save you from it!" Conan had growled. "Proofthat 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 enoughnoise 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 distortspeech. 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 wouldgladly have given up his sword, however, in return for not having to trust to Illyana's spells. If he couldhave been altogether certain they would be hers alone, it would have been different. With the Jewelsfriends 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 faintclatter.

"That's one—" Bora began.

" Hoyaaaa ! Guard! Turn out the guard!" came a scream from the left. Whoever was screaming wasfrightened 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 Raihnamet them head-on, to keep them from Illyana. In the flurry of steel that followed, Conan had no eyes foranyone save those in sword's reach of him. Two men went down before his blade, then suddenly the mistlay 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 orspew 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 armwhere the Jewel-ring sat. It let her make some use of the Jewel without revealing herself with its emeraldlight.

"They will be, when somebody finds these bodies," Conan said. "Come along. Best we don't letourselves 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 orimagined. A moment later the mist vanished, as if a giant mouth had sucked it out of the valley. The lightturned the familiar emerald of the Jewels.

As the vanishing mist revealed the valley around Conan's party, it also revealed at least fifty of theTransformed 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 thetarget was hard to miss. Every arrow from her bow, then from Conan's, then from Illyana's andMassouf's, struck Transformed flesh.

Struck, but did not pierce. At this range the scales of the Transformed were as good as the finestmail. 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 evenmore monstrous than before. Jewel-light seared Conan's eyes again, as Illyana slung her bow, flung backher sleeves, and began wielding her magic.

When he could see clearly again, the Transformed had ceased their advance. Instead they huddledtogether, glaring in all directions. Some snatched arrows from their hides, others bit their taloned handsand whimpered like starving dogs.

"I have turned the fear back against them," Illyana cried exultantly. "I did not think to do this!"

"Well, start thinking what comes next!" Conan shouted. "Make them run around in circles until they'reall too dizzy to fight, for all I care!"

Raihna sent her last two arrows into the motionless target. One struck a Transformed in the eye. Hisdying scream made Conan's flesh leap on his bones. Not all the fear was returning to the Transformed!

The light diminished, until it flowed from a single source, glimmering like a giant bonfire behind theTransformed. It seemed that the Master of the Jewel had indeed come forth.

"Back, and they will follow!" Illyana cried.

Conan turned to see her fleeing with a doe's grace and swiftness, breasting the slope with ease. Wasthe Jewel giving her strength and speed, and if so at what price?

Meanwhile, the Transformed were rallying and starting across the valley, in no particular order but ata good pace. Even the wounded ones moved as fast as a man could walk.

Their carrion reek marched ahead of them. So did a hideous cacophony of hisses, growls, whimpers,clawed feet on stones, even belches and gulpings.

Conan had seen more than his share of unclean magic in his life, but the Transformed were a wholenew order of nightmare. Once more he knew he might not easily find it in him to give Eremius a cleandeath.

Then he had to think about his own death and how to prevent it. His comrades were all on their wayup the slope. Two of the Transformed hurled themselves forward. Perhaps they hoped to overtake Boraor Massouf.

Instead, they faced Conan. He hewed at a hand, slashing deep into the webbing between the fingers.Whirling, he slashed the second Transformed across the face, taking its sight. A thrust between the ribswith his dagger reached vital organs.

Conan had to leap backward to avoid the grip of the first Transformed. With sword and dagger at theguard, he watched it stop and stand over its fallen comrade. Then it knelt beside the fallen, trying tostanch the blood from the belly wound and the ruined face.

So the Transformed were not lower than the beasts. Conan thought no better of Master Eremius, buthe vowed to give the Transformed warriors' deaths whenever possible.

Conan retreated again. He had nearly overtaken his comrades before the Transformed startedmounting the slope. Bora was casting back and forth like a dog for a trail. "I smell a cave around heresomewhere."

"If you smell it, perhaps the Transformed are already at home," Conan said. "I doubt if they willwelcome us to dinner."

"No. For dinner, perhaps," Massouf said. He was limping but held his spear jauntily on one shoulder.

"There it is!" Bora shouted. He pointed uphill to the right. Conan had just time to see a dark mouth,before the Transformed broke into a run.

Light from both Jewels at once seared Conan's eyes. Dimly, he saw Massouf seemingly turned to astatue of jade. Even his eyes glowed green, as though he had become a creature of the Jewel.

Had he in truth become one? Were the Jewels reaching out for others besides their wearers?

Those uneasy thoughts had barely left Conan's mind when Massouf stripped off his quiver and bow,tossing them to Conan. The Cimmerian caught mem as Massouf charged downhill toward theTransformed.

"Crom!"

The Transformed were giving way before Massouf's charge. They hissed and cringed and cried as ifMassouf had been a whole army.

Massouf actually contrived to spit one of the Transformed like a chicken, before they regained theircourage. A moment of clawing and trampling, and Massouf was gone.

From first to last, he had not made a sound.

Conan stormed up the slope, to where Illyana stood before the cave mouth. Raihna was already pilingstones to narrow it

"Conan!" the hill boy cried. "There will be room inside for me to use my sling. If you will stand toeither—"

"Did you kill Massouf?" Conan roared.

Illyana had been drawing off her boots. Now she flinched and stood barefoot, a boot in either hand.

"Did you? Answer me, woman!"

"Conan, I did not command him. I heard no command from the Jewels. I can only say that under thespell cast, the Transformed might be more easily frightened."

"Massouf couldn't have known that!"

"I may have told him without remembering it. Or—"

"Or the Jewels might have told him," Conan finished for her.

Illyana shook her head, as if beset by stinging insects. Suddenly she flung herself into Conan's arms.

"I beg you, Conan. Believe me, that I meant Massouf no harm. He came here seeking death andfound it."

That at least was the truth, and for the moment Conan was ready to be content with it. Not that hehad any choice, either. The Transformed were halfway up the hill, some still gnawing fragments ofMassouf.

Illyana contemplated them, all her unease of a moment before gone. "Good. We have them closingswiftly. If we can hold until they have closed just a trifle more—"

"And how long will that be?" Conan asked.

Illyana stripped off her tunic and waved it like a flag. "Look, Eremius. Look and dream, but knowthat you will die before you touch!"

"Haw long?"

" I do not know," Illyana said. Then she ran toward the cave, with Conan at her heels.

Twenty-one

CONAN LOWERED A rock the size of a newborn calf onto the pile in the cave mouth. Then hestepped back, dusting off his hands and looking into the cave for any more loose stones.

He had all the light he could wish, pouring from Illyana's Jewel. Unclothed save for the Jewel, thesorceress stood forty paces inside the cave, chanting in an unknown tongue. The world beyond her duelwith Eremius might have ceased to exist.

Conan saw no more stones worth adding to their barricade. He was about to tell Raihna when a

stone went wheeet between them. Conan whirled, glaring at Bora.

The boy was reloading his sling and grinning. "As I said, there is room to send a stone between you."

"Warn us the next time, you young—"

"Captain, I might not be able to warn you. What if you and Raihna are close-grappled with theTransformed? Best you trust me to hit them and not you."

Conan couldn't help laughing. The boy was right, of course. And anyone who could grin like that, inwhat might indeed be his last minutes of life—

"Bora, perhaps you shouldn't join the army after all. In five years, you would be giving me orders!"

"They would never make a hillman—" Bora began soberly. Raihna's shout interrupted him.

"Here they come!"

Conan sprang to his post by the barricade. Eremius had taken longer than they expected to form uphis creations for battle. What Illyana had done with that time, Conan did not know. He and Raihna hadnarrowed the cave mouth so that only two or three of the Transformed could attack at once. He had alsoplaced a few throwing stones ready to hand.

The Transformed stormed up the hill in two ragged lines. At Raihna's signal Bora sent a stone hurtlinglow through the cave mouth. It struck a Transformed in the chest, without so much as knocking himdown. Conan flung a fist-sized stone. He aimed for eyes and struck a forehead. Again the Transformeddid not even fall. It howled in rage and pain and seemed to climb faster.

"I think we have the pick of the Transformed coming up," Conan said.

"The pick of Bossonia and Cimmeria stand here," Raihna replied. She tossed her head. TheJewel-light shimmered on her hair as it flowed about her shoulders. Then she tossed her sword andcaught it by the hilt.

A Transformed flung a stone. It drove chips and dust from the barricade into Conan's face. As heblinked, Bora replied. The slingstone struck a Transformed in the knee, hard enough to leave it limping.

Then the spearhead of the attack reached the defenders. Conan and Raihna had practiced togethersince the return to Fort Zheman. Now Conan's training in the rude school of surviving and Raihna'straining from Master Barathres merged as easily as their bodies did in love.

Conan feinted high to draw the attention of a Transformed upward. His sword crashed into a scalyarm. That upraised arm left an armpit exposed. Raihna's dagger leaped upward into the armpit, findingthe expected weak spot where the scales were thin to allow free movement.

The Transformed reeled back, holding a crippled arm. A human would have been dead, and this oneat least was out of the fight.

Another Transformed gripped the top of the barricade. Conan hewed at the nearest hand, three, four,five cuts, as if chopping firewood with his sword. At the fifth stroke, the hand flopped limply. At the sixthit fell off entirely, landing on Conan's side of the barricade. Reeking blood sprayed into Conan's face,neither looking nor smelling anything like human gore. The Transformed's howls echoed around the cave.

Conan's fight against the climbing Transformed left Raihna to hold the opening single-handed. TwoTransformed who came at her jammed in the opening, letting her slash and thrust until they reeled awaybloody and daunted. The next enemy was swifter.

Conan turned to find Raihna in the clutches of a Transformed, being drawn toward it. She had blindedit and thrust deep into its chest, without reaching its unnatural life. The talons were already gashing herflesh. The fangs would reach her throat before the creature died.

They had not done so, when Conan's sword came down across the bridge of the creature's nose.Under the scale armor, the bones there were still thin enough to be vulnerable. Shattering under theCimmerian's sword, they drove splinters into the Transformed's brain. It convulsed, arching backward.Raihria leaped free, kicking out. The Transformed crashed into an approaching comrade. Both wentdown.

Raihna stripped off her tunic, used it to roughly wipe her oozing wounds, then tossed it aside. Bare tothe waist, she raised her weapons again.

"You won't distract them that way," Conan said, laughing. "You might distract Bora, though."

Bora certainly seemed not to mind fighting in the presence of two splendid and nearly unclothedwomen. His eye for targets was still keener than his eye for the women. As the Transformed knockeddown by the latest kill struggled to its feet, a stone caught it in the eye. The stone was sharp and reachedthe brain. The Transformed fell, kicked wildly, but did not rise. Other Transformed held back until thekicking ceased.

"That's five down or out against your scratches and tunic," Conan said. "How many left?"

"Oh, not more than forty or so."

"Then we should be finished by breakfast."

"Yes, but whose breakfast?"

With howls and scrabbling feet, the Transformed came on again.

Eremius suspected that his face was streaming sweat, as if he had been in a steam bath. He knew thatpain racked his joints so that it needed real effort to stand.

Nearly all his magic was pouring into the duel with Illyana. The little he could spare for theTransformed was barely enough to keep them attacking without turning on one another. Those who tookwounds or lost their courage had to do without his help.

This should not be. It could not be, unless Illyana had become greater than he. That was impossible.She did not have it in her to become so.

Eremius turned against Illyana even the little magic he was sparing to ease the pain in his joints. Healmost cried out, like a man on the rack. He eased his pain with the thought that this addition of strengthmight be enough to let him try piercing the veil around Illyana's Jewel.

He tried and failed.

Only after he abandoned the effort, when he could barely stand, did he realize that the failure had toldhim what he wanted to know. Illyana's Jewel was utterly in harmony with her, defending both her anditself against him. How had she achieved this harmony?

Eremius thought he knew the answer. When he allowed himself to contemplate it, he knew fear aswell, for the first time in many years.

Both Conan and Raihna were bleeding from a dozen minor wounds. Their muscles twitched andached, their breaths rasped, and neither of them had enough intact clothing to garb a tavern dancer.

They fought on, because the Transformed did so. Illyana chanted and the Jewel-light danced andflickered. Bora's sling flung stone after stone, always swiftly, often with effect.

It was still mostly Conan's fight and Raihna's. Neither any longer kept count of the Transformedmaimed or slain. Neither kept count of the times they had saved the other's life.

These matters were of small importance, compared with the oncoming Transformed. There had to bean end of them, to be sure, but would that end come before Conan and Raihna reached the end of theirstrength?

Already Raihna's dagger was blunted from thrusting through scales, and her sword was kinked.Conan's sword showed as many nicks as if he had been chopping wood with it. They might soon lose thepower to harm the Transformed even if they still possessed the strength.

It seemed to Conan that the Transformed were somewhat thinner on the ground. It also seemed thatthe intervals between attacks were growing longer. It was not impossible that the tide of battle wasflowing their way.

Would it flow fast enough? They could still lose everything, if the Transformed broke through insufficient strength to slay Illyana.

Another Transformed—no, two of them—charged the opening. Conan dashed the sweat from hiseyes. Matters were not well, when he could hardly count the number of his opponents!

The Transformed facing Conan bore several wounds and an arrow, relics of previous exchanges. Itstumbled against the barricade, flinging all its more-than-human weight against the stones. One of themshifted, then another.

With a rattle and a crash, the barricade subsided in a cloud of dust. The second Transformed leapedthrough the dust. Raihna met him with a desperate lunge. Her sword bent almost double. Conan hewedat the Transformed's neck, but it had the speed to elude him. It leaped between the two defenders,shrugged off a stone from Bora's sling, and lunged at Illyana.

The talons were only an arm's length from the sorceress when she leaped up and back. Conan wouldhave sworn that she floated into the air. He did not doubt what he saw leaping from the Jewel—emeraldfire, a spearthrust of eye-searing light.

It struck the Transformed. One claw raked Illyana's shoulder, without drawing blood. Then the fleshwas boiling off the Transformed's bones, like stew in an untended pot. A wave of indescribable stenchswept over Conan, making him blink and reel. When he saw clearly again, only smoking bones on thecave floor remained of the Transformed.

Illyana stood, fingering a shoulder that Conan knew should have been gaping nearly to the bone. Thesmooth flesh was unmarred. Unbidden and unwelcome, the thought of how he had held that flesh close tohim entered his mind.

As if she shared the thought, Illyana smiled.

"I should not have been able to do that. The Jewels—" Whatever she might have wanted to say aboutthe Jewels went unuttered. Instead her face turned grim. "I do not know how often I can do that. I cancertainly do it often enough to let you and Raihna attack."

"With what?" the swordswoman exclaimed, holding out her crippled weapons.

Illyana seemed uncaring. "Eremius has drawn closer and the Transformed are weaker. If you attacknow, with Bora and me guarding your backs, you may slay Eremius. The second Jewel will come to us.Victory will be ours."

Conan wanted to shake the sorceress. "We'll win no victory with blades too dull to cut butter!"

For the first time, Illyana seemed to notice the weapons in her friends' hands. Her eyes clouded for amoment. Then she rested a hand on Conan's sword, stretching out the other with fingers spread so ittouched both Raihna's sword and dagger.

Conan fought the urge to snatch his blade out of Illyana's hands. Sorcery had been too close for too

long already. To fight with an ensorceled blade—

Illyana chanted, and Raihna's sword straightened. The nicks vanished from the edge of Conan'ssword. A point returned to her dagger. Bright sharp edges gleamed on all of them.

"Crom!"

The Cimmerian god was not one to answer prayers or hear them with patience. For once in his lifeConan almost regretted this.

Conan raised his sword, testing the balance and sighting along the magically-restored edge. It seemedas good as new, Ensorceled or not, it was also the only weapon at hand.

He still felt nearly as much fear of Illyana as of the Transformed when he led Raihna out of the cave.

Eremius struggled to understand what had come to pass in the cave. Illyana lived and theTransformed had died in a way that even the power of her Jewel should not have allowed.

He abandoned the struggle when the Cimmerian burst from the cave. Understanding he did not need,when life itself was in peril. Withdrawing his power from the duel against Illyana, he sought to shield, thenrally the Transformed.

For a moment he thought he had succeeded. Emerald fire blazed along the thin line of theTransformed. Two were not swift enough to leap clear; the flesh flew from their bones amid howls.

The other Transformed recoiled at those howls. They did not recoil far. They saw that the fire heldtheir enemies away from them, and began to regain their courage. Eremius cast his thoughts at themfuriously, forming them into a solid mass, then urging them forward.

They were approaching the line of fire when Illyana appeared at the mouth of the cave. Eremius'sthoughts leaped from battle to her awesome beauty, every bit of it revealed to him.

A moment later, he saw his doom revealed as well. Illyana raised a hand, and the line of fire vanished.She gripped Bora's arm with the other hand, then let him wind up with his sling.

Only one stone flew, but the Transformed howled as if each saw a stone flying straight at it. Theirsolid line broke up. The Cimmerian and the swordswoman plunged into the fleeing remnants.

At first they had to fight a way. Then the Transformed realized that their foes would attack only thosein their path. To leave the path of humans who seemed invincible was a simple matter, a few steps, then afew steps more, each step taken more swiftly.

Not all of the Transformed fled like dead leaves before a gale, but few enough fought. The Cimmerianand the Bossonian came down the hill like avenging gods.

Eremius tore the ring from his arm. He still would not dare the spells that offered the last chance withthe Jewel so close to his flesh. He cast it to the ground. The gold rang on the stones, and the ringingseemed to go on, filling his ears like the tones of. a mighty gong.

The sorcerer clapped his hands to his ears. Shutting out the sound, he tried to array his thoughts oncemore, for the last spells.

If he succeeded, no more would be needed.

If he failed, no more would be possible.

Conan had never run so fast in his life, at least after a long battle. Hillman though he was, he feared hislegs would betray him. To stumble now would be worse than fatal, it would be humiliating.

At last he felt level ground under his feet. Ahead he saw Eremius, Jewel-ring at his feet and handsclasped over his ears. What the sorcerer heard that Conan did not, the Cimmerian neither knew norcared.

He only knew that in another score of paces, he could snatch up the Jewel-ring.

Conan had covered half the distance when the Jewel-ring leaped into the air. It did not glow, not withthe dazzling emerald fire of before. It did something far worse.

It sang.

It sang with a sad, plaintive note in a voice that uttered no words but somehow held enormous powerto paint pictures in Conan's mind. Conan saw a deep-bosomed Cimmerian wench and himself grappledin love before a blazing fire. He saw a snug hut, with children playing before that same fire. He sawdark-haired boys, their features stamped with his own, learning the art of the hunt and the blade fromtheir father. He saw himself with grizzled hair, passing judgments in village disputes.

All that he had turned his back on, the Jewel seemed to say, could be his. He need only turn his backon Eremius.

Conan slowed his pace. He had turned his back on Cimmeria with open eyes, but now those eyeswere threatening to blur with sorrow for what he had lost. He knew this was no natural sorrow, but thepower of it was sweeping away the last of his knowledge.

Another presence hammered its way into Conan's mind. Illyana's Jewel was crying out a song oftriumph.

Equally dazzling pictures entered his mind—riding at the head of an army through a city of toweringbuildings with gilded roofs, under a sky of northern blue. White clouds shone, flowers showered downupon him, clinging to the mane of his steed, the cheers and chants of the crowd drowned out the babbleof the Cimmerian village meeting.

As if slamming a door in the face of intruders, Conan willed both Jewels out of his mind. It did notmatter which offered what rewards. Both alike seemed to think that he could be bought. Both werewrong, and their masters with them.

Conan needed no urging to overthrow the creator of the Transformed. What he might see fit to dowith Illyana could be left until later.

Conan's sword lunged. Its point darted through the ring. The sharp blade leaped toward the sky,where the mist was gathering again. The ring and its Jewel slid down the blade to the hilt.

"Run, people!"

The last thing Conan saw as he himself turned to run, was Eremius slumping to the ground, his face inhis hands.

Twenty-two

THEY WERE HALFWAY out of the valley when Illyana stumbled and fell, to all appearancessenseless. Conan laid an ear next to her lips and felt her breathing. Then he handed the Jewel-ring toRaihna, who slipped it on her left arm. Sheathing his sword, the Cimmerian lifted the sorceress andcontinued the climb.

"Let me go on ahead and find an easier path, Captain," Bora said. "You are hillborn like me, but Ihave not fought hand to hand with the Transformed this night."

"Not yet," Raihna said. "We may well have heard the last of Eremius. About his creations—"

From the swirling mist in the valley came wild cries, inhuman in their quality but clearly from a humanthroat. Rage, terror, and pain blended horribly in the cries.

Then the howls of the Transformed rose in a nightmare chorus, swallowing the human cries.

"What in Mitra's name was that ?" Bora gasped.

"As Raihna said, we've heard the last of Master Eremius," Conan said. "I'd wager that was him,making a light supper for some of his Transformed."

Bora shuddered. "Keep your sling loaded and ready," Conan added. "It's the only weapon we haveleft for striking from a distance."

"It's also the only weapon we have that Illyana didn't ensorcel," Raihna said, almost meditatively.Conan stared at her in dawning surprise.

"That matters to you?"

"After what I've seen these past few days—even Illyana's magic smells other than it once did. And anything flowing from the Jewels…" She shook her head. "I will think on it, when I have wits to spare."

They scrambled out of the valley in silence. They also moved in darkness, for which Conan wasgrateful. Darkness and the resurgent mist hid them from the Transformed, and the Jewels slept. Theymight have been as exhausted as their rescuers, or even their new mistress.

They left the mist behind in the Valley of the Demons. By the time Bora saw the Lord of the Windstowering against the stars, Illyana could walk again. She was also shivering, naked against the night wind.

Bora realized that whatever her magic had done to keep her warm was passing. He stripped off hisshirt and handed it to her. She donned it eagerly, then inclined her head as graciously as a queen.

"We are grateful," she said. Conan frowned and seemed about to speak, then seemed to think betterof it. Once again they moved on in silence.

The endurance of his companions surprised Bora.

The Cimmerian and Raihna had to be close to the end of their strength. Illyana had battled Eremius,no less formidable an opponent than the Transformed, and could hardly be accustomed to walkingbarefoot across mountainsides.

At dawn, they were almost in sight of where they left their baggage. They emptied their waterskins,slung them again, and turned on to the last slope.

All at once Conan held up a warning hand.

"Stop. Everyone hide. I'm going on alone." He spoke softly, as if hostile ears might be close.

"We wish to know—" Illyana began.

Again Conan frowned. Then he said with elaborate courtesy, "You shall know the moment I do. Untilthen, I ask your good will."

Raihna and Conan exchanged glances. Then Raihna put her hand to the small of Illyana's back andgently pushed her toward a stand of scrubby bushes. As Bora followed the women, Conan was alreadyscrambling down the slope by a route that hid him from below. Once more Bora was amazed at howsilently so large a man could move.

Bora had barely time to become impatient before Conan returned as silently as he went. The firstknowledge Bora had of his return was a soft bird whistle. Then the black-maned head thrust into thebushes.

"Six of those half-witted humans Eremius used as scouts. They're sitting around our baggage. Swordsand spears, no bows. They look a bit more alert than most, but no match for us."

"Must we slay more of the Master's servants?" asked Illyana. She sounded almost petulant.

Conan shrugged. "I suppose we could leave them to the army, like the Transformed. But do you wantto walk all the way back to Fort Zheman clothed as you are?"

"That might not be necessary."

"By Erlik's beard! How—?"

"Do not blaspheme."

If Illyana had spoken in Stygian, Conan could not have looked blanker. This time it was Raihna whofrowned, then spoke.

"Forgive us, mistress. We think only of your comfort."

"That is honorable. Very well. We give our consent." Illyana waved a languid hand downhill. "Do yourduty."

Once again Bora had the notion he was listening to a queen. A queen—or at least a ruler, consistingof a woman and one of the Jewels.

Not both Jewels. Please, gods, not both.

Bora cudgeled his thoughts into order and began seeking slingstones under the bushes.

A Cimmerian battle cry seemed to stun half the men. The rest leaped up. That made them the first todie, as their attackers struck. Conan hewed down two, and Raihna the third.

One of the sitting men fell over, ribs crushed and heart stopped by a slingstone. His comrades nowrose, one to run, the other to thrust at Conan with his spear. The Cimmerian had to give ground for amoment, then hacked through the spearshaft with his sword.

The man had enough of the shaft left to raise it like a fighting staff. He caught Conan's first slash, thentried to kick the Cimmerian in the knee.

This display of skill and courage neither altered nor greatly delayed the man's fate. Raihna slippedunder the guard of his improvised staff with her dagger. He reeled back, thigh pouring blood, and did notlook up as Conan's sword descended.

Bora looked for the man who had fled, and saw him already far enough to make a kill chancy. Thenhe looked around him. Conan would doubtless have noted any sentries, who indeed could not have beenvery alert. A second pair of eyes never harmed the chances of victory, as Conan's Captain Khadjar said.

Had Bora seen Master Eremius walking up the hill, he could hardly have been more surprised.

"Yakoub!"

The Cimmerian whirled. Bora pointed. The Cimmerian's sword leaped up.

"Good morning, Captain Conan," Yakoub said. He sounded as calm as if they were meeting to visit atavern. Then he looked at the bodies of his men. For a moment the calm broke and his face showednaked grief.

"I did not teach them enough," was all Yakoub said. Then he drew his own sword. "I can still avengethem."

"Small chance of that," Conan said. After a moment he sheathed his own sword. "Yakoub, I'd rathernot face your father with your blood on my hands. I have no more quarrel with you."

"If you meant that, you wouldn't have killed my men."

" Your men?" the Cimmerian snorted. "Master Ere-mius's tame dogs? What do you owe them?"

"My death or yours," Yakoub said.

"That dung-spawned—" Bora began. He reached for his sling. A moment later he knew that speakinghad been a mistake. A muscular Bossonian arm took him across the throat from behind. Raihna's freehand snatched the sling from his grip.

Freed suddenly, he whirled to face the swords-woman. "You—! Whose side are you on?"

"I'm against your dishonoring Conan. Yakoub—"

"Yakoub dishonored my sister! He dishonored my family!"

"Are you willing to fight him hand to hand?"

Bora measured Yakoub's suppleness, the grace of movement, the easy grip on the sword. "No. He'dcut me to pieces."

"Then stand back and let Conan settle matters. Yakoub is the bastard son of High Captain Khadjar.His being out here may mean that Conan's commander is a traitor. Conan's honor is caught up in this too.If Yakoub won't run, he has to be killed in a fair fight."

"And if Conan is killed—?"

"Then I'll face Yakoub. Either swear to keep your sling on your belt, or I'll slice it apart with mydagger now."

Bora would have cursed, if he'd known words adequate for his rage. At last he spat. "Keep it, youBossonian trull—!"

The slap aimed at Bora never landed. Conan and Yakoub sprang toward each other, and the dawnlight blazed from their uplifted swords.

Afterward Bora confessed that he had thought of using his sling to save Conan, as well as avenginghis own family's honor. He could not believe that the Cimmerian would be fit to meet a strong opponentblade to blade, not after the night's fighting.

He did not realize that Conan also knew the limits of his strength. The Cimmerian's leap into sword'sreach was his last. For the rest of the fight, he moved as little as possible, weaving an invisible armor ofdarting steel around himself. Yakoub was fresher and just as swift if lacking the Cimmerian's reach. Hemight have won, had he been allowed a clear line of attack for a single moment.

The deadly dance of Conan's blade denied him that moment.

At some time in the fight, Illyana came down to watch. After a few moments, she turned away,yawning as if she found this battle to the death no more interesting than swine-mating.

Sitting down, she opened the bags and garbed herself. Bora knew a moment's regret at seeing thatfair body at last concealed. Raihna was still next to naked, but her face made Bora doubt whom shethought the enemy, Yakoub or himself.

Bora was as surprised as Yakoub by the ending of the fight. He had expected Conan to stand untilYakoub wearied himself. Instead Conan suddenly left an opening that even Bora could recognize, forYakoub to launch a deadly stroke.

Neither Bora nor Yakoub recognized Conan's intent. The first either knew of it was when Conandropped under Yakoub's blade. It still came close to splitting his head; hanks of blood-stiffened black

hair flew.

Now Conan was inside Yakoub's guard. Knee rammed into groin, head butted chin, and handgripped swordarm. Yakoub flew backward, to land disarmed and half-stunned. He rolled, trying to drawa dagger. Conan brought a Toot down on his wrist and lowered his sword until its point rested againstthe other's throat.

"Yakoub, I know you owed a debt to your men. I owe one to your father. Go back to him and urgehim to go where he need not pretend you are dead."

"That will mean giving up his Captaincy," Yakoub said. "You ask much of both of us."

"Why not?" Conan asked. Sweat ran down him, in spite of the morning chill. For the first time, Boranoticed that the Cimmerian's left shoulder bore a fresh wound.

Yakoub seemed to be pondering the question. What he would have answered was never to beknown. As Conan stepped back, green fire of a familiar hue surrounded Yakoub. His body convulsed,arching into a bow. His mouth opened in a soundless scream and his hands scrabbled in the dirt.

Then he fell back, as limp as if every bone in his body had been crushed to powder. Blood trickledbriefly from his gaping mouth, then ceased.

Bora turned, not knowing what he would see but certain it would be something fearful.

Instead he saw Illyana sitting on a blanket, as regally as if it had been a throne. One arm was raised,and the Jewel-ring on it glowed softly.

Conan knew that Illyana had declared war. Illyana and the Jewels, rather. Whatever she did, it wasno longer wholly as her own mistress.

He was surprised to feel this much charity toward a sorceress. But a sorceress who was also a battlecomrade was something new.

"Raihna, give me the other Jewel," Illyana said, holding out her hand. "It is time to let them unite."

Raihna looked down at her Jewel-ring as if seeing it for the first time. Slowly she drew it off anddangled it from her right hand.

Conan willed his body and his mind to avoid any movement or even thought that might betray him.

What powers the Jewels had given Illyana or themselves, he did not know. He was certain that hewould have only one slender chance of defeating the Jewels. Unless Raihna was ready to turn her backon ten years of loyalty to Illyana, and Conan would rather wager on King Yildiz's abdicating the throne tobecome a priest of Mitra—

Raihna's right arm flashed up, as swiftly as if it were thrusting a dagger into a mortal enemy. The ringflew into the air.

Conan barely contrived to catch it before it struck the ground. Rolling, he rubbed the Jewel across hisbleeding shoulder. Then he sprang to his feet and flung the Jewel-ring with all his strength toward thespring.

Neither a sorceress nor the power of the Jewels were as swift as the Cimmerian's arm. TheJewel-ring plummeted into the spring and vanished.

Conan drew his sword. He did not suppose it would be much use against whatever the Jewels mightbe about to unleash. Somewhere in his thoughts was the notion of dying with it in hand, like a warrior.

Somewhere, also, lay the notion of giving Illyana a cleaner death than the twisted power of the Jewelsmight intend.

Conan had barely drawn when he suddenly felt as if he had been plunged into frozen honey. Everylimb seemed constrained, nearly paralyzed. Cold gnawed at every bit of skin and seemed to piercethrough the skin into his vitals. From somewhere near he heard Raihna's strangled cry, as if the honeywas flowing into her mouth and nose, cutting off her breath.

It would be so easy to stand here or even lie down. So easy to let Raihna the traitoress perish, andlive on, satisfying Illyana's desire and his every night and sometimes every day. Satisfying a queen and leading her armies was enough for any man.

Was it not so?

"I know you," Conan growled. "Whatever you are, I know you. You don't know me."

He twisted desperately. One after another, his limbs came free. The cold remained, but now he couldmove his feet. As if through a frozen marsh, he lurched toward Raihna.

She could move only her eyes, but now they turned toward him. She tried to lift an arm. As her handcame above her waist, her face contorted in pain.

The Jewels might have nothing left but vengeance, but they would have that. Or was it Illyana?

"Bora!" Conan shouted. Or tried to shout. It was as if one of the Transformed was gripping him bythe throat. He tore at the air in front of his face, but the grip was stronger than he was after a night'sfighting.

Conan felt his neck beginning to twist and strain. He fought harder, and the twisting stopped. He evensucked in one deep treath before the grip tightened further.

How long Conan stood grappling with the invisible, he never knew. He knew only that in one momenthe was on the brink of having his windpipe crushed. In the next moment the spring began bubbling andseething, spewing foul steam—and the death grip eased.

Conan still felt as if he was wading through a deep stream against a swift current. Compared withwhat had gone before, it was easy to overcome it, easier still to reach Raihna. The pain still racked her,but she let herself be drawn after him, one torturous step at a time.

At every moment Conan expected the Jewels to return to their vengeance and complete it. Insteadthe steam from the spring only rose higher, until no water flowed and the gap in the rock looked near-kinto a volcano.

At last Conan felt his limbs moving with their normal ease. All his wounds were bleeding again as hedrew Raihna out of the magic. She fell against him, clad only in sword and Bora's sling.

"Run!" Conan shouted. It was an order to both of them. For Raihna it was also to gain her attention.Her eyes were vacant and her mouth slack. It seemed as if it would not take much for her to collapse anddie with her mistress, letting the Jewels have their vengeance after all. Conan swore to unknown powersthat he would not let this happen, if he had to carry her all the way to Fort Zheman.

Raihna had a warrior's will to abandon no fight until she was dead. Her first steps were stumbling, asif the ground was hot. The next steps were cautious, as if she could not altogether command her limbs.Then Bora took her other arm and with support on both sides she broke into a clumsy run.

They plunged down the hill to the bottom of the next valley, then began climbing the opposite slope.Conan did not know where they were going, or how long they could keep running. He only knew that hewanted as much distance as possible between him and whatever the Jewels were brewing up. Otherwisethey might take their vengeance purely by chance!

Behind Conan, steam hissed and the grind and clash of moving rocks joined it. He did not dare turnaround to be sure, but it also seemed that a green glow was spreading across the land.

They reached the crest of the hill with barely a single breath left between them. Conan contrived tostand, holding his comrades upright. He could not have done that and also kept running, not to savehimself from all the Transformed at once.

It was then that he finally heard Illyana scream. He had never heard such a sound from a humanthroat. He had never imagined that a human throat could make such a sound. He did not enjoy knowingthat it could.

Then the whole landscape turned green and the ground underfoot heaved.

"Down!"

Conan hurled himself and his comrades down the far slope of the hill. They rolled halfway to the foot,bruising and gouging already battered skins. What little remained of Conan's garments remained behind,as did Raihna's dagger.

Unable at last to rise, they lay and saw a vast cloud of smoke towering into the sky. It swirled andwrithed and flashed lightning. Dreadful shapes in gray and green seemed to form themselves in the cloud,then vanish. The sound was as if the whole world was tearing itself apart, and the shaking of the groundmade Conan wonder if this hill too was about to dissolve in magic-spawned chaos.

The shuddering of the ground and the thunder in the sky died away. Only the smoke cloud remained,now raining fragments of rock. As Conan sat up and began to count his limbs, a fragment the size of aman's head plummeted down barely ten paces away.

Raihna flinched, then looked down at herself.

"Conan, if you are going to embrace me in this state, let us seek a—a— ahhhhh !"

All her breath left her in a long wail. Then she began sobbing with more strength than Conan hadthought she had in her.

Bora discreetly withdrew. When Raihna's weeping was done, he returned, wearing only his loinclothand carrying his trousers in his hand.

"Raihna, if you want some garb, I'll trade you this for my sling."

Raihna managed a smile. "Thank you, Bora. But I think it would be better cut up into strips andbound around our feet. We have some walking to do."

"Yes, and the sooner we start the better," Conan growled. Another rock crashing to earth nearbygave point to his remarks. "I think my sword has a better edge than my—Crom!"

A bladeless hilt rattled to the ground from Conan's scabbard. Raihna clutched at her own belt, to findboth dagger and sword gone.

"The Jewels' magic has a long arm, it would seem," she said at last. "Well, Bora, I was right aboutyour sling being free of magic. Would you care to try it?"

Conan reached into his boot and drew his spare dagger. "Illyana didn't touch this either." He stood."Now, my friends, I am starting for Fort Zheman. I don't propose to stand around here gaping until arock cracks my skull."

"At your command, Captain," Bora said formally. He offered a hand to Raihna. "My lady?"

The Bossonian woman rose, and together they turned away from the smoke cloud that marked thegrave of Lady Illyana, briefly mistress of the Jewels of Kurag.

Twenty-three

"So THERE YOU were, deep in the Ibars Mountains, with one pair of trousers, a dagger, and a slingamong the three of you. How did you contrive a way out?" Mishrak sounded more amused thansuspicious.

"We found help," Conan said. "Not that they wanted to help us, but we persuaded them."

"Them?"

"Four bandits," Raihna put in. "They were holding a mother and daughter captive. The women werefrom a village destroyed by the Transformed. They fled the wrong way in the darkness and ran into thebandits."

"They must have been grateful for your help," Mishrak said.

"They helped us too," Conan added. "Bora and I crept close to the camp. Raihna stayed back, thenstood up. Clothed as she was not, she made a fine sight. Two of the bandits ran out to win this prize.

"Bora killed one with his sling. I took the other with my dagger. One of the others ran at me but Iknocked him down with a stone and Raihna kicked his ribs in.

The mother hit the last one with a stick of firewood. Then she pushed him face down into thecampfire, to finish him off ."

The delicate faces of Mishrak's guardswomen showed grim satisfaction at that last detail.

"And then?"

"Does it need telling? We took the bandits' clothes and everything else that we could carry and left themountains. We saw no sign of the Transformed or Eremius's human fighters.

"On the third day we met the soldiers from Fort Zheman. They mounted us and took us back to thefort. We told Captain Khezal the whole tale. You may hear from him any day."

"I already have." The voice under the mask sounded meditative. "You left Fort Zheman rather inhaste, did you not? And you took the tavern wench named Dessa with you."

"We heard that Lord Achmai was bringing up his men, to help scour the mountains for the last of theTransformed. Considering what happened at our first meeting with Lord Achmai, we decided it wouldserve the peace of the realm if we did not meet again."

Mishrak chuckled. "Conan, you almost said that as though you meant it. How is Dessa taking toAghrapur?"

"She's in Pyla's hands, which are about the best to be found," Conan said. "Beyond that, she's a girl Iexpect can make her own way almost anywhere."

"More than equal to the task, if you describe her truly. Is it the truth, by the way, that Pyla is buyingthe Red Falcon?"

"I'd hardly know."

"And if you did you wouldn't tell me, would you, Conan?"

"Well, my lord, I'd have to be persuaded it was your affair. But it's the truth that I don't know. Pylacan keep a secret better than you, when she wants to."

"So I have heard," Mishrak said. "You are no bad hand at telling tales, either. Or rather, leaving talesuntold."

Conan's fingers twitched from the urge to draw his sword. "It is not well done, to say that those whohave done you good service are lying."

"Then by all means let the truth be told. Did you intend to spare Yakoub?" A laugh rolled from under

the mask, at Conan's look. "No, I have no magic to read your thoughts. I only have long practice inreading what is not put into letters, as well as what is. I could hardly serve King Yildiz half so well, did Ilack this art.

"But my arts are not our concern now. I only ask—did you intend to spare Yakoub?"

Conan judged that he had little to lose by telling the truth. "I asked him to go back to his father andsuggest they flee together."

"You thought High Captain Khadjar was a traitor?"

"His son was. Had Khadjar been innocent, would he have told everyone that his son was dead?"

"True enough. Yet—the son might also have hidden his tracks from his father. Did you think of that?"

Conan knew he was staring like a man newly risen from sleep and did not care. Was Mishrak tryingto argue for Khadjar's innocence? If he was not, then Conan's ears were not as they had been, thanks toUlyana's magic.

"I did not."

"Well, let us both consider that possibility. If I need either of you again, I shall summon you. For yourgood service, my thanks." One gloved hand rose in dismissal.

At such brusqueness, Conan's first urge was to fling his reward money into the pool at Mishrak's feet.Raihna's hand on his arm arrested the gesture, giving wisdom the time to prevail.

Why offend Mishrak, if he was in truth going to seek justice for Khadjar, rather than merely drag himto the executioner? Nor was there much Conan could do about it, if Mishrak was determined otherwise.

Others might have use for Mishrak's gold, even if the Cimmerian did not care to let the blood-pricefor Yakoub soil his fingers. Dessa, Bora and his family, the Hyrkanians who had guarded so faithfully andso carefully—he could find ways for every last brass of Mishrak's money if he wished.

Conan thrust the heavy bag into his belt pouch and held out his arm to Raihna. "Shall we take ourleave, my lady?"

"With the greatest of pleasure, Captain Conan."

They did not ask Mishrak's leave to go, but his guards made no obstacle to their leaving. Conan stilldid not feel his back safe until they had left not only Mishrak's house but the Saddlemaker's Quarter itselfbehind them.

Raihna drank from the same well she'd used as she led Conan toward Mishrak's house, what seemedmonths ago. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled for the first time since theyreached Aghrapur.

"Conan, did I once hear you say you preferred to embrace me unclothed?"

The Cimmerian laughed. "When there's a bed ready to hand, yes."

"Then let us spend some of Mishrak's gold on that bed!"

They spent all of two nights and much of the day between in that bed, and little of that time sleeping. Itwas still no great surprise to Conan when he awoke at dawn after the second night, to find the bedempty.

It was some days before Conan had time to think of Raihna or indeed any woman. There was gold tobe sent to Bora, Dessa, Pyla, Rhafi, and a half-score of others. There was a new sword to be ordered.There was a good deal of laziness to be purged from his company, although the sergeants had done their

best.

When all this was in train, he had time to wonder where Raihna might have gone. He also had time toconsider what might have become of High Captain Khadjar. In the time Conan had known the man,Khadjar never let more than three days pass without a visit to his men. Now it was close to six days.Was there a way to ask, without betraying the secrets of his journey into the mountains?

Conan had found no answer by the morning of the eighth day. He was at the head of his company asthey returned from an all-night ride, when a caravan trotted past. Through the dust, Conan saw a familiarface under a headdress, bringing up the rear of the caravan.

"Raihna!"

"Conan!" She turned her horse to meet him. Conan slowed his men to a walk, then reined in.

"So you're a caravan guard in truth. Where bound?"

"Aquilonia. I still cannot return home to Bossonia, until there is a price paid in blood or gold. But inAquilonia, I might earn some of that gold, selling my sword. Also, Illyana's father has kin among thenobility of that realm. Some might feel that Illyana's friend for ten years had some claim on them."

"You'll still need luck."

"Who knows that better than I? If I don't have it, perhaps I can still find a home in Aquilonia. Somewidowed merchant must be in need of a wife."

"You? A merchant's wife?" Conan tried to keep his laughter within the bounds of manners. "I won'tsay that's as against nature as Dessa's being faithful, but—"

"I've had ten years on the road with Illyana, and more of them good than bad. Now—well, I find Iwant to know where my bones will lie, when it comes time to shed them."

"That's a desire that never troubled me," Conan said. "But the gods know, you deserve it if you wantit. A swift and safe journey, and—"

"Oh, Conan!" She slapped her forehead, already caked with road dust. "The sun must have alreadyaddled my wits. Have you heard about Houma and Khadjar?"

Conan's horse nearly reared as his grip on the reins tightened. "What—what about them?"

"Houma is no longer one of the Seventeen Attendants. He has resigned because of ill-health and givenlarge donations to the temples."

"Large enough that he'll have to sell some of his estates, I'd wager."

"I don't know. I only heard what the criers said in the streets this morning. But it would surely makesense, to cut the sinews of Houma's son as well as Houma."

Conan thought that Houma's son would need cutting in other and more vital places before he wasworth anything. But his company was almost past, and he had yet to hear about Khadjar.

Raihna read the question in his eyes. "This I only heard in the soldiers' taverns, but all were saying thesame thing. Khadjar has been promoted to Great Captain of Horse and goes to Aquilonia, to see howthey fight upon the Pictish frontier. Some of the soldiers were angry, that the Aquilonians or any othernortherners can teach the riders of Turan anything."

"I'd not wager either way." Conan also would not wager either way about the truth of the rumor.Khadjar might have been sent to Aquilonia, but would he reach it alive? If he did, would he survivelearning how to fight Picts?

Still, it counted for something that Mishrak wanted men to think Khadjar had been honored and senton a mission of trust. Perhaps Khadjar really had gone to Aquilonia—while Mishrak carefully removed

all of his and Houma's allies from power, if not from the world. Perhaps promotion would keep Khadjarloyal hereafter, so that his gifts need not be lost to Turan.

Nothing certain anywhere, but that was no surprise. The world seldom was, at the best of times.

No, one thing was certain.

"Raihna, a bed doesn't feel quite the same without you in it."

"How long do you expect that to last, Cimmerian?"

"Oh, as much as another ten days—"

She aimed a mock-buffet at his head, then bent from her saddle and kissed him with no mockery at

all.

"Whatever you seek, may you find it," she said. She put spurs to her mount and whirled away up theroad toward her caravan.

Conan sat until Raihna was altogether out of sight. Then he turned his own mount's head the otherway and spurred it to a canter. It would never do for the new High Captain of mercenaries to think thatConan the Cimmerian would neglect his men as soon as Khadjar's eye was no longer upon him!

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