Roland Green - Conan The Valiant

"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 and dagger. 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, the screaming 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 was steady, 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 summoning the watch!"

Conan drew back as far as the hall would allow. When he plunged forward, he was like an avalanche on a steep slope. The bolt was made to resist common men, not Cimmerians of Conan's size and strength. 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. She clutched 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 with emerald 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's judgment. Illyana settled the question by slumping into a faint. As. she fell senseless, the flame in the Jewel died.

Raihna knelt beside her mistress, listening for a heartbeat and breath. Conan mounted guard at the door, 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 to Pyla. In Aghrapur, any friend of Pyla had few enemies. If that friend was a woman, she was off to a fine start in the taverns.

At this moment Massouf returned. The innkeeper and two stout-thewed manservants either followed or 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 and Illyana'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 has been 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. No hope—stopping them—this far away. Try to—weaken —power over them. Try—everyone (something wordless) 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 mouth agape, 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'll be 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 the innkeeper's nose. He backed away, reached the top of the stairs, and would have fallen backward down them if Conan hadn't gripped his arm.

"Look you, my witless friend," the Cimmerian said. He would have gladly flung the man after his servants, 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 the town 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 I can 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, if you 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 Conan stayed 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 accused whether 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 to Eremius. 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 hardly matter. In fact, their dying would begin the sowing of fear in the village. Enough of that, and Eremius would hardly need to—

A horse's scream sundered the night. The Transformed howled in triumph. Raw with fear came a human cry.

"Demons! Demons! The demons are upon us! Fly, fly— yaaaagggh!" as claws and teeth tore the man's life from him.

Eremius allowed himself a frown of displeasure. Had the village contrived to mount their sentries? Or had 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 at his command!

At least he needed no captain's advice to know that the village had been warned too soon. The villagers would have more time to flee. The Transformed could pursue them only so far before they escaped from Eremius's command.

A village hurled into panic-stricken flight would send a powerful message to would-be allies. A village reduced 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 and carefully-hoarded strands of Illyana's hair. Eremius had proven several times over that the Jewel was not bonded to the ring. He had long known the spells for removing it from the ring and returning it, but tonight was 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. It was 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 aided him. Perhaps it would even happen before the other Jewel came into Eremius's hands. For now the sorcerer 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 staff and Jewel alternately to the left and to the right. On either side of him a space in the air began to glow with emerald fire.