Roland Green - Conan The Valiant

Even Massouf managed the climb down with little trouble. Conan was sure they had made enough noise 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 distort speech. 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 would gladly have given up his sword, however, in return for not having to trust to Illyana's spells. If he could have been altogether certain they would be hers alone, it would have been different. With the Jewels friends 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 faint clatter.

"That's one—" Bora began.

" Hoyaaaa ! Guard! Turn out the guard!" came a scream from the left. Whoever was screaming was frightened 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 Raihna met them head-on, to keep them from Illyana. In the flurry of steel that followed, Conan had no eyes for anyone save those in sword's reach of him. Two men went down before his blade, then suddenly the mist lay 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 or spew 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 arm where the Jewel-ring sat. It let her make some use of the Jewel without revealing herself with its emerald light.

"They will be, when somebody finds these bodies," Conan said. "Come along. Best we don't let ourselves 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 or imagined. A moment later the mist vanished, as if a giant mouth had sucked it out of the valley. The light turned the familiar emerald of the Jewels.

As the vanishing mist revealed the valley around Conan's party, it also revealed at least fifty of the Transformed 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 the target was hard to miss. Every arrow from her bow, then from Conan's, then from Illyana's and Massouf's, struck Transformed flesh.

Struck, but did not pierce. At this range the scales of the Transformed were as good as the finest mail. 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 even more monstrous than before. Jewel-light seared Conan's eyes again, as Illyana slung her bow, flung back her sleeves, and began wielding her magic.

When he could see clearly again, the Transformed had ceased their advance. Instead they huddled together, glaring in all directions. Some snatched arrows from their hides, others bit their taloned hands and 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're all 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. His dying 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 the Transformed. 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. Was the 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 at a 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 whole new order of nightmare. Once more he knew he might not easily find it in him to give Eremius a clean death.

Then he had to think about his own death and how to prevent it. His comrades were all on their way up the slope. Two of the Transformed hurled themselves forward. Perhaps they hoped to overtake Bora or 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 ribs with his dagger reached vital organs.

Conan had to leap backward to avoid the grip of the first Transformed. With sword and dagger at the guard, he watched it stop and stand over its fallen comrade. Then it knelt beside the fallen, trying to stanch 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, but he vowed to give the Transformed warriors' deaths whenever possible.

Conan retreated again. He had nearly overtaken his comrades before the Transformed started mounting the slope. Bora was casting back and forth like a dog for a trail. "I smell a cave around here somewhere."

"If you smell it, perhaps the Transformed are already at home," Conan said. "I doubt if they will welcome 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 a statue 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 the Transformed.

"Crom!"

The Transformed were giving way before Massouf's charge. They hissed and cringed and cried as if Massouf had been a whole army.

Massouf actually contrived to spit one of the Transformed like a chicken, before they regained their courage. A moment of clawing and trampling, and Massouf was gone.