Conan and the Manhunters Page 13

  Two hours later, Berytus and his man-hunters rode from the village on fresh horses, fully supplied. Behind them they left a few slain villagers, for some had not wished to give up their belongings and others had been unwilling to supply their daughters for the amusement of the murderous band.

  Leading them was a Turanian trooper, a small man on a fast horse who carried the stripped-down gear of a scout. They rode tirelessly over the arid landscape, pausing only occasionally to rest their horses. Just before nightfall, they came within sight of the house of Volvolicus.

  'There is the place you seek,' the guide said, pointing. 'My captain has given me orders that I am not to accompany you there. I shall abide here until you return.'

  'Let's go,' Berytus said, reining his horse into the small valley where the house sat by its pond. No smoke rose from its roof, and there were no signs of men or beasts nearby. They knew this could be deceptive, for all of them were well versed in the art of occupying a hideout while leaving no external signs of their presence. Accordingly, they proceeded with caution.

  Barca the Shemite rode a little ahead of the others, arrow fitted to string. He rode barefoot, with toe-loops depending from his saddle in lieu of stirrups. Carefully, he scanned the ground before him, his gaze searching out all nearby rocks and brush where danger might lie. The ground closest to the pool was littered with dry twigs fallen from the brush nearby. As he approached, these twigs seemed to shimmer and vibrate; then his horse reared as they transformed into a nest of writhing, hissing serpents.

  'Bel and Marduk!' the Shemite swore as he fought his mount back under control.

  'The sorcerer's home is protected by spells!' said Urdos of Koth, superstitious dread in his voice.

  'There is no danger,' said Ambula. 'See, they writhe like real snakes, but they leave no marks in the sand. Watch me.' The man from Punt dismounted and gathered up a handful of small stones. Armed with these, he walked fearlessly to the nest of vipers and began to throw rocks at them. When

  struck, each reverted to an inoffensive twig. 'It is just an illusion. The wizard of my home village knew this trick.'

  'I am convinced,' said Bahdur the Hyrkanian. 'Persuading my horse is another matter.'

  'We will leave the horses here,' Berytus instructed. 'Even if we take the time to destroy all these false snakes, they would just be frightened by the next illusion.'

  'Go ahead on foot?' asked Urdos. 'There could be enemies here.'

  'I doubt it,' Berytus said. 'Would he have bothered with these feeble safeguards if he were in residence, with his bandits to protect his home? Be cautious, though. Some of his wards may be more than illusion. The snakes might just be there to discourage the local camel-herders from using his water. The house could be better protected.'

  Weapons at the ready, the men walked toward the house. The men armed with bows scanned the tops of the palms overhead, while others watched the house and the nearby terrain. None neglected to look behind from time to time. These men knew more about ambushes, both setting them and avoiding them, than most professional soldiers ever learned. Berytus called a halt twenty paces from the site.

  'Ambula, Bahdur, circle the house.' The men set off at a fast walk, their eyes on the structure, their weapons balanced for instant use. Two minutes later, they were back.

  .'No sign of life from inside,' Bahdur reported. 'There is a window on each end, two more in back, all shuttered. No door save this one.' He pointed at the symbol-carved wooden portal in the centre of the front of the house, which faced the pool. The roof was flat, with a slightly raised parapet.

  'Do we go in, Chief?' Urdos asked.

  'Not yet. Ambula, climb a tree and get a look at the roof.'

  The brown man selected a stately palm that grew a dozen paces from the house. Jamming his slender spear into the ground by its butt-spike, he unwrapped his turban and looped the broad band of cloth around the trunk. With the horny soles of soft bare feet gripping the ridges of the trunk, he shimmied to the top as nimbly as a squirrel. From this point of vantage, he scanned the flat roof. It was made of woven withies, waterproofed with bitumen.

  'No men or other creatures,' Ambula reported.

  'Now we go in,' Berytus said. They walked toward the house. 'Uglak, take your mace and smash in the door.'

  The man so named, a burly Argossean, readied the weapon he had been carrying across his shoulder. The mace had a three-foot shaft of steel, topped with a circle of thick, triangular flanges. It was a weapon for smashing armour and the hones beneath armour, but was equally handy for smashing in doors. Uglak swung a mighty blow against the portal.

  Instead of smashing the wood to splinters, the mace stopped as if it had struck a slab of steel. It did not rebound, but stayed fast, the tip of a flange touching a jagged design that abruptly flamed with red light. The light shot along the haft of the weapon, and in an instant, Uglak was caught in a net of crackling, writhing red lightning. He screamed as his clothing flashed away in a puff of flame and smoke and his flesh seared, blackened and bubbled. The last of the scream came out as a stream of foul black vapour from his burning

  lungs.

  After the space of thirty or forty heartbeats, the unnatural red fire vanished and the blackened skeleton of Uglak fell to the ground before the door. Beside it, the steel mace glowed bright orange, darkening to sullen red as it slowly cooled. The man-hunters stood gaping, silenced by horror. Berytus was first to recover his power of speech.

  'Well, it looks as if we'll not get in that way,' he said.

  'Surely you don't propose to go in now,' said Urdos. 'This is no illusion of phantom serpents—the sorcerer commands real power! Let us be away from here!' The others chattered their agreement.

  'Nay, it galls my pride to let some—' His words broke off short as, abruptly, the door slammed open and something huge and hairy shot out, foam flying' from its yellow-white fangs. Before any of them could move, its unbelievably long arms reached out and misshapen hands grasped the neck of a man, pulling him close. The grotesque, snapping jaws closed on his face, shearing away flesh and bone, exposing the quivering brain with one eyeball still horridly attached by a stringy nerve. In his death-spasm, the man thrust his short-sword into the thing's belly, spilling blood and entrails.

  At the sight of blood, the man-hunters threw off their paralysis. This was no uncanny fire, but a living creature, of sorts. And they knew how to deal with things that lived. The bowmen shot arrows feather-deep into the thing's hide even as Ambula and other spearmen thrust their points into it. An ax-man brought his weapon crashing down on the thing's skull and it dropped, its tiny brain split by the keen edge.

  For a few heartbeats, they stared at the repulsive corpse. The creature's apelike body, coupled with a long, wolf-like snout, identified it as some sort of baboon, but it was five times the size of any natural monkey of that breed. A loud slam jerked their heads around to stare at the house. The door was shut once more. 'No more of this, Chief,' Urdos said. 'I agree,' Berytus answered him. 'Back to the horses, all of you. Do not run, walk. Keep your guard up. This wizard is both more powerful and more clever than I had thought. He may have set traps for fleeing men.'

  From long habit, the men spread out, close enough for mutual support but far enough apart to avoid making the mass of them an easy target. As they passed near the pool, the water in its centre began to roil and churn to white foam. Thin tentacles broke the surface and snapped in the air like long whips. At first they groped blindly, then they shot toward the men. At this apparition, the nerve of the man-hunters finally broke and they ran toward their horses, screaming in terror. Most of them made it, but getting mounted on the terrified, plunging beasts was no easy task and one man took too long about it. Just as he managed to get a foot into his stirrup, a tentacle wrapped around his body and dragged him back. Swiftly, other tentacles wrapped his limbs and he was raised from the ground. Some of the thin wand-shapes were lined with suckers, others with short, back-curving teeth. Each was lipped wi
th a jewel-like green eye. Screaming in agony and horror, he was dragged back to the foaming water. The bulk of the creature was still hidden from view.

  The men did not wait to see what the rest of the thing looked like, but rather, spurred their horses to the greatest speed they could manage. The spurring was unnecessary, for the horses were even more terrified than the men. The screaming died out behind them and they put many miles between themselves and the wizard's house before they at last slowed down.

  'Father?' Layla said, seeing Volvolicus stagger. 'Is something wrong?' She rushed to his side and took his arm, guiding him to a stool of camel-hide stretched over a wicker frame. They were in a bazaar of Green Water, on a side street where awnings stretched between facing buildings, shading the stands and carpets of the petty merchants whose wares were on display, leaving only a narrow strip in the centre of the street for walking. Light fell softly, tinted by the colourful awnings through which it filtered, or brightly in narrow bars, through gaps between the awnings.

  Conan, who had been trying on a new desert burnous, turned at the woman's words. 'What ails you, mage?'

  'It is nothing, it will pass,' Volvolicus said, sinking onto the stool. At Layla's signal, Conan approached.

  'It is not the heat that weakens thee, Father,' she said.

  'Nay,' he said in a low voice so that none could overhear. 'The wards I set to guard our house have been activated. When this happens, it draws upon my magical energies and drains me for a while.'

  'What means this?' Conan asked.

  'It means that someone has tried to enter our house,' Layla said.

  'Aye, I set harmless illusions to frighten away casual interlopers and they are nothing. But any who seek to break into the house awaken the deadly guardians.'

  'Might it have been raiders from the desert?' Conan hazarded.

  'Raiders are not so persistent. These were vigorous enough to rouse no fewer than three of my guardians. Desert raiders would have run screaming from the first.'

  'Sagobal, then,' Conan said. 'Or one of his search parties. You must have been recognized in the city.'

  'Perhaps, but it will have taken no great powers of deduction to light upon me as the one most likely to have removed the treasure. My powers are not unknown in the district, although I have always sought obscurity. They did not get in, nor shall they.'

  Conan pondered for a minute. 'If Sagobal thinks the treasure is in your house, he will be back with siege-engines. Can your home resist such an attack?'

  'Aye, if necessary. Should he make such an attempt, fire elementals will burn his engines, and venomous flies from the desert will swarm in to drive his men and horses mad. All this will happen long before he is even within bowshot of the house.'

  Conan held his own counsel. Unless the man was boasting, he was a far more powerful mage than the Cimmerian had at first thought him to be. Somehow, he doubted that the man's words were mere windy braggadocio. He had yet to catch Volvolicus in a claim that the mage could not back up with deeds.

  'Torgut Khan will be desperate, for the king must know soon that his treasure has been taken, if he does not know already. Is it possible that he could summon a sorcerer more powerful than yourself to set your protective spells at naught?'

  Volvolicus laughed dryly. 'As it happens, all the truly ' powerful magicians are otherwise occupied. Torgut Khan may be enjoying their company soon, but he will have no service from them.'

  For this enigmatic utterance, Conan had no comment to make.

  'We had best return to Elma's house,' Layla said. 'Rest for a while. Then you may wish to fare out again.'

  'I am well recovered, I tell you,' Volvolicus protested, but he allowed his daughter to tug him to his feet and lead him back toward their lodgings, while he leaned heavily upon her shoulders.

  Conan watched them go, then shrugged and returned his attention to the burnous he had been inspecting. A clatter of hooves drew his attention toward the mouth of the street, which intersected the town's main thoroughfare, running from the oasis gate to the square. He saw horses rush by amid a jingle of arms and accoutrements, ridden by men in armour. He muttered a curse. General Katchka and his troopers were back. For three days he and his bandits had enjoyed a carefree carouse. The only potentially serious incident, when one of his men and a caravaneer had drawn daggers on each other, he had resolved by laying both men out senseless. Now it looked as if the carefree times were over.

  To make matters worse, his men were drinking, wenching and, especially, gambling -their money at an alarming rate. It had never been Conan's habit to hoard his wealth, and ordinarily he spent as freely as any of them, but this time he knew it would pay to be cautious. Not so his men. Their silver would run out in a few days, and then there might be trouble. Either they would try to steal more, which was bad, or they would want to return to the treasure before time, which could prove much worse.

  That evening he met with a number of the others at the tavern in the square. At this hour, most of his men were just rising from whatever harlot's den, flea-infested caravansary or oasis camp in which they had slept the day away. Ubo and Chamik, older than the rest, were more moderate, preferring to stay perpetually half-drunk in the less uproarious taverns. In this company, Conan was a virtual ascetic, never drinking enough to lose his sobriety, gambling only for small stakes and sleeping mostly at night. This was a matter of necessity rather than inclination.

  'The soldiers are back,' Ubo said. 'I knew it was too good to last long.'

  'I wish I could find something for the men to do,' Conan said.

  'Do?' asked Chamik, as if he had never heard the word before. 'What mean you, 'do'? While we have silver, we've no need to do anything save spend it.'

  'That is our problem,' Conan told him. 'If we could get out of this town, perhaps go on a little raid, it would keep the men out of trouble and help pass the time. I expect a run-in with these troopers before much longer, and then it could fare ill for us.'

  'Many caravans come and go here,' Ubo pointed out. 'We could pick one with good booty and few guards and when it leaves, follow after.'

  'Aye,' said Auda, who had joined them, yawning and scratching. 'We could tail them for a few days, so that we be far from town and witnesses, strike the caravan, kill the witnesses, and be off.'

  'We could not bring the camels back here,' said Ubo. 'They might be recognized.'

  'Sell them in nearby villages,' Auda advised. 'If the price be right, no one will inquire as to where we came by them.'

  'It's a thought,' Conan said. 'It well may come to that, though I dislike the idea of petty thieving when we have that great heap of treasure waiting for us at the hideout.' He looked up to see a familiar form approaching. The others followed the direction of his gaze.

  'It is that popinjay Captain Mahac,' Ubo said, spitting a pomegranate seed onto the tessellated pavement. 'What does the general's little dog want this time?'

  'He's no little dog,' Conan said. 'More like a wolf, so be polite.'

  'A good evening to you, Captain Conan,' said Mahac, pronouncing the military title with the slightest of sneers. ''

  Excellency and the Vizier Akhba crave the pleasure of your company at their table.'

  'Once again I am honoured beyond my merits.' Conan rose and picked up his sword, attaching its hanger to his belt. He followed the captain across the square and found Katchka seated in his accustomed place. This time he greeted Conan jovially.

  'Greetings, my captain! Welcome to my table. I trust you have not yet eaten?'

  'I have not,' Conan replied, bowing. 'Then partake of our dinner,' said the vizier. Without hesitation, the Cimmerian seized the leg of a roast fowl and tore it from the steaming bird, then dipped it in a savoury, pungent sauce. 'I trust Your Excellency's recent foray was a success?' He bit into the leg, then washed the mouthful down with a draught of sweet date-wine. He did not fear poison from a man who could have him cut down with an idle gesture and need explain the deed to no man.
/>   'It was agreeable enough,' Katchka said, his hoarse voice seeming to come from somewhere deep within his paunch. 'We chased the rebels and caught a few of them and crucified them as an example. The bulk of them fled across the river into a stronghold of theirs.'

  'Across the river?' Conan said. 'You mean the Ilbars?' 'It is the only river of any consequence in this district,' said the vizier.

  'Can your king not petition the king of Turan to drive them out?' Conan asked.

  'As it happens,' the vizier explained, 'the land into which they fled is disputed territory.'

  'How is that? I thought the Ilbars was the boundary between Turan and Iranistan.'

  'It is,' said the vizier, 'but boundaries defined by rivers sometimes change.' He dipped his finger in the wine and drew a wavy line on the table. 'Here is the Ilbars. And here,' he made a wide loop, 'is the land where the rebel stronghold lies. It used to be entirely south of the river, in Iranistani territory, enclosed in this loop of the river. Then, some years ago, the river flooded. Its increased flow cut through the narrow neck of land, leaving this territory north of the main current, although still enclosed in its loop. The king of Turan maintains that the main current is the border and that this land is now his. Our king, naturally, maintains the opposite: that the northern loop is the effective border and the land is still his.

  'While the land remained uninhabited save for sheep and goats, this bickering could have gone on for generations. As it is, the matter is troublesome. His Majesty, who is a cautious monarch, has ordered us not to cross the river even here, because he does not wish to provoke a war with Turan.'

  'Is the king of Turan in sympathy with the rebels?' Conan asked.

  'Naturally, he protests he is not,' Akhba said. 'Just as naturally, he is, although we do not think he gives them any meaningful support.'

  Conan wondered why they were telling him all this, but he did not have to wonder long.

  'His Excellency has a proposition for you,' said the vizier. I