Conan The Fearless (6 page)

“I am not without my ways. Suffice it that I do know. I, too, have an interest in this barbarian. When the time comes, I would greatly appreciate your aid in capturing this man for my own.” Lemparius smiled widely.

“I-I cannot.” Loganaro’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Your pardon, friend Loganaro, for my bad hearing. I thought for a moment I heard you say that you would not help me in this matter.”

“Honored Senator, Djuvula would have my head mounted on a pole in the pit of her outhouse!”

“Dear little man, what I will do should you refuse my simple request would make you beg for such a fate. I shall protect you from Djuvula’s wrath, you may be assured.”

Loganaro swallowed again. “Might I know why you wish this thing?”

“I see no harm in such, now that you are in my employ. Djuvula, as you may know, no longer takes lovers from among men. I would have her take one more before she animates her simulacrum.”

“You, Honored Senator? But-but I thought …” Loganaro’s speech dribbled away as he realized what he had been about to say.

Lemparius laughed, apparently undisturbed. He finished Loganaro’s thought for him. “You thought that I had already partaken of that dubious honor, and, like all the others, had been found wanting?”

“Your pardon, Senator-“

“Nay, you would be correct in your assumption. That was the case; however, this was some time ago. I have since become imbued with certain vigors of, shall we say, an animal-like power. With this new energy I feel certain my-ah-performance in that arena in which Djuvula so rightly claims mastery will be vastly improved.”

“But if this is so, why not merely tell her this?”

“You have little understanding of women, it would seem. She has set her mind and it will not be changed without a great deal of determined effort. If I cannot instill belief beforehand, I shall have to have something with which to bargain. If I should hold this barbarian, I could extract a price for him. Should I fail in my ministrations, then Djuvula will have her simulacrum. I must confess, I foresee this as unlikely; still, it is the kind of bargain that should appeal to her; after all she cannot lose either way.”

“I see. And you shall then assume a position in which you can protect any of your agents who might have caused her distemper in this matter?”

“Of course.”

Loganaro considered his options. In truth, he saw no other choice than to agree with the senator’s wishes. If Lemparius’s plan somehow failed, likely as not Djuvula would seek revenge upon the man who betrayed her; on the other hand, if he refused the senator, he was a dead man for certain. Better to risk the unhealthy future than the unhealthy present.

“Naturally, since you have explained your reasons, I could do nothing less than offer my services wholly to you, Honored Senator.”

“I thought you might come to see it that way, Loganaro. My instructions are simple: Go back to your dogging of the barbarian. Say nothing of this to Djuvula, but rather continue your communication with her. When she orders the taking of this man Conan, you will inform me and receive my instructions.”

“As you wish, Honored Senator.”

“You must address me as Lemparius henceforth, free agent. After all, you are now a respected employee, one who will be paid well for his services.”

After Loganaro had gone, Lemparius went back to the body of the slain man and stared thoughtfully at it. He smiled. Djuvula would certainly forgive him, could he make good his boast of renewed vitality; it was unlikely that she would ever forgive Loganaro his devious switch in alliance. Too bad; the little weasel was very adept at spying and other criminal activities. He could be useful if he did not have to die to satisfy the witch’s anger. Better him than me, Lemparius thought.

The senator stared at the body on the floor and felt a rumble in his belly. Well. There was no point in wasting such fresh meat.

There was no one to see the thing that Senator Lemparius became then, nor what he did. The guards would have less to toss upon the offal pile than the gibbetmaster’s work would have left, though. And the panther would sleep with a full belly this night.

The evening shadows played across the thinning crowds as Conan watched Vitarius perform his conjures for the winemaker’s party. The old man was good, Conan noted. He pulled live birds from a lady’s dress, changed a glass of wine into vinegar, made an empty bottle spew ribbons of bright silk. Eldia ran about, collecting coins from the laughing crowd, stopping now and then to perform a trick of her own with her sword. She would slice a single button from a tunic, carve a loaf of bread into fancy shapes, even hold the blade in her hands and leap back and forth over it. It was a good show, and the coppers collected rapidly in the cup that Eldia rattled at the gathering.

Conan had little to do save watch. No cutpurses stalked the duo, though several pickpockets moved here and there. As long as they did not bother his charges, Conan bore them no malice. Being a thief made him tolerant of such things; after all, a man had to eat, and these folks would not miss a few lifted coins.

As with most street magicians, Vitarius seemed to be saving his best illusions for last. He had better hurry to finish, Conan thought, before everyone went home, taking their money with them.

A hush fell upon the people watching Vitarius as he drew himself up and began preparing for his final trick. Some of the crowd smiled and nodded. Conan heard a woman near him say, “His last one is the best; wait until you see it.”

The old man gestured this way and that, mumbled incantations, and hopped about from foot to foot in a kind of dance. The watchers laughed, and Conan smiled with them.

Finally, Vitarius was ready. He motioned for the people around him to move back, and with a final dramatic wave of his arms, Vitarius said, “Now!”

There was a flash of bright light, and a cloud of dense white smoke filled the space; as the smoke began to thin, Conan discerned an enshrouded figure within. A large, dark form loomed ominously.

The crowd gasped as one voice as the smoke disappeared-to reveal a demon! The thing stood half again as tall as a big man, and Conan judged that, were it real, it would scale twice his own not-inconsiderable weight. The demon was bright red, massively male, and his grin showed teeth from a nightmare. Conan felt a chill frost his shoulders. Vitarius’s other illusions were as nothing compared to this; the Cimmerian was impressed. When he glanced at Eldia, who stood an armspan away from him, Conan felt a jolt as she tore her gaze away from the demon to look at Conan. For the girl said quietly but quite clearly, “He did not bring it, Conan. It is real!”

The demon took a step toward Vitarius. He spoke then in a voice reminiscent of metal tearing. “Where is she, White One?”

When Vitarius made no answer, the demon scanned the crowd with eyes that glowed with infernal light. His sweeping gaze alighted upon Eldia, and he grinned widely. Dripping slime, the demon turned away from the conjurer and started toward the girl.

Eldia drew her sword and faced the monster.

The crowd, sensing malpractice in the apparition, began to scatter as leaves before a storm.

“Hold!” Conan yelled.

The demon glanced down at Conan. “Bespeak you to me, gnat?”

“Aye, demon. But rather this gnat is a wasp, with a stinger.” Conan jerked his broadsword free and gripped it easily in both hands, to point at the demon’s belly.

“I have no quarrel with you, wasp,” the demon grated. “My business concerns this female human child and is none of your concern.”

“Wrong, hellspawn. She stands under my protection; menace her at your peril.”

“My peril? You are amusing, wasp, but I grow weary of you. Fly away and avoid being crushed.”

Conan raised the broadsword and sighted along the edge at the demon’s malefic face. “Conan of Cimmeria does not fly from the likes of you, beast.”

“Then pray to your gods, insect, for your time is come.”

The demon extended his black-taloned hands toward Conan, and the sound of his giant muscles cracking rent the air as he crouched and sprang.

As fast as the demon was. Conan was faster. The Cimmerian leaped, as did the blood-red pit-spawn, but to the side; the demon’s initial rush bypassed the man. Tortuous veins stood out on Conan’s brawny arms as he swung the sword, aiming for the demon’s neck. The force of Conan’s strike sheared the air, moving so fast, the blade cried out a note somewhere between a moan and a whistle.

The demon, however, did not stand idle, awaiting decapitation; instead, he leaped high into the air and tucked his massive body into a tight ball, performing a somersault as neatly as an acrobat might. Before Conan could recover to bring the blade back for the return stroke, the demon regained his feet and danced lithely away.

“Where is your stinger, wasp?” The demon laughed in his grating way.

Conan gave no answer, but instead rushed forward, mighty legs pumping and his sword held ready for another slash.

The demon backstepped quickly, knocking a fruit vendor’s stall askew as if it were no more than cobwebs. He might be laughing, but he moved readily enough from the cold steel Conan bore.

From the corner of one eye Conan saw Eldia dart forward with her blade upraised, only to be stopped by the hand of Vitarius. “Not that way!” the old conjurer yelled.

There was no time for a lack of attention, Conan knew. The demon might fear steel, but he was big, strong, and hellishly fast; his claws would gut a man as easily as a handful of daggers would, and Conan had no intention of allowing the inhuman creature to lay those talons on his own hide. The Cimmerian whipped his sword back and forth, creating a deadly fan that sought the red flesh before him. The thing kept moving backward through the ruins of the fruit stall, and Conan followed, concentrating fully upon the fiend.

That concentration was a mistake. Conan stepped upon a crushed section of some greasy fruit and his leading foot shot out from under him. He lost balance and nearly fell. Only his quickness saved him then, for the demon reacted far faster than most men could have, lunging at his attacker with his giant right hand, the talons set to rend Conan’s throat.

Even as he fell to one knee, Conan snapped his blade up in a short arc, releasing his grip with one hand to keep what balance he could. Man-made steel met inhuman flesh and black bone, and … the ancient broadsword cleaved through the demon’s wrist. A hellish right hand fell to the ground, smoking and dripping acidic ichor as it did so. The fingers of the severed extremity spasmed and relaxed several times, as if still somehow connected to the demonic muscles that previously controlled it.

The demon roared, a terrible noise that shattered nearby wine bottles and blew all other sounds from Conan’s ears. As Conan sought to regain his own stance the maddened creature seemed to explode into motion: The now-handless arm swung at Conan, splattering the man with gore as the stump brushed aside the upraised sword, knocking the weapon from Conan’s grasp. The barbarian managed to dive into a roll away from the demon’s onslaught, and he came up with his own powerful arms widespread, ready to grapple with the one-handed attacker. Conan felt the foul breath of doom in his face; he knew he was no match for the demon with his bare hands, but he did not back away. By Crom, he would meet his end head-on and fighting!

As the demon gathered himself for his final lunge at Conan, a stream of blue fire suddenly splashed over his back and shoulders, blending with his red skin to form a purple haze. The child of the pit roared again, but the supernal glow only increased around him, sending ragged trails of smoke skyward as his skin began to char. Conan twisted to see the source of this blue fire, and beheld Vitarius, one hand extended toward the demon, the other laid upon the bare head of Eldia, who also glowed with essence of blue flame.

“No!” the tortured monster screamed. There came an eye-smiting flash of yellow and a danker shade of purple, and the demon vanished as abruptly as he had come.

Left behind was the demon’s right hand, which twitched fitfully upon the cobblestones near Conan, as if still trying to reach the one responsible for its destruction.

Vitarius came to stand next to Conan, to stare down at the demon’s hand. For a time neither man spoke. It fell to Conan, finally, to break the silence. “I think your explanation about being a simple conjurer is somewhat flawed, Vitarius. No small spell called that thing, nor did any illusion drive it away.”

“True enough,” the old man answered, looking tired. “An explanation is owed you, and I shall provide it. Were it not for you, Eldia would have been taken by Sovartus’s enthralled one and the consequences of that do not bear contemplation.”

“I await your tale.”

“Aye, you shall have it. As you have surmised, Eldia and I are not precisely what we pretended upon our meeting in the Milk of Wolves inn. I-” The old man stopped and jerked his head around. Save for Conan and himself, the road and stalls were empty. “Eldia! She is gone!”

Conan spun in a quick circle, looking for the girl. She was not to be seen. “The demon-” he began.

“No. He left alone! We must find her, Conan! If she is taken to Sovartus, she is doomed, as likely are many more. I swear to explain all this fully, but we must first retrieve the girl. You must trust me.”

After the briefest of pauses, Conan nodded. He had no reason to believe Vitarius, since it was obvious the man had lied to him before: still, Conan was a man of action and so trusted his instincts more than his reason. No evil stench lurked about Vitarius and Eldia, and the demon would likely have killed him without their help. Conan retrieved his sword and waved it to point down the street. “I will take this direction; you go that way.”

Vitarius nodded, and Conan loped off. He glanced back to see the old man pause long enough to collect the demon’s hand and drop it into his belt pouch.

The bedchamber of Djuvula the Witch exploded into a cloud of bruised purple and yellow, leaving Djavul amid the smoke, clutching at the stump of his right arm with his remaining hand. The door to the chamber opened and the witch rushed in, alarmed by the sudden intrusion into her sanctum. “Demon-brother! What has happened?”