The Conan Compendium

by Various Authors

  "Father!" Fosull heard Vilken call. "I knew you would come for me!"

  Fosull turned and saw his son. He managed a quick smile. "Aye, boy. But I planned to do it with less noise! We must be away, quickly!"

  "Is that a Jatte with you?"

  "We shall speak of it later. Your own companions are no less strange."

  "True, Father. True."

  Fosull turned and ran toward the spot from whence Raseri beckoned. The sounds from the wagon must have alerted the entire caravan-men were stirring and yelling in wonderment-and the plan of sneaking away quietly was destroyed. Best to leave quickly now, and a spear to anyone who stood in the way!

  Dake was groaning under the practiced hands and lips of the naked slave when suddenly he felt something snap in his mind. For a moment he confused the feeling with that of pleasure, but it quickly became apparent that the cause was other than that.

  His thralls had slipped away from his control!

  The mage leaped up from the cushions and shoved the surprised woman away, cursing as he moved.

  "M-m-milord?"

  "Silence, woman! Where are my clothes?"

  As Dake scrabbled about, searching for his robe and boots, he felt the presence of his freaks dwindling with every passing moment. What had happened? His spell had never been broken before! How could this be? Was it Capeya? Did he have some wizardry Dake had not noticed? Was this some treachery on the merchant's part?

  Dake hurriedly dressed and leaped from the wagon. He needed answers, and fast.

  Outside, the camp was in turmoil. Men yelled at each other in the dark, cursed as they stumbled about, trying to determine what was happening, and got in Dake's way as he raced for his wagon, calling for Kreg.

  What in the name of the Seven Hells had happened?

  Conan ran for all he was worth and still could not maintain the pace of Teyle, who ran ahead of him.

  The spell was shattered, they were free, but he kept his sword at the ready in case he should encounter Dake along the way. The mage might be able to recast his magic, and Conan meant to give him cold and sharp iron before he could muster his wits to try it.

  Ahead, Teyle yelled for her sister . . . and got an answer as Morja called back to her as from a distance.

  The running man lost sight of the giantess as she rounded a collection of wagons. He was slowed further when two men bounded into his path, holding their short swords ready for battle.

  The Cimmerian was moving too fast to even try to dodge round them. He swung his blade back and forth, hard.

  The two had badly underestimated Conan's speed. Their own cuts were too slow, and the broadsword's song was joined by the sound of the head of the guard on the left being severed from his neck, and the arm of the guard on the right being sheared above the elbow.

  The slashes slowed Conan only slightly, and while one man screamed and the other man's head tried to, the Cimmerian thundered past.

  He caught sight of Teyle just as she reached Kreg. The blond man had released his grip on Morja and was attempting to draw his long dagger when Teyle slapped at him. Her open hand caught Dake's cur across the face, smashing his nose and causing him to turn a three-quarter backward somersault to lie sprawled upon the ground.

  He would be unconscious or dead from the force of that blow, Conan knew.

  "Teyle!"

  The giantess turned and saw Conan bearing down on her.

  "She is all right," Teyle said. "They had yet to reach the merchant's wagon."

  "Good. Let us leave, now!"

  Teyle and Morja nodded, and turned to follow Conan.

  They were free, but it would do them little good were they slain by the remaining guards. Even such dullards as those would be difficult to face in enough numbers, and Conan was not ready to die, not so shortly after regaining his freedom.

  They ran to find the others who had escaped.

  TWENTY-ONE

  It was a strange collection indeed that left the confines of the merchant's caravan under the waxing moon. Conan, aided by the keen vision of a catwoman and the sharp nostrils of a wolfman, led four giants, two green dwarves, and a four-armed man away from imminent slaughter.

  They passed a small wagon in which a fat man sat cradling his head. When the rotund one looked up and saw the group, Conan heard him moan and say something about drinking too much wine.

  The Cimmerian set and kept up a goodly pace, for he did not know if they would be followed, and if so, when such pursuit might commence. Ordinarily it was risky to chase anyone in the dark, and despite the nearly full moon, it was not wise to move quickly over unknown ground at speed.

  Conan's first instinct had been to leave the road and move across the mesa-like flat ground-there was no point in making the chase easy, did it come.

  He thought that Dake would certainly wish to recapture them. They had been, after all, his livelihood, and of a moment, were so no longer. Too, Dake would be greatly angered. Conan's captivity had shown him that the man could not stand to be thwarted in any way; certainly this was a major attack on the freakmaster's pride.

  "Take care," Tro said. "There is a dip in the ground ahead."

  Conan pulled his thoughts away from pursuit and scanned the darkness. Yes, he saw the depression, to the left. He veered to the right to avoid it.

  "I didn't see anything," Oren observed.

  "That's because you are a stupid, blind meat animal," Vilken said.

  "Oh? And you are less than dog dung!"

  "Silence!" came the voices of Raseri and Fosull together.

  Conan grinned; and continued to move further into the night.

  It was good that Dake's magicks were of a small order, for were his stares able to destroy, there would exist nothing more than a smoking crater for as far as eye could see.

  Sitting on the ground by the freakmaster's feet, Kreg cupped his hands around his smashed nose. The bleeding had stopped, but the man's handsome face would never be the same.

  "On your feet, fool! We must go after them!"

  Kreg gripped the wheel of the wagon next to which he sat and clambered upward. "In the dark?"

  "In a firestorm from Gehanna if need be!"

  Dake turned to where Capeya stood waiting. "Does that present a problem? You now own one quarter of the profit of those who have escaped."

  "Aye, and I would see them recovered. This area is unafflicted with bandits. We can leave a dozen men to watch the caravan and take twice that number for pursuit."

  "You yourself would join the chase?"

  Capeya grinned. "Aye. I am not unfamiliar with hunting. I have slain tusked pigs and musk oxen. Men die easier than either."

  Dake nodded, but inwardly he did not agree. Pigs and wild bulls might be fierce, but they did not have the cunning of men, nor did they throw spears or swing swords. Still, he had but to get close to the escapees and they would fall under his control again. This time he would remain vigilant until they could be conventionally imprisoned in a suitable enclosure with sufficient guards to watch over them. Their escape had been a fluke, likely caused by his distraction with the slave girl.

  "How soon can we leave?" Drake asked.

  "Within the half hour, or I shall know why."

  "Good."

  As Capeya's men gathered themselves and their gear for the chase, Dake collected several items of his own from his wagon. He had a few more spells that might prove useful on the trail, and he packed carefully the magical implements he would need to perform those conjures. If need be, he could field the rain of toads and the demon, but those would hardly be potent against his thralls, since they knew the illusionary nature of the amphibians and red giant.

  That he would recover the escapees the magician did not doubt. They were on foot and ill supplied, and it would be only a matter of time. He would have to take care to avoid injuring the more valuable ones whilst securing them within his spell's range, but some of them were less valuable than others. Conan the barbarian had outlived his usefulness
, for one. The man was dangerous. It was he who had killed one guard and gravely wounded another during the escape; the sooner he was dead, the better.

  An hour away from captivity, Conan paused long enough to meet more formally his new companions. Teyle had explained to her father something of how they had come to be captured, exonerating Conan.

  For the Cimmerian there was no joy in seeing the leader of the Jatte again. He would as soon spit the giant on his blade as look at him, but for now, at least, Raseri was much less of a danger than Dake and his newfound henchmen.

  Fosull was introduced by Vilken as his father.

  Were he in their position, Conan knew that he too would have gone after his own children; no man worthy of the name would do otherwise. Still, he would prefer to be far away from this entire collection of folk, given his choice.

  The choice was hardly his to make at the moment. True, he could leave and perhaps circle widely around the caravan and continue onward to Shadizar. Although this merchant, Capeya, was apparently fairly well placed there, the city was also supposedly large enough for a man to lose himself within. He might stay there months, or years, without meeting the merchant or his hirelings again. Conan, however, was not a man who liked to sleep with one eye open, and knowing that he would have to avoid being discovered by Capeya grated upon him. It would be like having a sharp pebble inside one's boot, forever annoying until it was removed. Until he decided what he wished to do about it, this was as good a place to be as any.

  Raseri said, "We cannot lead them to our homes."

  "Agreed," Fosull said.

  Conan shook his head. "Dake already knows where your people live. You have help there. Your reasoning makes no sense."

  "Would this Dake have told the others?" Fosull asked.

  " Not likely," Penz said. "He gives away nothing of value."

  "Well, then, if we slay him and his assistant, there will be no one to reveal our location," Raseri said.

  Conan looked at the group. "We have one sword, three spears-two of them rather short-and a coil of rope. That is hardly enough weaponry to over come twenty or thirty well-armed troops, albeit badly trained ones."

  "We would have surprise on our side," Fosull said.

  "Aside from the odds," Conan continued, "your problem would still exist if you did slay Dake and Kreg. "

  Raseri looked at Conan, and his expression was a shrewd one, the Cimmerian saw.

  "I do not understand," Teyle said.

  " We know of your village," Conan said. He waved at Tro, Sab, and Penz.

  "But what of it?" the giantess asked.

  "They are not Jatte, daughter."

  "Nor Varg," Fosull added.

  Teyle faced her father directly. "Father, it was Conan who was responsible for freeing us. It was Conan who came to help me free Morja. And it was Conan who resisted Dake more than any of us."

  "None of which makes him Jatte, daughter."

  "So you would slay him and the others for the crime of not being Jatte?" She turned toward Fosull. "Or Varg?"

  "For the crime of knowing where to find us."

  "Are we to hide for the rest of our lives and the lives of our children's children? As the outswamp men grow in numbers and reach, is it not inevitable that they shall someday stumble across us?"

  "Mayhaps. Death is inevitable too, but it is to be put off as long as possible."

  As father and daughter spoke, Conan quietly drew his sword. Raseri noticed this, and reached for his spear.

  "Then let us decide who lives and who dies now," Conan said.

  Raseri grabbed his weapon and started to come up, as did both Fosull and Vilken.

  Penz, Tro, and Sab tensed and made ready to attack or defend.

  "No!" Teyle yelled.

  Raseri spared her a glance. "It must be so, daughter."

  "I have come to know these people as my friends," she said. "If you would slay them, then slay me, too."

  "You have lost your senses!"

  "No. I have gained them."

  Oren and Morja moved to stand next to Teyle. "She is right, Father," the girl said. "They are our friends, too."

  "You have all gone mad," the Jatte leader said, shaking his head.

  "What of you, Vilken?" Fosull asked.

  "I would not oppose you, Father, but for meat animals, they have acted quite well."

  "Best listen to your children," Conan said. "For if this fight does not go your way and we survive, you will have died for no good reason."

  Conan held his sword loosely, ready to swing it into play if need be. The bones of the Jatte were exceedingly hard, as he had reason to know, but the point of his blade would certainly pierce their flesh, and he intended to skewer Raseri's heart if the giant lifted the butt of his spear from the ground. The giant was strong, but the Cimmerian knew he was faster. He gathered his strength for the leap.

  Raseri stood silent for what seemed a long time. Then he said, "There is among my kind a potion that induces forgetfulness; it fogs the memory of recent events. If we survive this encounter with Dake and his ilk, would the four of you be willing to drink of the potion?"

  Conan looked at the man with the face of a wolf, the woman with the features of a cat, and the four-armed man. Each of them nodded. Like it or not, he had become their leader, and they were deferring to him.

  Conan faced Raseri again. "If you can offer proof that this potion is not merely a poison, we would consider it."

  "I am willing to drink of it myself before you do," Raseri said. "Is that sufficient proof ?"

  "Along with your word that it will only fog our memories, aye."

  "You have my word."

  "Very well. But if you have such a substance, why have you not administered it to others before and allowed them to go free?"

  "I did not trust it. Who knows but that the effect might wear off over the course of a long life?"

  "But you are willing to trust it now?"

  "Rather than fight with my own children? Yes."

  Conan nodded. "If we survive, then."

  Penz said, "Listen!"

  Conan strained his ears but could not hear what had disturbed the wolfman.

  "Men approach," Penz said. "And horses."

  "Best we move," Conan said. "We can discuss all this later, but here is not a place to stage a defense."

  "Agreed," Raseri said.

  Fosull turned to his son. "Go ahead and find us such a place. Quickly!"

  Vilken hurried into the darkness, and the rest of them moved out after him.

  "Tracks, milord," said the trooper.

  From the back of the fine horse upon which he rode, Dake recognized the man as the squinty-eyed one who had stopped him on the road.

  The freakmaster turned to the merchant. "I would have thought you would have had this one gutted for his inefficiency."

  "Aye, I would have, save that despite his lack of wit, he is our best tracker."

  "A pity."

  "Is not that always the way of it? Adequate help is so difficult to find and keep."

  Dake glanced over at Kreg, who still attended to his smashed nose. Aye, that was the truth of all gods.

  The merchant asked, "What do the tracks tell us?"

  Squinty had two men with torches bending over the ground, and he returned to his own inspection of the soft dirt. After another few moments, he stood and approached his master.

  "There be ten of them, milord. Four of 'em big and heavy, one of 'em even bigger than the giant woman. Two of 'em be very small-likely the green froggy one has another like him along. The rest be normalsized."

  Dake considered this information. So, another giant and another of the dwarves had arrived. Interesting. They might have carried with them some kind of counterspell that had freed the others. Only, Dake did not think it so. Were they wizards of note, they would likely have opted to inflict more damage rather than to flee. That they had followed him for such a lengthy distance was amazing. They were tenacious. That was important to
know too.

  Odd that they would have joined together, since according to Vilken's information, the two peoples hated each other. That might be a bad sign, too.

  Ah, well. There was nothing to be done for it. He was not willing to turn back and give up his entire stock of wealth in the world. At the worst, even salvaging a few of the freaks would be better than none at all.

  "Let us find them," Dake said. "They cannot be too far ahead. If good fortune is with us, we shall have them back before another day had passed."

  Forward they rode.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Vilken returned to the hurrying group after a few minutes to report to his father.

  "There is no high ground in this direction," he said. "All is flat, with scrub growth scarcely able to hide a rabbit, much less all of us. If we turn to the south, we might reach the rocky outcrops by dawn."

  "We are no more than half an hour ahead of them," Conan observed. "They move slower in the dark, having to track us, but doubtless shall increase their pace once it is light."

  "Have you any suggestions?" Raseri said.

  "Aye. Move toward the hills. The rocky ground there will better hide our trail. And we might prepare ways to slow them, if we hurry."

  No one had any better ideas, so they agreed to Conan's plan, tenuous though it was.

  Raseri felt as if he were in control of the situation as well as could be expected. One of his main goals, to retrieve his children, had been achieved. The other part of his mission, to destroy those who knew the location of the Jatte village, lay nearly within his grasp. He had spoken only half the truth to his daughter earlier. Death was to be put off for as long as possible, unless that death served a higher purpose. Could he make certain none knew how to find his people, then he was willing to pay for that with whatever coin it required, even his own life.

  Conan must die, as must the three freaks, and those who had held his children captives. If this was not accomplished in the fight that must soon be waged, then it would be achieved afterward.

  There might be such things as potions that would fog memory, but were there, Raseri of the Jatte did not know of them. He did, however, know how to brew a dozen poisons from common herbs, leaves, or flowers, and he would make such a drink for any survivors among those who must die.