"Silence, idiot. I will use magic to lift us. As you feel yourself grow lighter, use your hands to move us along the hill. Take care to stay close so that we are not seen. We shall sneak up on them."
"Ah."
Dake spoke the words represented by the inscribed runes, directing the energy into Kreg. For a moment nothing seemed to happen.
"It is working!" Kreg said.
"Of course it is working, fool. Did I not say that it would?"
Despite his speech, Dake felt a sense of amazement as Kreg's feet left the ground and the pair began to float upward as if they were two linked bubbles in a mug of ale.
"Stay close to the hillside!"
Kreg obeyed, pulling them along with his fingertips, much as a man swimming along the bottom of a pond might.
Well, the old wizard had spoken the truth. Would wonders never cease?
Four of the nine attackers had been driven back by rocks from Conan's well-thewed arm, and the others dodged similar missiles hurled by the Cimmerian's companions.
"Is that all of them?" Fosull asked, as he threw a stone. The rock fell well short of the climbers and bounced harmlessly past them.
"So it would seem," Raseri said.
"I do not see Dake, nor is Kreg apparent," Conan said.
"Perhaps they went over the side last night," Teyle offered.
"Somehow that seems less than likely."
"They would not risk themselves do they survive," Penz said.
"These troops are certainly either brave or stupid," Raseri said as one of his tossed rocks caught one of the men full in the chest and knocked him down the hill.
"Or enspelled," Tro said.
Dake did not know how long the magic would keep them aloft. Long enough, to surprise the escapees, he hoped. He was consoled by the knowledge that if the spell failed, they were but a short way above the angled hillside, and that his fall would be cushioned by Kreg's body if they were to come down unexpectedly.
They had risen well above the level of the shelf upon which their quarry stood showering rocks upon the hapless troops. Now they moved almost horizonally to a position that would bring them directly over the shelf.
"Carefully, carefully."
Below, the red demon had arrived at the ledge and stood there snarling ineffectively. The freaks and Conan ignored the illusion, casting rocks through him, and even walking within the space occupied by the creature. Dozens of evaporating toads still hopped about, although they, like the impotent demon, would be gone soon.
"There, move toward that large boulder on the back edge of the shelf."
Kreg did as directed. When they reached the rock, he gripped it tightly. Dake hopped from his back. This action was enough so that Kreg would have floated away had he not been anchored by his clutch upon the rock. Even so, his legs drifted upward.
"H-h-hey!"
"Silence!" Dake hissed.
"B-b-but I am without weight!"
"I'll take care of that in a moment. Stay where you are until I recapture the others."
"B-b-b-but-"
"I said be quiet!"
Dake moved quickly toward the freaks and that cursed barbarian. They were all gathered at the edge, bent on stopping the remaining troops from ascending. A few more steps and he would be close enough to envelop them in his spell ....
Some unknown sense warned Conan of danger. He spun, to see Dake coming toward them from behind!
"Behind us!" Conan yelled. "Move apart!"
Even as he yelled, Conan leaped to one side, away from the others.
Dake continued onward, speaking rapidly a language Conan did not know. The others started to spread out. In panic, Oren scooped up and threw a rock at the advancing magician, but it was hardly more than a pebble, no larger than a man's big toe.
Dake recited the final word of his spell, and the invisible net of magic fell upon the freaks. Only Conan was outside the range. "Don't move!" Dake commanded those he had just enthralled. Obediently, they froze into living statues.
Unfortunately, Dake's command could not stop the rock that Oren had tossed. The rock was small, but it came fast and hard and struck the mage square in the mouth. Two of his front teeth shattered and his lip split, gouting blood.
Dake wiped at his injured mouth. No matter. The boy would suffer for that. Later, after he enspelled Conan and had him leap from the ledge to his death!
Dake turned toward his final prey. Conan had drawn his sword and moved as far away as he could, but it would avail him not. Dake began the incantation again.
At the fourth word of the spell that would enslave the barbarian, Dake found that his injury would not allow him to pronounce it. He spat blood and fragments of teeth, but the gap could not be closed sufficiently to allow him to say the word!
Conan resolved to go to meet his god with his sword swinging. If he moved fast enough, perhaps he could lay the sharp iron on Dake before the spell captured him completely. He took a deep breath as he watched the man opposite him spit blood. He lifted his blade and charged, screaming.
Dake panicked. He dodged Conan's rush and turned to the enthralled freaks.
"Get him! Kill him!" he tried to say. The words came out, "Hithum! Hilluim!"
None of the freaks moved.
"Yaaah!" Dake screamed.
Something was wrong here, Conan realized. He had deliberately overbalanced when he had launched himself at Dake, so that even if he were enspelled, his momentum might carry him through. Only, instead of snaring him in the geas, Dake had merely moved aside.
Conan's rush carried him to the edge of the shelf. He nearly went over and was forced to drop his sword that he might keep his balance. His weapon slid to the lip and dropped, falling only a few spans before sticking up in the hard ground.
The Cimmerian twisted to face his enemy.
Dake had drawn a long knife from his belt, and was backing away.
Why was he not under Dake's spell? Surely he had been close enough? And why had the man pulled a dagger when he had magic at his command?
Conan grinned as he realized the only possible answer. Something was wrong with Dake's magic!
"So, slaver, your power has failed."
Dake continued to back away.
Conan moved in, brawny arms held wide, crouched low, inviting a thrust.
Dake lunged, driving the point of his blade at Conan's heart Conan twisted away and slammed the heel of his hand against Dake's shoulder. Dake was knocked sideways, but he slashed backward with the dagger, and the tip dug a furrow across Conan's chest The Cimmerian took the cut willingly, for that put him in position to drive his fist into the space under Dake's breastbone with all the power he could muster Dake's breath exploded out of him in a wheeze that showered Conan with blood from the man's smashed lips. He dropped the dagger Conan grabbed Dake as he sagged and lifted him above his head. He turned and took three quick steps toward the edge of the shelf "Doah!" Dake yelled. "Doah!"
Conan bent his powerful arms and legs and when he straightened them, threw Dake high into the air And over the edge of the shelf.
"Yaaaaahhhhhh!"
The slaver fell a long way before smashing into a flat rock. The scream cut off as if sliced by a sharp blade. The body bounced the rest of the way down the hill, over the trail below, and out of sight.
The four troopers who remained standing on the steep slope shook themselves and stared up at those on the ledge. Abruptly the four must have decided that they had urgent business elsewhere, for they scurried down to the trail below and did not slow when they reached it.
Conan turned back to look at the rest of his party. The death of Dake had released them from ensorcelment. Several of them came forward to congratulate him.
"H-h-help!"
Conan turned to see Kreg floating in the air at the juncture of the ledge and the hillside.
Penz moved, his rope twirling.
Kreg drifted upward, as a bit of thistle rises over a hot fire.
The wolfman t
hrew his rope. The loop rose and settled over Kreg's shoulders, but in his haste to grab the hemp, the lackey knocked the noose up so that it encircled instead his neck.
Kreg made choking sounds but managed to grab the rope above the noose with both hands and thus gain himself some slack.
The wind began to move Kreg away from the face of the hill and out over the edge of the shelf. Conan could see that Penz was being pulled along and nearly lifted from his feet. The Cimmerian ran to assist the wolfman, catching the rope and adding his weight to it. Even so, the tug was strong.
"Pull me down! Pull me down!"
Conan and Penz tried, but they could only manage to move the floating man toward them slightly. He now drifted over the steepest part of the hill below the ledge, where it was very nearly a straight drop.
"Raseri, your assistance," Conan called.
But as the Jatte moved to aid them, whatever magic responsible for holding Kreg aloft chose at that instant to fail. Kreg went from being like a bird on the end of a string to being like an anvil tethered to one. His face was full of surprise as he hurtled past them, hands waving in a futile attempt to regain some kind of balance. That was a mistake, but Conan did not think that keeping his hands on the rope would have helped Kreg much, considering the speed at which he fell. To Conan and Penz's credit, they managed to maintain their hold on the hemp, although it might have been better for Kreg if they had not.
There came a wet crack as Kreg reached the end of his rope. Conan and the wolfman looked at each other as the others went to observe the man who dangled by his neck below them.
Penz grinned wolfishly.
TWENTY-FIVE
Those who had been Dake's thralls the longest were first to make certain that he was indeed dead. Conan arrived as Penz stripped the few belongings from the body and examined them.
"Aside from his wagon and the coins hidden in the strongbox therein, he had little to show for his wickedness," Sab observed.
"And now he has nothing to show for it. I hope some of his victims will be on hand to argue his passage through the Gray Lands on his way to Gehanna," Tro added.
"And what are your plans now that you are free?". Conan asked.
Tro, Sab, and Penz exchanged glances. "Perhaps we shall return and claim Dake's wagon. He has no further need of it and likely none will contest our ownership of it. We might use it to travel to a place where our appearance is not thought so unusual." Penz was speaking. "You are welcome to come with us, friend. Part of the wagon's proceeds rightfully belong to you."
"Nay, I think not. I have my own road to travel. You may have Dake's wagon and money with my blessing." Conan looked up the hill. The four Jatte and two Vargs were still descending toward them. "Tell me, do you think such a place as you seek exists?"
The wolfman, catwoman, and four-armed man shrugged in unison.
Penz looked at Conan. "Who can say? There are stories of an island off the coast of the Western Sea in the Black Kingdom where all manner of oddities live in harmony. Perhaps we shall go there and see if the tales are true. Dake's money will make the trip possible. We can hire our own guards, if need be. Freaks with swordsmen are bothered less than those without."
The Jatte and Vargs arrived just then.
"Is he truly dead?" Vilken asked.
"Aye. Dead as anyone gets."
"Good."
"And our business together is done," Conan said.
"Nay, but not quite," Raseri said.
Conan looked up at the giant.
"You and these others still know where to find the Jatte."
"And the Vargs," Fosull added.
"When we arrive upon the flatlands, I shall prepare the potion of forgetfulness," Raseri said. "After you have drunk of it, you can go on your way."
Conan glanced at Penz, Tro, and Sab. He saw agreement there, though he was not particularly disposed to give up his own memory.
"Very well. We shall travel with you back to where we began climbing the hills."
Raseri smiled, showing his big white teeth.
Alone in the patch of scrub growth near the place where the merchant's horses-now long gone-had been tethered, Raseri gathered chu root, leaves of the hemin bush, and the bitter, milky stalks of the pok weed. To ingest any of the three was worth death; to drink a potion made from all guaranteed it beyond doubt. A single sip from this brew would fell an ox. Raseri intended that each of the four outsiders would drink an entire cupful.
When he returned to where the others had started an afternoon fire and were roasting rabbits, the Jatte was smiling again. He was, he reckoned, clever beyond any of these small men or Vargs.
Conan watched as Vilken and Oren exchanged the secrets of their skills. The Varg demonstrated his expertise with his spear, while the Jatte boy showed the other how best to hurl a rock. Odd how these two had come to find a certain peace with each other. Were it not for their leaders, who knew but that they might learn to live in peace?
As Raseri approached the fire, Conan stepped to where Penz squatted, chewing on a leg of cooked rabbit.
"Do you know how to work any of the late Dake's magic tricks?"
Penz wiped grease from his mouth with the back of one hand. "Aye. Some. I cannot call the toad rain or the demon. Neither can I bind others to my will, or fly, but I can use the green powder."
Conan looked sharply at Penz, who grinned in return. "Aye, I do not trust the giant one either."
Conan clapped Penz on the shoulder. "Good."
An hour after Raseri had brought the potion to a simmer in a pot he had made from the bowl-like helmet of one of the fallen soldiers, he deemed the substance cooled enough. Using small metal cups taken from the kits of the dead soldiers, Raseri served up four potions of the brew, leaving nearly half of the dark mix in the makeshift pot.
It was Penz who fetched the cups for himself and the others, and it was Penz who surreptitiously sprinkled dashes of green powder into each cup while his back was turned to Raseri.
As soon as Conan, Tro, Sab, and Penz all had the brew in hand, Raseri said, "Drink up, and forget!"
Conan and the others regarded their cups and each other. The Cimmerian stared at the giant, who still stood next to the fire.
"Why do you hesitate? Have I not given you my word that this is harmless, save to your memory of how to find the Jatte?"
"Aye, so you have said," Conan answered. He looked at the murky brown liquid within the metal cup, and as he watched, it sparkled briefly and turned clear, so that he could see the metal shining dully up at him through what he had supposedly just been transformed into water.
Teyle bent and picked up one of the metal cups and dipped it into the pot. "I too shall drink of it, Father, to show them you speak the truth."
"No!" Raseri grabbed the cup from his daughter.
"Do you fear to have your daughter drink the same brew you would have us down?"
Raseri glared at Conan, then at the others.
"Conan speaks for us," Tro said.
Raseri looked as if he might scream, or attack them, so angry did his face appear. Then it calmed. "Nay, I have no such fear. Though I would save my own memories, observe!"
With that, he put the cup to his lips, tilted it back and drained it, swallowing the contents with one gulp.
Fosull danced toward the fire, snatched up a cup, and dipped it onto the brew. "No one shames a Varg," he said. He swallowed the contents nearly as quickly as had Raseri.
"Gah, what a vile taste," he said. "But now keep your part of the bargain, outswamp men!"
Conan looked at his three friends, and nodded. They drank.
When they were done, Raseri turned away and vomited violently.
"What is this?" Fosull asked. "What is this?"
The Jatte finished emptying his belly, then turned back to face the others.
"Father-?"
"The potion was poisoned," Conan said.
"Father!"
"Aye. And I thought they might demand that I dr
ink of it, so I swallowed oil from the brill vine earlier to coat my stomach so none of it would be absorbed. But it is too late for them; already the poison courses through their systems and they will be dead in a matter of a few heartbeats. The secret of the Jatte is once again safe."
Fosull's green skin seemed three shades paler than normal. He dropped to his knees, making a gargling sound. Since he was much smaller than Raseri, Conan figured that the poison would claim him faster.
"You poisoned me? We are allies!"
"Do not be any more stupid than you are, Varg," Raseri said. "You are no more than an animal. You would have killed me at the first opportunity."
"True, Jatte. I would have." He grinned weakly. "Still, I will not go to my long sleep alone." And with that, he cast his spear.
Raseri dodged, and the spear only nicked his arm in passing. He put his hand over the small cut and pressed the flesh to stanch the tiny flow of blood.
"You are wrong yet again, Varg. You die with none but these small men to keep you company!"
Vilken had dropped his own spear and rushed to grab his father.
As his son clutched at him, Fosull began counting aloud.
"-three . . . four . . . five..."
"What is he doing?" Teyle asked.
"-eight . . . nine . . . ten!"
"The poison has affected his mind," Raseri said.
"Nay," - Fosull said, the sickly grin in place, pointed teeth grinning. "I wished only to be certain you did not try to express my poison from your wound before it had a chance to work."
"What?! "
"Aye. Giltberry juice. See you in Gehanna, Jatte! "
Raseri lifted his hand from the tiny wound and saw that already the edges of the cut had turned black. His legs wobbled and he sat upon the ground, hard. "I die, but I managed to keep the Jatte's secret! You all drank my poison and will follow me quickly!"
Teyle knelt next to her father and held him to her. "Father!"
Conan shook his head. "Nay, Raseri. Your treachery served you not. What we drank was no more than water, your poisoned brew having been altered by Dake's magic, courtesy of Penz."
Raseri's eyes widened in horror as he heard this.
Fosull fell forward onto the ground and died.
The Conan Compendium Page 126