The Conan Compendium

by Various Authors

  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.

  Chapter Five

  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 nodd
ed, 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?"

  Djavul cursed with the power of Hell in his words. On the witch's bed the dark form of the unanimated simulacrum tossed from the force of those curses. Then the wounded demon said, "My hand!"

  Djuvula seemed to relax somewhat. "Brother mine, why fret over such a thing? Another will grow to replace it-"

  "Fool woman! It is not the hand, but the way in which it was lost! I am bound to Sovartus, a Mage of the Black Square-"

  Djuvula sucked in a quick breath, startled.

  "So, you know of this one," Djavul said, staring at his sister.

  "Aye. A man of no small power, he."

  "As I am in his thrall, I am well aware of that, flesh of my damned father. And I have failed in my attempt to do his bidding. That which I sought was guarded by a man of supernatural abilities. Instead of my taking his charge, he took my hand!"

  "What would you have me do, brother-mine?"

  "I must return to report my . . . difficulty to Sovartus. He will not be pleased. It would behoove me to be able to indicate I have some assistance forthcoming, perhaps even another plan for obtaining that which he seeks."

  "We are blood-tied," Djuvula said, "and naturally I will aid you as I can."

  "Good. Sovartus wishes to collect a girl-child known as Eldia-she is one of the Four, as you will know when you behold her. He already has the other Three. This one travels in the company of one of the White Magicians, possibly of the White Square, though I could not be certain.

  And there is a large man of origin unknown to me with them. 'Twas he who cost me this." Djavul waved the handless stump. Already the wound had sealed itself into a smooth black glasslike stub.

  Djuvula nodded, but the implications of what her demon brother had just spoken were not lost upon her. If Sovartus managed to hold sway over all of the Four children imbued with the power of the Four Ways, he would be the paramount force in magic upon Earth. If she could somehow strike a bargain with Sovartus for delivery of the remaining portion of his magical spell-this girl, Eldia-she could bask in some of his thus-earned power. And the man who separated Djavul from his hand, well, he sounded very much like a candidate for a spell of her own. She looked at the somnambulant form of her simulacrum, her Prince of the Lance.

  She considered these things in a few heartbeats and then smiled at Djavul. "I will help you capture this child," she said. "Tell me, where did you leave her?"

  Loganaro crouched under the cover of a fallen awning and watched the muscular barbarian run down the nearly empty street. The agent had arrived in the vicinity just in time to see the finish of Vitarius's performance. More than ever, Loganaro was convinced that Conan was the man for animating Djuvula's dream-lover. Certainly, this barbarian from far Cimmeria would be worth admittance to the witch's bed, if Senator Lemparius held him. Capturing him might be less than easily accomplished, however. It could be an expensive undertaking, Loganaro thought, and some of the coin needed would certainly find its way to his pouch.

  The barbarian was too fast for him to follow, especially without cover to shield him from a casual backward glance, so Loganaro decided to append himself to the old magician instead. He felt certain that Conan would return to the white-haired one before long.

  The sound of Conan's boots was loud upon the rough cobblestones of the street. It was growing darker as evening stole upon the scene, casting her nightly net. Conan's sharp blue eyes sent his penetrating gaze down each alley he passed, covering such passages from top to bottom with a single glance. Eldia was not to be seen.

  As he ran past yet another of the building-bounded paths filled with the detritus of city life, Conan blinked and skidded to a halt. He raked the alley with a second look. Nothing moved in that dark rectangle; of that he was certain. Here stood a mound of trash-rags, scraps of animal skins, broken pottery-there, a stack of firewood. He beheld an alley like a dozen others he had passed in his run, and yet something within struck him as different. Some small thing intruded upon his senses, untouchable and yet somehow wrong.

  There! A tiny flash of whiteness against the dark backdrop of the woodpile! Instantly, Conan knew it for the eye of a man, reflecting the now-risen moon's soft glow. He drew his sword and moved into the alley, the point of the heavy blade held aimed at the darkness-hidden bearer of the eyes he had seen.

  As the barbarian's own sharp vision adjusted to the greater darkness of the alley, he made out a form squatting next to a pile of split kindling. The form arose and there shone the glint of moonlight upon steel as a short blade came up to point at Conan.

  "Wait!" came a girlish voice. Eldia. "It is Conan, a friend. "

  The form grew yet clearer in Conan's sight: a woman, her body nearly covering that of Eldia, standing behind her. The woman held her knife-a wavy-bladed dagger-aimed at the approaching man.

  "Eldia, come forth into the light," Conan called.

  "No," a woman's voice replied. This voice had the sound of honey upon steel, smooth and yet backed by hardness.

  Conan stood motionless for a moment, then decided there was no danger here for him. He sheathed his blade and held his hands out to show their emptiness.

  The woman took a step forward and the pale moonlight caressed her gently. She was perhaps eighteen, Conan judged, with jet-black hair that hung unbound to her waist. Her form was covered by a silken shirt and thin leather breeches, and upon her feet she wore thonged sandals of a fine cut. The body covered by these items was of a cut much finer than the sandals. The woman was lush of hip and leg, and beneath the thin blue silk of her shirt her breasts were full and heavy. There was something about her face, which was in itself flawlessly detailed, that seemed familiar to Conan. He knew he would hardly forget such a lovely woman had he seen her before, yet he was certain he knew that face . .

  . .

  Eldia moved into view, and Conan knew where he had seen the raven-haired beauty before: she was Eldia grown up into full womanhood.

  The woman was too young to be Eldia's mother, so she must be-

  "You are her sister," Conan said, voicing his thought as it came to him.

  "Aye," the woman said. "And come to reclaim her from the villains who took her from our home."

  Conan shrugged, his massive shoulders rising easily as he found it within himself to grin at the woman. "I took no one anywhere," he said.

  "And it seems to me Eldia travels with Vitarius of her own accord."

  The woman glanced toward the mouth of the alley, then back at Conan.

  She raised the dagger a bit higher, clutching it tightly. Conan could see her knuckles whiten upon the haft of the weapon. "She was dragged screaming into the night," the woman said. "My father was slain, as was my mother. Before my mother died, she told me that Eldia was special, that she had brothers and a sister-my half-brothers and sister-of whom she had never told us. That whatever I did, I must find Eldia and hide her from those evil ones who desire her for their own wicked purposes."

  Conan glanced at Eldia, who seemed content to allow her sister to speak. "And is Vitarius one of those evil ones?"

  Eldia shook her head. "N-no, but-"

  "It is all right, Eldia," her sister said. "You do not have to explain anything to this-this-barbarian."

  "Someone is going to have to explain it," Conan said evenly. "I am tired of being made the fool in whatever games Vitarius and you two have mounted. We shall go back to this 'conjurer' and hear this tale outlined in its fullness."

  "No," the woman said. "We are going home!"

  "After I am satisfied with explanations of why I was attacked by a demon in a pu
blic square," Conan said, the anger rising in his voice.

  "Now," Eldia's sister said, pushing the knife toward Conan. "Now, or I'll spit you and leave your carcass for the rats."

  Without another sound Conan leaped at the woman. He caught her wrist as she tried to impale his throat upon her blade; he twisted the woman's arm hard, and she exclaimed and dropped the dagger.

  Suddenly, the alley seemed to come to life. Small bodies slithered over the trash and woodpile; the scratchings of hundreds of tiny feet could be heard along with the gentle rasp of small forms moving everywhere.

  Conan saw that the very walls and ground seemed to undulate in small waves.

  "Crom!" He released the woman and moved back a pace, drawing his sword in a fluid and well-practiced move. But there was no single enemy to be faced here. Something touched Conan's boot, and he turned his fiery blue eyes downward to stare at the thing.

  It was a salamander. The creature was no longer than Conan's middle finger, but it mounted his footgear with a kind of determination Conan found hard to credit. Such lizardlike things usually ran at the sight of men, but to judge from the sound, there must be hundreds of the things here in this alley. How had they gotten here? Why were they advancing upon him'?

  "Hold!" Eldia said. The rustle of tiny feet stopped instantly. The single salamander upon Conan's boot froze as if transmuted into stone.

  Eldia looked at her sister. "He saved my life on two occasions," she said. "And Vitarius means only to help me. We must allow him to have his explanation." She nodded toward Conan. "And you must hear what Vitarius has to say, sister, before we can go home. I was frightened by the demon earlier, otherwise I would have had you stay then."

  Eldia looked at the salamander on Conan's boot. "Away," she said.

  Obediently, the creature turned and wiggled away. Around them the sounds of other scurryings touched the night air; in a moment all was quiet again.

  Conan stared at Eldia.

  "Shall we go?" she said.