"Dessa, for tonight."
For a moment both wine and desire left Achmai's eyes and a shrewd bargainer looked out at Conan. Then the man nodded.
"As you wish." He clapped his hands. The guard removed his arm from Dessa's shoulder, patted her, and gave her a little shove. She strode across the room, head high, too proud to show that she knew every man's eye was on Illyana.
"Tonight, be a friend to this new friend of mine," Achmai said. "I did not think you found him unpleasing, and certainly no man ever found you so."
"As you wish, my lord," Dessa said, with a smile that widened as she saw Conan now had eyes only for her. "Since it is no secret that this is my wish too…"
She vaulted over the table and settled on Conan's lap. Illyana showed no sign of ending her dancing. Still less did she show any sign of telling Conan what her plans were―if any.
Conan had asked for Dessa with the notion that the closer she was to him, the easier their escape would be if matters went awry. Of course they might now go awry from Illyana's jealousy, but Conan knew no cure for jealous women and expected to find none tonight!
He shifted Dessa to a more comfortable position on one knee and picked up Illyana's discarded loinguard. As his fingers tightened on it, he felt a tingling. Surprised, he nearly dropped the garment. His fingers would not obey his will. The chilling presence of sorcery drove out both wine and pleasure in Dessa's company.
Then a familiar voice spoke in his mind: Be at ease, Conan. I have other glamourings besides this one. One of them will make Achmai think he has taken more pleasure from me than he could have imagined from six women. Neither of us will lose anything we yet need.
When I am done, I shall come to you. Be ready, and Dessa likewise.
The voice fell silent. The tingling ceased. Conan's fingers obeyed his will, and he stuffed the loinguard into his tunic.
Dessa ran her fingers up his arm and across his cheek. "Ah, you will soon forget her. That I swear."
Conan tightened his grip. Illyana seemed to have her wits about her, he had a willing bedmate for the night, and the rest could be left to chance.
Nine
DESSA LAY SNUGGLED on Conan's shoulder like a kitten. Had they been elsewhere, her gentle breathing might have lulled him as deeply asleep.
Instead he was as alert as if he had been standing sentry on the Hyrkanian frontier. Only a fool slept in the house of a man who might swiftly become an enemy, in spite of good wine and willing women.
A faint knocking sounded at the door. Conan listened for the rhythm until he heard three strokes, then one, then two. He pulled his sword out from under the blankets, padded catlike to the door, and drew the bolt.
Illyana stood in the doorway. She wore her man's clothing save for the headdress. Deep indigo circles beneath both eyes made them look twice as large as before, and her face was pale.
She stepped into the room, pushed the door shut, then slumped onto the chest beside the bed. Conan offered her wine. She shook her head.
"No. I am only a trifle weary. I would like to sleep, but not as soundly as our friend Achmai. He will have sweet dreams of what he thinks happened between us, as sweet any man could wish."
"How does a maiden sorceress learn of men's dreams after bedding a woman?"
Illyana shivered, then bowed her head. Her throat worked. For a moment Conan thought she was about to spew.
The moment passed. She drew in a rasping breath and stared at him without seeing.
"I have learned. That is all I can tell you."
With that look on her face, Conan would not have asked her more for the Crown of Turan. After a moment he drank the wine himself, donned his clothes, and set about waking Dessa.
From the wall outside, a sentry called.
"The fifth hour, and all's well!"
The sentry could barely be heard over the drunken snores of the men in the Great Hall. He also sounded a trifle drunk himself. He was still on duty, though, ready to give the alarm.
Conan led the way to the outer door of the hall, to find the door locked from the inside. Illyana stepped forward, holding up the arm bearing the Jewel of Kurag.
The Cimmerian shook his head. He had never studied under the master thieves of Zamora, men to whom no lock held many secrets for long. He could still open a crude lock such as this in less time and with less uproar than any spell.
Outside, the courtyard was deserted and seemingly lifeless. Only the faint glow of a brazier outside the stables showed a human presence. Conan gave the ruddy glow a sour look. Well, it was a soldier's luck, to find that the only place guarded was the one he wanted.
The cool night air awoke Dessa from her near-sleepwalking. She looked about her, and her dark eyes widened.
"What―where are you taking me? This is not the way to Lord Achmai's―"
"You will not be going back to him," Conan said. "We have come to take you to Massouf, your betrothed. He is wailing for you."
"Massouf? I thought he was long dead!"
"You received no messages from him?" Illyana asked. "He sent all he could."
"Oh, some reached me. But how could I believe them?"
Illyana looked bewildered.
"Believe me," Conan said. "It's easy to believe everyone's lying to you when you're a slave. Most do."
Dessa smiled, as if he had praised her dancing or beauty. Then her face changed to a mask of determination. She opened her mouth and drew in breath for a scream.
None but the Cimmerian could have silenced Dessa without hurting her. His massive arms held her as gently as an eggshell, but she could make no more sound than a man entombed.
As Conan shifted his grip, Illyana stepped close. One hand rested on Dessa's forehead. Conan felt a tingling in his arms, his head swam, and Dessa slumped boneless and senseless against him.
"What―what did you do?" The effort to stand and speak made his voice grate harshly. As through a mist, he saw light fading from within the Jewel.
"A simple sleeping spell."
"Cast so quickly?"
"Against Dessa, yes. Against someone alert and strong-willed, it would not be so easy. I would not care to cast it against you at all."
"So you say."
"Conan, you still see evil in my magic? What can I do to persuade you otherwise?"
The Cimmerian smiled grimly. "If your magic made me King of Aquilonia, I wouldn't call it good. I wouldn't call you evil, though."
Illyana contrived a smile. "With such crumbs I must be content, I suppose."
The brazier still glowed before the stable door when Conan's party reached it.
The stable guards were nowhere to be seen. Illyana vanished into the stable to retrieve their mounts, while Conan laid Dessa on a bale of straw and drew his sword.
He had begun to think of searching for Illyana when the stable guards returned.
Neither was quite sober, and they supported between them a giggling girl, less than half-clad and rather more than half-drunk.
"Ho, Cimmerian," one man called. "Come to join our sport?"
"It will be better sport if there's some wine," Conan replied.
"In truth," the second man said. "Faroush, go and find that jug you―"
"You go and find your jug," the first man began indignantly.
"What, and leave you alone with Chira?" the second man growled.
Faroush was about to reply when Illyana emerged from the darkness, leading the horses.
"Ho, ha, sweet lady. Have you come to dance for us?" said Faroush.
"In truth, no," Illyana said. "I beg you to excuse me." Her voice was steady,
but to Conan her eyes had the look of a trapped animal's.
"Beg all you want," the second man said. His voice was all at once level, and his hand on the hilt of his sword. Conan marked him as the more dangerous.
"Again, I must say no," Illyana went on. "I am far too weary for any dancing that would please you."
"That I much doubt," said the second man. "It's the kind of danci
ng best done lying down, and―"
The man had talked a moment too long and not drawn his sword fast enough. A Cimmerian fist hammered into his jaw like a boulder. He flew backward, crashing into the stable door and sliding down to sprawl senseless in the dung-laden straw.
Faroush drew his sword, apparently sobered by his comrade's fate. Conan saw fear in his eyes, but in his stance and grip a determination to fight even against such an opponent.
Mishrak will want to know how Lord Achmai commands such men, was Conan's thought. For that matter, so do I.
Meanwhile, the girl had been swaying as she pulled her clothes into order. At last she drew a deep breath, and Conan cursed. From where he stood, he could only silence the girl by cutting her down, and that he would not do.
A moment later, the girl let out all her breath in a wild shriek.
"Help! Help! Guards! Thieves in the stables! Help! Help!"
Then she turned and ran. Faroush seemed to consider the alarm given and did the same, sword in hand.
Conan turned to Illyana. "Do you have a spell to speed our way out of here, by chance?"
Illyana frowned. "I cannot fly us all. Not the horses, certainly, and we will need them to outstrip―"
"Curse you, woman! Is this a time for bantering? Yes or no?"
"Yes. If you can give me a trifle of time and find some way to slow the pursuit."
Conan looked at the stable door. It looked stout enough to defy anything short of a battering ram or fire. Achmai's men would hardly burn the stable over the heads of their own horses.
Conan bent to pick up Dessa and jerked his head toward the stable. "Inside, and be quick about it."
The door crashed shut. Darkness embraced them. Conan fumbled for the bar. As he slid it into place, fists began pounding on the outside.
A dim emerald glow swelled behind him. He turned, to see the Jewel glowing on Illyana's wrist. She was taking off her tunic.
"What in Erlik's name―?"
Illyana drew her tunic off and bared all her teeth in a grin. "Have you never heard that one must be unclothed to cast a spell?"
"I've seen a good many women who could indeed cast spells unclothed, but they weren't your kind."
"Well, Cimmerian, you learn something new of magic every day you are in my company."
"Whether I wish it or not!"
Conan listened to the din outside the door, the shouts, the curses, the rasp of drawn swords, and a" few men trying to make their orders heard. By the time he knew they faced no immediate danger, Illyana was bare save for the Jewel on one wrist and a rune-carved ivory bracelet on the other.
The emerald light from the Jewel flowed over her fair skin, turning the hue of bronze long under the sea.
She might have been some Atlantean goddess, risen from the waves to strike at those who overthrew her city.
Conan drew his dagger and stalked down the line of horses, cutting their tethers or opening their stall doors. By the time all were free, Illyana was standing by her mount, wearing an impatient look as well as the Jewel and bracelet.
"All that I can do here has been done. It is time to ride."
Conan heaved Dessa over the neck of his horse and swung into the saddle. Illyana lifted the Jewel and chanted.
"Chaos, thrice-cursed, hear our blessing―" followed by something about twice as long in a tongue Conan neither knew nor wanted to know.
A whirlwind burst the straw and hay bales apart. The loose straw and hay rose above Conan's head, then fell back into a corner, piled as high as a man. As if kicked, the brazier toppled over, scattering burning coals into the straw and hay. Flames ran up the pile, touched the pitch-laden walls, and leaped toward the ceiling.
Then Illyana made a fist of the hand bearing the Jewel and brought it down like
a blacksmith's hammer. The stable door burst apart as if a battering ram had indeed struck it.
"Hiyaaa!"
Conan screamed the war cries of half a dozen races as he spurred his horse into the ranks of Achmai's men. His broadsword leaped and flashed in the firelight, slashing to either side.
He still made poor practice. His mount was hardly war-trained, besides carrying double. It mattered little, since his foes were scattering even as he reached them. A good many had fallen to the scything timbers of the stable door. The rest might have fought against men, but not against magic. Illyana's appearance, nude and blazing with emerald light, finished them.
It was as well that the courtyard was swiftly clear. Illyana had to ride thrice in a circle, chanting more arcane words, before flame leaped once more from the Jewel. It struck once, twice, at each hinge and fastening of the gate. At each stroke of fire, metal smoked, then melted and ran. A final stroke pushed the gates down altogether, like a child pushing down a sand castle.
Over the smoldering ruins of the gates, Conan and Illyana rode into the night.
They stopped about halfway back to the meeting place with Raihna and Massouf, to rest the horses and listen for sounds of pursuit. Conan heard none, nor was Illyana much surprised.
"Few of the horses will take much harm, if the men lead them out of the stable in time. Fewer still will be fit for work tonight."
"They won't be coming after me?" Dessa sounded half-outraged, half-relieved.
"With no horses and their chief so sound asleep an earthquake couldn't wake him?
Those are men, not wizards!" Conan growled.
"She's a wizard," Dessa said, pointing at Illyana. "And you're some kind of soldier. Why did you take me away from the Hold?"
"We told you. We are returning to your betrothed."
Illyana burrowed into her saddlebags and started pulling out clothes. She had ridden naked from the Hold, uncaring of the night chill.
Dessa was less enduring. She snatched the clothes from Illyana, then dropped them as if they were an armful of nettles.
"Now what?" Conan growled.
"I won't wear her clothes. They might be tainted with her magic."
"Then wear mine," Conan said. One of his tunics came down nearly to Dessa's knees, but it did more or less clothe her.
"I suppose I should thank you," Dessa said at last. "But―did you ever think I might have wanted to stay? I did, you know."
Conan's and Illyana's eyes met above Dessa's head. The sorceress was the first to find her tongue.
"Dessa, Massouf loves you. Or so he says," she added.
"What he says and what he does are two different things, lady. His real love is gold. That's why he was enslaved. Even if he'd succeeded at his schemes, he wouldn't have given me half as much as Achmai and his men. I was better off even at the Three Coins, for Mitra's sake!"
She looked beseechingly at Conan. "Captain, if I might have something for my feet, I'll trouble you no more. I can make my own way back to―"
"Crom!" The oath flew out of Conan's mouth like the flame from the Jewel. Both women flinched. Conan drew breath.
"Dessa, we swore an oath to bring you back to Massouf. We're somewhat in his debt. The gods do not love unpaid debts." Dessa opened her mouth but a glare from Conan pushed the words back into it unuttered.
"You won't find yourself welcome back at the Hold, either," Conan went on. "They can't be sure you didn't want to escape. You'll be scrubbing the pots and being scrubbed out by the potboys if you go back."
Dessa still looked obstinate. "If you don't fear the gods or Achmai's men, try fearing me," Conan finished. "Dessa, if you take one step toward the Hold, you'll have to meet Massouf standing. I'll leave you in no state to sit down!"
Silently consigning all women to a place as far as possible from him, Conan unhooked the water bottles and went in search of a spring.
Ten
THEY RODE OUT at dawn, as the Iranistanis measured it―when a man could tell a black horsehair from a white one.
For a while Conan and Raihna led their mounts, to ease their way across the broken ground. With the two hired horses for Dessa and Massouf, no one needed to
/> ride double for lack of mounts.
Lack of riding skill was another matter. Dessa rode like a sack of grain and Massouf hardly better. If it came to swift flight, Conan and Raihna would be taking their saddle-shy charges up on their own mounts.
So far they had seen no sign of pursuit, and Conan aimed to put off that moment as long as possible. They kept away from the main roads and indeed from the greater part of the mountain byways. Sheep tracks or bare hillside saw them pass, and of men only an occasional herdsman and once a hermit.
"They are a close-mouthed breed, these mountain folk," Conan said. "Oh, gold or torture can open their mouths like any man's. But it takes a while. Besides, torturing free Turanians is a fine way for Achmai to lose whatever good will he has in Aghrapur."
"Their flocks can see anything the herdsmen see," Illyana said.
"All the sheep and goats I've known were even more close-mouthed than the herdsmen," Conan replied, with a grin. It was a fine fair morning and although tired he was in high good humor. A battle fairly fought and splendidly won always left him so.
"There are ways to make even the dumb speak," Illyana said soberly.
"How?" Conan laughed. "I can just imagine Achmai shouting at a ram―'Who passed this way yesterday? Answer, or I'll roast you for our dinner!' I can't imagine him getting an answer."
"Not that way, no."
Conan's grin twisted. "Are there spells for making animals speak?"
"For learning what they have seen, yes."
"Does Achmai command them?" The upland morning suddenly seemed as cold as a Cimmerian autumn.
"Neither he nor anyone who serves him commands any magic. But if he wished vengeance enough and knew of Eremius―the Master of the other Jewel knows all the spells. He might even have learned to cast them over such a distance. It has been ten years since we met. I no longer can be sure I know everything he does."
She forced a smile. "At least there is one consolation. He can no longer be sure that he knows everything I know. And I have not spent those ten years in idleness or debauchery."
The smile widened. "Why, Conan, I truly begin to think you are curious about magic. Are you becoming willing to live with it?"
"Maybe, when I can't live without it," Conan growled. "Of course, I can live with the kind of magic you danced up, any day or night. I wonder if your whole scheme came from wanting to show yourself like that―"
The Conan Compendium Page 297