hardy."
Conan grinned with genuine delight. His internal debate had been a torment. This was something he could handle. "You are Atzel's men, are you not?" he said.
"That is King Atzel to you, oaf," said Ulf. He looked at Conan in puzzlement. "What kind of outlander are you? You're too big for a Pict, for all your paint and strange manner of speech.''
"This is a Cimmerian," growled the other. "I have seen his like before, in many a cattle-raid. Be careful, they are dangerous, and do not be deceived just because he can speak almost like a man. Cimmerians are half-demon and half-wolf." The man held his sword well extended, as if to keep the maximum of space between himself and Conan.
"I am happy to hear that my people have not lost their good reputation," Conan said. "Am I to understand that you two intend to hinder me on my way?"
"We intend to take you to our liege," said U!f.
"Then," Conan said, drawing his sword, "let us see who shall walk from this place, and who shall feed the crows. Come, dogs, taste Cimmerian steel!"
With a howl the two slashed at Conan simultaneously. One swung high from the left, the other low from the right. Most men would have been stymied by the well-timed double attack. Conan ignored both blades and simply waded in. His sword flashed up and then down in a huge half-circle. It took Ulf beside the throat, shearing through collarbone, ribs, and beastbone, ripping from his flank and catching the other man across the waist, gutting him in its course past his hipbone, tearing free of his body to scratch the earth with its point. The men made strangling noises as they fell, their weapons flying across the little glade. They lay drumming their heels upon the sward for a few moments, then they stiffened in death.
Conan grunted a satisfied chuckle as he cleaned and then sheathed his sword. It was not the first time he had slain two men with a single blow, but there was always a certain contentment in carrying out a dangerous move well planned and perfectly executed.
He was satisfied in more ways than one. At some point during the brief, brutal fight, his internal argument had been settled. He untied his horse and mounted. Before he rode from the glade, he addressed the corpses: "You were no match for the great Gunderman I fought and slew a few weeks agone, but you helped me with a decision. For that, I thank you, and I will pray that the devils of Hell torment you a little more gently for that assistance."
He wheeled his horse and trotted through the moonlight to the road.
When he reached the road he turned south, away from Cimmeria and toward the land of Aelfrith.
"A horseman coming from the north!" shouted the lookout who stood in the tower that stood on the north wall of Cragsfell.
Aelfrith came out of the long house, wrapping her robe around her against the chill of early morning. Her face was grim. "Is it some parlayer from Atzel?" she demanded.
"No, lady," said the watchman. "I think it is the foreigner come back."
In spite of her circumstances, Aelfrith almost smiled. "Open the gate, then."
Conan rode through the gate and great was his relief when he saw Aelfrith still safe and unharmed. "I rejoice to see you, Aelfrith," Conan said. "I had not expected to. It seems that I have arrived in time. You must take care. I spied upon Atzel last night. He has brought up a pack of Zamoran woman-stealers to bring you to him. The old degenerate is not brave enough to try you in battle, but must hire these slavers to deliver you. I passed them on the road and they look competent." He dismounted and handed his reins to a boy. "Double your guards. I have reconsidered. I am still bound by my oath, but I cannot let this befall one who has behaved so fairly toward me. I have a few days to devote to other matters before I must be on my way. Perhaps we may settle things here in that time." He was alarmed by the paleness and haggardness of her appearance. Something had put years upon her face.
"I am pleased that you have reconsidered, Conan," said Aelfrith. "But you are already too late. The Zamorans have already struck. It was not me
that Atzel sent them after. It was my daughter. They have taken my little Aelfgifa!"
Five
The King Bull
Conan sat in Aelfrith's hall, absently stroking the edge of his blade with a barber's fine whetstone. It was already keen, but he wanted it sharper.
Around him sat Aelfrith's senior warriors, and they waited in respectful silence for their instructions. Aelfrith had told them to follow the Cimmerian's lead, and they were ready to obey their chieftainess. Men of the north did not follow blindly, but these could see that the Cimmerian was no common warrior.
For the moment Conan was preoccupied with his own thoughts.
Primarily, he cursed himself for not following his first instinct and taking up Aelfrith's cause as soon as it was offered. He might have blamed Hathor-Ka's baleful sorcery, or the Khitan's game-playing gods, but Conan was not accustomed to blaming others for his actions. He held himself responsible. Had he followed the dictates of his heart, there would be five Zamorans lying dead in the courtyard now instead of a terrified child out there somewhere.
As he brooded, his rage grew. The Cimmerian's code of ethics was rough by civilized standards, but it was uncompromising and it was fair, by his lights. A man who faced his enemies in fair fight, be he never so evil, deserved to be slain in fair fight. One who brutalized or exploited women, or the old or the weak, was contemptible. For those who made war upon children was reserved Conan's deadliest hate. His Cimmerian kin fought their enemies with incredible ferocity, but never would they slay children, or women or those too old to raise a weapon in defense. They took no slaves and held effeminate a man who would order others to do work too dirty for his own hands. Conan would kill Atzel, and save Aelfgifa if the child still lived. If this stole too much of his time, and brought down upon him the vengeance of Crom, then so be it.
His belief in the terrible and remote old god of his ancestors held none of the complicated theology of the South. He could not believe that Crom would punish a man for doing what a warrior must do in good conscience.
Up to the north were men who must die. Conan would not rest if he had to
breathe the same air as they. He sighted along the edges of his blade and found them to be perfect.
"This is what we must do," he announced. The others sat forward eagerly, hoping to hear words which would send them into action, to defend the life and honor of their liege-lady. Conan did not disappoint them.
"It is no good crouching behind stone walls," he said. "You may beat off an attack that way, but you cannot win a war. I have studied under some of the great war masters of Nemedia. Man for man, they may not be warriors as great as we of the North, but they have devoted much time and thought to this business of winning wars. One thing they all agree on: To win a war, you must carry the fight to the enemy. That is what we shall do."
The men growled their eagerness. This was what they had been waiting to hear. Their lady was a true warrior, and a brave and skillful defensive fighter, but she had no knack for taking the offense, at which Atzel excelled, although he avoided open battle. Aelfrith, wise in the ways of warriors, recognized this limitation in herself. The moment she had laid eyes upon the Cimmerian she had known that he was the man who could lead her forces against her enemy. Now he was ready to take up the task.
"Atzel sends small detachments out unceasingly to raid against his neighbors' villages," Conan said. "We will go out today and meet them.
They'll not be expecting fighting men to come against them. We'll make Atzel hurt and then he will come out against us."
"He is powerful," said a warrior whose chin was cleft by a livid scar.
"He has more men than we have."
"I've seen the man close," Conan said. "He makes war on unarmed peasants, on women and children. True warriors cannot fear him."
The warriors mumbled assent. To a southern strategist his reasoning would have made no sense at all. To these northern warriors it was eminently sagacious. They gathered up gear and weapons and prepared to ride o
ut. Conan went to find Aelfrith.
The chieftainess was in the hall, directing the storage of food in anticipation of a siege. Conan paused a moment to admire her cool
deliberation, then announced himself: "I go to slay your enemies, my lady."
She glanced up at him, her eyes dark-circled from care. "I care not if you kill anyone, champion," she said. "Just bring my daughter back whole, and I'll reward you with land and titles and a place in my bed if you want that."
Conan bristled. "I want only one thing: to honor my given word. I have taken your service because my heart cries out that it is the right thing to do. I ask no reward."
The steel seemed to melt out of Aelfrith, and she laid a hand upon his rocklike arm. "Forgive me, friend. My care for my child makes me forget who are my true companions." She looked up at him and took his face between her palms, turning it slightly, as if to discern some imperfection.
"No, I can see here no greed for land or fame. You will do as your heart bids. As for a place in my bed"―she paused, eyeing the Cimmerian with the same speculation she had used when judging him as a warrior―"I have wanted no man since Rulf died. I have seen no man his equal. It may be that you are that equal." She let her hands drop and she turned from him. "These things lie in the future. Now my only thoughts are taken up by my child and what might happen to her."
"My lady," Conan said, "do not give up hope. The swine cannot kill her without losing his lever against you. He will want to keep her whole for a while, and I will bring her back to you. I ride out today against your enemies. Stay you here and hold this fort. Above all"―he leaned close to emphasize his point―"do not move from this place. Atzel's emissaries may come to you with a proposal. Do not listen to them! If you wish, pole their heads above the gate, but do not believe their words. Do not budge from this place until I get back, do you understand?"
She nodded, but then said: "I know in my heart what is right, but whether the warrior or the mother in me shall prevail, I know not."
Conan nodded. "Just stay here. That is all I ask. If this matter can be brought to a conclusion satisfactory to you, I can do it."
"I believe you, warrior," she said. "Ymir watch over you."
"Crom is my god," Conan said. "I've had trouble with him lately, but I
think he still watches over me. He may not help, but he is a warrior's god, and he'll punish unwarriorly conduct."
"I shall guard this place," she said. "Come back victorious."
Conan needed no further instruction. He found his men assembled in the courtyard and ordered them to mount. There were not quite one hundred of them, but he deemed the number sufficient for his purposes.
He would not destroy Atzel with a single blow, but he would make him hurt this day. They rode out through the gate and went in search of prey.
Conan had a good notion of where they would find some. He had quizzed Aelfrith and the men about districts as yet unplundered. By comparing them with the areas which had already been struck, he was able to predict those most likely to be struck next. He was proven right when one of his pickets rode into camp to announce a pack of Atzel's men descending upon an undefended village.
"Let's give these swine a surprise," Conan said, donning a borrowed bull-horned helm. His followers growled a rabidly eager assent.
They mounted and went in search of the raiders. Scarcely had Atzel's men chance to set fire to a few huts when Conan and his followers were upon them. A screaming rogue turned to face Conan, swinging a torch.
His face disappeared in a crimson mist as Conan swung his great sword.
Others went down beneath the savage fury of Aelfrith's men. They were repaying years of uncompensated raiding and brutality, and the payment was not easy.
"Let us go," Conan said, wiping his sword when all the attackers were dead. The villagers were streaming in from the nearby forests, crying their praises of the warriors who had saved them, but Conan was in no mood for such praise. "There are many bands such as this harrying your lands.
They must be dealt with."
"Lead us!" said an eager young warrior. "Show us where they are, lord, and we shall take care of the rest."
Conan smiled grimly at the young man's eagerness. "You'll have bloodshed aplenty where I lead."
For two more days they taught and ambushed raiding parties of Atzel's men. Conan was looking forward to the glowing progress report he would
tender when he reported to Aelfrith. By surprise and clever tactics they had slain many times their own number. Atzel would be more determined than ever to avoid an open fight, and more inclined to negotiate a settlement.
On the eve of the third day they returned to Cragsfell. They would catch no more prey, for by now Atzel would have called in all his men, lest he lose more. His men had taken the left ear of each man they had slain, and now they were arranging these souvenirs on strings for the admiration of their families and friends.
He sensed there was something wrong before they were within bowshot of the gate of Cragsfell. A few paces nearer, and he knew that Aelfrith was not there. Always before, she had been the first out the gate to greet arrivals. Spurring his horse to a gallop, he dashed for the gate. Worried faces turned to face him as he rode in.
"Where is Aelfrith?" he demanded of a woman whom he recognized as one of her attendants.
"She left last night, lord," said the woman, wringing her hands. "From the time you left with the warriors, she sat and brooded. She was distracted with fear for little Aelfgifa. We tried to comfort her, but to no avail. In the darkest hour of the night she donned her warrior's gear and rode away through the postern."
Conan ripped out a curse that made his mount's ears twitch. "Did no one ride forth to fetch her back?" he demanded.
"Those men who did not ride out with you saddled their mounts and pursued her, but they have not returned, lord."
"We must find her before Atzel has her, Conan," said a young rider beside him.
"Aye," Conan agreed, "but I doubt we shall be in time. Still, we must try. I know that he does not plan to slay her swiftly. We might get her back, if not all in one piece. Damn the woman for a fool! Why could she not have waited?" He fumed and gripped his saddle pommel hard enough to tear the leather from the wood.
"You cannot expect a mother to reason coolly when her child's life is in
danger," said the woman. "By now she has made herself believe that she can trade her life for Aelfgifa's."
"We solve nothing by jabbering here," Conan said. He turned to his following. "To the stables and saddle fresh mounts. We ride within the hour!"
Atzel sat in his throne room with the child seated upon his knee. From time to time he idly stroked her hair. She cringed at each touch of his hand. His chin rested on the knobby knuckles of his other hand as he considered his woes. His followers were silent, waiting for him to speak first.
"Where is Aelfrith?" the chieftain grumbled. "She should have been here within the first day. What kind of mother is she? Has she no love for her daughter? And how is it that she has suddenly taken the offensive against me? And, most of all, who is this blackhaired foreigner who leads her men in battle?"
He tore at his beard in distraction. The ambushes had wiped out scores of his men. He had lost plunder and horses into the bargain. Worst of all, he was being made to look like a fool, and people might cease to fear him.
That was intolerable.
"Aelfrith is a witch, lord," said his steward. "It may be that she has found some spell which has rendered her forces invincible."
"Yes," said another. "The foreigner may be a sorcerer from Hyperborea."
"The Hyperboreans are not blackhaired, you dolt!" said a rival for royal favor.
"A Stygian, then." The speaker glared daggers at his rival. "In any case, it is clear that no natural force is at work here." It was always safe to remind the king of Aelfrith's supposed sorcerous proclivities.
There was a commotion at the entrance to the chamber and a warrior
came striding in, beaming immoderately. "See what we have brought you, my king!" he shouted importantly. Two more warriors entered. Between them, in chains, walked Aelfrith.
Beneath his hand, Atzel felt the child's spine stiffen in horror. Aelfrith was still in her warrior's garb, but a spearshaft had been placed across her lower back and her arms and her hands bound before her so that the spearshaft lay in the crook of her elbows, arching her spine and throwing her breasts into prominence. A bronzen ring was locked about her neck, and from it depended two chains fastened to fetters which bound her ankles. She could move only awkwardly and with difficulty, but her head was held erect.
Atzel's mouth sagged with the intensity of his satisfaction, so long delayed. "Greeting, Aelfrith," he said at last. "It has been too long since we have seen each other. Now you shall be my guest. Have you any idea what I will do to you?"
"You will do as you wish, Atzel," she said. "I ask only that my daughter not be made to witness it." Her voice was angry and undefeated.
"A just request, lord," murmured a counselor who stood at his elbow.
"You do not want a reputation for unreasonable cruelty."
"Very well," Atzel said. "It was the mother I wanted all along, in any case. Take the child away and keep her under guard." The child broke away from him and ran to her mother, but a guardsman snatched her up as she kicked and squalled.
"Hush, Aelfgifa," said Aelfrith gently. "Remember that your mother died like a queen and avenge me."
Atzel saw many dark looks directed his way and he grew wroth at this spoiling of his moment of triumph. He wanted no sympathy shown for this woman. She was too queenly, and it was time to put an end to that.
"Be not so haughty, you murdering slut! It is time to display you for what you truly are." He signaled to the guards and they grasped the spearshaft, forcing Aelfrith to her knees. Atzel rose from his throne and strode to her. He drew his dirk and began cutting the straps of her harness. Savagely, he jerked free her breastplates and cast them across the room. Armored belt, greaves, and underpadding went next, leaving her only her narrow hip belt and loincloth. Atzel twisted the belt in his fist until it snapped, leaving red weals on the fair skin. He placed a foot against her back and thrust her to the floor, now wearing only her bonds.
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