The Conan Compendium

by Various Authors

  They trotted toward the escaping prisoners, careful in the dimness. It was not long before they heard the sounds of pursuit. There was a single reassurance to be had from this: their pursuers had not seen the escape

  and had no way of knowing which of the multitude of caves they had taken from the great chamber. They must split up and search all of them. Conan and Chulainn would not have to face the whole force of the demons.

  They were not able to make the best time in the dimness and the unfamiliar environs of the caverns, and the sounds of pursuit grew closer behind them. Without breaking stride the Cimmerians drew their swords.

  When the first challenge came, it was not from behind but from in front.

  From one of the small side tunnels a pair of insectoid creatures sprang out to confront them. The beings were at least seven feet tall, angular, and shiny. In their multiple pairs of limbs each bore odd-looking weapons, with which they attacked.

  Conan ducked a saw-toothed sword aimed to split his skull and hacked at the attacking creature's thorax, chipping away a chunk of horny chitin.

  The thing hissed and made a grab for him with its free claw. The pincer closed agonizingly around Conan's left arm. Its strength was terrible, and he knew he must slay it quickly. Desperately, he wedged the tip of his blade against the spot where he had chipped away the natural armor and thrust with all his might. Abruptly, the thorax gave way and the blue brand crunched through. With a hideous screech the insect man released him and sought to pull away. With both hands on his hilt Conan wrenched the sword free, releasing a yellow acid-smelling fluid. The creature fell to the floor and its shell rattled on the stone as it writhed in its death convulsions.

  Swinging his fine blade in a great circle to clear it of the foul fluid, Conan turned to see that Chulainn had his enemy backed against a wall of the cave, vainly seeking to defend itself with a bizarre polearm. Chulainn bore in like an avenging fury, first shearing away an arm at its elbow joint, then hewing through a knee, and finally hacking off the misshapen head as the creature toppled. Conan watched with interest as the head sailed for many yards toward the great cavern. It made a faint thunk when it landed, far out of sight.

  "Those were no easier than the lizards," Chulainn commented.

  "They know these caves as well," Conan said. "Pray we meet no more of them."

  They reached the long stair and began their climb. They could hear pursuit close behind, and with it the loud hissing of the tough

  lizard-things. They put on a little more speed. The high steps were awkward but they were mountain bred and were only slightly winded as they reached the top.

  Crom's cave was filled with sunlight as they entered it, and the sound of ascending demons ceased behind them, with much frustrated hissing. The Cimmerians paused to catch their breath.

  "Will the sunlight stay them?" Chulainn asked.

  "For a while," Conan said. "But they were in daylight sometimes when they raided the steadings. We'd best be away from here before they gather another of their clouds and come after us."

  They walked toward the entrance and Chulainn pointed to the still-burning remnants of the torches dropped by the prisoners as they fled. "Bronwith and the others made it safely this far. They must be halfway down the mountain by now."

  They stepped through the entrance. "Let's catch up with them. I'll not feel―" Then he saw what was waiting for them. "Crom's bones!" he swore as he jerked out his sword once more.

  "Two more for our net," Starkad said. "But I'll wager we'll not take these two alive."

  Thirteen

  Wolves of Vanaheim

  Conan took in the scene even as he drew his sword. The mouth of the cave was faced by a great half-circle of armed Vanir. There looked to be nearly a hundred of them. To one side stood a man in rich armor, probably a chief. Near him were two odd-looking foreigners. One Van lay dead, with his head crushed by a jagged, bloody rock. Stretched by him was Bronwith's brother, blood matting his tousled black locks. Bronwith and the others were herded between the Vanir and the cave. All this Conan's mind registered before his sword cleared his sheath.

  "Vanir on Ben Morgh!" Chulainn shouted, his look growing crazed. To Cimmerians, the presence of Vanir on their sacred mountain was as

  intolerable as that of demons.

  "Do as I do," Conan muttered.

  He had been in this type of situation before. The Vanir were stretched into a wide semi-circle before the cave. At no point was the line of men more than two deep. It would be useless to take on all the Vanir, but it was just possible to carve a hole in their line and escape. The line was thinnest near the chieftain, but Conan selected a spot near the recaptured prisoners.

  "Kill these two dogs," Starkad ordered.

  The men began to close in, grinning. They had not yet advanced more than one step when, howling a wild Cimmerian war cry, Conan charged. A Van stepped from the line, ax raised high and shield held before his body.

  Conan came in low and chopped at the lower edge of the shield. The blue blade was not even slowed, but bit into the man's side, showering those standing nearby with bloody iron scales.

  Conan put a foot against the man's chest and shoved the body away, tearing his sword free with a sucking sound. Spinning on one foot, he turned that movement into a blow at a Van closing in from his right.

  Striking backhanded and off balance, the blow was still powerful enough to split the Van's horned helm from temple to nasal, hewing through the haft of his ax in the process.

  Two Vanir tried to close in on Chulainn, but he dived forward at them, going into a tumble that bewildered the attackers. As he rolled between them, Chulainn cut beneath the shield of the righthand Van, chopping his left thigh to the bone. The Van fell howling as Chulainn sprang to his feet behind them and struck at the lefthand man's neck below the helm. The head toppled to the stone and Chulainn was turning to engage more of his enemies before the body fell.

  They had opened a gap in the Vanir line several yards wide. Conan turned to the prisoners. "Run!" he barked.

  Bronwith stooped and hauled her brother to her shoulders as if the boy weighed no more than a sack of meal, and leading the others, she made for the gap. A Van made to grab at her, but Chulainn turned from the man he was fighting and sheared the Van's arm away before he could touch

  Bronwith. The moment's distraction cost Chulainn a shallow cut across the chest from the tip of the other man's sword, but he returned the blow with one of his own which bit through nasal and skull.

  As the prisoners were escaping, Conan pressed against the Vanir line, driving it back a little farther. The Vanir were brave but a bit disconcerted by this whirlwind of ferocity in their midst. He splintered a shield, chopped a decorative wing from a helmet, then whirled and ran.

  "Flee!" he shouted at Chulainn.

  The younger man broke off from his fight as abruptly as Conan and followed. It took the Vanir a moment to realize what was happening, then they began to pursue. It was hopeless. The Cimmerians were unencumbered except for their weapons, and were fleet and surefooted as mountain goats. The armored Vanir, unaccustomed to mountain terrain and thin air, could only lumber ineffectually after.

  Starkad snorted with disgust as he saw his men panting to a halt a short way down the slope and turn back. The blackhairs were almost out of sight already. "This is the last time I set foot in Cimmeria with a pack of untried young fools. From now on I risk action against the blackhairs only with seasoned warriors."

  Jaganath smiled slightly at the expression "the last time." Starkad did not see this. "If these two are typical of the Cimmerians," the Vendhyan said, "I do not wonder that you prefer to surround isolated farmsteads at night with overwhelming superiority of numbers."

  "We were not expecting them," Starkad growled, "and my men were fools. It is easy enough for a man to get around behind a busy foe while two others engage him from in front. Then he can be hewn down with no risk to anyone. These men were idiots to charge in for single c
ombat as if some skald were standing by to make a poem." He walked over to the group of dead and dying men. "What a slaughter to be wrought by a pair of blackhairs without helm nor byrnie between them."

  Starkad stooped by the corpse of the first man Conan had slain. The split shield was still on the outflung arm. A huge rent in the scale shirt revealed a body split to the spine and the entrails steamed slightly in the chill air.

  The Van chieftain straightened. "That taller blackhair, the older one, he must be some great champion of theirs. I would not have believed that any man living could strike such a blow. The younger one fought shrewdly, striking unarmored limbs when he could. The older man, though"―Starkad shook his head in disbelief―"he struck as if shield and armor were no more than smoke." He turned and glared at Jaganath. "Is this more wizardry? I have never seen a sword like the one he bore. Was it an enchanted blade?"

  Jaganath shook his head. "I know little of swords, but I felt no aura from the one he used. Do not try to excuse your men's inadequacy by giving your enemy a supernatural helper. More than one ruler has made that mistake."

  Starkad was stung by the rebuke, but felt too humiliated to answer.

  "Let us go inside," Jaganath said. He and Gopal walked through the towering archway, and Starkad followed.

  They stopped at the feet of the colossus and Starkad gazed upward, a little awed by the immense statue. "So this is old Crom of the Mountain,"

  he said. "I shall have my men build a great fire so we can see his face."

  For the first time Jaganath spoke with a tinge of uneasiness in his voice. "I do not think you would want to look upon his face." He was looking up into the obscurity as if he could see that face perfectly well.

  Starkad looked down at the ragged pit in the floor, with its enigmatic steps leading downward. There were faint, shuffling sounds coming from down there. "Now, wizard, I mink it is time you gave me some information. Why were those Cimmerians here? Except for the warriors they were all children and a few young women. They were fleeing from this cave and had the look of prisoners long-held. There is something down in that cave that I don't like the sound of. What errand have you in this place?"

  Jaganath answered with his customary haughtiness. "You have no need to know of my business here. Have no fear of what is below. My powers will protect you. As for the Cimmerians, these are matters of interest only to the most powerful of sorcerers, and you would not understand them.

  Rest assured that all is according to my plans." With a flick of his hand he dismissed these things as trivial. "Tomorrow we shall rest, and I shall

  make my preparations. The morrow after that is the equinox, when I shall perform my rites. By the end of the first hour after sunrise my business here shall be concluded."

  Starkad had a strong suspicion that this wizard was not half as knowledgeable as he pretended, that he was as mystified as any about the presence of the Cimmerians. "Until the morning of the morrow after next, then," Starkad agreed. "An hour after sunrise we leave for home. We dare stay no longer. When those blackhairs we just saw reach their villages, every armed Cimmerian within three days march will be heading for this mountain."

  Jaganath nodded, smiling thinly. "That will be satisfactory. I shall have no further need of you, then." Starkad went out to rejoin his men.

  Gopal spoke to his uncle as soon as the Van was out of earshot. "Is this truly as you had expected, uncle?"

  Jaganath frowned. "There have been other mages at work here, nephew. Powerful ones, of the first rank. Some foolish one has prepared a way for the demons beneath the earth and those of other dimensions to enter here. Those creatures should be left alone, until one has the full power. But who is doing this? Thoth-Amon? Hathor-Ka? Ming Tzu? I can think of none so powerful but so foolish." He looked about. "But I am the one who is here on the spot, and all their machinations must come to naught if they be not present on the equinox. But yet I smell some strange sorcery here, and I know not whose it is, save that it is not part of these workings." He pointed down into the pit. Then he looked up once again at the towering figure on the carven throne. "And this Crom. He is not what I had expected."

  Gopal was deeply disturbed. Never had he heard his uncle speak except with perfect self-confidence. The fact that some rival could shake that confidence caused the very earth to shift beneath Gopal's feet. "But you shall prevail, uncle," Gopal said shakily. "Surely you shall prevail!"

  Jaganath shook off his foreboding and smiled once again. "Have no fear, Gopal. Upon the equinox I shall be the most powerful mage who has ever lived."

  When they reached the bottom of the valley called the Field of the Dead, Conan, Chulainn, and the former prisoners paused for rest. Many of the

  younger children were not in the best of condition after their long captivity. Chulainn ran to the top of the cairn and looked back the way they had come. "No pursuit," he reported.

  "I thought as much," Conan said. He sat on a rock and began cleaning his blade carefully. "What Van was ever worth anything in the mountains?" Satisfied that his blade was clean and free of nicks, Conan sheathed it and stood. Bronwith was bending over the inert form of her brother. She had carried the boy the whole way.

  As Conan approached Bronwith rearranged what was left of her cloak somewhat more modestly. "He is alive," she said.

  Conan bent and ruffled the boy's dark hair, which was clotted with blood. There was a ragged gash in the lad's scalp, but Conan felt no movement of bone beneath his hand. "He'll be all right. The Murrogh were ever a hardheaded clan."

  Chulainn joined them. "What became of your foreign friend?"

  Conan shrugged. "I know not. He has some business in the mountain, and I doubt not that he is about it now. He's able to take care of himself."

  "What should we do now?" Bronwith asked. "Some of the children are not fit to travel yet."

  "The demons may be out when dark comes," Chulainn said. "We met two here not long past."

  "We stay," Conan said. "I'll not leave our people here to the demons or the Vanir. Not one more Cimmerian child will they have while I draw breath. We wait. The great host should be here soon."

  "And if our enemies should fall upon us before then?" Bronwith asked.

  Conan looked about him, surveying the surrounding cairns. "If so, then there are far worse places to die than among the great chiefs of our people."

  They scoured the valley for enough fuel to last them the night. Conan took first watch at the upper end of the valley. As the sky darkened he saw Bronwith's brother climbing toward him. The boy's head was still

  bloodied, but his eyes were clear and his walk was steady.

  "Greeting, warrior," Conan called.

  "Greeting," the boy said. He sat by Conan. "My name is Bodhrann. I am sorry I did not get to see you slay the Vanir today. My sister says you fought well, for a Canach man."

  "High praise from the Murrogh," Conan acknowledged.

  "What were the Vanir doing on Ben Morgh?"

  "I would give much to know the answer to that. I saw two foreigners with them, though. I doubt not they're the ones who brought the redbeards here. Wizards are getting thick as a ram's fleece on this mountain. They were easterners of some sort, and up to some sorcery, no doubt."

  The boy shrugged. "No matter, they are foreigners, and we shall kill them for profaning our dead. Is it true what my sister says, that there has been a great hosting?"

  "Aye. The clans were called to the Standing Stone and they'll be here soon. By tomorrow, I hope. They'll waste no time. Then there will be a fight such as none of us has ever seen."

  Chulainn came up to them from the camp. "They are all bedded down, as well as can be managed. Cold, hungry, injured, and tired, but happy."

  "Would you not be?" Conan asked.

  "I have a matter to discuss with you," Bodhrann said to Chulainn.

  "Speak on," Chulainn said.

  "You wish to wed my sister?"

  "And I shall," Chulainn assured him.

>   "I'll not permit it! Our clans are at feud. You may have her only by taking her from her menfolk by force!" The boy thrust out his jaw belligerently.

  "The Bloody Spears have been sent around," Chulainn said. "Feuds are at rest and there may be no feud-wivings."

  "Oh." Bodhrann looked perplexed. "But who ever heard of man and woman of feuding clans being wed under a White Shield?"

  "It may never have been done before, but it is what we intend to do as soon as we have enough witnesses assembled."

  "It is not proper!" Bodhrann insisted. His outrage at being cheated out of a good fight was plain.

  "I am happy that it is turning out this way," Chulainn said. "I might have had to kill you in carrying her off."

  The boy snorted. "You might have tried!" He walked away, his thin back rigid with dignity. Conan watched him and smiled, but he did not laugh.

  "What is our course if the host does not arrive by tomorrow?" Chulainn asked.

  "You've fulfilled your vow. Before dark tomorrow you may take the others down the mountain. I doubt not you'll encounter the host before long. I must stay here to fulfill my mission upon the next morning."

  "I'll stay with you," Chulainn said calmly. "No Canach goes to his enemies alone while a kinsman is close by."

  Conan gave him no argument, knowing that it would be useless.

  The demons kept to themselves that night, and the first rays of the rising sun glinted from the tips of hundreds of spears, advancing up the valley below. The children cheered and waved as the army of wolfish men approached, devoid of flag, banner, or standard. Although offensive weapons were there in plenty, no man wore helm or armor, nor any other protective gear save the light shield borne by some. Such effete things did not suit the headlong style of attack favored by the Cimmerians. Some men had casting javelins, but there were no archers. The art of the bow was unknown in Cimmeria, where no suitable wood grew to make the weapons.

  "Was ever there so fine a sight?" Chulainn said. "Have you ever seen so many fighting men all in one place?" The young man's face glowed with enthusiasm.

  "I've seen more," Conan grunted. "But none better."