"Do you think it is human?" Alcuina asked Rerin.
"I do not think that there are any true humans here," Rerin said, "save for ourselves and perhaps captives brought here from the world of men. But what it is I cannot say."
With no warning, the creature whirled its mount and sped across the ridge, away from them. In an instant it was lost to sight.
"I like not the look of that rider," said Alcuina.
Conan shrugged. "I could tell little in this accursed thick air. It looked like a giant, but that might be some trick of the light or the air."
Inwardly he was not so sure. He saw no reason for communicating his unease to his companions, though. If this thing boded ill, which he did not doubt, then time enough to worry about it when the danger was directly upon them.
They proceeded through the great wood, which gradually gave way to a more sparsely vegetated upland where stands of smaller trees predominated, separated by small valleys and meadows. It looked to Conan much like the area where he and Rerin had originally entered the demon land. He felt slightly more comfortable here, as visibility was somewhat improved in these surroundings. There was little he feared, even in a place such as this, as long as he had a clear field of view and time to ready himself against attack by an enemy.
That night they camped in a clearing, and grilled cuts of meat over a smoky wood fire. Before stopping for the night Conan had brought down a vaguely deerlike animal by casting a makeshift javelin consisting of a straight sapling trimmed of its branches, its thicker end
whittled to a point by Conan's dagger. It proved sufficient for a short cast, and they all ate well for a change.
"We shall reach the gate early tomorrow," Rerin said. "I can feel its nearness much more clearly now. It is not far."
"What of that rider we saw today?" asked Conan. "Can you feel his presence now?"
Rerin concentrated for a few moments. "I cannot tell for certain," he said at last. "Everything magical casts a certain aura, and this may be detected by one who is trained in these arts. However, some auras are stronger, and a weaker one may be masked by a stronger, as the light cast by a candle is hidden within that cast by the sun. Here there are so many magical auras that it is difficult to separate one from another. The signal sent out by the gate is very strong and is unmistakable. The rider"he shrugged"his aura is not so strong, although it is intensely evil."
"Conan," Alcuina said, "think you that you can best this weird horseman?"
"If it is mortal, I can slay it. And it must be mortal."
"How can you be sure of that?" she asked.
"Because it wears a helm," he said imperturbably. "Immortals have no need of armor. It wears a helm because it does not want a cleft skull."
"I hope you are right," said Rerin. "I feel we shall know upon the morrow, at any rate."
The next day found them trekking through the upland into a high valley of great stone formations and scattered, low trees. The air was still dense and waterlike to vision, causing shapes and shadows to waver subtly. Once, distantly, they seemed to hear a pounding of great hooves. They moved warily, for their enemy was sure to strike before they could gain the gate.
"There!" shouted Rerin as they crested a small hillock. Before them, in a depression of the ground, was a stone gate such as the one they had come through. It stood in a grassy glade that seemed to be devoid of animal life. They approached it cautiously, ready for anything.
"How much time will you need?" Conan asked.
"An hour, perhaps two, but no longer," said Rerin. From his pouch he took plants he had collected on their way, and bits of stone, animal bones, and the like. "Alcuina, help me gather fuel and kindle a fire. I must work quickly, but I dare not risk rushing through the spell too rapidly. If so much as a word or a gesture is left out, I must begin all over again."
"Is there aught I may do to help?" asked Conan. He hated taking part in sorcerous doings, but he was willing to overcome his distaste to save their hides.
"Nothing except to keep watch. If our pursuer arrives, he must not be allowed to interrupt me."
"I'll try to keep him away from you," said Conan, smiling sourly. "Get to work. I shall go to the top of yonder mound to keep guard."
So saying, he walked to the indicated elevation. From its crest he could see nothing except more of the landscape. Who was the rider, and what might be his powers? Conan found himself regretting the loss of his cuirass. Although he rarely let himself depend on ar-mor, Conan knew that the extra protection could be crucial in a close-fought combat. As it was, he had sword and helm, but no shield. He had fought with considerably less, and he was yet alive. He sat and waited.
Much smoke and chanting came from where Rerin and Alcuina sat by their fire before the great stone gate.
The colors of the smoke changed from moment to moment, and within the gate the view shifted and wavered. The old wizard's voice came sometimes as a high-pitched wailing, at others as a deep rumble. Such things set Conan's teeth on edge, and it was almost with relief that he heard the pounding of great hooves.
Conan rose from his cross-legged position and drew his sword. Idly he thumbed its edge as he awaited the coming of the rider.
From the tree line it came, a man-shape mounted upon a horse-form. But as it neared, Conan saw that rider and mount were neither man nor horse. The two seemed to be clad in gleaming armor, although much of the man-shape was hidden by a voluminous cloak. The horse-thing walked slowly forward, and its gait was not quite that of a natural beast. Its eyes gleamed red, as did those of its rider, through the smooth, featureless helm.
"That's far enough," Conan called out. "State your business. Do not attempt to interfere with these peo-ple." He jerked his head in the direction of his companions, never taking his gaze from the rider.
"I am a hunter." The voice rang hollowly from within the thing. "I have come to fetch you all for my master."
"And who might that be?" Conan asked. He really was not interested in the answer, but every second he kept the thing occupied was more time for Rerin to complete his spell-casting.
"I serve the Lord of the Demon Land. Come with me."
"If we wished to visit your master," Conan said, "we would not be here. Now be on your way. If you wish to live, do not seek to hinder us."
With no further negotiation, the hunter charged. Conan was almost caught off-balance. A natural horse rears back slightly, digging in its rear hooves before springing forward. The hunter's mount did no such thing. All four hooves dug in as one and the beast was coming forward with blinding speed. The rider made no motion to draw weapon, but suddenly there was a blade in its right hand, and the long, narrow length of keen steel was descending upon Conan almost before the startled Cimmerian could react.
Conan sidestepped the whistling blade, and it but sheared away a piece of wolfskin from the shoulder of his tunic. Reflexively Conan swung a backhand blow against the side of the beast, seeking to chop off one of the rider's legs. The blade rang hollowly against armor, and Conan darted a few paces away. Not only had he failed to cripple the rider, there had been nothing beneath his sword that even felt like a leg.
Mightily puzzled, Conan awaited the thing's next move. He seldom fought defensively, but he knew that it would be unwise to carry the fight to the enemy until he had some slight knowledge of that enemy's strengths and weaknesses.
The thing charged again, the rider leaning forward along the neck of the mount, blade at full extension to skewer Conan like a bird on a cooking spit. This time Conan was ready for its instantaneous charge, and he dodged to the left, planting his feet for a powerful blow to the rider's left side. He barely began to bring his sword from behind his shoulder when suddenly a four-foot blade appeared in the rider's left hand, coming down to split Conan's skull. Desperately Conan stopped his blade in midswing and turned the chop into a block, interposing his sword at an angle sufficient to deflect
his enemy's steel from his head, but receiving a painful cut on his
left shoulder.
"Crom!" Conan shouted as he darted away once more. "Where did that blade come from?" He ran to where Rerin and Alcuina seemed to be finished with their rites. "How much longer?" he growled.
"Just a few more moments," Rerin said. "The spell is finished, but its effect requires some small time."
"Try to speed it up," Conan urged. "This thing fights like nothing I've ever encountered."
Then the thing was charging again, and Conan ran to meet it. He knew that it was not human and flight might be more sensible than battle, but he was duty-bound to keep this hunter away from his queen while he had breath and blood. It charged with arms spread wide, the great blades glistening to either side, ready to strike. Conan halted and braced himself, sword slanting back over his right shoulder. If he could not dodge to the side, then he would split the mount's skull. He had never encountered armor that would not split when he struck with his full force.
When the hunter was no more than ten paces away, a yard-long horn sprang from the frontlet between the mount's eyes, and it began to rotate, transforming the jagged, saw-toothed steel into a silver blur. Conan stooped, picked up a heavy rock, and cast it at the rider. It struck full across the vision-slots, and for an instant the mount broke stride and the blades wavered. Conan dove forward into a tumble as the spinning "horn" was within a handsbreadth of his chest. He sprang to his feet at the rider's side and hewed at his shoulder joint. The rider wavered slightly, but the blade made little impression on the steel armor.
As the rider went by, Conan grasped his cloak and hauled back, hoping to unseat him. The heavy cloth ripped loose from its fastenings, and for the first time Conan got a clear look at what he was fighting. The smooth helm surmounted a series of flexible neck-rings. Similar rings covered shoulders and arms. A series of broader, interlocking bands covered chest and midsec-tion, and a complicated joint covered the place where the human torso was merged with the horse-body. The mount was likewise made up of steel bands and plates. Not man and beast, this, but a single creature. So far his weapons had not left so much as a mark on it.
As it prepared for another charge, Conan sought for any kind of weakness in the thing. Its armor joints seemed to be tight enough to repel a needle, but there had to be some access to its vulnerable innards. The only possibility Conan could imagine was the vision-slots. There might not be eyes behind them, but he was willing to wager that they would be less impervious than the steel encasing the hunter.
As it came toward him Conan readied himself. He had a sense of its timing now, and he sidestepped the horn and ducked the right-hand sword as it came whistling down. He grasped the hunter around the waist and swung himself up behind it, dropping his sword and drawing his dagger as he did so.
He was about to embrace the thing closely and seek its eyeslots with his dagger point when a row of viciously-edged blades erected itself along the thing's spine. Instantly Conan tumbled over the crupper of the horse part, and not a second too soon, for a similar row of blades, but much longer, shot up from the spot where he had been sitting. He snatched up his sword and wondered when this nightmare would end. He hated the feeling of helplessness.
"Come!" shouted Rerin. "The gate opens!" Conan ran for it. In the midst of the stone gateway, the air flickered and boiled with movement and color. Alcuina was urging him onward, and he did not dare to spare an instant's glance to see how close the hunter followed. He ran up the mound and shoved Rerin and Alcuina through, then he whirled to face the hunter. He could not leave their vulnerable backs exposed to the thing.
It was bearing down upon them swiftly, but there was still enough distance for him to stride a few paces backward, beneath the lintel.
First there was a whirling disorientation, then a sense of cold, and he realized that he was standing in ankle-deep snow. The air was chill and blessedly thin. He continued to back away from the gate, and he was aware that they were surrounded by people. He risked a quick glance around and saw that they were on the field of Giants' Stones, surrounded by Alcuina's men, and more people were coming across the field from the garth.
"Back!" Conan shouted. "Away from the gate!" There was a collective shout of awe and terror as the hunter burst from the gate. For a moment it stood, seemingly disoriented. Slowly its head turned, as if searching out its prey from among this mass of mortal flesh. Desperately Conan scanned the crowd as well. Then he saw the weapon he wanted. A man stood by with a twelve-foot spear, the kind used by footmen against mounted men.
"Reccared!" Conan called. "Give me your spear!" Not taking his boggling eyes from the hunter, the man tossed the spear to Conan. With the weapon in his
hands Conan quickly examined the point; it was long and narrow, just what he needed.
The hunter had turned its head at the sound of Conan's voice, and now it dug its steel hooves into the snow for a charge. This time wide, curving steel blades sprang from the flanks of the horse-body and a pair of barbed spears shot forth from the chest between the forelegs. Its movements did not seem to be quite so swift or sure as before.
There was an awed sigh from the encircling crowd as the seemingly unstoppable monster bore down upon the relatively small form of Conan. How could mere flesh and blood stand up to such a terrible machine? They looked for him to be minced upon the instant.
Conan stood fast, gripping the spearshaft. He would have one try, then he would be victorious or dead. He made sure that the spear-blade was turned flat. The eyeslots were narrow, and a vertical blade would jam without penetrating.
In the very moment when the hunter came within range, Conan thrust. Unerringly the blade went into the left eyeslot, crunching through something, then the forward momentum of the hunter thrust Conan backward. He tightened his grip on the spearshaft, although an unearthly tingle shot through it. It would do him little good to slay the thing only to fall beneath its toppling, razor-edged bulk.
Sparks and smoke shot from the damaged eyeslot, and a strange odor filled the air, as when lightning strikes near. The hunter reeled and thrashed wildly, swinging Conan on the end of the shaft like a boy swishing a wand, but the strong ash held. Abruptly a great gout of blue flame shot from the eyeslot and
smoke burst from the armor joints. The rider sagged while the horse stood and trembled, then was still.
Conan loosed his stiffening grip. The form of his opponent stood unmoving, as if its glittering metal were frozen. The thing was dead, if it had ever been truly alive.
"What was it?" asked Alcuina wonderingly. She had come from somewhere to stand beside him. The others were closing around as well.
"We saw the lights coming from the stones, my lady," said Siggeir. "We came to see if it was you and the wizard returning to us. Come back to the garth now. We are all in danger here in the open."
"Danger?" Alcuina said. With the passing of the hunter, she could not imagine anything representing a danger.
"Our enemies are on the march," Siggeir insisted. "Let us get behind the walls, where we can meet them on equal terms."
"Look!" said someone.
They all looked at the metal hunter. Red rust was spreading across it with unearthly speed, and it began to groan and creak from inside. An arm fell off, then the horse-legs gave way, and the thing came crashing down. It split open, and out poured a spill of gears, levers, wheels, and other things no one there could put a name to. These, too, began to rust or crumble.
"This was not its place," commented Rerin.
"I rejoice to see you safe, my lady." They looked up from the pile of rust to see a handsome young man with yellow hair and beard. "I am Leovigild, nephew of King Odoac of the Thungians."
Alcuina glared at him, but her interest was obvious.
"Has my garth been taken by enemies that Odoac's heir sits among my men?"
"I am his heir no more," the youth assured her. "And I swear that I am not your enemy. Come, let us return to the garth, where you may find more suitable raiment, and where we may discuss these matters fully and
in comfort."
Nodding regally to the young man, Alcuina set out for the garth. The others fell in behind. Last of all was Conan, feeling a little put out that the glory of his recent monster-slaying had been eclipsed by these new political developments. Rerin came up to him and surveyed the remains of the hunter, now little more than a pile of reddish powder. "Come, Conan. There will be warmth and food inside. If you wished eternal glory, you should have arranged for a bard to stand by during your battle."
"Does she hold my services so cheap?" Conan demanded. "That downy lad will need a few years before he's any kind of warrior."
"Warriors come and go," Rerin reasoned as they walked, "but Alcuina is a queen, and has the welfare of her people to think about. Actually, I had discussed with her the possibility of selecting you for her consort"
"Hah!" Conan broke in. "I'll be on the first ship heading south come spring. If I want a kingdom, I'll conquer it, by Crom! I'll not marry one."
"It may be just as well, then. He is of royal blood, as is she. Between them, they may save their peoples."
Cweioe
Blood on the Snows
Conan sat brooding into his ale cup as the queen of the Gambles and the exiled heir of the Thungians held counsel. Much as he hated to admit it, the boy spoke wisely and forthrightly, if somewhat too cautiously for Conan's taste. He noticed that Alcuina's men regarded die Thungian with respect, something he would not have expected from people as clannish as this. Of course, royalty was never treated in quite the same fashion as the lower classes. Kings and queens virtually had to wed with foreigners, lest the stock grow degenerate.
"Alcuina, we face two enemies," Leovigild explained. "First, the Thungians, led by my uncle. Second, and far more dangerous, Totila and the Tormanna. Odoac is a murderer and grown a bit crazy in his old age, but Totila is a great warrior in his prime, and he has not allowed his men to grow soft through inaction. The Cambres are not numerous. You might hold off either one of your enemies here within your stone wall, but not both."
"Need it come to that?" asked Siggeir. "Perhaps the Tormanna and the Thungians will fight one another instead of come against us."
The Conan Compendium Page 475