The Conan Compendium

by Various Authors

  It was Totila who had sounded the horn, and the men below began to pull back from the wall, screaming in their frustration at such unmanly war-making. The defenders atop the wall cheered and shouted taunts at the withdrawing foe.

  "We've beaten them! They run like whipped dogs!" Siggeir whooped and shouted a traditional victory cry.

  "Save your celebrating for tomorrow's nightfall," Conan cautioned. "We've stopped them this time. They'll know the work better next time. By the third assault,

  we'll not keep them out, unless some new circumstance comes to our aid."

  "You're cursed gloomy, Cimmerian," Siggeir said.

  "I am the happiest of men," Conan told him, "after the battle is won."

  "Totila comes!" called a defender.

  The tall king covered the plain with long strides. Odoac stepped along quickly beside him. lilma was nowhere to be seen. Conan smiled in reluctant admiration. The man might be of base blood as the Cambres maintained, but he was as kingly as any monarch Conan had ever seen reviewing an army, clad in purple cape and plumed helm. Fearlessly, the man walked up to the wall, ignoring the danger from stone and spear. Unwilling to shame himself before his followers, Odoac stood beside him.

  "Queen Alcuina!" Totila called.

  "She has no use for the likes of you," said Siggeir, spitting upon the ground beyond the wall.

  Totila ignored the underling as if he did not exist. "Queen Alcuina, I wish a few words with you!" Totila stood planted on the spot as if he were willing to wait for the rest of his life. There was a rustling of skirts and cloak as Alcuina mounted the wall.

  "My lady!" said Siggeir, scandalized. "Do not de-mean yourself by parleying with this scum. We've the upper hand now." Others agreed loudly.

  "Hear what he has to say, Alcuina," Conan advised. "It can have no bearing on relations between you and him, but it may tell us much about how things stand down there." He nodded to where the host stood massed. Now that the attack was over, the men were once more divided into two groups.

  "Ah, my dear Alcuina," Totila called. "How good

  of you to come. This unpleasantness between our peoples pains me sorely, as it does my brother king, Odoac of the Thungians. Yet these matters may be set aright easily. You have not in the past seen fit to answer my suit for your hand. I ask you to reconsider now. After all, when we wed you will still be queen of the Cambres, and of the Tormanna as well."

  "And what does your brother king get from this?" Alcuina said haughtily.

  "Where is my dear nephew Leovigild?" demanded Odoac. "I have missed him since his hasty and unwarranted flight from my garth. Why is he not up there on the wall with you? Or does he cower in rightful fear of his uncle's anger?"

  "What makes you think your nephew is here, you Thungian tub of suet?"

  This set Alcuina's men laughing uproariously, and the Tormanna laughed only a little less loudly. Even some of the Thungians were hard-pressed to restrain their grins. The others looked shamefaced, not because their king had been insulted, but because he made such a poor showing in front of these people. Conan missed none of these things.

  "Get you gone, both of you!" Alcuina commanded. "I'll wed neither a swine nor a bandit."

  Totila whirled and stalked away with dignity, each sway of his cloak reminding the viewers of how many champions and chiefs he had slain. Odoac scuttled after him, while the Cambres jeered.

  Alcuina stood close to Conan and spoke so only he could hear. "It is a great pity that Totila is such a beast. He would treat my people like thralls. Otherwise, baseborn or not, I'd wed him."

  Conan grinned down at her. "As you've said, a

  queen must choose her husband for political reasons. Aye, he's a real man; I'll grant him that much."

  "Now you have seen him close up. Think you still that you can defeat him?"

  Conan looked insulted. "I said he was a real man, but I'm a better!"

  "What kind of fighting is this?" Odoac groused. "Climbing walls like thralls escaping bondage!" He spat into the fire in disgust. "Why will they not come out and fight us?"

  "Because we outnumber them better than two to one," said one of his men reasonably.

  "What kind of reason is that for true men?" Odoac snorted. "I am especially disappointed in my nephew. The same blood fills his veins that fills mine. You would think he'd show more spirit. Perhaps some thrall crept into my brother's bed while he was off cattle-raiding, and begot Leovigild. He is a disgrace to the family."

  "I spoke with some of Totlla's men," said a young warrior hesitantly. "Some of them said that they knew Leovigild by sight, and they had seen him leading one of the horse-ambushes against the Tormanna."

  "Indeed?" said Odoac. "Then why did we not see him today? Does he fear to meet his uncle?"

  "They told me," said the young warrior, "that he fought Totila, and the king struck him down. They think he is surely slain."

  This puzzled Odoac. Had he agreed to a condition that was already met? Was Totila really so clever that he bargained with a game piece he had already taken? It infuriated Odoac to think so, and he did not want his men to think he had been gulled.

  "It must have been some other young fool Totila slew. My nephew would never have the courage to face such a man."

  Before the fire had burned much lower, Totila himself came to visit his ally. The king strode dramatically into the ruddy glare and stood before the seated Odoac.

  "Greeting, Odoac. We had a slow start today, but we began late. Tomorrow we shall have Alcuina's garth in our hands ere the sun sets."

  "And Alcuina in yours," grumbled Odoac.

  "Such was our bargain," Totila rejoined. "You, of course, shall have"

  "I know what our agreement was," Odoac broke in hastily. "Come, sit by me and have some ale."

  The two kings sat, passing the ale-horn back and forth, speaking of inconsequential things. They put on a fine show of solidarity and friendship for the assembled Thungians. The celebration of good fellowship was interrupted when a tall, slender figure stepped from the surrounding shadows into the firelight.

  "Greeting, Uncle."

  Odoac's breathing became labored, and he grew crim-son in the face. "Leovigild! You dare! Youyou"

  Odoac struggled to his feet, fumbling at his sword hilt. Totila stood behind him. The Thungians, struck dumb at this unexpected sight, did not move at all.

  Smiling gently, the young man before Odoac thrust the spear he was carrying deep into the capacious belly of the king. Odoac looked down in disbelief at the shaft protruding from his stomach. He opened his mouth to scream, but all that emerged was a gush of dark blood. Odoac collapsed sideways, and died.

  With a shout, freed from their paralysis, the Thungians

  jumped to their feet. Totila was quicker. He whipped his sword out with unbelievable swiftness, and the long, heavy blade was descending through the skull of Odoac's murderer before the warriors were fully on their feet. Those standing nearest were spattered with blood, brains, and teeth. Then they were goggling with wonder at the inert form upon the ground. Totila had made such a ruin of the skull that the features were no longer recognizable.

  "The boy must have been mad to try such a thing. Well"he looked around at the warriors"it seems that your king and his heir are both dead. We shall burn them both at sunup, with full honors due royalty. Will you see this fight to the end, with me as your leader?" He carefully did not use the word king yet.

  "We were Odoac's sworn men," said an elder warrior, "not yours."

  "And as such you should have avenged him," Totila said blandly. "Yet you did not. I did. Do you owe no service to your king's avenger?"

  The Thungians turned shamefaced. Events were happening too fast. It was easiest to let custom decide their immediate actions. "Aye, that is true," said the same elder.

  "Then follow me until this matter is settled. Then we may sit and discuss the future of your tribe." With a scrap of coarse cloth, Totila cleaned off the bits of scalp and hair clinging to
his sword. He sheathed it, turned, and strode away, his cloak of men's hair swinging behind him.

  "Does this mean that the Torman is our king now?" demanded someone.

  "We must talk of this," said the elder warrior. He looked down at the two hulks upon the ground. "What possessed the lad to do such a thing? Had he waited, Odoac could not have lived much longer. Then we could have haled him back to be our king. We all loved the boy."

  "Perhaps," said a man in elkskin armor, "he was overcome with shame and rage at this alliance with the Tormanna. It might have robbed him of his wits."

  "We may never know what happened," said the elder, "but now we are faced with a problem: Odoac and Leovigild were the last of the royal house. We have no king now. There are only Totila and Alcuina, and on the morrow Totila will have her."

  They were all silent for a while. The man listening from just outside the firelight had heard enough in any case. Conan, dressed in his black wolfskins and his face blackened with soot, snaked his way backward through the sparse brush of the plain toward the garth. He could do this as silently as any Pict. When he was far enough from the men, he rose and loped to a place at the base of the wall where a rope dangled from the palisade. Swiftly as a squirrel, he pulled himself up the wall and greeted the guards at the top. Many of the men were sleeping at their places on the wallwalk, lest the enemy try a surprise assault in the darkness.

  Conan quickly made his way to Rerin's hut and barged in. The old man was performing some spell before his fire, but he looked up as Conan entered. "You were right," Conan announced. "lilma made his move tonight."

  "I knew it! Early this evening I felt his workings."

  Conan briefly outlined the events he had observed since the fall of night, and the things he had heard spoken among the enemy.

  "I wondered how he would do it," Rerin said mus―

  ingly. "It would have been difficult to do in battle, because few men would have seen it. Totila destroyed the false Leovigild's head because it would soon have ceased to resemble him. So now the Thungians have no king."

  "No," Conan corrected. "They have one; they just don't know it."

  Slowly, both men smiled.

  fifteen

  War of Oiree Rations When Totila rose and girded himself for battle it was with the deep satisfaction of a man who has planned well and now sees his plans coming to full fruition. He belted on his sword and strode from his tent.

  "Are the pyres ready?" he asked one of his men. The man pointed to where two great heaps of wood rose above the plain near the Giants' Stones. "Then let us go and get these carcasses burned," Totila said impatiently. "We've a battle and a royal wedding to accomplish this day."

  The Thungians were already gathered around the pyres, which they had toiled all night to build. The Tormanna lounged about, leaning on their spearshafts and showing scant respect for the dead. According to custom, those who had fallen in the battle the day before would be burned when the fighting was over, or carried home for burial if distance and transport permitted.

  lilma joined Totila on the way to the pyres. "Have I not wrought well, my king?"

  "Very well, indeed," said Totila. He smiled be-nignly at his mage. "I was quite close to killing you not long ago, so much had you failed me. But now it looks as if all is working out for the best."

  "The best is all I wish for my king," lilma insisted. He had lost much of his arrogance in recent days, and now he wondered if his craft was under the influence of some baleful star. But how could his latest working fail? He could see no way at all.

  Without preamble Totila picked up a torch and thrust it into the larger of the pyres. "Thus I give final rest to the spirit of my brother king, Odoac of the Thungians."

  He walked to the lesser pyre and there was grumbling from the Thungians. A funeral oration for a king was supposed to last for hours. This was not proper, but they were about to be shocked still further.

  "The Cambres come!" shouted someone.

  They all whirled to face the garth. In open-mouthed stupefaction, they saw that the whole host of the Cambres were crossing the plain. In the forefront they could see Alcuina.

  "Sacrilege!" said Totila with more wonder than an-ger in his voice. "Surely even the most desperate of men would not violate a funeral!"

  "They bear their spears point-down," said the elder of the Thungians. "And they bring Alcuina with them. Perhaps they wish to pay their final respects."

  A broad smile divided Totila's beard. "No. They have come to surrender. Why else would Alcuina come herself? Well, we must prepare to receive her properly." He strode toward the arriving party with lilma close at his side. "Greeting, Alcuina," he called when they were a few paces apart. "It is good to see that you have come to your senses and decided to end this without further bloodshed."

  "What do you mean,, Totila?" Alcuina asked. "I have come to attend your double funeral. Royalty should not fail to attend such ceremonies."

  "Especially since one of the pyres is mine!" called a voice.

  Speechless, Totila watched as the crowd parted, and four thralls emerged, carrying a litter. Upon the litter lay Leovigild, pale, bandaged, but unmistakable. The Thungians goggled in disbelief, then cheered and began to surge toward the youth. He pointed a finger at lilma.

  "That wizard made the phantom that bore my appearance! The phantom slew Odoac, not I!"

  Without hesitation, Totila whirled, drawing his sword. Before lilma could so much as blink, the king's blade sheared through his shoulder and did not stop until it reached his waist. Totila placed a foot against the dying carcass and pushed it free of his sword. He turned back to face Alcuina.

  "Thus do I punish such wickedness! I assure you, lady, that I had no knowledge of this thing. I thought that I had avenged the death of Odoac." He gestured at the body of the wizard. "Now I have."

  Alcuina's lips curved slightly. "You are truly a man of quick decision, but it will not save you this time. Men will not follow cunning and treachery for long."

  As if in confirmation of this, the Thungians were drawing away from the Tormanna and ranging themselves beside the Cambres.

  Totila dropped his mask of amiability, and snarled. "They'll follow a real king if there are no others alive!" He advanced upon Alcuina and Leovigild, but now the

  black-haired champion stood before him with shield and drawn sword.

  "It is time that you and I got acquainted," said Conan.

  "Aye," said Totila. "For too long has my cloak been destitute of a black scalp. If you can make me tarry with you a while, you may earn a place on my cloak."

  He took the famous garment off and tossed it to a retainer. Another man brought his shield. The people backed away to give them room, and there was a collective sigh of anticipation. This would be a rare spectacle.

  King and champion circled, crouched well behind their shields. Totila attacked first, springing in to swing a swift horizontal chop at Conan's head. Instead of blocking with his shield, the Cimmerian ducked, cutting at Totila's waist. But the blow was deliberately short and passed in front of Totila's shield. Quick as thought, Conan reversed the blow and cut a backhand blow at Totila's unshielded side. Instead of bringing his shield across his body, Totila reversed his own blow, bringing his blade downward and across to block Conan's sword with his flat, a finger's width from his waist.

  A huge cheer went up at the brief exchange, in praise of the men's masterful swordsmanship and the incredible strength of arm and wrist needed to reverse two such heavy swords in midswing. Other men would have sprung apart for the next attack, but these two kept up a dazzling exchange of blows, cutting at leg, flank, shoulder, and head with bewildering rapidity. Time and again, blade rang on cuirass, helm, and shield. So cunning were the fighters that the blows never landed squarely, but always glanced from the armor with little harm done.

  It seemed impossible that mortal men could sustain such a pace in their combat, but these two showed no signs of tiring. Their shields were hacked and t
heir armor gouged and dented, but as the sun shone higher in the sky they continued to attack one another with the relentless fury of male beasts fighting over their har-ems. Neither would abate his attack until the other lay stretched stark upon the ground.

  In the end they proved to be mortal after all. Closely matched as they were, they had to tire. Attacks grew less precise, defense lost its swiftness, timing became fractionally less perfect. Sweat poured from both men, and their breathing grew as labored as a smith's bellows. Both bled freely from small wounds on arm and leg.

  For the first time, they drew apart. To the watchers it looked as if the two were resting for another prolonged bout. The two combatants knew better. They were equally tired, and the shield arm wears out more quickly than the sword arm. Another blow, perhaps two or even three, and the battle would be decided.

  "Thank you for a magnificent fight, Cimmerian," said Totila. "However it falls out, it will be one to remember."

  "I salute you, Totila," Conan gasped. "You should have stayed a warrior and not sought to be a king."

  "The road of kings is one a man must tread when he knows that greatness is writ upon his brow. Now, let's finish this."

  Totila raised his shield once more. Only his eyes showed above its rim. With a shout, he advanced. Silently, Conan did the same. Conan began a charge,

  but blood trickling from a thigh wound made the sole of his boot slick; he slid on the grass, barely stopping himself from falling. Totila exploited the instant's im-balance, swinging a terrific overhand slash. In doing so, he lowered his shield a few inches, and that was all the advantage Conan needed.

  For the first time, Conan used the point. Recovering from the feigned stumble, he darted his arm out to full extension and threw the whole weight of his body behind his blade. The point entered Totila's screaming mouth, crunched through teeth, palate, and skull, and emerged two handsbreadths beyond the splendid helm. Conan wrenched the blade free, and for a moment the huge body stood upon its feet. Then Totila toppled stiffly as a falling tree.