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 honour 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 skilful 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, recognised 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 neighbours' 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 out. 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 honour 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 emphasise 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 recognised 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 w
ith 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 favour.
'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 counsellor 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. armoured 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.
'That is better. Now everyone can see what you used to ensorcel my son
Rorik. Behold, my people, that the chieftainess of Cragsfell is nothing but a common harlot with a talent for witchcraft.''
Her cheek was pressed against the floor, but Aelfrith's words were clear: 'Do you think you humiliate me? Naked as I am, I am still ten times the chieftain you are, you degenerate swine. How long do you think you will last, when it is seen how you treat royal blood?'
'Royal blood?' shouted Atzel. 'Is that what flows in your veins? Well, let us see some of it!' He strode to his throne and came back with a long lash of cunningly plaited black leather. With a swift motion of his arm it hissed through the air and slashed across Aelfrith's back. Her muscles jerked but she did not scream. With a demented howl Atzel laid two more stripes beside the first, then he was seized by his counselors.
'Restrain your just wrath, my king,' shouted one so all could hear. 'Let her death be according to ritual and carried out before the assembled chiefs.' He leaned close and whispered: 'If the King Bull kills her, you are safe, Atzel. If you flog her to death here, all your neighbours will unite to destroy you.'
Atzel needed several minutes to calm himself. His courtiers saw with relief that his colour gradually faded from apoplectic crimson to its usual unhealthy pallor. 'Very well.
That is how it must be.' He looked down at the bare, bleeding chieftainess and nudged her with his toe. 'Chain her to my dais. I need a footwarmer. Prepare the holy enclosure. She shall be sacrificed upon the morrow.'
They had been riding hard for half the day when Conan and his men came upon a small group of warriors sitting despondently by the side of the road. He recognised them as the men who had been left behind to guard Cragsfell while he rode forth with the others. He reined in near them, knowing that they would have ill news.
'We almost had her,' said one mournfully. 'We rode so hard, half our horses are foundered. We were almost within bowshot of her when she rode into a party of Atzel's guards. We charged them, but they were on fresh horses and outdistanced us easily. What is to become of our chieftainess?'
'I'll not bend the knee to that ancient swine!' swore a young warrior of no more than seventeen years. 'I'll turn outlaw first, and I'll know no rest until Atzel's head decorates our standard!' The others shouted assent.
Despite the desperate situation, Conan had to smile his approval of this show of spirit.
'That's for later,' he said. 'For now, all is not yet lost. First we must try to get Aelfrith out of that place. I've been in there already, and it is not too difficult for a skilled climber. Who among you is clever in the woods, and good at climbing, and game for a little raid and some dirty dirk-play?'
Several limber young men strode forward, their faces wreathed in broad grins. The prospect of action and vengeance was bringing the men out of their despair.
'We go in at nightfall,' Conan said. 'Atzel's men will be out in force on the roads, but they'll not be patrolling the woods. Get some rest in the meantime. Let us find a good camp well away from the road and set up guard. Tonight we make Atzel bleed.'
They found a favorable spot within an hour, and Conan dismounted to lie on the ground. He was asleep almost immediately. He woke as the moon rose and went to where a small, smokeless fire was burning. The volunteers were already assembled and smearing one another with soot.
Conan did the same.
'No swords,' Conan directed. 'Just dirks or short-handled axes. It's cramped inside that fort. If we need swords on o
ur way out, we will take them from dead men.' He saw teeth flash white in the darkened faces at the prospect of killing Atzel's men. 'Is all ready?' he asked. He was answered by curt nods. 'Then let's go.'
They moved swiftly and quietly through the woods. Although, to Conan's keen ear, the men rustled noisily, he knew that most men would not hear them if they were to pass within ten feet. The moon was high by the time they reached the fort. He could just make out the shapes of two guards above them on the battlement. He tapped the youth who had vowed outlawry and vengeance rather than submission. They drew their knives and placed them carefully between their teeth. Warily, they began to climb.
On Conan's last entry to this fortress he had easily evaded the guards.
This time they would have to be eliminated. The guards seemed to be
scanning the approaching road rather than the walls below them. So much the better. Conan and the young warrior climbed to within five feet of the top of the battlement; then they waited. The guards were directly above them, talking in low voices. Soon the sound of shuffling footsteps and the fading of the voices told them that the guards had turned and were walking toward the opposite side of the roof.
Swiftly, the two raiders swarmed over the battlement. Their bare feet made no sound upon the timber roof. Their loincloths, belts, and dagger sheaths could make no rustle or click. Silent as ghosts, the two fell upon the guards. It was the quick, brutal work of a moment to jerk the two heads back and plunge steel into the exposed throats. In the supposed safety of the fort, neither man had bothered to come on duty with helm or gorget. Now they paid for their complacency with their blood.
The Conan Chronology Page 178