At the snake-encircled cupola atop the temple of Set, she glided through an arch to its deck and resumed her human form. Feather-clad, she descended to a suite reserved for members of the Black Ring. There she rested and planned until mid-morning. At that time she dispatched a messenger to the king, bearing a token which
would get him immediately received and a written request for a confidential audience. It was a request in form only; she required it. The monarch knew that and sent back a prompt invitation.
At the appointed hour, duly stately in crown and robes, she crossed the plaza to the palace. In order to emphasise the gravity of the occasion, she did not go afoot, but in a brazen chariot without wheels or tongue, that bore her along three feet off the ground. Awed guardsmen bowed low, stood well away from her vehicle after it had settled to earth and she stepped out, provided a man to escort her inside.
She was ushered into a room small but well appointed. Scenes of the chase ornamented its walls, and the furniture was lavishly carven and gilt. Mentuphera bade her be seated. He himself filled a silver wine cup for her.
'I hope that my lady, high priestess of Derketa, will accept the presence of my first son,' he said. 'I want him to learn how such things are also a part of statecraft.'
Nehekba shrugged. 'If you desire, Your Majesty,' she replied, careful to observe the niceties. While Mentuphera was apprehensive of her and her colleagues, he was no weakling. On the contrary, Stygia had not had so formidable a secular lord for generations. He was a tall man, heavily muscled in his plain tunic, scarred from many a combat. His face was square, weather-beaten, broken-nosed, his eyes like metal. Ever at his hip, even when he wore dress of state, hung a sword. Despite his deference to the witch, he did not try to conceal the lechery that flickered in his glance across her beauty; they had often shared a bed.
'In truth,' she continued, 'you are wise to let the crown prince hear. O King, live forever. Yet the gods alone see what lurks behind tomorrow's sunrise, and I bear tidings of peril.'
Ctesphon, heir apparent, a slender man no longer quite young, stirred uneasily on his seat. 'My lord father,' he ventured, 'should we not have your counsellors here as well? The words of a sorcerer are often darkling - no disrespect to my lady - and no single mind can think of every issue that should be raised.'
'I desired private discussion,' Nehekba reminded sharply. 'Much of what I am about to tell Your Majesty should not be
noised abroad, lest fear breaks its chains and run loose in Stygian hearts.'
Mentuphera gave his son a doubtful glance, but decided not to dismiss him. Ctesphon had frequently argued that the plan of conquering an empire was unwise. However, since he could not dissuade his father, he worked loyally and ably in the cause; he hunted lions in his chariot; searching for arcane knowledge from which Mentuphera's hard soul shrank, he dared correspond with Tothapis' exiled rival, Thoth-Amon the terrible.
'Say on,' the king rumbled.
'Your Majesty knows the legend the Taians tell, of the axe of Varanghi,' Nehekba began.
'Wistful folklore,' Mentuphera snorted. Ctesphon grew tense.
'Would that it were,' Nehekba responded. She went on KM describe - in a version preserving the dignity of herself and Tothapis - what had happened and what she had lately spied on. 'I fear we cannot get men to Pteion ahead of Conan by any earthly means,' she finished, 'and to transport them magically would be but to send a quite inadequate number against his troop, given the limited time and means available to us. Besides, such an experience would wreck their morale and leave them easy prey to him.'
'By the fangs of Set!' The king's fist crashed on an arm of his chair. 'A lout like that, the chosen instrument of - of Mitra? Why, if the Sun Master can do no better than Conan, what is to fret about?'
'Much, my lord father,' Ctesphon murmured. 'Only think what the barbarian has done thus far, with no supernatural weapon.' I
'Yes,' Nehekba agreed. 'Your majesty, hesitation on our part: will mean loss of that entire province, which will thereafter stand armed and hostile at your back. What then of your dreams of foreign conquest?
'No, mobilize the strongest force you possibly can on short ', notice. Command it yourself, leaving the crown prince here as viceroy, for your presence will instil valour no matter what your soldiers meet. March south-east at once, within days, to bring Taia to submission. Meanwhile, we who serve Set will strive by every art we possess to keep the axe that Mitra forged in the grave where it
belongs. Should we fail in that, do not despair, for we shall have further resources. One way or another, given your help in this world, O King, we shall succeed against your enemy in the heavens.'
'Aye!' Mentuphera shouted.
In a crypt below the temple of Set, candle flames flickered blue. There on a table, among the shadows, stood a glass vessel in the form of a womb. Within this floated the pale, curled, half-formed figure of a babe unborn.
Nehekba entered. An acolyte in attendance prostrated himself before her. 'Go,' she said, and he crawled out backward.
Leaning over the womb, staring into the blind face beneath her, she drew signs and muttered words. The homunculus stirred. Agony twisted the blob that was its countenance. Words came out of its throat in little plopping globules: 'Who calls me? What would you?'
'It is I, Nehekba,' the witch hissed. 'Heed well, Tothapis, and set all else aside. I do not say that the Wreck of the Gods draws nigh, though that may be; but surely an hour is upon us when, once more, the Bull and the Serpent make war.'
Across as many miles as she had flown, the wizard spoke through the small monstrosity: 'Tell me what you have learned.'
She did. At the end, she said urgently, 'Fate hangs yet in the balance, and will while Conan lives.' Her nails scratched the air. 'That need not be for long. But it will take mighty magic to halt him; his destiny is in spate. My lord, do not crouch in your house any more. Come forth yourself, on dragon wings, with your spells prepared. Meanwhile I will return to spy on Conan and work what spells I can on whatever weaknesses I sense in him and his companions. By such means did my predecessor, five hundred years ago, finally make vulnerable the last man who wielded the axe.
'Let us meet at Pteion of the ghouls, my Lord - and you and I destroy him!'
XVI
Journey to the Damned
Stones rattled beneath hooves. Glowering from the west, a sun tinged bloody by dust made eyes ache that already stung from sweat and were weary after days of squinting at naught but desolation. Light and unmerciful heat rebounded from the walls of the gorge through which the Taians rode. Those red slopes grew lower, less steep and cragged, for every mile; but that was merely because the travellers were approaching open desert. Patches of sand ahead shimmered in an illusion of water that redoubled thirst.
Mostly the warriors fared in silence, nursing their steeds along. Kaftans and burnooses they had donned against this clime fluttered around their lean bodies. Spears swayed to the rhythm of riding, points ablaze with the radiance, as if wind passed over a grain field on fire. Though the men had no love for the wasteland around them, they suffered less than did their Northern leader. At the head of his hundred, Conan endured.
Some yards behind him, Daris brought her horse next to Falco's. 'How goes it for you, friend?' the woman asked. 'You have said almost nothing on this trip.'
The Ophirite shrugged and did not turn his face to look at her. More than parchedness roughened his voice. 'What has there been to talk about?'
'Why, everything,' she answered softly. 'Hopes, dreams, memories - even fears, if naming those would help give power over them. You were a cheerful soul before, Falco. What gnaws at you of late? That tomorrow we reach dread Pteion?'
'I am not afraid!' he flared. 'I didn't have to come along.'
'Nor did I. But then, Conan is my lord for ... as long as he and Mitra will have it so. You, though, would be no coward, would
instead, as Sakumbe and his men agreed to do.' 'For plunder! Do you liken me to those savages?'
'I think much more than greed is in their hearts, Falco. I think there is love for Bêlit and the shades of her parents, there is a wish to avenge the rape of their motherland.' Daris paused. 'As for you, you chose to follow Conan because in your heart also he has become your lord for whom you would gladly die. Is that not true?' Falco's knuckles whitened where he held his reins, but he made no reply.
'Yet this journey has oppressed you more for each day that has passed,' Daris murmured. 'Why? If you would tell your friends, maybe they could help.'
'Oh, Conan has burdens enough,' the youth blurted, 'and I scarcely know any Taians.'
'You know me,' Daris said, and reached forth to touch his hand. 'Our comradeship has been short in time, aye, but must go deeper than most, after everything we have done together. Would you like to call on me? I see no more shame in crying for help from a sworn waymate when the soul is beset by devils, than when the flesh is ringed in by enemy swords.'
Goaded, he turned on her and rasped, 'But you are the cause!' Her dark eyes widened, though the gold-skinned countenance showed compassion rather than surprise. 'In what way?' she responded low. 'Never wittingly or willingly, I swear.'
'Oh, I - you -' Pride and need struggled inside him. His sunburnt cheeks grew redder still. 'Very well,' broke from him at last, in ragged words, while his own gaze roved everywhere except toward her. 'You came along, the only woman among us, and only for Conan's sake. I have not failed to see how your look is ever straying to him and lingering, how often you find excuses to speak with him, short-tempered though he has grown in this hell-country. Oh, I am not jealous, but you are a goodly sight, Daris, and ... you bring back Senufer, who grieves for me in Khemi as I do here for her -' Fist pounded saddlebow.' She comes back to me too much, too fully. At night I cannot sleep, by day I go about in a dream of her, always her dear voice whispers her name till it sings through me like wind through a harp, Senufer, Senufer, Senufer -'
He gulped air and shuddered his way back toward a degree of calm. 'I'm sorry,' he gulped. 'I spoke wrongly. You are not to blame. But I long for her, Daris, I long for her beyond your understanding.'
He did not see how uneasiness went through his companion. She smoothed off outward signs of it, rode closer until their knees touched, laid a hand on his arm, and said very softly, 'Thank you, Falco. You do bring me to understand, a little - at least about what is troubling you. Keep it not dammed in your breast, till it overflows and bears your spirit off on its torrent. Talk to me, if no one else. Tell me whatever you need to tell. Let me help you look beyond this span of waiting and yearning, to that dawn when you can begin your life anew. Let me invoke hope in you.'
Conan, glancing behind, saw them thus. Unreasonable anger brawled suddenly up in him.
The gorge debouched on a seemingly endless wilderness of ocherous sand dunes. They gritted underfoot. Dust streamed on a droning breeze, to clog nostrils and irritate eyes.
As the sun neared the horizon and shadows grew gigantic, Tyris the guide approached his commander. He had come through these parts in former years when he worked as a caravan guard. 'Best we camp now,' he advised. Pointing to an eroded outcrop in the distance: 'If they spoke aright when I passed by here, we are within a few hours of Pteion. Not that anybody ever went there, but the traders keep their lore from of old.'
Conan scowled. 'We can push on for another of those hours this evening, in cooler air,' he said.
Tyris fingered an amulet on his breast. 'Chieftain, is not our plan that we enter by day, when fiends and phantoms are underground? Well, I do not think we would be wise to sleep any closer than where we are.'
'As you will,' the Cimmerian said contemptuously.
Hurt, Tyris rode from him to convey that order. Mounts, remounts, and pack beasts stopped the instant their masters gave signal; grateful snorts and whickerings resounded. Men cared for them with what scanty water, fodder, and grooming were available,
hobbled them, and bivouacked. Soon bedrolls lay spread, chips burned blue, and around each small fire squatted several warriors. Taians were generally not a dour folk; beneath their dignity bubbled considerable joy in life. Now, however, a sombreness was upon them and they spoke in few words and hushed voices. Many drew aside to pray, pour out libations, attempt minor magics.
Conan stalked about inspecting the pickets. Often he spoke gruff reprimands for carelessness. They were not really deserved, and were therefore resented, and he knew as much. It was as if he must slap out at someone.
Beyond camp, silhouetted black against a green sunset sky, Daris and Falco stood face to face, hands linked, deep in converse. After a while they walked down the far side of the dune and were lost to sight.
For a moment Conan wondered if the sullenness that had been gathering in him throughout the past few days had any good cause. What son of the North would not grow snappish in these ghastly barrens? He had known countless hardships, but this was the worst, this sucked vampire-like at his very spirit. Yet did it not behoove him to refrain from complaint, even in his own mind? Why did he let mere discomfort prey on him?
Well, there was worse than that. He had gone without a woman for longer stretches in the past than thus far since leaving Bêlit. But lately the time had begun feeling like years. And then that empty-headed Daris had insisted on being in the expedition and kept throwing her presence at him. Could the jill-flirt not see what fires she stoked? Were it not for her countrymen and their disapproval, he might well have kicked his scruples aside and taken her. By Derketa, he might lead her beyond view of the clansmen and do it anyway! Except that now she had begun to play her tricks on that Ophirite brat. What had he done to deserve the enjoyment?
Ha, if that was what she wanted, let her eat alone when she got back. Conan was hungry.
He slouched to the place that was his, hers, and Falco's. They had been eating together and spreading their sleeping bags not far apart. The man who had laid out their gear and started a fire for them rose, salaamed, and left. Conan hunkered down. He spitted and toasted slices of dried meat, onions, and peppers; he drank warm, ill-tasting water from a skin; he drew a cloak about his shoulders against the gathering chill. Not sleepy, in no mood for company, he sat alone and considered his wrongs. Bêlit felt unreachably far away. Twilight swiftly became night, and stars crowded forth.
Daris returned, in a scrunch of sand beneath bare feet. He glanced up. Her form was tall and shadowy above him. 'Hunh,' he grunted. 'At last. Where's Falco?'
'He decided he would stay off by himself for a while and think over what we talked about,' she replied.
'Talked? I hope you had a good romp.'
'What?' She settled down opposite him. Dim firelight glimmered in eyeballs. 'What do you mean?'
'What do you suppose?' he retorted. 'Oh, I know, I have no claim on you. Do as you please.'
'Conan!' He had never heard such shock in her before, nor seen it on her. She sat upright, both hands lifted as if to ward off a blow. 'You don't imagine - How could you?'
'Do you suppose I am blind? He's a pretty boy, whereas I have been dull company of late. I tell you, I don't mind. Eat. I am going to my rest.'
'But I love you!' Daris nearly sobbed. She caught hold of herself. After a few heartbeats she said quietly but steadily, looking straight at him. 'Hear me. By Mitra I swear, nothing untoward has happened, unless you count a single brief kiss at the end. Falco and I talked, simply talked. He was sick for that Senufer woman in Khemi.'
'For Nehekba, you mean,' Conan sneered. 'The more fool he.'
'I did not repeat our idea to him, that the two are the same. That would have driven him from me. No, I got him to talk about himself, no hard task for me. After he had spilled out his sorrow, it I weighted him much less, and I could lead him back to such fancies of the future as belong to a healthy lad. He is not free of her by any means, but his spirit has returned to him. I think he will sleep well , tonight and be able to fight tomorrow if need be. That is all, Conan, I all that went on ... though my own though
ts did not end there.' I
'I must take your word, of course,' he said with studied indifference.
She regarded him in a kind of horror. 'Conan, what has been happening? What sorcery has been at work? It is not like you to be this surly, yes, nasty. Nor was it like Falco to wallow in self-pity till he was almost useless. Have demons of the desert possessed you?'
Her mind racing ahead, she did not see his resentment increase. 'No,' she mused, while her gaze sought the stars, 'not that, when you both kept plodding loyally onward. But a black spell could have played on weaknesses - his infatuation; your vexation by a country never meant for your race, and ... yes ... even more, no doubt, your yearning for Bêlit. Re-echoing such moods, the spell could worsen them beyond what nature would have allowed.' Her look returned to him. Eagerness entered her tone. 'If I am right, it cannot be an actual binding laid on you. Falco has cast if off him, with my help. Let me next help you, my beloved!'
'Why should you trouble?' Conan snapped. 'I am surly, nasty, and weak, remember?'
He saw in the gloom how she flinched, and all at once wanted to take her in his arms and tell her he was sorry. Before he could speak, pride responded to him. The daughter of Ausar rose to her feet under the stars and said, 'We will talk more of this whenever you feel ready. First seek the rest that you desire. Good night.' She took her sleeping bag and walked off into the dark.
Conan lay long awake, trying to puzzle out what he should have done. They could have argued rights and wrongs till dawn, when he needed his sleep against the morrow. Women!
The noonday sun made heaven a furnace, the land beneath a bed of coals. Air wavered until dunes at a distance looked uneasy as flames; but there went no ghost of a breeze. Sounds of hoof-beats, creaking harness, jingling metal vanished into an infinity of silence, like raindrops vanishing into an eternal drought.
Conan slitted his eyes and strove to observe what lay ahead. Glare, mirage, and distance turned the sight unreal, a bad dream. Drifts of sand were piled nearly to the top of what remained of outer walls. Where these had crumbled, he descried buildings
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