The Conan Chronology

by J. R. Karlsson

  The figure lazily raised a shadow-hand amid the bright vapor. The dark coil hit the outstretched hand and shredded into fading black streamers.

  Shakar gasped aloud. The invader had just shrugged off the most lethal death-spell in his repertoire. A flat, metallic laugh emanated from the suspended silhouette and a sourceless light shone upon the featureless mask of darkness. A face was revealed, and it was a face that Shakar the Keshanian knew well.

  'Eldred!' cried the man in green. 'Why do you torment me?' He fell to his knees on the hard floor, hands held out in shaking supplication. 'I must have more of the Lotus! Anything I have is yours! What do you want of me? What must I do? Eldred?'

  The fog of light upon the wall began to draw in upon itself, fading at its edges, hiding the dark figure from view.

  Shakar's voice rose in frantic despair. 'Eldred! Don't leave me!' But the sorcerous projection shrank and thinned until it was merely a few stray wisps of dispersing vapor.

  Then he was facing a blank marble wall. Hot tears rose in the black warlock's eyes, spilling down his haggard cheeks despite his best efforts to contain them.

  There was someone at his door.

  'Master! Master, what troubles you?' Gulbanda's voice came muffled through the door's heavy panels. 'Are you unwell?' Shakar stood unsteadily, drawing a velvet sleeve across his face.

  'Enter, Gulbanda. All is well. I had¦ an ill dream.' He faced away from the door as it opened, admitting the bearded bodyguard, who looked quizzically around the bedchamber. Gulbanda's eyes narrowed as they fell upon the open silver box. Shakar composed his features, but did not turn to look upon his servant. He,cleared his throat.

  'Has the Cimmerian returned?'

  'No, master. I would notify you at once. There are but four hours until dawn.'

  'The barbarian may still succeed. He does not seem to be a man easily thwarted. Still, go to the house of Lady Zelandra and keep watch over the gates. He may need your assistance in escaping. Go now.'

  Gulbanda grimaced in disapproval, his scar making a pallid flash in his black beard, but nodded obediently. The dark-armoured bodyguard stepped out of the room, then hesitated in drawing the door closed.

  'Master, if he returns without the cask, or even with it, may I have him? It will be months before I can wield a sword with any skill. It seems a small favour to grant to one as loyal as I.'

  'If he does not return, I shall slay him with my amulet.

  If he does return to this house, then he is yours, faithful Gulbanda.'

  The bodyguard grinned with clear pleasure. 'Thank you, master. I would have him in the chair again, repenting that he ever took my fingers.'

  'Good evening, Gulbanda.'

  The door closed, leaving Shakar alone in his bedchamber. He walked slowly to his bed and sat, his body weighted with a weariness that left his mind free and ablaze with urgent energy. He considered trying to sleep, or at least lying down to rest for a while, but he didn't move.

  Shakar simply sat on the edge of the bed with trembling hands clutched tight in his lap. He tried to fix his black eyes on the floor between his feet, but again and again his gaze rose helplessly to fasten upon the open silver cask.

  VIII

  Conan followed Neesa out of the little dungeon, through a cobwebbed wine cellar and up a worn flight of stone stairs. They made their way silently down taper-lit corridors until they stood before a broad double door inlaid with plaques of carved ivory. Neesa laid a slim hand upon the heavy door and turned to the barbarian.

  'Milady is likely awake, but if she still sleeps, you must be silent and allow me to wake her. If startled from sleep she might smite us with some spell.' Conan's face went dour and he stroked lightly at Shakar's amulet with one hand.

  'By Manannan, it seems the more I strive to avoid sorcery, the more it strives to seek me out,' he grumbled. 'Lead on.'

  The doors swung open soundlessly at Neesa's touch, revealing an ornate, painted screen that shielded from view the unlit room beyond. Neesa took a tentative step within and the darkness was abruptly split by a flicker of weird crimson light. The two halted on the threshold as the room was suddenly aglow with a rainbow of brilliant colours. A soft feminine cry, half dismay and half astonishment, came out of the dark.

  Hearing it, Conan and Neesa lunged together around the screen and into Lady Zelandra's chamber, where they stopped short in amazement.

  Vaporous light coruscated along the wall, illuminating the room with a shifting radiance. A luxurious bed stood against the left wall, flanked by massive shelves crammed with books. Tables were set on either side of the bed, and they too were heaped with books. A woman was sitting bolt-upright in the bed, half wrapped in a white froth of silken sheets. She stared at the wall across from her, where foggy strands of many-hued light were interlocking in a grid of translucent fire. The colours died and the wall became a sheet of phosphorescent mist. An ominous shadow coalesced there.

  Conan's instinctive fear of the supernatural seized him in a frigid fist, lifting the hair on the nape of his neck.

  'Heng Shih!' screamed the woman in the bed. 'Heng Shih!'

  A door on the opposite side of the chamber burst open and a man charged through, sliding to a stop beside the bed. It was the huge Khitan whom Conan had fought in the corridor. In his left hand was the wooden mace; in his right was a heavy scimitar, its flaring blade reflecting the sinister light that bathed the room. Holding both weapons before him, the Khitan advanced expressionlessly upon the black shadow suspended in light.

  'Hold!' cried the woman. 'Don't touch him, Heng Shih.' The Khitan stopped his advance but moved sideways to put himself between the sorcerous projection and the woman in the bed.

  'Oh, Lady Zelandra. You prove that your wisdom is the equal of your beauty.' The voice was deep and resonant. It was not loud, yet seemed to reach into every corner of the room. Conan recoiled, his wilderness-bred senses assuring him that what he seemed to hear was not sound at all. It came from no discernible direction. The black figure spoke directly into the mind.

  'Who are you? Why do you trespass here?' The woman in the bed seemed more enraged than afraid. The invader, etched starkly against shifting veils of white light, laughed and spoke again.

  'You know me as Eldred the Trader.'

  The woman bristled, coming to her knees on the bed.

  'Assassin! Have you come here to gloat over my impending death?' she spat.

  'On the contrary, sweet lady, I have come to offer you life. I am the master of the Emerald Lotus. You have tasted its glorious power and felt its mortal demands. I am fresh from a visit to the home of Shakar the Keshanian, and I fear that he will not last another two days. His appetite escalates as his supply dwindles. You seem to be in much better health, so I infer that you have shown greater control than the Keshanian. You may live another week or two, but be aware that without a steady supply of my lotus, you are doomed.'

  'You have a price?' asked Zelandra bitterly. The shadow figure continued as though she had not spoken.

  'The Emerald Lotus is a wondrous gift to sorcerers. You have experienced but a meager fraction of its strength in your own wizardry.

  Its power is limitless. With enough of the lotus a mage might become all-powerful, while those seduced by it and then abandoned must die. In the guise of Eldred the Trader, I approached both you and Shakar the Keshanian. Two petty sorcerers locked in a trifling rivalry over which would be privileged to become King Sumuabi's lackey. The lure of the mythical Emerald Lotus proved as strong as I knew it would be. I sold it to you for a pittance, but I would have given it to you for nothing had you chosen not to buy.'

  'Why?' The rage had faded from Zelandra's voice, leaving only a profound weariness.

  'Why?' The veils of stark light throbbed brighter. 'Because I wondered how much power such a small amount would grant you. Because I wondered how long you could make it last. But most of all, because I wondered how long it would take you to die once it was gone. I have learned so much from
you, sweet lady, and from Shakar the keshanian. It is knowledge I shall use to good effect. I have found the seeds of the Emerald Lotus, lost since the time of black Acheron, and I am its master. It shall strengthen me and slay my enemies. All the mages of Stygia shall soon have the opportunity to sample my lotus, and those who accept it will either obey me as loyal followers or be left to die.

  Can you not see it, sweet lady? I will command a legion of lotus-enslaved wizards, while that which holds them in bondage grants me greater and greater power. Who can say what the limits of my dominion might be?' The ebon outline fell silent, pausing as though to savor the moment. 'I am destined to become a great force in the world, Zelandra, but you need not fear me. I am not here to slay you; rather I would ask you, lady, would you share this power with me?'

  'Who are you?' The woman on the bed spoke without emotion.

  The moving curtains of fiery mist drew apart, dimming into the background as the figure became visible: a tall man dressed in a regal grey robe trimmed with ermine. Great dark eyes set in a noble, sharp-featured face surveyed the room with calm intensity. A subtle, golden radiance played about him as he bowed deeply toward the Lady Zelandra.

  'I am called Ethram-Fal.'

  'Ethram-Fal?' Zelandra's voice cracked. 'I have heard of you, Stygian.

  A reject of the Black Ring. Why do you present yourself as a normal man rather than the twisted dwarf that you are?'

  'Bitch!' The invader all but choked in astonishment. 'I offer you life and a place by my side and you would mock me?' The sorcerer's words burst inside their skulls with staggering force, scalding with shock and rage. The figure fell in upon itself, its outline collapsing into the image of a much smaller, hunched man in plain grey robes. Bulging eyes glared furiously from beneath a dark and beetle brow. The haze of light around him paled and then vanished entirely, revealing a rocky desert landscape touched by the first pallid rays of dawn. Sharp spires of ruddy stone rose to his immediate left, while on his right a small, unusually regular formation of jagged peaks lay upon the azure horizon.

  Ethram-Fal's clenched fists shook by his sides while his thin mouth worked in an uncontrollable fury of outrage.

  'I will return to you in three days. By then my lotus will have tightened its grip. I swear by the Crawling Chaos that I shall hear you beg for my acceptance. And then, by Set, then I shall decide if you are worthy!'

  The image winked out like a snuffed candle, leaving the four of them staring at a blank wall in a room gone suddenly dark.

  IX

  The Lady Zelandra fell back among her pillows as if in a faint, then sat up abruptly, twisting one hand in the air. Four torches set in wall mounts flared into brilliant orange flame, flooding the room with light. She was still staring at the wall.

  'Damn him,' she said softly, 'and damn me for a fool.'

  'Milady,' cried Neesa as she crossed the bedchamber, towing Conan by one muscular arm. Heng Shih, the Khitan, brandished both of his weapons, the flare-bladed scimitar whistling as it cut the air. He did not speak.

  'What's this?' Lady Zelandra swung her fine long legs over the bedclothes and came to her feet. She advanced upon the Cimmerian, her eyes slitted and mouth tight with contempt.

  'Milady,' said Neesa, 'this is Conan. He broke into the house, and Heng Shih and I just managed to overcome him. He has an interesting story to tell. He is

  'A pawn of Shakar's,' cut in Zelandra. 'The Keshanian amulet about his neck reveals the truth. Is that third-rate trickster so desperate that he sends barbarian thieves to rob me? What did you come seeking, oaf?'

  Zelandra's hair was black, straight, and shot through with silver.

  Though she was well into middle age, her body was still erect and firm, beautiful in her silken nightrobe. Her keen black eyes inspected her uninvited visitor with obvious repugnance.

  'I am no friend of Shakar's, lady. If you know the amulet, then you must know its purpose. If I do not return to the Keshanian by dawn, its flame will burn my head from my shoulders. Shakar sent me here to steal from you a silver box. I had no choice in the matter.'

  'Of course,' muttered Zelandra as if speaking to herself, 'without more lotus the rascal dies.'

  'With this damned amulet around my neck, I die in any case.' Conan's voice grew louder. 'Release me so that I may at least try to force the dog to remove it. Swear to give me that chance, and I shall help you against the Stygian who calls himself Ethram-Fal.'

  'Derketo, but you have gall,' Zelandra grinned briefly in reluctant admiration. 'And how might an unwashed savage like yourself be of assistance in a war of wizards?'

  Conan tossed his black mane with manifest impatience. 'The sorcerer who made himself appear upon the wall, the one who claimed mastery over the thing he called the Emerald Lotus, I know where he is to be found.'

  Heng Shih slid the scimitar into his wide yellow sash, then fluttered the fingers of his right hand as though drawing quick pictures in the air. Conan recognised the movements as a form of sign language, but had no notion of what message was conveyed.

  'Perhaps,' said Zelandra soberly, 'but who can say?'

  She took two swift steps to the Cimmerian's side and laid a cool hand upon his amulet and throat. Conan clenched his teeth. Expecting the thing to blaze into murderous life, he fought an impulse to shrink away.

  'Hie Nostratos-Valkallar,' she whispered, as her fingers slid between the egg-shaped amulet and Conan's throat. The muscles of the barbarian's frame locked into taut knots, but he held himself in place.

  The sorceress smiled lazily into Conan's tense face and spoke: 'Hie Nostratos-Nectos.'

  White fire erupted before the Cimmerian's eyes as Zelandra jerked the amulet free. She stepped back, her hand full of livid molten brilliance. The barbarian clasped both hands around his naked throat as a thick wave of searing heat struck his body.

  'Crom and Ishtar!' The curse ripped from Conan's lips.

  The sorceress opened her hand and liquid metal streamed down her fingers in bright rivulets, spilling to the floor, It seemed to flee her fingers, every drop shedding itself to sizzle in the carpet. Her hand was unmarked.

  'Just a toy,' she said. 'Now where is Ethram-Fal, and how do you come by such convenient information? If you are lying, I shall devise a death for you that will make the amulet seem most merciful.'

  'To hell with you and your threats,' snarled Conan. 'I've been drugged, beaten, and blackmailed all night long. I said I knew where he was and I meant it. I could use a drink.'

  Heng Shih advanced menacingly, hefting his wooden mace. Conan stood his ground, glaring, and Neesa spoke up.

  'I'll get some wine, milady. With your permission?'

  'Certainly,' said Zelandra, the reluctant smile playing about her lips again. 'Being drugged, blackmailed, and beaten does sound like thirsty work.'

  Neesa bolted from the room, leaving Conan and Heng Shih to glower at one another while Zelandra examined the barbarian as though seeing him clearly for the first time.

  'The Khitan is mute, then?' asked Conan, relaxing a little.

  'Yes, though his hands and his weapons speak most eloquently when he wishes.'

  Conan rubbed the back of his head ruefully. 'His club spoke to my skull earlier this evening, though I'll wager that if I had not felt the lingering fumes of Shakar's drugs, I would have heard him stealing up behind me.' Heng Shih's round face split in a wolfish grin, the fingers of his right hand working in the air before him.

  'He says that you have the hardest head of any man he's ever met,' said Zelandra wryly.

  'Others have said the same,' replied the Cimmerian. 'Tell him that he's the fastest-moving fat man I've ever seen.'

  The Khitan frowned darkly, drawing himself up to his full height as Neesa re-entered the room bearing a silver tray set with a jug of wine and a large pewter tankard.

  'He understands you perfectly,' said Lady Zelandra.

  'So I thought.' Conan snatched the jug from the platter with manacled hands and tore the cor
k out with his teeth. Disdaining the tankard, he drank directly from the bottle, taking several deep swallows before pulling it from his lips with an explosive sigh of satisfaction. He strode to the nearest table and, carelessly pushing books aside, sat on its edge. Nursing the bottle, he stretched his long legs out before him and gave every sign of being well pleased with himself.

  'As soon as you are adequately refreshed, perhaps you would see fit to tell us where you believe Ethram-Fal can be found,' said Zelandra sarcastically. Heng Shih drew his scimitar casually from his sash and absently began to test its edge with a thumb. None of this served to hurry Conan, who took a last, leisurely swallow from the bottle and set it on the table beside him.

  'After you taunted the Stygian and he took on his true aspect, the scenery behind him became as clear as if we looked through a window of glass into a desert,' said the Cimmerian.

  'I angered him and his concentration faltered,' said Lady Zelandra.

  'What of it?'

  'When the desert was revealed,' went on Conan patiently, 'I saw a ridge behind him. It is a row of small peaks that men call the Dragon's Spine.'

  'You have seen this ridge before?' asked Neesa in amazement.

  'I have seen it twice. The last time was two months ago, when I took a caravan across Stygia from the Black Kingdoms. Before that, I saw it on the way to the dead city of demons called Pteion.'

  'You have been to Pteion?' Zelandra's eyes were wide in the torchlight.

  'I was there once,' replied Conan. 'It is a place best avoided.

  Ethram-Fal is in eastern Stygia, a few days' travel from the Shemitish border. From the position of the Dragon's Spine, he is both west and south of Pteion, though what he is doing in that godforsaken wasteland only Crom knows. I give you my word that all I have said is true. Now, if you will remove these manacles, and give me back my sword, I will return to the house of Shakar the Keshanian. After my visit, I promise that he shall trouble neither you nor anyone else unless it be in hell.'