The Conan Chronology

by J. R. Karlsson

  Conan listened with interest. He would be finished in this town soon, and for a professional soldier, news of impending civil war was the finest of music. The civil strife in Ophir had been going on for years and the land was a picked-over carcass. Aquilonia

  was matchlessly rich and had been at peace for many decades. The loot of a city such as Tarantia would be incalculable. And that was just the largest of Aquilonia's many rich cities. Even the harrying of a minor province could give a common soldier wealth enough to retire from the wars. Not that Conan was ready to retire just yet.

  'Let me stand you to your next tankard,' said a man next to him. This one was a small one, dressed in colourful hose and doublet. Atop his head was a long velvet cap, with several drooping feathers forming a somewhat bedraggled cockade. Slung over his shoulder was a small harp in a bead-decorated leather cover.

  'Gladly,' said the Cimmerian. The harper beckoned to the barkeep, who hurried over with the pitcher.

  'You are the northerner who has the hard men of this town, chasing their own tails with perplexity. You must have a fine story to tell.'

  'I am just a humble warrior, minding my own business,' Conan said solemnly.

  The harper guffawed. 'And I am the long-lost prince of Khitai, about to return home to reclaim my rightful throne. I expect more than that for a tankard of this exceptionally fine mulled ale, flavoured as it is with exotic spices of the east.'

  'Story for story, then?' Conan inquired.

  'It is a bargain. What do you want to know?' the harper asked, his eyes glowing with curiosity.

  'I have been keeping out of sight all day. What has been happening among the gangs these last hours?'

  'Well—' the man leaned close '—Maxio has let it be known that he is after Ermak and will kill him, even if he has to use poison to do it. The King's Reeve says it was Maxio who burned down the royal storehouse to escape after he'd looted the place. Something has Ingas's men all worked up, and they go about glowering, their hands on their hilts as if they want to cut anything that moves. Ermak says he will be happy to fight anyone who feels that he and his men should be run out of town. All the little gangs are hiring themselves out to anyone who seems to feel the

  need of reinforcement. Lisip is growing worried that all this chaos IN apt to bring the royal troops down upon the city, and he is Ming for a peace conference, to settle matters without open war in the streets.'

  'Is there any word that royal forces are on their way?' Conan asked.

  'Not so much as a breath, but who can say? There may be royal spies in town. There are some who think that you are one such.' The harper raised his eyebrows and angled his head as if expecting to hear an admission from the Cimmerian. He got no such confession. 'Anyway,' he went on, 'you heard that last minstrel. The royal authority is in such disarray that it might be . very long time before the king takes note of this little corner of his domain. Now, what is your tale?'

  Conan leaned close. 'You understand that you must not let it lie known where you heard this.' He did not make it a question.

  The man reached into the breast of his doublet and brought out a tiny image that he wore around his neck on a chain. It was a medallion bearing the likeness of a god with a harp. He bestowed a kiss upon the image.

  'I swear by lias of the Golden Fingers, patron god of all harpers.' He tucked the medallion away.

  'Very well. I have been sent by one whose name I cannot reveal, even in the strictest confidence, to learn which way the wind blows here.' The harper nodded, hanging upon the outlander's every word. 'Bombas is looting the royal tax revenues, and has been at it for years, in league with Xanthus, the royal mine factor. To break the Miners' Guild, Xanthus brought in Ermak's mercenaries. They abducted the women and children from the mining village and hold them hostage for the miners' obedience. was Bombas who set fire to the royal storehouse to destroy evidence of his theft.'

  The harper's mouth dropped open. 'And I thought was good .it gathering news.'

  Conan clapped a hand upon the man's shoulder. 'You gather information with your ears. I do it with my sword arm. My way

  is faster, and it gleans many facts that men will not yield in ordinary conversation.'

  'Such information,' the harper said, 'is worth more than a single mug of ale. Allow me to buy you another.'

  The two drank and talked for a while, but the harper's look grew abstracted, and from time to time his lips moved silently. The Cimmerian knew that the man was working this new information into a song. When- the harper soon departed, Conan sat at a table, drinking mulled ale and listening to the singers and storytellers. He was well content with his work just accomplished. In the strange, swift way that minstrels had, this news would be all over Tarantia sooner than a swift horse could have borne it there. It was another stir to the boiling-over pot that was Sicas.

  The rain had tapered off by the time Conan left the Bear and Harp. The wind blew less gustily as he made his way through the dim streets. The weather was depressing, and it seemed to have damped the fighting belligerence of the gangs. He knew it was but temporary. The gangs were, at most, unsettled and disoriented by the sudden changes and betrayals. Soon they would be ready for rampage, and then the blood would flow plentifully.

  'Conan!' The voice was an urgent hiss, and he turned to see a cloaked, veiled figure in a doorway. At first he thought it was Brita, but then he saw that this woman was far too large for that. 'Come here,' she urged.

  'Good evening, Delia,' he said, smiling. The woman all but hauled him through the door as she drew aside her veil. Inside was a perfumer's shop..At a glare from Delia, the elderly proprietor retired discreetly to an inner chamber.

  'You treacherous dog! What have you done! Maxio is alive and free. He is hiding out from Bombas and Ermak, but he will come out soon!'

  'Yes? But what of that? Surely you did not expect me to kill him for you?'

  She looked around as if afraid of being overheard. 'I thought we had an agreement!' she hissed. Her face was a mask of terror.

  'We did,' Conan said. 'I agreed to pay you money for information. I was to use that information however I saw fit, and whenever.'

  'But now he will kill me for betraying him,' she wailed.

  Nothing of the sort,' Conan assured her. 'He thinks that Ermak learned of the job and sold him out. I told him that you Inn I got wind of it and sent me to warn him. She closed her eyes and almost fainted with relief. After a few more breaths, she regained her composure and then glared at the Cimmerian as if her beautiful eyes could set him aflame.

  What game are you playing, you scheming wretch? I've all but cast myself at your feet and you use me to further some plan of your own.'

  'What did you expect?' he countered. 'You sold your lover for your own purposes.'

  Of course I did,' she said, bewildered. 'But I put him in your hands because I wanted to be in your hands. It is not as if I handed him in to the authorities for a reward. I would never stoop In such a thing!' She seemed honestly indignant.

  'I did not mean to impugn your honour,' Conan said.

  'Well, you could at least have warned me,' she said, her anger dissipating with relief.

  'I have been very busy, and also trying to keep out of sight.'

  'I can well believe that you have been busy. Ever since you have lived in town, the place has been in turmoil. All the gangs had worked out agreements, and things went along with only a little howling and an occasional murder. Now nobody knows where anybody stands; they are all suspicious of one another. What are you doing?'

  'Nothing that will endanger you,' he assured her, 'so long as you are careful.'

  'Very well, I believe you,' she said, somewhat mollified.

  Another question occurred to him. 'Delia, what know you of a Mack-haired woman, newly in town and most likely searching for someone, or some thing. She may be calling herself Altaira.'

  That one!' she said. 'I have seen her in the Pit, where she goes about alone after dark as fearle
ssly as a pack of warrior armed to the teeth. And none dare molest her, either. I never saw a man who looks half so deadly as that woman. What want you with her?'

  'Nothing. I but want to know what she is doing. I think she may be looking for someone or some thing, and possibly it is a matter with which I am concerned.'

  'I heard that she is waiting for Mulvix,' Delia said. 'And who is Mulvix?' Conan asked, remembering where he had heard the name.

  'He is a caravan master who visits Sicas once or twice a year. I Like many such, he is a smuggler. I've no doubt that he and the woman have some sort of smuggling business together.' Her boldly flirtatious look returned. 'Do you want me to find out! what I can about her? I can get close to her as no man in this town can. She would not see me as a rival in some scheme.'

  'No!' Conan said. 'Stay away from that woman, and do not even ask questions about her. She has a way of disposing of any- one who arouses her suspicions.'

  Delia pouted. 'Oh, very well, if you scorn my help ...' She left him an opening to protest, which he refused to exploit.

  'You would be best advised to patch up matters with Maxio,'! he said.

  She stamped her expensively shod foot. 'I do not understand you at all!' She stormed from the shop.

  A sweet aroma reminded Conan that this was a perfumer's shop, and he summoned the proprietor from the rear. He asked the old man if Brita had been in.

  'Aye, near every day,' the man answered. 'She was in just this morning, asking about that sister of hers. Seems a decent, well-bred girl, although I think she is a little mad on this subject of her sister.' With a bony finger he tapped his grey temple portentously.

  Conan nodded, musing. The presence of the black-haired woman Altaira and the imminent arrival of the caravan master Mulvix tied in with Piris's story. Whatever other truth his tale did contain was doubtful at best. These musings supplied Conan with inspiration. 'Have you any lilac scent?' he asked the perfumer.

  Hut of course, sir.' The man went to a shelf and took down a flask. 'The very finest pressings from this year's harvest in Khemi, where the richest lilac blossoms are grown. Is it for the ... ah ... the lady who was just here with you?'

  No,' Conan said. 'It is for another friend. I will want it delivered.'

  That is no difficulty,' the shopkeeper said, taking quill and attachment from a desk. 'The recipient?' 'Piris of Shadizar,' Conan said. 'And this person's lodgings?' 'The city dungeon,' answered the Cimmerian. The poised quill faltered in its plunge toward the parchment. 'Did I her you aright, good sir? I almost thought that you said 'the city dungeon.''

  'That is indeed what I said,' affirmed Conan. The old man shrugged philosophically. 'As you will. Any message?'

  'Just say, 'Conan has not forgotten you. This is the very least I can do. It is almost in my hands.'' 'What is almost in your hands?' asked the old man. 'He will know what I mean.' Conan paid for the costly scent and left the perfumer's.

  As he crossed the rain-washed Square, the Cimmerian all but inn into a fat figure waddling in another direction. It was the Reeve, who gasped as he recognised the face within the cowl. 'Cimmerian! You are alive!'

  'Aye, no thanks to you!' His hand went to his hilt. He had wished to avoid the Reeve, and he disliked the idea of cutting the man down in full view in the middle of the Square, but he might have no choice in the matter. Amazingly, the man's fat face recovered what might only have been called delight, even though he was, for once, not backed by his remaining henchmen. 'Hut I thought that Maxio and his men had slain you! We saw you cross the bridge to the storehouse, and then there was nothing, no call from you and no sounds of a fight. We were sure that Maxio or one of his men had dirked you in the back as you dropped into the storehouse, so I resolved to show the villains no mercy. I rejoice to see you alive!'

  'And well you should,' said Conan, 'considering that you set fire to the storehouse while I was in it.'

  The Reeve looked around as if to see whether anyone stood near enough to hear his words. 'That was an accident. One of my blundering men knocked over an oil lamp with the butt of his glaive. The oil poured onto a great heap of the woven wicker they use to bale the wool for transport. The fire was out of control in seconds. Of course, in my official report I said that the burglar had set the fire to cover their escape. You understand these things do you not? They were truly at fault, anyway. Ah, my friend, did Maxio escape?'

  The Cimmerian grinned. 'He was very much alive when last I saw him.'

  'The gods curse the man! Conan, we have matters to discus Come back with me to my headquarters and we will talk.'

  'I think not,' Conan said, unwilling to step into a trap. 'Over here.' He stepped into a small kiosk that housed a statue of long-dead benefactor of the town.

  The Reeve followed closely. 'Conan, my friend, things in the city are getting far out of hand. You may have heard that Lisip has called a peace conference in hopes that things may be sort out before the whole town is aflame.'

  'I've heard,' he affirmed.

  'I have agreed to the conference and will be present. Will you attend as well, as my bodyguard?'

  'You have your own men,' Conan pointed out.

  'I can neither trust nor depend upon them,' Bombas said 'But you are now the most feared swordsman in the city. Your presence will ensure the good behaviour of all toward me. I will make it well worth your trouble.'

  'All right,' Conan said. 'You need not pay me money. Just release Piris.'

  Agreed. I will turn him loose as soon as we return safely limn the conference.'

  No, release him when we leave for the meeting. Who knows ii. her either of us will return alive from it?'

  The fat man's shoulders shrugged. 'Have it as you will. The man is nothing to me, in truth.'

  'When is the conference to be held, and where?' Conan asked. The time and place are not yet agreed upon. Thus far, Ermak and Ingas have not assented to it, and who knows what Maxio will decide? The place will probably be the Wyvern, which is burial ground to most of these scum. I will give you word as it has been decided. Where do you lodge these days?'

  'Never mind that. I will be in touch with you. If that is all, I must be going now.' Conan turned and left the kiosk without further words. As he did not want Bombas to see him enter the temple, he walked past the temple and the theatre and travelled along the high street.

  He went to the inn to see how Brita fared, but she was not there. The innkeeper affirmed that she came and went at all hours and said further that a young man who wore two swords had been asking about the Cimmerian. Conan was not interested in meeting with Casperus just yet. The innkeeper promised to keep safe any messages sent to Conan; none would be delivered to the Cimmerian's rooms. The last thing Conan wanted was for Brita to be living into his doings.

  It was fully dark when he returned to the temple. An acolyte inducted him to his new room, directly across the hall from Kid la's chamber. The shuttered window of this room opened onto ii stone-paved courtyard three stories below. He knew that the kitchen gave into this courtyard. Even as he watched, a female acolyte emptied a pail of hot water out the back door, further welling the rain-dampened stones.

  Below his window was a narrow ledge, and by leaning back mill looking up, he saw that the roof was an easy climb from the ledge. He was beginning to consider this city more in terms of ' rooftops and sewers than of streets and buildings.

  There was no one else on the floor save himself and the young woman across the hall. He peered through the door-window into her chamber and saw that she lay unnaturally pale and still, only the slightest rise and fall beneath the blanket drawn up to her chin proving that she still lived.

  He looked into the rooms on both sides. One was featureless, unoccupied and unfurnished. The other had a window set into the adjoining wall, separated from the girl's room by a pane of thick glass. On the sill of the window burned an oil lamp, which provided the sole illumination for Rietta's chamber. The glass pane was not perfectly smooth, but he could see throu
gh it into the chamber tolerably well. He climbed out the window and pulled! himself up onto the roof, then crossed to the other side. Swinging! his legs over the low parapet, he dropped to hang by his finger- tips. The balls of his feet just touched the ledge outside his window. He re-entered his room, satisfied that he could pass from one room to the other unseen from the hallway. With no further business for the evening, he lay on the bed, still fully dressed. H wanted to be ready to take action without having to scramble into his clothes in the dark.

  He awoke dizzy and disoriented. To Conan, who always awoke fully alert, this was distressing. Ordinarily, only a strong blow the head caused this sensation. Then he was aware of something else: the very faint odour of a pungent smoke. It was the same smoke he had scented before, in Rietta's room.

  Swiftly, he rose and rushed to the window. Daring the effects of his unwanted dizziness, he went out onto the ledge and pulled himself up to the roof. He breathed deeply of the cold night air. The stars overhead appeared unnaturally bright, and they seemed to shift their position and colour; The illusion lasted for only moments; then all returned to normal.

  Apparently the black-lotus smoke was quicker in its effect than the drug given to the worshippers below, and the influence dispersed as soon as the victim was free of the smoke. Whatever the

  mechanism for injecting the smoke into Rietta's chamber, enough of it leaked across the hall to mildly affect the Cimmerian. His clarity restored, he decided that it was time to see what was going on in the girl's chamber.

  When he entered the room next to hers, he saw that the lamplight had grown feeble. No acolyte had entered to trim the wick in several hours. He saw a faint glow from the other room. Before peering through the glass separating the chambers, he extinguished the flickering flame, both to see more clearly and to prevent it from casting its glow upon his face.