The priest watched in disbelief as the two men advanced slowly toward him, brandishing their swords. "Conan! Kailash! The demon has bewitched you, turned you against me. Conan! What of your oath to Salvorus?
Kailash! Think of your king, and your sworn duty to protect him. Close your ears to the words of this creature of night!"
They did not heed the priest. Their eyes were clouded, their ears closed to his words. Balberoth urged them on, sensing that he had the upper hand. "Quickly! Thy lives are at stake! Strike now, before he strikes thee down!"
Madesus stepped back and blasted the demon, but the ray from his amulet missed again, deflected by the crystal staff. Conan reached the priest first, his sword-arm swept back in preparation for a brutal slash. For an instant, his eyes and mind cleared with the realization that the demon's voice had charmed him. He checked the motion of his blade, but then the moment was gone. He continued with his swing.
Madesus lurched sideways as the Cimmerian's sword ripped through his robe, grazing the surface of his skin. The priest lost his footing and fell to the floor, right in front of Kailash. The huge hillman lifted his blade for a lethal thrust. Madesus sought frantically for a way out, but his back was against the wall. He closed his eyes and waited for the sharpened steel to pierce his vitals, dismally aware that the priestess had defeated him. The last member of the Order of Xuoquelos was doomed.
Twelve
Shan-e-Sorkh
Azora brushed aside the thick tapestry of cobwebs stretching across the antechamber of Skauraul's stronghold. She had shut the front doors behind her, blocking out the painfully intrusive rays of the mid-morning sun. Its accursed face burned hot and bright in the red wastes of the Shemitish desert, hurting her eyes and stinging her flesh. She hated the sun; it sapped her strength, like a giant yellow leech.
The dark, musty antechamber of the stronghold was much more to her liking. She felt an ancient residue of evil in the place, and inhaled its stale air with relish. A few bulbous, hairy-legged spiders stirred in the corners of the room, disturbed by her presence. With interest, she watched these children of Zath, the Zamoran spider-god of Yezud. A few of them were twice the size of her head; their plump, glistening abdomens were bloated with poison.
She admired them for their singularity of purpose. The children of Zath were harbingers of death, cunning little assassins who could trap and slay creatures many times their size. Even the smallest of their kin inspired fear and loathing in humans. One could learn much by studying their methods.
Azora removed the Augur from her cloak, peering casually into it to see if the pathetic priest and his dull-witted guard dogs were dead yet.
She frowned in annoyance, as the Augur refused to focus. The harder she concentrated on it, the more resistance she felt. Finally she gave up in fury, flinging the orb to the floor and cursing. The priest had not the power to block the Augur, even were he aware of its distantly probing eye!
Still fuming, she picked up the Augur. It had been working perfectly just a short while ago, by the outer walls of the stronghold. Acting on impulse, she shoved the outer doors open, then looked into the Augur once more. Immediately the room below the Targolian temple came clearly into focus. Her anger gave way to gratification as she saw the two warriors advancing on the priest, brandishing their swords.
The weak-witted buffoons had been easy prey for Balberoth, whose spellbinding voice had the power of suggestion over all but the most iron-willed of mortals. The two bullish oafs would serve admirably as executioners. Their help was vital, for neither she nor the Demon Lord could directly harm the priest, who bore an ancient talisman blessed by Mitra, the wretched Father of Light. Satisfied that the meddling priest's death was imminent, she put the Augur back into her cloak and slammed the doors shut. If the sun had not been so intense, she would have left the doors open and savored every dying moment of Mitra's contemptible pawn.
With the irksome priest removed, she was free to pursue her present goals. First, she would learn Skauraul's secrets, to protect herself from any threat that other priests of Mitra might pose. Afterward, she would return to the city and cause the frail human maggots there to suffer and die. Soon, on the first day of the Scorpion's Month, the moon would disappear from the night sky. On that blackest of eves, she would complete the ultimate Mutare ritual of power: the spell of immortality. No longer would the passage of time affect her, as it affected all living creatures by aging and weakening them. Had Skauraul been able to complete this rite, he would have become the overlord of all lands.
When she finished the rite, she would be a priestess no longer, but a goddess: baleful and indomitable. Her whims would drive kingdoms to ruin and despair. Priests and emperors would grovel before her; she would find countless ways to torture and humiliate them, each more painful and degrading than the last. Mankind would feel the coming darkness of eternal nightfall, and be powerless to stop it.
None of the Mutare before her had ever reached this pinnacle of power.
They had fallen to quarreling among themselves, leading to their mutual destruction. Even Skauraul had been weakened so severely that the ragtag Order of Xuoquelos had vanquished him. Azora had no such enemies to contend with; Skauraul had been the last of the Mutare, and Madesus was the last of the Order.
Azora could not remember when she had first learned about the Mutare.
She had no recollection of parents or childhood. She considered Stygia to be her birthplace. Her first memories were of a place by the Bakhr River, near the Purple Lotus swamps of southern Stygia. There she had undergone the ceremony of change, marking her birth as a Mutare. In the years afterward, she had pursued knowledge of the Mutare with insatiable obsession.
By journeying to many faraway lands, seeking places ancient and forbidden, she had found what she sought. She had lied, cheated, stolen, and murdered; she had let nothing stand in her way. The Mutare were unencumbered by human weaknesses of conscience and morals.
Eventually she had amassed a store of knowledge sufficient to begin carrying out her schemes. Soon Skauraul's knowledge of the black arts would supplement her own.
She brushed aside the sticky strands of web in the antechamber, dislodging a hand-sized spider. It scuttled toward her, then paused.
She glanced at it with annoyance, then with curiosity. Unlike its larger cousins above, this spider was hairless; its shiny black body was thinner and more angular, with proportionally longer legs and wicked, curved fangs. It glared up at her with its many green, glowing eyes, suggesting an intelligence beyond those of its larger, bulbous brothers. Azora ignored it and moved toward the closest of the antechamber's three inner doors.
The doors were small, but forged of iron and fitted with elaborate designs of metal. Hideous, leering gargoyles protruded from the stone wall above each door, poised as if to reach down and strike the unwary.
Their snarling faces were stone masks of hatred. A master sculptor had added uncanny realism to mouths that bristled with rows of jagged teeth. A long, thick tongue lolled grotesquely from each open mouth, ending in a sharp point of stone like a spike. Their stubby arms each had seven-clawed hands, clutching small orbs, and webbed, batlike wings sprouted from their narrow shoulders. Obscenely exaggerated genitalia jutted forth between their short, thick, scaly legs. The carvings showed some minor cracks and other signs of wear, but otherwise, they were in surprisingly good repair.
The door before her was also in good condition. Shem's desert climate permitted no rust to set in; even if rain had fallen upon the fortress, none would have come into the chamber through the solidly built stone roof. Azora reached for the door handle with her black-gloved hand, but stopped and turned when she heard a faint whisper from behind.
The hairless spider was only a few feet from her, still staring up with its headful of lidless eyes. Its long legs flexed, and it jumped straight at her with blinding speed. Azora raised her hand to bat it away while dodging aside. She missed by inches. The creature landed squarely on
her left shoulder and gripped the fabric of her cloak tightly. Cursing, she swatted at it with her right hand, trying to brush it off.
"Ssst wait!" it hissed into her left ear, in a faint, bubbling whisper. "No foe am I! No hurt I. Ssst I helps she."
Her hand still raised, Azora turned her head and scowled at the creature with an expression of anger and suspicion. The children of Zath had lost the power of speech centuries ago, or so claimed the dusty lorebooks she had read. She had nothing to fear from this little one anyway. Since she was without lifeblood, unlike weak humans, lethal poisons were of no consequence to her. She decided to see what the creature wanted, before crushing it like an oversized grape against the chamber's stone floor.
"Yesss, ssst, yes will help she," it said, as if sensing her hesitation. "Sssaved she already, I have!" it hissed.
"And what have you saved me from, little one?" Azora sneered in amusement.
"Had Xim stopped she not, open would door be! She-bones would old ones be gnawing!" Xim found this humorous; his whispering voice burbled in a sinister parody of laughter
"These are the old ones?" Azora said sarcastically, pointing to the gargoyles over the doors. "They are but lumps of stone! Great is my power, little one. I command demons that could grind these old ones into sand." Even as she boasted, she considered the possibility that Xim was telling the truth.
Xim shifted his grip on the Mutare's shoulder, bobbing up and down a little as if agitated. "With Xim's help, demons not need she, no demons! Sssecrets I have. Yes, yes tell them to she!" Xim's eyes glowed fiercely, like lighthouse beacons on a foggy night. "But help us, she must!"
"There are others here like you?" Azora asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Ssst no, no, no. Not like Xim. Friends Xim has, who in webs dwell."
The arachnid waved its two forelegs at the upper corners of the room, where Azora had first seen the larger spiders. "Thirsty for man-blood, no more lizards and desert bugs! Mussst have man-blood, as ancient master once brought. Like ancient master she is, yesss! When first Xim saw she, knew this he did! Bring man-blood again she must, or no help no more will Xim give!"
Azora's eyes gleamed blackly in the faint light of the chamber as she bored them into Xim. They were like the eyes of a cobra poised to strike. "Did the ancient master have a name?"
"Ssst yes, yes, but too long, too hard to say. Scar, Xim called him, yes he did!"
Scar? Skauraul! Azora was more certain than ever that Xim's ancient master had been the Mutare who ruled from this stronghold. She would postpone the demise of this little one until she learned all that it knew of Skauraul.
"If it is blood you desire, little one, then blood you will have!" From within her cloak, she drew out a small glass flask and uncorked it.
Inside, a syrupy red liquid sloshed around. She let some of it drip out onto her right palm, then offered the outstretched hand to Xim.
He shifted forward and sucked up the drops greedily with his sharp, hollow fangs. Azora was glad that she had carried the flask around; many of her powerful spells required a bit of human blood. She would have to ration it carefully to avoid running out. If she exhausted her supply, there were no humans for many leagues around to replenish it.
Better to lie to this insipid creature and use him as long as she could before crushing him. "Soon you and your friends will drink the fresh blood of living men, as you once did. This I swear!"
When Xim had cleaned every trace of blood from her palm, she carefully replaced the cork and tucked the flask back into a pocket of her cloak.
"Tell me, little one, did the master have a library?"
Xim clicked his fangs together. "Man-blood warm and fresh is better, yes it isss," he burbled. "Too long since man-blood has Xim tasted. But no lib-bary have I seen, no. What is lib-bary?"
Azora bared her black, hooked teeth in a snarl, biting back her temper.
"A hall of books and scrolls," she said impatiently. "There must be one here. Take me there, now!" Her voice rang commandingly in the chamber.
Xim bobbed up and down, hissing excitedly. Red froth bubbled from the points of his fangs. "Ssst yes, yes, know this place, Xim does. Show she the way, he will! Far from here is lib-bary. Know secret paths."
"Show me, then," she demanded. "Quickly, little one!"
Xim jumped nimbly from her shoulder to the wall of the chamber, where he clung to the stone in a manner that defied gravity. He scuttled along the wall, away from the door Azora had been about to open.
Moments later, without warning, the spider vanished. She spun around, quickly looking for any signs of trickery. "Xim! Where have you gone, you treacheroush"
Xim's bubbling whisper came back in response, from behind the wall.
Azora could barely hear it; the wall muffled his voice. "Through wall must she walk. No doors open, or wake old ones, she will. Ssst no doors, no old ones, no, no!"
She put her hand out to touch the wall on the spot where Xim had disappeared. Her hand passed through it. Then a section of the wall wavered and faded. Beyond it, she could see a narrow stone passage, sloping upward into the stronghold. Xim clung to a large stone brick along the corridor's wall, waiting. Azora stomped forward, vexed that she had not seen through this childish illusion right away. It was a simple sorcerer's trick, designed to deceive the unwary. The translocation must have drained her more than she had realized. She would have to be more careful, since only the passage of time would restore the energy that she had expended.
Unlike weak humans, she needed no sleep, no food or drink. She fed on the fear of the living, and drank their anguish. This was all the sustenance she needed. Without it, she would slowly wither; her power would evaporate like dew under the morning sun.
She moved down the corridor, following Xim. The faint light from the chamber faded quickly, but her eyes adjusted to the absence of light immediately. She could see farther in darkness than in light; her catlike red eyes pierced the blackness. A suffocating quiet shrouded the corridor; the only sounds were those of Xim's sporadic wheezing, the occasional, scuffing of Azora's boots on the stone floor, and the rustling of her heavy cloak.
They passed several side passages and doors, but Xim kept to the main corridor, turning only a few times. The strange arachnid knew the way well; not for a moment did he hesitate as they went deep into the stronghold. The Mutare priestess carefully memorized each turn they made, creating a mental map of their route.
One section of corridor looked much like another. The decor was unremarkable; it consisted of almost perfectly symmetrical brickwork.
Large, square blocks of dark stone had been laid evenly in unending rows along the floor and walls. No torches, tapestries, or rugs adorned the halls; the place was as bare as it was gloomy. Nearly every door she passed by was made of iron, fashioned in strange but repetitious patterns.
Azora wondered what forgotten secrets lay behind the closed doors, but she did not stop to satisfy her curiosity. She had taken a liking to the stronghold. She could sense its brooding evil, as if the very bricks were imbued with hostile intelligence. She mused as she walked, realizing that this would be a fitting place to enact her schemes.
Skauraul's influence had stretched from here to faraway lands in all directions; her power would soon be greater than his ever had been. She was eager to unearth the powerful, hidden knowledge lying within the dusty rooms of Skauraul's tower.
"Sssoon, soon," crooned Xim, as if he could read her thoughts. "Nearly there, she is, yes! Seen lib-bary, been there. Yes, yes," he bubbled as he crept along the corridor. "Soon, up long ssstair must we go, up-up-up!"
They had slowly been moving upward all along, Azora knew. She could feel the incline of the corridor, but could not tell precisely how far they had ascended. The way had gradually curved around and doubled back at least a dozen times'. The doors and walls were in increasingly better condition as they went higher and higher. The sensation of evil heightened as well, until she could feel its comforting presence all arou
nd her. There was something else here, too a new presence, more forceful, but hostile. She wondered what it was.
Xim halted several feet before her, where the corridor came to an abrupt end. Before them was a spiral staircase of black iron, rising beyond the range of even her eyesight. A thick iron column, carved in painstaking detail, supported solid metal steps that wound about it.
The steps were narrow, with no rails.
"Ssst long stair," Xim sputtered. "Up must she go. Yes, yes, up. At top is what she seek!"
Still distrustful of the strange spider, Azora followed it cautiously to the base of the winding stair. She was prepared to deal harshly with any treachery the little runt might attempt. At the present time, though, she was willing to risk following it. Earlier, before the translocation, she had tried using her Augur to peer within the stronghold, to see what secrets it held. Her Augur had failed to penetrate the walls. Again and again she had tried, but the Augur had stubbornly refused to focus for her. Obviously, some potent spell of Skauraul's, cast upon the tower long ago, was interfering.
No matter, she reflected, setting aside her misgivings about Xim as she reached the bottom step. After Xim led her to Skauraul's store of wisdom, she would beat the little multilegged runt to an oozing green pulp and feed the dripping carcass to its "friends" in the antechamber below.
Spurred on by the image of the hairy spiders devouring Xim's pulped remains, Azora began the long walk up the serpentine iron staircase's countless steps.
Thirteen
Targol
Madesus heard the air rushing past Kailash's blade as it hurtled toward him. Its keen edge sliced through his robes but missed his side by a fraction, biting into his leather sack instead. The sack's contents spilled forth in a jumble of crushed jars and smashed phials as the blade snagged into its metal hasp. Kailash tugged at it, temporarily blocking Conan's path.
The priest rolled to one side, hoping to rush for the door. His speed was no match for the Cimmerian's. As Kailash snarled and wrenched his blade free, Conan jumped forward to cut Madesus off. Both the hillman and the barbarian acted mechanically; they did not speak, and their eyes were glazed with madness. The demon's mesmerizing voice held them like puppets on a string. Madesus drew in his breath, preparing for the sword-thrust that would most likely end his life. He raised up his amulet, chanting rapidly, hoping he was not too late.
The Conan Compendium Page 61