He had given his word, to be certain, but a promise given to an enemy was meaningless in Raseri's ethical system. Protecting his people was more important than anything else. He was the shaman and leader, and this was his highest duty, no matter what the cost. He need only survive long enough to ensure his people's safety, and he thought himself rather clever to have avoided a direct confrontation with Conan and the freaks until he could guarantee the destruction of anybody who might be a danger.
Fosull would have left with Vilken had he thought his chances to return home were better that way. Although he did not trust any of his companions save his son, he saw them as his best protection were there to be an attack. In the confusion, he and Vilken could escape. Already he had coated the tip of his spear with the juice of the glit berry, a fast-acting poison that would fell a victim in only a few heartbeats. Normally a hunter would avoid using the poison, for it made the meat of whatever it killed inedible, but in matters of self-defense, eating was less important than breathing.
As the group worked its way through the dwindling darkness toward the rocks yet ahead of them, Fosull considered which of his potential enemies might be first to take a spear, should it come to that. Raseri was the strongest, and likely the most dangerous-Fosull had seen a Jatte throw a spear and impale a Varg at over a hundred of his paces but Conan could not be discounted. He was fast, and according to Vilken's stories of their captivity, told in hushed tones as they walked, more than passing strong himself. Nor was the giantess to be ignored, for she could kill a Varg with a punch or kick. The Jatte boy and girl might be dangerous, but they would be less adept than the others. The wolfman, catwoman, and four-armed one were unknowns, and an enemy about which you knew nothing was worse than one about which you knew much. Who could say what those three might be able to do? He had seen evidence of their superior eyes and ears during the night, and that alone gave him pause.
Fosull nearly tripped on a rock, so intent was he on his thoughts. Careful, fool! It would hardly do to fall and break a leg while planning how to best so many enemies.
The truce declared with Raseri for the rescue of Vilken and the Jatte children was finished, Fosull felt. If all this group died and went straight to the Green Pit, it would bother Fosull not the slightest. If they survived those chasing them, Fosull would certainly try to see that such a thing happened, could he do it with minimal risk. It would be a pity to ruin so much meat; still, they could not reasonably be expected to carry it back on foot before it spoiled, and better that Raseri and his were dead and spoiled here than alive to kill Vargs again someday.
One had to look after one's own kind first, after all.
Conan reached the rocks ahead of the others and began looking for ways to slow their pursuers. A kind of animal trail would through the smaller rocks and into a two-span-wide cleft between two high walls of the reddish stone.
As dawn pushed the sun into the sky, Conan began to climb the wall to the right, scrambling up it with a skill born of long practice as a boy in Cimmeria. The height was perhaps five times his own, and it was but the work of a few moments to scale the small peak and achieve the top.
In the gathering light of early morn, he could see the horses and men in the distance, still perhaps half an hour's travel away.
Conan looked around.
"Ho, Conan! What are you about?" That from Penz.
He leaned over and saw the others below in the cleft.
"A surprise for our friends behind us. Can you climb up here and bring your rope?''
"Aye"
When Penz arrived, Conan had already begun moving boulders to the lip of the short peak's edge. He had balanced several large rocks into a precarious pile, held in place by small shards propped against one side.
"Do you have enough line to reach from here to the ground and across the patch?"
"Aye, twice that."
"Measure it out."
Penz did so, and Conan drew his sword and cut the thin hemp. He tied the end around several of the rock shard supports and carefully dropped the rest of the line into the cleft, keeping the weight of it from pulling on the props.
"Best all of you below move ahead and out of the way," Conan called.
For the next few moments Conan and Penz moved more rocks to rest along the lip, leaning them against each other and the first pile. Twice small stones rolled over the edge and threatened to unbalance the collection, but both times Conan or Penz managed to stop it from happening.
"They will be here in a few moments," Conan said, glancing back at their pursuers. "Let us climb down and prepare."
Quickly the two men did just that. At the bottom of the cleft, Conan wrapped the rope around a rock resting in a deep shadow and strung the rest of the rope across the cleft a span above. With luck, a man or a horse would not see it in time to avoid tripping on it.
Vilken returned, sent by his father to report to Conan.
"The path winds higher into the rocks," he said. "There is another high stretch of flat ground past these outcrops, and then the foothills. My father says that if we can make it that far, the horses will not be able to follow us."
Conan nodded. "Good. If we can be certain of delaying them here, then they will not be able to catch us on foot."
Penz looped the reminder of his rope into a coil that he placed over his shoulder and across his chest. "What if they realize that they can circle these rocks and thus avoid our trap?"
"We shall have to make certain that they do not," Conan said.
"And how do we do that?"
"You go and join the others. I shall stay behind to give them something to chase."
Penz nodded, his wolfish features expressionless. "Take care, Conan. Dake wants the rest of us alive, I would wager, but like as not he would see you dead."
"Not to worry, friend. Cimmerians are taught to be fleet of foot should the need arise. I shall rejoin you shortly."
After Vilken and Penz departed, Conan moved back through the cleft, taking care to avoid the rope strung across the bottom, to stand near the far entrance.
He would not have long to wait.
Dake and Capeya rode in the middle of the phalanx, with mounted and foot troops both before and after them. The morning's light found them nearing a stand of large rocks and hillocks.
" 'Twill be rough going for the horses here," the merchant said. "Better we should circle around. Likely they are headed for yon foothills beyond."
"Could they not have hidden themselves in the rocks, hoping we would pass?"
"Unlikely. Our tracker would notice the lack of prints on the other side, and then they would be neatly trapped. We have enough men to encircle the rocks, and a few well-placed arrows would fell anyone foolish enough to try to flee. 'Twould be a stupid move on their part to try to hide there."
"Wishful thinking, I suppose," Dake said.
Capeya was about to send a man to tell the leaders of the column to skirt the rocks when Dake heard a yell.
"There they be!"
Dake tightened his knees on the back of his steed and raised himself up a bit. The man yelling was the bumbling tracker, Squinty.
Beyond, at the edge of the rocks, stood Conan. He apparently took notice of the approaching column, for as Dake watched, the barbarian turned and ran into an opening between the tallest two stones.
"After them!" Capeya yelled.
The four lead horsemen began the chase, the hooves of their mounts kicking up sandy dirt as they galloped off in pursuit. Behind them the first ranks of foot troops followed, slower, but at a respectable speed for men in light armor.
Kreg, doubtless eager to be in on the kill, kicked his own mount into motion and sped off after the leaders.
Dake glanced at Capeya, who smiled in return. They were not so foolish as to risk battle themselves when they had paid fighters for the purpose.
Capeya twisted on his mount and called to those troops and horsemen behind him. "Go! Hurry!"
When the last of the t
roop was past, Capeya and Dake urged their horses forward, but slowly. The men had been given orders to spare the freaks on pain of being beheaded, but the barbarian was fair game, and a nice purse of silver coins would go to the man who returned bearing his head. Conan's spirit would surely join those of his ancestors shortly, considering the number of men focused on that end.
Dake and Capeya arrived at the entrance to the cleft just as the first horsemen reached the middle of the passage. Conan was not in sight.
Of a moment, Dake felt a premonition. He glanced upward and saw that the upper right side of the passage was piled high with many loose rocks. A patch of sunlit rock caught the mage's attention. And-what was this?-a rope dangling from the edge across the lighted portion? What would a rope be doing there?
Almost instantly Dake realized the danger.
"Hold!" he bellowed. "It is a trap!"
Too late. Even as he watched, the rope went taut for an instant. Thin shards of rock shot from the top of the cliff, jerked free by somebody in the space below tripping on the other end of the hemp.
Dozens of rocks, ranging from the size of a man's head to four or five times that large, showered down upon the men and horses below. The men could only go forward or backward; there was no escape to either side, and confusion stalled them. Those in back attempted to stop and turn.
One horseman in front whipped his mount into full speed, only to run smack into a tumbling boulder that knocked him from his steed and smashed him into the ground, crushing his head. The horse kept going and escaped.
Dake saw the scene as if time had slowed, moving like syrup on a winter's day.
Two footmen were flattened by one large rock. It made a sound like a dog crunching small bones.
Two more horsemen felt the hard rain and went down, along with their unfortunate mounts. Dake had never heard a horse scream that way.
Squinty found an overhang that spared him, only to have his neck pierced by a splinter the size of a dagger from a stone shattering nearby. Blood spurted from the hole made when he jerked the splinter out, and he fell, turning the ground around him crimson. Squinty's good fortune ran out with his life's blood.
Kreg, who had entered the cleft with the others, leaped from his horse and ran back along the opposite edge from the falling rocks. The gods who look after fools and slackwits must have shifted their intent from Squinty to Kreg, for he came through with nary a scratch upon him.
When the dust had settled, Capeya and Dake counted the toll: six men dead, two others injured badly enough that they would die shortly, three more damaged but able to survive. Three horses had been killed, one more wounded so gravely that it had to be put to the sword.
In one fell swoop their small army had been reduced by a third.
"May all the gods rot you!" Dake yelled after Conan, who was doubtless well away from earshot. When they caught him, Dake intended to have the barbarian flayed, his skin peeled away, and the wounds rubbed with salt until the man died screaming in agony!
But first they had to catch him.
TWENTY-THREE
"Did it work?" Teyle asked.
"Aye, it worked," Conan replied.
"How many did you get?" Raseri asked.
"I did not stop to count them."
The group was nearly to the foothills and as yet there was no sign of pursuit. "Perhaps you got them all," Morja offered.
"I would think that unlikely," Fosull said.
"Perhaps they might not continue pursuit," Oren said.
Penz and Tro and Sab looked at each other. Then Penz said, "Dake will come, even if he has to do it alone. He needs to get within only a few spans of a person to use his spell."
"We broke the spell before," Vilken said. "What is to stop us from doing it again?"
"He was distracted," Sab said. "He will make sure we are guarded if he catches us again. It will do little good to break the enchantment only to find a dagger buried in your guts. Besides, he has other spells."
"I do not fear his rain of toads or unreal demon," Vilken said.
"Those are not his only ensorcelments," Tro said softly. "He has others that are not illusions."
"Aye," Penz said. "Of course, most of them are merely for show. He can turn wine or any other liquid into pure water with a green powder. He can also burn flesh with another conjuration, and create blinding flashes of light. We have seen him do all of those."
"Turning wine into water will avail him little," Conan said, touching his sword for emphasis.
"He is a dangerous enemy," Tro said. "He will follow us to the ends of the earth before he admits defeat. We know him."
Conan nodded. "Very well, then. Let us find a place where the advantage is ours and end his threat forever."
Voices rumbled with worry, but Conan cut them off. "I do not intend to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for Dake or anyone else. And since Raseri and Fosull would not have us lead them to where we might find help, then let us attack and win or lose as we will."
"Even if your trap killed half of them, we are still outnumbered," Penz said.
Conan looked at his companions each in turn. "Dake is a threat to us all. Those who know him best say he will never stop hunting them. He has magical talents that can overcome a strong man's will. He already knows where the Jatte and Vargs live. If he loses our trail, what is to stop him from proceeding directly back to the swamp to lie in wait there? Six of you must return there eventually, is this not so?"
None could fault Conan's logic.
Raseri said, "Aye, Conan is correct. We must slay Dake and his dog if we and our kind are to ever rest easy again."
"We might all die," Sab said.
To the four-armed man Conan said, "Is not a clean death better than a life of slavery, subject to Dake's every whim?"
Tro and Sab exchanged quick glances. The catwoman nodded slightly.
"Aye," Sab said. "We stand with you."
Penz added his voice. "As shall L"
Fosull said, "While there is something to be said for leading them to the swamps and having my warriors slaughter them there, I find that I too agree."
Raseri nodded. "Dake must die. The sooner the better."
"They must leave their horses to follow us into the high hills," Conan said. "If we search carefully for a place we can defend, then the advantage will be ours. Let us proceed."
Though Conan was not the oldest, nor likely the wisest, the others deferred to his lead. He had been battle-tested, and the assemblage knew this. Conan himself was not altogether confident that he could prevail over those who chased them, but he was not averse to giving it the best of his blade to find out. It was a simple choice: Win or lose, live or die, and while the consequences were dire, it was easy enough for him to commit to it. To fight depended upon skills that Conan knew well, and a man could hardly ask for a better way to be tested than to stand or fall on his own ability.
As they moved higher into the hills, Raseri smiled to himself. It was going as well as if he had directed it all himself. As long as Dake, Conan, and the other freaks died, he would be triumphant. How that happened hardly mattered. In battle or by poison, certainly it would happen, and soon.
Fosull found that he was not averse to the idea of a battle. The outswamp men were stronger, but they provided larger targets for his spear. He would watch his back, of course, but better to do something than to wander around out here in the center of nowhere forever. The gods would be with him or not, and the gods had always held a certain warmth for him, he knew. Of course his gods were a long way from home, as were the Vargs and the Jatte, but certainly the outswamp men had few others in these hills that they could call upon. And a poisoned spear at close range was difficult to deflect unless a god put his mind to it, Fosull knew. If the leader of the Vargs threw his weapon, one of his enemies would die at the very least.
Kreg came riding back toward Dake, looking worse for the layers of reddish dust that coated him.
Dake looked at
the filthy man. "Yes?"
"They are into the hills. The trail turns rocky and steep and is narrow, even at the start. The horses cannot climb it."
Dake glanced over at Capeya, who was dozing as he rode. Abruptly the merchant awoke. "What? What is it?"
"We shall have to leave the horses soon," Dake said. "And continue the chase on foot."
Capeya waved one hand in a careless gesture. "I was not born mounted. I can walk as fast and as far as any man."
"I did not doubt it."
"It will be dark in a few more hours," Capeya said. "Surely they shall have to stop. My men have torches. We can continue to follow and thus gain upon them."
"You are a clever hunter," Dake said.
"Aye. My quarry seldom escapes."
To Kreg, Dake said, "Go back to the trail and have the troops tether the animals and make a camp. With good Capeya's permission, of course, we can leave a few men to watch the mounts there until we return."
The merchant nodded his assent. Kreg turned his steed and moved off.
"We shall have them soon," Capeya said. "Trapped like squealing boars."
"Of course. But we must take precautions. Boars do not shower boulders on their hunters."
"I take your point."
As the afternoon sun slanted down toward evening, Conan and the others found that for which they had been searching. The trail wound upward and there came a place where the animals who had worn the path sometimes turned and moved up a steeper incline. This narrower path took great care to ascend; more, it would allow no more than one person at a time to move along it. At the top of this incline there jutted out a flat shelf of rock, perhaps the size of a large house, or even a small inn. To clamber from the path onto the flat shelf required a fair amount of ability; what was easy for a mountain goat was more difficult for a man. Were a fair bowman to stand upon the trail below, he might manage to shoot an arrow to reach the ledge, but it would be a near thing.
The Conan Compendium Page 124