"Surely such a considerable journey would be easier were you mounted and well-appointed with supplies?"
"What makes you think I lack such things?"
Vitarius peered around the inn, then back at Conan. "Would a man of property be spending his time in such a place?"
That reasoning was sound, but Conan followed the line a step further.
"Then, good conjure artist, why are you in such a place?"
Vitarius laughed, and slapped his thigh. "Ah, forgive me for underestimating you, Conan of Cimmeria. That a man is a barbarian does not mean he lacks wits. As it happens, we are conserving our money for supplies; we, too, intend to leave this fair city, to travel westward.
Our path will veer southward, toward Argos. We wish to-ah-travel in some style, in an armed caravan, and thus avoid possible encounters with the bandits along the Ophir road."
"Ah." Conan studied Vitarius and Eldia. He was a thief, to be sure, but he had nothing against honest work for a brief enough time. Besides, he was in no great hurry to reach Nemedia. In any event, the journey would be a great deal easier astride a good horse than on foot.
"A silver coin a day," Vitarius said. "We shall be ready to leave within the month, I should think, and surely such a short diversion would not inconvenience you greatly?"
Conan considered the sorry state of his money pouch. A good horse and supplies could be had for twenty or thirty pieces of silver, certainly.
And such work, guarding a conjurer and his assistant from sneak thieves for a moon or two, could not be too taxing.
Conan smiled at Vitarius. "Master of glowing spiders, you have engaged a bodyguard."
From under the cowled robe of a priest, Loganaro watched the Cimmerian talking to the old man and the girl. Djuvula's agent smiled to himself.
The barbarian's speedy and fearless assault upon the would-be assassin was impressive. Such convinced him he had discovered the man he sought to complete the witch's spell. Here was a brave man, to be sure.
Visions of gold danced in Loganaro's thoughts as he leaned back against the wall of the inn and sipped his wine. Before long, the heart of that giant barbarian with the fire-blue eyes would animate the witch's simulacrum for her carnal pleasures.
Chapter Four
The young Cimmerian and the conjurer's assistant followed Vitarius through a throng of brightly clad people come to celebrate the arrival-of-age party of a local winemaker's daughter. As the conjurer wended his way through the crowd, Conan decided there was more to the man than he pretended. He had seen too many older men make fools of younger ones to feel that an aged man was helpless; what a man lacked in muscle he could sometimes make up for in wisdom.
"We shall try to find a spot near the winemaker's stall," Eldia told Conan. "There the richer friends of the winemaker's daughter will gather, and there our performance will be better rewarded. "
Conan said nothing. He saw a stalwart lad minding the reins of three horses, one of which resembled greatly the animal he had lost to the water-dwelling creatures only a few days past. The flame of fury in his eyes burned brighter at the sight.
Vitarius chose that moment to turn and observe Conan. "You seem troubled, Conan," the conjurer said.
"Nay, Vitarius, only by a foul memory. I once had a horse, the twin of one of those we just passed. He was taken from me."
"I find such a thing difficult to understand. I would not like to be the man foolish enough to try to relieve you of any of your possessions, much less a horse of good breeding."
Conan grinned ruefully. "No man did the deed. I rode through a snowbound passage in the mountains east of here. While so doing, I was attacked by some water-dwelling beasts, the likes of which I have never before encountered. White they were, and faceless, with blood as clear as pure water."
"Undines!" Vitarius's voice carried both surprise and a touch of fear.
"You know of the monsters?"
"Aye. They are water spirits." Vitarius exchanged glances with Eldia, and something of import passed between them. After a moment the old conjurer looked back at Conan, and seemed to be weighing and measuring the Cimmerian's observation of them. That peculiar warmth Conan had noticed earlier seemed to emanate from Eldia as she stood next to him; indeed the air seemed to smolder. The sun was high and its rays drew sweat from most of the throng, but this new warmth was hotter.
Finally, Vitarius spoke. "It is said that the undines are now controlled by Sovartus, Mage of the Black Square. He is an evil sorcerer who, so it is rumored. seeks something-or someone-within the city of Mornstadinos. To this end, Sovartus attempts to cut off the city. Aside from the undines, there are other inhuman creatures held in thrall by this villain, aiding him in his quest."
"Sovartus, eh?" Conan rolled the name from his tongue and tossed it around in his mind. "Well, if this magician indeed controls the things that stole my horse, then he owes me a replacement."
"It would not be wise to try to collect such, Conan. Sovartus is a man without conscience and possessed of great magical powers. He kills without compunction and without regret."
"Nonetheless, I am not one to forget a debt, whether incurred by or owed to me."
"Some things are better forgotten," Vitarius murmured as he continued to weave his way through the crowd.
Loganaro stood uncomfortably before the tall rostrum and chair of Senator Lemparius, the most powerful politician in Mornstadinos, perhaps in all of Corinthia. The short man's discomfort was not made less by the two senatorial deputies who flanked him, each with a dagger pointing toward Loganaro's throat.
"There must be some mistake, Honored Senator. I have done nothing to contravene the laws in the Jewel of Corinthia."
Lemparius laughed, showing very white teeth. "You should have been a jester, Loganaro. If your crimes were divided equally among the population of the city, it is likely our dungeons would burst. You could be condemned a hundred times on what I personally know, thrice that number if half what I suspect could be proven."
Loganaro swallowed dryly. A vision of himself dangling on the gibbet made the bones of his legs feel rubbery. This encounter was unexpected, and it began to look as if he would not survive it. What had he done to so arouse the Senate Flail? A more important question was: How had he been discovered doing it?
Lemparius waved his left hand languidly. "Leave us."
The pair of deputies bowed slightly, sheathing their daggers. They spun on the balls of their feet, and, as one, marched from the chamber.
Loganaro felt the cold beads of sweat rolling down his spine, but he tried to maintain a calm appearance.
"While I could have you flayed and dipped in boiling salt water, such is not my intent-at the moment anyway." Lemparius arose from his chair with fluid grace. He toyed with the handle of a knife ensheathed at his right hip.
Loganaro stared at the senator's long fingers as he caressed the weapon; the short rotund man felt as if he were snared in some spell, for he could not take his gaze from the almost sensual stroking.
Lemparius laughed again. "You admire my steel tooth, eh?" The tall blond man pulled the knife from its leather holster and raised it to chest level. The weapon was curved from the butt to the point, like a bow. It conjured up ugly images: pictures graven of fangs or talons, set for ripping. The handle was of some dark wood, likely ebony, close-grained and highly polished. Loganaro could see that the knife was full-tanged, with brass rivets mating the wood with the steel.
There was a brass cap where the blade proper began, not so much a guard as a break in color from black to silver. The blade itself was short, perhaps twice the length of a man's little finger, but tapered along a wicked steel curve to a needle's tip. The outer side was thick and serrated for a quarter of its length; the inner curve alone bore the sharpened edge.
"Have you ever beheld a great saber-toothed cat?" Lemparius queried.
"No? A pity; they are magnificent beasts, though their numbers are declining. Each of these cats bears a pair of tus
klike fangs, shaped just so"-the senator waved the steel blade back and forth-"so that they can slay nearly any beast that walks or crawls. I used one of these ivory wonders as the design for my own steel tooth. It allows me to feel a certain . . . kinship with the great cats."
Loganaro nodded dumbly.
"Ah, but you wish to see it demonstrated, do you not?"
"M-most Honored Senator, it is not necessary-"
"Certainly it is necessary, Loganaro. Follow me."
Lemparius led the shorter man down a narrow corridor lined with flickering tapers, then descended a steep flight of stone steps into the anteroom of what was obviously a dungeon. Loganaro began silently imploring each god he could remember for his life.
In a filthy cell hardly bigger than a coffin, a disheveled man of indeterminate age was pent. The man's hair was matted and unruly, his heard unkempt, and madness lit his wild eyes.
Standing in front of this cell, Lemparius turned to Loganaro and smiled. "You have a dagger. Give it to me."
Loganaro quickly complied, tendering his fat-bladed weapon to the senator. The Flail of the Senate then tossed the dagger into the cell through the slats of rusty iron. The man snatched up the knife in an instant and lunged at the pair outside his cell, stabbing through the bars as far as he could reach, but his efforts fell short. The attack drove Loganaro back in a startled leap. Lemparius moved not a hair.
"This man is condemned to die," the senator said. "For crimes too boring to enumerate. He has an appointment with the hangman on the morrow, but I feel that he may well be unable to keep his date with the gibbetmaster."
With that, Lemparius flicked the tip of his knife at the wrist of the prisoner. The movement was deceptively easy, Loganaro thought, but of such a speed that the creature within the cell had no time to move his arm from the strike. When he did jerk his hand back inside the bars, blood was already welling from a thumb-length cut upon his wrist. The man howled wordlessly.
Lemparius then threw the bolt set above the door and opened wide the entrance to the cell. He took two steps back in Loganaro's direction.
Loganaro himself scrambled backward twice as many paces. Was the senator mad? The condemned man had nothing to lose by attacking and killing them both!
The prisoner leaped forth from the cell, grinning like a living skeleton. He paused for a moment to suck the blood from his wrist, then spat the collection onto the grimy flagstones under his bare feet. He howled again, then charged for Lemparius, the short dagger held low to gut the senator.
In all his travels Loganaro had never seen anyone move quite as the senator did then. He was preternaturally fast, and he leaped like a cat at the prisoner. In his right hand Lemparius held the steel saber-tooth like a sickle. The knife blurred, and struck the condemned man on the side of the neck. Before the man could react, the knife based on a predator's tooth was jerked back and swung again, cutting this time into the opposite side of the already gravely wounded neck. Lemparius leaped away from his victim.
Loganaro had some experience with observing and even inflicting mortal wounds, but he had never seen anything like this. The great vessels carrying blood from the body to the head were cleanly sheared; crimson gouts pulsed from the arteries with each pump of the man's heart. The dying man stood for an instant as if he'd grown roots, unable to move.
Then he fell abruptly. In only a few seconds he paled to a ghostly hue as his blood pumped away. Dead.
Lemparius wiped the blood from his knife with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, then cast the gore off with a slinging motion. He smiled at Loganaro. "Did you know that by reversing the grip on my beauty thus"-he flipped the knife up, caught it as it twisted, so that he held the weapon with the handle pointing toward the ceiling and the point down-"I can effect a strike between a man's legs in much the same manner as the neck cut? Such a stroke does not kill, but does leave a man somewhat less . . . of a man."
Loganaro swallowed as if his throat had suddenly been filled with desert-baked sand.
"You seem quiet, free agent. Lost your tongue?"
Loganaro licked lips as dry as bleached bones. "Wh-what would you have of me, Honored Senator?"
Lemparius sheathed his knife and laid an arm around the shoulders of the other man. "You are in the employ of Djuvula the Witch. Did you know she has a brother who is a demon'? Ah, no matter. Currently, you shadow a barbarian called Conan. Yes, that is the name. Our witch wishes this man's heart to enliven the simulacrum she has designed."
"H-h-how can you know this?"
"I am not without my ways. Suffice it that I do know. I, too, have an interest in this barbarian. When the time comes, I would greatly appreciate your aid in capturing this man for my own." Lemparius smiled widely.
"I-I cannot." Loganaro's voice was barely a whisper.
"Your pardon, friend Loganaro, for my bad hearing. I thought for a moment I heard you say that you would not help me in this matter."
"Honored Senator, Djuvula would have my head mounted on a pole in the pit of her outhouse!"
"Dear little man, what I will do should you refuse my simple request would make you beg for such a fate. I shall protect you from Djuvula's wrath, you may be assured."
Loganaro swallowed again. "Might I know why you wish this thing?"
"I see no harm in such, now that you are in my employ. Djuvula, as you may know, no longer takes lovers from among men. I would have her take one more before she animates her simulacrum."
"You, Honored Senator? But-but I thought . . ." Loganaro's speech dribbled away as he realized what he had been about to say.
Lemparius laughed, apparently undisturbed. He finished Loganaro's thought for him. "You thought that I had already partaken of that dubious honor, and, like all the others, had been found wanting?"
"Your pardon, Senator-"
"Nay, you would be correct in your assumption. That was the case; however, this was some time ago. I have since become imbued with certain vigors of, shall we say, an animal-like power. With this new energy I feel certain my-ah-performance in that arena in which Djuvula so rightly claims mastery will be vastly improved."
"But if this is so, why not merely tell her this?"
"You have little understanding of women, it would seem. She has set her mind and it will not be changed without a great deal of determined effort. If I cannot instill belief beforehand, I shall have to have something with which to bargain. If I should hold this barbarian, I could extract a price for him. Should I fail in my ministrations, then Djuvula will have her simulacrum. I must confess, I foresee this as unlikely; still, it is the kind of bargain that should appeal to her; after all she cannot lose either way."
"I see. And you shall then assume a position in which you can protect any of your agents who might have caused her distemper in this matter?"
"Of course."
Loganaro considered his options. In truth, he saw no other choice than to agree with the senator's wishes. If Lemparius's plan somehow failed, likely as not Djuvula would seek revenge upon the man who betrayed her; on the other hand, if he refused the senator, he was a dead man for certain. Better to risk the unhealthy future than the unhealthy present.
"Naturally, since you have explained your reasons, I could do nothing less than offer my services wholly to you, Honored Senator."
"I thought you might come to see it that way, Loganaro. My instructions are simple: Go back to your dogging of the barbarian. Say nothing of this to Djuvula, but rather continue your communication with her. When she orders the taking of this man Conan, you will inform me and receive my instructions."
"As you wish, Honored Senator."
"You must address me as Lemparius henceforth, free agent. After all, you are now a respected employee, one who will be paid well for his services."
After Loganaro had gone, Lemparius went back to the body of the slain man and stared thoughtfully at it. He smiled. Djuvula would certainly forgive him, could he make good his boast of renewed vitality; it was un
likely that she would ever forgive Loganaro his devious switch in alliance. Too bad; the little weasel was very adept at spying and other criminal activities. He could be useful if he did not have to die to satisfy the witch's anger. Better him than me, Lemparius thought.
The senator stared at the body on the floor and felt a rumble in his belly. Well. There was no point in wasting such fresh meat.
There was no one to see the thing that Senator Lemparius became then, nor what he did. The guards would have less to toss upon the offal pile than the gibbetmaster's work would have left, though. And the panther would sleep with a full belly this night.
The evening shadows played across the thinning crowds as Conan watched Vitarius perform his conjures for the winemaker's party. The old man was good, Conan noted. He pulled live birds from a lady's dress, changed a glass of wine into vinegar, made an empty bottle spew ribbons of bright silk. Eldia ran about, collecting coins from the laughing crowd, stopping now and then to perform a trick of her own with her sword. She would slice a single button from a tunic, carve a loaf of bread into fancy shapes, even hold the blade in her hands and leap back and forth over it. It was a good show, and the coppers collected rapidly in the cup that Eldia rattled at the gathering.
Conan had little to do save watch. No cutpurses stalked the duo, though several pickpockets moved here and there. As long as they did not bother his charges, Conan bore them no malice. Being a thief made him tolerant of such things; after all, a man had to eat, and these folks would not miss a few lifted coins.
As with most street magicians, Vitarius seemed to be saving his best illusions for last. He had better hurry to finish, Conan thought, before everyone went home, taking their money with them.
A hush fell upon the people watching Vitarius as he drew himself up and began preparing for his final trick. Some of the crowd smiled and nodded. Conan heard a woman near him say, "His last one is the best; wait until you see it."
The old man gestured this way and that, mumbled incantations, and hopped about from foot to foot in a kind of dance. The watchers laughed, and Conan smiled with them.
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