"Northeast?" Conan pondered, drinking deeply of the beer as he considered the geographical possibilities of his country. "Toward Asgard, then? Or Hyperborea?"
"No. There are many good low roads and passes to those lands, or to the Border Kingdom. We tracked them for days, and their way led always
higher, into the loftiest crags, where only the white goats live."
"Up near Ben Morgh," Conan muttered, his scalp crawling.
"Yes. We were within sight of the peak of the sacred mount, just below the Field of the Dead, when a dense cloud descended. We could not see so much as a hand before our noses. It was no natural mountain mist, but a cloud black as a Van's heart, yet there was no smell of smoke. I would have gone on, by feel alone if need be, but my companions would have none of it. They bore me bodily back."
"Well," Conan said, "it may be that you and I shall soon have work to do together. Wait until I have spoken with the chiefs."
"Work?" said Chulainn. "What work?"
Before Conan could answer, an elder rose and, standing in the firelight, sounded a long, deep blast on an ancient horn. This was the great summoning horn, a cherished treasure of the Canach. It was carved in one piece from the long, curled horn of some great beast unknown to these mountains, and was wrought with curious figures and runes over its whole surface. Clan legend had it that the horn had belonged to the first Canach.
Conan and Chulainn moved closer to the fire, where the clan chiefs sat.
Canach was there, along with the heads of the largest septs and families, and the oldest and most prestigious warriors, although many of these were but simple householders whose fame and position in the clan were due to their skill and prowess rather than to clan position. Others were there as well, and these drew Conan's surprised attention. One, seated next to Canach, was a middle-aged man with hair braided in the long temple plaits of the Raeda. Another's face was painted battle-ready blue, as was the custom of the Tunog. Conan wondered what brought these chieftains to this gathering, for among the ever-feuding clans of Cimmeria, peaceful meeting ordinarily took place only at the midwinter fair or the fair held in early spring.
Canach rose to his feet and held both hands high. The great horn blasted twice and all fell silent.
"Clansmen of Canach!" the chieftain shouted. "All of us, not just Clan Canach, but all the clans of Cimmeria, face a grave new danger. Not since Veharium have we stood in such peril. We must stand together and fight
together lest we perish one by one. It is decreed that all feuds must cease during this time of mutual danger. There must be no vengeance-slaying, no feud-wiving, and no cattle-raiding until the clan chieftains declare the peril past."
A babble of dismay swelled like a wind among the audience, for in the long, dull months of winter these were the principle diversions of the clansmen. The great horn blew once more for silence.
"You have all heard by now of the feud-wiving undertaken by young Chulainn and his cousins, my own son among them, and of what they found in Murrogh land. After my son told me of what they found, I traveled among the clans, bearing the white shield of peace, to learn whether there had been other such incidents." As he paused his listeners waited silent and enthralled. It had been many years since a chief had borne the white shield. "I learned of many … at least a hundred steadings wiped out. These who sit beside me will tell you their stories." He turned to the man with the long temple plaits and spoke the accustomed formula: "Rorik of Clan Raeda, I bid you speak to my clansmen."
The man stood. "I am Rorik," he began, "brother of Raeda of Raeda, and I come bearing the white shield. In the ten moons past, six households of Clan Raeda were annihilated. Forty men and women were slain, and at least as many children borne away into the high mountains. Clan Raeda will not raise sword against other Cimmerians until this danger is gone from among us." With these simple words Rorik sat down.
"Twyl of Tunog," Canach said, "speak to my clansmen."
The blue-faced man stood and leaned upon the shaft of his spear. "I am Twyl, a senior war counselor of Tunog, and I come bearing the white shield. In this summer four homesteads of the Tunog were destroyed, with the loss of thirty slain or abducted. Across our border two households of the Lacheish were destroyed. We men of Tunog have painted our faces for war, and we will not wash it off until this danger is no more. Until that time we make peace with all the clans." The Tunog chief resumed his seat.
"From what Chulainn and my son and the others have said," Canach intoned, "this danger comes from the high mountains near Ben Morgh. It is not enough that these unclean creatures slay the living, but they also defile our dead, for only through the Field of the Dead can they enter or leave that area. It matters little what manner of creatures these are. They
are our enemies. They walk on Cimmerian land, and they must die."
"Have any caught sight of these demons and lived?" asked a grizzle-bearded warrior.
"A boy of Raeda was herding sheep near one of the houses when it was struck," Rorik said. "He ran to see what the commotion was about. From a high cliff he saw the steading cloaked in a strange black mist, such as he had never before seen. He lay on his belly to watch until, in time, the black cloud moved away, to the northeast. He heard from within the cloud the wails of the young. Later he saw the ruined huts and corpses left behind.
In that steading died Chamta, our greatest champion. His heart had been torn from his breast and devoured. On the sword of Chamta were found scales clotted thick with black blood. These were not metal scales, such as the Vanir wear for armor, but more like the scales of giant fish or serpents. As no one would touch such unclean things, they were burned where they lay."
"Tomorrow," Canach went on, "we shall send out the Bloody Spears to summon the fighting men of all the clans to the Standing Stone in the Field of the Chiefs." He pointed to the half-disk of the moon, perched on the shoulder of the mountain to the east. "When the moon shines full once more, all the fighting men of the clans shall be assembled before the Standing Stone."
"Not all!" said Conan as he strode forward into the full light of the fire.
"I'll not be with you. I have other matters to attend to."
There were expressions of dismay and disgust from the assembled men.
Several of those nearest him drew back, as if avoiding defilement. Canach glared at him in mixed anger and disbelief. "You were always a wild one, Conan, but you were never a coward ere now!"
"I am not afraid," Conan growled, "but I have a previous commitment."
In as few words as possible he described the mission he had undertaken for Hathor-Ka. "So you see," he concluded, "if I wait for a gathering of the clans and a march through the Field of the Dead, I will not reach the peak of Ben Morgh before the equinox. I go thither on the morrow."
Canach spat. "Would I had died before I saw the day when a kinsman of mine held loyalty to a foreign witch higher than the good of his clan."
"My loyalty is to my word!" Conan bellowed. "I swore by Crom, and if any man seeks to make me false to my oath, he'll eat steel, though he were my own brother!" Conan clapped a hand to his hilt and a hundred men drew their weapons and the rasp of a hundred swords clearing their sheaths echoed through the glen.
"Hold!" Canach shouted. The clansmen froze where they stood. The chieftain continued to glare at Conan. "You are a mighty fool, Conan, and you always were; but a coward you are not. It takes a man of heart to challenge the whole armed strength of Clan Canach. Go on your cursed mission, which I doubt not is part and parcel of the woes that have befallen us. If you learn anything of use to us, make haste to join the clans on the march. And if you are captured "―he pointed a finger at Conan and spoke in a voice as grim as doom―"you shall die under torture without speaking of our gathering."
"I'll not talk," rumbled Conan. "When did this clan ever breed weaklings? And Canach, I charge you, when you send around the Bloody Spears, to send one to Wulfhere of the Aesir, if he still lives. Tell him to fetch his band
to fight beside us. Say Conan summons him. It is a debt of long standing between us."
A warrior stood to speak. A great scar slanted from brow to chin, the knotted scar tissue almost closing one of his eyes. "When did we ever need help from the yellowhairs?" he demanded.
"Now," said Twyl of Tunog. "Now we need all the aid we can get, by Crom. With what we face, I would accept aid from the Vanir!"
A tall youth strode from the shadows into the firelight. "Conan does not go alone upon the morrow," Chulainn said. "I go with him."
"You had better have a good reason," Canach said. "If you seek the glory of being first to strike against our foe, you disgrace your house. Your place is with your kinsmen."
"I, too, swore an oath," said the youth with simple dignity. "I have waited too long to honor it. Conan's words have reminded me of my duty.""
"Ah, well," Canach sighed, "go if you must. I cannot fault a man for standing by his word." His stern eyes pierced the gloom beyond the circle
of firelight. "But these two only! All other men of fighting age shall go with me to the Standing Stone!"
Then, pointing to a young man far back from the fire, he ordered: "My son, take your younger brothers and a few cousins and seek the three families who have not yet arrived. See if these monsters have done away with them. The rest of you"―he stared fiercely about him―"prepare for a hard march and a harder fight!"
In the darkness of midnight Conan, Chulainn, and Milach walked silently to their hut at the far edge of the encampment. At the door they turned and looked back over the village, faintly illuminated by the dying fires before many of the dwellings. To them came a sound like the steady droning of a swarm of insects. It was a scraping, singing sound, and they, knew that no insects made it. It was the grinding of whetstones upon the edges of sword and dagger, ax and spear. Fierce at their most peaceful, the Cimmerians prepared for war with a deliberation that was truly awesome.
"There will be blade-wetting in plenty for all," Milach said. He turned to Chulainn. "Are you sorry now that you missed Venarium, lad?"
"At least you fought a human enemy that time," Chulainn said. "I would sooner face ten thousand men than these nameless creatures on Ben Morgh."
"We know from Chamta's sword that they bleed when cut with steel,"
said Conan. "And if they cut and bleed, they'll die, by Crom! Now let's get some sleep. Before the sun is over the mountain, we'll be on our way to Ben Morgh."
Nine
In the Field of the Dead
Starkad slapped his arms for warmth, for even his great cloak of wolf and marten fur did not serve to keep out the highland chill. His breath streamed out upon the morning air as steam between the cheekplates of his polished iron helm, embossed with plates of silver. Cold it was on the mountain. When Starkad's freebooters had awakened that morning, every man's armor was gray with frost.
The chieftain stared up past his noseguard at the form seated on a bare rock high overhead. It was Jaganath, up to some devilment, Starkad did not doubt. Ordinarily, the Vendhyan was far more sensitive to the cold than any Nordheimer, but there he was, sitting cross-legged on ice in the teeth of the bitter wind, dressed only in a loincloth and turban. His obscenely fat body was exposed to weather as evil as any Starkad had ever known.
The younger Vendhyan, Gopal, wrapped in furs so thick he might have been a small bear, came sidling up to Starkad. "My uncle works powerful magic, northman," he said.
"He looks asleep," Starkad replied. "Why does he not chant and shout?
He is making no sacrifices. I see no flames or smokes."
"Those things are for simple children," Gopal said. "The truly great feats of magic are performed here." He tapped a gloved forefinger against his fur-hatted temple. "Truly great mages, such as my uncle, can spend many months in a trance, communing with the gods and working mighty sorcery."
Starkad looked down at the little man and snorted, sending twin streams of vapor to either side of his noseguard. "At our great festivals we hang as many as a hundred prisoners in the sacred groves, and cut the thoats of others over the holy stones. That is what pleases Ymir, and brings us victory in war. That is the kind of magic I trust, none of this mumbling and meditating." The younger man just kept his superior smile.
Starkad's mind was not eased by his own words. How did the man stand the cold?
"This cold is unnatural," Starkad said, to change the subject. "Even this high in the mountains the air should not be so cold. It is not yet midautumn, and the cold is that of the depths of winter."
"There are great sorcerous matters afoot," said Gopal. "The gods are uneasy; the powers of heaven and Earth and the underworld struggle for supremacy. At such times the great wheel of eternity pauses in its turning, and accustomed things are no longer as they were."
Gopal waved his arm skyward. "Behold! In the heavens have appeared ten new stars this year. Comets have flared in the constellations of the
Scorpion and the Dragon, only to disappear without warning. Strange creatures are seen in the sea, and winters of exceptional severity are followed by summers of great heat and dryness. Twice this year heavy rains have flooded Stygia, something not seen in generations. The very Earth has shaken with the battles of restless dragons in its depths."
Starkad shuddered. "Say no more. I regret that I ever agreed to escort you and your mad uncle on this fool's mission."
"Can it be," Gopal taunted, "that the mighty warriors of Vanaheim know fear after all?"
Starkad reached out to seize the little man, then thought better of it and let his heavy arms drop. "Every warrior fears black sorcery, you fool.
There is no dishonor in that. To buy the favor of a god with sacrifice is one thing. This playing with powers beyond human ken is another. I like it not."
"But you do like gold." Gopal smiled.
"Aye, I like gold very much. If you had not so much of it, I would not be here, but back in my hall like any sensible chief. It is a good thing for you that I fear your uncle's sorcery, else I should have long since slain the two of you and gained your treasure."
Gopal laughed. "And well for you that you fear him so. Think you that such a mage has aught to fear from a petty pirate chieftain? The great Jaganath has sent great armies down to bloody ruin."
"Then why does he need an escort?" asked Starkad triumphantly.
"Not because he has aught to fear from your savage Cimmerians," said Gopal haughtily. "But because he has great magic to perform when we reach our destination, and he does not wish to be distracted in the midst of his rites."
Their discussion was interrupted by the arrival of a glowering group of Vanir, led by the huge warrior who had questioned this expedition in Starkad's hall. "Starkad, we must speak," he said.
Starkad turned his back on the apprentice sorcerer and leaned casually on his ax. "What must we speak of, Gurth?"
"The men and I have been talking together," Gurth rumbled. "This is no natural weather we have come upon. This is a false winter caused by demons. And it is bad luck to travel with sorcerers. So we have decided to kill these outlanders, take their gold, and go back to our hall."
"So, we have decided, have we?" Starkad said with a murderous gleam in his eye. "And were these discussions so important that your chieftain could not be allowed to take part in them?" He glared at his men, but none save Gurth would meet his eye.
Without warning Gurth raised his ax, aimed to split Gopal's skull. As the Vendhyan stood in shock, mouth open and eyes wide, Starkad swung his own ax across and caught Gurth's descending weapon in the angle between the head and the haft of the chieftain's ax. In almost the same move the chieftain swung the butt of his weapon into the side of Gurth's helmet. Gurth sprawled on the ground in a rattle of scales, and Starkad raised his ax to split him on the ground, but the downed man rolled swiftly aside and the blade rang against the frozen earth.
Then Gurth was on his feet again and the two men circled, each with one hand near the butt of his weapon, the othe
r near its head. The rest of the hirelings maintained a diplomatic silence, knowing that a cheer for the loser would be long remembered by the winner. They formed a wide circle around the struggling warriors, for ax fighters required much room; With a howl of demented rage Gurth swung at Starkad as the chieftain was backed against a crag of rock; but Starkad leaped nimbly aside, and the ax head struck sparks from the stone. In that instant, while Gurth was off balance, Starkad's ax came around in a hard, vicious arc and bit into the scales that protected Gurth's spine. Gurth cast up his hands, his ax flying away. As Starkad wrenched his weapon free, Gurth toppled stiffly to lie facedown upon the cold ground. Starkad stepped forward and swung his ax a final time. Gurth's head rolled away from his body, the red beard severed just below the chin. Tufts of red whiskers were carried away on the chill breeze.
Starkad hefted his bloody weapon and spoke with deceptive casualness to the watchers. "If there are others who wish to dispute my leadership, I am warmed up now, and this is a good time to settle the matter." He looked around, but none of his men seemed inclined to challenge him.
"Good. We shall resume our march into Cimmeria."
Jaganath, now dressed in his heavy furs, stepped around the corpse, fastidiously avoiding the widening pool of blood. "Have we been set upon by enemies while I meditated, Starkad?"
"Just a small dispute concerning our course of action," said the Vanir chief. "All is now settled. Are you ready to march?"
"I am," Jaganath assured him.
"Today we will cross into Cimmerian land," Starkad said. "From here on, the hand of every man we see will be turned against us. With luck we'll get close to Ben Morgh without being seen, for Cimmeria is thinly settled compared to Vanaheim. We may even reach our destination without trouble. But we shall not leave without a fight."
To his surprise, Jaganath laughed. It was a huge rumble that came from deep within his vast belly. "Just get us there, Starkad, and have no fears about our return." His nephew joined in his laughter, and the Vanir stood mystified, sure that both were mad.
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