Conan went to the hearth, wondering that a hardened northerner could be so affected by a few hours' sentry-go in the night. "Good morning, Regin," Conan said. "Is it so cold out there?"
Through chattering teeth, the man managed to say, "Go look for yourself!"
Conan went to the door and threw it open. "Crom's teeth!" He slammed it shut again. Snow was blowing on the wind, and the wind was as cold as any Conan had ever felt in all his years in the Northlands. The loud
crack of trees splitting echoed in the distance. A fur-swathed form came to stand by him.
"Open the door," Alcuina ordered peremptorily. Conan obeyed.
The woman stepped through, and Conan was forced to marvel at the way she stood in the stern wind without making the slightest sign of discomfort.
She turned back to the hall and called in a commanding voice, "Get up, you lazy sluggards! We must see to the livestock or they shall all freeze. Build up the fires, and get all the spare hangings on the walls!" She beckoned to her steward and the man came running, pulling up his trews. "Aslauf, get all the stock you can into the stables with plenty of fodder. We cannot afford lose a single horse or cow. Get all the fowl into the stables or the sheds as well. If need be we'll move any beasts that have no place else into the hall with us until tus weather breaks. Better to put up with the smell and fee mess than a winter of hunger."
"Yes, Alcuina," the steward said, and he hurried ff. calling the names of the boys and the thralls who had charge of the stock.
The queen turned to Conan and beckoned. "Come, ranger, we must see whether the old man is well."
For a moment Conan did not understand who she then he remembered the old wizard, Rerin. "A at," he said, and rushed back into the hall. He emerged, buckling on his sword.
"Why do you need that?" she demanded.
"You hired me for my sword, lady," he said with an grin. "I am of precious little use to you with-led the way to the little hut near the stone wall, i admired the way her hair, now braided into a
single plait thick as a maiden's arm, swayed with her purposeful stride. The shape of her body was a complete mystery beneath the swathing gown and fur robe, but her carriage was light and graceful.
"The old man was awake late last night," Conan told her.
"How do you know that?"
"I came out after everyone else was abed and spoke awhile with the gate sentry. As I returned I saw a light in his window."
"He works in my behalf most of his waking hours," she said. "Unlike warriors, who fight once in a great while and spend the rest of their time gorging my food, and swilling my ale, and bragging of their feats."
Conan smiled mirthlessly. This one did not yield an inch. He rapped on the door of the hut, and it was opened almost immediately. The old wizard looked as though he had had no sleep, but he seemed to be strong and alert.
He nodded to Conan and turned to Alcuina. "Come inside. I have unwelcome news."
Alcuina entered and so, unbidden, did Conan. She turned on him.
"Wait without. Who bade you come in?"
"I'm accursed if I'll freeze my backside out there while you warm yours at the wizard's fire, lady. You have hired a warrior, not a lackey." He folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. She grew red in the face and seemed on the point of loosing a scathing tongue-assault when the wizard touched her shoulder.
"Let him stay, Alcuina. I think this outlander may be of great use to us in the trials we face." The queen instantly quieted.
"Very well," she said. She paid no further attention to Conan. "What means this sudden onslaught by the frost giants? It is unnatural."
"Unnatural, indeed, my lady. I am sure that it has been cast upon us by our enemy, lilma."
"Who is lilma?" Conan asked. The name sounded vaguely Hyperborean to him. He had never had pleasant dealings with that race.
The queen turned on him with stormy brow, but once again Rerin quieted her with a gesture. "He is a wiz-ard, young man. He works evil magic for King Totila of the Tormanna. Last night, as I left the hall after the feasting, I could smell his magic in the air. I searched the sky, but I saw no sign of his magpie-familiars. I knew then that his work was in the very air all around. I lemmed to my house, and all night I have sought the mure of his working."
"What have you discovered?" asked Alcuina.
Conan leaned against the jamb, deeply troubled. He Ad not like it when sorcerers were at work. This old mm's cottage was filled with things that disturbed the Gnmerian. Bundles of dried herbs dangled from the of-posts. Small, stuffed animals that were not native North, instruments of bronze and glass that were manufacture he did not recognize lay scattered "He has been rousing the frost giants, as you can for yourself. Beyond that, he is up to some that I cannot fathom yet." "Does he hope to weaken us by freezing our stock Icqppiing our people?"
" do not see how that can be," said the old man. i bear cold must be afflicting Totila's folk fully as s our own. I fear that there is something far i cold in store for us."
Alcuina rose and turned to go. "I must go see to the garth, Rerin. We must be ready before another such night comes upon us. I want you in the hall with the rest tonight. So long as there are evil things abroad at night, I want none of my people sleeping without the walls."
"But, Alcuina, if I am to serve you properly I must"
"Inside tonight," she said in a voice brooking no dispute. The old man bowed assent.
With Conan following, the queen strode outdoors into the teeth of the wind and began giving orders. The Cimmerian grudgingly admitted to himself that she commanded as well as any professional soldier he had ever seen. While the stock were being seen to, and fuel and fodder gathered, Conan was ordered to mount and was sent out with three others, one of several bands whose task it was to seek out and report on the outlying garths and steadings, and the tiny villages in the forest clear-ings, who owned Alcuina as their queen. They were to ride as far as they could, while leaving themselves time to return before nightfall.
It was a long and cold ride, over snowy hills and through dark forests. Here and there they saw the stiff forms of small woodland animals, caught in the open during the night.
"I like it not," said Siggeir as they sat at midday, letting their horses rest. "The creatures of the wood should know when a great freeze comes, even when our dull senses do not tell us. I have seen unseasonable freezes in plenty, but never one that caught the beasts by surprise." Conan nodded but held his own counsel.
The sun was just dipping below the western hills as they rode back into the garth. Alcuina came to hear their report as they stiffly dismounted.
"Most of the farmers and villagers weathered the freeze well enough, my lady," said Siggeir. "In the outlying garths we heard of three men out tending flocks and herds who froze. Perhaps one beast in ten perished in the cold."
The queen heard these words with a grim countenance. "It might have been far worse. Between the fight with Odoac's men and the weather, I have lost more than one hundred of my people. We are weakened, but at least tonight people will be prepared."
At mention of the fight of the day before, Conan glanced at the space beneath the eave that ran around the great hall. A row of blanketed forms lay there, lightly covered by snowdrift. "Were they not buried today?" he asked.
Alcuina followed his gaze. "The men tried to dig, but the ground is frozen solid. Barring a late thaw, we'll not see them properly interred this winter. Tomorrow we shall have a lich-house built for them outside the wall. Doubtless there shall be other winter dead for it to house." She was gloomy but stoical. Death and the pitiless elements were commonplace in the North, and one who would be a ruler there must learn to cope with both. She turned to Conan. "You are the last party to return. Close the gate and see to your mounts, then join the rest of us in the hall."
That night there was a meal, but no feast. Until it was certain that this was a freak storm rather than the harbinger of a terrible winter, they would be kept on short
rations. No joints smoked on the fire this night, wd they made do with bread and cheese and hot por-ndge. and each man was restricted to no more than three tankards of the ale.
The hall was far more crowded than it had been the
night before. At the benches, where before only free warriors and their wives had been permitted, there now sat thralls and children and all the other inhabitants of the garth. At the end of the hall where the thralls would be quartered for the emergency, several horses and cattle assured that the atmosphere was noisy and fragrant. Nobody complained of the noise or smell, since the beasts generated more heat than a good-sized fire.
There would be no sentry posted on so bitter a night. Instead, youths took it in turn to perch in the gables and peer out into the yard through the smoke holes at either end of the hall. It seemed unnecessary to post a watch in any case, since an enemy would hardly choose such a night for an attack, but Alcuina insisted that vigilance never be relaxed, whatever the weather.
Finding that two tankards of ale scarcely took the edge off his thirst, Conan wageredhis last tankard with a warrior, the ownership to be settled by an arm wrestle. He won easily and drank his winnings. He was soon challenged again, and in this way won six more tankards before his arm had tired sufficiently for him to be beaten by a burly, red-bearded thrall whose arms were like tree trunks. He took part in some impromptu wrestling matches, which set the men rolling in the straw, scattering piglets and chickens who were sharing the amenities of the hall with their future diners.
Nursing his last tankard of ale, Conan watched with admiration as an old warrior carved a supporting post. First the man drew his design on the wood with a piece of charred stick from the fire. It was a complicated interlace of serpents and vines. He then roughed out the design with a corner of his belt-ax, wielding the crude weapon with the delicacy of a surgeon. His finishing work he performed with the same knife that he used for eating, fighting, and all the other chores a knife is called to do. When the work was finished, Conan ran his fingers over it, feeling no splinters or gouges. In the course of a long winter evening, the old man had performed a task that would have taken a Zamoran wood-carver a week to finish with a shopful of special-ized tools.
To Conan's compliments the man only nodded curtly, saying, "I'll paint it tomorrow, if I can find the pigments."
Throughout the evening Alcuina looked grim but determined. She had done all there was to be done. Conan tried to cheer her, but she was in no mood for it.
"Just keep your sword arm limber, Cimmerian. You may have need of it ere long."
"My sword arm is always ready," Conan said. "And it's at your service. What enemy do you fear?"
"Pray you never have a king's worries, Cimmerian. By this day's work I may have preserved my people through a long, hard winter. It may be that others have not been so foresighted. If the season continues as hard as this, they will grow hungry, and they'll begin looking about for those who have food and fodder to raid."
Conan nodded. "Aye, you've the right of it there. Kinging is not just fighting battles and lolling about on a throne drinking wine from a jeweled goblet."
Soon Alcuina gave instructions for a watch to be posted and the torches extinguished. The fire was banked fcr the night, and the people and livestock bedded down. Alcuina retired to her bower behind the arras, nd soon the hall shook to the snores of its packed habitants.
Conan jerked awake to the shout of the boy perched
in the gable. "Someone stands without!" There was fear in the young voice.
Conan rolled from his bed of straw and snatched his sheathed sword from its peg. A great pounding began upon the door. "Keep the door barred!" he shouted. People stirred and groaned, calling out questions in the darkness.
"Build up the fire!" Conan called. He made his way toward the gable nearest the door, kicking a pig out of his way. He climbed the crude ladder and joined the youth in his perch. "Where did they come from?" he asked, leaning out for a look.
"They must have got in over the wall," the boy said. "I have kept a watch on the gate, but none have come that way."
Below Conan a dozen men cradled a log of wood in their arms, gradually pounding in the door. Oddly, their heads and shoulders were covered with snow. "So few?" Conan wondered.
"The gate!" the boy shouted. Conan looked that way. Two of the invaders were struggling with the gate-bar.
Conan turned back to the hall. "I'm going down there. You warriors follow me as soon as you are armed, but come through the gable. Keep the door barred. Thralls, block the door with benches and whatever else you can find." He turned back and looked down at the men trying to pound the door in.
"You are not going down there?" said the boy, appalled.
"Sooner or later," Conan said philosophically, "a man must do something to earn his bread." He leaned out, balanced briefly on the sill, and jumped. He held his sword well out to his side lest he stumble and fall on it, but he landed lightly, taking the shock on bent knees. Bearing no shield, he took the hilt of his sword in both hands as he called out to the would-be raiders. "You're a hardy pack of rogues to be out on such a night! Who sent you?"
One of the raiders turned to face him, and Conan's blood turned as cold as the night. The man's eyes were turned up so that only the whites showed. His movements were stiff, and he creaked with every motion. His garments were rent to show gaping wounds and they were crusted with frozen blood.
"Crom!" Conan swore. "They are dead men!"
The lich came toward Conan, its movements swift and sure despite a certain stiffness. The others continued their monotonous pounding.
Live men or dead, Conan had only one way of dealing with enemies. As the lich attacked with clawlike fingers outstretched, Conan hewed with all his might at the thing's side. It was like hitting a log. The sword chunked into the flank, biting into frozen flesh and bone and organs, showering Conan with frozen crystals of blood. The thing seemed not to notice. Its claws closed around Conan's neck and commenced to squeeze.
Conan released his hilt and grasped at the thing's wrists with desperate strength. The cold fingers pressed inexorably inward, cutting off his air. Conan was forced his knees, growing dizzy as the undead creature's frozen countenance registered nothing and the log con-traued to thud-thud-thud against the door. With a final, desperate wrench, Conan broke both hands off at the musts. Using all the strength left in his own hands, he grasped the thumbs and broke them off, then tore the half away from his throat. The lich continued to club
at his head with the stumps of its forearms. The door was giving way.
Conan grasped his hilt and hauled his sword free of the frozen corpse. Desperately, he hewed at the icy flesh until the head flew into the snow. His next blows took away one arm at the shoulder. The blade was growing dull with all this unaccustomed ice-chopping.
"They're walking dead men!" he bellowed. "Bring axes and mauls! Swords are no good!"
He became' aware of a warrior standing beside him, gaping at one of the things. "Hrulf!" he said. "That is my friend, Hrulf! But he was slain in the ambush two days ago!"
"Some wizard's raised the dead we could not bury," Conan shouted. "Kill them again, or they'll slay us all!"
He hewed at one of the log-bearers just as the door gave way. Now there were more warriors about, and torches were thrown down to give the men light to fight by. Conan saw a young warrior borne to the ground with cold fingers buried in his throat while the corpse gnawed at his face.
A pandemonium had erupted inside the hall as the doors broke in, with the screaming of women and children, and the frantic cries of the beasts that knew something unnatural was happening. Now several warriors chopped at each frozen corpse with axes and clubs of firewood, slowly battering and hacking the things to crystalline fragments.
"The gate!" someone shouted. Conan turned to see the gate swinging open.
"Go get the gate shut!" Conan looked down to see Alcuina standing beside him, wild-eyed, her hair streaming i
n the cold wind.
"Get back inside," he growled. "We'll deal with these things."
Not waiting to see how she responded, Conan sprinted for the gate. Dead they might be, but it seemed that they could be killed again. He came to a halt as a ghastly horde stormed through the gate. In hideous silence came a pack of creatures, some missing arms or other members, all bearing wounds, their eye sockets packed with ice, more ice and snow lacing their beards and showing inside their gaping mouths.
"Odoac's men!" Conan said. "The dead we left in the snow after the fight!"
He dropped his sword and picked up a massive stone, fallen from the ancient wall. With muscles straining, he cast it upon the nearest of the walking dead. The lich fell back with a crunch and lay twitching beneath the weight. Conan looked about for another stone and saw the thrall he had arm wrestled smashing a corpse down with a great wooden mallet.
All about men battled the things with improvised weapons, and Conan breathed silent thanks that they had stripped the dead of arms before abandoning them poo the field where they fell. From behind him Conan heard a scream and spun to see Alcuina writhing in error, grasped by one of the ghastly liches. Trying to bear her off, the thing lifted her, now apparently unconsoous. to a shoulder.
Whh inhuman strength and speed, the creature ran tar the gate while its fellows continued their now losing against the living. In the yard, a fear-maddened had broken from its pen and crunched a horn a corpse, tossing its head and casting the thing : hall roof. As Conan raced in pursuit, he saw
that a boy had doused a corpse with a pan of grease; another set it alight with a torch.
"Good thinking," he shouted to them as he passed.
Outside the gate Conan saw the lich running with its burden across the field of standing stones, headed for the forest to the west. Conan loped after it, amazed that a thing with ice for blood could move so swiftly. His breath lay behind him in a streamer of steam as he chased them, his black mane streaming in a wind of his own making. An ordinary man might have slipped in the snow and stumbled in the pale light from the moon, but Conan had been raised in mountains so treacherous that this was as a field at high noon to him.
The Conan Compendium Page 465