The Conan Chronology, page 189
Conan put a foot against the man's chest and shoved the body away, tearing his sword free with a sucking sound. Spinning on one foot, he turned that movement into a blow at a Van closing in from his right.
Striking backhanded and off balance, the blow was still powerful enough to split the Van's horned helm from temple to nasal, hewing through the haft of his axe in the process.
Two Vanir tried to close in on Chulainn, but he dived forward at them, going into a tumble that bewildered the attackers. As he rolled between them, Chulainn cut beneath the shield of the righthand Van, chopping his left thigh to the bone. The Van fell howling as Chulainn sprang to his feet behind them and struck at the lefthand man's neck below the helm. The head toppled to the stone and Chulainn was turning to engage more of his enemies before the body fell.
They had opened a gap in the Vanir line several yards wide. Conan turned to the prisoners. 'Run!' he barked.
Bronwith stooped and hauled her brother to her shoulders as if the boy weighed no more than a sack of meal, and leading the others, she made for the gap. A Van made to grab at her, but Chulainn turned from the man he was fighting and sheared the Van's arm away before he could touch
Bronwith. The moment's distraction cost Chulainn a shallow cut across the chest from the tip of the other man's sword, but he returned the blow with one of his own which bit through nasal and skull.
As the prisoners were escaping, Conan pressed against the Vanir line, driving it back a little farther. The Vanir were brave but a bit disconcerted by this whirlwind of ferocity in their midst. He splintered a shield, chopped a decorative wing from a helmet, then whirled and ran.
'Flee!' he shouted at Chulainn.
The younger man broke off from his fight as abruptly as Conan and followed. It took the Vanir a moment to realise what was happening, then they began to pursue. It was hopeless. The Cimmerians were unencumbered except for their weapons, and were fleet and surefooted as mountain goats. The armoured Vanir, unaccustomed to mountain terrain and thin air, could only lumber ineffectually after.
Starkad snorted with disgust as he saw his men panting to a halt a short way down the slope and turn back. The blackhairs were almost out of sight already. 'This is the last time I set foot in Cimmeria with a pack of untried young fools. From now on I risk action against the blackhairs only with seasoned warriors.'
Jaganath smiled slightly at the expression 'the last time.' Starkad did not see this. 'If these two are typical of the Cimmerians,' the Vendhyan said, 'I do not wonder that you prefer to surround isolated farmsteads at night with overwhelming superiority of numbers.'
'We were not expecting them,' Starkad growled, 'and my men were fools. It is easy enough for a man to get around behind a busy foe while two others engage him from in front. Then he can be hewn down with no risk to anyone. These men were idiots to charge in for single combat as if some skald were standing by to make a poem.' He walked over to the group of dead and dying men. 'What a slaughter to be wrought by a pair of blackhairs without helm nor byrnie between them.'
Starkad stooped by the corpse of the first man Conan had slain. The split shield was still on the outflung arm. A huge rent in the scale shirt revealed a body split to the spine and the entrails steamed slightly in the chill air.
The Van chieftain straightened. 'That taller blackhair, the older one, he must be some great champion of theirs. I would not have believed that any man living could strike such a blow. The younger one fought shrewdly, striking unarmored limbs when he could. The older man, though'—Starkad shook his head in disbelief—'he struck as if shield and armour were no more than smoke.' He turned and glared at Jaganath. 'Is this more wizardry? I have never seen a sword like the one he bore. Was it an enchanted blade?'
Jaganath shook his head. 'I know little of swords, but I felt no aura from the one he used. Do not try to excuse your men's inadequacy by giving your enemy a supernatural helper. More than one ruler has made that mistake.'
Starkad was stung by the rebuke, but felt too humiliated to answer.
'Let us go inside,' Jaganath said. He and Gopal walked through the towering archway, and Starkad followed.
They stopped at the feet of the colossus and Starkad gazed upward, a little awed by the immense statue. 'So this is old Crom of the Mountain,'
he said. 'I shall have my men build a great fire so we can see his face.'
For the first time Jaganath spoke with a tinge of uneasiness in his voice. 'I do not think you would want to look upon his face.' He was looking up into the obscurity as if he could see that face perfectly well.
Starkad looked down at the ragged pit in the floor, with its enigmatic steps leading downward. There were faint, shuffling sounds coming from down there. 'Now, wizard, I mink it is time you gave me some information. Why were those Cimmerians here? Except for the warriors they were all children and a few young women. They were fleeing from this cave and had the look of prisoners long-held. There is something down in that cave that I don't like the sound of. What errand have you in this place?'
Jaganath answered with his customary haughtiness. 'You have no need to know of my business here. Have no fear of what is below. My powers will protect you. As for the Cimmerians, these are matters of interest only to the most powerful of sorcerers, and you would not understand them.
Rest assured that all is according to my plans.' With a flick of his hand he dismissed these things as trivial. 'Tomorrow we shall rest, and I shall
make my preparations. The morrow after that is the equinox, when I shall perform my rites. By the end of the first hour after sunrise my business here shall be concluded.'
Starkad had a strong suspicion that this wizard was not half as knowledgeable as he pretended, that he was as mystified as any about the presence of the Cimmerians. 'Until the morning of the morrow after next, then,' Starkad agreed. 'An hour after sunrise we leave for home. We dare stay no longer. When those blackhairs we just saw reach their villages, every armed Cimmerian within three days march will be heading for this mountain.'
Jaganath nodded, smiling thinly. 'That will be satisfactory. I shall have no further need of you, then.' Starkad went out to rejoin his men.
Gopal spoke to his uncle as soon as the Van was out of earshot. 'Is this truly as you had expected, uncle?'
Jaganath frowned. 'There have been other mages at work here, nephew. Powerful ones, of the first rank. Some foolish one has prepared a way for the demons beneath the earth and those of other dimensions to enter here. Those creatures should be left alone, until one has the full power. But who is doing this? Thoth-Amon? Hathor-Ka? Ming Tzu? I can think of none so powerful but so foolish.' He looked about. 'But I am the one who is here on the spot, and all their machinations must come to naught if they be not present on the equinox. But yet I smell some strange sorcery here, and I know not whose it is, save that it is not part of these workings.' He pointed down into the pit. Then he looked up once again at the towering figure on the carven throne. 'And this Crom. He is not what I had expected.'
Gopal was deeply disturbed. Never had he heard his uncle speak except with perfect self-confidence. The fact that some rival could shake that confidence caused the very earth to shift beneath Gopal's feet. 'But you shall prevail, uncle,' Gopal said shakily. 'Surely you shall prevail!'
Jaganath shook off his foreboding and smiled once again. 'Have no fear, Gopal. Upon the equinox I shall be the most powerful mage who has ever lived.'
When they reached the bottom of the valley called the Field of the Dead, Conan, Chulainn, and the former prisoners paused for rest. Many of the
younger children were not in the best of condition after their long captivity. Chulainn ran to the top of the cairn and looked back the way they had come. 'No pursuit,' he reported.
'I thought as much,' Conan said. He sat on a rock and began cleaning his blade carefully. 'What Van was ever worth anything in the mountains?' Satisfied that his blade was clean and free of nicks, Conan sheathed it and stood. Bronwith was bending over the inert form of her brother. She had carried the boy the whole way.
As Conan approached Bronwith rearranged what was left of her cloak somewhat more modestly. 'He is alive,' she said.
Conan bent and ruffled the boy's dark hair, which was clotted with blood. There was a ragged gash in the lad's scalp, but Conan felt no movement of bone beneath his hand. 'He'll be all right. The Murrogh were ever a hardheaded clan.'
Chulainn joined them. 'What became of your foreign friend?'
Conan shrugged. 'I know not. He has some business in the mountain, and I doubt not that he is about it now. He's able to take care of himself.'
'What should we do now?' Bronwith asked. 'Some of the children are not fit to travel yet.'
'The demons may be out when dark comes,' Chulainn said. 'We met two here not long past.'
'We stay,' Conan said. 'I'll not leave our people here to the demons or the Vanir. Not one more Cimmerian child will they have while I draw breath. We wait. The great host should be here soon.'
'And if our enemies should fall upon us before then?' Bronwith asked.
Conan looked about him, surveying the surrounding cairns. 'If so, then there are far worse places to die than among the great chiefs of our people.'
They scoured the valley for enough fuel to last them the night. Conan took first watch at the upper end of the valley. As the sky darkened he saw Bronwith's brother climbing toward him. The boy's head was still
bloodied, but his eyes were clear and his walk was steady.
'Greeting, warrior,' Conan called.
'Greeting,' the boy said. He sat by Conan. 'My name is Bodhrann. I am sorry I did not get to see you slay the Vanir today. My sister says you fought well, for a Canach man.'
'High praise from the Murrogh,' Conan acknowledged.
'What were the Vanir doing on Ben Morgh?'
'I would give much to know the answer to that. I saw two foreigners with them, though. I doubt not they're the ones who brought the redbeards here. Wizards are getting thick as a ram's fleece on this mountain. They were easterners of some sort, and up to some sorcery, no doubt.'
The boy shrugged. 'No matter, they are foreigners, and we shall kill them for profaning our dead. Is it true what my sister says, that there has been a great hosting?'
'Aye. The clans were called to the Standing Stone and they'll be here soon. By tomorrow, I hope. They'll waste no time. Then there will be a fight such as none of us has ever seen.'
Chulainn came up to them from the camp. 'They are all bedded down, as well as can be managed. Cold, hungry, injured, and tired, but happy.'
'Would you not be?' Conan asked.
'I have a matter to discuss with you,' Bodhrann said to Chulainn.
'Speak on,' Chulainn said.
'You wish to wed my sister?'
'And I shall,' Chulainn assured him.
'I'll not permit it! Our clans are at feud. You may have her only by taking her from her menfolk by force!' The boy thrust out his jaw belligerently.
'The Bloody Spears have been sent around,' Chulainn said. 'Feuds are at rest and there may be no feud-wivings.'
'Oh.' Bodhrann looked perplexed. 'But who ever heard of man and woman of feuding clans being wed under a White Shield?'
'It may never have been done before, but it is what we intend to do as soon as we have enough witnesses assembled.'
'It is not proper!' Bodhrann insisted. His outrage at being cheated out of a good fight was plain.
'I am happy that it is turning out this way,' Chulainn said. 'I might have had to kill you in carrying her off.'
The boy snorted. 'You might have tried!' He walked away, his thin back rigid with dignity. Conan watched him and smiled, but he did not laugh.
'What is our course if the host does not arrive by tomorrow?' Chulainn asked.
'You've fulfilled your vow. Before dark tomorrow you may take the others down the mountain. I doubt not you'll encounter the host before long. I must stay here to fulfil my mission upon the next morning.'
'I'll stay with you,' Chulainn said calmly. 'No Canach goes to his enemies alone while a kinsman is close by.'
Conan gave him no arguement, knowing that it would be useless.
The demons kept to themselves that night, and the first rays of the rising sun glinted from the tips of hundreds of spears, advancing up the valley below. The children cheered and waved as the army of wolfish men approached, devoid of flag, banner, or standard. Although offensive weapons were there in plenty, no man wore helm or armour, nor any other protective gear save the light shield borne by some. Such effete things did not suit the headlong style of attack favoured by the Cimmerians. Some men had casting javelins, but there were no archers. The art of the bow was unknown in Cimmeria, where no suitable wood grew to make the weapons.
'Was ever there so fine a sight?' Chulainn said. 'Have you ever seen so many fighting men all in one place?' The young man's face glowed with enthusiasm.
'I've seen more,' Conan grunted. 'But none better.'
Indeed, the whole aimed might of Cimmeria would not have amounted to a good-steed regiment in some armies Conan had seen. Few clans could muster more than a hundred fighting males of adequate years, and the clans of Cimmeria were not numerous. But Conan would not have rated highly the chances of any civilised army, however great its number, against this host. The legendary ferocity of the Cimmerians more than made up for their lack of numbers.
They wore the paints and tattoos, the braids and topknots of all the clans. They were of all ages, from boys little older than Bodhrann to grey-bearded elders with gaunt limbs still ready to wield sword. Their weapons ranged from the fine swords of the chiefs to the crude clubs of the wild Galla.
Uniting them was a fierce pride and independence, the spirit that had kept the Cimmerians a free people for all of their long history.
The chieftains were in the van, and they came forth to meet Conan and Chulainn. 'So,' began Canach, 'you still live. And I see you have found our people.'
'Some of them,' Conan said. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
'There are many more up there.'
Canach addressed Bronwith, who stood by Chulainn. 'There will be food and blankets for the children. You must take them below to safety as soon as they are fed.'
Bodhrann stepped forward. 'I stay with the host!'
The chieftains frowned at him for this unseemly interruption, but Conan said: 'He killed a Van up there. With a stone.'
Wild-bearded old Murrogh looked at Bodhrann with approval. 'Go join the warriors of our clan, then.'
'Here,' Conan said. He took the sheathed dirk from his belt and tossed it to the boy. 'There may be no spare weapons for you. This should do until you can find a dead man's sword after the fighting starts.'
'He should receive his first man's weapon from the hand of a kinsman,'
objected Murrogh, glaring.
Conan grinned at the old chief. 'We're almost kin already. My cousin here is about to wed his sister.' The old man clucked over such improprieties.
'Vanir on Ben Morgh,' said Canach. 'That is something strange.'
'It is far from the strangest of what I have to report. But we have work to do. The Vanir have damaged many of our cairns. As soon as you have set up camp we should repair them, before night falls.'
'They shall pay,' said the war leader of the Galla, who had no hereditary chieftain. 'I think our ancestors will find the taste of Vanir blood pleasing.'
That afternoon they struggled to restore the toppled stones of their cairns, storing up yet another chapter of hatred for the Vanir. That night, as the peat fires burned low, they heard the strange tales told by Bronwith, Conan, and Chulainn.
In conclusion Conan told them of what he had learned of the demons'
way of fighting and their weaknesses. 'Remember, they look terrifying, but they die as dead as men. The scaly ones have tough skins, like Vanir armour, and you must hit hard to pierce them. They have wicked tails and use them in fighting. The things like big insects are easier to kill. Just crack them open. Killing Vanir I need tell you nothing of. There are others we did not fight, but doubtless they are as mortal as the rest. We saw something in the pit, something big as a dragon, but so strange I cannot describe it. I doubt we could do it much damage. Best to leave it to the Khitan sorcerer.'
'Saw you any gold down there?' asked Wulfhere, the yellow-bearded leader of the little contingent of Æsir, come at Conan's summons in payment of a debt neither man would discuss with the others.
'I saw none.' Conan shrugged. 'In truth, I was not looking. I think only
a fool would go down in those caves to look for gold. Let the demons come out and fight us in the open.' He looked about and gave his last instructions. 'Tomorrow is the equinox, when I must carry out my mission. I think that all these sorcerous doings come to a head then. The demons do not like daylight, so if they want to deal with us, they may attack tonight. You have brought plenty of wood and peat. Keep it close by the fires and be ready to build them up at sound of attack. Let each man get what rest he can now, and sleep with your weapons in your hand.'
XIV
In the Realm of the Gods
Hathor-Ka felt like an acolyte again. It was not pleasant for one of the world's most powerful mages to occupy again a subordinate position after so many decades. Her youthful appearance was due to her arts, for she was more than a century old. Yet, only now did she realise how ignorant and faltering she had been.
In recent days Thoth-Amon had taken her into his house to put the final polish on her sorcerous education, and she was staggered by the breadth and depth of his knowledge. Until now she had considered herself and several other mages to be very nearly Thoth-Amon's equals in the sorcerer's arts. Now she knew how laughable her presumption had been.
The strange beings from other dimensions that she had established halting contact with after long experimentation were Thoth-Amon's communicants. He was more ancient than she had dreamed, and he controlled forces she had been unaware even existed. In the few days since her abortive raid, Hathor-Ka had learned more of the wizard's arts from him than she had known in all her previous years.
