The Conan Chronology, page 282
At a gesture from Zelandra, Neesa came forward, drawing from within her tunic a small key which she fitted into the Cimmerian's manacles. In a moment they fell from his wrists, clattering to the floor.
'Barbarian¦' said Zelandra. She hesitated, a rosy tint suffusing her features, then began again: 'Conan, that area of Stygia is little known. I have scant time to find a reliable guide. If you lead me into that territory, your reward will be rich.'
'But, milady,' burst out Neesa in dismay. Zelandra silenced her with an imperious wave of a hand.
'What else is there for me?' she snapped. 'Do I sit here passively and wait for madness and death? Or perhaps you would have me submit myself to Ethram-Fal?'
'No, milady,' murmured Neesa, lowering her gaze. Heng Shih folded his thick arms impassively; only his bleak eyes revealed his emotion.
'Besides, Conan,' Zelandra continued, 'Shakar will die shortly for want of the Emerald Lotus. Slaying him would be an act of mercy. I need your aid now and can pay well for it.'
The Cimmerian scowled, his blue eyes burning with distrust.
'I have little use for wizards he began, but Zelandra cut him off.
'Conan, I swear by Ishtar and Ashtoreth to do you no harm by sorcery or otherwise. Can you not see that my life is in the balance now? Without your aid, Ethram-Fal will claim my life with his lotus just as surely as Shakar would have claimed yours with his amulet. On the journey you could be guide and guard in one; but when we find his sanctuary, I shall confront Ethram-Fal alone. You needn't deal with him at all¦' A note of pleading desperation had crept into her voice. Conan shifted in discomfort and suddenly felt Neesa's body pressed warmly against his side. In front of him, Lady Zelandra extended a hand in supplication more eloquent than words.
'Please, barbarian.'
'What the hell,' said Conan gruffly. 'I trust that the wages will outstrip those of a mercenary.'
'Tenfold,' said Zelandra. 'By Pteor, Conan, you shall never have reason to regret this.' The Cimmerian felt Neesa remove herself from his side.
At the same moment he noticed Heng Shih's face had taken on the expression of a man attempting to swallow a mouthful of spoiled meat.
'I'm damned if I don't regret it already,' he grumbled. 'When do we leave?'
'After sunrise.' Zelandra spun about in a swirl of her silken robe. 'I have many preparations to make, and you could doubtless use a little sleep after a night like this. Heng Shih, show our guest to one of the bedchambers.'
The big Khitan thrust his scimitar once more through his sash and brusquely beckoned the Cimmerian to follow him. Neesa slipped out the door just ahead of them, not glancing at Conan, but heading off down the hallway in the direction opposite that taken by Heng Shih and the barbarian.
Conan looked back over a broad shoulder and muttered a curse as he watched the woman round a corner out of sight. When he turned back to Heng Shih, the Khitan's round, yellow face was split by a grin that the barbarian found vexing.
In the mansion's opposite wing, the burning tapers were fewer and the rooms seemed unoccupied and unused. The hallway finally ended in a door that Heng Shih shoved open roughly. Within was a small, windowless, but elegantly appointed bedchamber. Conan stepped inside, and turned to the Khitan.
'My sword,' he said. 'Bring me my sword. I shall sleep poorly without it at hand.' Heng Shih performed an elaborate shrug that seemed to indicate that he found the quality of the Cimmerian's rest of less than paramount concern. With that ambiguous gesture he closed the door upon the barbarian, leaving Conan wondering when he might hold his sword again.
Alone, Conan stretched like a weary panther as fatigue came over him despite what he had said to the Khitan. He examined the door, checked that it could not be locked from the outside, then sat down heavily on the bed. Falling back to sprawl among the velvet blankets, he let himself drift, confident that his senses would awaken him to any danger. He was sleeping soundly when there came a gentle knock at the door.
The Cimmerian snapped from slumber to complete waking clarity with the speed of a wild animal. He sat up on the bed, planted both feet on the floor, and wished that he had a weapon.
'Come,' he rasped and waited. The door swung open soundlessly. The first thing that he saw was the proffered hilt of his sword.
'So,' Conan began, 'you decided...' He fell silent.
It was Neesa who brought him the sword. She stepped tentatively into the room, bare white arms extending from filmy sleeves as she held the hilt of the heavy broadsword out to him. Her only garment was a diaphanous robe that floated about her like a soft cloud of translucent vapor. The room's single taper illumined the long curves of her slender body through the robe's revealing gossamer.
'I Neesa's voice faltered. 'I was afraid that Heng Shih would not bring you your sword and that you would think that we mistrusted you. I thought She flushed and thrust the sword out to him. Conan took his blade and held it uncertainly, his gaze fixed upon her. He had come to his feet without thinking and now he became painfully aware of the woman's obvious discomfort.
'Neesa,' said Conan hoarsely. 'I'll take Zelandra's payment in gold.'
'What? They don't know I'm¦' she stammered. Her face twisted in mingled confusion and anger. 'Damn me for an idiot!' she exclaimed savagely.
With that she lunged forward, throwing her arms around the barbarian and crushing her mouth against his. The sword was pinned between their bodies. Conan released it, his arms moving automatically around her.
Neesa laid her hands upon his wide chest and thrust him away, breaking the embrace. The sword dropped to the carpet, where it lay unnoticed.
Wild-eyed and panting, Neesa glared at the Cimmerian, who looked on in mute amazement.
'I am not payment,' she gritted. 'I thought¦ oh, to hell with what I thought!' She whirled and ran from the bedchamber, slamming the door behind her.
Conan stared at the door for a full minute. He glanced down at his sword to be certain that it was really there. Then he sat on the bed again and rubbed his jaw. He reflected that it made little difference how long he lived or how many women he knew, the opposite sex continued to provide surprises. Apparently Neesa had come to him of her own accord and he had managed to drive her off with a few ill-chosen words.
It certainly wouldn't be the first time that he had shown poor judgement where women were concerned.
But there was little point in worrying about it. All and all, this was a superior close to a difficult day. He was employed, free of Shakar's magic, and lying on a fine bed with a belly full of wine. Conan lolled back on the blankets once again and kicked off Ms boots. Things had, indeed, been much worse. In a few moments the barbarian was asleep.
X
Alone in her bedchamber, Zelandra brooded.
The torches burned as ruddy as dying embers, filling the room with a ruby twilight that matched the sorceress's mood. Her long, silken robes whispered on the marble floor as she moved among her books, studying the unwieldy piles on the tables and then methodically examining her shelves. In a corner, she knelt and pulled an armload of long leather tubes from behind a row of books.
Shoving the tomes aside, she piled the leather tubes on a table, peering at each in turn. Zelandra selected one that was pale and slender, and drew from it a rolled scroll of parchment. It was a map, darkened by age and inscribed in a dead language. The sorceress muttered to herself, smoothing the crackling scroll flat on the dusty tabletop.
The map depicted the eastern regions of what was now Stygia, but the highland areas were sketched in with little detail. Zelandra sighed.
The map seemed all but useless; still, it would have to suffice. She thrust the scroll into the tube and set it beside her bed. Then she hesitated, wrapped in indecision.
Resolution came to Zelandra, sending her striding to the far corner of the chamber. She reached for a torch, twisting it in its sconce, and a section of the bookshelf-lined wall swung open like a door. Within was a tiny, circular room hung with curtains of black velvet. A single chair sat at a round, ebony table that all but filled the little chamber. The sorceress stepped into the secret room, and the door swung shut, sealing her in darkness.
Zelandra whispered a soft incantation, and an unearthly silver glow dispelled the gloom. Ten spheres of hematite were set in a circle on the tabletop, and they radiated a chill illumination.
The sorceress sat in the chair, touching each of the stones in turn.
Silver light raked her features, turning them stark and sinister. Her hands danced over the ring of stones, describing intricate patterns, and a patch of light appeared in the air before her. It rolled and seethed, suspended above the circle of silvery stones like a ball of glowing smoke.
'Mithrelle,' said Zelandra clearly. 'Mithrelle.'
The ball of smoky light vanished, and it was as though a distorted mirror suddenly hung before Zelandra. The flattened image of a woman's face peered at the sorceress, floating above the table.
'Mithrelle,' said Zelandra. The conjured face blinked as if startled.
It was a face of extraordinary beauty.
'Who dares?' The voice was rich and throaty, sounding as if its owner shared the little room with the Lady Zelandra.
'Who dares, indeed.' Zelandra smiled casually, but her hands were clenched into tight fists, and the pulse fluttered visibly in her throat.
'Zelandra!' The woman called Mithrelle smiled in recognition. Black hair hung in heavy coils around her pale face. Eyes like pools of oil gleamed with dark humour. Her lips were stained so deeply red as to appear black. 'To what do I own this unexpected pleasure?'
'Greetings, Mithrelle. I'm loathe to disturb you at this hour, but I have need of information. And everyone knows that there is no one so well informed as yourself.'
Mithrelle laughed, throwing back her head and baring her white throat.
On her breast, a swollen garnet hung from a necklace of black pearls.
'Flattery! This is not like you, Zelandra.'
'I need your help, Mithrelle.'
'Even so? You have had little use for me since we studied together.'
'Your path is not my path, Mithrelle.'
'Oh no.' Mithrelle's tones grew heavy with sarcasm. 'The lady prefers the quiet life of a scholar. She hides away in Akkharia with her slaves, only venturing out to go to market.'
'How is Sabatea, Mithrelle?' Zelandra's voice turned hard.
'Very well. I have performed a few favors for the sorcerers of the Black Ring, and they have been appropriately grateful. My life is full of pleasures. And your own? Is that strapping Khitan slave still keeping you company?'
'I freed Heng Shih long ago,' said Zelandra tersely. She fought to control herself. Anger would accomplish nothing.
'Of course you did. I'd expect nothing less. You are the same woman you were a score of years ago. Yet, I have heard rumours as of late that the reclusive Lady Zelandra is seeking a more public position. I couldn't credit it.' Mithrelle paused theatrically, lifting a long-fingered hand to stroke her chin. Her nails were sharp and gleamed with black lacquer.
Zelandra shrugged in resignation. She should have known that Mithrelle would ask at least as.many questions as she answered.
'I'm seeking the position of court wizard to the king.'
'It's true, then,' exclaimed Mithrelle in mock surprise. 'And why would the Lady Zelandra demean herself by working for another? Could it be that her inheritance is dwindling and that she must needs earn a living for the first time in her life?'
'I fail to see why you ask so many questions,' Zelandra replied stiffly, 'since you obviously know all the answers already.' Mithrelle laughed in delight, her mirth as sweet and cloying as poisoned honey.
'Indeed. That is why you sought audience with me, is it not? Now, how can I assist my old friend?'
'Tell me of the Stygian sorcerer named Ethram-Fal.'
'Phaugh!' Mithrelle grimaced delicately. 'What do you want with that one?'
'He has insinuated himself into my affairs. He claims that he can sell me magical talismans of unprecedented power.'
'Ah.' The Sabatean's eyes lit up. 'I see. You wish to know if his goods can assist you in claiming the position of court wizard.'
The sorceress nodded ruefully, as if admitting an unwelcome truth.
Inwardly, Zelandra rejoiced that Mithrelle was not as perceptive as she believed herself to be.
'Ethram-Fal is a laughingstock. I presume that you have heard how he came to Sabatea seeking membership in the Black Ring. Even the feeblest student of the dark arts knows that the Black Ring recruits its own members, yet still the dolt came calling. Perhaps he imagined that his greatness had escaped the notice of the Black Ring. They were more merciful than might be expected, however, merely casting him out of the city in disgrace. If Thoth-Amon had been about when Ethram-Fal made his plea, the upstart would probably still be screaming under the Steel Wings.'
'Do you know where he dwells?'
'Ethram-Fal was born in Kheshatta, though I believe that he left the City of Magicians in order to take up residence here in Sabatea. The Dark Gods alone know where he has fled since his exile. You have seen him in Akkharia?'
'Yes, but his home is elsewhere.'
Mithrelle's eyes grew hooded and lazy. 'Why should this be so important to you? Ethram-Fal has little to his credit save his considerable skill in the magic of plants, fungi, and such. Still, I hardly imagined that his rejection by the Black Ring would drive him to become a merchant.
What manner of magical talismans did he offer, that you felt it necessary to call me?'
'Just a handful of potions and philters. Magic intensifiers, mostly.'
Zelandra fought to keep the tension out of her voice, smiling sheepishly. 'I shall need all the aid I can muster to be chosen as King Sumuabi's court mage.'
'Yet you don't seem curious about your rivals. What is it that truly concerns you about Ethram-Fal, Zelandra?'
'It is small wonder that I do not converse with you more often, Mithrelle. You are the most suspicious woman I have ever known.'
Zelandra's hands crept across the table toward the shining spheres of hematite. The image of Mithrelle swelled and throbbed brighter.
'Oh no, milady. Don't think to end this audience just yet. I can't abide unanswered questions, and you have made me very curious.'
'Goodbye, Mithrelle.' Zelandra slipped her hands down on two stones.
The flat image of the Sabatean sorceress flickered and dimmed, then abruptly flared to brilliant life.
'You would desert your old friend?' Mithrelle's voice dropped to a guttural growl. 'Come to me, little Zelandra. Come to me and answer my questions and be my slave.' The oval image expanded rapidly and acquired depth. Zelandra felt as if she stared into an open portal carved from empty air.
Mithrelle's bare, white arms shot out of the image. Her hands seized Zelandra about the throat. Black nails scored Zelandra's flesh as the Sabatean sorceress reached into the chamber as if leaning over a windowsill.
'You would toy with me, Zelandra? Did you forget that I was always your better? Come!' Mithrelle's long-fingered hands squeezed off her breath, lifting Zelandra from her seat.
The blood roared in the sorceress's ears. She pulled back against the Sabatean's embrace, lifting her hands from the silver-glowing stones and clapping them upon Mithrelle's temples. Crimson lightning crackled from her palms. Mithrelle's mouth fell open like a castle's drawbridge, but no sound emerged. Her hands sprang from Zelandra's throat and clawed spastically at the air.
'You were always overconfident, Mithrelle,' said Zelandra hoarsely. She dropped her hands onto the stones. Mithrelle's arms were wrenched forcibly back into the image, which shrank and flattened until it once again resembled a floating mirror.
'You can't!' The Sabatean found her voice. She snarled like a beast, a lank lock of black hair falling across her pale face. 'You can't!'
'I can,' said the Lady Zelandra. Her hands moved upon the stones and the image winked out in a scarlet flash, like a bursting bubble of blood.
The sorceress stood, stretching wearily and rubbing her bruised neck as the secret room's door swung open behind her. She returned to her bedchamber, where the torches burned ruddy and low. Casting a glance at the forsaken bed, Zelandra shook her head and sighed. There would be no more sleep tonight. She moved silently about the room, gathering her belongings for the long journey ahead.
XI
Broad beams of golden sunlight stretched across the floor of Shakar's study. The black sorcerer stood quietly, staring out the open window into the verdant splendor of his garden. A cooling breeze bore both the songs of birds and the perfume of greenery into the room, but the tranquil pleasures of the garden went unnoticed by the Keshanian mage today. He walked slowly from the window seat across the study, leaned listlessly against his wide mahogany desk, and tried not to think of the silver box mat he had placed within it.
The sound of a slamming door came to him and he started violently, turning eager, sleepless eyes to the study's curtained entrance.
Gulbanda burst in, panting, his crested helmet clutched under one dark-armoured arm.
'Master,' Gulbanda said between gasps. 'The barbarian, Lady Zelandra, and two of her servants have left the city!'
For a moment Shakar looked as though he might fall; then a surge of rage seemed to buoy him up.
'You lie!' screamed the Keshanian. His hands twisted through a series of swift movements, ending with his left hand raised, its fingers crooked into talons. Gulbanda knew the gestures that preceded the death-spell and fell to his knees.
'Master, I swear that it is true. I saw them leave by the caravan gate, and even now they ride the Caravan Road toward Sabatea. The amulet was gone from the barbarian's neck. I swear it.' The sweat of fear shone on the warrior's face.
Shakar spun away from the kneeling man, waving his fists in uncontrolled fury.
'By the Black Gods, am I to be thwarted at every turn? Where were they bound?'
