Authors: Poul Anderson
would rather give him a good fight then, than slink about through all the years before.'
He turned to Sakumbe. 'I bespoke hostile sorcery beneath whose feet yonder body magic can but grovel and whimper,' he said. 'Yet thus far we three have outwitted it, yes, tweaked its nose and left it howling. You did not seem unduly scared by my yarn. Well, what do you think about leaguing with us? One way or another, I am going to hew me a path to the sea and Bêlit. There should be plenty of Stygian plunder for you as we fare.'
Half drunk though he was, the Suba retained a trader's wiliness. 'I swear no brotherhood now,' he replied after a minute's pondering. 'But... yes, why not go take a look? That is why we puffed and groaned over those nastily steep mountains, right? Right. Very well. Ho, ho, ho!' he guffawed. 'A guided tour of Stygia! See the ancient monuments! Visit the quaint shops! Bargains galore! Ho, ho, ho!'
Two days later, Conan and his enlarged band reached Thuran-on-the-Heights.
Warriors sprang from banked fires to challenge them, some recognized Daris, jubilation winged on high and echo back. Lissom brown forms leaped, steel flashed, plumes and banners gambolled on the wind. Above grassy slopes, camp carven fragments, the temple of Mitra glowed in sundown light.
'My father is here,' Daris told Conan. Glory was over her like an aurora. 'So is the army he has gathered. You see but a part of it, because most are scattered across the hills, to have water and fuel. Horn-blasts can summon them within an hour. They have lately fought a pitched battle, when the Stygians moved in the direction of this holy place and were sent back licking their wounds. Oh, Conan!' In innocent exuberance, she seized him to her. Then, as she remembered herself, pain crossed her features.
Side by side, they advanced up the mountain. A tall, grey-haired man with a whetted countenance trod out on the temple portico. Conan knew this must be Ausar. Daris sped into her father's arms.
XV
The Ax and the Eagle
In a big tent near the gracious remnants of the building, a lamp burned, for the two who sat there had talked at length. Light glimmered on racked weapons, a pile of sheepskins for sleeping, a few simple articles of furniture, a wine jug on a small table, the horns from which the men drank. The flap was drawn back on a view of heights and heavens; camp fires strewn across the land gave ruddy reply to the stars. Cooling breezes carried odours of smoke and distance-muted snatches of song. Farther off, like a remote landslide, a lion roared.
Ausar rose and, after an instant's hesitation, Conan followed his example, as a third person entered. This was a man short, old, very dark-skinned for a Taian. His blue robe was threadbare. He had donned a pectoral of antique workmanship, lapis lazuli around a golden sunburst, which caused the clan chieftain to bow and sign himself. Yet somehow it was evident that that was not what gave him his air of power great and gentle.
'Parasan, high priest of Mitra, be welcome,' said Ausar. 'We hoped you could come earlier.'
The newcomer smiled as he limped to a seat. Conan took his staff and stowed it while Ausar poured wine for him, not into the horn that was good enough for a fighting man, but into a crystal goblet of the few that survived from ancient times. 'I supposed you would have much to discuss,' Parasan said.
'Yes, sir, but should you not have heard it, too?' the Cimmerian asked. He had been only briefly introduced to the prelate earlier this day, and had been amazed at the look of sheer wonder he got before solemnity masked it.
'I believe the details can wait,' the old man said. 'You twain -well, Ausar, I also have raised girls in my time. It seemed best that
you first calm your souls about Daris and about any other world business, for we have concerns before us which are not entirely this world. Have you done so?'
The war lord settled himself, frowning. 'I am in Conan's blood debt,' he said slowly. 'He freed her and conveyed her back in more honourable wise than – Well, what she has confided to me is no fault of his, I suppose. Mainly we two have been telling each other about his journey and my war-waging.'
The Cimmerian flushed in embarrassment. Parasan raised a palm. 'No need to speak out what I can guess,' the priest murmured. 'Let Daris find consolation in pride. Without her, Conan would never have come to us. She has borne destiny, Ausar.'
A chill tingled through the Northerner. He did not understand this at all, and did not think he would like it when he did. Hunched forward on his chair, he strove to be courteous, but his tone roughened: 'What do you mean... sir? I have told my host how chance brought me, nothing else. I wish you people well, and maybe I can do you some further service in exchange for some things I expect I shall need, but nailed to the masthead is my aim of winning back to my true lady as soon as may be.'
Wise and luminous, the eyes of Parasan caught his and would not let go. 'Do you indeed believe everything has been accident, Conan?' the priest responded as. softly as before. 'I know better, and I have not even heard just what happened. Two gods are in struggle. We mortals are not mere instruments – no, it is we who must win or lose by our own efforts, lest the universe be torn asunder as they wrestle – but their wills are manifest. Shall an outpost of Mitra again flourish in freedom, for a light unto this part of the world, or shall the Serpent crush and poison it and the dominion of his sorcerers spread unrestrained abroad? That is what we make trial of.'
The young man sought to protest. Parasan would not let him: 'Of late I have prayed much, and offered Mitra such clean sacrifices as are acceptable to him, and pleaded for a sign. This has been granted me, in dreams and visions. Their meaning was enigmatic until today, but after you had come, I fell into a trance
before the altar, and more was revealed to me. I have no further doubt. You are he who shall bear the Ax of Varanghi.'
In grave words, he told the legend and the creed.
'No,' Conan whispered at the end. 'No, I am only a – a rover, a barbarian adventurer. I have been thief, bandit, pirate -'
'And the year will come, if you live, when you are a king,' Parasan said. 'What mortal has never done wrong? The Prophecy declares that the Wielder of the Ax will be of the Northern race which founded Taia, and worthy – not that he will be a saint.'
Excitement drove away Ausar's last reservations. 'The wizards in Khemi must have had reason to believe Conan is a threat to them!' he exclaimed. 'Did Set himself give warning, as Mitra has granted signs to you? Why else would those devils have gone to such trouble over a mere corsair?'
Parasan nodded his winter-crowned head. 'Aye; and indeed, though I am no magician, I dimly sense monstrous forces of evil nigh to us.' He straightened. 'But we can prevail over them. We must. Conan, accept your destiny. It is your way to freedom.'
The Cimmerian gnawed his lip. Having brought Daris home, he had thought he and Falco might return to the wingboat, proceed down the Styx, and at sea, rig a sail to bear them onward.
And yet – he could not but feel he still owed Daris a return for love and loyalty. Far more than that, he had beforehand taken up Bêlit's cause of vengeance upon Stygia; and lately he had promised Jehanan, who had saved his life, that he would tread the Snake underfoot in Jehanan's name. How much could he wreak with a single buccaneer crew?
'I speak no threat against you, who deserve well of us,' Parasan said quietly. 'But I swear by most high Mitra – may he forsake me if I lie – that a man who refuses a sacred duty laid on him is... not accursed... but abandoned; never again will he know honour or joy or love. Yes, Conan, our enterprise may fail, you may die in a strange land, but then you will die fulfilled; and if not, then for a time afterward – what little time the gods may allot, yet for a time -you shall have your dearest wish.'
The words struck into the wanderer like a knife. Dry-throated, he whispered, 'Where is this weapon?'
Ausar listened, shivering in tension.
'Will you wield it?' Parasan asked, unrelenting.
Conan had never been one to dither. All the storms in him came together and spoke: 'I will! By Crom, I will!'
And what a glorious fight would follow, thought a part of him.
Breath hissed between Ausar's teeth. Parasan nodded again, serene, and told them: 'Now hear what we few priests in Mitra's Taian temple have bequeathed from lifetime to lifetime for a hand of centuries. When the last king fell, he who afterward became the Prophet was at his side. This holy man took the holy implement beneath his cloak and bore it off the field. Well did he know that the Stygians would ransack Taia from end to end in search of a thing so foreboding to them. It must be hidden where no one would ever search.'
Conan's prosaic practicality made him interrupt: 'Why has no magician tracked it down in all this time? If it is from heaven, it ought to show plain against common earth, to any questing spell.'
'The virtue of the Ax wards every kind of magic off itself,' Parasan explained. 'If somehow a wizard did find and seek to recover it, his own powers would recoil and blast him. Even a mortal in a wizard's service would be so tainted by those forces that the Ax would destroy him. An ordinary man, whether a chance adventurer or someone hired for this task only, should be able to take up the weapon without coming to harm. But nobody would go to its hiding place at a mere venture, and be-like there is not gold enough in Stygia to pay an expedition.
'For the Ax lies in Pteion.'
Ausar gasped.
'The holy man's sanctity repelled demons and ghouls when he entered and buried it,' Parasan went on. 'Know, Conan, that Pteion is a ruined city of immemorial antiquity, in eastern Stygia just across the Taian border. Chronicles declare it was founded by the Acheronians, thousands of years ago; but legend, which may well be true, says that they were only inheritors, and the true builders were the serpent men of prehistoric Valusia. For untold centuries it was the seat of black magicians and thus of terror; but during the Seventh Dynasty of Stygia, the desert encroached until
Pteion was abandoned and the wizards moved their centre to Khemi. Uncontrolled, the foul beings they raised or created have haunted the ruins ever since, and no man goes near.'
Conan shuddered. Sweat broke forth upon him. His spirit groaned.
'I repeat, no devil has power over the Ax, which came to Varanghi from Mitra himself,' Parasan said. Each word seemed to peal more dread out of his listeners. 'Bold men, in a noble cause, entering by day, may dare hope to carry out their mission. If they be no saints, as the Prophet was, still they can fare under what benediction is mine to give, and keep their hearts sufficiently pure that evil finds no entry for stinging them from within. Yes, I think you will bear forth the Ax, Conan.'
'And then?' the Cimmerian heard himself mumble.
'Why, then you will lead the warriors of Taia as they win freedom for their land,' Parasan replied. Abruptly, astoundingly, he laughed. 'I leave the details of that to the professionals.'
More than an hour followed, in which Conan and Ausar talked while, for the most part, the priest sat mute. He heard the story of what had happened, he asked questions and made a few suggestions, he saw courage flame up in the others.
They went on to tactics. Further discussion would be necessary in the morning, but the outline of a plan grew rapidly. In the saddle, with ample remounts, at the fastest prudent pace, it was about a week's travel from Thuran to Pteion. That was because much of the route was through the valley of a river that had long since dwindled to a brook, easier going for horses than most of this country was. Let Conan and his guide bring a troop of about a hundred men; such a number ought to suffice against any foreseeable contingency. Meanwhile let Ausar organize his host and move west, recruiting as he went.
After losing the latest engagement, General Shuat had left half his Stygians to garrison Seyan and the lower Helu. He was marching the remainder north-west, on a military road that ran from the governor's seat toward Luxur. Ausar guessed he planned a pincers movement, quite likely in conjunction with reinforcements sent from the royal capital. Let Conan's band rejoin
their kinsmen after the Ax had been retrieved, and they could all seek to reduce the Stygians in detail.
Of course, King Mentuphera and his immense reserves would be left, and he would scarcely let the loss of a detachment or two check his ambitions. However, that worry was best deferred to the unknowable future. If Conan had learned anything about war, it was that the first casualty of a battle is always one's battle plan.
Exalted, he finally rose to say good night. 'May I accompany you back to the temple, sir?' he asked Parasan.
'No, thank you,' said the priest. 'Though you be chosen of Mitra, you are not initiated into his mysteries as Ausar and I are. I think best we two pray together for a while.'
The younger warrior felt no offence, nor for that matter any particular desire to be initiated. Crom was in many ways a much less demanding god. With a wave, Conan stepped forth into darkness.
Brilliant though the stars were, his eyes needed a moment to adapt. He saw his breath smoke white beneath them, and -
And what was the shape rising yonder, as if it had lately been on the ground near Ausar's pavilion? An eagle? No, that could scarcely be; eagles were not night fowl, nor would one descend this close to humans. It must be some other kind of large bird.
After all, he was in a strange country. He should not let a chance-met wild creature disturb him. Yet he wished he had not been so stubbornly honourable. The human warmth of Daris would have been very welcome just now. Conan hastened toward his lonely tent.
Made tireless by her magic, Nehekba flew across hundreds of miles, faster than aquiline flesh and blood would ever be able. A second false dawn turned the east cold, when she discerned Luxur beneath her and slanted earthward.
At the snake-encircled cupola atop the temple of Set, she glided through an arch to its deck and resumed her human form. Feather-clad, she descended to a suite reserved for members of the Black Ring. There she rested and planned until mid-morning. At that time she dispatched a messenger to the king, bearing a token which would get him immediately received and a written request for a confidential audience. It was a request in form only; she required it. The monarch knew that and sent back a prompt invitation.