"Thine accusations are unfounded, priest. I have come to join thee in a common goal, that of finding and destroying the Mutare priestess. She abducted my minion and forced it to fight with thee and thy companions.
Such a wanton act cannot go unpunished. Together, we will find her and put an end to her misdeeds!"
Conan and Kailash were now convinced that Madesus had been wrong about Balberoth. He was not a demon, but some otherworldly creature sent by the G.o.ds to help them. They were satisfied that he was reaching a hand out in friendship. Had Madesus gone mad? Could he not see that Balberoth could help them all?
Madesus shook his head, but he was unaware of the effect that Balberoth was having on Conan and Kailash. "Save your lies, h.e.l.l-sp.a.w.n. You pretend to offer us help, yet I perceive only your burning desire to slaughter us like cattle. Enough of this! By the will of Mitra, Father of Light, I command you to cast aside your staff and return to the bottomless depths of your slime-filled sp.a.w.ning-pit! Masquim Xul ia marratu, yar Balberoth! Balberoth, absu yar alaxul! Xizul absu marratu, nar marratu, yar Balberoth!"
As the priest spoke, his amulet flared up, sending a ray of blinding light straight at the demon.
Before the ray could reach Balberoth, it bent unnaturally, curving away and striking his crystal staff instead. The beam bounced off, producing an impressive shower of multihued sparks. Rebounding, it missed Kailash by inches before colliding with the bronze doors. The colossal slabs shivered; tendrils of bluish-white light crawled over them, and then they crumbled into small shards. Balberoth looked Conan straight in the eye and pleaded with him.
"Conan! Thou must help me! Madesus has gone mad; he nearly slew Kailash!" He turned his gaze to the hillman next, his eyes glowing like white beacons. "Quickly, wield thy sword and cut him down before he murders us all in his madness!" The demon"s bone-white lips drew together in a ghastly smile. He grinned malevolently at Madesus, who shuddered involuntarily at the unholy demon"s gaze.
The priest watched in disbelief as the two men advanced slowly toward him, brandishing their swords. "Conan! Kailash! The demon has bewitched you, turned you against me. Conan! What of your oath to Salvorus?
Kailash! Think of your king, and your sworn duty to protect him. Close your ears to the words of this creature of night!"
They did not heed the priest. Their eyes were clouded, their ears closed to his words. Balberoth urged them on, sensing that he had the upper hand. "Quickly! Thy lives are at stake! Strike now, before he strikes thee down!"
Madesus stepped back and blasted the demon, but the ray from his amulet missed again, deflected by the crystal staff. Conan reached the priest first, his sword-arm swept back in preparation for a brutal slash. For an instant, his eyes and mind cleared with the realization that the demon"s voice had charmed him. He checked the motion of his blade, but then the moment was gone. He continued with his swing.
Madesus lurched sideways as the Cimmerian"s sword ripped through his robe, grazing the surface of his skin. The priest lost his footing and fell to the floor, right in front of Kailash. The huge hillman lifted his blade for a lethal thrust. Madesus sought frantically for a way out, but his back was against the wall. He closed his eyes and waited for the sharpened steel to pierce his vitals, dismally aware that the priestess had defeated him. The last member of the Order of Xuoquelos was doomed.
Twelve.
Shan-e-Sorkh ------------.
Azora brushed aside the thick tapestry of cobwebs stretching across the antechamber of Skauraul"s stronghold. She had shut the front doors behind her, blocking out the painfully intrusive rays of the mid-morning sun. Its accursed face burned hot and bright in the red wastes of the Shemitish desert, hurting her eyes and stinging her flesh. She hated the sun; it sapped her strength, like a giant yellow leech.
The dark, musty antechamber of the stronghold was much more to her liking. She felt an ancient residue of evil in the place, and inhaled its stale air with relish. A few bulbous, hairy-legged spiders stirred in the corners of the room, disturbed by her presence. With interest, she watched these children of Zath, the Zamoran spider-G.o.d of Yezud. A few of them were twice the size of her head; their plump, glistening abdomens were bloated with poison.
She admired them for their singularity of purpose. The children of Zath were harbingers of death, cunning little a.s.sa.s.sins who could trap and slay creatures many times their size. Even the smallest of their kin inspired fear and loathing in humans. One could learn much by studying their methods.
Azora removed the Augur from her cloak, peering casually into it to see if the pathetic priest and his dull-witted guard dogs were dead yet.
She frowned in annoyance, as the Augur refused to focus. The harder she concentrated on it, the more resistance she felt. Finally she gave up in fury, flinging the orb to the floor and cursing. The priest had not the power to block the Augur, even were he aware of its distantly probing eye!
Still fuming, she picked up the Augur. It had been working perfectly just a short while ago, by the outer walls of the stronghold. Acting on impulse, she shoved the outer doors open, then looked into the Augur once more. Immediately the room below the Targolian temple came clearly into focus. Her anger gave way to gratification as she saw the two warriors advancing on the priest, brandishing their swords.
The weak-witted buffoons had been easy prey for Balberoth, whose spellbinding voice had the power of suggestion over all but the most iron-willed of mortals. The two bullish oafs would serve admirably as executioners. Their help was vital, for neither she nor the Demon Lord could directly harm the priest, who bore an ancient talisman blessed by Mitra, the wretched Father of Light. Satisfied that the meddling priest"s death was imminent, she put the Augur back into her cloak and slammed the doors shut. If the sun had not been so intense, she would have left the doors open and savored every dying moment of Mitra"s contemptible p.a.w.n.
With the irksome priest removed, she was free to pursue her present goals. First, she would learn Skauraul"s secrets, to protect herself from any threat that other priests of Mitra might pose. Afterward, she would return to the city and cause the frail human maggots there to suffer and die. Soon, on the first day of the Scorpion"s Month, the moon would disappear from the night sky. On that blackest of eves, she would complete the ultimate Mutare ritual of power: the spell of immortality. No longer would the pa.s.sage of time affect her, as it affected all living creatures by aging and weakening them. Had Skauraul been able to complete this rite, he would have become the overlord of all lands.
When she finished the rite, she would be a priestess no longer, but a G.o.ddess: baleful and indomitable. Her whims would drive kingdoms to ruin and despair. Priests and emperors would grovel before her; she would find countless ways to torture and humiliate them, each more painful and degrading than the last. Mankind would feel the coming darkness of eternal nightfall, and be powerless to stop it.
None of the Mutare before her had ever reached this pinnacle of power.
They had fallen to quarreling among themselves, leading to their mutual destruction. Even Skauraul had been weakened so severely that the ragtag Order of Xuoquelos had vanquished him. Azora had no such enemies to contend with; Skauraul had been the last of the Mutare, and Madesus was the last of the Order.
Azora could not remember when she had first learned about the Mutare.
She had no recollection of parents or childhood. She considered Stygia to be her birthplace. Her first memories were of a place by the Bakhr River, near the Purple Lotus swamps of southern Stygia. There she had undergone the ceremony of change, marking her birth as a Mutare. In the years afterward, she had pursued knowledge of the Mutare with insatiable obsession.
By journeying to many faraway lands, seeking places ancient and forbidden, she had found what she sought. She had lied, cheated, stolen, and murdered; she had let nothing stand in her way. The Mutare were unenc.u.mbered by human weaknesses of conscience and morals.
Eventually she had ama.s.sed a store of knowledge sufficient to begin carrying out her schemes. Soon Skauraul"s knowledge of the black arts would supplement her own.
She brushed aside the sticky strands of web in the antechamber, dislodging a hand-sized spider. It scuttled toward her, then paused.
She glanced at it with annoyance, then with curiosity. Unlike its larger cousins above, this spider was hairless; its shiny black body was thinner and more angular, with proportionally longer legs and wicked, curved fangs. It glared up at her with its many green, glowing eyes, suggesting an intelligence beyond those of its larger, bulbous brothers. Azora ignored it and moved toward the closest of the antechamber"s three inner doors.
The doors were small, but forged of iron and fitted with elaborate designs of metal. Hideous, leering gargoyles protruded from the stone wall above each door, poised as if to reach down and strike the unwary.
Their snarling faces were stone masks of hatred. A master sculptor had added uncanny realism to mouths that bristled with rows of jagged teeth. A long, thick tongue lolled grotesquely from each open mouth, ending in a sharp point of stone like a spike. Their stubby arms each had seven-clawed hands, clutching small orbs, and webbed, batlike wings sprouted from their narrow shoulders. Obscenely exaggerated genitalia jutted forth between their short, thick, scaly legs. The carvings showed some minor cracks and other signs of wear, but otherwise, they were in surprisingly good repair.
The door before her was also in good condition. Shem"s desert climate permitted no rust to set in; even if rain had fallen upon the fortress, none would have come into the chamber through the solidly built stone roof. Azora reached for the door handle with her black-gloved hand, but stopped and turned when she heard a faint whisper from behind.
The hairless spider was only a few feet from her, still staring up with its headful of lidless eyes. Its long legs flexed, and it jumped straight at her with blinding speed. Azora raised her hand to bat it away while dodging aside. She missed by inches. The creature landed squarely on her left shoulder and gripped the fabric of her cloak tightly. Cursing, she swatted at it with her right hand, trying to brush it off.
"Ssst... wait!" it hissed into her left ear, in a faint, bubbling whisper. "No foe am I! No hurt I. Ssst... I helps she."
Her hand still raised, Azora turned her head and scowled at the creature with an expression of anger and suspicion. The children of Zath had lost the power of speech centuries ago, or so claimed the dusty lorebooks she had read. She had nothing to fear from this little one anyway. Since she was without lifeblood, unlike weak humans, lethal poisons were of no consequence to her. She decided to see what the creature wanted, before crushing it like an oversized grape against the chamber"s stone floor.
"Yesss, ssst, yes... will help she," it said, as if sensing her hesitation. "Sssaved she already, I have!" it hissed.
"And what have you saved me from, little one?" Azora sneered in amus.e.m.e.nt.
"Had Xim stopped she not, open would door be! She-bones would old ones be gnawing!" Xim found this humorous; his whispering voice burbled in a sinister parody of laughter
"These are the old ones?" Azora said sarcastically, pointing to the gargoyles over the doors. "They are but lumps of stone! Great is my power, little one. I command demons that could grind these old ones into sand." Even as she boasted, she considered the possibility that Xim was telling the truth.
Xim shifted his grip on the Mutare"s shoulder, bobbing up and down a little as if agitated. "With Xim"s help, demons not need she, no demons! Sssecrets I have. Yes, yes... tell them to she!" Xim"s eyes glowed fiercely, like lighthouse beacons on a foggy night. "But help us, she must!"
"There are others here like you?" Azora asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Ssst... no, no, no. Not like Xim. Friends Xim has, who in webs dwell."
The arachnid waved its two forelegs at the upper corners of the room, where Azora had first seen the larger spiders. "Thirsty for man-blood, no more lizards and desert bugs! Mussst have man-blood, as ancient master once brought. Like ancient master she is, yesss! When first Xim saw she, knew this he did! Bring man-blood again she must, or no help no more will Xim give!"
Azora"s eyes gleamed blackly in the faint light of the chamber as she bored them into Xim. They were like the eyes of a cobra poised to strike. "Did the ancient master have a name?"
"Ssst... yes, yes, but too long, too hard to say. Scar, Xim called him, yes he did!"
Scar? Skauraul! Azora was more certain than ever that Xim"s ancient master had been the Mutare who ruled from this stronghold. She would postpone the demise of this little one until she learned all that it knew of Skauraul.
"If it is blood you desire, little one, then blood you will have!" From within her cloak, she drew out a small gla.s.s flask and uncorked it.
Inside, a syrupy red liquid sloshed around. She let some of it drip out onto her right palm, then offered the outstretched hand to Xim.
He shifted forward and sucked up the drops greedily with his sharp, hollow fangs. Azora was glad that she had carried the flask around; many of her powerful spells required a bit of human blood. She would have to ration it carefully to avoid running out. If she exhausted her supply, there were no humans for many leagues around to replenish it.
Better to lie to this insipid creature and use him as long as she could before crushing him. "Soon you and your friends will drink the fresh blood of living men, as you once did. This I swear!"
When Xim had cleaned every trace of blood from her palm, she carefully replaced the cork and tucked the flask back into a pocket of her cloak.
"Tell me, little one, did the master have a library?"