Conan and the Shaman's Curse (30 page)

Y’Taba propped up the young warrior’s head, whispering into his ear. Ngomba’s eyes widened in surprise. He sat up, coughing fitfully before lapsing back to the ground. The spirit-leader stood, facing Conan and the others. Though he smiled, the Cimmerian could see the pain in his eyes. Behind him, with a rustle of wings, Dawakuba set down gently.

“One Kezati yet lives,” Nyona cautioned, pointing upward. “It soars well beyond the reach of Dawakuba, whose wings took hurt in the battle. But something about it is different; it keeps at a distance, as if to avoid being seen.”

Y’Taba shrugged. “One enemy against many Ganaks is but a single cloud in a sky of victory. There can be no more of them, at least for another generation. By then, our young will be grown. Then we shall seek them out as they sought us and make certain they never trouble the sons of our sons. Never again!” The old Ganak, in spite of his numerous wounds, stood proudly atop the mound, his presence as commanding as ever. “And now, Conan of Cimmeria, shall I honour my promise to you.” He brushed the crusted blood from his necklace of shells, lifting it in his hand.

A flickering shadow passed over the mound, moving so swiftly that had Conan blinked, he would have missed it. A rush of air swept past him, stirring his hair. Sajara shouted a cry of warning, and Jukona raised his fists defiantly. Nyona gasped, lifting the shell pipe to her lips.

It plunged from nowhere, or so it seemed. The Kezati that had been a speck rushed past them with blinding speed. Conan’s flesh crawled at the sight of the winged monstrosity thrice the size of its kin. It occurred to him that he had doubtless seen it briefly at the onset of battle, mistaking it for a cluster of Kezati. Its talons and beak were terrifying at those gigantic proportions. Its belly bulged with a strange roundness, and Conan was sickened by a sudden revelation—this Kezati was a pregnant female... perhaps their queen.

Soundlessly she attacked Y’Taba from behind, before he was even aware of the approaching menace.

Galvanized, Conan sprang toward her, sword in hand. But he might as well have tried to catch an archer’s bolt in flight. Seizing Y’Taba’s arms with enormous talons, the she-devil soared upward. The Ganak’s yell of mingled pain and astonishment faded as the Kezati’s wings carried Y’Taba away. But burdened by Y’Taba, the monster flew less swiftly.

“Conan, Sajara—quickly!” Nyona called frantically. “We must try to catch them!”

“What about me?” Jukona shouted.

“These two will slow us down enough, but they are the lightest burden and the only ones fit for more fighting,” Nyona snapped, blowing into the shell almost before Conan and Sajara had secured themselves on the strip of bark.

“Is Dawakuba not injured, then?” Sajara asked.

“She fed,” Nyona answered. “She may tire ere we catch Y’Taba, but we must try.”

Wings flexing powerfully, the stalker took off in pursuit of the fleeing Kezati while Jukona stared upward, jaw hanging open in shocked silence.

XX

The Kezati Queen

“Ishtar and Pteor!” Conan swore, watching helplessly as the Kezati slowly increased its lead. “Can this infernal beast go no faster?” Y’Taba was vanishing from sight, and with him was vanishing the Cimmerian’s hope for eradicating the shaman’s curse.

“Perhaps, if you jumped off,” Nyona shot back. “Look,” Sajara interrupted, pointing down. “Conan, is that the shore of skulls?”

He recognized the crescent-shaped isle at once, the ivory piles of bones prominent on one end. “Aye,” he said, nodding. Dawakuba was moving more swiftly than he had thought; they had not been at the chase for very long.

Fascinated, Sajara watched the island shrink behind them. “No huntress ever left Ganaku—until today, that is.” “Why?” Conan asked, his eyes still locked onto the distant form of Y’Taba, which now looked ant-sized.

“There is no time for it,” Sajara answered regretfully. “The hunting of food, the making of spears and shell-spikes, the constant laying of nets to snare fish, the seeking of vanukla fruit and plants for Y’Taba, and the training and practising of our skills, these occupy our days.” She sighed. “But the ways of the past may change, for now we must be warriors, too.”

Conan shrugged. “For the women of Cimmeria—aye, for the men also—it is much the same. Seldom do my people travel beyond the borders of their tribe’s land, unless a blood feud is afoot or the bloody spear calls forth our tribes to battle a common enemy.”

“Someday, when the village is restored to order, I would like to see the lands of which you speak,” Sajara said.

Conan nodded sympathetically. Any place he stayed in for too long took on the feel of a dungeon, prompting him to move on. Admittedly, he often exited with the local soldiery at his heels, but when one intended to leave anyway, why not add some profit—or at the very least some excitement—to that departure?

The stalker began to lose speed, earning a frown from Nyona. The elderly Ranioba blew into her small shell, fingers gliding along its notched holes. Her silent ministrations went unrewarded; the stalker was now losing not just velocity but altitude as well.

“Dawakuba is exhausted,” Nyona said, her shoulders sagging. “We have lost Y’Taba.”

“Not yet,” said Conan. “There the Kezati descends, upon yon rock. By Crom, if I have to swim there, so be it.”

Sajara and Nyona saw it, too. From afar it looked no larger than a fist-sized stone, but as they approached, its true size became evident. Perhaps only a quarter of the Ganak island’s size, their lair of the Kezati was naught but a sheer-walled islet, rising from the sea like a craggy fortress.

Behind them, faltering wings ceased beating without warning. Conan had time to draw in a lungful of air before the stalker and its wide-eyed riders splashed into the shimmering water. Before he plunged below the surface, Conan caught a glimpse of the hulking Kezati setting down atop the isle, Y’Taba still clutched in her talons. The Cimmerian prayed fervently that the spirit-leader still lived.

Swimming as if pursued by every shark in the sea, Conan propelled himself toward the islet. Sajara followed closely, though she could not match the Cimmerian’s frenzied pace. Nyona remained with Dawakuba. The stalker was clearly out of its element, floundering to keep itself above water. Nyona treaded water beside the terrified creature, blowing into the shell in an effort to keep the stalker afloat.

The Cimmerian emerged dripping from the ocean at the edge of the rocky islet, sword clenched in his scarred fist. The sting of salt water in his wounds had subsided, and though he had endured a battle and a swim that would have exhausted the sturdiest of men, weariness clung to him no longer than did the seawater. Nimble as a mountain goat, Conan clambered up the rough face of the cliff that rose above him. He was halfway up before Sajara reached the shore below.

She eyed the daunting slant of stone before her and began working her way up. Her ascent was not nearly so rapid or smooth as Conan’s, but few people in the world possessed his honed talents or experience. Furthermore, his reckless pace was driven by urgency. A moment’s dalliance, and he might confront the Kezati only to find her feasting upon Y’Taba’s innards.

A final stretch brought him to the top of the cliff. With a grunt he hauled himself up to peer over the top. The sheer walls of the islet tapered near the top, and weathering had smoothed it like a plate. So small was its diameter that Conan could easily hurl a stone clear across it. A pit gaped near the edge to which Conan clung.

A few spatters of blood stained the rock near the mouth of that pit. Y’Taba’s necklace of black shells rested on the rock, just beyond his reach. Swinging a leg over the cliff, he grabbed the necklace and tied it about his neck. Then he crawled toward the hole for a closer look. A shriek from below turned his head. He reversed his direction and looked down to see if Sajara had fallen.

Staring over the side, he witnessed a strange sight: Sajara was disappearing into the face of the cliff! Her cry of surprise and horror was cut short as she vanished. Damn his haste! He should have stayed at her side! Sajara had taken a different path up the cliff side and must have found a cave undoubtedly occupied by a Kezati.

Cursing, Conan descended the wall, going straight to the place where Sajara had been lost to sight. Sure enough, he found a narrow opening there, a third of the way up. Her knife lay upon the stony floor of the tunnel beyond, which was barely wide enough to accommodate a man. Beyond the entrance, its ceiling rose rapidly to thrice Conan’s height. A scraping echo sounded faintly from within, then the cave fell silent.

Conan stepped in without a moment’s hesitation. His eyes adjusted to the deepening darkness, nostrils twitching at the pungent air wafting past him. A shuffle and a thump echoed from somewhere far ahead. Fortunately, the sun offered dim, indirect light, even as Conan crept deep into the upwardly sloping tunnel.

Irregular niches pocked the cavern walls. With a start Conan realized that he had blundered into the Kezati aerie. He peered into a jagged recess, his hand feeling along the wall and encountering the rough edges of a large nest. He snatched away his fingers as he realized that its sides were not made of sticks and mud, as he had thought, but of bones—large, human bones, mixed with the stranger bones of the Kezati. No wonder the Ganaks carried away their dead from the shore of skulls.

At the very back of the niche, wedged in place above the nest, a single Kezati skull leered at him. He moved on, glancing into the other macabre beds of bone to be certain that no vultures lurked in the shadows. Rounding another bend, he saw that the tunnel spiralled upward, probably all the way to the top where he had seen the pit and was sure that he would find the winged she-devil.

He continued upward past scores of empty nests. It seemed Y’Taba was right; the place was deserted. Perhaps the Ganaks had slain all but the last of this abominable race.

Ahead the winding corridor widened and reflected sunlight from above. He slowed, sword raised in readiness, his footsteps as stealthy as the padding of a stalking panther.

Where the corridor ended, the tunnel opened into a vast chamber. Bright rays of sunlight filtered from a hole in the roof—the pit that Conan had seen atop the islet. The scene inside filled him with nausea.

Hundreds, nay, thousands of lumpy eggs the size of ale barrels lay upon the floor. Among them, a few speckled red shells were quivering slightly. One shivered violently before splitting. The puckered, slimy head of a Kezati infant emerged, its tiny but sharp beak cawing.

A few paces away lay the prone forms of Y’Taba and Sajara. Y’Taba’s chest rose and fell with ragged breathing, reviving Conan’s hopes. Sajara stirred weakly; Conan could see her nasty head wound from across the chamber.

The giant Kezati squatted near them, her back turned away from Conan. As she straightened, a wet plop sounded above the faint screeching of the newborn Kezati. A muck-encrusted egg wobbled on the floor beneath her.

The young Kezati emerged, tearing away the rest of its shell with its hooked beak. It was the size of a fully grown eagle, though its wings showed only minimal development. Waddling on its revolting legs, it wobbled toward the fresh meat brought home by its mother.

Conan had seen enough. Blade whirling like a steel cyclone, he bounded into the chamber, smashing eggs beneath his feet, hacking apart the repulsive Kezati weanling as the vulture-queen turned to face him.

So baleful were the crimson pupils of her weirdly human eyes that their very malevolence stopped him for a moment. In their red depths lurked ageless evil, an undying and cosmic hatred so intense that it pierced Conan’s soul. In that awful instant, he knew he faced no mere oversized Kezati, but a diabolic fiend spawned in Hell’s most blasphemous breeding pit.

The reason for the desperate sacrifices of the vultures at once became clear. This she-devil had fresh hatchlings to feed, and she cared only for the future of this new brood. In those eyes he had seen lust for pain and blood, for the suffering of anything that lived. She had deliberately not slain Sajara and Y’Taba, out of vengeance—to watch them suffer, to hear their tortured screams as her brood devoured them... alive.

The moment ended abruptly as the Kezati queen struck, her talons lashing out in a disembowelling sweep beneath Conan’s upraised sword. He sprang backward, narrowly avoiding them, his defiant shout ringing in the chamber. He threw Sajara’s knife in a smooth motion, burying it in the queen’s side. She plucked it out with her beak and tossed it aside, screaming in rage as she lunged at Conan.

So tall was she that her neck rose beyond the tip of his blade. The reach of her talons exceeded that of his sword, forcing him to weave his way through her slashing assault. When she lowered her beak to strike, he rolled onto the floor, eggs crunching under his back, thrusting the sword toward her underbelly. Sajara stirred nearby, rising to her elbows.

A quick beat of the Kezati’s wings carried the she-devil above Conan’s attack, then she dropped back onto him, talons ripping into his shoulders. A desperate blow lopped off her leg, her enraged screeches of pain nearly bursting his eardrums. He struck again, shearing a chunk of feathered flesh from her side, exposing her quivering vitals before a gout of black, oily blood gushed over them.

The sweep of her talons knocked Conan through the air and slammed him into the opposite wall, spinning his sword away. Clutching his gouged side in an effort to stem the flow of blood, he scrambled for the blade.

Although his stroke had wounded the queen severely, it was not enough. She glared at him maliciously, then took to the air, flapping slowly toward the opening in the ceiling.

From where she lay, Sajara reached out, her fingers grasping the remaining leg of the retreating queen. Ignoring the Ganak, the Kezati continued her flight, pulling Sajara with her.

Bellowing curses, Conan lumbered toward them, blood streaming from his side. He jumped and caught Sajara’s foot in a one-handed grab. Such was the queen’s strength, even wounded, that she continued to fly, clearing the edge of the hole. Once outside, the shrieking Kezati began shaking her leg, trying to kick loose the Ganak who clung so tenaciously.