Conan The Indomitable (27 page)

Fortunately for the three captives, their combined weight was enough to
force the fall to end outside the chambers. As they tried to untangle
themselves, they heard a screech of something whose voice they recognized: the
flying reptile that had taken Conan before.

Chuntha could stand it no longer. The wizard,
That
stupid Bastard!
had
failed to kill Conan and stop the
attack. His enthralled demon lay flattened under solid rock, and Conan—that
vile, wretched, beautiful barbarian—was still alive.

It was too much. The only man to ever shame her in bed must die, that was
the beginning and end of it. The witch leaped into the air and flapped downward
in a flight she intended to end with her claws buried in Conan’s heart.

Screeching in primal rage, the reptile dived…

Conan ran toward his three friends and the fallen wizard. Ten paces, five,
he would be upon them in an instant, and his sword would claim the wizard’s
head, by Crom! He raised the blade to strike—

The screech from above called Conan’s attention. He looked up to see the
ensorceled witch coming through the air at him. He immediately saw that he would
not be able to reach the wizard before the flying reptile would intercept him.
He turned toward the witch. A lucky strike might take a wing, he thought,
though it was much more likely that the toothed snout would take him first.
Well, he would
met
his end as a man, sword swinging.
He twisted to face the new threat.

I have you now! Chuntha thought. Prepare to die, Conan!

She was five armspans from Conan and dropping fast when the spell
enshrouding the true form of the witch failed.

One moment she was a terrible and ferocious thing from the early dawn of
life on earth; the next moment the leathery form vanished. Chuntha screamed,
and the voice was that of a woman.

Conan saw the change, as quick as an eyeblink. What was a scaled monster
became a naked woman, hair streaming back in the wind of her flight, now a fall
heading straight at him. The Cimmerian was startled; not so much that he failed
to leap lithely out of the witch’s path, but enough so that he did not swing
the sword to slash at her.

The sword was not necessary in the end, however.

Chuntha the witch hit the rock floor with less force than had Rey’s demon,
but it was more than sufficient enough to end her days on earth. She bounced
only once, stopped. The naked form seemed almost unmarked on the back, but the
face and front had become red jelly and splintered white bone in an instant.

As Conan watched, the smooth beauty of the witch’s back and buttocks and
legs shriveled, as
quick
as a dry leaf cast into a hot
fire. In an instant, nothing but black ash remained of the form that had been
kept alive for long years past the day when it should have died.

Chuntha the witch was no more.

Conan turned back toward the wizard. He was still alive, and did Conan not
attend to that, the evil sorcerer might do to him what Chuntha had just done to
herself.

Lalo and Tull were helping Elashi to crawl away from the chamber’s entrance
when the wizard managed to attain his feet. He looked at the approaching Conan,
shook his head, and turned toward the portal. He leaped inside.

Conan rushed after the wizard.
Best to stop him before he
could mount another magical attack.

“Conan, no!”
Elashi screamed. “Do
not go in there!”

The Cimmerian was but a few steps away from the entrance and moving fast
when he heard Elashi’s yell. Something in her voice warned him of great danger,
and he managed to alter his path. He skidded and slid, and dropped his sword.
He had to put both hands out to keep from smashing head-on into the wall next
to the entrance. As he did this, he heard the wizard cry out, a high-pitched
and terrible sound. Something had him.

What ungodly thing lay within?

A moment later Katamay Rey stepped out, stumbling past Conan.

The Cimmerian could not be certain it
was
the wizard at first. The
creature who staggered past him was wrapped in black flame that seemed to
consume him. Flesh crackled like fat dropped into a heated skillet, and the
man’s screams were continuous.

Conan retrieved his fallen sword and started toward the man. Slaying him would
surely be a mercy, though that was not Conan’s motivation.

He raised the sword.

Rey knew he was dying. There was no cure for the Black Rot; it would burn
him to nothingness in a matter of moments. Not even the most powerful healing
spell he knew would delay it for a second.

Through his pain and rage, Rey accepted his end. He would
die,
there was no help for it. But, by Set, he would take all those around him to
Gehanna with him!

Even a dying wizard has power, and wizards do not die easily or fast, even
under decay of Black Rot. He would have time to kill them all and bring the
cave down around their ears!

With his final conscious thoughts, Rey unleashed all the powers at his
command. Not stopped, such energies would consume everything for half a day’s
walk in all directions.

Conan stopped in mid-stride, blade lifted to strike; as if he had hit wall
of packed feathers, or encountered one of the fierce winter winds of his
homeland, a wind a big man could lean into without falling. He could force
himself forward a little but then it pushed back at him, this invisible
barrier. What—?

The wizard began to glow under the black flame. Rays of red and yellow and
blue light shot forth, lighting the dim cave to the brightness of full
daylight, albeit a day like none ever seen by mortal man.

Rocks rumbled and seemed to leap up and fly away from the ground around the
tortured form of the wizard.

A weird humming—like the wings of a million bees—began.

Conan felt a weakness enter him, turning his arms and legs into pigs of
lead. He wanted nothing so much as to lie down, to rest…

A crackling beam shot out from the wizard’s face, or where Conan assumed the
face had been, and the beam lanced into one of the cyclops halfway across the
corridor. The cyclops exploded, bursting into thousands of pieces, shattering
like glass.

Around Conan the air seemed suddenly filled with ice, so cold was it all of
a moment, and yet a second later the air seemed as hot as if it were from an
oven. Then the heat faded… and still Conan could not move.

The Cimmerian realized the great threat. The wizard, whatever his condition,
was still dangerous. He had to strike him down—or they might all die.

Against the force of the invisible barrier, Conan strived to move. An inch,
two,
three
he managed, only to be pushed back past his
starting place. And he felt wearier with each passing second. If he could but
rest, for only a moment, he could finish this…

No! Conan told himself. Any rest now would likely be his last.

The humming increased; the rays grew brighter, turning the wizard into
something that could not be gazed upon without going blind; and the crackling
beams shot forth and blasted at the cyclopes and the worms. One of the beams
barely missed Conan; he felt the heat of its passing. The ceiling rumbled
overhead, as did the walls and the floor.

Conan closed his eyes. Even through their lids he could see the bright glow
that the wizard had become. He pushed again against the unseen barrier,
utilizing his great strength to its utmost. The Cimmerian youth managed to
lower the blade, knowing he could not swing it in a cut. He pushed against the
wall of feathers, leaned into the magic wind, gaining a step, then two, the
muscles of his legs bulging with the effort, the sinews creaking with the
strain.

Rocks fell from the ceiling, but Conan ignored them.
Another
step, a tiny one, like a small child might take.
His boots slid backward
a hair on the stone, but he willed himself forward, pressing down as well as
forward, gripping the ground through the leather of his shod feet as best he
could.

A section of wall collapsed behind Conan, followed by more rock from the
ceiling. He felt the floor shudder and shift under him. Another moment or two
of this and an earthquake would likely bury them all.

But try as he might, Conan could get no closer. The point of his blade was
only a handspan away from the shining wizard, but it might as well have been a
thousand miles.

Then, over the unnatural noises produced by the dying wizard, there came a
single voice, cutting as only it could through the cacophony, the voice of
Lalo, the cursed one:

“I knew he could not do it!
Such a weakling!”

Conan’s rage could no longer be contained. All of Lalo’s previous insults
added to his ire, and this one was the final straw.
Weakling?
Weakling! I will show you who is a weakling!

Burning with the fires of outrage and insult, Conan bunched his powerful
thews in a final, total effort. He lunged, slowly for all his strength, but a
definite surge forward.

The point of Conan’s blued-iron sword touched the rotting form of the wizard
on the chest over his black heart, paused for the briefest of instants, then
plunged through and sliced open the throbbing pump. Blood sprayed forth in a
fountain, covering Conan.

After what seemed like forever, the wizard collapsed.

The lights winked out, the humming stopped cold, the walls and ceiling
stilled.

The silence after Rey’s fall was almost tangible.

Then the quiet was broken. Without a trace of irony in his voice, Lalo said quietly,
“Well, I stand corrected.”

Nobody had anything to say for quite a while after that.

Wikkell and Deek moved to where the remains of the wizard lay on the rock
and stared at the spot. A thin black powder covered the floor there, all that
was left of the once-powerful mage.

Several more of the
cyclopes
and worms moved in to
look upon the dust and ash that had been wizard and witch.

“We have won,” Wikkell said.

“I-i-indeed.”

Some of the
cyclopes
approached Wikkell, and a
contingent of worms moved with them.

What, they asked, do we do now?

As easily as that, Wikkell and Deek found themselves cast in the role of
rulers.

Conan sheathed his sword and went to his friends.

Lalo had arisen and moved to stare into the wizard’s chambers. “The
black smoke is gone,” he said. “And the wizard and the witch are both
dead, thanks to you, Conan. You are most resourceful.”

The Cimmerian shook his head. Could his ears be deceiving him? Had Lalo
offered a compliment without a cutting edge? He waited for the verbal slash,
but none came. And when Lalo turned to look at the others, something even more
amazing occurred:

Lalo had stopped smiling.

Elashi spoke first.
“Lalo!
Your
face!”

Lalo reached up to touch his mouth. The smile returned, but it was different
this time.
“The curse!
It… it is gone!”

Elashi ran to Lalo and embraced him.

Tull and Conan glanced at each other. Tull said, “The wizard’s dying
must have done it.”

Conan nodded. He looked on as Lalo and Elashi hugged, but he felt no sense
of jealousy. They seemed destined for each other, and his path was to have
diverged from that of the desert woman’s soon in any event.

Lalo and Elashi broke their embrace and turned to regard Conan. Each looked
abashed.

Conan grinned. “Nay,” he said. “You two shall have my
blessing.” To himself, Conan thought: although you might come to see this
as a curse someday too, Lalo; her tongue is as sharp as yours was, and without
any spell to drive it.

Wikkell and Deek approached the Cimmerian. The cyclops smiled. “We owe
you much, Conan.” he said. “Without you, we would still be enslaved.
How can we repay you?”

That question needed no contemplation whatsoever. “Show us the way out
of here,” Conan said.

“D-d-done,” the worm said.

So it was that Conan, Tull, Elashi, and Lalo were taken along a twisted corridor
that wound upward. Against the dim green of the glow-fungus, a shaft of almost
solid-looking white light stabbed down at the end of the tunnel: sunshine, from
the world above.

“There,” Wikkell said. “There is the entrance to your
world.”

Conan nodded and extended his right hand. Wikkell understood the gesture,
and his own huge hand enveloped the Cimmerian’s hand in a powerful squeeze. The
two smiled at each other. “Go in peace, Conan.”

“F-f-farewell,” Deek added.

Tull, Elashi, and Lalo had already hurried up the incline and out of the
cave when Conan turned away from the worm and the cyclops and walked toward the
exit. In his belt pouch he still had a handful of valuable gems, which he would
divide equally with the others. Not enough to make any of them rich, but enough
to keep them in food and drink for some time. And they had come through the
duel with witch and wizard exhausted, but alive and unharmed. It could have
been much worse, but never had he been so glad to see the end of an adventure.

Striding boldly, Conan of Cimmeria walked into the sunshine and out of the
dim caves. He blinked against the unaccustomed brightness of the day.

A few spans away his friends awaited him, but for the moment Conan was
content to stand with the warmth of the sun on his face and the cold wind
ruffling his dark hair. Free! At last!

Then he smiled and walked away from the entrance to the vast caves. He did
not look back.