"So do the Ichiribu. I know more of their speech than I have let on, so there've been wagging tongues where I could hear. They're none too happy about where we came from, or the magic in our coming."

"What magic? Neither of us could cast a spell to so much as trim a babe's nails."

"We broke the guardian spells on the entrance to the tunnel under the hearthstone. Then we broke the hearthstone-we, or the spells as they went awry. There's too much power about us for their peace of mind."

"Sea demons drown their peace of mind! We're no danger to them. Unless they turn us into one by trying to kill us-"

She broke off as Conan's grip tightened like iron, and he laid a finger across her full lips. "Don't even think that for long. There's a smell of their having a Spirit-Speaker among them."

"A what?"

Conan explained. Spirit-Speakers were no more to his taste than any other sort of magic-wielder. During his time in the Black Kingdoms, he had learned something of them, as he had learned something of every other kind of man who could be friend or foe. He owed it to this as much as to anything else that he had survived being a ruler in the Black Kingdoms, an occupation that often killed men born and bred in these lands.

"Now," he finished, at last relinquishing his grip on her, "this man's not yet our enemy. He may hope to make us friends, to him, to his tribe, or even to both. The way they talk of him, he seems to be a shrewd old fellow."

"Let him be shrewd enough to learn that we mean him no harm, and I'll praise his wisdom in songs."

"Valeria, I've heard you sing. Do you want us at blood feud with these folk, after all their cattle fall dead?"

Valeria growled. It sounded like a she-badger defending her young.

Conan laughed softly. "If I said you shame the nightingale, you'd call me astray in my wits. But the truth is, our Spirit-Speaker will surely want us to help him or his folk against some foe they call the Kwanyi.

I'd wager these Kwanyi hold the sh.o.r.es of this... Lake of Death, or so it's called."

"Do you know why?"

"No, and I'd be easier in my mind if I did. But if I start asking questions outright, I'll make these folk believe we're spies. If I tell them about where we came from, they'll think we're the ones who overthrew Xuchotl."

"We are, and not ashamed of it! Or are these folk fool enough to think that city of madmen was so great a loss?"

"Who said a word about their missing it? No, they'd no use for it, and shunned it as we might have. But they can't help wondering what magic cast it down. We speak of what we did, and... Do you want to learn what they do to witches in this land?"

Valeria's mouth opened without letting out a sound, but she shook her head. Conan wrapped his arm around her shoulders again. She eased herself back against his chest and closed her eyes.

"Most likely we'll be put to some kind of test. It could be as simple as my bedding you before all the tribe-"

"Another jest like that and you'll be bedding no woman anywhere!"

"-or something like dancing on a drum."

"There's not a drum in the world stout enough to bear you, Conan.

Surely you mean a drum-smashing contest?"

"In these lands, they make their drums large enough and stout enough for me and another to dance upon. Each man tries to make the other fall, and the one who falls dies."

Conan felt Valeria go limp in his arms, and he cursed his wagging tongue for finally scaring her into a faint. Then he heard her breathing steadily, and gently he shifted her to one arm so he could see her face.

Her eyes had drifted shut, and her mouth was slack. A moment later, the Cimmerian heard a soft burble from the full lips. He lifted the sleeping Valeria and laid her on the sleeping mat to the right of the hut's door. Then he lay down on the mat opposite, kicked off his boots, and stretched like a cat.

The Spirit-Speaker would keep his own counsel until a time of his own choosing. Valeria had the right notion about what to do until that time.

EIGHT.

Valeria did not know what a Spirit-Speaker commonly looked like. Nor was this the time and place to ask, even if Conan knew. Not when the Cimmerian was talking with Dobanpu, Spirit-Speaker to the Ichiribu.

Dobanpu was no longer young, but his presence almost made Valeria forget that he dealt in potent magic. Even more, he made her unaware that she was in a cave, when she had thought she would rather be impaled than again plunge beneath the earth!

Flanking Dobanpu were a young woman with the look of blood kin-a daughter, likely enough-and an Ichiribu warrior. Even one unfamiliar with the Black Kingdoms could tell that here was a man of rank.

Iridescent feathers flowed from his spear and headdress, and he wore a necklace' of what seemed to be mother-of-pearl and what were most certainly leopard's teeth.

He was not of the same towering stature as the Cimmerian, but he did not need to be. Indeed, by the way he stood and moved, he made Conan seem almost uncouthly large. He also made Valeria aware, as she had not been before, that the Black Kingdoms produced some very comely folk.

The talk now seemed to be between Conan and the young chief-Seyganko, his name was, and the daughter was named Emwaya. Valeria glimpsed another figure in the shadows of the cave and recognized the girl who had attended them and who had thought Valeria was with child.

Conan had been right about their being spied on. But then, this hardly surprised Valeria. The folk of the Black Kingdoms might live a simple life compared to Aquilonians, but they were hardly simpletons!

She turned her attention back to the two warriors. As much as she could judge, when she understood perhaps one word in ten, a challenge was being offered. It seemed that it was from Conan to Seyganko, but was Seyganko accepting or refusing?

No, he was looking at Dobanpu. The woman Emwaya was trying to catch her father's eye and Seyganko's at once-and Valeria knew that she was betrothed, wed, or at least in love with Seyganko.

Dobanpu was not returning all the looks cast at him. Indeed, he sat as silent as if he had himself become a spirit. Then he said one word, which to Valeria seemed to be a name.

"Aondo."

Seyganko's face held what had to be displeasure. Emwaya, on the other hand, appeared to be struggling to hide her joy. Valeria looked away, to make the woman's task easier. Once in her life had she felt that way toward a man, but he was dead, his bones beneath a distant reef, with the surf and the starfish alone to mourn him.

The parley seemed to be done. Then Conan half turned and whispered to Valeria, "Bow, and stretch out your arms."

Mystified but trusting, Valeria obeyed. She kept her eyes on the cave's floor long enough to count the trails left by snakes. They were the trails of small snakes, such as seers and wise-women in Aquilonia often kept about the house to give auguries and eat insects.

Seeing that bit of home in this distant land made Valeria easier in her mind, for all that she also remembered how long she had been gone from Aquilonia. She had been some years a woman and a wanderer even before she had met the man who now lay beneath the reef-and that was enough years ago that she needed two hands to count them.

Now as she knelt there with her arms stretched out, her sword-toughened muscles began to burn and her hands began to shake. Her knees also reminded her that the sand was harsh and that beneath it was hard, cold stone.

Then she felt a gentle touch at the back of her neck, draping something about her shoulders. She smelled what might have been a mixture of violets and ripe apples, if this land grew either.

"Rise," Conan said.

She rose, stretching as she did so as to ease her cramped muscles. She was proud to see that she did not tremble, let alone stagger. She also felt another kind of pride when she noticed that Seyganko was eyeing her rather as she had eyed him-and then she observed the frown on Emwaya's face as the woman saw where her man's gaze had wandered.

Dobanpu spoke again, this time calling another name-"Mokossa." The girl came from the back of the cave, and Dobanpu pointed at the cave's mouth. The girl ran to it, then seemed to halt and wait.

Conan put a hand at the small of Valeria's back and eased her along.

Outside, they found that it was raining. They stopped under the overhang of the cliff to watch the rain beating the water of the lake into a vast gray expanse of tiny dancing splashes.

Valeria examined the wreath hanging around her neck. The flowers seemed dried and living at the same time, and even had it not come from Dobanpu, she would have smelled magic about it. She started to lift it over her head, but the girl Mokossa frowned and Conan put a hand on his companion's shoulder.

"Easy there, Valeria. It's safe enough, and better for you even if I lose."