In Mornstadinos, in her bedchamber, Djuvula the Witch bolted upright from a dreamless sleep, her eyes wide. She screamed, but it was a wasted effort. Her brother was no more.

Chapter Sixteen.

By the light of the rekindled fire Conan sat with Vitarius, Kinna, and the returned Eldia. The girl had been moved only a short way from the place where she had lain-still within the warding spell set by the old magician.

"He must have been very close to us when I cast the enchantment,"

Vitarius said. "The magic has not been disturbed. "

More than Conan could say for himself. "What happened to him?" He glanced toward the damp spot that had been Djavul.

"Because I am of the White, the demon knew I could not use his name against him. But flesh of his flesh was, as it turned out, a more potent weapon."

Kinna said, "How did you know what it would do?"

Vitarius shook his head. "I did not know. The White Square does not teach such things. But I had heard rumors; one learns something of the opposition if one lives long enough. I came across an old parchment some years ago, a page from some larger work that had been mostly burned by some wise soul. On this page it was written that flesh taken from a demon will rejoin its owner, can it be brought into contact with him again. Had Conan fitted the dead hand back to its wrist, I suspect the demon would once again have become whole. Apparently, however, the flesh of demons is not very discriminating-the hand adhered to the first portion of the devil it touched."

Kinna shuddered. "You mean the hand took root in the fiend's very face?"

"So it would seem. And since the eyes were a most unnatural place for it to be, the old hand killed him."

"A fitting death," Conan said. "I shall sleep better, knowing I am no longer dogged by h.e.l.lsp.a.w.n."

Near the edge of the Corinthian road, Loganaro the free agent slept fitfully. Coldness wrapped him, chilling him to his depths despite his overlay of fat. He had no blanket; neither had he supplies, having left Mornstadinos in a great hurry. He had managed to gnaw the bonds from his wrists, but other than the clothing he wore, he carried nothing.

Something unseen woke the fat man. He listened carefully as he peered into the darkness, but the only sound was of some distant night bird calling to its mate. Night sounds, nothing more. This far from Mornstadinos, he should have nothing to worry about. He was safe.

He relaxed somewhat. Nothing to fear. True, he was used to better accommodations when he traveled, but this setback was merely temporary at worst. He had contacts in many of the Corinthian city-states, even in several of the small kingdoms to the south. In no time at all he would be able to connive someone into furnishing him with a mount and supplies. After that he could quickly reach one of his caches of wealth, of which there were a fair number, in various places.

Mornstadinos might be the Jewel of Corinthia, but it was not the only city. He might travel to Nemedia, or Ophir, perhaps even Koth. He was well-connected in all of those places.

Of his hasty promise to become honest and even priestlike, Loganaro thought not at all, save to smile at such foolishness. One called upon the G.o.ds only in moments of great need. Should the G.o.ds answer that need, why, that was their concern, not his. He had made bargains such as that a dozen times, and each had been broken quickly thereafter. The G.o.ds were either forgiving, or disinterested in oath-breakers, in Loganaro's experience. A man did what he had to at the time. After that, well, things changed as often as the wind. What mattered was that he was alive and free to return to his less-than-honest-and-honorable ways. To h.e.l.l with the G.o.ds.

The small grin on Loganaro's face faded slowly as he slipped back into sleep, lulled by the distant birdcalls.

Upon the starlit road a tawny shape ran. Dawn neared, presaged by its false brother, so darkness lay thickly over the western road from Mornstadinos. Only the breathing of the panther could be heard, and that breathing was tired.

Too, the panther was hungry. He had been running since he'd left the city, stopping only to rest for short periods, and to take a rabbit once, and later, a small ground monk. Hardly enough fare for a wildcat, much less such a large panther as was this one. Revenge fueled him, but revenge was not such a nourishing dish as warm flesh and hot blood.

As if some benevolent G.o.d had heard his wish, the panther suddenly caught the scent of living meat. There, just ahead, leaning against that tree. The cat slowed, and began his stalk, dropping his belly closer to the ground, moving more purposefully.

The meat slept. Good. That would make things easier. He could go for the throat and suffocate the prey. If the man tried to resist, the panther could rake open his victim's belly with his hind claws, and disembowel him.

The cat moved with all the stealth he had, silently as a ghost, but something startled the meat. Some inner sense, perhaps, warned him of his impending doom. His eyes snapped open and he tried to scramble to his feet. He yelled. "No! Not you! G.o.ds, forgive me, I will keep my vow, I will keep it, I swear!"

The cat who had been a man grinned, revealing his long fangs. Well, well. How appropriate this was! That his dinner should be this fat-and treacherous fool. Most appropriate, he thought as he gathered himself to spring.

In the night the bird that had called to its mate suddenly went silent.

Once again quiet ruled.

Quiet, save for the sound of a great hungry cat rending its prey.

With the trees of the Bloddolk Forest behind him, Conan felt much better. Here lay a vast plain, dotted here and there by b.u.t.tes and rocky ridges, but mostly flat and bare. This was more to his liking; a man could see danger for a long way, could prepare himself to meet it properly. Nothing would skulk to within a few paces under the cover of G.o.d-cursed trees and underbrush.

Ahead of him Vitarius and Eldia rode side by side, talking quietly.

Just behind them Kinna's horse walked. Occasionally, the young woman would look over her shoulder and smile at Conan. He minded this not at all, for she was a woman of beauty and no small l.u.s.ty temperament. The tension that had ridden Conan since his first encounter with the witch no longer troubled him in any way. He grinned, and hurried his horse a bit so that he rode closer to the others.

"Ho, Vitarius," Conan said, "perhaps a stop for breakfast might be in order. Now that we are shut of that cursed wood."

"We should consider ourselves covered with good fortune," Vitarius said. "That we survived our pa.s.sage unscathed."

"Good fortune? That we were nearly spitted by a perverse plant and gobbled up by a giant red demon?"

"Our trip was mild compared to some. At least we survived to tell the tale."

Conan nodded. The old mage had a point.

The four reined their mounts to a stop and unpacked dried meats and leathery strips of fruit, upon which they broke their fast. Between bites Conan mentioned to Vitarius how much he preferred this kind of terrain to that which they had just left.

Vitarius nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a brownish glob of some water-leached fruit. "Aye, under most circ.u.mstances I would agree. But this is Dodligia Plain, and not as safe as it appears at the moment. A half-day's ride will bring us within sight of Castle Slott-it is another full day from there. And on the plains surrounding such a wicked place, there will be obstacles. I suspect the only reason we have not encountered wardens such as those you met upon entering Corinthia is because we travel toward Sovartus. He would hardly expect the flies to proceed directly to his web."

The old man took another bite of fruit. "But rest a.s.sured, Sovartus is not one to leave his castle unguarded even if he does not expect us in particular. He has created a few enemies for himself: more than one man would see Sovartus swinging upon the gibbet. And the line to spit on his corpse would stretch to the horizon."

"I would lead such a line," Eldia said, looking grim for one so young.

"Aye," Conan said, "and I would be near the front so as to collect my horse before all the spoils were gone!" He laughed.

Vitarius frowned. "Better you should save your jests until after we accomplish our mission. Sovartus does not amuse easily, from my recollections, and once we sight the castle, we must a.s.sume the very ground to have ears."

Conan turned his head away from Vitarius and cupped his hands around his mouth. "See that you have my horse ready for my arrival!" he yelled. He turned back toward the trio watching him and smiled, his eyes full of blue fire.

No one smiled back at him.

As the sun pa.s.sed midway over the land on its journey to night, the four came within sight of a far peak. An odd mountain, Conan thought, for it stood alone like a cone upon a table, without foothills or b.u.t.tes near it. And the peak of the mountain was even more oddly shaped, jutting out so that it was somewhat wider above a pinched neck, like some distorted hourgla.s.s.

"Castle Slott," Vitarius said.

Conan blinked in disbelief. "That mountain?"

"Much of it. The rock is shot through with caves, most of which interconnect. That flare you see at the top is not natural; it was made by men and by magic. From here it appears small; closer you can see that the tip of Castle Slott is ten times as large as the largest palace in Mornstadinos. And the top levels are linked to the tunnels below. Properly provisioned, a man could wander for years within the castle-mountain and never retrace his steps.

"From here on," Vitarius continued, "we must be on our guard."

Conan stared at the castle. His earlier enthusiasm quickly waned as he contemplated the awesome construction.

Djuvula supervised the loading of her Prince of the Lance onto her wagon. The wagon was constructed of a st.u.r.dy wooden frame, with a square tent of heavy canvas stretched over hoops of steamed and bent ironwood.