Authors: Poul Anderson
Conan the Rebel (26 page)
'I will miss you more than I know how to tell,' Conan said awkwardly. 'Your well-being will always be among my dearest wishes.'
'And yours among mine.' She came to take both his hands in hers. The gaze that she laid upon him was steady, and her lips smiled. The evening before, they had talked together in private; today she must be the daughter of Ausar.
'If only we could live out our lives together,' she went on. 'It cannot be, I know. You have your sworn mate. I – I will marry some man who is strong and good, and rejoice in the children I bear him. He will be honoured to name our first son Conan. And our first daughter -' She could not quite hold back tears. 'May we call her Bêlit?'
They embraced.
Further speech was but scant, before Conan and Falco boarded. Silent, their craft slipped out onto the river, soon to be hidden from shore by the mists.
The sea sparkled sapphire under a fresh breeze, but Tigress moved from the white cliffs of Akhbet isle under oars. That was for manoeuvrability. Her captain wanted a close look at the boat that had come over her horizon.
Strange indeed were yonder metallic hull and reptilian figurehead. The spritsail was obviously jury-rigged; but if the vessel had not been intended to carry a mast, where was any provision for rowing? Despite a fifty-foot length, the crew seemed to amount to a pair of men. They showed no alarm as the galley bore down on them. Rather, the big one, astern at an equally improvised rudder, steered as best he was able to meet her.
Big man, black-maned, fair skin bronzed, leonine stance – It was as if the heart in Bêlit would burst out through her ribs. 'Conan!' she shouted. 'Conan, Conan! O Ishtar, there is my love come back!'
She caught herself and ordered her cheering corsairs to withdraw port side oars for the boat to lay alongside. The Cimmerian tossed up a painter, jumped, grabbed the rail, and hauled himself onto the deck. Bêlit entered his arms like a hurricane.
After a long while, they could let go, regard each other in ecstasy, and even look around the ship. Her glance fell on the youth who had followed Conan aboard. She stiffened. A moment passed before she could bring herself to say, 'Then Jehanan is not with you.'
'No,' replied the Cimmerian, softer-toned than was usual for him. 'He is... wherever those go who die valiantly.'
Bêlit closed her eyes, opened them again, and said, 'You can tell me of him? Let that be enough.' She paused. 'That you have returned alive is not enough, it is abundance overflowing.'
'The tale is cruel. Best let it wait until we feel quieter,' Conan advised. 'Meanwhile I wish you to meet my gallant comrade, Falco of Kirjahan in Ophir.'
Bêlit gave the youngster her hand. 'Be very welcome,' she said. 'If I am in your debt for bringing my lord back to me, then I am in your debt for all that is mine.'
Falco blushed. 'You told me she is beautiful, but not how
beautiful,' he blurted to Conan. 'You forgot to add she is gracious. May my fortune in love be half as great as yours.'
The Cimmerian smiled. This was a healthy lad, who had soon cast off his grief over the witch.
The smile faded. Bêlit had sorrow ahead of her.
A full moon turned argent the waters and the isle where Tigress lay at anchor. Alone on her foredeck, above a ship wherein everybody else slumbered after a riotous celebration, Conan and Bêlit stood side by side.
She had finished weeping. Now she gripped the rail, stared out across the sea, and said in a voice that was like steel being drawn from scabbard: 'Rest well, my brother. You shall be avenged. The halls of Derketa shall be thronged in your honour'
'Has not the loss of a province, an army, a king, and their two foremost sorcerers appeased Jehanan's spirit?' wondered Conan.
Bêlit nodded. 'Surely. His was ever a gentle soul. But mine is otherwise, and I burn unslaked.'
The barbarian sighed. 'I thought you would feel thus. Well, as long as the gods will have it, let us prey on their shipping and harry their coasts so that the Stygian princes will remember us with a memory that is red.' He paused. 'Yet this may be too slow for you at first. Would you not rather hazard a blow of such force that your woe is eased thereby and you can again fare happily?'
'Yes, oh, yes!' she whispered. Her vision turned to search him.
'Here is my idea,' he began. 'The Stygians ended their blockade as soon as they learned we had escaped upstream, of course. Falco and I passed Khemi in darkness. He had told me the harbour patrol does not usually bother vessels outbound, but I still reckoned it best that nobody see what sort of carrier ours was. Nevertheless we could observe that the fleet lay at its docks. Those ships did not seem to have much of a watch aboard them. The crews were mostly in barracks ashore, I suppose, or in their home villages on leave. Besides, confusion must still prevail after what happened at Rasht; and Stygia never was a really naval-minded country. Yet that fleet would be vital in case of war. Its loss would absolutely kill any plans that may linger for adventures abroad – such as an invasion of Ophir.'
Bêlit seized his arms. Her nails drew blood that neither of them noticed. 'By the gods of death! Our single galley – is it possible?'
'I have a scheme. It's simple and straightforward, but I am not a cunning person. Let us talk about it tomorrow, when you are calmer.' Despite the hurt he saw in his darling, a bit of Conan's rough humour broke free. 'We can begin the task then, too, by scuttling the wing-boat. A pity, in a way; but she is no more use to us and we certainly do not want to risk her falling back into the wrong hands. Would you like to do it yourself?'
The Stygians always maintained a picket boat on Khemi Bay. This was a light craft, but extremely fast under oars or lateen sail. Aside from the weapons of her crewmen, she was unarmed, and they did not encumber themselves with mail. Their duty was not to hold off pirates or invaders. Who would dare assault the black city? In case of real trouble, a trumpet blast would summon warships; it had never happened. The picket controlled water traffic, making sure no smugglers landed here, or anyone who lacked official permission.
A while after a certain sundown, the boat on station moved to intercept a stranger bound in from the west. That was a double-ended launch such as was commonly carried on the larger ocean-going ships or towed by the lesser. A stiff breeze filled a square sail and drove the hull smartly in between the headlands, against current and unfavourable tide; the moon would not rise for hours.
'Ahoy!' shouted the Stygian trumpeter. 'Stand to for inspection!'
'Yes, sir,' responded a deep voice in the same language, with an accent. The yard lowered and the boat lost way.
Nearing, the police saw by starlight that about half a dozen men occupied the thwarts. They were Negroes, except for a large fellow at the helm. Albeit muffled in spray-drenched kaftan and burnoose, he appeared to be of white race. 'Please, sirs,' he called, 'we are poor sailors whose ship struck a reef. None but us few got to the lifeboat in time, as fast as she sank. In the name of mercy, give us water, take us ashore, and feed us!'
'You realize you must be detained, pending investigation,' the captain said through his megaphone. 'Where are you from?'
'An Argossean merchantman, whose cheap-jack owners hired what crew they could get. These are Kushites. I am from Vanaheim myself.'
The captain had heard only vague rumours of that boreal country, but he knew barbarians sometimes wandered afar in search of adventure or fortune, and he bore the contempt of a civilized person for such tramps. This one had clearly been humbled by his experience, and his companions croaked pitifully for drink. 'In oars,' the officer directed. 'Lay to and make fast.' When this had been done: 'Come over here, the lot of you, and let me have a look at you.'
'Yes, sir, yes, sir.' The big man staggered across joined bulwarks and along the catwalk between rowers' benches to a lantern on the foredeck where the captain and trumpeter waited. His mates trailed him. 'Please, water!'
'In due course, after you have answered my questions,' the Stygian commander said. This might be a chance to learn a little about what was going on abroad. In these chaotic days, when King Ctesphon was still groping, lords of state might pay well for information. Be that as it may, the captain would enjoy watching these monkeys grovel.
'Thank you – thank you, sir,' the big man blubbered as he approached. 'May the gods reward you as you deserve.'
A sword flashed from beneath his garment. The trumpeter fell, skull cloven. That was the last thing the captain ever saw. The black men drew weapons of their own. From under canvas, in the bottom of the lifeboat, swarmed more.
The struggle was not loud, nor was it long. The pirates had every advantage of surprise, skill, and wrathfulness. 'Good,' said Conan. 'Dump the corpses, let us care for any wounded among us, and then you start back, N'Gora.'
Bêlit's first officer, who knew some Stygian, gave orders. The launch raised sail and tacked seaward. Whoever happened to be watching would suppose she had been denied admittance. Bearing a minimal crew, Conan their skipper, the picket boat cruised the bay as always.
Presently a swart galley with a feline figurehead hove in view.
The sentinel craft met her and the two lay side by side for a while. No doubt her presence attracted the attention of shore patrols and men guarding the naval ships. It would be natural that the police took time to make sure of her bonafides. They must have been satisfied at last, for their vessel accompanied the newcomer, both rowing straight toward the royal docks. Did she perhaps bear a foreign diplomat, come to implore the goodwill of mighty Stygia, or did she – a shudder – bring home an agent of wizard-priests?
Aboard Tigress again, Bêlit at his side again, Conan looked ahead from the prow. Starlight sheened on darkling waters, ample for eyes from Cimmerian forest, Kushite jungle, or the high seas. To port, beyond the bay, the Styx pierced nighted fields at the end of its long journey past the land where Daris dwelt... and dreamed? Forward, the city where he had been captive bulked monstrous, altogether black, save where furtive windows glimmered. Nearby, bone-hued under the mass of the Grand Pyramid, were the quarries where Jehanan had been a slave until his sister's man won him his freedom that he himself made eternal. Conan had an eerie premonition that all this was but the beginning of a long war he must wage against ancient horror, the first of whose names was tyranny.
He forced his attention to what loomed before him. The Stygian galleys were berthed bows to a stone wharf which extended piers between the slips. Their masts stood sharp against star-clouds, but their hulls lay shadowed, a lantern or two gleaming lonely upon each. The barracks beyond must hold many sailors, but these would not rouse to action as fast as a barbarian could.
'We are ready,' he said, and strung his longbow.
Down the raised deck, men uncovered firepots. Coals within glowed, a row of small infernos. The picket boat came back alongside, her skeleton crew abandoned her for Tigress, she drifted off. Oars clunked softly, metal clanked, whispers hissed.
Under the foredeck, Falco ignited a cloth-wrapped, oil-soaked arrow. The flame light brought his young face vivid out of the dark as he handed it up. 'Here, Conan,' he said. 'Yours is the first shot.'
'No,' he answered, 'it is Bêlit's.'
The queen of the Black Coast took the shaft and nocked it to her own bowstring. She drew, she aimed, she let fly a meteor. Thereafter Conan did, and Falco, and a suddenly savagely yelling pirate crew.
Sun-dried, pitchy wood kindled easily. Where an arrow struck, a tiny blaze stood forth, hell-blue, cackled like anew-hatched eaglet, reached out a claw, fed, grew, and spread wings. Upward then it soared, from stern to stem, and the radiance of it made bright that water the Styx poured into the sea, and the crying of it was akin to that of a bird of prey as it swoops upon a snake. From end to end of the royal docks Tigress went, while fire streaked from her to scourge the foes of Bêlit. Sparks swarmed on the wind, reached where her lash could not, and sowed more flame.
Stygians hastened frantic to stem the conflagration, but already it was too vast. They could do no better than to save what merchant and fisher craft were in harbour None dared venture forth against the galley that prowled on the red edge of sight.
Mission completed, Tigress stood out to sea. Aft, Khemi Bay resembled a storm-tossed lake of blood. Once on the waves, she brought oars in, hoisted sail, and beat northward.
Conan came down the ladder to Falco. 'Well, lad,' the Cimmerian said gruffly, 'next we take you to Dan-marcah, and let you off with enough gold in your purse for an easy trip home.'
Adoration looked back at him. 'After – after I have told my tale and it has reached the palace,' Falco stammered, 'never shall you lack for a friend among the kings of Ophir.'
'Thanks,' replied Conan. 'That may be useful someday -as may my friendships in Taia should I ever want to cross the Stygian realm by myself. Who knows what years unborn may bring? Death on a heath or life on a throne or anything in between; no matter now.' He shrugged. 'All I have done while you knew me has just been in the service of my lady.'
Above them on the foredeck, vengeful and joyful, Bêlit was laughing.
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