8
Dying Embers
The countryside about Tarantia had escaped the fearful ravaging of themore easterly provinces. There were evidences of the march of aconquering army in broken hedges, plundered fields and looted granaries,but torch and steel had not been loosed wholesale.
There was but one grim splotch on the landscape--a charred expanse ofashes and blackened stone, where, Conan knew, had once stood the statelyvilla of one of his staunchest supporters.
The king dared not openly approach the Galannus farm, which lay only afew miles from the city. In the twilight he rode through an extensivewoodland, until he sighted a keeper's lodge through the trees.Dismounting and tying his horse, he approached the thick, arched doorwith the intention of sending the keeper after Servius. He did not knowwhat enemies the manor house might be sheltering. He had seen no troops,but they might be quartered all over the countryside. But as he drewnear, he saw the door open and a compact figure in silk hose and richlyembroidered doublet stride forth and turn up a path that wound awaythrough the woods.
'Servius!'
At the low call the master of the plantation wheeled with a startledexclamation. His hand flew to the short hunting-sword at his hip, and herecoiled from the tall gray steel figure standing in the dusk beforehim.
'Who are you?' he demanded. 'What is your--_Mitra!_'
His breath hissed inward and his ruddy face paled. 'Avaunt!' heejaculated. 'Why have you come back from the gray lands of death toterrify me? I was always your true liegeman in your lifetime----'
'As I still expect you to be,' answered Conan. 'Stop trembling, man; I'mflesh and blood.'
Sweating with uncertainty Servius approached and stared into the face ofthe mail-clad giant, and then, convinced of the reality of what he saw,he dropped to one knee and doffed his plumed cap.
'Your Majesty! Truly, this is a miracle passing belief! The great bellin the citadel has tolled your dirge, days agone. Men said you died atValkia, crushed under a million tons of earth and broken granite.'
'It was another in my harness,' grunted Conan. 'But let us talk later.If there is such a thing as a joint of beef on your board----'
'Forgive me, my lord!' cried Servius, springing to his feet. 'The dustof travel is gray on your mail, and I keep you standing here withoutrest or sup! Mitra! I see well enough now that you are alive, but Iswear, when I turned and saw you standing all gray and dim in thetwilight, the marrow of my knees turned to water. It is an ill thing tomeet a man you thought dead in the woodland at dusk.'
'Bid the keeper see to my steed which is tied behind yonder oak,'requested Conan, and Servius nodded, drawing the king up the path. Thepatrician, recovering from his supernatural fright, had become extremelynervous.
'I will send a servant from the manor,' he said. 'The keeper is in hislodge--but I dare not trust even my servants in these days. It is betterthat only I know of your presence.'
Approaching the great house that glimmered dimly through the trees, heturned aside into a little-used path that ran between close-set oakswhose intertwining branches formed a vault overhead, shutting out thedim light of the gathering dusk. Servius hurried on through the darknesswithout speaking, and with something resembling panic in his manner, andpresently led Conan through a small side-door into a narrow, dimlyilluminated corridor. They traversed this in haste and silence, andServius brought the king into a spacious chamber with a high, oak-beamedceiling and richly paneled walls. Logs flamed in the wide fireplace, forthere was a frosty edge to the air, and a great meat pasty in a stoneplatter stood smoking on a broad mahogany board. Servius locked themassive door and extinguished the candles that stood in a silvercandlestick on the table, leaving the chamber illuminated only by thefire on the hearth.
'Your pardon, your Majesty,' he apologized. 'These are perilous times;spies lurk everywhere. It were better that none be able to peer throughthe windows and recognize you. This pasty, however, is just from theoven, as I intended supping on my return from talk with my keeper. Ifyour Majesty would deign----'
'The light is sufficient,' grunted Conan, seating himself with scantceremony, and drawing his poniard.
He dug ravenously into the luscious dish, and washed it down with greatgulps of wine from grapes grown in Servius' vineyards. He seemedoblivious to any sense of peril, but Servius shifted uneasily on hissettle by the fire, nervously fingering the heavy gold chain about hisneck. He glanced continually at the diamond-panes of the casement,gleaming dimly in the firelight, and cocked his ear toward the door, asif half expecting to hear the pad of furtive feet in the corridorwithout.
Finishing his meal, Conan rose and seated himself on another settlebefore the fire.
'I won't jeopardize you long by my presence, Servius,' he said abruptly.'Dawn will find me far from your plantation.'
'My lord----' Servius lifted his hands in expostulation, but Conan wavedhis protests aside.
'I know your loyalty and your courage. Both are above reproach. But ifValerius has usurped my throne, it would be death for you to shelter me,if you were discovered.'
'I am not strong enough to defy him openly,' admitted Servius. 'Thefifty men-at-arms I could lead to battle would be but a handful ofstraws. You saw the ruins of Emilius Scavonus' plantation?'
Conan nodded, frowning darkly.
'He was the strongest patrician in this province, as you know. Herefused to give his allegiance to Valerius. The Nemedians burned him inthe ruins of his own villa. After that the rest of us saw the futilityof resistance, especially as the people of Tarantia refused to fight. Wesubmitted and Valerius spared our lives, though he levied a tax upon usthat will ruin many. But what could we do? We thought you were dead.Many of the barons had been slain, others taken prisoner. The army wasshattered and scattered. You have no heir to take the crown. There wasno one to lead us----'
'Was there not Count Trocero of Poitain?' demanded Conan harshly.
Servius spread his hands helplessly.
'It is true that his general Prospero was in the field with a smallarmy. Retreating before Amalric, he urged men to rally to his banner.But with your Majesty dead, men remembered old wars and civil brawls,and how Trocero and his Poitanians once rode through these provinceseven as Amalric was riding now, with torch and sword. The barons werejealous of Trocero. Some men--spies of Valerius perhaps--shouted thatthe Count of Poitain intended seizing the crown for himself. Oldsectional hates flared up again. If we had had one man with dynasticblood in his veins we would have crowned and followed him againstNemedia. But we had none.
'The barons who followed you loyally would not follow one of their ownnumber, each holding himself as good as his neighbor, each fearing theambitions of the others. You were the cord that held the fagotstogether. When the cord was cut, the fagots fell apart. If you had hada son, the barons would have rallied loyally to him. But there was nopoint for their patriotism to focus upon.
'The merchants and commoners, dreading anarchy and a return of feudaldays when each baron was his own law, cried out that any king was betterthan none, even Valerius, who was at least of the blood of the olddynasty. There was no one to oppose him when he rode up at the head ofhis steel-clad hosts, with the scarlet dragon of Nemedia floating overhim, and rang his lance against the gates of Tarantia.
'Nay, the people threw open the gates and knelt in the dust before him.They had refused to aid Prospero in holding the city. They said they hadrather be ruled by Valerius than by Trocero. They said--truthfully--thatthe barons would not rally to Trocero, but that many would acceptValerius. They said that by yielding to Valerius they would escape thedevastation of civil war, and the fury of the Nemedians. Prospero rodesouthward with his ten thousand knights, and the horsemen of theNemedians entered the city a few hours later. They did not follow him.They remained to see that Valerius was crowned in Tarantia.'
'Then the old witch's smoke showed the truth,' muttered Conan, feeling aqueer chill along his spine. 'Amalric crowned Valerius?'
'Aye, in the
coronation hall, with the blood of slaughter scarcely driedon his hands.'
'And do the people thrive under his benevolent rule?' asked Conan withangry irony.
'He lives like a foreign prince in the midst of a conquered land,'answered Servius bitterly. 'His court is filled with Nemedians, thepalace troops are of the same breed, and a large garrison of them occupythe citadel. Aye, the hour of the Dragon has come at last.
'Nemedians swagger like lords through the streets. Women are outragedand merchants plundered daily, and Valerius either can, or will, make noattempt to curb them. Nay, he is but their puppet, their figurehead. Menof sense knew he would be, and the people are beginning to find it out.
'Amalric has ridden forth with a strong army to reduce the outlyingprovinces where some of the barons have defied him. But there is nounity among them. Their jealousy of each other is stronger than theirfear of Amalric. He will crush them one by one. Many castles and cities,realizing that, have sent in their submission. Those who resist faremiserably. The Nemedians are glutting their long hatred. And their ranksare swelled by Aquilonians whom fear, gold, or necessity of occupationare forcing into their armies. It is a natural consequence.'
Conan nodded somberly, staring at the red reflections of the firelighton the richly carved oaken panels.
'Aquilonia has a king instead of the anarchy they feared,' said Serviusat last. 'Valerius does not protect his subjects against his allies.Hundreds who could not pay the ransom imposed upon them have been soldto the Kothic slave-traders.'
Conan's head jerked up and a lethal flame lit his blue eyes. He sworegustily, his mighty hands knotting into iron hammers.
'Aye, white men sell white men and white women, as it was in the feudaldays. In the palaces of Shem and of Turan they will live out the livesof slaves. Valerius is king, but the unity for which the people looked,even though of the sword, is not complete.
'Gunderland in the north and Poitain in the south are yet unconquered,and there are unsubdued provinces in the west, where the border baronshave the backing of the Bossonian bowmen. Yet these outlying provincesare no real menace to Valerius. They must remain on the defensive, andwill be lucky if they are able to keep their independence. Here Valeriusand his foreign knights are supreme.'
'Let him make the best of it then,' said Conan grimly. 'His time isshort. The people will rise when they learn that I'm alive. We'll takeTarantia back before Amalric can return with his army. Then we'll sweepthese dogs from the kingdom.'
Servius was silent. The crackle of the fire was loud in the stillness.
'Well,' exclaimed Conan impatiently, 'why do you sit with your headbent, staring at the hearth? Do you doubt what I have said?'
Servius avoided the king's eye.
'What mortal man can do, you will do, your Majesty,' he answered. 'Ihave ridden behind you in battle, and I know that no mortal being canstand before your sword.'
'What, then?'
Servius drew his fur-trimmed jupon closer about him, and shivered inspite of the flame.
'Men say your fall was occasioned by sorcery,' he said presently.
'What then?'
'What mortal can fight against sorcery? Who is this veiled man whocommunes at midnight with Valerius and his allies, as men say, whoappears and disappears so mysteriously? Men say in whispers that he is agreat magician who died thousands of years ago, but has returned fromdeath's gray lands to overthrow the king of Aquilonia and restore thedynasty of which Valerius is heir.'
'What matter?' exclaimed Conan angrily. 'I escaped from thedevil-haunted pits of Belverus, and from diabolism in the mountains. Ifthe people rise----'
Servius shook his head.
'Your staunchest supporters in the eastern and central provinces aredead, fled or imprisoned. Gunderland is far to the north, Poitain farto the south. The Bossonians have retired to their marches far to thewest. It would take weeks to gather and concentrate these forces, andbefore that could be done, each levy would be attacked separately byAmalric and destroyed.'
'But an uprising in the central provinces would tip the scales for us!'exclaimed Conan. 'We could seize Tarantia and hold it against Amalricuntil the Gundermen and Poitanians could get here.'
Servius hesitated, and his voice sank to a whisper.
'Men say you died accursed. Men say this veiled stranger cast a spellupon you to slay you and break your army. The great bell has tolled yourdirge. Men believe you to be dead. And the central provinces would notrise, even if they knew you lived. They would not dare. Sorcery defeatedyou at Valkia. Sorcery brought the news to Tarantia, for that very nightmen were shouting of it in the streets.
'A Nemedian priest loosed black magic again in the streets of Tarantiato slay men who still were loyal to your memory. I myself saw it. Armedmen dropped like flies and died in the streets in a manner no man couldunderstand. And the lean priest laughed and said: 'I am only Altaro,only an acolyte of Orastes, who is but an acolyte of him who wears theveil; not mine is the power; the power but works through me.'
'Well,' said Conan harshly, 'is it not better to die honorably than tolive in infamy? Is death worse than oppression, slavery and ultimatedestruction?'
'When the fear of sorcery is in, reason is out,' replied Servius. 'Thefear of the central provinces is too great to allow them to rise foryou. The outlying provinces would fight for you--but the same sorcerythat smote your army at Valkia would smite you again. The Nemedians holdthe broadest, richest and most thickly populated sections of Aquilonia,and they cannot be defeated by the forces which might still be at yourcommand. You would be sacrificing your loyal subjects uselessly. Insorrow I say it, but it is true: King Conan, you are a king without akingdom.'
Conan stared into the fire without replying. A smoldering log crasheddown among the flames without a bursting shower of sparks. It might havebeen the crashing ruin of his kingdom.
Again Conan felt the presence of a grim reality behind the veil ofmaterial illusion. He sensed again the inexorable drive of a ruthlessfate. A feeling of furious panic tugged at his soul, a sense of beingtrapped, and a red rage that burned to destroy and kill.
'Where are the officials of my court?' he demanded at last.
'Pallantides was sorely wounded at Valkia, was ransomed by his family,and now lies in his castle in Attalus. He will be fortunate if he everrides again. Publius, the chancellor, has fled the kingdom in disguise,no man knows whither. The council has been disbanded. Some wereimprisoned, some banished. Many of your loyal subjects have been put todeath. Tonight, for instance, the Countess Albiona dies under theheadsman's ax.'
Conan started and stared at Servius with such anger smoldering in hisblue eyes that the patrician shrank back.
'Why?'
'Because she would not become the mistress of Valerius. Her lands areforfeit, her henchmen sold into slavery, and at midnight, in the IronTower, her head must fall. Be advised, my king--to me you will ever bemy king--and flee before you are discovered. In these days none is safe.Spies and informers creep among us, betraying the slightest deed or wordof discontent as treason and rebellion. If you make yourself known toyour subjects it will only end in your capture and death.
'My horses and all the men that I can trust are at your disposal. Beforedawn we can be far from Tarantia, and well on our way toward the border.If I cannot aid you to recover your kingdom, I can at least follow youinto exile.'
Conan shook his head. Servius glanced uneasily at him as he sat staringinto the fire, his chin propped on his mighty fist. The firelightgleamed redly on his steel mail, on his baleful eyes. They burned in thefirelight like the eyes of a wolf. Servius was again aware, as in thepast, and now more strongly than ever, of something alien about theking. That great frame under the mail mesh was too hard and supple for acivilized man; the elemental fire of the primitive burned in thosesmoldering eyes. Now the barbaric suggestion about the king was morepronounced, as if in his extremity the outward aspects of civilizationwere stripped away, to reveal the primordial core. Conan wa
s revertingto his pristine type. He did not act as a civilized man would act underthe same conditions, nor did his thoughts run in the same channels. Hewas unpredictable. It was only a stride from the king of Aquilonia tothe skin-clad slayer of the Cimmerian hills.
'I'll ride to Poitain, if it may be,' Conan said at last. 'But I'll ridealone. And I have one last duty to perform as king of Aquilonia.'
'What do you mean, your Majesty?' asked Servius, shaken by apremonition.
'I'm going into Tarantia after Albiona tonight,' answered the king.'I've failed all my other loyal subjects, it seems--if they take herhead, they can have mine too.'
'This is madness!' cried Servius, staggering up and clutching histhroat, as if he already felt the noose closing about it.
'There are secrets to the Tower which few know,' said Conan. 'Anyway,I'd be a dog to leave Albiona to die because of her loyalty to me. I maybe a king without a kingdom, but I'm not a man without honor.'
'It will ruin us all!' whispered Servius.
'It will ruin no one but me if I fail. You've risked enough. I ridealone tonight. This is all I want you to do: procure me a patch for myeye, a staff for my hand, and garments such as travelers wear.'