Conan the Fearless Part 5

The girl's mouth opened into an O as Conan spoke, her face filled with shock and puzzlement.

The murmur of voices began to rise to fill the inn.

"-you see that strike? Such power!"

"-split him like a chicken-foreigner from some backwoods-"

A thin man with a jagged scar that lifted both his lip and left nostril came closer, warily watching the Cimmerian's unsheathed blade. He wore a splattered ap.r.o.n that might have once been white, but now displayed the remains of too many spilled wine cups and meals to be more than a splotched gray. Likely the owner of the inn, Conan judged.

The innkeeper glanced down at the dead man. His perpetual sneer seemed to increase a bit. "So, Arsheva of Khemi has finally picked the wrong victim." The man looked up at Conan. "Few men deserve such an exit from this life so much as he; he shall not be missed, and no mistake about that." Pulling a rag from the pocket of his ap.r.o.n, he tendered it to Conan. "Here. wipe your blade, sir, lest Arsheva's gore chew upon the steel with teeth of rust."

Conan took the greasy rag and methodically cleaned his sword.

"Still," the man said, "the Senate's Deputation will no doubt eventually arrive for an investigation of Arsheva's pa.s.sing. I trust you had sufficient reason to dispatch him to the next world?"

Conan slid his sword into its leathern home. "Aye," he began, "my reasons were just. This offal-intended to attack myself and my a.s.sistant," the old white-haired man said. "This man is our bodyguard; he was merely performing his job in protecting us."

Conan stared at him. What was he about? He started to speak, but the old man interrupted again. "We shall finish our breakfast whilst awaiting the deputies. If you would bring my friend here a tray to replace the meal he lost, along with a bottle of your better wine, I should be most grateful." Here the old man raised a wrinkled and age-twisted hand bearing a small coin of silver. "And the balance of this for your trouble in this matter."

Scar-face took the coin, and nodded. "Aye. Obviously, a gentleman of means such as yourself will have no difficulties convincing the Senate's Deputation of your position in this matter." He drew back a chair at the old man's table for Conan. "I'll tend to your meal, sir."

Seated with the old man and girl, Conan waited for answers to his unasked questions. Earlier, he had held his tongue, reasoning that the old man had some purpose in coming to his aid. Perhaps it was merely to thank him for splitting the blackguard who would have attacked the girl. While unintentional, Conan had served them, certainly. But the barbarian now suspected there was more to be said than words of thanks.

The old man waited until the inn's patrons focused their attention elsewhere before he spoke. "I am Vitarius and this"-he waved his arm in its voluminous sleeve toward the girl-"this is Eldia, my a.s.sistant. I am a conjurer of small talent, an entertainer of sorts. We wish to thank you for taking our part in this matter."

Conan nodded, waiting.

"I sensed you were about to speak of your true reason for slaying our would-be a.s.sa.s.sin-he who slew your loaf of bread-which is why I injected my remarks."

Conan nodded again. The old man was not without sharpness of sight and wit.

"The deputies who will come to speak with us are corrupt for the most part. A few pieces of silver will expedite the resolution in our favor without a doubt; still, carving a man for knocking a loaf of bread to the floor is hardly considered just punishment in the minds of the Mornstadinosian Senate. Protecting a patron from attack by a cutthroat thief is sufficient reason to draw steel, however."

The young giant nodded. "I am Conan of Cimmeria. I have done you a favor and you have thus returned it; let us then consider the scales balanced."

"So be it," Vitarius said. "After breakfast, at least."

"Aye, that I will allow."

A serving girl arrived with a tray of hard rolls, fruit, and a greasy cut of pork, along with another cup of wine of a vintage better than the first drink Conan had partaken of. He ate with gusto, and washed the food down with gulps of the red liquid.

Vitarius watched Conan intently. When the Cimmerian was done with his meal, the conjurer spoke. "We are quits on debts; still, I have a proposition in which you might find some merit. Eldia and I demonstrate our simple illusions at street fairs and market gatherings, and we could use a man such as yourself."

Conan shook his head. "I truckle not with magic."

"Magic? Surely you do not think my illusions are magic? Nay, I work with the simplest of the arts, no more. Would I be in such a place as this were I a real magician?"

Conan considered that. The old man had a point.

"Still, of what use could I be to a conjurer?"

Vitarius glanced at Eldia, then looked back at Conan.

"That blade of yours, for one. Your strength, for another. Eldia and I are hardly capable of protecting ourselves from such as the one you slew. She is adept with her own sword for demonstrating speed and skill, but hardly a match for a full-grown man in a duel. My illusions might scare the superst.i.tious, but in the end can hardly sway a determined a.s.sa.s.sin, as you have just seen."

Conan chewed on his lower lip. "I am bound for Nemedia."

"Surely such a considerable journey would be easier were you mounted and well-appointed with supplies?"

"What makes you think I lack such things?"

Vitarius peered around the inn, then back at Conan. "Would a man of property be spending his time in such a place?"

That reasoning was sound, but Conan followed the line a step further.

"Then, good conjure artist, why are you in such a place?"

Vitarius laughed, and slapped his thigh. "Ah, forgive me for underestimating you, Conan of Cimmeria. That a man is a barbarian does not mean he lacks wits. As it happens, we are conserving our money for supplies; we, too, intend to leave this fair city, to travel westward.

Our path will veer southward, toward Argos. We wish to-ah-travel in some style, in an armed caravan, and thus avoid possible encounters with the bandits along the Ophir road."

"Ah." Conan studied Vitarius and Eldia. He was a thief, to be sure, but he had nothing against honest work for a brief enough time. Besides, he was in no great hurry to reach Nemedia. In any event, the journey would be a great deal easier astride a good horse than on foot.

"A silver coin a day," Vitarius said. "We shall be ready to leave within the month, I should think, and surely such a short diversion would not inconvenience you greatly?"

Conan considered the sorry state of his money pouch. A good horse and supplies could be had for twenty or thirty pieces of silver, certainly.

And such work, guarding a conjurer and his a.s.sistant from sneak thieves for a moon or two, could not be too taxing.

Conan smiled at Vitarius. "Master of glowing spiders, you have engaged a bodyguard."

From under the cowled robe of a priest, Loganaro watched the Cimmerian talking to the old man and the girl. Djuvula's agent smiled to himself.

The barbarian's speedy and fearless a.s.sault upon the would-be a.s.sa.s.sin was impressive. Such convinced him he had discovered the man he sought to complete the witch's spell. Here was a brave man, to be sure.

Visions of gold danced in Loganaro's thoughts as he leaned back against the wall of the inn and sipped his wine. Before long, the heart of that giant barbarian with the fire-blue eyes would animate the witch's simulacrum for her carnal pleasures.

Chapter Four.

The young Cimmerian and the conjurer's a.s.sistant followed Vitarius through a throng of brightly clad people come to celebrate the arrival-of-age party of a local winemaker's daughter. As the conjurer wended his way through the crowd, Conan decided there was more to the man than he pretended. He had seen too many older men make fools of younger ones to feel that an aged man was helpless; what a man lacked in muscle he could sometimes make up for in wisdom.

"We shall try to find a spot near the winemaker's stall," Eldia told Conan. "There the richer friends of the winemaker's daughter will gather, and there our performance will be better rewarded. "

Conan said nothing. He saw a stalwart lad minding the reins of three horses, one of which resembled greatly the animal he had lost to the water-dwelling creatures only a few days past. The flame of fury in his eyes burned brighter at the sight.

Vitarius chose that moment to turn and observe Conan. "You seem troubled, Conan," the conjurer said.

"Nay, Vitarius, only by a foul memory. I once had a horse, the twin of one of those we just pa.s.sed. He was taken from me."

"I find such a thing difficult to understand. I would not like to be the man foolish enough to try to relieve you of any of your possessions, much less a horse of good breeding."