“Bloddolk Forest?” the young Cimmerian repeated.
“Aye. A place of strange fauna and stranger flora. It lies away from the Corinthian road, to the north, along a side path. We must travel that way to reach Sovartus’s domain. Not many men essay to ride that path; of those who do, few return.”
Conan shrugged. The forest was in the future, not something to worry about now. “Best we resume riding,” he said. “If men do follow, we are gained upon as we sit.”
The four mounted their horses and moved off.
Djuvula swayed, sweat drenching her naked form. She moaned once, and clenched more tightly the clothing she held. Conan’s clothing.
Djavul watched with interest, but without any stirring of carnal passion for the unclothed woman. His interest lay in finding the savage who had wounded him.
Djuvula collapsed. After a moment she arose, breathing deeply. She walked to where she had hung her robe, donned the garment, then turned toward her demon half-brother. “He rides the Corinthian road,” she said. “With the girl and the others. They are half a day out.”
Djavul nodded. “Good. I shall go and find them.”
“Carefully, brother. They are no less than they were the last time you confronted them.”
Djavul waved his injured arm. Already at the stump a new growth could be seen, the outline of tiny fingers. “I have learned some caution in dealing with the Fire-child. I shall bide my time until an opportune moment presents itself.”
“See that you do. And remember, I want the barbarian’s living heart-I care not for what shape the rest of him might be in.”
Djavul grinned; slime dripped from his fangs. “You shall have it, sister dear. He will hardly have any use for it after I am done with him.”
Djavul vanished amid his booming- bruise of color.
Three days after the barbarian’s escape from her chamber, Djuvula had a visitor, or, rather, two visitors. One was Lemparius; the other, Loganaro.
The senator shoved the fat man into the room before him. Loganaro’s hands were bound, and his pasty face was stained with sweat and fear.
“A present for you, dear one,” Lemparius said.
Djuvula smiled, showing even white teeth. “Why, Lemparius, how delightful! He’s just what I wanted.”
“Ah, good. I thought it might be so. And there is the matter of something I wanted as well, lady.”
Djuvula’s smiled increased. “I recall. What of your … injuries?”
“The … first is healed. The cut nearly so-I have had it stitched with saber-cat mane hair.”
“Come into my bedchamber, then. Loganaro will wait for us here, won’t you?”
Loganaro was too frightened to speak; he merely nodded dumbly.
Djuvula took Lemparius by the arm and led him into her chamber.
A long time passed, it seemed to Loganaro. Small cries occasionally issued forth from the bedchamber, but Loganaro knew these sounds were not those of pain.
After what seemed like years-hours, certainly-the chamber door opened, and Lemparius stumbled out. He looked as if he had been embattled; his face was flushed, his naked form was covered with sweat, and he moved as might a man twice his age. After a moment Djuvula followed the senator into the antechamber. She, too, was nude.
“Come, Lemparius.” she said, “we have only begun.”
Lemparius shook his head. “Nay, woman. l am finished. I can do no more.”
“What of your enhancement?” Her voice was as sweet as that of a young virgin nun. Loganaro swallowed dryly. He had no desire to be party to this.
“Do not mock me, woman! No man could do better!”
“You deceive yourself. Many have done so,” Djuvula said. Her voice sharpened a little. She had one fist clenched tightly next to her bare leg.
Lemparius growled. The sound startled Loganaro with its animal overtones.
“In fact,” Djuvula continued, “I suspect an average eunuch might do nearly as well.”
The senator snarled. “Witch! You will be sorry!”
Loganaro watched in horror as the man he knew shifted shape, becoming a great tawny cat that lashed its tail rapidly back and forth. The beast faced the woman, roaring.
Loganaro edged toward the exit to the antechamber. His heart pounded as if a maddened drummer worked it.
“So,” Djuvula said, “you would turn the beast loose upon me, would you?”
The panther advanced a step toward her.
Loganaro sidled closer to the portal. They did not seem to notice him. By Mitra, Yama, and Set, if he escaped this, he would reform, he would become a priest, he would never do another dishonest thing as long as he lived!
Djuvula raised her clenched fist in front of her face. “You are a poor loser, Senator. Turn and leave now, and I shall forgive you your ill grace.”
The cat took another step toward the woman and lashed its tail faster. It began to settle into a crouch, preparing to spring.
Loganaro reached the doorway. With his bound hands he caught the latch and lifted it.
Djuvula made a backhand toss at the panther with her fist, opening her fingers as she did so; a fine white powder sprayed from her palm into the face of the animal.
The cat sneezed: once, twice, a third time. It backed away a step and batted at its face with one paw.
“You have just been enspelled, cat-who-was-a-senator,” Djuvula said, laughing. “I suspected you might try such as this. So now, there are three things you can no longer do: You cannot attack me, you cannot change your form back to that which you were, and you cannot enjoy the company of female panthers, should you manage to find any.” The witch laughed again, the sound deep and throaty and totally amused.
The panther snarled and leaped toward the woman, but seemed to meet an invisible wall two paces from her. It rebounded, recoiled, leaped again, and again hit the same wall.
Djuvula put her hands upon her smooth hips and continued to laugh at the panther.
Loganaro waited no longer. He jerked open the door and ran. For one so portly, he moved faster than he would have believed possible. He did not stop running until he had covered half the distance to the west gate. Then he slowed only long enough to catch his breath before he started running again.
“We’ll camp here for the night,” Conan said. Ahead, he could see the edges of the forest Vitarius seemed to dread so. Despite his apparent lack of concern, the Cimmerian himself had no particular desire to camp in there.
The evening gloom was deepening as Conan gathered wood for the fire. He had the feeling he was being watched, no matter that he could see no one regardless of how fast he turned. He had learned to trust his instincts, and so resolved to stay alert.
When he mentioned his feeling to Vitarius, the old man nodded. “Aye,” he said, “I feel the prickle of a stare from hidden eyes as you do. It may be nothing, or some animal, but we are close to the forest and it would be wise to take precautions. I shall mount a small spell, a warning enchantment to surround our camp. If anything larger than a rat tries to approach, we shall know of it.”
Reluctantly, Conan nodded. He could do without any forms of thaumaturgy were it up to him; still, if someone-or something-watched and he could not see it with his own sharp eyes, then it was apt to be more lamialike than natural. One witch was enough; let the magician cast his spell-Conan would sleep lightly with his blade at hand.
Once the fire was blazing he felt better. No animal would venture close to fire, and the darkness was kept at bay by the dancing flames.
After a cold meal of dried pork and legumes, Vitarius crawled into his blankets and quickly fell asleep. Eldia soon followed, wrapped in her robes and covers close to the fire. She looked much younger as the flickering shadows waved over her face.
Kinna came to sit next to Conan. They stared at the fire quietly for a time, neither of them speaking. He felt the heat and presence of the girl next to him in a way different from the fire’s warmth.
Finally, Kinna spoke. “This is all so strange to me. You are a man of the world; you have seen many adventures. I, on the other hand, have spent nearly all my life as a farmer’s daughter, never venturing far from home. Until now.”
Conan looked at the young woman, but said nothing.
“I have never met a man as brave and strong as you, Conan. You risk your life for something that hardly concerns you.”
“Sovartus owes me a horse,” he said. “And he has bedeviled me and caused me to be attacked by witches and werebeasts. A man settles his debts.”
Kinna laid one hand gently on his hard-muscled shoulder.
“The night of the windstorm, at the inn-do you recall how we were going to inspect your window before we were interrupted?”
Conan smiled. “Aye, I recall.”
She stroked his bare back under his cloak. “Perhaps we can inspect it now?”
Conan extended his arm, wrapping Kinna within the folds of his cloak, turning toward her. “Aye,” he said. “I think you’ll find it ready for your inspection.”
Twenty paces from the ring of orange firelight Djavul snarled softly to himself as he watched the barbarian and the woman. The outer edges of the White One’s spell glistened almost invisibly an arm’s length away from the demon. To touch the enchanted air would cause noise and light sufficient to arouse the local dead. Djavul gnashed his daggerlike fangs as he glared at the human couple. “You shall watch me violate her before you die, barbarian human. And you shall beg for the release of death before I am done. Your time is coming.”
The midnight moon shone wanly upon the pair of sleepy guards posted at the sides of the west gate of Mornstadinos., The clear sky threw its starlight upon the scene, joined by the guttering flames of four torches set upon the wall nearby. Sufficient light existed for the two men to see clearly the tawny form of a panther racing up the street toward them. So fast was the animal that the men scarce had time to do more than utter short oaths before the cat shot between them and out through the archway into the darkness.
Later, both men swore they had neither been drinking nor smoking hemp when they saw the panther. Such a beast was a great rarity in these parts, but not altogether unheard of, and none could fault them for having failed to stop it, as unexpected as it was. What both men failed to report was the sight of a long cut along one of the beast’s forelegs, a gash that seemed nearly healed-and bound shut with sutures. Upon sincere reflection, the sentries had decided that particular portion of their tale might be best left unsaid.
In the Corinthian night, under the stars and fading moon, the panther who had once been a man ran, moving in a manner that might be called dogged had he been canine instead of feline. He had a goal, this panther, and he moved through his element, the darkness, with only one thought in his more-than-cat mind: murderous revenge upon Conan of Cimmeria.
Conan awoke to see Vitarius grinning down at him. Or, rather, at them, for Kinna was still wrapped within the folds of the Cimmerian’s cloak, asleep next to him.
“Morning,” the old mage said. “Best we ride early, to clear the forest before nightfall. It is a hard day’s journey under the best of conditions.”
Conan nudged Kinna, who smiled in her sleep. “Later,” she mumbled, “I’m tired.”
Eldia peered from around Vitarius and laughed.
Conan felt a sense of unease, seeing the girl staring at her sleeping sister. Not precisely embarrassment, but something kin to it. “Wake, Kinna,” he said gruffly.
Kinna rubbed at her eyes, smiled at Conan, then saw the magician and her sister watching her. She blinked, and came totally from the land of dreams. “What are you two staring at?” she said. “You’re old enough to have seen men and women asleep together, Vitarius. And as for you, sister, I have no need to explain anything to one raised on a farm, do I?”
“No, Kinna,” Eldia said, giggling. “No need at all.”
“Then be away and allow me to dress!”
Eldia giggled again, but moved off to tend to her horse. Vitarius began packing his blankets.
Conan and Kinna looked at each other briefly, and each smiled.
There was a dankness within the embrace of the forest, a smell of mold and vegetation that seemed to have lain rotting for a thousand years. The fir trees which were the mainstay of the forest were tall and barked with rough brown slabs like roof shingles; thick mats of brown needles graced the bases of these monsters, keeping the underbrush at bay. Bramble thickets filled the sunnier spots, though few areas were directly touched by the sun. Instead of the freshness Conan usually associated with greenery, a heavy atmosphere of rankness lay about them. No birds sang; no insects buzzed; no small animals darted about. Conan could well see why Vitarius disliked the place, and said so.
“Ah, this is only the fringe,” Vitarius said. “Deeper into the wood, things truly seem foul.”
Conan suppressed a shudder. It seemed his life was filled with unnatural things of late. He did not like it.
The only sounds were the horses’ hooves upon the packed dirt road, and those seemed half-swallowed by the thickening vegetation. The light grew dimmer as the trees closed on the road.
Conan thought he saw a flash of red through the trees, as if something darted between them and then behind a massive trunk thirty paces away. He stared intently, but saw nothing else. His imagination? He was tempted to ride into the wood to look, but decided against it. He would rather clear the forest on the other end by nightfall.
They stopped at midday to rest the horses, eat, and stretch their saddle-weary bodies. The still air was dark, the sunlight prevented from reaching the forest floor by the canopy of thick branches. It was an eerie sensation to know the sun shone brightly at its zenith, but even so could scarcely penetrate the heavy foliage.
Conan’s sense of being watched had not abated. “Stay near,” he ordered the others.
“If my memory serves correctly,” Vitarius said, “there is a stream not far ahead. We must ford it, as the water crosses our path. It should be no problem this time of year. Earlier, in the spring, it would be a torrent, impossible to cross.”
Conan did not speak. He had again caught a glimpse of red darting among the trees. Enough of this, he decided. He drew his sword.