19-Conan the Warlord by Leonard Carpenter

Author:Leonard Carpenter [Carpenter, Leonard]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction, General, Epic, Historical, Coan (Fictitious character)
ISBN: 9780812542684
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 1988-03-01T06:00:00+00:00

Once again the noise and bustle of entertainment filled the Manse. Down its stone hallways wafted the smells of cooked food and the tinny, martial-sounding echoes of trumpet music. Again Conan sat excluded from the feast, brooding in young Lord Favian's beshadowed room. He waited with his chair drawn half behind a window curtain, gazing out across the dusty sill. He watched pale ghosts of the festivities in the courtyard below, shadows thrown onto the inside of the outer, wall by the torchlight and candlelight issuing from the Manse's open doors.

The flitting shapes portrayed the indecisive state of his thoughts, dulled by frequent sipping from a wineflask beside his chair. He pondered many things: the loves and the enemies he had found in recent weeks, the splendor and ambition that lurked in the Manse, the wrath and shame of the evils he had witnessed here and elsewhere. Dissolved by wine, the turbid confusion of his brain had finally begun to drain down to hard particulars: how much longer to remain here, how much wealth to take when he left, how many lives to leave intact. ...

His musings were interrupted by a noise in the corridor outside. He placed his hand on his saber-hilt. The weapon was already clear of its sheath, propped against his chair arm. Yet the fumbling at the latch was unguarded, and Conan watched the faint outline of the doorway with no particular dread. If his heart quickened at all, it was only in hope of a repetition of the last tender meeting that had occurred in this chamber.

But when the door swung wide and the fumbler strode in, the candle that wavered in the intruder's hand showed that it was Favian, unhelmeted and clad in his second-best armor. He reacted in a slow, tipsy way to the sight of the outlander sprawled on his bed-furniture, then waved an arm toward the open door behind him.

"Begone, savage! This room's rightful owner has arrived, and he shall scarcely be needing your services tonight. Back to your stinking cellar!"

Hardly warmed by this speech, Conan did not move to obey. "I was told to wait out the night here. With the Manse full of revelers, your father and his spy-chief think the danger too great for you. Better that you crawl off to some other bed."

Instead of taking offense, Favian showed astonishment. "My father told you . . . ? Why, the old demon! He would never stoop so low!" With an air of distracted rage, the lordling took two steps toward Conan and stood lowering at him. "Cimmerian, you may have stolen my place and my name-my chariot, my clothes and my honor as well! But my manhood you shall not have!" He set down his candle and stood unsteadily, waving his fist in the air like a knight's flourished mace. "The oaths are cast, the decree is made, and the bride is commanded here to my pleasure. 'Tis my natural right and privilege-well-nigh the last one remaining to me.

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