Conan the Liberator by L. Sprague de Camp & Lin Carter

Author:L. Sprague de Camp & Lin Carter
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

VIII

Swords Across the Alimane

I''or several months, the friends of Count Trocero had done their work, and well. In marketplace and roadside inn, in village and hamlet, in town and city, the whisper winged across the province of Poitain: 'The Liberator comes!'

Such was the title given to Conan by Count Trocero's I artisans, men who remembered trembling tales of the giant Cimmerian from years gone by. They had heard how he thrust and cut amidst the silvery flood of Thunder River to break the will of the savage Picts, lest they swarm in I heir thousands across the border to loot and slay and ravish the Bossonian Marches. Poitanians who knew these stories now looked to the indomitable figure of Conan to wrest them from the clutches of their bloody tyrant.

For weeks, archers and yeomen and men-at-arms had altered southward, ever southward, towards the Alimane. In the villages, men muttered over mugs of ale, their shaggy heads 'bent close together, of the invasion to come.

Now, at last, the Liberator neared. The moment loomed to free Poitain and, in good time, all of Aquilonia, prostrate now beneath the heavy heel of mad Numedides. The word so eagerly awaited had arrived in an oiled-silk envelope, stamped with the seal of their beloved count. And they were ready.

Chilled by the raw and foggy night, the sentinel, a youth from Gunderland, sneezed as he stamped his booted feet and slapped his shoulders. Sentry-go was a tedious tour of duty in the best of times, but on a damp night during a cold

snap, it could be cursed uncomfortable.

If only he had not foolishly let himself be caught blowing kisses in the ear of the captain's mistress, thought the Gunderman gloomily, he might even now be carousing in the cheerful warmth of the sergeants' mess with his luckier comrades. What need, after all, to guard the main gate to the barracks of Culario on such a night as this? Did the commandant think an army was stealing upon the base from Koth, or Nemedia, or even far Vanaheim?

Wistfully he told himself, had he enjoyed the fortune of a landed sire and birth into the gentry, he would now be an I officer, swanking in satin and gilded steel at the officers' ball. So deep was he in dreams that he failed to remark a slight scuff of feet behind him on the cobblestones. He was aware of nothing untoward until a leathern thong settled about his plump throat, drew quickly tight, and strangled him.

The officers' ball throbbed with merriment. Chandeliers blazed with the light of a thousand candles, which sparkled and shimmered hi the silvered pier glasses. Splendid in parade uniforms, junior officers vied for the favours of the local belles, who fluttered prettily, giggling at the honeyed whispers of their partners, while their mothers watched benignly from rows of gilded chairs along the plastered walls.

The party was past its peak. The royal governor, Sir Conradin, had made his requisite appearance to open the festivities and long since had departed in his carriage.

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