The Heroic Legends Series - Conan: The Child by Anderson Brian D

Author:Anderson, Brian D.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags:  
Publisher: Titan Books

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Throughout the morning Conan’s irritation with his companions mounted as they stumbled and fell repeatedly, slowing their progress, and giving away their location by spitting out loud curses at every pricked finger and bruised elbow.

Around midday the fog lifted and the ground transitioned from relatively firm soil to a thick mire of mud, decaying leaves, and tangled roots, and the trees were laden heavy with thick vines, some impossible to penetrate, forcing them to find a way around. Shallow pools of fetid water hidden beneath a layer of moss and leaf litter were set like snares, trapping any stray boot unlucky enough to find it. Three times they were forced to halt in order to extricate one of the guards from a misstep into the mud-soddened earth.

Twice Conan spotted a panther lurking in the trees, staring hungrily down at the party through yellow golden eyes, waiting patiently for someone to foolishly fall behind and become separated from the rest, to be served up as an easy meal. In the far distance the whoop and howl of apes filtered through the growth. Whether they were of a dangerous variety, he had no idea, but it was better assumed they were.

By nightfall, the complaining had become as persistent as the buzzing of the swarms that delighted in the blood banquet the interlopers were providing. Tutmar was the only exception, voicing his displeasure with a few low rumbling grunts and a deep frown.

Conan estimated that they likely would overtake their quarry the next day—and not a moment too soon. Were he forced to endure the company of these men much longer, he would be explaining their absence to Akken. It would be easy enough to claim that they had been slain by sorcery, or had been ravaged by wild apes. He grinned at the thought as he settled in between the roots of a cypress, his back slipping nicely into a depression in the trunk.

The guards’ futile attempt at starting a fire further elevated his mood. Soon the myriad reptiles and rodents that called the marsh home would venture in, drawn by the heat of their bodies and the scent of blood seeping from the countless bug bites. While a fire might have kept some of them at bay, anything larger and truly dangerous would not be deterred in the slightest.

Hunkering beneath his blanket, Conan tried to clear his mind and ignore the squeals and pitiful cries of the guards whenever a lizard crawled on their arms or a rat nibbled at their toes.

Tutmar’s insistence that Yulivaria was not a sorcerer loitered at the fore of his thoughts. As did the man’s inexplicable anger. He had to remind himself that he was, after all, in Stygia. Wealth and power were inexorably intertwined with the Temple of Set. If Akken’s wife was nobility, she was assuredly in some way connected to it. The priesthood was infested by practitioners of the dark arts. It seemed to him entirely likely that not only was Yulivaria a sorcerer, but she was working on behalf of her mistress.

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