The Complete Chronicles of Conan by Robert E. Howard

Author:Robert E. Howard [E. HOWARD, ROBERT]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Fantasy Fiction
ISBN: 9781473215337
Publisher: Orion Publishing Group
Published: 2015-08-27T04:00:00+00:00

7 The Devil in the Fire

When Conan turned from the Velitrium road he expected a run of some nine miles and set himself to the task. But he had not gone four when he heard the sounds of a party of men ahead of him. From the noise they were making in their progress he knew they were not Picts. He hailed them.

‘Who’s there?’ challenged a harsh voice. ‘Stand where you are until we know you, or you’ll get an arrow through you.’

‘You couldn’t hit an elephant in this darkness,’ answered Conan impatiently. ‘Come on, fool; it’s I – Conan. The Picts are over the river.’

‘We suspected as much,’ answered the leader of the men, as they strode forward – tall, rangy men, stern-faced, with bows in their hands. ‘One of our party wounded an antelope and tracked it nearly to Black River. He heard them yelling down the river and ran back to our camp. We left the salt and the wagons, turned the oxen loose and came as swiftly as we could. If the Picts are besieging the fort, war-parties will be ranging up the road toward our cabins.’

‘Your families are safe,’ grunted Conan. ‘My companion went ahead to take them to Velitrium. If we go back to the main road we may run into the whole horde. We’ll strike southeast, through the timber. Go ahead. I’ll scout behind.’

A few moments later the whole band was hurrying southeastward. Conan followed more slowly, keeping just within ear-shot. He cursed the noise they were making; that many Picts or Cimmerians would have moved through the woods with no more noise than the wind makes as it blows through the black branches.

He had just crossed a small glade when he wheeled answering the conviction of his primitive instincts that he was being followed. Standing motionless among the bushes he heard the sounds of the retreating settlers fade away. Then a voice called faintly back along the way he had come: ‘Conan! Conan! Wait for me, Conan!’

‘Balthus!’ he swore bewilderedly. Cautiously he called: ‘Here I am.’

‘Wait for me, Conan!’ the voice came more distinctly.

Conan moved out of the shadows, scowling. ‘What the devil are you doing here? – Crom!’

He half crouched, the flesh prickling along his spine. It was not Balthus who was emerging from the other side of the glade. A weird glow burned through the trees. It moved toward him, shimmering weirdly – a green witch-fire that moved with purpose and intent.

It halted some feet away and Conan glared at it, trying to distinguish its fire-misted outlines. The quivering flame had a solid core; the flame was but a green garment that masked some animate and evil entity; but the Cimmerian was unable to make out its shape or likeness. Then, shockingly, a voice spoke to him from amidst the fiery column.

‘Why do you stand like a sheep waiting for the butcher, Conan?’

The voice was human but carried strange vibrations that were not human.

‘Sheep?’ Conan’s wrath got the best of his momentary awe.

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