The Heroic Legends Series - Conan: The Shadow of Vengeance by Oden Scott

Author:Oden, Scott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan
Published: 2024-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

It was the clank of chains that drew Conan from the dark borders of oblivion; his brain registered the rasp of iron followed by the wheezing of damp lungs. But he did not wake as a civilized man might, groggy and unaware of his surroundings. No, when the Cimmerian came awake, it was abrupt and total. He knew by the creak of timbers, by the reek of bilgewater and by his body’s gentle rise and fall that he was in the belly of a ship, likely riding its anchor in the sheltered cove of Djerda. And he knew he was not alone.

Conan opened his eyes to dawn’s gray light filtering through the wooden lattice covering the ship’s hatch. Blood matted his hair, and his skull ached. Heavy pin-latched manacles encircled his wrists. Pitted iron chains connected these to staples driven deep into the vessel’s ribs. From the dampness and the stench, the Cimmerian reckoned he was down by the strakes under the forecastle of a dromon, one of the two- masted galleys the Brotherhood favored. That meant the rowers’ deck was above him.

Again came the rattle of chains. Conan turned toward the sound and saw a figure squatting in the bilgewater, ragged and unkempt. There was something familiar about him; his pale hair hung in a disheveled veil about his face, and week-old blood crusted the left sleeve of his filthy shirt. He glanced up.

Recognition flared; Conan surged to his feet, his muscles rippling as he threw his weight against the chains. Wood creaked and tendons cracked; a name the Cimmerian spoke, the sound of it like the snarl of a trapped beast: “Dragutin!”

And it was Dragutin who crouched there, or his doppelganger, chained, like Conan, to the ribs of the ship. Though where the Cimmerian’s gaze reflected murderous rage, Dragutin’s gleamed with madness. Conan would have torn Dragutin limb from limb if he could only reach him. But the chains held and Conan sank back down.

“Mitra blast your black heart, you whoreson dog! Did your lads turn on you, or is this some trick of yours?”

“Trick? Nay, Cimmerian,” Dragutin replied, raw-voiced. “Trick’s on both of us, and that bastard’s the trickster. Crept over the rail, he did, two nights after we dropped anchor in Djerda Cove. Crept over and slunk through my lads as they slept. Filthy sorcerer! I woke to eyes that glowed with an eerie light, and his breath stripped me of my will.” Still crouched, Dragutin crab-shuffled as close to Conan as his chains would allow. “He stole it, Cimmerian! The bastard stole it, by Derketo’s bowels and bladder! Stole my skin and wears it now like an old khalat! The lads got no idea! Ha! No idea they’re keeping me under their thumb. Out of sight. Out of mind.”

“What the devil are you yammering on about?” Conan snarled. “Just a few hours gone you were panting after my scalp!”

“Wasn’t me.” Dragutin licked his cracked lips. “It was him, I tell you! Mimicry and mummery, Cimmerian…

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