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Authors: Robert Jordan
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the wind. “Conan! You are supposed to go the way I show you. You are supposed to!”
With a sigh the big Cimmerian stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Jehnna, this is no game played in the gardens of your aunt’s palace. I do what I must, not what anyone thinks I am supposed to do.”
“I think it’s very much like a game,” Jehnna said sulkily. “Like a giant maze, only now you refuse to play.”
“In this maze,” Conan told her, “death may lie around any turning.”
“Of course not!” The slender girl’s face was a portrait of shock. “My aunt has raised me for this. It is my destiny. She would not have sent me if I might be harmed.”
Conan stared. “Of course not,” he said slowly. “Jehnna, I will take you to the key, and the treasure, and back to Shadizar, and I promise I will allow no harm to come to you. But you must come with me, now, for we may well need the abilities of the man I seek.”
Hesitantly, Jehnna nodded. “Very well. I will come with you.”
Once more Conan started south, and Malak and Jehnna rode close behind. Scarred face as dark as a thunderhead, Bombatta followed at a distance.
There were no shadows in the chamber of mirrors within the crystal palace. The vermilion blaze was gone, and the Heart of Ahriman gave off only its normal sanguine glow.
Amon-Rama staggered slightly as he walked away from the crystalline plinth that supported the gem. His narrow face seemed narrower still, and pale beneath its swarthiness. There was effort involved in working sorceries at a distance. He needed rest and sustenance before he could try again.
For the moment, however, he thought less of food or sleep than of the failure of his enchantment. He had been unable to see what occurred on the plain; the Heart could not be used to scry and as a nexus of power at one and the same time. He rejected out of hand the possibility that the girl had had anything to do with it. She was the One, true, but no wielder of thaumaturgies. Her life had but one purpose, and sorcery was forbidden to her by the very nature of what was required of her.
That left only the men with her. They were not mages either. He would have detected vibrations of their power when first he viewed them in the Heart, had that been so. Any talisman capable of shielding them from the energies he had unleashed would have showed as clearly as a wizard. That left only a single answer, however impossible it seemed. One of them—one of the two warriors, surely—possessed a force of will so strong as to pass belief.
The Stygian necromancer’s smile was cruel. An adamantine will. Beyond acquisition of the girl, there might be sport to be had from such a one.
But first, food and wine and sleep. Wearily Amon-Rama left the chamber of mirrors. On its thin, transparent column the Heart of Ahriman smouldered malevolently.
vii
T he sanguinary sun sat on the mountain tops, a burning ball that baked the four riders even as daylight dwindled. Bombatta had cursed steadily since they turned south, but he did it under his breath, and Conan did not try to hear what was said. Had he heard, he might have had to take action, and he had decided that Jehnna should not have to see the other man slain, pleasant though the idea might seem were she not there.
“Over this next hill, Conan,” Malak said suddenly. “Selket stab me if Akiro’s camp does not lie there. If I was not lied to in Shadizar.”
“Three times have you said that,” Jehnna said irritably.
The wiry man shrugged and grinned. “Even I make mistakes now and again, my lady. But this time, I assure you, I am right.”
Stones turned beneath the hooves of Conan’s mount as it made its way up the slope. The Cimmerian was beginning to wonder if Malak even had an idea in which country Akiro was to be found. Then he topped the hill, and growled, “Hannuman’s Stones!”
“Watch your tongue before Jehnna!” Bombatta snarled, but as he reached Conan’s side he
With a sigh the big Cimmerian stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Jehnna, this is no game played in the gardens of your aunt’s palace. I do what I must, not what anyone thinks I am supposed to do.”
“I think it’s very much like a game,” Jehnna said sulkily. “Like a giant maze, only now you refuse to play.”
“In this maze,” Conan told her, “death may lie around any turning.”
“Of course not!” The slender girl’s face was a portrait of shock. “My aunt has raised me for this. It is my destiny. She would not have sent me if I might be harmed.”
Conan stared. “Of course not,” he said slowly. “Jehnna, I will take you to the key, and the treasure, and back to Shadizar, and I promise I will allow no harm to come to you. But you must come with me, now, for we may well need the abilities of the man I seek.”
Hesitantly, Jehnna nodded. “Very well. I will come with you.”
Once more Conan started south, and Malak and Jehnna rode close behind. Scarred face as dark as a thunderhead, Bombatta followed at a distance.
There were no shadows in the chamber of mirrors within the crystal palace. The vermilion blaze was gone, and the Heart of Ahriman gave off only its normal sanguine glow.
Amon-Rama staggered slightly as he walked away from the crystalline plinth that supported the gem. His narrow face seemed narrower still, and pale beneath its swarthiness. There was effort involved in working sorceries at a distance. He needed rest and sustenance before he could try again.
For the moment, however, he thought less of food or sleep than of the failure of his enchantment. He had been unable to see what occurred on the plain; the Heart could not be used to scry and as a nexus of power at one and the same time. He rejected out of hand the possibility that the girl had had anything to do with it. She was the One, true, but no wielder of thaumaturgies. Her life had but one purpose, and sorcery was forbidden to her by the very nature of what was required of her.
That left only the men with her. They were not mages either. He would have detected vibrations of their power when first he viewed them in the Heart, had that been so. Any talisman capable of shielding them from the energies he had unleashed would have showed as clearly as a wizard. That left only a single answer, however impossible it seemed. One of them—one of the two warriors, surely—possessed a force of will so strong as to pass belief.
The Stygian necromancer’s smile was cruel. An adamantine will. Beyond acquisition of the girl, there might be sport to be had from such a one.
But first, food and wine and sleep. Wearily Amon-Rama left the chamber of mirrors. On its thin, transparent column the Heart of Ahriman smouldered malevolently.
vii
T he sanguinary sun sat on the mountain tops, a burning ball that baked the four riders even as daylight dwindled. Bombatta had cursed steadily since they turned south, but he did it under his breath, and Conan did not try to hear what was said. Had he heard, he might have had to take action, and he had decided that Jehnna should not have to see the other man slain, pleasant though the idea might seem were she not there.
“Over this next hill, Conan,” Malak said suddenly. “Selket stab me if Akiro’s camp does not lie there. If I was not lied to in Shadizar.”
“Three times have you said that,” Jehnna said irritably.
The wiry man shrugged and grinned. “Even I make mistakes now and again, my lady. But this time, I assure you, I am right.”
Stones turned beneath the hooves of Conan’s mount as it made its way up the slope. The Cimmerian was beginning to wonder if Malak even had an idea in which country Akiro was to be found. Then he topped the hill, and growled, “Hannuman’s Stones!”
“Watch your tongue before Jehnna!” Bombatta snarled, but as he reached Conan’s side he
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