The horse tried to rear and kick out at the same time. It failed to do either, and instead lost its balance and toppled. The rider found himself sliding inexorably backward out of his saddle, then suddenly suspended in the air by one stout Cimmerian arm.
The man stared into cold blue eyes from which Death itself seemed to look out. Then the harsh dark face that held those eyes split in gusty laughter. The man fainted with sheer relief and never felt himself strike the ground as Conan dropped him.
Then he was looking over the heads of his new comrades as they shot, pulled, or hacked the remaining mounted bandits out of the saddle, to see Bethina running across the sands. He raised his voice to shout, "Down!" and at the same time raised his sword.
It came down on the arm of a loosefoot archer drawing on Bethina, and arm, bow, and arrow all tumbled to the ground. The archer followed them a moment later, with a split skull.
Then Bethina ran lightly through the melee, dagger drawn but giving little heed to other possible dangers, and threw her arms around a small figure standing by an upthrust rock. Conan heard the figure complain, in the old woman's voice:
"Bethina! Spare my ribs, for the gods' love!"
The tone was that of an old nurse to a beloved child now grown to womanhood. Conan slipped out of the saddle and flexed his shoulders to ease tension.
Whoever the old woman's companions might be, they could hardly be enemies to any friend of Bethina, quite apart from the fight that they had made beside Conan against the loosefeet. There were still mysteries aplenty hovering about this quest, like vultures about a poisoned spring, but the answer to this one at least seemed free of danger.
Thirteen
The summons that had to be from the Lady came to Muhbaras some days later.
The summons itself was no surprise. The chamber to which a Maiden led him was a considerable one.
It was hung with moldering tapestries, and the bare rock floor was piled with rank furs and roughly cured hides. A low table was the only furnishing, bearing cheap brass plates and bowls filled with biscuits and fruit and lightly covered with coarse cloth. A jug of wine shared the table, as well as two cups.
Muhbaras had time to cease to be surprised before the door closed behind him. His next thought was that on this cold floor, bedding the Lady, who was fair but a trifle thin-flanked, might not give her much pleasure. His next thought was that he would give three fingers for a drink, but knew not what might be in the wine.
Instead he sat down, rolled up a fur to pad his back, and leaned back against the wall. Again he chose a position where he could see the whole room—so he leapt nearly to the ceiling when he heard a soft sigh behind him.
The sigh, as of a child exhaling, was followed by a low rumble. By now Muhbaras stood in the center of the room, cursing the floor coverings for tangling his feet when he wanted freedom to move swiftly. He had just started kicking a space clear when a section of wall pivoted on a central shaft, leaving blackness on either side.
Cool air with a faint scent of moss trickled out of the blackness. Then the blackness itself seemed to move, turning blue as it did. A luminous mist filled the gaps on either side of the stone panel, and in one of those gaps a white-limbed form took shape.
With fluid grace, as if she herself were a creation of mist, the Lady stepped forth into the chamber.
"How powerful do you think the old woman is?" Khezal asked.
Conan looked askance at the Turanian captain. "Omyela? And you're asking me about her?"
"You're a longheaded man, Conan my friend. Also longsighted. You may see farther than most into this old witch."
"I've learned only enough about sorcerers and their ilk to be able to defeat or avoid them. If you want real knowledge, send to Aghrapur."
"Aghrapur is a long ways off, my friend. You are here. Also, if half the stories about you are true, you've done more than fight free of the clutches of sorcerers. You've walked away leaving a good many of the breed dead behind you."
"I've done that with many who tried to keep a reluctant guest," Conan said.
"Nonetheless, you've doubtless learned more than you think you know."
"Very well. I trust Bethina, and she speaks well of Omyela. She also seems a shrewd old body to me. Whether she's fit to contend with the Lady of the Mists, I don't know. Nor will anyone else, until we all learn a trifle more about the Lady."
Conan finished his cup in a single swallow and belched in the manner of the desert tribesmen complimenting their host's hospitality. "As to how we shall do that—how goes the questioning of our captives?"
"Well enough, and I thank you for your care in providing us with Khorajan prisoners. Unfortunately one of them died before he talked, and the other told us only a little we did not already know."
"Such as what?"
"That only one Khorajan, a captain named Muhbaras, actually enters the Valley of the Mists. It is his company that escorts the captives to the gate. There are tales that the Lady looks upon him with more favor than she does most men."
"Good luck to Muhbaras, then. That's a fate I'd not wish on a priest of Set. Any more?"
Khezal shrugged. "Muhbaras may have twenty men, he may have a hundred. He may have a wizard of his own, he may only have a royal spy. Tales all, and each contradicting the last one."
"Somehow, I cannot cheer at this. But it's no worse than I expected. But we send scouts up to the mouth of the valley. Even if they don't come back, that itself will teach us more than we know. Also, they could ask the villagers who've been providing the victims what they know. A little promise of protection would loosen tongues, I'm sure."
"I'd favor that, but we can't split the men that way. A large enough scouting party, and we'd be helpless here below if the Girumgi appeared." Khezal shook his head. "No, I hate to appear in leading strings, but I think we need to call for reinforcements. Ten score more Greencloaks or even tribal levies, and we can send up to the valley enough men to do real work. Not just scout but fight."
"We'll have to tie Bethina up to keep her from biting people," Conan said, laughing. "She badly wants this mist menace driven away from her tribe's lands."
"Conan, from the way the young lady's been looking at you, I'm sure you can find a dozen other and more pleasurable ways of making her harmless."
The Cimmerian grinned. He did not tell Khezal that an order to spend time in Bethina's company was exactly what he'd been trying to gain.
There were opportunities beckoning that Khezal's plans might let slip. But to take advantage of them, Conan would need the Ekinari woman's help.
As he had not known when to expect his meeting with the Lady of the Mists, Muhbaras also had not known what she might be wearing. Considering how little she wore on many of the occasions he had met her, he would have been surprised by nothing.
The blue light playing about her concealed all but her face and hair until she was several paces into the room. Then the slab pivoted back, leaving only apparently blank wall behind the Lady.
Muhbaras could now see that she wore a long-sleeved gown that covered her from throat to ankles without concealing the grace and suppleness of the body under it. One could not make out details, but one was left in no doubt about the beauty of the woman standing there.
The Lady raised her hands, and her sleeves fell back to the elbows. She wore thin silver bracelets on either wrist, the one on the right wrist set with emeralds or some other like-colored stone, nearly as fine as sand grains.
Muhbaras could not help catching his breath at the gesture. Those raised hands could be the first step in a spell—