Thulandra Thuu evaded her question. "I did but remind you which of us is master here and which apprentice.”
Alcina was content to change the subject. Pointing to the crumpled parchment, she asked: “How came Fadius by Prince Cassio’s information?”
“Milo of Argos declared a public celebration, and the reason was no secret. It is plain which side the old fool favors. And one item more: Milo ordered that clodpate Quesado banished from his kingdom, and our would-be diplomat was last seen traveling with an escort of Milo’s household guard along the road to Aquilonia. I shall urge Vibius Latro to set the fellow working as a collector of offal; he is good for nothing else.
“And now, perhaps, our meddlesome mad king will leave affairs of state to me and confine himself to his besotted pleasures. I must ponder my next move in this board game with Fate, wherein a kingdom is the prize. And so, Alcina, you have my leave to go. Hsiao will provide you with food, drink, a much-needed bath, and woman's raiment.”
The league-long glittering river that was the Army of Liberation wound around tree-crowned hills, past fields and steads, and up to the gates of Culario. Conan, in the lead, reined in his black stallion at the sight of the gaping opening. From the gate towers flapped flags bearing the crimson leopards of Poitain; but the black heraldic eagle of Aquilonia was nowhere to be seen. Inside the city walls people lined both sides of the narrow street. In Conan’s agile mind stirred the barbarian’s suspicion of the trickery of civilized men.
Turning to Trocero, who rode a white gelding at his side, Conan muttered: “You re certain it’s not a royalist trap they’ve set for us?”
“My head on it!” replied the count fervently. “I know my people well.”
Conan studied the scene before him and rasped: '‘Methinks I’d best not look too much the conqueror. Wait a little.”
He unbuckled the chin strap of his helmet, pulled off the headpiece, and hung it on the pommel of his saddle. Then he dismounted with a clank of armor and strode toward the gate on foot, leading his horse.
Thus entered unpretentiously into Culario, nodding gravely to the citizens ranked on either side. Petals of fragrant flowers showered upon him; cheers resounded down the winding corridor. Following him on horseback, Prospero pulled to Trocero and whispered in his comrade’s ear: “Were we not fools the other night to wonder who should succeed Numedides?”
Count Trocero replied with a wry smile and a shrug of his iron-clad shoulders as he raised a hand in salutation to his fond and loyal subjects.
In his sanctum, Thulandra Thuu bent over a map, unrolled upon a taboret with weights of precious metals holding its edges down. He addressed himself to Alcina, now well-rested from her journey and resplendent in a flowing robe of yellow satin, which cling to her fine-molded body and glorified her raven hair.
“One of Latro’s spies reports that Conan and his army are in Culario, resting from their battle and forced march. In time they will strike north, following the Khorotas to Tarantia.” He pointed with a long, well-pared fingernail “The place to stop them is at the Imirian Escarpment in Poitain, which lies athwart their path. The only force that has both weight and time enough to accomplish such a task is Prince Numitor’s Royal Frontiersmen, based at Fort Thandara in the Westermarck of Bossonia.”
Alcina peered at the map and said: “Then should you not order Prince Numitor to march southeast with all dispatch, taking all but a small garrison?"
The wizard chuckled drily. “We shall make a general of you yet, good wench. The rider bearing that message in his pouch set off ere dawn.” Thulandra Thuu then measured off distances with his fingers, rotating his hand as if it were a draftsman’s compass. “But, as you see, if Conan marches within the next two days, Numitor can in no way reach the escarpment in advance of him. We must cause him to delay.”
'Yes, Master, but how?'
"I am not unacquainted with weather magic and can control the spirits of the air. I shall contrive a scheme to hold the Cimmerian in Culario. Fetch hither yonder powders and potions, girl, and we shall test the power of my wizardry.”
Conan stood on the city wall beside the newly elected mayor of Culario. The day had been fair when they began their promenade; but now they gazed at an indigo sky across which clouds of leaden gray rolled in endless procession.
“I like it not, sir,” said the mayor. "The summer has been wet, and this looks like the start of another spell. Too much rain can be as bad for the crops as none at all. And here it comes!” he finished, wiping a large drop from his forehead.
As the two men descended the spiral stair that wound around the tower, an agitated Prospero confronted them. ”General!” he cried. “You slipped away from your bodyguard again!”
“By Crom, I like to get off by myself sometimes!" growled Conan. "I need no nursemaid looking after me."
"It is the price of power, General,” said Prospero. “More than our leader, you've become our symbol and our inspiration. We must guard you as we would our banner or another sacred relic; for if the enemy could strike you down, his fight were three-fourths won. I assure you, spies of Vibius Latro lurk in Culario, watching for a chance to slip a poison into your wine or a poniard between your ribs.”
“Those vermin!” snorted Conan.
"Aye, but you can die from such a creature's sting as readily as any common man. Thus, General, we have no choice but to cosset you as carefully as a newborn prince. These trifling inconveniences you must learn to endure.”
Conan heaved a gusty sigh. "There's much to be said for the life of a footloose wanderer, such as once I was. Let’s back to the governors palace ere this cloudburst wash us all away."
Conan and Prosper© strode swiftly over the cobblestones, the stout mayor panting to keep pace. Overhead, a meandering crack of violet light cleft the sky, and thunder crashed like the roll of a thousand drums. The rain came down in sheets.
THE IRON STALLION
While Poitain writhed beneath the lash of the most violent storm in the memory of living men, a benign sun smiled on fair Tarantia. Standing in its salubrious rays on a palace balcony, Thulandra Thuu, attended by Alcina and Hsiao, looked out across the gently rolling fields of central Aquilonia, where summer wheat was ripening into spears of gold. To the dancer, now young and beautiful once more, with jewels atwinkle in her night-black hair and a gown of clinging satin sheathing her shapely form, the wizard said:
“The wheel of heaven reveals to me that the spirits of the air have served me well. My storm progresses apace; and after it subsides, the southern roads and every ford will be impassable. Numitor hastens from the Westermarck, and I must forth to join him.”
Alcina stared. "You mean to travel to the field of battle. Master? Ishtar! That’s not your wont. May I ask why?”
"Numitor will be outnimibered by the rebel forces; and despite forced marches, Ulric of Raman cannot reach Poitain until at least a fortnight after the prince arrives. Moreover, Prince Numitor is but an honest blockhead—doubtless the reason why our knavish king has let his cousin live when he has slain or exiled all his other kin. Nay, I cannot trust the prince to hold the Imirian Escarpment until Count Ulric arrives. He will require the assistance of my arcane arts.”
The sorcerer turned to his servant, the inscrutable slit-eyed one who had followed him from lands beyond the seas. "Hsiao, prepare my chariot and gather the necessaries for our journey. We shall depart upon the morrow.”
Bowing, the man withdrew. Turning to Alcina, Thulandra Thuu continued “Since the spirits of the air have well obeyed me, I shall discover what the spirits of the earth will do to aid my cause. And you, good wench, I leave here as my deputy."