232.

233."Very well, indeed," said Totila. He smiled be-nignly at his mage. "I was quite close to killing you not long ago, so much had you failed me. But now it looks as if all is working out for the best."

"The best is all I wish for my king," lilma insisted. He had lost much of his arrogance in recent days, and now he wondered if his craft was under the influence of some baleful star. But how could his latest working fail? He could see no way at all.

Without preamble Totila picked up a torch and thrust it into the larger of the pyres. "Thus I give final rest to the spirit of my brother king, Odoac of the Thungians."

He walked to the lesser pyre and there was grumbling from the Thungians. A funeral oration for a king was supposed to last for hours. This was not proper, but they were about to be shocked still further.

"The Cambres come!" shouted someone.

They all whirled to face the garth. In open-mouthed stupefaction, they saw that the whole host of the Cambres were crossing the plain. In the forefront they could see Alcuina.

"Sacrilege!" said Totila with more wonder than an-ger in his voice. "Surely even the most desperate of men would not violate a funeral!"

"They bear their spears point-down," said the elder of the Thungians. "And they bring Alcuina with them. Perhaps they wish to pay their final respects."

A broad smile divided Totila's beard. "No. They have come to surrender. Why else would Alcuina come herself? Well, we must prepare to receive her prop-erly." He strode toward the arriving party with lilma close at his side. "Greeting, Alcuina," he called when they were a few paces apart. "It is good to see that you have come to your senses and decided to end this without further bloodshed."

"What do you mean,, Totila?" Alcuina asked. "I have come to attend your double funeral. Royalty should not fail to attend such ceremonies."

"Especially since one of the pyres is mine!" called a voice.

Speechless, Totila watched as the crowd parted, and four thralls emerged, carrying a litter. Upon the litter lay Leovigild, pale, bandaged, but unmistakable. The Thungians goggled in disbelief, then cheered and began to surge toward the youth. He pointed a finger at lilma.

"That wizard made the phantom that bore my appear-ance! The phantom slew Odoac, not I!"

Without hesitation, Totila whirled, drawing his sword. Before lilma could so much as blink, the king's blade sheared through his shoulder and did not stop until it reached his waist. Totila placed a foot against the dying carca.s.s and pushed it free of his sword. He turned back to face Alcuina.

"Thus do I punish such wickedness! I a.s.sure you, lady, that I had no knowledge of this thing. I thought that I had avenged the death of Odoac." He gestured at the body of the wizard. "Now I have."

Alcuina's lips curved slightly. "You are truly a man of quick decision, but it will not save you this time. Men will not follow cunning and treachery for long."

As if in confirmation of this, the Thungians were drawing away from the Tormanna and ranging them-selves beside the Cambres.

Totila dropped his mask of amiability, and snarled. "They'll follow a real king if there are no others alive!" He advanced upon Alcuina and Leovigild, but now the 234.

235.black-haired champion stood before him with s.h.i.+eld and drawn sword.

"It is time that you and I got acquainted," said Conan.

"Aye," said Totila. "For too long has my cloak been dest.i.tute of a black scalp. If you can make me tarry with you a while, you may earn a place on my cloak."

He took the famous garment off and tossed it to a retainer. Another man brought his s.h.i.+eld. The people backed away to give them room, and there was a collective sigh of antic.i.p.ation. This would be a rare spectacle.

King and champion circled, crouched well behind their s.h.i.+elds. Totila attacked first, springing in to swing a swift horizontal chop at Conan's head. Instead of blocking with his s.h.i.+eld, the Cimmerian ducked, cut-ting at Totila's waist. But the blow was deliberately short and pa.s.sed in front of Totila's s.h.i.+eld. Quick as thought, Conan reversed the blow and cut a backhand blow at Totila's uns.h.i.+elded side. Instead of bringing his s.h.i.+eld across his body, Totila reversed his own blow, bringing his blade downward and across to block Conan's sword with his flat, a finger's width from his waist.

A huge cheer went up at the brief exchange, in praise of the men's masterful swordsmans.h.i.+p and the incredi-ble strength of arm and wrist needed to reverse two such heavy swords in midswing. Other men would have sprung apart for the next attack, but these two kept up a dazzling exchange of blows, cutting at leg, flank, shoul-der, and head with bewildering rapidity. Time and again, blade rang on cuira.s.s, helm, and s.h.i.+eld. So cunning were the fighters that the blows never landed squarely, but always glanced from the armor with little harm done.

It seemed impossible that mortal men could sustain such a pace in their combat, but these two showed no signs of tiring. Their s.h.i.+elds were hacked and their armor gouged and dented, but as the sun shone higher in the sky they continued to attack one another with the relentless fury of male beasts fighting over their har-ems. Neither would abate his attack until the other lay stretched stark upon the ground.

In the end they proved to be mortal after all. Closely matched as they were, they had to tire. Attacks grew less precise, defense lost its swiftness, timing became fractionally less perfect. Sweat poured from both men, and their breathing grew as labored as a smith's bel-lows. Both bled freely from small wounds on arm and leg.

For the first time, they drew apart. To the watchers it looked as if the two were resting for another prolonged bout. The two combatants knew better. They were equally tired, and the s.h.i.+eld arm wears out more quickly than the sword arm. Another blow, perhaps two or even three, and the battle would be decided.

"Thank you for a magnificent fight, Cimmerian," said Totila. "However it falls out, it will be one to remember."

"I salute you, Totila," Conan gasped. "You should have stayed a warrior and not sought to be a king."

"The road of kings is one a man must tread when he knows that greatness is writ upon his brow. Now, let's finish this."

Totila raised his s.h.i.+eld once more. Only his eyes showed above its rim. With a shout, he advanced. Silently, Conan did the same. Conan began a charge, 236.

237.but blood trickling from a thigh wound made the sole of his boot slick; he slid on the gra.s.s, barely stopping himself from falling. Totila exploited the instant's im-balance, swinging a terrific overhand slash. In doing so, he lowered his s.h.i.+eld a few inches, and that was all the advantage Conan needed.

For the first time, Conan used the point. Recovering from the feigned stumble, he darted his arm out to full extension and threw the whole weight of his body behind his blade. The point entered Totila's screaming mouth, crunched through teeth, palate, and skull, and emerged two handsbreadths beyond the splendid helm. Conan wrenched the blade free, and for a moment the huge body stood upon its feet. Then Totila toppled stiffly as a falling tree.

Conan turned to the Tormanna. "Who follows his king into the dark?"

The Tormanna warriors, so confident an hour before, were utterly demoralized. They found themselves with-out a king, outnumbered in an alien land. Finally the elder who had spoken the night before strode up to Alcuina.

"Lady, our king was of no line and left no heir. If Cambres and Thungians are to unite, then the Tormanna will become your men, too, if we all be treated as equals."

Alcuina glanced at Leovigild, and he nodded slightly. She turned back to the elder. "So be it." The pledging of fealty was a simple matter in the North. She turned to Totila's corpse. "Throw this carrion on the pyre with the false Leovigild. Totila was no real royalty."

"No!" bellowed Conan. "Build him a pyre higher than Odoac's! This was a true king. If I have to, I'll build him one myself, by Crom!"

Alcuina regarded him for a moment, then said, "Do as my champion says. Burn him with sword and helm, and with his cloak."

Dawaz the merchant looked up from the unloading s.h.i.+p to see a familiar figure striding toward his trading post. The long black hair swinging in the breeze was unmistakable, even at a distance.

"Conan!" he shouted, waving.

He dropped his bill of lading and rushed to meet the warrior. As he drew nearer, he saw that Conan no longer wore his bronze armor and carried a long Aquilonian sword. His arms blazed with several gem-set golden bands. *

"Greeting, Dawaz," said Conan. "When does the s.h.i.+p sail south?"

"Tomorrow, as soon as my goods are loaded. How did it go? Did you find the North to your liking?"

Conan did not break stride, and Dawaz turned to follow him. "It was a good winter; not nearly as dull as I had feared. Did the s.h.i.+p bring any good southern wine?"

"The best Turanian. But what of your adventures? You must have wrought prodigies to win so much gold."

At the trading post Conan paused for a moment. "Let's have some wine, and I'll tell you. There is little to tell, though. I have had far more exciting winters." Together the two men went into the post.

CONAN.

A WAR OF SORCERY. A WAR OF STEEL. A WAR IN TWO WORLDS.

Stranded in the furthest northern reaches of Brythunia, Conan the Cimmerian pledges himself as the champion of the haughty and beautiful Queen Alcuina. Soon the mighty barbarian is embroiled in a war with two kings who covet Alcuina's lands and the evil wizard lilma, who wants even more. From the blood-drenched snows of the Brythunian forests to the sorcerous s.h.i.+fting Lands the battles rage. The dead rise to slay, and victory can only come from CONAN.

THE CHAMPION.

And don't miss the other superselling volumes in the Conan series--also available in Sphere Books.