Conan the Defender (Robert Jordan's Conan Novels 2)

“Why are you here, woman? I commanded you to remain in your apartments until I sent for you.”

Her gaze met his without flinching, and even in the dim light the eager glow of her eyes was apparent. “I want to see him fall before you.”

Albanus nodded slowly. There would be pleasure in that. “But make no sound,” he warned. Shoulders back and head high, as a king in his own palace, he moved on.

Before the door to Garian’s chambers four guards stood, stiffening at the party’s approach.

Vegentius stepped forward. “He sleeps?” One of the four nodded. “Who else is within?”

He who had nodded spoke. “Only the serving girl, to bring him wine if he wakes.”

“Slay her,” Albanus said, and Vegentius started.

“You said you could make her remember nothing, Albanus. Questions may be asked if the girl disappears.”

“The method can only be used on one person at a time,” Albanus replied, fingers absently stroking the pouch that held the white gem. “Slay her.”

Vegentius nodded to the guard who had spoken. The man slipped inside, returning in moments with a bloody blade to resume his post.

Albanus led the others in, sparing not a glance for the crumpled form of a woman lying across an overturned stool. The second room, Garian’s sleeping chamber itself, was dim, the lamp wicks trimmed low. Garian lay on his bed amid rumpled blankets.

“Turn up the lamps, Sularia,” Albanus commanded quietly. Not taking her eyes from the man in the bed, the blonde hastened to obey. To the two hooded figures, the lord said, “Remove your cloaks.”

Vegentius gasped as the simu

lacrum obeyed. “’Tis Garian’s very image!”

Sularia turned from a golden lamp, but her exclamation at the sight of the King’s double was cut short as, with narrowing eyes, her gaze caught Ariane. “Who is she?” the blonde demanded.

Ariane looked straight ahead, unmoving, until another command was given. The simulacrum peered about him curiously.

On the bed, Garian suddenly sat bolt upright. Growing more amazed by the instant, his eye jumped from Albanus to Sularia to Vegentius. “What,” he began, but the words died. Mouth open, he stared at the duplicate of himself. Unperturbed, the simulacrum gazed back inquisitively.

Albanus felt like laughing. “Garian,” he said mockingly, “this is he who will sit on the Dragon Throne for the last days of your line. For your usurping lineage now ends.”

“Guards!” Garian shouted. From beneath his pillows a dagger appeared in his hand, and he leaped from the bed. “Guards!”

“Take him,” Albanus ordered the simulacrum, “as I told you.” Growing more amazed by the instant, his eye jumped from Albanus to Sularia to Vegentius.

The duplicate moved forward, and Garian’s dagger struck with a fighter’s speed. To be caught easily by an inhumanly powerful grip on Garian’s wrist. Astonishment was replaced on his face by pain as those fingers tightened. The dagger fell from nerveless fingers.

Before that blade clattered on the floor, the simulacrum’s other hand seized the true King by the throat, lifting him until his toes kicked frantically above a handspan of air. No sign of strain was on the construct’s face as it watched that other like its own turn slowly purple. Garian’s struggles weakened, then ceased. Casually the replica opened its hand and let the limp body fall.

Albanus hastened to bend over the King. Savage bruises empurpled his neck, and another darkened his cheek, though Albanus did not remember seeing the simulacrum strike. But the broad chest rose and fell, if faintly. Garian yet lived.

Vegentius, who had stood staring, sword half drawn, since the instant the duplicate moved, now slammed his blade home in its scabbard and cleared his throat. His eyes never left the simulacrum. “Should you not let him, it, kill him now?”

“I am King Garian,” the creature said to Vegentius. The soldier muttered an oath.

“Be silent,” Albanus commanded, straightening. “This,” he prodded Garian’s form with his foot, “will acknowledge my right to the throne before I let him die.”

“But the danger,” Vegentius protested. “He was to die now.”

“Enough!” Albanus snapped. “Deliver him in chains to the dungeons beneath my palace. I’ll hear no more on it.”

Vegentius nodded reluctantly, and turned to go.

“And, Vegentius,” the cruel-faced man added, “see that those who do this task are disposed of after. Fewer tongues to waggle loosely.”