Conan the Destroyer (Robert Jordan's Conan Novels 6)

“I can deny any of my senses,” Akiro replied mildly, “except those of the mind. As for the boat, perhaps someone knew we were coming.”

With a gasp the small thief dropped the boat and fishing lines as if they were serpents. He stepped back from them quickly, wiping his palms on his leather jerkin. “The Stygian knows we are coming? Banba’s Buttocks!”

“We make a cold camp just the same,” Conan said, stepping down from his saddle. “If he does not know we are here, there is no point to telling him with a fire.”

“We must cross now,” Jehnna said. “Now. The key is there, I tell you.”

“It will still be there in the morning,” the Cimmerian replied. With clear reluctance she took her eyes from the palace for the first time since reaching the beach, her jaw firming determinedly, but he went on before she could speak. “I have as much reason not to delay as have you, Jehnna. We will cross with the dawn.”

“The thief is right, child,” Bombatta said. He gestured to the lake, its waters blackening as sunlight failed. “Did the boat tip over in that, you could drown before I found you. I cannot risk that.”

Jehnna lapsed into sulky silence, and Conan turned his attentions to Malak. “You can go, if you wish. Neither of us reckoned with this Amon-Rama knowing about us. Consider the jewels yours.”

“Jewels?” Bombatta echoed, but the two friends ignored him.

Malak took a step toward his horse, then stopped. “Conan, I … . If we had a chance, Cimmerian, but he knows we’re coming. Balor’s Glaring Eye! You heard Akiro.”

“I heard,” Conan said.

“You are staying?” Malak asked, and Conan nodded. The wiry man sighed. “I cannot travel in these mountains in the night,” he muttered. “I will leave in the morning.”

“Now that that is settled,” Akiro said, climbing from his horse with a groan, “I am hungry.” He dug his fists into the small of his back and stretched. “There is dried lamb in the packs. And figs.”

A heavy, solemn air hung over everyone as they set about making camp. The crater had the effect of making each of them grow silent and introspective, all save Jehnna, and she was rapt with the approach to a part of her destiny.

Soon the horses were hobbled, the dried meat and fruit had been consumed, and full night was on them. Jehnna wrapped herself in her blankets, and Zula, to everyone’s surprise, sat crosslegged beside the slender girl, crooning soothingly while she fell asleep. Bombatta glowered jealously, but the black woman’s fierce glare whenever one of the men came close to Jehnna was enough to make even him keep his distance.

As the full moon rose higher the darkness lessened, for it seemed as if the crater in some fashion trapped and held that canescent glow. The air took on a thick pearlescence of unearthly paleness, where faces could be dimly yet distinctly seen. Conan and Akiro sat alone amid the blanket-swathed mounds that marked where the others slept. They sat, and stared across the dark waters at the palace, shining yet illumining nothing, as a diamond on black velvet shone by holding every glimmer of light.

“This place presses in on me,” the Cimmerian said finally. “I cannot like it.”

“It is not a place to be liked, except by sorcerers,” Akiro replied. He moved his hands before him as if caressing the pale light. “I can sense the flow of power from the very rocks. This is a place where bonds are loosed, and the ties that hold the ordinary whole are undone. Here barriers are weak, and names may summon the dead.”

Conan shivered, and told himself there was a chill in the air. “I will be glad to be gone from it, back to Shadizar with the things Taramis seeks.”

Suddenly a shriek tore the night, and Jehnna twisted in her blankets, staring with unseeing eyes as she screamed. “No! No! Stop!”

Bombatta leaped from his sleep with tulwar in hand, while Malak cursed and struggled with his blankets, a dagger in each fist. Zula hugged the slender girl to her breast and murmured softly.

Suddenly Jehnna threw her arms about the black woman. Sobs convulsed her. “It was horrible,” she wept hoarsely. “Horrible!”

“A dream,” Bombatta said, sheathing his blade hastily. He knelt beside the girl and tried to take her from Zula, but she clung even more tightly. “Only a dream, child,” he said softly. “Nothing more. Go back to sleep.”

Zula glared at him over the girl she held. “Dreams are important. Dreams can tell the future. She must speak of it.”

“I agree,” Akiro said. “There are often portents in dreams. Speak, Jehnna.”

“It was only a dream,” Bombatta growled. “Who can say what she might dream in this evil place.”

“Speak,” Akiro said again to the girl.

Saying the words softly within Zula’s comforting arms, Jehnna began. Her dark eyes were still wide with terror. “I was an infant, barely able to walk by myself. I woke and saw my nurse asleep, and I slipped from the nursery. I wanted my mother. Down many corridors I ran, until I came to the room where I knew my mother slept, and my father. Their bed lay in the middle of the floor, and sheer hangings from the ceiling surrounded it. I could see them there, sleeping. And another figure, as well, like a boy. It crouched at the head of the bed, looking down at my mother and my father. The dim light of the lamps gleamed strangely on the figure’s hands. One hand raised, and I saw … I saw it held a dagger. The dagger fell, and my father made a strange sound, groaning as if he were hurt. My mother woke, then. She screamed a name, and another dagger slashed. There was blood everywhere. I ran. I wanted to scream, but it was as if I had no tongue. All I could do was run and run and run and—”

Zula gave her a fierce shake, then hugged her even closer. “It is all right, Jehnna. You are safe, now. Safe.”

“The name,” Akiro prompted. “What was the name?”

Jehnna peeked hesitantly out of the circle of Zula’s arms. “Taramis,” she whispered. “It was Taramis. Oh, why would I dream this? Why?”