Free Conan The Fearless by Steve Perry Page A

are your intentions, then, Vitarius?”
    The old magician sighed again. “I must protect Eldia, keeping her from Sovartus’s clutches; more, I must somehow find a way to free the three children he holds.”
    “Can you do it?” Eldia said quietly. “Can you save my brothers and sister from my-my … half-brother?”
    Vitarius shook his head. “I do not know. He is of the Black, and so wields powers I cannot; too, he commands the forces of Three Corners and I only One. I fear he is stronger than I. Sovartus, so it is said, even dares to practice base necromancy in his sorcery, calling upon the legions of the dead for certain spells. All I can do is try. I can do no more, and I will do no less.”
    Kinna leaned back and nodded. “Very well. I shall help you in any way I can. As long as Sovartus lives, Eldia is endangered. We must destroy him.” Kinna looked at Conan. “What about you?”
    Conan crossed his thick arms upon his chest and stared at the woman. She was beautiful, but he wished no part of this.
    “I travel to Nemedia,” he said. “And I paused only long enough to earn an easier passage. I have been misled. I am not fond of liars, especially those who risk my neck without warning me, and I have less liking for practitioners of magic. I wish you well in your undertaking, but I am no longer a part of it.”
    Kinna glared at Conan, but Eldia only nodded, as did Vitarius. The mage said, “I cannot blame you, Conan, You have behaved bravely and we returned falsehood for it. We thank you for your help and wish you well in your journey.”
    Conan nodded and started to rise.
    “But stay a moment,” Vitarius said. “We owe you something for your trouble. There is the silver for this day’s work, and a few coins besides, well-earned. And since I have held two rooms for this evening’s rest, you are welcome to one of them, in further gratitude.”
    Conan took the coins, transferring them to his own pouch. “Aye, I’ll use the room this night, deservedly.”
    The young Cimmerian turned and walked toward the doorway leading to the stairs and the lodging above the inn. The day had been long and he was tired.
    The room was somewhat better appointed than the last in which Conan had slept, but not by much. A pallet stuffed with straw lay upon a much-worn and ratty carpet; a shuttered window could be opened out so that the room’s occupants could behold the maze of streets three flights below. A nub of a taper burned in one corner of the room, sending the remains of smoky tallow toward the dark ceiling, but little light into the rest of the darkness. At least there were no rats buried within his bed, Conan noted. He pinched the candle wick and extinguished the small flame, then sprawled upon the pallet, his sword nearby. Sleep fell upon him like a cloak.
    Like a cloak jerked away, sleep left the prone form of Conan a scant two hours later. The blue eyes flashed out a gaze that swept the dark room, but there was nothing to be seen, for the blackness was too thick even for the Cimmerian’s sharp vision. He held his breath so that his hearing would work yet better, but the only sound was that of a small wind playing around the edges of the shuttered window and the creaks of the aging wood of the inn. And his own heartbeat sounded in his ears. No danger was apparent, yet Conan trusted his instincts too well to ignore his wakefulness at this hour. He reached for his sword, feeling better once the stained leather handle was in his grasp.
    Perhaps it was only the wind after all, he thought as he lay there. When nothing else moved for a long time, Conan again slept, his hand still locked upon the hilt of his sword.
    The darkness in Castle Slott was complete save for a musty yellow glow cast in a single room by a single lamp. Revealed in the fitful light stood Sovartus, his thin-fingered hands digging cruelly into the shoulders of one of three children chained to the damp and moldy wall. Presently, a faint glow began to