Part 45 (2/2)

”I have turned the fear back against them,” Illyana cried exultantly.

”I did not think to do this!”

”Well, start thinking what comes next!” Conan shouted. ”Make them run around in circles until they're all too dizzy to fight, for all I care!”

Raihna sent her last two arrows into the motionless target. One struck a Transformed in the eye. His dying scream made Conan's flesh leap on his bones. Not all the fear was returning to the Transformed!

The light diminished, until it flowed from a single source, glimmering like a giant bonfire behind the Transformed. It seemed that the Master of the Jewel had indeed come forth.

”Back, and they will follow!” Illyana cried.

Conan turned to see her fleeing with a doe's grace and swiftness, breasting the slope with ease. Was the Jewel giving her strength and speed, and if so at what price?

Meanwhile, the Transformed were rallying and starting across the valley, in no particular order but at a good pace. Even the wounded ones moved as fast as a man could walk.

Their carrion reek marched ahead of them. So did a hideous cacophony of hisses, growls, whimpers, clawed feet on stones, even belches and gulpings.

Conan had seen more than his share of unclean magic in his life, but the Transformed were a whole new order of nightmare. Once more he knew he might not easily find it in him to give Eremius a clean death.

Then he had to think about his own death and how to prevent it. His comrades were all on their way up the slope. Two of the Transformed hurled themselves forward. Perhaps they hoped to overtake Bora or Ma.s.souf.

Instead, they faced Conan. He hewed at a hand, slas.h.i.+ng deep into the webbing between the fingers. Whirling, he slashed the second Transformed across the face, taking its sight. A thrust between the ribs with his dagger reached vital organs.

Conan had to leap backward to avoid the grip of the first Transformed.

With sword and dagger at the guard, he watched it stop and stand over its fallen comrade. Then it knelt beside the fallen, trying to stanch the blood from the belly wound and the ruined face.

So the Transformed were not lower than the beasts. Conan thought no better of Master Eremius, but he vowed to give the Transformed warriors' deaths whenever possible.

Conan retreated again. He had nearly overtaken his comrades before the Transformed started mounting the slope. Bora was casting back and forth like a dog for a trail. ”I smell a cave around here somewhere.”

”If you smell it, perhaps the Transformed are already at home,” Conan said. ”I doubt if they will welcome us to dinner.”

”No. For dinner, perhaps,” Ma.s.souf said. He was limping but held his spear jauntily on one shoulder.

”There it is!” Bora shouted. He pointed uphill to the right. Conan had just time to see a dark mouth, before the Transformed broke into a run.

Light from both Jewels at once seared Conan's eyes. Dimly, he saw Ma.s.souf seemingly turned to a statue of jade. Even his eyes glowed green, as though he had become a creature of the Jewel.

Had he in truth become one? Were the Jewels reaching out for others besides their wearers?

Those uneasy thoughts had barely left Conan's mind when Ma.s.souf stripped off his quiver and bow, tossing them to Conan. The Cimmerian caught mem as Ma.s.souf charged downhill toward the Transformed.

”Crom!”

The Transformed were giving way before Ma.s.souf's charge. They hissed and cringed and cried as if Ma.s.souf had been a whole army.

Ma.s.souf actually contrived to spit one of the Transformed like a chicken, before they regained their courage. A moment of clawing and trampling, and Ma.s.souf was gone.

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