Through the Steel Lair
Chapter 1
A tall man walked down a long lost trail, leading his ward over the mountains between Aquilonia and Nemedia. A full moon lit the way to Belverus, Nemedia's capital city.
The man hung a broadsword over his wide shoulders, its blade wrapped in furs. A mail shirt, glistening in the moonlight, covered his muscular chest. A riveted leather headband held back his mane of long black hair.
He peered into the darkness behind icy blue eyes, alert for danger. The discovered shortcut was risky, but it lost the Aqulionian raiders, saving him and his companion's life. His concentration broke at the sound of his name.
"Conan?"
The Cimmerian gritted his teeth, annoyed by the childlike voice.
"No Amala," he replied, in a whispered growl. "We are not there yet."
Conan contemplated his latest predicament. Amala and her retinue returned to the Border Range from their diplomatic mission when waylaid by bandits. She and Conan were cut off from the other bodyguards. In the chaos of battle, Conan led her into the mountains before they were run down. Since then, they were in a harried flight for their lives.
The spoiled noblewoman in his tow was riskier than the raiders. In hindsight, he might have taken his chances with them. He overcame worse odds before, though not with a lord's daughter to protect. The maze-like trail bought time, but at what cost? He recalled horror stories of caravans that met their doom on strange shortcuts, but forced them from his mind.
Amala's familiar pattering ceased. Conan whirled around, expecting trouble. He calmed at the sight of her leaning on a walking staff. He opened his mouth to chastise her for stopping, but hesitated. She looked back at him with sullen brown eyes, twinkling in the darkness. The pleading glance gentled the gruff barbarian. Her free hand strayed to a well-worn shoulder bag; the last of their provisions.
"I need to rest again," she said.
"By Crom," Conan replied, invoking the name of his mountain god. "Were I alone, I'd have gotten to Belverus by sundown!"
Amala pouted and lowered her head, covered by a white hood. Conan studied her face, attempting to discern whether it was all to manipulate him. Her intelligent gaze belied her childish demeanor. Her lips pursed too perfectly, as if she practiced the gesture front a mirror a thousand times.
Conan threw a hand up in frustration. "Bah, fine. But don't complain if we are found and captured...or worse."
Amala smiled. "I won't be long."
The noblewoman sat on a flat rock and placed the bag on her robed lap. Conan, ever protective, stayed on his feet and surveyed the horizon. After a moment, a metallic scraping came from Amala's position. He spun once more and watched as Amala tinkered with a bronze sphere in one hand. She manipulated a framework of metal rings attached to the sphere with the other.
"Is now the best time to play with that...thing?" Conan asked.
"This thing," Amala replied, mocking the way he said the word. "Is an astrolabe. And I'm not playing with it, I am adjusting it. But I wouldn't expect a layperson to know that."
Conan cocked an eyebrow. "Layperson?" he asked, unfamiliar with the term.
"Someone uneducated, a dullard."
Conan's face flushed with anger at the insult.
"I've beaten others for less than that girl..."
"And if one hair on my head is out of place —"
"Then your father won't pay me, I know."
He sighed and resumed his watch. Only the noise from Amala's astrolabe cut through the eerie silence trying his patience. He'd allow another moment, or two, then pick Amala off her feet and resume the journey, or threaten to smash her precious instrument. He promised to return her safely, but not her possessions. Conan held back a grin at the thought.
"What's that th— I mean astrolabe for anyway?" he asked.
"Charting the stars," she said, fixated on the device.
Conan stifled a laugh and shook his head. "I will never understand civilized folk. They would chart the stars by staring at their hands. But they're up there, plain for all to see." He gestured to the countless points of light dotting the evening sky.
"Our world, the sun and stars are always in motion," she explained, turning the rings around the metal globe. "It's useful for studying their ever changing distances and positions."
Conan glanced at the ground. It certainly didn't seem to be moving. He grunted. Best leave these strange notions to the academics in their ivory towers. They could keep their inventions too. Conan trusted his own senses.
"Real useful, that," Conan said, nodding to the astrolabe. "During the trade mission. The envoy looked less than impressed."
Amala looked up at Conan for the first time since pulling the device from the bag. Her fine countenance glowed under the starlight, giving her an angelic quality that Conan found striking, though he wouldn't show it.
"Sharing knowledge with our rivals to find common ground was worth the effort."
"Hah! This is how you make peace girl," Conan replied, pointing to his broadsword.
"Exactly what I'd expect to hear...from a barbarian."
Conan glared, Amala pushed her luck. He clasped a meaty hand onto her slender shoulder.
"Your time is up, move."
The noblewoman stashed the astrolabe in the bag, rose from her seat and grabbed her staff. Conan placed her behind him and held his sword by his side, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. He stalked down the path with the grace of a panther, ears pricked for the faintest sound.
Crunch.
In a fluid motion, Conan did an about-face and started unsheathing his sword, stopping halfway. Amala nibbled on a wafer. Conan grimaced in frustration. "Do you even appreciate the situation we are in?"
Amala shrugged. "I was hungry."
"Make any more noise and we could be dead!"
Amala swallowed the piece of wafer and stuck the rest in the bag. She wiped a bit of crumb off her lip with a silk sleeve and stared at Conan innocently. He marvelled at her ability to switch between a pampered child and learned erudite. His nostrils flared as he fought to keep himself in control. He slowly turned around and kept walking.
The pair descended the Border Range, carefully seeing their way down the twists and steep slopes of the forgotten path. It soon tapered off into a flat clearing, surrounded by a ring of stone columns; perfect for an ambush. Conan frowned; they reached a dead end. Until he spotted a narrow chasm that split the rock ring in two. It appeared to be the only way forward.
Another crunch. Conan's grip tightened on his sword handle. "Woman if you—"
"It wasn't me," Amala replied, holding up a hand.
The crunching noise grew louder, echoing within the crevice. Conan shed the fur wrapping from his broadsword, its blue steel shimmering in the night. He held it aloft in one hand, gesturing to Amala to back away. The surrealism of the creature squeezing through the rift would haunt Conan's memories for years to come. He sized up the threat, studying its alien features.
The beast opened its elongated snout, revealing rows of sharp teeth. Slimy green skin clung to its bones. It stood on four spidery legs. A single arm protruded from its back and arched forward like a scorpion's tail. Each limb had three long digits, ending in hooked claws. It snorted through a pig-like nose. Its wide black eyes bore hungrily into Conan's. Its toes dug into the dirt as it prepared to pounce.
The initial shock of the creature's appearance wore off. Conan's killer instincts kicked in as he raised his sword and assumed a fighting stance. He stared resolutely at the beast and grinned with battle lust. An unnatural shriek, the likes of which he never heard, escaped the monster's gaping maw. It sprang through the air with ease, bearing down on the barbarian's mailed chest.
Conan rolled out of the way, avoiding the blow by inches. He sprang up to counterattack when he saw the creature fix on Amala. She hugged her knees and clung to the rock wall in stunned horror. Whether the defenseless girl was too enticing to ignore, or the beast considered Conan harmless enough to turn its back to, the barbarian didn't know. In any case, the monstrosity left an opening. Conan put a hand over the pommel of his sword and drove it through the beast's ankle. Another alien scream reverberated through the clearing, accompanied by a sickening splinter of bone.
In a freakish burst of speed, the monster spun around and kicked at the barbarian. Conan shifted to avoid the claws, but the sinewy leg buffeted him off his feet. If not for the chainmail, he would have been knocked unconscious on the spot. The warrior thudded onto the dirt, the imprint of the monster's arm faintly visible in his armor.
"Conan!" Amala screamed.
The monster continued stalking its way to the girl. Half out of desire to complete his job, and half out chivalry, Conan forced himself to his feet in determination. He charged at his opponent's backside, ran up its spine and clutched its dorsal limb in a death grip. With a battle cry, Conan flexed his other arm and swung his blade in an arc that lopped the dorsal limb's hand clean off. It spiraled through the air, leaving a trail of dark blood in its wake until hiting the ground with a wet smack.
The creature's long forelegs reached up and clasped Conan's torso, throwing him overhead and slamming him against the ground. Its teeth hung inches over Conan's face, blasting him with hot breath. One chomp of its jaws would crush the man's face to a pulp. He braced himself for the worst, just as the butt of Amala's staff slammed into one of the creature's eyes. It reeled back, clutching it and screaming in agony. Conan stole a glance at the woman, who seemed surprised by her own action.
The monster staggered from the unexpected hit, Conan went for the killing blow. Running past the its long limbs where they couldn't reach, the barbarian closed in and sunk the broadsword hilt-deep through the chest. It shook violently for several seconds, until slumping to the ground, lifeless.
Just to be sure, Conan stepped on the nape of its neck and hacked away at it, screaming with each swing. The barbarian continued slicing through its tendons until the head was shorn from its body. The cold blooded savagery on display visibly unnerved Amala; but Conan paid her no mind. He kicked the head away, watching it roll until bumping against a rock.
Conan and Amala took several deep breaths as they recovered physically and psychologically from the attack. The barbarian gained a new respect for his ward. Where many would have lost all reason by what happened, Amala looked more curious now than terrified. She stepped toward the fresh corpse and prodded it with her staff.
"I've traveled the world," Conan said, pointing at the carcass with the tip of his bloodied sword. "And never saw anything so...unearthly."
"It's n-not in any of m-my library's bestiaries either," Amala replied, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
Conan found his sword's fur wrappings and used them to wipe the blood off the blade. The sheathe was soaked in the reeking liquid. He kicked them away in disgust and tucked the weapon through the broad belt over his loincloth. Amala's fixation on the dead creature broke as Conan took her by the wrist.
"We must keep moving," he said, leading her toward the chasm.
Amala shook her head. "N-no, I don't want to go through there."
He took her by the shoulders, attempting to keep his voice even. His adrenaline still ran high. "I promised to get you home, and that's what I'm going to do. We're still a day out from Belverus. We have little food, no water and the bandits could still find us. We need to go."
Amala looked at the dark crevice, then back at the trail. "Let's cover our tracks as best we can."
The Cimmerian nodded in agreement. Amala used her staff to scramble their footprints in the sand. Conan found a sizeable rock and pushed it with effort toward the rift's opening. It covered almost all of the rift's height. Enough to conceal it partially and still permit the travelers to squeeze through.
Conan locked his fingers to give Amala a boost. She lay a foot on them and he sprung her up and over the rock. She climbed through the crawl space to the other side easily. Conan leaped and grasped the rock edge, hoisting himself over. Lying flat as he could on the its surface, he wriggled his giant bulk through the gap.
Conan breathed in the crevice's moist air as he landed on his feet. His hard leather boots sank into a rich, soily surface. The natural tunnel was devoid of light, except for the narrow opening ahead, where the moon's rays crept through. It looked just wide enough to could walk out the other side, one behind the other. He sensed Amala waiting nearby; he took the lead.
The companions crept toward the exit...