"Then what?" someone called. "Send them out or keep them here?"
"If they won't stay, send them out. When the valley is empty, we'll take its folk down to find water and shelter until the Lady has matters in hand."
Some of the laughter that drew was bawdy, but not much of it unfriendly. So far Muhbaras still commanded his men's loyalty.
Lady, for all our sakes, put things to rights before my men flee like your people.
Even as they moved uphill, Conan kept his men reined in.
"Run on a slope like this, and you're likely to fall on your face. If somebody doesn't skewer you before you get up, you'll roll back down and knock out what brains you have!"
Farad added his mite to the profane cajoling, and the men mounted the slope in a compact formation, with archers well out to the flanks where they had clear shooting. Thus far they had no targets, and Conan would be quite happy if there was no more fighting on sloping ground. His Afghulis were as at home on it as he was, but Bethina's tribesfolk were accustomed to the more level desert.
Nonetheless, they and their young chieftess kept pace with the Cimmerian. Bethina no longer seemed entranced by her magical bond with Omyela, but she strode on in silence, looking neither to right or left.
She spoke first when Conan called for a short halt to realign the formation and let everyone take a few unhurried breaths.
"Omyela and I were talking."
"So I judged," Conan said. "Is it permitted to speak of what she said?"
"Oh, it is permitted, or at least I will take her permission for granted. But you do not want to hear all of it. Omyela can no more utter two words of meaning without ten words of speech than any other old woman or sorcerer."
Conan grimaced in mock-horror. "And she is both. How does she ever speak clearly?"
"Not often," Bethina said. "But I can tell you what she meant. She says there is death and life battling in the valley."
"How does that make the valley different from any other place where life exists? Death comes to every living thing, or it seems to me."
"Yes, but—how to say it?"
"Plainly and shortly. We must move on soon."
"Do you wish to wed me also, so you may command me?"
"Do you wish two husbands?"
"If they were you and Farad—"
"I'm flattered. We're in haste. Speak."
"Death and life each has—being—in the valley. Left alone, they will between them destroy it and go on to seek destruction elsewhere. Brought together, they will destroy each other."
"So all we need is to introduce the death being to the life being and stand well clear?"
"I suppose so. She did not explain."
"Just as long as she does it when it's needed," Conan said. "Otherwise there'll be no one alive here to listen to her explanation."
Bethina heard those words without flinching, which was more than some of the men did.
Muhbaras's men barely had time to order their slender ranks before the fleeing Maidens were on them. No, that did an injustice to some of the Maidens, and indeed some of the other women, Muhbaras decided. They were retreating, not fleeing, trying to stay ahead of the mob of fugitives but keeping themselves in fair order, and those with weapons holding on to them.
The mob behind was another matter. At intervals the sky itself seemed to howl like a living thing gone mad, and in those moments Muhbaras wanted to clap his hands over his ears. He could not have heard the cries of the fugitives if they'd been shouting in his ear—and he kept his distance from them with great care.
They were of all ages from babes to graybeards and of both sexes, as well as more than a few fresh eunuchs. Most seemed to be wearing what they could snatch up when the urge to flee struck them, which was often little or nothing. Few had anything more than their scanty garments, or at most a loaf of flat-bread or a bunch of onions.
Feeding these without the croplands of the valley is going to be no easy task, my Lady. But they are yours, and for your sake I will do what I must.
Hardly any of the fugitives were the misshapen half-men, conjured into deformed existence by the Lady to do the harshest work before their time came to yield up their life essences. Whether the Mist had overtaken them, their true human neighbors slain them, or their own weakness brought them down, they would not live out the night.
Muhbaras could not find it in his heart to regret their passing, and only hoped their deaths would be for the most part merciful.
Less agreeable was the sight of several bands of well-thewed and armed men or eunuchs. These swaggered along, and Muhbaras knew that they would prey like jackals on the fugitives if they were given the slightest chance. He had encountered their breed before, and found no answer to it save sharp orders enforced by sharper steel.
Muhbaras stepped forward to meet the first three.
"Halt and disarm!" he said, not quite shouting but raising his voice loud enough to be heard over the fugitives' gabble. The sky screamed at that moment, so he had to repeat the command.
"Who are you to be giving orders?" the biggest man snapped.
"Captain Muhbaras of the Khorajan service," was the reply.
The man drew his sword. Muhbaras drew his faster. Its point was at the man's throat before the other's blade could rise into fighting position.
The man stared at the point just barely pricking his skin and swallowed. "Ah—can I have my blade back afterward?"
"When we're—" Another howl from the sky, and something vast and black seemed to fly low overhead, like a cloud that was a window into the Abyss and cried with the voice of a mad dragon.
"That's a Maiden's sword!" screamed a voice from behind Muhbaras. He turned, taking his eye off the man, who jerked his blade up and nearly laid Muhbaras's cheek open.
Then Muhbaras was trying to fight at the same time the man and a wild-eyed Maiden determined to avenge her unknown comrade. The fugitives had broken into a run now, all who could move that fast, and both the unarmed and the armed were streaming past, jostling the fighters without regard to the flying steel.
In the confusion the Maiden tried to watch her back, Muhbaras, and the man at the same time. She could not quite contrive this, and the man laid open the side of her neck with a wild slash. The next moment Muhbaras pierced him through the throat, and he fell beside the woman.
Muhbaras looked at the fallen Maiden, cursed everything save the Lady herself, and even allowed himself a few unkind thoughts about her. He would not be able to forget this night of madness, and it would always lie between them even when they lay in each other's arms.
Then the greatest cry of all rose from the valley, as if the mountains themselves were in mortal agony, likewise the stars, the air, the water, and every living thing within reach of the unleashed magic. It was the sound of madness, and Muhbaras saw that on the faces of his men and the Maidens who had stood thus far.
He closed his eyes, to shut out the nightmare vision. When he opened them he still lived, and only the echoes of that cry remained pealing about the valley.
But he was alone, except for the dead and those too spent to run.
Alone, with no further duties to anyone but the Lady. Alone, and free to go to her, to hold her, to carry her out of this antechamber of Hell.
Muhbaras had a dim notion that perhaps there was some madness in him, too, that he thought this. His men still lived, likewise the Maidens and the fugitives. He could do more for them than for the Lady, if she yet lived.
It was the thought of her death that finally turned Muhbaras's steps toward the valley. Nothing remained in his mind but that thought. If she was dead, he must find her body before anyone else.