Conan The Fearless by Steve Perry

Honored Senator.”
    “You must address me as Lemparius henceforth, free agent. After all, you are now a respected employee, one who will be paid well for his services.”
    After Loganaro had gone, Lemparius went back to the body of the slain man and stared thoughtfully at it. He smiled. Djuvula would certainly forgive him, could he make good his boast of renewed vitality; it was unlikely that she would ever forgive Loganaro his devious switch in alliance. Too bad; the little weasel was very adept at spying and other criminal activities. He could be useful if he did not have to die to satisfy the witch’s anger. Better him than me, Lemparius thought.
    The senator stared at the body on the floor and felt a rumble in his belly. Well. There was no point in wasting such fresh meat.
    There was no one to see the thing that Senator Lemparius became then, nor what he did. The guards would have less to toss upon the offal pile than the gibbetmaster’s work would have left, though. And the panther would sleep with a full belly this night.
    The evening shadows played across the thinning crowds as Conan watched Vitarius perform his conjures for the winemaker’s party. The old man was good, Conan noted. He pulled live birds from a lady’s dress, changed a glass of wine into vinegar, made an empty bottle spew ribbons of bright silk. Eldia ran about, collecting coins from the laughing crowd, stopping now and then to perform a trick of her own with her sword. She would slice a single button from a tunic, carve a loaf of bread into fancy shapes, even hold the blade in her hands and leap back and forth over it. It was a good show, and the coppers collected rapidly in the cup that Eldia rattled at the gathering.
    Conan had little to do save watch. No cutpurses stalked the duo, though several pickpockets moved here and there. As long as they did not bother his charges, Conan bore them no malice. Being a thief made him tolerant of such things; after all, a man had to eat, and these folks would not miss a few lifted coins.
    As with most street magicians, Vitarius seemed to be saving his best illusions for last. He had better hurry to finish, Conan thought, before everyone went home, taking their money with them.
    A hush fell upon the people watching Vitarius as he drew himself up and began preparing for his final trick. Some of the crowd smiled and nodded. Conan heard a woman near him say, “His last one is the best; wait until you see it.”
    The old man gestured this way and that, mumbled incantations, and hopped about from foot to foot in a kind of dance. The watchers laughed, and Conan smiled with them.
    Finally, Vitarius was ready. He motioned for the people around him to move back, and with a final dramatic wave of his arms, Vitarius said, “Now!”
    There was a flash of bright light, and a cloud of dense white smoke filled the space; as the smoke began to thin, Conan discerned an enshrouded figure within. A large, dark form loomed ominously.
    The crowd gasped as one voice as the smoke disappeared-to reveal a demon! The thing stood half again as tall as a big man, and Conan judged that, were it real, it would scale twice his own not-inconsiderable weight. The demon was bright red, massively male, and his grin showed teeth from a nightmare. Conan felt a chill frost his shoulders. Vitarius’s other illusions were as nothing compared to this; the Cimmerian was impressed. When he glanced at Eldia, who stood an armspan away from him, Conan felt a jolt as she tore her gaze away from the demon to look at Conan. For the girl said quietly but quite clearly, “He did not bring it, Conan. It is real!”
    The demon took a step toward Vitarius. He spoke then in a voice reminiscent of metal tearing. “Where is she, White One?”
    When Vitarius made no answer, the demon scanned the crowd with eyes that glowed with infernal light. His sweeping gaze alighted upon Eldia, and he grinned widely. Dripping slime, the demon turned away from the conjurer