The Crossing in the Freelands (for which the town there would later be named) was nothing but an intersection of seldom used trade routes for as long as anyone could remember. Trade caravans, adventurers and neer-do-wells would sometimes pass this uneventful junction of roads, taking little notice of the area.
Some twenty years before the Great Conan of Aquilonia seized the crown, it came to pass that several travelers took their rest there on an overcast and brooding evening.
Among the travelers that night was a mysterious, robed Stygian, walking with a long staff along with two servants. He was clothed in the richest silks and openly wore several pieces of glimmering jewelry, seemingly unaware of the scrutiny and perhaps even avarice of his fellow travelers. His servants anticipated his every need without being told, preparing his food and bed in silence.
They Stygian's demeanor, at once haughty and imperious, was also somewhat restive...from time to time he would cast an uneasy glance to the south, from which he had come.
Also, there traveled an odd pair. One was a fair haired, Aquilonian girl, barely 15, but with clear, grey eyes that were disconcertlying still. She wore simple but serviceable robes and the symbol of Mitra around her neck. Her companion, also Aquilonian, was a tall and heavily built warrior in mail armor. His gear, while obviously worn and used, was well tended, polished and always ready at hand.
Three men, Shemish raiders, judging by their wiry frames and curved blades, sat apart from the others, squatting around their own fire, eating pieces of dried meat and spitting. With their wind-tattered robes draped around them casting long, fluttering shadows on the grass as the last sunlight from the west flickered and died, they seemed more like cawing carrion birds then men. They spoke in low tones, their eyes darting with malicious intent between the yellow haired Aquilonian girl and the Stygian's jewels.
The last traveler was a lone Cimmerian. His silver streaked black hair and lined face spoke of many hard years. He sat cross legged, hunched over, alone, out of the light of the fire in the waning daylight. Not as large as Conan, who was already becoming famous, but still a large, powerfully built man. Those who looked at him "felt" in the pit of their stomach, more than saw, a primal power in him. He seemed to have fallen asleep, though sometimes the flickering camp fires were reflected in his still eyes suggesting that, while resting, he remained alert.
"Aema." The Aquilonian girl spoke. "I am Aema. This is my escort Haros. We are from Aquilonia and we are traveling..."
Haros looked at her quickly, warning in his expression.
"South. We are traveling south. Who might you be?" She addressed the question to everyone and nobody in particular.
The Shemites paused in their conversation and stared at her, unmoving. The Stygian looked at her with mild curiosity. There was a long pause.
"Crayak is my name. I am Cimmerian of the White Owl clan. The wind blew me here."
The Stygian looked intently at the old Cimmerian, then with a barely discernable smile, turned to the girl. "I am Korath Kag'et, of noble family in Fair Stygia. I'm am traveling north to visit family. These are my servants, Thamot and Mon. Peace be with you." He nodded his head toward the Aquilonians then the Cimmerian then looked at the Shemites with an air of expectation.
The Shemish raiders, who had been following the exchange in silence now looked at one and other, disconcerted. Finally, one of them said "I am Hamara. This is Tanish and Faramaz." He stopped for an awkward moment. "Our business is our own."
The Stygian continued to stare at Hamara, a look of mild amusement on his face. The Shemite shifted uncomfortably and finally stood up and walked further from the fire to the edge of the encroaching darkness and squatted on his haunches, looking into the night.
After a few minutes of quiet, the girl spoke again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. Of course your business is your own. I just thought...since we're all resting in the lonely place..." She paused, unsure of her words. "I only wished to make everyone's stay more comfortable."
The old Cimmerian chuckled quietly. "Be careful girl. What you say is not what others hear."
Haros, the girls guardian stood up and glared at the Cimmerian. "You filthy northern dog! Watch your tongue or I'll cut it out!"
"Maybe. Someday." said Crayak. "But I am not old enough and you are not strong enough. Not today." He remained seated by the edge of the firelight, watching the darkened planes. "Besides, I am Cimmerian. Maybe a 'filthy northern dog' to you, but we do not take women who do not wish it. We have honor. More than you soft, city men."
"I DO NOT..." The Aquilonian warrior sputtered in rage. "I HAVE NEVER..."
"Aaaaaiiiiieeeee!!!!!" A blood curdling scream came from the darkness beyond the camp.
"Hamara! Where is Hamara!" one of the Shemites yelled! "He walked that way," the raider pointed toward where the scream had come from "because of that dirty Stygian and his Evil Eye!!!" The two remaining Shemish raiders rose and drew their scimitars, staring at the tall Stygian with a thirst for blood in their eyes. "He killed Hamara! He cast the Evil Eye on him!"
The Stygian rose with his walking staff. In the blink of an eye, the staff had whirled around into the ready position of an experienced staff fighter. Korath Kag'et advanced on the Shemites, a wicked smile twisted his lips. "Come and die, children!"
"Stop!" It was Crayak. He stood up and sniffed the air, his nose twitching. "It was not him!" he said to the Shemites. "There is something unnatural here! Be on your guard!"
