Conan the Relentless Part 23

"If they were his men, as I thought, they'd lose time guessing who we were. I reckoned that the men could put that time to use."

"You reckoned right. But what if they'd been friends?"

"Then they'd have offered proof and joined with us. Either that or run off, and if they ran, at least they'd be clear of the palace. There's nothing there for any man loyal to King Eloikas save a hard death."

Conan felt Raihna shiver as the truth of his words struck home. Then she kissed him, stepped free, and cupped her hands.

"Ho, the Second Guards! Rally to Captain Conan! We've not done with this night's work!"

They had not, Conan knew, and the end might yet be death for all. But Count Syzambry had lost a hundred men, dead or taken or driven into flight. They were a rabble, but even a rabble could be a loss a usurper might not bear easily.

Chapter 11.

At most times, Conan would not have asked of his Guards an all-night march after two battles. Moreover, some of the Guards bore wounds that would have commonly put them in bed. Others were borne on crude litters by comrades who would not abandon them to wolves, bandits, or the scanty mercy of any men Count Syzambry might have still roaming the palace precincts.

So the march continued until dawn, although it ended with some of the men stumbling along more asleep than awake; a hand on the shoulder of the man ahead was enough guidance. And by the G.o.ds' mercy, they were out of the worst hills.

In an empty village on the edge of a wilderness of virgin forest looming higher than temple towers, they met the Guards who had fled the burning huts. They were some seventy strong-most of them armed and only few wounded-under the command of the veterans.

The sergeant of the First Company raised a hand as Conan strode up.

"Hail, Captain Conan. I await your orders. You are the only captain of Guards here."

Conan wanted to order the sergeant to put his men on guard so as to let the Second Company sleep, captain and all. He judged it more prudent to listen to the man's report.

It was simple. Once away from the palace, the sergeant had looked about for a captain to rally the men. Not finding one, he had taken the command himself. The men had formed up and marched in fairly good order until about the hour of false dawn, when they came upon the village.

"It was already deserted, so we saw no harm in settling down."

"It was?" Conan had little stomach for a quarrel with a man who might be valuable help in days to come. He also had little stomach for serving with a man who had robbed his own countryfolk.

"By the Red Rock, I swear it."

The ancient throne of the Border Kingdom was something that few men would invoke to uphold a lie. It seemed best to leave the matter.

"Truly, Captain Conan, they had gone with just what they could carry on their backs, and not much of that," the sergeant added. "We saw some men with spears who might have been the rear guard, but they weren't after staying to answer questions. I would not send the men running about the forest after them, either."

"Wise of you."

Returning favor for favor, Conan told the story of the Second Company's adventures. "I'd wager that the village folk ran when the rabble we fought came by. We'll have some more of the truth out of the prisoners, with luck."

The sergeant led Conan to a hut that had a straw-stuffed mattress in one corner. "Fear it's rat-ridden, too, but-"

Conan lifted the sergeant's jaw with one hand to cut off the flow of apologies. "Sergeant, if the rats aren't bigger than I am, I can face them."

The Cimmerian remained on his feet until the two companies of Guards had divided sentry duty. Then he kicked off his boots and crawled under the molting sheepskins on the bed.

His sleep was sound, though not unbroken. He awoke to find that he was sharing the bed with Raihna. She had taken off rather more than her boots, and as if that message might be too subtle, she then embraced him and drew him hard against her.

Both slept even more soundly afterward, but when the pipes sounded again, the notes were so faint and distant that even the sentries doubted that they heard anything. The sergeant heard nothing at all, and he misliked waking weary captains at the best of times. Conan and Raihna were allowed to sleep until the sun was far toward the west.

Aybas wished that last night's dream would depart from his memory. Even more, he wished that he had never had it in the first place.

Both wishes, he knew, were futile. His wish to be of service to Princess Chienna was not so futile, if he did not let the dream unman him.

It still would not leave him. Random fragments of it would return unbidden, no matter what he was doing. Now he was standing at the princess's door, and he was reliving the moment of the dream when he leaped from the cliff after her falling baby.

He remembered the wind bearing him up, but also blowing him away from the babe. He reached out his arms to grip one tiny foot, but the tentacles of more beasts than all the wizards of the world could keep were also reaching out, clambering from livid swamp and flames the colors of burning rubies and solid rock blacker than a starless night-

"The Princess Chienna bids you enter."

The voice and accent were a hill woman's, but the words were those of a royal maid of honor. Aybas had fought fear. Now he fought laughter. The princess exacted proper service and obedience so firmly that the idea of refusing never came to anyone's mind.

Anyone's, that is, except the Star Brothers-and Aybas was here tonight in the hope that he could make even the wizards' whims miscarry.

The door swung open on its leather hinges. Rush tapers cast a fitful light but showed the princess seated on her usual stool. She wore Pougoi dress now, even to the leggings and the bird-bone combs thrust into her long black hair. But she sat as if in her father's hall, receiving a guest of state while clad in silk and cloth of gold.

"I would bid you welcome, Lord Aybas, if I thought anyone coming in the service of your master deserved such a greeting."

"Your Highness, I-" Aybas looked at the serving woman, who made no move to leave.

"I would have her tell you her own story if we had time," the princess said, "but, in brief, she is kin to a warrior who died on the night of my arrival. Who died of the miscarrying of the wizards' magic. You may speak freely."

This command rendered Aybas briefly mute. If it had reached the princess that he was no great friend to the wizards, had it reached other ears as well?

If one could be hanged for stealing a cup of wine, why not steal the whole barrel? Aybas nodded.

"I understand that your son has been wet-nursed by women of this tribe.

Now, by the customs of the lowland, that makes him nurse-brother to the Pougoi. By the customs of the Pougoi, a nurse-brother is next only to a blood-brother in kinship."

"So I have heard," the princess said. Aybas was sure that she was hiding ignorance, since few of the lowlanders thought it worth learning much about the mountain tribes. The Border Kingdom might be more peaceful if it was otherwise, Aybas thought.

But ignorant or not, the princess was playing her part well. Aybas judged it time for the next scene of the pageant.

"A nurse-brother of the Pougoi is under Pougoi laws in many ways. Among these laws is one that even the wizards have obeyed since the first days of their star-magic. Man, woman, or child, one of the Pougoi may not be sacrificed unless he gives consent or has committed a great offense."

"A babe at the breast can consent to nothing!" the princess snapped.

Then she smiled. "Except perhaps to go to sleep before driving his nurses and mother distracted with his crying."

Aybas held his peace until he was sure that no more would follow. The princess was silent, but he saw her face grow taut as she struggled to hide her fear for her babe.

Then the struggle to hide fear turned into a struggle of another kind.

Aybas could read her thoughts, almost as if they had been carved out of the air in runes of glowing fire: If I admit that Prince Urras is bound by any laws of the Pougoi, this may cause some to doubt his right to the throne. There are already many who fear the reign of a babe. There will be more if they think he must do the bidding of a louse-ridden, rock-scrabbling mountain tribe. Yet if I call my son one of the Pougoi, the wizards cannot sacrifice him without defying their own laws. Their own folk will draw back from them. And if my son cannot be sacrificed, then the wizards' greatest strength against me is a broken reed!

"Indeed," Aybas whispered in agreement to the princess's unspoken wisdom. She herself was safe as long as the count intended to wed her.

Her son, heir to the realm, had always been in a different and worse circ.u.mstance.

Without words, Aybas prayed that she would see the way to what must be done.