Conan the Relentless Part 41

It was Raihna, who had come out of the darkness beside the path as silently as a cat. Decius started to nod, then knew that in his heart he did not wish to be alone.

"Mistress Raihna, in truth I would enjoy your company."

They walked side by side to the captain-general's tent. They were a sword's length apart, and Raihna's garb was no more revealing than usual, yet Decius had never been so aware of her as a woman.

They sat on furs just inside the mouth of Decius's tent. The captain-general sent away his bodyservant and drew a skin of wine from under the furs.

"Poor hospitality, I fear."

"No hospitality is poor when the host is a treasure."

Decius hoped that the firelight did not reveal him flushing like a boy.

He sensed that there was more than Raihna's nimble tongue in that praise.

Raihna drank deeply, then handed the skin to Decius. In doing so, she let some drops fall on his wrist.

"Forgive me, my lord. Here, let me..."

She put her mouth to his wrist and began licking off the wine.

That Decius had been long a widower did not make him a fool. He put both hands under Raihna's chin and lifted her face to receive his kiss.

Her mouth bloomed under his, and her arms went around him.

It was amazing how swiftly the lacings of armor could be undone by skilled fingers. There was nothing amazing about what followed, unless it was that Raihna was even fairer to look at than Decius had suspected.

It was not until Raihna was sleeping in his arms that Decius realized they had not closed the tent flaps. They had been tumbling in the furs, clad only in the firelight, in full sight of anyone who wished to wander by. Had Conan chosen to pa.s.s along this path-

No. Decius would take the word of both Conan and Raihna that the woman was her own mistress. After that, he would take her into his arms again, if she was willing.

He dared not think about taking her to wife, not until the battle was won. That would be tempting the G.o.ds, and for now, they had given him enough and to spare. His thought on leaving the queen had been a true one: the G.o.ds did have some care for humans.

Conan returned to the camp at dawn. The men he was taking against Count Syzambry had needed little more training, save at setting ambushes by night. This he had given them, and they now knew as much as he thought necessary.

The Pougoi was masters of them all in the art of night fighting, he knew. But the queen did not care to send the tribesmen far afield and out of reach of her loyal men. Thyrin had borne this with more grace than Conan expected, although no one could call the man pleased. The G.o.ds willing, he should even be able to keep the peace among his warriors-

It was no great surprise for Conan to find that Raihna was not in his tent. It was somewhat more of a surprise to see that her clothing and weapons had likewise departed. It was a considerable surprise indeed to find Wylla asleep in the furs.

At least the hair spread out over the furs was the color of Wylla's, and the shapely bare arm that trailed off onto the floor of the tent was that of a woman as young and comely. Conan removed his boots and crept on hands and knees to the furs. Kneeling, he gripped the furs with one hand and poised the other over the arm.

Then he s.n.a.t.c.hed the furs away. The morning light proved what he had suspected. Wylla lay there, as bare as a newborn babe and much more pleasing to look at. She also lay so deeply asleep that Conan realized other measures than removing the furs might be called for.

He bent over, ready to kiss her.

Her arms took on a life of their own, leaping up to twine round his neck. She embraced him so tightly that she lifted herself clear of the furs, pressing her whole length against him. Conan felt every curve, and the heat of her blood flowed into his.

Wylla began to croon softly as Conan returned her embrace. Conan knew a moment's unease at the singing, but he soon pa.s.sed beyond caring about such matters. Wylla saw to that.

The song ended as Wylla curled against him, taking and giving warmth, one hand still twined in the Cimmerian's black hair. The silence lasted until Conan's laughter broke forth.

"What is the jest, Conan?"

"I hope it ends as a jest, you being here."

"You fear Marr?"

"I fear offending any man who had that power."

"It shames both him and me to say that you need fear anything from this-" she patted the furs.

"You and Raihna."

"Eh? Oh, that we are both our own mistresses?"

"Yes. Although I do not think that Mistress Raihna will be so free for long. Not if Decius lives-"

Conan's laugh was louder this time. "I won't ask where Raihna spent the night, because I think I know. But I will ask this. Did she-?"

"Send me? Of course. She said that Decius was not made by the G.o.ds to be as alone as he was. You were, but no man should be without a woman on the eve of what might be his last battle. So I came, and you were not."

"Suppose I turn you over my knee for speaking ill-omened words about last battles?"

"Oh, if that is your pleasure-" She wriggled, raising herself so that he could pull her over his knee if he wished. At the same time, her hands danced along Conan's limbs in a way that could have only one conclusion. This time Wylla fell asleep when they were done.

Conan did not sleep. Quietly he slipped from under the furs, garbed and armed himself, and went to find his rest under a pine tree just inside the sentry line.

He would not ask the G.o.ds to let him understand women, even if they could give him that power. But would it be too much to ask that women should not understand him as easily as Raihna seemed to?

Chapter 18.

The scout was looking over his shoulder when his time came, not ahead as he should have been. Small shame to him, however. He was an honest trapper's almost equally honest son, who had taken service with Count Syzambry many years ago.

He had not imagined then that he would end as the scout for a host led only in name by the count. He had not imagined that the Pougoi wizards, the Star Brothers, were even real, let alone that they would come forth from their valley.

As for believing that they could put fear into the count and all his host-a thousand men or more- the scout would have called it madness. He would have suggested that the speaker needed physicking, to restore his wits.

And if by some chance he had believed that he would end serving the Star Brothers, he would have fled the Border Kingdom as fast as his feet would carry him. Indeed, he would have crawled, if need be, to put distance between himself and those monster-worshipers.

Not having fled, or even left the count's service, the scout was now bound to his master and his duty. Bound as with bands of iron by loyalty to his comrades, oaths to the count-and by stark terror of the Star Brothers.

It was that terror that made the scout look back over his shoulder at the wrong moment. He had just decided that no spy for the wizards followed close on his heels when a hand like steel closed on his sword arm.

The scout tried to whirl around, cry out, and draw his sword with his left hand. He accomplished none of these. Another hand clamped itself over his mouth, both hands jerked, and he soared through the air into the bushes as his sword flew out of his hand.

Conan tapped the scout's head gently against a fir trunk, and the man went limp. The Cimmerian listened to the man's breathing, judged him fit to travel, and slung him over his broad shoulders.

Carrying his prisoner as he would the carca.s.s of a deer, Conan loped away from the trail and deep into the woods. Only when he was beyond any human senses did he turn west, toward the royal vanguard that awaited him.