Conan the Relentless Part 18

"Good news, men. We're done for the day. Decius is thinking about putting the rest of the traps where they'll take Syzambry's men, not us!"

"I'd work here a moon and more if it'd build a trap for the count himself!" one man shouted. Others nodded.

"You may get that chance, but tomorrow," Conan said. He set the example by starting to bundle up pry bars and hammers.

As the tools clinked into the baskets, it came to the Cimmerian that Decius might have another reason for not taking the field. Eloikas's handful of good men might chase the count's retainers all over the hills for many days without ever coming up against the count himself.

If the little man with the great ambitions escaped, he could find another army. If he died, his cause was finished. And what better way to kill him than to let him come to the palace, as he must if he wished the final victory?

Perhaps there was nothing wrong with either the captain-general's wits or his loyalty. It did not make Conan any happier to think about being immured in this crumbling palace against all of his instincts for taking the fight to the foe.

Outside the chief's hut, thunder rolled. Aybas, peering through the c.h.i.n.ks between the logs, saw no lightning, so he knew it was the witch-thunder again.

Had he doubted, the sounding of horns and drums from the village would have ended his doubting.

Count Syzambry let the thunder-and the din of the Pougoi trying to fight it-die away before speaking. He did not take his eyes off of Aybas and Oyzhik, sitting together-on the straw at his feet.

If Aybas had not long since given over flinching at the witch-thunder, he would have nerved himself to sit still under the count's scrutiny.

Oyzhik was clearly as uneasy as a man on hot bricks, and the chill of the mountain night did not keep the sweat from his brow. Rather than seem less brave than Oyzhik, Aybas would have climbed the dam and cast himself into the slime-dripping grip of the beast.

"The Pougoi can be trusted?" Oyzhik asked for the third time.

Something that had no name flickered across Syzambry's face. In the dimness, Aybas could not read the little count's countenance, nor did he really wish to try.

"They can be trusted for all that I have asked them to do," Syzambry replied.

Aybas had the sense not to ask Syzambry what the Pougoi were expected to do to help lift the count onto the throne. In any case, there would not have been time for an answer even had Syzambry wished to give one.

Heavy footsteps thudded on the beaten earth outside, and the door opened with squeals and groans. Half a score of Pougoi warriors marched in, with one of the Star Brothers bringing up the rear. The warriors carried spears and stone-headed axes, the wizard a leather sack.

"Him," Syzambry said. The warriors surrounded the seated men. The count motioned Aybas to rise and step forward. Aybas commanded his legs to uphold him and his knees not to rattle together, and obeyed.

Oyzhik's mouth opened, but before he could cry out, four warriors were upon him. A leather gag stifled his cries, while leather thongs bound his wrists and hobbled his ankles. Then the warriors gripped the thongs and Oyzhik's travel-stained clothing and dragged him out of the hut.

Aybas remained motionless until the heavy tread of the warriors faded into the night. Stepping back and looking nowhere and everywhere, he said quietly: "Decius would have given much to see that."

"Pah!" Count Syzambry moved nothing except his mouth. Then he crossed his thin legs in their dyed riding leathers and shrugged. "If our lord captain-general had blood instead of milk in his veins, he would long since have taken his rights. Had he done so, I would have served him gladly."

Aybas thought that Count Syzambry would gladly serve another man the day vultures gave over their lives to fasting and prayer.

"Is Oyzhik to go to the beast?" Aybas asked.

"You presume to question my judgment?" Syzambry purred.

"I question nothing," Aybas said, "least of all your judgment. Were it not sound, we would hardly be so close to your victory. I merely remind you that too many among the Pougoi are uneasy about the sacrifices to the beast."

"They are cowards," Syzambry snapped.

It could be said that with enough cowards, the best army might become a rabble. It could also be said that any man who had watched the princess's coming to the valley could be excused for wis.h.i.+ng himself elsewhere.

Neither could be said to the count's face by one who wished to see another sunrise. So the Aquilonian merely shrugged.

"They will not release Oyzhik, that I can promise you," he said. "His kin played no small part in driving the Pougoi from their ancestral lands and into this valley. These folk have a long memory."

"But the lowlanders have a short one," Syzambry said. He seemed to be almost grinning. "When they see Oyzhik go to the beast for his treasons, they will forget how I gained the throne. They will think there may be some truth in what I say, that I stormed the palace to save it from Decius and Oyzhik, that the king died and the princess needed consoling. These are matters of ill fortune, of the G.o.ds' doing and not mine."

Aybas thought of men he had seen and heard in his long journey from his father's estate to this wretched valley. Compared to some of them.

Count Syzambry's intrigues were those of a child cheating at a game of toss-pebble. Yet this child had the power of life or death over Aybas, and would toss him away like a pebble if he ever guessed the Aquilonian's thoughts. Aybas feigned good cheer when he next spoke.

"May it be so, my lord. Now, how may I next serve you?"

"I shall depart to join my men at c.o.c.k crow. Is it prudent to find me a woman?"

"None you would think pleasing, I fear," Aybas replied, praying that the G.o.ds had not granted Syzambry a glimpse of Wylla.

"I supposed as much," the count said. "Very well. Then guard this bag with your life until I come for it. Farewell, and my thanks for good service."

Syzambry spoke as if "my" should in truth have been the royal "Our."

Aybas bowed and remained bowing until the door slammed, then knelt to study the bag.

It was of plain leather, bound shut with an iron band. The runes on the band were such that Aybas did not care to look at them too closely.

Even in the dim light of the single oil lamp, he could see that they were kin to the runes on the face of the dam. He could also feel that the bag held something heavy, as stone, but he would not even think of opening it.

Count Syzambry was now quite without restraint in using the Pougoi wizards' magic to lift him to the throne. The Aquilonian was also sure that the count was quite without real knowledge of what he was using-or of what its real masters might ask of him as their price.

Chapter 9.

Conan awoke in darkness, at first not sure why he had awakened. It might be only the bed, which was stoutly built but overly generous in size. It might have been comfortable for the Cimmerian when he first left his native land. For him now, it was a minor torture, and only his ability to sleep anywhere allowed him to endure it.

Before retiring tonight, he had sworn a solemn vow to see the palace carpenter about a new bed. He was even prepared to endure the man's witless jests about who Conan might be planning to share the bed with.

Conan set feet to the cracked tile of the floor, drew on breeches, belted on his sword, and listened. Nothing uncommon reached his ears. A slop-pot gurgled, then banged against stone; someone cried out in a nightmare or in pa.s.sion; mice or rats scurried in a corner.

The knowledge that he had awakened for some good reason remained with Conan. All of the instincts that had kept him alive now called warnings. They would tell him no more, so it was best to seek out true knowledge of the danger.

He drew on his s.h.i.+rt and thrust both daggers into their sheaths. He thought of taking his bow, but in the end, he left it with the bearskin and riding cloak piled at the foot of the bed.

Conan knew that danger stalked the palace. Others did not. Seeing him roaming about full-armed would only raise questions he could not answer. Ignorance and fear together were the sparks to ignite a panic, which could leave the palace defenseless.

Conan's grim thoughts went no further. Horns and drums sounded in the distance and were echoed closer at hand from within the palace. Also from within the palace, shouted messages and war cries reverberated.

Conan heard too many screams as the weaker among the palace folk let fear master them.

The Cimmerian had no need to wake the portion of his company lying in the next chamber. The first sergeant was already cursing, kicking, and as needs be, dragging the men off their pallets and into their war harness.

The sergeant raised a hand as Conan appeared. "I have sent a messenger to the barracks. The men there are to rally on the palace," he said.