Conan the Relentless Part 38

"Forgive me if I presumed, Your Highness, but-"

"You were in haste and could not wait for my permission? My father and Decius have told me how often this excuse is given, by both good captains and bad."

Conan was silent, keeping his gaze turned toward the Pougoi. Then he heard a soft laugh.

"You are a good captain, Conan of Cimmeria," the princess said, "and therefore much may be allowed you. Bring the Pougoi forward and let us have the oath-taking. Then they can go and bring up their comrades and kin and we can all sleep at ease tonight."

The oath-taking went swiftly. Conan had expected nothing else. Nor did he doubt that the rest of the Pougoi who followed Thyrin would be as swift in declaring their new allegiance.

Some, doubtless, were of the faction Aybas had described, and always kept apart from the intrigues of Syzambry and the Star Brothers. Some might be seeing the world with fresh eyes. None could doubt that the Pougoi had little future unless they sought new allies. Homeless, their war strength shrunken, their women and children helpless prey, they could not hope to face the other tribes whom they had made into mortal enemies. The raiding for sacrifices had gone on for too long to be easily forgiven.

Conan only hoped that the Pougoi would not use their new place as upholders of the throne as yet another weapon against their enemies. If they did, the throne would have peace with one mountain tribe and blood-feud with half a dozen others.

The Cimmerian thanked the G.o.ds that it would be Eloikas and Chienna who faced that problem, not himself or Raihna. If Aybas wanted to stay and be embroiled in it, good luck to him-and, indeed, the Aquilonian exile's experience of intrigues might make him a wise counselor to the Border throne.

First, however, came the task of being sure that there was a Border throne for Aybas to counsel!

A band of more than a hundred, with fifty fighting men, was harder to hide than Conan's handful. It also had less need to hide. Nothing save Count Syzambry's host-if he yet had one-or Decius and the Guards could meet them in open battle.

Ambushes were another matter, and the Star Brothers' magic was another still. So Conan decided that the newly united, newly sworn allies would move by day and sleep by night. Since it was near sunset by the time the last oath was taken, that meant they would begin the last part of their journey on the next day.

A cl.u.s.ter of huts too small to deserve the name of village offered shelter to the women and children and the princess. The huts were filthy but intact, and they had the look of having been abandoned only a few days before. Why the inhabitants had fled, and whither, Conan did not know. Nor did he care to speak of these questions where anyone less clearheaded than Raihna or Thyrin might hear.

At the end of the oath-taking, Thyrin gave chief's gifts to Conan's party. One gift was the use of a wet-nurse for Prince Urras for as long as he needed one.

The other was a tent for the use of Conan and Raihna.

"You may share it if you wish," Raihna told Aybas. "One or the other of us will always be on watch tonight."

Conan said nothing but considered that Raihna might have told him first if it was her notion that they sleep apart. They would be doing that enough when they rejoined Decius. Raihna was too much woman to let slip away without one final, hot tumble.

Aybas shook his head. "Thyrin has offered me the hospitality of his tent as a peace offering." He lowered his voice and looked toward Wylla, standing close to the piper. "Also, she is sleeping under the stars with him, so it matters little where I sleep."

"Not so," Raihna said. "Sleep where you will wake with a clear head. We need your wits untouched. Aquilonia's loss has been our gain."

Aybas's face told plainly of how long it had been since he heard such praise, but he was equal to the occasion. He bowed, kissed Raihna's hand, and withdrew.

"Who takes first watch?" Conan asked.

"Let it be me," Raihna said. "For one night, you should spare yourself."

"When has a woman ever made me weak, Raihna? Even you, and I have known few women-"

She punched him lightly in the ribs. "As you say, you have known few women if you think that none can weaken a man for serious business. Go and sleep, Conan."

Conan raised his hand in mock respect. "I think I should never have named you 'Lady.' What next? Wedding Decius, so that you have the rank in truth?"

Raihna turned away quickly, still smiling. Yet it seemed to Conan that the smile was thinner than common for her.

Neither Raihna's smile nor anything else kept the Cimmerian from plunging into a deep sleep the moment he lay down. He had lightly oiled his blades and sworn to find the Pougoi smith at first light. The sword, at least, would not be fit to cut mutton without some skilled work.

Then he had removed his boots, wrapped himself in his bearskin, and lain down on the pine branches covering the floor of the tent. The heady smell of fresh-crushed needles was the last sensation he remembered... before he awoke to discover that he was no longer alone on his bed. Indeed, he was no longer alone within the furs. Someone had thrown them back and crawled under them with him.

The "someone" was a woman, and she was not asleep. She was feigning sleep, but Conan's ears were too keen to be deceived.

She was also clad only in her own skin, and that was not feigned. Conan ran a hand down a smooth back and gently patted firmly muscled hindquarters. It seemed that Raihna had decided against their sleeping apart after all. Having had her jest-

The woman rolled over and drew Conan firmly into her arms.

No man to refuse an invitation so plainly offered, he made quick work of his own garments and returned the embrace as heartily as it had been given. Pressing Raihna down onto the furs, he twined his fingers in her hair and kissed her soundly. Meanwhile, her own hands were at work, making Conan's roar-

Until he felt the hair, which was as fine-spun as silk and flowed down past the woman's shoulders nearly to the small of her back.

Not Raihna's hair. Raihna's thick, fair hair ended hardly lower than the back of her neck.

Conan did not cease his kisses; nor did the woman-he could no longer call her Raihna-cease her pleasant activities. But with a free hand now here, now there, the Cimmerian quickly made himself a picture of his companion.

Beyond doubt, not Raihna. As tall and as broad across the shoulders, but not as well-fleshed. Add these discoveries to the long hair, and who was he holding in his arms?

Conan's knowledge came to him with a laugh that the woman took for a sign of pleasure. She redoubled her efforts, not that any such was needed to make her a welcome bedmate.

So he had Princess Chienna. Very well. He was a man with a fine woman in his bed, and when that was so, there was neither rank nor royalty nor anything else-except for the rites that had begun long before men and women wore crowns, or anything else.

The rites consumed much of the night and gave much mutual pleasure. The princess at last fell asleep, and Conan wondered if he should awaken her and warn her that Raihna might be returning from her watch.

Then it struck him like a thunderclap. Raihna and the princess had contrived this between them, as-a jest, to say no more.

Why? Bedding royal maidens courted death in most realms, but Chienna was no maiden and, indeed, no woman to be told where she might make her bed. Conan had no fear that the jest would turn deadly.

He still would be glad to know whence the intrigue came. Yet it seemed that the answer would need a potent spell, to let him understand the thoughts of women. A potent spell, and like a cloak of invisibility, or an invincible sword, likely to be more perilous than helpful in the end.

At least he need have no more fear of what Raihna might say should she find them together. Conan piled the furs over them again and drew the princess into his arms. She deserved to sleep warm tonight, if on no other night!

Furs and princess together so warmed Conan that his second sleep was as deep as his first. He awoke to find the princess gone and Raihna in her usual place. She looked very fair in the pale light of early dawn, but it was not in Conan to wake her.

The camp began its greetings to the day with the sc.r.a.pe of flint and steel kindling cook fires, the clash of pats and knives, the wails of hungry children. The night sentries came in, the day sentries went out, and Conan heard a familiar voice raised in protest.

It was Aybas, complaining to all who would hear- and some, it seemed, who would not-that he had barely slept last night. Thyrin snored.

It was then that Conan's laughter shook the tent and awoke Raihna.

Chapter 17.

Pain still troubled Count Syzambry day and night, likewise weakness and nightmares. He was not ungrateful to Zylku the apprentice for his work with the potions he had found in the ruins of the palace. Without Zylku, both the pain and the weakness would have been impossible to conceal, and the mustering of men to his standard impossible to accomplish. So in spite of the pain, he slept well the night before the Pougoi came to his camp.

The sentries were among the best of his men-at-arms. They sent word of the coming of the Pougoi, then stood to arms instead of fleeing.