Conan the Relentless Part 40

At least the turncoat Pougoi had no beasts or Star Brothers with them as far as the scouts could judge. There was no approaching the royal camp closely, by night or by day. The scouts who tried to had never been seen again, save for one who was found gelded, disemboweled, and otherwise turned into a direful warning.

After that, the scouts kept their distance, and much of what they brought back was rumors or, at best, tales. One tale ran so far as to say that King Eloikas was dead. If so, should Syzambry offer peace on terms of being named regent for Prince Urras?

Syzambry looked at that notion now from one side, now from another, as color left the world and night swallowed the camp save where watchfires sparked with saffron flames or crimson coals. It was full dark by the time he judged it best to hold his tongue for now. When he knew his own strength, as well as his foe's weakness, the time might be right for making nimble tongues do the work of sharp steel.

Where was Zylku? The count would not know his own strength until he knew the state of the Pougoi, and he would not know that until the man returned.

Boots sc.r.a.ped rocky ground. Swords and spears clattered and clanged.

The count's guards were alert. The count himself drew his sword and laid it across his knees as his servant opened the tent flaps.

A dark shape emerged into the circle of the watch-fire: Zylku, looking much the same as he had three days ago, save for an unshaven countenance and a dark cloak thrown over his garments. He stepped lightly toward the watchfire.

The count leaped from his chair, raising his sword to the guard position. In the fire's light he saw that the agent's feet were bare.

Bare-and b.l.o.o.d.y, as if he had run barefoot for days over sharp stones.

Syzambry's breath hissed out in alarm. Otherwise, he would have called the sentries. They needed no calling, though. They had seen the same as their lord, and they stepped forward to do their duty.

The first two guards to reach the agent gripped him gently by the arms, as they would have done with a harmless madman. With the strength of ten men, Zylku gripped the guards' throats. With the strength of twenty, he slammed their heads together. The crack of shattered skulls was loud enough to raise echoes. Then, for good measure, Zylku's fingers closed on the men's throats and crushed their windpipes. They were dead twice over when he flung them violently away from him, to crash into their comrades.

The guards' oath to their lord, and perhaps fear of his wrath, held them at their posts. They did not, however, again advance upon Zylku.

As what had been a man ambled toward the fire, they ran hastily to form a wall of flesh and steel before their lord.

"Lift me up, you fools!" the count stormed. He hated any order that would remind others of his lack of stature, but he had no choice. All he could see before him was a line of jerkined backs and helmeted heads.

Two of his servants lifted the chair. They staggered under its weight.

Two guards ran back to join the servants. They were eager to be as far as they could contrive from Zylku.

The four men together bore chair and count out of the tent and raised Syzambry until he could see over the heads of his guards. He swallowed a cry of horror when he saw clearly, and his limbs responded to an urge to leap in panic from his chair. The chair swayed, the men struggled to uphold it, the count clung desperately to both his dignity and the arms of the chair, and the guards tried to look in all directions at once.

Chaos threatened, but it did not quite prevail. The count settled back on the cus.h.i.+ons and forced himself to stare at the sight before him.

Zylku stood in the fire, whose flames leaped as high as his knees. They had already burned the boots from his feet, and now they were turning the flesh on his bones to charcoal. He seemed to feel no pain, though, but stood as if his feet had been in a warm bath, scented with healing herbs-

The man's mouth opened and he spoke. Or at least words came forth.

Count Syzambry did not care to think about who in truth had put the words in Zylku's mouth.

"Count Syzambry. This time it is not you who pays the price for seeking unlawful knowledge of our secrets. Nor will it be you unless you further fail to heed such lessons. There will be a lesson each time you seek what you may not know. Each time that lesson will cost the life of a man under you. Think. How many such lessons will the courage of your men endure?"

Then, at last, the spell that had bound Zylku broke. All the pain of being burned alive struck him in a single moment. Count Syzambry would have sworn that no such scream could issue from a human throat.

"Kill him!" the count howled, nearly as shrill as the wretched man himself. The order was not needed. Half a dozen spears were in Zylku's breast before he could scream a second time. There would have been more had several guards not dropped their weapons to clap their hands over their ears. One fell to his knees, spewing.

As Zylku died, so did the fire. The count thanked the G.o.ds for the darkness, which hid his own pallid and fear-twisted countenance from his men. He hoped that the G.o.ds were still present in this land to be thanked.

At least his guards and servants were present and in command of their limbs and senses. They did their duty so that when the count's wit returned, he was wrapped in furs and in his bed, with a leech attending him.

Syzambry listened with but half an ear to the leech's earnest mutterings about bleeding and purging, green bile and wind. His thoughts were elsewhere, pursuing the mystery of who had ensorceled Zylku and sent him to his dreadful death.

No one but the Star Brothers and the royal house could have secrets they would kill to guard. The royal house had no magic at its command, unless the piper still served them. The Star Brothers had magic more than great enough for this dreadful work, even without their beast.

Yet the Star Brothers were his allies! The count almost choked on the word. Was this a way to treat an ally, one who had promised to raise them and their folk high in the Border Kingdom? Slaughtering a trusted man, sowing fear among the soldiers, and unsettling the count's own mind?

The Star Brothers had done it, though. Perhaps they were like their hill folk after all, with no sense of honor outside the tribes. Perhaps they did not care what they did, because the secret they wished to protect was that they could prevail without Count Syzambry's aid.

With the fire gone, the night could not have been darker. It seemed colder, though, and the count drew the furs more tightly about himself as the chill seemed to strike at his wounds. Amidst the throbbing pain, the thought of offering peace to the royal house came again.

"Tell your master that peace shall come only when he offers his sword to Our service without conditions," Queen Chienna said.

Decius smiled at the look on the faces of the handful of surviving court officials. The royal "We" was the prerogative of a reigning monarch, not of a regent for an underage king. Nor had it escaped their attention that Urras was still called "Prince."

It seemed that the matter of a regency would not arise for some time, mostly likely not until after the decisive battle against Count Syzambry. This did not displease Decius in the least.

To be sure, as captain-general, he would have been a leading member of any Council of Regency. But there would have been others, more each day as n.o.bles with more loyalty than strength rallied to the royal standard.

Some of these n.o.bles considered themselves well-versed in war. They would not seek Decius's office, but neither would they cease to advise him how to conduct it. As for what they would say to Conan being captain of the Guard, or to Raihna and Aybas being captains at all, or Marr the Piper's very presence in the camp-Decius was happy that he would not have to listen to any of it.

All he would have to listen to was Chienna saying, "We wish it done,"

or "We do not wish this done," and then obey. It was enough to make a man not merely believe in the G.o.ds, but to be convinced that they had some concern for justice and decency among men.

"May my master not even expect a pardon?" Count Syzambry's messenger queried.

The queen's eyebrows drew together in a way that Decius had seen a hundred times, ever since she was a child. No furious words followed, however. Her dignity was indeed regal as she merely said: "Our words were simple. 'Without conditions.' Are you or your master deaf, that you cannot understand?"

The messenger seemed to at least understand that he would gain no more by staying, and perhaps lose the chance to make a dignified withdrawal.

He made it, and shortly afterward the clatter of hooves told of his departure.

Decius made the rounds of the sentries, told them to keep a watch for the return of Conan's picked men from their training march, then had a brief audience with the queen. She was tr.i.m.m.i.n.g her toenails with a soldier's knife as they spoke, but it seemed to Decius that she was more graceful than ever.

"We did not ask your advice before refusing the count's offer," she said. "For this, We ask your forgiveness. Do you think it was worth more of a hearing than We gave it?"

Decius's laughter was a harsh bark. "Count Syzambry is trying to enlist your aid to save a lost cause."

"Or the tales may be true, that he has Pougoi allies as well and fears them as much as he does Us," Chienna pointed out.

Decius's dignity would not allow him to gape, but his face revealed enough to make the queen laugh. "Decius, I should be angry at your thinking I am not old enough to hear such things. Remember, I am Queen of the Border, a poor queen, perhaps, but all the realm has-unless you think that Count Syzambry really should rule?"

Try as he would, Decius could not laugh at that jest. "Captain Conan would be ten times fitter for the crown than Syzambry."

"At least," the queen said. She put the knife away and drew her stained robe down over her bare feet. "We are well pleased with your service and value your counsel. May We always be able to trust them as We do today."

Decius bowed himself out, thinking that wishes, even royal wishes, could not bind the G.o.ds. He was twice Chienna's age and would be fortunate indeed if he lived to teach Prince Urras the art of war.

Perhaps he should marry again. After burying a wife and three sons, it might be tempting fate, but his children and Urras might grow together.

The prince would need friends and playmates, certainly, and-

"My lord Decius. Do you wish to be alone?"