Conan the Relentless Part 7

Yet somehow the idea no longer drew Aybas onward as strongly as it had, even though thoughts of Wylla still did. Having unnecessary dealings with the Star Brothers was too great a price to pay for any woman!

With victory so close, it was best to bide his time, then speak to Count Syzambry. The count could deal with the unruly among the Pougoi should any protest at seeing one of their clanswomen sold away from the valley.

Of course, the count might refuse his acquiescence. But even then, Aybas would be dealing with a mortal man-an ambitious man, to be sure, one who would stop at little to rule in this wretched land- but not with a wizard, one who sent messages without a messenger and tamed creatures from beyond the world.

"Mistress Raihna, Mistress Raihna!"

The shouting slowly penetrated Conan's ears. He sat up and willed sleep from his muscles and wits. In two swift strides he was at the hut door.

Behind him he saw tanned limbs flash as Raihna scrambled into her garments. Conan unbarred the door and allowed the man pounding on it to open it a hand's breadth.

"Mistress Raihna! Mistress Raihna!" the man repeated.

"Are we attacked again?" Raihna called.

The man made no answer. Instead his mouth opened slightly as he stared at the Cimmerian looming in the crack. The Cimmerian, in the same hut as Mistress Raihna, and not fully garbed.

Conan heard that thought as if the man had been shouting it. He saw the man bend to peer through a crack between the door's weathered planks.

Then the man straightened abruptly as a large hand gripped the collar of his much-mended s.h.i.+rt.

Jerking the man to his feet, Conan opened the door wider but stood to block any view into the hut. "Your captain has asked you a question, my friend," he said with dangerous softness. "Is it your habit to ignore commands from her?"

"Ghhh-" the man replied. Conan realized that his hand on the man's collar was depriving him of speech, and he loosened his grip. The man rubbed his neck, started to glare at the Cimmerian, then seemed to think better of it.

"There's a Count Syzambry outside the village, ah-"

"Conan of Cimmeria, once of the Turanian service," Raihna said. She was only just decently clad as she stepped into the doorway, but she wore sword, dagger, and helmet over scanty garments.

"Ah, Mistress, Captain Conan. Count Syzambry says that the Princess Chienna was abducted last night. He wants to question all of us and search the camp and the baggage."

"I'll see him buried in camel dung first!" Raihna snapped.

"Mistress, he has fifty men with him."

"Has, or says he has?" Conan asked.

The man looked dubious about Conan's authority to ask, then cringed at Raihna's look and shrugged. "No one has seen more than twenty, and they are still outside the village."

"Good. Keep them there until I come," Raihna said.

"Yes, Mistress."

The door slammed behind the man and they heard his feet running off.

Conan and Raihna looked at each other.

Even if Count Syzambry had no more than twenty men, that was more than Raihna had. If he had the fifty he claimed to have, he might be a worse menace than the bandits.

Raihna threw her arms around Conan and let him hold her against his ma.s.sive chest for a moment. Then she kissed him and stepped back.

"Guard my back and your tongue, friend. We haven't brought King Eloikas's goods this far to lose them now to some son of a she-a.s.s calling himself a count!"

Chapter 4.

Syzambry was a small man who sat on a square-built roan stallion as if he had grown in the saddle. He wore a plate back-and-breast, an open-faced helm plumed in scarlet, and a well-used broadsword ready for a left-handed draw.

The helmet hid most of his face but left exposed a bushy dark beard shot with gray, a jutting red nose, and large dark eyes. The count was staring about as if he wished to make folk believe those eyes could see into a man's soul.

Conan, remembering some of the mortal men and other-than-mortal beings he had faced, was not much bothered by the count's playacting.

"Temple pageants are this one's talent, not leading fighting men," the Cimmerian muttered.

Raihna was close enough to squeeze his arm, feel the rock hardness of its muscles, and whisper in his ear. "For your life-and mine, Conan-be silent until I give you leave to speak."

Conan jerked his head in a nod. Speaking out of turn might provoke Count Syzambry to folly. Or it might make a shrewder man wonder if he faced dividing foes, whose quarrels he could turn to his advantage.

Conan now stepped back and studied the count's men without seeming to do so. They were a good twenty and more. None of them was as well-mounted as the count, nor as well-armored. Conan saw much mail among the men and noted a few unfortunates with no more than boiled-leather jacks sewn with iron rings.

Their weapons were better fitted for battle. All had swords, and most of them had either short horse-bows or crossbows. Conan could only guess at their stock of arrows and quarrels. He feared that they had sufficient to win any fight Raihna's men were foolish enough to provoke.

Conan was not the only one to see that. Raihna's men took one look at their visitors, a second at their captain's gestures. Then they seemed to vanish into the air, to put stout walls between themselves and the count's men.

A man darted out from behind Raihna's hut and came close enough for Conan to hear his whisper. "We are gathered in the heart of the village. Shall we start blocking the streets?"

Raihna shook her head. "Put the archers where they can see and shoot in all directions. Don't forget the castle side of the village, either. If His Bearded-ness has any more men, he may well send some of them over the hill to take us in the rear."

"The G.o.ds be with you, Mistress."

"And with all of you, too."

The man vanished. Raihna struck her left arm with her right hand. "I wish we had gone up to the castle. It would be easier to defend."

"We'd still be getting the pack animals up the path... if they hadn't fallen off and squashed themselves like grapes," Conan muttered. "Small use to worry about what might have been."

"Another saying of Captain Khadjar?"

"Any man with his wits about him learns that before he's been in five battles, or he's vulture's fodder."

Raihna folded her arms across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Count Syzambry. I am Raihna the Bossonian, captain over this caravan and its guards."

"So I have been led to believe. I was also led to believe that you had royal men with you. Where are they?"

Raihna repeated what she had told Conan. Syzambry's laugh was mirthless. Raihna flushed, and it was Conan's turn to grip her arm.

"I am Conan of Cimmeria, once of the hosts of Turan, and under-captain to Mistress Raihna. I ask, what is the jest?"

Syzambry stared at Conan. His laughter this time was forced as the Cimmerian stared back. Ice-blue eyes caught and held dark ones. It was the dark ones that looked away and a gloved hand that twitched as if it sought the hilt of a sword.