Part 9 (1/2)

Briefly, Conan cursed Count Syzambry's wits and the scantiness of last night's rain. If the ancient thatch of the village had been well-soaked, the count could never have used this trick. As Conan finished cursing, three arrows plummeted into the thatch of his own hut. All three of them must have struck a dry patch; for flames rose almost at once, then leaped toward the Cimmerian fast enough to singe his hair;

Conan rolled toward the edge of the hut. The thatching sagged under him, and he heard a muted crack of wood. Then a roof beam gave way, and burning thatch, unburned thatch, timbers, and Conan crashed to the floor of the hut.

The Cimmerian leaped to his feet, beating out smoldering patches on his clothes and in his hair. As he finished the work, Raihna appeared. Her light linen trousers now covered less than did most loin-guards, and her s.h.i.+rt consisted of rags that threatened to part company with one another at any moment.

Her garb might be in disarray, but her wits were not. ”I have the men gathering the most important goods now. They know what those are.” For a moment, her lips trembled. ”You were right. We shall appear before King Eloikas as little more than beggers and pray-”

She could not go on. Conan wanted to hold her but doubted that they had the time, or that she would take comfort from it.

”Raihna. We'll need a rear guard to hold the village while the rest of the men go over the hill. That will have to be the way, so that Syzambry's mounted archers can't follow. Give me two or three men, one an archer, and I'll make that rear guard.”

”Conan . . .” She stared at him as if he had started speaking in Khitan, or had turned into a dragon.

”In Crom's name, we haven't the time for arguing!” he almost shouted.

”I'm the best man for the work. Give me some good men at my back and flank and I'll do it.”

Raihna's hand came up. For a moment, Conan braced himself for a slap.

Then her hand came the rest of the way and lightly brushed his cheek.

They were standing there, knowing that time and foes pressed, when deep-toned war trumpets sounded outside. First, one in the far distance, beyond the hill. Then another, answering it from closer by.

Finally, two more, which grew louder as they sounded.

By the time the last trumpet blast died, Conan heard the sound of many horses, swelling rapidly. He pushed Raihna lightly on one bare shoulder.

”Time for you to run and for me to fight. I think the count's friends are coming.”

Decius, captain-general of the Hosts of the Border, knew what might come of sounding the trumpets. If Count Syzambry was at the village and had the wits to heed the warning, his men could show Decius's men a clear pair of heels.

The captain-general prayed to every lawful G.o.d, however, that Syzambry would be driven to desperation instead of to flight. If the count hurled his men into the village so that Decius could catch them red-handed-

King Eloikas would not much care for a battle if Syzambry escaped. But if the battle put an end to the count and his scheming and treachery, the king would forgive his captain-general much more than that.

Decius leaned forward in his saddle, then drew himself upright. A captain-general could not appear uneasy, not when he led no more than a score of men toward battle against perhaps twice their number. The villager who had warned of Syzambry's march might have miscounted, but Syzambry could indeed have fifty men.

As the trumpets sounded again, Decius nodded to his banner bearer. The banner of the Silver Bear rose and stood out in the wind. Decius nodded to his squire, riding almost boot to boot with him, and the lad handed over his master's s.h.i.+eld.

The stout oval of metal-rimmed oak settled on Decius's arm like a familiar friend. He did not draw his sword. It was not yet. time to be reduced to guiding his horse with his knees, not over such rough ground.

A final blast on the trumpets echoed from the hillside. The captain-general's men spurred their horses to a trot as they rounded the final bend in the trail.

Before them stood Castle Dembi and the equally ruined village at the foot of its hill. Half of the huts in the village seemed to be aflame.

On the hillside sprawled the bodies of men and animals. A column of heavily burdened men on foot was scrambling past the bodies.

Decius reined in before the ruins of the village shrine. The ground about him showed the traces of many shod horses. A cloud of dust on the trail leading into the forest showed where the hors.e.m.e.n had gone.

”Who comes here?” a rough voice shouted from the village.