Part 20 (2/2)

Raihna gripped his arm again, and this time she put her other hand over his mouth. ”Conan, for the love of the G.o.ds! You want to tell Decius, not the count!”

The messenger had turned pale at the Cimmerian's look, and he still had a corpse's hue as he continued.

”Captain Conan, the lord captain-general did not ask. He commanded.”

”I don't care if Mitra and Erlik together are commanding it,” Conan snarled. ”We've a good part of the Guard out there, and the G.o.ds only know how they're faring. If they could break out into Syzambry's rear-”

”King Eloikas cannot move as fast as one might wish,” the under-captain said doggedly. ”He must leave the palace now, to escape the men Count Syzambry is bringing against our rear.”

Perhaps it was just his blood being roused, or the fact of the sorcery so close at hand. Conan still thought that the man knew something he was not saying about Eloikas's reasons for this hasty departure.

”I wasn't asking the king to lead our charge himself,” Conan said.

”Only to remember men sworn to him, and to make one last try for victory. We can still bring down the count. If we can't do that, we can hurt his men and slow their pursuit.”

”Perhaps-” The messenger seemed torn between fear of Decius and the king and fear of Conan. Or was it knowledge that the Cimmerian's counsel held wisdom?

”Raihna,” Conan said. ”Gather a half score of archers and hold them ready. I'm going to climb as high as I can to see how the men in the barracks fare. If they've fallen or fled, we'll do as Decius wishes.”

The messenger opened his mouth to argue, then saw Raihna's hand rest lightly on her sword hilt. His mouth shut again, with an audible click.

Conan saw on Raihna's face a wish that he send someone else. He also saw the knowledge that nothing she said would lead anywhere, save perhaps to a quarrel in their last moments of life. Conan would not readily ask a man under him to go where he would not, still less when the man was barely fledged as a soldier.

Conan dropped his bearskin and slung on a quiver and bow. He kicked off his boots, to bring toes as well as fingers to his climb. Then, as the archers gathered, he picked his stretch of wall.

As Raihna raised her hand, he stepped to the base of the structure. The hand came down, arrows hissed into the night, and Conan began to climb.

Chapter 10.

Count Syzambry was no man to admit failure, let alone defeat. He could alter his plans if they went too plainly awry.

The way in through the front of the palace would need more men than he had in hand. He must not only beat down the king's men, including that black-haired giant who seemed to be worth half a company by himself. He must also face losing men to falling walls, traps, ambushes, and the G.o.ds only knew what else as he made his way through the palace.

If he held the defenders he faced, the men he had to the rear of the palace would close the trap. Even holding where he was promised stout fighting, but not beyond what he could ask of his men.

Syzambry's decision had come swiftly. His orders were swifter still..

”Bring half the men from the Guards barracks into line. Move the rest so they stand between our rear and the Guards. Then every man prepare to advance.”

Some thought him mad, or at least foolhardy. He could see it in their eyes. But they remained silent, so he need not fear losing any fighting man by summary execution for disobeying orders.

Weakening the watch on the Guards' barracks might let their survivors escape. Every servant of the king who lived through this night would be one more to hunt down later. The Pougoi warriors had refused to march with him against the palace, but they would not scruple at hunting down royal soldiers. If they did, the Star Brothers would remain them of the need to feed the beast.

Conan was perched as securely as the wall allowed before Raihna's archers had time to shoot three times. As the third flight of arrows whistled toward the enemy, he saw that Syzambry's archers were not shooting back.

Indeed, it seemed that the count's men had abandoned the fight, though not the field. Conan strained even his excellent night sight, trying to make out what might be happening beyond that magic-sp.a.w.ned earthen bank.

The dust was still settling, but the magical light was altogether gone and the moonlight turned fitful and dim. Conan would not have light at the price of another duel of sorcery, but he misliked planning his battle like a blind man groping in a rat-infested cellar.

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