Part 43 (1/2)

So it would be here-in this vale-where, at best, half of his men could form line at once. This was not altogether to his disadvantage, as his foes would also suffer. The ground would slow any attack, trees protect the count's archers, and a few level patches give his mounted men room to charge.

Syzambry summoned his messengers and watched them ride out. They did not have far to go before they vanished, not only among the trees, but into the mist. Syzambry had cursed the mist without effect, except that it now seemed to lie in patches rather than equally everywhere.

At least the Pougoi and their Star Brothers were safely in the rear. In the middle of a circle of baggage carts defended by their tribesmen, the wizards could conjure as they pleased with what effect they might contrive. They could not distract a man trying to win a realm.

One of the messengers was riding back, faster than he had ridden out.

He reined in his lathered horse and gave a salutation that was all but a wave.

”The royal host is upon the field!”

”Where?”

”There!” At first the count saw nothing save a patch of mist, thicker than most. Then he saw that at the heart of the mist were marching men.

The Palace Guards were taking the field, the giant at their head.

Syzambry recognized the flowing black hair, for the man was bold enough to face him bareheaded!

Well, it would hardly matter whether the head was bare or helmeted once the count had it on a lance outside his tent.

Chapter 19.

This was the kind of battle that Conan liked less than most.

The two hosts were simply flinging themselves upon one another, with less art than pit-wrestlers for all that the combat was deadlier.

Perhaps there was no blame to the captains on either side, for the ground was broken and the mist made seeing what one was about no easy matter.

That was certainly true enough for Conan. He saw the veterans of the Palace Guard with their spears and the newer men with their swords holding their place against Syzambry's levies. He saw Raihna das.h.i.+ng back and forth, encouraging both her men and some of Decius's.

Every man with a bow had brought it to the field, but Conan was allowing only the best of his archers to shoot. Arrows were too few to be flung wildly into patches of mist that might hide enemies.

The Cimmerian thought he saw blue fire dancing from the treetops and in the heart of patches of mist, as Marr and the Star Brothers dueled. He also thought he saw Thyrin and the Pougoi to the right of the Guards instead of to the left, where they belonged. Perhaps they had only lost their way in the mist, not being accustomed to fighting in orderly array.

Thyrin stepped into view from a mist-shrouded clump of fir, but Conan did not ask the man about his tribesmen. How many men were fighting here today, Conan did not know; he only knew how much noise they made.

The host of Turan at the charge could hardly have outshouted them. Any question to Thyrin and any answer from the man would be lost in the din.

”Steel Hand! Steel Hand!”

This time the levies shouted the count's war cry as they advanced, not their own lord's. Conan sought for the count's standard in the misty woods beyond the levies and found nothing. A pity, because putting an end to the count would put an end to the war.

No. The Star Brothers had to meet the same fate as the count, their Brothers, and their beast. They could not be allowed to wreak more havoc.

Their deaths would leave Marr the Piper the only sorcerer in the Border Kingdom, to be sure. That was one sorcerer too many, and a good reason for Conan's being on the way south once the battle was won. But at least Marr was not one to run wild and wreak havoc, unless provoked.

Chienna and Decius would have the task of not provoking the piper.

Conan's own task suddenly presented itself as meeting four of Syzambry's levies. All had swords, two bore s.h.i.+elds, and one carried a long dagger that he wielded in combination with his sword. Conan judged him the most dangerous and moved first against him.

The two-blade fighter was a small man who, until his last day, had won as much by swiftness as by skill. He had never faced Conan's combination of speed and length of reach.

The Cimmerian's blade struck his opponent's dagger out of the hand holding it and went on to gash the arm. The man had the courage to close and the speed to make that a wise move.