Part 43 (2/2)

Conan took the swordcut on his chest and felt mail links drive through his arming doublet into his skin. His reply crashed through the small man's guard and laid open one whole side of his face.

That would have to do for the man, with three other opponents to face.

Conan saw one back away from the fight at the sight of his leader wearing a b.l.o.o.d.y mask, but the other two came on. They seemed to have fought together before, and both fought well enough that the Cimmerian had a moment's need for caution.

Then his blade crashed through the guard of the man to the right, and he kicked upward at the man to the left. His boot caught the man in the groin and lifted him clear of the ground. At the same time, Conan's steel chopped through the other man's arm just below the elbow.

Screaming, the one-armed man fled into the mist, seeking to spend his last moments among his comrades. Conan faced the small man again just as pain and bleeding drove the other to his knees. The sword stroke that clove his cap and skull together was a mercy.

Conan saw the last of the four men writhing on the ground and a Guard recruit with a spear standing over him. As the Cimmerian watched, the spear-head dipped, then thrust in deep. The man's breath bubbled in his throat, he clutched at the spear shaft and writhed, then his limbs went limp and the life went out of his eyes.

”Back to your place!” Conan shouted at the recruit. ”And where did you find that spear?”

”The man who held it before me is dead,” the recruit shouted back, eyes wide with battle-rage and defiance. ”I will be dead, too, before I put it down.”

Conan cursed under his breath. If the line of spears was falling into the hands of the recruits, the Guards might not hold much longer. When they ceased to hold, so would the right flank of the royal army.

It seemed time for a messenger to seek out Decius. This b.u.t.ting of heads like two rams had gone on for a good while, with no great harm to the royal cause. It had drawn the whole royal host into the battle, though, and Conan doubted that Syzambry was in the same case. He might have men to spare with which to seek a flank. Best that the royal army find his flank before he found theirs.

”I will take your place,” Conan shouted to the recruit with the spear.

”You run to the captain-general and say to him-”

Conan's message died on his lips. Wylla ran out of the mist and the witch-fire clad only in her skin belt and ivory dagger. Her face silenced Conan's impulse to fling her over his shoulder and carry her to safety.

”Conan! Marr says that the count has the Star Brothers and their Pougoi to his rear. He wants my father and his warriors to strike them. With his pipes warding off the star-magic-”

”Crom!”

The Pougoi advance would uncover the right flank of the Guard, already at full stretch. It might sow havoc in the count's rear. It might also slay all of Thyrin's Pougoi, and even Marr.

There was only one way to stave off this disaster. The Palace Guard must charge with the Pougoi. Struck in front as well as in flank, Syzambry's wing might falter and fail. Certainly it would be launching few attacks of its own until the fate of the royal charge was decided.

Conan said no prayers. This was a moment when only one G.o.d existed for a Cimmerian, and cold, grim Crom was not one to listen to mortal mewlings. He called a warrior to do his best and to accept his fate if that best was not good enough.

Which was at least as much justice as Conan expected he would receive from Decius. Captains whose battle plans were cast to the four winds by footloose underlings were not often even-tempered.

Conan sheathed his sword, cupped his hands, and ran along the line of the Guards, shouting the rally.

Count Syzambry had no idea of what might be happening on his left. The mist and the ground hid it. What noise he could hear hinted of a royal attack. Perhaps even one in some strength, for a messenger he had sent to learn what might be happening had not returned.

Yet the attack could not have the strength to drive far into his rear.

Even if it did, the Star Brothers and Pougoi together would be a tough nut for any royal handful to crack.

The count's gaze returned to his front, where he could see more clearly. What he saw there was heart-lifting. The royal host was spread thinner than he would have dared believe possible. Decius was no fool; he knew the need to keep a flank strong.

Nor were the royal men-the Palace Guard, it seemed-dead at their posts.

There were too many bodies of Syzambry's men lying among the rocks and bushes, but far fewer of the Guards. In dying, had Syzambry's men broken the Guards?

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