Part 31 (1/2)
The desire to leave with dignity filled Yakoub. He drew a silver ring from a finger of his left hand and placed it next to the green gla.s.s.
It rolled down between the woman's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, to rest on her belly just above the navel. The curves of that belly were also subtle and exquisite.
Boldly, Yakoub rested one hand on the curves of belly. Bending over, he kissed both nipples. They filled his mouth with sweetness, as if they were smeared with honey.
Illyana sighed in her sleep, and for a moment one hand crept across her belly to rest on his. Yakoub knew no fear. Had he seen his death approaching in that instant, he would not have moved from its path.
Another sigh, and the hand rose. Yakoub withdrew five paces, half-expecting to hear the fly again. He heard nothing. In silence he retraced his steps to the window, gripped the rope, and began to climb.
Between them, Conan and Raihna dealt with Shamil's four loyal friends or fellow plotters in as many minutes. All were disarmed and only one wounded.
By then some dozen or more additional soldiers had mounted the stairs.
Few were fully sober, fewer still eager to close with Conan and Raihna.
Some seemed full of zeal for tending the wounded, at a safe distance from the fight. Most contented themselves with standing about, swords raised and ferocious looks on their bearded faces.
”If black looks could kill, we'd vanish like a puddle in the noon sun,”
Conan taunted them. ”If that's all you can muster, what are we fighting about? If you have more in your a.r.s.enal, let's see it!”
This brought a couple of the laggards forward, to be disarmed swiftly and painlessly. Conan spared a glance for the doors to his comrades'
chambers. Both remained shut and bolted.
Conan hoped Dessa and Ma.s.souf would have the wits to stay inside and Illyana to not only stay inside but cast no spells. He would not see honest soldiers enmeshed in magic without good cause. Besides, the smallest smell of magic about the party would lead to more questions than Conan was happy about answering.
The lack of any will to press the fight was becoming plain. Some of the veterans Conan remembered from the evening's drinking appeared, to lead away the wounded and some of those befriending them. As long as they felt their captain's eye on them, however, a few soldiers were determined to make at least the appearance of fighting.
Conan was now prepared to meet and disarm every one of them if it took until dawn. The wine was entirely out of him. Raihna, on the other hand, had worked herself into a fine fighting pa.s.sion.
”What do we face here, my friend?” she shouted at Conan. ”If this is the best Fort Zheman can do, we'll only die from stumbling over their fallen swords!”
Taunted into rage, a man slashed at Raihna. She twisted clear and his rage blinded him to his open flank. Conan's fist took him behind his right ear and he crashed to the floor.
”This will soon pa.s.s beyond a jest,” Conan said. ”I have no quarrel with any of you save your captain and not much with him. He's been led astray-”
”No woman lies to me without paying!” Shamil roared, waving his bandaged arm.
”Who says otherwise?” Conan asked. ”But I wonder. Is it Raihna who lied? Or is it someone else?”
Caught off-guard, Shamil let his face show naked confusion for a moment. He could have no notion that he had been overheard, cursing his deceiver. Then the arm waved more furiously.
”The woman lied, and so did this man! They may not be the only ones, but they're here! Avenge the Fort's honor, you fools, if you can't think of mine!”
The veterans, Conan observed, were altogether unmoved by this argument.
The recruits were not. Six of them were pus.h.i.+ng forward to within sword's reach of the Cimmerian when a voice roared at the foot of the stairs.
”Ho, turn out the guard! Captain to the walls! Turn out the guard!
Captain to the walls!”
A leather-lunged veteran mounted the stairs, still shouting. Behind him ran Under-captain Khezal, sword belted on over an embroidered silk chamber robe that left his arms and chest half-bare.