Part 35 (2/2)
”If I live through tonight, perhaps. And if I do, I will owe much to High Captain Mekreti. In his days as a soldier, my father was Mekreti's favorite pupil.”
Conan nodded, his opinion of Khezal rising still higher. Mekreti had been to his generation of Turanian soldiers what Khadjar was to this one, the teacher, mentor, and model for all. Had he not fallen in battle against the Hyrkanians, he would doubtless have commanded the whole army of Turan. Anyone whose father had pa.s.sed on to him Mekreti's teachings had been well taught indeed.
They looked once more at the scene of carnage, then Conan walked behind the boulder to slap Bora on the shoulder. He found him companioned by a man of Conan's own age, whom the Cimmerian had seen about the fort last night.
”Bora-?”
”My name is Yakoub,” the young man said. ”How may I serve you, Captain?”
”If Bora is finished-”
”At least until my next meal,” Bora said, with a travesty of a smile.
”And that next meal may be a long time away.”
”Well, then. Bora, return to those of your people who march with the soldiers. Everyone who's not fit to face the demons in a pitched battle, send back to guard the women and children.”
”No one will admit that they are other than fit, Conan. Not even the women. Besides, are not some of the Fort's recruits also to be sent back?”
”Turanian soldiers go where they are ordered!” Khezal snapped.
”Yes, but if he is not a fool, their captain will order the weak ones out of the battle. Is that not so?”
Khezal looked upward, as if imploring the G.o.ds for patience. Then he cast a less friendly look at Bora, which suddenly dissolved into a grin.
”Trained to arms, you would be a formidable foe. You have an eye for an opponent's weak spots. Yes, the recruits will be going back. But there are too many women and children for my men alone. Each village will need to send some of its fighters with their kin, and some forward with us.”
He gripped Bora by both shoulders. ”Come, my young friend. If you dispute with me, you will only give Captain Shamil the chance to make mischief and leave your friends and kin weakly defended. Is that your wish?”
”G.o.ds, no!”
”Then it is settled.”
”What of me, n.o.ble Captains?” Yakoub said.
”Yakoub, if it will not shame you-please go with the women and children,” Bora said. ”I-my family lives yet. With you watching over them...”
”I understand. It does not please me, but I understand.” Yakoub shrugged and turned away.
Conan's eyes followed him. Did his ears lie, or had Yakoub only pretended reluctance to seek safety? Also, Conan now remembered seeing Yakoub wandering about Fort Zheman at dawn after the attempt on Illyana's Jewel. Wandering about, as if astray in his wits.
His wits, or perhaps his memory?
Conan saw no way to answer that, not without revealing more than he could hope to learn. Seen by daylight, however, he noticed that Yakoub showed signs of soot or grease in the creases of his neck and behind his ears.
Men who blacked their faces often found the blacking slow to wash off.
More intriguing still was Yakoub's profile. It was a youthful rendering of High Captain Khadjar's, complete even to the shape of the hose and the cleft chin. Coincidence, or a blood tie? And if a blood tie, how close-if Yakoub was as he seemed, about the age that Khadjar's dead b.a.s.t.a.r.d son would have been-
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