Part 37 (1/2)
”Captain, if Lady Illyana needs privacy, she needn't stay in the middle of the column. I can take a troop back a ways, to guard her while she works. Or Captain Conan can take some of the villagers-”
Shamil spat an obscenity. ”The villagers would run screaming if Lady Illyana sneezed. And I won't spare any of our men. What do you think this is, the Royal Lancers? We'll set sentries and build watchfires as usual, and that's the end of it. You do anything more without my orders, and you go back to Fort Zheman under arrest.”
”As you command, Captain.”
Shamil and his second in command walked away, stiff-backed and in opposite directions. Bora was about to creep away, when he heard more people approaching. He lay still, while Conan and Raihna emerged into the glow of the fire. The woman wore short trousers, like a sailor's, that left her splendid legs half-bare. The Cimmerian wore nothing above the waist, in spite of the chill upland air. Illyana, Bora realized, had tears in her eyes. Her voice shook as she gripped Conan by one hand and Raihna by the other.
”Is there nothing we can do about Captain Shamil?”
”Watch our backs and hope the demons will come soon to keep him busy,”
Conan said. ”Anything else is mutiny. Bad enough if we do it, twice as bad if Khezal does it. We split the men, and we're handing the demons'
master victory all trussed up and spiced!”
”You listen too much to lawbound men like Khadjar and not enough to-”
”Enough!” The one word from Conan silenced Illyana. After a moment, she nodded.
”Forgive me. I-have you never felt helpless in the face of danger?”
”More often than you, my lady, and I'd wager more helpless too. Mutiny is still mutiny.”
”Granted. Now, if I can have my bedding-?”
”Not your tent?” Raihna asked.
”I think not. Tonight a tent is more likely a trap than a protection.”
”I'll pa.s.s that on to anyone who'll listen,” Conan said.
The talk turned away from matters Bora felt he needed to know. Staying low, he crossed the stream, then trotted back to the camp of the villagers.
Bora now led only the men of Crimson Springs, and Gelek of Six Trees had done everything necessary by way of posting sentries and the like.
With a clear conscience if an uneasy mind, Bora wrapped himself in his blankets and sought the softest rocks he could find.
Sleep would not come, though, until he swore a solemn oath. If Captain Shamir's folly slew the men he led, and the G.o.ds spared the man, Bora would not.
Unless, of course, the Cimmerian reached Shamil first.
Seventeen.
CONAN HAD SLEPT little and lightly. Now he inspected the sentries under a star-specked sky. Somewhat to his surprise and much to his pleasure, he found them alert. Perhaps Khezal's discipline counted for more than the laxness of Captain Shamil. Or did the ghosts of comrades dead in vanished outposts whisper caution?
Toward the end of his inspection, Conan met Khezal on the same errand.
The young officer laughed, but uneasily; Illyana's warning was in both their minds. Even without it, Conan had the sense of invisible eyes watching him from deep within the surrounding hills.
”Let us stay together, Captain,” Khezal said. ”If you inspect the men with me, none will doubt your authority. Except Shamil. He would doubt the difference between men and women!”