Part 6 (1/2)
”Aesir or Vanir?”
”Vanir!” Even dying, the boy had the strength for indignation Conan s? Did I do well?” Rasasped
His northern fairness had turned the color of fresh-fallen snow Only his eyes held color now
”Twice, when I had time to look about” Conan said He had not in fact laid eyes on the boy until this evening, but this was one of those lies that any honest ive
”I did well?”
”Rass, your strength-” the leech began
”I tell me, Captain!”
”You paid your way, Rasht, and many do not do as much”
”Conan tells the truth,” caain when I took you on”
But she was talking to a set face and staring eyes After a moment, she joined the two men beside the pallet and with her sword-callused thumbs, closed the boy's eyes Then she swayed, and Conan contrived to keep her fro to do so
Presently Raihna was in coain No words were needed as they walked back to the hut Conan had chosen for them Still in silence, they sat across from each other while Conan poured the last wine from a skin into tooden cups
”To old comrades,” Raihna said They clicked cups, then drank When her cup was eained so of her old rin
”Conan, I wish I had half your skill in telling lies to soothe the dying”
”What lies?” the Cirowled ”I said the lad had done as well as any ht He did not run, and all of his wounds were in front That is as well as ain ”Conan, you were born a hundred years old”
Conan threw his head back and his laughter raised echoes in dusty corners ”Tell that to the thieves of Zingara It was said, when I was learning their craft, that a wise thief would not be caught in the sareat lout would warn his prey, the watch, all soldiers sober or drunk, and even the fleas on the watchdogs!”
”They said that of you?”
”Not to ot that I was hearing I let it pass”
He pulled off his boots ”But telling tales of one What of you? Caravan guarding seems to have done well for you”
Raihna's men seemed well-seasoned, save for the lads, and they were certainly well-arative herbs and spare boots Conan had known the lack of such saps in the ranks of a coy leather trousers-unable to disguise the long, supple legs within-that hung down over the best sort of Argossean riding boot
The dagger on her belt was of good Aquilonian work, as was thein the corner Her tunic was red Khitan silk, tight enough to set off breasts that seemed as fine as ever
”I have been one of the lucky ones,” she said Her tale folloiftly, for it was a short one Caravan guarding drew many men, but kept few They fell to bandits, to disease, and hardshi+p, to the temptation to steal from the caravans If they survived all those, they so that the distant cities of their dreaold