Roland Green - Conan The Valiant

"Wouldn't smashing Eremius's Jewel be winning the battle?"

"At too great a price. The Jewels are among the supreme creations of all magic. To grind them to powder as if they were pebbles, to lose all that might be learned by using them wisely together—I would feel unclean if I had a hand in it."

Conan would not trust his tongue. He already felt unclean, from too long in the company of too much magic. Now he felt a sharp pang of suspicion. Perhaps the Jewels could teach much, to one fit to learn. Likely enough, though, it would be what their creators or discoverers wanted learned.

Something of Conan's thoughts must have shown on his face. Illyana feigned doubt.

"Also, it is said that destroying one Jewel without destroying the other makes the survivor far more dangerous. No one can command it."

"A fine mess of 'it is saids' the Jewels carry with them! Didn't you learn a little truth while you studied with Eremius?"

Illyana's face turned pale and she seemed about to choke. Conari remembered Raihna's advice and started to apologize.

"No," Illyana said. "You have the right to ask, a right I grant to few. I also have the duty to answer. I learned as much as I could, but Eremius gave me little help. What he wished me to learn was—other matters."

She shook herself like a wet dog, and the nightmares seemed to pass. "Where do we go now, Conan?"

"Fort Zheman, and swiftly."

"A garrison may show us scant hospitality, unless we use Mishrak's name."

"Time we did that anyway. We're close to country where we need mountain horses. Besides, we owe it to Dessa to leave her among enough men to keep her happy!"

At Illyana's laugh, Raihna stretched catlike and began to waken.

Thirteen

THE WESTERING SUN glowed a hand's breadth above the horizon. Fingers of blue shadow gripped the commander's garden in Fort Zheman. Beside one of his predecessor's rose bushes, Captain Shamil turned to face Yakoub.

"There has to be more than you're telling me, my young friend," Shamil growled.

Yakoub spread his hands in a gesture of dismay that was not altogether feigned. Was this fool about to seek wisdom at a most inconvenient time?

"Why should I lie to you? Even if I did, is not a fair woman in your bed worth much?"

" If she's as fair as you say. I remind you that I haven't yet seen the woman, even clothed."

A whiplash of anger cracked in Yakoub's voice. "Must I need to remind you of how long you've served us? Of how this would seem to Mughra Khan? Of how easy it would be for him to learn?"

The reply was not what Yakoub expected. It was a dour smile, spread hands and a shrug.

"I have forgotten none of these things. There is something you may have forgotten. My under-captain Khezal is not of our party. If I were removed, he would command Fort Zheman."

"Who cares what a well-born lapdog like that may do or leave undone?"

"Khezal's less of the lapdog and more of the wolf than you think. The men know it, too. They'd follow him where he led, even if it was against us."

If I could only be sure he was telling the truth!

Khezal seemed no more than a nobleman's foppish son doing a term on the frontier before returning to a more comfortable post close to court. Having such a man commanding Fort Zheman would be no small victory. Under him the fort would surely fall to Master Eremius's servants.

Then the whole province would be ablaze with rebellion or fleeing in fear. The greater the menace, the larger the army sent to deal with it. The larger the army, the more men under Lord Houma's command. The more men, the more power in Lord Houma's hands on the day he chose to act. If Shamil told the truth, however, Khezal would lead Fort Zheman well enough, besides being no part of Lord Houma's faction. Yakoub pretended to contemplate a creamy yellow rose with a deep russet heart while he weighed risks. He remembered his father's words, "Remember that decision in war is always a gamble. The difference between the wise captain and the foolish one is knowing how much you're gambling."

Yakoub chose to be a wise captain. He could not gamble away power over Fort Zheman.

"I won't command or beg. I'll just offer my help in keeping Raihna's guardians away. Once she knows they're looking the other way, she'll be hot for your bed."

"Now you begin to talk sense. What kind of help? If you're trying to make me think you can fight off a whole merchant family—"

"Am I a fool? Have I seemed to think you one?"

"Better if I didn't answer that, I think."

Yakoub sighed. The fear of failure was giving way to weariness at dealing with such as Shamil. Caraya was so different, so clean in heart and mind and body. It was impossible not to love her.

It was impossible, also, not to wonder. When victory crowned Houma's banners, he could offer her more than she could have ever dreamed of. Would she forgive what he had done, to reach the place where he could offer it?

Yakoub shook off the forebodings. "Well, I don't think you a fool, and the gods grant I am none either. I can make free with my purse. That should keep the lady's guards looking the other way for a night and silent afterward. Can you have some of your men ready to hand, in case my gold does not do all that it should?"

"If you'll pay them."

"That's within reason."

The price they finally negotiated was not. Yakoub considered that if matters went on in this way, Lord Houma might face taking the throne as the only alternative to being imprisoned for debt!

To be sure, Shamil's price had to be considered in the light of what the men would face. Yakoub did not expect many of the men to survive the Cimmerian's sword. This did not matter, as long as the Cimmerian himself did not survive either.

With Conan dead and Raihna the plaything of the garrison, Illyana would be easy prey. To gain the Jewel of Kurag and deliver it to Eremius would be at least imaginable for one swift of blade, foot, and wit. Even if Yakoub could not himself snatch the Jewel and earn Eremius's reward, victory would be far closer.

The shadow fingers gripped almost the whole courtyard when Yakoub left the garden. He turned toward his quarters under a darkening sky and a rising wind. By the time he pulled the shutters of his room, he could hear it whining above. On the keep, the banner of Turan stood stiff and black against the flaming hues of sunset.

"All's well," came Raihna's voice from behind Conan.

The Cimmerian finished his turn more slowly than he had begun it. "Don't slip up behind anyone else here, Raihna. They might finish their turn with sword in hand, ready to push through your guts."

"The men wouldn't be such fools."

"The veterans, no. The others, I don't know. Not the kind to listen to tales of demons on the march without seeing enemies everywhere. And even the veterans lost friends in those outposts that vanished."

"I'll take care." She stood on tiptoe and kissed Conan in a way that might have looked chaste from a distance. It set the Cimmerian's blood seething. With a will of their own, his arms went around her.

Self-command returned. "Come, my lady's sister," he said with a grin. "We must not make anyone suspicious."

"Indeed, no. The family's pride—it would not countenance a caravan guardsman's suit ."

" I shall not always be what I am, Raihna," Conan said, still grinning.

"That's as certain as anything can be," Raihna replied. She gently pushed him away, with hands not altogether steady in spite of the smile on her face.

Both knew that being welcomed at the fort without having to mention the name of Mishrak was either unexpected good fortune or a subtle trap. Until they knew, they were all determined to play out their masquerade as long as possible. If they could play it out for their entire sojurn at Fort Zheman, it might even confuse those who had set any trap, until they sprang it too late.