Roland Green - Conan The Valiant

Nor did his own fate bear contemplation, if by abandoning his quest to reunite the Jewels he allowed Illyana success in hers. Consummating his desire for her, and avenging her theft of the Jewel, were goals he could abandon without feeling that his life was at an end. It was otherwise, with Illyana's desire for vengeance on him.

The last of the Transformed fled over the crest of the far side of the valley. Eremius cast his mind among them and rejoiced at what he learned.

Fewer than a score of the Transformed were slain. Thrice that many had greater or lesser hurts, but nothing that could not be healed in a few days. They had taken no captives to strengthen their ranks, but they had slain several times their own strength.

He had not won the sort of victory that ends a war at a stroke, but he had made a good beginning to the campaign. With this, Eremius was prepared to be content for one night.

He willed the Jewel-fire to blaze higher yet for a moment, then allowed it to die. Then he set about calling the Jewel to him. He had not quite mastered the art of casting a mighty spell in the form of a polite request to a greater than he. Indeed, it was not an art he had ever expected to need!

He still contrived well enough. The Jewel rode peacefully in his pouch as he hurried down the far side of his hill. He sensed no magic on his trail, but human foes were another matter. If that towering Cimmerian who rode with Illyana were to stalk him, even the Jewel might not be enough!

Yakoub cast his gaze to the right and the left. As cat-eyed as Bora, he could still make out no other enemies flanking the man he faced.

Either the man was a fool who had strayed apart from his comrades or he was the bait in a trap. Yakoub much doubted it was the second. From all he knew of the demon-master's human servants, they lacked the wits for such subtleties.

Yakoub lowered himself over the edge of the little cliff until he hung by his fingers, then dropped. His feet slid on the gravel. The man whirled at the sound, but too late. Yakoub clamped a hand over his mouth and drove the knife up under his guard and his ribs. His heels drummed frantically on the stones for a moment, then he went limp.

The man did have comrades, close enough to hear his fate if not to prevent it. They shouted, and one rose into view. The shouts alerted the other sentries around the villagers' camp. Feet thudded on stony ground and arrows hissed in high arcs, to fall as the gods willed.

Yakoub crouched in such shelter as the cliff offered. He feared the demon-master's men little, the wild shooting of "friendly" archers rather more.

Screams hinted of arrows finding their marks. Scurrying feet interspersed with shouts told Yakoub plainly that the demon-master's men were fleeing. He remained below the cliff until the guards reached him.

The old sergeant in command looked at the body, then grunted approvingly. "Good work, knife against sword."

"It would have been better, if I hadn't had to kill him so soon. That may have warned the rest."

"Maybe. Maybe his friends would've got in close, too. Then half the recruits and all the hillfolk would've been wetting themselves and screaming their heads off. No way to fight a battle. You saved us that. Sure you don't want to take King Yildiz's coin?"

"Not when I'm betrothed."

"Ah well. A wife's an old soldier's comfort and a young soldier's ruin."

They walked back to the camp together, under a sky bleached gray in the east with hints of dawn. Once parted from the sergeant, Yakoub made his way straight through the sleeping villagers to where Bora's family lay.

Like most of the villagers, they were too exhausted to have awakened during the brief fight. Caraya lay on her side, one arm flung over her two younger brothers. Yakoub knelt beside her, and he neither knew nor cared to what gods he prayed when he asked that she be kept safe.

Prayers or not, she was likely to be safer than he was, at least for some days. The Transformed had not swept all before them, that was certain. Otherwise fleeing soldiers would long since have awakened the camp. As they were, Eremius's human witlings could not stop the march of a column of ants. The villagers would have a safe journey to Fort Zheman.

Yakoub, son of Khadjar, on the other hand, would be marching in the opposite direction. If he survived the march, he would then have to persuade Eremius that he was the man to lead the human fighters and turn them into soldiers.

In silence, he allowed himself another prayer, that

Eremius might be easier to persuade than the normal run of sorcerers. Then he kissed Caraya, forcing himself not to take her in his arms. With eyes stinging from more than the dawn breeze, he rose and turned his face toward the mountains.

It took the rest of the night to put the camp in order, count the dead, care for the wounded, and scout the surrounding hills. Only when all the scouts brought back the same report, of a land empty of demons if not of their traces, did Khezal call his council of war.

"I'd say we won a victory, if we hadn't lost three to their one," he said. "Perhaps they carried off more dead and hurt, perhaps not. Also, I'd wager that was a retreat ordered by whoever gives those monsters orders, not being driven off."

"You see clearly, Captain," Illyana said. She was paler than Conan cared to see, and from time to time a spasm would shake her body. Her voice was steady as she continued. "The orders were given, because of the fight we gave the Transformed. Had the full powers of our enemy been unleashed, we could not have done so well."

"Then we have you to thank for a fair number of lives, if you set bounds on the master of the Transformed."

Illyana shuddered. "Forgive me, Captain, but I cannot accept that praise. I did what I could, and I know I had some effect. Yet I could not use all the strength of my Jewel. We owe our lives in great part to the fact that neither could Eremius."

Khezal looked at the ground as if he expected monsters to erupt from it at any moment. Then he stared hard at Illyana. "I feel I am being told other than the truth. That is not well done."

"There are matters you and your soldiers could not understand without—" Raihna began. Conan laid a hand heavily upon her shoulder and Khezal glared. Between them she fell silent.

"Captain, I do not know as much as I might in a day or two," Illyana said. "When I know it, or learn that I shall not know it, then will be the time for us to speak frankly. I shall hold nothing back. By the Seven Shrines and the bones of Pulaq I swear it."

"A cursed lot of good your hesitation will do us if the Transformed attack again!"

"They will not, if we return to Fort Zheman."

"Retreat with our tails between our legs! Who's the captain here, Lady Illyana? I don't remember seeing your commission from King Yildiz—"

"You may remember seeing one from a certain Lord Mishrak," Conan growled. "Or did some buffet on the head last night take your memory?"

The silence gave Conan time to reach for his sword, time to fear he might need to draw it. Then all Khezal's breath left him in a gusty sigh.

"Don't tell anyone, but I've been thinking of returning to the Fort also. There are too cursed many villagers to guard in the open field. Behind walls, at least those monsters will have to climb to come at us!"

Eighteen

THE TOWER OF Fort Zheman had thrust itself above the horizon, when Bora rode up on Windmaster.

Raihna patted the gray's neck. "A fine steed. I am glad he is in fettle again. Also, that he still has a master worthy of him."

All were silent for a moment. Kemal had survived the battle, but with wounds that took his life before dawn. He had some measure of good fortune; he was senseless and felt no pain.