Slowly the bear got to its feet and lumbered into the dark.
"Better to die free," Conan grinned after the beast. "And I say I saw something move."
Conan stiffened at the words, cursing his impulses. "Take ten men around the other way and we will see."
In an instant the Cimmerian's blade made a long slit in the tent wall behind him, and he went through as footsteps rounded the tent. Within was as deep a darkness as outside, though his keen eyes, already used to the night, could make out shadowy shapes and mounds on the carpet spread for flooring. The footsteps halted on the other side of the thin wall, and voices muttered indistinguishably. One of the mounds moved.
Not again, Conan thought. Hoping it was not another bear, he threw himself on the shifting shape. The grunt that came when he landed was nothing at all like that of a bear. Soft flesh writhed against him beneath a thin linen coverlet, and his hand frantically sought a mouth, finding it just in time to stifle a scream. Bringing his face close, he looked into big dark eyes filled with a mixture of fear and rage.
"Alyna is not here now, Vyndra," he whispered and moved his hand from her lips.
As her mouth opened once more for a scream, he stuffed it with the ball of her hair that he had gathered with his other hand. Quickly he felt around the bed mat until he found a long silk scarf, which he tied across her mouth to keep her from spitting the hair out. Bound and gagged, he thought, she could raise no alarm until he was far away.
With luck, she would not be found until morning.
Stripping off the linen coverlet, he was forced to stop and stare. Even when covered in shadows, the lush curves of her were enough to take his breath away. He found it quickly, though, jerking his head back barely in time to save his eyes from clawing nails.
"This time the sport is not of your choosing," he said softly, catching her flailing arm and deftly flipping her onto her stomach. He found another scarf and used it to bind her wrists behind her. "You may not dance for me," he chuckled, "but this is almost as enjoyable." He felt her quiver and did not need the angry, muffled sounds coming from behind the gag to tell him it was with rage.
As he searched for something to tie her ankles with, he became aware of voices in the front of the tent. Hastily he dragged his struggling prisoner closer to where he could listen.
"Why do you wish to see my mistress?" came Alyna's voice. "She sleeps."
A man answered with weary patience. "The wazam has learned that your mistress entertained a spy earlier tonight. He would talk with her of it."
"Can it not wait until morning? She will be angry if she is wakened."
Conan did not wait to learn the outcome. If Vyndra was found now, the soldiers would know he was close by before her gag was fully out of her mouth. Half-carrying the wriggling woman, he darted to the rear of the tent and peered cautiously through the slit by which he had entered.
The searchers were gone. It was possible they were even the same men now in the front of the tent.
"I am sorry," he told her.
He was glad for the gag as he pulled her through the slit. The violent protesting noises she made were bad enough as it was. Despite her struggles, he lifted her into his arms, running as fast as he could manage while making sure he did not speed into the midst of a patrol or trip over tent ropes.
Well away from her tent, he put her on her feet, careful to keep a grip on one slender arm. If they were discovered, he had to be able to fight without being burdened with her. And there would be no need to prevent her escape then.
Finding a horse was still his first concern, but when he tried to start out again, he found he was dragging a bent-over, crouching woman who seemed to be attempting to make herself as small as possible while simultaneously refusing to move her feet.
"Stand up and walk," he said hoarsely, but she shook her head furiously. "Crom, woman, I've no time to ogle your charms." She shook her head again.
A quick look around revealed no evidence of anyone both near and awake.
All of the surrounding tents were dark. His full-armed swing landing on her buttock produced a louder smack than he would have liked, not to mention the sounds she produced, but it brought her onto her toes and half-erect. When she tried to crouch again, he held his open hand in front of her face.
"Walk," he whispered warningly.
Her glare was enough to slay lions, but slowly she straightened.
Without so much as a glance at the beauties she had revealed, he hurried her on. He was not young enough to be a complete fool over a woman.
Ghosting among the tents, they more than once barely avoided the searching Vendhyan soldiers. At first Conan was surprised that Vyndra made no effort to escape when the turban-helmed warriors were close, nor even to attract them with noise or struggle. In fact, she had become as silent as he, eyes constantly searching for what might trip or betray. Then it came to him. Escaping him was one thing, being rescued while garbed in naught but two scarves quite another. He smiled gratefully, accepting anything that made his own escape easier.
Once more he was in the merchants' area, so deathly still that he knew all there were huddled breathlessly, not daring to make a sound that would attract the soldiers. A destination had come to his mind, a place where there might be horses and a place the soldiers would not be searching if he had but a particle of luck.
Movement in the shadows ahead again sent him to hiding, dragging a compliant Vyndra behind. This was no patrol, he saw quickly, but a lone man padding furtively. Slowly the shadow resolved into Kang Hou, half-crouched with his hands in his sleeves. As Conan opened his mouth, two more shapes appeared behind the first. Vendhyan cavalrymen, afoot and carrying their lances like spears.
"Searching for something, Khitan?" one called.
Smoothly Kang Hou pivoted, hands flickering out of concealment.
Something flew through the air, and the two Vendhyans dropped soundlessly. Hastily the merchant ran to crouch above the bodies.
"You are a dangerous man for a merchant," Conan said softly as he stepped into the open.
Kang Hou spun, a throwing knife in each upraised hand, then slowly slid the knives from sight within his sleeves.
"A merchant must often travel in dangerous company," he said blandly.
He ran his eyes over Vyndra and raised an eyebrow. "I have heard it said that some warriors favor women above all other loot, but under these circumstances, I find it strange."
"I do not want her," Conan said. Vyndra growled through her gag. "The problem is, where can I leave her and be sure she'll not be found before I have gotten a horse and left this place?"
"A quandary," the Khitan agreed. "You have considered where to find this horse? The soldiers check the picket lines constantly and a missing animal will not go long undiscovered."
"At the last place they will look for one of us," Conan replied. "The picket line behind your tent."
Kang Hou smiled. "Admirable reasoning. Having led my original pursuers a way from the encampment, I am now returning there. Will you accompany me?"
"In but a moment. Hold her."
Thrusting Vyndra at the startled Khitan, Conan hurried to the dead Vendhyans. Quickly he dragged them into the deeper darkness beside a tent-no sense in leaving them to be easily found-and when he returned to the others, he carried one of the soldiers' cloaks. Kang Hou wore a small smile, and Vyndra's eyes were squeezed tightly shut.
"What happened?" the Cimmerian asked. He draped the cloak around the woman as best he could with her hands bound. Her eyes flew open, giving him a look of mingled surprise and gratitude.
"I'm not entirely certain," the merchant said, "but it seems that her belief is that if she cannot see me, I cannot see her." Even in the dark her blush at his words was evident.
"We have no time for foolishness," Conan said. "Come."
A thousand gold pieces was a powerful spur when added to the command of a man such as Karim Singh, but even that spur lost its sharpness when the searchers bega
n to believe their quarry had already escaped from the encamped caravan. Patrols of Vendhyans began to grow fewer, and those who still hunted did so in desultory fashion. Many no longer even went through the motions, gathering instead in easily avoided knots to talk in low voices.
Short of the Khitan's camp Conan halted, still hidden in the darkness among the other merchants' tents. Vyndra obeyed his grip on her arm with seeming docility, but he maintained his hold. The fire was only coals now, and bales of velvet lay ripped open among carpets unrolled and scattered about. If anyone had died there-the Cimmerian remembered the report to Karim Singh of four dead-their bodies had been taken away. The picket line was only a murky mass but some of those shadows moved in ways he did not like Kang Hou started forward, but Conan caught his arm.
"Horses move even in the night," the Khitan whispered, "and the soldiers would not hide. We must hurry."
Conan shook his head. Pursing his lips, he gave the call of a bird found only on the plains of Zamora. For an instant there was silence, then the call came back, from the picket line.
"Now we hurry," Conan said and ran for the horses, hauling Vyndra behind him.
Hordo stepped out to meet him, motioning for greater quickness. "I hoped you had made it, Cimmerian," he said hoarsely. "Hell has come to sup, it seems." Two other shadows became men, Enam and Prytanis. "I heard there are four dead," Conan said. "Who?"
"Baltis!" Prytanis spat. "The Vendhyan scum cut him to shreds. I said you brought us all to our deaths."
"He followed me," Conan agreed, to the slitnosed man's evident surprise. "It is another debt I owe."
"Baltis died well," Hordo said, "and took an honor guard with him. A man can ask no more of dying than that. The other three," he added to the Khitan, "were your servants. I have not seen your nieces."
"My servants were not fighting men," Kang Hou sighed, "but I had hoped ... No matter. As for my nieces, Kuie Hsi will care for her sister as well as I could. Might I suggest that we take horses and continue this talk elsewhere?"
"A good suggestion," Conan said.
The stallion was still there; Conan had feared that such a fine mount would have been taken by the Vendhyans. He heaved the saddle onto the animal's back one-handed but fastening the girth would require two hands. Giving Vyndra a warning look, he released her but kept a sharp eye on her as he hastily strapped the saddle tight. To his surprise, she did not move. No doubt, he thought, she still dreaded being found clothed as she was, even if it did mean rescue.
"The wench," Hordo said curiously. "Do you have a purpose with her, or is she just a token to remember this place by?"
"There is a purpose," Conan said, explaining why he could not leave her yet. "It may be I must take her all the way to Vendhya with me, for I doubt she'd survive long if I left her to make her own way on the plain." He paused, then asked with more casualness than he felt, "What of Ghurran?"
"I've not seen the old man since the attack," Hordo replied regretfully. "I am sorry, Cimmerian."
"What is, is," Conan said grimly. "I must saddle a horse for the woman.
I fear you must ride astride, Vyndra, for we have no sidesaddle." She merely stared at him, unblinking.
It was a silent procession that made its stealthy way through the tents of the encampment, leading their horses. The animals could walk more quietly without burdens, and they all would have been more noticeable mounted. The Vendhyan patrols, half-hearted and noisy, might as well not have been there. Conan, first in line, had the reins of his horse and Vyndra's in one hand and her arm firmly in the other. Discovery would end the need for keeping her, as he was sure she must know, and he was not about to trust the odd passivity she had shown so far.
The edge of the caravan encampment appeared before him, and ingrained caution made him signal a halt. Prytanis began to speak, but Conan angrily motioned him to silence. There was a faint noise, almost too low to hear. The soft tread of horses. Perhaps all of the Vendhyans had not given up on the hunt.
A glance told Conan the others had heard as well. Swords were in hand-Kang Hou held one of his throwing knives-and each man had moved alongside his horse to be ready to mount. The Cimmerian tensed, ready to heave Vyndra aside to relative safety and vault into his saddle, as the other horses appeared.
Five animals were in the other party as well, and Conan almost laughed with relief when he saw those leading the beasts. Shamil and Hasan, each with a protective arm about one of Kang Hou's nieces, and old Ghurran hobbling in the rear.
"It is good to see you," Conan called softly.
The two younger men spun, clawing for their swords. Hasan was somewhat hampered by Chin Kou clutching at him, but Kuie Hsi came up with a knife poised to throw. A dangerous family, the Cimmerian thought.
Ghurran merely watched expressionessly as though no fear remained in him.
The two groups joined, everyone attempting whispered conversation, but Conan silenced them with a hiss. "We talk when we are safe," he told them softly, "and that is far from here." Lifting Vyndra into her saddle, he adjusted the soldier's cloak to give her a modicum of decency. "I will find you something to wear," he promised. "Perhaps you will dance for me yet." She stared at him above the gag, the expression in her eyes unreadable.
As Conan swung into his own saddle, a wave of dizziness swept over him, and he had to clutch the high pommel to keep from falling. Ghurran was at his side in an instant. "I'll compound the potion as soon as I can,"
the old herbalist said. "Hang on."
"I've no intention of anything else," Conan managed through gritted teeth. Leading Vyndra's horse by the reins, he kneed his own mount to motion, into the night toward Vendhya. He would not let go.
There were debts to pay, and two men to kill first.
Chapter XVII
Naipal looked at the man facing him, a thin, hard-eyed Vendhyan who could have been a soldier, and wondered at what motivated him. Neither personal gain nor power seemed to impress the other man. He showed no signs of love or hate or pride, nor of any other emotion. It made the wizard uneasy, confronting a man who exposed so little by which he might be manipulated.
"You understand, then?" Naipal said. "When Bhandarkar is dead, the oppression will end. Shrines to Karat will be allowed in every city."
"Have I not said that I understand?" the nameless representative of the Katari asked quietly.
They were alone in the round chamber, its shallow-domed ceiling a bas-relief of ancient heroes. Golden lamps on the walls gave soft illumination. No food or drink had been brought, for the Katari would not eat in the dwelling of one who invoked the services of his cult.
They stood because the Katari did, and the wizard did not want the other looming over him. A standing man had the advantages of height and position over a seated man.
"You have not said it will be done." Naipal was hard pressed to keep irritation out of his voice. There was so much to be done this day, but this part was as important as any and must be handled delicately.
Along with the other things that did not impress or affect one of the Katari was the power of a sorcerer. Spells could destroy a Katari as quickly as any other man, but that meant little to one who believed to his core that death, however it came, meant instantly being taken to the side of his goddess. It all gave the wizard an ache in his temples.
"It will be done," the Katari said. "In return for what you have promised, Bhandarkar, even on his throne, will be dedicated to the goddess. But if the promises are not kept . . ."
Naipal ignored the threat. That was an aspect he could deal with later.
He certainly had no intention of giving additional power to a cult that could, and assuredly would, undermine him. The khorassani could certainly protect him against the assassin's knife. Or a bodyguard of resurrected warriors from King Orissa's tomb.
"You understand also," the wizard said, "that the deed must be done when I signal it? Not before. Not an hour before."
"Have I not said that I understand?" the o
ther repeated.
Naipal sighed. The Katari had the reputation of killing in their own time and their own way, but even if Bhandarkar had not protected himself against spells, there could be nothing of sorcery connected with his death. The appearance of clean hands would be essential to Naipal, for he wanted a land united willingly under the supposed leadership of Karim Singh, not one ravaged by opposition and war. And who would believe a wizard would use the Katari when he could slay so easily by other means?
"Very well," Naipal said. "At my sign, Bhandarkar is to die by Katari knives, on his throne, in full view of his nobles and advisers."
"Bhandarkar will die."
With that Naipal had to be satisfied. He offered the Katari a purse of gold, and the man took it with neither change of expression nor word of gratitude. It would go to the coffers of the Katari, the wizard knew, and so was no cord to bind the fellow, but habit made him try.
When the assassin was gone. Naipal paused only to fetch the golden coffer containing the demon-wrought dagger, then made his way hurriedly to the gray-domed chamber far below the palace. The resurrected warrior stood his ceaseless vigil against a wall, unsleeping, untiring. Naipal did not look at him. The newness was gone, and what was a single warrior to the numbers he would raise from the dead?
Straight to the ivory chest he went, unhesitatingly throwing back the lid and brushing aside the silken coverings. In the mirror there was a single campfire, seen from a great height. For seven days the mirror had shown a fire by night and a small party of riders by day, first on the plains beyond the Himelias, now in the very mountains themselves.
Almost out of them, in fact. They moved more slowly than was necessary.
It had taken some time for him to realize that they actually followed the caravan bringing the chests to him. Salvation and potential disaster would arrive together.
Seven days of seeing the proof of Karim Singh's failure had taken much of the sting away though. It no longer affected him as it had, watching possible doom approach. In truth, except for the pain behind his eyes that had come while talking to the Katari, Naipal felt almost numb. So much to do, he thought as he closed the box, and so little time remaining. The strain was palpable. But he would win, as he always did.
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