The Conan Compendium

by Various Authors

  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.

  With the garrison under strength, this wing of the barracks was nearly deserted.

  Conan and Raihna met no one on their way to her room. From the stairway floated the sound of crude revelry, as the soldiers' drinking hall on the ground floor began its evening's work.

  Conan threw the bolts on Illyana's room and likewise that of Dessa and Massouf.

  Then he shifted one of his knives from boot to belt.

  "I'm going down for a cup of wine or two. It's what I'd be expected to do. I may also learn more about the demons."

  "Learn more about where to find mountain horses, if you can. I'd rather buy them somewhere else than the fort. It's easier to silence tongues with gold."

  "You have your wits about you, Raihna.'•'

  "Alas, he praises only my wits. Yet I have heard not one word of complaint about―"

  "I wouldn't dare complain about the other matters, woman. You'd leave me fit only for that work Mishrak promised me, in the Vendhyan harems!"

  He slapped her on the rump and gave her a kiss without the least flavor of chastity. She returned it in the same manner, then unbolted her door and slipped inside.

  The barracks roof rose higher than the walls of the fort. That it held no sentries was a pleasant surprise to Yakoub. Either the garrison was even more slack than he had expected, or Shamil had removed the sentries to ease his own

  way to Raihna.

  Yakoub would be the victor, in either case.

  Black clothing and a soot-blackened face made Yakoub one with the night as he crouched at the edge of the roof. Setting the hook took little time; unrolling the knotted rope took less. From his belt he hung the tools he hoped he would not need. They had been made for him and others like him by a master thief, as payment for a
gold-paved road out of Aghrapur.

  Entering the chambers of a sorcerer could be a chancy undertaking. Always in legend and often in truth, they used their arts to defend themselves and their possessions in ways difficult to imagine and impossible for common men to defeat. Sometimes the defenses gave intruders a horrible death.

  Just as surely, sorcerers had this in common with ordinary men: they could grow forgetful or careless. If tonight Yakoub could at least learn what Illyana might have left undone…

  And if she has left so much undone that you may snatch the Jewel tonight?

  Then Captain Shamil and his men need not look for reward or protection.

  Hope lifted Yakoub for a moment. He fought it down. He would not climb down that rope with a head full of dreams. That would only end with him shattered on the stone of the courtyard, with the flies fighting for space on his eyelids.

  Conan joined the soldiers with the resolve to drink little and listen much. The wine was better than his resolve and the tales he heard were equal to either.

  Rumors of demons swarmed like flies on a dungheap, and some tales went beyond

  rumor. There could be no doubling green lights in the sky and a pillar of smoke where there was neither forest nor volcano.

  Conan drew out of his fellow drinkers the times of both. The hour of the green lights was the same as Illyana's battle against her old Master's demon-conjuring.

  No patrols had gone out from the fort, to seek what lay behind these portents.

  The greater part of the recruits seemed relieved, not to be facing demoncraft without the aid of stone walls.

  Conan was tempted to tell them how little the walls would aid them, if half of what Illyana said was true. He recognized the temptation as a child of the wine and held his tongue.

  The veterans seemed less content with the decision about patrols. They also seemed to blame it more on Shamil than on Khezal. That the veterans should trust an elegant lordling of the same stamp as Lord Houma's son was curious. It was also a matter on which Conan could think of no questions subtle enough to be safe.

  It was then that he knew he had drunk enough. Best to seek his bed and a trifle of sleep, if Raihna was not to watch all night!

  Besides, the veterans were outnumbered two to one by the recruits. Fort Zheman would stand or fall on what the recruits could do or be led into. Conan resolved to give whoever led them as much help as he would accept, emptied his cup in a final toast to King Yildiz, and marched out.

  Conan took no pleasure in being awakened by a barnyard din in the hall. It seemed that he had barely closed his eyes. He dashed water in his face as the din swelled. He was fully clothed save for boots and sword. Snatching his blade from under the blankets, he flung the door open.

  As he did, Raihna's door crashed open. Captain Shamil seemed to fly through it, sword in hand but otherwise helpless. Had Conan not caught him by the sleeve as he shot past, Shamil would have bashed his head into the opposite wall.

  "Unhand me, you Cimmerian dog!" the man snarled. "I have somewhat to settle with your mistress's oh-so-chaste sister!"

  Conan frowned. "Perhaps I should have let you knock yourself against the wall.

  Then you wouldn't be speaking in riddles."

  "You know what I mean!" the captain shouted, loud enough to raise echoes. "Or are you a eunuch without knowledge of when a woman will open her bed to a man?"

  Conan was not too drunk to know a question best left unanswered. Also, he would have had to outshout Raihna had he wished to speak.

  "He is no eunuch, and I can―give you the names of a half-score women who know it!"

  Conan was glad of Raihna's discretion. He would have been gladder still, had she not been standing in the doorway of her room, wearing only her sword and a look of fury.

  "He is no eunuch, any more than I am a toy for such as you!" she went on. "Be off, Captain. Be off, and I will call this only a misunderstanding and say no more of it. Otherwise―"

  "Otherwise what, you brazen bitch? Your Cimmerian ape may be no eunuch, but I am no witling. I know that you play the chaste woman only when he may bear tales.

  Let me settle with him, and you will not call this night ill-spent."

  Conan had his sword drawn before the captain's speech was half-uttered. The Cimmerian crouched, parrying with flat against edge while drawing his dagger.

  The subtleties of Raihna's two-blade style were beyond him; he simply thrust his dagger upward into Shamil's arm. A howl, a momentary loosening of grip, broadsword smiting tulwar like the wrath of six gods ―then the captain's sword clanged on the floor and he was holding his bloody forearm.

  He was also cursing a great many things and people, not least someone unnamed who had misled him about Raihna's willingness to share a bed. He only stopped cursing when Raihna stepped up behind him and rested the point of her sword on the back of his neck.

  "As the lady said, it seems there's been a misunderstanding," Conan said soothingly. "No harm to her and little to you. If we leave it―"

  Four soldiers pounded up the stairs. Had they been elephants, they could not have given Conan more warning or been clumsier in their attack. He gave ground, letting them crowd together around their captain. Their efforts to both fight Conan and aid the man left Raihna with time to dart into her chamber.

  She returned wearing loinguard and mail shirt over arming doublet, with dagger added to sword. Conan laughed. "I thought you would fight as you were. You might have distracted these donkey's sons."

  "Slashes in my skin might have distracted me't't" Raihna replied, tossing her

  head. Then she lunged at the nearest man, driving him away from both captain and comrades.

  Conan noted that she seemed to be fighting to defeat without killing. He had hoped she would do this, for killing these fools would be no victory. They might be the only four soldiers loyal enough to their captain or sufficiently well-bribed to come to his aid. If they died, though, their comrades would all be called on to avenge them. Not all of Illyana's spells together could stand off the whole garrison of Fort Zheman.

  Conan chose a piece of wall to guard his back, stood before it, and raised his sword. "Ho, children of Fort Zheman. Who wants to be the first to become a man by facing me?"

  The shutter swung open and Yakoub peered over the windowsill. Illyana's room lay exposed to his gaze.

  So did Illyana. She wore no bedgown, and the blankets had slipped down to her waist. The curves of her breasts were subtle but enticing. They cried out for the hands of a man to roam over them.

  Between those breasts shone a great emerald. For a moment, Yakoub wondered at her wearing such a jewel to bed. Then the breath left him in a single gasp as he realized what he beheld. The Jewel of Kurag lay within his grasp, as defenseless as its mistress.

  Seemingly as defenseless. Yakoub reminded himself of sorcerous defenses, to quell a rising sense of triumph. He climbed over the windowsill and crouched in

  the shadowed corner. Illyana did not stir.

  From the hall outside rose the uproar spawned by Captain Shamil's visit to Raihna. If that did not wake Illyana, no sound Yakoub intended to make would do so. He rose to his feet and stalked toward the bed.

  Five paces from the bed, a fly seemed to creep into his ear. He shook his head angrily, resisting the urge to slap it. The buzzing grew louder, then faded into silence.

  Yakoub looked at the woman on the bed and shook his head. He had been deceived about her wealth. That was no emerald on a gold chain gently rising and falling with her breasts. It was a mere piece of carved glass, cleverly mimicking an emerald to the careless eye. Its chain was only brass, no richer than the pommel of a common sword.

  Such a woman would hardly pay well for a night of pleasure. Nor indeed would she have need to. The tales of her being fat and ugly were even less truth than the tales of her wealth. She was past youth, but not past fairness, even beauty. She would hardly be buying men for her bed. Rather would she have them seeking to buy her
for theirs!

  Best leave now, and seek her again knowing what she was and how slender his hopes were. As slender as the long fingers of the hands that rested lightly on the edge of the blanket, or the fine hair that flowed across the pillow.

  The desire to leave with dignity filled Yakoub. He drew a silver ring from a finger of his left hand and placed it next to the green glass. It rolled down between the woman's breasts, to rest on her belly just above the navel. The

  curves of that belly were also subtle and exquisite.

  Boldly, Yakoub rested one hand on the curves of belly. Bending over, he kissed both nipples. They filled his mouth with sweetness, as if they were smeared with honey.

  Illyana sighed in her sleep, and for a moment one hand crept across her belly to rest on his. Yakoub knew no fear. Had he seen his death approaching in that instant, he would not have moved from its path.

  Another sigh, and the hand rose. Yakoub withdrew five paces, half-expecting to hear the fly again. He heard nothing. In silence he retraced his steps to the window, gripped the rope, and began to climb.

  Between them, Conan and Raihna dealt with Shamil's four loyal friends or fellow plotters in as many minutes. All were disarmed and only one wounded.

  By then some dozen or more additional soldiers had mounted the stairs. Few were fully sober, fewer still eager to close with Conan and Raihna. Some seemed full of zeal for tending the wounded, at a safe distance from the fight. Most contented themselves with standing about, swords raised and ferocious looks on their bearded faces.

  "If black looks could kill, we'd vanish like a puddle in the noon sun," Conan taunted them. "If that's all you can muster, what are we fighting about? If you have more in your arsenal, let's see it!"

  This brought a couple of the laggards forward, to be disarmed swiftly and painlessly. Conan spared a glance for the doors to his comrades' chambers. Both

  remained shut and bolted.

  Conan hoped Dessa and Massouf would have the wits to stay inside and Illyana to not only stay inside but cast no spells. He would not see honest soldiers enmeshed in magic without good cause. Besides, the smallest smell of magic about the party would lead to more questions than Conan was happy about answering.