'Will Procas seek a parley, think you?' asked Conan. The! others shrugged.
'He has sent no message yet; he may never do so,' said Trocero. 'We must wait and see.'
We've waited all day,' growled Conan, 'keeping our lads standing in harness in the sun. I, for one, would that some- thing happened - anything, to end this dawdling.'
'Methinks our general is about to have his wish,' murmured Dexitheus, shading his eyes with his hand as he peered at the distant royalist camp. The other stared at him.
What now, sir priest?' said Conan.
'Behold!' said Dexitheus, pointing.
'Ishtar!' breathed Captain Arcadio. 'Fry my guts if they're not running away!'
And so they were; if not running, they were at least beginning an orderly retreat. Trumpets sounded, thin and far away. Instead of continuing to strengthen the fortification of their camp, the men of the Border Legion, ant-like in the distance, were striking the tents they had just set up, loading the supply wagons, and streaming out, company by company towards the pass in the Rabirian Hills. Conan and hit comrades looked at one another in perplexity.
The cause of this withdrawal soon transpired. Marching briskly from the east, a fourth host came around the slope of a hill. More than fifteen hundred strong, as Trocero estimated them, the newcomers deployed and advanced on! a broad front, ready for battle.
A rebel scout, lashing his horse up the slope, threw him self off his mount, saluted Conan, and gasped: 'My lord general, they fly the leopards of Poitain and the arms of Baron Groder of Aquilonia!'
'Crom and Mitra!' whispered Conan. Then his face cleared and his laughter echoed among the hills. For it was indeed Trocero with the rebel force that he had searched for.
'No wonder Procas runs!' said Trocero. 'Now that we outnumber him, he can do so without arousing his sovereign's lit. He'll tell Numedides that three armies would have surrounded him at once and overwhelmed him.'
'General Conan,' said Dexitheus, 'you must return to your tent to rest. We cannot afford to have you suffer a relapse.'
As the squires lowered Conan to his pallet, the Cimmerian whispered: 'Prospero, Prospero! For this I will make you ii knight of the throne, if ever Aquilonia be mine!'
In Fadius's dingy room in Messantia, Alcina sat alone, holding her obsidian amulet before her and watching the alternate black-and-white bands of the time candle. Fadius was out prowling the nighted streets of the city; Alcina had brusquely ordered him forth so that she could privately commune with her master.
The flickering flame sank lower as the candle burned down through one of the black stripes in the wax. As the last of the sable band dissolved into molten wax and the flame wavered above a white band, the witch-dancer raised her talisman and focused her thoughts. Faintly, like words spoken in a dream, there came into her receptive mind the dry tones t: Thulandra Thuul while before her, barely visible in the lira-lit chamber, appeared a vision of the sorcerer himself, located in his iron chair.
Thulandra Thuu's speech rustled so softly through Alcina's mind that it demanded rapt attention, together with a constant surveillance of the lips and the gestures of the vision, to grasp the magician's message: 'You have done well, my laughter. Has aught befallen in Messantia?'
She shook her head, and the ghostly whisper continued: 'Then I have another task for you. With the morn's first light, you shall don your page's garb, take horse, and follow the road north -'
Alcina gave a small cry of dismay. 'Must I wear those ugly rags and plunge again into the wilderness, with ants and beetles for bedmates? I beg you, Master, let me stay here and be a woman yet a while '
The sorcerer raised a sardonic eyebrow, You prefer the fleshpots of Messantia?' he responded.
She nodded vigorously.
'That cannot be, alas. Your duties there are finished, and I need you to watch the Border Legion and its general. If you find the going rough, bear in mind the future glories I have promised you.
'The troops dispatched by the Argossean King should now have reached the Plain of Pallos. Ere the sun rises twice again, Amulius Procas will in all likelihood have concluded! a retreat back across the Alimane into Poitain. He will, I predict, cross at the ford of Nogara; so set you forth, swinging wide of the armies, to approach this place from the north, travelling southward on the road from Culario. Then report to me again at the next favourable conjunction.'
The murmuring voice fell silent and the filmy vision faded, leaving Alcina alone and brooding.
Then came a thunderous knock, and in lurched Fadius. The Kothian had spent more of his time and Vibius Latro's money in a Messantian wine shop than was prudent. Armi out, he staggered towards Alcina, babbling:
'Come, my little passion flower! I weary of sleeping on the bare floor, and 'tis time you accorded your comrade the same kindness you extend to barbarian bullies -'
Alcina leaped to her feet and backed away. 'Have a care, Master Fadius!' she warned. 'I take not kindly to presumption from such a one as you!'
'Come on, my pretty,' mumbled Fadius. 'I'll not burn you-'
Alcina's hand flicked to the bodice of her gown. As by magic, a slender dagger appeared in her jewelled hand. 'Stand back!' she cried. 'One prick of this, and you're a dying spy!'
The threat penetrated Fadius's sodden wits, and he reccoiled from the blade. He knew the lightning speed with which
ii- dancer-witch could move and stab. 'But-but-my dear little-'
'Get out!' said Alcina. 'And come not back until you're sober.'
Cursing under his breath, Fadius went. In the chamber, along the cages of roosting pigeons, Alcina rummaged in IH-I- chest for the garments in which she would set out upon tomorrow.
VI
The Chamber of Sphinxes
Between sunset and midnight, the men of Argos, rank upon rank, marched into camp amid ruffles of drums and rebel cheers. Salted Messantian meat, coarse barley bread and skin of ale from the rebels' dwindling stores were handed round! to Baron Grader's starveling regiment and Prospero's weary! troop. Horses were watered, hobbled, and turned out to pasture on the lush grass, as the rebels and their new allies lit camp-fires and settled down to their evening repast. Soon the fitful glow of fires scattered about the Plain of Pallos rivalled the twinkling stars upon the plain of heaven; and the shouts and laughter of four thousand men, wafted north- I ward on the evening breeze, crashed like the dissonant chords I of a dirge on the ears of Procas's retreating regulars.
In the command tent, Prince Cassio, Captain Arcadio, and the rebel leaders gathered near Conan's bed to share a frugal I meal and draft the morrow's plans.
We'll all after them at dawn!' cried Trocero. 'Nay,' the young prince replied. 'The instructions from I my royal father are explicit. Only if General Procas leads ' his forces further into our territory are we to join battle with ,' him. The king hopes our presence will deter Procas from such rashness; and so it seems, since the Aquilonians are now in flight.'
Conan said nothing, but the volcanic blaze in his blue eyes betrayed his angry disappointment. The prince glanced at him, half in awe and half in sympathy.
'I comprehend your feelings, General Conan,' he said gently. 'But you must understand our position, too. We do not wish to war with Aquilonia, which outnumbers us two to one. Indeed, we have risked enough already, giving haven in your force within our borders.'
With a hand that trembled from effort, Conan grasped Ins cup of ale and brought it slowly to his lips. Sweat beaded is forehead, as if the flagon weighed half a hundredweight. I le spilled some of the contents, drank the rest, and let the empty vessel fall to the floor.
'Then let us pursue Procas on our own,' urged Trocero. 'We can harry him back across the Alimane; and every man we fell will be one fewer to oppose us when we raise Poitain. If the survivors stand to make a battle of it-well, victory lies ever on the laps of the fickle gods.'
Conan was tempted. Every belligerent instinct hi his barbaric soul enticed him to send his men in headlong pursuit f
the royalists, to worry them like a pack of hounds, to pick hem off by ones and twos all the way back beyond the Alimane. The Rabirian range seemed designed by Destiny or just the sort of action he could wage against the outnumbering invaders. Cloven into a thousand gullies and ravines, those wrinkled hills and soaring peaks begged him ' ambush every fleeing soldier.
But should Fracas's troops turn to make a stand, Fate might not grant her guerdon to Conan's rebels. They were poor in provisions and weak in weaponry even now; and the regiment that Prospero had rescued were worn and weary, ii gaunt, shambling mounts, after days of hiding out and foraging in the field. Moreover, a general who cannot ride . horse or wield a sword cannot greatly inspire his followers to deeds of dash and daring. Enfeebled as he still was by Alcina's poison, Conan knew full well that he had no choice except to remain in camp or to travel in a litter as a spectator lit the fray.
As night slipped into misty dawn and trumpets sounded the reveille, Conan, supported by two squires, looked out across the waking camp and pondered his position. He must not let Procas get back to Aquilonia unscathed. At the same time,
to overcome the mighty Border Legion, he must devise some , unexpected manner of warfare — some innovation to give advantage to his lesser numbers. He required a force that ' was mobile and swiftly manoeuvrable, yet able to strike the foe from a distance.
As Conan stared at the mustering men, his brooding gaze alighted upon a single Bossonian, who flung himself upon a , horse and galloped towards the palisaded gate. He must bear a message to the sentries at the circumference of the camp, Conan mused, and that message must be urgent; for the fellow had not bothered to remove the unstrung bow that hung slantwise across his shoulders nor to discard the heavy quiver of arrows that slapped against his thigh.
Years of service with the King of Turan flooded Conan's memory. In that army, mounted archers formed the largest' single contingent: men who could shoot their double-curved ; bows of horn and sinew from the back of a galloping steed as accurately as most men could shoot with feet firmly fixed upon the ground. Such a skill his Bossonian archers could not master without a decade of practice; and besides, the Bossonian longbow was much too cumbersome to be handled from horseback.
Suddenly, in his mind's eye, Conan saw a host of mounted archers pursuing the fleeing foe until, coming within range, they dismounted to loose shaft after deadly shaft, before spurring away when at last the goaded enemy turned to engage their tormentors. Conan's explosive roar of laughter startled his camp servants, who gaped like yokels at a circus while Captain Alaricus ran to waken the physician-priest.
When Dexitheus, clad in scanty clothing, rushed to Conan's tent, Conan grinned at his bewilderment.
'No,' he chuckled, 'the purple lotus has not addled my wits, my friend. But the lord Mitra, or Crom, or some such blessed god has given me an inspiration. Send someone post-haste to bid the Argossean leaders hither.'
When Prince Cassio and Captain Arcadio, already armed' and armoured, plodded up the slope to the headquarters tent, Conan roared a greeting, adding: 'You say King Milo
forbids you to attack the retreating Aquilonians. Does the royal fiat encompass your horses, too?'
'Our horses, General?' repeated Arcadio blankly.
Conan nodded impatiently. 'Aye, your beasts. Quickly, 'captain, an answer, if you will. Our steeds - the few we have - are underfed, as you can see by counting their poor ribs. Hut yours are fresh and of an excellent breed. Lend us five hundred mounts, and we'll forswear the service of a single Argossean soldier to send Amulius Procas home with his tail between his legs.'
As Conan outlined his plan, Prince Cassio grinned. More and ever more he liked this grim-visaged barbarian from the North, who made war in; ways as ingenious as implausible.
'Lend him five hundred horses, Arcadio,' he said. 'The king, my father, said naught of that.'
The Argossean officer clanked off to issue orders. And presently, below them on the flat where the Bossonian archers lined up for morning roll call, ten score Argossean wranglers led saddled horses into the field behind them. Trocero and Prospero converged upon the startled and disordered foot soldiers and by their authority restored them to disciplined ranks.
'Fetch me my stallion and strap me to the saddle,' growled Conan. 'I must explain my plan to those who'll carry it out.'
'General!' cried Dexitheus. 'You should not, in your present state-'
'Spare me your cautions, Reverence. For a month the men have seen me not and doubtless wonder if I'm still alive.'
As Conan's squires, with many helping hands, strained to boost Conan's massive body into the saddle, the Cimmerian chafed at the sluggishness that chained his mighty limbs. His blue eyes blazed with the fire of unconquerable will, and his broad brows drew together with the fury of his effort to drive vitality back into his weakened thews. Strive as he would, the blood flowed but feebly through his numbed flesh; for Alcina had concocted the deadly draught with consummate care.
At length his squires strapped Conan to his saddle, raving oaths all the while and calling upon his sombre Northern' gods to avenge this foul indignity. And though the palsy shook his burly body, his eyes, seething with elemental fury, commanded every upturned face to show him neither courtesy nor pity, but only the respect that was his due.
All this Prince Cassio watched, held spellbound by amazement. Back in Messantia, the courtiers had sneered at Conan as a savage, an untutored barbarian whom the Aquilonian rebel nobles had unaccountably chosen to manage their revolt. Now the prince sensed the primal power of the man, his deep reservoirs of elemental vigour. He perceived the Cimmerian's driving purpose, his originality of thought, his dynamic presence - qualities that transformed nobles and common soldiers alike into willing captives of his personality. This man, thought Cassio, was created to command-was! born to be a king.
Supported by a mounted squire on either side, Conan paced his charger slowly down the ranks towards the battalion of Bossonian archers. Although his face contorted with the effort, he managed to raise a hand in greeting as he passed row upon row of loyal followers. The men burst into frantic cheers.
Half a league to the north, a pair of royalist scouts, left behind to watch the rebel army, were breaking fast along the road that led to Saxula Pass. The cheers came faintly to their ears, and they exchanged glances of alarm.
'What betides yonder?' asked the younger man.
The other shaded his eyes. ' 'Tis too far to see, but something must have happened to hearten the rebel host. One of us had best report to General Procas. I'll go; you stay.'
The second speaker gulped his last bite, rose, untied his horse from a nearby tree, and mounted. The morning air echoed the fading drumbeat of hooves as he vanished up the road.
Quieting his men with a small motion of his upraised hand, Conan addressed the lines of archers. They were selected, told them, from the entire army to inflict destruction on the retreating invaders. They were to move on silent hooves amidst pockets of the enemy and then dismount and nock theiili.ir shafts. Shooting from cover in twos and threes, they mid pick off scores of fleeing men; and when at last the nifiny turned at bay, they, unencumbered by heavy armour, could quickly remount and soon outdistance the heavy-laden Aquilonian knights sent in pursuit.
Each squad would be commanded by an experienced infantryman, who would make certain that the beasts were well handled and would hold the horses while the archers were dismounted. As for those who had seldom ridden - here ' man smiled a trifle grimly - they had but to grip the saddle or the horse's mane; for such temporarily mounted infantry, line horsemanship was unimportant.
Under the command of an Aquilonian soldier-of-fortune Pallantides, who had once trained with Turanian horse-archers and who had lately deserted from the royalists, the newly mounted Bossonians swept out of the camp at a steady canter and headed north along the climbing road that led towards Aquilonia.
They caught up with the rear guard of the royalist army in the foothills of
the Rabirians, short of Saxula Pass: for Procas's retreat was slowed by his baggage train and his companies of plodding infantry. Spying the enemy, the Bossonians spread out, eased their horses through the brush to shooting range, and then went to work. A score of royalist spear men fell, screaming or silent, or cursed less lethal wounds, before the clatter of armoured horsemen told the rebel archers that Procas's cavalry was coming to disperse the attack and to cover his withdrawal. Thereupon the Bossonians unstrung their bows and, dashing back to their tethered beasts, silently mounted and scattered through the forest. Their only casualty was an injury to one archer who, unused to horseback, fell off and broke his collar-bone.
For the next three days, the Bossonians harried the retreat-
ing Aquilonians, like hounds snapping at the heels of fleeing! criminals. They struck from the shadows; and when the royalists turned to challenge them, they were gone. Hidden in a thousand hollows etched by wind and weather upon the wrinkled face of the terrain.
Amulius Procas and his officers cursed themselves hoarse, but little could they do. An arrow would whistle from behind a boulder. Sometimes it missed, merely causing the marching men to flinch and duck. Sometimes it buried itself in a horse's flank, inciting the stricken animal to rear and plunge, un-seating its rider. Sometimes a soldier screamed in pain as a shaft transfixed his body; or a horseman, with a clang of armour, toppled from his saddle to lie where he fell. From the heights above, unseen in the gloaming, a sudden rain of arrows would slay or cripple thrice a dozen men.
Amulius Procas had few choices. He could not camp near Saxula Pass, because there little open ground and inadequate supplies of water could be found. Neither could he attack in close order, where his weight of numbers and armour would give him the advantage, because the enemy refused to close with him. If he threw his whole army against them, ' he could doubtless sweep away these pestilent rebels like chaff ', upon the wind; but such an action would carry him back to the Plain of Pallos and thus embroil him with the I Argosseans.
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