Conan the Marauder (12 page)

"The Kagan summons you to his tent, fifty-leader," he said.

Conan spurred his horse toward the tall standard with its nine white horses' tails. He found Bartatua outside the great tent, surrounded by minor officers and fifty-leaders. He dismounted and saluted the Kagan.

"Today," Bartatua announced, "we open the campaign. Each of you will be given either a fort or a section of land, with its villages to pillage. Remember, there are to be no massacres, unless a fort puts up a truly stiff resistance. But neither are you to show too much caution. These city-dwellers must know that we are utterly invincible. Do not let them think that we are either fearful or merciful. If there seems to be some doubt in their minds, slay them."

The Kagan waved his arm toward a small group of mounted men who were distinguished by black plumes in their helmets and whose standard bore a pair of eagle's wings. "These scouts have just returned from a reconnaissance into Sogarian territory. Each mission leader will be assigned one scout to guide him to his objective. Now come and receive your assignments. You must be riding from camp before the sun begins to go down."

When Conan returned to his men, he found them already preparing for their march. As in military camps everywhere, word of the opening campaign had passed through the horde with the swiftness of the steppe wind.

"What is our destination, captain?" Rustuf asked with a grin.

"A small fort called Khulm, edging a stream of the steppe near the northern border of Sogarian territory," Conan answered.

"With which horde do we ride?"

"We shall be our own horde."

"Just a single fifty to take a fort?" Rustuf queried, nonplussed.

"The Kagan expects us to show initiative," Conan said. He raised his voice to address his troops. "We march in one hour. I want each man to bring all his horses with the remounts and to pack all his clothes."

The men muttered among themselves, convinced that heir commander was mad. They had by now learned, however, that such thoughts were best kept to themselves. They packed their belongings, including the clothes, and made a hurried meal. As the sun passed its zenith, they rode out. Nearly half of the assembled horde poured from the camp. For hours they rode together, then small or large groups—each guided by a black-plumbed scout—broke away to go to their individual objectives.

As the sun was touching the horizon to the west, the scout attached to Conan's fifty reined off to the left and Conan followed with his command at his horse's heels. Within a few minutes his fifty were riding alone over the darkening steppe.

Conan felt free at last. This was the kind of war-making he liked best: to have an independent command, without some bothersome superior officer or nosy courtier interfering with his every move. It was something he seldom experienced in civilized armies.

At nightfall he called a halt. The Kagan had stressed that his commanders were not to risk night gallops.

They could achieve complete surprise without such extreme measures. The scout assured him that the fort at Khulm was still more than a two-hour ride and that the garrison was not sending out patrols. Since they were safe from observation, Conan granted permission to gather fuel and make small fires for cooking their evening meal. Some went out to find wood while others set about skinning and jointing the wild game they had shot during the march. They had sacks of the fermented milk of mares, but the Cimmerian had forbidden anything stronger.

Conan and Rustuf sat at a fire and the soldiers brought them meat as it was cooked. "So," said Rustuf, "our Kagan plans to be king of the whole world? There have been others with that ambition."

"This one may come closer than most of them," Conan said. "But I do not think he understands how large the world is. He has many horsemen, but spread out over the world, they are all too few."

The Kozak rubbed his bristled chin. "Still, he could make great gains if he heads west. The Kozaki might well join him if he moves against Turan. Koth, Shem, perhaps Ophir and Corinthia also, would fall ere the western nations could cease their squabbling and unite against the Hyrkanians."

"So think I," said Conan. "But he intends to conquer Khitai first, and then Vendhya. Those nations are so vast that it must be ten years before he could even consider a western campaign. By then, much will have changed. I believe that Bartatua will have to be satisfied with such conquests as he has, if he still lives."

They had been moving along at a steady pace for two hours and the sun was just clearing the eastern horizon when the scout halted them. He pointed to a

low rise ahead. "Beyond that hill," he told Conan, "you may see the fort."

"Keep the men here," Conan said to Guyak. He rode up the hill but stopped his horse and dismounted well below the crest. He walked toward the summit, then dropped on his belly and crawled the last few yards. Below him was the fort, standing in the bight of a tiny river scarcely more than a stream. Reeds and brush grew along the stream, which looped around the hill and passed near the spot that Conan had posted his rein.

On the far side of the stream a narrow road passed before the fort. He watched as a plume of dust appeared in the distance down the road and neared the fort. The fort itself was not imposing, a mere mud-walled enclosure large enough for a garrison of perhaps three hundred. The walls were no more than fifteen feet high, and there was no moat. It was not meant as a strong defensive position, but only as a stronghold for sending out mounted patrols.

The plume of dust soon resolved itself into a force of men on horseback, riding with no haste or urgency. He counted fifty, all of them heavy lancers in gilded armour and with colourful plumes. They rode into the fort and the gate swung shut behind them.

Conan was about to return to his men when he saw another plume of dust, this one small, coming from the road in the direction opposite that of the cavalry's approach. This he could well see was a single horse, hard-ridden. It had to be a messenger bringing urgent news to the fort. He meant to find out what that news might be.

Backing away, still on his belly, Conan rose only when he was well below the crest of the hill and sprang into his saddle. His men were too far away for him to hail, so he left them gaping as he spurred along the flank of the hill and down onto the flat land. By staying along the base of the high ground, he remained out of sight of the fort. When he judged that he was far enough from the garrison to escape detection, he rode over the short spur of hill that remained and down its other side. The stream flowed along the base of the hill and he waded his mount across it without difficulty. The beast wanted to stop and drink, but he forced it on until he was upon the road. A few hundred paces away, the messenger was still coming at a gallop. The man waved something overhead, above his multiple yellow plumes. He caught sight of Conan, who had taken up his position in the centre of the road.

"Make way for the messenger of the prince!" the rider shouted as, perforce, he slowed his horse. "Stand aside, fellow, or feel the wrath of the prince's justice. It is death to interfere with the prince's messenger!"

Then the man's eyes went wide as he realized he was facing a foreign warrior, one equipped with the great bow favoured by the nomads. Setting spurs to horse, he sought to ride around Conan, for the road was on flat ground, with nothing to stop a horseman.

As the messenger rode past him, Conan wheeled and gave chase. He caught up quickly, for the messenger's horse was tired. From his saddle he took the rope with which he had been practising and shook out a wide noose. He rode up within three spear lengths of the fleeing man, whirled the noose a few times and snapped it out underhanded as Guyak had taught him. True as an arrow, the noose dropped over the man's head and settled around his chest and upper arms. Conan pulled the rope tight and rode off at an angle, tugging hard.

The messenger sailed over the rump of his horse and landed in the dirt with a bone-jarring thump. The horse ran on for a few dozen paces and then, with no one spurring it, slowed and halted, its sides heaving. Conan rode over to the fallen man, who was quite unconscious but did not seem to be badly hurt. From the messenger's belt he took a cylindrical case of gold-washed bronze. This was what the man had been waving overhead.

From the case Conan took a rolled parchment. Unrolling it, he saw that it bore a script that he could not read. Cursing, he replaced the parchment in its case, remounted, and caught the messenger's horse. He threw the man across the horse's back and rode to join his men, horse and messenger in tow.

When Conan was within sight of his force, Rustuf rode out to him grinning with relief. "I am glad to see you, Conan. The Hyrkanians were most puzzled to see you rush off like that. They thought you might have deserted the Kagan to go warn the Sogarians. Things might have gone ill for Fawd and me."

"I should be satisfied to have obedience when I am present," Conan said. "Love and loyalty are too much to expect when I am absent."

"What have you brought us? A prisoner?"

"A messenger," Conan said. "But I cannot read what his message says.''

"Oh, we shall have answers out of him, never fear," Rustuf assured him.

The Hyrkanians were equally delighted to see the prisoner, and anticipated some good sport. "First we will see whether the man will talk without coercion," Conan ordered. "No harm is to come to him if he cooperates."

The Hyrkanians were puzzled by such unaccustomed delicacy, but they were willing to humour their commander. After a few minutes, the messenger began to revive. He sat up and looked about and fear spread across his countenance as he saw the fierce steppe hawks who sat in a circle surrounding him.

"Sogarian," said Conan, "you are my prisoner. I-wish some answers from you. Speak freely and truthfully and you shall come to no harm. Refuse to speak, or speak falsely, and I must let my men try to persuade you. They are most proficient at the business of loosening tongues."

The man swallowed hard. "Ask what you will. The little I know cannot aid you much."

Conan grinned. "I shall be the judge of that. Know you the content of the message you carried?"

"It is a warning to the commander of the garrison at Khulm. He is warned that the steppe nomads are descending upon Sogaria. This can hardly be news to you."

"As you say. Were there special instructions for the commander?"

"Just that he is to hold his fort bravely and die where he stands rather than yield an inch of Sogarian soil."

"They all say that," Rustuf said with a barking laugh. "What soldier is so foolish as to take such orders seriously?"

Something puzzled Conan. "How long has the prince of Sogaria known that the nomads are coming?"

"Three days ago the city began to prepare for siege. I was sent forth yesterday morning to warn the three royal forts on my route. Khulm is the last."

It seemed, Conan thought, that the Hyrkanians were not quite as swift and invisible as they thought. Or perhaps there was a traitor within the Kagan's following who had warned the city. A traitor who knew that

Sogaria was to be the first city attacked. He kept his suspicions to himself.

"How many men garrison Khulm?" the Cimmerian asked.

"Why, the same as any royal border fort, of course. A quarter-wing of cavalry, two hundred fifty men."

Conan knew well the ways in which a frightened man would strive to salve his pride. This one was pretending that since it was common knowledge how many the forts garrisoned, he was giving away nothing.

"Is the commander an experienced warrior?" Conan asked

"He is the son of some courtier, like most of the officers in our army." The man acted as if this, too, were common knowledge.

"Bind him," Conan said. "I may want to question him further." The messenger wore a look of intense relief as he was tied securely.

Conan scanned the landscape. At the place the stream wound around the left side of the hill, there was a stand of small trees. He pointed to the trees and addressed his men. "Go to yonder stand and cut many short poles and gather bundles of reeds. Be careful not to advance past the cover of the hill lest you be seen by the fort. Be quick, now." Mystified, the men obeyed. Surely, they thought once again, their foreign captain was mad.

As the sun was passing its zenith, Conan and his fifty rode around the hill and across the stream. In a few minutes they closed the distance to the fort, and there was much blowing of horns and beating of drums as the gates were shut and barred. Fearlessly the horsemen rode to within a few dozen paces of the walls.

"Commander of the fort!" Conan called. "Come out and parley!"

After a short while, during which time the wall grew

crowded with men, a man in elaborate plumes and gold-chased armour mounted the wall. "Who are you?" he shouted. "And what does this mean?"

"I bring you greetings from Bartatua, lord of the Ashkuz and rightful king of all the world," Conan cried in a loud voice. "My lord has come to take his sovereign place as ruler of Sogaria and all the other cities of the caravan route. I am General Conan, formerly of Cimmeria, and I am here to accept the surrender of this trifling stronghold. Accept my terms and you shall live."

In the silence, an archer atop the wall, too poorly disciplined to wait for orders, drew his bow and aimed at Conan. Rustuf spoke a word and his ten shot as one man. The Sogarian archer toppled from the wall and landed with a dust-raising thud in full view of the defenders. At such short range, the ten arrows had smashed through the man's heavy scale armour as if it were no more than parchment. All ten arrows stood in a space that could be covered by a man's palm, directly over the heart.

Conan acted as if nothing had happened. "I await your answer."

"Can you be serious?" the commander blustered. "You call yourself a general, yet I see you at the head of less than fifty riders. How can you expect me to surrender to so inconsiderable a force?"

Conan smiled grimly, knowing that he had won. The commander had not said that he would not surrender, only that he would not give in to a force so small.