Conan the Rebel (24 page)

'Crom!' he muttered. 'The witch made a fool of me after all. What for?'

He bent to seek her tracks in the sand. It gave blurred, shallow footprints, but he possessed a huntsman's eye. The trail went a few yards along the house front – she had run trippingly – and ended in a whirled confusion that told him only that something strange had happened.

He peered everywhere around. High overhead, a golden eagle was winging west; otherwise heaven, earth, and the hell that was Pteion seemed lifeless.

Had Nehekba simply meant to pique him? Had she nourished hopes of doing him harm, been baffled by his caution, and given up the attempt? Conan did not want to think about such things. They were too eerie. Nor did he want to tell his friends what had occurred; in a way, it was too ridiculous.

Suddenly he laughed, gigantic shouts of mirth that rang off stones and up to the sky. He laughed at himself. He laughed defiance at every foe. He laughed in jubilation that he had truly won the Ax which set men free. He laughed for sheer gusto, in rampant aliveness. It was as if Nehekba had taken with her the foul mood that had plagued him for days, and he was again himself, Conan, wanderer, warrior, lover.

Memory sobered him. He made haste to dress and go on. The ruby glowered behind him, forgotten.

They were busy at the Taian site, under Daris' gentle but firm direction. She spied the Cimmerian, approached him, and reported impersonally: 'Subject to your approval, I have divided the survivors into two groups. One is of the disabled, and enough hale men to escort them home where they can get proper care. It will take our dead as well, to bury tomorrow in the gorge where there are rocks for cairns. We cannot leave them to the ghouls. The second party, of course, consists of those who can still fight. Tyris tells me he can lead us pretty directly to meet Ausar. Both groups should be ready to travel in another hour or so.'

His blue glance sought hers, he laid hands on her waist, he said low, 'You have done splendidly, daughter of kings, and I have been a surly brute. I know not what ailed me, but I see now how I wronged you, and ask your forgiveness.'

'Oh, Conan!' she cried. Regardless of stares, she cast herself into his arms.

XIX

The Battle of Rasht

The military highway entered that region called Taia at the north-western corner. A day's march farther on, it passed through a narrow valley. In crags and scaurs and boulder-strewn steeps, hills rose lofty on either side. What red soil was on their slopes and in their gullies bore a growth of shrubs, coarse grass, a few scrub trees. The sky at mid-morning was ultramarine, and already heat baked pungency out of dwarf juniper.

Screened by brush, men on the heights lay prone and peered downward. Distance made tiny the figures on the road, but did not conceal their numbers. Cavalry in the van, chariots rumbling behind, infantry in serried ranks, supply train, rearguard – the army filled two or three miles of paving. Metal flashed, pennons streamed, banners flapped, a ripple as over a grain field went among lances and spears. Even this remotely, the watchers heard a surf-like noise. It came from marching feet, clacking horseshoes, booming wheels, relentless drumbeat.

Conan whistled. 'Your scouts did not lie,' he said. 'Rather, they understated the matter. That must be the entire cadre of central Stygia, and whatever reserves could be mobilized in a hurry.'

'Well, if Mentuphera himself leads them -' Ausar let his voice trail off.

'Are you certain? You have just the word of those scouts, simple hillmen.'

'They are excellent observers, and I have travelled enough to recognize what they described. None but the king bears the standard of a silver serpent on a black field, staff topped by a bronze vulture. He means to make sure of us, once for all.'

'Aye,' said Conan grimly. His gaze sought behind the host. The road bent around a ridge that hid what lay in its direction, but

smoke made a pillar against heaven yonder and no carrion fowl hovered; they were at meat instead. Yesterday the village of Rasht had existed there, amidst fields, orchards, pastures. Ausar's folk had not warned the inhabitants to flee, because he did not expect a massacre; he had supposed the Stygians would hasten to find him. 'He will make sure of the whole country. Maybe afterward his own people will colonize the waste he leaves.'

'It shall not be!' Daris swore. 'This day his reign ends.'

'That is as the fates decree.' Anguish wrenched at Ausar's voice. 'If – in spite of everything – we must lose, remember my vow. I will tell the chiefs to bid their clans lay down arms, and then I will yield myself up, that Taia be not utterly devastated.'

'First,' said Conan dryly, 'suppose we try out our plan. You may have no count of your fighters, but they must outnumber the enemy. If they lack training and proper equipment, why, they do not lack valour; and we are well positioned for the attack. Besides, we have the Ax.'

Ausar and Daris regarded him in an awe that made him uncomfortable. Hang it, he was no incarnation of anything, he was a plain barbarian adventurer.

Yet luck, or destiny, or strife among the gods had made him a symbol, a vital rallying point. Often in the past did rebellion flare across the highlands, but never like this wildfire. Ausar, moving west, had pledged that near the border he would league with the Wielder who had been prophesied. That word flew right and left and before him, borne by runners who passed a war arrow from camp to camp, by the whistled language of herdsmen and hunters, by beacon fires on mountaintops, perhaps by ways more ancient and mysterious than any of these. From end to end of the country, boy, man, hale grandsire, strong maiden took weapons and trail rations and started off to join the head of Clan Varanghi. Theirs was a wild horde. Conan could but hope that, after he arrived, he had succeeded with native help in teaching enough of them the rudiments of organized warfare that the rest would have proper guidance.

Meanwhile General Shuat had moved his detachment unhindered in such haste that he wrought no havoc on the way. He must have gotten word from his king, by courier or pigeon, to change whatever plans he bore; for he stopped at the provincial border and waited for the royal force to appear. Now he was bound back toward Seyan, part of an army that took time to ravage as it went.

But there was nothing worth its attention in the hills near Rasht; and lowland Stygians would not notice any sign of the thousands who were gathered to ambush them.

'Let's go,' said Conan. He and his companions slithered off until they could safely walk upright.

In a hollow beyond the crest, about a hundred horsemen and as many foot waited. More could not be assembled at one spot without betraying their presence. Few except these were mounted, but groups of comparable size lurked everywhere above the valley. Their scheme was to fall on the Stygians at numerous points, split the column into segments, and, when it was thus in disarray, fight a whole set of simultaneous battles until it was destroyed.

Conan's gang would go first, meeting the enemy head-on; that would give signal and inspiration to the rest. Therefore his men had better gear than their kilted fellows: helmets, breastplates or byrnies, in some cases reinforced gauntlets or greaves or vambraces or other armour. Daris sprang to the saddle, herself wearing naught but tunic and leather cap, bow and quiver, dirk sheathed at the belt she had come to believe was lucky. From a lean grey clansman she took the banner she would carry: woven in the temple of Mitra, hung from a crossarm, a sunburst golden upon heaven-blue.

'About time,' grumbled Sakumbe. 'It's been a weary while, and not a woman for any of us, no, not even much beer. The plunder today had better be good.'

Conan grinned. The Suba were with him partly because he alone could talk to them, through their leader – but partly, too, because he knew their kind for grand fighters, and they would make his band the more conspicuous and fearsome. Their dark hides drank down the upland light, their alien outfits were somehow doubly menacing. 'Well,' said the Cimmerian, 'I dare say the king of Stygia does not travel like a beggar. What would you think of tableware made from precious metals and gems, or rare wines and spices, or silken raiment, or chests of money? Help yourselves!'

Sakumbe gave a villainous chuckle and addressed his followers. They cheered, save for Gonga the witch doctor. That gaunt man stood armed for combat, but he had painted his cicatriced body in eldritch patterns, he wore a necklace of human teeth and fingerbones, a wand and rattle and pouch of magical stuffs hung at his waist.

Falco edged close to Daris. The Ophirite had regained strength, was free of pain, but still rather lame. He insisted this made no difference as long as he sat his fine grey Stygian gelding. Besides cuirass and plumed morion, he had found a flamboyant scarlet cape to hang on his slender frame. The lance in his grasp quivered like an aspen in springtime.

Himself agleam in chainmail and winged helmet, breeks tucked into steel-capped boots with gilt spurs, Conan turned to Ausar. He became as grave as the Taian. 'Now the storm rises,' he said, 'and none may foreknow the wind's path. May we meet again, victorious. If not, then I thank you for your kindness, chieftain, and ask that Mitra take you home to him.'

'My thanks are to you, the thanks of all Taia,' answered Ausar. 'Whatever comes, while this folk live, the memory of you will abide.'

They embraced. The native would lead an assault on the Stygian rearguard, lest it execute a flanking manoeuvre. For a moment, father and daughter clasped hands, before he departed.

Conan mounted. For him, the rebels had captured a splendid charger, a great black stallion that whickered and pranced in eagerness. He patted the warm neck. 'So, so,' he murmured, 'you will have your fill of action today, I promise.' Muscles surged under his thighs, and he moved toward his destined hour.

Daris rode her mare on his right, standard rippling above her. Falco was at her other hand. Incredibly to any who did not know him, Sakumbe's swag-bellied form kept easy pace afoot on the left. His tribesmen were close behind, heading up spearmen, axmen, swordsmen, archers, slingers. In front of these, to either side of the Cimmerian, lancers rode in the wedge formation favoured by Taians. They would be no match for skilled Stygian cavalry; but

they hoped they could keep it busy until reinforcements arrived and then, perhaps, dismount to fight in their customary wise.

Stones rattled. Tawny grass and dusty shrubs rustled. Harness creaked and jingled. The sounds of the enemy grew louder.

Conan had not imagined he could burst upon his foe as if out of nowhere. He had, though, studied a route beforehand over which it was safe to go fast. Without that, his entire company might be picked off by arrows on its way. As he crossed the hillcrest, he broke into a trot.

Downward! In minutes, the army below was no parade of ants seen in entirety; it was troopers whose weapons he mad out, it was sunlight reflected blindingly off a gilt war chariot and coach that must be the king's, it was the royal standard he meant to cast down, it was shouts and trumpeted alarms and a first sinister whistle of missiles.

'Hoy-ah!' he roared. 'Taia and freedom!' Reaching down, he loosed the Ax of Varanghi from its fastenings at his saddlebow. It sang and gleamed as he whirled it aloft. Not every such weapon was suitable for use from horseback, but this one lived in his hands, sharp, agile, terrible.

The valley floor was near. He galloped. His fellow riders came along. The runners fell behind, but they would soon arrive, and meanwhile it was needful to get away from arrows. In yonder crowded space, archers would be well-nigh useless, and no full-scale charge was possible.

A Taian horseman toppled, a shaft in his throat. He struck the ground and rolled on in puffs of dust. Conan saw from the corner of an eye. He knew that man, had hoisted ale and traded jokes with him in camps where coals grew dim beneath midnight stars, had heard about his wife and children and old mother. Well, Crom gave no man more than the strength to die bravely.

And now pavement hardened the clatter of hooves. Conan reined his mount around. His saddlemates joined him. Across yards, they confronted the steeds, cuirasses, helmets, levelled lances of a Stygian cavalry ten times their number.

But the whole ten could not come at him together. If they went much off the highway, they would find themselves stumbling about on the slopes, among treacherous patches of talus, rocks, thorn bushes, rodent holes where an animal could easily break a leg. Again he swung the Ax on high. 'In line, advance!' he shouted, and spurred his destrier.

The foe trotted forward to meet him, cantered, galloped. Hoof beats rolled like the steady drums behind them. Pennons, plumes, cloaks streamed to their speed. Shields lifted, lances took aim. Men and beasts grew huge in vision.

According to his orders, Daris dropped behind Conan. Falco closed the gap, shaft held expertly across the neck of his grey.

In a roar, combat began.

A point sought Conan's mail-clad breast, to unseat him. Before it could strike, the Ax had sheared through wood. The Stygian got no chance to draw blade. Conan smote him under the jaw, and his head flew free. In a lightning flash of thought, the Cimmerian wondered who this man had been who had the honour of being the first in five hundred years to die beneath the Ax of Varanghi.

Falco took an attacker in the throat, dropped his lance, whipped forth sabre, positioned shield, and closed with the next nearest foeman. Conan split the skull of a horse; its rider fell under hooves. Falco warded off a sword thrust and removed the fingers that had tried it. There was no more charging, there was affray that milled, pushed, clanged, grunted, yelled, gasped, cursed, sweater, bled, stabbed, slashed, smote.

Tall on a tall steed, Conan got glimpses of how the battle went elsewhere. As expected, the Stygian riders had mostly overrun the Taian; but an unhorsed mountaineer, or one who had purposely jumped to earth, became twice as deadly, and meanwhile his animal encumbered the way. And now warriors, brown and black, bounded off hillsides into combat.