"The Council Rocks," muttered Conan. "The Picts were wont to meet here before the Aquilonians drove them out of Conajohara. Now they've cleared the place again and use it for their gatherings. We'll hide behind the beaver house to watch and listen They'll hold a council, now that our forces are in disarray."
"But they'll spy us, Conan, and take us prisoner or worse!"
"I think not" Conan pulled ferns and water plants from the margin of the pond and fastened them about his helmet. "Tie plants about your helm, like mine."
"This hides our heads full well," said Flavius. "But what about mail-clad bodies?"
"All is invisible in blackish water, son."
"Mean you we must lurk within this pond, in all our harness, like some scaly creatures of the deep?"
"That's it. Better wet than dead."
Flavius sighed. "I suppose you are right."
'The day I'm wrong, they'll hang my head in one of their altar huts. Come on!"
Conan stepped into water no deeper than his waist and led his young companion across the pond to the beaver house, a wide mound of sticks two feet above the water. As they approached, a turtle, sunning itself on the wattled dam, slipped off into the water and vanished.
As they crouched until the water reached their chins, only their heads, all but undetectable under the leafy disguises, showed above the surface.
"I'd rather pray to Mitra in a temple than kneel on this dank leaf mold," said Flavius with a wry little smile.
"Be still; our lives depend upon it. Can you hold this pose for hours if need be?"
"I'll try," said the lieutenant gamely.
Conan granted approvingly, and like a crouching leopard, ceased to move.
Insects hummed around them, and the frogs, which had fallen silent when the men appeared, resumed their croaking chorus. A red sun hung low above the fan of greenery that dabbled its feet in the roseate water. Slowly the woods darkened.
Flavius whispered desperately, "Something is biting me."
"Bloodsucker," said Conan. "Fear not; it will not steal enough of your blood to weaken you."
With a shudder, Flavius pinched the writhing leech and cast it from him.
"Hist! They come," murmured Conan.
Flavius quieted, hardly daring to breathe, as Picts in ones and twos flitted among the darkening trees, whooping with laughter. Flavius was surprised. From what he had seen of Picts, he deemed them a dour and silent folk. Evidently these savages could rejoice as well as other men.
The clearing filled as Picts, in clan regalia, squatted in rows and passed around skins of weak native beer, amid chatter and boasting.
"I see Wolves, Hawks, Turtles, Wildcats, and Ravens," whispered Flavius, "all in seeming amity."
"They are learning to put aside their clannish feuds," muttered Conan. "If ever the tribes unite at once, let Aquilonia beware. Ha! Look at those twain!"
Two figures, distinct from the throng of nearly naked savages, stepped into the clearing. One was a Pictish shaman, wearing a harness of leather in which was set a score of tinted ostrich' feathers. These plumes, Flavius knew, must have been borne for nearly a thousand leagues over trade routes that wound like ribbons through the deserts and savannas of the south.
The other man was a lean, weatherbeaten Aquilonian in buckskins. Conan whispered:
"Sagayetha, and—by Crom—that's Edric, the scout whom Lucian foisted on us!"
Cutting a path through the squatting warriors, who swayed like fields of grain to let them pass, the shaman and the scout came through the throng and climbed the smaller boulder. The Aquilonian spoke in his native language to the Picts, pausing betimes for Sagayetha to translate.
"You have seen, my children," began Edric, "that your great and loyal friend, General Viscount Lucian, is not one whose words are straw. He said he would betray a company of Aquilonians into your hands, and did he not? Even so, when he promises you all of Schohira, he will not fail you.
"Now the time has come for the reckoning. In return for aiding you to recover the land that was stolen from you but a few decades ago, he now asks payment of the promised treasure."
Sagayetha translated the last phrase and ripped out a short speech of his own.
"What says he?" whispered Flavius.
"He told them to fetch the money. "Now hush."
Four Picts appeared, staggering under a stout chest, slung from a pole, which the Picts carried on their shoulders. As they lowered the chest to the ground, Sagayetha and Edric jumped down from the boulder and raised the lid. From their watery lurking place, Conan and Flavius could not see the contents; but Edric dipped a hand in, brought up a fistful of the gleaming coins, and let them trickle back into the container. Flavius could hear the metallic clatter.
"Where would the Picts get so much gold and silver?" he whispered. "They use not coins, save now and then for trading with the Aquilonians."
"Valannus' pay chest," muttered Conan. "A full one had arrived at Fort Tuscelan just before it fell, and the Picts got their hands on it before it could be paid out to the soldiers."
"Why in the name of all the gods would Lucian betray his own folk and sell their land to savages?"
"I know not, albeit I have some ideas."
"I will slay those villains or die trying. One quick rush might reach them ere they struck me down—"
"Try it and I'll throttle you," growled Conan. "This news we hear is more important than aught that you could do. If we live not, it will never reach Velitrium. Now keep your head low and stay your tongue."
The two men in the beaver pond watched in silence as the four Picts hoisted the pole, from which hung the chest, and set off with Edric into the forest. Sagayetha mounted the boulder again and launched into an oration, telling the Picts of their past heroism and future glories. His gaudy plumage swayed and flapped with his fiery gestures.
Before Sagayetha finished, the sun had set, leaving overhead a scattering of scarlet clouds in a sapphire sky. In the gathering dark, the Picts began a victory dance, hopping, shuffling, and stamping in long lines, while others applied themselves to the beerskins.
By the time a few stars appeared through the canopy of leaves, the dance had become a savage thing of leaping, shadowy figures. Maddened by the liquor of their victory, the Picts cast off restraint, reverting to the beast that sleeps within all men. As the roistering became obscene, Conan grunted in disgust.
The moon was high when the forest grew still, save for the croaking of frogs and the hum of mosquitoes. Fireflies flashed their elfin lights as they soared above the recumbent Picts. Conan said:
"They're all asleep. We go."
Across the beaver pond they waded, bent low to shield their passage from the sight of any waking Pict. As they emerged dripping and sought the shelter of the trees, Flavius shivered in the chilly evening air. He suppressed a groan as he stretched his stiffened muscles and fought down an urge to sneeze.
Conan struck out along the trail that had led them to the beaver pond. The Cimmerian" seemed to possess the ability to see in darkness as well as by day, and moved through the trees with catlike ease. So little moonlight penetrated the dense cover that Flavius had much ado to keep from straying off the path or blundering into clumps of brush or trunks of trees. The best way to travel, Flavius found, was to follow Conan closely and trust blindly in his barbarian instincts.
The forest was alive with the chirp and buzz and twitter of nocturnal insects, as they passed the site of the past day's battle, where rotting corpses had already begun to exude a fetid stench. Flavius started at the sound of some unseen beast crashing through the darkness.
When Flavius began to gasp at the stiff pace set by Conan's long legs, the Cimmerian halted to rest his young companion. When his breath returned, Flavius said:
'Why did Lucian turn traitor to his country? You said you knew."
" 'Tis plain enough," said Conan, drawing his sword to cleanse it of the water of the pond. "After the fall of Tuscelan, Lucian became
the temporary governor of Conajohara and commander of what troops remain in this rump province."
'True," said Flavius. "It's nothing but a strip along Thunder River, joining Conawaga and Schohira with Oriskonie ... and the city of Velitrium."
"Aye. And this rump province will not keep its independence long, for Thasperas of Schohira and Brocas of Conawaga have gone to Tarantia to press before the king their claims to this poor remnant.
"Lucian well knows that his governorship will end when King Numedides bestows the land on one or the other or, perchance, gives parts to each of them. It's said that Thasperas and Lucian hate each other, so he gains both fortune and revenge by betraying Schohira to the Picts. That pay chest held a half-year's pay for nigh a thousand men—a tidy sum indeed. Lucian is said to be a gambler and, belike, is to his jowls in debt."
"But, Conan, what fate will overtake the common folk of Schohira?"
"Lucian cares not a fig for them. He works for General Viscount Lucian first and last, as do most feudal lordlings."
"Baron Thasperas would do no thing so foul, I know," said Flavius.
"At least Thasperas did not recall the companies he sent us as reinforcements after Tuscelan, and that cannot be said of Brocas. Still, I trust none of them. Besides, Lucian's plot is no less fair than that whereby you Aquilonians took the Westermarck—at least, so think the savages."
Anger tore at Flavius' devotion to his captain. "If you so despise us Aquilonians, why do you risk your neck, fighting for us against the Picts?"
Conan shrugged, there in the moonless forest. "I do not despise you, Flavius, or any of the other good men I have met among your people. But good men are hard to find in any land The quarrels of lords and kings mean nothing to me, for I am a mercenary. I sell my sword to the highest bidder. So long as he pays me, I give him fair value in strength and strokes. Now, get up, young sir. We cannot stay here babbling all night."
-
4 • Moonlight on Gold
In the officers' quarters in the barracks at Velitrium, the fortress-headquarters of the Golden Lion regiment, four men sat in the yellow fight of a brazen oil lamp, which swung from the sooty ceiling. Two were Conan and Flavius, both red-speckled from the myriad bites of mosquitoes. Conan, little affected by the grueling day and night that he had survived in the wilderness, spoke forcefully. Flavius fought the tides of sleep that threatened to engulf him. Each time he jerked himself awake, he forced his attention back to the two men, who stared at him with searching eyes. Then his eyelids would droop, his body slump, and his head nod until he jerked himself awake again.
The other two men wore parts of the uniform of Aquilonian officers. Neither was fully dressed, since both had been aroused from bed. One was a heavy-set man with a grizzled beard and a battle-scarred face. The other was younger, tall and handsome in a patrician way, with wavy blond hair that hung to his shoulders. The blond man spoke:
" 'Tis incredible, Captain Conan, what you tell us! That one of gentle blood, like General Lucian, should so foully betray his trust and his own soldiers! I cannot believe it. Were you to make such accusation publicly, I should feel obliged to denounce you as a traitor."
Conan snorted. "Believe what you like, Laodamas; but Flavius and I saw what we saw."
Laodamas appealed to the older officer. "Good Glyco, tell me, am I hearing treason, or have they both gone mad?"
Glyco took his time about replying. "It is a serious charge, surely. On the other hand, Flavius is one of our better junior officers, and our Cimmerian friend here showed his loyalty in the fighting last autumn. This Lucian I know not, save in the way of duty since he came here to command us. I say naught against him without evidence, but naught for him, either."
"But Lucian is a nobleman!" persisted Laodamas.
"So?" growled Conan. "Laodamas, if you believe a title renders a man above ordinary temptation, you have much to learn about your fellow beings."
'Well, if this fantastic tale be true ... wait!" said Laodamas as Conan's blue eyes flashed menace and a deep growl arose in his throat. "I gave not the lie to your story, Captain. I only said if. Now if it be true, what would you propose? We cannot go to our commander and say: 'Traitor, dismiss yourself from command and reside in the guardhouse pending trial.'
Conan uttered a short bark of laughter. "I won't hazard anyone's neck without evidence. That pay chest should come across yon Thunder River soon, to be delivered unseen to the general. Flavius and I walked half the night to arrive ahead of it, reckoning the weight would delay those who bore it. If you two will finish dressing, we can intercept it ere it reaches the shore."
-
Muffled in cloaks against the chill and talking in low tones, the four officers stood about the narrow pier that jutted out from the Velitrium waterfront. Several small boats, tied to the pier, bobbed gently on the sinuous tide of the river. The moon, nearly full, hung a misshapen disk of luminous silver in the west. Overhead, white stars wheeled slowly, while from the surface of the river, a ghostly mist was rising. Above the mist could be seen the shaggy silhouettes of trees on the farther bank.
There was little sound save the lapping of water against the piles of the pier and the faint scrape of the small boats as they nudged each other in the current. The cry of a loon came from afar. The other three looked a question at Conan, who shook his head.
"That's a real call," he said, "not a Pictish signal."
"Flavius!" said Laodamas sharply. The lieutenant had slumped down with his back against a post.
"Let the lad have his nap," said Conan. "He has earned it thrice over."
Soon Flavius was snoring gently. Laodamas looked toward the east and asked: "The sky has paled a little. Is it dawn so soon?"
Conan shook his head. "That's the false dawn, as they call it. The real won't come for yet another hour."
Silence fell again, and the waiting officers paced noiselessly back and forth. As he paused to make a turn in his pacing, Conan came up short.
"Listen!"
After a moment, he said: "Oars! Take your posts."
He nudged Flavius awake with the toe of his boot, and the four retreated to the base of the pier, crouching behind such cover as they could find.
"Quiet, now!" said Conan.
Again there was silence. The moon had set, and without its competition, the stars blazed brightly. Then they dimmed again as the eastern sky paled with the approach of day.
A faint rhythmic splashing and creaking became audible, and a black shape took form out of the mist and resolved itself into a rowboat. As it came closer, the heads of five men could be discerned, rising from the determinate mass.
As the boat pulled up to the end of the pier, a man leaped out and made the painter fast to a cleat. With few words and much grunting, the oarsmen manhandled a heavy, bulky object out of the craft.
Four men, manning a carrying pole, hoisted the load to their shoulders. The fifth led them shoreward along the neck of the pier. In the waxing light, a keen eye could discern that the five wore the buckskin garb of Aquilonian scouts. At some time in the portage, thought Flavius, the Picts must have transferred their burden to these men.
As the five neared the base of the pier, Conan leaped out in front of them, drawing his sword.
"Stand or you're dead men!" he grated sharply.
The three other officers closed in with bared blades. For a heartbeat, there was silence.
The bearers dropped the chest with a crash. As a single being, they raced back to the end of the pier and leaped into their boat, rocking it perilously. One cut the painter with a knife; others snatched up oars and shoved off.
The leader also leaped back before the apparition of the giant Cimmerian, but he collided with the chest and toppled backward over it. In a flash, Conan was upon him, catching his scrawny neck in an iron grip and pointing the blade of his sword against the fellow's throat.
"One word and you'll never speak another," said Conan, eyes blazing through the shredded mists of daw
n.
The other officers pushed past Conan and his hostage and reached the end of the pier. But the water-borne scouts were already rowing away, soon to be lost in the fog.
"Let the dogs go," growled Conan. "This one is Edric, the traitor who steered us into yesterday's trap. He'll tell us what we want to know, eh, Edric?"
When the scout remained silent, Conan said, "Never mind. I'll have him talking soon enough."
'What now, Conan?" asked Glyco.
"Back to barracks. We'll use your room."
Flavius said: "Conan, how can we get both man and chest back to barracks? It takes four to carry the chest, leaving no guard for our prisoner."
Conan the Swordsman Page 18
