Once again, Destiny intervened on the side of the rebels, in the royal person of Milo, King of Argos. Even before the Aquilonian invasion began, an Argossean spy, kiUing three horses in his haste to reach Messantia, brought word to the comt of Numedides’ command to violate the territory of Argos. Thus King Milo learned of the planned attack as soon as did the rebel commanders. Already affronted by the arrogance of Ambassador Quesado, the usually even-tempered Milo flew iQto a rage. At once he commanded the nearest division of his army to speed north on forced marches to intercept the iavasion.
In a calmer moment, Milo might have temporized. Since he did not think that Numedides meant to seize a portion of his land, as the late King Vilerus had done,
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he had sound reasons for delaying any irrevocable action. But, by the time his temper had cooled, his troops were already on the march northward, and with his usual stubbornness the king refused to change his decision.
Amulius Procas had halted his army and was meticulously ordering his troops for an assault v/hen a breathless scout galloped up to his chariot.
“General!” he cried, gasping for breath. “A great cloud of dust is rising from the southern road; it is as if another army approachedl"
Procas made the scout repeat his message. Then, bluing the air with curses, he tugged off his helmet and hurled it with a clang to the floor of his chariot. It was as he had feared; King Milo had gotten wind of the invasion and was sending troops to block it To his aides he barked:
“Tell the men to stand at ease, and see that they have water. Order the scouts to swing around the rebel army and probe to southward, to learn the numbers and composition of the approaching force. Pitch a tent, and call my high oflBcers to a conference."
When, an hour later, the scouts reported that a thousand cavalry were on the march, AmuHus Procas found himself caught on the horns of a dilemma. Without explicit orders from his king, he dared not provoke Argos into open warfare. Neither did he dare disobey a direct command from Numedides without some overriding reason.
True, Procas’s army could doubtless crush the rebels and chase Milo’s cavalry back to Messantia. But such an action would presage a major war, for which Aquilonia was ill-prepared. While his country was the larger and more populous kingdom, her king was, at least, eccentric; and his rule had gravely weakened mighty Aquilonia. The Argosseans, moreover, fighting with righteous indignation an invader on their native
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soil, might with the aid of a small rebel force, like that assembled beneath the Lion banner, tip the scales against Procas's homeland.
Neither could Procas retreat. Since his troops outnumbered the combined rebel and Argossean forces, King Numedides might readily read his withdrawal as an act of cowardice or treachery and shorten him by a head for his disobedience.
As the sun rode down the western sky, Procas, deep in discussion with his officers, still delayed his decision. At last he said:
" Tis too late to start an action this day. We shall withdraw to northward, where we have left the baggage train, and set up a fortified camp. Send a man to order the engineers to begin digging.”
Trocero, narrowly watching the royalists from his rise, had long since dismounted. Beside him stood Publius, munching on a fowl’s leg. At last the treasurer said:
"What in Mitra’s name is Procas doing? He had us where he wanted us, and now he pulls back and pitches camp. Is he mad? For aught he knows, we might slip away in the coming night, or steal past him to enter Aquilonia.”
Trocero shrugged. “Belike the report we had, of Argosseans approaching, has something to do with his actions. It remains to be seen whether these Argossean horsemen mean to help or harm us. We could be caught between the two forces and groimd to powder, unless Procas counts on the Argosseans to do his dirty work for him.”
Even as the count spoke, hoofbeats summoned his glance southward across the plain. Soon a small party of mounted men cantered up the rise—^a group of Argosseans, guided in by a rebel cavalryman. Two of these new arrivals dismoimted with a clank of armor and strode forward. One was taU, lean, and leathery
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of visage, with the look of a professional soldier. His companion was younger and short of stature, with a wide-cheeked, snub-nosed face and bright, interested eyes. He wore a gilded cuirass and a purple cloak edged with scarlet, and purple-and-scarlet were the plumes that danced on the crest of his helm.
The lean veteran spoke first: “Hail, Count Trocerol I am Arcadio, senior captain of the Royal Guard, at your service, sir. May I present Prince Cassio of Argos, heir apparent to the throne? We desire a council with your general, Conan the Cimmerian.”
Nodding to the oflBcer and making a slight bow to the Prince of Argos, Trocero said: “I remember you well. Prince Cassio, as a mischievous child and a harum-scarum youth. As for General Conan, I regret to say he is indisposed. But you may state the purpose of yom: visit to me as second-in-command.”
"C)ur purpose. Count Trocero,” said the prince, “is to thwart this Aquilonian violation of our territorial integrity. To that endeavor, my royal father has sent me hither with such force as could readily be mustered. I assume my oflBcers and I may consider you and your followers as allies?”
Trocero smiled. "Thrice welcome. Prince Cassiol From your aspect, you have had a long and dusty ride. Will you and Captain Arcadio come to oui command tent for refreshment, while your escort take their ease? Our wine has long since gone, but we still have ale.”
On the way back to the tent, Trocero spoke privately to PubHus: “This explains Procas’s withdrawal when he all but had us in his jaws. He dare not attack for fear of starting an unauthorized war with Argos, and he dare not retreat lest he be branded a poltroon. So he camps where he is, awaiting— “
“Trocero!” A deep roar came from within the tent. “Who is it you are talking to, besides Publius? Fetch him in!”
Prince Cassio’s Cuirass ond Helmet
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'That's General Conan," said Trocero, dissembling his startlement. ”Will you step inside, gentlemen?”
They found Conan, in shirt and short breeks, propped up on his bimlc. Under the ministrations of Dexitheus, he had recovered full consciousness, his mighty frame having thrown oflE the worst eflFects of a draft that would have doomed an ordinary man. While he could think and speak, he could do Httle else; for the residue of the poison still chained his brawny limbs. Unable to rise without help, he chafed at his confinement.
“Gods and devilsl” he fumed. "Could I but stand and lift a sword, Td show Procas how to cut and thrust! And who are these Argosseans?”
Trocero introduced Prince Cassio and Captain Arcadio and recounted Procas’s latest move. Conan snarled:
This I will see for myself. Squires! Raise me to my feet Procas may be shamming a withdrawal, the better to surprise us by a night attack.”
With an arm around the neck of each squire, Conan tottered to the entrance. The sun, impaled upon the peaks of the Rabirian Hills to westward, spilled dark shadows down the mountainsides. In the middle distance, the departing rays struck scarlet sparks from the armor of the Aquilonians as they labored to set up a camp. The tap of mallets on tent pegs came softly through the evening air.
“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 sim. I, for one, would that something happened—anything, to end this dawdling."
“Methinks our general is about to have his wish," murmmred Dexitheus, shading his eyes with his hand
as he peered at the distant royaUst camp. The others stared at him.
“What now, sir priest?” said Conan. ,
“Beholdl” said Dexitheus, pointing.
“Ishtarl” breathed Captain Arcad
io. "Fry my guts if they’re not nmning awayl”
And so they were; if not running, they were at least beginning an orderly retreat. Trumpets sounded, thin and faraway. Instead of continuing to strengthen the fortification of their camp, the men of the Border Legion, antlike in the distance, were striking the tents they had just set up, loading the supply wagons, and streaming out, company by company, toward the pass in the Rabirian Hills. Conan and his 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 himself oflF his mount, saluted Conan, and gasped: "My lord general, they fly the leopards of Poitain and the arms of Baron Groder of Aquilonial"
"Crom and Mitral” whispered Conan. Then his face cleared and his laughter echoed among the hills. For it was indeed Prospero with the rebel force that he had searched for in the east
"No wonder Procas runsl” said Trocero. "Now that we outnumber him, he can do so without arousing his sovereign’s ire. Hell tell Numedides that three armies would have surroimded him at once and overwhelmed him”
“General Conan,” said Dexitheus, “you must return to your bed to rest. We cannot aflFord to have you suffer a relapse.”
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As the squires lowered Conan to his pallet, the Cimmerian whispered: 'Trospero, Prosperol For this I will make you a knight of the throne, if ever Aquilonia be minel”
In Fadius’ 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 of Thulandra Thuu; while before her, barely visible in the dim-lit chamber, appeared a vision of the sorcerer himself, seated in his iron chair.
Thulandra Thuu’s speech rustled so softly through Aldna’s mind that it demanded rapt attention, together with a constant sxuveiUance of the Hps and the gestures of the vision, to grasp the magician’s message: 'Trou have done well, my daughter. Has aught befallen in Messantia?”
She shook her head, and the ghostly whisper continued: Then I have another task for you. With the mom’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, traveling southward on the road from Culario. Then report to me again at the next favorable 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 wineshop than was prudent Arms out, he staggered toward Alcina, babbling:
“Come, my little passion flowerl I weary of sleeping on the bare floor, and 'tis time you accorded your comrade the same kindness you extend to barbarian buUies— "
Alcina leaped to her feet and backed away. “Have a care, Master Fadius!" she warned. “I take not kindly to presiunption from such a one as youl”
“Come on, my pretty," mumbled Fadius. “I’U not hurt you—"
Alcina's hand flicked to the bodice of her gown. As by magic, a slender dagger appeared in her jeweled hand. “Stand back!" she cried. “One prick of this, and you’re a dying spyl”
The threat penetrated Fadius’ sodden wits, and he recoiled from the blade. He knew the Hghtning speed with which the dancer-witch could move and stab. “But—^but—^my dear httlt
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“Get outl” said Alcina. “And come not back until you re soberl”
Cursing under his breath, Fadius went In the chamber, among the cages of roosting pigeons, Alcina rummaged in her chest for the garments in which she would set out upon the morrow.
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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 sldns of ale from the rebels' dwindling stores were handed round to Baron Groder’s starveling regiment and Prosperous weary troop. Horses were watered, hobbled, and tmned out to pasture on the lush grass, as the rebels and their new allies lit campfires and settled down to their evening repast. Soon the fitful glow of fires scattered about Qie Plain of Pallos rivaled the twinkling stars upon the plain of heaven; and the shouts and laughter of four thousand men, wafted northward on the evening breeze, crashed like the dissonant chords 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 meal and draft the morrows plans.
“Well all after them at dawnl” cried Trocero.
"Nay,’' the young prince repHed. “The instructions from my royal father are expUcit. Only if General Procas leads his forces further into our territory are
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we to join battle with him. The long 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.
'T 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 to your force within our borders.”
With a hand that trembled fromeflFort, Conan grasped his cup of ale and brought it slowly to his lips. Sweat beaded his forehead, as if the flagon weighed half a hundredweight. He 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 Hes ever on the laps of the fickle gods.”
Conan was tempted. Every belligerent instinct in his barbaric soul enticed him to send his men in headlong pursuit of the royalists, to worry them like a pack of hoimds, to pick them off by ones and twos all the way back beyond the Alimane. The Rabirian range seemed designed by Destiny for 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 to ambush every fleeing soldier.
But should Procas’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 weapon
ry
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even now; and the regiment that Prosper© had rescued were worn and weary, on gaunt, shambling mounts, after days of hiding out and foraging in the field. Moreover, a general who cannot ride a 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 at 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 maneuverable, 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 toward 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 unstnmg 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 Conans memory. In that army, moimted 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
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