"But we will not be using the horses in battle," said the Gerul.
This, Bartatua thought, was the most onerous part of being the Ushi-Kagan. Even in small matters, he had to do everyone's thinking. It was not enough to plan campaigns and empires; he had to point out the simplest and most obvious things to men who were supposed to be seasoned warriors.
"Those men down there," he said, "are studying us just as we are studying them. They judge the greatness of our numbers and the smallness of their own. Even now they are considering flight. Our horses have just run for two days and nights with little rest, while theirs have been taking their ease, cropping the grass from the graves of our ancestors."
Bartatua glared fiercely at his chiefs. "Should they try to escape, now or tonight, some might make it through our lines. On tired mounts, we might not be able to catch such as make it away from our arrow storm. Those men have learned the route to our City of Mounds, and not one, not one! may be allowed to escape to reveal that secret!"
"Aye," said they all.
In a space behind the Hyrkanian line, warriors were setting up a small tent, the only such shelter to be brought on the hurried forced march. Nearby stood the black-shrouded owner of the tent.
Lakhme walked stiffly, easing the soreness from her body. Never in her life had she ridden as she had in these last forty-eight hours. Her body was a mass of pain, as if she had been beaten with rods and stretched on a rack. She knew that the tender skin of her thighs and buttocks was now red, chafed and galled from constant moving contact with the saddle.
She feared that months of ointments, salves and massage would be needed to restore the beauty of her flesh, but just now she had more than her beauty to worry about. She had planned long and deeply for this moment, and the coming hours must see the climax of all her plotting.
This was the most delicate moment of the entire scheme. Her body craved rest, but she had no time for rest now. Inside the City of Mounds was Khondemir, and she had to make contact with him. The state of his forces, the progress of his sorcerous workings, all had a ' bearing on the course of her actions over the next few hours.
Her ambition was vaulting but simple. She wanted to rule the world. She could do it through Khondemir and Bartatua. The Ushi-Kagan was everything she had hoped to find in a man: a ruthless conqueror with the ambition to subdue the world, and the gifts of leadership and will with which to accomplish it. Plus that, he had the weapon to sweep all resistance before him: the matchless horse-archers of the Hyrkanian steppe. Best of all, he was controllable through his besotted love for her.
Life had taught her, though, that her power over such a man would dwindle as her beauty faded. She needed an ally with whom to cement her mastery over the Ushi-Kagan, and that ally would be Khondemir. The wizard, through his magic, would have full control of Bartatua, and she would control the wizard, who was as helpless with love for her as was the Ushi-Kagan himself. She would stay close to the wizard until she had ferreted out his secrets; then she would seize control for herself. With both wizard and Ushi-Kagan reduced to slavery, she would rule the world through them. She would no longer need to depend upon her beauty, which had never been more than a tool for her. Beauty was a fleeting thing, of importance only to foolish, weak men. Power was everything, and she meant to wield all the power that was to be had.
When the tent was erected and the pallets laid, she went inside to eat and to prepare herself for the night's activities. One supreme effort would see the culmination of her ambitions. She was a gambler too experienced to risk everything on a single cast of the dice. Should the wizard fail, she would still have her position as Bartatua's concubine. There would be another wizard someday, one to reveal to her the secret of ensorcelling a king's soul. In the meantime, she would be the woman of the greatest conqueror of the age, and woe betide any younger, more beautiful woman who should appear.
The heat of summer was stifling in the tent, and she quickly shed the padded trousers she had worn beneath her all-swathing black robes. The padding had afforded her delicate skin some slight protection, but the heat had been suffocating. She envied the men, many of whom had stripped to loincloth and boots for the ride.
She called for water, and the warriors returned from the spring with several skin bags and a collapsing leather tub. The water was no more than tepid, but it felt luxurious upon her abraded flesh. As she soaked, she laid out her plans for the night: first, some questioning to learn Bartatua's strategy for attacking the City of Mounds; then, after full dark, a foray into the enclosure to meet with Khondemir. It was difficult to plan beyond that because everything would depend upon what the wizard had to say.
Her perfunctory bath finished, she dried herself and resumed her silken loincloth. She did not bother with jewellery for fear of making noise when she made her nocturnal visit to the City of Mounds. Into the loincloth she tucked a small dagger in a sheath of thin bronze. It had no sharp edge, but the triangular blade was needle-tipped and strong enough to pierce mail, and it had been steeped in the distilled venom of the Khitan sea snake. Once, to test it, she had pricked a camel with the tip of the dagger. The beast had died within minutes. She had invested in a number of such weapons, to compensate for her relative physical weakness.
After he had made his rounds of the hordes and explained the morrow's battle plan, Bartatua came to the tent of his beloved concubine. She had laid out bowls of the scanty food she had brought: hard cakes of bread, cheese and dried fruits.
"It grieves me, my lord," she said, "that this is all I am able to prepare for you. This is not fare fit for the Ushi-Kagan, soon to be ruler of all the world."
He sat before her, admiring as always her unearthly beauty, unmarked by the ravages of the hard ride. "It is no matter. I have already shared gruel with my men. Now, more than ever, they must see that I am one of them, and that I enjoy few privileges when there is true fighting to be done. It is no hardship to me. When I was welding this nation of tribes into a fighting force to be reckoned with, I went many days with no food at all. The steppe is a cruel and unforgiving master, and those who cannot adapt do not last long. Only after conquest do we enjoy the fruits of others' labours. That is good practice, and it has kept us strong."
"Surely it shall not be so difficult a fight, though," she said. "What can that small band do against this great host of the mightiest warriors in the world?"
"Ordinarily, nothing," said the Ushi-Kagan. "In a common battle, we would simply fill them with arrows and laugh while we did so. But the ancient laws will not allow it. We must leave our horses and bows and fight on foot. Many of my men do not even have shields, and to them a sword is a tool for cutting down footmen as they flee, thus saving arrows. We have always favoured light armour, and many tribes scorn any armour at all. The Sogarian heavy cavalry are well protected with mail,
scale and plate, and the Turanians look to be well armoured also."
The Ushi-Kagan shook his head. "No, we shall prevail. With our greater numbers and the honour of our ancestors to avenge, it cannot be otherwise. But the cost! We have never been a numerous people as other nations reckon such things. Our power lies in our mobility and our archery. In this fight—I can scarcely call it a battle—many, many fine bowmen will be lost, more than I would be prepared to sacrifice in a major campaign. And not a foot of ground taken in conquest! This is wasteful and foolish, and all because of that foul necromancer!"
"Well," Lakhme said, "you must remain firm if you are to keep your rightful standing among your people. And never fear, your warriors will take many wives and concubines from among the defeated peoples. They will raise multitudes of strong sons to replace those slain here. My lord is destined to be ruler of all beneath the Everlasting Sky, and no mere wizard can alter that. This is a test that the gods have put before you, to demonstrate your mastery for all to see." She poured wine into his favourite skull cup and handed him the vessel. "How will you go about waging your campaign?"
"The rampart slopes,"
Bartatua said. "It is not like a city wall. We could attack along any point, or we could attack at every point at once. If we spread our attack too wide, though, we will only make our losses greater. There is much open ground to cover after we are within bowshot."
"Why not a night attack? They will not see you until you are close."
"That would be best," he agreed, "but too many tribes will not attack at night for religious reasons."
That would be a valuable piece of information to take to Khondemir, she thought. "So it will be an attack at dawn, against a single point?"
"Against two points," said Bartatua. "The City is oriented to the four cardinal directions, with its back to the north, whence come evil spirits. The entrance faces south. At dawn we shall make a feint toward the north wall, riding as close to it as is permitted, then dismounting to attack. The main force shall be hiding in a draw to the south-east. When most of the defenders are drawn away to the north, the main force shall assault the south side of the rampart. If this plan goes well, the foot attack shall sweep all before it, though with many losses."
"With my lord as their leader," she said, refilling his cup, "they cannot fail."
After resting in the tent for a brief time, Bartatua left, telling Lakhme that he would spend the night among his men. It was important that men see much of their leader just prior to a battle, he explained. She feigned reluctance to see him leave, and as soon as he was away, she prepared for her own foray.
Swathed to the eyes in her black robes, Lakhme slipped from the tent. No man watched or stood near, for all attention was directed toward the City of Mounds. The Ushi-Kagan had ordered that no one who bore the secret of the location of the sacred site was to pass through Hyrkanian lines. She began to walk toward the lines.
Out of the gloom came the figure of a man in dark clothing. "I am here, mistress."
"Did you follow my instructions, Bajazet?" she asked.
"I did, my lady. There is a draw, not far from here, leading toward the necropolis. I saw to it that my fifty-commander placed me in watch upon it. If you keep low, you may go near the rampart without being seen."
"You did well," she said as they set out. "Tell me, Bajazet, are you not as incensed as the rest that foreigners are defiling sacred ground?" If the man was having second thoughts, it would be best to know it now. There was nothing so dangerous as a reluctant accomplice. Better to kill him at once than to leave a possible betrayer behind her back.
"I am no Ashkuz!" he said, spitting. "The burial grounds of Bartatua's tribe mean nothing to me. I only wish to avenge my master, Kuchlug, treacherously slain by the Ushi-Kagan!" He gave the title a sarcastic twist.
"Very good," she said. "See that you keep that in mind."
As they approached the draw, they were so intent upon their errand that they failed to see the two shadowy forms that passed them in the dark.
The sleepy sentries jumped to their feet yammering, startled by the black apparition that had appeared like a vision before them. They presented the points of their lances and the figure lowered a black veil, revealing the face of a beautiful woman, vague in the light from the fires far behind them.
"Tell your master that Lakhme is here," she said.
An officer arrived, drawn by the guards' exclamations.
"Lord Khondemir told us to expect you, my lady," said the man. His silver-chased helmet winked in the firelight. "I will take you to him."
They walked through the camp, which was quiet for once. Even the licentious rogues who had flocked to Khondemir knew better than to spend the night in drunken revelry when battle was imminent. The officer led her to the base of a titanic mound. Looking around the City, she saw that this was the largest of all the tumuli.
"Up there," the officer said, pointing to the top of the great grassy heap of earth. "My lord Khondemir is at the top. Men have toiled up there all day, helping him with his preparations. Since sundown he has forbidden any to ascend this mound, save only you when you should arrive."
She climbed the mound, which proved to be even steeper than it appeared from the bottom. Her legs, already tired from the ride, grew wobbly as she approached the crest. A wave of dizziness swept over her, but she refused to let Khondemir see her in a moment of weakness. She paused briefly and summoned all her willpower. With her stamina restored, she strode up the last few yards at an easy stride, betraying no trace of the weakness that she felt from scalp to toes.
"I am here, Khondemir," she said, her voice steady and calm.
"I expected you," the wizard said. He was in his full ceremonial robes. Strange and disturbing figures were embroidered with threads of silver and gold upon a robe dyed with the blood of Khitan dragons, and he wore a short cope made from the skin of a virgin princess of Zamora, captured and sacrificed by a Turanian mage three hundred years before.
"Did you bring the things I need?" he asked.
"Here, this should be sufficient." From a pocket sewn into the lining of her robe she withdrew a silken bag and a small vial of glass. Khondemir took them from her and turned back to the curious structure that had been erected upon the mound, next to a tall, stark standard of iron. From the top of the standard, white horses' tails waved in the moonlight and the skull of some fantastic beast grinned down at them.
The wizard set her offerings upon the structure, which was a low altar made of wood and leather. It had buckled straps at its corners, and the wizard had covered it with strange, writhing figures much like those embroidered upon his robe. Lakhme stared at them in fascination, for here was a source of power she had not yet mastered. The figures seemed to crawl before her gaze and she looked away.
Around the base of the mound she could see the fires of the Turanian-Sogarian camp. Beyond the fires there was a broad belt of darkness behind which were the smaller fires of the Hyrkanian horde. It was a circle of fire so immense that she felt a sinking in her belly.
"I see why you do not allow any of your men up here after dark," she said. "Such a sight would turn to ice the stoutest of hearts."
"There are other reasons," said Khondemir. "This place is now consecrated. No others may tread upon this spot save myself, you, and the Princess Ishkala. The stars are in their proper places. The phase of the moon is correct, and the focus of events has moved to this ground. Tomorrow night I shall summon a great Power. When I plunge the sacred dagger into Ishkala's breast and rip forth her still-beating heart, all of our plans will come to fruition. I shall be in complete control of the Kagan, Bartatua. When the confusion of battle is sorted out, I shall be the true commander of a mighty conquering army, and soon thereafter shall be the king of Turan."
He smiled benevolently., "And you, my dear, shall ascend the throne with me. Not as my queen, of course. The Turanians would never accept a Vendhyan pleasure-slave as their queen. But you shall be my chief concubine."
"Of course," she said, her smile as perfect and seductive as ever, "I would never aspire to a position so high and public as that of queen. However"—she swept her gaze over the huge encircling ring of fire—' 'I had hoped that you would be able to work your magic tonight. You may not be alive to work sorcery tomorrow night. The Hyrkanian host is vast, and its members are incensed that foreigners profane one of their burial grounds. Even without their bows and their horses, there are enough of them to sweep over you by weight alone."
His superior smile reappeared. "Have no fear. My men are very expert in war and will make the best use of their arms and of this position. Besides, not all of the Hyrkanians are so eager to avenge the profanation of this place. Only the Kagan's own people, the Ashkuz, hold the City sacred. The others may be making fierce noises, but that is only to display their loyalty to Bartatua. Tomorrow, when they advance across open ground on foot, about to fight in a manner they have always despised, they shall not be so eager. Mounted and armed with their fine bows, they are all but undefeatable. Afoot with hand weapons, they are little more than rabble."
She remembered the scornful words
of Bajazet. "You may be correct."
"I am. And I shall be king of Turan. It is destiny." At that moment, seeing him standing atop the mound in his magnificent robes, she could readily believe it.
"I have obtained Bartatua's order of battle for the morrow," she said. "Will you hear it now?"
"Come down to my tent. You may relate it to my officers as well."
They descended the mound. She had no fear of being seen by Khondemir's officers, for they could never betray her to Bartatua. Should Khondemir's plans fail on the morrow, should the Ushi-Kagan be victorious, none of the enemy would be spared. Even should one or two be taken for questioning, she would see to it that they died before their tongues could give her any anxiety.
They passed by a fire where men were conversing while they oiled and sharpened their weapons. Almost unconsciously her instinct for eavesdropping caused Lakhme to listen to their words.
"There goes the master," said one as he thumbed the edge of a long, curved dagger. "He said that the savages would not attack tonight, and it looks as if he is right. We are safe until daybreak."
"True," said another with a sardonic smile. "We are safe barring another midnight visit from Conan of Cimmeria." The men around the campfire laughed at the witticism.
Lakhme felt icy fingers closing around her heart. She had barely been able to understand the rough Turanian dialect of the hill bandits, but the name caught her as surely as a noose cast by a Hyrkanian tribesman. She stopped in her tracks and turned on Khondemir.
"Conan! The Cimmerian! What do your men know of him?" Her voice was low, but urgent.
Khondemir was as one thunderstruck. "Conan of Cimmeria? Why does that name distress you?"
"Tell me!" she insisted.
"He is merely the men's latest bugaboo. Last night a man calling himself by that name came into the Turanian camp to spy. He had a companion with him, but that one did not speak. They were surrounded by my men, but after announcing himself, this Conan fellow proved to be a lion among hyenas. He slew a great swath of troops and fled without a trace. The men have made a night goblin of him, half in jest."
Conan the Marauder Page 21
