Conan the Invincible (Robert Jordan's Conan Novels 1) - Page 46

A spark of light in the east caught the Cimmerian’s eye, a momentary glitter that flashed against the shadows of mountains already caught in twilight and was gone. It flashed again. Frowning, he studied the slopes around the valley. High above them, to the north, another spark flared and was gone.

“Think you Amanar knows the valley is watched?” Hordo asked.

“You use that eye,” Conan said approvingly. The S’tarra rode up the long incline to the fortress, the portcullis creaking open to let them ride in without slowing. “I worry more about who does the watching.”

The one-eyed brigand let out a long, low whistle between his teeth. “Who? Now that’s a kettle of porridge to set your teeth on edge.”

Conan knew the choices of who it could be—hillmen, the army, Zamoran or Turanian, or Imhep-Aton—but he was not certain which would be worst for him and for the bandits, or even if those two would be the same. Time ran short for him. “I mean to bring Velita out of the keep tonight, Hordo. It may mean trouble for you, but I must do it.”

“I’ve half a memory of you saying as much last night,” Hordo mused. Karela appeared, riding slowly down the ramp from the fortress. “Almost I wish you would, Cimmerian. ’Twould give he excuse to get her away from this place, away from the sorcerer.”

Karela reached the bottom of the ramp and turned her big black toward the camp. She rode with one fist on her hip, her callimastian form swaying with the motion of the horse. The bloody sun was half obscured behind the peaks, now, yet enough remained to bathe her face in a golden glow.

“And if she will not go,” Conan said, “you’ll follow where she leads, be it a hillman’s torture fire or Amanar’s diabolic servitude.”

“No more,” Hordo replied sadly. “My last service to the Red Hawk, and it must be so, will be to tie her to her saddle and take her to safety.” His voice hardened suddenly. “But it will be me, Conan. No other will raise a hand to her while Hordo yet lives. Not even you.”

Conan met the fierce single-eyed gaze levelly. On the one hand, an oath not lift a hand to save her; on the other, how could he stand and watch her die? It was a cleft stick that held his tongue.

Karela reined in before the two men, raising a hand to shield her eyes as she peered at the mountain-shrouded sun. “I had not realized I was so long with Amanar,” she murmured, shifting her green eyes to them. “Why are you two glaring at each other like a pair of badgers? I thought you now were almost fraternal in your amity.”

“We stand in concord, Hordo and I,” Conan said. He stretched up his hand, and the other man grasped it, pulling him to his feet.

“We’ll give them a good turn, eh, Cimmerian,” Hordo said, “before we go under.”

“We’ll drink from golden goblets in Aghrapur yet,” Conan replied soberly.

“What do you two babble about?” Karela demanded. “Gather my hounds, Hordo. I’ll speak to them before that accursed dark comes on us.”

With a quick nod Hordo darted ahead to assemble the bandits. Karela looked at Conan as if she wanted to speak, then the moment passed. There was much to say, he thought, but he would not speak first. He started after Hordo, and moments later heard her horse following slowly. She made no effort to catch up.

XXIII

“Do you want gold?” Karela shouted. “Well, do you?”

She stood atop a boulder as high as a man’s head, crimson-thigh-booted feet well apart, fists on hips, her hair an auburn mane. She was magnificent, Conan thought, from his place at the back of the semicircle of brigands

who listened to her. Just looking at her was still enough to make his mouth grow dry.

“We want gold,” Reza muttered. A few others echoed him. Most watched silently. Aberius had a thoughtful look in his beady eyes, making him look even more sly and malicious than usual. Hordo stood beside the flat-topped boulder, keeping a worried watch on the brigands and Karela both. The fires of the camp surrounded them, holding off the twilight.

“Do you like being chased into hiding by the army?” she cried.

“No!” half a dozen voices growled.

“Do you like spending half a year at guards’ wages?”

“No!” a dozen shouted back at her.

“Well, do you know the caravan route is less than half a day south of here? Do you know that a caravan is coming along that route, bound for Sultanapur? Do you know that in three days time we’ll take that caravan?”

Roars of approval broke from every throat. Except Aberius, Conan noted. While the others waved fists in the air, shouted and pounded each other on the shoulder, Aberius’ look grew more thoughtful, more furtive.

“And the army won’t hound us,” she went on loudly, “because we’ll come back here till they give up. The Zamoran Army are not men enough to follow where we go!”

The cheering went on. The bandits were too caught up in imagining the Zamorans less brave than they to think too closely on how brave they themselves were. Karela raised her hands above her head and basked in their adulation.

Hordo left his place by the boulder and came around to where Conan stood. “Once more, Cimmerian, she has us in the palm of her hand. You don’t suppose this could … .”

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