Eighteen
THE TOWER OF Fort Zheman had thrust itself above the horizon, when Bora rode up on Windmaster.
Raihna patted the gray's neck. "A fine steed. I am glad he is in fettle again. Also, that he still has a master worthy of him."
All were silent for a moment. Kemal had survived the battle, but with wounds that took his life before dawn. He had some measure of good fortune; he was senseless and felt no pain.
"Thank you, Raihna," Bora said. "But I did not ride up here to seek praise for Windmaster. I seek Yakoub. He seems to have vanished."
Conan and Raihna exchanged looks that did not include Illyana. This was no matter for her, they had both agreed. Moreover, she was in the saddle at all by sheer force of will. The less she was troubled without cause, the better. "I thought you did not much care for him," Conan said.
"I did not and I do not," Bora replied. "My sister Caraya thinks otherwise."
"You're the head of the family, until your father is freed," Conan said. "I thought that gave you the right to say yea or nay to anyone's courting your sister."
Bora laughed harshly. "You do not know Caraya. She can smite as heavily with her tongue as Mistress Raihna can with her blades." He frowned. "Also, Yakoub has labored to secure my father's release. He has not yet succeeded, but who knows if this is his fault?"
"You have a great sense of justice in you, Bora," Raihna said. "The gods love such."
"Best pray the gods keep you alive long enough to practice that justice," Conan said. "And spare a prayer or two for Yakoub as well. He may have left the villagers once the demon master's scouts were driven off, hoping to join the soldiers. If he met some of those scouts on the road—well, I am sure the scouts are fewer, but I'd not wager on your sister marrying Yakoub."
"Yes, and that means you do not ride about alone, either," Raihna said. "We have some cheese and bread, if you have not eaten."
Bora devoured half a cheese, then took his place in the column behind Raihna. Conan mused on the mystery of Yakoub. Could he really be what his face hinted, Khadjar's bastard son? If so, one mystery lay behind his being alive, another behind what he was doing. Best if honest folk like Bora and Caraya kept well clear of either mystery, particularly with a father already arrested as a suspected rebel.
Best also to say nothing of that to Bora. And best of all for Conan not to think too much on the matter himself. If the mystery was deep enough for High Captain Khadjar to be part of it—
Very surely, best to think of other matters, such as how to make some of the Powder of Zayan and how to contrive a night with Raihna.
Again Yakoub lowered himself down a small cliff. This time he landed silently, on firm ground, behind those he sought. He also left his knife and sword sheathed and held out his empty hands.
"Hssst! Servants of the master."
Had he stabbed them, the two scouts could not have whirled faster. Both drew their swords, but did not advance. Instead they stood in silence, gape-jawed and dull-eyed.
The silence went on so long that Yakoub half-expected to see the sun touching the western horizon. At last one of the men spoke. His words were slurred and indistinct, as though he spoke with a mouthful of nutmeats.
"We serve the master. You do not."
"I wish to serve him."
This brought on another long silence. Yakoub began to consider whether decent fighting men could be made out of such dullards. Perhaps they were only tired, or some had more wits than others?
"Show us a sign," one said at last.
What they would take as a sign, Yakoub could only guess. It hardly mattered, as he had only one thing that might serve. He opened the secret pouch in his belt and held out the ring with his father's seal.
The scout who had spoken took the ring, with such fumbling hands that Yakoub half-expected him to drop it. At last he returned it to Yakoub.
"We do not know this sign."
"Your master will know it."
"Our master is not here."
"Is there some reason I cannot go to him?"
"We would have to lead you."
"Is that forbidden?" Yakoub knew that to shout at these wretches would gain little and might lose much. He still felt his patience being rubbed thin.
The two scouts looked at each other. At last they shook their heads together, like two puppets with the same master.
"It is not forbidden."
"Then I ask you, in the name of the master's victory, to take me to him."
Yet another long silence followed. This time it ended without words. The two scouts grunted and together turned away eastward, beckoning Yakoub to follow.
Khezal pushed himself back from the table and began to pace up and down the chamber. Outside, the villagers camped in Fort Zheman had begun to lose their fear and find their tongues. Women quarreled over a place in the line for water, children shrieked in delight or wailed for their parents, dogs barked and howled.
"Thank the gods we were able to keep what livestock they brought outside," Khezal said. He strode to the window and slammed the shutter. "They may not survive the coming of the de—the Transformed. But this is a fort I have to defend, not the Royal Menagerie!
"I'll have to send them on to Haruk when I've called in all the outpost garrisons. There won't be room and we'd be courting fevers and fluxes. The gods have spared us that, so far."
"What does Mughra Khan say to all this?" Illyana asked. "Not that I complain, you understand. You are a gift from the gods, compared to Captain Shamil."
Khezal's face twisted. "I have looked into Shamil's letters. He was so deep in the toils of those who plot with Lord Houma, the gods themselves could not have pulled him out! Hie Transformed gave him a more honorable end than he deserved.
"As for Mughra Khan, anything he says will be said after I have done what I know is needed. I have sent the messengers to the outposts this very afternoon. A messenger to Mughra Khan will follow tomorrow."
Conan laughed. "I'd wager you'll one day command an army, Khezal. If not, then Turan's wasting a good man."
"I could do with less praise and more weapons fit to stand against magic," Khezal said. "But the Powder of Zayan will be better than nothing. How long will Lady Illyana need, to make enough of it?"
"I will need two days, to enspell sufficient bowls for mixing the Powder," Illyana said. "Once the bowls are fit, I must then mix the first bowlful and test it. If that proves fit, I can leave matters in other hands for a month or more. I would urge Maryam, the niece of Ivram, as the best hands."
"So you cast the spells on the cooking pots, not on the food?" Khezal said.
"Well put. The spell of the Powder is little-known, otherwise we would have much less peril from evil magic. Also, to place it upon the bowls will call less heavily upon the Jewel."
"What if it doesn't play at all?" Conan put in. The four in the chamber had no secrets, including the self-will of the Jewels.
"Then Fort Zheman must trust to the valor of its men under the leadership of Captain Khezal," Raihna said.
"Remember what I said about less praise and more weapons?" Khezal shrugged. "How long do you need after the Powder is done, before you march into the mountains?"
"A day for the Jewel to regain its strength, another day for gathering mounts and supplies," Illyana said.
"Tell me what you will need and I will see about gathering it now," Khezal said. "The faster you move, the better your chances of catching Eremius before he returns to his stronghold. If that makes any difference in this kind of war?"
"It does. Thank you, Captain."
"I'm also sending ten picked veterans with you. Yes, I know the smaller the party, the less chance of discovery. Once you reach the mountains, you can order them to stay behind. But Eremius's scouts, bandits, starving villagers, wild animals—you need guarding against all of these."