“The wench,” Hordo said curiously. “Do you have a purpose with her, or is she just a token to remember this place by?”
“There is a purpose,” Conan said, explaining why he could not leave her yet. “It may be I must take her all the way to Vendhya with me, for I doubt she’d survive long if I left her to make her own way on the plain.” He paused, then asked with more casualness than he felt, “What of Ghurran?”
“I’ve not seen the old man since the attack,” Hordo replied regretfully. “I am sorry, Cimmerian.”
“What is, is,” Conan said grimly. “I must saddle a horse for the woman. I fear you must ride astride, Vyndra, for we have no sidesaddle.” She merely stared at him, unblinking.
It was a silent procession that made its stealthy way through the tents of the encampment, leading their horses. The animals could walk more quietly without burdens, and they all would have been more noticeable mounted. The Vendhyan patrols, half-hearted and noisy, might as well not have been there. Conan, first in line, had the reins of his horse and Vyndra’s in one hand and her arm firmly in the other. Discovery would end the need for keeping her, as he was sure she must know, and he was not about to trust the odd passivity she had shown so far.
The edge of the caravan encampment appeared before him, and ingrained caution made him signal a halt. Prytanis began to speak, but Conan angrily motioned him to silence. There was a faint noise, almost too low to hear. The soft tread of horses. Perhaps all of the Vendhyans had not given up on the hunt.
A glance told Conan the others had heard as well. Swords were in hand—Kang Hou held one of his throwing knives—and each man had moved alongside his horse to be ready to mount. The Cimmerian tensed, ready to heave Vyndra aside to relative safety and vault into his saddle, as the other horses appeared.
Five animals were in the other pary as well, and Conan almost laughed with relief when he saw those leading the beasts. Shamil and Hasan, each with a protective arm about one of Kang Hou’s nieces, and old Ghurran hobbling in the rear.
“It is good to see you,” Conan called softly.
The two younger men spun, clawing for their swords. Hasan was somewhat hampered by Chin Kou clutching at him, but Kuie Hsi came up with a knife poised to throw. A dangerous family, the Cimmerian thought. Ghurran merely watched expressionessly as though no fear remained in him.
The two groups joined, everyone attempting whispered conversation, but Conan silenced them with a hiss. “We talk when we are safe,” he told them softly, “and that is far from here.” Lifting Vyndra into her saddle, he adjusted the soldier’s cloak to give her a modicum of decency. “I will find you something to wear,” he promised. “Perhaps you will dance for me yet.” She stared at him above the gag, the expression in her eyes unreadable.
As Conan swung into his own saddle, a wave of dizziness swept over him, and he had to clutch the high pommel to keep from falling.
Ghurran was at his side in an instant. “I will compound the potion as soon as I can,” the old herbalist said. “Hang on.”
“I’ve no intention of anything else,” Conan managed through gritted teeth. Leading Vyndra’s horse by the reins, he kneed his own mount to motion, into the night toward Vendhya. He would not let go.
There were debts to pay, and two men to kill first.
CHAPTER XVII
Naipal looked at the man facing him, a thin, hard-eyed Vendhyan who could have been a soldier, and wondered at what motivated him. Neither personal gain nor power seemed to impress the other man. He showed no signs of love or hate or pride, nor of any other emotion. It made the wizard uneasy, confronting a man who exposed so little by which he might be manipulated.
“You understand, then?” Naipal said. “When Bhandarkar is dead, the oppression will end. Shrines to Katar will be allowed in every city.”
“Have I not said that I understand?” the nameless representative of the Katari asked quietly.
They were alone in the round chamber, its shallow-domed ceiling a bas-relief of ancient heroes. Golden lamps on the walls gave soft illumination. No food or drink had been brought, for the Katari would not eat in the dwelling of one who invoked the services of his cult. They stood because the Katari did, and the wizard did not want the other looming over him. A standing man had the advantages of height and position over a seated man.
“You have not said it will be done.” Naipal was hard pressed to keep irritation out of his voice. There was so much to be done this day, but this part was as important as any and must be handled delicately.
Along with the other things that did not impress or affect one of the Katari was the power of a sorcerer. Spells could destroy a Katari as quickly as any other man, but that meant little to one who believed to his core that death, however it came, meant instantly being taken to the si
de of his goddess. It all gave the wizard an ache in his temples.
“It will be done,” the Katari said. “In return for what you have promised, Bhandarkar, even on his throne, will be dedicated to the goddess. But if the promises are not kept…”
Naipal ignored the threat. That was an aspect he could deal with later. He certainly had no intention of giving additional power to a cult that could, and assuredly would, undermine him. The khorassani could certainly protect him against the assassin’s knife. Or a bodyguard of resurrected warriors from King Orissa’s tomb.
“You understand also,” the wizard said, “that the deed must be done when I signal it? Not before. Not an hour before.”
“Have I not said that I understand?” the other repeated.
Naipal sighed. The Katari had the reputation of killing in their own time and their own way, but even if Bhandarkar had not protected himself against spells, there could be nothing of sorcery connected with his death. The appearance of clean hands would be essential to Naipal, for he wanted a land united willingly under the supposed leadership of Karim Singh, not one ravaged by opposition and war. And who would believe a wizard would use the Katari when he could slay so easily by other means?
“Very well,” Naipal said. “At my sign, Bhandarkar is to die by Katari knives, on his throne, in full view of his nobles and advisers.”
“Bhandarkar will die.”