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The Cimmerian contented himself with a jeweled dagger, which he added to the purse of gold from
Scyra.
The blade had never been of the best steel, and now showed signs of rust. The jewels might be
worth a manor; the dagger itself was barely fit to cut salt meat in a starveling siege camp.
Everyone had a bulging pouch or bag when he left the treasure-chamber. No one seemed any the
slower for his burden, but the day's march would test the Bamulas far more rigorously. Conan resolved
that any man who fell behind from an overabundance of loot would have to divide half of his cache
among more prudent comrades. If they also were fully burdened, the man would have to leave his
baubles for the Picts and the wolves.
With this decision made, Conan formed his men up and led them down past their old quarters and
out into the night. Dawn found them well on their way east, and as yet unpursued.
The Bamulas rejoiced at this, and seemed to regard their escape as a certainty. Conan was silent
about his own doubts. They were a long way from the border, Lysenius might have resources not yet
used or be letting them go for his own purposes, and the Picts would not be long in coming.
Even if they survived all these perils, the border might be closed to them. They had raided in the
Marches, and it might well be that no amount of gold would make Bossonians forgive men who had
marched with the Picts.
***
"They are gone! Gone! Gone!" Lysenius thundered.
Scyra hoped that he would not try to cast any spells until his mind was less troubled. Now, if he
tried to warm a bowl of herb tea, he was likely as not to set his robe on fire.
She had seen this sort of thing happen before, and it had helped speed his way out of both
Aquilonia and Bossonia. In Aquilonia, men paying good gold and silver for spells unlawful even under the
decadent Numedides brooked no failures or partial successes. In Bossonia, bungled spells betrayed
Lysenius and his family to hard-handed neighbors who might otherwise have not learned who lived
among them.
But a tiger who missed his leap three times out of four was no less dangerous to the man under the
fourth leap.
"We must raise the Picts and be after the Cimmerian and his men," Lysenius groaned. "But what can
I do to pay blood-price for the warriors who will die?"
From a brief look at the treasure-chamber, Scyra doubted that her father lacked gold for this
purpose. Twenty Bamulas had wrought further havoc after the wardings slew the chakans and shattered
the door, but they had by no means stripped the chamber bare.
But offering part of that gold would make the Picts wonder if there was more. Indeed, they might
already have learned of it from the chakans. Neither god nor man nor magick could stand between Picts
and that much gold.
Her father would escape as a beggar, if he escaped at all, with no gold, no magick not unlawful in
any land they could hope to reach, nothing but her if her marriage to a Pictish chief was not the price of
his escape. There had to be some path out of this that would neither beggar her father nor slaughter
Conan and his Bamulas.
If she could save Conan (she shivered at the memory of his lusty embrace) and leave the Bamulas
to their fate
No. Conan would refuse such a solution and die cursing her. His honor bound him to save those
who had followed him through the world-walker and into a land that must be as strange to them as the
Black Kingdoms would be to her& else he would die with them.
But if she could save Conan's band without ruining her father&
She stepped back and drew from her purse the Crystal of Thraz. Her fathers eyes were fastened on
the ceiling when she did so, and he seemed to be talking to some being there, or even in the solid rock
beyond. It took some moments before he lowered his gaze.
He started then, and let out a roar that nearly made Scyra drop the crystal. She stepped back two
more paces, as he looked ready to snatch at it.
"No, Father. It was a gift from Conan. He took it from the Bossonian caravan, then gave it to me."
"But& you know what these can do?"
"Am I not your daughter?"
"Do not, for once, answer a question with a question, Scyra. It is clever, but this is not the time for
cleverness."
In that, Scyra thought, her father was very much mistaken. It was indeed a time for her to be clever
beyond her wont, or Conan was doomed.
"Wait, Father. I know what this is. I have& I have tested it, in small ways. Not great ones, but the
small ones have been enough to tell me that this one is bonded to women and women only."
Lysenius frowned. Scyra hoped he was not trying to remember the names of the spells that she
might have used. If he interrogated her even aloud, let alone reaching into her mind, betrayal was likely
and disaster not impossible.
"This is the truth?"
"By all that I know, yes."
"You cannot swear by more," Lysenius said. His broad shoulders bowed for a moment under the
weight of all his years and memories.
Scyra knew how many of those memories were of failure and loss, and wanted to hug her father as
she had when she was a child. It had comforted him them; would it comfort him now?
Perhaps, and she would feel even worse a traitor than she did already. Her father might not scruple
at selling her to the Picts to advance his schemes, but when she stood before him, he had not the heart to
call her a liar. There remained in him more of the man he had been than she had thought.
Perhaps she could find a way entirely out of this land with Conan's help. Surely the Cimmerian
knew the way to some land where she and her father could live out their days, on what they could take
from the treasure-room and what she might earn with her healing skills. She also could appeal to that
northern iron honor of his.
Again she fought the urge to embrace her father. He looked ready to weep, and she knew that if he
began, she would join him. Amidst her tears, the truth would come out, and all that she feared might
come to pass.
"Father, I have a plan."
"Do not put yourself in danger for it."
"We must not fear danger, if we are to avoid doom. We both know that Conan has no ghost-voice.
We cannot hear his mind across the wilderness. But he can hear my ghost-voice if I fling it toward him
through the Crystal of Thraz."
"That is potent magick."
"Then you must teach me what I do not know, and how to use it in safety. If I can speak to Conan,
I can subtly guide his band toward the Cave of the Warrior. Meanwhile, we can follow them with a stout
band of Picts, enough to seize the Bamulas when they reach the cave. Conan alone has enough spirit in
him to raise the statue. If we are able to sacrifice the whole band "
"That was my very plan!" Lysenius exclaimed. He grinned down at his daughter. "Truly, you are my
daughter of the spirit as well as of the body."
Scyra wanted to scream that she was anything but that. Instead, she went on. "We might well use
the world-walker, to pass ahead of Conan's band."
Lysenius shook his head. "The Cave of the Warrior is hard upon the land of the Snakes. We would
not last a day without more Owls ready to defend us than I could pass through the world-walker. I also
doubt that very many Picts would pass through it even if I could send them. What they have seen of my
magick already puts them in fear. The world-walker would drive them mad."
Lysenius drew himself straight. To his daughter, he appeared for a moment almost as kingly as
Conan. Then he bent and kissed her on the forehead, letting his hands rest lightly on her shoulders. She
stood entirely still, but her stomach churned.
"So be it. Do as you must, to guide Conan. I will reach out to the chiefs of the Owls and assemble
the warriors. Shall I ask them to bring litters as well?"
"Unless you think we can match the pace of marching Pict warriors, yes," Scyra said with a wry
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