14-Conan the Magnificent by Robert Jordan

Author:Robert Jordan [Jordan, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction, General, Epic, Imaginary Wars and Battles, Conan (Fictitious character)
ISBN: 9780765350640
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2010-03-30T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Djinar lay on his belly in the night and studied the hunter's camp, lying still and quiet on the next hill. His dark robes blended with the shadows of his own stony hilltop. Only smouldering beds of ashes remained of the cook fires, leaving the camp in darkness, its tents and carts but dim mounds, save for the soft glow of lamps within a large tent of scarlet. The moon rode high over the jagged peaks to the north, but dense dark clouds let its pale light through only an occasional brief rent. A perfect night for attack. He tugged at the triple braids of his beard. Perhaps the ancient gods were with them.

It had certainly seemed so during the days when the trail of the hunting party led north like an arrow aimed at the encampment of Basrakan Imalla. Could it be that the Eyes of Fire were drawn in some fashion to the Imalla, that the true gods stirred themselves among men, even through the Zamoran slut? A chill like the trickle of an icy mountain stream ran down Djinar's spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose. It seemed to him that the ancient gods walked the earth within sight of his eyes. Rocks grated behind him; Djinar gasped, and almost fouled himself.

Farouz dropped down beside him on the stony ground.

"Sentries?" Djinar asked finally. He was pleased at the steadiness of his voice.

The other man snorted in contempt. "Ten of them, but all more asleep than awake. They will die easily."

"So many? The soldiers set guards in such numbers, but not hunters."

"I tell you, Djinar, they all but snore. Their eyes are closed."

"A score of eyes," Djinar sighed. "All it takes is one pair to be alert. If the camp is awakened, and we must ride uphill at them. ..."

"Bah! We should have attacked when first we found them, while they were yet on the march. Or do you still fear the Brythunian dogs? They are gone long since."

Djinar did not answer. Only because Sharmal had gone off alone to answer a call of nature had the Brythunians been seen, ghosting along the trail of the hunters from Shadizar. There was no great love lost between Brythunian and Zamoran, it was true, but -either would turn aside from slaying the other to wet his blade with the blood of a hillman. Farouz would have placed them between their two enemies-at least two score of the Brythunians; half again so many Zamorans-without a thought save how many he could kill.

"If your . . . caution brings us to failure," Farouz muttered, "do not think to shield yourself from Basrakan Imalla's wrath by casting blame on others. The truth will be known."

Farouz, Djinar decided, would not survive to return to the Imalla's encampment of the faithful. The old gods themselves would see the justice of it.

Again boots scrabbled on the rocks behind him, but this time Djinar merely looked over his shoulder. Sharmal, a slender young man with his wispy beard worked into many thin braids, squatted near the two men.

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