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.Presently she conjured a pool of sparkling water into the middle of thechamber, and led Muhbaras to it.They bathed old passion from them, butkindled new, and soon were locked together on the sand at the edge of thepool."I am beginning to believe this is all real," Muhbaras said.He rested ahand on a part of the Lady of whose reality he had become wholly certain.She imprisoned his hand with hers, then kissed his fingers."It is allreal.What I had put in the chamber was the stuff of earth, as is my magic.It is easier to transform what exists into something else, that to createsomething out of nothing."It occurred to Muhbaras that the transformation might as easily go theother way.The Lady seemed to read his thoughts."No.You will be gone from here before the cham-her is as it was.Youneed have no fear of waking up alone amid balding furs and reekinghides.""Do I need to fear walking out of this chamber in the garb I wore atbirth?""If I do not, why should you? We will not be cold." She proved herwarmth all over again, and it was some while before Muhbaras couldagain think about clothes.Again, it seemed that his thoughts were written upon his face.Suddenlyhe was garbed as he had been, although he thought his blades had beenpolished and sharpened since he last saw them."You see? All that I hold in my memory, I can restore as needed.But issoldier's garb needed now? I think not." She snapped her fingers, andMuhbaras was unclothed again.The Lady grinned."I am not done with you, nor I think you with me.Come to me, captain.If it was in me to beg, I would.But with you, I willnever have to."As Muhbaras took the Lady of the Mists in his arms again, he could nothelp wishing that this might be true.The Lady might have come to himwith blood on her hands that the gods themselves could not wash off.Yethe would not begrudge her what little happiness he might be able to giveher.FourteenOld Omyela might be hardly larger than a ten-year-old Cimmerian girl,with a black-eyed gaze that neither Conan nor anyone else could meet forlong.She was also as shrewd as any descendant of so many generations ofhard-living desert folk could be, however, and she seemed to know herspells.One of those spells covered the escape of Conan's new company—all theAfghulis and twenty-five Ekinari besides Bethina and Omyela, with a fewspare mounts "acquired" from the Greencloaks.It was the simplest ofspells, sending into the middle of the Greencloak camp an image ofBethina dancing.While everyone, including the sentries, had their eyesfixed on the play of supple limbs and veils that revealed more than theyhid, the Afghulis slipped out of the camp.Carrying their gear, they swiftly reached their meeting with the Ekinari,who had mounts for all.Then, mounted and with night enfolding thedesert to hide their tracks, Conan's new band rode north.They had a good notion of where to start looking for the Valley of theMists, and it was a good three days' ride to the north.Conan set apunishing pace that made even the Afghulis sweat, and feared only thatthe two women might not be able to endure.Neither gave trouble.Bethina was young and fit, and decades of desertsun had baked Omyela to the color and toughness of old leather."I remember when a woman who could not ride from dawn to darkthree days running was not considered fit to bear children," Omyela said,scoffing at Bethina's concern."Take care of yourself, girl.Wear away yourstrength, and when that Cimmerian wants you, there'll be nothing of youthere!" She gave a bawdy chuckle, and Bethina's bronzed skin turned evendarker.Conan walked silently away, and nearly ran into Farad."Maidens should not ride on such death-quests," the Afghuli said softly.Conan laughed."Maidens you admire, you mean.I had not heard thatthe Afghuli lasses huddled around the cookfires.""I admire that wild desert girl?" Farad said indignantly."Yes," Conan said."Or was it someone else who stood there gapingwhile she danced, so that Omyela could send the image to the camp? A flycould have crawled into your mouth and made a nest in your back teeth,for all you noticed."Farad twined the fingers of both hands in his beard and glared atConan."My chief, the day I cannot tell when a beautiful woman dances, itwill be the day I am dead or at least blind.Last night I was neither."Conan laughed, and chaffed Farad with a few light words to cool hisindignation.He wondered if he should mention Farad's admiration toBethina, lest the girl hurt him by chance.Then he decided on silence.He faced enough tasks for three men on thislast part of the journey, and he would not add playing matchmaker tothem!Captain Khezal was neither surprised nor alarmed at waking to findConan gone, and the Afghulis and Ekinari along with him.He had, indeed,rather hoped that the Cimmerian would take swift action, and be longgone before any reinforcements to the Green-cloaks arrived from theSouth or West.Such reinforcements were likely to include some captain more seniorthan Khezal.Not all such captains would be inclined to send Conan's headin a bag of salt back to Aghrapur, but too many were.Even those whowished to be honest might become otherwise, for fear of what spies mightsay.Fear of Yezdigerd's spies had run through Turan like a plague foryears now, and showed no signs of abating.Khezal might be putting his own head in danger, of course.But hewould rather not keep it on his shoulders if he could not do so honorably.Conan was thrusting his head into a land of the most sinister sort ofmagic, courting damnation even more than death.For the sake of a friendfacing such dangers, one's own death was nothing much to fear.So Khezal sent messengers south and west, and also waited for themessengers returning from the party he had trailing Conan.They rode close to the mountains, for concealment from the desert andfor water from the mountain springs.It was as well that the Greencloaksdid not ride with them, for no tribe in these lands was friendly to Turan
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