The conan compendium, p.100
The Conan Compendium, page 100
Now, how would he begin? Well, a plague to kill all the inhabitants of Koth, where a dying wizard's curse had infected Dimma, that would be a good start.
The Mist Mage felt better, thinking about an orgy of destruction. Soon, it would be.
Soon.
Kleg found himself on the horns of a dilemma. On the one side, the village contained Pili who wanted to drink his life and steal the talisman he had stolen, so he had to get to the waters of the lake and the safety of the Sargasso. On the other side of the problem, there was at least one monster after him, and perhaps others, and he was uncertain as to their intent. He Who Creates had motives beyond understanding by a selkie, and the waters might well prove more dangerous than the village.
Kleg leaned against the rough wooden wall of the smith's shop and pondered the problem. Which was it to be? The demons he knew? Or the demons he did not? One thing for certain, he needed to choose soon. That thing might find him again, or the Pili might. Or both unhappy events might come to pass. His chances of surviving such an encounter were slim at best.
Come on, Kleg. Which is it to be?
Chapter FOURTEEN
The Queen of the Pili was not one to be discouraged easily. Even though all but one of her troops had been slain-that one spared only because he had been knocked unconscious and was therefore thought dead-Thayla had no intention of giving up the chase. The party of Tree Folk had also lost nearly half its strength, had been reduced to five, not counting Conan and the boy. Seven against two was a situation that precluded direct attack by the smaller number, but despite that, Thayla intended somehow to prevail.
How she was going to see Conan dead was unknown, but some opportunity would arise, of that she was certain.
She and her single trooper, an unseasoned youth called Blad, stayed well back of the Tree Folk as they neared the edge of the desert.
Once they were in the greener land that lay ahead, they could move closer to the others. Perhaps they could pick them off one by one, lowering the odds slowly. Something would occur to her, sooner or later.
Kleg decided. Whatever the possible dangers in the lake of his birth, he would be much better equipped to deal with them in his Changed form. That thing back in the inn was larger and more fearsome than a selkie in the water, but given its shape, it could not possibly be as fast. And while there were smaller denizens who could give a swimming selkie pause, there were not many. Better he should be twice his present size and armed with a mouthful of teeth and muscular speed than to be caught here on the shore with nothing but a dagger and these puny land legs. He did not have to take the most direct route to the castle, after all. There were a thousand pathways through the weed.
So be it.
The decision made, Kleg immediately felt better. He worked his way toward the docks, moving in the shadows, taking great care not to be seen. Once he reached the water, it would be but a short swim to the edge of the Sargasso. Yes, this was the wiser decision, to be sure.
As he drew nearer to his goal, Kleg slipped the belt and pouch from his waist, rebuckled the belt, and put it over his head and around his neck. The material of the belt was of some special elastic substance that would easily stretch to accommodate the much-thicker body he wore as a Changed selkie. He Who Creates was nothing if not thorough.
Only a few feet from the water, Kleg patted the pouch around his neck. How light the talisman was; he could hardly tell anything was within the thick leather container. He shook the pouch and listened for the rattle he had grown used to the last few days.
The talisman did not rattle.
Kleg's action only served to cause the flap of the case to gape open. How could that be? He had tied it most securely!
With a sensation of sinking panic, Kleg reached into the leather pouch and groped for the talisman.
And found that it was gone.
The crowd standing on the narrow street in front of the Wooden Fish received a great surprise when, all of a moment, a monster burst through the front door, destroying the portal and bringing half the wall down in the process.
Standing to one side of the gathering was a gnarled man, of boylike stature, named Seihman. He had been strong and adventurous once, but now he was known as Seihman of the swine, for that was his work these days, to care for the boars and sows owned by one of the village's richer men. Hardly a glorious function, but it kept him in food and wine-mostly wine-and was certainly better than starving-or worse, dying of thirst.
When the hideous beast broke through the wall of the inn, Seihman's reaction matched that of the rest of the curious: he turned to flee. Around him, the crowd broke like a fat raindrop striking a smooth stone. Seihman, whose best years were long past, ran for all he was worth, trying to watch the demon or whatever at the same time. His initial burst of speed was quite remarkable in that it was unmatched by any younger man on the street; alas, Seihman managed only three such quick bounds before he stepped upon something hard and roundish, tripped, and fell flat on his back.
The crowd vanished like smoke in a high wind, and Seihman found himself sprawled alone on the street altogether too close to a creature large enough to swallow him in one gulp, had it a mind to do so.
"Mitra, spare me!"
Seihman had not spent a copper or a moment in one of Mitra's temples in twenty winters, but he inwardly swore to make amends for this lack if only the Divine One would see fit to allow him this one small favor.
The beast, as ugly a thing as Seihman had ever beheld, glanced without apparent interest at the fallen man, then turned and trotted off down the street toward the lake.
Seihman managed to sit up. "Oh, blessings on you, Divine Mitra! I am in your debt!"
As the monster ambled away from him, Seihman chanced to look down to see what had tripped him.
What was this here odd-looking eye-shaped thing? Some kind of pit, much larger than any he had ever seen, though. A seed?
Seihman gingerly picked up the Seed and hefted it in one hand. Maybe it had some value? Standing, he put the Seed inside his ragged tunic, where it rested warmly against the skin of his aged belly. He would take it by Old Talow, the vegetable merchant. Maybe Talow might recognize it, and who knowed? Maybe he would even buy it. Could be it might be worth a mug of cheap wine, maybe.
Before the curious could return, Seihman shuffled off toward his lodging behind the swine pens. He began to spin a story in his mind to tell his friend the goatherd over a mug of wine when next they met: Aye, I did see the thing what wrecked the Wooden Fish. Come right at me, it did, but I stood my ground all alone and stared it down, and it turned tail and runned off.
Well. It was almost true.
Dawn broke cloudless, splashing the land next to the river with pale and cool sunshine.
The recent rains had washed out most of the tracks of the fleeing selkies, but when Conan and the Tree Folk reached the bank of a rushing river, they found ample evidence of the fishmen.
Lying on the shore were five or six dead selkies, of two versions: one like those Conan had seen at the trees, only these were bloated and purple and covered with buzzing flies. The other version of selkie was a great fish twice the size of a man, with an underslung jaw full of teeth and a smooth, tapering body with long fins and tail. These also were swollen in death, fly-blown, and two of the corpses had small spears lodged in them. The air stank of poison, and this was confirmed by the fact that no scavengers had been at the meat and fish. The flies, too stupid to know better, ate and died by the hundreds.
"Hie, look here!" Hok called.
Conan moved to where the boy stood. Hok pointed down at tracks in the drying mud. Conan recognized them from his time in the desert. Pili.
Well. It took no genius to understand what had happened here. The Pili and the selkies had fought, and it seemed that the Pili had gotten at least a few of the fishmen.
Cheen came to stand next to Conan. "There are some dead Pili farther downstream," she said.
"And it looks as if there are more Pili tracks on the other side of the river, though it's hard to say from here," the Cimmerian said.
"You have good eyes," Cheen said.
"We should make a raft and cross. There, on the opposite side, someone else has already done so." He pointed at a wooden platform beached slightly downstream.
Cheen said, "Aye, that has the look of our construction. Tair is still ahead of us."
"Best we move to catch him."
"You do not think there are any more like these in the water, do you?" She pointed at one of the great fish, then shuddered.
"Likely not. No reason for them to stay, if any survived."
They set about building a raft, a chore that took not as long as Conan would have supposed. The Tree Folk were very good with wood and vine, and in a matter of hours, they were done.
The crossing was uneventful.
"Another day's travel and we should arrive at a village on the shore of the Sargasso lake," Cheen said as they disembarked from the raft. "So I have been told. I have never been there myself."
"And past that?"
"The Mist Mage lives in the weed. He has a floating castle in the middle. No one has ever gone there and returned, save his creatures."
"Best hope we catch the selkies before then," Conan said.
Aye.
Thayla and Blad counted the dead Pili they found along the riverbank. There were at least a dozen, and the Dragon knew how many more might have been washed downstream out of sight. That fool, her husband, did not seem to be among the corpses. Thayla was unsure of how to react to this. While Blad moaned over dead comrades, Thayla felt that the discovery was somewhat a mixed blessing. Had the king been among the fallen, her chase would have been over. She would be queen, could choose some pliant male as consort-maybe even Blad here-and live out her days in what luxury she could force from the Pili.
But as long as Rayk lived, there existed the chance that he would find out about Conan. Of course, she had survived such rumors before, because the transgressor in question had always been devoured and therefore had been unable to answer any questions about the matter. Even a fool expected no reply from a boiling pot of soup. But Conan lived, and as long as he and her husband both continued to do so, she was in peril.
"We need a raft," Thayla told Blad. "Construct one so that we may cross."
"At once, my queen."
"You need your strength now," she said, smiling at the young male, "but after we cross the river, perhaps I can find a way to suitably reward you for your steadfast service, Blad my worthy." Might as well bind him to her personally, she decided.
The young male stared at her. "I need no reward, milady."
Thayla shrugged out of her heavy travel robe, then quickly removed her undergarments. After a moment, she stood naked before him. "But you shall have one anyway. If you hurry."
As she redressed, Thayla smiled and thought to herself that never had she seen a Pili move with such alacrity.
Where was the talisman?
That was the question that filled Kleg's mind to bursting. How could it have been lost? When? Where?
As he made his way back toward the inn, he went over in his mind for the hundredth time all the events and places of the last day. He had still had the talisman in the room he had taken for sleeping. He had opened the pouch to check. Somehow, he had failed to secure the leather strings properly, and somehow, the magic Seed had fallen from its container.
Had it been during the run downstairs? Or when he had seen that beast? Or when . . . ?
Wait. He had bumped into somebody on the street, some fool gawking at the inn, he had shoved the man aside-Yes! That was it! He must have flung the talisman loose during that encounter.
In the dark, perhaps no one had noticed it. It was not remarkable to look upon, a brownish gray, mostly round, and pointed-on-both-ends seed, looking like nothing so much as a giant fruit pit.
With the coming of daylight, however, someone might notice the Seed.
Kleg moved quickly, but he kept to alleyways and next to buildings as much as possible. Dawn brought an end to the shadows in which he had hidden from the Pili, and there were at least a few who had not met their end at the jaws of the beast. Of course, they should not be inside the village, so they would also have to be less than obvious in their movements. A single Pili here and there would likely raise a few eyebrows but no real alarm. Half a dozen spear-bearing lizard men marching abreast would have the local guard out in a hurry, and they had to know that.
The Prime selkie crossed a narrow side road, moving quickly past an old man throwing grain into a penful of swine. The old man stared, but Kleg did not speak or slow his pace.
And what of that monster? What had happened to it? He had not seen it again during his dodgings, but he doubted that the creature had been slain by the Pili, or by anybody else.
Ah, this was all becoming too complicated. He had to find that talisman, and he had to find it quickly!
Seihman looked up from his strewing of near-fermented grain to the pigs to see the selkie march past. The old man shook his head. Strange goings-on about here of late. There was that demon thing in the street, this selkie, and early this morning, when the cock still crowed, he had seen one of them lizard men skulking about, too. It added up to a bad omen, he reckoned, and best he step lightly so as not to get stuck in the middle of whatever was going on.
He tossed the final bucket of slops to the pigs, dropped the wooden container next to the rail fence, and figured it was time to go and get something to drink for breakfast. The goatherder ought to be coming round about now, and maybe he could get a bit of free wine out of him with the story about the monster.
Oh, and that pit he had found, maybe he could take that by Old Talow's and get a copper or two for it.
Seihman reached inside his shirt for the seed.
Whups. Not there. Hmm. Musta dropped it somewheres. Ah, well, no help for it. Probably not worth anything, anyways.
Chapter FIFTEEN
Keg could not recall a worse day in his life. The time He Who Creates caught him with the kitchen maid had been bad, as had the occasion when he accidentally ripped a thousand-year-old tapestry down from one of the castle walls. This, however, made those as nothing.
He had returned to the street outside the destroyed tavern. The monster was gone, fortunately. Unfortunately, the magic talisman was also absent. If he had in fact dropped the item in the street and he could not think otherwise then somebody or something had picked it up.
The sun's light slanted down from on high, and Kleg could not tarry for fear of being spotted by the Pili. He had seen a pair of them lurking behind a shed earlier, but luckily they had not been aware of him.
The selkie leaned against the back wall of the Wooden Fish, hidden in a patch of thick shade: What was he going to do? To return to face He Who Creates without the talisman meant a painful, messy death, and no doubt of that. To fail to return would hardly be better. Kleg knew that no matter how fast or how far he ran, he could not escape the vengeance of his master. He could put off the inevitable for a time, but as sure as the sun went down each night so would Kleg go down, and if his death for failure would be bad, his end for trying to get away would be thrice as horrible, were such a thing possible. He Who Creates had raised the selkies from the slime of the lake bottom and made them stronger and faster than the men who ruled most of the earth. One who could turn bottom fish into selkies with a wave of His hand could certainly find one of His creations and squash him as easily as a child could squash a bothersome gnat.
No, neither of those options offered the Prime selkie the slightest joy.
The only road to redemption was the road that led to the talisman. But how? He could hardly walk around asking every passerby if he had happened to find a magic Seed stolen from the Tree Folk, now, could he? And mayhaps the Pili had already found it.
Kleg shook his head. Why had he been put in this position? All he asked from life was to be allowed access to females and game fish! It was hardly fair. He had done what he was supposed to do. Surely He Who Creates, Who Knew All, could see that?
Aye. And perhaps this was part of the test. To see how hard His servant would strive to accomplish his given task.
Kleg shook his head again. Why me?
Evening began drawing her black cloak about the land when Conan and his party finally caught up with Tair and the second group of Tree Folk. There was some rejoicing to see those still living, and also sorrow for those who had perished along the way.
As the two small units of Tree Folk mingled, Conan stood apart. Not far from them, a huge black rock lay embedded in the earth, as if dropped by the hand of a careless god.
The greetings and commiserations done, Tair and Cheen came to stand next to Conan.
"The village of Karatas lies just beyond the black rock," Tair said. "The last of the selkies have attained sanctuary there. There was a battle at a river a ways back, between the selkies and a large group of Pili."
"Aye," Conan said, "we saw signs of it."
"Apparently the Pili also chased the selkies. Somehow, they, too, have managed to get inside the walls surrounding the village."
"Then that is where we must go."
Tair nodded. "Aye, but there is a problem. Due to some trouble, the normal gate guard has been trebled, and they are allowing no strangers to enter. Even one who is as brave and strong as I cannot hope to break through the entrance."
Conan shrugged. "So we find another way to get inside."
"I am given to understand that the walls of Karatas have not been breached since they were built," Cheen said. "Some have tried."
"I did not offer to breach them," Conan said. "Do you not think that you can climb them?"
Tair grinned widely and slapped Conan on one hard shoulder. "By the Green Goddess, surely you jest? There is nothing I cannot climb!"
