Kleg watched as the people on the platform, now below his position, began to stream toward the sound of his troops. There was one who did not seem to belong here, a large and bulky man with square-cut black hair and a large sword, but that was of no import now. The talisman he sought was only a few steps away, past two female guards armed with spears.
Kleg nodded to his two selkies. They each drew a pair of obsidian knives and rushed along the narrow branch one behind the other.
The two guards caught sight of the approaching selkies. One of them threw her spear; the weapon's point pierced the throat of the first of his selkies. The trooper fell wordlessly, but even as he did, he threw both of his knives. His dying action served only to wound one of the guards, but it was enough so that the second selkie could get close enough to launch himself at the two women. The selkie and one of the women fell; she screamed all the way down.
The second woman managed to catch the limb with one hand, but her action was wasted, for Kleg arrived and stamped on her fingers with his toothed boot. She lost her grip and fell.
Kleg was at the entrance to the building and he used his blade to slice open the ceremonial knot binding the door closed.
Inside was a single chest, also bound with a special knot, and his blade made short work of it as well. He opened the chest and in the dim light saw the talisman.
It was a seed, hard and eye-shaped, the size of a small apple, warm and moist to his touch. He looked at it for a second, then jammed it into his belt pouch and hurried from the chamber. He had lost two selkies and he might lose others when they were attacked from the trees, but it did not matter. He had what he had come for!
As Kleg was letting down the ladder rope for his descent, he caught sight of a small form darting along a branch. He had been seen.
Quickly, Kleg climbed and hid behind an outcropping of foliage. After a moment, one of the males, a small one, scooted along the branch just in front of him. Kleg reached out and clouted the boy with the butt of his knife, knocking him senseless. He started to cut the boy's throat, then stopped. No. He would take the boy along. There might be something to learn from interrogating him; besides, should they encounter the Pili on their return home, the boy might be made to serve other purposes. The Pili, he knew, were more than passing fond of eating human flesh. Perhaps they could buy safe passage with such a tidbit.
Kleg was very strong compared to a man, and shouldering the boy's weight and climbing down the vine was not difficult in the least.
Once on the ground, he hurried to the prearranged meeting place where he would be joined by his troops.
He had accomplished his ordered task and he was jubilant. It had almost been too easy, but he was not one to tempt fate by dwelling on that thought.
Chapter FIVE
Conan followed Tair, winding through the trees toward the sounds of battle. Several times the big Cimmerian almost lost his balance on some of the smaller limbs, but each time managed to recover in time to maintain the chase. Along their route other armed men and women joined the procession. After a final short sprint, they arrived at the tree edging the far end. of the grove.
The members of the besieged tree had dropped dozens of flaming balls of pitch, so that the scene below them was easily viewed. Conan saw perhaps a dozen shadowy shapes darting about, and their behavior seemed more than passing strange. They made much noise, the attackers, screaming and slinging stones and hurling spears upward, 'out there seemed to be much ado about little. At first, those below looked to be men, but as Conan drew nearer, he was able to detect an inhuman aspect to their shape and movements. They were the right size and general shape, they had faces and hands and yelled in manlike tones, but they were somehow alien. Selkies, Tair had called them.
Tair slid to a stop on a broad limb and leaned forward, his spear held high and ready to cast. But he held the throw, hesitating.
Conan came to stand next to him. The air was heavy with the sharp stench of the sputtering pitch below. He looked at Tair.
"What are they doing?" Tair said. "Have they gone mad?"
Indeed, Conan thought. Those in the trees were in no danger from those capering below. In fact, several of the selkies lay sprawled on the ground, outlined in flickering yellow from the burning resin globs lying about, Tree Folk spears sprouting like stiff weeds from their corpses. "A diversion?" Conan offered.
"Aye." Tair nodded. "But-from what are they diverting us?"
"Perhaps we should capture one and ask it."
"A good idea, Conan."
Tair moved to a coil of climbing vine and kicked it over the edge of the branch. He moved down the rope even before it completely stretched out, and Conan had never seen a man climb with such speed; a spider could have done it no better on his own line of webbing.
Conan immediately followed Tair down the cable of plaited vine.
If the selkies took any notice of Tair and Conan, they gave no sign, but as Conan neared two spans above the ground, the yelling attackers abruptly turned and squinted into the darkness.
Conan leaped the final distance, pulled his sword forth with a rasp of leather and a ring of tempered iron, and charged after Tair, who pursued the suddenly fleeing selkies. The tree dweller might be a faster climber, but Conan's long and powerful legs gave him the edge on the ground. In two heartbeats, the Cimmerian passed Tair and began gaining on the retreating selkies. Conan had time to wonder why the attackers fled. Surely one small tree dweller and one somewhat larger Cimmerian could not have frightened them so badly? Most odd.
That was something to worry over later, though. Conan began to overtake the selkie nearest the rear of the running group, and he had to decide how best to stop the straggler without killing him. A sword thrust to one leg? Aye, that would do it.
The starlight reflected from the blued iron blade as the running man took aim at the intended target and prepared to strike At that moment, however, the fleeing selkie must have sensed his danger. Whether he heard Conan's thudding footsteps or caught some peripheral movement or detected his pursuer with some sense unknown to men, it mattered not, for he glanced over his shoulder, saw Conan, and dodged sharply just as Conan jabbed with the point of his heavy sword.
The intended thrust missed its mark, and the lack of expected resistance off-balanced Conan the slightest bit. In itself this would have been of little consequence; however, at that precise moment a gnarled root loomed from the dark ground, Conan's bare foot connected with the root, and he tripped. Such was the Cimmerian's momentum that he took to the air, launched from the earth in a headlong dive. Conan uttered a curse he had first heard his father speak when once the smith had accidentally struck his hand with a forge hammer.
Fortune smiled upon the endangered selkie, only to turn its back with a frown an instant later. The selkie saw Conan's mishap, must have thought it an intentional leap, and dodged again. Alas for the selkie, he mistook the angle of his pursuer's flight and instead of leaving Conan's path, he shifted the wrong way; realizing his error, the selkie tried to twist away, succeeding only in stopping cold.
Conan smashed into the startled selkie with all of his not inconsiderable weight, stretching the creature out and slamming him facedown into the ground with the man on his back. The two slid for perhaps three spans, the Cimmerian youth riding the figure beneath him as a boy rides a sled across new snow.
The other selkies quickly gained the cover of night and disappeared.
Tair arrived a moment later and skidded to a stop. "I am the best spring dancer in the trees," he said as Conan stood, "but you must teach me that leap, I have never seen anything quite like it."
Conan looked down at the unconscious selkie, then at Tair. He had the presence of mind to shrug. "That? That was nothing, a child's trick where I come from."
"Shall we take this one back and question him?"
"Aye," Conan began.
He was interrupted by the sound of approaching footfalls. Conan spun away from the downed selkie; sword h
eld ready, but it was a contingent from the trees and not the selkie's comrades.
"The sacred Seed!" one of the men yelled. "They have stolen the sacred Seed!"
Back at the tree in which the god-seeing ceremony had been held, Conan listened as Cheen explained.
"The trees of our grove are the mightiest in all the world," she said, "but it was not always so. Twenty generations past, the most powerful of our medicine women created a spell that caused normal trees to grow thrice or more times their usual size."
Conan nodded, but did not speak. He looked at the empty chest at her feet.
"But it was not enough that they should grow. The ground here cannot provide enough nourishment for the roots of so many trees such as ours. So the medicine woman-she was known as Jinde-wove another spell, which she invested in a special seed. It gives great energy to any plants near it."
Magic. A thing not at all to Conan's liking. It seemed to be everywhere he went, and he would avoid dealing with it, given a choice.
"Without the seed," Cheen continued, "our trees will soon wither and die."
Well. A sad fate, but not really Conan's concern. Best to leave magic to those who wanted to deal with it.
Before Cheen could continue, Tair came running toward them. "Have you seen Hok?" he said, all out of breath.
"No," Cheen answered. She looked at Conan.
"Not since before the ceremony," he said.
"He should be in the boys' hut," Cheen said.
Tair nodded. "Aye, he should be, but he is not."
"Have the call drum sounded. He is probably up and wandering about because of all the excitement," she said.
But when the last echoes of the drum faded, the boy Hok did not respond, and a search of every tree also failed to turn him up. When the hunt had been completed, Cheen's face was a mix of rage and sorrow as she said, "Along with the life of our grove, the selkies have stolen my youngest brother!"
The sun blazed and beat upon the heads of the selkies as they trudged across the isthmus of dry sand belonging to the Pili. Kleg would feel much better once they had achieved the coolness of the distant mountains, both for reasons of comfort and of safety. Good fortune had traveled with them during the outwardbound journey and he would have such luck continue as they returned home with their master's prize.
It was not to be. From behind a tall hillock of sand and scrubby growth ahead, a troop of Pili emerged, armed with their long dart slingers and prepared for battle.
Kleg counted the lizard men and saw that they numbered only slightly more than his own band. He called his selkies to a halt.
Normally, a group such as Kleg's would be attacked immediately; however, the Pili seemed in no great hurry to begin the fight that would surely end with much death on both sides. They, too, stopped and waited. Kleg took this as a good sign.
After a few moments, one of the Pili stepped forward. From the bright red sash he wore wrapped around his middle, Kleg assumed he was the leader. It was difficult to say, since the Pili all looked alike to him. The single Pili strode toward the selkies.
One of Kleg's troopers raised a spear, but Kleg waved one hand at him. "Nay, hold," he said. "Perhaps we might come to some accommodation." Kleg stepped forward and walked toward the approaching lizard man. When they were two spans apart, both stopped.
"You trespass on Pili territory," the lizard man said. His accent was harsh, but his command of the common tongue was adequate for normal conversation.
Kleg did not bother to try and deny it. "Aye. My master, He Who Creates, has bid me to achieve His business with haste; to go around would cost two days."
"Attempting to cross will surely cost you much more. My master, the Lord High King Rayk, has charged me with protecting his domain from unauthorized trespass."
"It seems we are at an impasse then."
"So it seems. We outnumber you."
"Indeed, but by a small margin. If we fight, most of us will likely die on both sides."
"True. It is unfortunate, but not to be helped."
The lizard man turned to walk back to his troops.
"But hold a moment," Kleg said. "Perhaps there is a way around this dilemma."
The lizard man stopped. "I am listening."
"What if there were a way for our passage to be authorized?"
"Hardly likely."
"Yet you could grant us crossing were there a compelling reason?"
"It is within the realm of possibility."
Kleg spoke rapidly in true selkie speech, a liquid whistling that the lizard man could not possibly understand. One of Kleg's troop dismounted from his packbeast and approached, carrying a large leather sack over his shoulder.
The Pili's hand drifted toward the knife at his belt.
"Nay, friend, there is no treachery here. Bide a moment."
The selkie with the sack placed it upon the ground and stood away.
"I am given to understand that the Pili have a most interesting diet at times."
"Not for fishman flesh, which is exceedingly vile," the lizard man said.
Kleg nodded. He knew as much and was also exceedingly glad of it. "But behold." He bent and opened the sack, then upended it, to reveal the still-unconscious boy kidnapped from the trees.
The Pili's slit eyes widened. "Ah. A human."
"Indeed. If truth must be known, we have no great use for him ourselves. Perhaps you would take him off our hands?"
The lizard man blinked and appeared to consider this. "In exchange for allowing you to pass unmolested."
"That had occurred to me, yes."
"He is not very large, the human."
"True, but the only one we happen to have at the moment. And consider the alternative. Your men and mine will fight bravely and many will die. You may win, but it will be a costly victory at best. If you manage to survive to return to your king only to report most of your troop has been slain, surely that will not be happy news?"
"Surely not."
"If, on the other hand, you return with this nice tender young boy for the communal pot, would that not reflect more honor upon you?"
The Pili glanced over his shoulder at his band, then back down at the boy. "There is some merit in that which you speak," the lizard man finally said. "Of course, the Pili are fierce warriors and we could probably slay you and take the boy anyway."
"The bravery of the Pili has never been in question," Kleg said. "Still, it would not be an easy task."
The lizard man nodded. "Aye, the fishmen are not inconsiderable opponents." He looked up from the boy and stretched his lips in a horrible grimace. At first, Kleg took this to be a threat, then he realized it was in fact a smile.
"We of the Pili are feeling benevolent this day, and in honor of the approaching Moon Festival, have decided to allow safe passage to the band of fishmen who wandered onto our territory accidentally."
"You are generous and wise," Kleg said.
"So it has been said before."
"If ever you should happen to be in my land, be certain to ask after me."
"Indeed."
The deal was done, and cheap at the price, Kleg figured. Nothing . stood between him and his goal now, save a few days of uneventful travel. He Who Creates would be most pleased.
Chapter SIX
Dimma lifted to his lip a carved gold cup of fine wine produced by the famed Aquilonian winemakers; indeed, the region bordering the Tyborg River just south of Shamar might well be the source of the most exquisite wines in the world, and this particular vintage was the best of the best. It had taken only a few hours before the newness of being flesh again had allowed just any sensation to be a wonder; now, Dimma required a higher stimulation, such as this rare and valuable wine. He smiled as he inhaled the fragrance of it, anticipating the smoothness of it on his palate.
Alas, it was not to be. Even as he tilted the gold cup, he felt the sense of cold that sometimes presaged his change.
"No!"
The cup fell. He had not dr
opped it, only ceased being able to hold it. Even as the falling container passed through his lap to splash on the throne under him, Dimma reaped the fruit of a dying wizard's curse, becoming no more solid than smoke.
He raged, hurling curses of his own after the centuries-dead wizard of Koth, hoping his epithets would seek out and find the soul of his tormentor no matter how deep the pit of Gehanna he inhabited. Dimma called upon the pox of poxes, the blackest of evil demons, the hate of every major and minor god to smite his old enemy.
He found himself drifting a few steps away from his throne and stopped his imprecations. Once again, he was a disembodied voice, lacking that which most men took for granted. His curses gained him nothing. His hope lay in collecting the final ingredient for his cure. The other parts lay well guarded in the safest chamber of his castle, awaiting only the final talisman and the utterance of the spell, the words of which Dimma now knew as well as the back of his ghostly hand. He had said the words in his mind ten thousand times, practicing for the day when he could speak them aloud and remove this malediction at last.
Where are you, Kleg? Best hope that you have what I need, and best you hurry!
"What will they do with the boy?" Conan asked.
Tair, busy gathering supplies for a long trek, said, "Kill him. That is not the question, only when and how. The selkies are thralls to the Mist Mage, the Abet Blasa, who lives in the great mountain lake six days from here. They have stolen our Seed, doubtless for some nefarious purpose, and our grove dies without it. As for my brother . . ." He shrugged. "We can only hope to catch them before they dispose of him."
Conan nodded, aware of the seriousness of Tair's intent. Not once had he bragged during his explanation.
"We could use another strong man," Tair said.
"Aye," said Cheen, coming up behind Tair, her own pack already loaded. "Your help would be welcome."
The Conan Compendium Page 94
