"Ah, the giant barbarian of which I have heard," Tair said. Standing next to him, Conan realized how small the man was; he barely reached the center of Conan's chest in height; he was shorter than Cheen by half a handspan. "I myself am the largest among the Tree Folk, both in what you see and what is covered." He dropped a hand to his breechcloth and winked at Conan.
"I shall leave you men to your lies," Cheen said.
After she departed, Tair and Hok took Conan on a tour of the trees. Each was linked to at least one other, Tair said, by vine bridges, so that one could move from one side of the grove to the other without difficulty. He, Tair, had personally built the highest and best of the bridges, with, he admitted, some small help from insignificant others.
Conan grinned. The bragging was so overt that it was not offensive. Tair could not open his mouth without crowing, and the boy Hok strived mightily to emulate his older brother.
"You saw my spring dance?" the boy said. "Tair says I am the best of all my age and better than many who are winters older, and it .must be so for him to say it."
Conan nodded and tried not to laugh.
As they wended their way through the branches and across the bridges, Conan saw that indeed this was an entire village amongst the boughs, lacking little, if anything, that a similar town on the ground would have. Here, leaf-eating creatures were penned in small corrals; there, small gardens grew from dirt carefully mounded on thick tree limbs; over there, a platform large enough to hold fifty people was built and centered around one of the trees. Only such giants of the forest would support so much activity, but the Tree Folk had adapted themselves to a life in the air quite well. In Cimmeria, Crom lived under a mountain. What manner of gods would a tree people worship?
The three came to a bridge upon which there were four men. A dead limb had apparently fallen from some height, landing upon the bridge, and the angle of it made passage difficult. The four men were attempting to remove the obstruction, without apparent success. The limb was as thick as Conan's thigh and quite long, and the bridge was bent low under the weight.
"I am the strongest in the grove," Tair said. "I shall show these weaklings how a man moves a twig." He puffed up his chest and walked to where the four men were. There was a brief exchange, which became rather heated. Apparently the four did not wish for Tair to move the limb, thereby making them look ineffectual. Conan grinned.
After a moment, though, Tair squatted next to the branch and made as if to lift it. To his credit, he was able to move it slightly upward, but even as he sputtered and strained, it was apparent to Conan that the little man did not have the required strength.
Conan moved to where Tair grunted and heaved at the limb. "Heavy?" Conan said.
Tair desisted from his labor. "Indeed. If I cannot move it, no man among us can."
"Let me try."
"You are large, but size does not always mean strength."
"True."
"Still, you may try."
Conan took a wide stance and gripped the limb. He strained as his mighty legs began to straighten, and he felt the weight and knew he could lift the branch, albeit not easily. The weight began to move, then Conan glanced at Tair, and saw the man's worried frown. It came to Conan suddenly that if he managed the task, then Tair would no longer be the strongest man in the trees.
Conan considered it for a moment. He could move the branch and such would make him admired for his power by most, but Tair would suffer a loss of pride. And since such things were so highly valued among these men, Conan decided upon a second course of action.
The big Cimmerian relaxed and the branch settled. He saw a look of relief pass over Tair's features. "It is very heavy," Conan said.
Tair nodded.
"Those four could not move it, nor could you. And you have seen what I have done."
Tair said, "Aye."
"Perhaps the two of us can do what the four of them could not?"
The little man grinned. "Surely so."
Tair moved to stand next to Conan, and the two of them heaved upward against the branch. Conan took care not to lift too much, so that Tair felt his share of the weight. The dead branch came up and flipped over the side of the bridge to crash to the ground far below. The bridge sprang upward at the loss of weight, but none on it had trouble maintaining his footing.
Tair turned to the four. "See what men with real strength can do? This is Conan from the top of the world, and he is my friend!"
Tair slapped Conan on the back, and they and Hok proceeded upon their explorations.
Conan knew he had made a friend and not an enemy by his action, and he felt good for having done so.
Thayla moved from her pile of furred cushions where her husband slept the sleep of exhaustion. She smiled to herself as she went to see the root witch for a potion that would ensure she did not conceive from her just-finished activity with Rayk. Now was not the time to be great with child. No, soon her ambition to be queen of much more than a patch of scrub desert would begin to realize itself, and she needed to be able to guide that endeavor without any complications. There was much out there in the world that she would enjoy; Thayla would not be content to lie back and miss all the pleasures that power had to offer her. She had developed a liking for the forbidden and she would indulge herself more in it. One pleasure in particular fascinated her.
When the occasional human was captured, it meant for the Pili a feast. There was no taste to compare with manflesh, properly prepared, and all the Pili relished such treats. But sometimes, before the captives were cooked and eaten, they were kept alive for a time, to be fattened or flavored by special diets. And as queen, Thayla had access to these captives.
The idea at first had repelled her, but over time, she came to see certain desires as being her right. Rayk did not know, of course; only few of her trusted servants knew, but thrice, Thayla had taken her pleasure with human men in the same way she had just taken it with her husband. Such a thing was forbidden by Pili law, but she was, after all, queen, and in her mind, above the laws. Human men were different from Pili males, they smelled differently, acted differently, and they were ... larger in certain areas. Considerably so. Her first encounter with an aroused man had amazed her. She had not thought it possible to manage him, but she had, and she had found the sensation more pleasurable than ever it had been with Rayk, or any of the other Pili she sometimes took as lovers.
Alas, human captives were few and far between. Most of that race either did not know the Pili existed, or they had sense enough to avoid Pili territory. But if the Pili could grow in numbers, if they could find a place wherein they would not be bothered until they could become strong again, why, then, they could venture forth to ensnare unwary humans with more frequency. It would please her greatly should this come to pass, and she was just the person to manipulate it into happening. Rayk was strong and brutal, but he was a fool; she was the power behind him, and with sufficient prodding, he would do as she wished. He always had, and she had no intention of being thwarted in this desire.
As she approached the root witch's cave, Thayla smiled again. Life was easy for those who knew how to live it.
Chapter FOUR
Night stole into the valley like a master thief and draped her ebon and starry cloak over the giant trees. The sounds of chittering birds and insects formed a shifting web in the dark foliage, and torches guttered in their holders around the large platform Conan had seen earlier.
Cheen had invited him to the ceremony-there was to be a feast and plenty of wine-and Conan, never one to turn down a celebration, agreed to attend. He could return to his journey in the morning.
Only the leaders of each tree and their spouses would be allowed to partake of the potion Cheen had created this time, she told Conan. Eventually all of the Tree Folk would have their chance, but due to the scarcity of the ingredients, only small numbers could enjoy the Seeings at each ceremony.
When they arrived at the platform, at least thirty or forty pe
ople were already there, with others occupying a smaller platform nearby. Some of the celebrants sang, low and droning melodies, accompanied by musicians on drums and with wooden flutes. Conan noticed a number of coils of thin rope stacked near one edge of the platform, but before he could ask about these, Cheen said, "I must go to honor my mother. Will you be all right alone?"
Conan laughed. "The day a Cimmerian cannot manage to survive a friendly celebration will be the day the sun ceases to shine."
With Cheen vanished into the crowd, Conan wandered to a large table replete with food and drink. He sampled various roasted meats, tasted several wines, and decided that the Tree Folk were adept at both cooking and vintnery.
There was a large wooden bowl of dark red wine in the center of the table that was as good as any Conan had ever had. He dipped one of the wooden cups with the ornately carved handles into the wine for a second serving, and decided that there certainly must be worse places for a man to spend his time than in these trees.
A short while later, Cheen returned to find Conan. He was feeling extraordinarily good, and he grinned widely at her.
"The ceremony is about to begin," she said. "Are you certain you do not wish to partake?"
"Thank you, but nay. Your people set a fine table, Cheen, and I have sated myself with both food and wine. That dark wine is especially potent."
"Dark wine?"
"In the large wooden bowl." Conan waved at the table behind him.
"You drank from that bowl?"
"Aye. Two cups' worth. I was sorely tempted to have more, so good was it, but I thought not to be greedy."
"Who is your god, Conan?"
"My god? Why, Crom the Warrior, who lives under the Mountain of Heroes. Why do you ask?"
She laid one hand on his solid shoulder and smiled at him. "Because the wine in the sacred bowl from which you drank is the same in which the Seeing medicine was mixed."
That took a moment to sink into Conan's consciousness. "What?"
"If the potion works for you as it does for us, you shall have an opportunity to see, your god shortly."
Conan stared at her. "Is there an antidote for your potion?"
"I am afraid not."
Conan considered that for a moment. To see Crom? He was not at all certain that he desired to do that.
Kleg lay hidden by the night only a few paces away from one of the large trees, considering his options. There appeared to be some kind of ritual going on in the trees; a large number of the Tree Folk sang and danced on a large platform twenty times his height above the ground. His own troops rested less than half an hour behind him. The talisman he sought was, he knew, in this very tree. The capture and torture of one of the residents had revealed this knowledge sometime past, and the revelry above might well play into Kleg's hands. Under the dark's helpful cover, a few of the selkies might ascend the trunk of the giant tree, using the special gloves and boots made of shark-brother's hide and teeth. While a distraction on the other side of the grove drew their attention, he could try for the prize. Probably some of the guards would be sober, but with that many drunks wandering around, surely their vigilance might be lax?
Abruptly, Kleg decided. Yes. He would take two of his brothers with him and the rest would raise a din elsewhere once he and his two soldiers reached a position from which they could strike at their goal.
Kleg hurried back through the dark toward his hidden troops. The night was young, and in an hour or two, they could be ready to move.
Conan awoke suddenly. His head hurt, and he felt muzzy. He sat up. What had happened . . . ?
Ah. He recalled. That dark wine, the potion . . .
He observed his surroundings. He was on the platform, and there were perhaps two dozen of the Tree Folk lying asleep or sitting groggily around him; night still held sway, and Conan could not say how long he had slept. Apparently Cheen's potion did not affect Cimmerians in the same manner as it did her people. Just as well "Ho, Conan!" The voice was loud, impossibly deep, vibrant with power, alive with force.
Conan turned.
Standing on the end of the platform was a giant of a man, half again Conan's height, thickly muscled, clad in fur boots and a wolfskin codpiece, his bare chest gleaming with oil in the flickering light of the dimming torches. The man had a full beard, his teeth shining whitely in a huge smile, and upon his dark red hair he wore an ornate bronze helmet bearing a pair of long and curved horns. Here was a warrior, no doubt of it, a man to inspire awe.
Conan got to his feet. "Who calls Conan?"
The giant laughed. "Do you not recognize me?"
Conan felt a fluttery sensation in his bowels, as if something alive were being kept captive there and had suddenly grown most unhappy about it. Surely it could not be? In that moment, however, he felt certain that indeed it was.
"Crom," he said, his voice very soft.
"In the flesh, boy. Come to see what I have made."
Conan licked suddenly dry lips. One did not meet a god every day. "What would you have of me?"
"Why, nothing, boy. You have nothing to offer. You are a weakling."
Anger welled in Conan, and the dullness in his smoldering blue eyes vanished, growing preternaturally sharp. "No man calls Conan a weakling!"
"No man has, fool."
Conan removed his sword and sheath from his belt and set it upon the platform.
"What think you are doing now?" Crom asked.
Conan flexed his hands, rolled his shoulders to loosen them, and took a step forward. "I would show you that you are in error," Conan said.
Crom laughed again. "You would grapple with me? You would dare wrestle a god?"
"Aye. There is little a Cimmerian will not dare."
"I think perhaps I gave you too much bravery and not enough wits."
"Perhaps." Conan continued stalking toward the giant.
"Very well, then, Conan of Fooleria. Come and pit your strength against mine."
Conan nodded. Certainly there were worse ways to die than wrestling with your god; there could hardly be a harder challenge. Not that he intended to lose.
Conan gathered his muscles for a leap, took two more quick steps, and leaped for Crom And jumped right off the platform into empty air.
Conan had time to hear Crom laugh and see him vanish as he fell toward the ground, so far below as to be invisible in the night. He also had time to remember that Crom was supposedly most fond of jesting and that this joke was certainly well played upon Conan ....
Kleg directed the bulk of his force to a position some distance away from the target tree. He handed the subleader a stubby candle protected from stray breezes by a thin, hollow crystal open at the top and bottom. The small light within was hidden by a cover of ray hide. "When the flame reaches the second ring, start your attack. Make a lot of noise, bang shields and spears together, start little fires, I care not, only be certain to attract a lot of attention. Wait until the flame touches the second ring so that we shall have time to reach our goal."
"As you command, Prime."
With his two strongest troopers, Kleg returned to the target, moving with great care. The whole of his force wore dark clothing over their already-dark skin, and the chances of being seen were slight, at least until they were into the tree itself.
The three put on their shark-hide-and-teeth gloves and boots and began to climb. The sharp teeth bit into the smooth bark like claws, allowing them to inch their way upward. Once they attained the lower branches, it would go much faster.
Nearing the place where a guard stood on a limb, Kleg had one of his troopers move around where he might be seen. Sure enough, the guard heard or saw something.
"Who's there? Is that you, Jaywo? I am not amused at your antics!" This was one of the males, a gruff-voiced and older one. When no answer came, the guard grew suspicious. "Jaywo? Answer!" The guard lifted the short spear and pointed it at the climbing selkie.
But before the guard could thrust downward, Kleg reached the branch
behind the guard. Kleg pulled his knife, a razoredged sliver of obsidian, and leaped upon the guard. A quick slash opened the guard's throat before he could cry out a warning, and a shove launched the dying man into the air. The noise of his landing was louder than Kleg had thought, but not so loud as to draw notice from above.
"Hurry," Kleg said. "We have but a short time."
The two selkies obeyed their leader, and all three moved quickly along the thick limb, angling upward.
Conan awoke with his head threatening to burst this time, and found himself dangling in midair by a rope around his left ankle. Even as he realized this, somebody started to haul him up toward the platform above.
Conan lifted himself and caught the rope with his hands so that he was upright, and he began to climb. It was but the work of a moment to reach the platform.
On the other end of the rope stood Cheen, Tair, and two other men. Tair said, "By the great Green One, you are as heavy as that branch we moved."
Conan was confused. "How came I to be down there? I recall seeing-seeing . . . Crom. We-he-I offered to wrestle him."
Cheen said, "The potion sometimes causes disorientation. We all wear safe lines once the ceremony begins." She pointed at her ankle.
Indeed, all of the people wore such ropes, at least the ones Conan could see. Those coils he had seen earlier. That was what they were for. Wise.
"Since you are a stranger to our ways, I put the line on for you while you slept."
"I am in your debt," Conan said.
"And was your visit with your god a good one?"
"It was ... instructive," Conan said. Aye. One had best be wary of challenging a god, be he real or an illusion. Especially one with a sense of humor as had Crom.
To his left, someone on the ground began yelling. A number of them, did Conan's ears not lie, making quite a racket.
"What . . . ?" he began.
"Intruders in the grove!" Cheen said. "We are under attack. It must be the selkies again!"
"Selkies?"
"To arms!" Tair yelled. "To arms!"
Conan saw his sword, lying where he had left it. He hurried toward it. He did not know who or what selkies were, but if there was fighting to be done, he knew well how to swing a blade.
The Conan Compendium Page 93
