Conan The Freelance (22 page)

The Mist Mage drifted over the floor to the center of the strong room. He took a deep breath and began to intone the words of the spell that would make him whole at last.

No one had challenged Conan and the three Tree Folk as they moved through the long corridors. They had seen no more guards, nor anyone, for that matter. Conan found it odd.

“Certainly is still,” Tair said. “The place feels dead.”

Indeed, the air was motionless. The torches on the walls burned steadily, sending their smoke straight up to paint dark the high ceiling with nearly perfectly round pools of soot.

“I do not like it in here,” Hok announced.

With that Conan agreed, though he did not voice it aloud. Instead he said, “Cheen?”

She pointed down the left branch of a corridor that forked just ahead of them. “The Seed is that way.”

The four of them made the turning.

Conan’s plan for retrieving the talisman was somewhat vague, but direct in intent at least. They would find a way to steal it, were it unguarded, and if it was protected, they would slay the guards, take the magical Seed, and flee. He preferred simple plans, and this one seemed basic enough. If possible, they would avoid the wizard. If he could not be avoided, then they would slay him and then depart. Simple.

Thayla allowed her husband to move away from her, slowing her pace so that she dropped back far enough to whisper to Blad without being heard. She had to keep her voice very low indeed, so quiet was the corridor.

“Milady?”

“The king is mad,” she said. “He will cause the death of us all.”

“But what is to be done? He is the king.”

“riot if he is dead.” She reached out and touched the shaft of Blad’s spear meaningfully.

“Milady!”

“Hear me, Blad my stalwart. If he dies, then you will become king and my consort.”

The young Pili’s eyes widened. If he had any spark of ambition at all, this ought to fan it into a flame.

“Thayla! Blad! Why are you tarrying?”

The king had stopped and was looking back at them.

Thayla stopped and bent. “A stone in my boot, Rayk.” To Blad she said, “Hold still, that I may lean against you.” She pulled her boot from her foot and made as if to empty the nonexistent stone from it onto the flagstone floor. As she leaned against Blad, she allowed her hand to stroke a sensitive area of his body, unseen by the king.

Blad gasped at her touch.

“What is it?” the king asked.

“Uh … uh …” Blad said, obviously at a loss.

“The point of my dagger has accidentally pricked him,” Thayla said hurriedly.

“Well, put your boot back on, withdraw your blade, and let us continue.”

Rayk turned away from them, and Thayla gave Blad a hot look. The youth had the spear. She hoped he would use it, and soon.

Kleg knew the corridors of the palace as well as anyone, and he dodged through them now, leading the thing behind him on another chase. Had it been sent by some rival wizard? What was it? Would He Who Creates bother to deal with it, once He had finished His spell?

Too many questions and not enough answers.

As Kleg ran, he took care to double back on his trail every so often so as not to get too far away from the strong room in which his master worked His spell. He had not eaten or rested for what seemed a long time, and he was tiring. Best he be close when his master finished His current chore so that He Who Creates could take care of this thing chasing him.

Conan sensed someone around the corridor’s next turning, and he waved his companions to a halt as he went to see who-or what-it might be.

The Cimmerian crouched low and slowly moved to peer around the edge of the wall. A quick glimpse was all he needed. Just around the corner stood four selkies, each armed with a spear, bracketing a wooden door inset into the wall.

He moved back behind his cover. Whispering quietly, Conan said to the others, “I think we have found your Seed. There are selkies ahead, guarding a door.”

“Yes, I can feel the nearness of the Seed,” Cheen said.

“Very well. There are four of them and three of us,” Conan said.

“Nay, there are four of us!” Hok allowed. He sounded indignant.

“Very well, four, then. If we attack quickly, we can overcome them and retrieve the stolen Seed.”

Tair hefted his spear. “Aye. I am ready.”

Cheen nodded.

Conan drew his sword and took a deep breath. “On my count of three,” he said. “One. Two. Three!”

With that, the Cimmerian leaped around the corner and sprinted toward the guards.

“Shhh,” Rayk said, waving for Thayla and Blad to halt. “The Tree Folk and that large man are just ahead.”

The three Pili crouched, and Thayla moved enough so that she could see that what Rayk said was true. The four humans were likewise crouched at the juncture of two corridors not far ahead of them.

“They do not know we are here,” Rayk said. “We can steal up and slay them before they notice us.” He drew his obsidian knife: “Ready your spear,” he whispered to Blad. “You take the big one, I will cut down the female and the smaller man. Thayla, you kill the child.”

“Rayk-” she began.

“Silence! Do as I order!”

Moving with great stealth, the three Pili crept up behind the four. Thayla risked a glance at Blad, who returned her look. She nodded at the king, then at Blad’s spear. Now is the time, she thought.

Just as Rayk gathered himself to leap, Thayla heard Conan begin counting. What was he doing?

When the big man reached the number “three,” the entire group leaped up and darted around the corner.

The move caught the Pili by surprise.

After a moment, Rayk said, “After them!”

With that, the king jumped up and ran around the corner.

Blad and Thayla followed.

Two verses of the spell were complete, and Dimma had just begun the third when he heard some kind of commotion in the corridor outside the strong-room door.

The Mist Mage frowned. His concentration was broken, and he mispronounced the third word in the second line.

“Set and Drakkar take you!” he screamed.

Now he would have to begin the spell again! Oh, whoever had caused this was going to die! But not now. Everything could wait until he was finished.

He began the first verse of the spell again.

In his near exhaustion, Kleg had allowed the monster to gain upon him. It dogged him closely now, only a dozen spans behind, loping along in a slow, but steady run that never seemed to vary, shaking the walls as it moved.

Ahead was the corridor that led back to the strong room. Kleg was nearing the end of his strength, and were he to survive, he would have to do something soon. Perhaps He Who Creates was finished with the spell by now. Even if his master was not, Kleg felt as if he had no choice. He had to have help with this thing, and soon. If nothing else, the guards might be able to fight it to a standstill.

Calling upon the last of his reserves, Kleg increased his speed a final time and rounded the corner.

As the selkies turned to face the unexpected attack by Conan and the Tree Folk, the Cimmerian looked past them to see another selkie dash round the far corner toward them.

A moment later, the monster who had chewed its way into the castle also came round the turning.

Conan slashed at the startled guard and his blade bit deeply into the selkie’s skull, dropping him.

“Conan!” Cheen yelled. “Behind us!”

Conan spun past the other guards and, in turning, saw a trio of Pili armed with knives and a spear, charging toward him, weapons raised to strike.

Crom! What was happening?

Selkies, Pili, Tree Folk, and a giant monster all ran pell-mell toward each other. The corridor was chaos. Confusion reigned.

So much for a simple plan.

Keg rounded the corner nearest the strong room and faced more than he had expected. What was this? Men and Pili, battling with his brother selkies!

Unarmed and naked, Kleg would have turned back, but the monster behind him forbade that option. Given no other choice, he ran forward to join the fray.

Thayla ran next to Blad. “Now!” she commanded. “Kill him now!”

Blad glanced at her. Confusion lit his face. “Which one?”

“The king, fool! Use your spear!”

Conan parried the second guard’s lance point and cut at the selkie’s belly. The wounded guard doubled over and dropped his weapon.

The Cimmerian spun away, slinging blood from his blade as he cocked it over one shoulder against the next enemy foolish enough to get within range.

To Conan’s left, Tair traded jabs with the third selkie guarding the door, while Cheen and Hok worried the fourth guard with spear and knife.

To his right, the Cimmerian saw three Pili running closer. The leader held only a knife, but the one behind him carried a spear. The third Pili was the female with whom Conan had been intimate, and she was screaming something he could not quite understand.

The Pili would get to him in a moment, so Conan shifted his stance to await the charge.

But as the leader of the lizard men approached, he suddenly threw up his hands and screamed. The knife flew, bounced from one wall, and clattered onto the flagstones.

Conan was puzzled, but only for a moment. As the leader fell, the one behind him jerked, the spear from the dying lizard man’s back and raised the weapon in triumph.

“I am king!” he yelled. “Long live the new king!”

Conan leaped forward and thrust his broadsword into the Pili’s chest.

The Pili blinked and gave Conan a look of absolute surprise, then pitched backward and fell flat upon his back, his open eyes still staring.

A short reign to be sure, Conan thought.

“May the Great Dragon shrivel your manhood!” the female Pili screamed. She drew her knife and leaped at Conan.

He hated to cut down a female, but if the choice was her life or his, Conan was prepared to decide it in his own favor.

He did not get the chance, however. Something slammed into his back and sent the Cimmerian sprawling. On the way down, he lost his sword.

Thayla’s rage wrapped her like a cloak as she lunged toward Conan, her knife set to gut him. But the selkie who had come running around the corner ran smack into the barbarian and the two tumbled to the floor. Thayla leaped to one side and barely avoided being knocked over by the tumbling pair.

She moved back toward them, knife lifted. If the selkie bested the man, then she would sink her blade into his back. If Conan survived, she would do for him likewise.

The man was strong, Kleg thought as they wrestled on the floor, maybe twice as strong as any the selkie had ever faced, but he was thrice as powerful as a man, and this contest would be his.

Not easily, though. The man shifted, and his muscles bulged as he avoided Kleg’s hands on his throat. The pair rolled, slammed into a wall, and it was Kleg who took the brunt of the impact. The selkie’s grip was broken and the man took advantage of this to slip free. The man dived, rolled, and came up, fists doubled to strike.

Kleg came to his feet and observed the man. He obviously intended to box, and even a weaker opponent could defeat a stronger one, did his blows land solidly. Kleg shifted warily to his left—

The selkie’s foot touched something cold on the floor and he spared it a fast look to see what it was.

The man’s sword lay there.

Quickly as he could, Kleg squatted and snatched up the weapon. The man was too far away to get to him before he completed the action.

Kleg grinned as he hefted the weapon. “Prepare to die,” he said. He stepped forward, raising the sword easily as he moved, and made to slice the man in twain.

“Look out behind you, fool!” a female voice called.

Kleg ignored the cry. He was not stupid enough to fall for that old trick.

Then he caught the stink of his nemesis and felt the hot breath of the thing on his back. No! He tried to turn, but it was now too late. Everything went dark.

The last thing the Prime selkie felt was the sharp teeth of the monster closing on him.

Thayla screamed a warning, but the fishman paid her no mind. The monster behind him opened hellish jaws and bit the selkie, taking his whole upper body into its mouth. The thing lifted its victim from the floor and shook it like a dog shakes a .rat. Bones crunched. Blood oozed from the selkie.

The Queen of the Pili stared in horror, but the monster had no apparent interest in her or anyone but the selkie. The beast turned away, the surely-dead fishman securely in its mouth, and padded down the hall toward the door.

Conan also turned to watch the monster, and Thayla realized this was her chance. Of course, the king was dead, but her hatred of Conan had grown enough so that it no longer mattered. She leaped at his back, her knife raised to stab.

“Conan!” a woman screamed.

The man in front of her reacted instantly. He dropped flat, and Thayla’s lunge, overbalanced as she was, carried her past. She tripped and fell. She threw both her hands out to stay the fall, but she was too close to the wall. The knife in her hand hit the wall and she could not release it as she continued her headlong fall. She saw the point coming at her right eye and she managed a final scream before the knife claimed her.

Dimma’s anger bordered on madness, so black was it. Once again he had lost the words of the spell, such was the uproar outside his chamber.

Before the wizard could restart the first chant, the door burst open, sending a blast of air that battered the Mist Mage and knocked him across the room almost to the ceiling.

“Who dares!”

When Dimma had righted himself, he saw the Ranafrosch standing in the shattered doorway, the body of a selkie clenched in its jaws.

“Not now, you moronic beast!”

The Ranafrosch dropped the body onto the floor. It thudded against the flagstones and lay still. The monster looked at Dimma like a fetch-dog at its master.

Dimma’s rage exploded and he cursed the thing, extending one wavering hand that sent a beam of heat and light splashing over the beast like a bucket of fire.

The Ranafrosch’s skin blackened and crackled under the magical attack. It emitted a moan and fell, rolling over onto its back. The stink of its flesh filled the air.