Conan The Freelance (24 page)

The weed shook again. In the distance, balls of gaseous fire flared and vanished, lighting up the night. A low rumble began and grew louder, and the weed rocked as if it were a boat in a stormy sea.

“The Seed,” she said. “It has great powers.”

“Enough to calm this?”

She pulled the talisman from her belt and looked at Conan. “Nay. But perhaps it can transport us home.”

“What?”

“There is a legend that says one who is attuned to the Seed can call upon it for a return to the grove.”

“A legend? Do you know how to invoke it?”

“I am not certain.”

A blast of fire rose upward a hundred spans from them, a ball that floated upward into the darkness. The heat singed the hair on Conan’s arm.

“Our time runs short,” he said. “Try your spell.”

“Gather close,” Cheen said. “Link hands.”

Conan and Tair clasped wrists to the Cimmerian’s left, and he reached for Hok with his right. The boy darted away.

“Hok!” Conan called.

The boy ran to the dog-thing and gathered it up into his arms. The thing quivered, but made no resistance as the boy held it, then ran back to where Conan stood.

“What are you doing?”

“It is afraid. We cannot leave it here to die,” Hok said.

He hoisted the thing over one small shoulder and grabbed Conan’s right hand with his left, then extended his right arm and hooked it around his sister’s arm. Tair also linked elbows with Cheen on her right, leaving her hands free to cup the Seed. She started speaking quietly and quickly, saying something Conan could not understand.

The noise of an explosion filled the air. In the distance a fountain of red orange reached from the lake toward the stars. A moment later, the weed began to buck wildly. When the others would have fallen, Conan held them up, using all the strength of his thickly thewed legs to stand fast on the gyrating weed.

Cheen continued to speak in a low, hurried voice.

The weed snapped upward suddenly, like a man popping a whip, and Conan and the others were hurled skyward. Even as they flew, still connected, he glanced down and saw the weed burst open beneath where they had stood, and a ball of fire coming up from the water. Conan sucked in what he thought would surely be his last breath-When he exhaled, releasing his breath, Conan found himself standing on solid ground beneath the great branches of a giant tree.

“It worked!” Tair yelled, releasing his grip on Conan to clasp his sister to his chest.

To Conan’s other side, the boy Hok danced in a circle, clutching the dog-thing tightly. The animal yipped excitedly.

Conan grinned. Magic was by and large something he avoided when he could, but this time he had no problems with this particular example of it. He could not recall looking death so closely in the eye before. He was most glad to be alive.

For a moment, Conan thought he heard a familiar laugh in .the distance. Is that you, Crom? Making up for your joke by sparing me? If so, you have my thanks.

The laugh, if there was one, faded, and Conan’s grin grew into a full smile. Tomorrow he would resume his interrupted journey to Shadizar. He would bid farewell to Cheen and Tair and Hok and their giant trees, and he would go. The wicked City of Thieves awaited him, its treasures ripe and ready to plunder.