Conan the Freelance Part 24

"But you said the gate was guarded."

"So it is. They are not going toward the gate."

Thayla shook her head, trying to clear the dregs of slumber. "Show me."

She followed the young male toward the village. The trip was a short one, and she arrived in time to see the tree dwellers and Conan scaling the wall.

"They are audacious," she said.

"What are we to do now, milady?"

"Follow them. If they can climb it, so can we.

Indeed, it was so. While it took a considerable effort and no small amount of time, Thayla, aided by Blad, managed to surmount the wall, using finger and toeholds invisible from a distance.

By the time the two Pili had managed the task, the Tree Folk and Conan were not to be seen.

Thayla felt a moment of panic. If her husband still lived, it was very likely that he, too, was in this collection of detritus that pa.s.sed for a human town, and it was not so large a place that the King of the Pili might never b.u.mp into her barbarian lover. She had to find Conan before this happened and see him dispatched to meet with his G.o.ds. But where was he?

"Look, milady. Smoke."

Aye, there was a thick curl of dark smoke in the air, and beyond it, a flicker of red orange that could only be flame. Would not a fire draw Conan's attention as well?

"Let us go there," she said.

Kleg was in a panic as he ran, carrying the drunken old man who smelled of swine and had lapsed into unconsciousness. There could be no doubt that the monster that ate its way through the second building in which the selkie had been had come looking for him. How had it found him? Well, were it sent by He Who Creates, such a problem was no more than a trifle. This thought only confirmed Kleg's thoughts as to his master's relative omnipotence.

He had to find the talisman and he had to get back to the castle and he had to do both quickly. One could not dodge such enemies as the Pili and a magical beast forever in a village bounded by walls on three sides and water on the other-

Hsst! What was this?

Kleg slid into a patch of dark shadow next to a bakery and stared at two figures in the narrow street just beyond. There was a man and a small boy, dressed in the style of the Tree Folk, standing under the fitful light of a dying torch. He could not be sure, but the boy looked familiar. Of course, they all looked alike to Kleg, but-could this not be the image of the boy he had traded to the Pili for pa.s.sage?

No, he decided, it could not be. That particular boy would have been stew long ago, a morsel to be consumed quickly by the rapacious Pili.

No matter. What did matter was that the two were most certainly Tree Folk, and-how had they gotten here? Were their others of their kind? Yes, yes, there must be. And that they were after Kleg he doubted not a whit.

By the Black Depths! It was not enough to be chased by two kinds of enemy; now there were three!

Kleg sagged. It was most unfair.

He turned and sprinted into the nearby alleyway to avoid the tree dwellers. He had to get to a place where he could revive this smelly pig man and find out what he knew. If, Kleg worried, the old man knew anything useful at all.

After a series of dodges and twists, the Prime selkie found a leather stable that, save for two spavined horses, was empty. The gloom inside was unbroken, save for a high window that admitted enough night light so that he could barely see. Kleg dropped the old man on a mound of dry hay, inhaled the dusty scent kicked up by the action, and began searching for something with which to revive the drunk.

He found a leather bucket used to feed the animals, and scooped it full of sc.u.mmy water from a trough. Returning to the old man, the selkie dribbled some of the warm liquid onto his face. When this provoked no response, he upended the bucket and dumped all the contents into the old man's face. That woke him up.

"Hey! Leave off! Mitra curse you!"

Kleg waited as the old man wiped his face with his bony hands.

"Who are you?"

"I bought you wine, remember?"

"Oh. In the Bright Hope. The fishman. Why is it so dark in here, I cannot see."

"That does not matter now. Recall the beast that attacked you in the street last eve?"

"My head hurts. I need a drink."

"Later. You shall have a barrel of wine, if you aid me."

"Eh? A barrel o' wine?"

"When you saw the beast last night, did you happen to notice anything else?"

"Anything else? Such as?"

"A . . . seed. About the size of a man's fist."

"Aye, I did see such a thing. Picked it up,

I did, I meant to sell it to the old Talow, but . . ."

"But what?"

In the semidarkness, Kleg could see the old man's features grow crafty, his bloodshot eyes narrowing, his lips curling into a thin smile.

"Go on, about the Seed."

"Well, maybe it has got some value, eh?"

"I have already said, a barrel of wine if you can produce it."

"Maybe more than a barrel o' wine, eh? Maybe it is worth two barrels?"

"Two, done."

"Ah. Three, maybe?"

The selkie's anger enveloped him like a shroud. Every other soul on the streets wished to drink his blood and this stinking old man wanted to exact a higher price! Kleg grabbed the old man's ragged shirtfront with one hand and lifted him clear off the floor; with his other hand, he drew his knife and laid the point against the man's wrinkled throat. "And maybe I shall cut your head off and spit down the hole! If you have the Seed, produce it!"

"N-n-no, don't cut me! I-I-I d-don't have it-"

Kleg pressed the tip of the knife against the flesh and a bead of blood appeared.

"W-w-wait! I had it! B-b-b-but I lost it!"