Conan the Freelance Part 9

He did not respond.

"Do not worry, you shall be well fed. The Moon Festival is but four days hence, and until then, you shall have as much as you can eat. Would that we had captured you a moon or so past, though. Four days is hardly enough time to add much to your small frame."

She smiled again, and took a small pleasure as the boy shuddered. He knows, well enough.

But as Thayla turned away in a thin rustle of silk, a thought occurred to her. Why were the fishmen crossing her territory? They must have come from the grove of the Tree Folk, else how had they come by one of them as a captive?

The Queen of the Pili walked toward the king and Stal.

"Pardon, great warrior, but did the fishmen say what business they had with the Tree Folk?"

Stal looked at her, his gaze quickly but un.o.btrusively traversing her lush body. Rayk appeared to take no notice, but Thayla certainly did. He was hungry for her.

"No, my queen, they did not speak of this."

"What does it matter to us what the fishmen do?" Rayk interjected.

"Concerning the Tree Folk and certain plans you and I have discussed, my lord king, everything matters."

"Ask the boy," Rayk said. He laughed. "Perhaps he knows the minds of the fishmen."

It was meant as a joke, but Thayla spun, her silk flaring out to reveal her nude body under it to Stal, exactly as she intended. "I shall."

At the cage, she said, "Harken, boy. What do you know of the fishmen's business at your grove?"

The boy crouched at the far side of the cage, silent.

"Speak."

He said nothing.

Thayla considered this. Were you in his place, would you say anything, knowing your immediate future lay in a cooking pot as a meal for your captors? Decidedly not.

"Very well. Speak and you shall have your freedom."

Behind her, Rayk uttered a short curse and moved toward his queen. "Hold, Thayla!"

She waved at him impatiently. "Silence, husband."

The boy looked at the king, then back at Thayla. "Is this true? If I tell you, you shall let me go?"

"Upon the grave of my mother I so swear," Thayla said.

The boy blinked and appeared to think' about it for a second. Then he said, "They stole the Seed," he said. "I saw one of them take it. I tried to follow him, but I was caught."

Thayla stared at the boy. The Seed. He must mean the Talisman of the Forest. How could it be possible that the fishmen could do what the Pili had failed to do for so long? "By the Great Dragon! Is this true?"

"Yes, mistress."

Thayla turned to glare at Stal. "You fool! You allowed the fishmen to pa.s.s carrying a great treasure!"

"Thayla-" Rayk began.

She turned her glare upon him but did not speak.

Rayk did not need her prompting, however. To Stal he said, "a.s.semble your troop. Full strength, take enough to offset the fishmen's numbers. I shall personally lead them after the fishmen. With luck, we can catch them before they attain the great lake." He turned toward Thayla as Stal scurried from the rocky chamber.

"You had better catch them," Thayla said. "If the magician of the lake gets his hands on that talisman, it is lost to us for certain."

"Mistress," came the boy's voice from the cage. "Did you forget your promise to free me?"

Thayla did not even bother to look at him when she spoke. "Do not be stupid, boy. You are not going anywhere."

"You swore an oath!"

"I lied. Take it up with your G.o.d when you see him. In four days."

Kleg had antic.i.p.ated a quiet journey, but he had not figured on something no selkie had ever been able to predict: the weather.

Shortly after they left the desert behind and reached the foothills, a storm began brewing. Kleg could feel the moisture in the air and it was not unwelcome in one sense, but it would slow them some, should it continue to gather, and should it happen to move their way.

The storm did both. Purple-gray clouds built a tower toward the sun, mushrooming at the top into fleecy tatters. Lightning danced in the heart of the storm, and the rumble of some G.o.d's drums rolled over the mesa toward the selkies. A herald wind blew, the breeze full of dampness, and within a few minutes, the gray curtain sweeping toward them arrived. Fat drops splattered on the dry ground, kicking up tiny clouds of dust at first. When , the full force of the storm flowed over them, the world turned dark and gray, visibility dropped to a few spans, and the stupid pack scrats obstinately stopped and refused to move, even under spear-point prods.

Kleg grinned up into the bowels of the storm. Well, if you cannot avoid it, you might as well enjoy it, he thought. The rain was so heavy you could almost Change and breathe it, and it was tempting to s.h.i.+ft his form and lie at least partially submerged in one of the deepening puddles all around them. He would not, of course, but it was tempting.

They were on high enough ground, no risk of a flash flood, though some of the small streams they had crossed outbound would be swollen into rus.h.i.+ng rivers by the rain. Crossing a river was hardly an obstacle to a selkie, and if the packbeast refused to swim, why, then, they could be dinner for their former riders after the Change. It would serve the d.a.m.ned things right, and it would be worth the walk the rest of the way home, Kleg decided. He Who Creates did not count such beasts generally, and would certainly not care about them when balanced against the talisman Kleg carried in his pouch. Hardly.

Smiling, Kleg enjoyed the rain.

The Tree Folk had two dozen armed members in its party, about equal numbers of men and women. More, they had some strange tracking beasts that looked to be big spotted cats, unlike any Conan had seen before. They kept the cats leashed, a dozen of them on thick leather straps, two or three per handler.

Cheen and Tair set a good pace, but it was no trouble for Conan to maintain; in fact, he offered to go ahead. Cimmerians might not climb as well as did these people, but they were second to none as trackers. Conan could easily see the signs of the selkie's pa.s.sage, even on the s.h.i.+fting sandy ground of the Pili's territory.

Eager to rescue their brother and talisman, Cheen and Tair agreed with Conan's suggestion. He loped off easily, following the trail that might as well have been a road before him.

"Beware the Pili's dogs!" Cheen called out as Conan moved away from the band.

"Aye, I shall," Conan called back to her.

The Pili troop numbered nearly a hundred, and it was augmented by half that many of the dragon-like Korga. The Korga ranged ahead, on the trail of the fishmen, and the Pili followed them at very nearly a run. Thayla watched them depart. Her fool of a husband had better catch the blasted fishmen.

She smiled as she turned back toward the entrance to her chambers. Well, if they were gone more than a few days, they would miss the feast. Sad for them, but not for those who remained behind. Especially her; as Queen, she would get the best parts, including those normally reserved for the King. It was indeed an ill wind that blew no good at all. One had to take one's compensations where one could find them. And the thought of it made her mouth water.

Chapter SEVEN.

Conan had gained half a day on the Tree Folk when he found the signs of a meeting between the selkies and another group. To the east, a line of storms thundered distantly, but the dry ground here held shallow impressions altered only slightly by wind and sun. From behind that sandy hillock had come a band whose footprints differed from those of the selkies. At first, they looked like man tracks, but a closer examination revealed subtle differences. Pill, Conan figured, since this was supposedly their territory.