departed.”
Cheen gave him a doubtful look, then finally nodded. “Aye. Tair and the rest continued following the selkies’ trail. They’ll want our help.”
“And the lizard men might field pursuit,” Conan said.
“We have achieved half our goal,” Cheen said. She ruffled Hok’s hair. “I am glad to see you, little brother.”
They started off.
Kleg continued moving through the night and it was well that he did so, for he was never more than half an hour in front of his pursuers. He could not be certain that they even knew he existed, but a search of the dead selkies would not have revealed the talisman; doubtless the lizard men continued to follow, still seeking that same item.
Came the glimmerings of dawn and Kleg’s step faltered somewhat; despite his great strength, his flight had tired him more than a little. His goal lay near at hand, though. The stark palisade of the village of Karatas rose to meet the morning’s mists just ahead.
To the east of the settlement stood what appeared to be a rocky hill. Upon closer examination, the hill proved to be a single, huge chunk of rock, all of a piece, and the rays of the sleepy sun revealed this eminent boulder’s single hue to be a deep and rich jet. Against the greenery of trees and grass, the black rock stood out like a blotch of dark paint on an albino’s pale arm. The village, Kleg knew, had been named after this geologic phenomenon, for the name Karatas itself meant “black rock” in the tongue of those who had first settled the area.
Kleg hurried toward the towering wall of wood ahead of him. The magic talisman bumped his waist within the pouch he wore. Nearly safe, he was. True, one could enter the crater lake anywhere and make one’s way through the Sargasso, but the unexplored weed was fraught with dangers. The safest tunnels through the growth began where the village met the water; besides, once inside the city, the lizard men’s pursuit would end. The gates might be opened for a single Pili, but certainly not for an armed force of them; the administrators of Karatas wanted no more trouble than already existed within the protective walls. The Pili would know as much.
The wall loomed. Kleg came to stand under the guard post mounted over the smaller of the two gates on the road leading to the village.
“Ho, the gate watch!”
A fat, bearded man helmeted in a bowllike morion leaned out to look down at Kleg. “Aye, ‘tis the watch. Who calls?”
“Kleg, Prime servant of He Who Creates, seeking entrance.”
The guard moved back from sight, and the long bronze lever that controlled the smaller door creaked in its channel. An instant later, the iron-backed door swung outward on its thick, oiled hinges. “Enter, Prime.”
Kleg smiled as he strode into the village. They knew him here, and they wanted no trouble with his master, upon whose sufferance they existed. He Who Creates could, if He so desired, magically wipe the village away as easily as a selkie crushing a water bug, and all who resided therein surely must know it.
When the gate swung shut behind him, Kleg felt a sense of relief. He would find a place to eat and to rest before going into the Sargasso. He could afford to spend a day recuperating, now that the end of his quest had drawn so near.
There was an oasis in the desert across which Conan, Cheen, and the others trekked, a splash of greenery that edged a spring-fed pond, and it was to this oasis that the group made their way under the oppressive heat of the sun.
As the men and women of the Tree Folk’s party filled their water skins and rested in the cool shade, Cheen took Conan aside.
“Much as I would like to continue, we should rest and wait here until evening,” she said. “The desert drinks the life of those who seek to cross this part of it on foot during the day.”
Conan nodded. There had been no sign of pursuit from the Pili, and desert travel was best done under the cool moon and not her hotter brother, the
Cheen gave him a doubtful look, then finally nodded. “Aye. Tair and the rest continued following the selkies’ trail. They’ll want our help.”
“And the lizard men might field pursuit,” Conan said.
“We have achieved half our goal,” Cheen said. She ruffled Hok’s hair. “I am glad to see you, little brother.”
They started off.
Kleg continued moving through the night and it was well that he did so, for he was never more than half an hour in front of his pursuers. He could not be certain that they even knew he existed, but a search of the dead selkies would not have revealed the talisman; doubtless the lizard men continued to follow, still seeking that same item.
Came the glimmerings of dawn and Kleg’s step faltered somewhat; despite his great strength, his flight had tired him more than a little. His goal lay near at hand, though. The stark palisade of the village of Karatas rose to meet the morning’s mists just ahead.
To the east of the settlement stood what appeared to be a rocky hill. Upon closer examination, the hill proved to be a single, huge chunk of rock, all of a piece, and the rays of the sleepy sun revealed this eminent boulder’s single hue to be a deep and rich jet. Against the greenery of trees and grass, the black rock stood out like a blotch of dark paint on an albino’s pale arm. The village, Kleg knew, had been named after this geologic phenomenon, for the name Karatas itself meant “black rock” in the tongue of those who had first settled the area.
Kleg hurried toward the towering wall of wood ahead of him. The magic talisman bumped his waist within the pouch he wore. Nearly safe, he was. True, one could enter the crater lake anywhere and make one’s way through the Sargasso, but the unexplored weed was fraught with dangers. The safest tunnels through the growth began where the village met the water; besides, once inside the city, the lizard men’s pursuit would end. The gates might be opened for a single Pili, but certainly not for an armed force of them; the administrators of Karatas wanted no more trouble than already existed within the protective walls. The Pili would know as much.
The wall loomed. Kleg came to stand under the guard post mounted over the smaller of the two gates on the road leading to the village.
“Ho, the gate watch!”
A fat, bearded man helmeted in a bowllike morion leaned out to look down at Kleg. “Aye, ‘tis the watch. Who calls?”
“Kleg, Prime servant of He Who Creates, seeking entrance.”
The guard moved back from sight, and the long bronze lever that controlled the smaller door creaked in its channel. An instant later, the iron-backed door swung outward on its thick, oiled hinges. “Enter, Prime.”
Kleg smiled as he strode into the village. They knew him here, and they wanted no trouble with his master, upon whose sufferance they existed. He Who Creates could, if He so desired, magically wipe the village away as easily as a selkie crushing a water bug, and all who resided therein surely must know it.
When the gate swung shut behind him, Kleg felt a sense of relief. He would find a place to eat and to rest before going into the Sargasso. He could afford to spend a day recuperating, now that the end of his quest had drawn so near.
There was an oasis in the desert across which Conan, Cheen, and the others trekked, a splash of greenery that edged a spring-fed pond, and it was to this oasis that the group made their way under the oppressive heat of the sun.
As the men and women of the Tree Folk’s party filled their water skins and rested in the cool shade, Cheen took Conan aside.
“Much as I would like to continue, we should rest and wait here until evening,” she said. “The desert drinks the life of those who seek to cross this part of it on foot during the day.”
Conan nodded. There had been no sign of pursuit from the Pili, and desert travel was best done under the cool moon and not her hotter brother, the
Similar Books
