Conan The Indomitable by Steve Perry

stretching my cramped wings,” Red observed.
“Certainly I should be most interested to hear your proposition.”
    “Your kind drinks blood for sustenance, do they not?”
    “I feel that you already know that,” Red answered.
    “As it happens, I have dabbled in magic now and again,” the
Harskeel said.
    Behind the Harskeel, one of its men snickered. The Harskeel did not pause,
nor did it turn. As soon as all of this was done, that man was as good as dead, one could bet one’s fortune on that.
    The Harskeel continued smoothly. “And, as it also happens, I am in
possession of a spell that will produce fresh blood in a large quantity.”
    “You jest,” Red said. “You are pulling my wing.”
    “Perhaps a sample for your edification?”
    With that, the Harskeel produced a small brass bowl from its purse and held
it out for the bat to inspect. Red took the bowl and looked at it carefully.
“This is empty,” the bat said. He rapped a knuckle against the metal,
producing a hollow clink. “I see no blood.”
    The Harskeel retrieved the bowl. “I wished you to be assured there was
no trickery involved.” The Harskeel pushed its shirt-sleeves back, showing
its arms to be bare, and held the small brass bowl cupped in its hands. It
began to speak quietly in a language that it knew none around it could
understand.
    The Harskeel finished its incantation.
    The bowl began to fill. Dark liquid welled quickly, reaching the brim of the
bowl and forming a meniscus. The Harskeel handed the bowl to Red, who sniffed
it.
    “Why, it smells just like—”
    “—blood,” the Harskeel finished. “Go ahead, taste it.”
    Red looked at the blood and his feeding tube started to flick out, then
stopped, “How do I know it is not poisoned?”
    The Harskeel smiled. “You do not. However, why should I bother? If I
had wanted you dead, I could have easily had you impaled upon three pikes
earlier.”
    Red considered this. “That makes good sense.” He extruded his
feeding tube and inserted it into the bowl of liquid. Faster than it had come,
the blood vanished.
    “Why, this is excellent! The best I have ever tasted!”
    “So glad you liked it.”
    “This spell, what would it take to obtain it? And how much of this
nectar can it produce?”
    “I thought you might get to that. The spell has limits, of course. You
might get as much as, oh, six or seven barrels.”
    “Seven
barrels
? How… how wonderful!
We could feast a hundred of us on that.”
    “Of course the spell will recharge itself after a few days, and be able
to make that much more each time.”
    “I must have it! Ask anything!”
    The Harskeel grinned. Truly these bats were not adept at trading. In fact,
the spell would produce a half dozen barrels of blood,
but only once. Were this fluid not consumed rapidly, it would clot within a
matter of hours, making it totally useless. Of course by the time the bats
found that out, the Harskeel planned to be long gone.
    “I am following someone who escaped via this body of water,” the
Harskeel said. “I require a boat, and someone who can tow it as
well.”
    “That’s all?”
    “I am a generous sort.”
    Red glanced at the empty bowl. “Well, I must confess that there is
little free wood in the caves. Boats are normally made from wood.”
    “I care not if the craft is made from dung, so long as it floats.”
    “Hmm. I am certain that we can come up with
what you require. I shall convey this offer to my brothers and we will most
assuredly manage something. You, ah, will wait right here until I return?”
    “Indeed I shall.”
    “I shall hurry.” Red gathered himself to leap into flight, then paused. “You might want to tell Zate to stay his
pike.”
    The Harskeel laughed. “No problem, Red, my
friend.”
    With that, the bat zipped into the air and darted away.
    The Harskeel watched the bat flit off through the nearest exit. It was very
pleased with itself. A small spell that would buy him the barbarian’s capture
was