Conan The Indomitable (21 page)

Wikkell was not altogether impressed. “So? It makes a spider’s web.
That is hardly much help to us.

“T-t-try to m-m-move th-through i-i-it.”

Wikkell did so and quickly became entangled. His struggles only entrapped
him more, until after a moment he could hardly move at all.

“All right, I am impressed. How do I get out of this?”

“R-r-reverse th-the l-l-lever.”

Wikkell managed to do so. The spidery mess began to flow back into the
little block of wood. Within a few moments the stuff had all disappeared,
leaving the cyclops free to move again.

“I-it i-is n-n-not
th-
the m-m-most p-powerful
sp-spell,” Deek said, “b-but a-an-anyone c-can o-operate it, i-it
r-requires n-no sp-special kn-know-ledge.”

“A distinct advantage,” Wikkell observed. “Can we do so well
at the wizard’s
quarters,
I should think we could
mount a powerful argument to our people.”

“Th-then l-l-let u-us pr-proceed.”

The two of them did just that.

The Harskeel could smell success. One of the bats had only just returned
with the information that those whom it sought were but a few moments’ walk
ahead. The temptation was to hurry, but the Harskeel did not wish anything to
spoil its chances. Better to proceed carefully,
then
attack at the most propitious moment.

As the Harskeel crossed a wide patch of rocky floor, it chanced to glance
down at the pebbles that littered the area. Odd, how they glittered in this
cursed green light. It bent and fetched up one of the stones.

Surprised, the Harskeel stopped and stared at the rock. Aye, rock it was,
but hardly one that should be casually found upon a cavern floor. Unless it
missed its guess—unlikely, since the Harskeel had some knowledge of
gemology—this jewel, easily the size of its little fingertip, was nothing less
than a finely cut ruby.

Further examination showed that the majority of the stones scattered at its
feet were also various gems of no small value. Never one to pass up wealth for
little work, the Harskeel allowed that it could pause in its chase long enough
to collect the valuable minerals. His prey must have dropped them unknowingly,
for certainly no one would deliberately leave such objects behind. It would
take but a moment or two, and surely the Harskeel could spare that much time.

High in the vaults of the dark cave, a giant creature soared on leathery
wings, flying with great speed and grace, hurrying to arrive at its destination
before the magic that kept it aloft ceased working.

Inside the cloak, Chuntha felt the power of the thing whose kind had ruled
the air millions of years before men lived on the earth. It was most
seductive,
the feeling of flight… the sensual nature of it
could easily become addictive. The risk, however, outweighed the thrill for
her. There were better ways to achieve warm feelings than to chance the final
dance with death.

As soon as she collected her barbarian, the witch thought, she would show
one of those ways to him. True, he would not survive the encounter, but ah, he
would enjoy his final moments of ecstasy…

As Conan led his friends down a winding tunnel with a high ceiling,
something most strange happened. Behind him, Lalo said, “I fear yon lout
leads us to certain doom.”

This insult was but one of a more or less constant stream of similar
comments, and Conan had begun to learn how to ignore them. Only this time there
came another sentence almost immediately upon the heels of the statement, as if
it were an echo:
But would that I were Conan and ready to face whatever
might come with no more than a sword and his courage
.

Conan paused and turned to Lalo. “What was that?”

“Pray what is the matter, Conan? Are your ears plugged, so that you are
now deaf as well as harebrained?”

And again the voice softly followed:
Would that I could speak my
admiration of you, Conan, and not be forced to vilify you with every passing
moment
.

It came to Conan then that the voice he heard, which was most definitely
that of Lalo, had not reached him through his hearing but had arisen from
within his head, much as the voice of the Webspinner had done earlier.

“Nothing, never mind,” Conan said, turning back to the path ahead.
What sorcery was this? He had heard Lalo speak, but he was certain that the
speech within his head was in fact what the grinning man was truly thinking
when he had made the rude comment.

Something was definitely amiss were that the case, but Conan thought it
prudent to avoid mentioning it; perhaps he was simply imagining things.

A few moments later, as Elashi negotiated a steep spot on the cavern floor,
she slipped and fell, landing solidly but unhurt upon her ample backside. Her
cloak and undershift slid well back, revealing her slim legs almost to their
juncture. Conan admired the view.

Elashi looked up and saw Conan smiling at her. “Goat,” she said.
“Can you think of nothing else?”

But following her speech
came
that eerie voice in
Conan’s mind again:
Ah, would that we had a few moments to be alone
together, Conan, my ram. All of this excitement has stirred my lusts
.

Conan
blinked,
certain that the others must have
heard her, but it seemed apparent from their demeanor that neither Tull nor
Lalo had caught the second portion of Elashi’s speech. Or, Conan was convinced,
her thoughts.

How could he hear these things? Had some kind of spell been cast upon him?

Upon reflection, that made no sense he could discern. What would be the
purpose of such a geas? Certainly it was to his advantage, not to that of any
of his opponents. To know what a man or a woman thought, whatever they might
say, was a powerful tool.

Well. That it had happened seemed the important thing. Worry about how or
why could be left for when there was more time to ponder upon the cause. If you
were tethered by a thick rope and a man handed you a sharp blade, you did not
bother yourself with the origin of the iron or the name of the smith who had
made it; you cut yourself free.

Conan was nothing if not pragmatic.

And perhaps it would be better not to mention this new talent to the others
just yet.

“They are just ahead,” Red said to the Harskeel.
“All four of them, around that next turning.”

“Are your fellows ready to attack?”

“We would have an end to this and receive our promised bloodspell. Yes,
we are ready.”

“Good. Then let us finish this unpleasant business.”

The Harskeel increased its speed toward the turning, not more than twenty
paces distant.

Still draped in the mantle of the flying reptile, Chuntha alighted in front of
her quarters and the two startled guard worms.

They shied away, until she removed the magical cloak long enough to show
them who she was.

The worms looked vastly relieved. The leader reported their encounter with
the barbarian. “H-
he
m-m-must b-be a d-demon!
He
s-s-slew C-c-cook and T-t-tuma!”

She waved the two worms to silence. The loss of two guards was nothing; the
important thing was that the barbarian was nearby. No time to stop and rest,
then.

She did not ask of further matters.

The witch climbed onto the tail of the larger guard. “When I change
back into the winged creature, you are to use your muscles to hurl me inio the
air, that way,” she said, pointing. Without waiting for a reply, Chuntha
donned the scaled garment and once again assumed the form of its former owner.

The startled guard, no less so for having been told this would happen,
lashed his tail sharply, catapulting the ensorceled witch into the air like a
rock hurled from a sling. The leathery wings flut-tered and snapped out, and
Chuntha sailed down the long corridor.

There were several ways the barbarian could have taken, but she knew at
least one that he had not and others that were less than likely. She
Was
near, she felt it, and she would have him soon!

Katamay Rey had long since attained the shore, and now his cyclopian
carriers bore him in a jolting run down the most direct corridor toward home.
He had the distinct feeling of being late to the party, and tardiness in this
case might well be his undoing.
“Hurry, you useless
lumps, hurry!”

If anything, the continuation of Wikkell and Deek’s plan went smoother than
had the beginning. The pair of Cyclopes who guarded Rey’s chambers knew better
than to impede Wikkell’s comings and goings; apparently the wizard had not
bothered to enlighten them as to Wikkell’s current status, an oversight that
the cyclops had counted upon. The wizard thought they were all morons, and
seldom bothered to inform the Cyclops of anything that did not directly concern
them. Wikkell knew that Rey also thought that little, if any, of his business
concerned anyone save himself, so the fear that the guards would attempt to
stop Wikkell had been a small worry at best.

With Deek slithering along behind him on the leash, the two of them entered
the wizard’s chambers.

As they had done in the witch’s quarters, the rogue cyclops and renegade
worm quickly selected a talisman and departed. Once away from the general
vicinity of the guards, it was Wikkell’s turn to demonstrate to Deek the
instrument they had just stolen.

It seemed to Deek that the small graystone jar was innocuous enough. From it
Wikkell removed a pinch of pale powder and cast it in a glittery shower upon
the floor before the worm.

“Wh-what d-d-does i-it d-d-do?”

“Crawl over it and see.”

Had he shoulders, Deek would have shrugged; lacking them, he twisted his
body slightly and started to slither over the fine power. Quickly the worm
found that he could not gain any purchase on the floor. He could move his own
body by contracting his muscles, but there was no friction between his body and
the underlying rock.
It was as if the solid stone had turned
to air for all the resistance it offered.

Wikkell grinned down at his friend. “A special lubricant,” he
said. “You cannot move upon a surface coated with it, nor can anybody do
anything but slip and slide upon it. Here.”

With that, Wikkell leaned toward Deek and gave him a gentle shove. Deek slid
across the rock more easily than had their web boat over the surface of the
water. He hit a patch of normal rock half a body length behind, and hastened to
inch
himself
back onto it.

“Im-im-impressive,” Deek said. “I-is i-it
p-p-permanent?”

“No. It lasts but an hour or
so,
then
vanishes. Still, with these two items to show our brethren, perhaps we can
generate more support.”

“Un-un-d-doubtedly.”

“Then let us waste no more time.
My folk or
yours?”

“M-m-mine a-a-are cl-closer.”

“Then lead on, friend.”

Conan’s sharp hearing caught the high-pitched sound of the cluttering bats
before his companions noted their approach. The Cimmerian wheeled about,
drawing his sword and frightening the others with the suddenness of his
movement.

“Conan—what—?”
Elashi began.

“Bats, behind us!”
Conan said.

The bats, more than a dozen strong, boiled through the
green light toward them.
They were in a fairly wide cave, though it had
begun to narrow where Conan and the others stood. A few more paces and they
could attain a short tunnel that would force the oncoming bats to fly in tandem
to enter it.

Tull pulled his knife and Elashi her sword, while Lalo bent for a fist-sized
rock.

“Into the tunnel,” Conan ordered. “I shall hold them until
you are inside.”

“Conan—” Elashi began.

“Do as I say, quickly!”

The three obeyed, and Conan could hear the fear in their thoughts, along
with their reluctance to leave him alone to face the bats. They had no
intention of deserting him, and he smiled grimly at the power of knowing their
minds. He raised his sword for the first cut.

The first bat to arrive felt the shock of cold iron slicing through him but
realized his mistake too late. Entrails spilled as the dying creature careened
into a stalagtite and expired.

The second and third attackers fared no better as a backstroke with the
sharped blue iron took one’s head from its furry shoulders and the return
stroke sheared the hindquarters from the other.

There were too many of them, though. Before Conan could ready the sword for
another cut, four of the bats barreled into him. They were much smaller and
lighter than he, but the weight and momentum of their number were enough to
knock him from his feet. He stabbed upward as he fell, skewering one of the
bats.

One of the other attackers dragged its claws over Conan’s shoulder, drawing
blood to fill the gouges. Conan grabbed the thing’s neck with his free hand and
squeezed. Small bones and cartilage cracked wetly as the Cimmerian tossed the
strangled bat away from him.

Behind the frantic fluttering of the bats, Conan saw the form of the
Harskeel. He might have suspected that one was still around.

The Harskeel darted toward Conan, a thin blade drawn for action, but it
could not get close enough to bring its blade into play—the flurry of bats
darting hither and yon impeded it.

Behind him, Conan heard Tull, Elashi, and Lalo yell.

“We are coming, Conan!”

As Conan punched one of the bats square in the face with his knotted fist,
shattering that poor creature’s teeth and jaw, he thought that the odds now
seemed more in their favor. A few more bats, one man; they could deal with
those—