Conan The Freelance by Steve Perry Page B

from his throne and stopped his imprecations. Once again, he was a disembodied voice, lacking that which most men took for granted. His curses gained him nothing. His hope lay in collecting the final ingredient for his cure. The other parts lay well guarded in the safest chamber of his castle, awaiting only the final talisman and the utterance of the spell, the words of which Dimma now knew as well as the back of his ghostly hand. He had said the words in his mind ten thousand times, practicing for the day when he could speak them aloud and remove this malediction at last.
    Where are you, Kleg? Best hope that you have what I need, and best you hurry!
    “What will they do with the boy?” Conan asked.
    Tair, busy gathering supplies for a long trek, said, “Kill him. That is not the question, only when and how. The selkies are thralls to the Mist Mage, the Abet Blasa, who lives in the great mountain lake six days from here. They have stolen our Seed, doubtless for some nefarious purpose, and our grove dies without it. As for my brother …” He shrugged. “We can only hope to catch them before they dispose of him.”
    Conan nodded, aware of the seriousness of Tair’s intent. Not once had he bragged during his explanation.
    “We could use another strong man,” Tair said.
    “Aye,” said Cheen, coming up behind Tair, her own pack already loaded. “Your help would be welcome.”
    Conan considered it. Cheen had saved him from the dragon, though he had repaid that debt almost immediately. And they had offered him their hospitality, he had eaten their food and drunk their wine, albeit the latter had given him somewhat more adventure than he had anticipated. Such a courtesy did not demand his allegiance to the death, of course. Still, the memory of his own slavery when not much older than Hok was still strong in Conan. He hated slavers and child stealers.
    “When do we leave?” Conan said.
    The boy was too young for her usual ministrations, Thayla decided. Then again, he was young and therefore tender, and certainly his arrival could not be considered an ill fortune. A small feast before she sent her loutish husband off to seek the magic secret of the Tree Folk would not be unwelcome. Warriors might fight more wolfishly with empty bellies, but a taste of things to come might also spur the Pili expedition on to great effort. She had already convinced Rayk that once they began their oasis in the desert, such treats would be only a matter of time. The Pili were few in number and slow to breed; however, their advantage lay in reaching adulthood much faster than did the more numerous humans. Raise a Pili child and a human side by side and the Pili would be fully grown while the other was still learning to walk. That could be turned to their advantage, given time.
    Stal, the commander of the troop that had returned bearing the boy, stood with Rayk, repeating-and doubtless embellishing-the story of how they had come by’ the human.
    “-and even though we were outnumbered four to one by the fishmen, they were so fearful that they tendered the human and begged for our mercy. Since the Moon Festival is nearly upon us, and since they were so repentant over their error in blundering quite by accident onto our territory, I decided to spare them. After all, what is a festival without a feast?”
    Rayk nodded and slapped Stal on the shoulder. “You have done well, Stal. I have no doubt you could have slaughtered the offending fishmen easily, but your actions showed a fine grasp of tactics. Better to feast than to be burying one’s comrades.”
    Thayla rolled her eyes upward and looked away. Just like, males, standing around congratulating themselves on how brave and mighty they were, doubtless lying about nearly all of it. Then again, Stal was a fair specimen of Pili male-he had made a few overtures in Thayla’s direction-and she might one day, out of boredom, take him to her bed. He had ambition, this one, and might prove useful to