The big Cimmerian quartered the area, with the sun baking his tanned skin darker all the while. Here, two members of the selkies had moved to meet a single footman from the Pili. One of the selkies had carried something heavy enough to make him sink deeper into the soft ground when he approached the meeting, but had not carried it away when he left. On the other hand, the Pili had left much deeper tracks when he had turned back toward his party. There was a depression in the earth, just there, where something smaller than a man but large enough to be a boy had been dropped. Whatever it was, the Pili had taken it.

Unschooled in civilized ways Conan might be, but he could read trail sign. The selkies had given something to the Pili here. According to what Cheen had told him as they began their trek, the selkies and Pili were not on friendly terms, as likely to fight when meeting as not, especially on Pili home ground.

Conan raised from his squat by the tracks. He looked toward the north, where the Pili tracks led. The lizard men ate human flesh, Cheen had said. Conan could imagine that a bargain might have been struck, with the boy Hok as some kind of bribe.

Which way should he go? The selkies' trail lay to the east, and they had taken both the magic Seed and the boy. But if the Pili now had Hok, he was possibly in more peril than before; like as not, the selkies would keep him until they returned to their master; the Pili, on the other hand, might eat him sooner.

Conan decided. The Seed would keep indefinitely, but the boy might not. He would go north.

Conan stripped a dry branch from one of the scrub plants, broke it into a number of parts, and made from it an arrow he laid on the ground, pointing after the Pili trail. Under this, he created a small stick figure meant to represent Hok. A second arrow indicated the selkie trail, and under this one, he formed an outline of a seed. When Cheen and Tair and the others reached here, they would know which way Conan had gone, and why. With luck, they would find the picture before the wind covered it with dust.

The big man took a long sip of water from the skin he carried over one shoulder, adjusted his sword belt, and started north.

The storm that delayed the selkies was but one of several, and while Kleg fretted at the delay, there was nothing to be done. A G.o.d might move the rain, but a selkie could do nothing but wait.

There were several ponds that had been shallow and sc.u.mmy only hours before but now were quite deep. And as long as they were stuck here, Kleg finally decided it might as well be a pleasant stay.

"Bring one of the scrats," he ordered one of his selkies. He had to yell to be heard over the steady downpour. "Shove it off that rise into that lake."

"My Lord Prime?" the selkie began, puzzled.

Kleg smiled widely, showing many teeth. "Perhaps the brothers would enjoy a swim-with a bit of dinner included?"

The selkie mirrored Kleg's smile. "Yes, Prime, immediately!"

Thayla was returning from the kitchen, where she had been discussing the preparation of the upcoming Moon Festival feast, when she heard some kind of commotion outside. Could her husband have retrieved the magic talisman already?

The queen stopped a young female returning from the main entrance to the caves. "What is that noise outside?"

The female, naked save for a leather crotch strap, but too young for anything other than budding b.r.e.a.s.t.s and a distant promise of more, bowed and said, "The Korga, my lady."

"I thought the king took the Korga with him."

"Not all, my lady."

Thayla went to see for herself what the beasts were hissing and moaning about.

Outside, the desert wind blew warmly, but with a hint of moisture. It appeared to be raining to the east, but more than a little distance away. Rain here was a rarity; it did not happen more than once or twice every season, and not plentifully at that.

The Korga master stood yelling at six or seven of the man-sized and mostly stupid lizards, who dashed back and forth in their high-fenced yard excitedly.

"Silence, you ignorant beasts!"

The Korga master was an old Pili; he had been old when, as a child, Thayla had first seen him, and he seemed unchanged in all that time. "What is it, Rawl-)"

The old Pili shrugged. "I cannot say, my lady. The Korga smell something out there."

"What are you going to do about it?"

He shrugged again. "Nothing. The king told me to keep this bunch penned."

"The king is not here and I am. Release the Korga to go and chase whatever is bothering them so that we may have quiet here."

"By your command, Queen Thayla."

Rawl opened the gate to the pen and the Korga dashed out in that funny gait they had, their thick tails stuck out behind for balance as they ran. She did not much care for the things, and were it up to her, would keep none about the caves. They ate more than they provided, and it was only the male Pili who thought they had any value. Probably because the males were closer to the Korga in thought and action, she thought. There were enough troops left to protect the caves without the stupid beasts slavering about, and good riddance. Mayhaps they would not return. There was a pleasant thought.

Conan saw the approaching figures long before they arrived. His fiery blue eyes took in the scene, and he knew he was about to meet another batch of the Pili's dragonlike hounds. He rolled his shoulders, limbering them, and pulled his sword. A cursory glance told the Cimmerian youth that there was no cover to be had. There was a small hill, not more than thrice his own height, a short ways to his left; that would give him the higher ground, something of an advantage, but not much. He had perhaps a minute or so before the reptilian creatures arrived, so he trotted toward the rise and began to climb.

When he was nearly to the top of the hillock, Conan almost fell into a pit. Due to the nature of the ground, he had not seen it until he was nearly upon it. The sandy depression was fairly deep, perhaps nearly his own height, and the sides were angled down sharply. Odd, the pit, he seemed to recall seeing something like it before, but he could not quite remember where.

Conan circ.u.mvented the pit and reached the pinnacle of the small hill. Perhaps one of the Korga would fall into the hole, were it moving fast enough to miss seeing it in time. True, it could climb out easily enough, but the effort would give Conan more time to dispatch the others.

He shifted his grip on the sword handle until it felt perfect. Seven of them. Bad odds. Well, if this were to be his last battle, he would sell himself as dearly as he could. He would arrive in front of Crom with as many of these beasts as he could bring. He hoped Crom had forgotten about their earlier meeting, but it had been recent enough that Conan doubted that happening.

The lizard beasts came, hissing and growling. They seemed to take no notice of the change in terrain, but clambered up the hillock in lunging bounds, teeth flashing in their scaled muzzles as they drew nearer.

Conan c.o.c.ked the sword back over his right shoulder. Perhaps he could cleave through two at once, did he swing hard enough.

Perhaps some G.o.d felt benevolent this day, for the first of the onrushing beasts never thought to look for its footing and fairly sailed into the pit just below where Conan stood. The big Cimmerian, even though staring his death in the eyes, managed to find a smile. Foolish beast.

The other Korga, however, seeing the fate of their leader, slowed their headlong run and circled around the pit.

Conan shifted to his left as the sun's hot light flashed on the fangs of the nearest beast. As the thing lunged toward him, Conan swung the blued-iron blade with all his strength. The sword sang in the air as it bit into the Korga's neck, found a s.p.a.ce between bones, and sheared the thing's head cleanly from its shoulders.

The headless body continued running, but past Conan.

Conan spun in time to meet the next Korga's charge. Continuing the motion of the blade, Conan opened the beast horizontally. Entrails spilled, and the lizard creature blinked and looked down, forgetting all about Conan.

But the other four were nearly upon him. Conan shifted his stance to rec.o.c.k the blade.

He could take one more, mayhaps two, were he lucky

The first Korga screamed from the pit. It was a long cry that stopped as though sliced off by a razor.

Conan risked a glance toward the pit as another of the beasts impaled itself on his extended sword point.

Something was coming out of the pit, and it was not the Korga that had fallen into it.

In that instant, Conan recalled where he had seen the like before. It had been much, much smaller, and had belonged to a spidery creature that fed upon ants and other tiny insects unfortunate enough to slide into its trap.

What came from within this ground, however, was twice the size of the beasts, and it looked like a spider from the dream of a mad G.o.d. The monster was black and furry, eyeless, but with arm-thick mandibles that dripped smoking poison, and what seemed at least eight legs.

"Crom."

Faster than he would have thought possible, the monster scrabbled up the hillock and attacked one of the surprised Korga. The click of the thing's mandibles was loud in the desert air; with one snap, it clipped the Korga in twain.

The remaining Korga scattered amidst loud and fearful hissings, and the monster turned toward the nearest and began to chase it. Big it was, and hideous, and faster than its scaled target.