The lizard man screamed, but the beast was apparently as unaffected by this as it was by the spears, which sank into its flesh but drew no blood. The mottled gray-green monster chewed on the leg as a cow chews on her cud, oblivious to all else.

There was a mostly clear pathway to the inn's door, and Kleg decided that there would never be a better time for him to depart. He sprinted toward the exit.

The Pili were too busy to notice him, but Kleg's run did draw the attention of the monster, whose red eyes turned to follow the selkie's dash for freedom.

The knowledge came suddenly to Kleg; the thing was here for him!

Certainly the beast was no friend to the Pili. Could it have been sent by the Tree Folk?

Kleg reached the door and ran through it into the street. A small crowd had gathered and was moving toward the inn.

"Hey, whut's alla noise about . . . ?"

". . . G.o.d's cursed racket in there . . . ?"

". . . watch it, fool!"

Kleg ignored the people, save for the one he banged into during his flight, and he only paid enough attention to that one to shove him roughly aside. If these idiots wished to enter

the inn, so much the better. They would make fodder for the thing therein, and perhaps keep it from following him.

It did not seem likely that the Tree Folk had fielded such a monster, and since it was not one of the Pili's pets, then the logical conclusion was that He Who Creates had sent it. But why? To help Kleg? Or to devour him? Mayhaps the magical talisman that b.u.mped at his waist could survive a trip in the belly of the beast quite easily and that was He Who Creates' intent in sending it.

Kleg did not know the answers to his questions, nor was he interested in waiting here to find out. That hideous monster gobbling up Pili as if they were sweetmeats did not look to be something with which you could reason.

Kleg ran toward the docks, trusting to speed instead of stealth now. If he could but reach the water, he would be safe!

Another thought thrust itself into his consciousness all of a moment. If He Who Creates had sent the beast after him, could not He have also sent others? Things that could even now be waiting in the Sarga.s.so for Kleg?

The running selkie slowed, coming to a stop.

Uh-oh. He could have gone forever without that thought.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps in this case what he did not know would hurt him. Perhaps it would eat him.

Kleg turned and walked into an alleyway between a smith's shop and a half-fallen temple. Before he ran pell-mell to the water and threw himself into a set of jaws like those destroying the inn, perhaps he had better think on this for a while.

Rage enveloped Thayla. Her trap was falling apart before her eyes! Someone had given the alarm! The essence of her attack was off, the surprise gone, and even now, the Tree Folk scooted up a dune ahead of her soldiers, largely untouched. Where were the three who were supposed to be at the summit of that hill?

There one of them was-G.o.ds, he was flying down the hill, falling, rolling, and what was-oh, no, it was that barbarian human! He stood there at the crest, waving his sword and yelling. Now he was charging downward, and the Tree Folk were turning to join him.

In the dark, bodies fell, Pili and human; there came the hard clatter of spears, the screams of wounded. And Conan laid about with that sword, chopping her troops down as a Pili clears brush, back and forth, back and forth, by the great Green Dragon.

It was a rout. More Pili were down than men, and whatever advantage the Pili might have had fled like the sand before a windstorm. Another of her troops dropped, cut nearly in half by that berserk man she had taken to her bed. Yet another ate a spear thrown by one of the tree dwellers. Her warriors were the ones being slaughtered, not the men, and Thayla watched in horror as it happened.

It came to her as Conan chased the last of her troops that she herself was in danger. Might not they look for other Pill?

Thayla slid down from her perch on the dune. Best not to be found if they looked.

As she hurried to find a place to hide, the Queen of the Pili was filled with a bitter blend of fear and loathing and anger.

Now what was she going to do?

Conan chased the fleeing Pili and caught him after a short sprint. The heavy iron sword sang a song of death in the night as it chopped the Pili's head from his shoulders. The lizard man collapsed, spouting crimson into the thirsty sands.

The Cimmerian turned, his own blood coursing rapidly within him, searching for more opponents.

Alas, there were no more Pili to be slain.

"Conan, are you unharmed?"

He looked up to see Cheen scurrying toward him.

"Aye. What of the others?"

The two of them began a check of the Tree Folk. They had lost five of their party to Pili spears. A. quick count showed nearly a dozen of the lizard men were now corpses.

"Should we search for others?" Hok said to his sister.

"I think not," Cheen said. "Our goal is ahead and I would not delay here. What say you, Conan?"

The Cimmerian was busy with his honing stone, touching up the blade of his sword. As he polished out a nick on the edge with the stone, he nodded at Cheen. "Aye, let us continue onward. II is unlikely that we will be troubled by such as these again." He waved the sharpened sword at the bodies on the sand. "Before the queen realizes we have slain her troops, we will be well out of their territory."

After a quick burial of their dead and attention to the wounds of the living, the group departed the scene of the battle.

Swirling through. the quiet halls, Dimma felt within him a sense of frustration. He had done all he could do, he reasoned. His Prime selkie would die before failing, he had sent as much help as was like to be useful, and all he could do now was wait. After five hundred years, a few days was nothing, and yet Dimma could feel the end of his torture almost as if he had flesh and was feeling the touch of a woman. Were he solid, he could venture forth himself, could brave any winds, could go and see for himself what was transpiring. Alas, in his current form, even a stray breeze would drive him before it as a shepherd does lambs, and there was nothing h,. could do about it, despite his most powerful magicks.

It enraged hire, his helplessness, and he intended to revenge himself upon the world when he again wore the flesh. That he should suffer so for hundreds of years needed payment, and the payment would be in rivers of blood and mountains of bone. Those who had taken their bodies for granted would suffer because he, Dimma, had not been able to enjoy that simple pleasure. Not until his rage was spent would he be content to rest and think about what he would do next.

Now, how would he begin? Well, a plague to kill all the inhabitants of Koth, where a dying wizard's curse had infected Dimma, that would be a good start.

The Mist Mage felt better, thinking about an orgy of destruction. Soon, it would be.

Soon.

Kleg found himself on the horns of a dilemma. On the one side, the village contained Pili who wanted to drink his life and steal the talisman he had stolen, so he had to get to the waters of the lake and the safety of the Sarga.s.so. On the other side of the problem, there was at least one monster after him, and perhaps others, and he was uncertain as to their intent. He Who Creates had motives beyond understanding by a selkie, and the waters might well prove more dangerous than the village.

Kleg leaned against the rough wooden wall of the smith's shop and pondered the problem. Which was it to be? The demons he knew? Or the demons he did not? One thing for certain, he needed to choose soon. That thing might find him again, or the Pili might. Or both unhappy events might come to pa.s.s. His chances of surviving such an encounter were slim at best.

Come on, Kleg. Which is it to be?

Chapter FOURTEEN.

The Queen of the Pili was not one to be discouraged easily. Even though all but one of her troops had been slain-that one spared only because he had been knocked unconscious and was therefore thought dead-Thayla had no intention of giving up the chase. The party of Tree Folk had also lost nearly half its strength, had been reduced to five, not counting Conan and the boy. Seven against two was a situation that precluded direct attack by the smaller number, but despite that, Thayla intended somehow to prevail.

How she was going to see Conan dead was unknown, but some opportunity would arise, of that she was certain.