Dimma managed five quick steps, but the sixth was denied him. As his foot reached for the floor, the Mist Mage lost himself. As he became brother to smoke once again, Dimma screamed his frustration to the heavens.

Kleg, Prime selkie, highest of those brought up from the fishes by He Who Creates, knelt in mud thick with swine excrement, digging through it with his hands.

The pigs were gone. Kleg had knocked the fence aside, and the squealing animals fled the approaching fire without so much as a backward glance. The selkie himself glanced nervously over his shoulder now and again. That cursed monster could appear again at any moment, but he could not allow himself to dwell on it.

Already, the mud began to dry from the intense heat, making it more difficult to work. The nearest building had not yet taken flame, but it smoked and creaked next to him, and it would only be a matter of moments before it joined the storm of flames that beat at the night.

He had not much time left, Kleg knew. Flames ate the village around him, he was very nearly encircled, and the skin on his arms and face baked under the approaching enemy's hot breath. He dragged his fingers through the mud like small rakes, praying that the old man had spoken the truth. It had to be here. It had to be!

A loud pop! announced the ignition of the building next to Kleg. The blast of heat smote at the selkie like a hot fist.

Kleg dived away, sprawling facedown in the mud. The muck was cooling to his skin, and he quickly rolled onto his back, coating himself with a thick layer there as well. That helped, but he knew it would only buy him a few seconds. He had to flee now, or die.

There was no help for it, the talisman was lost.

Kleg took two steps through the hardening mire and put his foot down on something hard.

He dropped and dug through the sty. His hand touched a familiar shape. Could it be?

The 'Seed!

Kleg grinned as he dug the talisman from the mud. He had it!

He stuffed the muddy Seed into his pouch, made certain that the pouch was tied securely shut this time, and ran. The corridor ahead narrowed rapidly, but he was through before the fire claimed it completely.

Ahead, the smell of the lake called. The fire was nearly everywhere, but Kleg was certain he could make it to the water and the weed beyond.

With the mud protecting him against the intense heat, Kleg dodged his way toward safety.

Conan led Cheen, Tair, and Hok to the edge of the lake. Others of the village had much the same idea, and the Cimmerian and his small band arrived at the sh.o.r.e next to a collection of small boats and pulled up on the mud at the same time as a dozen villagers.

Conan moved toward a boat that would hold six people safely.

A large man beat him to it. "This 'un is mine!" the man said. He started to shove the boat into the water.

"There is room for half a dozen. We will share it," Conan said.

"Nay! There is no time!" The man pulled a knife from his belt, a curved blade that was nearly a short sword in length. "Away with you!.,

"You are right, there is no time for this," Conan said. With that, he drew his own broadsword and swung it, taking off the hand holding the knife, as well as the head behind it. The big man, no longer so tall, dropped like a sack of wheat.

"Into the boat!" Conan ordered.

Tair, Cheen, and Hok obeyed.

Next to them, with a hiss and a roar, a dock covered in thick pitch flashed into a long sheet of flame.

Conan shoved the boat, putting his legs and back into the move. The boat slid into the water and moved easily away from the land. At the last instant Conan leaped, landing next to Cheen.

Tair already had one of the oars up and in the lock, and Hok was straining to lift the second oar when Conan grabbed it from him and thrust it into place. "Move aside," he commanded, catching the handle of the second oar.

This was not an art at which the Cimmerian was particularly skilled, rowing, but strength counted for a great deal. Conan pulled the wooden blades through the water, using the great power of his arms and shoulders, leaning back into the movement, and the boat sped away from the sh.o.r.e and burning dock at a speed equal to a sluggish runner.

A shed on the dock collapsed, sending a shower of sparks at the boat, but only a few cinders reached them.

As Conan rowed, he looked at the village. It seemed to be a single sheet of flame now, with only a few surviving figures on the edge of the water outlined against the raging inferno.

"The weed is not far," Tair said.

Conan nodded, but did not speak. There was a large enough stretch of water between the village and the weed so that the fire would not reach it, even if the weed was apt to burn, probably unlikely for a water plant in any event. He would worry about the weed and its dangers later; now, he had to escape the edge of the fire.

Conan rowed, and the boat slid across the water to safety.

When Thayla and Blad reached the land's edge, there were only a pair of boats left, and those the object of contention among a group of perhaps fifteen men. The men flailed at each other with fists and feet. A few used knives or sticks, and for good reason. The small boats might each possibly hold four or five pa.s.sengers safely; more would sink the craft.

Thayla did not hesitate. She ran straight for the nearer of the boats. "Blad-clear a path!"

The young Pili warrior lowered the point of his spear and uttered a war cry as they ran.

The villagers were obviously not expecting an attack by the Pili; Blad's war cry, a hissing, screeching, yodellike scream designed to frighten enemies, seemed to do just that. The men turned to look at the two Pili, freezing where they stood.

Fortunately, only one man was directing in their path. Blad skewered him with the spear and hurled the startled victim aside, releasing the spear and man together. Blad veered to his right a hair and slowed, so that Thayla pa.s.sed him and leaped into the boat. Blad shoved the boat into the water and jumped in behind her. Fetching up a paddle, he stood in the stern and turned back toward the stunned men. The young Pili screeched again and waved the paddle menacingly.

Several of the men started forward as if to chase the drifting boat. Another group of four or five men ran to the last boat, drawing the attention of the ones chasing the Pili.

Thayla found another paddle and began using it, propelling the boat into deeper water.

At that, all but one of the pursuing men turned back and ran toward the one boat remaining. Before they had covered half a dozen paces, the dock next to the boat collapsed sideways, and buried boat and men under a wall of flaming debris. A hot blast of wind hit Thayla, making her gasp, but she did not stop paddling.

The man who had not run to the boat was now in the water; he was a good swimmer. He was able to move faster than Thayla could paddle the boat, and in a few seconds he was nearly to the craft.

"Wait! Let me in!"

"Blad!" Thayla said sharply.

The young Pili turned to look at his queen, and she nodded meaningfully. at the man in the water. Blad nodded.

To the man, he said, "Here, catch the paddle!"

When the man drew close enough to reach the extended paddle, Blad jerked it up and snapped it down again. The edge of the heavy wooden implement smashed the swimming man squarely on top of the head.

The sound was quite loud, Thayla thought as she watched the man sink. A lot of bubbles came up where he went down, but the man did not rise again: Good. They were free of the burning land. Thayla pulled her paddle from the water.

"Take us to the weed there, Blad," she ordered.

She had in mind waiting there until the fire died down, then returning to the dead village and home. Surely her husband or Conan, or both of them, had perished in the fire. Her quest was therefore over.

It had been a near thing, but she felt a lot better now.