Chapter TWENTY-ONE.

As the day wore on and the sun rose higher to splash its warmth upon Conan and his four companions, the Cimmerian began to feel more at ease upon the weed. As a matter of course, he avoided any clump or hillock of the plant that might hide an attacker. After observing several more places where the Sarga.s.so was too thin to walk upon, he noticed that such places were lighter in color than the thicker places, a faint, but definite difference. He avoided the lighter patches and the footing stayed firm.

Alas, Conan could not see how they would reach the castle before dark, traveling in such a roundabout manner. To circ.u.mvent some of the obstacles took them far to the sides at times, and sometimes the places upon which they could safely walk required a wide detour to find.

As the light of noon shone upon them, they stopped to eat the last of the food Stead and the late Jube had stolen in the village.

"Good that you found this," Conan said, chewing on a greasy sausage.

Stead said, "Yes. Jube did not die with an empty stomach."

He said this as if it were important, and both Tair and Cheen nodded in agreement.

Conan swallowed a bit of the sausage and bit off another chunk. He could not say that dying with a full stomach was better than leaving this world with an empty one. The choice for him was between living and dying. Alive, a man could always find something to fill his belly. Dead? Well, that was another matter, and though it came to all eventually, Conan was in no hurry to try that option as yet.

To amuse himself, Hok dug at the weed with the point of the short knife Tair had given him, and he looked happy in that small ch.o.r.e. Conan smiled at the boy. It took little to keep a child amused.

"What do you think we shall find when we arrive at the castle?" Cheen asked.

Conan shrugged. "Who can say? Your magical Seed, if our luck is good. Perhaps some valuables the wizard is not using. Or maybe a hundred armed selkies instead." He did not worry about such things. He would face it when it arose, and to worry overmuch about it now was merely wasted effort.

Before Tair could speak to that, there came a haunting sound unlike any Conan had ever heard. His ears were keener than those of his companions, who did not seem to hear it at first. A woman singing some sad and compelling melody, it sounded like.

Tair noticed it; Conan saw him turn his head to better hear the tune. Hok lifted his head from his digging at the weed, Stead caught the sound and finally, Cheen looked around, apparently puzzled.

"What is that?" Tair said. "I have never heard anything so . .. beautiful!"

Aye, Conan agreed. The, singing conjured up visions of women lamenting the loss of their men, calling for someone to come and help them forget their sadness. Anyone would do, but they would prefer Conan, as if they could see him there, listening.

Already, Tair was on his feet, as was Hok. Behind them Stead had taken several strides toward the call. Cheen continued to look puzzled.

"What are you doing?" Cheen asked.

Conan ignored her and began to follow Stead. The boy and his older brother had already started in that direction.

"Conan? Tair? Wait!"

Something about the call was familiar to Conan, but he could not say what it was immediately. It was as if he had heard it before somewhere ....

It felt like a dream to him, a vision fueled by the sweetness of those voices. Familiar, yes, but where and when had he heard it before? Surely he could not forget such women?

Behind him, Cheen yelled. "Conan! Stop! Something is wrong! Do not go to them!"

She was like a buzzing mosquito, meaningless, and Conan continued to walk. Fortunately, there seemed to be little or none of the thin weed between him and the women, and-yes, he could see them in the distance, perched on the edge of a small lake within the confines of the Sarga.s.so. It was hard to tell at first, but as Conan and the others drew closer, he could see that there were three of them, and they were all naked as well. Their beauty matched their songs. They were lush of breast, had long, black hair that fell to their hips, and-what was this? Their legs were joined into a single, greenish body that ended in a tail!

Well, no matter. They were not women, but certainly they were close enough. And they did need him so. Their song told him.

Conan grinned. Yes.

He started to move faster.

Something snared Conan's legs, locking his ankles together. He was unprepared for it, and he toppled forward. He threw his arms out to stop his fall and the weed was forgiving, but his legs were still snarled in something. He looked back.

Cheen had grabbed him around the ankles, and she held tightly to them now.

"Let go," he said.

"Conan, no! Something is amiss here!"

"Aye, release my legs; that is what is wrong!" No.

No? Well, he would see about that. There was no way she could hold him, he was much too strong. He pulled one leg free, drew his foot back, and was about to thrust his heel into her face-

Then he remembered where he had heard the call before.

In the underground caves where he had been trapped with Elashi the desert woman and the old warrior Tull, there had been some magical, evil plants that had used a voice inside their minds to lure Conan and his friend close. They had very nearly died as a result.

The plants had sounded much like these half women just ahead sounded.

By Crom, it was a trap!

Conan stayed his foot. "I am free of the spell," he said to Cheen. "Release me so that we might save the others!"

"Are you sure?"

"Hurry, woman!"

Cheen let go of Conan's leg, and he bounded up. The song still droned at him, seductive and insistent, but he knew it for what it was now, and the naked women with their arms outstretched toward him held no allure.

The other two men and the boy were still enthralled, however.

To Cheen, Conan said, "Take the boy. I will stop Tair and Stead!"

The Cimmerian began to run.

Thayla had been unable to speak to Blad alone. Her fool of a husband had not moved more than a few spans away from her since the dawn. Did he suspect something? No, she could not see how that was possible, but certainly he had not given her an opportunity to speak to Blad without being able to overhear them, not since he answered nature's call that morning. She had gone off to do the same several times since, trying to offer a suggestion to him to do the same again, but he had not done so. And she could hardly ask Blad to come with her when she squatted behind a clump of weed; fool that he was, even Rayk would look askance at that.

Thayla was beginning to feel desperate. They had to be getting closer to their destination, though they had not sighted it for some time. The way was roundabout, certainly, due to dangers real or imagined, but eventually the three of them would reach the castle, were they not killed by something along the way. To continue onward was to court certain death, Thayla felt, and if she could not get Blad's attention soon, she had in mind using her own knife to slit Rayk's throat.

Better that Blad should do the deed, in case something went wrong, but someone had to do something soon. This was lunacy. Thayla was not ready to die, not for a long, long time.

As the late-afternoon shadows began to paint the hollows and hillocks of the Sarga.s.so, Kleg drew ever nearer the abode of his master. Not long now. He could make out the details of buildings, could see the low and rambling structures that made up the entire compound. He would be there well before darkfall, the hero returned, the instrument of his master's salvation. Surely He Who Creates would be so filled with grat.i.tude that Kleg's reward would be boundless.

Behind the running selkie, the drone of the skreeches lay faintly on the air. Apparently they had yet to ensnare their prey, for when that happened, the songs died more quickly than the victims.

And as for the beast that trailed him, Kleg had neither seen nor heard from it for a long time, hours at least. Whatever it was, whatever it-wanted, it would not have from Kleg, for He Who Creates could destroy even such a monster as that one with a few well-chosen words, of that Kleg was certain.