One of the guards pulled the door shut, carefully, so as not to stir the air, and looked at Kleg. "What happens now, Prime?"

"He Who Creates will work a spell," Kleg replied. "And in so doing, he will create a new self."

Kleg turned back toward the closed door. His master had not exactly been effusive in his praise. On the other hand, Kleg still lived, and considering how long it had taken him to accomplish his task, that was not something at which to sneer. After the spell was done, perhaps He Who Creates would be feeling more generous. Kleg intended to wait right here and find out.

The Prime selkie's intention was thwarted, however, when he heard heavy footfalls approaching down one of the long corridors and caught a fetid odor he recognized immediately.

The monster! It still pursued him!

Kleg's thoughts jumbled upon themselves. How could this be? If that thing could follow him here, into his master's domain, what did it mean? What could he do?

Full of sudden fear, the Prime selkie started to knock at the closed door, to ask He Who Creates for help-then he stopped. To disturb his master now would likely be worth death. Better he should lead the thing away. He could outrun it easily enough, he knew that, and if the beast outrun it easily enough, he knew that, and if the beast caused He Who Creates distress while He was performing His spell, that would likely bring swift death as well.

Kleg said, "A thing will pa.s.s here in a moment, seeking me. Stay out of its way. Allow no one else to disturb our master!"

With that, Kleg turned and ran off down the corridor.

Dimma's pleasure was unbounded. The ingredients he had spent most of his lifetime collecting were all finally a.s.sembled. The spell itself required nothing more now save that he p.r.o.nounce it aloud, something he could do easily even in his present form. There were three short verses to the incantation. He had spoken them in practice so many times they were as familiar to him as his own name.

The Mist Mage drifted over the floor to the center of the strong room. He took a deep breath and began to intone the words of the spell that would make him whole at last.

No one had challenged Conan and the three Tree Folk as they moved through the long corridors. They had seen no more guards, nor anyone, for that matter. Conan found it odd.

"Certainly is still," Tair said. "The place feels dead."

Indeed, the air was motionless. The torches on the walls burned steadily, sending their smoke straight up to paint dark the high ceiling with nearly perfectly round pools of soot.

"I do not like it in here," Hok announced.

With that Conan agreed, though he did not voice it aloud. Instead he said, "Cheen?"

She pointed down the left branch of a corridor that forked just ahead of them. "The Seed is that way."

The four of them made the turning.

Conan's plan for retrieving the talisman was somewhat vague, but direct in intent at least. They would find a way to steal it, were it unguarded, and if it was protected, they would slay the guards, take the magical Seed, and flee. He preferred simple plans, and this one seemed basic enough. If possible, they would avoid the wizard. If he could not be avoided, then they would slay him and then depart. Simple.

Thayla allowed her husband to move away from her, slowing her pace so that she dropped back far enough to whisper to Blad without being heard. She had to keep her voice very low indeed, so quiet was the corridor.

"Milady?"

"The king is mad," she said. "He will cause the death of us all."

"But what is to be done? He is the king."

"riot if he is dead." She reached out and touched the shaft of Blad's spear meaningfully.

"Milady!"

"Hear me, Blad my stalwart. If he dies, then you will become king and my consort."

The young Pili's eyes widened. If he had any spark of ambition at all, this ought to fan it into a flame.

"Thayla! Blad! Why are you tarrying?"

The king had stopped and was looking back at them.

Thayla stopped and bent. "A stone in my boot, Rayk." To Blad she said, "Hold still, that I may lean against you." She pulled her boot from her foot and made as if to empty the nonexistent stone from it onto the flagstone floor. As she leaned against Blad, she allowed her hand to stroke a sensitive area of his body, unseen by the king.

Blad gasped at her touch.

"What is it?" the king asked.

"Uh ... uh ..." Blad said, obviously at a loss.

"The point of my dagger has accidentally p.r.i.c.ked him," Thayla said hurriedly.

"Well, put your boot back on, withdraw your blade, and let us continue."

Rayk turned away from them, and Thayla gave Blad a hot look. The youth had the spear. She hoped he would use it, and soon.

Kleg knew the corridors of the palace as well as anyone, and he dodged through them now, leading the thing behind him on another chase. Had it been sent by some rival wizard? What was it? Would He Who Creates bother to deal with it, once He had finished His spell?

Too many questions and not enough answers.

As Kleg ran, he took care to double back on his trail every so often so as not to get too far away from the strong room in which his master worked His spell. He had not eaten or rested for what seemed a long time, and he was tiring. Best he be close when his master finished His current ch.o.r.e so that He Who Creates could take care of this thing chasing him.

Conan sensed someone around the corridor's next turning, and he waved his companions to a halt as he went to see who-or what-it might be.

The Cimmerian crouched low and slowly moved to peer around the edge of the wall. A quick glimpse was all he needed. Just around the corner stood four selkies, each armed with a spear, bracketing a wooden door inset into the wall.

He moved back behind his cover. Whispering quietly, Conan said to the others, "I think we have found your Seed. There are selkies ahead, guarding a door."

"Yes, I can feel the nearness of the Seed," Cheen said.

"Very well. There are four of them and three of us," Conan said.

"Nay, there are four of us!" Hok allowed. He sounded indignant.

"Very well, four, then. If we attack quickly, we can overcome them and retrieve the stolen Seed."

Tair hefted his spear. "Aye. I am ready."

Cheen nodded.

Conan drew his sword and took a deep breath. "On my count of three," he said. "One. Two. Three!"

With that, the Cimmerian leaped around the corner and sprinted toward the guards.