She moved back toward them, knife lifted. If the selkie bested the man, then she would sink her blade into his back. If Conan survived, she would do for him likewise.

The man was strong, Kleg thought as they wrestled on the floor, maybe twice as strong as any the selkie had ever faced, but he was thrice as powerful as a man, and this contest would be his.

Not easily, though. The man shifted, and his muscles bulged as he avoided Kleg's hands on his throat. The pair rolled, slammed into a wall, and it was Kleg who took the brunt of the impact. The selkie's grip was broken and the man took advantage of this to slip free. The man dived, rolled, and came up, fists doubled to strike.

Kleg came to his feet and observed the man. He obviously intended to box, and even a weaker opponent could defeat a stronger one, did his blows land solidly. Kleg shifted warily to his left-

The selkie's foot touched something cold on the floor and he spared it a fast look to see what it was.

The man's sword lay there.

Quickly as he could, Kleg squatted and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the weapon. The man was too far away to get to him before he completed the action.

Kleg grinned as he hefted the weapon. "Prepare to die," he said. He stepped forward, raising the sword easily as he moved, and made to slice the man in twain.

"Look out behind you, fool!" a female voice called.

Kleg ignored the cry. He was not stupid enough to fall for that old trick.

Then he caught the stink of his nemesis and felt the hot breath of the thing on his back. No! He tried to turn, but it was now too late. Everything went dark.

The last thing the Prime selkie felt was the sharp teeth of the monster closing on him.

Thayla screamed a warning, but the fishman paid her no mind. The monster behind him opened h.e.l.lish jaws and bit the selkie, taking his whole upper body into its mouth. The thing lifted its victim from the floor and shook it like a dog shakes a .rat. Bones crunched. Blood oozed from the selkie.

The Queen of the Pili stared in horror, but the monster had no apparent interest in her or anyone but the selkie. The beast turned away, the surely-dead fishman securely in its mouth, and padded down the hall toward the door.

Conan also turned to watch the monster, and Thayla realized this was her chance. Of course, the king was dead, but her hatred of Conan had grown enough so that it no longer mattered. She leaped at his back, her knife raised to stab.

"Conan!" a woman screamed.

The man in front of her reacted instantly. He dropped flat, and Thayla's lunge, overbalanced as she was, carried her past. She tripped and fell. She threw both her hands out to stay the fall, but she was too close to the wall. The knife in her hand hit the wall and she could not release it as she continued her headlong fall. She saw the point coming at her right eye and she managed a final scream before the knife claimed her.

Dimma's anger bordered on madness, so black was it. Once again he had lost the words of the spell, such was the uproar outside his chamber.

Before the wizard could restart the first chant, the door burst open, sending a blast of air that battered the Mist Mage and knocked him across the room almost to the ceiling.

"Who dares!"

When Dimma had righted himself, he saw the Ranafrosch standing in the shattered doorway, the body of a selkie clenched in its jaws.

"Not now, you moronic beast!"

The Ranafrosch dropped the body onto the floor. It thudded against the flagstones and lay still. The monster looked at Dimma like a fetch-dog at its master.

Dimma's rage exploded and he cursed the thing, extending one wavering hand that sent a beam of heat and light splashing over the beast like a bucket of fire.

The Ranafrosch's skin blackened and crackled under the magical attack. It emitted a moan and fell, rolling over onto its back. The stink of its flesh filled the air.

Dimma managed to will himself back into position over the various talismans and other ingredients.

Once again, he thought. For the last time.

Conan looked at the Pili female. She was dead, sure enough, with that wicked-looking black blade buried in her eye up to the hilt. Killed by her own hand.

He picked up his sword and turned toward his companions. Cheen and Hok had been joined by Tair, and they finished off the last selkie guard as he watched.

The monster, meanwhile, shoved the door open and stepped inside the chamber beyond. After a moment, the thing was rewarded for this action by a blast of light and a fierce heat Conan could feel even where he stood. All the Cimmerian could see was the thing's hindquarters, but it was apparent that the monster would walk the land of the living - no more. Smoke rose from its carca.s.s.

Conan moved to where the three Tree Folk stood.

"The Seed is in there," Cheen said.

"Aye. You see what the monster got for going through that door?" Conan said.

"We have come too far to realize defeat now," Tair said. He started for the door.

Conan sighed. Aye, that they had. He made after the smaller man, and Cheen and Hok followed.

The Mist Mage was nearly done with his spell. A few words more and he would regain the flesh permanently. He felt a surge of happiness build within him, but he kept it from spilling forth, at least until he could say the last line of the spell. Eight words more, six, four

"There it is!" a woman yelled.

Dimma misp.r.o.nounced the second to last word of the spell that would have made him whole.

He screamed. "Is there no end to this!"

He turned his attention to the four people who had invaded his chamber. A woman was moving toward one of his talismans. Who were these interlopers? What were they doing here, voiding his attempts to free himself of his curse?

The largest man, a barbaric-looking fellow replete with thick muscles, leaped toward Dimma, wielding a sword. The man swung the blade in a manner that would have cleaved the wizard in half, had he been other than mist. As it was, the sword pa.s.sed harmlessly through him, trailing no more than wisps of fog.

The swordsman looked puzzled, and tried a second cut, to the same end. Dimma would have laughed, had he not been so enraged.

The blast of magical force Dimma had directed at the unfortunate Ranafrosch had almost completely depleted his personal powers; otherwise he would have swept the four from his sight with the same kind of infernal rays. As it was, his ire so disrupted his thoughts that he could only come up with a simple holding spell. He spoke aloud three words and made the proper signs and the four people froze into immobility, the big one with the sword raised for a third strike. The fool would die in that pose, as soon as Dimma was finished with his important business.

To a.s.sure his privacy, Dimma floated to the shattered door and peered into the hall. There were a number of bodies lying about, but no sign of anyone else alive to disturb his conjuration. Thank all the base G.o.ds for that!

Dimma returned to his strong room and began his spell for what he hoped would be the final time.

Conan felt as -though he were bound in an invisible net; he was unable to move more than a hair before he met the unseen resistance. He strained his powerful muscles to their utmost, to no avail. The wizard had laid some kind of spell upon them, and whatever he was saying at the moment, Conan felt certain that it would not serve him and his companions were the wizard to finish it.

The mage floated with his back to them, and Conan could see the wall beyond through the body of the wizard as the man-was he a man?-droned out some doubtlessly evil incantation.

But . . . what could he do? He was trapped. and even if free, he had seen that his weapon was useless against the magician.

The breath of doom cooled his spine.

Dimma unwound the final words carefully, all his concentration upon them. Nothing would interrupt him this time, not if the entire castle were to sink, nothing!