“But there is no reason your people and mine cannot be friends, save
for those two who rule.”
“A-a-agreed.”
“We must convince our brothers and sisters to take the long view, Deek.
Why, we might even create some kind of joint council, your folk and mine, with
input from the plants and perhaps even the bats and Whites. Bring prosperity to
the caves, instead of the boots of Rey and Chuntha upon our throats.”
“Am-am-ambitious i-idea.”
“True. But united, we could certainly defeat even such powerful beings
as those two.”
“O-one w-w-would h-hope.”
Wikkell smiled and the green light played upon his thick teeth. “Here,
have some of this slimeball.”
“Th-thank y-you, f-f-friend.”
Deek caught the succulent fungus in the gash that served his kind for a
mouth. Normally the worms kept their mouths hidden under a flap of tough
epidermis, never revealing the orifice except to the most trusted of friends or
a mate. At this point Deek felt that if he could not trust Wikkell the one-eye,
he likely could not trust anyone.
“We might well go down in history,” the cyclops said, reaching for
another slimeball.
“O-or i-into
th-
the l-l-lime pits,” Deek
said.
Yes. There was that, too.
Katamay Rey’s anger flowed through him, tempered somewhat by fear. The
stranger in the caves—Conan, he had heard the female call him—ran loose once
again. A bad sign, considering the
crystal’s
prophesy.
Of course it was the Witch’s fault. Somehow she had caused the ceiling to fall
in almost upon them, and her construct or thrall, whichever it had been, had
very nearly hit its target, save for Rey’s quick warding action. The following
attack, with its blasted fog and his counter, had depleted the magical flux so
that he had been unable to deal the witch the crushing blow she so justly
deserved. In fact, had a bit more of the mantalogical energies been drained,
the very dock upon which he stood would have dissolved, and that would have
been a fine predicament to have faced.
When at last the fog had cleared, both witch and quarry where nowhere to be
seen. There was barely enough flux left to construct the never-ending dock to
chase them. The going was slow at first, until the wizard and his
cyclopes
departed from the defluxed region, back into the
farther reaches of the
Sunless
Sea
.
Oh, she was going to pay, Chuntha was, and twist properly in the doing of it.
Chuntha’s raft had very nearly come apart while battling the wizard. The
magical glue had softened and the entire construct had shifted and wobbled
before she had enough sense to turn her craft and beat a fast retreat from the
immediate area close to Rey. Fortunately, she emerged from the space where the
magic had been drained before her raft became a collection of worms once again.
The glue solidified and Chuntha sparked the magicked screw to higher rotation.
The beautiful barbarian had escaped, and no doubt he and his party would be
running for all they were worth, away from the wizard. Chuntha merely had to
retrace her earlier course along the waterway until she spotted them, or some
trace of them.
She had the advantage of the wizard now, and she meant to utilize it fully.
She wondered what that apparition had been falling from the ceiling, but did
not worry overmuch about it. Probably some spell Rey had cast incorrectly, and
it served him right to have it backfire so. That was not her concern; the man
she sought was, and she intended to bring all her energies to bear upon his
retrieval.
Having abandoned the raft and taken the route along the shore, the Harskeel
arrived at the end of the confrontation between witch and wizard. As the magical
fog still enshrouded the scene, the Harskeel realized that there was perhaps
more than a bit of danger here for itself and its quest. Quickly the Harskeel
ordered the bats dispersed, to return later. It found a large, horseshoe-shaped
rock to crawl under and conceal itself.
From out of the fog a raft of giant white worms appeared, bearing a
beautiful, naked woman. This craft went back the way the Harskeel had just
come.
Moments later the fog dissipated and the wizard was revealed, ranting upon a
dock in the middle of the waterway.
Of Conan and his companions there was no sign.
After a moment the wizard began walking upon his dock and a new section of
it appeared in front of the marching
cyclopes
. They
followed the path of the witch’s worm raft.
Interesting, the Harskeel thought. It had been beyond the edges of the fog,
and Conan had not come this way. Since the barbarian was not held captive by
either witch or wizard, he must then have gone in the opposite direction. Aha!
The witch and the wizard moved in the wrong direction; too bad for them, but
not for the Harskeel.
As soon as the wizard moved from view, it would summon those stupid
Bloodbats and resume its quest. With luck, it might be some time before wizard
or witch realized their error; with more luck, perhaps they would destroy each
other, although the Harskeel thought it best not to depend greatly upon that.
The wizard and his
cyclopes
marched along the
magical dock and out of sight. Now, where were those moronic bats?
With his uncanny sense of direction fully operative, Conan managed to lead
the party of four through twists and turns that eventually ended at the
hideaway Tull had constructed.
Oddly enough, the bat cave, which had to be traversed again, was empty of
those winged creatures. Not that Conan particularly cared where they had gotten
to, as long as that place lay far away.
“My,” Lalo said as he observed Tull’s hidden alcove, “quite
the nest-maker, are you not? Pity you aren’t female, you’d make some man a fine
wife.”
Tull’s smile was obviously forced, and he kept toying with the handle of his
dagger.
Conan could well see how it would be necessary for Lalo to be an adept in
some form of combat. Even when you knew about the curse, Lalo tended to grate
upon the nerves in a hurry. To break the tension, Conan asked, “Which is
the closer—the witch’s abode or that of the wizard?”
“Each is about the same distance from here, I reckon,” Tull said.
“Hmm.
Then which would likely hold the most
booty?”
Tull scratched at his bearded chin, considering the question. “Depends
on what you’re looking for. The wizard, he has a fondness for gold. It
don’t
tarnish like silver nor rust like iron, and the caves
are some damp, as you no doubt have noticed.”
“Ah, that sounds promising,” Lalo said.
Both Conan and Tull held their silence for a moment, waiting for Lalo to add
an insult, but none was forthcoming. That was almost irritating in itself.
“Then again,” Tull finally continued, “the witch, she has a
liking for precious stones. Rubies, emeralds, fire-rocks, like that.”
Conan considered that. Such a choice was most interesting.
Gold?
Or gems?
A dilemma.
“Can
we perhaps raid both chambers?”
“Madness,” Elashi said to Lalo. “Whatever wits he may ever
have possessed, they are gone now. Greed makes you stupid, Conan.”
Conan ignored her, but Tull’s next comment scotched the idea of a dual
robbery.
“Not likely,” Tull said. “They are maybe the same distance
from here, but in different directions. It’s two days’ march between ‘em,
easy.”
“Too bad,” Conan said. “Well, the witch’s chambers,
then.”
Elashi raised one eyebrow at Conan. “Why so?”
It lay upon the top of Conan’s tongue to answer that he thought dealing with
a witch—a woman—would be easier than dealing with a wizard—a man—should
anything go wrong. Recalling his travels with Elashi so far, however, he realized
that to speak such reasoning aloud would only irritate her and bring forth an
undammed flow of invective. For some reason, Elashi seemed convinced that women
were the equal of men in practically all things, and Conan had no desire to
listen to another of her tirades. Perhaps, he thought, he was learning to deal
with women after all.
“Well?” she said.
Conan thought quickly. “Well-cut jewels are more valuable than gold,
and much lighter. We can carry more gems than coin.”
That made sense, and Elashi nodded.
Conan kept his face an expressionless mask, though he was smiling inside.
There was nothing wrong with the way his mind functioned, Lalo and Elashi’s
carping to the contrary.
“Then let us wait no longer,” Conan said.
“Lead
on, Tull.”
Wikkell’s labors among his fellow
cyclopes
had not
been spectacularly successful. Their resistance had been somewhat more than he
had anticipated.
As he trudged along a back tunnelway to meet Deek, he recalled one of many
similar conversations:
“Attack the wizard?
And
the witch?
Are you daft?”
“Certainly there is some risk,” Wikkell began.
“
Some
risk? By all the demons in Gehanna, Wikkell, those two
will certainly turn us into ooze if we dare oppose their will.”
“They are but
two,
and we are many.”
“So said the slug about the pair of falling boulders,
brother.
There is much room upon the floors of these caves for puddles
that once were such as
we
.”
It pained Wikkell to hear this, the more so because the speaker was in fact
his true brother, born of the same mother only a year after Wikkell himself had
been born.
“We shall have aid from the worms.”
“Ah, well, that is different, then. You have been eating the
black-spoored mushrooms again, haven’t you? I trust the worms almost as far as
I do the wizard.”
In the end Wikkell realized that he was wasting his breath. If he could not
convince his own brother of the lightness of his cause, what chance did he have
of enrolling others in his plan? And perhaps “plan” was too strong a
term. “Vague leaning” might be more appropriate at this stage of the
revolution.
He needed some kind of demonstration, something to show the
cyclopes
that the wizard and the witch were not
invulnerable. Could he but demonstrate the smallest crack in their magical
armor, it would be enough. No one liked being ruled by the magical iron hand,
and if they truly thought a real chance existed to overthrow the tyrant,
Wikkell was certain he could convince them.
Well, perhaps Deek had fared better. It would be galling to admit that the
worms were more reasonable than
his own
kind, but he
had to admit that such a thing might be possible. He could swallow his pride,
he supposed, if Deek could generate more fire among his fellows. It was the end
that mattered, after all.
Not long now, Wikkell thought. The prearranged meeting place lay only a few
minutes ahead. It was an out-of-the-way spot, unlikely that anyone would
accidentally happen upon them, which is why they had chosen it.
Wikkell sighed and tried to think of the best way to break his bad news to
the worm.
In the small grotto, hidden from prying eyes, Deek arrived to find Wikkell
already waiting.
Too bad.
Ah, well, there was no help
for it. He had to tell his one-eyed friend the bad news.
They exchanged greetings, and Deek settled himself upon a particularly
resonate patch of rock.
“M-m-my b-b-brothers th-th-think I a-am m-mad.”
“Oh, no.
I was hoping—” Wikkell stopped.
“H-h-hoping
wh-
what?”
“That you would have better success than I.
My
fellows also think me less than sane.”
“Th-they w-w-won’t h-help?”
“I’m afraid not. And from your comments, I assume the same is true of
your folk?”
“S-s-sad, b-but t-t-true.”
“Damn them all to Gehanna. Now what are we going to do?”
Deek had pondered that thought long and hard, and his conclusion involved
more than a little personal risk. He said, “W-w-we h-h-have t-to sh-show
th-them.”
Wikkell nodded.
“My thoughts as well.
Can we
but demonstrate that the witch and the wizard are not all-powerful, we have a
chance.”
“G-g-got a-any i-ideas?”
“Plenty, though I suspect most are apt to get us killed. I should like
to avoid such a thing if at all possible.”
“I-I-I t-too w-would a-avoid s-s-such an e-ending.”
“Well, then, let me put forth my thoughts and then listen to yours. We
are resourceful, after all. Surely we can come up with something.”
Deek nodded. Indeed, he thought.
High time to either
defecate or slide out of the scat trench.
No two ways about it.
“Here is my first idea…”
The blasted bats took their time returning to where the Harskeel lay in
hiding. Travels would have to be on foot or in the air. The Harskeel did not
trust itself to the bats’ ability to safely carry it, so that meant it would
have to walk.
Being enraged seemed to have become the Harskeel’s permanent mental state,
and it feared that its anger might cause it to do something foolish. The
Harskeel made an effort to calm itself.
All right.
The
quarry had escaped once again; at least its two competitors for Conan had been
put off the scent. Its men were all dead, true, but there were the bumbling bats
to replace them. That might be rather like exchanging a half-wit for an idiot,
but one had to make do as best one could. All in all, the Harskeel reflected,
things were no worse than ever they had been. No better perhaps, but no worse.
When at last it captured its prey, the end would justify all of these rigorous
means, certainly. With those thoughts trying and mostly failing to calm its
anger, the Harskeel set off after Conan and his friends.