"Thank you, no," Conan said.
Elashi had climbed down the steps Conan had carved into the monster fish and was washing her hands in the water. She finished the chore quickly, mindful of the kind of things Tull had spoken of as living in the lake.
"Well," she said as she ascended the fish back to the shallow depression where Conan and Tull sat digesting their recent meal. "Are we ready to begin this altogether unusual voyage?"
Conan nodded, stood, and stretched. "Aye, and why not?" Joints and sinews popped as he rolled his shoulders and swung his arms back and forth to loosen them.
With that, he fetched one of the paddles. Tull took the other, and they moved to the edges of their fishy boat to stand in the wells they had carved out for support. The Cimmerian looked across the fish at Tull, who nodded, and both men dug their paddles into the water.
Slowly, ponderously, the dead fish began to move.
It was not the best of all possible craft, but once moving, the fish slid through the still water fairly easily. Currents, if there were any, did not seem to impede their progress, and nothing from the depths rose to challenge them.
Not long after they started, the place from whence they had begun their voyage was lost in the darkness. The cave roof oft dipped lower and raised higher, and the side walls were sometimes not in view. It might almost be a lake above ground on a moonlit night, save that the light here was decidedly green and no breath of wind nor insect's call disturbed the silence. There were only the sounds of their paddles splashing in the water and an occasional intestinal groan from the innards of the decomposing fish.
Conan had been in places he preferred more, but all in all, his fortunes could have been considerably worse. He had good companions, a full belly, and control of his movements. His blade was sharp in its sheath, and there would certainly be no lack of food in the foreseeable future. It was true that Crom had not favored him with a gold and gem-encrusted barge, but there was transportation, albeit somewhat slippery, and he and his companions seemed safe from immediate pursuit. Anyone trying to swim after them would likely be apt to find themselves lining the belly of a creature like the one beneath Conan's feet. He found that thought pleasing. A comfortable heat lubricated his shoulders, and the strain of rowing was pleasant, raising a legitimate sweat upon his skin. A man could do far worse.
As to the future? Well, he did not ponder overmuch on that. Better to live in the moment and deal with the future when it arrived; elsewise a man might spend his entire life fretting of things that might never come to pass. Such worries would serve only to spend one's alloted time, and were foolish ways to waste it. Even paddling a dead fish over a silent lake, lit by glowing fungus and buried under the earth, certainly bettered the alternative he had been facing only a few hours past. He still lived, and that was the most important fact. Everything else could be worked out as it happened.
Smiling to himself, Conan pulled his paddle through the still water.
"S-s-stand r-r-ready," Deek scraped softly. "H-here is th-the e-e-entrance t-to the s-s-sea."
Wikkell nodded, assuming that whatever passed for eyes on the giant worm could take in the gesture. He flexed his fingers and started forward.
"B-b-be c-c-cautious," Deek warned, "T-th-there s-seems to b-be a d-d-drop a-a-ahead―"
Deek's warning was unnecessary. Wikkell teetered on the brink but kept his balance as he looked over the quiet water below. Quickly he shifted his single-eyed gaze back and forth, taking in the beach and shoreline to the side.
"I see no sign of them."
"I-i-im-p-possible. L-let m-me s-s-see."
Deek undulated to the edge of the tunnel's exit and waved his head back and forth.
"Only a fool would try to swim in that," Wikkell observed. "Could they have a boat?"
"Un-un-unlikely," Deek replied.
"Well, unless they jumped in and drowned, I surmise that they managed some means of trans port.
"S-'s-so it w-w-would s-seem. L-l-look!"
Wikkell turned his head in the general direction of where he assumed Deek was "pointing." He saw what appeared to be several lengths of short bone and scraps of cloth littering the beach. He moved down the ledge, Deek inching along behind him.
The cyclops' examination of the litter proved his assumption correct. There were piece of cartilaginous, flexible bone, fresh, likely from a fish, and strands of dark, heavy cloth.
"Somehow they have constructed a boat. Out of what, I would dearly like to know, by Set's Black Scales!"
Deek moved from the sand and crumbled rock beach to a more solid surface nearby so that he could address the problem. "W-w-we n-need t-t-transport-t-tation."
"Indeed." Wikkell swept his gaze over the area. "Unfortunately, I see nothing useful for that purpose."
"T-that t-t-tunnel, t-to y-your r-r-right."
"Don't tell me you have a barge hidden in there, Deek."
"N-n-nay. B-but s-some of th-the W-w-webspin-ners l-live d-d-down th-that w-way."
"How do you know this? And what good does that do us, in any event?"
"I a-am g-g-gifted w-with an ex-excellent sense of s-s-smell. And th-the s-s-spinners c-can m-make almost a-a-anything w-with th-their w-w-webbing."
Wikkell blinked. What a clever thought. Who would have even expected such from a worm? "Ah, excellent, Deek! You are proving to be a most resourceful traveling companion."
Had Deek a proper mouth, he would have smiled. True, Wikkell the one-eye was one of the wizard's minions, but the compliment sat well in any event. These cyclopes were apparently brighter than they appeared, to so quickly recognize talent in others and to then voice it in such a straightforward manner. Too bad they worked for the wizard. Just as it was too bad that he had to work for Chuntha.
"Let us go and see if we can bargain with the Webspinners."
"I-i-indeed."
Katamay Rey decided to travel light. Aside from two chests full of magical apparatus―scrying crystals, sleezewart, anthelmintics, sleepdust, and assorted spellbooks―he carried only enough food, clothing, and niceties to sustain a dozen men for six weeks. His retinue―a mere score of hunchbacked cyclopes―spread these items of cargo amongst themselves without question. Rey had little appreciation for the intelligence of his thralls, feeling certain that seldom, if ever, there existed a thought in any of their heads that was not an autochthonous one, so placed there by himself. "Stupid" was too kind a term even for the brightest among the cyclopes, Rey figured, and when he laid his gaze upon Wikkell, whom he had considered somewhat promising, that unworthy soul would find himself sorry to have been born.
There was a sedan chair, borne by a pair of stalwarts, but he waved it away. He would walk on his own for a time―a novel idea―and stretch his legs. It had been so long since he had done any exercise, it would be refreshing.
Striding purposefully ahead of the Cyclopes, the wizard marched off to attend to business.
Chuntha's saddle was cinched into place on the back of one of the larger worms, a torpid-thinking vermis called Soriusu. Behind her mount, two dozen more of the giant worms twitched, awaiting the witch's command to move. Chuntha's saddlebags, made from fresh Blind White leather, rested in front of her spread legs. Her erotics, potions, dreaming jewels, and assorted wands lay within, and thin bags of hallucinogenic spore powder nestled along the edge of her saddle within easy reach. She was ready.
"Go!" Chuntha commanded.
Here at the exit to her personal chamber, the light-emitting fungus was particularly strong, and her naked skin, warmed as always by her inner fires, glowed viridly as she moved under the verdant glow. Chuntha smiled to herself. This would be a great adventure, ending in what she was certain would turn out to be a magnificent copulatory episode.
The delicious thought warmed her even more.
* * *
Nine
Conan, Elashi, and Tull floated along the Sunless Sea for the best part of a day without major incident. Things did sometimes swirl in the wate
rs around them, sending ripples or an occasional splash their way, but Conan's keen eyes found no source for these actions. Once something large bumped the raft fish from underneath, rocking the three riders, but whatever it was, it troubled them only the one time. Perhaps it had taken a mouthful of their boat and been satisfied.
Near what Conan judged to be evening―who could tell in this land of eternally glowing walls?―they paddled the raft into a quiet cove and wedged it against a rocky shore. It was darker here than in many other places, the light-fungus being rather scantly distributed along the walls of the cove's grotto, and if anybody or anything happened to pass by upon the water, it might well be that they would miss seeing the trio and their make-do boat.
All three of the voyagers were covered with a sticky and smelly fish effluvia, and none had any desire to sleep upon the dead creature could it be avoided. A series of ledges stair-stepped its way up the wall away from the water, and a particularly wide one was an easy two minutes' climb. Perched here, the three shared more of the "cooked" fish. Tull gathered some lichen that was edible, if not deliciously so, and they also chewed on that as they rested.
"I wish we could build a fire," Elashi said. "It is so damp in here."
Conan glanced at the woman, but said nothing.
"I know, I know," she said. "Might as well wish for a kingdom. It was only a thought."
"How far do you reckon we come?" Tull asked.
Conan shrugged. "Miles. Hard to say on the water."
"Aye. Reckon we lost any followers. Kinda hard to track in water."
Conan chewed on a mouthful of the lichen. It had a sour taste but was a change from the fish. Earlier in the day the fish had been the best food he had eaten in a long time; after consuming the pale, bloodless flesh several times since, it had lost much of its appeal.
Likely Tull was right about pursuers, but he would sleep with one hand on his sword. This place was run by a wizard and a witch, and although his experience with magic was slim, he wanted no more part of it. Such things were dangerous a«id unclean. Give him a fanged beast to face, or berserker swordsmen, and he could hold his own as well as any man. Some spell-spewing necromancer was another thing altogether. Honest men stayed away from such things, and Conan wanted no truck with wizards or witches or any of their ilk.
"I'll stand the first watch," Tull said.
Conan nodded. He looked at Elashi. "We have no fire, but we can share our own warmth."
"Aye," she said, smiling.
The pair of them found a particularly dark recess on the ledge, leaving Tull sitting near the edge, watching the ice-smooth Sunless Sea.
The Webspinner Plants could not move from their rooted position, but they were none the less dangerous for that. The plants, each twice the height of a tall cyclops, with thorny branches surrounding a central maw, produced a spiderlike silk webbing with which they snared their prey. Unlike spiders, most of whom built nets upon which they might catch a hapless passerby, the Webspinner Plants could throw sticky, ropelike lines for some distance. These lines would adhere to anything save the plants' own webbing. The victim thus caught would then be hauled inexorably to the plant, where it would be impaled upon the sharp spikes until it ceased struggling, then drawn into the waiting maw. Around the plants was an arti-ficed floor of shimmery silk-overlay that kept the prey lines from sticking to the cavern's rocky surface. The undigested and regurgitated bones of a thousand meals past lay upon the silken floor, and one desiring to speak to the plants stayed outside the range of the prey lines or took his chances on becoming dinner.
Wikkell and Deek kept well outside the perimeter of the largest of the silk floorings, talking to the queen of this particular nest of Webspinners. Logic dictated that the Webspinners should have been long extinct since they were immobile, and despite their ability to heave lines; any prey species with half a brain should certainly have learned over the years to stay well away from the plants. v However, the Webspinners had another talent, and while both Wikkell and Deek had spoken to them a number of times, that talent was once again in full evidence: the voices of the plants were most compelling. What Wikkell heard when the queen spoke was the voice of a female cyclops, honey-smooth and filled with promise of all manner of conjugal delights, almost irresistibly offered. Almost. Deek's hearing apparatus, upon receipt of the same voice, construed the sound as that of a female of his species, gravid with a thousand eggs and desiring a big, strong worm such as himself to fertilize them at his earliest pleasure. Guaranteed pleasure, vermis-mine…
Both cyclops and worm knew that the voice was specific to whatever kind of creature that heard it: males heard females and females heard males, generally, and only those with strong minds or experience with the plants could resist the siren song they sang.
"Come closer," the queen of the plants urged, "that we might discuss this without having to strain ourselves by yelling." Surely no cyclopian female had ever sounded so sweet and so willing to do anything Wikkell might desire. Anything at all, would he simply come a bit closer…
"Nay, sister," Wikkell said. His voice held no rancor; he understood the mechanisms the plants used and begrudged them not, for everybody wanted to survive. "What we wish to discuss involves a long-term arrangement rather than a quick meal upon Deek here or myself."
"Long term?" Deek heard the gravid female's soothing tones in the high pitch that his kind used, sounds quite inaudible to human or cyclopian ears but hot music to his own. Even knowing what she was, the call tempted him.
"Aye," Wikkell continued. "A large supply of food, spaced over a long period."
"How much? Over how long?" The sweet tones vanished abruptly and the queen's suddenly alien rasp held no promise of anything either Wikkell or Deek or anything interested in staying alive would find intriguing. The big plant was now all business.
Wikkell spared a quick grin and whisper for Deek. "That got her attention."
Softly, Deek scraped back, "I-i-indeed."
Louder, Wikkell said, "We need water transportation. You can spin a boat of your webbing, can you not?"
"Certainly," came her reply. The tone was full of arrogance and disdain. "There is little we cannot create of the Magic Cord."
"In return for supplying my friend Deek and me with such a conveyance, we would be willing to offer you, oh, say half a dozen each of Whites and bats to be placed within range of your… ah… supply lines."
"Twenty each," the queen said. "And your boat shall be a thing crafted with the utmost loving care.
Wikkell grinned down at Deek. He whispered, "I think we can bargain her down to half that."
"W-whatever. B-be q-q-quick t-though."
Wikkell addressed the queen again. "The boat need merely float, my leafy queen, not win a contest of beauty. Eight each."
"Even so, such labor requires much skill, mobile one. Sixteen."
In the end they settled on a dozen bats and ten Whites as the price for the craft. To be delivered as soon as Wikkell and Deek finished a small errand they had to accomplish. The queen would rather have eaten something immediately of course, but she knew a good bargain when she had one, and she and her sisters could survive for a long while without eating did they need to.
"Would this errand have anything to do with three small mobile ones who float upon the waters?"
Wikkell blinked his great eye. "You know of them, Majesty?"
"I can speak to all of my sisters via the deep .roots we share. The three move away from here, toward the Great Ambit Cave."
"Ah. Well, yes, as it happens, those are the ones we seek."
"If my sisters and I should help you snare these, might not there be an additional price tendered for such a service? We are not all planted here, you know."
Wikkell and Deek regarded each other. They had been given great leeway by their master and mistress, respectively, and they had used more time than originally intended. To fail was to die. "Indeed, Your Majesty. Something could certainly be arranged in that dire
ction."
"Another two dozen each, white walkers and dark fliers," the queen said.
Wikkell grinned. He loved to bargain, and had little chance to do so. "Two dozen? For a mere three? I had thought to offer, oh, say five each."
Even as the smiling cyclops and giant webspin-ning queen continued their deal, the other plants began spinning an oval, watertight bowl large enough to hold a dozen men.
The night passed quietly for Conan and his friends. He relieved Tull after a few hours, and Elashi chose to sit with him as the older man fell into slumber. She and Conan did not spend all of their time watching the water; indeed, a portion of that evening found them far more intent on each other, and the pleasure thereby derived was both refreshing and tiring at the same time.
In the morning―for lack of a better term―the three remounted the dead fish and paddled away.
Perhaps two hours later, the walls of the cave narrowed considerably, so that the overhanging ledges on both sides could very nearly be touched with one of the paddles. They continued onward with such surroundings for another ten minutes; then the cavern expanded again to thrice larger proportions. Just ahead, however, the waters split in twain as a bifurcation appeared in the rock. One river ran to the left, another of equal size went to the right.
"Which way?" Tull called as he paddled.
"One is as good as the other," Conan replied. "To the right."
Elashi looked agitated at this. Conan refrained from smiling. He had a sudden revelation. "You would rather we went the other way?"
"Did I say that?" she asked.
"No. To the right, then."
"It looks darker that way."
"To the left, then," Conan said, playing his hunch.
"It looks narrower that way," she said.
Conan grinned to himself. He was, he realized, finally beginning to understand how her mind worked. She did not want to make a decision, but she would almost always oppose any that he made. Therefore, to go to the left, he must be adamant about going the other way.
The Conan Compendium Page 77