Conan The Indomitable by Steve Perry

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 transport.
    “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