'Find yourself different prey to feast upon, my lord,' she said sharply, then'whirled to move away through the throng.
The summons came just as she descended from the promenade and stepped onto the ballroom floor. She felt something pressed into her gloved hand and turned in time to see a hooded figure disappearing through the crowd. She looked down at her hand to see a small square of crisp golden parchment. Written upon it in flowing script were the words, Seek me in the northernmost antechamber. Even as she read the message the card was consumed by a puff of crimson flame, leaving only a small disk of gold foil in her palm, engraved with the symbol of an eye surrounded by tongues of fire. Jadis's heart fluttered. The Fiery Eye was Azalin's personal intaglio. The card had come from himl She hadn't hoped to meet him directly. Truly, she had risen high in the Kargat.
Swiftly wending her way across the crowded dance floor, Jadis approached an iron door set in the north wall of the ballroom. A pair of crimson-uni- formed guards stood to either side, but neither glanced at her as she opened the portal. She stepped through and pressed the door shut behind her. The octagonal chamber beyond was empty save for a single, ornately carved mahogany chair. Jadis supposed there was nothing to do but wait. She sat down and smoothed her gown, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart.
Without warning, the armrests of the chair swung inward, pinning her tightly against the chair's back. She let out a gasp as the silver piping that trimmed the chair's cushions snaked out, coiling around her wrists and ankles, binding her to the wooden frame. Suddenly the chair itself lurched into motion, its four legs creaking and bending, and it walked like a living thing toward a roaring fireplace. Jadis struggled to free herself, but the silver cords held her fast. Sweat beaded on her forehead as the chair approached the dancing flames. The thing swayed back and forth, lumbering nearer the hearth. It was going to bum her alive.
Abruptly the fireplace pivoted, revealing a pas- sageway. The animated chair lurched through the opening, then the fireplace swung shut. The chair walked through stifling blackness as Jadis did her best to swallow the panic that clawed at her throat. The thing must be some sort of wood golem, she realized-a construction of dead material granted life by dark enchantment. Who had forged the golem? Was it Azalin? Or some other being of power? Jadis suspected she would discover the truth soon enough. The chair moved on, twisting right and left, its rhythmic groaning echoing eerily off stone walls she could not see in the darkness. This was some sort of labyrinth. Soon Jadis's bearings were hopelessly lost. The silver cords bit painfully into her flesh as the chair heaved ceaselessly up and down, like a piece of flotsam adrift on a black, roiling sea.
The chair lurched to a halt. Jadis felt the wooden arms and silver cords release her limbs, then she sprang to her feet. A crimson radiance erupted, pushing back the darkness. She found herself standing before a dais of black porphyry. On the dais was a throne, and upon the throne sat a figure clad in a robe the color of dried blood. Swallowing her fear, she bowed deeply. 'My king,' she murmured. 'How may your Kargat serve you?' 'As you always have, my Jadis,' replied the thunderous voice of the man who sat upon the throne. 'With your loyalty and your adoration.' 'Of course, my king.' Jadis had glimpsed Azalin before, on the occasion of his rare public appearances- each time concealed by heavy robes as now-but never before had she been so close to him. She could feel power and majesty radiating from him irt hot, dizzying waves. 'One of my provincial barons has grown overly willful,' Azalin said from the shadows of his heavy cowl. 'I have learned that he has concocted some plot to usurp my power.' 'Then he is a fool, my king, for none could dare dream to defeat you.' Chill laughter drifted down from the throne. 'How truly you speak, my Jadis. Still, futile as they may be, I wish you to discover his plans and find a way to twist them to my own purposes. Let his impudent treachery serve me before i crush him in punishment.' 'With pleasure I will serve you, my king.' 'I know your loyalty, my Jadis. Details of the mission will be delivered to you.' The figure rose from the throne, then moved down the steps of the dais with unnatural slowness. His robe hung eerily motionless as he moved. Jadis could smell the sour scent of fear in her own sweat. 'Tell me, Jadis,' Azalin whispered, though the sound of it roared in her brain. 'Would you care to gaze more closely upon your king?' She forced herself to take in a shuddering breath. 'If you think it necessary, Your Majesty.' The robed figure nodded. 'I do. You have risen high in my favor. There is a way for you to rise further yet, if you are strong enough. You have served me well with your mind, my Jadis. Would you care to serve me with your body as well?'
A sickly scent lingered in her nostrils, like the odor of rotting meat. 'Show me, my king.'
The heavy robe fell to the floor.
Jadis bit her lip fiercely to stifle a cry. Dimly, she noticed the metallic taste of blood spreading across her tongue. The man who stood before her was not alive, at least not in any usual sense of the word. He was a lich. His withered flesh clung to a skeletal body. Here and there a patch of leathery skin had peeled away to reveal livid bone. The simple kirtle he wore only accentuated the horror of his cadaverous body, as did the silver and gold rings that encircled his bony ' arms. Scraggly tatters of rotting gray hair framed the shriveled skull mask of his face. Most horrifying of all were the searing sparks of crimson flame that danced in the dark recesses of his empty eye sockets. They burned fiercely into Jadis's soul.
'Tell me truthfully, Jadis,' Azalin croaked: 'What do you see before you?'
She swallowed the sick taste in her mouth. 'I see a king whose power is great enough to defeat even Death itself!'
'Oh, my lovely one!' The lich king reached out a skeletal hand, trailing tatters of dry-parchment skin, to caress the smoothness of her breast. 'Ah, rapture!' he hissed. 'To feel again the firmness of living flesh.'
Jadis did not shrink from his undead touch.
'I am yours, my king,' she whispered.
The man in the lion's mask prowled through the throng of gyrating dancers. Perhaps it was that he had not drunk as much of the crimson wine as had the other nobles. Perhaps it was that his will was stronger than most. Whatever the reason, the fierce desire that ached in his chest would not allow itself to be slaked on any common pleasure. Again and again he pushed away others who pressed themselves against him. There was one he did want, and only one. The darkly beautiful woman in the emerald gown. Searching for her, he stalked his way through the undulating sea of masked revelers. He would have her. Viscount Culdaine was accustomed to getting what he wanted.
His pulse quickened. There she was! He watched as she emerged from behind an iron door. Her dusky skin seemed strangely pale now, but that only made her lovelier yet. Culdaine pushed his way toward her, pursuing as she drifted down a dimly lit corridor. She cast a look over her shoulder, and a small, secret smile touched the corners of her deep red lips. Culdaine bared white teeth in a wolfish expression. She had only been toying with him before. Now she wanted'him, even as he wanted her. He watched as she vanished through a doorway, giving him one more languid look. Moments later he pushed through the door after her, shutting it behind him.
The room was dark, though a single ray of moonlight spilled through a high window, illuminating a rumpled heap. Culdaine knelt and saw that it was a cast-off gown of green silk. Reaching down, he picked up a black mask with cat's eyes. A soft noise sounded behind him. Feeling his passion stir, Culdaine stood and turned around. There, in the shadows, he saw her moving sensuously toward him.
'My lady,' he whispered, his voice throbbing. 'Come to me…'
Without warning, a bestial shape leapt from the shadows. Eyes flashed like green fire. Fangs glowed in the moonlight, growing longei*even as Culdaine watched in terror. The sinuous beast fell upon him, knocking him forcefully to the floor. He screamed as sickle claws raked deep into his belly, spilling his guts out across the floor. His cry of agony was quickly silenced as the fanged maw clamped on to his throat, closing with crushing force. Blood gushed forth in a hot, dark fountain. Culdaine's hands beat feebly for a moment against muscled flesh covered by dark, glossy fur, then fell limply to the cold floor. The eyes behind his mask stared blankly upward, no longer filled with desire, but instead empty with death.
Ottering a low growl of pleasure, the werepanther began to feed upon her prey.
'There goes another one, Your Grace,' Pock chirped merrily.
The little gnome was perched on the back of a chair, watching out the window of Baron Caidin's private chamber as, in the courtyard below, a headless corpse toppled off the scaffold to the muddy ground. As always, the impish gnome was clad in miniature imitation of the baron, from his crimson long coat trimmed with golden brocade to his blue velvet breeches. A few wisps of white hair flew wildly around an otherwise bald head that seemed too big for his scrawny body.
'Let's see,' Pock went on. 'So far this week that makes-' he counted his fingers, then held up both hands, fingers splayed '-three!'
