Others were like the tree creatures who had attacked them at sea, with dozens of limbs bearing snapping teeth.
But the warning to Palimak wasn't necessary, because Gundara and Gundaree had already armed their master.
'Ghosts!' they cried. 'Nothing but ghosts. You've already killed them once, Little Master!'
So, like his father, Palimak held perfectly still, letting the creatures swirl all around him, threatening with fangs and teeth until they dissolved into nothingness.
Both Khysmet and the black mare seemed not to notice the spirit-world attack and only flicked their tails as if a few flies were troubling them.
Safar signaled and he and Palimak flicked their reins and entered the Castle Keep.
But now there was no royal grand palace entry to greet them. Even the magical wind rose was gone.
Instead, they found themselves in the dim, steamy recesses of the Hells Machine. Iron grating beneath them, the horse's hooves clacking across the metal. Huge gears twice the size of a miller's grindstone turning this way and that with no apparent order or purpose. Wide chain belts, thick with old grease, thundering above them.
Flames and steam shot through the grates as they moved deeper into the interior, following the narrow avenue toward a dim light.
Palimak felt grimy-oily sweat gathering under his arms and streaming down his sides.
Gundara cried, 'She's waiting, Little Master!'
To which Gundaree added, 'Just at the light! Be ready!'
Palimak didn't need to ask who they meant. He
Safar led them toward the light, which grew brighter with every step the horses took. Khysmet snorted at the steam and shook his head, great drops of sweat streaming from his mane.
Safar patted the stallion, comforting himself as much as the horse.
Then there was one more long blast of steam and they were through.
And he found himself in a vast chamber flooded with a strange red light that cast no shadows.
At the far end of the chamber was the Lady Lottyr. Her six hands waved gracefully, shooting out long sparks of magic. Driving the huge machine with their incredible power.
Her lush body moved rhythmically to music only she seemed to hear. The movements reminded Safar of the harvest dance he'd suffered through when he was spellbound.
And her six heads snaked in and out on long, slender necks that somehow made an eye-pleasing whole where they met her shoulders.
She was the size of a tall woman and backed by a miniature of the Demon Moon, which was symmetrically twice her length and breadth. Small black clouds swirled across the red face of the moon, making the goddess seem as if she were floating with them, although she always remained in the center.
A red gossamer gown, thin as spider's silk, draped her body-displaying all her substantial charms in an alluring light.
Despite himself, Safar felt heat stab at his loins. He heard Palimak's sharp intake of breath and knew that his son was also affected.
Khysmet snorted and moved closer to the mare who whinnied, then shied teasingly away. But not too far, Safar noticed. Not very far at all.
The whole atmosphere reeked of seduction.
And then, from a distance, Safar heard beautiful voices lifting in song:
The goddess laughed, her tones silky and promising impossible things.
She said, 'That's all I ask, Safar. Surrender and all I have shall be yours.'
Then she turned to Palimak, saying, 'You can have me, too, boy. I know that is your utmost desire, is it not?'
Palimak was shocked both by her offer and his body's unaccustomed reaction to the goddess. He didn't know what to say, or how to respond.
Safar felt like he was back in Coralean's harem, with one beauty after the other displayed to him.
Especially the lovely courtesan, Astarias, who had so beguiled him in his youth.
And he kept hearing that spell song:
Her lips the moon;
Surrender. Oh, surrender.
Her eyes are stars,
Her heart the sun;
Her sex a rose;
Surrender. Oh, surrender.
Night and moon. Stars and Sun.
Honey and rose;
Lady, oh Lady, surrender.
So powerful was her presence that for a moment he nearly succumbed. Nearly threw himself at her feet, begging her favor.
Then he fought back, thinking of Nerisa, his little thief of Walaria. And Methydia, a woman above all women who taught him all he truly knew about love, life and magic.
Ah, yes, and then there was Leiria. Lovely, lovely Leiria. Who would throw herself in front of a phalanx of charging chariots to save him.
Who needed this woman?
This goddess from the Hells?
All these thoughts-from seduction to hesitation to rejection-flashed through his mind in a split second.
Although it seemed like an agonizing-and most tempting-eternity.
Safar formed a spell, a spell above all spells to cast her off. And these were the words he chanted to the unseen, far-away Leiria. It was song she'd taught him when they were lovers:
From what they love,
Have no temptations
Or troubles to bear.
Outside might be temptation,
Inside only love.
There can be no wanting
And suddenly the lust ran out of the atmosphere like a flood unleashed and the Lady Lottyr's spell was shattered.
Failure struck the goddess like a lightning bolt. The Demon Moon burst into flames and she rose from her throne, all six hands outstretched to blast Safar from the face of the world.
'How dare you?' she cried. 'How dare you mock…'
But Safar didn't wait for her to finish. Instead, he hurled himself off Khysmet, straight into her waving arms.
His witch's-dagger was already out and as the Lady Lottyr cursed him and folded those killing arms around him he plunged the dagger into her heart. And kept stabbing, on and on.
Like a holy assassin from the temple of Walaria, killing whatever his mad soul and the imagined gods of murder drove him to kill.
Knife in.
Knife out.
Driving and gutting.
