she rode her mare right out onto the water, leaping across the surface as it were a broad, firm king's highway.
He felt his father tense and knew he was wondering if he should follow. Then Safar relaxed-decision made- and gave Khysmet his head. Immediately the stallion sprang across the water, running after the mare with no difficulty.
They rode like that for a time, hooves splashing in what seemed like shallow water, while on either side enormous waves boomed past. Soon the novelty wore off and Palimak dozed. He slept fitfully, waking every now and then to see the beacon still moving ahead of them.
Then Gundaree and Gundara were both shrieking in his ear. The two little magical Favorites, his ever-present guardians, were both crying out at the same time: 'Beware, Little Master! Beware'
He felt a rumbling beneath him and he shouted a warning to Safar. But his father was already coming up out of his stupor, steadying them as Khysmet shrilled surprise and bounded high into the air. When he came down, his hooves skittered on slippery rock, but then the nimble-footed horse steadied himself and they were racing over stony ground.
At that moment a blast of cold winds swept in from the side, sweeping the snow away. Palimak gaped at the sight. Hunched over the little island they now found themselves on was a huge statue of a demon.
Palimak felt his father jump in shock, as if he'd been stung.
'Asper!' he said in a harsh voice. 'It's Asper!'
As they rode toward the statue Palimak lifted his head and saw something loom up just beyond. About a hundred yards away was a tall, sheer cliff face, unmarked except for a wide cave mouth in the center. At the top of the cliff that was some sort of black stone structure. Palimak dully wondered what it was. Then he saw several turrets and he realized it was a castle.
Just then he heard the Spirit Rider shout and his head snapped back. He saw her poised on the mare, waiting at the steps of a wide stairway that led up to the statue's open mouth.
She shouted, 'This way!' And plunged up the broken staircase to disappear into the mouth of the statue.
Safar didn't have to urge Khysmet on. The big horse leaped after the mare with such force that Palimak's grip around his father's waist was nearly torn away. A heartbeat later they were inside the idol and all was darkness.
There was a flash of light and he felt a shock shiver through his body, rattling his teeth. Dazed, he realized his father had vanished. And now Palimak was holding Khysmet's reins. More puzzling still, his hands were no longer those of a small boy, but were large and muscular.
Khysmet whinnied and Palimak instinctively leaned forward, ducking under the dim shape of a low overhang. From far ahead he heard the rhythmic pounding of drums. A great chorus of voices chanted words he couldn't quite make out.
Then, soaring over the chorus, he thought he heard a familiar voice. Recognition dawned and he shouted,
'Father! Father!'
A voice full of agony cried out in reply: 'Palimak. Help me, Palimak!'
At that moment a great explosion erupted, lifting him up and hurling him away on a hot fierce wind.
He burst out of the vision, gasping for air as if he had come up from the bottom of the sea itself.
And he was back on the airship again, Leiria's hand on his shoulder, eyes deep with concern.
Palimak brushed at his face, as if swatting away a fly. 'By the gods,' he said, hoarsely, 'I swear I heard his voice!'
'Whose voice, Palimak?' Leiria asked. 'Who did you hear?'
The young man's eyes were agonized. 'My father's,' he said. He shook his head. 'It can't be possible,'
he said. But I think … somehow … somewhere … he must be alive!'
Leiria felt like the sun had suddenly decided to arise after a long, cold sleep. The ice jam broken, all the feelings she'd been holding back for so long flooded forth.
Safar! she thought.
Alive?
She clutched Palimak to her and wept.
CHAPTER THREE
All was pain.
Iraj had no body: no blood, no sinew, no muscle, no bone-much less skin to contain them.
And yet there was still pain.
In its torment, pain defined him. He was a writhing shadow of a soul on fire. A smoking stone in the guts of some howling devil dancing on the coals of the Hellfires.
If he'd had tears, Iraj would have wept them. If he'd had a tongue, he would've lapped up those tears to quench the awful thirst. And if he'd had a voice, he would've screamed for mercy. Yes, Iraj Protarus, who had never seen value in mercy, would trade his crown-and a thousand more-for one drop of pity now.
But who was there to pity him?
The gods?
Safar had once told him the gods were asleep and wouldn't answer even if the prayer were cast into the Heavens by a million voices. Safar had said many things like that and if Iraj had possessed a heart to break, or a heart to hate, he would have both loved and despised Safar now for all his wise words.
Safar Timura-enemy and friend. Friend and enemy. The one who had saved him. The one who had condemned him to this eternity of pain.
If Iraj had possessed the ability for amusement, he'd have finally known the true meaning of irony.
In his previous existence Iraj had been a shapechanger. Rabid wolf to black-hearted man, then back again.
And before that?
Images bubbled up to burst on the thick surface of his pain.
He was a boy again in Alisarrian's secret cave, swearing a blood oath of eternal loyalty to Safar. He was a young prince again, leading his armies against the demon king, Manacia, who threatened all humans with enslavement. He was King of Kings again, betraying Safar because he feared Timura would betray him first. He was a fiend again, avenging himself on Safar for the crime of uncommitted sins.
As each of these images took form, only to dissolve into a soul-searing froth, Iraj gradually emerged into an awareness that was somehow separate from the pain. It was like struggling from a molten sea to rest a moment in a world both familiar and yet alien.
He was only a lowly creature whose sole desire was to escape into death. But in his desperation to escape a more solid firmament was formed.
His first thought was: Where is Safar?
With this thought came heightened awareness: Safar was nearby! And he was also in pain. Satisfaction followed, but then he was pummeled by a further realization: Safar was not in as much pain as Iraj.
He pulled himself higher out of the sea of misery, determined to reach Safar. As he did so, Iraj sensed other creatures scuttling up behind him. Groaning things. Weeping things. Evil things.
Something like a tentacle wriggled toward him. Then a second. Then a third.
He knew who they were. When they had names, they were Kalasariz, Fari and Luka. Iraj had escaped them once, but somehow they had followed.
Not voices, but images of voices, came to him like the dry scuttling of many insects itching across his memory. 'The king! Where is the king?' And, 'Here, brothers!' And, 'Follow him! Follow him!'
Iraj gathered all his strength and flung himself forward, humping madly like a hunted worm.
He must escape. He must reach Safar.
Crying: Safar, Safar! Wait for me, Safar!
