protection even as the writhing of the bound body became a writhing of the very contours of that body, a change of mass and outline more profound than any wrought by Synalon's knife. The chest expanded, grew so muscular that it was grotesque. The legs shortened and thickened, swelling with muscle until the straps around thighs and shins parted with explosive cracks. The arms grew thicker, too, lengthening so that the huge muscles of the upper forearm burst asunder the straps that had restrained the captive's wrists. The forehead bulged, the jaw became a slab, the nose twisted into a sardonic beak. Eyes like portals to an infinite pit regarded her with infinite amusement.
It was a black Dwarf which lay on the torture table. But a Dwarf taller than any man she knew. The sturdy stone table groaned beneath its weight.
'Don't you remember me, little sister?' The Dwarf shook his gigantic head. 'And after all the caterwauling you've been pouring into the Void I shouldn't think you'd greet me with those paltry protective canthrips you're muttering beneath your breath.' He smiled showing huge perfect teeth. 'Or has it occurred to you that your behavior toward my Masters, alternately whining at Them and demanding that They offer explanation for what you take to be Their deeds, has been scarcely calculated to win Their approbation? And have you thought, lovely one, that the mildest of such punishments I might mete out for your impertinence would have you offering your kingdom and your soul for the chance to trade places with that unfortunate who occupied this berth before me?'
She fell to her knees. Fear and ecstasy numbed her brain, and her heart raced out of control.
'O Messenger of the Dark Ones, forgive me! I didn't realize it was you.' Her hands caressed the gnarled thighs, working upward to their juncture. The Dwarf chuckled and swung to a sitting position.
'Much would I enjoy giving way to your inviting blandishments. You definitely have your uses, though you've given little evidence of that lately.'
'What do you mean?' She flinched back. 'Haven't I served the Dark Ones well? The mightiest seaport of the Realm lies an offering at Their feet. And how do They repay me? By allowing Their chosen folk to make compact with my sister to drag me from my throne, the throne I consecrated to the greatness of the Lords of the Dark!'
The Dwarf threw back his head and laughed like the rolling of a great brass bell.
'How quickly your ire makes you forget the humility appropriate to a lowly servant.' Beams of scarlet stabbed from his eyes. Synalon's smock flashed into flame. She shrieked and leaped to her feet, clawing at the fiercely burning garment. Her fingers blistered as the fabric resisted a moment, then gave way. She flung the smock into a heap by the wall. It flared to intolerable actinic brightness and vanished, leaving only scorch marks on the wall. All the time the
Dwarf's laughter washed over her like oily surf.
Her belly and breasts showed a fiery pink, as though from long exposure to the sun. Her rump felt as if it had been branded. The rancid smell of burning hair choked her. She beat at her head and the juncture of her thighs until the smouldering stopped. And then the realization struck her like a mace. The Messenger read understanding on her face and smiled.
'Yes. You thought you had mastered the fire long ago, and yet in its most primitive form it almost consumed you. Think on that lesson, beautiful child.'
He folded maul-like hands across his bulging belly and leaned back onto his elbows. 'Now. What was it you wished to ask of the Masters?'
She took a moment to conquer the fear and rage seething within. She almost blurted out another accusation. She turned it into an exhalation of breath and started again, to the accompaniment of the Messenger's knowing grin.
'I have done my utmost to serve the Dark Ones,' she said as evenly as possible. 'None could have served Them as faithfully. Now They – rather, now it appears that They have chosen to aid my mortal enemy against me. I dem – That is, I most humbly beg to know why They have done this thing. And what… what redress I must make to regain Their complete trust.' The black head swung ponderously from side to side.
'O, ye of little faith,' the Dwarf said. 'Is this truly how you venerate the Eldest? By leaping to the conclusion that They betrayed you?' He clucked. 'It is a sore disappointment to our mutual Masters. They harbored great hope for you.'
'But… but the Vridzish are worshippers of the Dark Ones! Aren't the Masters permitting them to come against me?'
'The Fallen Ones worshipped the beautiful principle of Oneness which is the Endless Night – ten millennia ago. Because of their own carelessness they lost their power among nations. They chose to blame the Dark Ones, who so loved them that They gave Their only begotten child to aid the Zr'gsz against the interlopers. So they turned away from Grace.' Synalon stared.
'The Fallen Ones no longer worship the Masters of the Void?' 'Think how easily your faith was swayed. The Hissers lost a world. One can understand their deviance. Almost.'
She ran her fingers through the stubble remaining of her hair. It was brittle and broke with tiny sounds like the snappings of a thousand minute twigs.
'You're saying the Dark Ones have no influence over the Vrid-zish?'
'Not necessarily. But like their opposite numbers, the Dark Ones work almost exclusively through those who chose to do Their bidding. Much depends on the vagaries of mortal servants on both sides, and even of those who take no side.' Her nerve returned and with it a measure of defiance.
'Then let the Dark Ones aid me against my sister. It should be sweet indeed for Them to taste complete vengeance against those who have forsworn Them.'
The demon tipped his head back and studied her down his nose before saying, 'It isn't that simple. You are on probation. Your behavior has caused our Masters doubts… grave doubts.' He shook his head. 'Only the worthy may receive the blessings of Darkness. You must prove yourself, my dear.' 'But… but Moriana has the magic of the Hissers to draw upon!'
'And haven't the Dark Ones given you many gifts of power and wisdom already?' He sat up and rested his heavy chin in the palm of one hand. Unlike a human, his palm was as ebon-dark as the rest of his body. 'Our Masters chose you because They deemed you the most powerful enchanter alive. Do you believe your sister is stronger?'
'Moriana?' She spat out the name. 'That pale-haired bitch-slut? Never!'
'Then you will have no trouble besting her. And in the process, reaffirming the Dark Ones' faith in you.' He turned and lay down full length on the table.
'Perhaps the next time the Masters will allow me to accept the tribute you tender so well,' he said, a touch of sadness in his voice. 'But until that hour…' 'Wait!' 'Farewell.'
The heaving, undulating transformation didn't reverse itself. Instead, white light exploded from the Dwarf, dazzling Synalon and throwing her back against the wall.
When her eyes opened she was on her knees again. The shape of the captive reclined on the table in a pose of mortal agony.
But not in the flesh. What lay on the dull stone was an obsidian likeness of the traitorous officer, perfect to every feature depicting each incision Synalon's knife had left, even showing bloodspills trailing from the wounds.
As such portentous events are prone to do, it happened quite by accident.
Fost dropped by one of the field headquarters Uriath had set up in a safe house after the courier pointed out that the High Councillor might not want the attention of Monitors drawn to too many comings and goings from his own mansion. Fost enjoyed appearing unannounced. It irritated Uriath, but the High Councillor could scarcely refuse to see someone as important and highly regarded in the movement as Fost.
'Time to clench your teeth and loosen your purse strings again, Uriath,' the courier said as he entered the basement of the chandler's shop which was the current secret command post. 'We've a contact who has blackmail goods on old Anacil's chief assistant chamberlain. Seems he's been diverting funds from Synalon's warchest.'
'Who's that?' a voice asked sharply, apparently from nowhere. Uriath looked up from what appeared to be a large pan of water resting on the table in front of him. The look of annoyance on his face quickly changed to surprise.
Fost's heart bounced into his throat. Frowning, unwilling to believe his ears, he moved forward to stare into the pan. He found himself face to face with Moriana.
'Uriath, what… Great Ultimate!' The image wavered as the princess fought to control herself. 'Whoever you
