subtle games! The sword whickered past him. Its owner was more practiced at slashing than at thrusting, and the blade scraped sparks from the rough stones of the wall. Harsan plunged back up the stairs to grapple with the man, but his prison-weakened legs betrayed him. He succeeded only in blocking the sword and gaining a handful of his opponent’s kilt. Fabric tore. He heard a crunch and a grunt of pain: the fellow had aimed a blow lefthanded at Harsan’s head, missed, and likely cracked his knuckles upon the wall! Harsan made a stiff wedge of his fingers, jabbed hard somewhere below his fistful of kilt, and was rewarded with a satisfactory whoof of expelled breath. The sword clattered down the steps past him. Did he dare let go of the man to pick it up? He thought not. Another successful push and he might break past this fellow into the larger tunnel above-but where after that he did not know.
Hands clawed at his naked back, wrapped around his waist. The ugly little man had untangled himself from the Pe Choi. Harsan let go of the swordsman, kicked out, twisted around, splayed fingers stabbing for his foe’s eyes. The man ducked his head, and Harsan’s hand thudded against his forehead-apparently hard enough to unbalance him, for he pitched backward down the stairs.
Brilliant blue light burst in upon his senses. Eyil’s voice cut off in mid-cry.
In the eldritch afterglow Harsan saw another thing: no Pe Choi now stood below upon the ledge but rather some creature out of an ancient bestiary, furred all over, a snarling animal muzzle rimmed with up-curving fangs, pointed ears like those of a Renyu, two arms that were over-long, jointed in places where no human-or Pe Choi-had joints. It was nude save for a harness of belts and straps and pouches; he could see six black breast nipples on its sleek belly but no visible sex organs.
Then the edges of the beast’s image sparkled, faded, and solidified into other features: a stout, fussy, middle-aged man in a pleated saffron kilt: Lord Arkhane hiPurushqe!
So this was how these people had gained access to the Pits: a creature who could take on the semblance of any he-she-it- willed! At some point this strange shape-shifter must have impersonated the prison governor to get in here!
Then Lord Arkhane blurred, too, and Harsan looked upon the Pe Choi once more.
The blue orb lifted toward him.
He never saw the second flare of azure light. He floated in a sea of warm honey, sweet and somnolent, serene as a ship upon a summer lake. He still saw and heard, but he could not move. He felt nothing of his own body, nor did he seem to care.
The figure before him swam at the bottom of a grotto of sapphire. It wavered, and Lord Arkhane’s face hung superimposed upon a Pe Choi torso. The lilting voice said, “I have taken care of the girl, Zhu’on. Do you go down and fish clumsy Quro out of the water.”
The big-nosed man arose, rubbing his bruises. He staggered down the stairs, and his voice floated up from below. “I see him not, master. Only foam and a bubbling…”
“The fool has drowned then. Or else the tales of the pits beneath this dungeon are true. Return and aid me with the priest!” The beast-muzzle approached Harsan. Glinting red eyes looked up past him. “Etqole, do you live?”
The younger man limped down the stairs to pick up his sword. His left hand was bloody and had begun to swell.
“Help Zhu’on bear the priest down to the boat.”
“I cannot,” the man gritted. “He has broken my hand.” He swung his sword-hilt suddenly in a vicious blow at Harsan’s naked groin. The shape-changer reached out and knocked the weapon aside.
“No foolish revenge! He is not to be maimed. We deliver him to Purdimal-or slay him if we must.”
“I’ll have him then, when you’re all done with him. And his naked wench there as well to pay me for my pains. Once she is bathed, of course!” He sniffed in disgust.
The man named Zhu’on reappeared, and he and the shape-changer wrestled Harsan’s rigid body down into the skiff and flung him upon the damp decking beside Eyil. Harsan felt only a profound tranquility. Face down, he could see nothing, but his hearing was as sharp as that of any Zrne-beast.
“Can these be transported to Purdimal in this condition, master?” Zhu’on asked.
“No. They will die as their bodily processes slow and grow cold. We can get them out of Bey Sii thus, but thereafter we must use other means.”
“Alas that he discovered our masquerade before we had him safe at Purdimal,” the little man growled. He sniggered. “Never will he believe that we’re his precious grey-robes now!”
“I should not have taken on the seeming of a Pe Choi. -Etqole, it was you who counselled that this would reassure the priest.”
“Who was to know that he spoke the stinking insects’ language?” the other replied peevishly. “Only so much could be learned in such a short time!”
“We still take the girl?” Zhu’on interrupted.
“It is so. Prince Dhich’une showed wisdom in this-but in little else, I think. His slaughter of our good Hele’a, his eagerness to abandon his allies… This is only the first page of the accounting; there will be more later when our master has the whole tale.”
There was silence for a time, save for Zhu’on’s wheezing as he rowed. The plash of oars echoed back from the roof of the cavern.
“Master,” the little man said at length, “if your orb can keep these two cosy for a time until they’re out of Bey Sii, our network can supply the rest: a cubbyhole in a merchant’s cart, a leisurely route along the back paths away from the Sakbe roads, mayhap a party of harlots to take the girl-”
“Cha!” the swordsman called Etqole put in sarcastically. “Both the Prince of Worms and the grey-robes will have watchers out. And likely the girl’s people as well. You’ll be Xwm'-birds chirping in the net before a six-day is done!”
“No. We need fear only Prince Dhich’une,” the shape-changer murmured. “None other has reason to seek these two along the way to Purdimal-unless they, too, have spies within the Legion of Ketl.”
“Then?”
“The best hiding place is in plain view. My orb has other uses than those you saw. Once we Mihalli were a mighty race, as skilled as your human ancestors before the Time of Darkness- and more. A touch within the priest’s brain, and he shambles along as a poor victim of the shaking sickness, unable to speak, to write, or even to feed himself. When we are amongst friends in Purdimal he can be restored and made to do our bidding.” “The same for the girl?”
The shape-changer seemed to consider. “An addict to Zu’ur. Not in reality for she will also be needed. But my orb will give her the semblance of one: a pallid, frozen cataleptic. All within your human realms know that such a one can be roused to further frenzies of sexual ecstasy by another grain or two of the drug. There are those who buy such hapless slaves.”
“And the sending of them, master?”
“Openly. With Chnesuru the Salarvyani. Soon he takes a cargo of slaves to Khirgar, and he can carry these two as far as Purdimal. We know him: he loves gold more than any god.”
“A slaver’s caravan!” Etqole’s voice was full of scorn. “The first place I’d look, were I Prince Dhich’une!”
“The priest shall be disguised. His head is shaved, his face painted blue with Livyani tattooes. The shaking sickness hides his walk and his posture. None will heed him amidst a herd of field slaves. The girl, too, will be altered; she’ll travel in a sealed litter, the purchase of some lordling known for his curious tastes. Zhu’on, can you name such a one?”
“There is a certain Lord Keleno, master, a High Priest of Ksarul lately posted to Mrelu. Men say that he favours eccentric delights: the waxen pallor of a Zu’ur addict would send him into spasms of lust. No ordinary watcher would question a slaver bringing such a present to him.”
“This is madness,” the swordsman snarled. “We do not deal with ordinary watchers! Great master-lord-we humans may be innocents in your ancient and all-knowing eyes, but-!” He broke off and began again in a more conciliatory tone. “We shall certainly be caught out, Lord! The Tsolyani are not fools. Even if the grey-robes think that the priest is being sent to Ch’ochi, there are only two routes west: the direct one across to Tumissa, and the northern road through Purdimal, Khirgar, and Chene Ho. They’ll be sitting on both, as a bird squats on her eggs! We must plan, master, devise a means, make arrangements…”
“And find the Worm Prince’s huntsmen sniffing upon every path? We dare not give him time to organise a
