free will involved in your decision.'
Palimak shrugged. 'The more you speak,' he said, 'the more convinced I am that you are a liar.'
He turned, as if he were about to stroll easily away through an open gate, instead of being confronted with a thick stone door. He even raised a hand, as if to cast a spell that would open it. He was mildly surprised when he saw that his hand looked barely human. His sharp claws were so fully extended that his fingers were misshapen. His tongue reflexively moved around inside his mouth and he found long sharp fangs instead of blunter human teeth.
An odd part of him wished he had a mirror to peer into, wondering what his face looked like. How much of a demon had he become?
'You didn't answer my question,' Charize said. 'What is your boon?'
Palimak turned back. 'Why, only to pray before Lord Asper's tomb,' he replied.
Charize nodded her mighty head at the dais. 'Go pray,' she said. 'But know that you will pray your last, little one. For you will not leave this chamber alive.'
Palimak felt a spark of fear. She'd finally guessed he was bluffing. And was only letting this charade play out long enough to satisfy her followers.
He hid this knowledge and strode calmly over to the dais and mounted the stairs. He didn't have the slightest idea what he was going to do next. It seemed there were two liars in this chamber. Palimak was the first-Safar had most certainly never told him to pray at Asper's tomb. He was only working off a vague notion that once he reached the tomb there might be a chance of escape.
The second liar was Charize-just as he'd claimed. Palimak had studied the ancient Book of Asper Safar had bequeathed to him long and hard. And he doubted strongly that the old master wizard had left creatures such as Charize and her sisters to guard his resting place.
If Asper had truly intended such a thing, there'd have been broad hints about it in the book-the latter pages of which were filled with the demon's thoughts on his approaching death. He'd known his illness was fatal and had worried that despite all his efforts, no one would find his tomb and the secrets it contained. Secrets that might save the world from the disaster he'd foretold.
When Safar had visited here in his vision, Asper's ghost had commanded him to come to Syrapis. Since Safar's death had prevented this, Palimak was determined to take his father's place.
As he knelt before the tomb the world shifted slightly and Palimak remembered his wild dream ride on Khysmet, his father shouting to him for help. And he thought, but is he really dead? And, if not, how can I save him? And what is it I'm supposed to save him from?
Charize rumbled, 'What are you waiting for? Pray!'
Her voice jerked Palimak back to a chilling reality. If he didn't come up with something quickly he'd soon be dead himself. Palimak bent his head over the twin-headed snake that was the symbol of Asper.
In the background he heard Charize lift her monster's voice in song:
Sweet Lady, Lady, Lady.
We guard his tomb, we guard his tomb,
Although the sound of her voice was like broken glass scraping against stone, the song was strangely familiar. It became even more so as Charize's subjects joined her in a blood-curdling chorus:
Sweet Lady, Lady, Lady.
On our souls, on our souls,
Out of Palimak's memory crawled the courtyard scene in far-off Caluz, where Queen Hantilia and her subjects sang a similar song. In Hantilia's case the song was a call to sacrifice, a mass suicide for the greater good of Esmir and the world at large. But the same song rang shrill and evil when Charize and her devil horde sang the words in their banshee voices.
' …
It was a harsh melody of despair that nearly ripped Palimak from his moorings. All his confidence dissolved and his life suddenly seemed like it was dangling from the slenderest of threads in the Fatesa€™ holy loom. And he thought: Help me, father! What shall I do?
At that moment what sounded like a great drum boomed from someplace close by.
And Asper's golden snake came alive.
Part Two
CHAPTER TEN
Safar jarred awake, the thundering sound of an enormous drum booming in his ears. At first he thought that he was back in Hadin and the harvest drums were commanding a new performance.
Then relief flooded in along with awareness as he realized he was still astride Khysmet who was racing across a starlit sky. No more would he be forced to dance the mad dance of Hadin under the erupting volcano.
He was free!
Yes, but free for what? The question came from nowhere. And for some reason it frightened him. Where was he going, and why? What fate awaited him?
Other sensations flooded in. The first was the knowledge that he was now fully clothed. He flexed his limbs and felt a familiar weight, then glanced down and saw he was dressed in the same battle gear he'd worn when he'd faced Iraj and his minions back in Caluz. To his delight, he even felt his sheathed sword slapping against his thigh as Khysmet soared onward.
Reflexively, he touched his belt and found the small silver dagger waiting there-the magical witch's knife Coralean had given him long ago.
Then he heard the drum again and lifted his head. Off in the distance-moving at the same speed as Khysmet-was a bobbing torchlight. He whispered a sightspell and the image grew clearer. A spark of joy ran through him when he saw the glorious black mare and the familiar figure of the beautiful Spirit Rider.
Safar grinned and was pleasantly surprised how good the smile felt. It had been a long time since he'd worked those muscles, that was for certain. And now that he understood who had saved him, the 'why'
didn't matter as much as before. Khysmet whinnied as if in agreement.
Safar glanced around, trying to guess where he might be. The first thing he noticed was the absence of the blood-red Demon Moon. He'd already figured that he and Khysmet were in some sorcerous betweenworld. Asper had postulated the existence of such alternate worlds in his book. He'd even performed some experiments whose results were promising, although not final proof.
Absently, Safar ran some magical calculations in his mind. Although they didn't lead him to any useful observations-much less a discovery-it was eminently satisfying to use his brain again for so elegant a purpose.
For a long while he'd felt like nothing more than an enslaved animal. Like a poor dumb ox tethered to a grain wheel, going round and round with no will save that instilled by his master's whip.
He looked out at the Spirit Rider, torch held aloft, ebony skin gleaming in the starlight. A base side of him ached to catch her and enfold her in his arms.
By the Gods, it had been ages since he'd felt such life!
