'So there will still be much for us to feast upon. But I think we should eat while the eating is good, and be damned to Asper and the gods. The longer we can delay their return, the better. And perhaps we can even prevent it altogether.'
In the meantime, Charize recommended regular sacrifice to the Goddess of the Hells, Lady Lottyr. An unholy deity who had no love for mortal kind and who made it her practice to mix beasts with higher life-forms to achieve her aims. As false prophets of Asper, it was Lottyr's praise that Charize and her sisters had sung during their observances:
Sweet Lady, Lady, Lady.
On our souls, on our souls,
The Lady Lottyr was the hellish shadow-goddess of her heavenly twin, the Lady Felakia. To whom her human and demon worshipers attributed all good things.
Charize had scoffed at Felakia's goodness. She firmly believed that good, as represented by the Lady Felakia, was only the feeble sister to evil, whose cause Lady Lottyr championed.
'Lord Asper was badly mistaken,' she used to tell Clayre. 'Because when the gods decided to allow the death of the present world it was only because they preferred the heartier taste of evil to the weak soup that the bones of good make.
'Ultimately, only Lady Lottyr can provide such wonderfully tormented souls. Made more delicious by their misery. All aged by their ethereal corpses being hanged on the butcher hooks of the Hells.'
Despite the claims of friendship-and the revelation of many magical secrets-Clayre had never believed that Charize had her best interests at heart.
And so Clayre's emotions had been decidedly mixed when Palimak had killed the monster queen-the worshiper of Lady Lottyr. On the one hand, she'd been freed of Charize and her influences. On the other, Clayre's personal magic was much weakened without Charize's assistance.
Kalasariz had provided some of the answers to her dreams. He'd not only defeated but had digested his enemies. Enormous power was in the offing. Power Clayre was determined to control.
The spymaster had first proposed that he enter her own body. An offer Clayre immediately distrusted and refused.
Let Kalasariz possess her son. She could deal with Rhodes, no matter how much he might be influenced by Kalasariz. She had no doubt Kalasariz and Rhodes were plotting to make her their slave eventually by eating her soul-just as Kalasariz had devoured the demons, Luka and Fari.
Clayre snorted. Let them make their silly plans to betray her!
The main flaw in their plot was that they first had to defeat her enemies. And when the moment came for them to turn against her, she'd be ready. In fact, she was already building the spell to turn the tables on them-as well as widening her contacts in the spirit world.
But it was in the Hells that Clayre had found her greatest source of strength.
The Queen Witch glanced at the slightly open door, smiling at the memory.
The Hell Goddess Lottyr had been more than willing to join her conspiracy. No expensive sacrifice had been needed. Only the pledge of Clayre's immortal soul. A thing she did not value and so was eager to turn into coin for her hellish bargain.
And now, while her son's three-ship fleet closed in on the single Kyranian expedition ship, Clayre had already overreached him.
Somewhere in the jungles of Aroborus the Lady Lottyr's sycophant was confronting Safar and Palimak in a magical arena specially constructed for their doom.
Of course, the goddess of the Hells had also warned Clayre the first attempt might fail.
'As a sorcerer,' she'd said, 'Safar Timura is as close to a miracle as any of us can imagine. Although he is a mere human, his magical abilities are far beyond those of any being I have ever encountered. Even the demon master wizard, Lord Asper, would pale if put beside Lord Timura.
'Our main weapon is that Safar does not yet realize his full power. He's limited by his own imagination.
But each time he tests those limits he overcomes them and gains more confidence and strength.
'I never believed it possible he could escape the otherworld of Hadin Future. But somehow he managed it. And now he is back to bedevil us, with abilities much greater than before.'
Since her last session with Lottyr, Clayre had formulated many questions that hadn't occurred to her when she'd first conjured up Lottyr's presence.
For instance, Kalasariz had told her more about Safar's strange love/hate relationship with Iraj Protarus.
Although the spymaster had not been completely forthcoming, Clayre had surmised that the unknown whereabouts of Iraj Protarus troubled him greatly. And that he was basing all his hopes on finding and overcoming the former king of kings by capturing and killing Safar Timura.
He'd even let slip the magical term that still bound him to Protarus-The Spell of Four. Clayre had done some research on this spell. But there were few magical texts available to someone stuck in such a provincial place as Syrapis.
However, it wasn't hard to figure out that the spell involved shapechanging. And that four participants were required to form that spell. Obviously, Kalasariz had once been one of those four. But he'd managed to break loose and now two of his spell partners had become his slaves. And the fourth, whom he was desperately seeking, could only be King Protarus.
As she paced the cabin, Clayre wondered where the final, most valuable link could be. At this point it was only a matter of curiosity. But if her attempt on Safar and Palimak failed, the question-and its answer-might surge to the forefront.
Who was Iraj Protarus? What were his aims, his goals? And, finally, where was he?
And if found, could Clayre make a bargain with him that would be beneficial to them both?
Her thoughts were broken by renewed moaning from the adjacent cabin. Her heart leaped in anticipation.
Finally! She hurried to the door and slipped inside.
The sailor was a mass of horribly moving color. He was covered with hundreds of butterflies-fixed to him like winged leeches-and he jerked and twitched as their tiny mouths devoured his flesh.
Near the table was a net made of golden strands of silk. Quickly, Clayre picked it up and threw it across the man's body.
There was a single muffled scream, an explosion of intense light, and then Clayre hastily pulled the net away.
Hundreds of bloated butterfly corpses fell to the floor, their wings making a rainbow carpet of death. And the sailor was gone.
In his place was a huge spider-like creature, nearly three feet high. A fabulous form curved out of its throbbing, bulbous body. It had the torso of a beautiful woman, but fixed to that torso were six arms and six heads held aloft by long, graceful throats.
Each lovely face was identical-alabaster skin, high cheekbones and dark, flashing eyes. The mouths were full-lipped and red. And when they parted they displayed sharp white fangs, tipped with emerald drops of poison.
Clayre bowed low. 'Greetings, Lady Lottyr, Goddess of the Fires,' she said. 'And thank you for blessing this worshipful one with your exalted presence. May I be so bold as to ask the news?'
The heads all spoke at once, making a strange chorus of identical voices-all melodious, like royal courtesans skilled in the arts of theater and song.
'The news is neither fair nor foul, sister,' said the six voices of Lottyr. 'Our first attempt on the wizard, Safar, and the demon boy, Palimak, was only partly successful. We captured them. And engaged them in sorcerous battle.'
Clayre was confused. 'But that's wonderful news, O Goddess,' she said. 'If we captured them, then victory is ours. And all our efforts will soon be rewarded.'
The six long graceful arms waved in unison, slender hands arcing like posing dancers. 'Unfortunately, the Timuras managed to escape, sister,' Lottyr said. 'And they also captured my slave, King Felino. No doubt they will
