come.'
'You and your plots drove me out of Ankhapur.'
'Strength in woe-that was tempering. You would not be who you are now if you had stayed. You would be a lackey of your legitimate brothers.' Manferic pointed a skeletal finger at Pinch's chest. 'Now you are strong and resourceful enough to take a place at my side.'
'Lord Manferic…' Cleedis finally found the wherewithal to speak. The old man had pulled from inside himself the fearless cavalryman of his youth. His stooped shoulders were pulled up, the lined face smoothed with determination, and all framed by the billows of his thin white mane. Gone were the trembles, the ague, and the arthritis that had bled his majesty. So firmly outraged, Pinch could see the Cleedis of years past, the fencing master and horseman Pinch had so long ago admired. His voice was filled with cautious indignation. 'I have served you loyally, great king, in expectation of my due-'
'Lord Chamberlain, my faithful servant.' The lich twisted around to look on the old officer. 'There has always been the most honored of places for you in my plans. Indeed, your greatest service is about to come.'
The chamberlain smiled and bowed with all the humility of a fox, but before he could look up a ray of light the color of an algae-choked pond lanced from Manferic's fleshless finger to strike the loyal noble in the center of his head. It was as if the old man had been struck by a hammer. With a scream, he reeled back but the beam played on him. It rippled over his head and across the side of his face. Everywhere it touched, the skin festered and burst into red-black sores of diseased corruption. Cleedis flailed his arms as if he could beat the light away, but all that did was crisscross his arms with the bloody sores.
The scream became a whimper and the whimper became a sloppy gurgle of pus and blood as the ray destroyed deeper and deeper flesh. Cleedis stumbled backward until he fell to the floor and then, mewling, he crawled away, smearing a track of red slime over the rough stone floor. Manferic kept the grotesque ray mercilessly playing over the chamberlain's body as the pathetic wreck tried to drag himself to safety.
As the whimpering became bubbling sobs, Pinch turned away. Even for Cleedis, with all his ambitions and lies, this was no deserved end-this ulcerated mass that was bleeding its life out on the floor. Pinch didn't look back until the crackle of the spell had faded. What was left of Cleedis was unrecognizable-a mass of blood-soaked clothes and bubbled flesh that spared not a single feature.
'You killed him,' Pinch gulped. The grotesque execution stripped away the rogue's normally chill demeanor, leaving him only to gawk at the horror on the floor.
'It has all been planned for,' Manferic croaked, teeth bared in a garish smile. The undead king turned to Pinch once more.
'Give me the regalia, Janol, my son. Join me against your half-brothers and we will be masters of Ankhapur.'
'Or?
The lich ratcheted its head toward the oozing mass. 'Or die,' Manferic promised.
The cavalry had not come; the choice was no more. Reluctantly, Pinch opened the bag at his side and carefully set the Cup and the Knife on the floor.
'Ankhapur together it will be, Father.'
18
'Attend me,' Manferic wheezed in his throat-grinding way before withdrawing into the darkness. 'Bring your light and come. There is time before I must act.'
Why should I follow this dead thing, Pinch wondered? The instinct to flee rose in his mind. It was a good instinct, one that Pinch had learned to heed and treasure over the decades. He'd listened to it as a thief, and even before when he'd fled Ankhapur. It was urging him to flee now. It would be easy to outrun what Manferic had become, and he was willing to risk a spell in the back rather than enter this monster's lair.
Perhaps Manferic knew his bastard son too well, for with a single word he understood Pinch's mind and acted on it.
'Ikrit.'
A stealthy rustle and a throaty animal growl demanded he look to see its source. Sure enough, behind him was the silver-white shadow of Manferic's pet quaggoth. A feeling of professional amazement incongruously struck Pinch as he marveled at the creature's skill in escaping notice. Of course Manferic would have resources here. Pinch should have known. The lich might be dead, but that didn't matter. It was the power of its mind that sustained it.
There was no choice. The choice had already been made, and there was no avoiding the consequence. Perhaps it would be no worse than remaining in a room with a still-festering mass of flesh. There was an odor beginning to rise from it, the scent of rotted fish. It was something more than that, the smell of an almshouse during plague, where the wretched diseased, too poor to donate to wealthy healers, suffered through their erupted pustules and fevers to live or die as the gods chose.
Carefully avoiding the puddles of putrescence, Pinch followed his newfound father into the dark void. A heavy tread confirmed that Ikrit was close behind. The flame that clung to the end of the lantern wick guttered and swayed as he walked, creating ghastly shadows that wrapped themselves like veils around the tattered cloak of his guide's corrupted flesh. Pinch didn't follow too closely, pushed back by the stench of decay. He hadn't noticed it before, his sense of smell sealed by fear.
As he followed the lich through the tunnels, Pinch's mental wheels sought to formulate a new plan. There was still a hope that Sprite would come and pick up the trail. Indeed, even he, no tracker or woodsman, could have followed the trail of rot and grave worms that dripped from beneath Manferic's cloak. Of course, it was more likely that all help was lost to him.
Alone, there was little hope. With his branded hand, he could hardly manage a sword, so there was no chance of cutting his way past the quaggoth, even if he were a trained swordsman-which he was not. Likewise, he had no magic the match of Manferic's skills, so escape by that means was unthinkable. He could try slipping into the darkness in hopes that they would lose him, but that was a fool's chance he wasn't yet so desperate to try.
The single choice that remained was to take advantage of what Manferic offered, as duplicitous and uncertain as that offer might be. Pinch had no faith in the truth of the lich's words. The creature wanted him for something, though for what he could not say.
At last they came to passages familiar to Pinch, passages beneath the palace. These they followed past branches the rogue ought to have known, if he'd had more time, until at last they reached a stairs he was positive he knew. The way rose up and curved, and ended in a blank wall. They had returned, back to Pinch's apartment by some roundabout way. The quaggoth dutifully pressed against the barrier, and the stone swung open with a grating groan. No fabric fluttered out of the jamb, Pinch quietly noted. Sprite and crew were somewhere underground.
'The lights, put them out,' Manferic commanded, standing aside to let the rogue through. Pinch did so, all save one, as the quaggoth followed him about the chambers. When the job was finished, the beast herded him over to a hard stool by the bed, there to stand watch over the man.
Once the room was dim, Manferic ignored his prisoner to rummage through the drawers and chests of Pinch's belongings. At first, Pinch feared the lich had guessed his deception, but the search was far too calm for that. It was going through his clothes, tossing aside cloaks, doublets, garters, and robes, apparently selecting a wardrobe.
'Get dressed,' the lich croaked, tossing the clothes to Pinch. 'You don't want to miss the ceremony.' The creature clicked its teeth in cold laughter.
Pinch did as he was bade, all the time watching for some chance to escape. There could be no good end for him in all this.
'You have questions, don't you?' Manferic teased while the rogue slowly dressed.
Pinch said nothing, suspicious that the lich's sudden garrulousness was some new trap.
'Of course you do-like why did Manferic raise you? Go ahead, ask,' the lich urged with a rattling chuckle. 'Ask
