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faces.  If your story is as strange and horrific as ours...
 It is, prince, said Quienyin. He explained as the newcomers with howls of glee threw themselves at the
glitter of treasure.
Nodgen the Brokelsh was with Hunch. They did not know me. So it goes with the eyes of slaves. They
both looked as though they had spent a continuous month of Saturday nights without a break.
 I wished them well of their Tryfant and Brokelsh paradises.
Tyfar welcomed his father and sister with a seemly show of emotion. Also, I noticed the comradely way
he greeted Lobur the Dagger. As for Kov Thrangulf, Tyfar welcomed him in the proper style, as befitted
a young and untried prince toward a high-ranking influential noble.
The flaunting display of wealth drew the newcomers as a flame draws a moth, and the uproar redoubled
in that august and eerie chamber with the Shaft of Flame illuminating all the frenzied moths.
The Sorcerer of the Cult of Almuensis pushed through and stood, feet braced, fists on hips, a glittering
figure surveying the mausoleum, the circle of weird creatures in their tanks, the smashed treasure chests
and scattered wealth. He nodded, sagely, as though he had planned it all.
 So this is the nadir of the Moder, he said. He puffed out his cheeks. His splendid figure glittered almost
unmarked by the desperate adventures of the journey that had turned us into a rag-tail and bob-tail
collection.
 Not quite, San, said Quienyin, cheerfully.
But San Yagno ignored the old mage. His eyes lighted on a chest fastened with nine locks shaped into
the likenesses of risslacas. The scaled dinosaurs were prancing in bronze. Yagno advanced upon the
chest, pushing people and bric-a-brac out of his way. He planted himself before the chest, which was of
sturm-wood inlaid with balass and ivory, and bound in bronze.
 I recognize that sign, he said, half to himself. He reached into that sumptuous gown and pulled out a
thick book, covered in lizard skin, locked with gold.
 Watch this, Jak, said Quienyin.  It is something worth the seeing.
The Chuliks of San Yagno s bodyguard  there were but five left of the original dozen  formed a ring
about their master. But Quienyin and I could still see. San Yagno opened the hyr-lif, thumbed the stiff
paper over, found the page he sought. He held the book close to his face and began a long incantatory
mumble. Most of it concerned sunderings and breakings and smashings of one kind and another.
The first bronze lock, shaped like a risslaca, snapped open.
The second through to the ninth snapped up in turn.
San Yagno puffed his cheeks out. He was panting. He stowed the book away and motioned to the
Deldar of Chuliks.
This one lifted the lid.
 A vast expenditure of thaumaturgical lore, observed the Wizard of Loh. Only the slightest tinge of
irony colored his mild words.
 Had it been Kov Loriman, I said.  He would simply have taken an axe to the fastenings.
 Precisely, young man.
And, I swear it, we both laughed.
 We did not stop to see what San Yagno found in the chest after the first reeking objects were revealed.
But they seemed to delight the sorcerer. He was laughing away to himself and distributing his loot among
his followers. I wondered if they would hurl it all away to load themselves down with gems.
Ariane s four handmaids were cooing and aahing over her and attempting to tidy her hair and prepare a
quiet corner where she might change into a clean new dress, of which they had a store borne by patient
slaves. That made me realize that the arrivals did have slaves with them.
I said to Lobur the Dagger,  How did you fare with the Fliktitors?
He didn t know what I was talking about.
It turned out that Nedfar s party had followed a vastly different route from ours. Once they had
branched off, the fortunes of the Moder had treated them as harshly, but had spared some of their slaves.
They had lost Strom Phrutius.
 He is now being ingested in the guts of some half-invisible creature we could only see in the dark. As
soon as there was light he incontinently disappeared.
 San Orien mentioned such a monster. I am sorry to hear about Strom Phrutius. It was a Laughing
Shadow.
 Oh, aye, Master Quienyin. It laughed most dolefully when Tobi, a fine archer, shafted into its
nothingness. It took itself off, then. Lobur pulled his lip.  Tobi is dead, now. He was engulfed by a
poisonous flower that grew from a crevice in the wall at prodigious speed.
We expressed our regrets at the losses suffered by the Hamalese, and it was clear to me, as to Quienyin,
that while we might be on the threshold of the heart of the matter, for this short space a sense  a
damned false sense, to be sure  of release from tension eased the burdens on the minds and fears of
these people. It was cat and mouse. That seemed clear. I asked Lobur the Dagger about his slaves, and
he mentioned casually that they had picked up a couple of odd fellows somewhere who had almost been
cut down before they managed to convince Prince Nedfar they were not demons.
And then I quelled a quick grimace which might have been misconstrued as a smile as Lobur said:  They
were left over from an earlier expedition, wandering about, poor devils.
Hunch and Nodgen had hit upon the same lie as I had to explain wandering slaves without a master. As
for Tarkshur  well, that must wait.
I made myself look eager.  By Zodjuin of the Gate! They might be two of my fellows!
It was now vitally necessary for me to get to Hunch and Nodgen and browbeat them into dumb
acceptance before anyone else espied their stupefied reactions when they saw me and, at last, recognized
me by what I would say. It would be nip and tuck. Here, in the wider danger of the Moder, this small
and social-order danger remained just as perilous.
They had dressed themselves up in finery which had been sadly ripped and stained in their struggled
advance along the corridors. I found them with a bunch of other slaves, all goggling at the uproar. The
slaves were nerving themselves to break constraints and join in the looting.
 I took Hunch s Tryfant ear between finger and thumb of my left hand, and Nodgen s Brokelsh ear
between finger and thumb of my right hand, and I ran them a way apart, yelling as I did so:  You pair of
yetches! You have caused me great concern! But I forgive you! You have done exceeding well! To have
remained alive!
They almost hung on their ears, swinging, as it were, to glare up at me. I bore down on them, bellowing, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]