“So I see!” He grinned, showing quartz-pebble teeth.
He turned and thrust an arm out through the blank of the window embrasure. With a shiver of power, he hauled another man inside bodily, and then there were two dwarves down there in the kitchen.
Two sorcerers—no bets on that.
The second dwarf was an adolescent, but age had nothing to do with prowess in sorcery. He inspected Rap warily. Apparently reassured, he closed the shutters without raising a hand, while Raspnex started for the kitchen door.
“What the Evil happened to your powers?” he demanded angrily. “Or is this some sort of trickery?”
“No trickery,” Rap said. “They’re long gone. I can’t pull a rabbit out of a hutch now.”
“That’s impossible!”
“No, but it’s a long story. Who’s the enemy?”
“My nephew.”
“Zinixo!” Just what Rap had feared—but it was a great relief to know that Raspnex himself was not on Zinixo’s side. If he were, Rap would be a devoted slave already.
“Thank the Gods I have only one!” the dwarf said sarcastically.
In the ambience, the two of them were face to face. In the slower mundane world, Rap’s companions had barely registered his sudden silence, and Raspnex was trudging across the kitchen, closely followed by his young companion. They wore the drab, shabby work clothes that dwarves preferred, and they were both wet with melted snow.
So even a warlock dared not use sorcery in the open now? God of Horrors!
“I thought I had nailed that blackguard into a box he d never get out of!”
Rap said bitterly. He had used every scrap of his enormous demigod’s power when he sealed his enemy in an occult shielding. How had the former warlock escaped?
“Thank Bright Water,” Raspnex growled. He paused to scan the house. “Name of Evil, this place is a labyrinth, isn’t it?” Approving images of mine tunnels . . . “She gave him Kraza.”
Kraza? The name was familiar. Raspnex threw up a brief image of a female dwarf, quite pretty by dwarvish standards, and then Rap remembered. The wardens had sent her as their emissary, the third time they had begged him to take Zinixo’s place on the Red Throne.
Raspnex had located the correct staircase. He scowled at its ramshackle condition and chose to levitate up it, perhaps not trusting its treads to withstand his great boots.
His young companion grinned and followed suit. He jangled the ambience less than Raspnex did, which meant he was intrinsically more powerful. His occult image was more solid, too, which was usually a good indication of occult potency.
And that was the key to the whole mystery! That was how Zinixo had escaped from his cocoon to threaten the world . . . Rap’s mundane companions were all regarding him with apprehension. As far as they were concerned, he had been leaning against the fireplace and staring glassily at the floor for the last couple of minutes.
“Stand back from the doorway, Centurion,” he said. “Don’t go for your sword. It will do no good.”
Hardgraa reached for the hilt automatically, then reluctantly released it. He stepped a pace sideways.
“Cousin!” Shandie said, jumping to his feet. “Rap? What’s wrong?”
Even as Rap named the visitor, the warlock hurled the door open and stamped into the room. “You’re a fool, imp!” he growled,. glaring across at the imperor.
Fury flickered over Shandie, but he bowed respectfully. “You honor us with your presence, your Omnipotence.”
“You can forget that rot! No more omnipotences. It’s over!”
Dwarves were not known for tact, or delicacy of phrase. “No more wardens, no more warlocks, no more witches. Why in the name of Evil didn’t you get out of town while you had the chance?” Raspnex stalked forward to the center of the room, dominating it completely, although everyone else was much taller. “Flee, I told you! But oh, no! You had to come into this warren, on the one night in centuries when you would leave a trail through Hub that a blind toad could follow! Idiot!”
The imperor flushed darkly in the flickering candlelight. The second dwarf followed the warlock in, slamming the door. There was a shimmer of sorcery on him, probably a loyalty spell. He was very young, with a hint of down like gray moss on his sandstone cheeks. His hair dangled in elaborate curls like iron turnings. Typical dwarf, though—his pants and boots had been patched repeatedly.
“Tell us why you came, Sorcerer,” Shandie said coolly.
“I’ll be buried if I know!” Raspnex pointed at Rap. “Well, I suppose I came to appeal to him, but I see now that I wasted my time. I’d hoped he could help, but he can’t.”
“Who’s your companion?” Rap asked.
“Grimrix. He’s a votary. Don’t laugh at his hairstyle or he may turn you into a woolly caterpillar.”
The youngster scowled; blue fire flickered ominously in the ambience.
“Steady!” the older dwarf snapped. “Well, imp,” he said aloud. “So you didn’t listen to me! Who outside this room knows where you are?”
“No one,” the imperor said, “except Legate Ugoatho.”
“Who’s he?”
“Head of the Praetorian Guard.”
Raspnex snorted. “They’ll have gotten him already, then. One of the first they’d go for. In fact, it’s amazing they’re not here yet.”
“The legate is utterly loyal!” Shandie protested. The warlock showed his big teeth. “Not anymore.”
“Tell them the problem,” Rap said sadly.
“You tell them. I already tried, and seems they don’t heed me.”
“I’ll have to be quick, though.” Time was precious, Rap realized. Whether or not Zinixo had brought in his main occult strength yet, if he had perverted the head of the Praetorian Guard, then a thousand men might be on their way already. Four carriages stood outside in the snow, there were tracks. ”The problem is Zinixo. I’m sure you remember him.”
“Former warlock of the west.”
“Right. He tried to destroy me, and I won . . .” Then Rap recalled something else, and looked to Raspnex. “A year ago a God told me that this mess was all my fault. That must be because I didn’t kill Zinixo when I had the chance, and the excuse.”
“You did worse than that,” Raspnex said grimly. “Much worse. But carry on. Can you explain to these mundanes what you did to my nephew?”
As he described how he had rendered the sorcerer impotent by enveloping him in a magic-proof shielding, Rap wondered what error could possibly have been worse than sparing Zinixo, that vindictive, lecherous, sadistic . . .
“So what happened?” the imperor demanded.
Raspnex shrugged his bull shoulders. “Oh, he went totally insane. He’d always been unstable, even as a kid. He’d always been suspicious and timid, and the greater his power grew, the more timorous he became. You believe that, imp?”
“I’ve met people like that,” Shandie said. “They think the world is out to get them.”
A lot of dwarves thought that way—both Raspnex and Grimrix were notably jumpy now—but Zinixo had carried distrust to the point of obsession.
“So he can’t use his magic,” the imperor said, frowning. “Why is he dangerous?”
“Because of Bright Water,” Rap said. “She couldn’t break my spell, either, but she must have taken pity on him. She gave him a sorcerer.”
“Gave him?”
Raspnex snorted and snapped his fingers. Young Grimrix stepped forward obediently at the summons, but occult fire flickered faintly again. ”Sir?”
“Tell them how you feel about me, sonny.”
The boy blushed and looked down at his boots. “I love you.”
“There! See? He’s a votary. I’ve laid a loyalty spell on him. He’ll do anything to help me.” Raspnex glanced at the kid, showing his pebble teeth again. “He’d die for me! Actually, his power’s greater than mine. It took three of us to hobble him—me and two of my other votaries. Now do you understand?” The mundanes were radiating horror and fright as they realized the possibilities.
Raspnex thumped a massive hand on Grimrix’s shoulder. “Go and scout. See if anything’s happening outside.”
The boy nodded and transported himself down to the front door. He opened it, peered out cautiously, then vanished from Rap’s ken.
It was all so confoundedly obvious now! Zinixo had collected at least a dozen votaries in his brief tenure in the Red Palace. Because he saw danger everywhere, he had also made it his business to identify as many of the other wardens’ votaries as he could. With a sorceress eager to do his bidding, all he had needed to do was set Kraza on the weakest. Then the two of them would have sought out another and jointly imprinted that one. Not just votaries—they must have hunted down every sorcerer they could. And so on . . . Rap explained to the audience.
“He’s been at it for almost twenty years,” Raspnex added. ”He’s got an army of them now, all loyal to the death. We call it the Covin.”