outpourings of the Hazard-class wizards who were their masters – a potpourri
with all the mixed fascination of Prince Kitty-Cat’s garbage bin. Here also was
the alien tang of Beysib ritual, and the fuggy flavours produced by all the
little hedge-wizards and crones, and the wavering scents of those who served in
the temples of the gods.
But what he was seeking was not in the temples, though it came from a place that
was close by – a house whose very foundations were sorcery. Someone was working
a spell there even now, elegant magics that sent spirals of power smoking into
the dim air. Lalo had known that flavour before, though he had not then
recognized it – the unique atmosphere that surrounded Enas
Yorl. Focusing, he found that he could interpret what he was sensing
as colour, a line of light that snaked outward, another crossing it and another,
a net to capture any spirit that might be wandering there. And Lalo could feel
the presence of those Others, beings less conscious than the ghosts he fled, but
more active and aware.
A Symbol flickered into being in the centre of the knot, pulsing lividly,
colour, shape, and flavour all combined to lure its intended prey. Lalo
shuddered as something swept by him. The glowing lines distorted and the Symbol
in their midst dissolved and then reformed, imprisoning a roil of writhing
energy and forcing it into a form that human eyes could, however unwillingly,
see. But the Gateway that had opened for the creature was still there, and Lalo,
frantic for contact, thrust himself through.