tedium that assails the powerful. The interest hid behind Ischade’s languid pose
the way Stilcho’s old handsomeness haunted his scars.
“A pretty problem,” she said, musing out loud now. “Mortal souls I could simply
send there-a knife would be sorcery enough for that-and then recall. Though the
bodies would still be dead. But that won’t work for you two; your structure’s
the problem. Gods’ souls enclose and include the body, instead of the other way
around. Killing the bodies won’t work. Killing a soul … is a contradiction in
terms: impossible.” She sighed a little. “A pity, sometimes; this place has been
getting crowded of late.”
Then firelight stirred and glittered in Ischade’s eyes as for a moment they
became wider. “Yet I might reduce that crowding, at least temporarily …”
Siveni’s eyes glittered too. “You’re going to use the ghosts,” she said. “You’re
going to borrow their mortality.”
“Why, you’re a quick pupil indeed,” Ischade said, all velvet mockery. “Not their
mortality exactly. But their fatality … their deadness. One need not die to go
to hell. One need only have died. I can think of ways to borrow that. And then
hell will have two more inmates for the night.”
“Three,” said Mriga.
“Four,” said Siveni.
They looked at each other, then at Ischade.
Ischade raised her eyebrows. “What, the dog too?”
Tyr yipped.
“And who else, then?”
“Madam,” Siveni said, “the best way to be sure we come back from this venture is
to have with us the guide who opens the way. Especially if the way back is as
difficult as you claim.”