“Merry met, Sparrow,” came a cackling voice from behind him. “Merry met indeed.”
Wiz turned and saw a bent man in the black robe of a wizard of the Dark League. He hobbled forward, leaning heavily on his staff.
The black-robed one smiled, not at all pleasantly. “Welcome, Sparrow. Welcome to your final resting place.”
“Stayed behind?” Bal-Simba demanded. “What do you mean he stayed behind?”
“He departed into the Wild Wood when we had finished,” Philomen told him.
“And you let him?”
Philomen hesitated. “We had words earlier that morning. I fear he was not well-disposed toward me. Then it turned out this rock creature was in some way sentient and that disturbed him even more. The Sparrow has an unusually tender regard for magical creatures of all sorts. He seems to feel that even the useless ones should be protected.”
“So he went off into the Wild Wood. Alone.”
“Lord, I tried to reason with him, but he would not listen. I am sorry, Lord.”
“No need for that,” Bal-Simba said flipping his hand dismissingly. “Perhaps our Sparrow needs some time by himself. And in any event, the longer he stays away the better for the situation here.” He sighed. “I only wish he had gone through the settled lands rather than into the Wild Wood. But, no, you did nothing wrong.”
“Thank you, Lord,” said Philomen and withdrew with a bow.
Bal-Simba stood at the window looking out over the rooftops of the Capital toward the east as the shadows groped their way toward the horizon. Then he sighed again, shook himself and turned away to his desk.
At least he will be in no danger, Bal-Simba told himself. As long as he stays away from elves he is certainly more powerful than anything he is likely to meet on this wandering.
Wiz looked around desperately. The chamber was low but wide and long, with rough stone for the walls and floors and a couple of smoking torches to light it. Standing back in the shadows he saw even more black-robed wizards of the Dark League.
“We are going to send you back where you came from, Sparrow,” Ebrion said finally. “Back to where you belong.”
“But I don’t want to go.”
“Then you shall not,” the other, black robe, said as he hobbled more fully into the light.
Wiz gasped.
The man’s eyes glinted like chips of obsidian in a pink hairless mass of scar tissue. His nose was a slit and his ears shriveled like dried apricots. The hand clutching the staff was reduced to a claw, with only the thumb and forefinger remaining. Like the face, the hand was pink with scars.
“That was not the agreement,” Ebrion protested.
“The agreement has changed,” the other flung over his shoulder as he closed in on Wiz, thrusting his face so close Wiz could see where his eyebrows had been.
“Look upon me, Sparrow. I am called Dzhir Kar and I am your death.” His breath stank in Wiz’s face.
“My form does not please you?” he said, looking up at his captive. “A pity, Sparrow. For you caused it. A ceiling fell on me when you attacked the City of Night. There was a fire as well and I lay within the flames, slowly roasting and unable to move.”
His face split into a hideous grin. “But I do not hold that against you, Sparrow. Oh no, not at all. For as I lay there and burned I discovered new strength within me. As I struggled to recover, I honed that strength. It made me Master of the Dark League, Sparrow.”
He grasped Wiz’s chin with a claw-like hand and pulled his face close.
“Look at me, little one! For I am your creation.”
Wiz twisted his chin from the other’s grasp and flinched away.
“Then look at my creation, Sparrow. My creation and your doom.”
He gestured and two of the black-robed wizards moved forward into the fitful light. Each of them held a heavy chain and on that chain was a thing that made Wiz catch his breath.
It was long and lean, with a body made for coursing. The legs were a hound’s legs, although the three ripping talons on each paw were like no dog that ever lived. The head was narrow with ivory fangs protruding from the heavily muscled jaws. Dzhir Kar made a gesture toward Wiz with his staff and the thing lunged and snapped at Wiz. The sound rang like a rifle shot in the gloomy chamber.