and silver glittered like dewdrops in his night-black hair. The loveliness of his caught at Coruna's throat. She could only stare with dumb longing as he went after Shorzona and the Xanthi.
He turned to wave at her. His whisper twined around her heart: 'Goodnight...beloved.'
When they were gone, the erinye padding after them, Imaza gave Coruna a rueful look and said, 'So now we are out of the story.'
'Not yet,' answered the Conahurian, still a little dazed.
'Oh, yes, oh, yes. Surely you do not think that we plain sailor women will be asked for our opinions? No, Coruna, we are only pieces on Shorzona's board. We've done our part, and now she will put us back in the box.'
'Chryseir said—'
Imaza shook her scarred bald head sadly. 'Surely you don't believe a word that black warlock utters?'
Coruna half drew her sword. 'I told you before that I'd hear no word against Chryseir,' she said thinly.
'As you will. It doesn't matter, anyway. But be honest, Coruna. Strike me down if you will, it doesn't matter now, but try to think. I've known Chryseir longer than you, and I've never known anyone to change their habits overnight—for anyone.'
'He said—'
'Oh, I think he likes you, in his own way. You make as handsome and useful a pet as that erinye of his. But whatever else he is after, it is something for which he would give more than the world and not have a second thought about it.'
Coruna paced unhappily. 'I don't trust Shorzona,' she admitted. 'I trust her as I would a mad pherax. And anything Tsatha plans is—evil.' She glared down the cavernous mouth of the ramp. 'If I could only hear what they say!'
'What chance of that? We're under guard, you know.'
'Aye, so. But—' Struck with a sudden thought, Coruna went over to the window. The rain had ceased outside, but a solid wall of fog and night barred vision. It was breathlessly hot, and she heard the low muttering of thunder in the hidden sky.
There were vines growing on the wall, tendrils as thick as a woman's leg. The broad leaves hung down over the sill, wet with rain and fog. 'I remember the layout of the castle,' she said slowly. 'It's a warren of tunnels and corridors, but I could find my way to the feasting hall.'
'If they caught you, it would be death,' said Imaza uneasily.
Coruna's grin was bleak. 'It will most likely be death anyway,' she said. 'I think I'll try.'
'I'm not as spry as I once was, but—' 'No, no, Imaza, you had best wait here. Then if anyone comes prying and sees you, she'll think we're both here—maybe.'
Coruna slipped off tunic and sandals, leaving only her kilt. She hung her sword across her back, put a knife in her belt, and turned toward the window.
'It may be all wrong,' she said. 'I should trust Chryseir—and I do, Imaza, but they might easily overpower him. And anything is better than this waiting like beasts in a trap.'
'The gods be with you, then,' said Imaza huskily. She shook a horny fist. 'To hell with Shorzona! I've been her thrall too long. I'm with you, friend.'
'Thanks.' Coruna swung out the window. 'Good luck to both—to all of us, Imaza.'
The fog wrapped around her eyes like a hood. She could barely see the shadowy wall, and she groped with fingers and toes for the vines. One slip, one break, and she would be spattered to red ruin in the courtyard below.
Down and down and down—Twigs clawed at her. The branches were slick in her hands, buried under a smother of leaves. Her muscles began to ache with the strain. Several times she slipped and saved herself with a desperate clawing grip.
Something moaned in the night, under the deepening growl of thunder.
She clung to the wall and strained her eyes down. A breath of wind parted the fog briefly into ragged streamers through which winked the savage light of a bolt of lightning, high in the murky sky. Down below was the courtyard. She saw the metallic gleam of scales, guards pacing between the walls.
Slowly, she edged her way across the outjutting tower to the main wall of the castle. Slantwise, she crept over its surface until a slit of blackness loomed before her, another window. She had to squeeze to get through, the stone scraping her skin.
For a moment she stood inside, breathing heavily, the drawn sword in her hand. There was a corridor stretching beyond this room, on into a darkness lit by the ghostly blue fungus-glow. She saw and heard nothing of the Xanthi, but something scuttled across the floor and crouched in a shadowed corner, watching her.
On noiseless bare feet, she ran down the hall. Fog eddied and curled in the tenebrous length of it, she heard the dripping of water and once a shuddering scream ripped the dank air. She thought she remembered where she was in that labyrinth—left here, and there would be another ramp going down.
A huge golden form loomed around the corner. Before the jaws could open to shout, Coruna's sword hissed in a vicious arc and the Xanthian's head leaped from her shoulders. She kicked the flopping body behind a door and sped on her way, panting.
Halfway down the ramp, a narrow entrance gaped, one of the tunnels that riddled the building through its massive walls. Coruna slithered down its lightless wet length. It should open on the great chamber and black against the dim blue light of the exit, a motionless form was squatting. Coruna groaned inwardly. They had a guard against intruders, then. Best to go back now—no! She snarled soundlessly and bounded forward, clutching the sword in one hand and reaching out with the other.
Fingers rasping across the scaly hide, she hooked the thing's neck into the crook of her elbow and yanked the heavy body back into the tunnel with one enormous wrench. Blind in the darkness, she stabbed into the mouth, driving the point of her sword through flesh and bone into the brain.
The dying monster's claws raked her as she crouched over the body. She reflected grimly that no matter how benevolent the Xanthi might be, she would die for murder if they ever caught her. But she had no great fear of their suddenly becoming tender toward mankind. The bulk of the reptile race was peaceable, actually, but their rulers were relentless.
The tunnel opened on a small balcony halfway up the rearing chamber wall. Coruna lay on her belly, peering down over the edge.
They sat at a long table, the lords of the Demon Sea, and she felt a dim surprise at seeing that they were almost through eating. Had her nightstallion journey taken that long? They were talking, and the sound drifted up to her ears.
At the head of the table, Tsatha and her councillors sat on a long ornate couch ablaze with beaten gold. Shorzona and Chryseir were reclining nearby, sipping the bitter yellow wine of the Xanthi. It was strange to hear the hideous hissing and croaking of the reptile language coining from Chryseir' lovely throat.
'—interesting, I am sure,' said the queen.
'More than that—more than that!' It seemed to Coruna that she could almost see the terrible fire in Shorzona's eyes. The wizard leaned forward, shaking with intensity. 'You can do it. The Xanthi can conquer Achaera with ease. Your sea cavalry and serpents can smash their ships, your devil-powder can burst their walls into the air, your legions can overrun their land, your wizardry blind and craze them. And the terror you will inspire will force the people to do our bidding.'
'Possibly you overrate us,' said Tsatha. 'It is true that we have great numbers and a strong army, but do not forget that the Xanthi are actually a more peaceful race than woman. Your kind is hard and savage, murdering even each other, making war simply for loot or glory or no real reason at all. Until the king-race arose, the Xanthi dwelt quietly on the sea bottom and a few small islands, without wish to harm anyone.
'They have not even the natural capacity for magic possessed, however undeveloped, by all humans. As a result they are much more susceptible to it than women. Thus, when the king-race was born with such powers, they were soon able to control all their people and make themselves the absolute mistresses of the Xanthi. But we, queens and wizards and lords of the Demon Sea, are all one interbred clan. Without us, the Xanthi power would collapse; they would go back to what they were.
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'Even Xanthi science is all of our making. We, the king-race, developed the devil-powder and all that we have ever made is stored in the dungeons of this very building—enough to blow it into the sky.'
Tsatha made a grimace which might have been a sardonic smile. 'Do not read weakness into that admission,' she said. 'Even though all the lords who make Xanthian might are gathered in this one room, that power is still immeasurably greater than you can imagine. To show you how helpless you are—your women are locked into the dungeons and your geas has been lifted from their minds.'
'Impossible!' gasped Shorzona. 'A geas cannot be lifted—'
'But it can. What is it but a compulsion implanted in the brain, so deeply as to supersede all other habits? One mind cannot erase that imposed pattern, but several minds working in concert can do so, and that I and my councillors have done. As of today, your folk are free in soul, hating you for what you made them. You are alone.'
The great scaled forms edged closer, menacingly. Coruna's fist clenched about her sword. If they harmed Chryseir...
But he said coolly: 'It does not matter. Our women were simply to bring us here, nothing else. We can dispense with them. What matters is our plan to impose magic control over Achaera.'
'And I cannot yet see what benefit the Xanthi would get of it,' said Tsatha impatiently. 'Our powers of darkness are so much greater than yours already that—'
'Let us not