Steel dogs

OUT ON the heath, he took the trail that led along the clifftop. The dogs were relaxed now; they cavorted, barked, nipped fully at each other. Aadred enjoyed their pleasure. He reined in for moment, looked out at the fairy pavilion that perched cn the craggy seastack a hundred meters offshore. A spidery bridge arced gracefully out to the pavilion. Tiny lights sparkled its length, a pretty sight. The black water that swirled beneath the bridge hid the sea troll, who had seen the Bonepickers land their boat.

The woman lying across his saddlebow stirred He noticed that she had a narrow, muscular waist, under the rags. She still had not spoken a word. He wondered if she were capable of speech. If so, surety she would wish to curse him. He shrugged, cantered on.

She was still silent when the Hunt returned up the long grassy hill below Droam. The gate flew open before they reached it; and the dogs streamed inside. Aandred followed more sedately. His captive chose that and she went limp. He felt a distant apprehension; Droam would be severe with him if the woman died before the castle could put her to the question.

Then he had a vivid vision of what she must have felt, approaching the gate — the dark fanged maw of Droam, opening to swallow her forever. He shook his head. Foolishness, he thought. Perhaps / grow decrepit; perhaps I'll wear out someday, after all.

The dogs followed as he carried her up to Droam's audience hall. Droam would have preferred that he leave the dogs in their kennels. He took them partly to prickle Droam, but mostly because the dogs spent far too much time in the kennels. They took such pleasure in being allowed to accompany him. And they were well-behaved; they could not foul the shining corridors, after all, nor would they frighten any guests. No guests had come to Droam in four hundred years.

The dogs might frighten the other revenants who haunted the castle, but Aandred did not care about them.

The woman's body Was rigid, but she kept her eyes shut. «You might as well see» he said. «Why go to your end in darkness?»

Her eyes opened. They were wide and green, wild with hate and grief, and Aandred wished he had not spoken. An unpleasant emotion seeped into him. He came to an abrupt stop, and the dogs pressed against his legs, confused. What was he feeling? The emotion was one he had felt too long ago to identify now. Was this guilt? Pity? Absurd, he thought, and strode on.

On the second landing of the broad staircase that led from the Silver Ballroom to Droam's audience hall, he met Merm the Troll King.

Merm pressed back against the rubyglass wall, watching the dogs with a trace of apprehension. Merm wore a particularly ugly hulk: broad and squat, with skin of warty gray-green plastic, a pointed head, and small, doughy features. His mouth was loose and red, and he peered at Aandred's burden with glittering eyes. «Meat for the fires, eh?» Merm asked.

Aandred felt a vast distaste. He choked back a reply as he passed; what was the point? Merm was as he was.

Merm made as if to follow, but the dogs, sensing their master's animosity, turned and showed bloody teeth to the troll. Merm turned away, but not before Aandred saw the hatred in his face.

We all hate each other, he thought. And why not? We are all hateful creatures here.

At the top of the stairs, three elfish women blocked his way. Their hulks seemed carved from gemstone — translucent, but in some clever manner hiding the machinery within, so that the rich light of the chandeliers glowed through them. They glittered like cold, extravagant jewels, and that was how they saw themselves. Despite this appearance, their crystal skins were soft and warm to touch. He knew this because he had touched each of them more times than he could remember. Droam permitted its devices certain pleasure, as reward for efficient functioning.

«Look!» cried Amethyst, pointing with a slim, elegant finger. «A flesh-woman! Where did you find her? What will you do with her? Does Droam know? You naughty thing.»

«Ooh,» shrieked Citrine. «Be careful, Aandred. Your equipment will rust off, if you're not careful where you put it. After, come to me. I have an oilcan for you — you know where.»

Garnet was the least frivolous of the three. «Disgusting,» she said. She stepped close, pushed the Bonepicker's tangled black hair aside, looked at the white face. «She's not ugly, for a fact. When Droam is done with her, give her to us for a time. Before you give her to the trolls. We'll dress her as a guest; we'll practice our pleasing. It will be amusing — like old times, before Droam became unfashionable.» Her dark, lovely face glowed with a hunger too ancient to ever be satisfied.