Wizards At War

The lower bowl of that huge elliptical cavern was empty except for the warriors who blocked the many other entrances. It was a long walk for the group across that strangely soft, papery surface, and after the first look at the huge swollen shape of the King, Nita started to feel her confidence ebbing away, feeling more like ill-founded bravado every moment. The massive, bloated bag of body that lay there on the dais at one focus of the elliptical bowl, with handmaidens constantly bringing food to its little chewing jaws and going away again, felt to Nita as if it was absolutely heaving with millions of those sparks of angry fire, endlessly being spun off like stars of a dark galaxy from that core of evil at their center, the Lone One’s presence in the King. And it was strong, stronger than she’d thought. She could feel it sucking at her will as they got closer, as if it was trying to empty all the thoughts out of her brain, every sense that she was herself, that she was anything but a slave, to do what she was told, to obey orders.

She shook her head. There was something she was supposed to be doing, but she couldn’t think what.

Something jabbed her in the side. “Neets!”

Her eyes went wide. Nita realized that she’d been walking toward the dais without even being aware of it. She glanced sideways, and saw Kit looking at her in concern, but ready to elbow her again if necessary. “You there?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Count inside your head, or sing yourself a song or something.”

Nita made a face. “You wouldn’t want to hear me sing,” she said. “Dair’s the school-choir department.” But she started reciting a series of primes, and tried not to walk in rhythm.

She managed to keep herself from vaguing out again, but as they got closer and closer to the dais, a straightforward horror of the King itself started to set in. The idea of giant bugs had been a problem for her when she was little, a fear mostly exorcised now, but not entirely. Nita had pretty much come to terms with the claws and shells and fangs of the Yaldiv, but this was different. The flabby, pallid, distended bag of the King’s body, swollen, gross, heaving, beating with little veins, made her shudder at the very sight of it—and the closer she got to it, the farther away Nita desperately wanted to be. I don’t want to scream, she thought, but if anybody makes me go up to it, makes me touch it—I really don’t want to scream; it’ll just set Dairine off.

“What a gigantic ugly sack of crap,” Dairine said, in a tone of completely clinical interest. “Truly disgusting. And would you look at the ugly wiggly bits! But it’s so deluded, it still thinks everybody ought to be bowing and scraping to it. Isn’t it beyond pathetic? Don’t freeze up, Memeki, it’s not worth your time.”

Nita gulped again, but at the same time felt strangely reassured; she was certain the remark hadn’t been entirely directed at Memeki. She gave Kit a glance and saw him roll his eyes in amusement, even here, even now. A shadow on her left made her look that way: Filif was there, rustling against her, saying nothing, but all those little berry-eyes looked surprisingly serene.

As they got close to the dais, the warriors behind reached out claws to stop them. The King’s flesh-buried little eyes peered down at them, black, unreflecting, empty… though not nearly empty enough: Nita could feel the darkness behind them, looking out at them all with cruel recognition.

Roshaun held his head up. “Bright star that was,” he said, “dark star that falls, in your downward arc with defiance we greet you. Do your poor worst!”

A few moments’ silence passed, and then the King spoke. The voice that came out of it was a shock to Nita, a perfectly human sound, though she had no idea how Filif or Ponch or Memeki might be hearing it. “That will not take much doing,” said the Lone Power through Its tool, “for the evil power which the Enemy gave you is now yours no more.” Nita wasn’t sure how that inhuman face could smile, but somehow it seemed to be managing it.

The King tried to hitch itself forward a little; Nita winced at the long water-bed ripple that this sent up its body. Then the Lone One looked at Memeki through the King. “Here, then, is our little heretic, doomed to die so soon, doing my will as she must, no matter how she desires to do otherwise.” It paused. “Though she might still die in my good graces, and so achieve as much salvation as she ever will.”