Kingdoms of Light

FIVE

Deep within the forest they kept close together—not so much for protection as for mutual reassurance. All except Cezer, that is, who in spite of an anxious Mamakitty's repeated warnings scampered and darted off on unpredictable tangents of his own, eager to explore every hollow tree, every rocky crevice, every new sight and sound and smell. Birds drab of color and glum of song tracked their progress, mildly intrigued by a party of travelers who looked human but acted and smelled very much otherwise. When certain members of the party cast unusually intent glances upward into the trees, something deeply felt told the birds to keep their distance. "I'm hungry," rumbled Samm. "I haven't eaten in weeks." "What are we supposed to do about it? Give you all our provisions on the first day?" Leaping effortlessly over a fallen log, Cezer did not bother to look in the giant's direction. "Besides, wouldn't you rather have live food? Go eat a bear or something. If you do, save me the liver."

"We can't eat like that anymore." Mamakitty's expression reflected inner turmoil. "For one thing, it somehow doesn't sound so good to me now. For another, if we're going to capture this color and bring it safely back, we may very well have to interact with other humans. That means learning and miming their ways."

"You learn and mime their ways. Doesn't interest me. I still feel fully feline. Hah!" Thrusting his face toward a crevice in a huge tree, the mischievous youth nearly gave the golden squirrel dozing within a small heart attack.

"Mamakitty's right." Though not so agile as his naturally acrobatic companions, Oskar trotted easily through the woods, enjoying its sights and smells from an entirely new perspective. His ability to remain upright at all times without falling over was a source of continuous amazement to him. Still, he had to fight the urge to drop to all fours and break into a run. "The last thing we want to do is attract attention to ourselves. Word might get back to this Mundurucu creature."

"Let it come!" Leaping high into the air, a grinning Cezer promptly whacked his head against a low-hanging branch and tumbled unceremoniously to the forest floor.

"You see, piss-for-brains?" Cocoa was chuckling softly at him, the sound rising from within her half laugh and half meow. "We have yet to master our new selves."

Rising, Cezer felt gingerly of the top of his head, relieved for the moment that his ears were now located on its sides. "I'll master yours, if you'll let me."

One lissome hand caressed the pommel of her sword. "I don't think so, Cezer-man. I may only have one claw left to me, but it's a mighty big one."

"Speaking of mighty big ones—" he began.

Ignoring him, she looked over at Mamakitty, striding powerfully along beside her as though she had always walked on two legs. "His snideness makes me wonder, though. When am I likely to come into heat?"

"I don't think humans come 'into' heat," the older woman replied after a moment's careful consideration. "I think they're sort of ready all the time. It's a different state of being."

Cezer grinned enthusiastically. "Sounds like a state I could reside in."

"How does instant evisceration sound to you?" Cocoa glared at him meaningfully.

He skipped easily out of her reach, wagging a finger in her direction. "Decidedly unromantic. Your feelings will change, you'll see. They do every month." Turning away from her, he found himself attracted to a bush that rustled with unseen small inhabitants.

Oskar observed the byplay in silence. Although they were now technically of the same kind, the thought of congress with Cocoa did not appeal to him, despite her obvious human charms. Having known her only recently as feline, the thought of—he forced himself to focus on the route ahead. Though the forest was amiable and the weather benign, it was still a long walk to the Eusebian Gorge.

By the end of the sixth day it was apparent they had made the first major miscalculation of their quest. Mamakitty had been correct in her remembrance: it did indeed require a week of travel to reach the city of Zelevin—by fast coach. When it occurred to her that they were progressing far more slowly, she was forced to revise her estimate of the time that would be required to reach the Falls.

"At least another week, maybe two," she ventured in response to a tired Taj's query.

"My feet hurt," the songster complained. "This walking is not for the birds." He gazed longingly skyward. "If I still had my wings—"

"You'd be shot down by some curious hunter and like as not popped as a sweetmeat into a roasting pie," Oskar reproached him. "Be content with what you are—alive." He looked at Mamakitty. "Our supplies will not last another week."

"I know." She heaved a matronly sigh. "There's no avoiding it: we're going to have to go into Karpluvy to reprovision." In response to several curious stares she added, "It is a town that lies between here and the Gorge. I remember stopping there for the night with Master Evyndd."

Oskar nodded. "I remember it, too. It will be interesting to visit it as a human."

"We have human money." She jingled the purse that was slung at her belt. It was heavy with coins taken from the Master's study. "We can buy food, and for a change will be able to sleep under cover instead of out in the woods. But we must be careful. Like the Master when he would travel incognito, we must practice Takiyyah, the art of concealing the truth about ourselves. No one must learn who we are, what we were, or where we are going."

Cezer drew himself up indignantly. "Hey—why are you all looking at me?"

They camped that night on the edge of the forest. In the distance, the lights of Karpluvy twinkled like stars that had fallen to earth. Oskar surveyed the scene with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Would they be able to pull this off? Each of them was clad in human costume that ran much deeper than the clothing he or she wore. He could not speak for the others, but he still felt like a dog, saw the world through the mind if not the eyes of a dog, dreamed dog dreams.

He did not want to wander the world of humans on two legs. What he wanted more than anything else was to be lying in front of a crackling fire in the house, with the Master sitting in his big easy chair nearby, reading from one of the innumerable weighty tomes taken from his study. If an occasional crumb of bread or pat on the head came his way, he would be content.

Instead, he found himself burdened with complex thoughts, colliding ideas, new notions, and this damnable Obligation. Watching Cezer gambol among the trees, terrifying small creatures with inherent sadistic delight but without malice, he almost wished he was a cat. Confidence was part of a cat's natural makeup, he knew. Cats acted as if they owned the world, and everything within it existed on their sufferance. Cezer would confirm that opinion, he knew. In contrast, dogs lived with uncertainty, with questions. A sudden thought made him feel a little better.

That meant, based on everything he knew, that dogs were more like people than cats. It was a reassuring realization.

"How are you doing, Taj?" he inquired of the smallest member of the group.

The songster stopped humming and bent momentarily to peck at an itch on his upper right arm before replying. "It's difficult, Oskar." He gestured overhead. "I feel I should be sleeping up in a tree instead of down here on the ground. Everything in my being tells me I'm in terrible danger down here." He nodded at the other side of the campfire, where Mamakitty and Cocoa sat conversing. "Bad enough I have to try and go to sleep surrounded by three cats."

Oskar considered the tree above them. "Why not try sleeping on a branch, if it'll make you feel better?"

"And if I roll in my sleep and fall out?" Taj was downcast. "I'll hit the ground. Actually hit the ground! That's never happened to me, Oskar. You don't know what it's like, this fear of falling. Cats may land easily on four feet, but birds land as lightly and easily as—well, as a feather. The thought of not being able to slow a descent, or stop a fall…" His eyes were tortured.

"At least you're used to standing on two feet," Oskar encouraged him. "So you can't fly. I understand that. But if you've never fallen off a perch in your sleep before, what makes you think you'll do so now? Why not give it a try, on a low branch. If it works, you can sleep in a higher place tomorrow."

Taj considered, then nodded slowly. "You take a long time to get to a point, Oskar, but when you do, it's usually worth the journey. Thanks, I will." So saying, he got to his feet and shinnied up the trunk behind them. Choosing a large, low-hanging branch, he promptly dropped his chin onto his chest, let his arms hang at his sides, and closed his eyes. He rocked slightly but didn't tumble. Soon he was fast asleep, a small smile fixed on his face. Oskar was much pleased.

He had begun to pace off tighter and tighter circles preparatory to retiring himself when a shape materialized at his side. It was Cocoa. He hadn't heard her approach, which was hardly surprising. Cats didn't walk up to you. They simply appeared. Even in the absence of natural light, her eyes were luminous. He blinked repeatedly: she did not.

"Oskar, I have to ask you: do you find this form attractive?"

He hesitated. He didn't want to be scratched, even by nails greatly reduced in efficiency. "Cezer does," he replied quickly.

Her expression was one of distaste. "Cezer thinks everything with a tail is attractive. I'm asking you. You know how important looks have always been to me. You've seen how much time I spend grooming and cleaning myself." Her expression twisted delightfully. "I can't even clean everyplace in this body."

Ignoring the implications of that observation, he plunged ahead as best he was able. "I've always thought you, um, pretty, Cocoa. Just not my type, that's all. I mean, you're feline."

"Not anymore, I'm not. I'm human—and so are you." Curiosity flickered behind her eyes as she moved closer to him, very close indeed. Panic rising within him, he looked past the fire, but Mamakitty was already asleep, curled up with her back to the flames. The curves and lines of her back were highlighted by the blaze, a fact which he suddenly realized was…

This sweating business, he reflected anxiously as beads of perspiration broke out on his brow, was decidedly irritating. On the other hand, he realized, he would not have presented a more confident picture with his tongue hanging out and drool dribbling from his jaws. He noticed that he was, however, panting noticeably.

"All right, yes—I do find you attractive in this form. But it just doesn't seem right somehow. I mean, I feel I should be chasing you, not—"

"Not what?" The smell of her was powerful, a confusing, conflicting blend of human and cat. "Biting me? You can bite me if you want, Oskar. I never realized how big you were before this. I was always trying to ignore you, or get away from you." Her lips, devoid of fur, were very close to his as she stretched upward on tiptoes to bring them nearer to his own. "Come on, Oskar. Why don't you take a little nip? Just—don't—bark at me."

Laughter suddenly split the night air. They pushed apart to see Cezer, pointing and chortling. "Now there's a sight to tickle a cat's funny bone better than catnip! I always thought you had better taste, Cocoa. That close to the floor mop that walks, I thought your fur would be up."

Stepping back, she brushed at her blouse and with great dignity, turned to walk away, moving to rejoin Mamakitty on the other side of the campfire. "For your information," she replied acidly, "my fur is up."

The laughter died in Cezer's throat. "Hey, I didn't mean … what I was trying to say was…" Growling, he advanced to confront Oskar. The older man did not move. "Listen here, bone-farts: you're a dog, I'm a cat. Cocoa's a cat. Is that too complicated for you to understand?"

Reaching out, Oskar quietly gripped the front of the younger man's shirt in his clenched fist. Fingers were a poor substitute for teeth, but they would have to do. "Not anymore, hysteria-for-brains. She's human, as are you and I. If she wants to explore communication in this form, I'm not going to tell her she can't. And neither are you."

Cezer's right hand dropped to the pommel of his sword, then drifted away. Pulling free of Oskar's grasp, he straightened his shirtfront. "I don't like you, dog-man. I never did."

"The feeling's mutual. But for the sake of this journey, we had better learn to turn our anger outward, away from the group."

Cezer nodded slowly. "Fine. Just keep away from Cocoa."

The older man casually crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll keep away from Cocoa the cat. If Cocoa the woman wants to talk to me, I'll make myself available."

"Master should've had you fixed." Muttering to himself, Cezer moved away. Oskar watched the younger man until he had lain down and closed his eyes. You couldn't trust a conscious cat.

With a sigh, he decided he had better find a place to sleep himself. Samm looked content, curled into as tight a ball as he could manage, his head resting on one massive arm. Tomorrow they would enter a human town. They would have to pass themselves off as humans without a master to tell them what to do, how to act, or how to behave. If they failed, and drew unwanted attention to themselves, their journey might find itself compromised before it had even begun. Finding a soft pile of leaves, he paced a few circles, settled down, and dropped into a deep but far from dreamless sleep. Occasionally he would whimper softly, and kick out with his right leg. Only when he rolled onto his hack and thrust hands and feet into the air did the unsettling dreams finally cease.

With its narrow streets, innumerable decorated shopfronts, shuttered pubs, and a general level of activity that bordered on the somnolent, Karpluvy Towne was not the noisy, exciting contrast to the deep silences of the Fasna Wyzel that they had expected. The same gray air of gloom and depression hung over the township that gripped the rest of the Gowdlands in its melancholy embrace. Small squads of soldiers and armed citizens patrolled the streets, windows remained closed and shuttered, and people spoke in whispers of the coining of the Totumakk Horde. Their greatest hope appeared to be that the terrible Horde would overlook so small and isolated a community as theirs, and pass to the north and south of it.

As they entered upon the cobblestone streets, a worried Oskar leaned over to whisper to Mamakitty. "People are staring at us. What are we doing wrong?"

"Nothing, I wager," she replied after a moment's consideration. "I think we just stand out a little bit from the typical townsfolk. They probably fear any strangers, concerned that they might be spies for the Horde." She studied their surroundings thoughtfully. "I remember Karpluvy as being full of life, and light, and happiness. See what the loss of color does to human beings?"

Oskar studied their little party. Were their nonhuman origins showing? Everyone was careful to resist their innate urges. Cezer had put a leash on his feline exuberance, and no one dropped to all fours. Samm had a tendency to slide down the street until Taj reminded the giant to pick up his feet. Surely they had managed to blend in. How could they possibly stand out? True, Mamakitty was more muscular than the average woman. And Taj blonder than the blondest northerner, even in the dim gray light. As for Cezer and Cocoa, though it pained him to admit it, it was difficult to tell which was the more beautiful, or who drew the more surreptitious admiring stares from the otherwise downcast crowd—from both men and women.

Come to think of it, of them all, he was the only one who looked remotely average. This realization made him feel neither slighted nor overlooked. He had always been commonly, even exceptionally, ordinary.

So it was fitting that when they finally settled on a slightly less than funereal taverna in which to dine and restock their nearly barren store of victuals, it was he who entered first, made hesitant but easygoing contact with the proprietor, and secured them a table near the back. His mastery of language might be lacking, but his inherent friendliness overcame the owner's initial uncertainty. Maybe he was not as handsome as Cezer, but the personality people had instinctively liked when he was a dog had carried over to his human shape. It was a puzzled proprietor who wondered at his sudden urge to reach across the counter and pat this scruffy, smiling customer on the head.

While Mamakitty discussed the purchase of jerked meats, assorted fruits, dried fish, salt and other spices, and assorted individual items from the slightly bemused owner, the rest of them retired to a table and ordered food from a jaded serving wench no less depressed than her fellow townsfolk. Try as she might as she recorded their order, she could not keep her eyes off the rakish profile and lean muscularity that was Cezer.

As for their larger purchases, if the shopkeeper found any of them curious, especially the large bag of fish heads that the dark woman ordered up, he kept his opinions to himself. Not only did he find the handsome broad-shouldered customer herself intimidating, but the man-mountain hovering wordlessly behind her ensured that he held his peace. As the merchant filled and packaged the order, he tried not to glance in the direction of the curious colossus. The man-mountain's unconsciously intense stare was more than a little unnerving; it bordered on the hypnotic. Didn't the giant ever blink? And why did he seem unable to keep his tongue inside his head?

Mamakitty and Samm were still busy accumulating supplies for the journey ahead when food finally arrived at the rear table of the extensive establishment. In her absence it fell to Cocoa to hiss a warning at her two male companions.

"Stop that!"

Pudding in hand, Oskar frowned at her. "Stop what?"

"Eating like that. With your fingers." She cut her eyes sideways, indicating nearby tables full of muttering, suspicious townsfolk. "Among humans, certain foods can be eaten by hand, but others demand the use of utensils. Didn't you two ever watch the Master and his visitors eat?"

The two men exchanged a glance. "Not really," Oskar confessed. "I was more interested in following the path of overlooked table scraps."

"What does it matter?" Grinning defiantly, Cezer deliberately shoved his hand into the middle of the large hot pie that presently occupied the center of the table and extracted a heaping fistful of steaming vegetables and bits of meat. This he conveyed with careful deliberation to his waiting mouth, thick gravy oozing out between his fingers.

Struggling with unfamiliar knife and fork while wishing she could simply bend over and shove her face into her plate, Cocoa lowered her eyes. "You disgust me!"

"She ain't the only one."

The amused voice came from nearby. It was difficult to say who were the roughest-looking individuals occupying the table across from the travelers': the heavily bearded men, the women with their manifold painful piercings, or the pair of horned mogs freely sharing their food and drink. Oskar opted for the women.

Fumbling a piece of chicken into her mouth, Cocoa kept her gaze lowered and her voice down. "Just ignore them."

"You ignore them." Grease and gravy threatening to stain his elegant tunic but never quite adhering, Cezer rose from his chair, shaking off Oskar's cautioning hand. "Excuse me, offspring of an indeterminate parentage: did you say that I disgust you?"

It grew very quiet very quickly at the neighboring table. Still tugging at his companion's shirt, Oskar growled his own warning. "By the Whiskers of the Great Mother, sit down!"

Cezer spoke without looking at his companion. "Not until this boorish lout apologizes. To Cocoa if not to me."

Smiling wanly at the grim-faced group seated across from them, Cocoa declared reassuringly, "That's all right. No apology necessary."

One of the mogs was starting to rise. Jingling more chain than a clutch of convicted pickpockets, so did the blue-painted woman next to him.

"Drinks are on the house!" Oskar suddenly shouted as he pushed his chair back and straightened.

Toothy mog, blue woman, and puzzled companions stared at him. "You can't say that," rumbled one of the men. "Abnyk is the owner of the White Ass. Not you."

Grabbing Cezer around the neck, Oskar nodded in the speaker's direction. "I know, but I needed the moment."

"Let go of me, you fatuous cur!" Whirling around, an enraged Cezer swung one fist in a sweeping arc that caught the startled and still seated Taj on the side of his head. Reeling but not releasing his grip, the older man stumbled backward, still holding tightly to his outraged companion.

"By Master Evyndd's beard, that's enough!" Putting utensils and further thought of food aside, Cocoa leaped across the table to join in the fray. Her weight was enough to send all three of them crashing to the floor in a noisy upwelling of dishes, goblets, drink, and condiments. Caught in the middle and struggling to escape the fray, Taj succeeded only in being drawn in deeper.

Confronted by this display and uncertain now exactly how to proceed, the ominous throng at the other table hesitated. By the time one of the men started to draw the knobkerrie slung at his belt, Mamakitty had arrived. More importantly, so had Samm. The giant put a hand on the would-be combatant's shoulder.

"Let's everyone just keep calm, shall we?"

"Snolwraith! I'll not have anyone telling me to—" At this point the eager bruiser noted that the hand on his shoulder was quite large enough to envelop his entire head and squeeze it like a pimple. His voice and testosterone level plunged in concert. "On the other hand, maybe I will."

The nominal leader of the seated rogues shrugged. "No need for us to thrash them, Gelgirth. They're doing a good enough job of it themselves." Watching the brawl, a couple of the women had begun to giggle. Vestigial wings smacking appreciatively against one another, the mog seated between them began to shout encouragement and suggestions to the combatants.

Observing the chaos, Mamakitty uttered a sigh of dismay. "What the canary is doing in there, I can't imagine. Samm, clean it up."

"Yes'm." Lurching forward, the giant deftly but firmly began to disengage the cursing, spitting, disheveled belligerents.

"Outside." To the now grinning spectators she added, "Sorry for the disturbance."

"Not disturbance." With a sharp claw, the other mog picked something revolting out of his front fangs. "Enjoyed the show, I did."

"Rightly so." A human comrade slapped the mog on the back, between its folded wings. "Fought like cats and dogs, they did!"

Once they were outside, while Samm strove to balance an enormous canvas sack of newly acquired supplies on his expansive back, Mamakitty proceeded to upbraid her abashed companions.

"What were you thinking, fighting in there like that?" There was no response from the now contrite combatants. "The one thing we don't want to do is draw attention to ourselves, and you four promptly start a fight!" She glared furiously at the leanest member of the indicted quartet. "And even you, Taj—I'm surprised at you."

"I wasn't—" The singer was not given a chance to explain.

"We were insulted." His honor but not his tunic stained, Cezer methodically flicked chopped carrots from his collar. "I was merely attempting to redress the situation."

"You would've been redressed, all right," Oskar growled at him. "In blood. I had to stop you."

Taking another tack, Taj blurted, "It was Cocoa who saved us. By jumping in and keeping us fighting among ourselves, she gave those at the other table no reason to participate." He eyed the young woman admiringly, his thoughts oddly unbirdlike. "That was very clever of you, to fake a real fight to create a diversion."

She frowned in confusion. "What 'fake'?"

"Oh, come on, all of you! I want to be well out of this misery-drenched town by nightfall. Before any of you can cause any more trouble." Pivoting smartly, Mamakitty started down the main street, resuming the march southeastward. The others followed.

"Should've kicked your butt," Oskar muttered.

Cezer hissed at him. "You and what pack of offal-rolling mongrels?"

"Shut up, the both of you!" Lengthening her stride, Cocoa caught up to Mamakitty and engaged her in conversation, ignoring the two men. Oskar went silent to oblige her, while Cezer did the same so he could concentrate on watching her walk.

Behind them, in the White Ass Tavern, mogs and men had already forgotten all about the contretemps that had taken place at the table beside them. Those of the other patrons who had observed the fracas had returned to their respective drinking and conversations. Once more, the gray and depressing atmosphere was broken only by occasional whispers.

Only one patron left his seat. Easing away from the ragged counter, he was already composing the message he would send via aireq bird to distant Kyll-Bar-Bennid. It had been known for some time that the generals of the Horde and the necromancer Khaxan Mundurucu would pay well for any information that would help them to ferret out the remaining small pockets of resistance to their otherwise all-dominant rule. Surely any armed, purposeful, combative travelers who as they were fighting among themselves swore by the name of the dead wizard Susnam Evyndd were worthy of the Horde's attention?

In addition to being keen of eye and ear, the quisling was also sensitive of nose. When seated, the belligerents had smelled as human as anyone else. But when they had been battling with one another, a powerful odor of cat and dog and something fowl had suffused that portion of the taverna. Whether that information would be of any use to the Horde he did not know, but wishing to be as thorough as possible in hopes of receiving an appropriate reward, he had included it in his missive as well.

Like the rest of its arboreal brethren, the aireq bird was in a less than cheerful mood when the eager eyewitness attached message and directions to its leg. It sat on its perch, face nearly as long as its wings, and waited apathetically for instructions.

"Go now," the former resident of the taverna commanded. "Fly swift to the fortress of Kyll-Bar-Bennid, deliver this message, and hurry back with our reward. Your share will feed you well."

The aireq sighed and fluttered its sleek blue-black wings in the subdued gray light. "Might as well. I could use the exercise." Whereupon it lifted from its perch by means of the two smaller wings attached to the sides of its skull, rose into the air, and flew straightaway out the open window.

It was the opinion of the soldiers guarding the castle among whom the aireq landed that they should skin the unexpected arrival for its fine feathers, which could be sold in what remained of the city market, and then add the plucked body to the communal stewpot. Fortunately for them (not to mention the understandably agitated aireq) an officer of the Horde with some knowledge of such things and a good deal more insight into matters of advanced communication interrupted the incipient plucking and rescued the bird. Upon hearing its tale, the officer promptly conveyed it to the fortress keep where the general staff of the Totumakk and the horrid Khaxan had established their headquarters.

Kelkefth relieved the aireq of its communiquй, considered eating it herself (raw), and was stopped by her sister Knublib. "What kind of information would we glean if word were to spread that we devour the messengers?"

"Pagh!" Wiping green snot from the end of her exceedingly bulbous, tumorous nose, the other Mundurucu spat at her sister. "It be only a bird."

"Messenger still." Seeking to settle the argument, Knublib added, "Let Kobkale decide."

When presented with the message and its attendant controversy, that distinctively overbearing but perceptive goblin quickly validated Knublib's perspicacity. Left unconsumed, the greatly relieved aireq was sent on its way in possession of a suitable pouch of gold coin to reward its tattler of a master. In its absence Kobkale, Kieraklav, and the Hairy Kwodd debated the significance of the missive that had been delivered to them.

"So fighting travelers who spoke of that miserable dead amateur, Susnam Evyndd, stank of cat and dog." Kieraklav's nose itched, and she rubbed her flat face with a palm big enough to easily cover the entire grotesque countenance. "So what?"

"Not just of Evyndd." Hairy Kwodd always sounded as if he was speaking from the bottom of a well because he was entirely covered from pointed head to protuberant toe with a cascade of dirty white hair. No one, not even his fellow Mundurucu, knew what he really looked like. This caused no problems because no one was sure they really wanted to know. "According to the message, these strangers referred to him as 'Master' Evyndd. That suggests a connection that is deep and personal rather than casual."

"I agree." Kobkale was sucking the marrow out of a human bone of indeterminate age. "Not that any such as are described in the report appear to present much of a danger."

Kieraklav shrugged blunt shoulders, and unpleasant things shifted beneath her leathery blouse. "Tell Drauchec. Have him send a detachment to find these apostates and remove their faces."

"Rush to judgment, be it now?" Kobkale struck her a capricious blow that sent her spinning. Landing on her feet, she straightened her jumbled attire and voiced no umbrage at the reprimand. Among the Mundurucu, kicks and punches were often used in place of more formal grammar to punctuate argument. "I think not," Kobkale went on. "There may be more here than meets the eye."

"What say you, brother?" gurgled Hairy Kwodd.

Kobkale gnawed on a fingernail that was blunt, sharp, and filthy. It required daily refilthening to keep it that way. "I say that while Susnam Evyndd might have been an amateur, he was a talented one. The Mundurucu differ from other goblinish necromantics because we have acquired wisdom as well as talent. There may be nothing to this tale—or there may be something to learn. Learn first, kill later, says I."

Kieraklav grudgingly grunted assent. "I prefer to kill right away, but it is not worth arguing about."

"Whether it is worth anything remains to be seen. That is my point." Kobkale squinted at a high, narrow window. Outside the castle keep, all was gray, dank, and wretched. Just as things ought to be, he reflected contentedly. Only an occasional scream wafted weakly up from the occupied city below. Not even the stubborn resistance of the company of humans holding out in the distant fortress called Malostranka could spoil his humor.

"I would not put a postmortem transforming spell beyond the capabilities of the extirpated amateur Evyndd. Is it known if he kept any familiars?"

Kieraklav exchanged a glance with Hairy Kwodd—or feigned one, since his eyes were hidden behind his hellacious hirsuteness. "If he did, he brought none of them with him to the battle."

"The travelers described in the traitor's missive could not be very effectual familiars." Hairy Kwodd shuffled barely visible oversize feet. "They have done nothing to avenge the dead amateur."

"And yet." Kobkale had not achieved the standing he held among the Clan by rushing to judgment, or by taking opponents—any opponent—for granted. "It is true this may amount to nothing. The informer may have heard wrong, or smelled wrong. But it is better to ensure that there be no threat to us in this."

"Should I tell Drauchec?" Kieraklav quite fancied the Horde general, his expression of revulsion when she touched him notwithstanding.

"No." Kobkale's deviant mind was hard at work. "If there are animals involved, they may well be able to avoid or to fool the simple minions of the Horde. Our bloodthirsty brethren are most righteous killers, but they are not particularly perceptive. Kind to kind, like to like. Set similar to catch same, says I."

Kieraklav frowned, which made her appearance even more distasteful to look upon than usual. "You wish me to find among the Horde cats and dogs suitable for transmuting?"

"No, not cats and dogs. Besides, I have seen cats and dogs among our retinue within the Horde, and they are kept for food, not as pets. Search among them for attendant animals, yes, but not cats and dogs. I will describe to you the type that I would like to have for this spell."

So Kieraklav and several other of the Mundurucu went among the fighters of the Totumakk, careful in their questioning not to interrupt the looting and torturing and rapine. This was not difficult, since by now there was very little left to loot, and few left to rape. The Horde was compelled to resort to casual torture for amusement, an undertaking at which they were adept if not imaginative. They were always grateful to receive suggestions and pointers for improving their skills from the far more inventive Mundurucu.

When at last Kieraklav and Hairy Kwodd reported back to Kobkale, it was with suitable subjects in tow.

"We could only find three who fit anything of your description," she complained.

Kobkale promptly smacked her halfway across the room.

Picking herself up immediately, she dusted off the new, fungus-infected dress she was wearing and rejoined him. Kobkale did not deal Hairy Kwodd a similar blow because no one had ever seen that shaggy individual knocked off his feet. Also, Kobkale sensed instinctively that it would not be a good idea. Like the rest of his brethren, he did not want to see what really lay beneath that enigmatic, tangled, ambulatory thicket.

Instead, he proceeded to examine the confused but combative trio of creatures his kinfolk had procured. "They'll do," he announced finally. Lifting both arms, which in the case of even stout goblins is not very high, he raised his voice. That was not very high either, but his words still resounded off the walls of the keep. Below, shackled humans heard, and shuddered at the import of the fresh evil they could feel sifting through the fortress.

Lowering his hands at last, Kobkale joined fingers with Kieraklav and took hold of a fistful of Hairy Kwodd's cascading whiskers. Both of them joined him in the concluding chant. Stuttering green-gray light suffused the room and focused on the three restrained creatures in their midst. There was a sound as of paper ripping, a distant, forlorn yowl, and then silence.

Where the three confiscated pets had clustered defiantly together there now stood three naked human figures. The taller male and one female were slim, muscular, and possessed of devastating smiles that reflected not an inner good nature but preternaturally long canines, a legacy from their former state as vampiric night fliers.

Standing between and slightly in front of them was a stocky, long-jawed man with red-brown hair spotted with white. His eyes were large, luminous, and penetrating. He, too, was smiling, showing teeth that were sharper than they should have been. Every move he made, every motion of his body, oozed barely restrained power and strength. Standing before the three Mundurucu, he was a coiled spring of ferocious, inimical energy. Not surprising, Kobkale knew, since he had been transformed from one of the nastiest, most foul-tempered creatures in nature.

"These two have names." Kieraklav proceeded to identify the closely related male and female. "The one with the balls is Ruut, and his companion is called Ratha." With a gnarled finger she indicated the third member of the quietly defiant trio. "That one doesn't have a name."

"Then we will call it by what it is." Kobkale approached. "Tell me, Quoll, how do you like your new circumstances?"

"I like them fine," the quoll replied, whereupon it exhibited blinding speed in leaping straight at Kobkale, both hands outstretched as they reached for the Mundurucu's exposed throat.

Something thin, scabrous, and unholy whipped out from within Hairy Kwodd's mantle of kink to wrap several times around the quoll's wrists. Snarling, the new-made man found himself yanked around. Eyes ablaze, he prepared to strike at his captor even with his arms bound and helpless. Something in the aspect of Hairy Kwodd told him that would be a bad idea. So he stood still and held his peace, simmering and boiling like a pot kept too long on an overheated stove.

"Temper, temper." Though a little rattled by the suddenness of the attack, Kobkale knew it boded well for the trio's mission. "Why did you jump at me like that? Are you so displeased with your metamorphosis?"

"Not at all," Quoll replied, his arms still secured. When Hairy Kwodd released him, he stood naked where he was, rubbing his wrists lightly. "I just wanted to kill something, and you were the first liveness I settled on."

"You will have your opportunities to kill, I promise you. That and more, if you and your new friends conclude one simple task to the Mundurucu's satisfaction. You may even keep your human bodies, which are more conducive to murder than your former animalistic forms."

Behind Quoll, Ratha grinned contentedly. "Very sweet that would be." She licked lovely, but very dark, lips. "Speaking of sweet, my throat is quite dry."

"Transmogrification is a thirsty business." Kobkale nodded at Kieraklav, who was eyeing the naked Ruut ardently. "Find blood for these two, and flesh for the other. Then suitable attire." He pursed thick lips, causing the upper one to submerge half his nose. "Come to think of it, take them on a stroll through town, and you may find everything you need in any one suitably populated house." Approaching Quoll, he looked up at the new man, whose countenance seemed fixed in a perpetual glare.

"I know you would like to rip out my throat and wallow in my guts, but you're going to have to be able to restrain yourself, or you'll never succeed in carrying out the relatively simple task I have in mind for you."

"Don't worry about me. I can control my urges when I have to." Even in the repressed gray light of the chamber, the goblin could see that the man's eyes were as much blood red as they were blue. "When I have to."

Kobkale was pleased. He was confident that when they sent this trio on its way, he and the rest of the Mundurucu could forget about this business of catand dog-smelling humans who venerated a dead enemy.

In fact, he would have pitied them—had he or any of the Mundurucu been capable of expressing so alien an emotion.