"So you have enough slaves to hide behind this time," he said, his voice almost chiding. "Well, we shall even that."

Gorgon raised his hand again--but this time a shielding formed, encompassing the defensive one.

"No way to escape now," he laughed.

With the wave of his other hand, a portal snapped into shape. Within seconds, the first demon appeared, followed by another and another. Forming a circle around the portal, they turned their own powers in and the portal broadened, so that a continual stream of Gorgon's followers was soon rushing out.

Kochanski, knowing what was about to come, stood and stepped down from the chair. He saw his comrades looking to each other, and in their eyes was a grim determination, but also nods of farewell.

Leti moved from Allic's side to stand by Ikawa, and their hands touched momentarily. The portal broadened once again, and from out of the host of demons a dark shape appeared.

"Ah, Kultha," Gorgon roared, "that one you told me about--is he here?"

Kultha swept forward, coming up to the edge of the shielding, his gaze focused on Mark.

"My lord, you can have anyone else," Kultha cried, "but leave this one for me. I want him alive!"

Allic stepped out from the center of the group, and Kochanski followed, to stand beside his old commander.

Mark's eyes were filled with terror, but he forced a wan smile and shook his head, as if to say that he was still under control.

Gorgon again roared with delight as Allic looked up at him and slammed off several shots which were simply absorbed by the demon's shielding.

"It's almost time to test our strengths again," he screamed.

"When the shielding goes, take out as many as you can," Allic shouted, "and remember what to do last."

Kochanski ran his tongue against the back molar and looked over at Mark. His old friend seemed petrified by fear. Then Kochanski looked at Ikawa, who nodded with understanding. When it was lost, one or the other of them would kill Mark if he could not do it himself. Turning, Kochanski stepped back to the chair.

The outer shield flickered, and from Gorgon's hand, and from his assembled demons and warlords, an all-encompassing sheet of flame slashed out.

The defensive shield flared up, sparkling to white heat. Kochanski could feel the pressure grow as he added his own strength to the unequal contest, focusing his offensive crystal into the defense as well. But the difference in strength was simply too much. Like a dam of rotten ice giving way before a spring flood, the shield flared and with a blinding flash snapped away in a thunderclap roar, counterpointed by the demons who, howling with delight, swarmed forward for the kill.

Chapter 8

Patrice paced back and forth, inwardly cursing, her gaze fixed upon the pit of fire that was the communications link to Gorgon's realm. Stopping momentarily, she waved a hand, sending an interrogative into its depths. Nothing.

How dare he keep silent,she raged.Without me he wouldn't even know they were coming. Surely he must have captured or killed them by nowl She raised her hand to brush back her hair, and only then noticed that her hand was trembling. Turning her palm over, she stared at the tremors. Some moments later, she shook herself back to reality.

What is wrong with me? I haven't been this nervous for centuries.

Patrice again glanced at the empty flames and walked over to the thronelike chair facing the pit. Picking up an ornate chalice from the small table, she settled herself into the chair and sipped her wine.

I will be patient,she told herself.This wait is nothing. If need be I will wait twice as long, and then twice as long again. What is time to a demigod but a means to an end?

And she felt her strength returning. Soon she would know, and at long last start her plans to achieve her proper destiny.

Sighing contentedly, she put her wine chalice down and laid her hands on the arms of her chair, staring firmly into the flames.

Ralnath strode into the map room looking for Sarnak and found his master overlooking the section denoting Jartan's capital of Asmara. He knew better than to interrupt Sarnak's train of thought, so he waited silently at his side. Glancing at the map, he saw a bright flashing light that denoted a major portal opening right in Jartan's palace. Now what is going on? he wondered.

A few moments later, Sarnak straightened and nodded for Ralnath to proceed with his report.

"We have run another check on our security system using an outside source and it is secure. The other courts still believe that Uthul is still alive and in control,"

"Which guild did you use this time?"

"A new one. A bastard of one of Macha's cousins started an offshoot of the sorcerers guild in one of those southern city-states. We led him to believe that it was a secret assignment from Macha himself, and suggested that you were hiding right here."

"Well?"

"Very impressive effort. I suggest we use his organization again. He used that trade mission of two weeks ago as the primary vehicle to infiltrate a team and went through at least two other levels before concluding that your imitation Uthul was legitimate, that Uthul intended to have your head if you ever did show up, and that you had never been here. We paid him the agreed fee and told him we would be back in touch. I've taken the liberty of putting him on a retainer to pass along any information he might pick up.

The trade mission was monitored by one of Leti's people. We made sure they caught wind of it as a cover operation. Her counter operatives are good, they'll penetrate this group, get the official report, and from Leti it's straight to everyone in Jartan's court."

"Excellent work, Ralnath."

"It had a side benefit as well. Several people in Uthul's old circle who are unaware of the change spilled some information."

"What kind?"

"Nothing serious. It was the usual false leads we've been setting out and declaring as secret information.

It came straight back to us through the report. I already know the people, they're being arrested right now and will be awaiting your examination."

Sarnak smiled. "Good, I need the diversion."

"Uh, unfortunately, Sire, there is something else. One of the sensitives in the detection section has been claiming that there is some kind of vague probing going on he has never encountered before."

Sarnak seemed to grow before his eyes as the total power of the demigod concentrated upon him.

When he spoke, his voice carried a sentence of death if the answers were not correct.

"Probing from where?"

"Impossible to tell, Sire. I have assigned an entire team to assist in tracking and analysis, but so far all we have been able to come up with is a sense of uneasiness on the part of the sensitive. The problem is that it is occurring with increasing strength and regularity."

Sarnak turned back to the map. His next comment was in a calm, matter-of-fact voice.

"Jartan is apparently sending a force via portal to one of his buffer worlds. That damned Kochanski and the Godchair are part of it, so we can temporarily drop the screening on that sector. It could be anyone doing this other probe: Minar, Allic, even Boreas. But whoever it is, I want increased protection against these probes."

"Something is up," Sarnak continued. "There have been indicators that most of the sorcerers in Jartan's realm and his vassal states have been pulled in. Then this portal opens. What is going on?"

Inwardly he cursed. Only months ago he could have been a mover in this game, ready to pounce at whatever advantages were opened. Now he was the hunted, his legions reduced to a handful of loyal followers. Yet he was alive, could still plot, and in the end might still have an opportunity to gain the advantage.

He gazed at the map for long minutes. Ever so gradually, a smile crossed his features.

"What about Patrice?" he whispered, looking at Ralnath.

"Patrice, my lord?"

"Call it an instinct," Sarnak went on. "Just an instinct. She never had the courage to act on her own the way I did. But there is a vacuum now where I once held power. I can't place the intuition, but it's there.

Our team in her capital--is it still loyal?"

Ralnath hesitated. "My lord, we haven't dared to make contact with any of our operatives. You yourself wanted to leave all communications cold in case after our defeat someone turned sides."

Sarnak cursed softly. "I'm blind," he hissed. "Damn them all, I'm blind."

"A suggestion, my lord," Ralnath said carefully.

"Go on."

"Use the organization that checked out our security. Send them into Patrice's capital. Let them contact our people and try and get them to turn. If they betray you, we'll remember them later and pay back in full. If they don't turn, we can safely reestablish contact."

Sarnak smiled. "Most ingenious. Let it be done. If they check out correctly I want an observation team reporting on Patrice. If something is happening, we might turn it to our advantage."

Ralnath stood a little straighter, trying to disguise his fatigue. "At once, my lord." He turned to leave.

"Oh, one other thing. The prisoners--do they have families?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Arrest all of them," Sarnak replied evenly, "but do it discreetly. We'll arrange it later to look like all of them died in an accident."

Ralnath bowed low and withdrew.

Sarnak calmly watched him leave, then returned his attention to the map beneath him. To all in the command center he was in total control, the master tactician. Inside, his thoughts weighed odds and calculated chances, barely holding his fear in check.

His enemies were legion, and to be found by any of them before he could consolidate his power would mean his death. To be found by Allic or any of Jartan's brood would be bad enough. It was Boreas, though, who he was most afraid of. For with Boreas it would be far worse than death--it would be an eternity in an icy hell, tortured by a creature--an implacable force--who across these eons still blamed Sarnak for the death of his father.

Those in the map room were startled by their master's abrupt departure.

Where can I run if he finds me? To whom can I turn to with the strength to resist him?Once again Sarnak considered the unthinkable.

Mark felt as if he was staring into the very heart of hell. Kultha hovered above him, laughing darkly. The thin shield, now glowing white-hot, was all that protected him from the creature's malevolence.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered the poison capsule, yet such was his terror that he felt as if his arms were made of lead and he could not move for the blessed release contained within.

Never had he known such intensity of attack. The shield strained, snapped up to what he thought was maximum, and then kept right on going.

A tremor ran through him, and then with a blinding flash he was on his back, shield gone, the nightmare of Kultha, with talons outstretched, swooping down from above.

A mad rage filled him, and a sense of self-loathing. Now, at the end would he die as a frightened rat?

Screaming, Mark came to his feet, and aimed a bolt at Kultha's face. A bone-numbing thunderclap snapped through the ground, which sent Mark staggering. Glancing up, he saw Kultha's gloating look change in an instant to stunned surprise.

Swinging around, Mark stood transfixed.

The entire glacier behind him had simply disappeared, blown apart. Hunks of ice larger than a house soared heavenward, tumbling end over end. Debris arced across the sky, a wild torrent of ice, smoke, and steam.

From out of the heart of the explosion Jartan emerged.

The god who Mark had stood before in awe back in Asmara was nothing now but a pale comparison to what a god could be in the rage of battle. As he ascended, his visage was as blinding as the sun, wreathed in light, so that Mark had to avert his eyes from Jartan's face.

Debris rained down, and snapping up his shield for protection, Mark crouched low. As if from a great distance he heard commingled the roaring defiance of the demons, the cries of hope of his own comrades, and now the screams of a host of sorcerers who swarmed out by Jartan's side.

"Mark!"

The warning snapped him into action and he rolled sideways and then swung up into the air. He felt the brush of Kultha's talons as they closed over the spot where he had just been.

Ikawa swung up alongside and within seconds the old group started to form: Walker behind him, Saito beside Ikawa, the rest of the offworlders trailing into the growing cluster.

Never had Mark seen such madness of aerial combat as Jartan's thousand-odd sorcerers swarmed into the demon host.

"Go for altitude!" Mark shouted. "We'll climb out and then pick our targets. Now move it!"

He looked over at Ikawa and saw the concern in his friend's eyes disappear as the instinct for air combat took over. Mark jinked the group left, looking over his shoulder for Kultha, but the demon chieftain had disappeared in the confusion. Bodies tumbled past, demons trailing fire and smoke, and, tragically, sorcerers as well. So tight was the crush of battle that antagonists actually slammed into each other and fell tumbling, trading blows at such close range that shields overlapped, so that strikes would literally rip an opponent in half in one blinding flash of death.

"Gorgon!"

The anger in Jartan's voice was like a physical blow, but it filled Mark with a wild joy and desire for vengeance.

A demon loomed before him, intent on striking a sorceress from behind. A bolt shot out from Mark's hand, joined in an instant by twenty other strikes from the group. The demon's shield exploded, and the group, pushing through the oily smoke, climbed out to the top of the fight, which was now a thousand feet in the air.

"Gorgon, meet me!"

Mark looked to his right and was stunned to see Jartan towering above him, wreathed in lightning, his image a hundred or more feet in height.

"All you, clear this area!" Jartan roared, and Mark realized that the god was looking at him. Suddenly Mark felt small, insignificant. A sheet of flames snapped past him, and looking to his left he saw the darkness of Gorgon, flame foaming from his mouth, charging across the sky.

"Get us the hell out of here!" Walker screamed.

Mark needed no persuading. Jackknifing over, he headed back into the maelstrom below, though his attention was riveted by the battle between a god and demon lord.

The icy air rippled with flashing shields, crackling bolts of light. Jartan moved as if made of light itself, shifting, dodging, while Gorgon came on relentlessly. A bolt of Jartan's went wide, slashing through a score of demons behind their lord. No broken bodies trailed away; rather they simply snapped out of existence, leaving nothing but glowing filaments of settling dust.

A formation of demons slashed up from the writhing combat. Like falcons leaping upon their prey, Mark and his command pounced and sent their opponents tumbling to their deaths, shrieking and writhing as their wings trailed fire and smoke.