"And entertainment?"

"Entertainment?"

"Floor shows for the fortunate select customers. Illusions, projections, conjurations."

"Oh, nothing out of the ordinary way, sir."

"You do yourself an injustice. By all reports your feats are remarkable. Almost magical, it's said."

"I don't know about that, sir. Just a little nonsense to pa.s.s the time."

"You have captured my interest. Let us pa.s.s the time, then. You will demonstrate your accomplishments."

"Well, I could show you a few card tricks, sir. I've got a couple of good coin tricks too."

"I am more interested in ring tricks."

"Ring, sir?" Stiesoldt moistened his lips. "I'm not sure I catch your meaning."

"Do not try my patience. That ring of yours is famous in these parts, you've made no secret of it."

"I'm not a secretive person, sir. It's true I have a ring, a little keepsake that came to me from my grandfather. It's not worth anything, except for sentiment, and I use it in some of the tricks. That must be what you've heard about."

"You confess the existence of a magical ring?"

"Oh, I wouldn't call it magical, sir. It's only an ordinary little-"

"You will produce this ring."

"Oh, it's around here, sir, but offhand I'm not really sure where. It might not be so easy to lay hands on it. If you'd give me a little time to hunt, maybe come back tomorrow-"

"If you fail to produce this ring, we shall commence our own search, and our methods are thorough."

Looking ruinously reluctant, Master Stiesoldt fished in his pocket to bring forth a small metallic item. The Grewzian officer extended an open palm and Stiesoldt's reluctance deepened visibly, but he obeyed the unspoken command and the object changed hands.

From her chair Luzelle caught a quick glimpse of a small, very plain silvery ring, simple and seemingly unremarkable as its owner claimed.

The captain inspected the ring with care, finally demanding, "What is this thing made of?"

"Silver, I expect, sir."

"I do not think so. There is a curious iridescence there, an array of fleeting changeable colors."

"Got a little tarnish on it, sir."

"The light glints oddly off the surface. I have never seen the like."

"Just wants a little cleaning, sir."

"You will demonstrate this object's capabilities."

"Whatever you say, sir. I know a good one-I can pull a silk handkerchief through that ring, and the handkerchief changes color in a flash. Would you like to see that, sir?"

"I have warned you about trying my patience. Let us speak plainly. This land of Upper Hetzia is rife with legends of magical rings, talismans, aetheric conflations, and the like, imbued with power and capable of marvels. More than one such legend has been authenticated. The power is real, it exists, offering potentially vast benefit to the war effort of the Imperium. We will have that power, Master Stiesoldt. If it resides in your hands, you will a.s.sist us."

"Sir, I'll do what I can. But this little ring here, it's really nothing. I just use it for the parlor tricks my grandfather taught me. I don't know what you've heard, but-"

"We have heard from more than one source that you've used the ring to conjure extraordinary apparitions. Such reports have been confirmed by witnesses. As you yourself have observed, you are not a secretive person."

"You know what foolishness some people will tattle, sir. And you know what loony things they think they see after they've had a few."

"It is our conclusion that the reports warrant investigation," the captain observed. He handed the ring back to its owner. "I trust you will cooperate, Master Stiesoldt. The Imperium is as swift to reward loyalty as it is to punish subversion."

"I'm a simple man, sir, I don't know what subversion is."

"Enough of this. You will now conjure an apparition. You will do it before my men and these a.s.sembled witnesses here." His gesture encompa.s.sed the captive customers.

"Sir, I don't understand what you want of me."

"Then we shall try to make it clear." Turning to his underlings, the captain commanded, "Take him. In there." His finger flicked kitchenward.

A couple of grey soldiers grabbed the quailing innkeeper's arms, and Karsler Stornzof stood up. "Halt," he commanded in Grewzian.

Noting the overcommander's insignia, his countrymen obeyed at once. All six stiffened to attention.

Addressing the captain, Karsler inquired, "Your intention?"

"Persuasive interrogation, sir," the other replied.

"This Hetzian has disclaimed arcane knowledge and ability. There is little sound cause to disbelieve him."

"Sir, the evidence of several independent reports is compelling," the captain suggested deferentially.

"But hardly justifies recourse to, as you put it, persuasive interrogation. You will release the proprietor and withdraw yourself and your men from this inn."

"With all due respect, Overcommander, I cannot obey." The captain's breast pocket yielded a doc.u.ment, which he presented with a.s.surance. "My orders, sir, signed by the Undergeneral Bervsau, commander of the South District peacekeeping force. Please note, sir, I am instructed to investigate this matter in depth and pursue the conclusion by any and all available means."

Karsler unfolded the paper. As he read, Luzelle watched his face closely and detected no visible change. But it seemed as if a current flowed to her from his mind or heart, and she sensed both anger and sadness.

"Follow your orders, then." Karsler relinquished the doc.u.ment and resumed his seat.

The captain saluted smartly, then nodded to his men, who hustled the innkeeper from the common room. The kitchen door closed behind them. A discreet buzz of conversation arose. The exit remained greyly blocked.

Luzelle had lost all vestige of appet.i.te. She found Karsler's eyes and told him, "There was nothing you could do."

"That is true, once again. How often will it be true, that a Grewzian evil arises and there is nothing I can do?"

"At least you tried." Even to her own ears, it sounded feeble.

He said nothing. They sat in silence for a time, until the first cry of pain rang from the kitchen. Luzelle flinched. Another scream, and her hands clenched. The common room was silent. All present listened, and their attention was rewarded with a thud and a cry.

"Come, I will take you away from here," Karsler offered.

She wavered, strongly tempted, then shook her head. "Not unless everyone else in this room is also allowed to go."

"That is not possible."

She averted her eyes, unwilling to look at his grey uniform. She wished she could stop her ears, but at the same time could not forbear straining for every telltale sound from the kitchen. They wouldn't hurt Stiesoldt too badly, she told herself. If they really damaged the innkeeper, then he wouldn't be able to give them what they wanted.

A choking moan issued from the kitchen, and she found herself mentally enjoining the victim, Give in. Just do what you must to end this. Give in. Just do what you must to end this.

Ending this meant handing new power to the Grewzians; as if they needed it.

It seemed to go on for an eternity, although actually no more than a few minutes elapsed. At the end of that time one of the soldiers emerged from the kitchen to stride purposefully from the common room.

Silence. No conversation among the customers, no sound from the kitchen.

Minutes later the soldier reentered with a plump, pretty, alarmed-looking young woman in tow. She wore nothing but a thin summer nightgown. Her hair was falling down her back, and her eyes were puffed with recent sleep.

"What do you want?" she pleaded, as her captor hurried her along. "What is the matter, where is my husband?"

No answer. The Grewzian dragged Gretti Stiesoldt into the kitchen, and the door closed behind them.

"Karsler-" Luzelle appealed desperately.

He shook his head. His face seemed carved in white marble. She could not read his eyes.

A feminine scream shrilled from the kitchen. A confusion of male voices arose within and there came another scream, louder and more anguished than the first. Then silence.

The kitchen door opened. Soldiers, innkeeper, and innkeeper's wife emerged. Master Stiesoldt's face was bruised and b.l.o.o.d.y. His nose, swollen and misaligned, was probably broken. Gretti cradled an obviously fractured arm. Her nightgown, torn at the neck, gaped suggestively.

The small party halted.

"Our friend Klec Stiesoldt has consented to favor us with a demonstration of his magical prowess," announced the Grewzian captain. "We antic.i.p.ate an enlightening display. Master Stiesoldt, if you please."

Klec Stiesoldt plodded to the center of the room. Once he turned back to glance at his wife, and ocular communication of some kind flashed between the two of them. He halted and lifted his left hand, the small finger of which bore a silver ring of curiously inconstant reflectivity. Bowing his head, he shut his eyes and stood motionless. Almost he seemed to slumber upright, but the movement of his lips implied inaudible speech and the quivering of his eyelids suggested intense internal activity.

Luzelle watched uneasily. At first she thought some parlor trick in the offing, but when nothing happened, concluded that the innkeeper played pathetically for a brief respite; an ill-considered stratagem, for the lame deceit would only stoke Grewzian wrath.

The seconds marched, a faint chill invaded the room, and a thrill shot along her nerves. The shadows expanded, and the ring on the innkeeper's finger seemed to glow in the midst of the gloom, but perhaps it was simply some trick of the light. Luzelle blinked and rubbed her eyes, but the shadows did not recede. Her hands were icy, and she had to tighten her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

Her sense of the uncanny only deepened when Karsler reached across the table to take one of her cold hands in a warm, firm clasp. She glanced at him in surprise and saw that he was not looking at her at all. His eyes were fixed on the innkeeper, specifically on the innkeeper's ring, which was definitely glowing with its own light. His expression reflected an acute awareness that confirmed the promptings of her own instincts. Some inkling of the alien forces at work stirred at the base of her brain, and, grateful for the simple human contact, she clung to Karsler's hand with all her strength.

The air darkened impossibly, reducing the candle flames in the iron chandeliers to a scattering of fireflies at dusk. The shadows gathered about the innkeeper, all but hiding him from view, but through them shone that ring of his, the questionable family keepsake that he would have kept hidden from strangers' eyes, had he possessed a grain of common sense.

The witnesses, both civilian and military, were breathlessly silent. The atmosphere sighed, while the shadows at the center of the room thickened, boiled, and coalesced. A form swirled into sight, blurred and wavering at first, but swiftly acquiring substance and definition, steadily waxing in bulk and apparent solidity. Within seconds it was whole and immediate, a thing sculpted of air and darkness, weightlessly airborne yet overwhelmingly potent.

The apparition was humanoid, but larger and broader than any man, its body sheathed in polished scales, its hands and feet armed with smoky talons. The face was long and evil of jaw as a crocodile's, and the cemetery of teeth belonged to a shark, but the eyes-lightless pits sunk beneath heavy jutting ridges of bone-belonged to no known species. An immense pair of leathern wings fanned from the ma.s.sive shoulders, and a scaled serpent of a tail writhed at the base of the spine.

A random nightmare? But no, the horrific image was not unfamiliar. She had seen it in a book somewhere, some weighty old ill.u.s.trated tome. Her memory revolved, and the right recollection clicked into place. The traditions of Upper Hetzia included belief in certain powerful, demonic ent.i.ties known as "malevolences." The apparition before her corresponded to the ill.u.s.tration in every appalling particular.

But it was only an illusion, she reminded herself in a vain effort to slow the hammering of her heart. A wisp of smoke, a rag of fog, dreadful to behold, but substanceless and harmless as a mirage.

The visitant turned on the nearest grey uniform. Sinking smoky talons deep into Grewzian flesh, it ripped the soldier's chest open, reached into the cavity, and tore out the still-beating heart. Perfectly real blood sprayed from the perfectly real wound, and several flying warm droplets spattered Luzelle's face. Her cry was lost in the midst of overlapping shouts and screams.

Dropping the soldier's lifeless body, the malevolence paused long enough to devour the dripping heart before turning to its next victim, this time the Grewzian captain. A blur of scaled arms, a twitch of saber claws, a jet of arterial blood, and the crocodile jaws closed on the captain's heart.

A babble of frantic Grewzian arose, and several shots rang out. The vaporous malevolence never faltered, but two anonymous customers caught in the line of fire dropped from their chairs to the floor, where they twitched briefly and died. Several civilians, including Luzelle's driver, dashed for the exit. A burst of fire from the guards stationed at the door cut them down. The malevolence seized its next victim, a well-dressed elderly civilian with a wealth of thick silvery hair. That glinting hair must have possessed allure, for the talons stabbed at the silver, there was a jerking blur of motion before the body fell, and then the severed head was momentarily airborne, eyes popping and lips working, perhaps conscious for a last flying moment before the crocodile jaws snapped and the skull cracked open like a great nut.

Apparently aiming to destroy the danger at its root by eliminating the innkeeper, one of the soldiers fired. A revolver shot blasted and Master Stiesoldt fell amid the shrieks of his wife, but the malevolence remained. An instant later the enterprising soldier was dead, rent wide from throat to belly.

Luzelle jumped to her feet. She was not thinking clearly, and recognized only the urgent impulse to escape. The hand still clasping her own tightened.

"Not yet," Karsler advised.

She stared at him, astonished by his calmness. The face still visible through the magical twilight was composed and unafraid. He did not raise his voice, but she heard him clearly despite the surrounding uproar. Her own voice was thin with fear as she returned, "Get us out of here!"

"Not yet," he repeated. "Do not move, you will draw the attention of the Receptivity. You must wait until the focus has shifted, and the perceptions that mold it have altered."

"I don't understand what you mean!"

"I mean that I know what we confront, and I know how to overcome it. Stay where you are."

Believing him on instinct, she nodded, and he released her hand.

"Grewzian soldiers." Karsler's voice filled the room as he announced, "Your captain is dead, I am a.s.suming command. Hold your fire and stand still." The surviving soldiers instantly obeyed him, and Karsler switched to the Hetzian language to command, "Everyone present, stay where you are. Silence, and do not move."

Almost everyone obeyed him, but one of the waiters ran for the kitchen door. The malevolence-shaped thing attacked instantly. Vast leathern wings enfolded the fleeing prey. The talons ripped, blood spurted, the waiter gurgled and died. Releasing its victim, the malevolence hovered, great wings pumping in slow silence, empty gaze sweeping the room.

"Do not look upon it," Karsler commanded, quiet tone powerfully compelling. "Turn your eyes away, direct your minds elsewhere."

Such directions were not easily followed. It took an intense effort of will for Luzelle to tear her eyes from the floating visitant and fix them on Karsler's face. The calm a.s.surance she saw there stilled her terror. He had said that he knew how to overcome this sorcerous horror and she believed him. She understood perfectly at that moment why the soldiers under this officer's command were willing to follow him anywhere.

She looked at his face, not letting herself see anything else.

Karsler himself was watching the apparition and his stance, his stillness, his distant intensity, recalled Master Stiesoldt's concentration upon that unspeakable ring. She did not know what he was doing. Probably it had something to do with the knowledge of arcane forces he had acquired at that Promontory he had once told her of, but she did not understand; she could only trust.

The visitant must have recognized a summons or stimulus of some kind, for it was reacting, its head turning slowly, its lightless eyes seeking the source. The vacant glance encountered Karsler Stornzof and anch.o.r.ed.

Karsler's lips moved, but his words were inaudible. The apparition drifted toward him. Luzelle did not see it, would not let herself look, but she felt the noiseless slow approach through every fiber of her body. Direct your mind elsewhere, Karsler had commanded, but that was impossible. Almost impossible. She thought of Girays, his paralyzed limbs and face, and her attention shifted.

Karsler himself seemed unaware of his own surroundings. He was motionless, eyes unfocused, blind gaze aimed nowhere, and for an instant she wondered if his mental exercises had carried him off somewhere beyond the realm of mundane consciousness.

She stiffened as the apparition drifted into her field of vision. The thing was too near to ignore; she could have reached out and touched it. The air fanned by those great wings stirred her hair, and she shivered. Turn your eyes away, direct your mind elsewhere. Turn your eyes away, direct your mind elsewhere. She could not, she could only freeze into terrified immobility, but that was enough, for the black gaze pa.s.sed over her without pausing. The scaled form hovered before Karsler, and there it stayed. She could not, she could only freeze into terrified immobility, but that was enough, for the black gaze pa.s.sed over her without pausing. The scaled form hovered before Karsler, and there it stayed.

It was going to tear his heart out, it was going to rip his head off- It did neither. The motion of the wings ceased. The apparition floated, still as a weightless corpse.

Karsler's brow was wet with effort. His breathing was deep and measured, his face tranquil. There was an oddly fixed quality to his stare, and Luzelle realized that the seconds were lengthening and he never once blinked.