"He will not hesitate. Warn the king." A spasm shook Stornzof. When he could speak again, he repeated, "Warn him."

Unnecessary, Girays reflected, if only he could persuade this Nevenskoi or Neeper character to switch his allegiance to Vonahr. Buy him. Bully him. Flatter him. Win him over somehow, bring the Sentient Fire home. Use this chance that Stornzof had bought with his blood. What could Vonahr offer that Nevenskoi/Neeper did not already receive from his present master? More money? Status? Power? t.i.tles, awards, acclaim? Public recognition? It wasn't easy to think of wooing a capricious adept at such a moment, with Stornzof gasping on the floor at his feet, but there was only one thing in the world that he could do for Stornzof now-use the gift effectively. He drew a deep breath and turned to Neeper, only to encounter an unexpected hint of satisfaction.

"His Majesty is in no danger," Neeper announced. "And neither am I, thanks to your warning. These Grewzian agents are easily controlled. If they're in the Long Gallery, I'll hold them there until they can be identified. There's no cause for concern."

The adept's tone of gratification was unmistakable. Girays could not account for it. "Hold them there how?" he asked.

"They can't pa.s.s through doorways guarded by fire." Neeper actually smiled. "Obedient Sentient Fire, commanded by its creator to block all exits while harming no one and damaging nothing."

Luzelle might be in the Long Gallery by now. Girays answered curtly. "No. Too dangerous."

"Not in the least." Neeper drew himself to his full unimpressive height. "The fire is governed by its creator's will. I a.s.sure you it is a safe, effective solution to the problem, and wonderful to witness."

The adept's expression reflected inexplicable eagerness. Girays did not like it. "No delay, just come away from here," he urged.

"There is no delay; the thing is done in an instant." Without awaiting reply Neeper turned away and hurried to the pit-of-elements, where a small green fire burned sedately.

Some portion of Girays's mind registered the distinctively hued blaze, quite possibly the Sentient Fire itself, but he paid little attention, for Stornzof seemed to be suffocating, mouth open to gulp down great drafts of air that did him no good. He knelt beside the dying man, looked into the eyes still filled with all their old serenity, and found that he could not lie to them. No false rea.s.surance, no make-believe optimism. Taking Stornzof's icy hand, he held it firmly.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked. He feared the other incapable of reply, but Stornzof surprised him, somehow catching his breath and finding what was left of his voice.

"Take Nevenskoi and his fire back to Vonahr."

The whisper was barely audible. Girays had to bend near to hear it. "I'll try," he said.

"Succeed. Best for everyone, including Grewzians."

"I'll succeed. I give you my word."

"I do not betray Grewzland. The Imperium betrays Grewzland."

"I know."

"Thank you, my friend. Tell your lovely Luzelle that I bid her farewell."

"She wouldn't appreciate that t.i.tle of ownership. She's hardly mine, or anyone's."

"Her truest affections are yours. They always were. Once or twice I imagined otherwise, but that was delusion."

"Don't try to talk anymore, save your strength."

"No point, and just as well. I do not suit the world, do not fit comfortably into it, but cannot go back to what I once was. After tonight, cannot go back to Grewzland at all. Exile. Traitor, they will say."

"No. Loyal. You did what was right. If you're ever defamed or accused-and I doubt that will happen, but if it does-then I will defend you to my last breath. I promise that the world will honor your name."

"You will keep your word. I am certain of this. It is a feeling that I have." Karsler Stornzof's breath failed. Another spasm shook him, this one brief and mild. His open eyes emptied themselves of everything.

Girays knelt motionless and thoughtless for an indeterminate span, until a voice impinged on his consciousness.

"It's done."

He looked up into a face flushed with triumph.

"A sentient spark has been dispatched to the Long Gallery," proclaimed Nevenskoi/Neeper. "The situation is under control." His glance shifted reluctantly and he frowned. "But this Grewzian officer-perhaps Dr. Arnheltz might-"

"Too late." Girays's eyes dropped to the still, grey form. Carefully he laid down the cold hand. "My friend is dead."

ONE OF HIS MEN SIGNALED almost imperceptibly. Detaching himself from the Major General Laarslof, Torvid Stornzof withdrew to stand alone. A black-and-grey figure was beside him almost at once, and a whispered message reached his ear. The grandlandsman replied tersely. The liveried man nodded and withdrew to relay fresh orders to his five comrades. almost imperceptibly. Detaching himself from the Major General Laarslof, Torvid Stornzof withdrew to stand alone. A black-and-grey figure was beside him almost at once, and a whispered message reached his ear. The grandlandsman replied tersely. The liveried man nodded and withdrew to relay fresh orders to his five comrades.

He had the information he needed. King Miltzin IX presently closeted himself alone with the Grand Ellipse winner in an audience chamber connected to the Long Gallery by a small private stairway concealed behind a very un.o.btrusive door set flush with the wall at the front of the room.

He would go alone, his solitary departure drawing little if any notice. Two of his men would follow at suitably s.p.a.ced short intervals, the others remaining behind to impose order upon the guests and servants in the Long Gallery, should the necessity arise.

The grandlandsman exited quietly. He found himself in a plain, cramped little stairwell, and there he paused to wait.

LOVELINESS, WHERE ARE YOU? Neeper sent the telepathic query speeding along psychic channels, and the silent, clear response was immediate.

Long place.

Corridor.

Colors under me, but I do not eat.

Good, leave the carpet alone, consume nothing. You know the way?

Yes, in your mind is the way.

That's right, just follow the path in my mind. Has anyone seen you?

No one sees, for I am smallsmallsmall and I go fast.

Perfect.

No. I am small. Wannabe big. Big!

Soon, very soon. I promise. Listen, sweet one, listen to me. This is a rare opportunity. Tonight comes your chance, so long delayed, to catch the eye of the world. Tonight you do not perform to entertain the shallow and ignorant, but serve a far greater purpose. You foil an enemy plot, you protect His Majesty- Badmeat?

The king. You defeat his Grewzian enemies in full view of all the guests, all the n.o.bility and great folk. Everyone who matters will see, and finally recognize your true greatness. And then at last the glory and honor so long withheld will be ours.

We will be big?

We will be huge.

Goodgoodgood.

Where are you now?

Big place, where you send me. Feet everywhere. Small ones like me eating wax high above, but they do not speak.

Anyone see you yet?

No. I am smallsmallsmall, n.o.body sees. Big, wannabe big, let me be BIG- Your moment is at hand. How many doors do you see around you?

Doors?

Open s.p.a.ces into other places.

Four holes with straight sides.

Good enough. Now, my beauty, my darling, my splendor, it is time. Divide yourself into four wholes and send your selves to the four doors. Fortify yourselves with a little wood and fabric fuel if you need additional strength, but consume no more than is needed to achieve greater size- BIG!.

Yes, big. Spread yourselves across the doorways, the doorways only. Permit no entrance or exit, but eat nothing that lives.

FOUR! Many of me!

Yes, and if any guests attempt to depart by way of the windows, chimneys, skylights, or any other unexpected route, you will spark off new selves to block escape.

No escape. No escape for anyone.

Remember, harm n.o.body.

No escape.

Neeper stretched his mind to gather the perceptions of Masterfire, and his consciousness accordingly altered.

Big place. High ceiling, bright lights, many colors, and many hundreds of feet in shoes. Four straight-edged holes around the sides.

The Long Gallery, the human portion of his awareness informed him. Filled with guests. King Miltzin's glittering reception in full swing. Four open doorways, potential avenues of exit. Four doorways to cover, demanding four separate selves.

Masterfire, already minute, effortlessly split himself in half and then into quarters, each of which went racing for a doorway.

Far below in the hidden workroom, Nitz Neeper felt the painless shock of the division through every fiber of his being, and the astonished confusion swamping his thoughts threatened to break the mental link with his creation. The lapse was brief. He mastered himself in a moment, the connection held, and suddenly he was in five different places at once. His own body stood motionless in the workroom, distantly aware of its surroundings, while his mind's eye gazed upon the Long Gallery from four separate vantage points. The ma.s.sive onslaught of overlapping, shifting, and conflicting visual images was almost more than his human mind could support. His intelligence was not designed to interpret such torrents of sensory impressions and it seemed that something must give way under the strain, precipitating him into unconsciousness or madness. He barely knew that he was tottering and that the anonymous Vonahrish visitor was beside him, grasping his arm to steady him on his feet. The Vonahrishman was speaking, but the words were distant and indistinguishable.

The moment pa.s.sed and his mind adjusted, leaving him bewildered but conscious, mental link intact. And now at last the time had come, the grand and glorious moment, and he could rise to satisfying heights, he could stretch, he could grow, he was tall, he was strong, he was excellent, he was BigBigBig, and the joy and the power surged triumphantly through all five of him.

Masterfire rose, and green flame flared simultaneously in four doorways. Neeper caught the clear sense then of vast surrounding alarm and confusion. The humans in their temptingly combustible garments were backing away from the green glare and the heat, stumbling and colliding and tripping over one another as they went. And there was noise, a great cacophony of shouting and yammering pierced by the shrill, unrestrained shrieks of terrified women. Those women were hard to ignore, with their voluminous skirts of lightweight summer silk begging to ignite, their petticoats of flimsy linen and lace that would flame magnificently at the first touch of a spark. He found himself reaching out toward them, shooting eager green tongues at those billowy skirts, and restrained himself with an effort. Harm n.o.body. Consume nothing that lives, and those skirts did not live, they were fine and legitimate food, but the meat they covered was bound to cook, so he'd better leave them alone.

For a while he observed the interesting spectacle of the guests in their screaming panic, until he noticed a number of them clumped around the windows along one wall and recalled that the windows offered a potential avenue of escape.

NoNoNoNoNoNoNo.

A new sliver of flame leapt from one of the doorways and streaked for the windows, whose long brocade curtains offered the nourishment and fortification permitting him to growGrowGrowGROW, and now he was BIG, and now he was FIVE, plus the body in the workroom, and now he was mounting higher toward the ceiling, and the humans were screaming, throwing chairs that pa.s.sed straight through him to shatter the window gla.s.s, and that was fine, that was dandy, for the fresh air rushed in to invigorate him and he leapt, shimmied, and cavorted for the sheer joy of it all.

Life was good.

Down in the workroom, Nitz Neeper was bouncing gently up and down on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. An excited laugh bubbled out of him and then he became aware that someone was grasping his arm, jogging it to catch his attention and talking, jabbering at him insistently. At first he tried to ignore the distraction, but the noise refused to go away and at last he blinked and saw the Vonahrishman, who was demanding information.

"No escape," he said, dimly noting that his bright, hot voice was not his own. "No escape."

The Vonahrishman asked something, Neeper hardly knew what. He shook his head and his consciousness of his immediate surroundings sharpened.

"Masterfire has succeeded," he reported. "The Long Gallery has been secured."

"If you've actually loosed fire in the Waterwitch Palace, we'd better get you upstairs to contain or extinguish it." The Vonahrishman's tone was peremptory.

Extinguish? A suggestion at once ghastly and absurd. The stranger, whoever he was, did not understand. He simply failed to recognize the depth and strength of the bond between adept and creation, nor did he comprehend the totality of Neeper's mastery. He feared imaginary perils, he was concerned and afraid because he was ignorant. A suggestion at once ghastly and absurd. The stranger, whoever he was, did not understand. He simply failed to recognize the depth and strength of the bond between adept and creation, nor did he comprehend the totality of Neeper's mastery. He feared imaginary perils, he was concerned and afraid because he was ignorant. Extinguish. Extinguish. Dreadful to see what the frightened human mind could conceive. Dreadful to see what the frightened human mind could conceive.

But this nameless Vonahrishman wouldn't be the only one to contemplate murder. Neeper's divided intellect strove hard to address the issue. Extinguish. Extinguish.

Badness? came the telepathic query from the Long Gallery. came the telepathic query from the Long Gallery.

Fear nothing, sweet one.

Even now the palace servants might be hastening toward the gallery with their water buckets and their soggy blankets, stupidly eager to turn triumph into disaster. The Vonahrishman was right, Neeper realized. He needed to be up there, he needed to explain, to clarify matters, to protect his Masterfire and his victory. The king, of course, had banished him to his workroom weeks earlier and that decree still stood. But surely His Majesty could condone disobedience under the circ.u.mstances; in fact, when the situation was properly explained to him, Miltzin would be grateful. Past transgressions would be forgiven, and the talented Nitz Neeper would regain all his former favor, prestige, privilege, and more.

"Yes." Neeper struggled to focus on the Vonahrishman, whose angular face seemed to blur a little around the edges. "Upstairs. Yes. Come. I will show you."

The Vonahrishman nodded. He cast a parting glance at the dead Grewzian officer on the floor, then suffered himself to be led from the workroom.

Barely aware of his immediate surroundings, Nitz Neeper scarcely knew how he found his way up from the secret bowels of the Waterwitch Palace to the well-known public corridors. His mind was full of fire, he simply let its light and heat draw him. But presently he realized that he was ascending a steep stairway, for the complaints of his own body, impossible to ignore altogether even now, told him as much. His lungs labored, his heart pounded, and there was a st.i.tch in his side. Some part of him wanted badly to sit down and rest, but there was no time, no time, Masterfire needed protection.

Extinguish. The very thought set his innards to writhing. His belly shot a warning pang. He should never have gobbled that mountain of lard-smackers, he should have known better. Now they were catching up with him. The very thought set his innards to writhing. His belly shot a warning pang. He should never have gobbled that mountain of lard-smackers, he should have known better. Now they were catching up with him.

Up the stairs, and his belly was starting to complain in earnest, but there was nothing to be done, he couldn't afford to halt.

Loveliness, how do you fare? He sent the silent query winging, and the response, crackling with satisfaction, came back at once. He sent the silent query winging, and the response, crackling with satisfaction, came back at once.

No escape. No escape.

Through the storage closet and utility room, out into a corridor, along the hallway and this time down some marble stairs to another corridor, and there before him stood an open doorway filled with green fire, and there stood a gang of sweat-drenched palace servants, plying their water buckets.

A cold wet shower went flying into the heart of the fire, and Neeper gasped and stiffened. For a moment he fought for air, then the flames leapt and his breathing resumed. Shoulders hunched and arms wrapped tightly around his rebellious middle, he stumbled on along the hall. The servants turned to gape at him as he drew near, but he never saw them. Green radiance filled his vision, and he addressed it in silence.

Sweet one, I am here.

IT WAS DIFFICULT TO THINK or speak with King Miltzin's tongue in her mouth. Luzelle flinched and turned her face away. The tongue was gone, but his hands were still on her and they were not so easily avoided, for he had backed her up against the arm of the couch, and he was half leaning, half sprawling atop her. There was no escape without flinging him forcibly aside. or speak with King Miltzin's tongue in her mouth. Luzelle flinched and turned her face away. The tongue was gone, but his hands were still on her and they were not so easily avoided, for he had backed her up against the arm of the couch, and he was half leaning, half sprawling atop her. There was no escape without flinging him forcibly aside.

Satisfying as that might be, she could not afford to do it.

Once again the issue of the Sentient Fire seemed to have died. The king had displayed some signs of moderate interest not long ago, but his attention had shifted entirely to other matters and discussion was unlikely to resume unless she took control.

"Sire-" she essayed.

"More champagne, my dear?" he offered amiably.

"No. Thank you." She took a deep breath. "Sire, won't you favor me with an answer?"

"You won't mind if I have some?" Her face must have gone blank, for he added, "Champagne, I mean." Pouring himself another gla.s.s, he drained it quickly and poured another.