"Yes," Alden said as he looked out over his father's shoulder, his red eyes blazing, his sharp teeth grinding. "Perhaps there is, after all."

From outside he heard the sound of thunder and the siren's call of Bellophat's music, which raised a longing in his heart that sickened him. A familiar scent came to him suddenly, one that he had not expected to breathe ever again.

Krystin was nearby.

The proximity of her blood made him tremble. Overwhelmed by new and terrible desires, he clutched at his father, praying that he would be able to keep his inhuman needs under control long enough for Krystin to escape.

Myrmeen, Krystin, and Ord could tell they were getting close. They had taken shelter beneath an overhang of a warehouse overlooking the docks. The music overpowered the thunder and the driving, insistent strumming of the rain. They had pa.s.sed dozens of men and women who wandered about entranced, and Myrmeen wondered if Calimport would become a city of sleepwalkers; even the dour men of the city guard had succ.u.mbed to Bellophat's sweet music, their eyes squeezed shut, smiles of transcendence on their faces. In the harbor, ships had floated toward the docks and crashed, the men on board falling over like dolls on an unsteady surface. The survivors calmly drifted into the water, many approaching sh.o.r.e, where they were drawn by the music.

Myrmeen could feel the intoxicating lure of Bellophat's call. She took Krystin's hand and said, "I'm betting there will be no guards with Bellophat. No one is expecting a fight. I want you to stay here."

"That's suicide," Krystin said.

"No," Myrmeen said, Tamara's blood causing a swelling of confidence within her breast. "I can do this alone."

"If there's no risk, why not let us come with you?" Ord said as he felt his own need for action rise.

Krystin touched Myrmeen's arm. "You said you would never doubt my abilities in a fight again.

You said-"

"Just shut up and wait, all right?" Myrmeen screamed, her rage bringing her to the verge of embracing an all-too-familiar sensation: The last time she had experienced such a killing frenzy, such a taste of ecstasy, of blind animal release with no human guilt and no human feelings to bar her from her pleasure, had been the time she had slipped on Shandower's gauntlet and felt the apparatus's magic surge through her.

Myrmeen bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. She shuddered as she fought the impulse to run screaming through the streets, killing anything that moved in her way.

"It's not just Tamara's blood," she said softly. "Bellophat's music affects the night people, too. It helps release what's in their hearts."

And what's in ours, Krystin thought, frightened by what she saw in Myrmeen's eyes.

"Please," Myrmeen begged, "I don't want you to see me like this. Let me go alone."

Krystin backed away.

"Protect her, Ord!" Myrmeen cried. He nodded. Unable to contain her murderous desire any longer, Myrmeen bolted from them, her boots splashing through rapidly forming puddles as she hurtled through the streets and vanished.

Ord touched Krystin's shoulder. She looked up and saw that not all the moisture on his face hadcome from the steady flow of the rain.

"They're gone," he said, "all of them."

Krystin knew that Ord finally was allowing himself to feel the grief he had been denying over his parents' deaths. She wondered if perhaps Tamara's blood and the call of Bellophat's music had pried loose his buried emotions. For whatever reason, he had begun to cry.

Krystin felt a strength and compa.s.sion in her heart that was bold and true. She reached up and smoothed away the tear that was drifting past his cheek, then took Ord in her arms. They held each other, Ord whispering that he was sorry, so very sorry, for the things he had said and done, and Krystin's words echoed his. The rain lessened slightly and they became aware that they were no longer alone.

"A Harper and his s.l.u.t," a voice called.

Krystin whirled to see a horribly wounded man standing before her on the street. The glow of lanterns created pools of light on the cobbled street where rainwater had gathered. The maze of buildings surrounding them suddenly felt tight and claustrophobic. Staring at the man who was lighted from behind by an overhead lantern, Krystin saw that he was not wounded, but had been burned or flayed.

"Time to come out and play, my son," Dymas called.

Ord spun and stared straight up as he heard the sc.r.a.pe of claws on the fragile roof beneath which they had taken shelter. Krystin clutched at his arm as the roof was torn in half. Above, the creature that had been Alden McGregor looked down at them and licked its lips.

Krystin had time only to scream as Alden leapt.

Several blocks away, Myrmeen crouched in an alley, where she had forced her berserker's rage under control. These are not the thoughts of a rational woman, she had repeated in her mind until she was able to think clearly. The irony of the statement that brought her under control was not lost on her; these were hardly normal, rational circ.u.mstances. At the end of the alley she saw people gathering and realized that she had come close to one of the many outdoor shopping pavilions. Naturally, this is where the greatest concentration of people would be found in the city at night.

From her vantage she saw the crowd grow thick, obscuring her view of the street. A couple walked past her in the alley, another pair of somnambulists, and Myrmeen cursed her dulled senses; she had not even heard their approach. Falling in behind them, walking slowly and sluggishly so as not to attract attention, Myrmeen reached the mouth of the alley. The sight before her registered with a dull, aching shock. People lined both sides of the street. Lines of human spectators stretched as far as she could see in either direction. Others went about the business of destroying the many stands and shops in the street. They swung hammers and axes with a fervor that was a marked contrast to the glazed stares of the other humans. Details of men and woman cleared away the wreckage.

"The Parade is coming," a small boy whispered, "the parade of spectacle and wonder."

"The beautiful ones are coming," a man said in a wistful voice, as if he were reliving his happiest memory.

Beside the man, a woman said, "The men will be so handsome. They are brave and strong."

"The women lovely, lovelier than words can say."

"I cannot wait," the woman said, and she sighed wickedly. "Bring them on. Bring them on now."

"Yes, let us admire them. Let us love them. Let us bathe in their splendor. Bring them on."

"Bring them on," another man added, and soon the chant was taken up by the entire crowd. The human voices blocked out the steady drizzle that soaked them. Many had left their homes wearing the thinnest of night dresses or nothing at all. By morning, they would be left with pneumonia or worse.

Myrmeen stripped off her cloak and covered a naked, shivering girl with the soft fur.

When the woman rose, she was surprised to see movement from the end of the street. Even from a distance she could tell she was looking at a vast cavalcade of monstrosities. The Night Parade was about to fulfill the promise of its name. Myrmeen was entirely certain that if she stood rooted to where she stood, she would see Lord Sixx leading the procession, the box containing the apparatus held in his hands. Already she could make out various members of the group breaking off and surging into the appreciative audience that greeted them with whoops and cheers, laughter and applause, love and acceptance.Myrmeen turned and ran down the alley. She had to find Bel-lophat. She had to stop the music and force the people to wake up before the parade reached its conclusion and the monsters began their night of destruction and murder, a night they had waited years to enjoy. Letting the music guide her, she traveled through a maze of streets until she finally came across a deserted plaza lined with trees at the far end and marked by a closed wrought iron gate. She stood before the Plaza of Divine Truth, an open-air temple erected to the glory of Bhaelros, the G.o.d of storms and destruction known in Arabel and elsewhere in the realms as Talos. The temple's fortified walls were four feet thick and, traditionally, guards were posted at every corner and gate. Tonight, however, the temple was deserted.

Myrmeen had been here as a youth and knew that the plaza was divided into three interlocking courtyards. If she could have seen the plaza from the air, she would have seen three hollow squares with doorways in the north walls of the middle and bottom courtyards and a gate at the plaza's base.

The storm grew worse as Myrmeen scaled the first gate and leapt into the s.p.a.cious, open area of the Inner Plaza, as the first court was known. She landed in a roll. A handful of human corpses had been propped in the far corner of the open s.p.a.ce-the missing guardsmen, Myrmeen concluded. Before her, the middle gate and the far gate beyond it had been left wide open. Myrmeen drew the sword that the night people had given her and entered the second court, the Initiates' Plaza. Carefully checking her blind areas to either side and behind her, Myrmeen slipped around the wall and saw the beautifully sculpted shrines, eight in all, to her far left and right flanks. She glanced upward to check the walls, concerned that Beflophat might have guards or followers such as those she had glimpsed in the black ship. She feared that his worshipers might leap down at her, tearing her to pieces that would comfortably fit in the ma.s.sive jaws lining Bellophat's stomach. Lightning struck a nearby tree, adding much needed illumination.

The second court was deserted, the walls secure.

Slowly she approached the final gate, which led into the Chosen Plaza, the third and last court, where those willing to make the proper donation could kneel at the altar built before Bhaelros's idol. A wall set twenty-five feet inside the Chosen Plaza blocked her view of the statue, as it would for all nonpay-ing callers. She peeked around the edge of the gateway, saw nothing unusual, and chose to go right. She stayed close to the stone wall and followed it another twenty feet before she reached the end and peered around its side. Sitting upon the s.p.a.ce that once had contained the idol to Bhaelros-a G.o.d that would have been pleased with the strength and intensity of the storm wrapped around Calimport this night-was Vizier Bellophat's sprawling ma.s.s.

The monster did not look up. Bellophat's eyes were shut as it concentrated solely on its craft. It was as enraptured by its own music as the entire populace of the city had been. Myrmeen surrendered to the call of blood, allowing the berserker's rage she had been repressing to take control of her. She raced toward the seemingly helpless monstrosity. Suddenly, a dozen smaller creatures left their waiting shadows and converged on her. She was ten feet from Bellophat when they brought her down without any apparent exertion. Myrmeen screamed as she was overcome by the pack of abominations. Before her, Vizier Bellophat opened one lazy red eye, smiled, then closed it again.

Moments after Myrmeen had left Krystin and the young Harper, Magistrate Dymas and his son, Alden McGregor, had revealed themselves. They knew that by attacking the humans they would forfeit their chance to be a part of the grand procession, but Dymas was convinced that bringing his master the beating heart of a Harper would help cement his recent return to favor with Lord Sixx. He had thought of his years of exile, and the memories had spurred him on.

Alden crouched above Krystin's and Ord's heads. He was more monstrous than either of them had ever seen him. He leapt down and landed a few feet ahead of the humans, raising his claws in his father's direction. Despite his inhuman appearance, Alden was recognizable as having been the young, charming, flaxen-haired youth who had helped the humans inflict destruction on the night people.

"Father, please, no," he said in a guttural voice. "These are my friends. Don't make me."

"Don't make you what?" Dymas asked, indignant. "Harm them? Taste their blood. You know youwant to."

"Please," Alden begged.

"Make your decision," the flayed man said as he started to dance, his movements deliciously slow at first, then gaining in speed and complexity. "It's them or us."

The dance Magistrate Dymas performed held surprising beauty for the humans who suddenly found themselves unable to stay on their feet. Ord's head lolled back as he fell to the ground, trying to ward off the intense vertigo that gripped him. Krystin had looked away, catching Dymas's movements with only her peripheral vision. The sight had dropped her to her knees, but she regained her balance.

Alden was barely affected by his father's display, though his anger was causing his body to vibrate so quickly that he appeared to be in several places at once. Ghost images, blurs, remained in the spots he had vacated.

"You're no faster than I am," Alden said.

"I'm not, am I?" Dymas said as he raced forward.

Krystin was barely able to glance to her left, where Ord lay, before it was over. From the corner of her eye, however, she saw everything. The flayed man moved in a blur, crossing the distance between Ord and himself, dancing past his son in the process. He took Ord's grasping hand and yanked the nineteen-year-old into the air, hoisting him above his head as if he were a rag doll. With blinding speed, Dymas s.n.a.t.c.hed the Harper's short sword from his scabbard and impaled the young man. Ord choked and flailed, a cloud of blood exiting his mouth as Dymas held him high. Suddenly, the Harper stiffened and went limp.

The sound of steel piercing flesh came to Dymas from somewhere close and suddenly he did not have the strength to hold the Harper's body aloft. He registered the slight shove he had felt and looked down to see the hilt of a weapon jutting from his own chest. As he crumpled to his knees, Ord's dead weight collapsed upon him. The Harper's body snagged on the weapon in the flayed man's chest, inadvertently yanking the blade downward to slice again at his delicate organs. Dymas felt a cold, cruel delirium wash over him, and he caught sight of his killer: Krystin.

Dymas sank to the ground, his body tangled with the Harper's. The girl screamed and Alden helped to extricate Ord from his father's twitching form. Krystin shoved Alden out of the way and pressed her head against Ord's chest. There was no heartbeat. He was dead. Tears fell from her eyes as she wailed in grief and clutched at him.

Behind her, Alden's animal senses had been inflamed by the nearness of the blood, but his cherished humanity forced his growing feral nature to remain under control.

Finally, Krystin sat up. The part of her that had been a frustrated schoolgirl felt light-headed with shock. Ord's face was relaxed in death. Struggling to force away the emotions that crowded in on her, Krystin realized that the last of the Harpers to journey to Calimport was either dead or gone. By the time Reisz came back, provided he was not killed or grounded ash.o.r.e by the storm, the morning would have come, and the Night Parade's Festival of Renewal would be at an end. The word renewal thundered in her mind.

"Have to find her," Krystin murmured. "The children, I understand about the children!"

Alden reached out, his claws coming inches from her flesh before he said, "Before you go, there is something you must know, something about Tamara and Zeal."

Krystin listened intently as Alden relayed what he had learned when he had spied on them in Shandower's lair. She looked away from him and glanced down at Ord's body. Krystin touched Ord's dead lips, then leaned down and kissed him. Then she whispered, "Alden-"

"I won't leave him in the open," Alden promised. "I'll take care of it, then join you. Go!"

Krystin took one last look at Ord, then ran off, her boots splashing through deep puddles as the storm grew more intense, a wall of rain quickly obscuring her retreating form. Alden looked back to Ord's body, then froze as he saw that Dymas's no longer lay beside it.

"Good-bye," a voice whispered from behind.

Alden tried to run, but he was too slow. A pair of hands gripped his wrists from behind and thrust Alden's claws deep into his own chest."Thank you, my son," Dymas whispered. "For what you've revealed, I'll make your death quick."

Crying out with pain, Alden shuddered as his claws were ripped to either side of his body, tearing the cavity of his chest to pieces as blood sprayed upward, mixing with the rain. He fell facedown in a puddle that soon turned crimson. Ord's body was beside him. For a moment he thought he saw Ord move. The boy couldn't have survived a wound such as that, Alden thought. Or could he?

Alden was about to train his animal senses on the Harper when death came for him. He did not hear the slap of his father's bare feet on the pavement as the wounded man left to seek his master.

In the courtyard of the Chosen Plaza, Myrmeen shook off two of the creatures that had overwhelmed her. One had stalks rising from its flesh, with either tiny, piranhalike jaws protruding from the stalks or rapidly blinking eyes. The other had been a snake-woman she first had seen at Shandower's retreat. Myrmeen's grip on her sword had been tested, but she had not released the weapon. With a grunt, Myrmeen sliced off the top of the snake-woman's head. Then she turned and ran her blade through the monster with more eyes and teeth than it ever would need again. She screamed as she hacked away at another monster, a bony, balding man with a closed knot of flesh for a face, who was gripping her thigh. Whirling, she gutted an old man with pulsating gaps of flesh throughout his head.

The creatures that had brought her down had acted as a cohesive whole at first, exercising their great strength of numbers. After Myrmeen had dispatched several of them, the creatures stumbled over one another in their attempts to escape Myrmeen's wrath. They were not protectors, she realized, merely adoring worshipers of the globular monstrosity behind her. She killed two more, then let the others flee.

Myrmeen turned after she watched the last of the creatures escape and saw that both of Vizier Bellophat's egg-shaped crimson eyes were open and following her.

"You ugly b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she said as she raised her blood-drenched sword and tripped over one of her victims' bodies. Her own body trembled as she giggled and rose once again, stepping onto the first tier of the ma.s.sive altar where Bellophat had been deposited. "How did they haul your fat, disgusting bloat of a body in here, anyway?"

Bellophat's music became more chaotic, the rhythm suddenly frantic, the notes off-key. Myrmeen thought of the G.o.d whose temple had been violated, and she prayed fervently that Bhaelros would help her destroy this monstrosity. They blamed it all on you, she thought. The great storm, the deaths and devastation, everything!

But even as the thunder rolled and the lightning crackled, striking dose enough to light up the plaza, Myrmeen knew she was on her own. Bhaelros was ignoring the affront.

Myrmeen raised her sword as Bellophat swatted at her with the harp it had formed from its pink, sweaty ma.s.s. The fighter was swept from her feet, her head striking the marble altar when she fell. As she tried to ward off the lancing pain she felt behind her eyes, Myrmeen heard Bellophat's music resume its original patterns, the lovely composition a stark contrast to the disgusting ma.s.s that was performing the piece. Then she heard flesh tearing, bones cracking, and looked down to see Bellophat altering his body once again, this time creating hands that clamped down on her legs and arms and hauled her into the air as the creature's jaws snapped in accompaniment to the music it was creating.

Swinging blindly with her sword arm, Myrmeen was stunned to hear a scream that appeared to have been torn from a howling whirlwind. Her body was unceremoniously dumped at the foot of the altar. The music had stopped.

Myrmeen saw that she had severed the fleshy strands that made up the harp's strings.

Even as Bellophat roared in pain, its pink, rolling skin turning red with anger, she registered that the strands were reaching back and soon would meld together once more. Trying to stand, Myrmeen felt a coldness on her ankle and tried to pull away. She was too late. One of Bellophat's hands still gripped her. It yanked her forward, tipping her from her feet once again. A jolt of pain raced up through her back as she struck the edge of the altar's first step. She pulled herself to a sitting position and hacked the limb from the creature.For the first time she truly paid attention to the number of instruments Bellophat had created from its elastic body. There were more than a dozen in all. The music suddenly resumed and Myrmeen darted out of the way as a thin, rapierlike bow shot out toward her face. She felt the breeze as it pa.s.sed her.

With a hollow scream, Myrmeen leapt at Bellophat, her boot catching in the triangle it held. She used it as she would the first step in a ladder. She kicked herself higher, her blade whipping around to thrust directly toward Bellophat's right eye.

Myrmeen drove the sword through the creature's head. Her body slammed against the monster with a soft, sickening noise, then she lost her grip on the borrowed weapon and fell back into Bellophat's huge lap, stopping inches from his wildly snapping jaws, which slowed, then stopped. The music died with its creator.

Then there was no more time to think. Bellophat's body began to dissolve, changing into a dripping ma.s.s. Myrmeen felt as if she were being sucked into a mountain of gelatinous flesh, about to be drowned in an ocean of muck and gore. Her flesh sizzled as the heat of the monster's body rose substantially and turned acidic.

"Take my hand!" a familiar voice called.

The fighter looked up and saw Krystin standing on the remains of Bhaelros's idol, which had been hidden behind and beneath Bellophat's immense form. Myrmeen s.n.a.t.c.hed Krys-tin's hand and allowed the child to yank her out of the boiling ma.s.s that had been the creature's body. In seconds they crouched on the storm G.o.d's chest and clutched at each other as the rain washed the blood and gore from them.

Around them, the storm raged on, indifferent to their suffering.

Twenty-Two.

Some time earlier, Tamara had dutifully taken her place beside her husband in the procession.

Her scheme to take vengeance on Lord Sixx called for both conspirators to remain in full view of the monstrous throng who would be their followers once Sixx was dead, thus erasing any possible accusations of guilt.

As they walked through the streets, Tamara stared at the emerald locket she had retrieved from the pit of Shandower's cavernous lair, finally understanding the fascination the object held for the girl: The locket was not a magical item. The mage, Cardoc, had proved this. It was, however, magic sensitive.

With no real power of its own, it could a.s.similate the power of its owner and fulfill whatever need the mage holding it required. The locket responded to desire, an alien emotion to the mage while he was in the course of performing his duties, thus, despite his great power, for him it had remained a useless lump of metal with a shining emerald surface. Krystin had needed to know her past, and the locket had revealed it to her. Tamara wanted to know only her future, and the images that she saw within its emerald depths confused and disturbed her. With time and effort she knew she could force the locket to show her the future in such detail that the meaning of the glimpses would come clear, but it did not appear that she would have such time, not tonight, in any case.

"Stop looking at that thing," Zeal whispered.

Tamara tore her gaze from the locket and smiled as she waved to the entranced humans on either side of the street. She felt slightly embarra.s.sed that she, the originator of the plan to depose Lord Sixx, had to be reminded to follow their script. Sixx walked directly before them, holding the box containing the apparatus high over his head. Bellophat's music eased through the streets, carried to all parts of the city by his will.

As the procession wore on, the music changed, becoming heated and out of control. Then it ceased altogether. Tamara forced back a smile of triumph. Myrmeen had succeeded in her task.

Bellophat was dead.

Lord Sixx slowed, looking around in anger and surprise. He drew the box to his breast and stopped in the middle of the street. The procession, moving in perfect time with him, also stopped."Tamara," Lord Sixx said with a nervous edge in his voice, "Find Bellophat. Make him begin again."

She hesitated. This had not been according to plan. Tamara had been certain that Sixx would send her husband away to check on Bellophat. As they both were aware of what had happened to the monstrosity, Zeal instead would have secretly followed Lord Sixx and remained hidden until Sixx opened the box containing the apparatus. Then he would have performed the task they had discussed; Tamara had wanted to be near Lord Sixx, to see the look of surprise on his face, to laugh as he died. Instead, she would have to watch from a distance and Zeal would have to look his victim in the eye-an ironic turn of phrase considering their leader's many-eyed condition-when he dispatched the man.