Unclean (27 page)

“The local Shadowmasters are only one Chapter of a greater network based in Thesk. Would it truly suit Your Omnipotence to have foreigners controlling all thievery south of the First Escarpment?”

“It might at least suit me to see someone else officiating in front of Mask’s high altar, so get out of here and do what needs doing.”

She bowed and withdrew.

The unsatisfactory interview left Aznar feeling as restless and edgy as before, but perhaps he knew a way to lift his spirits. It had been a month since he’d visited Mari Agneh.

Though he didn’t play with her as frequently—or, often, as elaborately—as in the first years of her captivity, she still amused him on occasion, which made her a rarity. Generally, the torment

of a particular victim eventually came to seem repetitive and stale, at which point he consigned that prisoner to his or her final agonies and moved on to the next.

He supposed it was Mari’s austere good looks and defiant spirit that he still found piquant, combined with the fact that she was nearly the first person of significance he’d punished after assuming the mantle of a zulkir. In her way, she was a memento of his ascension.

Smiling now, he rose, took up his staff of luminous congealed flame, and exited the private chamber into a larger hall where bodyguards, clerks, and other functionaries awaited his pleasure. He waved them off and tramped on alone, through one magnificently appointed space after another. His passage was a like a ripple in a pond, agitating everyone. Sentries came to attention and saluted, while everybody else groveled in the manner appropriate to his station.

Such displays became less frequent once he made his way to corridors that, while no less handsomely decorated, were smaller and less well travelled. From there, a concealed door admitted him to his private prison.

Mari gave him a level stare as he entered her cell. “I’m going to kill you tonight,” she said.

It surprised him a little. She hadn’t made that particular threat in quite a while, not since they’d proved her helplessness time and again.

“By all means, try,” he answered. “It always made our times together that much more entertaining, but first, take off your clothes, and keep your eyes on me as you do it. I want you to see me seeing you.”

She obeyed, as of course she had to. His magic left her no choice.

“Now crawl to me on your belly and clean my shoes with your tongue.”

She did that, too.

“Now hug the whipping post.” He wouldn’t need to tie or shackle her to keep her there. His spoken will sufficed even for that.

He laid down his staff, took down the whip from its hook on the wall, and cut her back into a tidy Crosshatch of bloody welts. Though it was the least of his accomplishments, he’d always taken a certain satisfaction in his skill with a lash. He fancied that if he hadn’t been born with a talent for magic, he could have been one of Thay s more successful slavers. Perhaps it would have been a less stressful and demanding existence than the life of a zulkir.

Mari invariably struggled against the need to cry out. Perhaps what remained of her warrior’s pride demanded it, whereas he found pleasure in overcoming that resistance, striking for as long as it took to get her squealing like an animal.

Perhaps the day’s worries and frustrations had wearied him more than he knew, for tonight, it seemed to take an unusually long time. He grew hot and sweaty, peeled off his crimson robe, and then the garments underneath, all the way down to his smallclothes.

Eventually Mari gave him a reaction, though not precisely the one he was expecting. Her shoulders began to shake, and she made a breathy, rhythmic sound. For a moment, he assumed she was sobbing then he realized that in reality, the noise was laughter.

He shook his head. He’d just been imagining she was the one plaything that would never break, and here was the first sign her sanity was crumbling at last. Life could be so drearily perverse.

“Turn around,” he said, and she did. “Tell me what’s so funny.”

“The flogging doesn’t hurt,” she said, “not really, and you don’t have any pockets anymore.” She charged him.

Though she hadn’t lifted her hand to him in quite some time, he was always watchful for it, always prepared, even in the deepest throes of lust, and it was no different now. “Stop!” he snapped.

She didn’t stop. She raked her nails across his eye and punched him in the throat.

Half blind, half choking, he reeled back, then reflex took over. She was right, he’d divested himself of his protective talismans and the physical components required to cast many of his most powerful spells. He was the greatest master of Evocation in all Thay, though, and capable of creating many other effects by word and gesture alone. He croaked a word of power, jabbed out his hand, and bright globes of light burst in rapid succession from his fingertips. Swelling larger, they hurtled at Mari, each engulfing her in its turn, and with a deafening crackle, discharging the lightning that constituted its essence into her body.

Startled, hurt, Aznar had lashed out with one of the most potent attacks available to him, and he immediately realized the response was excessive. Such an abundance of magic he might have used to kill a giant or wyvern. In all likelihood, there wouldn’t even be anything left of her body and not much left of the furniture either.

When he caught his breath, wiped the tears from his stinging eye, and blinked the blurriness out of the world, he saw that he was half right. The spell had blasted the whipping post and bed frame into smoking scraps of kindling. The blankets, pillows, and mattress were on fire, but Mari stood where she’d stood before, seemingly unscathed.

Unscathed but not unchanged. She had four arms, not two, and her smooth ivory skin had darkened and roughened into purple scales. Her eyes glowed red, and the bottom half of her face had lengthened into a muzzle complete with fangs.

It occurred to him that, except for her merely human stature and the fact that she was still manifestly female, she now resembled one of the demon guards stationed elsewhere in the palace. What did that mean? The order of Conjuration had supplied those demons. Was it possible Nevron had turned against him?

Mari gathered herself to spring, and Aznar realized he’d better put such speculations aside. He’d unravel the mystery of his captive’s transformation in due course, but for now, what mattered was defending himself against her. It was obvious that in her altered condition, she no longer felt constrained to obey his commands.

Lightning hadn’t harmed her, but maybe fire would. She lunged at him, and with a simple exertion of his will, he released the power bound in a tattooed glyph on his left forearm. It pained him like a bee sting, and Mari’s entire body exploded into flame.

Plainly hurt, she staggered, and looking forward to watching her flounder, shriek, and burn, he stepped out of her blundering way.

She caught her balance and pivoted to threaten him anew. Two of her hands swiped at him with their talons. One grazed his shoulder and drew blood.

The blaze enshrouding her hand didn’t sear him. He’d long since forged unshakable alliances with Ere, acid, lightning, and cold, and Mari’s claws scarcely broke his skin. Even so, he suffered a shock of weakness and dizziness. He swayed, and she nearly succeeded in catching him by the throat when she snatched for him again.

Retreating, he chanted while miming the making of a snowball and then the act of throwing it. Hurtling chunks of ice sprang into existence to batter Mari and knock her back a step, but they didn’t put her down any more than the lightning and

fire had. In fact, her corona of punishing flame was guttering out faster than it was supposed to, revealing only superficial burns that were already starting to heal.

Damn it, he needed the items cached in his robe. They were the keys to unlocking his most devastating spells, and apparently nothing less would serve to neutralize his foe. Unfortunately, Mari stood between the garment and himself. He had to get past her somehow and likewise obtain the additional moment he’d need to retrieve the garment and pull out one of the appropriate talismans.

With a wave of his hand, he filled the air with what was, to him, merely a tinge of gray. To any other eyes, though, it would seem impenetrable darkness. Mari snarled and rushed him, plainly seeking to catch him before he could shift away from the spot where she’d seen him last.

He whispered a word of power and whisked himself through space. Now that he was outside the clot of shadow, it was opaque to him as well, though he could hear Mari flailing around inside.

He picked up his robe. It was on fire from collar to hem, but not yet so badly burned that it would disintegrate if he tried to put it on, and he lifted it to do so. His hands would find his spell triggers far more easily if his pockets were hanging in their accustomed places about his body.

Mari sprang from the cloud of datkness. Obviously, she’d figured out Aznar was no longer inside. If only she could have stayed fooled for one more heartbeat! Then everything would have been all right.

She snatched, caught the robe in her claws, and for an instant, the two of them pulled on it like children playing tug of war. Alas, she was the stronger, and when the burning, weakened cloth ripped in two, the piece in her talons was by far the larger. Laughing, she shredded it, and crystals, medallions, and

vials tumbled to the floor. Then she reached for Aznar, who, backing up until his shoulders banged against a wall, petceived that his paltry piece of the robe possessed at least a few pockets, though which ones, he couldn’t tell. He stuck his hand in one at random and brought out a folded paper packet of powdered ruby.

It made him want to laugh, but there was scarcely time for that. He jabbered a rhyme and lashed the particles of red glittering dust through the air to explode into tiny sparks.

A cube with transparent crimson walls sprang into existence around the onrushing Mari. She slammed into the side of it and rebounded.

She’d charged so close to Aznar that when it popped into existence, the magical cage nearly trapped him as well by pinning him between itself and the wall behind him, but he sucked in his breath and managed to sidle free. Meanwhile, Mari attacked the enclosure with the frenzy of a rabid animal, repeatedly breaking and regrowing her talons.

“Strike at it all you like,” Aznar Thrul panted. “It will hold. It will hold for days.” Plenty of time for him to decide how best to chastise her and solve the puzzle of her metamorphosis.

For now, he required the aid of a healer to take away the sick feeling her claws had slashed into his flesh and strong drink to quiet his jangled nerves. He snapped his fingers to extinguish all the various fires then turned and exited the cell.

He was several paces down the corridor when four strong hands gripped him by the shoulders and forearms. He just had time to realize that, like many a true tanar’ri, Mari must also possess the ability to translate herself through space, then she yanked him close and plunged her fangs into his neck.

Tsagoth had tried to finagle a guard station close to Mari Agneh’s hidden cell, so he’d have some hope of knowing when Aznar Thrul went to torture her. Unfortunately, though, he’d been unsuccessful, and when screams started echoing from that general direction, he had no idea whether they meant the former tharchion had struck at her captor at last or portended something else entirely.

He dissolved his body and reshaped it into the guise of a gigantic bat. Flight was often a faster, more reliable means of travel than blinking through space when he didn’t know precisely where he was going. Wings beating, he raced through imposing chambers and hallways, over the heads of humans, ores, and other folk who were, in many cases, either running toward or away from the source of the noise.

He rounded another corner, and free of her prison at last, Mari Agneh came into view. Tsagoth felt a strange, unexpected stirring of pride at the marvel he’d created. Painted with fragrant human gore—Aznar Thrul’s, no doubt—from mouth to navel, she was a pitiful runt compared to any true blood fiend, but in every other respect, he’d succeeded in transforming a feeble, insignificant mortal into an entity like himself.

She was confronting four warriors, a trio of spearmen, and one swordsman clad in the more ornate trappings and superior armor of an officer. Dissolving his bat guise, Tsagoth started the shift to his more customary form. Generally speaking, it was more useful for combat.

Before he could enter the fray, Mari sprang and raked the guts out of a spearman. In so doing, she perforce turned her back on some of his allies, and another warrior drove his lance deep into her back. She scarcely seemed to notice. She whirled with such force that she jerked the weapon from his hands, grabbed hold of his head, and slammed him to the floor. Part of his face came away in her talons, and he didn’t move thereafter.

The remaining spearman dropped his weapon and bolted. The officer, however, raised his sword to cut at Mari’s head, and Tsagoth sensed potent enchantment seething in the gleaming gray blade. Perhaps Mari did too, for though she’d essentially ignored the spears, she now retreated and lifted a hand to ward herself.

The officer instantly spun his sword lower, extended the point, and exploded into a running attack. The move was all offense and no defense, arguably reckless in any situation and certainly so against an opponent as formidable as Mari, but it caught her by surprise, and the enchanted sword punched all the way through her torso.

Shouting, the warrior jerked his weapon free and raised it to cut. As it streaked down, she caught it in her two upper hands. The keen edge cut deep enough to sever one of her thumbs, but at least she kept it from cleaving her skull and brain.

She shifted closer to the swordsman and used her two remaining hands to gather him in. Then she plunged her fangs into his throat and sucked at the gushing wound.

All this, before Tsagoth could even complete his transformation and come to her aid. It made him feel even more gratified. He started toward her, and the mark on his brow gave him another twinge. He clawed it from existence, and his hide tickled as it immediately started to heal.