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The warty and purple-blotched face of the Master of Magicians looked up from
where he sat busy at a table surrounded by a small host awaiting orders.
"Have they shed blood?" he asked.
"Not yet."
"It is well. Keep enchanted eyes on them."
Then, gazing sternly in turn from under his hood at those whom he addressed,
the Master of Magicians gave his other orders:
To two magicians robed as his deputies: "Go on the instant to Hasjarl and
Gwaay. Remind them of the obsequies and stay with them until they and their
companies reach the funeral courtyard."
To a eunuch: "Hasten to your master Brilla. Learn if he requires further
materials or assistance building the funeral pyre. Help will be furnished him
at once and without stint."
To a captain of slingers: "Double the guard on the walls. Yourself make the
rounds. Quarmall must be entirely secure from outward assaults and escapes
from within on this coming morn."
To a richly-clad woman of middle years: "To Quarmal's harem. See that his
concubines are perfectly groomed and clad, as if their Lord himself meant to
visit them at dawn. Quiet their apprehensions. Send to me the Ilthmarix
Kewissa."
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In Hasjarl's Hall of Sorcery, that Lord let his slaves robe him for the
obsequies, while not neglecting to direct the search for his traitorous
champion Fafhrd, to instruct the shaft-watchers in the precautions they must
take against Gwaay's attempts to return the poppy dust, perchance with
interest, and to tutor his sorcerers in the exact spells they must use against
Gwaay once Quarmal's body was devoured by the flame.
In the Ghost Hall, Fafhrd munched and drank with Friska a small feast he'd
brought. He told her how he'd fallen into disfavor with Hasjarl, and he mulled
plans for his escape with her from the realm of Quarmall.
In Gwaay's Hall of Sorcery, the Gray Mouser conferred in turn with the eleven
skinny wizards in their white loincloths, telling them nothing of
Sheelba's spell, but securing from each the firm assurance that he was a magus
of the First Rank.
In the steam room of Gwaay's bath, that Lord recuperated his flesh and
faculties shaken by disease spells and drugs. His girls, supervised by Ivivis,
brought him fragrant oils and elixirs, and scrubbed and laved him as he
directed languidly yet precisely. The slender forms, blurred and silvered by
the clouds of steam, moved and posed as in a languorous ballet.
The huge pyre was finally completed, and Brilla heaved a sigh of relief and
contentment with the knowledge of work well done. He relaxed his fat, massive
frame onto a bench against the wall and spoke to one of his companions in a
high-pitched feminine voice:
"Such short notice, and at such a time, but the gods are not to be denied, and
no man can cheat his stars. It is shameful though, to think that
Quarmal will go so poorly attended: only a half dozen Lankhmarts, an
Ilthmarix, and three Mingols -- and one of those blemished. I always told him
he should keep a better harem. However the male slaves are in fine fettle and
will perhaps make up for the rest. Ah! but it's a fine flame the Lord will
have to light his way!" Brilla wagged his head dolefully and, snuffling,
blinked a tear from his piggy eye; he was one of the few who really regretted
the passing of Quarmal.
As High Eunuch to the Lord, Brilla's position was a sinecure and, besides, he
had always been fond of Quarmal since he could remember. Once when a small
chubby boy Brilla had been rescued from the torments of a group of larger,
more virile slaves who had freed him at the mere passing-by of
Quarmal. It was this small incident, unwotted or long forgotten by Quarmal,
which had provoked a lifelong devotion in Brilla.
Now only the gods knew what the future held. Today the body of Quarmal would
be burned, and what would happen after that was better left unpondered, even
in the innermost thoughts of a man. Brilla looked once more at his handiwork,
the funeral pyre. Achieving it in six short hours, even with hosts of slaves
at his command, had taxed his powers. It towered in the center of the
courtyard, even higher than the arch of the great gate thrice the stature of a
tall man. It was built in the form of a square pyramid, truncated midway;
and the inflammable woods that composed it were completely hidden by somber-
hued drapes.
A runway was built from the ground across the vast courtyard to the topmost
tier on each of the four sides; and at the top was a sizable square platform.
It was here that the litter containing the body of Quarmal would be placed,
and here the sacrificial victims be immolated. Only those slaves of
proper age and talents were permitted to accompany their Lord on his long
journey beyond the stars.
Brilla approved of what he saw and, rubbing his hands, looked about curiously.
It was only on such occasions as this that one realized the immensity of
Quarmall, and these occasions were rare; perhaps once in his life a man would
see such an event. As far as Brilla could see small bands of slaves were
lined, rank on rank, against the walls of the courtyard, even as was his own
band of eunuchs and carpenters. There were the craftsmen from the
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Upper Levels, skilled workmen all in metal and in wood; there were the workers
from the fields and vineyards all brown and gnarled from their labors; there
were the slaves from the Lower Levels, blinking in the unaccustomed daylight,
pallid and curiously deformed; and all the rest who served in the bowels of
Quarmall, a representative group from each level.
The size of the turnout seemed to contradict the dawn's frightening rumors of
secret war last night between the Levels, and Brilla felt reassured.
Most important and best placed were the two bands of henchmen of
Hasjarl and Gwaay, one group on each side of the pyre. Only the sorcerers of
the twain were absent, Brilla noted with a pang of unease, though refusing to
speculate why.
High above all this mass of mixed humanity, atop the towering walls, were the
ever-silent, ever-alert guards; standing quietly at their posts, slings
dangling ready to hand. Never yet had the walls of Quarmall been stormed, and
never had a slave once within those close-watched walls passed into the outer
world alive.
Brilla was admirably placed to observe all that occurred. To his right,
projecting from the wall of the courtyard, was the balcony from which Hasjarl
and Gwaay would watch the consuming of their father's body; to his left,
likewise projecting, was the platform from which Flindach would direct the
rituals. Brilla sat almost next to the door whence the prepared and purified
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