The Lord of Necrond

She stared coldly into those yellow eyes of her torturer. "You miserably fool!" The words bubbled from her bloodied mouth. "I must see the High Circle. I must speak with Nuin. She, at least, must understand that a new Maiden must be found. The ways of¾ " Her head jerked sideways, her words shredded into a scream of anguish as the verderer prodded her body, searching for an area as yet undamaged. The point of a skewer, such as might be used to pin a roll of meat ready for roasting, pricked the flesh of her outer ear.

"Woman, join the march of souls through the forest."

"Never!" she screeched. There was no need to reply but it gave her courage. She needed courage. Already they had cut out her kidney and forcibly stuffed it into the mouth of the man opposite and she knew the savagery of the pain they could inflict. The fear never left her. The fear never left any of the miserable souls trapped down in the dungeons of the Otherworld.

Her head was held steady by a brace and all she could do was gasp and tremble. A mallet tapped against the butt of the skewer until the point touched the drum of her inner ear. The pain was so sharp, she sucked in her scream that rang silently within her head as the blinding flash of pain jolted her brain. They knew well what would cause the most suffering. Convulsions racked her body.

But she would hold out. Brid needed her. The helpless little child that she had taught so well, the girl who hid all her insecurities in a blanket of competence, who had worked so hard to reach that higher plain required of a high priestess, needed her desperately. She would not fail Brid.

Pain tore at her brain.

"Give in; let go and all will be peace. Love awaits you; bliss awaits you."

"Never!"

The skewer twisted. Pain raked through her entire body until, at last, the mercy of blackness drowned her mind. Though the verderers knew how to induce maximum pain whilst still keeping their charges conscious, Morrigwen's mind-control was too strong for them. In her one hundred and fifteen years on earth, she had learnt to find that state of trance, that inner world beyond the flesh where her body could be separated from her inner soul. She retreated there now.

Much of the pain she had borne in such a manner and knew that those about her survived their tortures in similar ways, reaching for that inner strength that so bemused the verderers and was the reason why they would never fully dominate the human spirit.

She swam in blackness, a ribbon of light swirling and dancing in the void. All was thought, detached and abstract. There were more important things to her than being a part of the cycle. The full weight of consciousness that slid eternally round from life, death and rebirth was beyond all else more important than her own part in it - and those fools had found a way to distort the flow of life. So young, so earnest, so determined to do such good and win such acclaim. That was the thing, she mused, retreating deeper into that intensity of thought that found only inner consciousness and that sweet release from pain.

The Great Mother had been so right, she considered, to see that it was three women who represented her, spoke for Her on Earth. Men sought too much for glory. They were dangerous. The proof was all about her in the dungeons of Abalone. So few women yet so many men went against the circle of life. She knew it was not that the women were unable to bear the pain. Indeed not. Bearing pain was not a physical strength but a state of mind.

The skewer was withdrawn and colour flooded back to her mind. The yellow-eyed verderer's attention had been snatched away. A sudden hush overlaid the fug of the chamber; even the wailing screams of defeated souls trailed off. A soul had entered; a new soul, someone of great importance.

Tartarsus swung down from the viewing gallery and stared. The leaping, spitting fires sank down, cringing back into the bed of embers like raging tigers calmed by their trainer's presence as the soul drew close. Though small and sprightly, he bore an air of intense presence.

"Talorcan!" Tartarsus greeted him with mock warmth.

CHAPTER ONE

Caspar wrapped his arms around May, pulling her head down against his chest and hunching his shoulders protectively over her. The walls shook. Chips of masonry fell from the arches overhead, glancing off his bowed back.

"Get us out of here," the girl begged.

"I shall, don't worry," Caspar said bravely though he had no idea how they were going to escape from where they were trapped in the secret halls deep beneath the ancient palace of Castaguard.

The ground beneath his feet trembled and Runa, a white wolfling, yelped as plaster flaked from the vaulted ceiling and crashed onto her back. She pressed close to May's side as choking dust billowed up from the floor.

Caspar blinked, trying to see the others through the cloud of dust and prayed they were still safely tucked beneath the spread arms of the great stonewight.

"Perren!" he shouted, trying to make out the hulking form of the stonelike creature who had twice the girth of a man and a grey rindy skin the colour of granite.

"Spar!" Perren's rumbling cry came back, followed by excited yips from Caspar's thickset terrier, Trog and a wild shriek from his horse, which echoed loudly in the vaulted halls.

The youth heaved a sigh of relief. The dust was settling and he could see the others now. Ursula, Reyna, Elergian and Fern were all crouched at Perren's feet. "We've got to get out of here before we're all crushed!" Caspar shouted.

How was he, a Belbidian, a stranger in this wet land of Ceolothia, going to find escape from this warren of a city? Silently and without venom, he cursed May for setting in motion the events that had caused him to abandon his command at Torra Alta to cross Vaalaka and half Ceolothia to rescue her. Now they were trapped in the depths of the palace, hiding from the slave master, and all his outraged men, who sought them in the city above.

The ground shook again. A block of masonry, dislodged from an arch above, landed inches from Fern. The trembling woodwose that looked most like a spindly pot-bellied dwarf, flung his arms about the slave-girl. Her naked limbs grey with dust, Ursula stood calmly though she her eyes were wide with fear.

"Which way?" Caspar asked them all urgently, fearfully wondering what caused the ground to shake.

"Not down!" The stonewight sounded unnerved. Caspar couldn't believe it. Perren had never shown fear, not even in the face of the abyss worm. "They're coming!" Perren's grey skin turned chalky, his huge round head held stiffly erect.

"Who's coming?" Caspar demanded, spreading his arms protectively over May and wincing as a stone cracked him on the crown of his head, flooding his senses with dull sickening pain.

Head ducked down, the salve-girl, Ursula, ran across the hall to him. "You're bleeding, master." She tugged at Caspar's outstretched arm and the youth caught the intense look that passed between her and May, declaring, if not animosity, then at least deep suspicion.

Caspar ignored the two young women and turned instead to Reyna and her elderly mage, Elergian. Surely, with all their ancient knowledge of Castaguard, they would know of an escape route. Huddled together beneath Perren, Reyna was fretting over her unborn child while Elergian did his best to shelter her. Though Reyna was well into her middle years, she was pregnant and claimed to be carrying a son who was the rightful heir to all the extensive and rich lands of Ceolothia. She looked faint and frail in the embrace of her mage.