If I send them out before the Demonlord arrives, they will cause extra chaos: a nice distraction. If after, they will give my foes yet more to worry about, piled upon already burdened hearts and minds. Both are attractive—hmmm.

Chaos, I think. I should just have time for the ritual this evening before my treat.

As for the Demonlord himself—that Black Dragon is damnably slow. I feel every beat of its wings and it is exhausting. Just as well that I have the body of a young man now; I do not believe that my old self would have had the pure strength to bear it.

I have already accomplished the impossible, of course. The fools I am surrounded by should bow down and worship at my feet. They have no idea—but ah, they will learn. Very, very soon.

I, Berys—no. No, I need hide no longer. I, Malior, only living Demon-Master of the Sixth Hell, have performed the greatest work of my life but these few days past. It has taken me many long years, much learning, much sacrifice, and quite a bit of blood— some of it even mine—but at last I have summoned the Demon-lord, he who gave up his name for all time in exchange for power. Five thousand years ago, before he faced the great dragons in battle, he performed the spell of the Distant Heart. His own beating heart was removed from his chest, placed safely in a box of gold, silver, and lead, and taken by the Rakshasa to a far distant place where none would ever find it and he would live forever.

He was no fool. When he started destroying the True Dragons, thus fulfilling the deepest desire of his soul, they fought back. The spells and demon-protections he had established kept him alive for some little while, and half the dragons died that day, they say. However, they finally managed to exact vengeance by destroying his body. It is written that he laughed even as his body was burnt to a cinder, and no one knew why.

I know why. Because he knew through his arts that one day, a demon-master possessed of great power would create for him a new body, untouchable this time by fire, and that he would live again, this time forever.

Ah, life is sweet.

For I have found it, not two moons since. The Demonlord's Distant Heart. Every demon-summoner alive would murder cheerfully for the knowledge I now possess.

A few days past I summoned the Lord of the Fifth Hell, who told me that the Demonlord could only be destroyed by a creature that bleeds both dragon and human blood when cut. Such a thing must exist for the spell of the Distant Heart requires a counterspell to be effective, but I could waste years searching for it and still never find it. After all, demons are not truly aware of time as we know it. This creature might have died out centuries ago, or not been born yet.

I knew that before I summoned the Demonlord, knew that I could neither banish nor destroy him immediately—but there are ways and ways to deal with demons. The binding spells that hold him can be renewed easily enough, for as long as I like. Perhaps my arts will, in time, allow me to fabricate such a creature. It is not beyond possibility—and after all, I will soon have a wife! Given sufficient preparation, surely I can create a child that would answer that need. And in the meantime, I will have the means of my eventual success at hand. For what would be the good of finding the creature of mixed blood if I had not the Distant Heart in my possession?

And I have found it by pure chance.

This autumn past, poor deluded Marik of Gundar, who has relied on me to bolster his power for many years, took the risk of travelling to the Dragon Isle to gather lansip, that marvellous leaf that grew only in that one place in all the world. Healall, good for everything from headache to heart s-ease, and when taken in sufficient quantity, able to reverse the effects of time itself. All in all, I suppose I should be grateful for Marik's delusion: it has given me back half a century of life, and it drew my attention to the Dragon Isle. I has prudently avoided that place for many years, for the Kantri, the True Dragons who lived on that island so far to the west, have a natural power over the Rakshasa who serve me. However, as I began to search some months ago for the proper material out of which to create a body for the Demonlord to inhabit, all suddenly came clear.

A body untouchable by fire must be made of fire, or of stone. A body of fire is unworkable, for fire—even demonfire—must have something to burn upon, however small, and that would soon be exhausted. I could have fashioned him a body of granite, but it would take years and years, and I have no wish to wait so long. It is also the case that hard stone is unforgiving, and it can be shattered given sufficient strength. No, the Dragon Isle held the answer. It was volcanic in nature: fire and stone at once, fluid and ready to be shaped to my will, and vastly lighter than solid rock. I had only to call forth the molten stone from the heart of the island.

When I began the work I meant only to shape a body that would hold the Demonlord—I intended the shape to be a figure of dread to the dragons, that they might feel that one of their own had become their destroyer. However, I had barely begun the making when I felt suddenly, even at that great remove, the presence of something burning with a fire hotter even than molten stone. I turned my mind to it, I probed with my thought and with all the power nature had granted me, and lo, there it lay, open to my thought, and just where it would be of most use.

The making of the Black Dragon took all the power I possess. I had to goad the quiescent voice of the island from a rumble into violent activity, then to raise the casket containing the heart into the midst of the material I used to create the body of the beast. Once the shaping was done, though, it was—it is—a perfect creation. It houses the Demonlord, bound to me inextricably by blood and bone, and it bears within itself its own destruction. That pleases me. And when I offer to ensoul it at last, give it life again—well, the other main stricture of the spell of the Distant Heart is that body, soul, and the Heart cannot ever be combined again in the one creature. If that were to happen, the spell would be broken and the Heart would become mere flesh again.

It is truly said that if you put all your energies into a single task, all of life comes together to aid you. However, the wise man does not put all his trust in so insubstantial a thing as life.

Since I provided Marik with numerous demonic artefacts, among them a means of keeping off the dragons, I received half of the lansip harvest for my pains. I have used almost all of it already, bar a few boxes I have retained to control those demons who crave it: but the distilled essence of lansip has proven the legends true. No more the protesting joints, no more the weakness, the thousand small ills, the dimmed eyesight, the fading hearing—no more the tread of death behind me or its shadow in the glass before my eyes.

I have conquered time itself. Behold, I now have that which all men desire—a mind honed by seventy years of study and nearly ninety years of living, and a body no more than thirty years old to carry out the demands I make of it. I had forgotten the power of this age! Every nerve tingles with strength and youth. By all the Hells, it is a wonder.

Of course, I do miss my hand.

I had to cut it off to bind the Demonlord to my will. The sacrifice will be well worth it—it was only my left hand, after all—but the place where my hand once was itches constantly. It is of minor interest. I suspect the illusion will end in time. Perhaps I can find a smith to create a mechanical replacement. It is damned awkward getting dressed. Still, that is what servants are for.

It irks me that I have been so weak these last several days, but even I must needs recover from such great works as the binding of the Nameless One and the making of the Black Dragon. I labour even as I rest, to keep the creature in the air as it flies to Kolmar from the distant west. And I have had a rasp in my throat from the choking I had off that witch-daughter of Marik's when she attacked. I have ensured that she has nor food nor fuel. The weaker her body, the easier it will be to dominate her will.