"Come, ye servants," I said, fighting the oil-soaked fire under the cauldron where it sits to one side of the central altar. It bursts into flame even as three of the Rikti appear.

'Tremble, mortal!" the largest hisses.

"Foolish imp," I said, twisting the binding and making it writhe. "Do not waste my time. You are bound to me already, if you refuse I'll have your soul for a year and a day, and I am a Master of the Sixth Circle. I can inflict the True Death on you if I choose."

They all hissed, but were silent.

"Good," I said, and pointed at the largest. "You, go find the Demonlord who ensouls the Black Dragon. It flies over the Great Sea towards Kolmar. Bring me back word of when it will arrive here."

The first vanished.

"You, where are the Kantri and what are they doing?"

"Masster, need more help," it said, not moving. "Too many places, too many dragons for this one. You want old ones, found ones, little ones, what? All scattered."

"Find the largest group of them and watch for an hour, then come and tell me what they are doing and where they are. Go now," I commanded. It too disappeared.

"You," I said to the smallest. "A simple task. lift that globe," I said, pointing, "and hold it above the cauldron."

The globe was made of glass, a large round vessel twice the size of my head, with a small opening in the top stopped with a cork. It was nearly full now of little locks of human hair, black to brown to red to gold to grey, all jumbled together. A few nail clippings from the bald ones.

The Rikti held the globe high above the cauldron. I raised my hand and my left arm, moving the stump in a pattern to match my whole hand, reciting the words. I have had so much practice with the major demons, these minor deeds hardly challenge me at all anymore. The demons involved yelled and tried to distract me, as ever, but I can ignore them easily now. When the last word was spoken, the oil in the cauldron burst into flame.

"Drop it!" I shouted, and the Rikti let go of the glass globe, hissed and disappeared. The glass shattered in the cauldron, while the hair and nails crisped in the flaming oil. The air was rank with the stench of burning hair and I felt slivers of glass in my hand. No matter.

I spoke the final word of the spell. As befits the final word of a great making, it had many syllables and grew harder to pronounce. The familiar sensation of a thick tongue—I ignored it, knowing it for distraction, pronouncing each syllable carefully—now, here, the last—

The spectre of the Demonlord appeared in the smoke, grinning hugely. "Boo."

I am not a Master of the Sixth Hell by accident. If I could not ignore such things I would have died long since. I spoke the final syllable, loud and strong, and the flaming oil was quenched as I spoke. The stench of burnt hair filled the room now but I barely noticed it. I started to shake, then to laugh, as the power of hundreds of Healers flowed through my veins. I fairly crackled with it, Healer blue shot with purest black.

I turned to the apparition, which to my surprise had persisted. "What do you want?" I asked, grinning back at it.

"You wanted a report. I will pass over the western shore of the South Kingdom in less than a day. I cannot tell more exactly than that."

"It is near enough. And I have a gift all prepared for you when you arrive, my servant."

"You keep thinking I'm a demon. I'm not," it said. "You are bound to me as surely as I to you. But no matter. What is my gift? If I like it I may try to fly faster."

"The Kantri," I replied, smug. "You recall those whom you turned into beasts? You will be pleased to learn that they have suffered ever since, but this very day before sunset they were restored."

The thing spat an obscenity. "And you give me the gift of having to do the work over again, do you? It cost me my life last time!" It blinked. "Well, nearly."

"Ah," I said, "behold the beauty of the pattern. The body you wear is made of molten rock, ash, and sulphur. You are living stone and the best weapon they possess is fire. How should they kill you now?"

And the Demonlord smiled and saw that it was good, and departed.

How strange. I am shaking as I don my robes for the assembly. Not the insipid blue robes of the Archimage: that time is past. My name as a demon-master I must keep secret from others, as would any who did not desire death from any number of curses, but at the least I will appear before my erstwhile companions as a Master of the Sixth Hell. The black and silver robes of my achievement fit well on my young-again shoulders. It is good.

Fear? No, I feel no fear at all. Anticipation, yes, and excitement from the power pulsing through me. And desire. Oh, yes, desire. To see so many faces pass through shock and disbelief, to despair before they die—ah, I shall savour this evening. If all goes as I plan, I should have enough bodies dead by my hand, the souls shocked and betrayed at the end, to feed even the Lord of the Fifth Hell to bursting point. Just as well, for I shall summon it to assist me—it will, I doubt not, make short work of my fellow Magistri, and give them something to think about apart from me when I decide to leave. It will be a mutual work, I think: food and exercise for one of the most powerful Lords of the Hells, the end of this weary College for me.

Underlying all, of course, there is the undeniable pleasure in knowing I have Marik of Gundar's blood and bone in my grasp. With the power now at my disposal, I do not need her to fulfill some foolish prophecy. I will still grant her soul to the Rakshasa, if only to shut Marik up, but her body I shall keep for another purpose. I need her blood, after all.

I do not yet understand what forces cluster around her, this strange creature. I have had any number of incredible reports, chief among which is that the Kantri have taken to her. They flew her out to the Merchant ship after it had left the Dragon Isle. They talk with her constantly if Marik is to be believed. The very first of them to arrive in Kolmar, weary and wounded, nevertheless came immediately to her assistance. It will be useful to have her in my power when I leave this place, lest the dragons are too cowardly to deal with my Black Dragon without encouragement.

Of course, I now have no further need for Marik himself.

I do not plan to use him this night. No, he will be worth a great deal to me when the Demonlord comes. Betrayal, despair, perhaps even fury; a tasty banquet for whatever it is that inhabits the Black Dragon. I will enjoy putting an end to his whining and his endless requests for assistance—let him live pain-free for one night. His despair will be all the more delightful when it comes.

Ah, but enough of such pleasant musing. I go now to claim my birthright. And when the Demonlord arrives and all the Kantri are dead, and with the help of the fool King Gorlak of the East Mountains and his armies, I have control of all of Kolmar, I will give to the Rakshasa a home for themselves in this world, that they may serve me more readily.

The time approaches. After I have released the Lord of the Fifth Hell to feed on my erstwhile colleagues and any students he can catch, I shall take Marik with me to collect his daughter. Let Marik feel himself fully healed for a day or so before I sacrifice him. He will have so much more to regret that way.

Ah, life is sweet.

It had been too long since I'd had to use lockpicks, and I was as rusty as the lock. It didn't help that every instant I was anticipating the sharp claws of the Rikti in my back. I must have been there a full minute—it felt like forever—when I felt the lock go and I pulled open the door, shining the lantern into the darkness. Lanen stood there, eyes blazing, manacled and chained to the wall. For all that, she stood holding a chair by its back, the legs aimed at whoever was coming in. I was proud of her, being prepared for an enemy despite everything. She caught sight of my face and threw the chair from her. I winced, waiting for the clatter, but of course it made no noise at all.