The cold in his breast burst into fire. He threw back his head and howled his torment and fury at the colors of the flow. "Damn you!" he screamed. "Damn you to the Abyss!" If anyone had asked, he couldn't have told who he was cursing. The neogi, the dying stranger who'd laid this burden-this curse-on him… or maybe himself.

A soft hand was on his shoulder. He tried to shake it off, but the grip strengthened. He looked up into Sylvie's troubled eyes. "I'll take you below," the half-elf said gently.

His anger faded to a dull ache. He hung his head. "All right," he mumbled. Horvath and Sylvie helped him to his feet, and she led him away.

*****

Prissith Nerro walked through the red-lit slave quarters of the deathspider. All around, the neogi could hear the sibilant speech of others of its kind, the rattling growls of umber hulks, the moans of the surviving slaves. Normally it would feel the fierce and burning pride that came with viewing its possessions: its slaves, its umber hulk lordservants, its lesser neogi kin-slaves, most of all the great ship itself, the Void Reaper. Now the pride was submerged under a tide of anger. Nerro hissed its rage and frustration. It wanted to lash out with its jaws, to tear the flesh of a human slave, to taste its victim's hot blood, but it knew that too many slaves had already died today, that it couldn't spare another even for the worthy purpose of settling its own troubled spirit.

Another neogi was in the hallway ahead of Nerro, sidling forward tentatively, its claws clicking on the crystal deck. The pattern of colored dye on the other neogi's fur identified it as second in command of the Void Reaper. Prissith Ulm, its name was. Prissith Nerro could smell its brood-brother's fear, and that, at least, was some consolation. The prize that Nerro sought was still out of its reach-perhaps farther than ever, after today's failure-but at least the overlord knew that it still commanded the fear and respect of its underlings.

"Prissith Nerro Master," the subordinate neogi hissed, bobbing its head in a gesture of respect. "The captive meat is prepared, as you commanded."

Nerro snarled its satisfaction. "Take me to it," it ordered. The captive human was in one of the slave cells. He lay on a hard wooden pallet, his limbs bound to prevent escape or attack. His clothing had been ripped away, leaving him naked and defenseless. Nerro examined him with a stirring of interest. The man was old, obviously, older than any neogi slave would be allowed to become. His body was withered, his white skin wrinkled. Nerro found itself wondering how the prey's flesh would taste, whether age would improve or worsen the flavor, then it dismissed the thought. This food was probably too old to be palatable, except in an emergency. Once again, Nerro found itself wondering at the strange habits of these humans. Why would they leave one such as this to survive for so long? To eat the food that could be given to other, more deserving, creatures? To decay? It was sheer waste, and waste disgusted and angered Prissith Nerro.

The human was unconscious, Nerro noted. Possibly blood loss from the deep wound that marred the man's chest. Nerro brought its head closer to that wound and sniffed. Withered or not, the creature's blood still smelled appetizing.

"Prissith Nerro Master," Prissith Ulm said softly.

Nerro turned on it with a spit of anger. "What?" it demanded.

"We believe it is dying, Prissith Nerro Master."

Nerro considered for a moment. "If this is true," it hissed, "it is well you told me." There was much to do, to learn, and if the time remaining to do so was limited, it was best to know it. "Wake it," Prissith Nerro ordered.

*****

All Shandess knew was pain. His body burned with it, his thoughts were filled with it. Darkness was all around him, and the darkness danced with pain.

He was vaguely aware of his body. He knew that he lay on his back upon a hard surface, and he knew that he wasn't cold. Most of all, though, he knew that his chest hurt with an agony that spoke unmistakably of approaching death.

Something grasped his jaw, forced his mouth open. He felt something cold and hard being driven cruelly between his teeth, then a liquid struck the back of his throat, a liquid that burned like all the cheap liquor he'd drunk on a dozen planets, all combined into one harsh draft. He coughed, and agony tore at his chest. This must be death, he thought.

Somehow, though, he didn't die. In fact, he felt a little control returning to his body and mind. After the initial burst of torment, the pain seemed to retreat to a manageable level. He forced his eyes open.

For a moment, his brain couldn't make sense of what he was seeing, then the meaning penetrated. He screwed his eyes shut again to block out the scene-to deny the reality of it, if he could. He would have screamed in horror, but he couldn't draw a deep enough breath.

He was in a small room or a cell, perhaps five feet wide and not much more than that long. Walls and ceiling were dull black, and the only illumination came from a small disk over-head that glowed with a dim, blood-red light. Two faces were above him, looking down at him. Not human faces. They were more like the heads of giant snakes-or perhaps the moray eels he'd seen on one of the worlds he'd visited. Their grinning mouths were filled with needlelike teeth, and their small eyes were red-tinged and staring.

Shandess knew he was dying, but he also knew, suddenly, that there were some things he feared more than death. Instinctively, he tried to fend off the hideous creatures with his hands but found his wrists-and his ankles, when he tried to move them-securely bound. He whimpered deep in his throat.

"Withered meat, eyes open." That voice could never have come from a human throat. It was the voice of a giant snake, if such a creature could have the power of speech. From the order of the words, Shandess could tell the monster was struggling with a foreign language. "Meat eyes open," the sibilant voice repeated, "or master eyelids from meat tear."

Shandess forced his eyes open once more. One of the monsters had backed away. It was the nearest one that had spoken. "Good," the neogi said. "Meat master 'Prissith Nerro Master' call. Meat speak." Shandess couldn't force his throat to work. The monster lashed down with its head until its teeth were a mere hand's span from the old man's face. Its breath, reeking of corruption, washed over him, and its saliva dripped on his face. "Meat speak!"

Shandess forced the words out. His voice was a croak. "Prissith Nerro Master."

The neogi reared back. "Yes," it spat. "Master. Meat obey. If no-" the creature's mouth opened wider into an evil grin "-if no, master meat tear. Master meat rip. Master flesh from bone pull. But meat obey, master meat kill swiftly." The monster's voice became almost wheedling. "Now. Meat questions answer?"

"Yes," Shandess croaked. With blinding speed, the second neogi lashed out with a claw and opened a gash in the old man's arm. "Yes, Prissith Nerro Master!" Shandess shrieked.

"Good," Prissith Nerro breathed. "First. Ship where bound?"

Shandess hesitated. The Probe's destination was no secret, but… The second neogi's claw ripped his flesh again. "Realmspace," he screamed.

Nerro nodded. Its wicked smile remained unchanged. "Meat aboard ship," it went on, "master must know about. Meat cloak has. Cloak-" the neogi hesitated "-power has, value has. Such power, meat commander must be, inconceivable else. Old meat master tell, of cloak, of meat aboard ship. Old meat master tell everything."

Shandess was confused. Fear, and the monster's garbled language, were making it hard for him to understand what the neogi wanted. Something about a commander… Aelfred Silverhorn was the highest-ranking human aboard the Probe. That had to be whom the monster was referring to-but to Shandess's knowledge, the first mate had no cloak… at least, nothing magical, nothing that could interest this neogi. "I know our leader," he said quickly, "we call him Mate." There was no reason to give this monstrosity Aelfred's name, he decided. "But as to the rest," he went on, "I don't know what you're talking about. He has no cloak."