She fell silent. The smoke and fire swirled around her.
“When I rejected you,” Incarnadine said, “it was not shame or humiliation you felt? Only regret that you would be denied residence in the citadel of absolute might?”
“I was a young girl. I suppose I suffered as any young girl would at the hands of a scoundrel. But that was long ago.”
“Did I ever tell you why I broke our troth?”
“You may have. I do not remember.”
“It was because I foresaw this day, Melydia. Not in detail, but in substance. Your madness was a seed then, but it had already sprouted. It was not I who planted it, Melydia.”
“Enough of your lies. There is no more time for them, Incarnadine.”
“Do you really think you can control Ramthonodox?”
“Yes. I know I can.”
“You cannot. And the reason you cannot is something you never could have anticipated.”
She was silent for a moment. Then: “More desperate lies.”
“You could not have known, but you should have sensed it, Melydia. You are proficient, but not as subtle an adept as you might think. But your attention was on other things, was it not?”
“What should I have sensed?”
“That one of the demon’s aspects is missing. It now has only 143,999. For demons, such a number is untenable.”
Melydia’s eyes widened. “How do you know this?”
“I may be a dilettante, but I know a thing or two about demons. I happen to live inside one. Aspects are very important to demons. It is very difficult to explain, but supernatural beings have structure to them, just as do mortal creatures. Did you know that? Not flesh and bone, not blood and sinew, but parts and pieces and bits and things. Things difficult to understand. But with a little study, some light may be shed on them.”
“I know something of them —” She broke off and raised her eyes. “The moment is come. The process of detransmogrification is almost complete.”
“I hope your protection spells are sufficiently efficacious.”
“I hope the same for you. Although they will not be sufficient to protect you from me. Later.”
“Thank you for the warning.” Incarnadine looked about. “I sense someone nearby who is not a Guest, one who has not entered the castle by dint of magic.”
Melydia searched off to one side. “Osmirik, perhaps. My scribe.”
“He is still alive. I will have to extend my influence to protect him.”
“Look to your own safety, Incarnadine.”
“I always do, Melydia. But I’m bound to see to the welfare of my Guests. You did not consider what would happen to them, did you?”
“I do not care.”
“Of course not. But did you know that detransmogrification entails some spatiotemporal effects?”
“I am not familiar with your terminology.”
“You really should study some natural philosophy. Magic is only one way of looking at the universe. At any rate, my Guests will not die, but they will be swept back along their individual time lines to a point just prior to their entering the castle. At least that is my best guess as to what will happen.”
“Time, say you? Time has run out, Incarnadine.”
The smoke and the vapor and the traceries of fire were swept away by an explosion of white light.
On The Plains Of Baranthe
Shouts roused him from sleep and brought him out of his tent. He strode out from under the sun screen, looked up at the citadel, and was awed. Dark clouds lay piled like mountains above the castle. The castle itself glowed like an ember, and great flaming prominences rose from it: sheets of pink flame, wreaths of incandescence, starbursts of fire. Forked lightning shot from clouds to castle.
A strong wind rose, and Vorn closed his cloak about him. He watched. Pointing, gesticulating, nervously shouting, his men watched with him.
The castle changed color, turning to orange, then to yellow. Glowing streamers unfurled from it, and white smoke rose. Its hue shaded to a lighter yellow, a sun-yellow, then to yellow-white, pure white, then to searing blue-white. It grew unbearable to look at.
Vorn watched for as long as he could, then averted his eyes. There was a brilliant, actinic flash. When he could, Vorn looked again. A white ring of vapor was expanding at astonishing speed from the epicenter of the explosion. But the epicenter itself — that he could make no sense of, at first. It was something huge and dark. It was not smoke or fire, but a shape, a thing.
Then the thing unfurled its wings and darkened the world beneath. Its head reared up, and its eyes were like windows to Hell. Its great taloned feet splayed out, eager to pounce, to tear, to crush.
Vorn found himself screaming. He wanted to run but he could not. The face of the beast stopped his heart, its eyes pierced him to the soul. Shouts, shrieks, curses, appeals to deities rose up from the troops. Some began running. Most, like Vorn, were transfixed.
The ring of vapor reached them with the sound of thunder, much like that produced by the flying ship that had sailed overhead a while ago. A blast of air hit, and tents blew down.
The titanic beast was on the wing, coming this way. Its faceted eyes searched the ground, its horrid mouth opened, and a cataract of fire spilled forth.
Vorn’s mind slowly formed dim thoughts. He had been bewitched … she had been lying … he was dead, as were all his dreams of empire.
So be it. He dropped his cloak and drew his sword. He was still Vorn, Prince and Conqueror. He raised his head. The beast blotted out the sky with its vast obscene bulk. Vorn beheld, but could not grasp it. No human mind could apperceive its structure, or figure its lineaments, or live to tell of the horror of its ugliness, its loathsomeness, its frightfulness.…
His last thought was of how angry his mother would be with him for acting so foolishly.
It was good to destroy once again. The world below had much need of cleansing. Flecks of corruption moved across its surface. It had been long. How long? It did not matter.
The demon now knew its name. It opened its mouth and spoke it.
“RAMTHONODOX!” The roar shattered the air, and raised dust on the ground.
It opened its mouth again and vomited fire, cleansing fire. It spilled forth its fury, giving vent to all its hatred of earthly things. Sheets of flame spread, covering the plain. From below came pitiable cries and exclamations, and the sounds gladdened it to the core of its being. All below was consumed.
Spent at last, it rose on great wings and sought the cold skies.
Atop The Citadel, And At Its Base
They faced each other across a bleak plateau. The castle was gone, nothing but bare earth remained.
“It is done,” she said. “You were right. I cannot control the beast.”
“You have unleashed an ancient evil. Have you no regrets?”
She was silent, staring at the ground. Then she said, “I do not know. Now that I have accomplished my purpose, I feel strangely empty.”
“Your madness has run its course. The maggot has eaten its way out of you.”
“And left a shell? Perhaps. I cannot fathom why I feel this way.”
“You have loosed the beast to destroy the world, as you wanted to.”
“Could I have wanted that? I wanted to rule the world.”
“The desire to rule, to dictate, is born of nothing but contempt.”