“I am about to operate on these fellows, and I will require your enormous strength in assistance, as well as the General’s.”
“Operate? To what end?” asks the General.
“They have no eyes,” says the Prince, “and they would see again. I’ve brought three pairs with me and I’m going to install them.”
“This would require extensive neurological adaptation.”
“This has already been done.”
“By whom?”
“Myself, the last time I gave them eyes.”
“What became of those?”
“Oh, they seldom last. After a time, their bodies reject them. Generally, though, their neighbors blind them.”
“Why is that?”
“I believe it is because they go about boasting how, among all their people, only they are able to see. This results in a speedy democratization of affairs.”
“Ghastly!” says the General, who has lost count of his own Windings. “I’m minded to stay and fight for them.”
“They would refuse your assistance,” says the Prince. “-Would you not?”
“Of course,” says one of them.
“We would not employ a mercenary against our own people,” says another.
“It would violate their rights,” says the third.
“What rights?”
“Why, to blind us, of course. What sort of barbarian are you?”
“I withdraw my offer.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
“What assistance will you require?” asks Horus.
“The two of you must seize upon my patient and hold him, while I perform the surgery.”
“Why is that?”
“Because they are incapable of unconsciousness and no local anesthetics will affect them.”
“You mean you are going to perform delicate surgery on them just as they are-exotic surgery, at that?”
“Yes. That is why I will need two of you to immobilize each patient. They are quite strong.”
“Why must you do this thing?”
“Because they want it done. It is the price agreed upon for their labors.”
“Whatever for? A few weeks’ seeing? And then-what is there to see in this place, anyhow? It is mainly dust, darkness, a few feeble lights.”
“It is their wish to look upon each other-and their tools. They are the greatest artisans in the universe.”
“Yes, I want to see a frawlpin again-if Dulp hasn’t lost it.”
“And I, a gult.”
“I, a crabwick.”
“That which they desire costs them pain, but it will give them memories to last for ages.”
“Yes, it is worth it,” says one, “so long as I am not the first.”
“Nor I.”
“Nor I.”
The Prince lays out his instruments in the middle of the air, sterilizes them and points a finger.
“That one,” he says, and the screaming begins.
The General turns off his hearing and much of his humanity for the next several hours. Horus is reminded of his father’s study; also of Liglamenti, on D’donori. The Prince’s hands are steady.
When it is done, the creatures have bandages over their faces, which they may not remove for a time. All three are moaning and crying out. The Prince cleans his hands.
“Thank you, Prince Who Was A Surgeon,” says one of the creatures.
“… for this thing you have done for us,”
“… and for us.”
“You are welcome, goodly Norns. Thank you for a wand well made.”
“Oh, it was nothing.”
“… Let us know whenever you need another.”
“… And the price will be the same.”
“Then I shall be going now.”
“Good-bye.”
“Farewell.”
“Adieu.”
“Good seeing to you, my fellows.”
And the Prince takes Horus and the General in hand, setting all feet upon the road to Marachek, which is but one step away.
Behind him there is more wailing, and things quite normal and proper for Norns are quickly and frantically done.
They are back in the Citadel almost before Horus, who knows what it is, has succeeded in drawing the blue wand from its sheath at the Prince’s side.
It is a duplicate of the weapon which sun-eyed Set had used against the Nameless, a thousand years before.
THE TEMPTATION OF SAINT MADRAK
Madrak has one chance of living through the onslaught. He throws his staff and dives forward.
The choice is the right one.
He passes beneath the dog as it leaps, snapping at his staff.
His hand falls upon the strange fabric of the glove the creature had been worrying.
Suddenly, he is comforted by a confidence in his invincibility. This is something even the narcotic had not fully instilled him.
Quickly he determines the cause and slips the glove upon his right hand.
The dog turns as Typhon rears.
The black shadow falls between them.
Tickling, stirring, the glove reaches to Madrak’s elbow, spreads across his back, his chest.
The dog lunges and then howls, for the dark horse shadow comes upon it. One head hangs lifeless as the others snarl.
“Depart, oh Madrak, to the appointed place!” says Typhon. “I shall occupy this creature to its destruction and follow in my own way!”
The glove moves down his left arm, covers the hand, spreads across his chest, reaches down to his waist.
Madrak, who has always been mighty, suddenly reaches forth and crushes a stone within his right hand.
“I fear it not, Typhon. I’ll destroy it myself.”
“In my brother’s name, I bid thee go!”
Bowing his head, Madrak departs. Behind him, the sounds of battle rage. He moves through the lair of the minotaur. He makes his way upward through the corridors. Pale creatures with green, glowing eyes accost him. He slays them easily with his hands and proceeds.
When the next group of attackers moves upon him, he subdues them but does not slay them, having had time to think.
Instead he says:
“It might be good for you to consider the possibility of your having portions of yourselves which might withstand the destruction of your bodies, and to label these hypothetical quantities souls, for the sake of argument. Now then, beginning with the proposition that such-“
But they attack him again and he is forced to slay them all.”
“Pity,” he says, and repeats the Possibly Proper Death Litany.
Proceeding upward, he comes at last to the appointed place.
And there he stands.
At the Gateway to the Underworld…
On Waldik…
“Hell hath been harrowed,” he says. “I am half invincible. This must be the gauntlet of Set. Strange that it but half covers me. But perhaps I’m more a man than he was.” Stomach then regarded. “And perhaps not. But the power that lies in this thing… Mighty! To beat the filthy-souled into submission and effect their conversions-perhaps this is why it was rendered unto my hand. Is Thoth divine? Truly, I do not know. I wonder. If he is, then I wrong him by not delivering it. -Unless, of course, this be his secret will.” Regards hands enmeshed. “My power is now beyond measure. How shall I use it? All of Waldik might I convert with this instrument, given but time.” Then, “But he charged me with a specific task. -Yet…” Smile. (The mesh does not cover his face.) “What if he is divine? Sons who beget their fathers may well be. I recall the myth of Eden. I know this serpent-like glove may indicate the Forbidden.” Shrugs. “But the good which might be done… No! It is a trap! But I could beat the Words into their heads… I’ll do it! ‘Though Hell gape wide,’ as Vramin says.”
But as he turns he is caught up in a vortex that sucks the words from his throat and casts him down a wide, blank, cold well.
Behind him, the shadows strive, Waldik gapes wide, and then he is gone, for the Prince has called him home.
… But Wakim the Wanderer has donned the shoes, and he rises now to stand in the middle of the air, laughing. With each step that he takes, a sonic boom goes forth from the temple to mingle with the thunder. The warriors and the worshipers bow down.
Wakim runs up the wall and stands upon the ceiling.