– suddenly the Lady of Pain was there. Like the dabus, she hung a little in the air, the hem of her long, brocaded gown hovering just inches above the dirt. The Amnesian Hero forgot about his sword – and the dabus and his amphora as well – and let his jaw drop. The Lady was a striking beauty, tall and slender, with classic features and an aura of inviolable' serenity. She had a halo of steel blades instead of hair, lips as black as kohl, and unflinching yellow eyes that kindled a sick, feverish fear in the Thrasson's breast.
Still kneeling, the Amnesian Hero placed his hands on his thighs and bowed deeply. His palms felt hot and wet against his bronze cuisses.
"Greetings. I am the Amnesian Hero of Thrassos, bearing a gift from the god Poseidon, K-king of Seas and C-cleaver of Lands." He gestured behind him, where the dabus had retreated to the wall with the amphora. "With your p-permission-"
The Lady raised her hand, and the Amnesian Hero stopped talking. She fixed her sulfurous gaze on him and, for the first time, truly seemed to see him. Thinking she was about to speak, the Thrasson held his bow. Though he remained absolutely motionless, he kept his toes bent, so that he could spring to his feet quickly. If she attacked, as everyone seemed to believe she would, he had every intention of defending himself.
The Lady curled her fingers into a black-nailed claw, which she dragged downward through the air. A loud, metallic squeal arose behind the Thrasson, and something shoved his face toward the ground. He caught himself on his hands, then glanced over his shoulder. There was no one behind him save the dabus guards, standing several paces away, as motionless as statues and still holding the amphora. Their two companions had nearly completed the wall; the crest stood only a row short of a man's height.
The Amnesian Hero felt several ridges of bronze pressing into his back, then realized that his god-forged armor had actually been dented. He looked back to the Lady of Pain. Several of her fingernails were broken, and her brow was raised ever so slightly. It occurred to the Thrasson that he had just survived an assault by Sigil's fearsome ruler. To his surprise, he found that he was less terrified than confused about what to do next.
As the Lady showed no sign of continuing her attack, he elected to turn his palms up and spread them wide to show he meant no harm. "Please, milady, do not fear me."
The shadow of a smirk flashed across her mouth. She extended a single finger.
"I come in peace." Again, the Thrasson gestured at the amphora. "I only want to deliver this gift from Poseidon."
The Lady drew her finger through the air, and again the creak of folding metal rang off the alley walls. The Thrasson rocked backward, giving way to a terrific pressure against his chest. He looked down to see a long groove running the length of his breastplate, as though some enchanted weapon had struck him a mighty blow. Despite the amicable nature of his mission, a seething anger began to build in his stomach.
"Until now, I have tried to comport myself peacefully." The Thrasson sprang to his feet, dropping a hand to the hilt of his star-forged sword. "But I warn you, this armor was made by Hephaestus himself. I will suffer no further damage to it."
The Lady slightly narrowed her eyes, then curled her hand into a fist. The screech of crumpling metal rang in the Thrasson's ears. His chest filled with shooting pains, and he looked down to see his corselet reshaping itself into the figure of an hourglass. Only the anguish in his body convinced him that he was seeing something real. No foe had ever dented his god-forged armor, and he could scarcely believe the Lady of Pain was crashing it without so much as a blow.
The Thrasson's body believed. His aching ribs made soft popping sounds, and his breath left him and would not return. Hurting too much to scream, he dropped to his knees and fumbled his dagger from its sheath. He jammed the tip beneath the first buckle and cut the strap. His lungs filled with air, but the crashing anguish in his stomach deepened. Not worrying that the blade might slip and cut him, the Amnesian Hero shoved the knife down the crooked seam and severed the other two straps. The armor fell away, clanging softly into the dirt.
Even before the pain began to recede, the Amnesian Hero was on his feet and reaching for his sword. He would win no combats against the Lady of Pain-or anyone who, like the gods themselves, used magic without casting spells – but Hades had heard his prayer for a glorious death, and the Thrasson would not squander the honor by dying poorly. In fact, he found himself looking forward to the battle; a valiant effort would secure his name – or rather his legend – a place in the songs of bards throughout the multiverse.
It was not to be. His sword had not even cleared its scabbard before a loud clatter erupted from the far side of the wall.
"Zoombee!" The golden thread came arcing into the alley, unspooling as it flew, then the stones in the dabus' wall began to tremble.
The Lady of Pain pivoted her blade-haloed head toward the sound. The Thrasson drew his sword, but resisted the urge to attack. Despite appearances, he was quite certain that his powerful foe had not forgotten about him.
Jayk pulled her torso atop the wall, then froze in shock as she found herself looking down at the Lady of Pain. "By the One Death!"
The Lady raised a hand, as though to help the tiefling over.
Jayk's face went as pale as pearls, then the stones resumed their trembling. She glanced behind her and frowned, then granted and began to flail her legs at something.
"Don't fight me!" The voice was Tessali's. "This is for your own – huh!"
Jayk landed a kick, then hoisted herself entirely onto the wall and, like a rope-dancer, ran along the crest. The long-fingered hand of an elf caught her ankle, and she pitched headlong off the wall, crashing down upon the two dabus guards. The amphora came free of their grasp and thudded to the ground, rolling clear as a tangled heap of tiefling and dabus crashed down behind it.
The Amnesian Hero rushed over to the jar, silently thanking Apollo for not letting it shatter-then he noticed the crack in its neck. A loop of fine golden thread had pushed through the tiny fissure and seemed to be writhing out. The Thrasson kneeled down and clamped his free hand over the crevice. The filament pushed its way between his fingers and continued to work free.
"I fear your gift has been damaged." Still holding his sword, he turned to the Lady of Pain. "Whatever your intentions for me, perhaps you should open it now."
The hem of the Lady's gown billowed outward, as though she were walking forward. She seemed to step downward, then her dress fluttered again, and she vanished from sight.
"Milady?"
Another clatter sounded from the wall, then Tessali's voice called, "I need another net. They're both here!"
The Amnesian Hero turned to see a barmy net spinning through the air toward his head. He reached up and caught several strands in his hand, then, before Tessali could pull the draw cord, yanked his attacker from the wall. The elf had barely hit the ground before the Thrasson's sword was slashing back and forth through the net, cutting it to pieces.
By the time he turned back to the amphora, the golden thread had worked completely free of the crack. It rose into the air and began to circle. Pains Of The Flesh
Against that golden strand, there is no slip.
Still as stone, I stand before the Amnesian Hero, both feet smooth upon the ground. The Thrasson and his ilk call me gone, but not so that flaxen thread. Like a worm to a corpse, it comes to me and scribes its circle.
There is time yet, I think. I steal forward, feet as soft as feathers upon the haze-brown sky. The Thrasson's supplication, those divine lines, cannot stand: he must recant. He must disavow, he must renounce, he must curse my name and sob, wail, and beg for death. He must suffer for what he has done; for the good of the multiverse, he must rue the hour he uttered that beautiful prayer.