–George Barker
Tailchaser was pushed, prodded, bitten and bullied down the now-crowded corridors by Bitefast. As they passed-the dark and muscular Clawguard driving the small orange cat-some of the mound-dwellers turned to stare curiously after the mismatched pair. There was nothing unusual in the sight of one of the captive Folk being herded to punishment or doom, but the small cat was snarling and balking-resisting! It had been a long time since any had seen the sun-dwellers showing any fight.
Fritti, in a haze of pain, frustration, and anger, did observe an unusual thing: there were no slaves; no work gangs to be seen sullenly treading the roads of Vastnir. Apparently their work was done. No wonder he had been discovered.
Bitefast directed Fritti down through crowds of indifferent Clawguard and hissing, wrinkle-skinned Toothguard. Down, from level to level, passing beneath the Greater Gate, to arrive at last at the vaulted antechamber to the Cavern of the Pit.
Before the entrance to the Seat of Hearteater stood a group of Clawguard, arguing. The apparent leader, a squat, chunky beast with only a stump where his tail had been, seemed to be trying to restore order. He snapped at one of his minions, who retreated growling, but crept back a moment later with head held low.
"Ho, Crushgrass!" Bitefast called to the tailless one. "What are you and your pack of mouse-huggers doing-down here?"
Crushgrass turned to peer at the new arrivals. "Ah, it's you, is it, Bitefast!? Very bad, very bad all this is."
"What are you whining about?" asked Bitefast with a tongue-lolling grin.
"It's Snapjaw here," said Crushgrass worriedly. "He and some of my other fellows have been hearing strange things in the upper Catacombs."
"Scratching, like," said Snapjaw, low-browed and sullen. "It's not right."
Bitefast barked a harsh laugh. "What these fellows need is some sharp teeth put to 'em. You need to keep these shirkers under a firmer paw, Crushgrass." He laughed again. There was an unpleasant murmuring among Crushgrass' guards. "And what are you all doing here in any case?" Bitefast continued. "The Master'1l have your eyes!"
Crushgrass winced. "They were going to come down here without me, if I didn't come. How would that look?"
"Like a mutiny. Now, it's a mutiny that you're leading, my fine, stupid friend. Scratching! Hah! Stone-blood and fire! You'll soon find that the Master is worse than any scratching!"
"And what brings you here, anyway?" Snapjaw hissed nastily.
Without warning, Bitefast was on him, knocking him to the ground and tearing his ear.
"You can talk to your chief like he's a mewling kit, but don't try it with me!" Bitefast rasped into Snapjaw's bleeding ear in a low dangerous voice, then spoke up to the rest, who were watching avidly. "As it happens, I've brought an important prisoner to the Lord of All. If you're lucky, he'll be so pleased with me he'll forget to tear your innards out."
"Important prisoner? This little thing?" asked Crushgrass.
"The only escape we've had, this one," growled Bitefast. "He must have had help, right? Stands to reason, doesn't it? And you know what that means, don't you?" The Claw leaned forward for emphasis. "Conspiracy! Think about that!" Bitefast bared his teeth, pleased.
"But if he escaped, what's he doing back?" queried one of Crushgrass' guards. Bitefast glared at him.
"I've had just about enough questions from your like," he said menacingly. "I've got more important things to do than stand about jabbering with you scabby lot. I'm going in to see the Master. Go on, Crushgrass, take your whimperers and their 'scratching,' and get back to your tunnel. You've got no business here."
"And you've got no place to order me, Bitefast," said the other chieftain defiantly, but started away, his mumbling crew behind him. Snapjaw, with a hateful look, followed shakily.
"No backbone," said Bitefast in a self-satisfied tone.
Fritti had been motionless throughout the exchange, sensing the emanations that beat out from the chamber beyond-the grinding, reaching power of Heart-eater. He barely felt Bitefast poking him forward toward the entrance. A mist swam before his eyes, and a blunt throb of pain started up at the front of his skull.
The two guards of the portal, one Claw, one Tooth, bobbed their heads minutely as they recognized Bitefast, but did not turn to watch as he led Fritti by. As they passed below the arch, cold mist swam up to meet them. Tailchaser was already shivering.
In the middle of the cavern the throne of the Impossible One rose up from the pit, the writhing, dying bodies making rippling patterns in the blue-and-violet light. Atop this monolith of pain lolled Lord Hearteater, blind and immobile like an immense, newly-hatched larva. Below him dozens of fevered servitors scurried around the rim of the pit.
Bitefast, his bravado gone now, pulled Tailchaser slowly toward the great beast. As they stood on the great circular precipice-the Claw chief working up courage to speak-there was a commotion at the far end of the cavern, near the main entrance. Fritti could see Clawguard running rapidly through the portal, but the ground-hugging mists made it impossible to tell what was happening.
The creature above the pit turned his head slowly in the direction of the disturbance. Bitefast coughed once, loudly, but the Master only stared away, across the great rock-rimmed cave.
"G-Greatest Lord… Mighty One, hear thy slave!"
Bitefast's voice carried out across the pit. The massive head pivoted slowly, turning back at last to fix milk-white eyes in their direction. Both the Clawguard chief and his captive took an involuntary step back from the rim. The Firstborn regarded them expres-sionlessly.
"Greatest Lord, your servant Bitefast has brought you the escaped prisoner-the star-faced one. See!" The mottled beast stepped back, leaving Tailchaser cowering on the edge of the great pit beneath the unfathomable inspection of Hearteater.
Bitefast, unconsciously shooting and sheathing his claws as he waited, at last could bear the silence no longer. "Have I done well, Greatest One? Are you pleased with your servant?"
Hearteater turned his head slightly toward the Clawguard. "You will live," he said. His voice sounded like centuries of decay. Bitefast made a spluttering noise, but before he could speak the dead, muddy voice added: "You have done well. Now go."
Eyes goggling, Bitefast backed toward the entrance, turned and disappeared. Tailchaser sagged to the cold ground; the vapors swirled between him and the pit. When they receded, the Fat One's ancient, blind eyes were focused upward, seeing nothing. The tortured heap on which the thing reclined heaved slightly, as in some strange collective shrug. The Lord of Vastnir appeared not to notice. Suddenly, like a cold, clammy intruder, Hearteater's voice spoke inside Tailchaser's mind.
"I know you." The thick presence forced its way effortlessly into his thoughts. Tailchaser, in a sick frenzy, rubbed his head against the frost-hard ground of the cavern, but the voice could not be driven out.
"You are no threat. Free or prisoned, quick or dead, you are less than a pebble in my path." The ageless thing, smothering Fritti's panicked thoughts in flabby despair, droned on: "But I still need my minions… for a while yet. All must know futility. All must know resistance is futility. I should render you to particles and set you afloat between the stars…"
A terrifying emptiness swept into Fritti's mind, as if he had been suddenly cast into the endless abyss. Somewhere he could hear his body squealing in terror… somewhere-remote, unreachable.
"But," the awful hammering drone began again, "you are already promised. Bast-Imret and Knet-Mukri-all the Boneguard-have claimed you. You will be taken to the House of Despair, to be entertained there until your ka struggles to fly to the great void…"
As if silendy summoned, gray mist-shrouded shapes issued forth from the caves high up on the wall beyond Hearteater's pit. A stately, awful progression started down from the honey-combed cavern wall, as slow and relentless as black ice forming on a winter pond. In the dim indigo light that flickered from fissures in the rock they were indistinct… formless. Bright sparks that might have been eyes twinkled.