"Stop him!" cried Jorian, scrambling to his feet. But Vanora only stood with fists on hips, watching complacently as Zor raced off into the woods and vanished.
"You did that on purpose!" cried Jorian, scrambling up. "By Zevatas's brazen beard, why—"
"What's this?" barked the voice of the smith as Rhithos emerged from the smithy. "Great Zevatas, you've enlarged Zor! Are you mad, man? Why should you do this to me?"
"He was showing off his skill at picking locks," said Vanora.
"Why, you teat-sucking idiot—" raved the smith, shaking his fists. It was the first time that Jorian had seen the man express emotion of any kind.
"I like not to blame a woman, sir," said Jorian, "but your young lady here did suggest—"
"I did nought of the sort!" screamed Vanora, " Twas your own self-conceit that drove you to the deed, despite my remonstrance—"
"Why, you little liar!" said Jorian. "Dip me in dung if I don't spank your—"
"You shall do nought of the sort, sirrah!" roared Rhithos. "Look at me!"
Jorian did, then belatedly tried to snatch his gaze away and found that he could not. The smith held up something in the palm of his hand —whether a gem, a mirror, or a magical light, Jorian could not tell. It glowed and sparkled with a myriad of rays. The very soul seemed to be drawn out of his body as he watched in stupefied fascination. A corner of his mind kept telling him to tear his gaze away, to resist, to strike down the smith and flee; but he could not.
Closer and closer came the smith; brighter and more confusing came the sparkle of lights. The world around Jorian seemed to fade and vanish, so that he stood in empty space, bathed in flickering, coruscating lights of all the known colors and some unknown ones.
"Hold still!" said the smith, his voice toneless again. Jorian found himself unable to move at all. He felt the smith's free hand searching his clothing. His dagger was taken, and his purse, and then the smith extracted the .money belt and the little bag of pick-locks.
"Now back!" said the smith. "Back! Another step! And another!" He continued until he had Jorian backed through the door of the cage.
Dimly, Jorian heard the door clang and the lock click. The dazzle faded and he was in Zor's cage.
"Now," said Rhithos, "since you have robbed me of Zor, you shall take his place."
"Are you serious, Master Rhithos?" said Jorian.
"You shall see how serious I am. I shall be ready to cast the final spell tomorrow, and in that spell you shall play a vital role."
"You mean you intend to temper the blade by skewering me with it and testing it on my neck?"
"Certes. The poets will sing of this blade for centuries; so, if it's any comfort, know that you die in a noble cause."
"By Imbal's brazen balls, that's unreasonable! Whilst I own to some small blame in Zor's escape, no civilized man would deem my blunder capital offense."
"What are you or any other man to me? No more than insects to be trodden down when they cross my path. What is important is the perfection of my art."
"My friend," said Jorian in his most winning tone, "were you not better advised to send me to Komilakh to fetch you back another man-ape? You can assure my return by one of your spells, like that which Karadur's colleagues have laid upon me. Besides, how shall I seek the Kist of Avlen—"
"Your faction seeks to put this Kist to some foolish use, so better you did not live to carry out your quest. Besides, the next twenty-four hours are astrologically auspicious, and such a favorable conjunction will not recur for years." The smith turned to Vanora. "Meseems, girl, you've been talking too freely with our guest, or he'd not have known so much about the making of Randir. I shall have somewhat to say to you later. Meanwhile, back to your chores. Leave this lout to contemplate the fruits of his folly, for even this meager pleasure will not long remain him."
"Master Rhithos!" cried Jorian in desperation. "Faction or no faction, to slay the servant of a fellow member of your fraternity will bring troubles upon you. Karadur will avenge—"
The smith snorted, turned his broad back, and marched off to the smithy. Vanora disappeared. Overhead, the blanket of thick, gray cloud seemed to press closer than ever, and the clearing seemed darker than could even be explained by the heavy overcast. Bare branches stood up like withered black hands against the darkling sky.
Jorian felt a brooding tension, as he sometimes did before a heavy thunderstorm. He paced nervously about the cage, trying his muscles on the bars and hoisting himself up by the bars that formed the roof. He poked in vain at the lock with his thick, hairy fingers.
Later, when the light dimmed, Vanora passed the cage with a jar of water.
"Mistress Vanora!" called Jorian. "Don't I get anything more to eat?"
"To what end? Tomorrow you'll never need food again—at least, not on this plane of existence. Better to spend your time making peace with your gods and forget that bottomless pit of a belly."
She passed out of sight. Presently she was back, thrusting a loaf of bread and a crock of water through the bars.
"Quiet!" she whispered. "Rhithos would take it ill if he knew I wasted his victuals, as he'd say. As 'tis, he's like to stripe my back for telling you about the sword spell. He never remembers a favor or forgets an injury."
"An unlikeable wight. Can you get me out of here?"
"At eventide, when he's absorbed in his spells."
"I thought the final spell came tomorrow?
"It does; this is but the penultimate cantrip."
The smith ate early and returned to his smithy, whence presently issued the sound of a drum and of Rhithos' voice raised in a chant. The shadows seemed to deepen about the shed even more swiftly than elsewhere. As full darkness fell, curious sounds came forth—croaks unlike any made by a human voice, and other noises unlike anything Jorian had ever heard. Now and then the voice of the smith rose in a shouted command. Strange lights of a ghastly bluish radiance flickered through the cracks between the boards of the shed. Jorian's skin tingled until he felt as if he could jump right out of it. He wanted to explode with tension.
Vanora, a blur in the darkness, reappeared at the bars of the cage. "T-take this!" she whispered, extending a trembling hand. "And drop it not, lest it be lost for aye in the mud."
It was the pick-lock with which Jorian had opened the cage door earlier. "You dropped it when Zor escaped," she said, "and Rhithos marked it not when he took the rest of your gear."
Jorian felt for the keyhole on the outer side of the lock plate and inserted the wire. His hand shook so that he could hardly find the hole. Manipulating the wire from inside the cage proved awkward, but after some rumbling the bolt clicked back. He put away the wire and opened the door. Another blue flash lit up the smithy.
"Here!" said Vanora, thrusting something cold into his hand. It was the hilt of his falchion. "You must slay Rhithos whilst he is sunken in his spell."
"Couldn't we just flee to Othomae? Your smith is no mean wizard, and I crave not to be turned into a spider."
"Faintheart! You're no gallant cavalier, ardent for a fight at whatever odds, but a common, calculating kern, weighing pros and contras as a moneychanger weighs out grains of gold dust."
"I've never claimed to be a gallant cavalier. These gambols affright me silly."
"Well, play the man for once! Rhithos will be weakened by his spell-casting."
"I still like it not; I do not enjoy killing people without necessity. Why can't we just flee through the woods?"
"Because the instant Rhithos learns of our escape, he'll cast a spell to fetch us back, or send his demons to herd us hither like sheep. And back we shall be forced if we're within five leagues of his house. Even if that fail, he's allied with the silvans, who at his command will fill us with their envenomed arrows. Since flight were fatal, there's nothing for it but to kill him, and that right speedily."