Pelmen was extending his hand, and a violet ball of flame appeared over his palm. A puff of wind blew it out.
Try that again and the next one will be snuffed out as well!
Pelmen did. And it was.
“Come on,” he said with some frustration. “I need to see!”
Pelmen said it to himself, really, but the House sniffed a response anyway:
Very well. That’s reasonable, if irritating. The sphere of green flame Pelmen summoned up next was smaller than the others, and notably cooler.
Thank you, the House replied, throueh a creaking of the door jambs on the third floor. Naturally, Pelmen didn’t hear that.
“Where am I?” Pelmen wondered aloud as he started down the craggy corridor.
You’re under the doorway into the offices of trade, the Imperial House answered, where that verminous pest with the pyramid supposedly does his work when he works which isn’t often, since he prefers to pester this House…
The castle gazed scornfully at Jagd from all the walls that the creature hadn’t covered with a smelly coat. Jagd lay on his bed, trembling with a chill. Purely for spite, the Imperial House lowered the temperature of Jagd’s room perceptibly, and the merchant shivered harder.
Pelmen noticed that that curious condensation formed on the walls of these sub castle caverns as well. He walked thirty-five feet and came to a juncture. The corridor branched off in two directions.
Now you’re under the great hall under the stairway from the platform to the floor. Of course, it’s forty feet above you…
Pelmen hesitated, obviously pondering which way to turn.
If you want out, go left. There’s a stairway up into the infirmary that no one seems to know about…
But Pelmen didn’t want out, he wanted in, into the dungeon. And it seemed that from the location of the grate and the cistern, the right hand tunnel would take him closer to it.
On the other hand, some people can’t accept advice from anyone, the House said crossly, and it resolved to offer no further suggestions.
Pelmen went on another twenty-five feet, and stopped. This seemed to be a man-made section of the passageways,
The WizarJ in Waiting for the rock walls bore chisel marks, and the floor was smoother.
He now had three options. He could continue straight ahead, but carved galleries extended to his left and right as well. “Now which way,” he mumbled.
That all depends on where you’re going, the Imperial House huffed. That is, if you know.
“The dungeon,” Pelmen said, biting his lip. The sound of his own voice in the moody silence reassured him. “Which way to the dungeon?”
The castle could scarcely contain it’s excitement at finally being consulted. It had only expanded its consciousness into these caverns in the last week and now felt quite knowledgeable.
To your right, of course. Then listen closely, for it gets very complicated from where you…
But before the House could finish, Pelmen plunged, straight ahead. The castle was incensed.
All right! Go ahead and get lost!
Pelmen took little time in doing just that.
He went a hundred and forty feet, pausing only briefly at other branchings off to the left, deciding to keep to his right. The corridor seemed to make a long bend in that direction, and he felt hopeful that it might take him straight to the dungeon. But it ended in another gallery that crossed from left to right. He was confused.
Of course you’re stuck. You’re under the platform in the Chamber of War! But will you ask for advice? No. You wouldn’t listen, anyway!
Pelmen decided to go left. That branch ended in a wall of blank rock fifty feet beyond. He retraced his steps and went the other direction.
The passage curled back and forth, ending in another fork. Pelmen went left again, and found another dead end. Pelmen was lost The Imperial House laughed.
The Drax table had been knocked aside, and the pieces lay scattered on the floor, forgotten. Jagd had not returned, and Ligne had tired of waiting. She was presently in hot pursuit of Rosha, and the young swordsman sweated freely as he fought to restrain his fists from permanently altering the woman’s lustful expression.
Actually, the pursuit had run its course. She’d cornered him against the far wall and was struggling to insinuate her lithe, perfumed body inside his bound arms. Rosha flattened his hips and back against the wall, but it wouldn’t yield. Nor would Ligne, as she succeeded in slithering into his unwilling embrace. She stretched her neck up to steal a kiss, and Rosha banged the back of his head trying to jerk away.
“What’s the matter, my darling?” she cooed. “You certainly weren’t so shy earlier in the afternoon…”
“I I I ” Rosha could think of no meaningful way to end the sentence.
Ligne ended it for him by plastering her lips over his. He fought to hold his arms away from her writhing form, thinking how easy it would be to slip his arms up around her scented throat and choke off her kisses entirely. Instead, he forced a wide, toothy grin onto his face a hideous grin, more snarl than smile, that caused her to lean away.
“You’re mad at me,” she pouted. “Because I didn’t let you win the game, is that it?”
“N-n-no, no it’s n-n-n—”
“Are you still upset about that silly old hood?”
“I c-c-c-c—”
“You can’t talk, I know that,” she sneered. Rosha jerked her tightly against him in reflexive rage, and she smiled broadly and sighed.
“Ahhhh. Now that’s more like it.” Once again he fought the urge to strangle her, and managed to spread his arms away from her hips. She studied him with a sultry, self-confident smile. “So. Never been with a woman before, is that it?”
“I-I-I ” Once again his voice faltered, and Ligne sighed with exasperation.
“Come on, talk to me!” she demanded.
“M-m-m-maybe a-a-another sp-sp-sp-speech lesson—”
“What for?” she snarled. “What good’s the first one done?”
“It t-t-t-takes t-t-time—”
“Who told you that? The clown? I don’t doubt the fool did.” She ducked out of his arms, and Rosha drew in a welcome breath of unscented air. “To cover his own incompetence. Where is that fool? I’ve not seen him all day!”
Rosha sucked in another clean draught and shrugged his shoulders. When he saw the way the woman eyed him, he had a sudden insight into how a hunted beast must feel when finally run to ground.
“You are so good looking,” the woman purred, her voice husky.
Rosha swallowed hard, and smiled. “I’m s-so p-pleased that I p-please you—”
“Do you want to please me, Rosha?” she asked pointedly, her blue eyes glowing.
“P-p-perhaps I’m not p-properly p-p-prepared—”
“You look thoroughly equipped to me.”
“I mean,” he hurried on, “that I f-f-feel so inadequate—”
“Let’s find out!”
“—to be a proper escort!”
Ligne paused in her pursuit. “By that you mean what
“That that I’m n-not worthy of you! Look at m-me!”
“I am,” Ligne growled.
“I c-c-c-cannot speak, I can’t c-c-carry on a p-proper c-conversation, I’m ungracious, unlettered, backward—”
“As well as broad chested, bull-necked, curly-haired…” The woman hummed, reaching out to stroke each feature as she listed it. Rosha jerked aside and walked away. When he stopped to look back at her, she was frowning. “Why did you walk away from me?” she demanded.
“I I n-need more t-time. By all the powers in the Mar, woman, I was ready to kill you two days ago! P-p-perhaps a day or two, a week… more speech lessons…”
“You’re putting me off.”
“No!” Rosha lied. “I’m not! I I like you.” He turned his face to the wall and forced himself to say “I… I even begin to to love you,”