The Ivory Star

Chapter 17

The man knelt and pressed his forehead to the floor. The black and crimson cowled figure glared down at him, impatiently.

"By your command, O omnipotent Uhr," the kneeling man groveled.

"Up, cretin."

The man scrambled to his feet, babbling for forgiveness. Age had long since claimed him, and had not treated him well. His graying brown hair retreated like a routed host. Filthy rags hung on his gaunt, half-starved frame like moss from spindly boughs, and his face was drawn and haggard.

"Step forward."

The man gulped thickly, his knees quaking.

Uhr's sickly yellow claw lashed out, and gripped his terror-stricken face. The helpless man dangled like a doll in the vice-like clutch, and Uhr held him, arm stiff and unbent. His free hand he laid upon the pulsing scarlet surface of the Bloodstone. A soul-rent shriek ripped from the victim's lips, muffled by Uhr's mouldering palm. Abruptly the bloodcurdling scream ceased, and the fellow hung grotesquely limp in his grasp. Uhr let the body drop carelessly to the stone floor. He turned and peered deep into the Bloodstone. There, within the crimson, crystalline depths, the feverish movement of a vague, wraith-like smear thrashed for escape. Uhr nodded with satisfaction. The man's soul had been sucked from his body and imprisoned within the gem.

Now, Uhr let his own foul essence seep into the stone.

As he gained awareness within the stone, he searched and groped for the man's bewildered and terrified spirit. He located it, and it sensed him. Uhr savored its cold, delicious terror as the soul tried to flee, and menacingly approached the quivering essence. He amused himself for a time, chasing it, toying with it, allowing it to remain just out of his reach. Then, as his amusement began to fade, he lashed out and grasped it. His rending, ripping, spirit claws tore a great chunk from the ectoplasmic shape, and he withdrew himself, laughing soundlessly as he devoured the piece of the soul.

Again in his own body, he picked up the man's seemingly muscle-less form from where it lay in a heap on the floor, and touched the Bloodstone. With his mind, he reached into the Bloodstone, grasped the spirit and channeled it back into its own flesh. The man's eyes blinked once, and intelligence, of a sort, returned to those shallow depths.

He regarded Uhr calmly now, fearlessly, all terror that had previously possessed him gone.

Uhr rumbled, "Who is your one and only master?"

The man answered, "You, O Master."

Good. He had taken away the man's emotions, thus he could not lie. This was the same process with which he had conditioned his entire army of Slayers, excepting only the highest officers, who obeyed him out of fear and greed.

"Now," he said, "this is what you are to do."

* * *

The torch in Valerion's sweaty hand flickered uncertainly in the stiff autumn wind. The small group stood in a solemn half-circle beside a tall mound of wood. On top of this mound stood a platform, on which rested Madra's still form, draped in silk and flowers. Robinius stood beside Tarl and Dame Pilgra, Madra's former tutor and Valerion's house mother. Val stood next to his mother and his remaining sister, Nessa. Thoughts of the consequences of recent events weighed heavily on his brow as he stepped up to the pyre, and thrust his torch into the pile of oil-soaked wood. Thick smoke roiled from the flaming mound, and Valerion wiped at the wetness in his eyes. The flames licked up, enveloping Madra's body.

The flames rose high, blackening first her clothing, and then her flesh.

"As black as Uhr's soul," Valerion mumbled under his breath.