Swords Against the Shadowland

The woman held out her arms. "You've wanted me so long," she whispered. "Now I've come for you." She reached for him, her arms growing longer, unnaturally long, her fingers stretching, becoming claws. With a shriek, she flung herself upon the wizard. Her arms encircled him like ropes, her nails tore bloody grooves in his flesh. Her legs entangled him, as well, tripping him, bearing him down as her teeth sought his throat.

"No!" the wizard cried, a sound of pure despair.

The thing that was Laurian laughed. "Tell me how you love me!”

They both disappeared under the misty waves. For a moment, a turbulent froth churned over the spot, then all became tranquil. For a seeming long time, the Mouser stared in uncertain worry until another, deeper laugh made him turn.

The Mouser blinked. There stood Fafhrd, whole and un-bloodied, no sign of eagles or sea serpents. There was Scalpel, not dropped, but still in its sheath. And there before him, unruffled and calm, sat Death of Nehwon on his barge.

The Lord of Shadowland cast an amused glance toward Malygris where he yet stood on his arcane bit of shell. But now the wizard's eyes stared blankly, and if his face, once fearful, wore any expression at all, it was no more than a hint of sadness, or perhaps grief.

"The fool," Death of Nehwon murmured. "He thought his illusions could prevail over the stark reality I represent. Now his power is turned against him; he stands helpless in a hell of his own manufacture."

The Mouser rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. "I thought he'd nearly escaped us again."

Fafhrd leaned close and whispered, "I thought an eagle ate your civilized eyes."

So they had shared illusions. Had any time passed at all, the Mouser wondered? Though he recalled running and leaping and chasing, he seemed in fact not to have moved.

Demptha Negatarth drew his daughter closer. He seemed untouched or unaffected by what had just transpired. "You said another," he quietly reminded their host. "One more yet to die. I must know."

Death of Nehwon looked down. "Sabash, wife of Nuulpha."

Demptha looked as if he'd been struck a blow. "No!" he cried angrily. "She has no part in this! Let her live!"

Death of Nehwon said nothing, just stared upon Demptha Negatarth. All around, the souls of the dead waited and watched.

Demptha lifted his head as a sudden calm descended upon him. He took his daughter's hand again. "The price is mine to pay. Take whatever time I have left and give it to Sabash. Spare her a while longer."

An approving nod from Death of Nehwon. "You have made the right decision and thereby earned yourself a place, not in hell, but in the pleasure halls of my own palace." A black-gloved hand pointed into the distance. Through the mist appeared the vague outline of a distant structure, elaborate with its minarets and spires and turreted towers. "Your daughter will show you the way."

Demptha cast a final glance at Fafhrd and the Mouser. "Live well and long if you can, young heroes," he said. Then mist swirled around father and daughter, urging them on their journey. Three paces, and they began to fade from the Mouser's sight. Ten paces, and they were gone forever.

Death leaned on the rail of his barge. When he spoke, did the Mouser imagine it, or was there a note of weariness in his voice?

"The final deed is yours, Gray Mouser," he said. "Fate has declared that your dagger, Catsclaw, shall draw the heart blood Sheelba requires to save his life and yours."

The Mouser heard the voice of Death, and yet his thoughts turned elsewhere, to hell and pleasure halls.

"Hurry," Death of Nehwon urged. "Lest I pick up my book and find your names on tomorrow's page."

The Mouser swallowed. "Where is Ivrian?" he demanded. "I want to see her. And Fafhrd's Vlana, too."

The black hand of Nehwon's Death tightened on the barge's rail. "Like the soldiers I commanded with Rokkarsh's face, the women were but tools to delay and slow you, to occupy your thoughts and muddle your minds. Else with your cleverness you might have found Malygris too quickly. Like Fate, Sheelba chose his henchmen well." Death of Nehwon relaxed then and shrugged. "But for your hard work, I will reward you. Turn around."

The Mouser and Fafhrd exchanged looks, then slowly turned.

"Hello, my love," Vlana said. She held out her hand as Fafhrd reached to embrace her. "You may not touch me. For sins of my past, that was decreed before this began."

"Vlana!" Fafhrd cried. Despite her words, he started toward her with outstretched arms. But a force closed about him and prevented him from moving. "I love you, woman," he said finally. "My heart hasn't forgotten you."

The Mouser merely stared at Ivrian. He sheathed the dagger and sword he held and with gloved fingers, he made a pass at his eyes. The hard cruelty of Liara was gone from her face, and she stood before him purely, as his One True Love. "I'm not allowed to embrace you, either, am I?" he said.