"Ha! The need is not mine."

"The need is yours. You must honour the compact you made with Zagzig the shybalt."

Torqual, taken aback, frowned across the fire. He said at last: "That was long ago. The ‘compact', as you put it, was only loose talk over wine."

"Not so! Zagzig offered the most beautiful woman alive, who would serve you as you wished and wherever you went, so long as you defended her and her interests in time of need. To this you agreed."

"I see none of this need," grumbled Torqual.

"I assure you that it exists."

"Explain it, then!"

"You shall see for yourself. We ride to Swer Smod, to do what needs be done."

Torqual stared in new astonishment. "That is fateful folly! Even I fear Murgen; he is supreme!"

"Not now! A way has opened and someone else is supreme! But time is of the essence! We must act before the way closes! So come, while power is ours! Or do you prefer skulking your life away on these windy moors?"

Torqual turned on his heel. He left the area and saddled the horses and the two departed the five Sons of Arra Kaw. At best speed they rode across the moor, at times outracing the cloud shadows. Arriving at a trail, they veered to the east and followed the trail down the mountainside: back, forth, across tumbles of scree, down declivities and gullies, at last to come out upon the bulge of a bluff overlooking Swer Smod. They dismounted and clambered down the hillside afoot, halting in the shadow of the castle's outer walls.

Melancthe took the leather casque from her head and wrapped it around the head of the halberd-hatchet. She spoke, in a voice harsh as stone grinding on stone. "Take the hatchet. I can carry it no farther. Do not touch the blade; it will suck out your life."

Torqual gingerly took the black wood handle. "What am I to do with it?"

"I will instruct you. Listen to my voice but, henceforth, do not look back, no matter what happens. Go now to the front portal. I will come behind. Do not look back."

Torqual scowled, finding the venture ever less to his taste. He set off around the wall. Behind him he heard a soft sound: a sigh, a gasp, then Melancthe's footsteps.

At the front portal Torqual halted to survey the forecourt, where Vus and Vuwas, the devils who guarded the postern, had contrived a new entertainment to help while away the time. They had trained a number of cats to perform the function of war-chargers. The cats were caparisoned with gay clothes, fine saddles and a variety of noble emblems, that they might serve as proper steeds for knightly rats, themselves well-trained and clad in shining mail and gallant helmets. Their weapons were wooden swords and padded tourney lances; as the devils watched, placed wagers and cried out in excitement, the rat knights spurred their cat chargers and sent them springing down the lists in the effort to unseat each other.

Melancthe stepped through the portal; Torqual started to follow. A voice behind him said: "Go easy and quiet; the devils are intent upon their game; we shall try to slip by unnoticed."

Torqual stopped short. The voice said sharply: "Do not turn! Melancthe will do what is needful; so she justifies her life!"

Torqual saw that Melancthe was now as before: the pensive maiden he had first met in the white villa by the sea.

The voice said: "Go now, and quietly. They will not notice." Torqual followed Melancthe; they went unseen along the side of the forecourt. At the last moment, the red devil Vuwas, his rat and cat having been defeated, swung away in disgust and so glimpsed the intruders. "Hoa!" he cried out. "Who thinks to pass, on sly knees and long toes? I smell evil at work!" He called his associate. "Vus, come! We have work to do!"

Melancthe spoke in a metallic voice: "Go back to your game, good devils! We are here to assist Murgen in his wizardry, and we are late, so let us pass!"

"That is the language of interlopers! Folk of virtue bring us gratuities! That is how we distinguish good from evil! You would seem to represent the latter category."

"That is a mistake," said Melancthe politely. "Next time we will surely do better." She turned to Torqual. "Go at once; ask Murgen to step out and certify our quality. I will wait and watch the jousting."

Torqual sidled away as Vus and Vuwas were momentarily distracted. "Start a new course at the lists!" called Melancthe. "I will place a wager. Which is the champion rat?"

"Just a minute!" cried Vus. "What is that disgusting green shadow which dogs your back?"

"It is of no consequence," said Torqual. He hastened his pace and so arrived at the tall iron door. The voice behind him said, "Bare the edge of the hatchet and cut the hinges! Take care not to damage the point; it must serve another purpose!"

A cry of sudden anguish sounded from the forecourt. "Do not look back!" grated the voice. Torqual had already turned. The devils, so he discovered, had fallen upon Melancthe, and were chasing her back and forth across the yard, kicking with taloned feet and striking out with great horny fists. Torqual stared, irresolute, half of a mind to interfere. The voice spoke harshly: "Cut the hinges! Be quick!"

From the side of his eye Torqual glimpsed the distorted semblance of a woman, formed from a pale green gas. He jerked away, eyes starting from his head, stomach knotted in revulsion.

"Cut the hinges!" rasped the voice.

Torqual spoke in a fury: "You impelled me this far by reason of my idle words with Zagzig! I will not deny them, since nothing remains of my honour save the sanctity of my word. But the compact concerned Melancthe, and now she is beyond need. I will not serve you; that again is my word, and you may rely upon it!"

"But you must," said the voice. "Do you want inducement? What do you crave? Power? You shall be king of Skaghane, if you choose, or all the Ulflands!"

"I want no such power."

"Then I will drive you by pain, though it costs me dear in strength to do so, and you shall suffer sadly for my inconvenience."

Torqual heard a thin hissing sound of great effort; he was gripped at the back of his head, behind his ears, by sharp pincerlike fingers; they pressed deep and the pain caused his sight to go dim and his mind to segment into irresolute parts. "Cut the hinges with the edge of the hatchet; be careful of the point."

Torqual drew the leather away from the curved green-silver blade and slashed at the iron hinges. They melted like butter under a hot knife; the door fell open.

"Enter!" said the voice, and the pincers applied new pressure. Torqual stumbled forward into Swer Smod's entry hail. "Ahead now! Down the gallery at best speed!"

With eycs starting from his head, Torqual went at a shambling run down the gallery and so arrived at the great hall.

"We are in time," said the voice with satisfaction. "Go forward."

In the hall Torqual came upon a curious scene. Murgen sat stiff and still in his chair, gripped by six long thin arms, putty-gray in color, sparsely overgrown with coarse black hairs. The arms terminated in enormous hands, two of which gripped Murgen's ankles; two more pinioned his wrists; the final two covered his face, leaving only his two gray eyes visible. The arms extended from a slit or a notch opening into another space directly behind Murgen's chair. The aperture admitted, along with the arms, a faint suffusion of green light.

The voice said: "I now give you surcease from pain. Obey precisely, or it will return a hundredfold! My name is Desmei; I command great power. Do you hear?"

"I hear."

"Do you notice a glass globe dangling from a chain?"

"I see it."

"It contains green plasm and the skeleton of a weasel. You must climb upon a chair, cut the chain with the hatchet and with great care bring down the globe. With the point of the hatchet, you shall puncture the globe, allowing me to extract the plasm and therewith restore my full strength. I will seal the bubble once more, and compress and close Murgen into a similar bubble. Then I will have achieved my aims, and you shall be rewarded in such style as you deserve. I tell you this so that you may act with precision. Do I make myself clear?"