“Is it time for dinner, then?”

  Seppelitus froze. He knew that voice.

  “Why, yes, my lord,” the succubus replied. “Please come.”

  “Very well,” and Seppelitus watched as an all-too-familiar figure brushed past the demoness to take his place, watched as Haskelline stopped, half-way to the table.

  “Seppelitus!” and the young lord gave a bark of laughter, looking to the lead guard. “So, you caught him, then?”

  “Of course,” the garitzik replied, bowing its head. “And do you consider our bargain fulfilled?”

  Haskelline came the last few steps to the table and spread his arm to indicate the two succubi.

  “Of course,” he said. “Well worth the price.”

  Haskelline caught the look on Seppelitus’s face and mistook it for disgust.

  “What?” he asked. “I heard the women of the Abyss could make a man weep with passion. You were a small price to pay for ensuring the gargoyles could have access to the house.”

  Not a sorcerer, then, Seppelitus thought. Not a treacherous family member. Just the lust of a treacherous lordling.

  He wanted to say something, to protest, to scold the man for his callous stupidity, but he couldn’t see the point. Haskelline would understand, soon enough. The garitzik’s reply to Haskelline reminded Seppelitus that the gargoyles of the ice were masters of barter.

  “Then our business is concluded, is it not?”

  “Most satisfactorily so,” Haskelline affirmed, and frowned as the garitzik looked to the succubus.

  “And you?”

  “Ice captain,” the succubus said, her voice a throaty purr, as she draped her hands over Haskelline’s shoulders, “we are very satisfied.”

  The garitzik stepped back, and indicated Seppelitus should rise.

  “Unless you’d like to stay?”

  “No,” he said, scrambling so quickly to his feet, he almost fell out of the chair.

  Haskelline gave another harsh laugh, but the succubus quirked an eyebrow.

  “Are you sure, seventh son?” she asked. “Tomorrow’s dusk will see you given to the ogres. We could make the intervening hours a pleasure.”

  Seppelitus backed away from the table so fast he almost tangled himself in the curtains. Only the garitzik taking hold of his arms stopped him.

  “Be still,” one said. “We will take you with us, but to this you must bear witness.”

  Seppelitus wanted to protest that, no, he really mustn’t, but, as if his captor’s words were a signal, two more succubi stepped out from behind the tapestries lining the room’s walls. Seppelitus watched as Haskelline’s frown turn to unease, saw the lordling look up at the succubus who was leaning on his shoulders and staring at Seppelitus.

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  “It was a pleasure doing business,” she said, addressing the garitzik, as the newly arrived succubi revealed the golden chains they’d brought. Haskelline’s unease turned to fear, and he struggled to rise. The succubus pinned him with her weight, and drew her fingers down his cheek. They left fine lines of blood in their wake.

  “Such a big man,” she said. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

  “I…” Haskelline gulped, his eyes darting from one shapely form to another. “But there are four of you.”

  There was a flurry of movement, as the succubi surged forward, and Haskelline was hidden from view. The lead succubus’s reply carried, clearly, to where Seppelitus stood with his escort.

  “I’m sure you can manage, my lord.”

  Another of the succubi looked over her shoulder at the garitzik and their prisoner. Her smile made Seppelitus want to beg for mercy.

  “Ice captain,” she said, “our business is concluded.”

  “Then we shall leave you in private.”

  The succubus’s smile was coy.

  “You know there’s no need for that,” she said, her look inviting them closer.

  To Seppelitus, it seemed as if the world blinked. And when it was back in focus, he was standing in a corridor he’d never seen, in the tight grip of his guards, in front of a plain stone door with a metal grill.

  “Thank you,” he said, feeling his knees go weak with relief.

  They did not answer, but opened the door, and walked him into the cell. There, they secured a chain to each of his ankles, and unbound his arms.

  “Best you should rest,” the lead guard said. “Long journey tomorrow.”

  Seppelitus thought about asking for food, but did not want to risk having to dine with Haskelline and the succubi. He watched the garitzik leave, and stayed silent. When the door was locked and he was alone in the cell, Seppelitus closed his eyes and tried to do as they suggested.

  The toll of a long day of trying to keep Haskelline out of trouble, his capture, the interrogation, and his encounter with the succubi had left him more exhausted than he’d realized. He woke to the door rattling open.

  “Up.”

  Seppelitus stood, slowly, wondering what landslide he’d been caught under, and who had filled his mouth with dirty linen. A pile of cloth was thrust into his hands. On top of it was a flask.

  “Dress and drink.”

  Amongst other things, Seppelitus thought, setting the bundle to one side and using the filth-rimed bucket in one corner of the cell for what it was intended. It would have been nice if the garitzik had left the cell, or turned their backs, but they didn’t, and he hadn’t the energy to argue. At least they were letting him dress.

  The contents of the flask did a little to restore his energy, but nothing further was offered. Once he was dressed, and they’d taken the flask back, the garitzik led him from the cell. They left the citadel by a set of narrow stairs set into the side of a cliff. The ogres waited at the bottom.

  “I have no shoes,” Seppelitus said, as they stepped onto the landing at the top of the stairs.

  “Then you won’t be able to run away,” was the surly reply.

  Seppelitus stretched against the leather straps binding his wrists, but they held firm. The ogres watched them come, yellow eyes gleaming in the dusk. At nine feet in height, they made the garitzik look small, and Seppelitus feel like a child. Their skin was striated, but he could not tell what colors helped them blend so well with the dying day.

  When they saw the garitzik and their prisoner, one of the ogres bared ivory fangs in greeting, and shook out a large sack, spreading its opening wide as he laid it on the ground.

  “See? You have no need of shoes; they will carry you,” one of his guards explained, then stopped, halfway down the stairs.

  “Where is your king?” it asked, looking down at the ogres.

  “He send us. Messenger duty not for him.”

  “We expect payment in full.”

  The ogre lifted its lip in a derogatory sneer.

  “Dragon blood yours, when war is won.”

  “Or your tribe will pay.”

  A cunning look slid across the ogre’s face.

  “Tribe did not make deal,” it said with a smirk.

  “Tribe allows Pallinchuk to be king,” the garitzik challenged, and the ogre stopped smirking.

  “We have a market for ogre blood,” the second garitzik added.

  “Whole tribe?” the ogre sounded doubtful.

  “Yes.” Seppelitus heard no room for excuses in the gargoyle’s tone, and the ogre appeared to consider.

  The other ogre muttered something in ogrish, and the first ogre shot it a resentful glare.

  “They cannot return without you,” the guard explained, keeping its voice low, so the ogres would not hear. “It’s bring you back, or be hunted by the tribe.”

  “For me?”

  “For the penalty of failing to deliver us the dragon.”

  “For which they must win the war.”

  The garitzik nodded, its dark eyes reflecting the dying sun.

  “For which they need Pallinchuk to be a sorcerer,” Seppelitus added.

  Again, the gargoyle dipped its chin in a garitzik nod.

  “Why are you telling me this?”