The crimson witch

me?”
        “I-”
        “I know you work for Lelar, too. I had hoped you were somewhat independent like the hag.”
        Mordoth laughed, but it was not an entirely happy laugh. “I am. And I will try to help you. I cannot lead you to the castle and assure you victory, for Lelar has too great a hold on me for that. But I might be able to…” His voice trailed off.
        “Yes?”
        “To tell you what the future holds for you.”
        “But how will that help if the future holds death and heartache.”
        “Well,” Mordoth said, grinning and drinking a glassful of wine in one gulp, “I just looked ahead a moment ago, and I saw something that might be of great help to you.”
        “What's that?”
        “Tonight, after you have camped, a squad of man-bats will come to kill you and your dragon friend.”
        Jake almost jumped up, remembered the low ceiling and restrained himself. “But what good does knowing that do me? If they are successful, it hardly matters whether I know or not. Are they successful?”
        “That depends.”
        “On what?”
        Mordoth poured himself more wine and fingered the finely carved glass that held it. “On whether or not you prepare for them. If you are unprepared, they will kill you. If you are ready for them, their chances are not nearly so great.”
        “Prepared for them?”
        “Well,” Mordoth said, shrugging his tiny shoulders and tilting his overlarge head to one side, “you know about their coming now. Should you choose to prepare for them-set traps, shall we say-you could easily overpower them and save your life.”
        “I see what you mean. And I thank you. I would have died without the warning.”
        “You may still die. I cannot always help you. I do not see all of the future, only moments of it.”
        “What else can you see?”
        “Cheryn is safe in the castle.”
        “But doesn't Lelar torture her?”
        “No. He has something more sinister in mind.”
        “What?”
        “You won't like it.”
        “Tell me anyway.”
        “He means to take her as his mistress.”
        “As Queen?”
        “No, just as a private lover.”
        This time he did jump up, and he did crack his head on the low ceiling. Cursing, he sat down, rubbing his head and pounded his free fist into a pillow. “He can't do that! I'll kill him!”
        “If only you could,” Mordoth said wishfully. He was evidently thinking of the tortures and pain he had experienced at the hands of the mad king, and it was obvious that he would joyfully welcome the old Talented's demise.
        “You must do something!” Jake pleaded.
        “I cannot move against him,” Mordoth said sadly. “And I doubt that you can. Though, if he can't harm you, you have one thing working to your advantage. You must simply avoid the manbats.”
        “You can save me more time on my quest,” Jake said.
        “What would you know?”
        “Where in the castle will I find her?”
        Mordoth frowned, started to answer, then suddenly stopped short. “King Lelar!” he whispered urgently. Then his mouth fell open like a gate, and his eyes glazed.
        “YOU HAVE BETRAYED ME, MORDOTH!” a booming voice said in the room. But the voice came out of Mordoth's throat-and it was not Mordoth's voice.
        The dwarf's face reddened. His hands came up and clutched frantically at his head. He tried to scream, but Lelar held control of his vocal cords through long distance magics. The skin around Mordoth's lips and nostrils began to blacken. His eyes went abruptly bloodshot, and the whites began to turn brown. He was like a fuse slowly burning out. The blackness spread from his nostrils and covered his entire face until he was a figure of ash. His eyeballs flamed, leaving his sockets empty. Mordoth was surely dead.
        Still, the voice came from his cracked and bleeding lips. “AND NOW YOU, MY FRIEND.”
        Fire burst all around Jake, but none of it touched him. The floors and walls of the room began smouldering.
        “DIE, DAMN YOU!” Lelar's voice boomed.
        The walls caught and leapt into flame. The floor followed their example. Jake turned and found the manhole, started down it quickly, coughing on the thick smoke.
        The ruined dwarf figure of Mordoth, though physically dead, followed him, powered by Lelar's magics. It started down the rungs, pale hands gripping, bare, pale