The Second Book of Lankhmar

Lankhmar Below! You're a scene-stealer!”
    Eyes still on Frix, Fafhrd roughed the Mouser's chin affectionately with his fist, then gave him an elbow dig sharp enough to take half his breath away and stop his laughter. “Three of them were only pikemen, or pikerats, as I suppose you call them,” he corrected, then complained gruffly, “I gallop two nights and a day—halfway around the Inner Sea to save your undersized hide. And do so! Only to be told I'm an actor.”
    The Mouser gasped out, still with a snickering whoop, “You don't know how undersized! Halfway around the Inner Sea you say ... and nevertheless time your entrance perfectly! Why you're the greatest actor of them all!” He dropped to his knees in front of the tile that had served as trapdoor and said in tones composed equally of philosophy, humor, and hysteria, “While I must lose—forever, I suppose—the greatest love of my life.” He rapped the tile—it sounded very solid—and thrusting down his face called out softly, “Yoo-hoo! Hisvet!” Fafhrd jerked him to his feet.
    Frix raised a hand. The Mouser looked at her, while Fafhrd had never taken his eyes off her.
    “Here, little man, catch!” Smiling, she called to the Mouser and tossed him a small black vial, which he caught and goggled at foolishly. “Use it if you are ever again so silly as to wish to seek out my late mistress. I have no need of it. I have worked out my bondage in this world. I have done the diabolic Demoiselle her three services. I am free!”
    As she said that last word, her eyes lit up like lamps. She threw back her black hood and took a breath so deep it seemed almost to lift her from the floor. Her eyes fixed on infinity. Her dark hair lifted on her head. Lightning crackled in her hair, formed itself in a blue nimbus, and streamed like a blue cloak down her body, over and through her black silk dress.
    She turned and ran swiftly out onto the porch, Fafhrd and the Mouser after her. Glowing still more bluely and crying, “Free! Free! Free ! Back to Arilia! Back to the World of Air!” she dove off the edge.
    She did not seem to enter the waves, but skimmed just along their crests like a small, faint blue comet and then mounting toward the sky, higher and higher, became a faint blue star and vanished.
    “Where is Arilia?” the Mouser asked.
    “I thought this was the world of Air,” Fafhrd mused.

Chapter Seventeen
    The rats all over Lankkmar, after suffering huge losses, dove back everywhere into their holes and pulled tight shut the doors of such as had them. This happened also in the rooms of pink pools in the third floor of Hisvin's house, where the War Cats had driven back the last of the rats who had gained their human size by drinking the white vials there and at the expense of the flesh of Hisvin's Mingols. Now they guzzled the black vials even more eagerly, to escape back into their tunnels.
    The rats also suffered total defeat in the South Barracks, where the War Cats ravaged after clawing and crashing open the doors with preternatural strength.
    Their work done, the War Cats regathered at the place where Fafhrd had summoned them and there faded away even as they had earlier materialized. They were still thirteen, although they had lost one of their company, for the black kitten faded away with them, comporting himself like an apprentice member of their company. It was ever afterwards believed by most Lankhmarts, that the War Cats and the white skeletons as well had been summoned by the Gods of Lankhmar, whose reputation for horrid powers and dire activities was thereby bolstered, despite some guilty recollections of their temporary defeat by the rats.
    By twos and threes and sixes, the people of Lankhmar emerged from their places of hiding, learned that the Rat Plague was over, and wept, prayed, and rejoiced. Gentle Radomix Kistomerces-Null was plucked from his retreat in the slums and with his seventeen cats carried in triumph to the Rainbow Palace.
    Glipkerio, his leaden craft tightly collapsed around him by weight of water, until it had become a second leaden skin molded to his form—truly a handsome coffin—continued to sink in the Lankhmar Deep, but whether to reach a solid bottom, or only a balancing place between world bubbles in the waters of infinity, who may say?
    The Gray Mouser recovered Cat's Claw from Hreest's belt, marveling somewhat that all the rat-corpses were yet human size. Likely enough depth froze all magics.
    Fafhrd noted