The Second Book of Lankhmar

the voice of Rime Isle after all," Fafhrd commented softly. "To what fiery female politicians have we joined our destinies?"
           "Her gold was good," the Mouser answered gruffly. "And now we've two new riddles to solve."
           "Flame Den and Eight-Legged Horse," Fafhrd echoed.
           "Tub, he called her," the Mouser mused bitterly, his mind veering. "What godless literal-minded philosophers are we now supposed to succor in spite of themselves?"
           "You're a godless man too," Fafhrd reminded him.
           "Not so, there was once Mog," the Mouser protested with a touch of his old playful plaintiveness, referring to a youthful credulity, when he had briefly believed in the spider god to please a lover.
           "Such questions can wait, along with the two riddles," Fafhrd decided. "Now let's curry favor with the atheist fishermen while we can."
           And accompanied by the Mouser, he proceeded ceremoniously to offer Groniger white brandy fetched from Flotsam by old Ourph the renegade Mingol. The harbor master was prevailed upon to accept a drink, which he took in slow sips, and by way of talk of repair docks, watering, crew dormitories ashore, and the price of salt fish, the conversation became somewhat more general. With difficulty Fafhrd and the Mouser won license to venture outside the traders' quarter, but only by day, and not their men. Groniger refused a second drink.

             * * * *

           Inside Its icy sphere, which would have cramped a taller being, Khahkht roused, muttering. "Rime Isle's new gods are treacherous — betray and re-betray — yet stronger than I guessed."
           It began to study the dark map of the world of Nehwon depicted on the sphere's interior. Its attention moved to the northern tongue of the Outer Sea, where a long peninsula of the Western Continent reached toward the Cold Waste, with Rime Isle midway between. Leaning Its spidery face close to the tip of that peninsula, It made out on the northern side tiny specks in the dark blue waters.
           "The armada of the Widdershins Sea-Mingols invests Sayend," It chuckled, referring to the easternmost city of the ancient Empire of Eevamarensee. "To work!"
           It wove Its thickly black-bristled hands incantingly above the gathered specks and droned, "Harken to me, slaves of death. Hear my word and feel my breath. Every least instruction learn. First of all, Sayend must burn! Against Nehwon your horde be hurled, next Rime Isle and then the world." One spider-hand drifted sideways toward the small green island in ocean's midst. "Round Rime Isle let fishes swarm, provisioning my Mingol storm." The hand drifted back and the passes became swifter. "Blackness seize on Mingol mind, bend it 'gainst all humankind. Madness redden Mingol ire, out of cold come death by fire!"
           It blew strongly as if on cold ashes and a tiny spot on the peninsula tip glowed dark red like an uncovered ember.
           "By will of Khahkht these weirds be locked!" It grated, sealing the incantment.

             * * * *

           The ships of the Widdershins Sea-Mingols rode at anchor in Sayend harbor, packed close together as fish in a barrel, and as silvery white. Their sails were furled. Their midships decks, abutting abeam, made a rude roadway from the precipitous shore to the flagship, where Edumir, their chief paramount, sat enthroned on the poop, quaffing the mushroom wine of Quarmall that fosters visions. Cold light from the full moon south in the wintry sky revealed the narrow horse-cage that was the forecastle of each ship and picked out the mad eyes and rawboned head of the ship's horse, a gaunt Steppe-stallion, thrust forward through the wide-set irregular bars and all confronting the east.
           The taken town, its sea-gate thrown wide, was dark. Before its walls and in its sea-street its small scatter of defenders sprawled as they'd fallen, soaked in their own blood and scurried over by the looting Sea-Mingols, who did not, however, bother the chief doors behind which the remaining inhabitants had locked and barred themselves. They'd already captured the five maidens ritual called for and dispatched them to the flagship, and now they sought oil of whale, porpoise, and scaly fish. Puzzlingly, they did not bring most of this treasure-trove down to their ships, but wasted it, breaking the casks with axes and smashing the jars, gushing