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demons and devils, all of whom were performing their dreadful activities under the supervision and
command of that same towering, helmeted figure.
As both men looked on, there in the night in the middle of the veldt, the giant put a massive, mailed hand
on one flawless bare shoulder. Instantly the woman whirled, her far-off look abruptly replaced with one
of utter loathing and revulsion. Her reaction did not seem to trouble the giant. Though she did her utmost
to remove his clinging hand, at first shaking and then grabbing at it, she was unable to dislodge the mailed
grip even when pressing both hands and all her weight upon it.
Until now Simna had sat motionless, enthralled by the vision and the distant drama of what he was
seeing. But suddenly, the giant was looking past the woman held in his bruising, unyielding grasp. Looking
beyond the room in which he and his prize stood, beyond even the building where his prisoner was
bound in unwilling consort.
He was looking straight at Etjole Ehomba, a herdsman from the dry, desiccated lands to the south.
With a bellow of outrage that dwarfed anything that the veldt had produced, the figure brought its other
hand forward. Something that was the consequence of an unholy union between fire and lightning sprang
from the mailed palm, leaping toward the seated southerner. Ehomba ducked instinctively and the blast of
luminescent diablerie passed over his left shoulder to strike the center of the dying campfire.
Those flames that remained within fled in terror of a greater fire than they could know. As the air
screamed, the very molecules of which it was composed were torn and rent. The image of giant and
entrapped beauty collapsed in upon itself, twisting and crumpling like a sheet of paper in the trembling
fingers of a scandalized warlord. And then it was gone: giant, empyreal prisoner, and the light that had
framed them, leaving behind only the veldt and the scandalized night.
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Not a sound emanated from the surrounding leagues of grass. It was as if the earth itself lay stunned by
the apparition. Then, somewhere, a cricket resumed its violining. A frog croaked from within its prized
puddle. Night birds and insects resumed their timeless chorus.
Aware that he had neglected to breathe for a while, Simna ibn Sind inhaled deeply. The perspiration in
which he was drenched began to dry and cool on his body, causing him to shiver slightly. Shunting aside
his blanket, he crawled over until he was beside his companion. It took a moment, because he had to
avoid the foot-deep, smoking ditch of scorched earth that occupied the place where their campfire had
been and that now drew a line in the soil between them. It stank of carbonized malignance and inhuman
venality.
Pray tell, bruther, what that was all about? And in the same breath, deny to me one more time that you
are a sorcerer.
Ehomba looked over at him and smiled tiredly. I have told you, friend Simna, that I am but a simple
herdsman. Believe me, I would rather be lying with my wife than with you, listening to my children instead
of the growls and complaints of strange animals, and in my own bed than here in this alien land. But
through no wish or desire of my own, I have become involved in something bigger than myself. Turning
away, he looked at the patch of sky where the phantasm had appeared and subsequently burned itself
out.
I did not conjure up what we just saw. I did not call out to it, or beckon it hither, or ask it to appear
before me. I recited no litany, cast no spells, burnt no effigies. I was having trouble going to sleep and,
having trouble, thought to sit a while and contemplate the majesty of the sky. He shrugged so
lackadaisically that Simna almost believed him.
So that just happened ? The swordsman waved at the space in the sky where the figures had
appeared. The air there still shimmered and smoldered like distant pavement on a scorching hot
afternoon. You did nothing to make it happen?
Nothing. With a heavy sigh Ehomba lay back down on the comforting earth. I was sitting, and it
appeared before me. The auguries of a dead man, Simna. The burden of Tarin Beckwith of Laconda,
North. He nodded at the disturbed patch of atmosphere.
I believe that the woman we saw was the Visioness Themaryl, and the frightful figure that appeared
behind her must perforce be her abductor, Hymneth the Possessed. She fits the allusion of comeliness the
dying Beckwith described to me, and he no less the likeness of concentrated animus. How or why they
should appear to me now, here, in this isolated and unpretentious place, I cannot tell you.
Simna nodded and was silent for several moments. Then he commented, You really don t know what
you re getting into, do you?
I never worry about such things. We are all fallen leaves drifting on the river of life, and we go where
the current takes us. The herdsman looked up at his friend. Do you worry?
The swordsman let his gaze rove out across the veldt. I try to. I like to have some idea what I m in for.
Pulling his gaze away from the veldt and whatever was out there, he looked back over at the herdsman.
That must be some treasure he s guarding.
Frustrated, Ehomba rolled over onto his side. If what you just saw and experienced is not enough to
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