As he moved forward, he heard voices from up ahead. The stench worsened, and his stomach churned. The voices became louder, clearer, and he was able to make out a few words among the echoes.
And he recognized one of them.
Sir Jehan.
He stopped, tried to determine where exactly the voices were coming from. Finally, he got down on hands and knees and crept closer, peered carefully around the corner, saw that the corridor ended at a large, cavernous room. Candles and an occasional torch illuminated the area.
There were boxes and crates, bags and barrels piled everywhere. Shadow-shrouded shapes hinted at furni- ture stacked amid the confusion. There were plenty of places for concealment, and he took advantage of that.
He found a niche between two large wooden crates, in an area that appeared to be a staging area for supplies, and crawled in, working his way towards the sound of the voices.
Eventually, he found himself peering out between two more crates at a thoroughly bizarre scene taking place in the center of the huge room.
Sir Jehan stood several paces away from -- some- thing. Whatever it was, it was not like any cre Alaire had ever seen before; shapeless and bloblike.
Jehan's posture was one of deference, and Alaire guessed that Jehan was serving it in some way.
Interesting. He had never see Jehan act this way around the King; if anything, the man had acted as if he were the royal equal of King Archenomen, an atti- tude the King had never corrected while Alaire was around.
But here, Jehan was clearly the inferior. When he spoke, his voice was pitched much higher than nor- mal, showing not only deference, but fear.
Alaire turned his attention to the creature Jehan was talking to. To call this a human, or even human- oid, would have taken a great leap of the imagination.
The large, doughy blob of flesh sat directly on the floor, with a vague outline of legs at the bottom. There were stubby blobs that could have been arms near the top, waving and gesturing as it spoke. A large dr -- or maybe a tent had been hacked up to provide some modest clothing -- covered it, more or less, though the drapery still left great flaps of bloated, dis- eased flesh exposed.
And it looked diseased. Whatever had infected the creature had spread all over it. Great raw pustules cov- ered the body, oozing a thin, clear fluid that dripped down its sides and onto the floor. A pair of wings, dis- torted and bent, sat on its back, and oddly, they reminded Alaire of fairy's wings. But fairies never looked like this.
Could this have been a fairy at one time? Alaire wondered, transfixed by the creature, fascinated in spite of his repulsion. What could have caused all this to happen?
The longer he looked at it, the more he began to feel that this probably had been a fairy -- once. A fairy gone horribly wron The wings were what decided him. They were of that peculiar insectoid shape common among the fairy-folk, who could fly about like mosquitoes with little assistance from magic. Fairies were also shape- and size-changers, and could change their size from a hands-breadth to human height in the blink of an eye.
But whatever had caused this to happen must have made this size, and appearance, permanent. Who, or what, could ever choose to stay this way?
Jehan and his -- master -- were clearly arguing about something, and the words reached Alaire's ears slightly distorted by echoes, but mostly under- standable.
" -- would have thought that by now you would have had things under control," the bloated thing said.
"After all these years of planning this, I expected it to go smoothly and quickly. But no. You're still fighting the Kings men, even though you have the King in cus- tody. Why are they resisting? What makes them think they can win? Answer me."
Sir Jehan shifted from foot to foot uneasily, wring- ing his hands, timidly holding a single finger up as if to silence the creature. "The King, the Ambassador Captain of the guard, are all on their way over here as we speak. That twice-damned magician secretary of theirs is in the Prison of Souls now. His companion, the Prince, will soon join him! Prince Kainemonen is chained up in the extra cells on this level, awaiting incarceration in the matrix. These things take Queen Carlotta. Soon they will all be in the Pris Souls, and the magical power there will be twice what it is now!"
The mention of the things name took Alaire aback.
Did Sir Jehan call it Carlotta? Where have I heard that name before -- I know it's important, but I just can't quite plac "If the young magician is incarcerated there now, then why can't I feel any increase in power?" the bloated thing hissed. It attempted to fold its arms resolutely, but the clumsy attempt was more comical than regal. It lost its precarious balance and nearly tee- tered over. "In fact, I felt a decrease a moment ago.
Are you sure you know what you're doing? Were you certain this was a magician?"
"Certain. And Soren swears he is a Bard, too."