The Pairakan Nights 

Big Trouble in Little Pairakas
	
1: To Catch a Thief

	"What do you have?"  the sorcerer asked as he glared at the thief.  
"This had better be worth my time and trouble,"  he said in a dangerous 
voice.  
	The thief cowered.  He gave the tall sorcerer a sidelong look 
before reaching carefully into his caftan and removing a long box of 
carved sandalwood.  He put the box on the table, all the while watching 
the sorcerer carefully.  
	"Kardel has heard of your desire for all things magical, mighty 
Mozenrath.  I think these might interest you."  He opened the lid of the 
box to reveal four glittering stones nestled in black velvet.  He chose 
one and held it so it caught the light.  
	The sorcerer reached out to take the stone.  He drew his hand back 
sharply as he felt a strong tingling.  He recovered and snatched it 
before the thief sensed something had happened.  It was onyx, black as 
night, shot through with gold and no more than three inches high.  
Carved in intricate detail to resemble a dancing woman, so cunningly 
wrought that he believed she might easily come alive in his hand and 
whirl around the table, silk skirts flying and tiny face shining.  It 
was easily worth a fortune for that alone.  But the magic he felt within 
the stone made it worth much, much more.  
	He rubbed the stone and looked at the thief.  "You say they're 
magic?"  He carefully schooled his features to an uninterested scowl.  
He would have the stones, but he would get them at his price, not 
Kardel's.  
	"They are magic, yes,"  Kardel said with a gap-toothed smile.  "A 
friend of mine, who dabbles in sorcerery, examined them and confirmed 
it."  
	Mozenrath narrowed his eyes at the thief.  "And where did you get 
them?"  
	Kardel picked up the remaining three stones and placed them on the 
table in a line.  The others were lapis lazuli, carnelian and a dark 
amethyst, each a tiny dancer in the same intricate detailing as the one 
he held.  He gave Mozenrath a sideways look.  "They were found in the 
ruins of Ozymandius."  
	The sorcerer gave the thief a cold look.  He tossed the stone he 
held onto the table before him with a negligent flick of his wrist.  
Kardel paled and caught the stone before it could skitter off the table 
and gave Mozenrath an indignant look.  "The stones themselves are nearly 
worthless; the carving is crude and commonplace.  There is some magic 
there, but hardly enough to worth bothering with."  Mozenrath leaned 
back and crossed his arms over his chest.  "I'll give you ten dinari for 
the lot."  
	The thief sputtered.  "You insult me, Mozenrath!  They are 
powerful magic and the carving is ifrit work as I live and breathe!"  He 
snatched up the stone Mozenrath had thrown on the table and shoved it at 
the sorcerer.  "Look again!  No human hand carved these!  I'll not take 
less than one hundred dinari--each!!"  
	Mozenrath guffawed and deliberately looked away.  "I could do 
better than that and I don't know the first thing about carving stone.  
Twenty dinari."  
	The bent little man put the stones back into the box, snapped it 
closed, and shoved his chair back as he stood.  "I will not be insulted 
by the black-hearted whelp of a jackal!"  He turned to go.  Mozenrath 
launched himself out of his chair and grabbed Kardel by his tunic.  His 
gauntlet glowed and he lifted the thief off the floor.  
	"You will retract that insult or I'll feed your liver to my 
familiar here.  He's quite fond of fried liver,"  he said through 
clenched teeth.  Xerxes hovered over Kardel's head and smacked his lips.  
	The little man eyed the hungrily grinning familiar and held up his 
hands.  "Perhaps I spoke in haste, great Mozenrath.  Sometimes my mouth 
says things that my brain does not mean."  
	Mozenrath released him and he fell into his chair and tipped over 
backwards.  "Perhaps you should have your tongue cut out to prevent that 
from happening.  You can live without your tongue; it's harder to live 
without a liver."  The sorcerer waved his hand and his chair righted 
itself and he sat.  "I'll give you fifty dinari for the four stones.  No 
more."  
	Kardel scrambled to his feet and righted his chair.  He weighed 
the offer in his mind.  "Two hundred."  
	Mozenrath scowled at him.  "Seventy-five."  
	Kardel shook his head.  "One hundred seventy five."  
	Mozenrath stood.  "You're trying my patience.  The stones aren't 
worth that much.  Find yourself another buyer, Kardel."  He swept his 
cloak about him and made for the opening of the alcove.  
	Kardel jumped up.  "Wait!  One fifty!"  he shouted.  Mozenrath 
didn't even slow down.  Kardel dashed around the table and grabbed the 
sorcerer's cloak.  "One twenty-five!"  
	Mozenrath stopped and gave the thief a cold look.  He jerked his 
cloak out of his grasp and waited a moment as if considering the offer.  
"One hundred dinari."  
	Kardel sighed.  A hundred dinari was a hundred more than he had at 
the moment.  He nodded.  "One hundred dinari."  
	Mozenrath reached into his sash and withdrew a black silk pouch.  
He tossed it on the table.  It jingled with the crisp sound of gold.  
	The thief handed the case with the stones to the sorcerer.  He 
caught up the silk pouch and pulled at the drawstring.  He paused as he 
heard Mozenrath clear his throat.  
	"You're not going to count it here, are you?"  Mozenrath asked in 
a voice like sharpened steel.  "That would be insinuating that you 
didn't trust me, Kardel."  
	Kardel swallowed and pulled the drawstring tight.  He bowed to 
Mozenrath while backing away from the sorcerer.  "Oh, no, great 
Mozenrath.  It would never occur to me not to trust one so great as 
yourself."  He backed through the beaded curtain that separated the 
alcove from the main tavern room.  "It has been a pleasure dealing with 
you, Mozenrath,"  the thief said in an obsequious manner and turned and 
fled with his payment.  
	"I'm sure the pleasure was all mine, Kardel."  Mozenrath opened 
the box and looked at the stones nestled in the velvet.  He smiled a 
thin smile as they glimmered when he passed his hand over them.  
	"Come, Xerxes,"  he said as he snapped the lid shut and tucked it 
into his sash.  "It's time to go."  He swept regally through the beaded 
curtain and through the tavern oblivious to the mob of cutthroats and 
cutpurses that frequented this den of thieves.  None of them would dare 
attack him.  
	He paused outside the entrance and looked back and waited.  There 
came the sounds of a scuffle and raised voices.  A few insults and 
demands and then there was quiet.  Mozenrath stepped into a doorway just 
as two men came to the door carrying a bundle that looked suspiciously 
man-sized and shaped and dumped it in the alley.  
	"Imagine Kardel trying to pass brass off as gold,"  one said to 
the other as they slipped back into the Skull and Dagger.  
	"Yeah, what was he thinking?  That we're stupid as he was?"  the 
other said.  They laughed together and moved out of range.  
	Mozenrath grinned and gathered his will.  There was a flash and he 
was gone. 
	
2: Secret of the Stones 

	Mozenrath leaned back in the ornately carved desk chair and 
juggled the stones in his hand.  They shimmered and glowed prettily, and 
he could feel the magic bound within them, but so far he had been unable 
to discover the secret to unlocking that magic.  He had searched through 
his entire library looking for some reference to them, and had turned up 
nothing.  
	"What do they do, Xerxes?"  he asked his familiar.  He leaned 
forward and arranged them on the polished black table top into a line of 
dancers: Red, blue, black and purple.  He had tried everything from 
unlocking to summoning spells and nothing seemed to work.  
	He sighed with disgust and leaned back in this chair.  He was 
beginning to wonder if perhaps he had gone to the trouble of taking them 
from Kardel for nothing.  "Four stones so full of magic and no idea what 
they are or how to get at their power."  He gestured and the stones 
began to glow.  After only a moment, the glow died.  He filed away that 
bit of information; it appeared the stones were also indestructible.  
	Mozenrath thought a moment as he looked at the stones.  He picked 
up the lapis and examined the carving.  Not so much as a hieroglyphic or 
inscription.  He turned it over and over to admire the carving.  One 
thing Kardel had been right about: No human hand carved these.  He put 
it back into the line and folded his arms on the table and rested his 
chin on them.  On eye level with them, the illusion that they were 
caught in their dance grew.  They waited only for the command to dance 
and they would twirl off to continue the dance they had been dancing 
since the start of days.  
	Mozenrath grimaced.  He wondered where that thought came from; it 
was disgustingly poetic.  But try as he might, it persisted.  Finally, 
he sat up and slapped his hand on the table.  "Confound it!  If you want 
to dance, then dance!"  he ordered them.  
	The stones began to glow from within.  His eyes went wide as they 
began to move.  Their perfectly formed arms and legs moved jerkily at 
first but with increasing agility.  
	They formed into a circle and began an intricate whirling and 
intertwining dance.  The faster they danced, the more the glow 
increased.  With a start he realized they were growing bigger.  Slowly 
at first, then rapidly, they expanded until they were life-size.  Their 
faces glowed with an inner light and the air sparkled around them as 
they moved.  
	Their skin paled and their clothing reflected the color of the 
stones they had been just moments before.  As they moved across the top 
of the polished black table, they stepped with incredible delicacy over 
the books and items that cluttered the surface of it.  Almost as if they 
hardly set foot on it.  
	Mozenrath pushed his chair back and watched in amazement as they 
slowed and knelt before him heads bowed and hands pressed together in 
front of their faces.  
	"How may we serve you, O Lord?"  they said in unison.  Their 
speech was oddly accented.  
	"Lord?"  he repeated, nonplused.  
	They looked up and around.  They were beautiful; unearthly 
beautiful.  Their eyes were large and expressive, mouths sensuous, 
bodies lush beneath their clothing.  There was something distinctly 
predatory about their eyes; something that unnerved him.  
	He pushed the feeling away as they started taking an interest in 
their surroundings.  One, a golden-haired imp with liquid brown eyes, 
sat cross-legged on the table and picked up a large book bound in black 
leather.  He reached out and took it from her and set it aside.  
	The one directly in front of him nodded.  A turban-like headdress 
covered a heavy mass of blood-red hair.  Her bodice and skirts were deep 
blue, trimmed in black and with gold accents and fringe.  The skirt fell 
open all the way to the golden waistband, which rode low on her shapely 
hips.  Her large green eyes challenged him.  
	"You released us; that makes you our Master.  May we know the name 
of the one we serve?"  she asked.  "Uh, Mozenrath,"  he replied as he 
rescued a small, carved jade bear from one wearing skirts of black and 
gold silk.  He set it on a shelf behind him.  "And what are you?"  he 
asked as he took another book from the golden-haired one.  
	The red-haired one just grinned at him.  "We're yours, Uh-
Mozenrath."  she said.  
	"No!  Not 'Uh-Mozenrath;' just Mozenrath,"  he corrected her.  
	"Ahhh..."  she breathed.  "It is a fine name."  He gave her an 
approving smile.  "For a boy."  His smile turned into a frown and her 
smile turned teasing.  She leaned forward, put her elbows on the black 
wood of the table, rested her chin in her hands, and looked at him with 
those devilish green eyes.  "I am Zahra."  
	One, wearing nearly transparent harem pants and a tightly fitted 
bodice all in blood red, leaned down next to Zahra.  Dark hair was 
gathered and caught up through a matching fez-like hat to cascade down 
her back and her dark eyes were vaguely carnivorous.  She elbowed Zahra.  
	"Ow!"  Zahra yelped.  She rubbed her side as she glared at the 
other one.  "This is my sister, Darice."  
	"Oh, my, this is a handsome one, isn't it?"  Darice observed in a 
voice rich and warm.  
	"That makes it much more interesting, doesn't it?"  Zahra said.  
She winked at Mozenrath.  
	He sat back and frowned at her impiety, only to be distracted by 
the other two.  They were bickering over the possession of another book.  
He paled as they played a game of tug-of-war with an oversized book 
bound in red Moroccan leather.  He snatched it from them and drew his 
hand back as if to strike them.  They scurried back, behind Zahra and 
Darice.  
	"And these two brats are Finna and Rahi,"  Zahra said as she 
rolled over on her back and put her hands behind her head.  
	"We're not brats!"  the one in black and gold said.  She slapped 
Zahra lightly, and Zahra shoved her with her foot.  
	"You are so, Rahi,"  she said.  
	"I am not!"  Rahi shouted back.  
	"Hey!"  Darice shouted as Rahi shoved her trying to get to Zahra.  
"Cut it out!"  
	"Yeah, cut it out!"  Finna added and joined Darice in attacking 
Rahi.  Zahra rolled her eyes and slid out of the way.  
	"Silence!"  Mozenrath shouted.  They fell silent and looked at him 
with wide eyes.  "What do you mean, I released you?"  he asked.  
Satisfied that his attention was elsewhere, Rahi reached out and enticed 
a nervous Xerxes into her lap.  She scratched him under his chin.  Finna 
spotted her and joined in on lavishing affection on the eel.  Xerxes was 
almost purring with pleasure.  
	"When you commanded us to dance, you released us from the spell.  
And now we're yours,"  Darice said.  She grinned cunningly at him.  "If 
you're clever enough to survive."  She leaned back with a sinuous 
motion.  
	"You're djinni, then?"  His mouth curved in wicked smile.  Perhaps 
this wasn't so bad after all.  He absently noted Xerxes defection, but 
was too absorbed in calculating just how to turn this situation to his 
advantage.  
	Zahra scowled.  "No!"  she said.  "We're nothing like those empty-
headed wish-givers!"  
	His smile faded.  "If you're not djinni, then what are you?"  he 
demanded.  
	Rahi rolled her eyes.  "Handsome, but stupid,"  she commented.  
Mozenrath bristled at her remark.  "Should we tell him, Zahra?"  
	She shook her head.  The gold fringe on her headdress shimmered.  
"No.  I think we should make him guess."  Her smile was positively 
wolfish.  
	"Yes,"  Finna said and scooted forward.  "Do you like games?"  she 
asked him.  "How about riddles?  I love riddles.  How about 'Why is a 
mouse when it spins?'"  she asked him.  Mozenrath groaned and turned 
away.  She frowned.  "No riddles?  How about chess then?"  She waved her 
hands and a chessboard, complete with game already in progress, appeared 
in the air before her.  She caught up the end of her braid and chewed on 
it as she examined the board.  She made a move and gestured, and the 
board spun around and she proceeded to make the next move for the 
opposite color.  
	"You can't do that!"  Rahi exclaimed.  "It's my move!"  She leaned 
forward with a nearly comatose Xerxes cradled in her arms.  
	"But it's my game!"  Finna retorted.  
	"It is not!"  
	"Stop bickering!"  Mozenrath shouted at them.  They fell silent 
but as soon as his back was turned, they fell to pantomiming their 
argument.  
	He grabbed Zahra's wrist and pulled her forward.  "Now--Zahra,"  
he said.  "I don't like games and I especially don't like being played 
with.  Now, explain what you are."  
	Her green eyes darkened.  "We're pairakas, Lord."  
	He was unfamiliar with that word.  "Pairakas?"  Her accent was 
strange; perhaps she was using an archaic expression.  "You mean paris?"  
	She shook her head.  "No.  Pairakas."  
	Darice looked up from the book she was reading.  "In the west, 
they would call us fairies."  Mozenrath glanced at the book she held, 
noted that it was a simple reference book and decided not to bother.  
	"Fairies?"  He searched for a translation.  "Houris?"  It was the 
closest he could come.  
	Zahra laughed at him.  The others joined her.  He stiffened and 
glared at them.  "Houris?  The powers of evil protect us, no!"  Zahra 
exclaimed.  "Houris are virtuous angels in Paradise.  There's nothing 
virtuous about us and we don't come from Paradise."  She leaned forward 
seductively.  "We have but one purpose,"  she purred as she pushed her 
lustrous hair over her shoulder.  
	Mozenrath looked into her sparkling green eyes.  "And that would 
be?"  
	She sat up on the table and broke his hold on her.  With a swift 
motion, she grabbed his arm and pulled him forward with incredible 
strength.  Startled by her boldness, he was too late to evade her.  She 
slipped her arms around his neck and planted her mouth on his and kissed 
him.  
	Mozenrath struggled and found himself unable to break away.  He 
pushed against her, trying to find the leverage to pry himself from her 
arms, but she held him mercilessly.  When she finally released him, he 
stumbled backwards and landed heavily on the floor.  "Our purpose is to 
please you, Lord,"  she purred as she leaned on the table and looked 
down at him.  
	He glared up at her and was about to deliver a withering remark 
accompanied by a jolt of pure power when Darice climbed off the table 
and began wandering around the room.  He swore under his breath, 
clambered to his feet and dashed after her.  
	She took a delicate glass bottle off a shelf and unstoppered it.  
"Ooo, this is pretty!  What's in it?"  
	"It's none of your business!"  he snapped at her and made a grab 
for it.  She eluded him and sniffed it.  She drew back suddenly and 
grimaced.  
	"It stinks!"  
	Mozenrath deftly lifted it from her grasp and restoppered it.  He 
set it back upon the shelf from which she had taken it.  
	"It's also very expensive and quite rare, so leave it be,"  he 
told her through clenched teeth.  
	She glared up at him and snatched another bottle.  He lunged after 
it, but Darice danced backwards, to just beyond his reach.  She laughed 
gaily and turned.  He sprang at her, caught her wrist.  "Give me that,"  
he growled, and wrenched the bottle from her.  He looked down at it and 
paled.  He carefully set it back on the shelf.  He steered her firmly 
away from the shelves and back to the table.  "If you had dropped that 
bottle, you would have blown a hole in the floor deep enough to serve as 
a back door to Hades!"  
	Darice just grinned up at him and flipped her hair over her 
shoulder.  "That might be cause for concern for you, but we wouldn't 
have noticed."  He glared at her.  
	The sorcerer forgot all about Darice as he spotted Zahra reading 
one of his spell books.  She saw him coming for her, caught up the book, 
and lifted straight into the air.  She floated there, looking down at 
him.  
	"This spell is wrong, you know."  She put her finger on the page 
she was reading.  
	Mozenrath glared up at her.  "How would you know?"  
	She laughed at him.  "We know many things,"  she said with a wave 
of dismissal.  She pointed at the book.  "The markings are all wrong.  
These sigils are reversed, here and here and here.  The only thing this 
incantation will conjure up is a large purple and green monster named 
Bhar'nay that kills people with its singing."  
	Mozenrath was about to dismiss her explanation when he stopped 
short.  "Let me see that,"  he ordered.  She lost some altitude and 
handed the book down to him.  He snatched it from her and she quickly 
rose out of reach again.  
	"What sigils?"  he demanded.  She pointed.  He looked at the 
markings then gave her a sideways look.  "How do you know what this 
spell conjures?"  
	She gave him a sweet smile.  "Because I made the dog-wizard who 
wrote the spell get it wrong."  She shuddered.  "Awful little man; we 
simply could not stand him.  He would never let us dance for him."  Her 
face assumed a pouting expression.  It quickly changed to one of wicked 
satisfaction.  "He conjured up the Bhar'nay and got hugged to death."  
	Mozenrath choked and carefully marked the place in the book and 
closed it.  He set it down carefully on the table and with extreme calm 
he reached out and grabbed her arms and pulled her close.  She gave a 
little yelp as her spell was broken.  She dropped heavily to the 
tabletop.  
	"Thanks to you and your little joke, I was nearly killed by that 
creature,"  he said in a stiff voice.  He spotted Xerxes lying 
helplessly in Rahi's arms and snatched him away from her.  "And quit 
trying to steal my familiar!"  Xerxes floundered in his master's grasp 
before Mozenrath threw him across the room.  
	The sorcerer pushed Zahra towards the door.  "Get out!"  he 
shouted.  He rounded on the others.  "Get out!"  he repeated.  
	They retreated before him, out the door of the library with the 
sorcerer close on their heels.  They huddled together before his rage.  
"Get out of my Citadel and never come back!  I don't care where you go, 
just get out!"  he shouted at them.  As one they disappeared in a shower 
of shimmering dust.  
	Mozenrath straightened and counted to ten to calm himself.  When 
that didn't work, he decided to take a little exercise and stormed off 
down the gallery.  A faint light, like a will o' the wisp, trailed after 
him.  

3: The Trouble with Pairakas 

	The sorcerer regained some of his composure by the time he stalked 
from one end of the Citadel to the other.  He slowed and came to a stop 
just inside the great doors.  He leaned against the wall and put a hand 
to his head.  
	"Xerxes,"  he said to his familiar as the eel hovered nearby.  "I 
swear, if Kardel weren't already dead, I'd kill him myself."  He thought 
a moment.  "Maybe his body is still in that alleyway.  I could make him 
into a Mamluk and then personally shred him for what he's done."  
Mozenrath shook his head after a moment's thought.  "No, even Mamluks 
need an iota of intelligence."  
	He pushed away from the wall and was about to continue on his way 
when something made him turn.  He peered into the darkness but didn't 
see anything.  
	"Did you see something?"  he asked his familiar.  
	Xerxes shook his head.  Mozenrath continued peering into the 
shadows.  A faint sound, like a child's laughter, sweet, musical, and 
mocking, drifted out of the darkness.  He frowned and gestured.  The 
lamps hanging from chains lining the corridor flared.  The laughter 
stopped as if cut off.  
	He stood looking first up the corridor and then down, wondering 
whether he had heard it or not.  He let the lamps dim to their customary 
gloom and with a last look behind him, continued his impromptu tour of 
his palace.  
	He hadn't gone more than a dozen steps when the sound came again.  
He whirled, about to bring the lamps up again, when the sound stopped.  
He eyed the darkness warily but continued on his way.  
	Again, as soon as his back was turned, came the sound of laughter.  
Stronger this time, and of women, not children.  
	Mozenrath whirled around.  A handful of dry leaves and 
scintillating dust hit him in the face as a sudden wind whipped around 
him and lifted his hood and cloak.  It tugged at his clothes a moment, 
like so many hands, twirled him about, then raced down the corridor and 
around the corner to disappear in a shimmer and a dusting of golden 
sparkles.  
	He spat out leaves and dust and looked at them in amazement.  "How 
the heck did leaves get in here?"  he asked the darkness.  He crushed 
them, and took off after the wind.  There was something strange going on 
around here and he was going to get to the bottom of it!  
	As he neared the corner, he heard that laughter again along with 
whispering voices.  He slowed and flattened himself against the wall and 
listened.  He edged nearer and the voices grew stronger.  A dim glow 
could be seen on the opposite wall.  
	Something fluttered in the darkness around the corner and 
Mozenrath clenched his fist and held the power under tight reign.  He 
rounded the corner, and flung out his fist.  "Venite, fulmina!"  
Lightning leapt from his hand-- 
	--and straight at the trespassers.  They reacted to his appearance 
by throwing up their hands.  The lightning rebounded straight back at 
him-- 
	Mozenrath threw himself down and to one side.  He covered his head 
with his hands and felt the impact blow bits of stone out of the wall 
above his head and they pattered down on him.  When the shower of rock 
fragments stopped, he risked a look up.  A great hole had been blasted 
into the wall and into the room beyond.  A battalion of mops and brooms 
with arms carrying pails of water gazed forlornly at the rubble.  
	The sorcerer leapt to his feet and rounded on the intruders.  He 
stopped short.  "You!"  he shouted at them.  "What did you do that for?"  
he demanded, pointing at the hole in the wall.  
	"You startled us!"  Finna said.  
	"It isn't nice to throw lighting at people!"  Rahi declared as she 
shook out her skirts.  "I think it scorched my skirts."  
	"Your skirts be damned!"  he raged.  
	"I beg your pardon!"  she said stiffly.  "That is no way to talk 
to a lady!"  She turned her back on him.  "And you can replace my skirts 
if they are scorched, too!"  
	Darice and Zahra were fighting down laughter.  Rahi glared at them 
and they turned their attention to Mozenrath.  They ran at him and 
caught his hands and arms and tried to pull him back down the corridor.  
"Come, Lord, let us entertain you!"  
	He pulled away from them.  "No!"  he shouted.  "I thought I told 
you to get out,"  he said in a strained voice.  
	"But you left before we could explain that we can't leave,"  Finna 
said.  She danced around him and caught up his cloak.  Mozenrath pulled 
it out of her grasp.  
	"Let go!  I'm not going to tell you again, I want you out of 
here!"  
	"Definitely in need of a hearing test,"  the dark-haired Darice 
commented dryly to Zahra.  "Handsome, stupid and hard of hearing."  She 
shook her head sadly.  "Pity.  And so young, too."  Zahra nodded.  
	Mozenrath bared his teeth at her.  "I am not hard of hearing!"  
	"Then you must score low on aural comprehension tests.  I'll 
explain it--again--in terms you can understand.  That means words of one 
syllable or less--"  She yelped and dashed behind Zahra as he stormed 
after her.  She peeked around the shorter pairaka at him.  
	"I'm not an idiot!"  he roared at her.  "And I don't want 
explanations; I want you gone!"  
	Darice shook her head from where she hid behind Zahra.  "Zahra, 
you try; you've always had success in relating to the intellectually 
challenged."  
	Zahra shrieked and turned on her sister; her hands clenched into 
claws and her teeth bared.  Darice retreated, stumbled over some rubble 
and fell.  She didn't hit the ground, however; instead she disappeared 
in a shower of golden dust.  
	"Come back here, Darice!"  Zahra shouted.  
	"Never mind her!  The rest of you can join her!"  He grabbed her 
and pulled her around.  
	"We can't,"  Rahi said.  
	"You are our Master; we must stay with you,"  Finna added.  
	Zahra turned to him, coughing with the golden dust.  "We cannot 
leave you, ever."  She sneezed.  
	Mozenrath rounded on her.  "Why can't you leave me?"  
	Zahra spread her hands.  "When you commanded us to dance, you 
activated the spell that bound us to you.  We belong to you and we can 
never leave.  It the nature of our being."  
	He stared at her.  "I don't believe that.  There's always a way 
around such things.  I just have to find it."  The sorcerer turned and 
nearly fell over Darice hovering in the air behind him.  
	"However, He who created us was meticulous in eliminating any and 
all loopholes in the bindings placed upon our Master.  There is a way to 
sever the bond, but it is singular and ultimate in the extreme."  She 
turned over lazily, stretched and gave him a mischievous look.  "In 
other words, you wouldn't like it."  
	He directed a poisonous look at her and she drifted backwards out 
of reach.  He reached out with his power and summoned the nearest Mamluk 
patrol.  It was only a matter of moments before they appeared.  
	"Get them!"  he ordered.  "Get them out of my Citadel, now!"  
	The Mamluks shuffled forward.  The pairakas squealed with glee and 
charged into their midst.  The Mamluks halted, swords at the ready, as 
the tiny women danced around and among them.  
	"Let's dance!"  Finna said as she grabbed one of the Mamluks by 
the arm.  It looked down at her in confusion.  Finna tried to pull it 
into a dance with her and ripped its arm off.  
	"What are you waiting for?"  Mozenrath shouted.  "Get them!"  
	The Mamluks lumbered into action.  They reached out and with the 
inhuman strength of the dead, they seized the dancing pairakas.  The 
women just laughed and the Mamluks' hands passed through a trail of 
sparkling gold motes.  The undead guards dropped their swords and 
started grabbing at their targets with both hands, and when that failed, 
they tried wrapping their arms around the women.  
	Mozenrath watched helplessly as the pairakas grabbed the Mamluks 
and pulled them into the dance.  Soon the other Mamluks were grabbing at 
the dancing Mamluks and ripping off limbs indiscriminately.  Arms and 
legs soon littered the floor.  In less time than it took to draw twenty 
breaths, the patrol, easily two dozen strong, had been reduced to a pile 
of spare parts.  
	"No, no, no!"  Mozenrath roared.  He rushed forward and stood 
amidst the litter, hands clenched at his side and teeth bared.  The 
pairakas slowed and looked around at the damage they had done.  
	"Oh, my,"  Darice breathed.  "They are quite fragile, aren't 
they?"  
	Finna looked at the arm she held a moment before throwing it on 
the pile.  She sighed.  "And I was having so much fun,"  she said.  
	Mozenrath gave her a look that could have melted stones.  She gave 
him a nervous little laugh, put a hand to her mouth and backed away.  
She bumped into Rahi, who screeched as her toes were trod upon.  
	"Clumsy cow!"  she shrieked and pushed her sister.  Finna stumbled 
forward a step or two, but recovered and stepped back.  
	"Don't call me that!"  she shouted back.  She shoved the black-
haired Rahi.  
	Zahra and Darice looked at each other and moved in to break up the 
spat.  "Safinnah!  Rahimateh!  That's enough!"  Zahra ordered.  
	Darice grabbed Rahi's arm and pulled her around, but not before 
Rahi gave Finna a final shove.  Zahra's hand closed on thin air as Finna 
went sailing back.  Zahra snatched desperately after her, but she was 
too late.  Finna whirled gracelessly into Mozenrath's arms.  Zahra and 
the others froze as his hands closed over her upper arms and his 
gauntlet glowed.  Finna's face twisted with pain as the glow spread to 
engulf her completely.  Her back arched and she went limp.  
	"Now that I have your attention,"  Mozenrath said as he let her 
slump to the ground at his feet.  "There are a few things I want to 
discuss with you."  His voice was deadly quiet.  
	Rahi clung to Darice as they stood behind Zahra.  She looked into 
the sorcerer's black eyes without the slightest trace of fear.  Finna 
moaned and sat up.  Mozenrath reached down and yanked her to her feet 
and held her mercilessly.  
	He looked around at pile around his feet.  "Do you have any idea 
how long it takes to create a single Mamluk?"  he demanded of them.  
	Zahra tilted her chin up at him.  "If that is what is troubling 
you, Lord, we will repair them."  She gestured and the Mamluks were 
whole again.  The undead looked around and at each other.  They spotted 
the pairakas and backed away.  
	Mozenrath rounded on them.  "Where do you think you're going?"  
	The leader mumbled and pointed at the pairakas.  The undead guards 
turned and fled out of the Citadel.  
	Mozenrath glared after them as they went, then turned his glare on 
the pairakas.  "I really, really wish Kardel weren't dead."  He gave 
them one last snarl, transferred his grip on his captive to her wrist, 
then turned and dragged her after him.  
	A blaze of light forced him to stop.  The other three appeared 
ranged before him across the corridor, eyes blazing.  Mozenrath gave 
them a frosty glare and just twisted Finna's arm and she yelped.  They 
gave him equally cold looks and stepped aside for him.  
	He dragged the pairaka to his throne room, and he threw himself 
onto his throne.  He pulled Finna around with the intention of forcing 
her to sit by the throne while he thought about what to do with them, 
when his grip on her slipped.  She immediately disappeared to leave him 
grasping at a shower of light.  She reappeared in the midst of her 
sisters.  
	The sorcerer looked down at them then put a hand to his head.  "I 
have a splitting headache,"  he mumbled.  
	"Let us cure it!"  Rahi said.  She dashed forward and grabbed his 
hand.  The others followed suit and pulled him along and to a pile of 
cushions.  Rahi pulled him down, cradled his head in her lap, and pushed 
his turban off his head.  He grabbed it from her.  Zahra sat nearby with 
a decanter of wine and filled a golden goblet and held it for him.  
Darice and Finna sat on either side of him with bunches of grapes and 
tried to force feed him.  
	He flailed around and managed to evade their clinging hands.  He 
stumbled upon the scattered pillows and only barely managed to save 
himself from sprawling face-first on the carpets.  
	He recovered and shoved his turban back on his head.  He had put 
it on backwards; the neckcloth hung down in front of his face.  He 
snatched it off, reversed it, and tried again.  He was about to deliver 
a withering curse upon the pairakas when something sank into his 
adrenaline-soaked brain.  He straightened and looked around.  
	Mozenrath's throne room had been transformed into a lush pleasure 
den decorated by a demented or drunken god.  Yards and yards of silk in 
the most awful shades of pink and rose hid the stylized skulls.  The 
midnight blue cushions on his throne had been changed to an electric 
blue.  Brightly colored carpets lined the floor and cushions were piled 
high upon them.  Vases stuffed full of garishly colored flowers, 
hundreds of them, perfumed the air with their heady scent.  A golden 
fountain bubbled and laughed cheerily.  Lamps of every shape and size 
lined the walls, hung on chains from the ceiling and lit the place up 
bright as noon under a cloudless sky.  A low table groaned under the 
weight of the food piled upon it.  
	He was thunderstruck.  He stood there and stared around himself in 
bewilderment.  It was Darice who finally broke his horrified rapture.  
	"Handsome, stupid, and prone to mental lapses."  She sighed.  "I 
wonder if insanity runs in his family?"  
	That tore it.  He slowly and deliberately he turned to them and in 
a voice quiet and tightly controlled, he demanded, "Get rid of it."  
	Finna stood and wandered around.  "Why?  It's much more cheery 
than it was before."  
	Mozenrath nodded.  "Yes, it is, isn't it?  However, it's not 
supposed to look cheery.  It's supposed to be sterile and strike fear 
into the hearts of those brought here before me.  Pink draperies don't 
exactly do that, now do they?"  His voice was a study in self-control.  
"Now get rid of it."  
	She perched on the edge of the fountain and trailed her hand in 
the water.  "We don't want to."  
	Rahi jumped up.  "Finna's right.  We like it the way it is."  
	Mozenrath took a deep breath and straightened.  "I'm your Master.  
I command you to remove these fripperies."  
	Zahra leaned back on the cushions and sipped the wine in the cup 
she held.  She propped one leg on the other knee and laughed up at him.  
"Oh, so now he wants to be our Master."  She gave him a little salute 
with her goblet.  "And just a few minutes ago, he wanted us to leave.  
Make up your mind, Mozenrath."  She drank some more of the wine.  
	Mozenrath growled at her and sent the hangings and plants and rugs 
and cushions into oblivion.  Finna found herself perched in thin air and 
fell to the marble on her shapely behind.  
	"What?!"  they shouted.  Darice glared at him and waved her hand; 
the pairaka-produced decor had returned.  
	Mozenrath gestured and it disappeared.  Darice flipped her hand 
and it reappeared.  "It stays!"  
	"It goes!"  Moze shouted and it was gone.  
	"Stays!"  
	"Goes!"  
	Zahra snorted.  "If you only knew how ridiculous you two looked."  
	They both rounded on her.  Mozenrath gestured and sent a bolt of 
energy at her.  She screamed and disappeared in a shower of golden dust.  
The bolt flashed off the marble and disappeared.  
	Rahi took advantage of the situation and brought the decor back, 
but this time with a difference: The hangings were black and yellow.  
	Darice gestured and the hangings turned red.  
	Rahi waved her hand and they turned yellow.  Darice turned them 
scarlet.  
	"Oh, this looks like fun!"  Finna squealed.  "Can anyone join in?"  
	Mozenrath rounded on her.  "No!"  he shouted and it was gone.  
	She glared at him and waved her arms.  The furnishings returned.  
The hangings were all purple.  
	Darice turned on the golden-haired Finna.  "How dare you?"  she 
shouted at her.  The hangings went from the myriad shades of purple to a 
deep, blood red.  Darice smirked at Finna.  "There.  That's better."  
	Finna screeched and gestured.  The drapes went back to purple.  
	Zahra, who had returned, gestured and they went to blue.  "Enough.  
Finna, quit playing around,"  she said.  
	Darice and Finna rounded on her and they both gestured.  This time 
the drapes were half red, half purple, and clashed horribly.  
	"Stop it!"  Mozenrath shouted.  The four of them rounded on him.  
	"No!"  they shouted.  Power crackled around their hands and hit 
him square in the chest with enough force to send him stumbling back 
into his throne, dazed.  
	They continued their argument, and the drapes were alternately 
red, blue, black, purple or gold.  Each change was accompanied by an 
increasing amount of a sparkling dust-like substance in the respective 
colors.  It swirled around the room in eddies and currents, and left 
dazzling colors where ever it settled.  Mozenrath coughed and choked on 
it while Xerxes, trying to escape, got caught up in the magic currents 
and found himself alternating colors just as the drapes and carpets.  
	Mozenrath pulled his linen hood across his mouth and nose to keep 
from choking on the sparkly stuff.  The four pairakas were now arguing 
shrilly and changing the color of the decor so fast that the colors 
seemed to crawl grotesquely across the drapes.  Mozenrath gathered his 
will and let it build until he felt he had sufficient power to bring 
them down.  With a roar of rage, he hurled it at them.  It caught the 
four of them and surrounded them.  They screamed in surprise and pain 
and dropped to their knees.  The power flooded around and through them 
for several seconds before dissipating.  When the glow died, they had 
collapsed on the floor and the drapes had frozen in a bizarre mixture of 
colors he couldn't put names to.  
	Dropping into his throne, Mozenrath let his makeshift mask fall 
back and he took several deep breaths and put a hand to his chest; that 
blast had hurt.  The magic residue quickly dispersed and soon the only 
remnant was a soft glow that lingered in the corners.  He looked around 
and grimaced.  This was almost as bad as the time Mirage had taken it 
into her mind to redecorate his room in something she had called 60s 
Psychedelic.  
	He felt a touch on his shoulder and looked down.  His familiar had 
draped himself over his shoulder and was glaring at the fallen pairakas.  
His color matched the grotesquely streaked drapes.  Mozenrath noticed 
that his own clothes were similarly streaked and colored.  He grimaced 
and muttered a spell.  Xerxes and his clothes returned to their normal 
color.  
	The sorcerer banished the drapes and rugs and pillows and other 
items the pairakas had conjured up.  He was wondering how he was going 
to deal with them when they began showing signs of rousing.  
	Darice sat up and groaned.  She looked around the now bare throne 
room and was about to conjure up the drapes again when Mozenrath zapped 
her from where he sat.  She yelped.  
	"Don't even think about it,"  he said as she twisted around and 
glared at him.  
	The others were coming around.  They sat up, pushed their hair out 
of their eyes and groaned.  
	"What did you do to us?"  the Rahi moaned.  She put a hand to her 
head and pulled off her veil and circlet that had fallen askew.  
	"Just asserting my authority over you,"  Mozenrath said as he 
leaned back and put one leg over the other and looked down at them.  
"Don't try it again.  I don't want my throne room hung with drapes and 
floored with rugs.  I like it just the way it is."  
	"How can you stand it?"  Zahra asked.  "It's so--depressing."  She 
looked up at the nearest skull and shivered.  
	He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward to look down at her.  
"That's the point!"  
	Zahra frowned prettily.  "But it's so gloomy."  
	Mozenrath leaned back in his throne again.  "I like gloomy.  It's 
what I do."  
	The pairakas were recovering from the blast with the resiliency of 
all magical creatures and drifted near to his throne.  He glared at them 
as they gathered around the dais on which his throne sat.  
	He had had enough.  He launched himself out of his throne and 
strode purposefully across the room towards the entrance.  
	"Wait!"  Finna shouted after him.  "Where are you going?"  
	"I'm going to bed,"  he snarled over his shoulder.  
	"Wait for us!"  They started after him.  
	The sorcerer whirled around.  He gestured and a huge cage appeared 
around them.  They made indignant noises and glared at him through the 
bars.  "What are you doing?"  Rahi demanded.  
	"You have been caged up.  I'll deal with you in the morning, after 
I've gotten some sleep."  Mozenrath turned to leave.  "By myself!"  He 
stalked down the corridor and out of sight. 

4: Willful Misconduct 

	Mozenrath dropped his mantle, cloak and turban carelessly onto a 
stool and flung himself onto the low divan and into the deep cushions.  
He threw an arm over his eyes and heaved an exasperated sigh.  He didn't 
even bother with his boots he was so tired.  A bit of concentration, a 
few deep breaths and he had his temper under control.  He removed his 
arm from over his face and stared up at the lamp that hung on a chain 
from the ceiling.  He couldn't remember ever having a worse day than 
today.  
	Xerxes curled next to his master.  Mozenrath made a sound of 
disgust and shoved him away.  The eel slipped off the divan and smacked 
into the floor.  He shook his head and lifted himself up to give his 
master a reproachful look.  Mozenrath glared at him.  "Go find someplace 
else to sleep,"  he muttered as he rolled onto his side and settled in 
for sleep.  Xerxes quietly slipped onto the divan and curled up on a 
corner in a tight ball.  
	Perhaps three quarters of an hour passed and Mozenrath's breathing 
settled into the deep, even pattern of sleep.  The air above him began 
to glow.  The glow increased and became a sparkling.  The sparkling 
became a shimmer and the shimmer became the pairakas.  They settled 
around the sorcerer on the divan.  
	Xerxes opened his eyes and started at their appearance.  He 
screeched and darted away to hide behind the large black wooden chest on 
the opposite side of the room.  The pairakas glared at him but soon 
turned their attention to the sleeping sorcerer.  Darice laid a hand on 
his arm.  
	Mozenrath rolled over.  He shrugged off Darice's hand and 
muttered, "I told you to find some other place to sleep tonight,"  all 
without opening his eyes.  He settled himself again, and Darice stroked 
his cheek.  The sorcerer came violently awake.  After floundering in the 
cushions a moment, he managed to sit up and look wildly around at the 
pairakas.  "What are you doing here?  How did you get out of that cage?"  
He waved his hand at them.  "Never mind that; get out of my room!"  
	"Cages cannot hold us,"  Darice purred as she leaned close to him.  
She drew her hand across his chest.  He grabbed it and shoved it away.   
	"It was not very considerate of you to leave us all alone the way 
you did,"  Rahi said.  She reached out and put her hands on his 
shoulders and pulled him down.  
	He pushed her hands away and struggled to sit up, but they were 
all there, stroking and petting him, and he couldn't move so much as an 
inch.  In fact, his struggles just drove him deeper into the cushions 
until he was wedged tightly between them.  
	Anger got the better of him.  He was not going to be treated this 
way!  He clawed his way out of the cushions, carelessly pushing a 
pairaka or two off the divan as he did so.  Once free, he turned and 
loomed over them, eyes and gauntlet blazing.  They cowered before him.  
A wave of fatigue hit him and he let the power slip away.  It was 
useless; he couldn't harm them or drive them away so why waste it?  The 
stress it would have relieved wouldn't be worth the exhaustion.  
	He turned and sank down on the edge of the divan.  He put his head 
in his hands and moaned.  "What am I going to do with you?"  he asked of 
no one in particular.  He had to find a way to get rid of them or they 
were going to drive him mad!  
	"My Lord,"  Zahra drawled.  She leaned forward and put a hand on 
his cheek and trailed the back of her fingers down his long jaw.  There 
was a note in her voice that made him look up.  Her eyes were dark and 
dangerous.  "It's not what you're going to do with us, but what we're 
going to do with you."  
	He looked at her sharply.  "What you're going to do with me?"  he 
repeated.  
	"Yes,"  she said in her silky voice and pulled him back.  He 
pushed her away when she tried to kiss him and jumped up.  
	"Stop that!  Stop trying to kiss me!"  he said.  He went over to 
the writing desk and sat on the chair next to it.  "You've done nothing 
but that since I broke the spell on you, and I don't like it!"  
	Zahra's eyes went from wolfish to sheepish in an instant, then 
darkened with disappointment.  "Forgive us, Lord, we didn't realize."  
She bowed her head and her manner and the others' changed completely.  
They pulled back and the very air around them seemed to change from one 
of lush sexuality to indifference.  Rahi and Finna appeared especially 
put out.  
	"We understand now.  We should have known immediately.  We beg 
your forgiveness, Lord."  
	"Damn right you'd better beg,"  Mozenrath said with a little more 
aplomb.  They were starting to behave properly now.  
	"It does explain some things.  Your choice of clothing, your 
manner, your reluctance to let us entertain you--"  
	Mozenrath nodded, only half listening to her.  Perhaps this 
wouldn't be so bad after all.  
	Zahra looked up and frowned.  "But I don't understand something, 
Lord.  Why then did you object to our redecorating your throne room?"  
	Mozenrath gave her an annoyed look.  "Because I don't want it 
redecorated, that's why!"  He thought about what she had said.  "Wait a 
minute.  What about my clothing?"  
	"Oh, nothing.  Nothing,"  she said quickly.  "I didn't mean to 
offend, Mozenrath, truly I didn't.  It's quite a nice choice of style, 
really."  She gave him a nervous smile.  
	The sorcerer detected something in her manner that made him 
suspicious of her sudden submissiveness.  "And what does it have to do 
with redecorating my throne room?"  
	Zahra shrugged and looked uncomfortable.  "We just thought you 
would have enjoyed a little redecorating session--"  She let that 
thought trail away.  
	"Why?"  he pressed.  He had a feeling he was missing something 
here.  
	Zahra looked away.  "Well, we just thought--"  She trailed off.  
	"You thought what?"  
	"That you liked redecorating!"  she hedged.  "Considering--"  She 
waved her hands around evasively.  
	Darice barged in at that point.  "What Zahra is trying so 
delicately not to say is that we realize now that you're into an 
alternate lifestyle."  Mozenrath gave her a questioning look.  She 
sighed.  "Handsome, stupid, and clueless."  She looked up at him.  "That 
you prefer your own sex over women."  
	He stiffened.  First he went cold, then he could feel the blood 
moving up into his face as the rage built within him.  His face and neck 
felt as if he were standing next to a fire.  "My own sex?  That's what 
you think?"  His hands clenched involuntarily on his knees and his voice 
shook.  
	The pairakas drew back nervously.  "What else were we supposed to 
think, Lord Mozenrath?"  Zahra said.  "You've resisted our attentions at 
every turn; it's quite natural that we should begin to suspect there's a 
reason for your resistance!"  Her voice grew shrill as he jumped up and 
crossed the distance to the divan in three long strides.  They cowered 
before his rage.  The younger two tried to scurry out of his way but 
Rahi was too slow.  He reached out and grabbed her wrist and pulled her 
roughly around.  He grabbed her hair and tilted her face up and covered 
her mouth with his.  He kissed her with bruising force before he 
released her and thrust her from him.  
	"Does that look like I prefer my own sex to you?"  he demanded.  
Rahi fell back as he released her and gave him an insulted look.  "I 
have resisted you because I don't like you!  I don't want your 
attentions; I don't want you here!"  He whirled and began to pace 
furiously back and forth in front of the divan.  "You appear and 
immediately start meddling in my life!  You carelessly destroy an entire 
patrol of Mamluks, each of which takes weeks to create, in a matter of 
moments!  You redecorate my throne room without so much as a by your 
leave, and then you expect me to welcome your aggressive attentions?  Do 
you take me for a fool?  I could get killed!"  
	The pairakas had recovered somewhat.  Darice leaned back and fixed 
him with her dark eyes.  "But that's our job.  We lure good men into 
Darkness and then they--"  She trailed off with an evil glint in her eye 
as she made a slashing motion across her throat.  
	Mozenrath stopped and stared down at her.  "I am the powers of 
Darkness; I don't need luring!"  He turned and paced again.  "And I 
definitely don't like the latter half of your job description,"  he 
muttered.  
	Darice shrugged.  "We are what we are.  We cannot change that."  
	Rahi and Finna reached out and grabbed his hands as he passed by.  
He gave them angry looks but they persisted.  They drew him to the 
divan; as tiny as they were, they were amazingly strong.  They pulled 
him down between them.  
	"Mozenrath, it doesn't have to be that way.  Your time with us can 
be most pleasurable,"  Finna crooned as she smoothed the hair from his 
face.  He pushed her hand away, but she just caught his and brought it 
to her lips.  She kissed the back of it while looking at him with her 
large brown eyes.  
	Against his wishes, he felt himself being drawn to them.  His 
anger seeped away; once that was gone, he found that the reactions 
produced by Finna's touch were really quite pleasant.  He closed his 
hand over hers and pulled it to his own mouth.  
	He felt arms go around his neck from behind.  "Let us dance for 
you, Mozenrath,"  Zahra's whispered in his ear.  Her lips brushed his 
ear.  
	Mozenrath sighed.  "If I let you dance for me, will you leave me 
alone?"  
	Darice smiled at him.  "After we dance for you, you won't want us 
to leave you alone."  
	"Perhaps afterwards, we could be persuaded to behave, though,"  
Rahi said.  She pulled him down so that his head rested in her lap and 
stroked the hair out of his face.  He tried to sit up, but she began 
lightly massaging his temples; the throbbing pain faded.  The sorcerer 
sighed and stopped fighting.  He shut his eyes and gestured airily.  
	"All right, all right.  Dance, then!"  
	The cushions on the divan shifted as they scrambled up.  His eyes 
flew open as they pulled him along with them to the center of the room.  
	"Now, wait a minute--"  he started to say, but he had lost control 
of the situation.  They whirled in an intricate pattern around him as 
they lightly touched and tugged and pulled at him.  There was no 
escaping them.  
	The sorcerer could feel the magic building up around him.  A 
golden shimmer confirmed it.  As they danced and whirled they left 
golden traces in the air behind them.  
	Warning klaxons went of in his head as the traces sparkled and 
solidified into a snare of gleaming cords.  He tried to get away, but 
the bonds tightened around him, drawing close until he could not move.  
He was powerless within them.  
	Still they danced.  His head and eyes grew heavy.  Mozenrath 
fought the languor induced by the magic, but he had been taken off 
guard, and now the weariness prevented him from concentrating.  He 
dropped heavily to his knees, his arms bound tightly to his sides, and 
still they danced.  
	He looked up through the thick magic and watched them.  Through 
the golden haze, their faces were devilish, inhuman, and their eyes 
mocked him.  It must have been an effect of the magic, but he thought he 
could see shimmering wings sprouting from their backs as they twirled 
around him, weaving his prison.  
	Mozenrath bowed his head and shook it to try and clear it.  His 
eyes grew heavy and burned with fatigue.  He gasped as the bonds 
compressed his ribcage and interfered with his breathing.  What little 
air he could get was so thick with magic it choked him.  
	"Stop!"  he gasped, but with no effect.  Their dance had changed 
now, drawing closer and closer to him.  As they whirled around him, he 
was engulfed in flying skirts and hair.  He bowed his head and 
concentrated on the pattern in the carpet beneath him as he tried to 
pull his will around him and break their spell.  His will pushed against 
the restraints but he lacked the strength to do more.  He shuddered as 
they came snapping back, and finally unable to fight off the lassitude 
any longer, he collapsed onto the carpet, and into blackness.  
	The blackness was not the welcome respite from the confining bonds 
that held him.  Instead it was a place of torment.  He was under attack 
at his weakest.  Nightmares battered at his soul; they sank sharp claws 
into his flesh.  He screamed as the pain flooded through him.  He felt 
something leaking from his flesh and realized it was his power.  The 
very substance of his being was being drawn off.  He could see it, 
ribbons of thick darkness that sparkled as it disappeared into the void.  
The sorcerer caught at it, but it seeped through his fingers and drifted 
away.  
	He cried out in denial, and gathered his power around him.  With 
an enormous effort, he managed to stop the flow and bind up the gashes.  
Something raged at him as it tried to get at his soul again.  
	"No!"  he screamed without a voice into the void.  He sent a blast 
of power at that presence, and was surprised when it fled before his 
attack.  Heartened, he sent another blast after it, then turned and 
fought his way out of the darkness.  
	Mozenrath came awake with a start.  
	For the moment, he couldn't remember where he was or how he had 
gotten there.  He felt completely drained, as if he had pushed himself 
too far in casting a spell.  He ached all over, and he had a horrible 
headache.  He opened his eyes; they were hot and swollen.  He closed 
them again; his thinking was muzzy.  He pulled his hands out of the 
twisted nightsheet and put them to his head.  He started as he felt bone 
brush his skin and his eyes flew open.  His gauntlet was gone.  
	Memory returned.  He sat straight up and dislodged something on 
his shoulder.  He looked down and through eyes blurred with fatigue saw 
a river of blood across his chest.  His vision cleared and it became a 
tangled mass of blood-red hair.  He let out an explosive sight of 
relief.  
	Mozenrath leaned back on his elbow and pushed the mass of hair 
aside.  Zahra was lying across the pillows as if she had been struck 
unconcious, as were the other three.  He lifted one of her slim arms and 
released it.  It fell back to the cushions, boneless.  
	He climbed off the divan and stood looking down at the four 
pairakas a moment before he turned and started searching for his 
gauntlet.  He found it and slipped it on.  A slim shape flew across the 
room from him and curled around his shoulders.  
	"Lot of help you are,"  Mozenrath muttered.  He was too exhausted 
to do anything but glare at his familiar, though.  He was too exhausted 
to do anything, including feel anger at the pairakas.  He turned and 
went in search of a bath and clean clothes.  
	When he returned he found the pairakas still asleep.  He wondered 
if this dormancy was normal for them during daylight hours.  No matter; 
they wouldn't be around long enough for him to find out.  First things 
first.  

5: Pretty Birds  

	Mozenrath crossed to the divan and lifted his gauntleted hand.  He 
tried gathering his will and found that he would need time to recover 
from his injuries before he could summon that much force.  He scowled; 
that meant he would have to carry them.  The golden-haired Finna was 
closest, so he grabbed her arm and pulled her into his arms.  She was as 
limp as a corpse after the rigor had worn off.  Fortunately, she wasn't 
too tall, and weighed practically nothing, so she didn't pose that much 
of a burden.  The sorcerer turned and carried her out of his chambers.  
	Twice more he repeated the procedure; then he returned for Zahra.  
Her blood red hair fanned around her, vivid against the black silk.  
	Mozenrath scooped her up in his arms and she turned and murmured 
in her sleep.  He froze and cradled her close.  She settled back into 
her torpor and he proceeded down the stairs with her.  
	He took her to join the rest of the pairakas in the dungeons.  He 
fastened a manacle around her slender ankle then checked the chains that 
led to the wall.  Only when he was positive they were securely fastened 
to the wall did he turn to them.  And one last precaution: He produced a 
set of keys and locked the door.  He tucked the keys back into his sash.  
	He squatted by Zahra and grabbed a handful of the chains she wore 
around her neck and lifted her off the floor.  He slapped her, hard.  
She startled and opened her eyes; they slipped shut again almost 
immediately.  He slapped her again and this time her green eyes flew 
open and stayed open.  
	"Good morning,"  he said conversationally as he twisted her chains 
around her neck.  She stared up at him and clawed at his hand.  
	"Morning?"  she said.  She sat up, more to relieve the pressure on 
her neck than any real desire to sit up and looked around.  
	"Afternoon, actually,"  he continued in that same conversational 
tone.  "Do you always sleep so soundly during the day?"  
	She looked down at her sisters, still asleep.  He tugged on her 
chains; she turned back to him.  "No."  She put a hand to her head and 
groaned.  "You are strong, Mozenrath.  You actually managed to escape 
from us."  
	Mozenrath's forehead creased.  "Escape?"  He remembered the 
drained feeling he had felt on waking.  "It was you!"  he said.  His 
grip on her tightened and she gasped.  He could feel her trying to will 
herself away, but the shackle around her ankle plus the added restraint 
of provided by his hold on her chains thwarted her.  
	Instead, she turned her will on his hand.  He jerked his hand back 
as a shock when through him.  She slumped to the floor, then pushed 
herself up onto her elbows to glare at him.   
	He pursed his lips while he shook his hand to relieve the 
tingling.  "Now that's interesting.  You can still do magic while 
chained.  I'll have to remember that."  
	"Chained?"  she asked.  He pointed at her ankle.  She screeched 
and clawed at the shackle.  
	"Seems I was right about how to confine you,"  he said with a 
smirk.  He stood and walked around to lean against the wall and look 
down at her.  
	She glared up at him with dangerous eyes.  "How did you manage to 
escape us?"  she asked.  She looked genuinely confused under her anger.  
	Mozenrath raised his eyebrows.  "You forgot with whom you were 
dealing.  I'm a sorcerer, not an ordinary man."  
	Zahra's eyes turned coy and her voice seductive.  "Oh, Lord, we're 
well aware of that.  You are far from ordinary."  
	"Don't try it; it won't work again.  Now that I know what you are, 
you won't get another chance.  In fact, you're all going to be staying 
right here until I figure out how to respell you into those stones."  
	Zahra gave him a defiant look.  "That is something you will never 
do."  
	He glared at her.  "What makes you think so?"  
	"It is part of what we are.  We do not return to stone until the 
bond between us and our master is broken."  
	"And how is that bond broken?"  
	"Death."  
	Mozenrath gave her a snide smile.  "Then I'll have to kill you."  
	"Not our deaths.  We do not die,"  she said triumphantly.  
	"Rubbish.  Everything that lives dies."  
	Zahra shook her head.  "We are not exactly living in the sense 
that you know as living.  We cannot die in this world."  
	Mozenrath glared at her.  "You're lying."  
	The pairaka gave him a steady look with her green eyes wide and 
unguarded.  "Why should I lie?  Go ahead, try blasting me out of 
existence."  Her eyes were free of any trace of fear as she leaned back 
and spread her arms to make an easy target of her heart.  
	Mozenrath gave her a vexed look but did nothing.  "Wonderful."  He 
pushed against the wall and paced up and down the cell a moment.  He 
stopped in front of the door and stared at it a moment as an idea 
occurred to him.  "What if I were to leave you here, seal up the 
entrance?"  
	"We shall live, but you will die.  It is part of the bond between 
us.  We can go without sustenance indefinitely, but if we do not feed, 
you die."  She drew her knees up and rested her arms on them.  
	Mozenrath resumed his pacing.  "So, I can't get rid of you until 
the bond is broken, but that means I have to die.  Something I'm not 
prepared to do.  I can't lock you up in here and forget you because I'll 
die.  So I guess this will just be your new home."  
	Zahra shook her head.  "We can be restrained by an unbroken 
circle, as you have discovered.  But prolonged restraint drains us of 
our life-force.  Since we cannot die, it must come from somewhere--"  
	Mozenrath stopped pacing.  "Let me guess.  Me."  He looked down at 
her and she nodded.  "I'm beginning to suspect that the person that 
created you wasn't quite right in the head.  What good are you?"  
	She gave him a smile of pure evil.  "We aren't good; that's the 
point.  We were created to lure men into darkness."  
	"Frankly, I don't see how you manage to do that,"  Mozenrath said 
as he folded his arms over his chest.  "Explain."  
	Zahra leaned back.  "It's simple, really.  When our Master dies, 
we become spelled into the shape of stones.  There is a compulsion upon 
the stones; anyone who sees us covets us.  There are a few exceptions, 
of course, like the abysmally stupid or those touched by the divine."  
	"Kardel must have been the former,"  Mozenrath muttered.  
	"Once in one's possession, the desire to see us dance grows until 
we are commanded to do so."  
	"And that would explain why I told you to dance.  It struck me as 
odd at the time.  I'm not usually so maudlin."  
	She nodded.  "When you released us, we became part of you.  Under 
normal circumstances, the one who released us would immediately desire 
us.  Some may be able to resist for a time, but they all succumb to us 
in the end."  She gave him a knowing smile.  "Every one."  
	"What did you do to me?"  he asked her.  
	"We were feeding upon you."  
	"Feeding?"  
	"It is part of the magic that binds us to you."  
	Mozenrath scowled at her and started pacing again.  "Great.  That 
will kill me as surely as a sword through the gut."  
	Zahra smiled at him.  "You would then be released from us, Lord."  
	Mozenrath glared at her.  "I'm not laughing, Zahra,"  he growled.  
	She just kept smiling at him.  "We do not need to feed everyday.  
Once every new moon is sufficient to keep you alive.  We were designed 
to slowly drag a man to his doom, to increase his suffering."  
	"Oh, that's wonderful to know,"  he said sarcastically.  "Thank 
you for small comforts.  I can die quickly or slowly.  That's still not 
a choice!"  
	"There is an alternative..."  Zahra mused.  She picked up a lock 
of her hair and began playing with it.  
	"What?"  
	"You can give us blood."  
	"What good is that?"  he demanded.  
	"We do not need your blood."  
	Mozenrath stopped.  "You don't?"  
	"Oh, no.  We can feed on other men's blood.  We can go nearly six 
moons on blood before you need to feed us your life-force."  
	Mozenrath's eyes went wide.  "I think I'm beginning to understand.  
This would draw a man with morals into a situation where he must murder 
to stay alive."  He grinned evilly.  "Diabolically clever."  He looked 
at her.  "Who did you say created you?"  
	Zahra shifted and adopted a submissive posture: On her knees; head 
bowed and hands pressed palm to palm in front of her face.  "We are 
Jawhara Ahrimanius.  Ahriman Himself created us."  
	Mozenrath paled.  "The Lord of Evil."  He rubbed his neck.  "No 
wonder it's a perfect snare."  He shook himself.  "But what am I going 
to do with you?  I can't lock you up and forget about you, or I die.  I 
can't keep you in here, or I die.  I can't just let you loose in the 
Citadel; you'll ruin me."  He put a hand to his head.  "How I wish 
Kardel weren't dead..."  
	"Shall I bring this Kardel here, Lord?"  Zahra asked.  Mozenrath 
looked down at her and thought a moment.  He shook his head.   
	"No, he would be too stupid to understand what it was he did to 
me."  
	"As you wish, Lord."  
	Mozenrath gestured at the others.  "How long will they be asleep?"  
	"Until nightfall.  Longer if you leave us chained."  
	"Since I'm stuck with you, I suppose I must find something to do 
with you."  He shook his head in disgust.  "I can't believe this.  My 
mother had better not hear about this; this is something I would 
definitely not hear the end of."  
	Zahra gave him a long green-eyed look.  She stood, and stepping 
lightly, she came to stand in front of him.  He looked down at her, 
unafraid, but wary.  She laid her head against his chest.  Before he 
could move away, she grabbed his guantleted hand.  "There are advantages 
to having us around, Lord Mozenrath.  We can enhance your power; we can 
be used to destroy your enemies.  Do we really displease you so?"  she 
asked.  
	He took her arms and held her away from him.  "If that is true, 
perhaps not.  But I'm used to being in control; I don't like it the 
other way around."  He paused as he remembered something one of the 
others had said earlier.  He narrowed his eyes at her.  "Wait.  Darice 
said that your last Master tricked you into revealing how you can be 
transformed into stones."  
	Zahra smiled at him.  "He did."  
	"How?"  
	"He tricked us into killing him."  Her smile was wicked.  
	Mozenrath shoved her from him.  "Like I said, I'm not laughing."  
He fumbled in his sash for the keys and dropped them.  Zahra swooped 
down to pick them up.  Her face twisted and she dropped them with a 
scream.  She fell back and clutched her hand to her.  
	The sorcerer clinically observed her reaction.  He squatted down 
and picked up the keys.  He looked over at Zahra.  
	"What happened?"  he asked her.  
	She bit her lip against the pain.  "One of those keys must be 
silver.  We cannot abide silver's touch, nor can we cross it.  It is our 
only other weakness."  
	Mozenrath examined the keys on the ring.  A large ornately 
fashioned one, it's use long since forgotten, gleamed dully in the 
torchlight.  The others were of brass or iron.  He rubbed at the tarnish 
and the metal beneath shone through the color of the moon.  He held it 
up so she could see it.  "This one,"  he said.   
	She cringed away from him as he approached her.  He snatched her 
hand and examined the palm.  Burned into the skin was an image that 
matched that of the key.  
	The sorcerer could feel her trembling in his grasp.  He brought 
the key down on her forearm.  She screamed as it burned into her flesh.  
	"How interesting,"  he observed.  Mozenrath released her and she 
cowered away from him.  He remained squatting there, looking at the key.  
"I think I may know what to do with you."  He straightened, turned to 
her and smiled wickedly.  "Don't go anywhere."  He grinned at her look 
of outrage, put the key in the lock and let himself out.  
	He knew exactly what he would do with them; his practical nature 
won out over the towering resentment and rage he felt over getting 
tricked into this situation.  He strode purposefully through the 
corridors with his goal firmly in mind.  He waved open the doors to his 
treasure rooms and gathered up every piece of silver he could find.  He 
set Xerxes to swimming through the piles and chests and bags of coins 
sniffing out coins with any silver content at all.  He summoned the 
Mamluks to lug the silver to a group of rooms that had long since fallen 
out of use.  
	As they piled the silver in a large heap on the floor, he stood 
there musing to himself.  He brought the lamps up to full strength and 
looked around the room.  Empty of everything except dust, it would make 
the perfect cage for four bothersome pairakas.  He walked through the 
rooms once and turned an appraising eye on the huge pile of silver.  It 
would be enough.  He sent the Mamluks back to their duties and took 
himself off to his own chambers.  He would need rest before he could 
accomplish what he had in mind.  
	Hours later, after a sound sleep, he returned to the disused rooms 
and approached the pile of silver.  He waved his hand over it, holding 
fast the image of solid silver ingots in place of the worked pieces.  
The pile melted into a neat stack of silver blocks; the various jewels 
and other metals fell away to litter the floor around the pile.  
	He smiled.  Perfect.  He lifted one of the ingots and placed it on 
the sill of the nearest window.  He gestured and it flowed outwards to 
encase the sill and the keyhole-shaped opening.  More silver was used to 
line the pierced lattice that covered the window opening.  He did the 
same to the remaining windows.  He used more ingots to outline the 
perimeter of the rooms.  With his magic, he vaporized some and sent the 
atomized silver into the very walls, floor and ceiling.  When he was 
finished, the only way into the rooms that was unguarded by silver was 
by the curtained entranceway.  He set the remaining dozen ingots aside 
for that purpose.  He summoned carpets to cover the silver-laced floor; 
he didn't want to alert them until it was too late.  
	Mozenrath smiled to himself then went to see about the pairakas.  
	He unlocked the door and pushed it open.  The pairakas were awake, 
and sat sullenly in their chains and glared at him.  
	"This is not what we're accustomed to,"  Darice said.  Mozenrath 
crossed the room and squatted next to her.  He gave her a contrite look.  
	"I'm so terribly sorry, Darice,"  he said in a voice that belied 
his look.  She drew away from him, but he reached out and snagged her 
hair.  "But I'm not accustomed to having my soul eaten, either."  He 
released her with a shove that sent her sprawling across Finna's lap.  
	The sorcerer stood and looked down at them.  "Zahra informs me 
that I can't leave you here, chained or not, so I've arranged some 
living quarters for you.  I'm going to release you, but you are going to 
behave.  And to make sure you do, I'll slap these on the first one of 
you that acts up."  He held up his gauntleted hand and summoned a set of 
shackles he had created from one of the silver ingots.  "Do we 
understand each other?"  he asked as he dangled them near Finna.  To 
demonstrate his point, he grabbed her hand and touched the shackles to 
the back of it.  She screeched as the silver burned her.  She pulled 
away from him and glared hatefully at him.  
	The pairakas looked up at him with eyes wide and anxious.  He bent 
and unlocked the chains from their ankles, straightened, and opened the 
door and waited for them to precede him.  As Rahi passed him, he seized 
her wrist.  She shrieked and tried to pull away from him.  He just 
jerked her along behind him and left the others to follow.  
	Mozenrath dragged the hapless pairaka along as he marched to the 
rooms he had prepared for them.  He threw Rahi ahead him and she went 
sprawling.  The other three rushed to her side.  
	"These are your apartments.  Do what you want with them, but make 
sure you like it.  You won't be leaving for some time."  
	Zahra stood and looked around.  They were empty at the moment, but 
the walls were done in the same stylized skull decor as the rest of the 
Citadel.  She turned back to him and strutted up to him.  
	"And what's to prevent us from leaving?"  
	He arched an eyebrow at her and held up his hand.  "This."  He 
turned and cast his power at the last of the silver ingots.  They melted 
and coated the floor in front of and past the great door and flowed up 
the great arch.  Some of the liquid metal shimmered into a diaphanous 
curtain and hung itself in front of the arch.  
	Mozenrath opened his hand and released the power.  He turned back 
to Zahra.  Her jaw hung open in amazement.  She looked up at him.  
	He nodded.  "Silver.  The windows are surrounded by it and the 
walls are impregnated with it.  Including the ceiling and the floor."  
He shook his head and laughed as she turned eyes dark with anger on him.  
His laughter only increased her anger.  "You're not going anywhere."  
And just to emphasize that he had indeed managed to master them, he 
reached out and grabbed her wrist and her chin.  He tilted her face up 
and pressed his mouth over hers.  He held her firmly even as she fought, 
and when he finally released her, she stumbled backwards and fell over 
Rahi and the others.  He gave her a nasty grin and turned and left them 
in their silver cage.  

To Be Continued...