Abruptly, Death of Nehwon held up a hand. Fathomless eyes closed behind a mask that was only a mask again. "A fisherman, Massek by name," he intoned. Then those horribly vast eyes opened again. "Now only two remain, and soon this play will end."
Death of Nehwon stretched out his hand to the sky.
A red light appeared in the heavens. Softly glowing, it sank from the firmament, wafting with a strangely lazy motion, and the Mouser knew it for Malygris's hideous ribbon of evil. Lower and lower it drifted, touching the misty sea near the barge, disappearing into it only to rise again.
With it rose a huge obloid, an egg whose white shell was laced with red streaks and veins of pulsing scarlet.
Death of Nehwon waved his hand. The ribbon fluttered away and disappeared. At the same time, cracks formed on the egg's surface, widening, deepening, filling the air with a sound like thunder. Suddenly it exploded, showering fragments into the air. They did not fall again.
On the remaining piece of shell, Malygris stood, confused and trembling. His gaze darted in nervous fear as he tried to discern his tormentors, gauge his situation. Biting his lip, he stared at last toward the ominous, masked barge-master.
"Here is a man who dared to affront me," Death of Nehwon said.
"There were others," Demptha Negatarth interrupted, finding his voice. He stepped toward the barge, craning his neck toward the ruler of Shadowland. "Sadaster, Aarth's Patriarch, Rokkarsh, myself!"
Death of Nehwon might have smiled behind that mask as he looked down upon Demptha. "Confession is good for the soul, is it not, mortal?"
Cowed by the sarcasm, Demptha hung his head and stepped back.
A sneering voice continued as Death of Nehwon stabbed a finger at Malygris. "In his jealousy and madness, this fool reached beyond his meager talents, creating a spell to strike at his enemy. So he thought. In truth, he unleashed a mindless force that destroyed uncounted lives."
Death of Nehwon paused and looked down upon the three men before him. "I took no interest in that. All mortals die in their time, and I am the Keeper of the Schedule."
The Mouser raised his fist. He had worked hard to piece the puzzle together, and he had no intention of being grandstanded, not even by such a being as he stood before.
"But there was another spell, wasn't there?" he called. "One you couldn't ignore. A secret that Sadaster possessed, and a secret that Malygris stole from him. A spell that Demptha bargained for with Malygris."
Death of Nehwon nodded appreciatively "You are shrewd for a mortal," he complimented. "I see why Fate has set her mark on you. But hear the rest of the story." He glanced toward Demptha. "Then a decision must be made."
"Well, tell it quickly," Fafhrd shouted. "Though you claim you've no interest in it, Malygris's curse works in my body, and I may shortly puke on the front of your fine boat."
Did a low chuckle issue from behind that mask? The Mouser could not tell.
"The rest is simple enough," Death of Nehwon said. "Or should I say, human enough. As your gray friend has figured out, Sadaster's spell not only erased the tracks of time from Laurian's lovely face, it held back the years."
"It held back death," the Mouser said. "It kept you at bay."
Death of Nehwon scoffed. "Oh, pish. Perhaps you are not so shrewd after all. Everyone's name is written in a book of my keeping, and every time is appointed. The life given each man is finite. Yet with this spell of Sadaster's, some few took time that didn't belong to them."
"And thus shortened the time of other innocents?" Demptha murmured, shame-faced. "I didn't know."
"Each man has an apportioned share of time. To add more to his own share meant diminishing someone else's—thus upsetting my precious schedule," said Death of Nehwon coldly. "That, I could not ignore. Selfish men stole time that rightfully belonged to others. Sadaster prolonged his own life and looks, as well as Laurian's. Jealousy drove Malygris to the same sin."
"And Aarth's Patriarch," the Mouser interrupted. "How does he fit into this?"
Death of Nehwon laughed. "The Patriarch, through his own magic, learned of Malygris's plan to kill Sadaster. Malygris bought his silence with the secret of prolonging life. The Patriarch, mortal fool that he was, then curried favor with the Overlord Rokkarsh by sharing it with him. Nor would it have ended there. Rokkarsh intended to share it with several of his nearest noble relatives."
A sigh came from behind the mask. "Their vanity earned them my annoyance. Now their souls are waiting table in the banquet halls of Hell."
"But I used the spell, too," Demptha said. "Why am I alive when Jesane is dead?"
"Your daughter is dead because her time expired years ago. When I extended my kingdom into Lankhmar's underworld, I found her with others whose time had expired in the place you call the Temple of Hates. I reached out my hand and claimed them. Surprisingly, Jesane slipped through my fingers for a few desperate moments, long enough to try to warn you." He inclined his head toward her. "Now as it happens, I look with favor on such devotion and courage. It pleases me, and I've made her my handmaiden."
Malygris took a sudden step forward, and the shell upon which he stood cracked loudly under his feet, causing him to retreat to his original place as all attention turned upon him. He wore a look of dawning terror. "Your schedule? Your kingdom? Who are you, monster? What is this dreary place?"
As if stirred by a wind, the mist swirled on the surface of the white sea. Forms and figures rose up with the mist, pale shapes, some with familiar faces. There was Mish again, whole with his arms and head. And Gamron with his Ilthmarts. A blond girl-child with bright eyes and a straw poppet in her arms.
"Sameel," Fafhrd whispered, his gaze fastening on a beautiful young woman who stood shyly apart from the other figures.
Scores, hundreds, perhaps more walked out of the fog and stood silently by as if to give witness. These were the ones from whom time and life had been stolen. Here also were the victims of Malygris's jealous evil.
The wizard gave a shrill scream, as if at last he understood, and the sound filled the Mouser with an icy satisfaction.
Death of Nehwon spoke again. "Only you, Demptha Negatarth, of those who possessed Sadaster's spell, used it for no selfish end. You wear the wrinkles you have earned and stoop beneath your properly accumulated years. Only for your daughter's benefit did you employ this insulting magic." He nodded ever so slightly, briefly closing his eyes as he did so. "I forgive you," he pronounced.
Jesane leaned close to Death of Nehwon, and the two appeared to confer. A moment later, she floated down from the barge and stood beside her father. Taking his hand in hers, she looked up to her master.
"Still, a price must be paid," Death of Nehwon proclaimed. "Two deaths yet remain before this play is ended. The despicable Malygris is only one."
Malygris clutched a fist to his heart, and a panicked gleam lit his eyes.
Demptha looked to his daughter, and tears sparkled on his old cheeks. "The other?" he asked.
Thick tentacles of mist whipped over the sides of the barge, seizing Death of Nehwon, hardening instantly to ice. The very air around creature froze, cocooning him in a glacial prison. More mist spiraled up from the shallow sea and froze, burying the barge under a crushing glacial mass.
"I spit upon your hidden face!" Malygris shouted defiantly. The shell shattered, loud as thunder beneath his running footsteps. "And piss upon your timetable; you'll not find my name written there, today or ever!"
The Mouser's blood rushed suddenly, and so did he to overtake the fleeing wizard. He had not come so far and through so much to this strange court only to lose his prey now. "Then I'll write it there, myself," he cried in challenge, brandishing Scalpel. "Stand still, Inkwell, and let me dip my pen."