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you fear me. I am flattered.”
    “Now!” A cold command.
    She smashed the jar against the hard ground, and a piece of mandrake rolled
free. She picked it up and, turning her head to hide her revulsion at its
ugliness, used the thong to tie it in place. Finished, she took a deep breath
and smiled suggestively over a naked shoulder, saying, “Now that my demonic
nature is tamed by the root, perhaps you’ll tell me what is it you want of me?”
    He nodded at the crest of the bowl. “I just ran into a pack of your servants.
They were dying, decaying and falling apart. Why aren’t you?”
    “Because their natures and strength are sustained by a far weaker sorcery
than that which sustains me.” Her voice was flat and precise. “They must have
regular dosages of a black wine called Nagraa, and have undoubtedly run out of
it.”
    “You don’t need this wine?”
    She shook her head. “The chosen few who are the consorts of the Master of
Darkness are made of a sorcery that is strong and durable. For us the black wine
is only a beverage, a pleasing stimulant.”
    He grunted impatiently, walked slowly around her studying her and said,
“Follow me.”
    He moved up the incline, and she rose fluidly, followed obediently.
    When the stallion saw them coming over the crest of the bowl, the horse
reared excitedly, throwing the bound snakeman to the ground with a pained grunt.
The impact loosened his ropes, and he wiggled free, rolled onto his knees,
making obeisance to his queen.
    Cobra stared in pity at his fuming joints, then surveyed the surrounding
landscape with puzzled eyes. “What is this place?”
    “The Land of Smoking Skies.”
    She looked at Gath in disbelief.
    “You’re not a hundred strides from your home,” he added, his tone
discouraging all argument.
    She looked up at the cloudless sky. “But there’s no smoke?”
    “Your sacred volcanoes are dead.” He nodded at the snakeman. “Now talk to him,
find out what’s happened.”
    She didn’t move. Fear cut deep into her smooth forehead, and she shuddered,
looked off at the devastation. “Impossible,” she whispered. “It’s all gone.
Everything… my people, my treasures, my whole kingdom!”
    “Yes,” he said. “Now talk to him. And find out where the entrance to your
chambers is buried.” Her eyes questioned him, then understanding showed in them, and she said, “So that’s it. You’re not satisfied with
defeating my demons… with driving the Kitzakks from the desert and
enslaving me. You still want revenge.”
    There was no reply.
    She murmured softly, “You’ve grown reckless, Dark One.”
    “Ask him!”
    “Of course,” she said, her tone mockingly servile, “whatever my lord wishes.”
    Speaking in the snakeman’s tongue, she questioned him at length, and he,
trembling and stammering weakly, replied to each query. Finally, babbling in
desperation and again pressing his cheek to the ground, he offered her the small
leaden vial. She shook it, measuring the contents, and held it up to Gath.
    “Black wine. It’s his last bottle, and it’s nearly empty. Apparently there
have been no deliveries since the volcanoes erupted.”
    “Bah!” Gath grunted. “What did he say about the entrance?” He slapped the
vial out of her hand. It hit the ground with a clang, popping out the lead
stopper, and rolled off spewing a faint shaft of black light from the mouth.
    The reptilian stared in horror, whimpering. Suddenly, with a whiplike motion,
he came off the ground with his mouth spread wide, striking at the Barbarian’s
leg. Gath turned his axe blade, and the snakeman, blind with fury, drove his
chest against it. It brought him to a sudden crunching halt, his jaws snapping
short of his target. Hissing and writhing, he tried to pry himself off of the
blade, but could not, and Gath kicked him free. Flailing and hissing, he rolled
across the ground, came to a stop and died with a shudder.
    Her almond eyes narrow, Cobra glared at