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Enthusiastic about this
idea, Togura set off in pursuit of the swift-striding man-killer, but lost him
in a tangle of narrow streets crowded, suddenly and without warning, by a flock
of sheep which were being driven through the town. He contemplated pursuing his
quarry to the palace, but the thought of going anywhere near Slerma made him
decide against it.
            So it was that Togura
Poulaan came within an ace of becoming the road companion of Guest Gulkan. The
fact that he failed probably saved his life, for the Emperor in Exile was on a
dangerous quest which would in time decide the fate of powers, kingdoms and
empires; there was horror behind him and peril ahead, and the life expectancy
of anyone travelling with him would probably have been short.
            The last of the sheep went
by. Togura idly squished a knobbly dropping with his foot, chewed on another
chestnut, and wondered what to do now.
            As he was wondering, a
small procession went by. It consisted of about twenty people dressed in
mourning who were carrying amidst them a bier on which there reclined a man who
was both very old and very sick. Togura, as a native of the district, knew
enough to guess that the old man was going to be fed to the odex. He had never
yet seen this process; as his meal had nourished his curiosity along with his
other organs, he fell in behind the procession.
            By and by, they came to
the stronghold of the Wordsmiths. The original building, made of stone, had
collapsed five years previously; the Wordsmiths had rebuilt in wood. The main
gate in the stockade was open, but a grey-robed wordmaster halted the
procession before they could enter. After a low-voiced argument, the leader of
the procession signed his people to one side, and they sat down to wait.
            Was it too early in the
day? Or was the odex not hungry yet? Or was there an argument about how much
the people should pay to dispose of their sick old man? Togura did not know,
and was not rude enough to ask. While waiting to see what would happen, he
loitered beside an abandoned mine shaft, kicking occasional stones into the
darkness, which fell straight and sheer to a pool of water far below.
            From inside the
stronghold of the Wordsmiths there came sounds of confusion. Then there was
some banging and crashing and shouting, then three wordmasters sprinted through
the open gate, running for their lives.
            "Curiouser and
curiouser," said Togura.
            Then there issued forth
a monster, which came striding out of the gate on five or six of its seven or
eight legs. It was not terribly imposing, as monsters go; it was scarcely twice
the girth of a bull, and barely twice the height of a man; its grappling claws
were hardly the size of a pair of shears.
            Nevertheless, people
screamed and ran.
            Togura, amused, wondered
why people were making so much fuss about the manifestation of an ilps. As it
bent over the sick old man, he sauntered forward. The creature lifted its head
and regarded him. Its skull was bald bone like that of a vulture. Its eyes were
as green as gangrene, and its breath was fetid. Its skin was covered with warts
and fents. The warts were a mixture of pink and grey; a few seemed to be
purulent, while stark yellow pus oozed from the fents.
            "Who are you?"
said Togura, his voice loud and strong.
            The creature blinked.
            "Where do you come
from?" he insisted.
            It took no notice.
            "I demand your
nature!"
            Losing interest in
Togura, the creature bent down over the old man once more. And something
terrible happened. As Togura screamed and screamed, the creature raised its
head, slushed a mouthful of flesh and spat out a bone. Blood ran down its chin.
            "Who?"
screamed Togura. "When? What?"
            But the creature
remained undamaged by his