Mark Anthony - Tower of Doom

As he often did when he was upset, Baron Caidin decided to make goblyns.

Dark water dripped down stone walls. Against one wall of the dungeon chamber-leaned an iron sarcophagus. Carved into its lid was the grotesque effigy of a man with a dog's head, lips pulled back from a wrinkled muzzle in a malevolent snarl. The sarcophagus was an intriguing artifact. Caidin had come upon it during his long search for the Soulstone. While not as powerful as the stone, it certainly had its uses. Clad in a robe of executioner's black, Caidin approached the coffin. Grunting, he threw back the heavy lid. Inside was empty darkness.

"Bring in the prisoner, Pock!" he commanded.

A peasant man clad in a ragged brown tunic stumbled through the doorway behind the Baron, hands and feet hobbled by'iron chains. Pock followed, clad in a dark robe that was Caidin's in miniature. The little gnome wielded a curved dagger that was long enough to serve him as a sword.

"Move along!" Pock commanded, waving the sharp dagger at the peasant. The man lurched forward as quickly as he could to avoid the slashing blade. Displaying small, sharp teeth in a nasty grin, Pock skipped after him.

"Enough of your antics, Pock," Caidin barked. He turned on the peasant. "You-into the coffin."

"Please, my lord!" the man wailed fearfully. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

"So?" Caidin said disinterestedly.

When Pock jabbed his knife at the peasant, the man quickly scurried into the sarcophagus, huddling fearfully.

"What… what's going to happen to me?" he whispered.

"Oh, you'll see," Caidin replied with a mocking iaugh. "i' He slammed the sarcophagus shut, sealing the man within. Crimson light glimmered to life in the eyes of the dog-headed effigy carved into the lid. There was a desperate scrabbling sound on the inside of the sarcophagus, followed by muffled moans of pain. The eyes flashed brightly, then went dark. Slowly, Caidin opened the lid.

The form that stumbled out wore the peasant's brown tunic, but it was not human. The creature's skin was dusky green; its limbs were twisted and knotted with muscle. The thing's bloated head seemed too large for its body, and most of it was taken up by a maw filled with needle-sharp teeth. The newly created monster's eyes glowed dull red.

The goblyn groveled at Caidin's boots. "Master!" it hissed fawningly. "How can I serve you?"

"Go find the others like you, vermin," Caidin crooned. "Soon, I will tell you all what you must do." Bobbing its bloated head, the goblyn scurried from the chamber.

Caidin allowed himself a low chuckle. It was always diverting to create goblyns, and the mindless creatures usually proved useful as well. Caidin had a particular purpose in mind for these latest creations. Now that he was without a lord inquisitor, he would have to devise imaginative ways to detain the Lady Jadis in her investigations.

The revelation of Sirraun's betrayal had disturbed Caidin more than he cared to admit. He had begun the false inquisition simply as a way to collect lives for the Soulstone. Now he wondered if perhaps he should conduct a true inquisition throughout his fief- dom. Twice now he had caught men whose loyalty he had not questioned murdering people in his court. Perhaps there was genuine treachery afoot in Nartok. What was more, the game of cat and mouse he was playing with the Kargat was beginning truly to annoy him.

"If only I could simply murder Jadis and be done with it," Caidin whispered savagely. Though the thought was tempting, he knew he dared not try anything so overt.

Caidin worked late into the night, using the sarcophagus to transform a half dozen more fearful peasants into slavering goblyns. When that was done, he felt a little better, but not much. Pock could not help observing the baron's glum sigh.

"What's wrong, Your Grace?" Pock asked querulously. "Usually creating goblyns puts you in a cheerful mood."

"I don't understand it, Pock," Caidin grumbled. "How could Mika resist me a second time?"

No woman had ever scorned Caidin once, let alone twice. More humiliating yet, he had been, forced to stoop to an elaborate ruse to lure her to the keep in the first place. It was he who had placed the skull beetle-a gift from the darkling-in the manservant's chamber. Goodwill had been the furthest thing from his mind when he sent the carriage to the village to fetch Mika. Despite all his efforts to seduce the healer, still she had resisted him. Even more disturbing, he had learned that she had somehow met and befriended Wort. If the Old Baron's secret was ever revealed and Wort's existence made known, Caidin would be ruined.

"I still don't see why you're so determined to seduce the good doctor, Your Grace." Pock threaded his arms through a pair of iron rings bolted to the wall. He hung lazily between them, small pointed shoes kicking. "You could have any noble lady in the keep-or nobleman, for that matter-without having to go to all the bother of corrupting them. They've already all been corrupted for you. Wouldn't that be tor simpler?"

"You just answered your own question, Pock."

"Idid?" Pock's bald purple head wrinkled in confusion. "I must be even smarter than I thought."

"You said it yourself, Pock. The 'good' doctor." Caidin stroked his smooth black beard. "That's exactly what Mika is-kind, ingenuous, and so very innocent. That makes her all the more tempting."

"What if she resists you again, Your Grace?"

"I won't allow her to. She will submit, Pock." Caidin clenched a Fist. "In the end, no one can resist me."

"Actually, I can, Your Grace," the gnome chirped. "You see, I have a fondness for purple complexions, and your face is only purple when you're mad. Er, just like it is now." Pock swallowed hard. "Come to think of it, purple doesn't really suit you, Your Grace."

"Is that so?" Caidin growled dangerously.

"No offense intended, Your Grace!" Pock gulped.

"Oh, none taken, Pock." Caidin's voice was as hard and sharp as cut glass. "Believe me."

Thunder rolled ominously across the leaden sky as Jadis pushed through the rusting iron gate and stepped into the graveyard. Stinging nettles scratched at her ankles. Dry witchgrass rattled in the wind. Everywhere tombstones lurched at odd angles, some cracked and fallen over, others sunk deeply into the damp earth. Here the folk of Nartok buried their dead-and here they forgot them.

The gnome Caidin had sent to spy on her was proving to be a nuisance, but Jadis had managed to lead Pock astray with a false trail. No doubt the little cretin was even now huddled inside a festering heap of refuse as was his wont, keeping watch on the alley in the village where she had led him to believe she was to meet with a secret messenger. Meanwhile, she had things to investigate here.

In the dungeon, she had confirmed her suspicion that Caidin's inquisition was simply a false front. Whatever his ulterior motive, it had something to do with the prisoners in the inquisition chamber-prisoners who, though dead, somehow retained a supernatural sentience. She had come to the cemetery hoping for more clues. jadis continued on, moving with catlike grace even though she was jn human form. She reached a place where the graves were fresh. Nearby were several empty ones, yawning like dark maws, waiting for their occupants. Jadis doubted they would have to wait for long. Clutching a dark shawl around her shoulders against the chill wind, she went from grave to grave examining them. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but she did get the sense that Nartok employed two different gravediggers-one much more conscientious about his job than the other. Some of the graves were covered with neat mounds of damp earth, while others looked to have been filled in with careless shovelfuls of loose dirt.

"Wait a moment, love," Jadis whispered. Quickly, she bent down to read the epitaphs scratched into the wooden markers. A thrill coursed through her.