Mark Anthony - Tower of Doom

He had an uprising to crush.

Jadis's mind raced. There was no time to spare. With every passing moment, another part of her body ceased to function. She had to return to Il Aluk before it was too late.

"Keep breathing, love," she said hoarsely, willing her lungs to continue their laborious work. "Just keep breathing."

She gazed about the chamber, searching for anything that could help her. But she could see no way out of the trap.

"Wait a moment, love," she whispered thickly through numb lips. She had an idea.

As swiftly as her clumsy body allowed, she set to work. After much laborious contortion, she managed to shrug off her heavy woolen dress without taking her weight off the chair. To that she added her soft doeskin boots, and all her jewelry-gold rings, bracelets, even earrings. Every last ounce was crucial. She piled everything on the cushion beneath her. Then, with painstaking care, she began to inch her way out of the chair.

At first Jadis thought it was going to work. She made it far enough that only her right hand was resting on the chair. Then she heard a faint grating of stone on stone. Across the room, the wooden shelf tilted slightly. The fire elemental shimmered inside the magical jar. Desperately, she lunged back into the chair.

It had almost been enough. Almost. If only she could add a little more weight to the chair. It was a useless thought. There were no other objects in reach, and she had removed every last item of adornment from her body. There was nothing else she could leave behind on the chair.

"No, love. That's not true, now is it?" A thought flickered through her mind. It was such a ghastly thought that she almost laughed aloud. In dread, she realized that she was going to do it. What other choice did she have? It was either this, or death.

"Come now, love," she murmured reassuringly even as she shuddered. "It won't really hurt, now will it?"

Jadis looked at her left arm. The flesh was darkly bloated and utterly lifeless. She raised her right hand, focusing her willpower. Sharp talons sprang from the tips of her fingers. She swallowed the taste of fear. With slow, painstaking motions, she used the talons to rip the useless arm from her left shoulder.

It was easier than she would have thought, and indeed there was no pain. Again, she almost laughed aloud. Would not any wild animal caught in a trap chew off its limb just to gain freedom? The putrid flesh yielded easily to her sharp claws. Yellow liquid oozed from the appendage. In moments she reached the bone. Even dislocating the joint was not as hard as she feared. She used her talons as a lever. For a moment there was slight resistance. Then, with a wet pop! her arm fell free. 7u This time mad laughter did issue from her lips. "Oh, my king," she said exultantly. "What I suffer Willingly for you!"

Setting the severed arm upon the dress, she carefully rose from the chair. This time the weight proved enough. The chair did not shift, the magical jar did not fall. She had escaped!

Lurching toward the doorway, she tried not to glance at the oozing stump of her left shoulder. Aza- lin's powers were great enough to defeat death itself. He would be able to heal her. Extending a sharp talon, she easily picked the door's lock. Opening the portal, she took a step toward freedom.

"Not so fast, nasty kitty!"

Jadis spun around. A block of stone in the wall swung open, and a small fornri tumbled through. It wa§ Pock, the baron's cretinish gnome.

"You're not going anywhere!" the gnome squeaked. "Baron's orders!".

A feral smile twisted itself about Jadis's lips. "And I suppose you're going to stop me?"

Pock drew a laughably diminutive knife from his belt, his pale, bulging eyes blazing. "Good guess!"

Jadis's canine teeth lengthened into stilettolike fangs. She could tolerate this one distraction. It would be satisfying indeed to rend the wretched little gnome to bits. "Try then," she hissed.

With a cry, the gnome lunged at her. As he did, Jadis's form undulated, molding itself into her man- ther shape-half woman, half cat. With an almost casual motion, she slashed at the gnome with her right arm. The purple knave moved more nimbly than she had anticipated. He ducked under her swipe and stuck his little knife deep into her side. Fiery pain shot through her body. She screamed in rage and amazement. Howling with fury, Jadis grappled the gnome with her one good arm. Shrieking, Pock struggled fiercely, biting and scratching. She tensed her arm to break his neck. In a desperate attempt to free himself, the gnome gave one last furious kick.

The toe of his small black boot just brushed the wooden shelf upon which the magical jar rested.

Time seemed to distort. Both Jadis and Pock watched in astonishment as, with terrible slowness, the jar slid over the edge of the shelf. Caught as they were in their violent embrace, neither could reach the thing before it fell. The jar struck the floor, shattering. For a fleeting moment the elemental flickered like a tiny, fiery dancer among the broken shards of glass. It was almost beautiful, Jadis thought dimly.

Then all at once the elemental grew. Confined by the magical prison no more, the brilliant creature expanded outward. Searing waves of fire radiated from its lithe form as it whirled and danced. In the space of a heartbeat the entire chamber was transformed into a blazing inferno. Books burst into puffs of flame. Velvet curtains went up like paper torches. The marble floor darkened and cracked. Blistering, fire engulfed the woman and gnome as they clutched each other. Their screams rose in a shrill duet, but the sound was quickly drowned in the vast roar of the fiery sea as the elemental danced faster and faster.

The throng that massed at the base of the tor was far larger than any that had gathered previously. Torch smoke rose in the air. In every hand was gripped some object capable of wounding, maiming,* or killing. To the rusted swords, scythes, and sharpened stakes had been added buckets of hot pitch and bottles of flammable naphtha. Only the very..young and the very old had stayed behind in the village. Jubilant shouts rang out.

"The fiend won't stop us this time!"

"There are too many of us!"

"The baron's knights can't kill us all!"

The dark chant rose. "Kill the fiend! Kill the baron! Kill the fiend!" The crowd started up the twisting road to the keep.

The sound of thunder rumbled in the distance. Peasants toward the rear of the mob turned to see if storm clouds were approaching. Their screams brought the rest of the throng to a halt. AH spun around, gazing in horror. It was not storm clouds that appeared over the distant horizon, but dark, galloping horses. A score of riders thundered toward the village, bearing red-hot sparks of light. Torches.

"Raiders!"

With cries of fear, the people turned their backs to the keep, forgetting their rage of moments before, and surged toward the village. The marauders raced ahead of them. The dark horsemen moved swiftly through the streets, thrusting blazing torches into thatch roofs and tossing them into woodpiles stacked against timber walls. Swiftly the raiders whirled their mounts around and pounded away across the moor. By the time the screaming peasants reached their hovels, it was far too late. Countless pillars of scarlet flame rose toward the leaden sky along with howls of anguish.

The village was burning.

"Damn him to the Abyss."

With hate-filled eyes Wort peered through the bel-v fry's rusted iron filigree. Columns of greasy black smoke rose from village below. For the last five evenings, Wort had watched in glee as angry mobs marched up the road to the keep. The folk of Martok had forgotten all about the daemon in the bell tower. It was the fiend in the Grand Hall they despised. Now there would be no uprising. The mysterious raiders- raiders Wort suspected were wearing coats of blue beneath their concealing cloaks-had seen to that.