Geller of the Marshes!"
Neg was a shambles. The advent of the Valkyrs had been a signal for the brutish population to go mad. Mobs had thronged the streets, smashing, killing and looting. The few Kalgan warriors left behind to guard the city had had to aid the Valkyrs in restoring order. It seemed to Kieron, as he rode along the now sullenly silent streets, that Kalgan and Neg had been deliberately abandoned as having served a purpose. If Freka still lived, as they said, then he was something unique among men, and not meant for so unimportant a world as Kalgan.
Shops and houses had been gutted by fire. Goods of all kinds were strewn about the streets, and here and there a body — twisted and dism embered — awaited the harassed burial detachments that roamed the shattered megalopolis.
Kieron and Alys rode slowly toward the marshy slums of the lower city, Nevitta following them at a short distance. The three war horses, creatures bred to war and destruction, paced along easily, flaring nostrils taking in the familiar smells of a ruined city.
Along the street of the Black Flames there was nothing left standing whole. Every hovel, every tenement had been gutted and looted by the mobs. Presently, Kieron drew rein before a shuttered shanty between two structures of
fire-blackened stone.
Nevitta rode up with a protest. "Why do you seek this beloved of demons, Kieron?" he asked fearfully. "No good can come of this!"
Kieron stared at the shanty. It stared back at him with veiled ghoulish eyes. The writhing mists shrouded the grey, street in the eternal twilight of Kalgan. Kieron felt his hands trembling on the reins. This was the lair of the warlock.
The stench of the marshes was thick and now the mists turned to soft rain. Kieron dismounted.
"Wait for me here," he ordered Nevitta and Alys.