At about the same time, Pingo’s preparations were interrupted by the entrance of Thork Yurger. The diminutive assassin had hidden for a few hours after my show. Then he’d acquired a pony and ridden it hard all the way to the palace.
Of course, Pingo T’Ong wasn’t there. He was in the cavern behind the palace again, but this time he wasn’t cajoling visions from the Fracture. He’d taken all he wanted from the malformed sprite and no longer spared it any attention. It languished in bindings that were considerably more secure for it than the chains that had so recently been applied to my wrists had been for me. Intermittently, it gave a keening wail. It still flickered from time to time, but in such a way as to suggest it had very little energy left. And instead of floating some inches above the ground, one of its corners now rested on the cold stone.
Pingo didn’t care about any of this. He’d cleared a much larger space on the cavern floor and that’s where he focused his attention. He’d crafted an intricate pentagram according to ancient lore and fed it with much of the Fracture’s power. The pentagram glowed a steady green, pulsing occasionally to yellow. Pingo felt pleased.
He chuckled under his breath and checked the scrolls he’d taken pains to copy from the visions of this very moment that the Fracture had given him.
Now he was ready. He could move to the next phase: the summoning.
And then he would be akin to a god!
He was still savoring his intended victory when he heard a tentative cough from the doorway.
Immediately enraged, he whirled towards the sound. “Didn’t I say I was not to be interrupted!?” he bellowed.
The boy-servant standing there shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “Master, you did, but he was very insistent—”
“I do not care how insistent he was! Whoever he is! By all the Demons of Hell, I’ll have you flogged to within an inch of your life! Now be gone from my sight! Leave me to my work—”
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Thork Yurger pushed the poor boy aside.
“You!” Pingo said. With effort, he calmed himself down and nodded as if to himself. “You. Yes. I want to talk with you. Tell me, my assassin, what do you have to report?”
Thork Yurger approached as if he had a right to do so. “G-g-gordan yet lives,” he said, unconsciously using almost the same words as he’d chosen the last time he’d reported his failure.
Pingo T’Ong said nothing, so Thork continued. “The t-t-townsfolk b-b-built him a pyre and set it alight. I d-d-don’t know how he survived.”
Still Pingo failed to respond. Thork shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable with his master’s silence.
Slowly, Pingo’s fleshy lips curled into a sneer. “So,” he said finally. “He is coming here.”
Thork blinked in surprise. “How—” he began, but Pingo cut him off.
“He’s coming here! How I know matters little, but there is no doubt!” How he knew was simple. He’d studied the possible futures shown him by the Fracture so often that he knew most of them by heart.
“Then I should—” Thork began again.
“You should nothing!” Pingo bellowed, once more cutting him off. It was almost like he couldn’t stand to wait for the assassin’s words to come out. “You should have killed him back in Ulm! You should have killed him under the Demesne, before the orcs attacked! You should have killed him in Brelor! And yet you did not! How many chances would you like?” Suddenly, he switched from bellowing in rage to an almost fatherly mode of speaking. “Thork, I’m really trying to grant you the latitude you seem to need, but I’m no longer certain you’re cut out for the role of assassin. Are you sure it’s what you want? Is it truly your calling, or would you perhaps feel more comfortable in a less … self-directed … role?” Pingo licked his lips with a grotesquely fat tongue. Despite the change in tone, his eyes hadn’t stopped blazing for a moment. “Like sweeping my floor, perhaps? Or fertilizing my garden with your bones?!”
“M-m-master—”
“Don’t you m-m-master Me!” Pingo bellowed. “I’ve heard enough m-m-masters and b-b-buts and G-g-gordans to last me a lifetime! Just get out there, wait behind a boulder and shoot him when he comes into view!”
Thork Yurger bowed deeply. “Yes, m-m-master,” he said, and turned to go.
Pingo waited until the diminutive assassin had nearly reached the door before he said, “On second thought, I have a better idea.” Thork stopped. “This Gordan of Riss has proved very stubborn about not dying. Nor is his death strictly necessary. So instead of killing him, bring him here. Alive. He will be my first loyal subject.” He paused as if considering. “You may take as many orcs with you as you wish.”
“And if there’s anyone with him?” Thork Yurger asked.
“Kill them as you please.”