Night's Master by Tanith Lee Page A

dark music, “I had heard men
risked their lives to taste the fare of your table. Do you mock me?”
    Zorashad reddened angrily, but the cries of his lords made him look down
at the plate his servants had set before the stranger. And there, where the
roast and the tender shoots had lain, was coiled a sinuous slime-green snake.
    Zorashad shouted. A slave snatched up the dish and threw its contents in
the brazier; certainly he feared his king more than the venom of the snake. A
fresh platter was brought, and the servants once more heaped it with aromatic
food. Yet, as the stranger took up his knife, a smoke seemed to drift about the
table, and suddenly there on the plate writhed a knot of angry scorpions.
    “O king,” murmured the stranger, softly and with reproach, “it is true
only desperate men will eat in your chair of bone, knowing death may await them
in exchange for their meal, but do I seem so starved that I will relish these
vermin, sting and all?”
    “There is witchcraft in my palace,” bellowed Zorashad, and his court
turned pale, all but the stranger.
    Dish after dish was brought, but none would the stranger eat and no man
blamed him for that. Al1 manner of horrors sprang from the plates, even the
sweetmeats changed to pebbles and wasps. As for the wine, the goblet of yellow,
upended, spilled stinking urine, the red was unmistakably blood.
    “O king,” said the stranger sorrowfully, “I had thought it your custom to
mete out fates impartially, but I see it is your habit rather to slay your
guests at the board.”
    The king leaped up.
    “You have spoiled the food yourself. You are a magician!”
    “And you, sir, are a god, or so I was told. Cannot a god defend himself
from such silly tricks as any poor traveler might have about him?”
    Zorashad, overcome with rage, roared out to his guard:
    “Seize the man and kill him!”
    But before one brazen foot could take a step, or one bronze-gloved hand
could grasp a sword, the stranger said, most gently: “Be still,” and not a man
or a woman could move, and all sat in their seats as if their limbs were turned
to stone.
    A deep silence came down on the hall then, like a gigantic bird folding
its wings.
    The stranger rose, and going to stand by the king as he sat shrinking yet
frozen in his chair, bowed deeply and spoke in a caressing tone the words of
the inscription.
    “Behold with terror Zorashad, Mightiest of the Mighty, Ruler of Men and
Brother of the Gods, whose equal is not to be found under Heaven.”
    Only the eyes of the petrified king could move. All through the hall only
eyes were moving, darting like frantic jeweled fish as they followed the
progress of the fearful stranger. He walked about the table smiling.
    “I await, magnificent king,” he said, “the axe of your vengeance. Pray
get up and deal me my punishment. Am I so much your inferior that you will not
deign to humble me further? Am I to endure forever the shame of your pity?
Speak.”
    Zorashad found then he had once more the ability to do so. He whispered:
“I see I have wronged you, mighty one. Only release me and I will worship you,
build you a temple to touch the sky—bring you a ton of incense every dawn and
dusk, and sacrifice always in your name.”
    “My name is Azhrarn, Prince of Demons,” said the stranger, and at the
words, the two thousand candles flickered and went out. “I am not worshipped,
only feared, by men who are not gods. Under heaven, on earth or beneath it, I
and I alone am without equal.” Zorashad whimpered like a dog. In the dim flare
of the braziers, which was all the light left burning in the hall, he saw the
Prince’s hand come toward him and felt the magic amulet snatched from breast.
“This is your power,” Azhrarn said, holding it in palm, “this, and nothing
else. This is what made men dread you, this is what made you love yourself.”
Then he spat on the stone and let it fall on the table.
    At once a silver dancing flame sprang up where he