“I need no reminding of Chythal,” Murialis spoke loud enough to cover the chimerian’s words. “You and your vagabond traveling companions are still reveling in your tiresome mortal existence only because of the bonds between your Lady of the High Council and my most generous self. Show him, Ethis. I will be amused.”
“Might I suggest. .”
“You may not,” Murialis frowned, and as she spoke, storm clouds gathered over the transparent dome above their heads. “Oblige me.”
Ethis paused and then bowed, spreading all four of his arms out graciously. “At your service.”
Drakis wondered for a moment just what it was he was supposed to be impressed by; he had fought alongside chimera-and occasionally against them-for as long as he had gone to battle. His training in the arena had taught him all about their telescoping bone structure that allowed them to vary their size and, at the same time, made it nearly impossible to break their bones in combat. He knew, too, of their ability to alter the coloration of their skin so that they could blend into their surroundings and be more difficult to see on a battlefield. As he watched Ethis’ form shift, it was all familiar to him, and he wondered if he would have to work up some feigned astonishment in order to please the mercurial Murialis.
But the transformation continued beyond anything Drakis had experienced before. The bone-plates of Ethis’ face began to shift, and the muscles over the skeleton shifted their positions. The normally translucent skin began to change texture and color. Flaps appeared in the skin, seeming to shift with the chimerian’s slightest move. Ethis grew shorter, his second set of arms disappeared as his shape became more human.
Drakis gasped, uncertain whether it was from horror or wonder.
Ethis stood before him. . in the perfectly modeled form of Mala.
“By the. . the gods!” Drakis sputtered.
The chimerian Mala walked up to him, speaking in a slightly husky rendition of the human woman’s voice-an honest sadness in her expression. “I’m sorry, Drakis. It was the only way I could get us through alive.”
Drakis kept his eyes fixed on the counterfeit woman as though seeing some terrible vision from which one cannot look away. “Ethis? How. .”
“It’s rare among our kind,” the pseudo-Mala said with a rueful smile. “A very few of us can alter our shape radically and hold the new form for extended periods of time. It takes effort, a great deal of training and discipline. Hair is the hardest to form; clothing from skin folds is perhaps more challenging still. It’s also a rather lonely existence-we are considered freakish by most of our own kind-but the High Council in Exile makes good use of turning our curse into their blessing. They call us the ‘Shades of the Exile,’ and we can go places in the world, perform the bidding of our Lady Chythal and. .”
“And none would ever suspect the chimera?” Drakis finished.
“Something like that,” the false-Mala said through a pout as she took another step toward Drakis, near enough now to touch him. “It does allow us to get far closer to our targets than they might otherwise allow. And anyone will tell any secret to the right companion. Still, I am glad that you and Mala were having problems when we arrived.”
“Why?” Drakis said, finding himself leaning in toward the woman.
The false-Mala reached up with her hand and held Drakis back.
“Because you’re a good friend, Drakis, and I’m not that kind of girl.”
In a moment, Mala melted in front of him, expanded, faded, and became the four-armed Ethis.
Drakis leaped backward with a sharp cry.
“Oh, that was wonderful,” Murialis clapped atop her throne. “We stage dramas for ourselves from time to time-just for our amusement-but that was far better than I could have produced. Bravo, Ethis! And your performance was refreshingly honest, Drakis of the Prophecy.”
“Queen Murialis,” Drakis said with growing exasperation, “I’m not this. . this man of any prophecy!”
“Oh, I don’t care whether you are or not, boy,” Murialis said with delight. “It doesn’t matter either way, really. All that matters is that other people think you could be this great legend destined to bring about the fall of the Rhonas Empire. Fear and doubt are like weeds growing between mortared stones; given enough time, they will destroy the strongest wall. If what Ethis tells me is true, then you’ve already planted those seeds whether you think it’s your destiny or not. It is up to us, now, to help those seeds along a little.”