"Qeteb has DragonStar," Goldman said, and looked at Axis.

Axis stared at him, then switched his gaze to the still limp and insensible form of DragonStar.

Chapter 21

Legal Niceties

Do you recognise the place?" Qeteb said, and waved a hand about. "I thought you might feel more at home here."

But for the moment DragonStar could not take his eyes from Qeteb. The Demon had assumed a form that was a reflection of DragonStar himself, save that his body was better muscled, his face less lined, and his mouth far more sensual.

DragonStar wondered why he'd assumed so close a likeness, and then thought that perhaps Qeteb wanted to remind him of the close blood relationship between the body the Demon inhabited —

WolfStar's son — and DragonStar, who was WolfStar's grandson.

Qeteb had dressed himself elegantly in shades of grey and ivory, his hair neatly combed, his hands folded innocently before him.

He wore no weapons.

Qeteb stood waiting, his handsome face wearing an air of exaggerated patience, and so DragonStar looked about.

They were standing in the kitchens of Sigholt. The tables were spread with the implements of cooking — bowls, foodstuffs and sundry knives and spoons — and the ranges glowed comfortingly against the far wall.

Four cats lay curled up in front of the ranges: all bald, and all with horns protruding from their skulls.

Qeteb grinned. "Would you like to cook for me?"

DragonStar walked about the table before him, running his finger lightly over its surface. "You know a great deal about me," he said.

"I have had a great deal of spare time in recent millennia to learn a great deal," Qeteb said, and clapped his hands together once, sharply.

Instantly the cooking ingredients and implements before DragonStar transformed. A meal appeared before him — roast meats, pastries, mounds of steaming and well-buttered vegetables. The table was laid with heavy silver and cut crystal, and ruby wine glowed in pitchers and the tall-stemmed glasses.

The table was laid for two.

Qeteb picked up one of the glasses and sipped. "Ah, yes. Tasty. Dry but full-bodied. Won't you have some?"

DragonStar did not reply, moving so that the table remained between him and Qeteb at all times.

Qeteb smiled again, all congeniality and consideration. "Please, sit. It was so convenient for you and your ... ah, what do you call them? your "witches", to drop in like that. I apologise for the indulgence of the mansion. I couldn't resist playing a little."

DragonStar made no reply.

"Ah, please, do sit," Qeteb said. "We've both had a few hard days recently, and surely a good meal and a long chat will relax us."

DragonStar did not move.

Qeteb noisily pulled out a chair and seated himself, lifting a snowy napkin and making a great show of placing it on his lap. "Please ... sit."

DragonStar did not move.

"Sit!" Qeteb said, a hardness now underlying his voice, and DragonStar found himself bodily lifted up and placed in the chair opposite Qeteb.

A napkin gracefully unfolded and slid itself solicitously over DragonStar's lap.

Trying to take back the initiative — if ever he'd had it since Qeteb had trapped him within this illusion

— DragonStar picked up a glass of wine and sipped.

It was, as Qeteb had said, rather good.

"What do you want?" DragonStar asked.

"Ah," Qeteb said, and began to pile food on his plate, "I thought it might be a good idea for you and I to have a bit of a chat. You see ..." Qeteb paused as his hand hesitated between a plate full of roast pigeon haunches and one laden with grilled

swan tongues. His hand eventually dipped towards the swan tongues. "... I was thinking that you and I might actually be at cross purposes, you see."

"Cross purposes?" DragonStar contented himself with sliding some cheese and slices of fruit onto his plate.

"Yes. Oh, these tongues are delicious! Try some, do!"

DragonStar ignored the invitation, wondering where in the world Qeteb had dragged this particular persona from, and why he thought it useful in the first place.

"You don't think it charming?" Qeteb said, assuming an expression of the most utter surprise. "It doesn't relax you?"

For the first time DragonStar laughed, genuinely amused. "Stop toying with me."

Qeteb grinned, also apparently a gesture of genuine cheerfulness rather than malevolent sarcasm.

"You and I," he said, waving a piece of roast pig, "come from much the same place. Disinherited, betrayed, thrown to the stars in the most despicable of ways —"

"I've heard all this before," DragonStar said.

"Ah, but from my dear travelling companions, who —"

"Your companion Demons."

"— often have the most unfortunate turn of phrase. And their manners! Frightful at times, I'm sure you'll agree!"

By the range, the four cats hunched into sorry bundles of the most abject misery.

It was a pity, DragonStar thought, that the entire thing was such an obvious farce.

Qeteb grinned around a mouthful of meat, and DragonStar pulled himself up. The Demon could obviously read his mind at will ... and he? DragonStar sent his power scrying out, probing Qeteb's mind.

All he saw was a grassy riverbank under the midday sun, willow trees gently swaying and dipping, young men and women lying languidly about in hammocks, adjusting their cream linens, and sipping cups of sweet tea.

"It didn't help you much, did it?" Qeteb whispered, and just for that instant DragonStar saw the malevolence and hatred seething beneath the urbane surface.