The slaver's head was longer than that of a human, reaching forward horizontally from its shoulders so that its coiled proboscis dangled several inches in front of its upper body. The base of the proboscis widened smoothly out to merge with its face, which was otherwise devoid of features, and continued on to the great bulging mass of its brain case. It wore hemispheres of mirrored glass over its widely spaced eyes, one on either side of its head, held in place by a framework of coppery wire, like a pair of sunglasses to protect them from the glare of daylight. As it removed them they saw that its eyes were brick red with horizontal, w-shaped pupils, shining with such malevolent evil that even Thomas began to have doubts. Was it really my idea to ask this creature for help? he thought incredulously. What in the name of Hell was I thinking of? I must have been mad! Jerry’s right, we can’t possibly trust it. It’ll attack as soon as we’re off the island, kill us all and feed on us. We’ve got to call the whole thing off while we still can, forget the mission and get out of here. It’s not too late, we can still get out of it. Thank the Gods, we can still get out!

     The young wizard had actually opened his mouth and was about to give voice to his thoughts when the slaver spoke, if spoke is the right word. Wispy tendrils of thought drifted into their brains and turned into words that made them cringe and shudder in revulsion. It was as if each word was an ugly grey slug that left a trail of slime as it crawled through their minds, leaving them filthy and contaminated, never to be clean again, and yet as the meaning of the words became clear, they relaxed, realising that it was attempting a friendly greeting, something that it had very little experience with and wasn’t exactly sure how to go about.

     “You will probably retract your words of gratitude when you reach the Underworld,” it said, slowly and ponderously. “Not for nothing is the World Below generally shunned by your race, and it is likely that neither you nor the man you seek will return to the surface. Your reasons for undertaking such a perilous journey are sound, however, and I share your concern regarding the Prince of the Undead. That is why I am willing to travel in the company of inferior beings. It will take all my willpower to control my disgust at having to associate with such as you, but I believe I can do it. In times of crisis, we must all put up with hardships and ignominies that we would not normally be willing to endure.”

     Jerry jumped back to his feet, his terror forgotten as his face flushed with anger. “Hey, who are you calling an inferior being?” he demanded, striding over to the monster and glaring furiously up at it. “If we’re going to be travelling together for the next few weeks, I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself, do you hear?”

     Thomas relaxed in relief. He’d begun to grow really worried by the tiny nome’s abject terror of the creature, but he’d recovered with surprising speed and was now acting much more normally. He wondered whether all nomes were this hardy and resilient, or whether it was just part of Jerry’s unique make-up.

     The slaver looked down at the tiny nome, less than half its height, as if surprised that such a small creature had dared to address it in such a manner. The others also seemed to sense amusement as well, the kind of amusement that a dragon might feel at being rebuked by a rabbit. Gelrad had hinted that these creatures did possess some kind of sense of humour, although of a completely alien nature, but the fact that it was capable of being amused didn't make it any less dangerous.

     Indeed, it might make it more dangerous if it suspected they were losing their fear of it as a result. If it sensed that they were relaxing in its presence, believing themselves to be its equal. It might feel the need to do something to maintain their respect, to remind them of the true nature of their relationship; that of master and followers. It might well decide that they needed teaching a lesson, and that their expedition was large enough that the loss of one of their number would be a small price to pay. When the cthillian fixed Jerry with one of its octopus eyes, therefore, a look of fear returned to tiny nome’s face as he realised the deadly peril he was in. It bent down, its proboscis slowly uncoiling, pulsating hungrily and expectantly...

     Shaun jumped in hurriedly, fearing that the cthillian’s self control had already been pushed to the limit, and shoved Jerry out of the way. “Er, how long do you think it will take to reach the Underworld?” he asked, anxious to change the subject and divert its attention away from the tiny nome. “Will it be a long journey?”

     “Not long,” replied the cthillian, glancing sideways at where Jerry was picking himself up again. It then gave Shaun all its attention, however, perhaps thinking that it was beneath its dignity to hold a grudge against such an insignificant creature. “Once we reach the entrance to the cave system that leads down to it, it will be a journey of only a few days, much of it straight downwards. To reach the entrance, however, we must first make a journey of several days overland, since the nearest teleportation cubicle owned by the Fellowship is over a hundred miles from it. We will have to make that journey by night, since the light of your yellow sun will burn my eyes.”

     “And where in the world would it be, this cave?” asked Angus.

     “I do not know the name of the human kingdom in which it lies,” replied the slaver. “It lies in the foothills of a large mountain range far to the east of here, near the Great Eastern Ocean.”

     “Great!” exclaimed Thomas excitedly. “We’ve never been there, and that part of the world’s always fascinated me.”

     Jerry also seemed to cheer up at the prospect of visiting strange new lands. He loved travelling and exploring, but most of the places they’d seen just lately had been extremely unpleasant. Either steaming, leech infested jungles, hallucinatory oceans, burning deserts or war zones. A visit to an exotic human kingdom thousands of miles from the Fourth Shadowwar would do much to make up for it, and give him a chance to recover before they descended into the sunless World Below.

     The conversation faltered again, strangled by the nervous silence that fell over them. They all stood around silently, all of them knowing that they ought to be saying something, anything, but every time one of them tried to speak, the words would die in his throat at the sight of the cthillian’s cold, emotionless octopus eyes or the incessant pulsing and coiling of its long proboscis, and when someone did manage to get a complete sentence out, the others would reply with a simple grunt or nod of their heads, killing the exchange stone dead. Thomas found himself growing angry at this state of affairs, even though he was as reluctant to speak as the others. What must the slaver be thinking of us? he wondered. A fine impression we’re giving it!

     The situation went on for half an hour and only came to an end when, to their vast relief, a messenger came to tell them that dinner was being served. They made their apologies to the slaver, trying very hard to sound sincere, and set off down the corridor in the direction the messenger indicated, trying to control an almost overwhelming impulse to run. As soon as they turned a corner and passed out of sight of the subterranean monster, they stopped and collapsed against the wall, stifling an insane impulse to break out in wild, braying laughter.

     Matthew wiped a trembling hand across his forehead. “How long did it say it would be with us?” he asked.

     “Several days plus a few days,” replied Douglas. “Say a couple of weeks if we make good time.”

     “Is it going to be like that all the time?”

     “Probably,” replied the trog. He fixed Thomas with his slate grey eyes, eyes made disconcertingly expressionless by the absence of lashes and eyebrows. “Well, wizard," he said, "what do you say now? Do you still think that a slaver makes the ideal travelling companion?”

     “We’re asking him to be our guide, not a court jester,” replied the wizard angrily. “In case you’d forgotten, he’s still the only one who can guide us to the Underworld, with the exception of the other cthillian ambassador. I’m sure we can put up with him for that long. It won’t be pleasant, I agree, but we’ve endured much worse than that and I’m sure you have too. Just bear with it and remember that we’re doing it for the good of all civilization.”

     “It would have to be,” stated the trog coldly. “There’s no other cause I’d endure the company of a slaver for.”

     With that, they picked themselves up and continued on down the corridor to the dining hall, where they were each served a delicious meal consisting of whatever suited their individual tastes, the Fellowship being able to cater for people of all races, religions and nationalities. Thomas, Jerry, Shaun and Matthew had huge servings of roast beef and vegetables with a few leaves of camfrey, a herb that grew only on Pargonn and a few other islands in the Great Lake. Lirenna had a similar meal but with less meat and more greens. Diana had a salad including a couple of hard boiled eggs, and the two trogs each had a huge leg of lamb, almost raw and still dripping with blood, that they held in their hands and gnawed at directly, using only a very sharp knife to cut through the tough bits.

     “Do slavers really eat brains?” asked Matthew as he tucked in hungrily, relishing the taste of real food after seemingly endless months of trail rations and a few weeks of siege rations in Fort Battleaxe.

     “They eat several internal organs, including the brain,” replied Thomas, who was also concentrating on his meal and so didn’t notice the effect his words were having on the others. He forked a huge lump of roast potato into his mouth and spoke around it. “That proboscis has a sharp tip and is about twenty inches long when fully extended. They stun their prey with a blast of telepathic energy and then insert it into the victim’s body, where it searches around looking for the choicest organs. The brain, the liver, the heart. They inject an enzyme that digests these organs, turning them into a runny soup, and then suck...”

     “Tom, please!” pleaded Diana in distress. “Not while we’re eating, please!”

     “Sorry,” apologised the wizard, noticing for the first time that people at nearby tables were turning green and pushing their plates away. “Sorry,” he repeated. “I wasn’t thinking.”

     They gave him one last warning glare before returning to their meals. Thomas looked back down at his own plate and pushed the meat around with his fork, afraid to look up in case the others were still looking at him. Then he cut off a small piece and made himself eat it.