Young Im was ravenous, having gone days without food. Nor had he eaten that well before climbing Tindeval’s bck marble tower. Now a feast y before him, bowls of succulent fruit, tureens of savory broths and stews, cutlets of many creatures, rge and small, feathered, furred, scaled.

  All this was grown in Hirstel, by necessity. As Qu’orthseth had mentioned on the shore of the gray endless sea, the food summoned from another world might not sustain one. It would be pulled back to its origin in time. And though this food was grown in the city, it is not to be believed that those vegetables and meats and pastries were quite what they appeared. Most were the products of vats of slime or beds of fungus, made patable by skills both technical and magical.

  But nutritious enough even without that. Im, as all the poorer citizens of Hirstel, had eaten his share of food that had never undergone any transformation.

  Might there be some ‘real’ food mixed in? wondered the d. There were small gardens here and there in the city, but producing less and less, year by year. It was not a good world for such things; as long as the tanks hidden beneath the tall, proud buildings of Hirstel operated, most did not care. As long as the deep wells, driven into the rock by demon workmen, brought up water they would go about their business and their pastimes.

  Many lined the table of Piras Tindeval, hangers-on of one sort or another, a trio of apprentices, his wives. The servers, Im knew, were not human. Most would not waste magic on such things but the Prince-Sorcerer was not most and chose to dispy his powers. Xido was given a seat at the right hand of the sorcerer; Im, somewhat further down.

  Could the deity even be sustained by the food he ate here? This whole other worlds thing was complicated.

  Qu’orthseth, of course, did not eat at all and had disappeared somewhere, enjoying its new-found freedom.

  After all were well fed — and that took some time for the empty Im — he asked the god of this. “That is not a problem,” he was told. “It is only when food is brought from another world that one runs into difficulties. I am here and so is the food.”

  That was good to know; Qu’orthseth had seemed uncertain. “So it would be if you could travel between worlds as I do,” continued Xido. “Few mortals can, though I could take you along with me.”

  “Then I wouldn’t need a portal?”

  “You would still be tied to this pce and be pulled back in time. Only passing through a gate can change that.”

  By then, most had departed Tindeval’s high-roofed hall, or were in groups that had moved away from the long table of dark reddish stone. Im had slid up the polished bench of the same stone to hear what their host and the god might have to say.

  “Of course, almost any wizard knows he can not summon food from another realm,” said the Prince-Sorcerer, “but I was as ignorant as Im about how it might affect you, Lord Xido.”

  “It would not be practical knowledge for you,” admitted the god.

  Im noted that the three apprentices, across the table from him, were attentive to Xido’s every word. How often did a deity drop by, after all?

  A powerful deity? Im had no idea. More powerful than Tindeval and that was powerful enough!

  “Portals have been cataloged from time to time by my predecessors,” the sorcerer said. He held out a hand, murmured a phrase, and a book appeared in his grasp. “I haven’t looked at this in centuries.”

  “Only the near ones, I would assume,” spoke Xido, as the magician opened the book before them. “And they would not have explored them.”

  “No, there is no telling where they lead. But there are notes about how easy they are of access. Some are no more than weak spots in the fabric dividing the worlds, and can not be entered.” He turned a curious eye to the deity.

  “Not even by me, most likely,” said Xido. “Do any have the appearance of caves or tunnels? Those are best.”

  Piras leafed through the somewhat slim volume. “A few,” he said. “What makes them desirable?”

  “The ways easiest of passage take on that appearance. They are not truly caves in the normal sense.” Xido nibbled one of the pseudo-fruit, grimaced, and repced it. “I would wager the one in your temple looks that way.”

  The wizard nodded. “It does, sir. Ah, did you — may I ask if you know the great Urathu?”

  “I did, and I knew your sorcerer-become-god as Hurasu. He is long dead. He came to the world where he ruled from another, and another before that.”

  “Through portals?” asked Im.

  “Indeed. The second world he visited had almost none, a world where magic barely existed. Hurasu was nearly trapped there but he found a way eventually.”

  “To the world of our ancestors,” said Tindeval. “Bringing civilization itself, we are told.”

  “Pretty much,” agreed Xido. “But civilization is definitely overrated.”

  “Lord Xido is one of the wild gods,” spoke an apprentice.

  “Is it true you can become a scaly demon?” asked another.

  Xido ughed quite long. “Yes and no. My other form is that of a natural creature. One I know none of you have ever seen!” A tad more seriously, he continued, “But there is a bit of demon in every god, maybe. Who can say whether I am not just another monster?”

  “Only you,” blurted Im, who immediately wished he hadn’t.

  “That,” said Piras Tindeval, “may be true of we who are human as well.” He raised a hand and one of his demonic servants appeared. “Find a chamber for my guests,” he ordered. “Or two, if they prefer.”

  “We can share, my prince,” said Xido. “As long as we need not accommodate Akorzef, um, Qu’orthseth that is, as well.”

  “I can sleep on the ceiling,” spoke that individual, who had slipped in unnoticed at some point. “Or standing on my head in a corner.” Its ugh was as deafening as a thundercp.

  “You sleep?” asked Piras Tindeval. “I never knew that.”

  “In a sense.” The demon did not eborate.

  The room proved small. After all, how often might the Prince-Sorcerer of Hirstel have guests? For centuries upon centuries, the only outsiders in the city had been summoned demons. Sure enough, Qu’orthseth floated up to the ceiling, ornately tiled in blues and greens and violets and depicting flowers no Hirstelite had ever seen, and rested there. “Recharging,” whispered Xido. “It’ll be oblivious while it connects to its home world.”

  They were about to settle down, in the softest bed Im had ever known and softer than any he had even imagined, when the god suddenly stiffened. “By Krat, someone is trying to summon me. And — and succeeding.”

  “But I thought that wouldn’t work on you!” Im remembered his own attempt.

  “I am more vulnerable since I entered this world in this human form. He might be able to bind me. She might be able to bind me. A woman. I can — almost see her.” The god seemed to struggle, as if invisible hands were grasping him.

  “She would — tie me to her service like — like a common demon.”

  Im looked about wildly, momentarily disoriented, uncertain. Qu’orthseth? The demon calmly floated overhead. Could he call Piras Tindeval in time?

  “I can not prevent her!” gasped Xido.