Someone screamed from the street outside—a cry of terror and not of rebellion. Oron went to a window and tore it open. More screams lifted. Tion came up behind, saw, and swore awfully.
It was Abadu, riding awkwardly on his horse into the main square of the palace. His thin and misproportioned body swayed in the torchlight. What held him in the saddle? Abadu’s horse turned about, hoofs clattering, and faced the palace window. The mage’s head twisted back on a rotten neck to stare at King Oron and Tion; then it dropped free, striking the stones and shattering bloodlessly.
Oron gasped. More screams echoed from the crowd in the square.
Abadu’s corpse wavered atop the horse, the spell that had held him there now removed. One arm and then another dropped off, and his legs. His torso swiveled,
