With a slight turn of his head, Graz'zt got the attention of the tall, sticklike demon who walked several respectful paces behind him. "Lord Vuron," he said, "be sure to restock Our parks — and add some larger, noisier creatures for more sport, too — while We are gone. In fact, you may declare a Chase in Our name."

The leathery-skinned Vuron bowed in Graz'zt's direction before he responded. "You are masterful in your entertainments, mighty king," said the steward. "Your generosity and thoughtfulness will be praised by all."

"Of course," Graz'zt said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Kostchtchie, a demon accustomed to frozen wastes and frigid winds, was sweating profusely in the tropical setting of the king's domain, and his stench was clearly repugnant to many of the creatures in his vicinity, even as repulsive as they themselves were. But Graz'zt, delighted with his surroundings and his situation, showed neither any sign of being put off by Kostchtchie's odor nor any concern for his new marshal's discomfort. Surrounded by beautiful succubi and lamias, Graz'zt entered the many-porticoed, gold-bedecked sprawl of his palace. Prior to his departure, the king would be the host and guest of honor at a royal banquet to celebrate his recent triumph. The victory heralded far greater accomplishments to come, and Graz'zt reveled in his thoughts as he considered what the future would bring.

"The Ambassadors of the kings of the Tiger and Wolf tribes are awaiting your pleasure, Lord of Evil." The priest spoke these words haltingly, humility dripping from every phrase, as he addressed the withered old man who sat facing him.

"Emperor of Evil!" thundered the old man, his chest heaving with the effort.