“What are they going to do about it?” asked Rhosh. “And suppose I threaten them that I’ll lie in the sun at dawn, as does happen to be my custom, by the way, and can be no more—unless I and they want the younger ones to be devoured by fire when my body, the Source Body, suffers that insult?”

“Would I die,” asked Benedict, “if you did that? I mean once you have the Sacred Core?”

“Yes, but I’d never do it!” Rhosh whispered. “Don’t you see?”

“Then what good is the threat? If they know you love me—?”

“But they don’t know,” said the Voice. “That’s the thing. They don’t know. They know almost nothing about you!” The Voice was fuming again. “And you can strengthen your friend with your blood, strengthen him to where he suffers from such a burning but not fatally! Why have you not given him more of your blood over the centuries? And then of course your blood will be the Source Blood and the strongest that there is, and you will feel the engines of power grinding in you with a new efficiency and fury—.”

“Leave this in my hands,” said Rhosh to Benedict. “And no, you might not at all die, were I to make good on my threat. Burn yes, but die no. And I will give you my blood.” He felt like a fool suddenly obeying the Voice’s orders.

“But you could never make another blood drinker,” said Benedict, “because if you did you wouldn’t be able to make the threat …”

“Stop talking,” said Rhosh. “I have no choice now, do I, but to follow this through! I must get Fareed to put the Sacred Core into me. Never mind all the rest. Just remember the instructions I’ve given you. Be ready at any moment for my phone call.”

“I am,” said Benedict.

“And don’t, whatever you do, don’t call me. Keep the phone ready. And when I call and instruct you to begin torturing the boy—that is, if I have to do that—then you must do it and they must be able to hear his screams through the phone.”

“Very well!” said Benedict disgustedly. “But you do realize I’ve never tortured a human being before.”

“Oh, come on, it won’t be that difficult! Look at what you’ve done already. You’ve taken to this, you know you have. You’ll figure a way to make him scream. Look, it’s simple. Break his fingers, one by one. There are ten of them.”

Benedict sighed.

“They will not harm me as long as the boy is in our hands, don’t you see? And when I return here with Fareed, we’ll deal with the goddess in the cellar, you understand?”

“All right,” said Benedict with the same tone of bitter resignation.