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.Now his mind had separated from his undying form.He watched the inhuman smiths pound away at his body from a vantage just above the long, dirty trestle table where he was laid out.To either side of his disembodied, floating essence, the ever-burning bodies of failed scribes hung suspended as ghastly chandeliers.The flickering light from the Burning Men cast weird, flowing shadows over the bustling operation below.A clockwork golem, bronze and burnished like a princess's favorite mirror, leaned over Gwydion's body.The mechanical smith slid iron pincers into the flayed forearm and locked them onto the last bone buried beneath the flesh.With a tug, he wrenched the bone free.A smaller golem, wrought of silver instead of bronze, took the gory bone and tossed it into a pile of similar trophies.This is the last of the core parts," a burly man mumbled through a beard as tangled as Cyric's mind.He studied the gold bar in his hands, running greasy, callused fingers over it with affection."From here it's easy stuff - aligning the limbs, setting the outer plates."The master smith slid the metal rod into the spot left by the bone then ratcheted it in place.The bolts secure, he dropped the ratchet and drew a more delicate tool from his stained and tattered apron.With this he carefully slipped the gears into play at the elbow and wrist.Finally he stepped back, gesturing for his clockwork assistants to hook up the last of the spring-muscles and close the incisions."I suppose I should be honored to be here," the burly workman said.His voice seemed hollow and metallic, almost as if he were talking inside a steel-walled box."I hear tell you haven't invited a fellow god into your throne room in quite some time."Cyric gave Gond his best deprecating smile, certain the God of Craft would never notice the slight.The Wonder-bringer was very much like his worshipers - long on strength and a certain cunning when it came to things mechanical, but short on the sort of devious intelligence the death god found challenging."I thought you should be the one to put the armor together," the Prince of Lies said."I don't think any of my minions could have done the job properly."Grunting noncommittally, Gond turned his attention to a wickedly horned helmet.He detached the rounded top from the bevor and set about adjusting the thin needles that lined the inside of the helm's lower half.A sudden clatter of metal on the stone floor brought a flush to his sooty cheeks and a spark of anger to his iron-gray eyes."Careful with that, you stupid walking safe!" he snarled.One of the golems - a box with long arms and four thin legs - bowed a stiff apology and hefted the fallen cuisses to its more humanlike compatriot, who gracefully secured the armor to Gwydion's legs.The clockwork smiths had almost finished girding the shade in the golden, god-forged armor.They levered him from the table, forcing him to his feet.Gwydion wobbled unsteadily until the largest of the golems supported him with unyielding arms of iron.Even then, the weight and size of the new body disoriented the shade.He was at least half-again as tall as he'd been, with a body bulky enough to belong to an ogre.The armor appeared at first glance to be nothing more than an exquisitely crafted set of oversized field plate, though it was far more than that.The breastplate was engraved with thousands of tiny grinning skulls, each rictus face surrounded by a dark sun scored into the metal with acid.Thick spikes coated with poison jutted from elbow - and knee - cops, and razors tipped the sollerets on the shade's feet.Both gauntlets bristled with dozens of tiny, barbed hooks meant to bite into the heretics the inquisitor would grapple.No straps or buckles held the armor in place; each piece was anchored to Gwydion's new metal skeleton."The helmet's the most intricate part," Gond said, stepping up onto the table.He lifted the bevor, taking care to position the needles over the eyelets he'd driven into the shade's throat."To keep it secure, we'll need to hammer this bit into his mouth.It's going to make talking kind of tough."Cyric leaned forward, mildly engaged by the transformation taking place before him."As long as he can manage 'die, heretic' I'll be satisfied," the death god said facetiously.Your Magnificence, Jergal began, hovering closer to the gruesome throne.There is the matter of the final sentencing."More formalities," Cyric hissed."All right.Get it over with."The seneschal unrolled a long sheet of parchment.Know you, Gwydion, son of Gareth the blacksmith that you have been found guilty of high treason against the rightful lord of Bone Castle and ruler of the City of Strife.You are hereby sentenced to serve said lord for eternity as a holy inquisitor."Sentenced?" Gond scoffed."He should be privileged to wear this armor.I forged it with my own hands!""I'm certain he'd thank you if you hadn't jammed that bit into his mouth," Cyric murmured."Now, can we just get this over with? My inquisitor has business to attend to in Zhentil Keep."Gond lowered the bevor over Gwydion's head, guiding the quills into his neck.He anchored the lower half of the helm to the bit in the shade's mouth then took up the rest of the headpiece.Like the bevor, the upper part of the helm was lined with needles.The long slivers of metal slipped into Gwydion's skull, and he felt his consciousness being drawn back into his hulking new body.He tried to resist, but it was as if the needles had opened a maelstrom below him
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