Swords Against Wizardry by Fritz Leiber ...

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Almost at once the flames ate into the resinous and oil-impregnated wood.
For a moment through the thick smoke the interlocking writhing forms of the
slaves could be perceived, and the lean figure of dead Quarmal staring through
closed lids directly into the face of the sun. Then, incensed by the heat and acrid
fumes, the great falcon screamed in vicious anger and wing-flapping rose from
the wrist of its master. The chains held fast; but all could see the arm of Quarmal
lifted high in a gesture of sublime dismissal before the smoke obscured. The
chanting reached crescendo and abruptly ended as Flindach gave the sign that
the rites were finished.
As the eager flames swiftly consumed the pyre and the burden it bore, Hasjarl
broke the silence which custom had enjoined. He turned toward Gwaay and
fingering the knuckly knob of his scepter and with an evil grin he spoke.
"Ha! Gwaay, it would have been a merry thing to have seen you leching in the
flames. Almost as merry as to see our sire gesticulating after death. Go quickly,
Brother! There's yet a chance to immolate yourself and so win fame and
immortality." And he giggled, slobbering.
Gwaay had just made an unapparent sign to a page nearby, and the lad was
hurrying away. The young Lord of the Lower Levels was in no manner amused by
his brother's ill-timed jesting, but with a smile and shrug he replied sarcastically,
"I choose to seek death in less painful paths. Yet the idea is a good one; I'll
treasure it." Then suddenly in a deeper voice: "It had been better that we were
both stillborn than to fritter our lives away in futile hatreds. I'll overlook your
dream-dust and your poppy hurricanes, and e'en your noisome sorceries, and
make a pact with you, O Hasjarl! By the somber gods who rule under Quarmall's
Hill and by the Worm which is my sign I swear that from my hand your life is
sacrosanct; with neither spells nor steel nor venoms will I slay thee!" Gwaay rose
to his feet as he finished and looked directly at Hasjarl.
Taken unaware, Hasjarl for a second sat in silence; a puzzled expression
crossed his face; then a sneer distorted his thin lips and he spat at Gwaay:
"So! You fear me more even than I thought. Aye! And rightly so! Yet the blood
of yon old cinder runs in both our bodies, and there is a tender spot within me for
my brother. Yes, I'll pact with thee, Gwaay! By the Elder Ones who swim in
lightless deeps and by the Fist that is my token, I'll swear your life is sacrosanct -until
I crush it out!" And with a final evil titter Hasjarl, like a malformed stoat,
slid from stool and out of sight.
Gwaay stood quietly listening, gazing at the space where Hasjarl had sat;
then, sure his brother was well gone, he slapped his thighs mightily and,
convulsed with silent laughter, gasped to no one in particular, "Even the wiliest
hares are caught in simple snares," and still smiling he turned to watch the
dancing flames.
Slowly the variegated groups were herded into the passageways whence they
had come and the courtyard was cleared once again, except for those slaves and
priests whose duties kept them there.
Gwaay remained watching for a time, then he too slipped off the balcony into
the inner rooms. And a faint smile yet clung to his mouth corners as if some jest
were lingering in his mind pleasantly.
"...And by the blood of that one whom it is death to look upon..."
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