 
The Dread Lords Rising

Book One

By J. David Phillips
Credits and Acknowledgements

I could not have written this book without the help and loving support of countless individuals. I love you all, though there are too many of you to write about on just one page. I am especially grateful to my daughter, Maddie. Without her encouragement when she was eleven, I never would have discovered Bug, and this would have been a different novel entirely. Also, thank you Karen for kicking my butt more times than I care to think about. I still don't think I can sit on flat surfaces comfortably, you know. I also want to give a special acknowledgement to the students at South Brunswick Middle School and High School. I have never met a sweeter group of kids. I think so highly of you. Please don't forget that. You have restored my hope in the future of this country.

(The cover for this novel was created by Les Solot. She can be contacted as Germancreative at fiverr.com.)

Be on the lookout for J. David Phillips's next novel, I Scream of Genie, book one in The Demon's Playground comedy series. The Sorcerer's Fury, book two in The Dread Lords Rising series will be out before the end of winter, 2017.
Table of Contents

Forward

  1. Niam And The Dog

  2. Justice Well Deserved

  3. The Family Custard

  4. And So It Begins

  5. Retirement Interrupted

  6. Niam's Run

  7. A Bigger Problem

  8. How The Bug Got Bugged

  9. Below The Ruins

  10. Maerillus Tells A Lie

  11. Another Day Begins

  12. The Boxes

  13. When The Tree Falls

  14. The Trall

  15. The Family Court

  16. The Merchant

  17. Things Overheard

  18. Hound And Hare

  19. Bug's Run

  20. Not Far At All

  21. Voice Of Thunder

  22. A Decision To Act

  23. The Bad Place

  24. Beyond The Door

  25. The Assassin

  26. Hair And Stuff

  27. Some Rules Must Be Broken

  28. Whatever Possessed Her

  29. The Stench Of Death

  30. Rampage

  31. More Things To Worry About

  32. What The Sorcerer Left Behind

  33. The Undead

  34. Training

  35. An Incoming Rider

  36. Piper's Flute

  37. The Cave

  38. The Convergence Of The Count

  39. With Dangerous Intentions

  40. Fury In The Face Of Fear

  41. Danger In Disguise

  42. The Deeps

  43. The Sorcerer's Lair

  44. Unfinished Business

  45. A Family Matter

#

Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.

—Vishnu, The Bhagavad-Gita.

Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy.

—F. Scott Fitzgerald

When the moon is high and the stars are set

All night long in the Dark and wet a man goes riding by.

Late in the night when the fires are out,

Why does he gallop and gallop about?

—Anonymous

Before

The woman on the bed in the center of the room bunched up in one mighty spasm. A moan began in the center of her chest and worked its way outward, shaking her entire frame. Sweat poured down from her brow across her cheeks. Drops of it cascaded into her puffy eyes, which were rimmed with red and shot through with swollen vessels. Her breathing reached a crescendo, and her back suddenly arched. There was no more air in her lungs and her mouth worked silently. Her hands slid down the edge of the bed, and she gripped the loose sheets so that her fingers balled into white knuckled fists.

The room grew deathly quiet.

Then there came a series of liquid gurgles followed by soft cries of a newborn infant. Karin Maldies fell back gasping for air. She groaned again, but there was finally a note of relief to it. She began to laugh.

"Never . . ." she began, but didn't have the breath to finish. The midwife deftly cleaned the baby off. "I never had a childbirth that hard before."

"Well, you handled it excellently, lady Maldies," the midwife said approvingly, "You're the mother of—"

A boy," Karin finished for her. "It's a boy. I already know." Her voice was shaky with fatigue.

"Aye, it was a rough one, ma'am. Once you've held him, you'll need your rest. I'll summon a wet nurse."

"No," Karin commanded, "My child is mine to nurse . . . and his name is Niam."

From a darkened corner of the room, an old liveried servant stepped forward. It was his job to report on the success or difficulty of the labor. He cleared his throat uncertainly. The midwife looked up at him, as if only now becoming aware of his presence, and addressed him irritably, "Oh, don't stand there like an old scarecrow, Falion. Speak, old man! We've still got to pass the afterbirth."

"If it's all right with you and the misses, I'll go and notify Lord Joachim that the boy is well," and he inclined his head in Karin's direction without actually allowing his eyes to fall on her. "Her husband should be here soon."

The midwife had other plans for him. "Just a moment, Falion."

Unsure of what to do, Falion began to retreat back into the shadowy corner. On the bed, Karin's face began to contort in pain and her breathing sped up again.

"Oh no, it's about to pass. Right here with you," she pointed to him and indicated that he should stand next to her.

Falion shuffled up to the bed.

"You'll need to hold this young gentleman before you're off to tell the men." Without waiting, she tenderly finished wrapping the newborn in fresh linens and deposited him into the old man's arms.

The old servant looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

"They don't bite, you old fool!" the midwife snapped.

Averting his gaze from Karin's lower half, he carefully cradled little Niam in his arms. "But there is a woman's modesty to consider," he complained, jerking his head in the direction of Karin's open legs. He didn't dare look, for Falion considered himself first and foremost a gentleman.

"Those don't bite, either," the midwife retorted, "Or have you grown too old to remember?"

Falion felt his face flush.

On the bed beside him, Karin Maldies began to grunt as the final contractions came at her in waves.

"Just a little bit more, "the midwife encouraged soothingly. "We're nearly done, dear. I've passed five of my own, and dozens of other women's over the years.

Falion turned his back on the women so he wouldn't have to watch. This was women's work, and he would have only as much of it as he had to, and not a hair's breadth more. In his arms, he felt the gentle warmth of the infant through the wrappings.

Little Niam stirred impatiently.

Despite himself, Falion smiled. He couldn't help it. A good forty-five years ago he had held the first of his three, and the feeling of a helpless baby tucked in his arms fresh from its mother's womb was a thing that never left a man. With his finger, Falion moved the blanket aside so he could see the child's face. And when he did . . .

He suddenly froze.

The boy's eyes were bright yellow.

Falion looked around in alarm. The midwife was bent intently between Karin's legs. "Come on now," she coached her, "Just bare down a few more times, and we're done." All he could do was stand there, gaping.

As his mother labored to rid herself of the placenta, little Niam looked up at Falion and his pupils were the color of sunflowers on a late summer afternoon.

*

When Falion closed the door behind himself and entered into a small room that now served as a waiting area, two men sat in the center sipping tea, holding an intense conversation. One was Lord Joachim and the other was Carl Hapwell. This did not surprise Falion, for in the second of the three rooms opening into the waiting area, Hapwell's wife had just given birth to a son. And in the third, at this very moment, Andromeda Sartor labored to pass a child of her own as well. Falion had no doubt that if he had gone into those rooms what the color of the newborns' eyes would be.

Three rooms.

Three births.

All on the same night, all at the same time.

Neither man heard the old servant, and for this he was glad. For the first time in his life, he padded over the where the decanter that held Lord Joachim's private stock of brandy sat, and with trembling hands took it upon himself to pour a small glass. He knew this was a breech of etiquette, possibly one that could have him expelled from his service at the manor, but for the moment his numbed mind could not rid itself of what he had just seen. Quickly, he downed the brandy. It was sweet and smooth. Possibly the smoothest he had ever tasted, with a faint hint of oak and some delicate spice he could not name.

Great Lord, it was good!

He breathed in a slow breath, and the flavor that remained on his tongue mellowed sweetly. He set the glass down and refilled it quickly.

A hand closed on his shoulder and Falion gave a start.

"Good, isn't it?" Lord Joachim asked quietly.

Falion cursed his old ears for failing to detect the lord's approach. He began to stammer an apology.

Joachim held up his hand. "You'd better pour us all one while you're pouring one for yourself, Falion."

The old servant stood mutely for a second. "Y-you m-mean you're not angry with me, m'lord?"

"What? For filching some of my brandy? You and I both know that servants have snuck off with far more than good brandy!" Joachim said with a chortle, and for a moment, continued to laugh until he had to hold his sides. Across the room, Hapwell laughed too.

"Falion, Carl and I needed a good laugh. Thank you."

"But I ain't never taken a thing of yours, sir. Never!" he said proudly. Then, "Not 'til tonight, that is . . ."

"Forgivable," Joachim said, "and that is the reason you, along with the three midwives here, were chosen for this task tonight. Fill four glasses with brandy and join us over at the table."

As Falion collected four small glasses, Brent Maldies came barreling through the archway. "I'm sorry I'm late," he said tensely. "How is my wife? Has my child arrived yet?"

"Ah, Brent," Joachim said gruffly, "I believe my old friend Falion has some news for us."

Falion turned and told Brent, "Little Niam is well, sir. I've held 'im myself, and you can take old Falion's word if nothing else!"

"And was there anything . . . unique about him," Brent tried to ask delicately, but it came out as a bark.

Falion looked away, unsure of what to make of these events. "Well, sir, he weighs a good stone or more, and he's definitely got your hair, but his face already has his mother's freckles scattered across it. He's a handsome little lad, that's for sure."

"His eyes, Falion," Brent demanded, "What bloody color were his eyes?"

Falion forced himself to lift his head and meet the other man's gaze. "As yellow as a summer flower, sir, and that's the Great Lord's truth!"

Back in a minute," he said and briskly walked into the room where his wife and new son waited. A few moments later, Gaius Sartor came out of the room where his wife and the midwife remained. He gave Hapwell and Joachim a nod and said, "We've named him Maerillus."

"His eyes?" Joachim asked.

"Yes," was all he needed to say.

"Then it is as my grandmother said it would be," Joachim said. "The color of their eyes will change. If the stories of their powers are true, the color will return when they exert themselves, but it doesn't last. Has something to do with the forces flowing through them. We'll have to keep them hidden until it wears off, but since they're infants, that won't be hard." Joachim's voice turned deathly serious, and he continued on, "If anyone finds out about this before your boys are ready . . . they will be in serious danger. I don't think any of us would survive the week. The old stories of this have struck fear in the hearts of men and women for over a thousand years."

Falion slowly made his way to the table and began setting out glasses, filling them with brandy. After a short while, Brent returned and sat with a sigh. "We were all there when she said it . . . when she made the prophecy. I just don't think I ever really accepted it. It didn't matter that she had spoken true on other occasions. Knew she had a gift. Just didn't sink in."

"You know," Hapwell began, "our other children bear no signs of this. Why these three . . . how?"

"That doesn't matter," Joachim said. "What does is that another era is about to begin. Now, we must see to the safety of these children. At all costs."

"Yes," all three agreed.

"But those eyes . . ."Falion stammered. "Those eyes are the mark of the—"

But he broke off and Lord Joachim answered for him. "The Dread Lords? Yes, that is what they are called, but in the old language they were called the Valiere. Do you know what that means, Falion?"

The old man shook his head.

"Not many people do, not many at all. Since my grandmother made that prophecy, I've seared out every scrap of information I could find, dug through libraries across the continent. Whenever the crown called on me to lead troops, I spent my time hunting down all the information I could find. Valiere meant guardians, Falion. And for much of history, humanity benefited from their stewardship, though this has long been forgotten. And now, with the evil lands to the east stirring, I fear we will have need for them once again. And if my grandmother's prophecy was right, these three boys are the start."

The room settled into a lengthy silence, until Falion spoke up again. "But it was the Dread . . . the Valiere that brought ruin to the world. They turned dark, the stories tell us. What if it happens again?"

Joachim took a sip of brandy, considering. At last, he said, "Then may the Great Lord have mercy on us all."
Chapter One

Niam And The Dog

Scratching . . . and sleep . . . and scratching . . . and sleep . . . and . . .

Finally, Niam sat up in frustration. What had that noise been? His skull felt heavy, as if it were a sack full of damp earth. Only, when he turned his head, instead of a heavy sloshing sensation of shifting mud, it felt as if his thoughts all had come loose and gotten jumbled up by the mounting weight of fatigue. And still, he could not manage to stay asleep. How long had it been since he had gotten a decent night's rest? Three, four days?

He inhaled deeply. The night air lay cold and heavy against the world and pushed its way between every crevice and opening around the house, allowing it to sink its fingers into the dark rooms within. Shivering, Niam reached down to where he had kicked his heavy blanket off of the bed sometime in the restless hours of the night and pulled it around his shoulders.

Only silence met darkness.

Not even the comfortable serenade of crickets filled the forest beyond his window. Autumn nights such as this were too cold for that.

Niam snuggled into the blanket and sighed. For the past several nights he had hunted sleep, but like a clever trickster, it always seemed to elude him. And worse, when he finally found it, the nightmares always came. With a sigh, Niam lit the oil lamp by his bed and turned it up high enough to send a long shadow of himself scurrying across the floor and up the wall on the opposite side of the room. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light. The wooden bed frame creaked as he turned and sat cross-legged, staring out through the window into the night sky beyond.

Now what was that he had heard?

Almost on cue, the sound came again, a faint, insistent scratching just outside his bedroom window. More silence followed. Then it came again. Three rough scratches, and again, three more; then it stopped.

Silence flooded around him. Like darkness beyond the halo of lamplight it pressed eagerly inward. There was some kind of animal out there. Probably a cat sharpening its claws on the wood. Three more scratches sounded against the wall outside. Niam froze. What could it be dragging its claws across the wood outside of the house? Goosebumps rose across the nape of the neck. The sound was so . . . purposive, so full of intent that for a moment he felt scared. Too small to be a bear . . . too small to be a dire wolf, he reassured himself.

Then he remembered.

Niam hung his head back and laughed. The fear that had suddenly gripped him fled just as quickly.

"I'm so stupid," he muttered to himself and jumped up from his bed and winced. The floor was cold. He slipped his pants and shoes on. "I can't believe I forgot," he said under his breath. "Poor thing must be thirsty." Shivering, Niam wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, walked to his window, and opened it. "Hi there," he said softly, "I'm sorry I forgot about you."

Curiously, both the food and water he had set out earlier remained untouched. The dog that had followed him home earlier in the day looked up at him, its pellucid eyes, liquid brown, stared up at him intently. Its tail wagged eagerly. Niam reached down to pet it, but it stepped back quickly.

"Silly, I'm not going to hurt you," Niam told it, "Although I ought to. You nearly scared me to death."

The dog cocked its head and seemed to regard him for a moment. Then it appeared to chuff silently.

"What's wrong, boy?" he mused. "Cat got your tongue?"

The dog just continued to stare at him.

"No? You'd probably eat it wouldn't you?" Niam said, leaning against the window ledge, considering the strange animal.

The dog had followed him yesterday as he walked home from town. He had found it sitting by the side of the road that ran by the sharp overlook above Siler's Lake just beyond the point where the gorge began. The animal had acted strangely from the beginning, growing animated the moment he rounded the curve where the overlook opened into the spectacular vista of the lake where the mountains undulated off into the horizon beyond. The moment he saw it, the dog began to dance around in a circle, then trotted to the edge of the overlook and barked into the open air at the cliff's edge... almost like it wanted him to take in the mesmerizing view before him.

"Already seen that view," he told the dog and walked on. But a few moments later, he discovered that the dog had sidled up next to him, continuing to prance around, turning frequently to stare intently back the way they had come. It was almost as if it had been trying to tell him, "Go back, go back, you're missing the view." Niam tried shooing it off. But that didn't work. Nor did waving his arms and yelling at it to go home. Finally, he gave up and tried to scratch its ear, but the dog shied away from his touch.

Niam figured someone had beaten it.

Once again, however, the dog's behavior baffled him. The thing still continued with its antics, dancing round in a tight circle, and then it stopped, and went down on its front legs with its paws stretched out before it in a gesture of friendly supplication. Its rump remained stuck up in the air, and its tail shook its rear comically as it wagged back and forth. Niam laughed. He could not escape the feeling that the dog wanted him to go back with it. "Alright," he said, "you're an odd one, but I'll come."

The dog lifted its snout and appeared to sniff in acknowledgement.

Hoisting himself through the opening, Niam muttered, "You better not be luring me into the woods to feed me to the rest of your pack." Once he was out, he left enough of a crack in the window to get himself back through if it was still dark when he returned. The chill was not as bad as he thought it was going to be, but he still sank into his coat.

"Let's go," he said, but when he turned, the dog had already padded down the path leading from the road to his home, and was turning back toward the gorge.

As Niam followed, he thought about where his sympathy for this stray came from. For the past year, since the death of his brother and sister, he had come to feel like a stray himself. Had it not been for his friends, Davin Hapwell and Maerillus Sartor, he did not know how he would have made it through the year. His mother and father had been too absorbed in their own grief to attend well to Niam's. Many nights he had stayed with the Sartor and Hapwell families, and drawn strength and comfort from their kindness and understanding.

Above him, the stars stared down from on high, and their silver luminescence bathed the landscape softly in a pale light, and in places where the trees had already shed their leaves, white and dark naked branches were bent and twisted like dancers forever frozen in wild contortions and bizarre poses. On the horizon, the faint light of the rising sun began to waken the night sky from its slumber with its ruddy morning kiss. As the autumn birds woke and sang the sun higher into the eastern horizon, Niam's thoughts turned to his loss. Memories of Sarah filled Niam's mind, and his stomach clenched as his mind settled upon her memory. She had been dead for over a year now. Lithe and willowy, she had been seven years Niam's senior the day she drowned. Some of his fondest childhood memories were of her. His mother and father were often away on business for Lord Joachim, leaving Sarah home to raise him. Sarah had been not all of his world, but the part of it that always seemed filled with color, laughter, and warmth. If jokes could ever collect golden interest from the laughter they produced, Niam's family would have been richer than a king.

Her body had been found floating a quarter mile beyond the narrows where the gorge pinched the upper third of the lake from the lower two thirds. Count Joachim's physician said her head had obviously struck a rock, and that she must have slipped and tumbled down the steep rocky wall to the water below. Her basket had lain by the trail until someone found the body and searchers had been sent out. Beside the basket, with its contents spilled across the ground, were Seth's shoes, where he had taken them off before jumping in after her. Had he hit his head as well? His body had never been found, but miles of rocky and inaccessible shoreline surrounded the lake.

Seth, ten years older than Niam, had always been something of an enigma. Quiet and reserved, he had gone away to the academy at Kalavere to study for the Advocate's bar. Niam had never spent much time with his older brother. When he came back from the academy, he had taken up a post for the crown as an official of deeds and surveys. Growing up, Seth had been close with Sarah. It came as no surprise to anyone that he had given his life to try to save her. When he returned from Kalavere, his brother had been a close friend of the Mayor, and indeed, the mayor had been especially distraught following the news.

Was it bad of him that he rarely thought of his brother?

At last the grogginess of the night was finally gone. Niam knew that it had taken the rising of the sun to dispel the heavy shadow of fatigue cast by the nightmares that kept him tossing and turning at night.

And always, they were of his sister, always the same. When he plunged into that waking realm on the other side of slumber's nocturne kingdom, he always found himself drawn along behind Sarah.

Running . . . running for her life, he could sense the heavy fear rolling off of her as she plunged through the thorny thickets. Her dress trailed her willowy form as she cast terrified glances behind her. The fear on her face sent palpable waves of terror coursing through him. Her mouth moved, but he could not tell what she was saying.

The worst part about this was that he knew her flight was in vain, that whomever she was running from would catch her and kill her. He knew because he felt her pursuer's malevolent intent. A thick and cloying miasma hung in the air and clung to him as he moved along with her . . . behind her. Always behind her. And always, just before he reached her, she fell and he woke with a start, covered in sweat.

Ahead of him, in the growing light, his furry companion began dancing with excitement. Niam's mind turned away from the dark thoughts that had settled over it. As he drew closer to the overlook ahead, the beautiful expanse of lakes and mountains spread out once more. The dog ran to the edge of the overlook where a low safety rail had been erected to keep travellers from straying too close to the edge. As its behavior continued to perplex Niam, he heard a word spoken aloud, but the sound of it came from every direction at once. Niam looked all around, but aside from the dog no one was there. He cocked his head to the side. "What?" he asked aloud.

The word came to him again. GOOOO, it said.

The hair on the back of Niam's neck stood up.

"Um . . . go where?" he asked, certain he had heard something, but not completely certain he had heard someone.

Like a far off whisper of thunder, the voice came again. HELP HIM, it told him. And in that voice there were hints of wind in autumn leaves and the soft spatter of summer rain in mud. Niam felt the words this time as much as he heard them. Deep in the pit of his gut, he felt the nearly unshakable urge to go to the dog.

Niam approached it, and that was when he saw that the dog actually wasn't looking out across the valley, but down the steep drop-off below the gorge wall. Niam stepped over the rail and walked to the edge. When he looked down, he let out a loud exclamation.

Forty feet below, lying like a broken child's doll was a body.

Niam looked at the animal in astonishment. The dog's eyes bored holes into Niam's. See, I told you, they seemed to say. "Hey!" Niam screamed. "Hey! Can you hear me?" Peering intently down on the prostrate form, Niam thought he heard a small groan, but he couldn't be sure. I'm going to have to go down there to see if the person's still alive—to see for sure, he thought to himself. Then another urge hit him, equally as strong to just run for help, to let someone else have to deal with the sight of spilled brains. Niam didn't have to see it, did he? But now he didn't have a choice. Whoever it was, if they were still alive, had to be dangerously cold, and the ground might easily still be wet from strong rains earlier in the month. The dog continued to look imploringly up at him.

"It's okay. I'm going to help him," he said, as much for his own benefit as anything. This is going to be dangerous, Niam thought fearfully. Why couldn't it have been his friend Davin instead? Or Maerillus? Davin could have made the steep descent, thrown the person's prone form across his shoulder, and climbed back up while eating a sandwich.

Or Maerillus.

He would have simply had one of his father's servants go down and do it for him as he sipped on of the wines grown on his family's estate.

"But no," Niam muttered to himself as he slipped over the edge and gingerly climbed from rock to rock, making his way down like a frightened cat from a swaying tree trunk. "It had to be me that got stuck with this!"

Thankfully the rocks were dry, and once he began to assay the descent the going was much easier than he expected. When he got within seven or eight feet of the bottom, Niam leapt and landed easily beside the victim of the fall. Niam recognized who it was immediately.

Tim Hodshaer lay with his face pressed into the grass. One of his arms was indeed bent in an impossible direction. Across his forehead, his skin lay open in a large gash. It had bled copiously, and a rather large pool of congealed blood framed the left side of his head. "Tim," Niam said gently. "Tim, can you hear me?" Tim made no sound, and Niam feared he only imagined hearing the boy's groan from the overlook above.

"Tim!" Niam said more forcefully, "Tim!"

A small groan issued from the boy. Quickly Niam removed his coat and placed it over the child's still form.

"Wha . . ." the boy moaned softly.

"Shhhhh. It's okay, Tim. You've had a fall. Lie still, it's me—Niam," he said. "I'm going to go get help for you, okay?"

"N-Niam, it hurts," the boy groaned pitifully, "It hurts sooooo bad."

"I know," Niam said gently, "but help will be coming soon."

"Hurry . . . Mom and Dad will be so scared." He began to cry. "I'm in so much trouble, Niam."

"Honestly," Niam said, "I think they'll be happy you're alive."

More feeling began to seep back into the boy's mind, because he suddenly exclaimed, "Oh it really hurts!" And then he gasped suddenly, "My arm feels like it's on fire!"

"That's because you broke it. The bone must be pressing up against the nerve, but we'll get it fixed before the day's over—I promise," he told him. Then he asked, "What happened, Tim?"

Tim began to sob, and between hitching breaths told Niam, "My dog went after a groundhog. He went over the edge... had to get to him. He fell the whole way. Made it half way down and then I slipped. Where is he, Niam? Tell me," he begged. "Is he dead? He wasn't moving."

"Does your dog have wild yellow hair?" Niam asked.

"Yes," Tim cried, "that's him."

Niam felt a great laugh begin to build up within his chest, but before he could let it out, before he could tell Tim that his crazy dog had led him here to the place he had fallen, something to the left of them caught his attention.

Lying on the dirt a few feet away lay the familiar shape of the very dog that had followed Niam home, then awakened him, and persistently worked to him into following it back to the overlook. Niam walked over to the dog's body and placed his hand gently upon the animal's chest. There was no prance or clownish antic left in this dog now, for it lay where it had fallen the day before.

Lifeless, cold, and stiff.

Niam stood there for a moment in stunned silence. He thought about the dog's bizarre behavior, the fact that it never allowed him to touch it, the fact that the food and water he had set out for it had never been eaten. Niam sucked in a deep, unsteady breath, and prepared to climb back up the sharp wall of rocks. He didn't bother looking up to see if a dog was waiting for him. He knew it would not be. Its purpose had already been fulfilled.

It had traveled its last journey leading Niam here. And as Niam carefully navigated the rocky incline and made his way cautiously to the top, his eyes glowed like yellow flames in the cool morning air.
Chapter Two

Justice Well Deserved

When the strange episode hit Davin again, he stumbled and barely made it to one of the lampposts lining the sidewalk in the seedy part of town. He made it just in time to reach out and steady himself as terrible buzzing filled his head. Around the periphery of his vision, his sight darkened, forcing him to shut his eyes and rub them vigorously. This usually cleared things up, but this time the wriggling lines framing his sight remained.

After taking a shortcut that had been anything but, Davin wasn't just sick, he was lost. To make matters worse, walking in this part of Kalavere was not like him at all, yet here he was. "Must be loosing my mind," he said shakily. Why had he impulsively given in to an overpowering urge to take this road? Well . . . that choice hadn't been entirely by impulse, had it?

There had been a voice. Lack of sleep played funny tricks on people, and the voice had insisted on taking this street—this dark, dirty, derelict street. With a bag full of money only a fool brought to places like this.

Maybe he had heard someone nearby talking to a companion.

Focusing on the moment, Davin looked around, worried that he might have been seen by any number of the unsavory types frequenting this rundown district. Everything around him lay quiet and still, and all he wanted to do was get back to the inn where his father and brothers were staying. The only problem was that he had an errand to run. By his best guess, the silversmith's shop lay several streets over. Davin had seen an alley running in the direction he needed to go, but it looked worse than the street he now occupied. He knew he had to get out of there, though. Now.

Just as he pushed away from the post to find a safer route, the spell got worse. Vertigo nearly overwhelmed him. What was happening to him? A strange illness called the nods, as capricious as it was mysterious, seemed to have settled in among the people living in the Lake Valleys Province. Davin wondered if this could be it.

The world began to spin off kilter. He felt as if it was going to upend itself and spill him into the open sky. Davin moaned as a new sensation even more unwelcome than dizziness began to creep into his gut. An upwelling force within him suddenly pushed from somewhere deep down, as if a vast, subterranean sea within his body was now beginning to rise up, ready to break through and explode into the world. He began to tremble. But before he became sick and fell, the feeling lessened. Davin opened his eyes, and the world quickly faded back into solidity; only now he realized he was bent at a right angle, staring at the cobblestone walk. Unsteadily, he righted himself. As sweat began to pour down his brow, Davin took out a cloth and wiped himself dry. As quickly as the spell had came on, it was gone.

GO. There it was again . . . that voice, that urge. GO AND TURN.

Davin shook his head and waited a moment. Nothing. He had to be imagining the voice. One thing was certain, though—he had to get back to the inn. I'll just be careful in the alley, he reassured himself. If he could take it and do this errand for his father, he could quickly make it back and lay down.

Davin set off slowly and shakily. When the alley opened beside him, he took a look down it and momentarily paused when he saw how the darkness clung to the narrow cobblestones. Deep recesses staggered along the edge of the alley like the warped uneven boards of an old, rundown shack.

Davin wanted nothing more than to get out of there. Only one lone man reclined against the edge of a long row of buildings. He appeared to be a harmless beggar.

Nothing else stirred.

Time slipped by.

GO, a voice within Davin urged, only this time the voice seemed louder. He shook his head. He knew he had to be sick.

Hesitantly, Davin stepped into the alley. The man further down looked up briefly and then back down. He appeared to be absorbed in thoughts of his own. Davin wanted to be through this quickly. Picking up his pace, he walked into the gloom. Shards of broken pottery and glass littered the street. As he approached the spot where the solitary figure reclined, he caught in the corner of his eye the shape of another man standing half concealed behind a stack of empty wine barrels. The hackles rose on the back of Davin's neck. An aura of menace surrounded the figure, a dark taint that drew the shade around him like a filthy blanket. He nearly stopped and backed away, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he had to go on. Before Davin picked up his pace again, the man ahead of him suddenly straightened.

"You've got to pay to use this ally, boy," the man said and stepped forward. His voice was garbled as if there were something wrong with his mouth.

Davin stopped. Without warning, the alien buzzing suddenly jolted through his head again. "I'm sorry?" he asked. This couldn't be happening right now!

"You've got to pay."

"I'll just go back," Davin said quickly.

The man stepped into a narrow shaft of light. He was filthy. "You've got to pay to go back," he slurred.

The buzzing in Davin's head intensified. He grew nauseous. Down in the sub-cellars of his soul, something alarming began to stir. I've got to get out of here, Davin thought. He backed away, but the figure before him followed. Half the teeth in the thief's mouth were missing. His nose looked like a squad of the Crown's guards had conducted formation practice on his face.

Davin spun and started walking toward the street. I'll just pretend the other man's not there, give him no reason to bother me any further. But as Davin finished this thought, he barely made it ten steps before the other man stepped out of the shadows and barred his way.

"He's going to get away, Grav," the other thief growled.

Davin stopped. His heart lurched nearly into his throat. The new thief slowly pulled a rusty short sword from the scabbard hanging at his side. Its blade looked sharp. From behind him, the dirty, toothless thief named Grav said, "He's no merchant's errand boy! Look at him. He's lucky if he's got anything more than a copper or two."

Davin's world began to tilt. He fought the urge to reach a hand out to steady himself. The last thing he needed was to show these men weakness. Instead, Davin struggled with all of his might to stave off the spinning and tilting sensation.

"You mean our coppers?"

Grav stared dumbly at Davin. "Borl, I didn't think he was worth it," he stammered.

"Look, like he said, I'm not worth the trouble," Davin agreed quickly. Desperately, he looked around for help. No pedestrians passed by the sidewalk beyond the alley entrance. Davin would have traded a year of his life for a patrol of the Crown guard to pass by at that moment. He felt more alone than he had ever been in his entire life. Slowly, Borl moved forward. There was menace in his approach, and something told Davin that the thief was experienced in this sort of work.

Davin backed up. But how far could he honestly move before they struck?

"No one's going to help you here, boy," the attacker jeered. "Let's see how much money you have and you won't be hurt."

Behind him, he heard the gritty tread of Grav's dirty boots start toward him.

Davin knew he was about to die if he didn't get out of this quickly. He had heard their names and seen their faces—enough to start a search by the Crown guard. Quickly, Davin pushed himself to the edge of the alleyway hoping to buy himself enough space to dart past Borl, but the thug was in front of him before he could safely move past.

If they had been unarmed and if he had been well, he could have taken them, but blades changed things. His head felt as if it was going to fly apart. Davin suddenly stumbled. He knees buckled.

Borl laughed and gave a sardonic smile that revealed an uneven row of yellow teeth. "Go ahead, yell. Nobody's coming."

A cold shiver ran down Davin's back. He tensed and tried to lift himself off of the cobblestones to fight, but his legs felt useless. He could yell, but no one would hear. .

Davin sucked in a breath. If he was going to die, he would do it with dignity. "No," Davin said through clenched teeth. "I'm not. Like you said, nobody will hear."

Borl lifted the sword tip casually. "You've got fight. It's been too long since I've had to work at sticking this in someone."

"Look," Davin said, "I might have a little money." Quickly, he cast a furtive glance down the alley. The buzzing in his head grew into a steady thrumming. Sweat began to trickle down from his brows and threatened to send stinging runnels into his eyes. Davin wiped it away. He knew he couldn't afford to fight in this shape. The toothless man pulled out a small dagger, and Davin noted a small glint reflected briefly off of the edge. It was sharp.

Razor sharp.

"I'll have a look in that cloak for myself," Grav slurred. Spatters of mud clung to his pant legs, and his shirt looked as if he hadn't changed it in weeks.

Davin's heart pounded. Silently, he cursed his stupid decision to try to find a shortcut to the silversmith. "I need you to stop so I can get it, okay?" As Davin said this, he held his hands out in a pacifying gesture. "Okay?"

The thief waved his dagger with an evil grin. Davin knew he didn't stand much of a chance in a fight with these thieves, not in the shape he was in. Not with a blade involved. And in his head the thrumming became more insistent. Oh Lord, not now! Please not now! he prayed. If this episode hit him as hard as the last one, he was finished.

The thief stopped. "Alright, then. Let's see what you've got, there."

Davin held his trembling hands out, open, and fought to keep his words even and calm. He didn't want to antagonize things any more than they already were. "My money pouch is right here in my cloak." Slowly he took his hand and reached down to where the pouch was securely looped over his belt. Fumbling, he found the silversmith's money.

"I've got it," he said once he unwound the leather cord. "I'm pulling it out nice and slowly . . . there, see?" Davin held it up so the thief could see the fat bag, and then shook it so that the coins within jingled, "See. Hear that? That's yours. I'm going to toss it to you."

With a light motion, Davin threw the bag. It landed at Grav's filthy boots. The toothless man regarded it greedily, and with an avaricious lurch, he bent to retrieve the pouch. To Davin's horror, Borl said in a hard voice, "This one's seen too much."

Grav gave a silent nod, and then both men drew up to him. Their eyes were cold and unsympathetic. Davin wanted to bolt and run, but his legs were like mud. Hot terror burned within him.

Somewhere deep within Davin, the thing that had been stirring now came to the surface like a raging flood. As it burst forth within him, he only had time to think, Oh God! The Sea! As the two attackers narrowed the distance between them, Borl raised his sword. Davin flinched, preparing to take the blow, but suddenly the world seemed to slow . . . to slow . . . and to stop.

That was when something amazing happened, something Davin was completely unprepared for. The sea Davin had felt within the depths of his soul rose and engulfed him. Pressure exerted a million pounds upon every inch of him, squeezing away the dizziness, squeezing away the terror, squeezing away every thought until all the pressure left was the feeling that he floated, suspended in the middle of an abyss, placid, and motionless—utterly still.

There was no fear, no anxiety, no desire to run. Time had no meaning. A blankness lay across his perception of everything like a painter's template. And then something within Davin succumbed to the pressure of the sea around him, and he felt it beginning to pour back into him. And in an instant Davin knew what to do.

He took in the scene, and a new knowledge poured into him with the sea. As he regarded the men, he knew, he just knew things about them. He didn't know where the knowing came from, only that it came. He sized them up, and in a hairsbreadth of a second, found them wanting as adversaries. Their capabilities and weaknesses were his to deal with the way a potter shaped his wares on the spinning wheel.

Grav was inconsequential. Davin knew he could easily knock Grav's knife out of his hands with a clean swipe and deliver a crushing blow to his throat. But did he want to take it that far?

Borl was worse. He was killer who preyed on people foolish enough to stray into his little circle the way a beetle inadvertently fell into a funnel weaver's trap. And that was when the anger began to build. Davin saw in an instant how many lives had Borl ruined. He saw all of the innocent men, women, and children had failed to come home because of him. The worst of all Borl's crimes? Somewhere on the western outskirts of Kalavere lay a twelve-year-old girl permanently scarred by what he had done to her one night. It had happened as she had been walking home with her brother about a week ago. The sun had only just set, and there was enough dim light to walk along the trail leading them home, and they almost made it there, didn't they? Almost. Images flowed into his mind. He felt like he was going to vomit as they did. He saw what Borl did to them. The beast had been in the woods that evening too, lurking in the shadows, always lurking in the shadows, always waiting like a spider to pounce. When he surprised them, he drove his sword into the boy's chest. Then he had his way with the girl and left her to die alone.

But she had lived, and now she lay in bed, barely alive, with a family traumatized and in pain. And as Davin stood there in that momentary slice of eternity, he felt his anger grow white hot. Time gradually began to move. He heard the laborious intake of Grav's breath, and the plodding lud-lub of Borl's wretched heart. He saw a bead of sweat drop from his own eyebrow and hang in suspension for what felt like hours. And still, something within him grew soft and malleable with the heating of his anger, the very essence of the moment.

And Davin knew.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Borl had overextended his arms in preparation for the blow. He should have delivered the force of the killing blow from the hips rather than relying on the arc of the swing to build up momentum. It was a mistake. Borl's very life was a mistake, and Davin stood to do something about that.

Ordinary time came back to Davin with a snap, but something still remained within him of the moment he had just experienced. Davin leapt lightly to the left, his arm shot up and grabbed Borl's at the apogee of its swing. Their eyes locked, and the smug expression suddenly disappeared from the thief's face. Borl's eyes widened in shock, and before he could get more than a confused, "Wha—" out of his mouth, with a palm open and extended, Davin rammed the thief's face, breaking his nose with a loud crunch. He stepped around with his right leg and brought the thug's sword arm around in an arc, spilling the weapon with a loud, metallic clang, and Davin brought it up sharply behind his attacker, adding a savage twist as he did so. An audible pop followed as his arm fractured at the elbow, and Davin flipped Borl, now screaming, flat onto his back.

Davin then turned to Grav, and used a two-handed slap that sent his dagger tumbling through the air. Davin used the moment of surprise to drive his fist into the thief's face. What teeth he had left collapsed from their sockets. Blood spurted in fat, streaming dollops from his busted lips and he fell back waving his arms vainly to stop his fall. Grav hit the hard stones with a loud grunt and flopped over like a freshly caught fish. He remained where he fell, writhing in pain and clutching his mouth with his hands.

Davin walked over to him, took a fistful of his hair, and began dragging him to where Borl thrashed on the ground in agony. Grav screamed, but Davin ignored it. Then he lifted Grav up onto his knees. Bending, Davin put his face right next to Grav's ear. The smell coming from the man made him feel sick. When Davin spoke, his voice surprised him. There was a feral quality to it, like a wildcat's growl, only lower, more gravelly. "I want you to take a look at this man, Grav . . . do you see him?"

Grav shook his head rapidly.

"Good. This is what you almost ended up like, Grav. Is that how you want the rest of your life to go?"

Grav shook his head.

Davin jerked it back so that his gaze could burn into the thief's eyes. "Look at me!" he demanded. "Look into the face of the person you were about to rob and kill!"

Grav's eyes still remained fixed on the ground. Davin reached his hand back and delivered a slap, hard, flat, and fast across the upper half of the man's face. Fleetingly, Grav's eyes rolled back, and Davin administered a vicious twist to the thief's hair. His eyes shot open.

"That's good, Grav. Keep both of those eyes here on mine, alright? Can you do that?"

Grav nodded his head. His face began to tremble. Between bloody fingers he began to cry, and his body shook as his crying turned into heavy sobs. "Great Lord, I'm sorry!" he wailed. "Don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me!"

"If I did, it's no less than you deserve, Grav."

"I'm sorry," he moaned pitifully. As his body was wracked with hitching breaths, he cried out, "Great Lord, your eyes! Please . . . I swear. I'll do anything!"

"Good, Grav. Because that's what I needed to hear. I needed to know that you would do whatever it took to save your sorry hide." Davin let him go, stepped back, and crossed his arms.

"Your eyes!" Grav continued to whimper.

"Never mind those," Davin said levelly. "Eyes are the least of your concerns."

"Please!" Grav begged.

Davin ignored him. He walked around to the other side of Borl, who was trying to lift himself with his one good arm. Davin delivered a sharp, swift kick to the murderer. The thug's head snapped back and he collapsed to the cobblestones, where his body immediately went limp. Davin bent and reached beneath Ravel's long tunic and retrieved his money pouch. Then, he turned to Grav. "Run," he told the filthy thief. "Now."

The thief got up on his unsteady legs with his head hung down and drops of blood raining down from his fingers. Tears poured down his face, lacing watery red tracks with the dried blood. "Th-thank you for not turning me in. It would have been a d-death sss-sentence," he slurred.

Davin waved a dismissive hand. He was done with Grav. The thief turned and began running, trailing the flapping ends of his shirt like a wounded bat's wings behind him. A hot furnace of rage still seethed within Davin. This man—and he hardly deserved to be called a man at all—was a different matter entirely. He had done too many terrible things to be allowed to go free. Looking around, Davin tried to locate some rope or chain long enough to tie him up. Borl had to be dealt with. Oh yes indeed, he had to be dealt with right away.
Chapter Three

The Family Custard

Maerillus yawned. He had barely slept in three days and hoped that a good long midday stroll would wear him out enough so that when he got back home he could fall into his soft bed and sink into the black waters of oblivion. With any luck, he would be able to remain there until the following morning. Hopefully.

He had a problem, though. A big one. Earlier that morning, Maerillus heard a voice—not a real voice from an actual human being—but a voice that sounded just as real as any he had ever heard before. Usually, hearing voices around a busy estate wasn't an issue. The place positively hummed with activity, even in late autumn. The frost wines had to be pressed, the kave berries gathered from the bogs, bales of cotton sifted and delivered to the spinners, animals herded to market, and grains threshed. These activities generated lots of voices. If that had been what he had heard, Maerillus would have been just as fine as custard on a baker's table.

But Maerillus wasn't a custard. Nor was he a baker. Nor did he have any business on a table. Where he wanted to be was in bed, but ever since he started hearing voices that no one else heard, he didn't know if he would ever be able to go back to sleep again. The real kicker in this whole situation was . . . well, that there was a whole situation to begin with—one that seemed to challenge Maerillus's identity on his own family land.

As he chewed on a long piece of grass, he reminded himself humorlessly that he wasn't a custard, pox take it all! He was the son of Gaius Sartor, one of the wealthiest merchants in the entire kingdom of Sheridan. Only, now he was fast on his way to becoming a pariah on his own family land. This thought made him scowl. None of what had happened lately had been his fault.

Really, it hadn't.

Maybe the pariah thing was an exaggeration. But Maerillus seemed to be scaring people everywhere he went. The first indication that anything was off came the day he almost startled an old maid named Casey off of her ladder when he walked past her while she had been dusting the chandeliers in the south wing of the manor. The old girl would have fallen to her death if he hadn't grabbed the bottom rungs and held the thing steady. If that had been all, everything would have been fine.

Custard on a baker's table.

But later that day when he went into the kitchen to grab a slice of roast, one of the cooks nearly lobbed off a finger because, as she said it, he had just "popped out of thin air" in front of her. She might have bled to death if he hadn't grabbed a cloth in time to stop the bleeding.

No.

But she would have bled more than she actually did if he hadn't been quick to apply a clean towel and pressure. And it might have itched or gotten an infection at any rate. Over the next several days, enough incidents like these occurred to send a number of outraged servants scurrying to his father. His father all but accused him of playing pranks and reminded him of the fact that reputation was the bedrock of a merchant's good name. He also reminded him that estate servants talked. Even loyal ones, like those in the Sartor family's service. Maerillus bridled at this. The fact that he had to move about his own family lands like a possum skulking around a dog pen—among people he had grown up with, no less—struck him as the grossest injustice. So Maerillus did something on a whim to preserve the family name. He located a long length of chain that jangled when he carried it wherever he went. Problem solved, nobody got startled anymore, and the family custard stopped popping up out of thin air around other people, right?

Wrong.

Sometimes, even when he carried the bloody thing around, people still seemed to react to him as if he were a ghost. But he wasn't the estate ghost, although a ghostly voice did speak up out of nowhere and suggest that he might want to go on a walk.

WAAALK, it told him earlier that morning. And again, later in the morning, it had come to him again. By the second time it spoke to him, addressing him by name, WAAALK, MAERILLUS, he had

already startled two more servants, and there was no way in the world Maerillus was prepared to tell anyone, "So sorry for scaring you. No, I'm not the family ghost. IT just told me to go take a walk, thank you very much. So I'll just toddle off and assume my new role as the family custard, if you please."

On this thought, he suddenly stopped and swore loudly. "Damn!" The chain. He had forgotten it. When he looked back toward his home, the manor was a good half of a league behind him. Its two-story white stonewalls crowned the top of the highest hill of the estate like a dazzling jewel in the bright sunlight. The central roof rose like a spire over the gabled peaks above the manor's two flanking wings. Easily visible for over two miles in every direction, it stood as a proud testament to the hard work of his forebears. But half of a league?

That was too far, and he knew that if he kept walking, he shouldn't cause any more stir among the servants because today was a holiday. Chances were slim he would come across anyone. Harvest Moon was one of the few feast days that most of the staff enjoyed off. The family estate was just too large to go untended on every day of the festivity. Only a skeleton crew of servants and workers were on duty today, so Maerillus turned and continued walking north, taking comfort in his solitude. He intended to go the distance to the other side of the estate and back. That would be about five miles as he reckoned it. Maybe a little farther. The fact that he now had to worry about coming across anyone bothered him. He should never feel afraid of walking on his own family's property.

Never.

If he were forced to admit it, the fact that servants Maerillus had known all his life were complaining about him hurt; after all, he made sure he treated everyone decently. Maerillus's parents instilled in all of their children that even the lowest born commoner possessed the divinity's spark and deserved the same respect as anyone born into the higher classes. He even heard Lord Joachim frequently proclaim that he would trade any five noblemen for one decent commoner.

His friend Niam, of course, had a lot of fun at his expense. Maerillus couldn't help it that as his father's son he had to meet certain expectations, but it was a losing battle. Niam had too much fun making jokes. His favorite saying at the moment was that the only difference between a Sartor and a noble was that a noble had the servants to clean the silverware and a Sartor's silverware cleaned itself.

Maerillus had long ago reconciled himself to suffering Niam's jibes. Aside from Niam Maldies and Davin Hapwell, Maerillus had no true friends. All of the other boys his age envied or hated him for his wealth, or they pretended to be his friends. And the girls were downright insufferable! When they looked at him, he never knew if it was him they saw or his family's wealth. He had to admit as he strolled along that it was nice to walk without the chain. The dreadful thing was a reminder of the fact that he was always tied to things his other friends were not. Everywhere Maerillus went, he had a chain around himself. Where Davin and Niam had chores, he had responsibilities and obligations. Sometimes, he wished he could have traded places with Niam or Davin.

Well, maybe not Niam.

When Maerillus reached the top of a small hill, he slowed, clearing his mind of all thoughts. No one moved in the fields. The only sound heard was the soft whisper of dried grass shifting in the cool breeze. As soon as he began to consider turning around and walking back, the voice he had heard earlier that morning spoke up again.

GO, it urged. WALK.

Maerillus almost stumbled.

GO. WALK.

He shook his head and took a deep breath, reminding himself that he wasn't going crazy. He was just dead tired. Perhaps he should keep walking. If he went back now and laid down, he'd probably find himself awake and prowling the halls in the late hours of the night. So Maerillus walked on, ignoring the fleeting temptation to turn back. He was too stunned by the force of the voice to think. There would be time for that later. He needed water, and thought that a cold drink might make him feel better. And as he neared the boundary of his family's lands, he knew there was a well at the barn that lay ahead. For now, the building stood empty.

As Maerillus walked into the barn's dark entrance, he paused just across the threshold to allow his eyes to accustom themselves to the shady interior. Ahead of him, about halfway down the aisle, two workers talked, unaware of his presence. He knew they wouldn't realize he was there until he walked almost on top of them, and the last thing Maerillus wanted was to invite another incident where he startled the workers.

Before he had time to announce himself, the voice interrupted him.

LISTEN, it urged. And with the voice, there came a sense of danger. The hairs on the back of Maerillus's neck stood up, and he suddenly felt as if he had chanced upon something dangerous. His legs slowed almost of their own accord, and without thinking, he began to creep forward. If he got within earshot of the two workers and discovered that they were simply complaining about missing the Harvest Moon celebration, he was going to feel incredibly stupid.

Maerillus cautiously made it past an area where hay was piled in great mounds and concealed himself behind a stall wall. A saddled horse stood patiently within, and when it saw Maerillus, it gave a hungry wicker. Ducking down quickly, he bunched up a small wad of hay and pushed it through one of the slats. The horse took the treat eagerly.

Maerillus crept around the occupied stall. The next one, of course, was empty. As he peered around the stall door, he realized he was now close enough to hear their conversation.

"Why are you so nervous, Ravel?" the shorter of two asked.

Maerillus stopped immediately.

Ravel Grimmel was Bode Grimmel's father, and if ever there was proof that bad seeds sprung from the same bad fruit, it was here. Something in the Grimmel line had gone terribly wrong in the past. A year ago, a rash of animal disappearances had caused a stir of concern around Pirim Village. Of course, Maerillus, Davin, and Niam were the ones who had the bad luck to stumbling across the remains of the poor animals while walking in the sand barrens. What they had seen counted as one of the most gruesome acts of cruelty they had ever laid eyes on.

The sand barrens itself was an anomaly. The place was remote, a good half-day's walk from Pirim Village. The boys liked to camp there sometimes. Because no trees obscured the night sky, the view of the stars was spectacular. For roughly two miles in all directions the forest stopped and was replaced by an expanse of uneven, sandy, and rocky ground. There, the ground was randomly pockmarked by deep holes ringed by lips of hard, raised earth that had grown until they burst by an unseen pressure within. No one had ever been able to cipher why such a stretch of dead ground had occurred in the middle of a beautiful forest of towering hardwoods and fatly quilled pines. Even the lay of the land changed where the barrens began, almost as if a great heat had caused the ground to warp and buckle.

Niam was the first to see them, and at first not a single one of the boys knew he was looking at. Dark, malformed shapes dotted the sandy expanse. Their contours stood out starkly against the lightly colored sand and rock of the barrens, and the boys slowly drew close enough to see what those shapes actually were.

"Bode!" Niam cursed the moment they were close enough to get a good look at the dark shapes. Niam's voice dripped with such disgust and contempt that it took Maerillus by surprise. If his voice had been venom, it would have eaten a hole into the bedrock of the ground beneath their feet. There was bad blood between Niam and Bode, and all of Pirim Village knew it. Bode was a consummate bully, and Niam was small for his age. Smaller and weaker kids drew Bode and his gang of miscreants like honey drew ants.

On that day, however, the burned, twisted corpses of dogs lay spread across the ground for hundreds of feet. Dozens of them. All Maerillus wanted or needed to see, he had seen in just a cursory glance at the sight. But Niam was always the curious one, and when he bent close enough to examine them, he said in an anguished voice, "They burned while they were still alive!"

And of course, after Niam said that, Maer had to look.

The dogs lay in terribly contorted positions where they had writhed and struggled to get away from the pain of the flames but hadn't been able to. Some still bore snarls of agony twisted into their charred faces. Others had collapsed and curled into balls. Some had obviously dropped as they ran.

"Niam," Maerillus asked, "why do you think Bode had anything to do with this?"

"Don't you remember? He was caught dipping cats into lamp oil and lighting them on fire."

"Oh yeah," Maerillus had remembered. That had gotten Bode a month's worth of service cleaning the town refuse bins. And Maerillus couldn't think of a more fitting job for Bode than spending all of his time cleaning refuse. And now, Maerillus stood in the empty stall, less than thirty paces from Bode Grimmel's father.

"Shhh. Hold it down, Jon, you fool. Sartor could be anywhere." Ravel spat.

"He's gone to the festival," Jon said defensively.

"Not him, you fool," Ravel's voice dropped to a hoarse, angry whisper, "his son."

Maerillus felt his face suddenly go hot.

"What about that brat?" Jon asked contemptuously.

"This is a Sartor," Ravel said derisively; the disgust in his voice was so thick it could have dripped to the floor.

"But nobody even knows what we've done."

Suddenly, Ravel delivered a hard slap to Jon's face, not quite hard enough to knock him to the ground, but Maerillus was certain his ears were ringing.

"What the hell was that for?" Jon shouted.

"You'll get worse if you don't shut your damn mouth," Ravel hissed.

"Fine, fine," Jon simpered. "I just don't know what you're making such a fuss about, Ravel."

"That brat is everywhere up at the house as of late. They say they turn around and he's just there, like out of thin air, looking down his nose at them."

Maerillus blanched at Ravel's words. Did the staff really think he was spying on them? They ought to know he would never do anything so undignified.

Quietly, Jon said, "Let him look at the servants all he wants. As long as he's looking at them and not us. How much snooping is the boy doing?"

"Just at the house. That's what they tell me, anyway."

"If he's up there," Jon said cozying up to the other man, "it must be something to do with the household staff, not us."

Ravel sounded incredulous. "Can't work around all that silver and finery before someone thinks gets itchy fingers and finds something they want to sell."

"Yeah."

Maerillus heard Ravel pound his fist into his other hand. "I want a cut of it. Nobody is going to sell anything of Sartor's without a percentage for me," he said darkly.

Anger flashed through Maerillus. He'd just see who was calling the shots at his family's estate. And it certainly wasn't a petty piece of filth like Ravel Grimmel. Besides, if he could get Ravel taken to the Pit in Kalavere, with any luck, Bode would have to leave Pirim Village to stay with a relative. If anyone would actually claim him.

A silence fell between them, and after a while, Jon asked, "You think we ought to talk about this somewhere else?"

"We'll just keep on here," Ravel said shortly. "I've got other business when we're done." And then their talking began to recede. Maerillus leaned out carefully, and cautiously peered past the corner of the stall door, and saw that they had moved farther down the isle toward the entrance at the opposite end of the barn. Maerillus held his breath and strained to listen, and then sighed. He was going to have to get closer.

Instantly, Maerillus saw why Ravel was leading Jon down the aisle.

When they had arrived in the barn, they had doubtlessly come in the way he had. Maerillus was sure that he had just caught Ravel checking the stalls to make sure no one was present. Normally old Jort took care of the animals on the north end of the estate, and at that moment Maerillus wished the odd old fellow had been there. In fact, right then, he regretted once joking that Jort was eccentric enough to be Niam's crazy old uncle, yet there was some truth behind the joke. The guy often railed at unseen companions about ghosts and demons. In fact, the day Maerillus and his friends had found the burnt dogs, they had an odd encounter with Jort on their way back home.

"What are you boys doing?" the old man growled as they passed on the sandy trail. There had been a feverish insistence in his voice when he spoke to them, and he had been dressed in a mismatched assortment of clothes. The fact that Maerillus's father would have kept such an odd worker didn't surprise him. Jort did his job and looked after the animals well, and his dad was well known for his charity toward troubled people.

"We're going up to the sand barrens, sir," Maerillus told him.

The old man cast a suspicious eye across the three of them and said, "Strange things up there boys . . . strange things. That's hateful work of the old days, that ground is, and the things that's been done upon it." And then he let his stare fall on each boy and asked, "Did you do it?" As his gaze fell away and his trembling eyes darted between them and the woods, it was as if he seemed to fear that something lay in the dense foliage, watching. Then, he shook his head in answer to his own question. "No, not them, I don't think."

"Excuse me . . . what, sir?" Maerillus asked.

Jort just shook his head. "No . . . I suppose you three don't have that kind of work in you. Those skills require a different set of drives altogether. Ha!" he barked, "And don't I know it!"

Maerillus chose not to press him.

Jort gave them one long last challenging look. "It hasn't come upon you yet. I can see that." And then he said, "Just see to it you don't get burned," and burst into a fit of rough laughter before walking on.

Once they knew what had happened up there, Maerillus understood that Jort had made the same discovery they had.

Now, listening to Bode's father talk with Jon, Maerillus knew Ravel had been right to fear being overheard. If it had not been for Jon's big mouth, Maerillus might have walked right up on them. As he watched them walk toward the barn's entrance, he knew he was going to have to move quickly. With their backs to him, Maerillus sprinted forward, working hard to keep his footfall as silent as possible. With hay littering the floor, he was afraid the susurration of his feet kicking the hay as he went would give him away.

SILENTLY, the voice said softly. And to Maerillus's amazement, he made hardly a sound.

He couldn't take the time to consider this fact, however, and dashed forward. He quickly counted off the stall doors he passed, keenly aware of how open and exposed he left himself. When they stopped, he quickly launched himself into the final stall and listened carefully as they continued to talk. Motes of barn-dust filled the air and tickled his nose.

Maerillus cursed under his breath. Their voices were just out of range of hearing. Because of where they stood, sound did not carry as well. As he looked, their backs were still turned to him. His legs trembled with fear and nervous excitement. Ten feet ahead of him on the left was an open nook where brooms and pitchforks hung. If he could make it there . . .

GO NOW! Something within him shouted. As he covered the short distance, fear lanced through him as Ravel's posture changed. Maerillus nearly screamed. Ravel was preparing to turn. A cold stone suddenly seemed to drop in his stomach. As Ravel began to shift so he could look back in Maerillus's direction, Maerillus reached the nook. He shot into the opening. Flattening himself against the wall, he fought hard to keep his breathing under control. He didn't have to wonder or wait very long before becoming aware of just how much danger he was in.

"Look," Ravel said quietly to Jon, "It's simple. When Sartor's carts set out for the market in three days, some of my men will be waiting. You will have the reins of the first cart. All you have to do is say that bandits robbed you. That's all. No one else will suspect you. No one else knows you work with me."

"B-but what about the other driver and the guards?" Jon asked.

What Ravel said next nearly froze Maerillus with disbelief.

"The driver is in on it. The guards will be killed."

A cold chill stabbed at Maerillus. If Ravel was seriously willing to make something like that happen, he certainly wouldn't let Maerillus live if he caught him. Feeling more exposed than he ever had in his life, he wished he were far away from that nook.

"That's fine," Jon said nervously.

"You'll make enough from this to make it worth your while. Just keep to what I've told you to say. The blame will fall on another band of thieves. And for that, I need an extra eyewitness. Believe me, when they are captured and taken to the Pit, they'll just happen to have some of Sartor's goods. Nobody will believe them and Sartor will be happy you were able to identify them."

Instead of leaving through the barn doors right beside them, Ravel turned and began walking back to the south entrance—toward Maerillus and the nook concealing him. "Come on, you got work you need to be seen doing, and I've got to get my horse."

Maerillus wanted to wail. He hadn't thought about the horse. Footsteps were approaching. His heart began to pound like a hammer in his chest. If they saw him he knew he was no match for Ravel. Davin might have been strong enough to fight him off, and Niam was lithe and quick enough to dart away . . . but not him. As Ravel drew close, panic began to seep in and seize Maerillus like a blindfold that drove away his ability to think.

And then the voice came again. HIDE YOURSELF FROM THEIR SIGHT. Maerillus had nowhere to hide. CLEAR YOUR MIND, MAERILLUS.

He had no choice to do anything else but listen to the voice. Pressing himself flat against the wall, he closed his eyes and imagined himself as air, clear and transparent. He knew if Ravel took even the briefest glance in his direction, he would see him there and know he had been listening. In a last act of desperation, Maerillus pushed everything else out of his mind as Ravel drew up beside him. Ravel stopped. Jon asked him what was wrong. Without allowing his concentration to break, Maerillus opened his eyes and slowly looked at Ravel. The man looked ahead for a moment, and then turned and looked directly at him.

Maerillus went as still as the surface of a frozen pond. Ravel continued to stare in his direction. He squinted, as if trying to see through a smoky pane of glass. Seconds went by. Ravel muttered under his breath, "Thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye."

Maerillus continued to hold his breath. Jon followed Ravel's gaze and looked directly at him, then looked away, almost as if his eyes slid off of him the way a wet fish easily slipped out of his hands. "Nothing there," Jon said. After they moved on, Maerillus slowly let out his breath. He heard the clop of horseshoes on the stone aisle as Ravel rode it out of the barn. His knees went weak and he slid to the floor, allowing his head to rest against the wall. He sat there for a long time.

When he finally left the barn, he stopped sharply and looked up in surprise.

Jort was standing at the entrance wearing the same suspicious expression he always wore. Maerillus didn't have time for this. He surprised himself and blurted out, "What do you want, Jort?"

A slow smile spread across the man's face, and Maerillus realized that he had never once seen the old guy smile. "Your eyes are yellow," he said. "Now it's upon you."

Jort was out of his mind, Maerillus decided. As he made his way home, his feet kicked up fallen leaves carpeting the dirt road and his eyes glowed like the golden light of the setting sun. He was so immersed in thought that he did not notice that his passing through the dry leaves did not make a sound.
Chapter Four

And So It Begins

The sunset painted the sky a bloody tableau of brooding and angry clouds as the old lady pulled her shawl tightly around herself and hurried home. These were hard times, and nightfall brought terrible danger to those foolish enough to be caught alone and unarmed, even here on the outskirts of Kalavere.

She had once thought of this as a safe area. Until a week ago, that is.

There had hardly ever been any type of crime reported in this part of Kalavere. Anything serious was stuff of the city proper. But not any more, and so she moved on rapidly, weary of every person she passed on the roadside.

Great Lord!

That a grandmother should outlive her own grandson! Such a thing should be forbidden by the powers of the nine heavens. But no. She had lived to see the dead body of her grandson brought back to her home, and her sweet granddaughter abused and left to die in the woods. Quickly, she mounted the stairs to her home and opened the door, crossing into the inviting glow within . . . a glow, she thought bitterly, that would never welcome her grand-baby home from his daytime rambles with his friends.

"I've got the poultice," she said quietly as she come through the foyer into the kitchen, taking off her shawl and hanging it by the fireplace to keep it warm. She did not know why she kept her voice down. Even though her granddaughter made no reaction to sound, she still felt it was only polite. The poor thing had been stripped of every other dignity. Jaela lay in a nook recessed into the kitchen wall. It had held pantry shelves, but those had been moved into the girl's bedroom. They laid her out there where she could be easily watched and cared for, and she still lay exactly as her grandmother had left her hours before.

Jaela's, thin figure made only a small rise in the quilts stretched over her. Her head was propped up on a pillow, and long, silky blond strands fell limply across her face, concealing two blackened eyes and a bruised and split lip.

Her grandmother walked over to her and smoothed the wayward strands of loose hair away from her face. A thin line of drool had formed at the edge of the girl's lips, and her grandmother got a rag from the table, dipped it in a basin of clean water, and dabbed gently at her granddaughter's cheeks.

"Back from the apothecary's, I see," her son announced tiredly as he entered the kitchen. "I cannot thank you enough for all of your help, Mom."

"I had to hurry. I feared the sun was going to set on me before I got back," she said, visibly shivering. Then she lifted the quilt and began gingerly applying the poultice to Jaela's injuries. Wincing, she turned her head away for a moment. "What kind of monster could do this?"

"If I find him . . ." her son began, but his voice cracked before he finished the sentence.

The old woman nodded her head. They both felt the same way. Sometimes justice abandoned the innocent. The Crown guard had seemed doubtful the murderer would ever be caught.

"She had another fit. Keeps calling out for her brother? Did you get the elixir for her nerves?"

"Aye." Before she could continue, someone knocked firmly at the door.

She and her son looked at one another briefly.

"I'll get that," he said. "Stay with Jaela."

Her son moved behind her to answer the door. She heard him enter the foyer and open it. Although they spoke quietly, she heard the visitor say, "May I come in and speak to you? I have news you will want to hear."

Her son bade him to enter, and footsteps announced her son's return with the visitor right behind.

"I'm sorry to disturb you both—I know this is a bad time," he said quietly, "But I have news of the terrible crime committed you have suffered."

Quickly, the old woman turned. Out of the corner of her eye, her son tensed visibly.

"What do you know?" he croaked. "You don't look like you're with the Crown guard! Has the man that did this been caught?"

"Yes," the stranger said softly, and paused.

For the first time, the grandmother took in the stranger's appearance. He was tall and muscular. Even beneath the traveling cloak he wore, she could tell he was large. By his voice, she judged he was a young man, perhaps only four or five years older than Jaela.

But his voice. There was something in it she could not put her finger on . . . the authority of young officer, perhaps.

A low hood obscured everything above his nose. He continued on. "This afternoon, the man who did this to your girl and her brother tried to steal from me."

Both the son and the grandmother gasped in surprise.

"It was the last mistake he will ever make, I can assure you."

"Did you . . .?" her son sputtered. His voice rose with anger. "What happened to the bastard? You're fine by the looks of you. Tell me what happened to the piece of trash!"

"Listen," the mysterious visitor raised his hand in a calming gesture. "There is a street that runs past the shipyards and an alley just down from the only butcher's shop on that road. The man's name is Borl Jardsen. This isn't the first time he has killed someone. I've left him tied up behind some old wine barrels. The guard has been notified, and if you go to the Crown's dungeons, to the Pit, you can make a charge."

Jaela's father's face cloudy stormy red with anger. "You should've killed him. If you knew what he did, you should have killed him," he demanded, and with a shaking hand, pointed at his daughter. "Look at what he did! She'll never be able to say it was him that did this." The man lowered his hand and balled his fists in frustration.

"May I see your girl, sir? I might be able to do something."

"Take your look," he cried bitterly. "Get your eyes full of what that man did, and you'll understand why she can't make a report on him. There's nothing beyond those eyes. Nothing."

The stranger rose and walked to the pallet's edge. He knelt down and pulled his hood back a little so he could have a better view of the child's pale, limpid form.

As he did this, the old woman could see that he had strong, ruggedly handsome features and thick, blond hair cut short. He bent down toward her granddaughter, concealing the girl from her view.

Behind her, her son let out a loud gasp and rose.

Quickly, the old woman shifted her position, and her eyes grew wide.

As the stranger knelt motionlessly over the child, her eyes fluttered rapidly. Gradually, a wakening comprehension crept into the girl's slack visage and a spark of awareness replaced that flat, vacant stare she had worn for days now.

In a quiet, small, weak voice, she looked up into the stranger's face and said, "You have pretty eyes."

"Jaela!" her grandmother cried out, overcome with joy and flew to her side, embracing the girl tightly. Her father was right behind her.

"Jaela," he put his hands on her cheeks, her shoulders, and took her hands into his own, as if he needed to have the feel of her between his fingers to know she was really speaking again.

The visitor spoke up, quietly, "I must go now. See to her health. She will remember Borl's face, but little else of what happened."

Jaela's father turned to him, "I—I cannot thank you enough. What can I do to repay you?"

The mysterious young man reached up and pulled his hood back. Her father looked at him in stunned amazement.

The stranger's eyes glowed yellow like miniature suns.

When he spoke, there was a burning intensity to his voice, "See to it that the report is made. See to it she and her brother have justice."

With that, the mysterious young man left and disappeared into the night.

And for days afterward, tales began to circulate among the citizens of one small district in the city of Kalavere that a Dread Lord had appeared in the night. He had arrived to avenge the victims of a horrible crime. It was said that he brought a killer to justice and brought a battered young girl back from the edge of death. It was said that the legends of their return were legends no more, that a change was coming. Some feared it was a sign that the end of times was near. Others, who knew the family that had lost their grandson and nearly lost their daughter, who had seen the state the girl had been left in, said it was a miracle.

And after a while, the entire city was abuzz with the news.
Chapter Five

Retirement Interrupted

Old Jort was troubled, and he moved slowly along the trail that wound past the sand barrens and made his way home. With each step, he gave out a silent grunt. Long ago he waved youth a fond farewell, and now his joints painted him greatly.

Lifting his head, he sniffed the air. A change was coming, and it was more than the rain he smelled as the western wind rolled off of the distant, towering mountain peaks. Far off, the spires lifted and pointed heavenward like dark knives, and where they pierced the clouds, the sky bled showers and saturated the ground below. But it wasn't the rain that bothered Jort, nor his joints. It was the change in the air that he sensed.

A year ago, after finally finding the objects he had devoted decades of his life hunting down, he had expected to move on. His life's purpose had been achieved. His life . . . the battles, the killing, the sacrifices . . . they were justified now, weren't they? What did it really matter to him that the sorcerers were busy about their schemes? After all, their kind always lusted for power. He was too old now to do his former job effectively. That was Jolan Kine's job now. But he stayed on. As a favor to Joachim. And Jolan.

Jort didn't know whether he had been cursed or blessed to have lived to see such a thing. But ultimately, if one read the prophets correctly, weren't curses and blessings often the same thing just viewed from different angles?

Joachim's grandmother had the gift of prophecy. If he had let him in on that little secret earlier, who knew how that would have changed the decisions he had made? That was fine, though. Jort held secrets of his own. And not even Joachim knew the real reason he had chosen to conceal himself in the guise he hid behind. Oh, it was no lie that he had long sensed the work of rogue wizards here in the lake valleys. He always, always caught them in the end.

But the thing he sought, the thing he had slowly uncovered by wading through the plots and schemes of countless sorcerers gave him a unique and disturbing insight into their grandest designs. And now, a little over a year ago, he had found a key part of it. The Maldies deaths were central to much of what was going on. He would have to settle that account soon, before things got too far out of hand. And Great Lord, those boys!

Right here. Right now.

And right on top of everything he had worked for. This was no coincidence.

Around him, a brief gust of wind whipped tree branches like the desperate waving arms of a drowning man. Jort pulled his coat around himself. Dark clouds began to roll overhead. It was going to a long winter.

Soon, Sartor's goats were going to have to be brought down to the pasture on the north end of the estate. Jort hated that he had to spend so much of his time doing the work of a mad farmhand. But such was the price he paid for choosing to spend his retirement this way. And as he thought of Sartor's estate, Jort smiled to himself. This was the perfect palace to hide his prized find—especially now that he knew it had never really been his to keep all along. That was the irony of it all. No sooner did he find it than he hid it, and unknowingly in the hands of one of the very few people that would have need of it.

Jort finally arrived at the small cabin Sartor had provided him when he stopped abruptly. In the air, he sensed it, the low thrumming ache he always felt in the presence of a sorcerer. And this one was powerful. Jort knew exactly who it was.

He looked ahead and considered his options.

The curtained windows of his cabin stared at him like heavily lidded eyes. Once he went inside he would not be alone. Angrily, he chided himself for not carrying his crossbow. The arrows were tipped with a fast acting poison. All he had on himself was the short dagger he kept concealed in his sleeve.

Jort sighed. He was getting old. In his younger days he would not have been so careless. If he could make it to the shelf where the crossbow was concealed . . .

No. If this was his day to die, then so be it. All in all, his life had been a good one.

When Jort entered the small cabin, the thrumming in his head nearly overpowered him, but decades of training took over and he reflexively pushed the feeling back. Long ago he had learned to conquer that influence.

A shadowy hooded figure stood motionless in the middle of the dark room. Jort cast a baleful eye in that direction and grunted, "I knew you would come one day—It was only a matter of time, I suppose."

"Yes," the figure beneath the hood said in a rich, baritone voice, "You've seen too much, old man."

As the sorcerer began to lower his hood, Jort removed his own cloak. The fewer encumbrances the better. The ability to move quickly was essential when fighting a magic user. He cast a quick glance in the hidden panel containing the crossbow down below the lintel beside the fireplace. On the lintel sat a pitcher of water.

Calmly placing his cloak on the high backed chair beside him, he looked up, and when his gaze fell upon the face of the man before him, his eyebrows raised sharply.

"I always suspected it was you . . . had squat for proof, but I knew I'd eventually find out one way or another."

"Yes, and that is a problem for me. One I intend to rectify shortly."

Jort let out a dry laugh. "Is it boy? Is it? I think you may find that more difficult than you imagine." Slowly he began limping over to the cupboard where he kept his cups and retrieved one. "I would offer you some water, but I suppose killing me negates the niceties of a kind social call on an old man."

"Your jokes won't help you," he said and raised his hand towards Jort. Without warning, the cup was gripped by an unseen force. It shot out of Jort's hand and collided with the wall beside him, shattering into hundreds of sharp fragments.

"The problem with your lot," Jort said waving his finger at the wizard the way an adult might at a wayward child, "is that you're all so tedious. You get so used to being able to do as you please, that all it pleases you to do is bend others to your will. Somewhere along the way you lose patience with just asking."

"We'll play it your way then," the wizard growled. "Where is it?"

Jort gave a loud "Humph," and retrieved another cup from the cupboard's top cabinet. He then turned and began to limp toward the pitcher on the other side of the room.

"I trust this one is safe," he said, and gave the cup a small toss in his hand. "If I'm going to die today, I'd prefer not to do it thirsty . . . never could abide being thirsty. Been hungry plenty of times though."

"Where is it?" the sorcerer demanded.

Jort shook his head slowly, and in a regretful tone chided the dark man in the center of his living room. "Boy, you're still a visitor in my home, and until you kill me or I kill you, you'll use your manners."

"I know you are more than you seem," he said. "I knew it when I discovered you poking around beyond the barrens."

"I suspect there is a lot you have missed," Jort replied as he took the pitcher in his free hand and poured his cup full of water. Then, raising it to his lips, he drank slowly. "Ah," he said, setting the cup down beside the pitcher, "better now."

"I miss nothing," the wizard hissed. "I saw through your act, walking about this estate raving like a lunatic, living off the charity of others."

"I'm seventy years old. I'm afraid to say I didn't have to try too hard," he chuckled. "I cannot say that I hope you live long enough to see what it's like to grow old, but that's one of the things your lot tries to find a way around, isn't it?" Jort shook his head. "Always have tried to cheat God and fate."

"If only you knew—" he began, but Jort cut him off.

"—Don't try that one with me. I've heard it from too many of your kind. I cannot abide how boring you are. It's always the same old song and dance: I cannot imagine the power; I cannot imagine the things you can do; I cannot imagine the chance of eternal life." Jort looked at him and cocked his head to the side. "That about sum it up?"

"Fool!" the wizard snarled. "Arrogant fool!"

"Arrogant am I?" Jort raised an accusatory finger at his foe. "I'm not the one with delusions of eternal life. Hell boy, mine's about done, even without you here to try to hurry that along. And you know what? I'm glad. I've had a full life. More than I ever deserved. What about you? Can you say the same? The pity is you didn't have to die to experience hell. You already live it."

"Enough!" the wizard roared. He raised his hand and prepared to strike.

"I know you changed masters," Jort said to slow the attack that was coming. Casually, he leaned against the wall, careful not to let the wizard see him release the catch concealing the secret panel hiding his poisoned weapon.

The wizard held off for a moment. "My first one was a coward and a fool; his vision was limited. And you have seen too much. I should have done this much earlier."

"And yet you didn't. Why?"

"I suspected you sought the same thing I did."

"And how are you so sure that I found it?" he asked, slowly sliding his hand behind himself, drawing the crossbow out.

"You stopped looking," he said simply.

"Ahhh," Jort said deliberately. "What if I gave up? What if I realized my search was futile, and that I couldn't put it back together anyway?"

"You've lived here for five years. Every moment you could spare, you were up there among the filth living in those mountains, asking questions, poking, prodding, digging, hunting. You were like a dog sniffing around a midden heap for a bone. You weren't ever going to give up." And then, with a smug, self-satisfied tone, he added, "I let you do my job for me."

"And yet I'm curious," he began, hoping to lull his opponent into relaxing his guard long enough to lose the initiative when time came for him to make his move. "Don't you feel the least bit uncomfortable you'll be spotted? You and your new master are bound to draw attention. If your old master discovers you are still around, he will act. I'm sure he suspects a lot."

"I can deal with him. He is no concern," the wizard said, dismissing the issue the way he might wave away a gnat. He raised his hand toward Jort once again. "Now, we've exchanged pleasantries old man. Where are you hiding it?"

"You'll never find out," Jort said levelly.

"You'll suffer until you tell me," the wizard snarled. His hand tensed, as if a weight pressed against his outstretched arm. Suddenly, a brilliant flash of red light lit the room, and a crimson bolt sprang from his fingertips and arced toward Jort. Before it reached him, it seemed to grow weak, and as the bolt danced and whipped like an angry snake—just before it touched him—it faded together.

"What!?" the wizard shouted in surprise. Slowly he dropped his arm. "I know who you are now," he said venomously, and stepped back into a defensive posture.

"And that is the last thing you will know, boy," Jort spat contemptuously as he brought his crossbow out from behind him and leveled it at the wizard's chest.

Instinctively, the wizard raised his hands over his heart and began mumbling a defensive spell. Before he finished, motion flickered behind him. Another man's figure stepped out from where he had been hiding behind the bedroom wall. An audible twang sounded, accompanied a short hiss in the air.

Jort's eyes went wide with surprise. The crossbow tumbled from his hand and landed on the floor. The trigger released the bow, and the poisoned bolt fired harmlessly into the wall below the living room's front window. Jort's legs began to wobble and he looked down at his chest, to the bolt embedded just below his heart.

"Fool!" the wizard roared in fury and rounded on the man who had fired the bolt. With a swipe of his hand, he sent his associate sprawling across the floor. "I could have caused him so much pain he would have told us eventually!" he screamed.

Ravel began to lift himself up off of the floor. "He had you. He was about to kill you," he said shakily. "I saved your life."

"That may be," the sorcerer snapped, his words like molten lead. "Now we have to waste valuable time looking for the pieces I need."

Jort dropped to his knees as a series of harsh, wet coughs wracked his body. Bloody spittle sprayed from his lips. The sorcerer walked over to him and yanked his head back. "You lose, old fool!"

Jort's lips worked to produce sound, but only a bloody gurgle came out. More hacking shook his body, and he nearly collapsed. Somehow, he barely managed to hold himself up on trembling arms. When the coughing subsided, he managed to summon enough to pull his head free. A maniacal grin spread across his face.

With great effort Jort met the sorcerer's gaze. "You've failed boy. And there's . . ." more coughs shook his body as blood filled his lungs " . . . there's something you failed to take into account. They're back. They're back and you won't be able to stop them."

The sorcerer pushed Jort over in disgust. He bent over and struck the old man sharply across the face.

Jort's head rocked back, but he didn't seem to feel it.

"What are you talking about, old fool?!" he bellowed. "Who's back? What kind of threat is that supposed to be?"

"You'll never find it," he said through hitching breaths. And as the last of his strength left him he silently whispered, "They've come back, boy. They've come back." Finally a smile spread across his face. His eyes no longer focused on the wizard. Instead they grew distant and seemed to lock on some far off point. "Oh my," he said weakly. "Hello Donna." Then his face went blank, and his lifeless head rolled to the side.

The sorcerer roared in frustrated fury.
Chapter Six

Niam's Run

Niam's feet pounded the earth as he tore through the forest, leaping over fallen trees and nimbly dancing around briar thickets. Behind him, the rough voices of Bode's gang followed. Echoes of the brutal things they were going to do to him rang through the trees.

Niam ducked beneath a low branch and turned sharply to the right. If he planned his direction right, he should be just on the outskirts of Pirim Village. If he could make it to the right spot, he could easily disappear.

"I'm going to kill you this time you little weasel!" Bode roared in fury. This was met by raucous laughter.

"Yeah," one of his friends—Jalt, maybe—barked in a reedy voice, "Nobody's around to save you, either."

Another voice sang out, "Hope you've said your last prayers, Maldies!"

This time, Niam knew it was Card.

Niam danced through the vines snaking over the straw covered ground and prayed he wouldn't get tripped up. If he did, he had no doubt Bode would try to make good on his threat this time.

For once, Niam thought he might have gone too far.

As he launched through the last of the dense foliage, he burst out into the open. A wide expanse of Pirim Village filled his sight. He was atop the low hill that sat humped just beyond the main bridge running over Havel River, which barely kissed the edge of town before it turned and flowed northeast toward Old Flood. Niam's stomach sank like a stone as he skidded to a halt. This wasn't good. He had overshot the place he wanted to be. If he entered here, the wide sidewalks and even wider streets offered no places to hide, unless he ducked into a shop, and then all Bode had to do was wait him out.

Behind him, the raucous voices bayed like a mangy pack of dogs. Bode Grimmel's gang consisted of four of Pirim Village's worst troublemakers. Card was one of the most despicable people Niam had ever known. He had nearly been driven out of town after the blacksmith caught him forcing the apothecary's boy to his knees as he undid the ties holding up his trousers. When the man saw what was going on, he took a board and beat Card until he bled. When apothecary heard, he almost finished what the blacksmith started. Whatever had gone wrong with Card had gone wrong above and below his waist. The right side of his forehead bore a permanent scar where the apothecary beat him within an inch of his life.

Jalt was another of Bode's minions, and the rooms within his skull seemed to lack mental furnishings. His expression was always bored, as if the only thing he ever found interesting were the kinds of things he did at Bode's behest.

Aside from Bode, only Salb scared Niam...really scared him.

He was quiet, but his quick eyes reflected a cunning intelligence. His father was in the Pit in Kalavere for beating his mother to death. Salb had gotten himself sent here to stay with an aunt and uncle who soon wanted nothing to do with him. Like two magnets that should never be set side-by-side, he soon fell in with Bode, and the two of them were constantly seen around town together. Though he never said anything to Niam, there was something disturbing and predatory in his eyes. They held the unsettling glint of a person without a conscience.

The loud crackle of twigs snapping and vines pulling free from branches announced that Bode's gang was having a hard time moving quickly through the woods.

Good. That brought him a little time. But only a little.

The narrow road he had hoped to take was too far away to reach safely. Bode was simply in better shape and could easily run him down. By choosing to leave the woods, Niam had lost his advantage. But that didn't matter anyway, because only so much forest covered the hilltop.

Below, the road leading into Pirim Village curved gracefully around the hill below, where it became a wide main boulevard skirted by sidewalks of smooth cobblestones. First, it crossed over a bridge. The river beneath it gurgled at the bottom of a twenty-five foot drop-off. Niam knew he had only once opportunity to hide, and it was a choice that made him queasy.

"Where are you, freak?" Bode spat from somewhere in the dark wall of trees. "It doesn't matter where you hide," he jeered, "because I'm going to find you!" As the footfalls of Bode's gang grew more distinct, Niam heard one of them call out, "I think he's gone that way!"

Quickly, Niam descended the slope, falling back, allowing gravity to slide him down the loose gravel of the hillside. As soon as he stopped, he didn't pause to listen; instead he struck off, sprinting to the point where the bridge began to stretch across the steep drop to the water below.

The severely angled ground allowed him to duck beneath the bridge's lip. Thick wooden supports had been driven at angles into the nearly vertical walls of the chasm. They formed a tight crisscrossing pattern that extended part of the way down and were supported by the three tall cement columns with wide bases that reached several feet into the stream's muddy bed.

Bode's voice was louder now and came to him clearly across the small distance from the hilltop. That meant they were almost out of the woods. It also meant he only had seconds.

Niam ducked down and peered into the gloom where the bridge held its shadows like a greedy thief. Unconsciously, Niam's hands clenched onto the lip of the bridge top. With an effort, he forced himself to let go and hooked an elbow around a support. Quickly he slipped completely beneath the bridge, and just in time. Only . . . he had hated the water ever since his sister had been found floating like a limp rag-doll in Siler's Lake.

"Come out, come out, come out!" Bode and his gang chanted from the hilltop. Niam heard the sound of loose pebbles tumbling as the four of them began sliding down the hillside.

"He's run into town!" one of the others shouted.

They were coming his way and it wouldn't be long before they were on top of him!

Niam knew he had to wedge himself further into the bridge's structure if he didn't want to be seen. But the water twenty-five feet beneath him sang a death-song as it flowered over the rocks hidden within its dark, agitated surface. Niam's knees trembled. Safety lay just another fifteen feet farther under the bridge. But to Niam's mind that fifteen feet stretched out. The distance might as well have been infinite because the water below him called, its voice was like the dark words of the grave itself. Come to me, and you will find rest. Come to your brother and sister. To Niam the river resembled the black blood of a hideous beast, its shallows like ravening jaws and its depths a hungry gorge. Niam swallowed hard. A lump in his throat had formed as he looked down. The water is shallow, he told himself, shallow and not like the deep water of the Siler's Lake.

Yet even shallow waters hid deep holes, and who knew, in the bottom of the stream bed there might be fissures that opened into yawning caverns where eyeless fish and long and ropey flesh-eating eels—like the ones of his nightmares feeding on his sister's eyes—teemed in seething mats. Even in shallow water his sister had floated just a few feet above the lakebed and just a few feet from the lakeshore. Even in shallow water. Not in the depths.

Sucking in a breath, Niam stepped over to another beam, refusing to look down. Then, carefully, he stepped across to another, and began monkey-crawling his way deeper into the shadowy heart of the bridge's gantry-like bowls. When he reached the center, he lifted his legs up behind himself and spread his arms out, pressing them against two joists. Grunting silently, he raised his body to the underside of the bridge and flattened himself out as much as possible. If anyone peered into the shadows below, they shouldn't be able to spot him.

From above, he heard the thud of plunging feet as Bode and his friends ran to the bridge.

Niam pressed himself harder against the wooden planks. If it were possible to grow into wood, he would have. Beneath him, the water gurgled hungrily. The clunk of feet on the wood above made Niam draw in a silent breath.

Bode growled. "Where did he go?"

"He must'a gone into town," Card's garbled voice said.

Bode snarled, "The weasel is fast, but not that fast, and he's not got the wind in him to make it like we do. He's somewhere and we're just missing it."

"Well maybe he doubled back into the woods on top of the hill."  
"Hmmm . . . maybe." Silence fell over the menacing group above. As it drew on, Niam forced his breathing to come slowly and evenly. His stomach gave a sickening lurch when Bode suddenly barked his next order. "Card, go look under the bridge."

"But . . . that's . . . it's a long way down, Bode!"

"Why do you think I'm not doing it?" he asked, his voice surly and annoyed. "Go, or I'm not certain you'll be in with us later!"

Niam heard Card walk off of the bridge and the crunch of his feet in the dry autumn grass. Slowly, he peered past the x-patterned joists, but kept his head up and his profile low. Card's form, silhouetted in the bright midday light, appeared at the foot of the bridge.

Niam held himself rigid.

"Nothing," Card reported with a shaky voice.

"Look harder, Card!" Bode growled.

"But it's steep here," Card whined. He continued to look back and forth along the bridge's under-structure, but after a few quick moments, he straightened up. "Nothing," he said, and hoisted himself onto the solid bridge from where he stood.

"Coward," Bode spat.

"I'll do it," Salb said contemptuously. Niam heard him step down and watched as his silhouette appeared where Card's had been moments earlier.

"I don't see anything either, but it's too dark to seen anything. He could be there."

"If I could get away with burning the thing," Bode said impatiently.

Suddenly, Salb spoke up in soft and menacing words. "We don't' need to do that." His voice contained an eagerness that Niam did not like. The next sound Niam heard from Salb's location was the soft, serpent-whisper of metal dragging across leather.

"Oh Good idea, Salb!" Bode said gleefully. "If he's down there, he won't be for long!"

Niam silently cursed the fact that he could not see what Bode and his gang were up to. As he pushed against the joists, the wood felt cold and grainy beneath his fingertips. He had really done it this time.

And then, as his mind worked feverishly to imagine what Salb was up to, a sword blade suddenly plunged through a narrow gap in the planks above. Its sharp, rusty edge was just a few feet from his face. Niam's eyes crossed as he focused on it, and his heart gave a sudden lurch in his chest. He held his breath and dared not make a sound. Quickly, the sword was jerked up, and Salb moved a few feet over, preparing for the next plunge. Niam looked around desperately for a way out, galvanized by terror. He knew Salb would be on top of him any time.

*

Davin waited patiently for the owner of Kilgore's Fine Jewelry and Exotica to finish with his other customer. Jewelry and pottery in distinctly foreign styles were displayed on shelves and tall tables dispersed throughout the large shop. Normally, a town or village in as remote an area as the Lake Valleys couldn't support something as lavish as a shop like this, but Lord Joachim's estate, the Sartor holdings, and dozens of other successful merchants drew a lot of extra commerce to the area. If Davin had to hazard a guess, only cities as large as Kalavere or rivaled the wealth generated by the towns and villages of this region. But still, it would have been nice if he had managed to make it to the silversmith several days ago. Instead, fate had intervened, hadn't it? And instead of running a simple errand, Davin had . . .

He didn't know how to explain what he had done.

After talking to the girl's family, he had walked back to the Pelican Inn. When his father saw the state he was in, he took the moneybag with a sigh and told Davin not to worry about it. They would just have to settle with Kilgore. He could make the necklace for his mother's birthday. Though it wouldn't be as nice, it would still be nice.

Davin then stumbled up to his room where he had one of the tavern maids draw him a bath. After cleaning himself, he went to bed and slept. And slept. And slept. And tried to get the day's events out of his mind. Problem was, it's didn't work. Jaela, he reminded himself. Her name is Jaela.

Davin's stomach churned at the thought of what Borl had done to the little girl and her brother. Yet it t also turned at the idea that he wanted a man brought to death. This was almost as hard to square himself with as anything else. Killing someone was Borl's business, not his. And even if death was meted out as an act of justice, Davin was uncomfortable with the thought of being the one to do it. But the things he had seen Borl do in his mind! Eleven-years-old. Eleven.

Davin shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs of unwanted memories from it. But it had felt good...GOOD to do what he had done, hadn't it? But it also terrified Davin. How had he done that? How had he healed little Jaela? What was the voice? For now, trying to sort through the events of three days ago was like trying to put together a puzzle with half of the connecting pieces missing.

The rope of bells hanging from the shop's front door tinkled as it opened and closed. Davin, stared into space, allowing his mind to drift. Pottery, with the delicate cursive scripts favored by a number of countries on the continent sat in rows, covered in richly colored patterns. Davin even thought he had seen the copper cooking bowls with the exotic, fluted tops favored by Feythean peoples in the lands across the southern sea.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Maerillus appeared in front of him. Davin nearly jumped.

"Hi," he said, "Sorry I'm late."

"Oh . . . err, sorry Maer. Didn't see you come in."

"Get that a lot lately," his friend said distantly, and Davin guessed that he wasn't the only one saddled with issues of his own today. Maerillus looked . . . distracted. An uncomfortable silence grew between the two of them.

"It's just . . ." Davin began.

" . . .Yeah." Maerillus finished.

"Stuff" they both said at the same time.

Davin looked around, trying to find something in the shop to comment on to break the strange silence between them. He wondered what it was that had Maerillus's mind all tied up. Whatever it was, it certainly couldn't come close to the day Davin had in Kalavere. Of that much, he was sure.

Maerillus was the first to break the silence. "Sorry I was occupied when you called on me at the manor. Why did you want to meet here? Dad imports all of this stuff for Kilgore, anyway."

"Yeah. Figured." he said. "It's Mom's necklace."

Maerillus raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were having that done in Kalavere."

"Never got around to the silversmith," Davin told him honestly. "Kind of got sick. So how have things been with you?" he asked to the steer the conversation away from uncomfortable matters.

Maerillus looked around for a moment, hesitating, and then, with a note of honesty in his voice looked at Davin; his eyes were heavy. "Strange," he said.

Now Davin was really curious. "Tell me about it," was all he could say before Kilgore opened the storefront window so he could see outside.

"What is that boy doing?" he asked. "Hey," he turned, addressing the two of them, "Isn't that your friend, the Maldies boy?"

Davin and Maerillus turned their heads at the same time.

Outside, on the other side of the bridge, they watched as Niam stood on the steeply sloped ground just before it dropped off to the water below, clinging to the side of the bridge. He ducked his head beneath and appeared to study the structure below. Then he looked back up, toward the hill beyond the road leading into town before quickly disappearing beneath.

"Oh, this can't be good—he hates water," Maerillus observed gravely.

When Davin's eyes followed to the hilltop, he saw Bode and three of his gang emerge from the woods and begin sliding down the gravelly slope.

Davin looked down and rubbed his eyes. "Why did there have to be four of them today?"

"Is anything ever easy with Niam?" Maerillus asked.

Davin shook his head and looked up at his friend. "You know, they look ready to kill him."

"Probably deserve it."

Them...or him?" Davin asked.

Maerillus made a sound that was half-laugh, half-grunt. Davin gave a rueful grin. "Shall we?" he asked.

Maerillus rolled his eyes and gave a mock bow. "After you, my lord."

As they made their way out of the shop, Davin's gaze locked on the four bullies milling about at the edge of the bridge. None of them looked up toward town. Before they made it to the bridge, Davin sensed Maerillus grow tense. Ahead of them, Card ducked down at the edge of the bridge, peering into its supporting structure. Meanwhile, the twisted expression on Bode's face told Davin the bully was holding back rage by a hair. He had never seen him this angry.

What had Niam done?

Davin sensed Maerillus grow even stiffer, and he felt a pang of sympathy for his friend—especially considering the initial reaction he had to Borl and Grav the other day in the alley. He had been terrified. Prior to that, Davin had never been in a situation where he had been forced to fight for his life, but he had been in fights before. He didn't think Maerillus had ever so much as balled his fist up at someone. And now it looked as if they were going to have to fight. Considering the present situation in front of them, it might even get bloody. Bode's gang outnumbered them twice over.

Beneath his breath, Davin whispered, "Just watch my back, man. If it looks like a fight, I'll take Bode out and it will be over. I'm pretty sure the rest of them will run."

Maerillus slowed. "It's not that," he said.

"Look, I can take Bode. I promise."

Maerillus bent closer, "No... really, it's not that. I just had to make up my mind to try something."

"Oh," Davin said slowly. As they had been walking, he had been holding back from making a decision of his own, too, hadn't he? The thing he had done in the alley . . . could he do it again? This wasn't the first time this thought occurred to him.

No.

That thought, that question, really, had been on his mind for the past three days as little what-if scenarios kept popping up in his mind. And now one of those what-ifs was staring him in he face. Someone he cared about was about to be attacked. And now both he and Maerillus were placing themselves in harm's way. Could he do what he had done in Kalavere again? Like an uncapped well, Davin still sensed the same ocean of power somewhere deep down within himself, waiting to be summoned. All he had to do was go to the well, and waters would come.

Beside him, Maerillus gave a quick nod as he made his own decision. They were close to the bridge now. In short order, Bode's pack of dogs would realize they were coming. If they hadn't been so intent on their quarry, they would already have been aware of their approach. Maerillus bent close to Davin again and whispered quietly, "I don't have time to explain, but I need to you to stay close to me. Found out that what I am about to do will work on other people as long as they are right next to me. I need you to pay attention," he whispered insistently, "To everything. I'll explain later, okay?"

Davin nodded his head.

Ahead, Salb drew a short, rusty sword from a tattered leather scabbard. Bode hung his head back and laughed gleefully. Davin was so close he heard them now. When Salb unexpectedly drove the sword into a seam separating the tarred planks on the bridge-top, Davin nearly cried out in alarm.

"Great Lord!" Davin gasped. That was too much for him. He leaned his head toward Maerillus. "He'll kill Niam if he has a chance. Won't even think it through until the body hits the water below."

Maerillus nodded. "I need to get around them. I need to get behind Salb, and I can do it. Will you stay here in front of them?"

Davin nodded his head.

"I don't know how long they won't be able to see you—may be that it wears off for you immediately."

As Maerillus said this, both Card and Salb looked up in their direction. Davin calmly waited for one of them to alert the others, but nothing happened. They seemed to look around them, almost as if their existence didn't register.

With that, Maerillus walked slowly toward the four, keeping almost to the edge of the bridge. As Davin watched in amazement, his friend walked right past them. He might as well have been a ghost or invisible spirit. And then something peculiar happened. The farther his friend got from him, the more Davin's eyes began to play tricks with his sight. Maerillus became increasingly hard to look at—not hard to see, but hard to look at—almost as if his figure folded into the air around him the way a sheet of paper at a distance nearly disappeared when tuned sideways. To Davin's eyes, the very sight of Maerillus became... oily.

Suddenly, Jalt looked up at Davin and his eyes widened. "Hey! You don't need to be here, Hapwell!"

The others turned toward him. Bode was the most surprised, and the flash of fear that crossed his face was unmistakable. He recovered quickly, though. "Get out of here, Hapwell. You don't want any part of this."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Bode. Can't a guy cross a bridge?" he asked innocently.

Bode sneered. "Not this one. Not today."

"Well, we have a problem, then."

Bode looked up at him and took a threatening step forward. "And what is that, Hapwell?" he asked. "There are four of us and only one of you, in case you've forgotten how to count."

Davin crossed his arms. "I don't think you understand, Bode. Before your friend there puts a sword through Niam, you need to realize you're being watched. Kilgore is standing there in his window watching us right now. And unless you can count, the tally for the Pit will be one murderer and three accomplices . . . It's easy math, really."

Bode's eyes grew wide. He looked up and his eyes trailed down the main street of Pirim Village as if he had just considered it for the first time.

Davin grinned inwardly.

But before Bode acknowledged Davin's point, Salb held his sword point down, aiming it over another gap seam. He looked up at Davin and gave him a malicious grin. His fingers tightened as he wound them around the pommel, and his elbows bunched as he prepared to drive it down into anything that might be hiding below.

In a flash, Maerillus appeared behind Salb. His arm snaked around him and he held a dagger pressed into his neck. The bully's eyes widened in shock. Jalt and Card let out loud exclamations and leapt back in astonishment.

"Throw it over the edge, Salb" Maerillus snarled. Davin caught a brief glimpse of Maer's eyes. He barely had enough time to register the fact that they blazed with a violent yellow light.

Davin fought hard to contain his shock. Salb just stood there in astonishment. Maerillus pushed the blade harder against the flesh above his artery. "Now Salb! Before it's you lying down there in the water!"

"We'll settle up with this later," Bode said to him in a simmering voice.

Salb looked around nervously. When none of his friends made a move to come to his aid, he tossed the blade over the side. Moments later a splash followed as it landed in the narrow river.

"You okay down there, Niam?" Davin asked loudly.

From beneath the bridge, Niam made his best attempt at a lighthearted tone, "Bout time. Thought you'd never show up!"

Bode let out an angry hiss. "It's not over Maldies."

Davin stepped up to the bully. "Oh, I think it is now."

Before he took the time to think, to even look squarely at Davin, Bode's face contorted like a prune and he swung his fist at Davin.

And for the second time in his life, Davin felt time slow to a crawl.

Bode's fist moved in a slow, smooth arc toward Davin, and as he watched, his vision sharpened. Davin could have counted the wrinkles on Bode's knuckles if he wanted to. He had all of the time in the world. Bode became stupid and impulsive when angry. Davin used this to his advantage.

Deftly, he stepped back and caught Bode's fist in his hand. It made a loud thwack as it collided with his open palm.

Davin moved like lightning. Closing his fingers over the bully's wrist, he bent Bode's fingers back and with a twist, rolled his forearm around, bringing his own hand down on the tip of the bully's elbow. Instantly, Bode bent over double. He let out a loud cry of pain as Davin drove him down onto his knees.

"Tell your friends to walk away," he said in a flat tone. "Tell them to do it now or I might send you and Salb over the edge, Bode. I'm within my rights. Half the town saw Salb try to kill Niam and you try to attack me."

Wincing in pain Bode spat, "You're going to pay, all of you are going to pay!"

Davin leaned in, applying a slight amount of pressure to Bode's elbow. The bully howled in pain. "Alright!" he bellowed. "Alright!"

"Be a good little tyrant and tell your goons to leave."

"Go!" Bode shouted between clenched teeth.

Without waiting, Card, Salb, and Jalt looked around nervously and began walking away. Davin gave them a moment to gain some distance, and then gave Bode a hard shove. As the bully stood, he looked up to glare at Davin, but as their eyes locked, all of the defiance in Bode fled. "Bloody hell!" he cried out in alarm. Davin pointed them away from the bridge. Bode looked away, and without another word started running and soon was far enough away to sound the all-clear to Niam.

Below them, Niam grunted as he gingerly made his way over the wooden struts and extricated himself from the bridge's support structure.

"What did you do this time, Niam?" Maerillus asked. "You could have gotten us hurt and nearly got yourself killed."

"You know they're probably going to just wait for you to go home, don't you?" Davin asked.

Niam sat there for a moment letting his feet dangle over the edge, collecting himself. "No, I don't think so," he said at last.

Davin and Maerillus walked over to him.

"Oh?"

"Nope. They've got bigger things to deal with," he said. "Heard them talking about it in the ruins of the old abbey. That's why they were after me."

"Oh?"

"Well that, and I kind of tricked them into falling into an old privy shaft."

Maerillus hit his forehead with the flat of his hand. He sighed impatiently. "You're going to get yourself killed one day," he said sternly. "And us right along with you."

Niam turned and lifted himself up. "I've got something to tell you," he said as he stood. When he lifted his head and met their eyes, he said, "Oh! Your eyes too! I'm not going crazy." Then, he laughed. "Make that two things I've got to tell you!"
Chapter Seven

Bigger Problems

Davin watched Bode and his followers retreat like punished dogs with their tails between their legs. He looked over at Niam, and could tell that he had been shaken.

"Maybe we should go somewhere else," he said when he felt reasonably certain Bode wasn't coming back. "I still think they might wait for you to come home, Niam."

Niam shrugged his shoulders. "No," he said. "Something's up. They're heading up past the barrens today or tomorrow . . . and it's about more than torching a bunch of dogs. It's got something to do with the Vandin."

"What on earth would they want to do with the Vandin?" Maerillus asked, incredulous. "Everyone stays away from them."

Before Niam could answer, Davin broke in. "Look guys, I really think it would be best if we got going."

Maerillus nodded. "I agree."

Niam cracked a wolfish smile. "I don't know," he said. "I'd kind of like to stick around and wait until they come back. I wanted to see you guys pitch them over the side of the bridge."

Maerillus frowned sternly and Niam's smile faltered. He grew embarrassed and looked down. "Okay, okay," he said and grew uncomfortably silent.

As they started walking toward town, Niam trailed behind them. He wore a brooding and pensive expression. Davin knew Maerillus was still tense too, so it didn't surprise him when Maerillus looked back at Niam and bluntly told him, "You really came close to getting killed today. Salb's crazier than Bode. There's all kinds of wrong going on inside his brain. Sometimes your pranks go too far. If he had gotten his way, your parents would lose their only—"

"Shut up!" Niam suddenly shouted. "Shut up! Don't go there, Maer! Don't you dare!" he said stiffly and lengthened his stride.

As he passed them, Davin grabbed his arm, but Niam jerked it away. "Niam wait." Niam continued to walk ahead, ignoring Davin's pleas. This was not the first time either of them had lectured Niam on his impulse for trouble. He remained silent and his head was bowed as they made their way through the other side of town and struck off down the road that took them toward their homes. Eventually, Niam stopped and turned. His eyes were swollen and rimmed with red. "You don't understand. None of you understand." There was a long history of hurt in his voice. "I hate him."

"I didn't mean to make you angry," Maerillus responded. "But I've never seen Bode willing to go that far."

"He's always taken it this far, Maer," Niam said, wiping the moisture from his eyes with his hand.

"He's tormented a lot of people," Maerillus said. "I'm sorry you always got the worst of it."

"I've spent most of my life afraid—and you cannot know what that's like, Maer. Neither of you can. I'm not as strong as Davin. I wasn't raised to run an estate like you." Niam looked away. He bent down, picked up a rock, and threw it in anger at a stump several feet away. The rock went wide and bounced across the ground until it came to rest in a clump of bristle sage. "Growing up, everyone teased me. One day I got sick of being the butt end of everyone's jokes. If my life was going to be a joke, I figured I would make it my joke."

"Look, the past year has been hard on you."

Niam ignored that. "You didn't hear the sick jokes he made about my brother and sister after they died! When I greased his stirrups I hoped he would fall and get hurt. When I set his pants on fire last year at Harvest Moon, I hoped he would get blistered!"

With that, Niam turned away from them. Davin put his hand on his friend's shoulder and gave him an encouraging squeeze. They stood there in silence for a while. Carts and wagons loaded with everything from crates of squabbling chickens to bales of cotton and pipe tobacco rolled by on creaking wheels.

Davin looked at Maerillus. "You want to go to the estate so we can talk more?"

Maerillus shook his head. "No . . . I'm not certain, but something is up."

"Oh?"

"Jort's cabin burned down."  
"Dad told me," Davin said. "He was a strange guy."

Maerillus's voice nearly dropped to a whisper. "I don't' think it was an accident."

Davin and Niam looked at one another, shocked.

"You guys are right," Niam spoke mumbled. "We can go to my place, but there's not much privacy there. What about your barn?" he asked Davin.

A short while later, as they walked into the barn, they heard horses whicker eagerly for their food. Davin climbed up into the loft where cobwebs crowned the rafters like smoky strands of gossamer. After he dropped several armfuls of hay into all of the stalls, he walked to the edge of the loft and looked down at his friends. Maerillus and Niam followed and plopped down in the loose hay. When Maerillus spoke, his words were heavy with concern.

"We don't know how the fire started, but Dad was terribly upset."

"The old guy was a bit touched," Davin said. "The way he walked around talking to voices . . . yelling about demons and such, maybe he was so stuck in his own little world that he forgot to put out a lamp or something."

"Dad thought so at first. Strange thing is, he went to tell Joachim about the fire, and both of them returned. They were really upset."

"I wonder why," Davin said quietly.

"Don't know, but Joachim called on his physician and had the body carted away. I can't be certain, but I think he had the body examined. Then they spent two days poking around the cabin's ashes."

"That is strange," both Davin and Niam agreed.

"What's even stranger a carriage pulled into Joachim's manor today. It bore the royal crest. I was trying to find out as much as I could, and then I found out you had come by looking for me."

"Sorry I interrupted you."

Maerillus just shrugged. "I know one thing—whoever was in the carriage had to be someone important." Then he cleared his throat and looked around uncomfortably. "About the other thing . . . I thought I was going crazy," he said.

"Me too," Davin said. "But it really doesn't feel like that does it?" he asked.

"No," both Maerillus and Niam agreed.

"What does it feel like to go crazy?" Niam asked a moment later with a mirthless laugh. "I once knew a guy who barked at the moon, and he thought he was perfectly okay. I'm telling you, I followed a dead dog to an almost dead boy, and that sounds pretty crazy to me. And today, I actually argued with a voice."

Maerillus nodded his head and tapped his temple. "Niam's right. Crazy people are the last to think they're off up here. How many of us are hearing the voice?" he asked reluctantly. Then he forced himself to admit, "I heard one too. It saved my life."

Davin nodded his head. "That happened to me too—after it sent me into a situation that almost got me killed."

Another silence fell between them. When it became obvious that no one wanted to begin, Niam spoke up. Maerillus and Davin sat spellbound as Niam related the story about how he came across the dog on the overlook above Siler's Lake, its antics, and how it led him to where Tim Hodshaer had fallen.

Maerillus followed with his own story. When he finished, Niam said stonily, "I'm sure Ravel had something to do with the fire."

"Now wait a minute," Davin said, "I know none of us like him, but can we be sure he saw Jort and decided to kill him because he was afraid the old man had heard him talking to Jon? For that matter, Maer said he sat there for a while. He didn't see Jort there."

"It doesn't matter," Maerillus said, "because Dad says they caught Ravel today. When I told him what I overheard, Joachim had a number of his men set an ambush. And when he and his men tried to rob the carts . . ." He brought his fist down on his open hand for dramatic effect, "We got them. Ravel's on his way to the Pit and Bode's in for a big surprise when he hears about his dad today."

Niam's eyes brightened. "That was amazing the way you handled Bode," he told Davin. But suddenly, his voice became more tempered as he thought over his own story and the one he had just heard from Maer. "Davin, what happened to you? How did the thing affect you?"

"A lot like you and Maer," he said without hesitation.

"But," Niam began, troubled, "Now that I really sit and think about it, you seemed more . . . I don't know. There was something different about you."

"It was like you took control," Maerillus added.

Davin looked down, slightly abashed. "Something just comes over me when this happens. It was the same thing in Kalavere." Davin told them about his experience.

When he was done, Niam cleared his throat. They both turned and looked at him. "I think my experience was the only one that wasn't terrifying."

Davin cocked his head and thought. "One thing is sure. I think we were led by the voice."

"What is it?" Niam asked. "In the scriptures, whenever the Creator speaks to people, he identifies himself."

Davin shook his head and thought for a minute. "Something out of the ordinary, but I'm just not sure any of us are important enough to be chosen by the Lord of all creation."

Maerillus added to Davin's thought, "why?"

"Good questions," Davin said. "One I don't think any one of us has an answer for. Niam says he argued with it today, but it sounds like he didn't get any answers."

Niam shook his head, "No. Just a growling dog."

"All I know is that as I dealt with Borl and Grav, I had the distinct feeling that I was becoming—" he shrugged his shoulders at a loss for words, "I don't know what."

"When I was climbing back up the side of the overlook, I knew that the Voice wasn't done with me," Niam nearly whispered. "I felt an intent behind it. And it's not just a voice, but a Voice, with a capital V."

"I know," Davin said.

"Me too," Maerillus said. "It really isn't done with us is it?"

"No," Davin sighed, "I don't think so."

"On that note, guys, I think I should tell you that I heard the Voice again," Niam said softly, "Today."

Both boys looked at him, waiting.

"The Voice came to me just before I heard Bode talking about pilfering through the remains of the Vandin winter camp. That's what directed me to them in the first place."

"Great Lord, we'll never be done with Bode, will we?" Maerillus sighed.

"I think it's bigger than Bode," Niam said.
Chapter Eight

How The Bug Got Bugged

"Really, I hadn't wanted to start any trouble. I just wanted to think. I know you guys think I go out looking to make trouble, but..."

. . . But that's when he heard it. The same whispery yet clear Voice that had spoken to him the morning he followed the dog's ghost came to him again. Its command was unmistakable. "LISTEN."

The Voice was so clear Niam automatically stopped and looked around for a moment to see who had addressed him. A quick look told him no one there. But when it spoke again, it had the same unmistakable quality as it had the first time he heard it, seeming to come from an outside source, yet he knew it only occurred in the space between his ears.

LISTEN.

In front of him, the passage of innumerable carts and wagons had packed the dirt road nearly as hard as the cobblestone streets of Kalavere, and Niam gazed along the route toward Pirim Village. To his side lay the ruins of the old abbey that had burned down twenty years ago. Now nearly covered over by vines, between the broken lines of collapsed walls, young and slender hardwoods rose up to spread their branches, and the stony home of men gave way to the leafy home of birds and squirrels.

Niam experienced a strong urge to walk down toward the old ruins; instead, he planted his feet where they were and held his head back to speak. "No," he called out. "I'm not going to listen to anything you have to say to me . . . and DON'T I GET ANOTHER DOG THIS TIME?"

At least if I'm going crazy, Niam thought to himself, no one will hear me. With that, he gave a dry chuckle. IF—and this was a big IF—there were something real behind the Voice, Niam wanted more than directions from a disembodied voice to go and do who knew what. And if he was going crazy? If the stresses of the last year had finally taken their toll on him? Well, he felt like it was important to preserve some shred of his dignity. No matter what Davin and Maerillus thought of him, Niam did have his principles.

But there was still the matter of young Tim. The Voice and the dog had led him to the injured boy, hadn't they? Every time Niam looked at it, he was always led back to this one, indisputable fact. Yet what if that had been just one of life's strange coincidences, like twin brothers dying on the same day scores of leagues apart? Or thinking of someone at the exact moment they knocked on the door? Or perhaps he had actually heard Tim's voice, a pained groan, perhaps, or a call for help, and his mind cooked up a fantasy that made him a rescuing hero; after all, wouldn't such a thing help him cope with the sense of helplessness he felt day in and day out? Even in his dreams, all of his efforts seemed fruitless. No matter how hard he tried, he never reached his sister.

Well, Niam thought, not this time, not today. Whatever it was that spoke to him wasn't going to have an easy time. He had put up with Bode and his type long enough, and if fate was going to become another Bode, he was done being pushed around.

"Do you hear me?" he cried out more loudly this time. "You're going to have to tell me why!"

As if on cue, the Voice spoke again, just as subtly as the first time. LISTEN.

"No!" Niam shouted, but his voice quivered. He felt an overwhelming urge to close his eyes and concentrate on hearing whatever it was the Voice urged him to listen out for. He knew he would hear something. Besides, if he did hear something, wouldn't that prove he wasn't crazy?

Instead, Niam forced himself to move forward, and he began humming a bawdy tune he often heard in the local taverns. At first, moving was like wading through a chest deep stream, but with each step, going forward became easier. Looking around, Niam shouted, "And where's my ghost dog!?"

From somewhere in the distance, a dog began barking and lapsed into a series of low growls.

"Not the same thing and you know it!" Niam retorted.

Whatever held Niam suddenly eased off completely. Though he moved freely and easily, he only got a few paces further down the road when he caught a familiar, plaintive sound—the gurgle of a child crying. Niam stopped walking and his humming trailed off. Now he had to pay attention. He couldn't pass a crying kid by.

"Oh?! A child? Really?" he bellowed in frustration at the source of the Voice. "That's low!"

He cocked his head to be sure he had heard correctly. Sure enough, off to his left, where an empty field began to slope down toward a dark line of dense trees, he saw a familiar figure with her head buried in her hands. Beyond her were the ruins of the old Pirim Abbey. Its skeletal walls peeped up like stone fingers through the greenery that had grown around them.

What has Bug gotten herself into now? Niam wondered to himself. Unhappily, he set off toward her sobbing form. As he stepped off of the hard dirt road, Niam mentally swatted away the annoying feeling that he was doing the right thing. He felt like this was just the thing the Voice wanted him to do, and to him, it was too much like a command.

As he drew closer, Bug seemed to notice him for the first time. When she looked up and their eyes met, she let out a small whimper of relief and ran toward him. Niam stopped and braced himself. Just seconds before she reached him, she leapt with all of her might into the air and flew into his arms in her best attempt to imitate a cave bear's embrace. Ever since she had been seven, this had been their ritual. She called it the "running-jumping." And usually, when he caught her in his arms after a running-jumping, she giggled herself silly.

Today, her face was scrunched and reddened in frustration. Niam let out a loud "Umph" as she collided with him. Instead of a hug, she pushed off of his stomach and began punching him in the gut.

Her small fists furiously pummeled him as she let out a feline growl of anger. Niam looked down at her quizzically and let her continue venting her anger for several more seconds. Shortly, his ribs became tender and he grabbed her hands and held her arms apart.

"Easy Bug, easy," he said softly, "you're going to hurt me."

A tangle of tear-matted hair hung in thick disarray across the front of her face. She struggled so ferociously that it reminded Niam of a wild kitten he had found hiding in one of Sartor's barns a year ago. The thing spat for days before finally taming enough to be handled safely. Niam quickly drew her into his embrace and pressed her against him until she lost all of her leverage and stopped struggling. At last, she went limp and sagged into him, and the animal fury of the eleven-year-old girl left her. Throwing her arms around him, she sobbed loudly.

Niam held her, and for a while he did not think she was going to let go.

At last, Niam brushed her hair away. "Madeline," he said tenderly, "What's got you so fired up?"

She pressed her small head into his stomach, and when she spoke, her voice was muffled and Niam couldn't understand a word. He bent his head down as she continued to talk away.

"Can't understand a word you're saying, sweetie."

She shook her head and remained where she was.

"Madeline, you've got to tell me what's wrong."

She held her head back a small space. "I hate it when you call me that."

"What? Your real name?"

"I'm Bug now, remember?"

Niam pushed her back a bit and bent down to look into her bloodshot eyes. She had been crying so hard that her lids were puffy and the entire upper half of her face had become raccooned in a pink and angry hue. Niam offered her his best smile and nudged her shoulder with his open hand. "Sure, I'll call you whatever you want."

"You're the one that gave me that name," she reminded him sullenly.

"Yep—because you're the bravest girl I know." And that was the truth. The first day he met her, he had been attracted to a group of younger children milling around one of the fruit trees in Lord Joachim's largest orchard adjacent to the Sartor estate. He arrived just in time to see Madeline scoop up a ball of honeybees that had swarmed and landed in a fat ball on the lower branch of a pear tree. All of the other children ran as she turned toward them holding the teeming mass in her open palms. When she saw that only Niam remained, she looked up at him with a mischievous grin, "What's their problem?" Then she held up her hands. "They just tickle."

Niam's whole body shook as he laughed. He had never seen someone deadpan a funny line like that with thousands of bees capable of doing lots of very bad things to many, many people if they decided to. "How are you able to do that and not get stung?" he asked. "I'd pay good money to be able to do that. Bet I'd get killed if I tried what you're doing," he said, inclining his head down to where her hands were concealed beneath a fuzzy yellow ball of potential death. He kept a respectful distance as he spoke—especially if he needed to run for help. If they began stinging her, he honestly didn't have a clue whether or not he had the courage to wade through a cloud of angry bees to save her.

Madeline just shrugged her shoulders as if it were a regular part of life: wake up in the morning, wash, dress, eat breakfast, pick up balls of bees. Who knew, maybe when she was done with that she wrestled deadly cave bears from their dens and played with their cubs. When she moved toward him, Niam stepped back quickly.

"It's okay," she said. "Would you like to see them?"

"I think maybe I'd rather set my pants on fire and swim in a pool of lamp oil," he told her.

When she kept coming, he said, "No, seriously. Like lamp oil—not so much bees."

She giggled at that, and for once Niam thought there was actually someone in the world that might make him look normal. "They won't sting you," she said—as if these words were supposed to somehow make him feel reassured.

"My grandfather once said the old bull he used to keep wouldn't charge him, either. That was before he lost his left leg . . . what did he know, right?"

She stopped and looked at him as if he were an unreasonable child, and she the older and more mature teenager. "Now you're just being silly," she told him flatly.

"Well I'm not the one holding winged minions of flying death, am I?"

"If you would listen to me," she began in the most adult imitation he had ever heard a girl her age use, "you'd know that bees are fine when they swarm."

"Oh," he said. For a moment, the tone in her voice nearly made him forget she was at least five years younger than he was. "Wait a minute," he said as this sunk in. "How do you know?"

"I know," she went on in a matronly tone, "because my father is Lord Joachim's new beekeeper."

"Was the other one stung to death?"

"I think it was his heart," she said matter-of-factly.

And that was how Niam met Madeline, and how Madeline had been christened that day as Bug. That had been several years before Niam's brother and sister died. And during their frequent idles, Niam taught her everything he knew about pulling pranks and making rude jokes. She had proven herself an admirable understudy. And at times more impressively bold and fiery than any other girl he had met. It suited her well.

Now, however, she was in no mood for humor. "Sweetie," he tried calming her, "What happened?"

Bug let out another growl and began pummeling his stomach with her small fists again. "HIM!" she shouted. "It was that beast, and I hate him! He ruins everything!"

Niam took her arms in his hands once again. His ribs were beginning to smart. When she got older, Niam almost pitied the boy who got on her wrong side.

"Corey and I were in our secret cave playing like we were Shakta bandits," she sniffled. Niam wasn't surprised. Bug had always been fascinated by stories of the secretive people that made the terrible deserts beyond the human kingdoms on the continent their home. Travelers who survived the deadly wastes reported that when the Shakta raided caravans, they killed only when their victims fought back. Leaving the caravans with only enough to make it out of the desert wilds, survivors emerged, nearly dead, with this one warning: stay out of our lands.

How this made them bandits Niam could not fathom. To his mind it was an extreme method of making sure outsiders remained outside. After all, the Shakta could have taken everything and left the travellers alone to perish beneath the parching rays of the unblinking sun. The lands beyond the eastern fringes of the desert offered up strange and exotic treasures for the traders brave enough to evade bands of Shakta tribes. They also contained dangers, for if one went too far, and penetrated beyond the mysterious lands of the east, the ancient and ruined land of the Kobor lay like a malevolent giant slumbering until the day it woke again to make the earth shake beneath its fearful tread.

In the last age, over a thousand years ago, it had taken the might of the Dread Lords to defeat Kobor, and in the end, they had become a scourge in their own right.

And as a result, the central part of the continent was now a haunted place, full of the evil remnants of the last battles that pitted one Dread Lord against another.

Niam had once heard Lord Joachim discuss the Shakta with his parents. From what he had been able to put together during his continental travels, the Shakta considered anyone not of the desert waste to be what they called goldash reye, or reye food.

Whatever a reye was, Niam was sure he did not want to know. He had heard tales of the beasts of the desert. The Shakta, for instance, rode large six-legged creatures resembling a cross between a large lizard and a spider called garavel. With lizard-like heads and short tails, their bodies sat low to the ground, and observers said the creatures' wide sprawling legs helped them tolerate the heat of the desert sands and maneuver through rocks better than camels or horses.

But those animals were natural, if strange.

There were horrors in the misty forests of the central continent: there were also things on the edge of the desert—where even the Shakta refused to go—that gave the most toughened desert wild men nightmares. Or so Lord Joachim said he heard.

Niam put more faith in the things Lord Joachim had heard than the things other men knew.

"Goldash reye," Niam said under his breath, too low for Bug to hear. That's what people were to Bode and his father. People like himself, his friends, Bug.

"We worked for weeks on our Shakta lair. We filled it with hay for our garavel nests, straw to start our cook fires, and . . ." she sniffed, "we even found crates to sit on and rolled in a large rope spool for our table."

"Oh my," Niam said consolingly. "That does sound like a lot of work."

"Stop treating me like I'm eleven," Bug pouted.

Niam fought to suppress a chuckle. That was spoken just like a true fiery tempered eleven-year-old. "Well it does sound like a lot of work."

Bug looked up at him suspiciously, with the look she always gave him when she thought he was pulling the I'm-older-than-you-card and treating her like a child. "It WAS a lot of work," she complained bitterly.

"What did he do to you, Bug?" As he asked it, he wasn't surprised to feel his heart speed up in his chest. He suddenly found that keeping his voice even and smooth for Bug's sake was extremely difficult. When he spoke¸ there was a savage snarl that wanted to free its way out of his throat, but if it made it into the air, poor Bug might not realize she was not its intended target.

Bug wiped her eyes. "We worked so hard on our hideaway and had just started a fire . . . that's when Bode and his bullies came into our cave and tore everything up."

"Go on," Niam said, encouragingly.

"We even blocked off a passage leading back to a stinky place under there so no one would fall into it."

"Stinky place?" Niam asked, uncomprehending.

"Yeah, there's a small drop off, and if you don't have a lantern, you'll fall down and there's bad mud in it."

Niam eyes suddenly arched. "Oh! I know just what you're talking about! And you're right, it does stink something awful."

It had been a long time since Niam had explored the ruins. His eyes constantly played tricks on him around there in a way he didn't like. The shapes in the rubble always appeared to merge into things they weren't. The last time he visited the place, there constantly seemed to be a man in a monk's hood watching him from the corner of his eye. But every time he looked, the monk turned out to be nothing more than a dark thicket of vines running up a jagged stand of ruined wall or the misshapen remains of a column.

Still, the place made Niam nervous.

But the smell? Niam knew what that was, and there was nothing imaginary to it. The fires had collapsed the walls enclosing the privy well. Now all that remained was a shallow, soggy pit, and an area that remained permanently damp. And it always held a lingering funk.

As Niam thought of this, he brushed Bug's hair away, checking for signs of violence. He had to will his fingers to be still as he looked her over. "Did he hurt you?"

Bug closed her eyes and pinched her face in an effort to keep herself from crying. "I screamed at him to go away, but Corey . . . he . . ." Her voice began to catch and she stopped talking for a moment.

Niam knew why. Corey was Bug's cousin and older by two years. He was three years younger than Niam, and had a personality that was completely opposite of Bug's. Where she was tempestuous, courageous, and headstrong, Corey had a sweet, gentle, and shy nature—and were it not for Bug, Niam doubted he would ever step foot away from Lord Joachim's estate, where his parents, like Bug's, were servants. Corey was not like other children his age. Loud sounds and quick movements terrified the boy.

The boy was, in short, easy prey for Bode.

Goldash reye.

No.

Goldash Bode.

"I understand," Niam told her.

"He broke Corey's nose!" Bug yelled furiously. Somewhere on the other side of the sprawling expanse of vine-choked rubble lay the opening into the cellar's twisted guts.

Bug picked up a rock and grunted as she hurled it toward the corpse of the old abbey.

Niam's fists tensed.

Bode!

Always Bode.

He began to pace, slowly at first, but his thoughts began to gather together like a dark and furious storm cloud. Bug was eleven.

Eleven!

What had she ever done to him? Niam had always worked hard to steer her clear of that sack of worthless dung. There had never been any way he would have brought her any farther into Bode's range of malevolent attention than she had to be. Niam discovered long ago that Bode was like a destructive force of nature, and no one could avoid him all the time. And really, a little eleven-year-old girl wasn't going to draw his attention beyond his usual casual moments of cruelty. Especially since Niam had stridently forbidden Bug from playing any pranks on him.

When Bode was with the rest of his gang, that's when the danger for younger children grew. Especially when Card was around. Where Bode was an ill wind, his followers were like the detritus such winds stirred up.

And now they were down in some dark hole beneath the Abbey's ruins doing . . .

Niam's train of thought stopped there.

And Niam's pacing stopped.

Like the velvety glide of a newborn colt's coat beneath his fingertips, the Voice came again.

GOOOOO. LIIISSSTEN.

A flash of annoyance passed through him. He didn't need the damnable Voice interfering right now. And perhaps it rasped against his pride because the sense of curiosity that came with it this time was in complete agreement with Niam's own desire to find out they were they doing. Bug said she had heard Bode say he wanted a place to talk where there were no meddling ears. If Bode was up to something that required real secrecy, somebody needed to go down there and find out what that something was. Nothing good ever happened when a Grimmel was around.

Only, Bode's followers were down there too.

Niam turned. Bug sat on the ground concealed behind a circle of azaleas. He walked over to her and ran his fingers through her hair. Its fine silken strands had become stiff with dried tears. "Look sweetie, I've got to get down there so I can hear what they're up to—"

"I want to come!" she interjected before he could finish.

"Absolutely NOT," Niam said, perhaps a bit more roughly than he intended to, because Bug flinched as if he had raised his hand to her.

"Oh, I'm sorry Bug," Niam said, "but I might get hurt, and I couldn't live with myself if I got you hurt too." As he spoke, Bug's face began to tense and quiver.

"That's my hiding spot. MINE! And it's not fair that you won't let me go with you. I take you to my dad's hives and that could be dangerous if you swelled and lost your breathing."

Niam was adamant. He gently took her by her shoulder and began to lead her away from the Abbey and back toward the road.

"The hives are not the same and you know it, Bug."

"They are too," she said, stamping her foot like an annoyed filly. "You just have to know how to handle your bees is all."

Niam stopped at the road's edge and bent down until his nose brushed up against hers. "And just how would you handle these bees?" he asked gently.

Bug looked down, thinking. When she could think of nothing, her bottom lip began to quiver.

"The problem is, I don't think they're bees at all. You've got all of the salt and fury of a barn cat, but they're venomous. And there are too many of them for it to be safe for you." And then Niam felt guilty. He felt like he was on the verge of taking something vital away from her, so as an afterthought he quickly added, "But you need to understand that it's only for today, Bug. When you are a little older, they'll be no match for a girl like you."

Where new tears welled up beneath her bottom lids, Niam wiped them away. Then he held one of his fingers up and placed it against his lips. Its taste was bitter and salty with her sorrow, but Niam smiled and said, "Always sweet as syrup!" And then he picked her up and she let out a squeal of surprise as he turned her upside down and shook her. "And I can always pour a little of you over my toast in the morning!"

"Niam," she said drying her eyes once more as he held her right side up, "there are candles burning so you can see where you're going. If you leave before they do, will you put them out for me?"

Niam laughed. "Now THAT'S the Bug I know and love."
Chapter Nine

Below The Ruins

With Bug now safely if unhappily on her way home, Niam needed a moment to collect himself. The Voice had wanted him to go and listen. He had no problem going and listening, but he took the time to make it clear to himself that he was going because HE wanted to go. And IF there was something directing him to do its bidding, Niam was willing to bet lots of someone else's money that it already knew what was happening beneath the abbey. And Niam would have preferred that the Voice have just told him the deal fair and square. It could have skipped the ghost dog and all of this mess. Instead, something seemed to be playing with him. A great cosmic joke.

And he was the butt of that joke.

"I'm doing this for me," he said. "And for Bug." As he moved around the back of the ruins where he wouldn't be spotted if Bode or one of his lackeys suddenly emerged from the other side, he added, "And if I had known about Tim, I would have gone down there anyway to help him. I didn't need whoever you are sending me a dog—and if you really cared, you have sent a horse so I could have helped him quicker."

As carefully as he could, Niam skirted the edge of the ruins. He had heard the abbey had been beautiful to look upon. The fire that had destroyed it removed something precious from the world, for the Pirim Bells had been known throughout the island kingdoms and on the continent as well.

The night of the fire, the old abbot had gone up from his cell into the chapel at midnight to chant the high moon prayers, and it was there that the fire had started. By the altar. As the monks had tried to brave the flames licking up the chapel walls, they caught a brief glimpse of the old abbot's body, wreathed in hungry flames, kneeling where he had died in prayer. Apparently he had toppled the lamp from the alter as his own life spilled from him. Had the conflagration worked its way across the ground floor rather than traveling by rooftop, most of the monks would have died, trapped and baked alive in their narrow little cells.

Only the portion beneath the outer cloister where the sacristy once stood still remained. Its entrance, Niam knew, lay hidden behind a thick row of hedges that had grown wild so that their shaggy green border touched the jagged ruins in a rectangular blanket of dry and yellow foliage. Thick tangles of vines choked the rubble beneath; now, only the blunt and skeletal walls stood like emaciated animals. Their leaf fringed forms rose in effigy to the grand towers that stood where the famous Merry Bells of Pirim once tolled from dusk to dawn, sounding seven times each day, once for each hour of the world's making. No new bells had been cast for the new monastery built in the heart of Pirim Village. The old ones, Niam's parents told him long ago, had been relics from the age before this one when men still had the ability to imbue metals with strange and marvelous qualities. When the old bells struck their sonorous notes, it was said the tolling could be heard nearly to Kalavere, and that as the echoing peals reverberated throughout the valleys, all sadness was dispelled. Such was their power, and their passing from the world was counted a great tragedy.

Silently, Niam crept between the wild thickets now surrounding the abbey's remains. He saw the entrance clearly now. Ancient steps led down into what little remained of the cellar system. As Niam approached he listened carefully. Nothing. Apparently his quarry was tucked deep within, and now was the time to move, so he made his way through the opening. Just beyond the entrance lay a lantern. Bug or Corey must have dropped it as they fled the darkness. Niam bent and rapidly retrieved it. Just to his left a passage turned and continued before it abruptly stopped where the floor above had fallen through. When his eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, he moved along the path leading to the large cavern deep within the heart of the ruined cellar. Just ahead, he made out a dim glow. Silence, sepulchral and deep surrounded him.

As he drew nearer, Niam recognized animated light dancing against the stone walls from one of Bug's candles. He walked silently to it and lit his. If someone saw him, he'd just have to do what he had learned long ago: Shout something insulting and run like mad. Usually he managed to get away.

Usually.

As he tip-toed forward, the passage split to the right where the entire side of the great building had come crashing down. Niam held his lantern out and peered into the gloom. Just at the edge of the light, where the visible touched darkness, he saw the barrier Bug told him about, which turned out to be an old saw-horse. As Niam lingered there for a few seconds, a thick and unpleasantly cloying stench began to tickle his nose.

Bug had done well to cordon off the passage. Anyone unfamiliar with the tunnels could easily mistake the safe passage for the one leading into the exposed privy well, Even though it had mostly filled itself in over time, the slight drop could tumble an unwary visitor into the sludge that remained. The ground drained poorly where the old abbey had been built, and once the structure had burned, the pipes and trenches carrying water from the building no longer needed maintenance. This was the result.

And that's when Niam realized a little payback was in order. He hefted the old saw-horse away and backed it out from where it stood and placed it in front of the passage leading out of the ruins, taking care not to make a sound. Noises beneath the ground here played strangely off the walls. Everything close sounded loud to his ears, but still, he could not hear Bode and his gang although they were less than a two hundred feet farther in by his estimation.

When he was done, Niam left just enough room between the bench and the wall that he could quickly slip through if he had to make a fast escape. With any luck, the four of them would fall in before they realized what had happened! And if it wasn't Bode, Niam hoped it would be Card. Niam had seen the way he looked at the younger boys and girls. A wave of disgusted washed over him with the memories.

Shaking the thought out of his mind, Niam held close to the wall as he moved farther into the darkness. At last, he began to hear the unmistakable voices of Bode and his friends.

Niam lightened his footsteps as he continued down the remnants of the long corridor that took him into the heart of the abbey's ruined cellar. Candles left by Bug and Corey along the wall's edge flickered eagerly in the still air. Niam reached down and turned the lantern's down as far as it would go without extinguishing the light. A meager flame clung to the wick, and its soft illumination shone through the opaque lantern's hood as if it were a glowing lump of alabaster. If he had been anywhere else, Niam would have taken time to admire the effect. The lantern cast a soft and soothing light, and it was too bad he was going to have to give it back to Bug. If he remembered, he was going to have to ask her where it came from.

From ahead, the rough voices he knew all too well grew. Their voices raised goose bumps of fear across the skin of his arms. The passage seemed to press against the darkness around him like a vice.

Rude laughter carried from the large room at the end of the corridor. A lump of fear formed in his stomach. Niam thought briefly about turning and making his way out of the cellar and running as far away as possible. He could outwit each one of them at a time, but could he outwit them all at once?

No. He would not run. He had to find out what had been so important that it had drawn them here for secrecy. And he had to run them out of Bug's Shakta lair.

When the corridor emerged into the cavern several paces ahead, Niam pressed his back against the wall. Laughter erupted just ahead as someone made a crude joke. Niam slowed his breathing to be able to hear. He already knew what he was going to see. Although years had passed since he had been down there, he remembered the place well. If the structure beneath the ground was only half as stunning as the building that used to stand above, the thing must have been as spectacular as everyone said it.

The room itself contained zagging patterns of columns that rose from the stone floor and melded into the ceiling above, creating a dizzying ribwork of arching vaults. The columns themselves were as thick as two grown men, and bore friezes depicting the Creator's archangels giving life to the things of the lands, oceans, and air. Beautiful frescoes covered all four walls with large renderings of the saints and prophets carrying their work to the corners of the world. That was before the Time of Judgment, when the far lands of the east held nations dedicated to the light and glory of the Creator. That was long before the Dread Lords visited their destruction on the world after the evil land of Kobor rose like a baleful star in the east.

Niam wasn't disappointed. The room remained just as he remembered it. At the moment, Bode's little circle of followers sat in a ring around a small fire, and he could tell none of them were looking his way. With a silent prayer, he crouched and carefully stepped between small shards of masonry, being sure not to accidentally kick one and send it clacking noisily across the floor. He made his way to another column where the ceiling above had divested itself of a layer of masonry onto the floor below. Niam stooped behind a low mound of rubble, where he heard them easily.

"How can you be sure nobody's up there?" asked Card's. Niam couldn't help the mask of disgust he felt creep across his face.

"Because I know," Bode snapped.

Salb spoke up, unperturbed by Bode's raw mood. "If they did just get up and leave, none of us wants to get caught if they decide to come back while we're walking off with their things."

When he answered, Bode dropped the annoyed tone. Niam supposed Salb's presence made everyone naturally leery. Maybe even the likes of Bode.

Or maybe Bode genuinely liked Salb.

But really, was Bode even capable of something as complex as the emotion of LIKE? Sure, he hated plenty of things, but actually liking someone took an amount of humanity Niam wasn't sure actually existed within any of them.

"My Dad's been up there," Bode said, with bitterness and disappointment ringing in his voice "He's helping someone look for something big, something really important—and it's something he's been promised a lot of gold to help locate."

Undaunted by Bode's annoyance just moments before, the greed in Card's voice was clear. "What are they looking for?"

"If I knew, don't' you think I'd tell you?" Bode asked petulantly.

Niam peered over the low spill of rocks and masonry. He wanted to see them. Bode was rarely this moody. Nothing else appeared unusual. Bode's features were blunt as always. His sloping forehead met an already thinning hairline, and his face sported a nose that was too large, sitting like a squashed melon above unattractively thick lips. Niam knew that Ravel was to blame for the nose, having once broken it in a drunken tirade before setting to work on Mrs. Grimmel.

The four of them leaned against crates Bug and Corey had dragged down there. To the left lay a large pile of hay mounded four feet high. That was going to be their reye nest—and Niam was impressed by the amount of work they put into their hideaway.

Beside that sat another large pile of straw. And beside that was a carefully laid pile of firewood. On the opposite end of the chamber, a fire crackled merrily in a pit, which was covered by a tight iron grate to keep embers and ash from escaping. The ambiance of warm firelight throwing off undulating shadows was oddly comforting in a primal and elemental way. If anything sparked a blaze in all of the hay and straw, the large chamber would quickly become an oven.

Niam dimmed his lamp and scooted farther down the trailing edge of the rockfall. He wanted to hear everything before leaving. A cool breeze brought fresh air to his nose from an opening somewhere in the chamber.

"I wouldn't tell any of you about this if I thought I could walk away with gold and keep it to myself," Jalt said with a snicker.

"You better tell me," Bode rumbled.

"You know you'd keep it a secret from us," Salb said. "If you thought you could keep it all for yourself."

Bode let out a mirthless laugh. "Perhaps I would. Dad won't tell me what he's looking for," he said, kicking a small wooden box. "I can't believe the bastard won't let me go with him."

"So," Salb began, "you want to go up there anyway." It was a statement rather than a question. They were hungry for whatever Bode was going to promise them, just like a flock of scavenger birds waiting on the leftovers of a kill. All Niam had to do was remain there concealed long enough to find out what that kill was. At least now he understood what had upset Bode so much. Something was afoot, and his dad was keeping him out of it. Niam filed that away for future use.

"Of course I want to go up there whether he will let me or not," Bode continued sourly," Plus, the more of us that go, the quicker we find where they keep their valuables."

Jalt spoke up skeptically. "They took it with them. Nobody will leave something like that behind. Not even the filthy Vandin."

"Dad said his employer did something to encourage them to leave. He must have scared them big, because they left their cook pots sitting over the fires."

What if he already found it?" Salb asked.

"If he found anything valuable, he'd be in Kalavere whoring and gambling it away, and me and Mom would be sitting here hungry because he's not doing any work," he said bitterly.

"You don't sound like you like him much anymore," Salb said.

"I never said I liked him," Bode growled. "He is what he is."

"At least Maldies isn't around," Salb added. "I hate that little freak."

Niam went very still at the mention of his name.

Bode drove his fist into the flat of his hand. "I'd break his face if he was. He's always around meddling in things that don't concern him."

"Like the time he put glue on your saddle seat . . ." Card blurted out.

Bode rounded on him. Niam peaked over the pile concealing him and saw storm clouds flash across the bully's face. Before Card finished the sentence, Bode's hand closed on his collar and he said in a low voice, "Say one more thing about that, Card, I dare you."

Card backed away like a scared dog. "He should have been the one they found in the lake last year."

"I wanted to take his sister and . . ."

Niam wasn't sure who began that sentence. The four of them snickered as they talked about Sarah. Her looks. Her body. The times they watched her swim alone in the lake when she thought no one was watching. Their laughter fell on Niam's ears like the rutting sounds of animals in heat while they recounted the sick fantasies of her. Niam closed his eyes and wished he could close his ears.

Desecration. Violation. Vile. Vile. How much worse could it get when they tried touching her with their filthy minds? Niam's gut lurched when the breakfast in his stomach suddenly turned rancid. They continued for a long while, and he dimly felt himself starting to tremble. His hand slipped, knocking a loose rock to the floor.

The talking stopped. Niam slowly pulled his arm back in alarm.

"Where did that come from?" Bode snapped.

The silence went on for a moment; Niam held himself completely still. Inside, a fire raged.

"Probably just a loose stone," Salb said absently. "Or rats."

. Suddenly the urge to do something to them overwhelmed him. This was supposed to be Bug's hiding place. Now that they knew about it, he knew he was going to have to break her heart by forbidding her to come back. And as his stomach heaved, he thought about something Bug had told him before he came down there. "You just have to know how to handle your bees." Well, bees were noble creatures, unlike these four. But Niam had seen how Bug's father handled the insects: he used a smoker whenever he wanted to deal with them. When Niam looked over at the large pile of hay and straw, he grinned. He'd do this Bug's way. For her and Corey. For Sarah and Seth.

Silently, he worked his way along the mound separating himself from Bode's gang. The four thugs were now talking about the things they were going to do with the valuables after they were done plundering the empty Vandin camp, causing Niam to clench his fists tightly. The four brutes were like vultures or bottom-feeding fish.

Quickly, Niam darted like a ghost from his hiding spot and flattened himself against a massive column. He fought hard to control his breathing. The cold of the stone wormed through his shirt, sending an uncomfortable chill through his body. He pulled away and prayed none of the boys had heard him. If they had, he was in big trouble. Salb had once cut his initials in the back of an unfortunate boy one village over in Old Flood.

That might be me, Niam thought, barely managing to suppress a shudder.

Niam peered around the column's edge. Their backs were to him. Peering into the gloom, his gaze locked onto the pile of hay.

Still, no one noticed his presence.

Quietly, he scuttled across the floor. With every step, his nerves fired a hundred contradictory messages to run! Flee! Crouch! Stop! All at once. Feeling more exposed than he ever had in his life, Niam wondered for about the thousandth time if he really wasn't crazy.

Finally, he made it to the hay pile. Bode and his gang were still none the wiser. His heart raced, but he was half giddy over what he was about to pull off. Taking a moment to steady himself, Niam gathered up a fistful of hay and opened the lantern. The hay lit easily, and he sat it on the base of the pile. Without waiting to see it catch, Niam scurried back the way he had come. This time he didn't hide behind the columns. The idiots were too absorbed to pay any attention to him.

With his lantern thrust out before him, Niam kicked out the candles as he dashed down the stone corridor. Then he burst out of the cellar and into sunlight. The fresh air smelled wonderful, like the smell of victory. Before clearing the edge of the shrubbery, Niam paused. His heart raced. Now it wasn't fear that drove it, but elation. He wasn't ready to go just yet. Half the joy of doing something like this came from hearing it take effect, so Niam went back and hunkered down behind one of the thicker stands of bushes. It didn't take long before he heard the angry shouts echoing along the corridor. Bode's loud dog-like curses carried the loudest, and they were full of frustration and shock.

"I bet it was that little twerp and her cousin!" Card shouted. "I can't see a bloody thing!"

"Just keep going you stupid idiot!" Bode yelled, "and watch where the corridor goes or you'll take the wrong turn! They might have taken that saw horse down!"

Good, Niam thought to himself. Stumble through the dark, you half-witted inbreeds. Those candles were meant for Bug and her cousin. Besides, he added, I didn't take the sawhorse down. You'll see.

And in a moment Bode's gang did see.

"Found it!" Card shouted in triumph. "It's still here!"

"Keep going you oaf!" Bode demanded. "I'm going to kill someone when I get out of here!"

Niam began to laugh uncontrollably. A short silence followed, then . . .

"What's this?! What's this?!" Bode bellowed in rage. "You idiot, you led us the wrong way!" His voice rose to new levels of pitch. "It's all over me!"

"I didn't take the wrong way!" Card screamed.

"I didn't fall in," Salb yelled in the dark. "It's just all over my shoes."

"I DON'T CARE IF IT'S ALL OVER YOUR SHOES!" Bode screamed. "JUST GET ME OUT OF THIS!"

Niam laughed so hard he bent over and had to use one hand to support himself. This was the best thing he had ever heard. In a moment he knew he was going to have to—

Out of nowhere the voice spoke to him. RUUUUUN.

Abruptly, Niam stopped laughing. From within the ruins, while the group of thugs continued shouting at one another, an unusually strong urge to run fell upon him.

Nervously, he licked his lips and looked around. The command came again. RUUUUUN.

Okay, Niam thought, maybe I won't argue with you this time. Perhaps he HAD stayed too long. Fearfully, Niam placed both hands into the soft earth and pushed himself up. Just as he turned to run, Niam froze. His head jerked up in surprise, and he let out a soft curse.

"Oooooh, you've done it this time you stupid runt." Salb stood in front of him wearing a malicious grin. "We're going to do all kinds of things to you that you're not going to like." At his side, Salb wore a tattered old scabbard. The rusty pommel of a short sword topped it, and Salb brushed his hand against it menacingly. "I'm going to stick you with this and make you beg me to stop."

"Really?" Niam asked. "Because I heard your mother liked it when her customers made her beg."

And then he ran.

He ran like mad.
Chapter Ten

Maerillus Tells A Lie

Maerillus walked the halls of his family manor in a pensive mood. He was going to have to lie to his parents. Tension was thick, as it was. Jort had been murdered—or so it seemed. Now there was a visitor from the crown. While Joachim was a nobleman and sat among the House of Peers, Pirim Province was well away from the kingdom's capital of Pallodine. And that was to nearly everyone's liking. Murders were a rarity here. The last one occurred over twenty years ago. In Kalavere, people disappeared all the time, but not here. Yet now this thing with Jort seemed to have shattered everyone's nerves.

Still, pride blossomed within his chest. If it hadn't been for what he had overheard, more people would be dead, a shipment of the estate's goods stolen and sold on the markets of Kalavere, and Ravel would not only be a great deal richer, but emboldened to do worse things for having gotten away with this. Still, something nagged at him. Liars don't deserve to feel this way, the indignant side of him whispered. That is for the likes of Ravel and Bode. Maerillus tried to push that voice back down into the hidden part of his conscience. No matter how much he reminded himself that he had a responsibility to check Niam's story out before alerting Joachim's guard to what might only be a false alarm—especially when a false alarm might pull the watchmen away when the people of Pirim Village needed them to feel secure—he still felt like less of a Sartor for resorting to something that fell solidly within Niam's set of proclivities.

After these thoughts had passed, Maerillus sighed. More than the lie bothered him. Truth be told, the real source of his shame arose from the way his parents treated him. Maerillus had been raised to the family businesses. And yet far less had been required of him than of his brothers and sister. For Maerillus, the solution seemed obvious: work harder than anyone else. When time came to weigh the bales and tally the crop yields, Maerillus always made sure he was the first one ready to work and the last one to finish. When wine casks had to be inventoried, Maerillus did it before either of his brothers could get to it.

Still, he was left outside of the ring of responsibility. His father kept him at his studies. And as far as leisure time with his friends was concerned, his parents lavished him with free time, practically pushing him out the door to spend time with Davin and Niam. This chaffed against his sense of pride. More, it made him wonder whether or not he had done something to shake their faith in him. For this reason, Maerillus was very careful with who he associated with. He tried his best to associate with the children of the successful families in the valleys. Honestly, they were a bunch of snots—the entire lot of them. And he was only ever able to be himself whenever he was with Davin and Niam.

As Maerillus approached his father's office, his parents' voices carried down the hall. He heard his name and slowed. Equal parts dread and curiosity overcame him and he looked around to see if anyone else was in earshot.

Except for the echoing voices of his parents in the office beyond, no one else was around. Maerillus moved forward to where he could hear them clearly. His mother's voice was pitched with concern. "I just don't like it, not one bit Gaius. He's not ready. I don't want him going out with the boys. I can't believe—"

His father's deep baritone cut her off. "Andromeda, I know. I know."

"Then keep him around here. Have him help with the work here," she said. "Here, Gaius—where we can keep an eye on him. On ALL of them. Lord knows Niam needs supervision, too."

Even from where he stood in the hallway there was no mistaking his father's sigh. "We both know our youngest son is not cut out for this. The family business is not his lot. And as to young Maldies, his parents have been through—"

"—I know what they've been though and I weep for them even now. I see what has happened to that poor boy. They have been terribly negligent...."

But something stopped her before she finished the thought. Had his farther given her a look?

A long silence held passed between them. Maerillus felt his heart sinking. At last, Gaius went on. His voice was soft and tender.

"I've often felt we've done our boy a grave disservice by sheltering him as much as we have. He's got to—"

"—He's not ready?" she flashed at him.

"When is he ever going to be ready?" He asked, resigned.

Andromeda was silent again, but Maerillus knew she was working up another argument. "But Kine is here, and there's not telling what his investigation will—"

"Jort had his reasons for doing what he did."

"But it could lead others back to Maerillus, and this could blow up in all of our faces!" She nearly screamed. "Are you prepared for that? Is our son?"

"He's not cut out for this," his father said with just as much passion. "You've seen him with the children of the other families."

"Yes," Andromeda said. "Oil and water. Which is why I wanted us to move somewhere less . . . provincial."

"You knew why we had to stay here. You knew why we couldn't move. And you agreed."

"Yes. Yes. And yes." Andromeda said bitterly.

"None of us asked for this. None of us wanted to deal with a son like this," Gaius said.

From the office, Andromeda blew her nose.

Maerillus's heart raced. He wanted to leave, but Davin and Niam would be waiting for him in the morning, and he had to give his parents the cover story they had worked out. The fact that he was playing off of their lack of confidence in him made him sicker by the moment. It was now or never.

Backing up, Maerillus gave himself enough room to concentrate on being heard. If he did that, he knew they would hear him coming and he could give everyone a chance to pretend everything was normal. But the pretense ate at him. He wasn't normal. Not at all. And now he had proof that his parents thought he was not fit to run the estate. That much was painfully clear.

Maerillus strode purposefully toward the office door, whistling to himself as if his mind were lost in idle thought. When he stopped at the doorway and knocked, his father was sitting at his desk pretending as if he were about to pick up a sheaf of papers. His mother's back was to the door, and she was scratching her eyes in a thinly veiled attempt to wipe away tears.

"Ah, Maerillus!" His father said with a false note of joviality, "Back from your visit with your friends?"

Andromeda walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. She gave him a look he was not entirely comfortable with. It was the look a mother might have if two of her children were hanging form a cliff and only one could be saved. But quickly it was gone and she did her best to give him anything but a fragile smile. She failed. Maerillus pretended to be busy. Instead he gave her the customary Sartor peck on the cheek.

"Have you had a nice day, son?"

"Quite. That's what I wanted to see you about."

"Oh?" His dad arched an eyebrow.

Maerillus pitched his voice with excitement. "The guys and I want to camp out tomorrow evening. The speckle-backs are running in the river and we would like to take a couple of days to fish."

"—absolutely not." His mother said emphatically.

Maerillus felt his face begin to flush.

But Gaius raised his hand and cut her off. A look passed between them. Andromeda bit her lip and looked away. Gaius gave Maerillus a searching glance, but Maerillus made sure his face remained impassive.

"That's okay, we'll just—" He began.

Gaius looked at Andromeda. "With everything going on around here I think it might not be a bad idea if the boys got out and stretched their legs for a bit. I used to live for speckle-backs when I was younger."

Andromeda was visibly unhappy. "Where will you be?"

"Oh . . . only out past the Hapwell's property on Joachim's preserve," he said nonchalantly. "You know, the usual."

Andromeda still looked unhappy, but the private preserve was where Lord Joachim did his own personal hunting. The best game could be found there. And just beyond the preserve lay the province's garrison.

Gaius looked at his wife and she reluctantly nodded her head.

"There and nowhere else."

"Of course, Mom," he said and bent and kissed her cheek.

"If you don't cook them all, be sure to bring some back for us," his farther said.

"Of course, father," he said and turned and took his leave.

*

After telling Davin and Niam that they were clear for their plan to go up to the Vandin camp tomorrow, Maerillus flopped down on his bed, a bitter disappointment to himself and his family. Outside, a breeze caught in wind chimes, but his mind couldn't focus on the beautiful notes. This confirmed what he had come to fear, and he clenched his fists in frustration. He wasn't going to leave his room again until tomorrow morning. He didn't think he could face his family tonight. Sleep was a long time coming, and when it did, the chimes took him off into the dark waters of oblivion. Eventually, the moon rose and held watch with a baleful eye over the land below.

On the other side of town, Niam awoke into a nightmare.
Chapter Eleven

Another Day Begins

Niam found himself in a glade in the middle of a dense forest. A riot of ferns rose from the matted floor up to his knees, and thick tangles of vines spider-webbed between the long, moss covered trunks that rose to form a green ceiling far above. As he stood and looked around, he knew this was only a dream, and he also knew where he was—the farthest edge of Siler's Gorge, just beyond the lake, where it overflowed into a part of the valley that was intermittently swampy, depending upon the time of year. Sunlight poured down through a break in the canopy above, but all around the forest guarded its secrets, reaching up and putting out whatever light that tried to push its way to the ground. Overhead, the susurration of a slow breeze pushed languidly through the greenery. Other than that, all was quiet, and this was odd. Normally, shade-loving animals made a crescendo of whirrs, chirrups, cheeps, and croaks.

From ahead, a scream cut the air. He peered into the darkness and saw Sarah's form running headlong into the deepening gloom. He knew this was a dream, but . . . something was different. Sarah screamed again in terror and Niam, sprang forward. His feet pummeled the ground as he tore through the thick foliage carpeting the forest floor. Trees blurred by as he rushed into the deepening gloom.

Ahead of him, Sarah's figure plunged headlong and terrified, like a ghost driven into shadow by the rising sun. Soon, Niam's breaths tore at his lungs, burning his chest and scouring his throat.

The hot ache was different. It hurt. He had never felt pain in a dream before.

Nimbly, he plunged forward. Moonflower vines tore at his shins as his legs ripped through long, thorny tendrils. More pain lanced along his shins where the vines' thorns cut his flesh.

A cold river of fear pushed its way into his mind. If he could feel pain in a dream, what else might be able to happen to him? But the realization that Sarah was pulling ahead of him pushed that thought away. Her head whipped around and her eyes seemed to focus on him.

She shrieked again in terror.

Niam ran harder, but Sarah still inched away from him. This is just a dream, Niam frantically told himself. This is just a dream and I'll wake up in the morning like always. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself even harder. He ran so swiftly that his legs threatened to spill him to the ground. Desperately, he tried to call out, but his lips wouldn't move, his throat remained stubbornly still. What was she afraid of? Again, he opened his mouth to call out to her, to tell her it was just him, her little brother, that he was coming. But no sound came out.

Sarah let out another scream, one that was low, that came from a place of abject terror. It was a primal sound. A dying sound. Niam felt a sulphurous lump suddenly fill his stomach. The skin on the back of his neck stood up and the air began to grow thicker and darker somehow, palpably colder. He felt as if someone had opened a door to winter and its frosty drafts were wafting through and encircling him. As he tore through the snaggling vines his shin struck a low branch hidden among the ferns. A loud snap followed, and Niam went sprawling onto his stomach. The smell of the loamy earth filled his nostrils.

WAAAATCHH, the Voice that he knew all too well whispered into his head. LIIIISTEN. As Niam instinctively struggled to catch his breath and prepared to rise, he was hit by another wave of nausea.

No, something worse than nausea.

Almost immediately, Niam heard the sound of approaching footsteps. As he quickly turned his head, a sense of something vile and oily washed over him. A covered figure emerged into view. Niam's stomach gave a sharp lurch as the figure drew closer, dressed in dark robes, which trailed behind like a garment of angry snakes.

The sight terrified him, and Niam lay there, stunned. He shrank into himself, a drying worm in salt. His arms and legs trembled uncontrollably. He knew he should get up, but he couldn't. His arms, like his throat, were now frozen. Fear coursed through him, and the wave of sickness grew even stronger. Wake up, wake up, oh sweet Lord, wake me up PLEEAASE, he prayed. But the nausea hit harder, carrying with it the essence of decaying birds and frogs, of fruit that had sat out far too long, of the final vomit that came out of diseased dogs just before they died.

And still, the figure drew closer.

Niam tried to press himself back into the dirt, to bury himself in the loam beneath his back where he couldn't be seen . . . would never be seen. Oh Sarah, I'm so sorry Sarah! The menacing stranger was now almost on top of him. He looked up in terror, expecting to see a demonic face with eyes alight with the fires of insanity, but the menacing stranger's features were hidden.

Help me! Niam's mind shouted in panic. The oily waters enveloped him. Darkness washed around him, and there was nothing now but the growing, unbearable sickness.

Sarah screamed again.

*

And in the darkness, there was this and only this—

The Voice.

REMEEEMBER

*

Niam bolted up in his bed. His stomach heaved and gave up its contents. He barely had time to gather his sheets and hold them before he threw up. The acrid taste of half-digested food filled his mouth. And he vomited a second, and then a third time. Images of the dream flooded his mind and his body reacted violently to them. He knew, even as his stomach clenched and evacuated itself, that it was not the food he had eaten hours earlier that it was ridding itself of, but the rancid memories.

When he was done, Niam sat in his bed, trembling for a moment, and then he doubled the sheets together and tiptoed down the hall and into the kitchen where a cleaning pail sat near the hearth. He deposited the sheet in it and grabbed a mug and filled it from a pitcher containing clean water. Niam rinsed his mouth and spat the taste of sickness into the pail.

His arms and legs still trembled.

On the wall hung a lantern that gave off a low, flickering light. Niam grabbed it, and took the pail outside to the burning pit beyond the kitchen door. There was already wood in the pit and all Niam had to do was light the tinder kept in a small shed nearby. After the flames began to spread and catch, he emptied the pail. The fire eventually took, and as everything burned, a warm circle spread around Niam, illuminating his nightshirt and pale arms. Niam looked at them and thought about how thin they were, and in a world where strength and brawn ruled, thin was tantamount to impotence—like the impotence of a boy who couldn't, even in a dream, defend his sister.

No. Boys like that could only sit in terror and pray for the dream to end, and once again, the Bode's and Ravel's of the world won. Niam shook his head and sobbed. A shame like none he had felt before hit him, and for a moment Niam thought he was going to be sick again. Only, this time, it was a different kind of sick, born of remorse and self-recrimination.

No. He thought. No. I won't let that happen.

And then there was this: as he slowly allowed the feeling to diminish, his thoughts began to center on the actual events of the dream itself, which had been no ordinary dream. He remembered how the thorny vines had lashed at his shins and bit into his skin like hundreds of sharp, tiny teeth and the way his throat really ached as he tried to call out to Sarah. And then there was the dark, rich smell of wet earth and decaying plant matter he had inhaled after toppling over the low-lying branch as he chased after his her.

He knew.

Although he had not actually been there the day she died, what he had seen and experienced tonight had been real.

Murder.

Niam sat there allowing the realization to sink in. And it sank and sank. Where his sister could only float and wait to be found drifting like a piece of pale, dead wood on the surface of Siler's Lake, this awareness sank until it struck bottom within him like a stone thrown into the cold waters where she died.

Murder.

Someone had been chasing her. The voice told him to look. To listen. To remember. Someone had been chasing her. Had he killed Seth and then chased her, screaming to the water's edge? In his mind he imagined her murderer struggling with his brother. Seth would have put up a fight. He had never been the weakling that Niam was. Then he saw the bastard catching up with her in his mind's eye, he saw him strike her with a rock. That must have been why everyone thought she had plummeted down the gorge's edge.

The Voice told him to look.

And there was always a reason behind the Voice to do the things it told him to do. But Niam burned. And the thing within him that burned made the fire in the pit before him seem cold by comparison. Whatever the Voice was, it had the ability to reach back in time, to show him events and give him commands. Before this was all over, Niam vowed that he would live long enough to know why the source of the Voice hadn't warned his sister and his brother that a killer stalked them. Instead, it played with Niam, sent the ghost of a dog to rescue a boy at the bottom of a drop off but didn't bother to send a damned soul to rescue them.

And then there was Jort.

Did the three of them share the same killer? Niam simmered and fumed. He threw another log on the fire and watched as the flames crept higher and higher. Somewhere in the night did a killer stalk another victim?

As the fire ate greedily at the wood that fed it, Niam allowed his anger to feed on his sense of inadequacy. He vowed that he wouldn't always be Niam the runt. One day he would find his sister's and his brother's killer. And if possible, Jort's. And he would see to it that the bastard paid for what he had done the people he knew and loved. One day there would be a reckoning. In the east, a bloody slice of crimson glowed like an angry wound in the sky. The morning sun rose in its pitiless progression into the darkness, eating the stars as it climbed, fracturing the night's hold on the world.

For Niam, another day had begun.
Chapter Twelve

The Boxes

Davin felt uneasy. When the three of them met early in the morning, he was the only one that seemed to be in a decent mood. Niam stared out through puffy, swollen eyes, and Maerillus had a withdrawn and inward look. The walk to the Vandin camp took the entire day and part of the next, with Maerillus and Niam bickering the whole way.

At one point, Maerillus made an obvious effort to put a better face on his mood and joked about how the trip was probably for nothing.

"I hope it was just Bode's mouth leaking," Davin said earnestly.

"Hey! I know what I heard!" Niam said reactively. "I think he was telling the truth."

"I can always hope," Davin said.

When Niam lapsed into more silence, which wasn't usually like him, Maerillus spoke up. "With things as strange as they've been lately, it would be nice if fate would cut us some slack."

Davin nodded his head in agreement. "Speaking of strange things, have you heard that the nods seems to be getting worse?

Niam grunted an affirmative.

"I've seen several servants with it," Maerillus said. "Dad sent the head butler home to get some sleep several days ago."

"I caught the apothecary asleep at the counter two days ago," Davin added. "Pretty bad when he can't fix something to keep himself awake."

About two years ago, the strange sleeping sickness had begun to affect the people around Pirim Village. No one suffered symptoms long. The worst of it involved a heavy drowsiness to come over anyone sick with the disease. People stricken with it sometimes grew so tired that they fell asleep in the middle of simple tasks.

"If that were the worst thing going on in town, I'd throw a party—with your dad's money," Davin joked.

Maerillus laughed and even Niam cracked a smile.

As they walked, Davin became increasingly unsettled. He initially hoped this was because Maer and Niam were constantly sucking the good mood out of him. Now, he was not so certain. The feeling hung like a massive tree leaning above him, about to fall down at any moment. He could only remember feeling an impending sense of danger this strongly one time before, and that was on a hunting trip with his brother Trev as they stalked a large ram. Trev's arrow had taken the animal high in the haunches. The wounded animal left a zigzagging trail of blood through rough countryside as it fled. When Davin climbed a tall outcropping in order to get a better view of the terrain, he suddenly felt a ferocious presence boring into him. Trev called to him in an alarmed voice to stand completely still.

As Davin froze, the hair on the nape of his neck stood on end and goose bumps coursed down his arm.

A high-pitched twang sounded as Trev loosed an arrow. Davin heard its angry hiss through the air, followed by a flat thud and a high, keening scream of rage. Not eight feet away, a mountain lion fell dead to the ground from a tree branch just above his head. It must have been tracking the ram as well.

That was how Davin felt right now.

He looked around. The woods here were open and the thickly carpeted ground free of dense undergrowth. If anyone or anything was nearby watching, he ought to be able to make it out.

"What's wrong?" Maerillus asked.

Davin gave a shrug. "Nothing," he muttered.

*

Finally, the forest opened into a large clearing where dry grass seemed to lap at its edge like an immense lake of autumn yellow. The swell of a low hill rose gently ahead of them, clear and grassy. Although Davin had never ventured this way before, he knew that the Vandin camp ought to lie just on the other side. To both sides of them, the land began to rise into a two long ridges that ran parallel to one another like long sinuous snakes of earth. Top the north, tall mountains lifted their cragged heads. Their profiles stabbed at the sky, all sharp edges and broken-off angles where the rock seemed to protest against whatever force had lifted them so high into the air.

"Bet it's really cold up there," Davin said. He needed time to think now that he knew the camp was near. The last thing he wanted to do if there were people there was to walk up on them unannounced. While the Vandin were by all accounts a peaceful people, they worshiped strange gods, and were supposedly quite odd, and that made Davin leery. Regardless of whether the rumors he had heard were true or not, he knew very little of them. And right now, he didn't like not knowing.

"Probably freezes at night up there. Snow will cover those peaks pretty soon," Maerillus said.

As Davin thought, his gaze settled beyond the on the distant ridges. Dark stains were clearly visible where water leaked from damp fissures across the jagged stone torsos. The mountains here weep, he thought to himself, and the thought brought a shiver. He still had the sense that something was about to come down on his head. And at that moment, not only did the forest behind them feel oppressive; the highlands themselves seemed to loom over them. Davin shook himself. Now that they were almost there, he was unable to keep up the pretense that everything was going to be fine. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. The knowledge came at him like an itch in the back of his mind, and now all he wanted to do was scratch at it furiously.

"It's too quiet," Niam said in a voice barely above a whisper.

Davin nodded his head. He had expected to see or hear someone by now.

"Yeah." Davin agreed. They all grew quiet and Davin now gazed ahead. The only thing he heard was the exhalation of air through tall tassels of yellow grass. Not even autumn birds whistled or twittered from the forest behind them.

Before Davin had a chance to talk about what to do now, Niam grunted and began walking toward the hill. He and Maerillus looked at one another dumbfounded. Niam turned his head back as he strode away. "Bode wouldn't let a thing like silence stop him. Might as well get on with it. I mean, either the Vandin are there or they aren't."

"Not so fast!" Davin grumbled and hurried along with Maerillus to catch up with him.

Maerillus grabbed Niam's shirtsleeve. Their smaller friend's face was set with a stony determination. Quickly, he pushed Maerillus's hand away. "We might as well be about it," he said again. "Bode could already be up there doing who knows what."

"And you want to just barge up there in plain view if he is?" Maerillus asked impatiently. "What if he sees you? What if his gang is with him?"

"We'll handle it," Niam said bitterly.

"What's gotten into you?" Maerillus demanded. "You've been acting like you had a stone in your hoof ever since we met up yesterday morning!"

"Nothing," Niam replied sullenly.

Davin could tell Maerillus didn't buy it. All he said was, "Your 'nothing' could get us into a situation I'd rather not have to handle if I can help it."

Niam looked away.

Davin moved between the two of them. "If we're going to do this, we need to do it smartly," he said to Niam.

"I think me standing up on that hilltop like a piece of red meet before a pack of hungry wolves and telling them dinner's on sounds like a fine plan. Then the two of you can beat them until they cry," he retorted. His face was steadily growing redder by the second. "I mean, isn't that what the two of you do best?"

"What are you talking about?" Maerillus barked in exasperation.

"What I'm talking about is how you get to do that thing you do where no one can see you and he gets to beat the cold snot out of people like Bode while all I get to do is see stupid dead dogs."

"What would you prefer to do, Niam?" The anger in Maerillus's voice was unmistakable.

"Well that's really it, isn't it?" Niam flashed. "I can't DO anything, can I?"

"That's ENOUGH!" Davin interjected. Both went suddenly and sullenly quiet. "You are doing something, Niam. We all are," he said evenly. His friend looked as if he was about to say more, but Davin held up his hand to keep him quiet. "I know you want to get back at Bode, but that's not quite why we're here, and you know it."

"It's about a lot more than that," Niam said under his breath.

"Later," Davin replied curtly, and laid a hand on Niam's shoulder to keep him still. "We'll get to that later." Niam said nothing and Davin looked at them both. "I can't play peacekeeper. Not at a time like this," he said sternly. "I can't believe the two of you."

Maerillus let out a long breath. "You're right."

"Yeah," Niam said tightly.

Both shuffled their feet and avoided one another's gaze.

Davin looked at them both, and several long seconds passed while the tension ebbed away. "We've all had a rough time lately, it seems. But right now I need you two to focus."

When they nodded, he could tell they were done.

"Maer, Niam and I are going to wait down here. I need you to go up there and have a look. Once you've done that, we'll go from there."

"I figured that's what you were going to say," Maerillus said.

"All I want you to do is see what we might be facing. We're here to prove the story Niam overheard. If there's anything to it, we'll let Lord Joachim's men sort it out."

"Bet it's not gonna work out that way," Niam said in a sing-song voice.

"Cut it!" Davin and Maerillus said in unison.

"Oh . . . I'm just saying," Niam shot back. His voice was tinged with an I-told-you-so tone. "Nothing's that simple with us anymore."

As Davin watched Maerillus walk away, the air seemed to fold around his friend. The spat between his two friends hadn't helped his edginess at all. After a long wait, Davin began to grow worried when he heard the sound of grass whisking against someone's pant legs. Slowly the shape of Maerillus unfolded into view.

"Well?" Davin asked eagerly.

With a courtesy nod in Niam's direction, Maerillus said, "Looks like what Niam heard was right. There's nobody up there. Place looks completely abandoned—like they left in a hurry."

"That's more than a bit troubling," Davin said. What had Bode gotten himself mixed up with? This seemed far too big for his kind of trouble.

"It gets even stranger. There are odd boxes laying around some of the tents."

"Boxes? Any idea what they're for?

"No idea. But I do know that there is something that's not right about them." As he said it, he shivered.

"Any signs of Bode?" Niam asked.

"Not that I could tell, but the camp is big."

Davin thought for a moment. He wanted to leave right now, but the more he had thought about it as they waited for Maerillus to return, the more surely he knew he was going to have to give some accounting for what had happened. Especially with Maerillus's news about the boxes. "I think we need to go up there and have a quick look."

"See! This is how it always starts," Niam said with a dry and humorless laugh. They both turned to him with looks that should have wilted flowers, but Niam just shrugged his shoulders and replied, "I'm just saying."

With that, Maerillus took his bow from Davin and quickly leaned against it with one knee and strung it. Niam took up his walking staff and Davin held the hatchet he had brought with him to chop firewood tightly in his hands. The walk was a short one. As soon as they crested the top of the hill, they saw that they were in a long, flat valley. The two ridges to the east and west stretched nearly parallel to one another for what seemed like nearly three miles. At the valley's distant end, the land rose abruptly, and where it ended, the earth gave birth to the highlands good and proper.

Heavy silence lay across the camp as they approached the first ring of large tents. To Davin it felt as if someone had cut through the trunk of a towering forest pine at a flat angle so that everyone knew that it was going to fall, but no one knew when. As they moved into the camp, they saw that the tents were arranged in small, circular "communities," each with a central clearing where large fire pits had been lit.

Davin moved silently. Grass swished at his feet as he slowly made his way around the tents. Great tripods had been set up over some of the pits, and here and there sat spits, some with charred lamb carcasses. What the crows had not been able to prize away was still stuck to the bones and skewers. When Davin leaned over and looked into a pot, a wave of flies launched up at his face. He jerked back as the smell of putrefying meat hit him with the swarming bugs.

"There's still food on the pits." He gagged and looked around.

No one moved. Only the random swell of tent flaps stirred where the wind breathed in and out of the openings. Flies alone now called this place home.

Maerillus's voice held an uncomfortable edge. "There are still chests full of clothes, blankets, and personal belongings in these."

With a tight face, Davin asked, "Where are those boxes?" No sooner were the words were out than the feeling that a tree was about to crash down on top of him grew more palpable.

"Over there," he said with a shiver. "I don't like them," Davin—there's something wrong about them."

"Great Lord!" Niam exclaimed from another tent, "Someone here tried to pack in a hurry."

Davin and Maerillus nodded grimly.

"Whatever happened here happened in the evening," Davin said. "When they were getting ready to bed down."

"But why would they run off like this?" Maerillus asked, tensely.

"Whatever it was scared them enough to leave everything behind," Davin said.

"You think it's like this all over?" Maerillus asked, though by the look on his face he already knew the answer. The silence said it all.

"I think we are about to find out," Davin said roughly.

*

Niam looked around cautiously. There ought to be people everywhere around the camp, but only silence filled the tents and gnawed at his nerves. It was odd how a lack of something had its own kind of presence. With a glance back into the tent's dim interior, he spared one more long moment for a look.

He walked slowly around the circle of tents where nothing else moved, trying to push away the dark thoughts in his mind. The only sound he heard was the low murmur of Davin and Maerillus talking quietly behind him. Suddenly, he stopped. Before him an object lay in the grass. It was small, only a bit larger than a jewelry box, and it was black—the kind of black that formed on the sick skin of rotting fruit.

A pressure began to build between Niam's temples as he stood there staring, not knowing why he remained frozen. Slowly he forced his lips to open. Words stalled out before passing through his mouth. Niam wanted to tell Davin that he had found something he should look at. But the words got stuck. Something about that box was familiar in a darkly comforting way. He stood there, knowing that he needed to tell Davin what he had found. Somewhere between the command for his lips to move and the muscles that did the moving, he felt all snarled up.

Niam strained with all his might until slowly his mouth opened. "Think I've found something." It came out as a croak. Part of him wondered if anyone heard him. For several moments more he stood there. A scintillating wave of color flickered across the box's surface. Shapes of some sinister script appeared and then licked across the sides of the thing like wet eels in muddy water. At first the script reminded him of drawings he had seen of ancient runes in the ruined cities of Elb and Sorin on the continent. But then these flowed, as if they were alive and struggling to write themselves. The pressure in his head continued to build. He needed to get closer.

The object on the ground called to him. Involuntarily, Niam took a step toward the box. Once again a flicker of light and colors coruscated across the thing's surface, like light bent by the scales of moth's wings in sunlight. Shapes twisted, straining into dark and forbidden words. Dimly, a part of Niam screamed at his disobedient limbs to turn back.

Instead, he took another step toward it.

Niam strained. He fought. He took another step.

Then he looked down at the box. All he had to do was reach down and touch it. He could almost tell what the flowing runes said, if only they would stay still long enough for him to read them. But they writhed and wriggled . . . worms feasting inside a ripe corpse. For the life of him, he could not figure out why he wanted to touch it. His hand slowly moved out to grasp it. Maybe if he touched it, he could make the script stop long enough to read it. Maybe that's what this was all about. Maybe it wanted to be read.

Niam grunted as a great force suddenly jerked his body back. For an instant he stared around, dazed. Something hard gripped his shoulder. "I don't think that's a good idea," Davin's steady voice held a note of concern in it.

Niam staggered and straightened up. Davin still had a firm hold on him. Niam batted him away and stumbled. His arms flailed about as he lost balance and fell several feet away. Quickly, he scrambled several more feet away from the thing. "Don't get any closer!" he barked. His heart raced in his chest. The farther he got away from the box, the more the pressure that had built inside his skull eased. "There's something very wrong with those things!" he stammered.

Davin and Maerillus gathered around him as he stood and composed himself. Both kept wary eyes on the box as he told them about what happened. When he was done, Davin led them farther away from the thing. Maerillus whistled. "I felt like something was wrong with them from the moment I saw the first one," he said wonderingly. "But none of them affected me like that."

"Me either," Davin said.

"And you said you could read some kind of writing?" Maerillus asked. But there was a note in his voice Niam didn't like.

"Don't you say that!" Niam nearly shouted.

Maerillus looked taken aback.

"I'd bet that's sorcery," Niam growled. "And I never said I could actually read it. It was like it wanted to be read." A lump of dread grew in his stomach at the thought of reading something like that. Everyone had heard stories of people touched by the Lord of the Grave. It was said they were chosen from birth by him, that they were born into his arts the way mothers swaddled their children in warm linens. They had been down this road of discussion already because of the ghost dog, and he wasn't ready to revisit it. "I'm not a damned sorcerer!"

"Oh." A look of dawning realization spread across Maerillus's face. "That's not what I meant at all."

"Well, I just want to keep away from those things."

Maerillus deliberately shot back, "I told all of you that they made me uneasy," and Niam gave him a sour look.

Niam's stomach clenched. "I feel like I could jump into a bathing tub right now with an entire cask of soap," he spat. At that moment he felt soiled. Whatever it was that had reached out from the box and tried to lure him to it left a residue like a snail left a trail behind it on the early morning lawn.

"It didn't affect either of us as strongly as it did you," Davin said quietly, but there was an emphatic tone in his voice. "But we both get the point. These are bad things. Let's look around some of the other tent rings, just to be sure. I don't want anyone to drop out of sight." Then he looked at Maerillus and caught Maerillus's eyes with his own. "Even if that means you have to stay right by Niam. I don't want you disappearing on us because of your gift. Not when these things can do what they did to Niam. Hopefully this is the worst we'll find here."

Niam saw through Davin's words.

What Davin really meant was that he didn't want Niam to be left alone with those boxes. Niam didn't like feeling like he needed a babysitter and began to say something to that effect, but he had to admit that having Maerillus nearby did make him feel better. Especially when the alternative was being drawn toward another one of those things.

As they made their way through the circular encampments, Niam saw carts abandoned here and there, as if the inhabitants had spared no time to hitch them to their horses. In some tents, saddles still remained. The Vandin had been in such a hurry they hadn't even bothered to do that much!

It didn't take long for Davin to find something worse. "Hey guys!" He called out, alarmed.

Niam felt another lump of dread from in his gut as they sprinted over to Davin's side. It didn't take long to discover what had driven the Vandin fleeing in all directions. A large open space had been created in the middle of the encampment. Niam guessed this was where everyone gathered as a village. Davin was staring into the expanse of trampled grass with a mixture of fear and disgust. Misshapen lumps teeming with crows dotted the ground. The mass of birds quivered and shivered with a furtive and nauseating effect. In a way, it reminded him of the discordant movement of script across the black surface of the box that nearly drew him to touch it. Moments passed before it dawned on him what he was seeing.

"Great lord! Those are bodies, aren't they?" Niam gasped.

"Yeah," Davin said miserably.

They stared for several long moments, wondering what their next course of action had to be.

"We've got to see what killed the people under there, don't we?" Niam moaned.

"Yeah," Davin said miserably.

While he watched the seething surface of twitching feathers as the birds gorged themselves on carrion, Niam could only imagine what the bodies looked like. "And that means walking over there and scaring the crows off, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Davin said miserably.

"Were going to have to smell them, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Davin said miserably.

"That's not all you're going to say, is it?"

Davin clapped him on the shoulder and motioned toward the bodies. "What are you waiting for, buddy?"

Niam grimaced. "Oooh no I'm bloody well not going over there and smelling that!"

"Somebody's got to do it."

"We'll all do it, Maerillus said, and they moved forward toward the bodies. When the smell finally DID hit him, it hit with the force of a mallet. Niam almost turned back. One crow hopped off of the nearest body with a flap of mottled flesh dangling from its beak. It looked at Niam through a sullen and gimlet eye. How dare you interrupt my feast foolish boy?

Just knowing what the flesh hanging from its beak came from made Niam want to wretch.

"Get out of here!" Niam shouted with revulsion. The bird gave an indignant scream and lifted into the air. Niam began waving his arms. The others did too. An angry cloud of crows bellowed into the air like a grave robber lifting a pall from a corpse. Dozens came to ground yards away, where they formed a restive mob of starving ghouls that cawed angrily.

Now laid bare, the twisted shape of a man lay in an impossibly contorted posture. The work of the birds had not completely picked the copse clean. Charred tatters of clothing still clung to parts of the body, which had been stripped clean to the bone in places along the legs and arms. A skinless skull stared out at him through empty sockets. Bits of flesh still clung to it in places. The abdominal cavity lay open where something had crawled inside and begun eating.

Niam quickly turned away and became sick. Maerillus bent and vomited, too. With a snarl of disgust, Davin ran at two other corpses. His charge drove the stubborn birds away only briefly. They quickly returned as a raucous rabble of murderous mendicants that, in Niam's mind, begged to continue their crime after the kill was done.

"It's the same with these two," Davin choked. Niam and Maerillus kept their distance. Several more corpses lay half-devoured in the central clearing. In places the earth had been scorched free of grass. Where the ground had been burned clean, they saw that in places the soil had been melted into dull, dirty runnels of glass. It looked to Niam as if a short rain of molten fire had fallen into the heart of the Vandin camp.

"This reminds me," Maerillus began—

"—Of the burned animals I found out at the barrens," Niam finished.

As they backed away from the grisly scene, Davin gnawed at his lip.

"I think I have an idea what may have happened here."

Niam and Maerillus looked at him expectantly.

"Did you notice how trampled the grass is in the clearing looked?"

Both of them nodded. "Looked like there was a large gathering there," Niam said.

"Exactly. I think whoever did this hit them when they were all together. I wouldn't be surprised to find more bodies and more burned ground in some of the other tent rings. Looks to me like someone—"

"—Or something," Niam corrected him.

"Or something," Davin averred "Like someone or something wanted to run these people off," he finished.

"Why," Maerillus asked, perplexed. "There's really nothing of value here."

"Maybe we'll find out in the big buildings back there past the camp," Niam told them. "There are rooftops over there."

When they left the camp behind to investigate, the rest of the circling crows descended to renew their meal in peace. Niam felt a pang of regret that they could not bury the bodies in a good and proper grave.

As he walked cautiously through the grass, Niam kept his senses open to the faintest sign of danger. When he reached the edge of one of the buildings, he saw that the structures resembled tall barns and storage buildings. Looking down as he stepped carefully through the thick grass, he let out an unexpected yelp.

"Gold!"

Necklaces, bracelets, and rings were strewn all across ground. Broken shards of pottery lay where several crates had been torn open. Maerillus bent down and rifled through several of the necklaces. "Brass. Copper. Bronze," he said like a merchant counting off his wares for sale. "No gold, though there is plenty of silver."

Davin took a small necklace and looked it over. "This looks a lot like the jewelry Dad buys Mom in Kalavere," he said thoughtfully. Niam walked through some of the debris, and suddenly froze.

"Another box! I can see the bloody writing moving across the thing!" His chest grew tight, and his head grew heavy. "And I can feel it again."

"Let's get back!" Davin all but pulled him to what felt like a safer distance. "What are those things?" Niam growled in frustration.

From the side of the camp they hadn't explored yet, another sort of answer made itself known—the sound of grunting laughter.

"Looks like we're not alone," Maerillus said.

Niam scowled, and a white-hot surge of hatred blossomed inside his chest. He recognized the sound of that laughter—had heard it in countless bad dreams. "Bode!" he snarled.

More laughter erupted from the camp, and the sound of things being broken carried all too clearly. Niam saw several horses tied up near Bode and his gang.

"Where did they come form?" Maerillus whispered.

"There's a road behind this barn heading east," Davin said. "I saw it as we walked up. It hugs the bottom of this rise where the ridge begins. If this place is what I think it actually is, then there will be another one on the opposite side of the camp. And good thing for it. They'd have come right up on us if they had taken the road that comes out on your property, Maerillus."

"What do you mean?"

"This isn't a winter camp," Davin said with certainty. "At least not like everyone believed. I've been thinking about it. There's not enough grazing room for all the animals that the Vandin would need to bring with them if they come here to winter over."

Maerillus slapped his knee. "You're right. I should have seen it before anyone else."

Niam looked at them both expectantly.

"It's a trading camp. The wagons left behind, the jewelry . . . were all supposed to be for winter markets. They probably had only just started hauling their goods down here. All of those people were here to spread out into the larger cities and sale their crafts. I think each circle of tents represents different markets or artisans. The other road will go to Kalavere."

"Oh," was all Niam could say. His mind was focused on Bode's group. That was when a troubling thought occurred to him. He closed his eyes, trying to push the thought back. Not for the first time, Niam wished he didn't think so much. "We've got to go over there and stop them," he said urgently.

"Why on earth do we have to do that?" Maerillus asked incredulously. "I think we've seen more than enough to get Lord Joachim to send his men up here and deal with this. We've done our part and the sooner we're away from here, the better."

"No," Davin said emphatically. "He's right. They're up there with those boxes."

Maerillus looked at him blankly for a moment.

"What happens if they get ahold of them?" Niam complained.

Davin closed his eyes and said, "That's easy enough to answer. What always happens where Bode is concerned—nothing good."
Chapter Thirteen

When The Tree Falls

Davin stood for a moment feeling his head swirl as he tried to figure out how to get out of this without having to get into a confrontation with Bode. He couldn't think. Niam looked like cornered bobcat, and Davin knew if he didn't do something about his friend, there was going to be a confrontation. He couldn't help shake the feeling that the tree hanging above him was on the verge of collapsing.

"I don't like it," he said with a sigh. "But we have to go talk to them."

"With something like that, Bode could hurt a lot of people without even thinking about what he had or what he was doing."

"I think it's more the other way around," Davin countered.

"You think the boxes will hurt them, don't you?" Maerillus asked.

Niam's eyes grew large as the thought sunk in. Suddenly the tone in his voice went from alarmed to light and breezy. "Oh. You were right to begin with. Let's get back home and leave them to it, then. It's dinnertime. I'm all for mutton myself. You?" As he said this, he looked wistfully back toward the end of the camp where the road home began. Then his voice turned hard and cold. "Who cares if he gets hurt? He deserves it, Davin!"

The venom in his friend's voice took Davin aback.

From the camp, gales of laughter turned to petulant hectoring. Bode was unhappy about something, and one of his followers was getting the worst end of it. Davin looked in that direction. Niam did too, and there was a light in his eyes that Davin did not like. He saw the waterwheel turning inside his friend's head and feared what it might dredge up.

Bracing himself, Davin turned to face Niam and said sternly, "Now that we know that those things in the camp are corrupted, we are responsible for Bode and those fools. They've got no idea what's waiting for them. And for that matter, neither do we."

Niam looked away angrily and kicked a dried ball of horse manure. That glint in his eyes still didn't fade. "Let's go and take care of this, then," he said.

He said it almost too eagerly.

Davin's next words stopped him.

"I think you should go back around to the road we came in on and wait for us there."

"What?" Niam and Maerillus asked at the same time.

"I know that look in his eyes," Davin hastily explained to Maerillus.

"But if something goes down, we'll need him with us," Maerillus insisted. Davin could see the tension gnawing at him. Whenever Maerillus grew nervous or agitated his face became flat and expressionless. Right now he looked as emotive as a stone statue.

Before Niam could get a word in, Davin raised a hand to silence everyone and kept talking. "If I have to, I will talk to Bode. But if Niam is there, they'll go at one another like two rabid dogs. Besides, we may need to listen to them first. Maybe we'll learn more about what happened here."

Niam looked furious. "I don't like this, Davin," he said indignantly. "I deserve to go."

"You deserve to be left alone by people like him. That's what you deserve. This isn't a day for revenge," he told him bluntly. "And I can see in your eyes that's what you want."

Perhaps it was the hard edge in his voice, but Niam backed down after a few more protests. That was good. As Niam mellowed by small degrees, Davin set him off in the direction of the woods and the road that waited to take them home. As they watched him go, Maerillus turned to Davin and said, "That was too easy."

"At least he's going," Davin told him. He felt as if a hundred different currents were tugging at him from a hundred different directions: Niam. Bode. The Boxes. The feeling that something was about to go wrong. Jort's death. The mysterious Voice. And that didn't name them all.

"Yeah. But I've seen Niam like that, too. And I'd almost rather have him nearby so we can keep an eye on him," Maerillus said in his wiser-if-more-cautious voice.

"Maybe," Davin said. "But what's done is done.

"Maybe," Maerillus echoed him.

And somewhere above him, he felt the trunk of the great tree leaning over him begin to loosen at the roots. Any moment now, it was going to fall.

*

Niam walked until he was far enough away from Davin and Maerillus that they couldn't see him. Then he turned and made his way quickly into the Vandin camp. Winding his way through the tents without walking across one of those boxes wasn't as tricky as he thought it was going to be. The fact that he could feel one as drew close to it helped. As soon as he felt like his skull was beginning to fill with rocks, he stopped and moved slowly in a different direction until the feeling receded. Then all he had to do was skirt around the affected area.

Niam sulked as he walked. When Davin used his bossy voice, Niam knew that there was no reasoning with him. He didn't feel like reasoning, anyway. All he knew was that Bode couldn't be allowed to get away with what he was doing. And Niam wasn't about to sit still and swallow the idea of warning Bode away as if the stupid idiot would listen to anything Davin had to say. Bode was little higher up the animal chain than a hungry cat in a henhouse. All he understood was violence and force. The best anyone could do was slow the pack of fools down long enough for Lord Joachim's men to catch up with them.

That lot had come in on a westbound trail, which meant it had taken them twice as long, even with horses, to get from Pirim Village to the camp because that trail took them all the way around Siler's Lake. Eventually, it branched. One road led to the lake valleys, the other toward the coast and larger towns and villages where the land flattened out.

If Niam could slow them down, they could make it back to Pirim Village, tell Joachim, and his men could detain Bode and his friends before they ever made it back. Bode would never have ventured along the path Niam and his friends had taken because he wasn't allowed onto the Sartor property. And Niam knew he could slip around to the far side of the camp and do what he needed to do without Davin or Maerillus being any the wiser!

*

Maerillus and Davin kept the outermost ring of tents between themselves and anyone who might possibly be standing on the other side. Maerillus knew his gift had not failed him so far, but he had only had it for a short time, and was uncomfortable relying on something that he knew next to nothing about. Behind him Davin crouched low to the ground, concealed in the knee-high expanse of yellow grass that carpeted this part of the valley.

Nearby, Bode's voice was unmistakable. "Break them all!" His rough words had a petulant ring to them. "I don't care how big this filthy place is!"

"We can't go through all of this," one of them complained. "Best if we find what we can and get out of here. Somebody might come back anytime."

This was followed by the sound of something crashing to the ground and breaking. "I said break them!" Bode bellowed.

"You don't even know what you're looking for," someone spat back indignantly. "Salb is right. We grab anything valuable and get out of here."

Maerillus knew no one would challenge Bode except Salb. Of the two thugs, he was sure Salb was far more dangerous, and he remembered quite well how Salb had nearly killed Niam several days ago.

To Maerillus's surprise, another voice told Bode he was sick of following his orders. The owner of the voice sounded drunk. "There's jewelry and liquor here! You're not trying to find anything for me—just yourself!"

The boldness was new.

Somehow, Bode managed to pull his temper under control. When he spoke, his voice held a note of uncertainty. "Before he got arrested, Dad said his employer told him no one would be coming back. If someone ran this many people off, that means there's something worth a lot more gold than these little trinkets you're stuffing in your pockets. I won't share any of it with you if you don't shut your lips and look," he threatened. "Bring me anything that looks . . . different," he told them.

"I say if we find anything that looks different or valuable, we'll all have a talk about who gets it and what we do with it." Salb's voice held menace.

Emboldened, Card spoke up. "Yeah. You're not the only one who came this far. It's only right. You don't get to decide on something big."

Bode battered back in a blustery rush. "You're not the ones who found out about this, and don't you dare forget it!" His voice cracked and spluttered.

"We'll see," Salb said. "We're a long way from home."

His words hung in the air. Even Maerillus was unsettled by the unmistakable threat embedded in Salb's words.

"Get back to looking!" Bode roared. But Maerillus was beginning to wonder who now headed this pack of dogs. He was relieved that they were currently ransacking the ring of tents next to the one he hid behind. It gave him a chance to motion Davin to his spot unseen.

Davin saw him waving and was at his side in moments.

"What's going on?" he whispered, peering between tents to be sure he hadn't attracted any attention. Maerillus could see that he nervously fingered his hatchet.

"They're in the other circle over there. Bode's having them smash everything they can."

"So Niam heard right. They are looking for something," he mused.

"Yeah. But I'm not sure Bode's calling the shots anymore."

"Oh?"

"One word. Salb"

Davin winced. "That's not good. Bode might try to strangle Niam, but Salb will murder him. He's going to do it to someone eventually."

"I know," Maerillus agreed.

"Can you get me closer? We need to see what they're up to."

Maerillus nodded and crept forward across the central area where a cooking pot still hung above a bed of ashes. Before sliding into a tent, he made sure no one could see him and motioned to Davin to follow him. He then pulled out a knife and made a slit in the back of the tent large enough for them to a have an easy escape route.

Davin took Maerillus's lead and made a small hole to peer through as the boys outside went about their rampage. Though Maerillus was sure he was completely concealed, he felt uneasy as Bode and his gang went about tearing through the belongings of a terrified people that had been forced to flee for their lives in the dark of night.

*

Davin watched and waited, uneasy because he knew something dark was coming. Now he felt as if a slap from on unseen hand were on its way. That tree will fall soon, he knew, and Great Lord I hope I'm not beneath it when it does. The Voice had guided them through several dark moments, but now it seemed to have left them to this all alone. Where was it? He wanted its help. What if he led his friends into something that got one of them hurt or worse?

Ever since Davin's experience in Kalavere, he felt as if he had slipped on a new skin. That was the only way he could describe it. He had always felt a responsibility to help others in need. But now he felt it more strongly than ever. Even fools like Bode. If something happened to any of them now, and he could have prevented it, that made it partly his fault. And he didn't want Bode or Salb on his conscience.

Davin peered through the slit in the tent. Now he had to figure out how to handle this, and spotting the boxes first would be a big help. Peering through a slit of his own, Maerillus shrugged his shoulders.

Davin's heart sank.

The boxes were out of view. That meant they were going to have to change tents, and every move they made would raise their chances of being caught. To pull this off, Davin knew he was going to need the initiative when he stepped out to try reasoning with Bode.

Before he could motion to Maerillus, he heard Bode yell at Salb to stop. "What are you doing?! There's a box there you haven't opened!"

Davin felt a surge of alarm. He pulled the tent flap aside just enough to see outside.

"I don't see any box," Salb flashed.

Davin leaned out farther. If anyone looked, they would be able to see his head clearly.

"The little one right there in front of you, you thick-headed ox-lump!" Bode's face began to turn scarlet. "I should have done this myself!"

Salb looked around on the ground, then gave a slight shrug and said, "Get it yourself."

Davin saw the box easily. It lay in the grass by Salb's feet, as if a vicious, black predator had made a nest and crouched to bite at the nearest set of ankles that strayed by.

Bode stood there, poleaxed for a moment. He wasn't used to this sort of backtalk. For once, Davin saw something like helpless confusion cross Bode's face. He glared at Salb for a moment and then stormed over to the thing as if the exchange never happened.

Davin held his breath; there was no time to stop him. As Bode drew close to the thing, the expression on his face began to change. Storm clouds massing across his brow shifted, and he seemed confused, as if he had eaten something that unexpectedly disagreed with him. He slowed, and his gait became uncertain. Bode appeared to be experiencing two contradictory impulses for the first time in his life. He slowed even more. Clearly, he wanted to get to the box, but now he looked uncertain.

Then he stopped.

Bode stared at the box, almost the same way Niam had. But then a flush of white flashed across his face, and Bode collapsed to the ground, landing on his butt with a loud "Ummph!"

Jalt and Card brayed like two donkeys.

Bode looked back at them in disbelief.

Then Salb walked over and stopped between Bode and the box and tossed a bottle of wine down to him. He wore a cruel and drunken leer. "Looks like you need this more than I do." He laughed even harder. At that, both Card and Jalt seemed about to lapse into a fit of apoplexy.

Bode worked his mouth, stunned. "Don't you feel that!?" he belted out.

"Oh yeah, I'm feeling it good," Salb slurred slightly.

"He's seeing things," Card called out. "Maybe we shouldn't have given him our wine!"

Bode backed away fearfully. He looked at the box, and then at the three of them. His face was slack and openly shocked at the turn of events. "Stop it!" he screamed at them. They only laughed harder.

"They don't see the box," Davin whispered wonderingly.

Maerillus let out a sound of disgust. "We've got another problem."

"What?' Davin asked, not sure whether he wanted to know the answer.

"Niam," he said flatly.

Davin cursed softly. "Where?"

"You can't see him from there. I can only just see what he's doing," Maerillus said in frustration.

Davin groaned. "What's he doing?"

"He appears to be relieving the horses of their saddles and bridles." After a brief pause, he added, "And now he's relieving them of the burden of carrying Bode and his friends back home. He just smacked one on the rump. Either the horses said something to offend him, or he's chasing them off."

Davin cursed again, and then moved Maerillus over so he could see. Indeed, across the camp, Niam was waving the horses away as they galloped out of sight. And that's when one of the thugs spotted him.

"Hey! It's the Maldies brat!"

Bode spun and saw Niam. "Get him!" he bellowed.

The three thugs roared in unison.

Niam looked up, his eyes wide with surprise.

That's when all hell broke loose. Suddenly a loud WHUMP! sounded, and several tents lifted high into the air. The ground belched a gout of flame that rose twenty feet and rained down, setting a circle if grass and broken tents alight.

Everyone stopped and gawked.

A flash of light caught Davin's eye, and his attention whipped over to where a box lay. Across its surface red runic writing appeared to glow with a baleful light that grew in intensity.

Davin screamed a warning just as it burst into a large ball of flame, throwing tents along with their contents flying in every direction. This was followed by another. Then another. The concussion of the blasts rippled the tent fabric, and Maerillus shouted to Davin, "There are more of them hidden among these tents! Run!"

Just as he and Maerillus fled through the opening, he felt a large force lift him up and fling him helplessly through the air. Finally, the tree hanging above him had crashed down. When he hit the ground, he spiraled across the earth and sat up, gasping for air.

*

As Maerillus picked himself up, someone's knee plowed into him, ringing his head like a bell. Card went spiraling to the ground. He shot up abruptly and turned, his face was full of panic. When his eyes fell on Maerillus, he snarled, "You!"

Maerillus didn't wait for him to act. He swung his fist and drove it into the other boy's face. Card's eyes rolled back and he went over hard, but thankfully wasn't knocked out. Maerillus shook him by the collar and growled, "Get out of here, Card. You and your idiot friends. Now!"

Card screamed in terror and darted away like a crazed rabbit.

About fifteen feet away, Davin got shakily to his feet. Each time a box detonated, Bode's gang changed direction as they attempted to flee, nearly trampling one another in their madcap frenzy. If it hadn't been so terrifying, Maerillus would have laughed hysterically.

Davin limped over to Maerillus's side. Both crouched as debris and flames fell like dragons' tears around them. Explosions were now going off all throughout the camp. The two of them jerked as a massive explosion to the east jarred their teeth and left their ears ringing. Maerillus watched, dumbstruck and terrified.

Walls of smoke drifted past them, closing off parts of the world, and reopening, revealing a large vista of flaming tents and abandoned carts snarled together. Through a bank of flames, a soot covered, thin shape wound its way toward them. It was Niam. Long rivulets of sweat running down his face had washed some of his skin clean, leaving a striped pattern across his cheeks.

"What a show!" he yelled above the din. His face radiated excitement from every pore.

"Don't worry about us!" Maerillus rounded on him. "We're okay!"

Niam looked taken aback. "I could tell that," he said defensively. "I really could!"

"Let's get out of here!" Davin said shouted.

Fires were spreading in every direction, and it was hard not to get caught up in the tangled ruins twisting and roping everywhere. As they neared the boundary of the destruction, Maerillus just made out the shape of a motionless form lying pinned beneath a shattered mass of wood. An explosion must have flung it on top of whoever it was as he tried to run out of the flaming chaos. Davin and Niam saw it too, and as they sprinted over to the figure, they saw that the mass of wood had once been a cart.

Bode lay crumpled beneath its shattered remains. Davin bent to check his body.

"He's alive," he said between sooty coughs. "Help me lift this off of him."

Maerillus and Niam began grabbing planks of wood and cleared them from Bode's body. If it hadn't been for a shallow dip in the ground, the cart's remains would have crushed him where he lay.

"Help me lift him," Davin said urgently. "This place is going to be a carpet of fire in a few minutes!"

Niam grabbed his foot and growled, "Forget that! I'm dragging his sorry hide!"

"We don't have time for that," he said vehemently.

"Fine," Niam said and kicked Bode solidly in the side before helping maneuver his limp form over Davin's shoulder.

The walk to the trail leading back home was a slow one. One of the saddleless horses stood nervously chomping at grass nearby. When it saw them, it blew through its nose, uncertain whether or not to run. By this point, the explosions had ceased, and now only the hot splintering crackle of burning wood sounded above what had once been a large town of tents.

Maerillus looked at the horse with relief. It was a good thing it had fled in this direction, otherwise someone might have been forced to remain with Bode while the others returned to Pirim Village for help. Niam walked up to it, took its mane, and led it back, cooing and talking soothingly to the animal. Its ears flickered and its head jerked toward any noise. But Niam had always had a way with animals, and after a few minutes it seemed calmer. Hoisting Bode atop the animal's back took more effort than anyone realized. Finally, they just decided to drape him across its back. There was no way to tie him to it. They started down the trail quickly, hoping to be long gone when the owner of those boxes returned.
Chapter Fourteen

The Trall

Bode's arms dangled limply and swayed with the motion of the horse carrying him. After several hours of walking, Niam and Maerillus felt safe enough to go at it again, and Davin gritted his teeth. Somewhere in the forest, a pair of eyes seemed to be boring into him, and the bickering only set him more at edge.

"I wish the two of you would just knock it off!" he shouted.

"He should have stayed put where we told him!" Maerillus shouted back, more at Niam than at Davin.

"My idea was a good one," Niam replied hotly after explaining himself for the hundredth time to Maerillus.

"Until you got caught," Maerillus snapped back, crossing his arms and leveling his most imperious stare at him.

"Not like it mattered anyway, what with all the boxes spitting tents, carts, fire, and Bodes everywhere!"

Maerillus raised his hands in exasperation. "THAT'S my point! The only thing that saved your butt was the fact that all hell broke loose. If it hadn't, we'd have been forced to take on four people to bail you out. And trust me, Bode's bad enough. Salb. . . he'd have stuck a sword in you and played jump rope with your guts for fun."

Davin had heard enough. He walked ahead and rounded on them both. "We've been nearly blown to bits and burned to death," he began with slow, emphatic words to make sure none of them missed his point. "Now I'd say that you two little girls can keep at each other, but that would be an insult to Madeline, who would know better than to fight like two roosters while the person who killed the Vandin, burned their camp, and nearly got us scattered across that field back there is walking free right now. On top of that, there is something wrong and I don't know what it is."

Niam and Maerillus looked away sheepishly, avoiding one another's eyes.

"Now say you're sorry," Davin demanded, planting his arms on his hips.

Niam scratched his head shamefully. "I guess I've been really upset since before we came up here," he muttered.

Maerillus looked down at the ground. "Me too," he said.

"Now see, isn't this a beautiful thing?" Davin asked at the end of his rope and then punched them both hard enough in the shoulder to leave a good bruise.

"Ouch!"

"Hey!"

"That's so you both don't forget!"

Niam massaged his arm gingerly. "That was unnecessary," he complained.

"I'm feeling a bit unnecessary at the moment," Davin said. Then he changed topics. "We need to focus and talk about what happened back there."

"Danger. . . life or death situations, lots of hiding, a terrifying run for our lives . . ." Niam quipped. "You know, the usual."

Maerillus's voice became heavy. "This is bigger than anything we could have imagined,"

"I agree," Davin said to them both. Then he told Niam he was right about the boxes. "We felt it too, but not as strongly as you."

"Thanks," Niam grumbled.

"It's strange that Bode had a similar reaction to them," Davin said.

Those words fell on Niam like sand in his face. He looked venomously up at where the bully's body hung across the horse, but made a visible effort of reining his contempt into something more controllable. "I'd pay good money to know why," he managed calmly after a moment. "I wonder what set them off," Niam said. "I mean, I wonder if they were booby-trapped, or something like that."

"Somebody could have been there to set them off," Maerillus offered.

"Or they could have been made to go off when no one was around," Davin said.

"Yeah, but one of those boxes lured me to it," Niam told them suspiciously.

"But, you're forgetting that we all felt uneasy around them," Davin replied. "So did Bode."

"But why did I have a different reaction to them, and why couldn't anyone else see them for that matter?"

"Excellent questions!" Davin said sourly. "And we don't have one single clue."

Niam wrinkled his nose and took a step away from the horse he led, "Does Bode ever take a bath?"

"That's the only thing we have the answer to," Maerillus replied. "I think he's attracting gnats."

Then, as Davin opened his mouth to say something else, he froze. A wave of danger suddenly swept over him. He drew his hatchet and hissed, "Get back! Get your bow ready!"

The horse Niam was leading suddenly jerked its head around as it sensed something too. Its eyes went white and its nostrils flared. Niam tried to steady it, but the animal began to jig and sluice as it struggled to get away, panicking and snorting in fear. The alarmed animal tore free of his grip and took off running down the trail. Bode's unconscious head bounced stupidly as it ran.

Maerillus began fumbling for his arrows, reaching for the quiver he kept slung over his shoulder. Niam looked around wildly for something to hit with his staff.

Davin felt something approaching fast. A dark shape burst out of the shadows and leapt at him with a vicious growl.

Davin barely had enough time to react, but he dropped in time to avoid the worst of the impact. Razor sharp claws raked him and pain seared across his left shoulder. Air exploded out of his chest as he hit the ground and rolled.

His attacker's momentum sent it flying several feet away where it landed with an unnatural grace and rounded on him. The thing was a monster ripped out of the stuff of nightmare.

Somewhere behind him Niam shouted out in alarm. The terror in his voice merged with Davin's own. Maerillus fumbled with an arrow and dropped it. "What is that thing!?" he screamed.

Davin looked at the creature in front of him and wanted to run. He had never seen anything like it in his life. The thing was covered in a rough hide of diseased skin and stood at an odd angle on all fours. The thing looked like it had started out as a man, but its limbs had been bent in the wrong direction so it could move on all fours like a large cat. Long claws tipped its legs, and its face was distended and misshapen, as if it were morphing into a new, feline form. Wicked incisors jutted from its mouth and tore into its own flesh, leaving the thing's lower lips a mass of bloody tatters.

When the beast stared at Davin, it's eyes burned with a hateful intelligence, and the thing lifted its head back and gave an earsplitting scream of rage.

Davin held his hatchet ready, and his hands shook so fiercely that his weapon felt useless.

The creature raked the ground and its haunches tensed as it shifted its weight back and prepared to leap. In a flash of color, a long shaft suddenly buried itself in the beast's eye. The creature screamed in agony and suddenly slumped to the ground, motionless.

Davin stared for a half-second, and turned to thank Maerillus . . . but Maerillus had only just grabbed an arrow, and he gaped the creature in total surprise. Then Davin noticed a dark figure behind his friends, standing with his bow ready in his left hand as he nocked another arrow with his right.

"That," he said with stoic calm, "was a trall."

"Fiery hell!" Niam blurted out. "Who are you!?"

The man's pursed lips made a thin line. "You're welcome," he said dryly. "Now, if you don't mind, I think your friend has fallen off of his horse somewhere behind us."

"He's not our friend," Niam said in a voice heavy with fear and suspicion.

"His unlucky day then," the stranger said, giving the boys a measured, studying look that made Davin uneasy.

The stranger looked around as if he were taking everything in at once. With his arrow ready, he walked over to the creature—the trall—with a killer's fluid grace and sent another arrow into the thing's chest. Davin flinched as the thing jerked in a deadly spasm that would have sent its claws into the stranger's legs if he had stood just a little closer. "With trall, it's always best to kill them twice," he said mechanically, as if he were listing the things he would need to scrub out a privy. "They don't die easily," he went on, "and only a fool tires to take one down with a hatchet. Arrows are best, or something with reach—like a spear. Even then, you'll want to come at one with help."

"What was that thing?" Davin demanded.

The stranger ignored him. "Did you know your eyes are yellow, young man?" He asked casually, as if he were asking someone if the sky were cloudy.

Davin blinked.

"Yes," he said tersely. "Now what was that?"

The man met his gaze, and Davin knew he was dangerous. "A trall is what is left of a man after a sorcerer has made him into something . . . rather less than a man, shall we say?"

At the mention of a sorcerer, Davin's gut clenched. "How do you know this?" he asked warily.

The stranger laughed, though there was little humor in it. "Well, I would have thought that was obvious. I've killed them before."

"I don't mean to seen rude, but we've already been nearly killed once today," Davin said levelly. He felt relived when he noted that Maerillus stood to the side with an arrow ready. The stranger still stood like a coiled spring ready snap. Davin was willing to bet that this was his relaxed posture.

"The day's young yet," the man replied.

"Thank you for saving my life," Davin told him. "If you hadn't come along it would have killed the three of us."

"And that would have been very unfortunate for you because tralls don't wait until their prey are dead before they start eating."

"I'm twice as glad you came along then."

"Why were you coming this way," Maerillus asked. "This road leads to private property."

"Because I was going to see a friend and your father gave me permission."

Maerillus raised an eyebrow. "You must be the court investigator everyone's been talking about."

The man arched an eyebrow. "Court investigator indeed."

Davin knew that it was past time for introductions. "I'm Davin Hapwell and this is Niam Maldies. You apparently already know who Maerillus is."

My name is Jolan Kine," the new man said.

"This man you were going to see . . . he wouldn't have happened to have been Vandin, would he?"

The man nodded as he peered cautiously through the forest, his eyes never resting on any one spot as they searched for danger.

"I'm afraid you're not going to find him," Davin said, and then told him about the burning camp. "I didn't see anyone else there. I think all of them were scared away by something before it happened."

"Not all of us were scared away," a deeply accented voice resonated from behind them.

Davin spun to see a short man in leather britches, dark shirt, and soft boots made for hunting walking out from concealment behind a dense copse of tightly packed young saplings.

They both acknowledged one another.

"Rand."

"Jolan."

"What stinking hole did he crawl out of!?" Niam exclaimed.

As he drew closer, the man called Rand had another surprise in store for the three of them. His eyes shone with a strange glint. The Vandin's eyes didn't shine like theirs sometimes did, but they were unique, iridescent, not of any one particular color but opalescent and shot through with many.

"Your eyes!" Niam said, wonderingly.

"Pay attention Maldies," Kine told him pointedly. "It would seem you're all related."

Davin knew their shock was obvious. Maybe he heard wrong. There could be no way they were related. The Vandin were the last people he would have been related to. Maerillus was nearly white.

"Did you say we are related?" Davin asked. Rand stood like a wild and rangy wolf, gazing at him intently.

"We can't be related to . . . um . . ." he began awkwardly, but cut himself off as Niam and Maerillus shifted under the Vandin's steady eye.

Maerillus cleared his throat audibly. "What I think Davin's trying to say is that none of us have heard about anything like that in our ancestry."

Davin cast a grateful look to Maerillus.

"What with how the Vandin consort with animals and make pacts with the Lord of the Grave," Kine said gruffly. "I'm sure it would have been the hot topic at the dinner table."

Davin blushed furiously, but Rand broke out in deep-throated laughter. "Believe half of what you see and none of what you hear sometimes, Hapwell." He growled. "There's a riderless horse down that way. We need to get him and bring him back."

"Which boy does it belong to?"

"The one lying in the middle of the road."

Rand gave a nod, and Kine explained that they would catch up to him before the Vandin trotted off fetch the horse. When they found Bode, he was sprawled in the middle of the road. His face was coated with dirt where it had plowed into earth as he fell. Davin winced. He knew that was going to hurt fiercely when he finally came to.

"You're here to look into Jort's death, aren't you?" Maerillus asked.

Something unreadable flashed across Kine's face. His voice was slow; he growled, "Among other things. There's lots going on here that needs investigating."

Davin winced as he heard him say that. He already seemed to know things about the three of them that they didn't even know, and that made him nervous.

"And how did you know where to find us?" Davin asked Rand, who—like Kine—kept a constant eye on the surroundings.

"I felt the evil of that thing, and I followed it," he said simply.

"I was following up on information I had discovered and was coming to meet Rand when I heard you three walking down the road. You were so loud a deaf man couldn't have missed you. I didn't know who you were, so I slipped aside and watched. Then the trall attacked and I kept the three of you from getting killed."

Rand grew stiff as mention was made of the trall.

"What happened back at your camp?" Kine stopped abruptly and asked.

Davin and his friends listened intently as the Vandin's face lost all expression. "Its master came several days ago and as we prepared to go to the markets. He walked among us like a ghost as we made our prayers for a successful sale this winter. The first to fall was Rubio. The sorcerer kept demanding that he give something up. Rubio told him he didn't have it." Rand's face looked haggard. As he continued on, he shivered. "Jolan, it was like sorcerer pulled Rubio's very soul out as he demanded to know where the item he sought was hidden. Rubio had a knife and slit his own throat before the sorcerer could do his worst. Then he turned his attention on the rest of us. Several clan chiefs burst into flames where they stood, and he called fire down from the sky.

"My people now say this place is cursed. They won't come back for fear that the Lord of the Grave himself will appear."

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner," he told Rand.

"Now that I've found you, I am traveling to meet with Lord Joachim to give him my story."

"Good," Kine said somberly. "He'll want to hear it."

"What of these three?" he asked.

"Joachim's not going to like that they almost got themselves killed," he said gruffly, and gave them a look like a cat when it stares at a caged bird.

Davin fought a chill that threatened to raise the hair along his arms.

"Lot of curious things are happening with them in town," he said. "The smallest one just happened to go on a walk early in the morning and found a boy who had slipped down a cliff while picking berries with his dog. Young Sartor just happened to overhear a criminal and have him arrested . . . and you . . ." he said to Davin. "I haven't heard about anything that you've done lately."

Davin felt his heart begin to beat faster in his chest. "I'm just a boring guy," he said.

"But you've been to Kalavere with you father recently."

Davin's face burned. "We go several times a year. All of us do."

"I'm not a fool," Kine said. "I know what you did."

Davin felt his indignation rise. "So what if it was me. I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Oh no. Not a thing—and a lot that was right. But you're calling all the wrong kinds of attention down on yourselves."

"Who else knows?" Davin demanded. "Since it seems like the secret's out!"

"Not as many people as would like to know, and more than you'd like," he said cryptically.

"Who knows?" He asked, and his face burned with anger. "We deserve to know. We're in the middle of something that scares us to death. And if one of those things leaps out of the forest, I'd at least like to know that much before dying."

Niam walked up to Davin and stood beside him with his arms crossed defiantly. "Me too," he said.

Maerillus joined them. "I'd like to know, too."

Kine regarded them for a moment. "You parents and Lord Joachim. Rand knows because he is—was—Rubio's apprentice, and he was working with Jort, though the two of them kept their secrets to the grave. Now I've got to figure out what this sorcerer was after. Needless to say, I've had business attracting my attention here for some time, and Jort and Joachim told me about you three. No one else knows about you unless you've walked around with your eyes blazing, announcing to the whole world that you're different."

"Our parents know?" Maerillus said, stunned.

"It's their story to tell, not mine," Kine told him. "Now let it be done until you see them. I want to be out of these woods and back on your parents' estate, even if that means walking all night. None of us are sleeping in these woods tonight."

As if in answer to Kine's words, a long, piercing howl sounded far in the distance. Davin's blood felt as if it could freeze in his veins.

"That was no wolf," Maerillus muttered.

"Lets get a move on and pick up the pace," he said brusquely.

Somewhere along the walk, to everyone's misery, Bode woke up and started to complain.
Chapter Fifteen

The Family Court

Jolan Kine and Rand led the boys through the night and finally they emerged on the north end of Sartor's estate without any more bother than Bode's incessant moaning. Even in a state of semi-consciousness, he was insufferable. Before taking Bode to Lord Joachim's manor to be seen by his physician, Jolan Kine and Rand took Gaius and Andromeda aside.

Now Gaius Sartor sat behind the desk in his study. Andromeda stood beside him, statuesque in a demure dress of fine blue silk. Her face seemed remote and detached, registering no emotion. Gaius appeared to be studying a ledger, but Maerillus knew what he and his mother were up to. Time slid by and the air in the office was thick with a tension that radiated from his parents. Their best weapon was on full display right now.

Silence.

Maerillus knew that his parents were giving them time to sit and stew before the lecture began. But he sat and stared back. He and his friends were made to sit on the other side of the desk, which was a large, solid work of oak, with ornately wrought scenes of fantastical beasts from mythology engraved across its highly polished panels. On the front of the desk, the family seal was emblazoned. Two rampant lions faced one another for mortal battle while the torch of truth burned between them. The desk was meant to separate them by more than its mere physical presence. Authority was what really divided them.

As he waited, he wondered how Niam and Davin were taking it all. His parents had lectured them all plenty over the years, but this was their first time to be hauled before what he and his siblings called the family court.

With an obvious sigh, as if he were setting aside valuable time for a frivolous matter, Gaius slowly shut his ledger and sat it down. In a rich and mellifluous voice, he looked at Maerillus and said, "You nearly got yourselves killed yesterday."

"Several times it seems," Andromeda said with all the regality of a queen who brooked no dissent.

"Um . . . if it makes any difference he nearly killed me once or twice over all of this, because I guess some of it was my fault," Niam interjected.

Despite the Sartors' withering glare, Niam wasn't ready to be quiet yet. "I'm just saying," he told them, as he seemed to shrink back in his seat.

"I'm just trying to help," he whispered. Then he looked back at Gaius and Andromeda and squeaked an apology.

"I can explain," Maerillus began, but his mother cut in.

"Explain why you lied to us?" The lack of any emotion on her face made the accusation seem more a condemnation.

Maerillus shifted uncomfortably as she started speaking. When she was done, more silence followed. The awkwardness of the situation was the worst part.

Maerillus had sat through these sessions countless times in the past. But he was weary of this. After all, he had done all of this in order to protect other people, but his family reputation as well. His face grew hot at the sting of injustice.

Gaius's features were the first to soften. "I understand your reasoning, son. But in light of everything that has been going on, you showed very poor judgment." When he looked at his son, he bore an expression on his face that showed he expected an apology.

To Maerillus, however, it felt like an abasement. "The poor judgment I demonstrated," he began through clenched teeth, "came as a result of the fact that I was working with incomplete information."

His mother's curt voice almost made him wince. "Maerillus! Don't talk to your father that way!"

For the first time in his life, Maerillus nearly shouted at his parents. "We had a right to know the things you've withheld from us! Don't you think we might have made better decisions if we had known we're somehow a part of this?"

Andromeda and Gaius looked at one another wordlessly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, genuinely hurt, hoping the pain in his voice might finally get an answer and put all of this lecture business to rest. "We're related to the Vandin, among other things. And these things that are happening to us . . ." Maerillus had to pause before his voice broke. "What else haven't you told us?"

Andromeda chewed her lip nervously. Her snowy and serene face was slipping. She's been worrying about this for some time, Maerillus realized. After an uncomfortable stretch, Davin took the initiative to break the tension. "Mr. Sartor," he implored, "What's happening to us?"

Surprisingly, it was Andromeda who was the first to speak up. Her face was no longer calm and regal. A new set of lines creased her face. When she looked up at the three of them, they were the lines of a mother worried about her children.

"They need to know some of it," she said to her husband and looked as if she were about to cry.

A burst of shame blossomed in Maerillus's chest as he watched the emotions pass across his mom's face.

"Their parents—" Gaius began.

"Ought to be here but they aren't," Andromeda finished.

Niam broke in. "We can get them here." Davin agreed.

Gaius gave a heavy sigh, and looked beyond Maerillus and Davin to Niam. "I guess it falls to us."

Niam caught the look that passed between them, and asked nervously, "What!?"

"Your parents are with the Hapwells right now," he said. There was an unmistakable note of sadness in his voice.

Both Niam and Davin stiffened in their seats, and asked, "What happened?"

Gaius glanced at Davin, and then his eyes settled on Niam. "They're down at Siler's Gorge. Some fishermen have found the remains of a body, a skeleton, in one of the coves. We're not completely certain, but it's probably—"

"—Seth's!"

Maerillus was shocked. The look on Niam's face could have moved hangmen to tears. His mother's lips quivered. For all the effort his family put into keeping up a steady appearance, feelings ran deeply in the Sartor family.

Gaius was somber. "We're all so sorry. We were going to tell you but . . . " his words trailed off into silence and hung in the air.

"Nobody knows how to say something like that," Niam finished. His words were quiet and dismal.

Gaius's eyes took on a far-off look as memories seemed to pass before them. "I've broken plenty of bad news to people in my time, but when it happens to be the last son of one of my best friends, it gets hard. This is something I never expected to have to do when we were your age."

Heavy dewdrops of tears rimmed Niam's eyes, and his chin trembled almost imperceptibly. He straightened himself, and pushed the next words out. "This show isn't about me. What's happening to us? I don't think my folks will be in any kind of shape to tell us."

Gaius gave Niam an appraising look. "Well done Maldies." The words had been meant as praise for Niam's resolve. Niam just sat with a stony face and waited. "We wanted everyone involved here for this, but what we can tell you is this—the thing you're experiencing runs in our families."

"You can say it skips generations," Andromeda added.

"It's part of our Vandin blood, a legacy so to speak from ages and ages past."

"For generations the Vandin have lived apart from other people because of how different they are," Andromeda said. "You have no doubt noticed Rand's eyes? That is only a holdover from what the Vandin truly hide within their family lines."

"What you are," Gaius pronounced.

"And no matter how closed off and secretive a people can be, sometimes a member steps out here and there and marries outside of the clans—as my great-grandfather did," Andromeda said, "during the Tolmarch War when the last of the Guldeen were driven from the haunted cities of Siloam. He was a volunteer in the army that left from this area, led by Lord Joachim's ancestor, Count Ribone Joachim."

Davin spoke up. "But we've never heard any stories about the Vandin and mysterious powers. I'd think we would have heard something about 'Vandin sorcery' or something like that. Blind One's eyes—everyone talks enough about them in every other way!"

Gaius shook his head. "Apparently no one has ever manifested powers to the extent that you have," he said. "My father told me once he knew of a man who could touch fire without being burned. Said he walked right into a burning barn and pulled a servant out before the flames took him. The Vandin man didn't have a mark on him although the fire had burned the clothes right off of his body."

"Did his eyes shine like ours do" Niam asked, preoccupied.

"Now that is something no one has seen for a very, very long time. The Vandin possess just a touch of it—enough to mark them with unusually colorful eyes. Sometimes someone like Rand can sense things, but that is all. At least all that I know of."

"So it isn't sorcery," he asked fearfully.

"No. It is not sorcery."

Niam looked at him doubtfully. The noise of floorboards creaking made everyone turn around to see Lord Joachim's grizzled features as he strode into the room wearing a pair of riding boots, thick grey pants, and a heavy coat that covered him almost to his knees. "For lack of a better word, call these powers endowments. I've studied the Vandin for some time. They see them as gifts from a higher source." Then Joachim looked down at Niam. "Your mom and dad are at my manor. My physician has given them something to help them relax."

Niam nodded his head.

"If there's anything I can do . . ." he said, and left the offer hanging in the air.

"I think Niam is worried about the sorcery thing," Davin told him. "To be honest, I figured this was something different, but you've got to understand—"

"This is pretty odd," Joachim said gruffly. "Damn right it is. But as to that count, you're safe."

The boys leaned forward eagerly.

"Sorcery involves the manipulation of powers drawn from unnatural agencies—demons, dark intelligences, and such. Wizard's Hammers exist to prevent wizards from making the transition from using the natural forces surrounding them into far darker pursuits. It's why every magic practitioner must be registered with the Crown."

Maerillus shivered at the thought of Wizard's Hammers. Tales of their ferocity were legendary, along with the lengths they went through in order to bring rogue mages to justice.

Or take down sorcerers.

Niam gave the Count a perplexed look. "Why haven't there been any Hammers here with all of this going on?"

Joachim gave a grim smile. "In point of fact, there have been two around here for some time off and on."

Maerillus was shocked. "Jort!" he exclaimed. "He—he said something to me the day I overheard Ravel talking about his plans to take Dad's shipment. I always thought the old guy was touched."

Joachim coughed a dry laugh. "Jort was many things, but crazy wasn't one of them. Not in the conventional way."

"Why was Jort here," Davin asked.

"You three," Joachim told them bluntly. "He knew you had yellow eyes when you were born. And as you got older, your parents and I grew concerned. We knew you possessed great potential. And none of us knew whether magic users operating legitimately or in the dark would recognize your potential and try to use you. This is new ground for us all to cover.

"What I didn't know is that Jort had stumbled onto something. I think he was onto a sorcerer operating in this area, even before he went into retirement and came here as a favor to me. Now it looks like he might have had more than one agenda, and that's why your parents and I chose to call in his best apprentice, Jolan Kine. Thankfully Jolan was in Kalavere at the time. And that is why I have asked Gaius to keep you all here on his estate for the time being. Indoors."

All three boys began sputtering complaints at once, but Gaius held his hand up to silence them. Then he addressed Niam, with words meant for all of them. "Niam, you and your family have had a terrible time. An especially experienced Wizard's Hammer has been murdered. By your accounts, Vandin have died, and you were attacked by a creature that was more than likely created by the culprit behind it. To make matters worse, someone's been breaking into shops, businesses, and homes all over Pirim Village lately. And to top it all off, whatever your motivations were, the three of you have been doing Lord knows what behind everyone's backs."

Maerillus wanted to say something, but he knew his father had a point.

"If you don't want to think of yourselves as restricted for the time being, then consider yourselves guests in the Sartor estate until we get this trade meeting behind us," Joachim growled. "We can't have the lot of you getting yourselves or anyone else blown up with guild representatives, businessmen, and lords running around. It's bad for business, and I'd have to send too much time explaining myself to the Crown. Not even the three of you are worth that much hassle."

With that, Andromeda ushered them off to the family wing of the estate, and there was not a thing they could do about it.
Chapter Sixteen

The Merchant

Two weeks later, guests began arriving early to the Sartor estate. Niam, Maerillus, and Davin "volunteered" to work with the staff handing out glasses of wine and showing newcomers around. If Maerillus felt any sting at having to work as one of the help, he didn't show it. In fact, he seemed happy to be doing this. Niam discovered that there was a maid on staff named Betsy who kept showing up wherever Maerillus was.

A good part of the afternoon Niam fetched coats and escorted visitors across the courtyard from one room to another. That was how he most recently caught them in a storage room with their heads bent together as they whispering quietly and giggled like children. Both times Maerillus blushed, quickly parted from Betsy and walked away as if the seat of his pants were on fire.

At least his friend seemed happy. But Niam did feel a stab of regret for Betsy. Sartors never married beneath their status. That was just how it was among nobles and wealthy merchants.

Niam pushed Maerillus and his newfound romance out of his mind because there were stranger things afoot today than love. Over the past week, Maerillus had warned him numerous times about the trade conference, he was sure of it . . .

Well, pretty sure.

Unfortunately, as Niam searched his memory he distinctly remembered a conversation going something like this:

Maerillus: "blah diddley blah, and blah blah blah diddley blah."

Niam: "Um-hmm. I see. Yes I'm listening. Are there any more of those creamy pastries in the kitchen . . . ouch! Why did you hit me?"

While ignoring Maerillus might have made time go by more easily when he got started about upper society, Niam was beginning to suspect that he ought to have listened more. At least about the trade conference and the big ball that was held at the end of the thing. He did remember, however, that there had been a number of warnings about the plotting, scheming, and public showmanship.

From Joachim and Jolan Kine as well.

As Niam watched the visitors to the Sartor estate, he remembered that Lord Joachim frequently said that people often waged war without resorting to fire, steel, or arrows. "A sword is easier to deflect than a word, and a word is easier to guard against than a look," the count was fond of grumbling whenever someone in the capital piqued his ire.

Men and women of significance talked in pairs and in groups, often loudly enough to be deliberately overhead by others nearby. Niam knew this sort and wrinkled his nose. Most of them seemed to be jockeying for the best locations to be seen or overheard. Niam only had to watch long enough to see where a person's eyes went once a conversation was done. Lingering eyes spoke volumes about lingering desires.

Others were more secretive. Niam listened as men and women greeted familiar guests warmly, only to say rude things once they parted to mingle with other groups.

Who, of course, greeted one another warmly.

Did they really think that just because he was part of the "help" that he didn't exist or notice? Niam saw two ladies in dresses that left little to the imagination nearly fight over the attention of a gallant young officer with dark, smoldering eyes and a strong jawline. He knew for a fact the women were in attendance on behalf of husbands who weren't.

Niam blushed and turned away whenever he saw them! In Pirim Village—even in Kalavere—women had more sense than to act like that. The men were just as bad. He gawked at the large wigs some men wore that reminded him of horses' manes; only, horses would have worn them better. Flowing across their shoulders or tied back with ribbons, the wigs held a generous peppering of small, jeweled baubles that glittered or sparkled in the light. As if trying to outdo the poor fashion choice of wigs, the faces beneath were powdered, and often their cheeks were dusted with rouge. To Niam's eye, this gave their pallid features the artificial warmth of painted corpses.

Some faces, though, were downright garish. A few were made up in the hollow grinning likenesses of skulls. These made Niam uncomfortable. Whether these men laughed or smiled, the effect was the same: Death mocked life in a carnival atmosphere of trade, social showmanship, and hidden plots of one-upmanship.

One man in particular seemed to leer at servants with a gimlet eye whenever they approached him. His face was dark, as if he had been born with a scowl made to intimidate anyone he did not wish to please. But even among the lords and merchants he associated with, when his scowl fled, it left an orphaned expression never parented by any sort of good will.

Niam knew who the man was. Garrolus Kreeth. He had an unpleasant reputation even among many here in the Lake Valleys, and his main estate was just on the other side of Lord Joachim's property. No one living nearby wanted to work for him. Rumor was, Kreeth recruited desperate people who had fallen on hard times, and once he had them in his service, treated them severely. Joachim had tried numerous times to introduce legislation into the House of Peers on behalf of workers suffering under men like Kreeth. But Kreeth had too many connections, and the bills died stillborn before ever having a chance at receiving a royal stamp.

At some point Niam found Davin in the Kitchen. A beatific smile stretched across his face as he ate a crusty loaf of bread sandwiching a hunk of roast that dripped with dark juices. Niam made himself some food, then walked over and leaned beside Davin and ate. When he was done, he exhaled a long, tired breath. "What do you make of all of this?"

Davin rolled his eyes. "Feel sorry for Maerillus."

"Agreed," Niam muttered quietly so none of the staff heard him. "But he doesn't seem too displeased. Have you seen him with Betsy?"

Davin gave a large, knowing grin.

"We're going to have fun with this, aren't we?"

"You know it."

Just then, Maerillus walked around the corner, saw the look in their eyes and froze. Red splotches blossomed across his face. Quickly, he turned and sped away. Niam and Davin looked at one another and burst into gales of laughter. As Davin wiped tears from his eyes, he said "I haven't laughed that hard in a while."

"Me either."

Davin looked at him suspiciously. "Are you doing okay, Niam?"

Niam shifted a bit where he stood. "I don't know," he told him. "I feel numb, mostly. Mom and Dad didn't even ask for me to be there with them."

Davin spoke over him. "Don't do that, buddy. They knew you'd be better off here."

"But that's just the thing. I don't care," he said flatly. "Not anymore."

Davin gave him an uncertain look.

"I've lived with this for so long, it seems like more of a relief that they found his body. Now I want to find out who did this and kill the bastard."

When Davin gave Niam an awkward look, Niam could tell that his friend didn't like what he saw. But there was nothing Niam could do about that. "We have to find this guy, or this thing, or whatever it is and stop it. Maybe this is why these weird things are happening to us. Maybe it will stop all of this stuff rolling around in my head."

Before Davin could ask what stuff was, someone shouted, "Hey Hapwell, more fruit!"

Davin rolled his eyes. "Looks like I'm up!" He gave Niam a searching look, then with a hearty slap on the back, left.

Niam was glad he was gone. He wasn't ready to talk about the dream where he saw Sara's murderer. That was just too much. The experience was still too fresh. As he strolled toward the largest ballroom, the food he had just eaten began turning in his stomach. Stomach pains suddenly knotted his guts into a tight fist. The pain came on so swiftly that he wasn't paying attention to anything but the way he felt. He rounded a corner and collided with someone coming the other way, let out a loud yelp and fell backward.

"You imbecile!" The man he collided with shouted. Niam's gut lurched. He stammered an apology and looked up. Garrolus Kreeth glowered at him. Their gazes locked, and for a brief second, Kreeth's eyes narrowed in reptilian hate. "Sorry," Niam gasped, and launched himself into the nearest washroom, where he found a basin just in time to be sick.

Afterward, he slipped down to the floor and ran his fingers shakily through his hair. His insides burned with the humiliation of getting sick like that in front of someone like Kreeth. The taste of roast clung to his mouth, and Niam wasn't sure if he would ever want any again. Silently he cursed. He should have known better. The food was too heavy but had smelled really good!

As he sat there, his mind began to turn. Perhaps Davin was right to worry. Seth's body had finally been found. Shouldn't he be mourning? Once the initial blow from the news wore off, Niam only felt an empty detachment. He and Seth had never been especially close. Sara was the middle child and always acted as a bridge between the two. Seth was already near adulthood when Niam was still a child. The love Niam felt for his brother came from the fact that he had died trying to save their sister. And because he couldn't mourn him like he could Sara, Niam hated himself.

But not today, Niam thought to himself. I'm not doing this to myself today. Slowly, he picked himself up off the floor. His stomach felt calm now. As he left the washroom, Niam remembered he needed to find another tray for wine glasses, and he went in search for one. When he opened the door of a storage room, a flicker of motion caught his eye; at the same time his stomach clenched as if he were about to throw up again. Gagging, he looked across the room just in time to see Garrolus Kreeth and Betsy almost locked in an embrace on the other side of the room. The merchant pulled a hand away from where it had been brushing Betsy's hair. Kreeth looked over at him, startled. Fury flooded his face.

Niam's own face flushed. "Oops," he stammered.

Kreeth raised his hand angrily and started to say something, but Niam closed the door and hurried away as fast as he could. As he moved through the narrower hallways used by the servants to go about their chores, the waves of nausea cleared and his unhappy stomach settled. The image of Betsy and Kreeth lingered, however, and Niam wished he had never seen that.

Now, instead of Betsy, it was Maerillus he felt sorry for. He knew servants sometimes tried to bed people with money. But Betsy never seemed the type. And Kreeth? Niam's mind spun furiously for an explanation that would not lead to his friend's heart being broken. But he couldn't find one. Kreeth certainly hadn't been forcing himself on her.

Suddenly, Niam felt drained. He decided he was calling it a day. The conference could attend to itself without him. Niam shrugged his shoulders sadly. He didn't think he could say a word to Maerillus about this.
Chapter Seventeen

Things Overheard

For the first time in a week Niam had some alone time. Now that the trade conference was concluded, vendors were spread out all across Pirim Village's market square. The last shipments were in from the continent before the first snows of winter placed a white chokehold on regular travel until spring. Often, what the snows did not do to the tightly pinched roads winding throughout the region, mudslides from constant thawing and refreezing did. Soon, Pirim Village would disgorge itself of the surplus population of visitors whose numbers steadily increased as soon as the paths into the Lake Valleys opened up. Hot springs dotted the region. From Pirim Village to Havel's Dock, resorts and vacation villas flourished amid the province's lakes and vineyards. They seemed to be natural but strange variations to the land, composed of neither lake nor orchard, but symbiotically attached to both.

But with the frost lying more heavily across the land by the day, the Lake Valleys were glutted with part-time residents. This was the last day when vendors and shops sold goods brought in for the conference at sale prices, and the yearly event heralded an end to business. Now it was time for all who had not settled in with roots deep enough to tolerate the deep snows to leave.

Niam wound his way among shoppers free to be by himself for a while. Well . . . not completely free. He had to deliver a package to the Mayor's office for Mr. Sartor. When he reached the mayor's office, his thoughts grew grim. A long bench faced him as he entered, and through an arched entry on the other side stretched a long hallway, at the end of which a set of double doors emblazoned with the Pirim Village crest led into the mayor's offices.

From the other side of the bench, a kindly old clerk greeted Niam with a sad smile. Whenever he saw her, he always had the feeling that she wanted to fix him, yet there was nothing to fix. For as far back as he could remember he had always felt broken—and if he was made broken, if that break was a part of his nature, was he really broken at all when he was simply being himself? Avoiding her eyes, Niam handed over Mr. Sartor's package and turned to go. As he did he closed his eyes to avoid the door on the left side of the lobby. That was one place he could not allow himself to look into, yet every part of him wanted to look and peer into the offices on the other side.

Seth had worked there for three years.

Had the offices changed much? The current tenant had doubtlessly replaced all of Seth's things. But he wasn't ready to face that just yet. Niam scurried away, but before he made it completely across the room, he looked through the window and froze. Outside, Garrolus Kreeth made his way up the sidewalk as shoppers scurried out of his way. But if that weren't bad enough, what he saw coming from the other direction seemed to make the temperature shoot up in the room. Salb, Jalt, and Card moved toward the office, glaring at everyone they passed.

Niam shook his head. Just a handful of days earlier the three of them ran and screamed like little children as fire erupted around them at the Vandin camp. He wondered what that knowledge would do to their puffed up bravado if everyone knew.

Niam's stomach twisted itself into a knot, and he hurried to the back door to slip out before Kreeth entered. Outside he sat on the steps feeling foolish waiting for them to pass, but Niam didn't feel like risking a confrontation today. While he knew that Salb wouldn't try anything in plain sight, the memory of Niam's little stunt with their horses would still be fresh in their minds.

After waiting for a suitable length of time, Niam took the walkway leading around the building and to the street, keeping his eyes on the lookout for any sign of Salb or Kreeth. The first rule of survival if you were the town runt had always been, see the predators before they see you. Before he made it to the corner of the mayor's office, the sound of heated voices alerted him to danger just on the other side.

Kreeth and Salb seemed to be locked in some kind of heated conversation. Niam's heart dropped. If Kreeth and Salb ever had any business together, it certainly wasn't anything good. He stopped and considered going back behind the building and hiding for a bit longer. After all, listening in on Bode's conversation hadn't done anything except nearly get him and his friends killed.

But as he stood there, he sighed. This was how the bullies of the world operated: make the cost of doing the right thing—or even just living your life in peace—too high to pay. That's how they got their way. If life were a downhill slope, they just steepened the incline a bit to make getting their way easier through intimidation and fear. The impulse to hide shamed Niam.

He exhaled heavily; thoughts of enjoying a carefree day to fled like shadows before a flame. He reasoned that forewarned HAD to be forearmed. Knowing what a toxic mix like Salb and Kreeth were talking about so intently might be in his best interest.

Salb and Kreeth were too far around the corner's edge to hear clearly. Niam flattened himself against the cold wall, held his breath as he slowly made his way to the corner so that he could hear over the sound his own breathing made in his ears. Wheels grumbled across the stone streets, and from the Market Square and merchant district, business hawkers shouted out their wares. Niam bit the side of his cheek and wished the world would all shut up for a moment.

At the corner, he nearly had to lean out in order to make out what they were saying. Kreeth's words were like angry hisses. "I don't care what your excuses are, boy! You'll do as you are told from now on."

"But Bode said that his father told him—" Salb began defensively.

The merchant's words were slow and deliberate. "And you were warned to stay away. Nobody really cares what happens to the Vandin, but if any of you had gotten yourselves killed while you were up there, the deaths of local boys would have caused lots of potential problems for me and my interests."

"Well Bode—" Salb tried again, but the sound of a smack loud enough to make Niam wince stopped him.

"I've told you to keep your voice down, you idiot," Kreeth snarled. "You will do what I tell you to do, and if you're as worthless as Ravel's boy, I will pay someone else."

"Fine," Salb grumbled after a long pause.

"Just do what I asked. I want you to cause those three brats as much trouble as you can. They've become a problem," Kreeth said darkly.

Salb mouthed something Niam could not make out, but Kreeth's response was unmistakably sharp. "That's my business. All you—"

There was a moment of silence and a few more words Niam couldn't distinguish, and at last, Kreeth spoke again. "Never approach me in public again." His voice was dark and threatening.

"Fine," Salb told him, managing to remain defiant, though Niam heard beneath it an undercurrent of fear.

Quietly, Niam waited until he heard Kreeth enter the mayor's office. Salb and the other thugs walked off the way they had come. Niam heard their raucous laughter as they insulted younger boys and girls, and he warily peeked around the corner to watch as they walked away. He remained ready dart away if one of them turned around and saw him. Kreeth's words rattled him. The man was a nasty enemy to have, and apparently he and his friends had fallen under his hateful gaze.

Niam moved to a window and peeked into the mayor's office. The wispy shape of Kreeth still spoke to the clerk. Clear glass was a luxury only for the few in the island kingdoms. It was more common on the continent. But Gaius Sartor was building a glass works foundry adjacent to Joachim's hunting preserve. This alone was sure to bring him a small fortune.

The farther the bullies got, the more Niam felt himself unwind. By the time they reached the first row of shops, he prepared to make his way back to the center of Pirim Village's merchant district to find Maerillus and Davin. Even from the distance separating them, Niam saw the three bullies greedily eyeing the shops as they walked. Niam had no doubt they were casing shops to rob. A string of strange break-ins had occurred lately—strange because no one had been seen committing the crimes, despite the fact that some had occurred in heavily trafficked locations. Niam was willing to bet he knew who was behind it all. With Ravel in the Pit at Kalavere, the opportunity to fill his shoes was probably too strong for Bode and Salb to resist. And wherever they went, the likes of Card and Jalt were sure to follow. Perhaps the divide he had witnessed growing between the four of them at the Vandin camp had developed into a permanent chasm. But even if Bode had been ostracized from his followers, the son of Ravel Grimmel was still bad news for anyone unfortunate enough to stumble into his path.

With that thought Niam gave a wicked laugh. There were sure to be no exploding boxes in Pirim Village's stores to scare them away like a gaggle of terrified hens. Before Niam had time to think about what he was doing, he began to cautiously follow them.

Things were quite often like this for Niam. Almost as if his body possessed a will of its own, overriding any good sense he had to stay out of trouble. He knew he should have turned left and crossed the town's park. If he had done so—and it certainly was the sensible thing to do—he would have disappeared into the crowd.

Soon the shoppers would be gone as the event wore down, but for now thickets of people provided the best concealment against Kreeth or the three hounds walking in front of him. The vile merchant had set Salb and his followers to sniffing out Niam, Davin, and Maerillus's activities. If any of these stores got robbed later, he might be able to connect them to the crimes.

*

Bug was in heaven as she looked at the new dresses finely displayed on wooden mannequins shaped with voluptuous curves to accentuate the female form beneath. Madam Borset always gave Bug a kind smile whenever she came in to peruse her dresses and fabrics. "Oh, you'll like what they've brought me this time, Maddie," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "I even got some fabrics in from the far east!" she said, knowing Bug's fascination with the lands beyond the waste. Just like the Feythean, who ruled the continent across the southern sea, it was said that the peoples beyond the waste were not quite human.

Bug's eyes lit up. She even forgot for a moment the guilt she felt for coaxing Corey to come along. She had left him with the old workhorse they had ridden into town in a stable on the other side of Pirim Village. Her cousin didn't take too well to crowds.

"Where is it?" she asked eagerly.

"Here, my dear."

By the time her eyes came to rest on the spools of fabric, she completely forgot about Corey. The most exotic fabrics she had ever seen filled her eyes. Silks shimmered like liquid where they hung, waiting to be tailored into the kinds of dresses that only people like Mistress Sartor might wear. Hangers held robes where red dragons flickered with an essence of fire that somehow seemed to be entwined within the garment's weave. Beside these robes were iridescent damasks with gold-spun seals of local noble houses. One particular fabric held the moonlight glow of a cold winter's night. As she touched it, the moonlight flickered with striations of sunset vermillion one moment, and the next ran with veins of quicksilver blood.

"What is this?" she asked breathlessly. "It looks like something spun from gemstones!"

"Oooo... don't touch that!" Madam Borset cried out. That's made of a special weave only the Feythean know how to work."

"The Feythean!" she gasped.

"It's a rare thing indeed," she said. "That's only for display. Already been commissioned to make it into a gown for a countess who stays here the summer season."

The fact that it would be gone soon made her sad.

"They say there's magic that's put into the spinning of the fabric," she said.

Bug continued to look for a long while, but her conscience finally intruded on her. She thought of poor Corey, who must be lonely and growing frightened by now. She told him that she would only be gone a short time. There was no way she could have taken him with her into town on a day like this.

Corey had always been different from the other children of Pirim Village, the cruelest of which called him a "feeb," or worse. This wouldn't be half so bad if the name-calling came from the lips of gutter-born bullies like Bode and Card, but nearly everyone had their own amusement at Corey's expense. To Bug, he was a gentle and tender soul, and although he was older, she had become like a guardian spirit for her cousin. Too much activity and too many loud sounds caused him to become extremely agitated, and it was Bug who soothed away his frazzled nerves.

When a performing troupe from the capitol city of Pallodine came to Pirim Village for last year's Harvest Moon festival, Corey had hidden himself beneath tall benches where the spectators sat with his hands clasped tightly over his ears. While the performance left Bug breathless; it also left Corey banging his head against a support post. She didn't find him until most of the spectators had left the arena. Corey had hidden himself so far under the staggered rise of benches that she might never have found him had Bode and his gang not found him first. They were in a semi-circle beneath the highest row of seats, daring Corey to hit the post harder with his head.

Corey hadn't wanted to make the trip today. But the lure of Madam Borset's shop on a day like this had been too strong for Bug to take no for an answer. Now tears began to well in her eyes as she realized she had left him alone at the stables far longer than she had promised.

With one, last rueful glance, she turned and left dreams of a life where she was a countess or a princess behind. Only her new blooming guilt accompanied her through the door.

*

Salb and his followers stopped suddenly as something caught their interest in Madam Borset's shop. If they were breaking into shops in Pirim Village, perhaps they planned on selling the fabrics in Kalavere's black market. A huddled conversation took place among the three of them, and then Salb and Jalt walked back toward the market square, laughing and shouting encouragements to Card, who remained behind and continued to stare into Borset's shop.

Niam drew closer to the bullies, though not close enough to draw their attention. At least Bode wasn't with them. If he was going to follow them to see what they were up to, he was going to have to make a decision. Which should he follow? As Salb and Jalt drew farther away, he mused for a few moments. In the absence of Bode, it looked like Salb was calling the shots. And not only was Salb working for Kreeth, he was dangerous. Card was a flunky, a nobody without the Salbs or Bodes of the world to give him directions. If Kreeth wanted Salb to cause Niam and his friend as much trouble as possible, that made Salb the most important one to follow. Card was a danger, Niam reckoned, but not the kind of danger Salb was. As soon as Niam made up his mind to follow Salb and Jalt, he cast one last suspicious look toward Card. Right at that moment, Bug walked out of Borset's shop. Card began following her with the twin fires of lust and delight burning in his eyes.
Chapter Eighteen

Hound And Hare

Niam gave out a loud exclamation of surprise as a carriage nearly ran him over. Card disappeared somewhere in a throng of shoppers along the walk in front Pirim Village's finest shops. The carriage driver who nearly ran Niam down was too busy looking at the shops to notice him, and Niam swore as he picked himself up from the sidewalk where he had thrown himself in order to avoid being run over.

Across the street, Bug and Card were nowhere to be found.

Niam cursed loudly, and several people looked at him. At the moment, he did not care what anyone thought about a boy's proper behavior. The clip-clop of horseshoes rang out as carts and carriages creaked and grated down the stone-paved street. An angry chorus of shouts erupted every time Niam tried to dart across the busy street.

With each cart that passed, desperation began to build. After what seemed like an eternity, Niam finally found his chance and dodged between two carts. When he got to the other side, there were even more people milling around the storefronts. Niam wished more than anything that they would all just disappear. No matter how much he craned his neck to see over the crowd's heads, seeing much farther than ten feet was impossible. He wanted to scream. If he couldn't find Bug's trail soon, he might not be able to catch up with her before Card did.

*

Bug was amazed at how many people now clogged the streets and walkways in the center of Pirim Village. Every time she tried moving quickly, someone stepped in front of her or stopped to stare. In her haste to get back to Corey, she bumped into a flustered man carrying an unstable stack of boxes, sending the stack tumbling to the walk and its contents scattering in every direction.

"Sorry!" Bug squealed. The man just stood there looking angry. Somewhere on the other side of town, Corey sat alone. Bug bit her lip and fought the urge to just keep going. But as soon as she bent over to help the man, she caught sight of an all too familiar face behind her.

Bug's eyes widened, as she saw the look on Card's face. Quickly she straightened, mumbled a hoarse apology to the man she had run into, and as swiftly as her legs would carry her, moved on, praying that Card was only passing through.

But there was a hungry look in his eyes. What Card was hungry for, she trembled to think about.

Everyone knew what he was like.

Quickly, she shot a glance back over her shoulder. Every muscle in her body seemed on the verge of locking up. If she didn't force her legs to keep moving as fear lanced through her, she might miss a step and stumble.

Card was maybe thirty feet behind her and gaining. He made no attempt to disguise the expression on his face. In desperation, Bug cast her eyes about for a familiar face. No matter how hard she looked, she found no one. Although there were people everywhere, she had never felt so alone in her entire life. With a frightened gasp, she took off running.

*

As Maerillus walked, an unseen figure slipped in behind him unaware. For the first time in a long time, he was free to walk alone, and before he eventually met up with Davin and Niam later in the evening, he wanted nothing more than to find a quiet spot and soak in the solitude.

The only problem was that the end of the trade conference signaled the busiest time of the year for Pirim Village. Maerillus always thought that it was ironic how quiet the place became just a few days later. Soon, Maerillus's father and Lord Joachim, along with other lords who sat on the assembly would make their last trip to Kalavere and to Pallodine to tie up business before winter took its first real bite out of the area. Usually he looked forward to taking those trips with his father, but this time he was remaining behind. He had to. So did Davin. So did Niam. His father and Lord Joachim had been adamant about that. They had been discussing about the murderer in Kalavere just two days ago. Apparently Davin had managed in one day to set the whole northern part of the kingdom alight with rumors about the return of the Dread Lords. And if he could manage that in one visit, neither their families nor Joachim were eager to see what kind of trouble they could manage to fall into in a larger city like the capital.

Maerillus grunted at that thought. The Dread Lords. Ha! Stories of the Dread Lords were told by candlelight on the darkest evenings of the year to titillate and scare young children. Until the things he had seen at the Vandin camp, Maerillus never gave much credence to the campfire stories whispered when he was a young boy. As a child, however, he ate them up. The stories told of powerful madmen who had once gone too far in their quest to tame the wild energy of another plane of existence—a place that had been set aside from the world of men by the Creator at the dawn of creation. Their lust for conquest gave rise to terrible sorceries that raised up armies of unnatural creatures and set them to ravage the civilized nations of the world.

A glorious era came to an end at their hands as they fought one another for dominance. Stories abounded of the marvels still visible in the forbidden ruins of the haunted cities in the southernmost lands of the continent—cities where the skeletal remains of buildings rose high into the sky, and fireless lights still burned in the dark of night, though no living soul existed within the ruins. No one dared cross those walls, which had been built, depending upon who told the stories, to possibly keep something within the cities rather than thrill seekers and looters out. In the darkest stories, the walls existed to protect those foolish enough to consort with the Prince of Lies from getting in least they wake something that slept and ought to remain asleep forever.

Maerillus eventually grew up, though.

As he looked around, he sighed. There was no way he was going to find a place entirely to himself. People were everywhere shopping and talking. The end of the trade conference was as much a festival as a chance to be the last to buy the goods from overseas.

Maerillus slowly made his way to a vendor selling crispy sausages with a small loaf of bread and took one, then carried it over to a where a great maple stood, ringed by holly bushes in the heart of the thinly wooded park that dominated the center of Pirim Village. Within the ring of bushes, there was a clearing large enough for several people to sit and remain hidden from anyone not close enough to stand on top of them.

Maerillus sat down and helped himself to his lunch. Nearby, a pair of angry eyes stared with a devouring intensity that verged on murder. If anyone else had chanced by and caught a glimpse of that stare, a cold chill might have run down their back and struck the place where intuition and observation combined. If they had seen that stare and felt the chill, they would have known that someone was going to die before the sun went down that day.

But Maerillus wasn't privy to such a view, and so he went on thinking as he ate slowly. He could not seem to get events at the Vandin camp out of his mind. He had always doubted the veracity of stories that told of how the Dread Lords wielded sorceries that allowed them to control lightning and turn men into nightmare monsters.

Now he knew better. It was possible for men to harness dark powers and bend them to their will. The exploding boxes and the creature that had nearly killed him and his two friends were proof of that.

A final battle of powerful Mages united against the Dread Lords brought their reign of terror to an end. Because of men wielding forces beyond their ability to control, Wizard's Hammers enforced the laws established to keep magic wielders from running amok. Nearly every mage powerful enough to be dangerous was tightly controlled in some way by the royal court of each nation. Sometimes there were rogue practitioners . . . or worse, sorcerers. And now there was obviously one at work near Pirim Village. Maerillus shuddered. But there was another thought that weighed on Maerillus even heavier than this one, and he was embarrassed to admit to himself that this was so.

Lately, all he could think about was Betsy.  
He had never expected to develop feelings for a serving girl. Since getting to know her, he came to believe she was everything other girls he met were not. Most girls saw him as a ticket to a better life. The ones already born to the same class Maerillus belonged to saw him as a continuation of the life they had become accustomed to. But none of this mattered to Betsy. Like Niam and Davin, she liked Maerillus despite his family's money. She simply didn't care.

Or that is the way it had seemed.

Yet ever since the conference, she had acted as if they had never kissed, or walked the trails around the estate holding hands. Her behavior hurt Maerillus. And now he could not stop thinking of her.

*

From a copse of trees concealing his body in shadows, Salb drilled holes into Maerillus's back with hate-filled eyes. His day was coming. On the sidewalk skirting the edge of the park, the Maldies fool nearly ran three people over. There was no mistaking the desperation in his eyes.

Salb chuckled quietly.

He bet he knew exactly what Maldies was looking for, and he knew where Maldies would eventually end up. That was why after suffering through Kreeth's irate rant Salb had sent Card after the stupid twit everyone called Bug. What was it to Salb that Card had tastes for young meat? They were supposed to follow the three brats and cause them trouble, weren't they? Salb felt no pity for Bode, who not only led them up to the Vandin camp and nearly got them killed, but missed an opportunity to make real money when Kreeth came around with a job for them to do.

On the way into Pirim Village, Salb had passed Bug and her feeb cousin at one of the stables on the western end of town. That was where Card would try to have his fun with the girl. If Maldies was quick enough to catch them, opportunities to cause a lot of trouble definitely increased.

Soon, he thought to himself, he would deal with Maerillus Sartor and pay him back for that day on the bridge when the sneak surprised him from behind. Maybe he would climb down into the channel and find the old sword Sartor had forced him to throw over the side. The thought that it might still be waiting for him in the muddy water made him smile. It was a wicked smile, to be sure. But for Salb, those were the best kind. Sticking it in the rich snot's side would be a nice way to get even with him for what he had done.

*

Davin walked through crowds of visitors and townspeople, reveling in his day of freedom. Briefly, he wondered what Maerillus and Niam might be up to.

With any luck, maybe Maerillus might find another girl to take his mind off of Betsy. Seeing Maerillus play the gloomy role in their trio instead of Niam was too strange for Davin to fathom right now. Of course, things could have been worse. Davin just missed Salb, who appeared locked so deeply inside an unpleasant thought that he walked right by without recognizing him. And that was good because while Bode might have kept his temper in check, Salb would have tried something stupid and harmful, and the last thing Davin wanted was trouble. Something was coming and it seemed to lie just over the horizon. Davin may not have had Niam's ability to sense unseen things, but just like the feeling haunting him at the Vandin camp, more trees were going to fall soon.

Davin turned to go back, but stopped abruptly. A panicky looking Bug just ran into a group of shoppers on the other side of the park because her attention was directed at someone behind her. The moment Davin saw who she was running from, his heart turned cold. Before Davin could make out where they were going, the endless motion of people surrounding them swallowed up both Bug and Card.

Davin cursed. They were too far away to keep track of. Before Davin could take a step to follow, Niam emerged from a cluster of people across the street. Farther back stood the tall bell tower of the new monastery, and beyond that, the mayor's office. A look of frustration clouded his sharp, boyish features, and his skinny friend looked furious.

Davin waved his hands and bellowed as loudly as he could. Niam stopped, turned, and gaped openly in surprise. He tried to shout something back, but was simply too far away to be heard. Davin shook his head and pointed frantically in the direction Bug and Corey had disappeared. Niam was closer, and if he hurried, he might be able to catch up with them eventually.

He prayed that Niam understood. His friend nodded his head and sprinted off in the right direction. "Let me guess," Maerillus said, suddenly standing in the middle of a ring of holly bushes, "There's about to be trouble."

Davin looked at Maerillus blankly for a second. "How'd you get in there?" he asked completely surprised.

"Good place as any to have lunch alone," Maerillus said quickly. "What's going on with Niam?"

"Not Niam this time," Davin said as Maerillus hastily stepped over the lowest holly bush. "It's his friend, Madeline. Card is after her and it definitely looks like trouble."

"Oh," Maerillus said, knowing full well the kind of trouble Card spelled for Madeline. "That's not good."

"No," Davin said as they speedily made their way to the side of town Niam, Bug, and Card had run toward. "It's not."

"How are we going to find them in all of this?" Maerillus asked, slowing to an easy jog beside Davin as knots of people thickened the closer they drew to vendors alongside the street.

"Let it all play out," Davin said soberly. "It always seems to anyway."

"We do have a way of finding trouble," Maerillus quipped dryly.

"I think trouble found us today," Davin said.

Behind them, as if in response to Davin's words, Jalt moved easily through the throngs of people, remaining just out of sight.

*

Jolan Kine leaned against a support several buildings down from the Greenbrier Inn where Garrolus Kreeth usually ate his lunch. There he waited and watched. Though he did not know why he waited.

Dark sorcerers never did anything to attract attention to themselves in the bright light of day. Not if they wanted to live long. Maybe it was that Kine wanted to watch him more, to size up his opponent, to take the fullest measure of the man before finally bringing him to justice. But there was more to it than that. There were pieces missing in the equation he had formulated in his mind, things that weren't adding up the way they ought to. Kine cursed Jort under his breath. The old fox took too many damned secrets to his grave.

Plus, the mayor was now missing, and that was a fact that he and Lord Joachim had not let out. With all of the mysterious break-ins, people were edgy. Jolan winced at his own failing in this. He had allowed himself to get too caught up in those three boys when he ought to have discovered why the mayor had been so preoccupied and agitated. He was sure that Kreeth was somehow involved. And he liked to know how and why before he made a move. Perhaps senility was more than an act by the time Jort died. His death had been sloppy. Had his old mentor moved against Kreeth before he should have? He had a reputation of jumping before looking and catching up on the details after the final move was carried out. But if there was anyone who ever managed to pull it off, Jort was the man.

Jolan shifted uncomfortably as this ran through his mind while he waited for Kreeth to leave. Reaching up, he pulled a wide brimmed hat down over his face. Kreeth might not make a move in public, but he still didn't want the man to recognize him.

Of all the magical arts, sorcery was expressly forbidden. Fear of magic still inspired enough terror among people to hunt down rogue wizards and put them to a flaming end. Sorcerers were even more reviled.

This area had always been a magnet to practitioners of the magical arts. But the amount of dark arts being employed here was enough to cause Kine many sleepless nights. The area now practically hummed. Ever since the day Jort discovered Kine, a young wharf rat fending for himself in the dirty port below Pallodine, Kine's life had been a study in hunting down rogue mages and sorcerers.

Now Jort was gone, and the knowledge of what he had uncovered here gone with him. As if what the boys were was not enough for any three Hammers to deal with! Beyond this, with all of the things the boys were certainly destined to attract, far more was afoot in the Lake Valleys.

The most valuable tool a Hammer possessed was his ability to sense the presence of magic and sorcery. Magic existed as a resonance, or vestigial energy left over from the world's creation. Practitioners learned to attune themselves to these resonances, and eventually they learned to harness them. But they existed as a part of nature. Sorcery drew on powers that came from, for lack of a better word . . . someplace else. Always there was a taint, or residue of filth and darkness that hung around long after a sorcerer moved on. And on a number of occasions, after entering a sorcerer's lair, Kine had the suspicion that there was a kind of intelligence that lingered too. In such places, he often felt as if he were being watched from a place of shadows.

From the other side of the park across the street, someone shouted. The urgent insistence of the voice snapped Kine out of his thoughts. He knew that voice. It belonged to the young Hapwell boy.

Kine's eyes darted to Hapwell and then to the person he was motioning to.

Niam Maldies.

The distraught expression on Maldies's face clearly showed even from a distance. Niam waved his arms frantically. He wanted Hapwell to see a girl being followed by a much larger boy. Jolan Kine looked at the large lad intently. He saw the look in the kid's eyes and shivered. Kine didn't have to be a mind reader to know what the big fellow was thinking.
Chapter Nineteen

Bug's Run

Bug ran and Card followed. Behind her, she thought she heard Niam's voice, but the sound of her own panicked breathing muffled out everything except what was around her. Card's footsteps fell like horse's hooves as he drew closer, so Bug desperately kicked off her shoes as she ran, hoping to gain any advantage in speed she could find. Someone as heavy as Card shouldn't be able to keep up with her! As she lengthened her stride to gain speed, she realized that his legs were longer.

"Leave me alone!" Bug screamed. "Go away Card!"

Nearby someone laughed. Anger flared inside of Bug's heart. Couldn't people see that she was terrified—running for her life? As she tore down an alley that led into a maze of narrow streets and tightly packed houses, Bug looked around desperately for anything that might help her. Ahead of her, the alley turned sharply, and Bug burst around it like a bat exploding from a smoke-filled tunnel. To her right, the skeletal husk of a wall stood open where the outer portion of a building was being remodeled. Dozens of wooden planks leaning against naked timbers flashed by as she sped past them. She caught a fleeting image of pointed nails sticking out of wooden flesh like iron thorns. She stopped quickly.

As Card bore down on her, she frantically began knocking the planks to the ground, working rapidly to make sure as many of the boards as possible lay with nails pointing up. Card's footfall grew louder. Without looking back, Bug sprinted out of the alley and into a narrow street. She did not wait to see if her little trick worked. As she knocked over the boards, Card's footsteps weren't the only thing Bug heard. Card was breathing much harder than she was. If he stepped on a nail, there was a chance she could outdistance him. All she had to do was stay ahead of him and run longer than he did.

The street widened a little, and another street intersected it. Bug took the one to the right. More streets and alleys crisscrossed this one. Bug jig-sawed her way through a number of corners and turns. If Card wanted to catch her, she was going to make him work for it.

At last, the houses suddenly ended and Bug realized she had reached the edge of Pirim Village, about a half-mile from where Corey and the horse waited. A small bridge crossed over a meager steam, and Bug thought about trying Niam's trick from several weeks ago, but she remembered how trapped he said he had had been once Salb began pushing the sword blade between the timbers, so she chose to leave the roadside and run along the partially concealed stream bank instead.

Not until she had run half the distance did she stop to look behind her, and she felt alone. So terribly alone. But no one followed. Bug cast her eyes about, expecting Card to burst out of thin air at any moment. Shaking, she wasted no time making her way back to the barn. Ahead, Corey lounged on a stack of crates where he held the horse's line. Relief wouldn't come though. Bug wasn't going to relax until she was at home with the door bolted behind her—if even then. The pain of running made her legs feel wobbly and unsteady as she sprinted into the stable yard. When Corey looked up at her and smiled dumbly.

Bug ignored the expression on his face, and batted away a pang of guilt she felt.

"We've got to go!" she shouted, and Corey just looked at her. Bug came to a slow stop and waved her hands at him in a shooing gesture. "Come on! Get the horse saddled!" At any moment Card might find them, and the desperation gnawed at her insides.

Wishing she could just slip out of the present moment, a hysterical urge to run for home occurred with such a comforting smoothness that she nearly gave into it and sped away. If she left . . . if she just ran and cut across fields and through the forest, she could be home before Card ever had a chance to corner her. Safety curled up in her room. Her heart ached to hide beneath warm blankets and shut all of this away like a bad dream.

She could do that, she knew.

Images of her bed gave way to memories of Corey ramming his head against a wooden post. She wanted to run, to see the winding road leading to her home, and to fly into her father's arms. These thoughts warred within her, and a stinging shame spread across her face. Fat drops of tears welled at the lower lids of her eyelids and ran in warm, blotchy patterns down her cheeks.

Bug looked at Corey where he stood, seeming to stare dumbly at everything and nothing. Anger flared within her chest. "Stop staring and get the saddle!" she screamed. The urge to run away and leave him burned her. It was his fault she couldn't run home.

Corey slowly transferred the lead line to his other arm and slipped the halter off. Bug snatched it from him. "Go get the saddle!" she snapped. "We don't have time to waste!" When Bug took the bridle and shoved the bit into the horse's mouth, Corey looked at his empty hands, as if contemplating its miraculous disappearance.

"Hurry!" Bug shouted desperately, but her cousin did exactly what she was afraid he was going to do: he retreated inward.

Bug struggled to fight back her tears because wet eyes were hard to see through, and the first defense against a predator was to see it before it saw you. But her eyes betrayed her, and the tears still ran.

Corey picked up the saddle and held it in the crook of one arm, but his hands shook so hard that he dropped it. Bug let out a squeal of frustration. Cold desperation began to build. She could feel her heart beating against her breastbone as if it wanted to shatter her chest. This was all her fault! She knew better than to upset Corey with her sudden demands, yet that was exactly what she had done as she ran up to the stable!

Bug felt a cold shiver run down her neck as she watched Corey go suddenly still. He looked past her, in wide-eyed terror at something behind her. Bug's stomach lurched. As she turned, she mentally braced herself for what she was going to see.

Salb stood in the barn's loft, where he must have been watching as she approached from down the road. He wore a smile promising that only he was going to be happy with what came next. In that instant when their eyes met, Bug intuitively grasped the difference between Card and Salb: Card was like a bodily function that fed off of other people for a moment's release, the way a giant, carnivorous slug engulfed its prey and left behind spent husks of rats' skins. The slug only knew hunger. Card knew only desire, but for Salb there was only an ache that no desire could satisfy. People like Salb suffered, and hated the world because it did not.

Bug stood frozen. She did not know what to do. The worst part was the smile on his face. There was no hate in it. Instead, it beamed a chillingly cold light of playful malice.

Bug shook her head, pleading. "Please, no." Her mouth went dry. The saddle wasn't even on the horse yet! Salb opened his mouth and sang out in words that cut into her like a knife. "Card! She's over here with the feeb!"

"No!" Bug shouted and whipped around. Indeed, Card had wormed his way out of the warren of little houses and was making his way down the road in his search for her. To Bug's horror, Card stopped, looked up in their direction, and his hungry eyes found hers. "No!" She cried, feeling so very small and defenseless.

Corey began striking his head with the flat of his hand.

"Put the saddle on!" she screamed in futility. She was too short to get it over the hump of the horse's withers.

Corey looked at her. Beyond the fear and torment in his mind, she saw a little boy who wanted to be safe at home as badly as she did. "I'm sorry," Bug said desperately. Her chance of getting away evaporated in front of her with each step that brought Card closer. "Please put the saddle on."

But Bug knew that hunger in the end had won and would have its moment.

"Please . . ." she begged. "Please."

"You made me step on one of those damned nails, but I don't need to hold that against you. You're a pretty little thing," Card said. His voice was soft and warm, his eyes lusty and vacant.

"Get away from me!" Bug yelled.

"I just want to go back there and talk," Card said, directing his gaze toward the barn. His voice mirrored the distant expression in his eyes, which were focused not on any place in particular, but on what he planned to do with her instead. "Just to the barn. Just a little talk is all."

Bug walked to Corey and took the saddle from him. "I've got to go home," she stuttered.

Card knocked the saddle from her hands.

Drawing her arm back, Bug reacted without thinking. She slapped Card so hard her hand flared in exquisite pain. Card merely looked surprised as Bug took a panicked step back. Her eyes darted up, toward the barn loft, where Salb no longer stood.

"You shouldn't have done that," Card said slowly, grabbing her arm. His fingers were hot and sweaty. Bug flinched at the touch of his flesh against hers. She tried to jerk away, but he snatched her to himself and then began pulling her toward the barn.

Bug screamed and watched helplessly as Corey held his head down and his eyes pinched shut.

"Stop!" Bug pleaded.

Behind her, she became distantly aware of the fall of approaching feet. Distantly, she knew it was Salb coming to help finish what Card had started.

Suddenly, she felt herself thrown to the ground, where loose bits of gravel bit into her hands. It's going to happen here, a distant part of her thought. Everything now felt remote, as if Bug watched outside of herself.

"GET AWAY FROM HER!" she heard Niam roar as he drove his fist into Card's face, rocking his head to the side with a fierce and savage blow. Card fell to his butt and looked up in dumb confusion at the unexpected turn of events.

"If you touch her, I will kill you, I will do it!" Niam snarled and kicked Card in the chin so hard that his head snapped back and he collapsed, unconscious.

Bug looked up and felt herself mouth Niam's name. "Salb," she tried to say—she really did—but as soon as she opened her mouth, helpless sobs began pouring out.

"Are you okay?" Niam barked in panic. "Did he hurt you?" His eyes blazed with a fire she had never seen before.

Bug shook her head. Niam lifted her up and she wrapped her arms around him so tightly her elbows popped. When he let go of her he gave her a probing look-over to make sure she was unharmed and turned to Corey. Before he managed to say anything to calm the boy, Salb emerged from the barn, and his voice dripped with scorn. "Oooh, look—Niam alone with his girlfriend and no one around to help him."
Chapter Twenty

Not Far At All

Niam met Salb's mocking gaze with his own contemptuous stare. "See to Corey and I will take care of the saddle," he told Bug, surprised at the steadiness in his own voice. "If he tries touching you, I'm going to bury his face in the ground!"

Salb laughed, but Niam noted that he came no closer. Instead, as Niam tightened the girth, making sure that Bug and Corey wouldn't fall off on the ride home, Salb did nothing. He was only momentarily taken aback by the ferocity in his voice and would soon make his move. The most important thing to do was slow him long enough to get Bug and Corey out of there.

"I heard you and your pathetic boss talking in front of the mayor's office, Salb. Why'd he hire you to mess with us? If he had seen you run like scattered geese at the Vandin camp, he'd have you doing the only thing you're good for—cleaning the crap out of his stables."

As he spoke, Bug took Corey's hands in hers and pulled them away from his ears. Her voice still quivered, but she coaxed him closer to the horse. Niam felt only spite for Salb. Because of people like him, Corey always had to have someone close to him whenever he came to town.

"You shouldn't have gone up to the Vandin camp," Salb sneered. "You shouldn't have been spying on us like a filthy little sneak."

"I wasn't spying on you. I was just trying to smoke the rats out of the ruins of the old monastery."

Salb casually looked around the stables. Niam didn't like that. As Bug drew Corey out of his panicked state, Niam knew Salb was after something to get his hands on. Bode preferred his fists; Salb liked sharp objects. This was one of the things that made Salb scarier. And this was why Niam wanted to get Bug and Corey on the horse as quickly as possible.

"I don't get it," he said, hoping to get more talking and less looking out of Salb, "What have any of us ever done to Kreeth besides notice how ugly he is?"

"You've been sticking your nose in places it doesn't belong," Salb said. "You and Bode, both."

Niam laughed derisively. "Bode? You were up there pillaging through the Vandin's stuff as much as he was."

Salb smiled crookedly. "You don't know as much as you think you do."

Niam frowned as Salb located the broken handle of an old broom and twirled it in his hands, feeling out its balance by giving it a practice swing or two.

"How far you've fallen," Niam mocked. "Bet it's nothing like your sword."

Salb's face turned scarlet. "I have others, but I'll settle up with your rich friend on that account later," he said, and then looked up at Niam with ice in his eyes. "This will make sure you limp for a long, long time."

Niam's gut began to clench. He knew that it might come down to a fight soon. Behind him, Bug said, "Please help me."

Niam turned to see Corey holding the saddle and shaking his head as if the thing might bite him.

Salb laughed and began walking toward them, menacingly swinging the stick from side to side.

"You're lying," Niam said, "You're just one of Bode's flunkies. I only went up to the camp to make sure you weren't going to breed with the sheep and make off without taking care of your responsibility once they gave birth. You wanted the things up there as much as Bode wanted to find whatever his daddy was after." Salb stopped, and studied the two of them like a man at dinner might study food on a table. "Go on with it, then. Why were you there with Bode if it wasn't to run away with your feathers singed?"

"I went to keep him from finding what he was looking for," he bragged. "All I had to do was distract him into giving up so that he would pick up enough jewelry and silver to make himself happy and go home."

Salb sabotaging Bode? Niam's mind whirred.

"I did my job well."

"What was he looking for?" he asked, but Salb shook his head.

"Not for you to know, Maldies. He didn't know either. But you really do keep sticking you heads into things, you three."

Corey looked up at Salb and his face turned scarlet. "Leave us alone!" He suddenly puffed his chest out at Salb and roared. "Leave us alone, leaves us alone, leave us ALONE!" On any other day Niam would have been proud of Corey. Coming out of the hiding place inside his mind must have taken a superhuman effort. Bug, eyes darting from Corey to Salb and back again, looked ready to be sick.

Salb's words dripped with scorn, "Must be hard without a post to beat your head against."

Corey began to shake, clenching and unclenching his fists. Niam knew he was too unstable to handle if he exploded. If that happened, things would go from bad to worse, and Salb would hurt the boy. Niam couldn't fight him with Corey in the middle, because if he did, Bug would try to help, and nobody was coming away unharmed. "Salb, this is between you and me. Let them go and we will settle things ourselves."

"Oh?" Salb said, his voice silky and suddenly eager. "I think all of us can settle up here right now." He looked down at Card, who moaned in pain. "You hurt my friend, Niam. I think I'm going to have to hurt your friends."

"Stay away from them," Niam warned.

"Don't worry, Maldies, I'm going to hurt you worse," Salb said, enjoying the effect his words were having on Corey and Bug.

Before Niam could say anything, a familiar voice cut in. "Hey Davin, look what I found—a dick with a stick!"

Niam never loved Maerillus as much as he loved his friend at that moment. Relief flooded over him. "Well, boys do like to play with their sticks," Niam said without missing a beat.

Salb's expression instantly went from excitement to hatred. He lifted his stick as if he was about to strike, but Davin stepped forward out of thin air and raised his finger into Salb's face. "Do it and I will break your legs," Davin flashed. Niam realized he must have been so close to Maerillus that the two of them remained hard to see until they were both right on top of Salb.

Another voice called out from the road as Jalt rushed out of the row of houses down the road at the edge of town. "The Wizard's Hammer is coming! Get out of here!"

Salb looked down at Card as the hindrance he now was.

"Yeah," Niam mocked. "Get your friend out of here."

Salb looked at the stick as he lowered it. His eyes glowered as anger seethed within him.

"Get your friend out of here, Salb," Davin said. His voice was rock hard and laced with violence.

"This isn't over."

"You keep saying that," Maerillus said. "But it is for today."

Jalt took in the scene before him and immediately ran off—away from Salb. "Your friend left you, just like you all left Bode," Niam said. "Bunch of bloody cowards the whole lot of you."

Niam saw forces moving within Salb. One part of him yearned to drive the stick into someone. The other part knew that flight was the only option now. For a moment it looked as if Salb still might do something, but he shrugged his shoulders as if he didn't care. Instead of feeling relief when Salb turned to walk off, leaving Card to stir in agony in front of the stable, Niam felt only unease.

"Here comes Jolan Kine," Davin said. His muscles, taut as springs, visibly relaxed the further away Salb got.

"What happened?" Maerillus asked.

"This piece of crap almost got Bug," Niam spat toward Card.

Behind him, Bug continued trying to calm herself down. "Why weren't you with Corey today?" Niam asked as Bug held the stirrup for her cousin. Shame was written in pink splotches across her face. Her eyes were still bloodshot from crying.

"I was stupid, Niam," she said in a small voice. "I had to take him with me to town if I wanted to see Madam Borset's shop."

Niam nodded. He knew how Corey would have reacted to the crowds—but Bug was right; it had been a dumb thing to do. Corey had his good days when he was almost like anyone else. He easily imagined Bug thinking a trip to town was okay on a good day.

"Well, what's done is done." Davin said, double-checking the girth now that Corey was seated in the saddle.

"Come one Madeline," Maerillus said, using her name in the best stern big brother voice he could, "Let's get you up in the saddle, too."

Bug shook her head. "I think I need to walk."

Niam spun around quickly when Jolan Kine suddenly screamed out, "Look out!"

Salb sprinted back into view from around the stable holding a pitchfork like a spear. His lips were pressed tightly together in concentration as he took aim. Niam followed Salb's gaze, and leapt in front of his target without thinking, knocking Maerillus out of the way.

Corey began striking himself in the forehead again, bellowing, "GO AWAY!" over and over.

Maerillus was down and Niam moved to launch himself toward Salb.

In an instant, the bully found another target and hurled the pitchfork with all of his might.

"No!" Niam shouted in fear, realizing he was too late to stop it.

The pitchfork flew, spinning in a lazy arc, and struck the horse Corey sat upon, burying one of its tines into the animal's haunches. The horse gave a startled grunt and jerked its head up, pulling the reins from Bug's hands. The startled animal hopped to the side and took off toward town. The quick movement threw Corey off balance as it began galloping away.

Bug's cousin let out a terrified scream and jerked his hands up over his ears. The panicked horse kicked its rear legs out, and Corey went headfirst over its side.

In one horrifying moment, Niam knew what was going to happen. With his hands clutched over his ears, Corey had no way of softening the impact with the ground and landed too hard.

Bug screamed. Niam wanted to be sick. The momentum of Corey's legs kept his body going in the direction of his fall. His head bent back at an impossible angle, and his scream stopped abruptly following an audible snap. "I told you I'd make you pay!" Salb shouted venomously.

Davin cursed and shot off after Salb, yelling to Kine to stop him—but Kine's eyes were large and fixed on Corey's unmoving body. "What are you doing?" he shouted at the Hammer as Kine began running toward Corey's lifeless form.

"Wha—" Davin began, but his eyes found Corey in midword and he moaned, "Oh no!"

Kine knelt down as Bug began to talk. The pitch in her voice rose with each word. "What's wrong with him? He's not moving! Niam! He's not moving!"

The Wizard's Hammer raised his head and shook it grimly.

Bug's voice cracked for one brief moment as Kine's message settled in. Then she started to wail, and her words dug into Niam like daggers. "It's my fault, all my fault!" Bug launched herself past Niam toward her fallen cousin, and Maerillus only barely managed to grab ahold of her. Niam went to her, where she struggled against Maerillus like a wildcat.

"Let me go," she demanded hysterically. "Get your fingers off of me!" Maerillus winced as her fingernails dug deep furrows into his hands.

"Madeline . . ." he implored, "Bug. He's gone. Please stop. You don't want to go over there."

"Yes I do!" she demanded. "Yes I do!"

Niam looked over at Kine and nodded his head. The Hammer understood, and while Bug was distracted with Maerillus, he gently repositioned the boy's head so that it no longer bore death's ghastly angle.

Niam put his hand on Bug and said, "Let her come see him."

"But—" Maerillus sputtered.

"She needs this," Niam said gently.

Tears welled along the crescent of his friend's eyelids. "I—" Maerillus began but trailed off. He didn't know what to say.

"I know," Niam told him.

"It was instant," Kine said. "At least there's that."

Bug walked over to Corey's body, struggling mightily to contain her tears. "His eyes—they're open still. They're open but that's not him anymore . . ."

"Maybe we should close them for him," Niam said.

"It was such a short fall," Bug wept. "He didn't fall far at all, Niam . . . not far at all."

*

Salb walked into the hovel he called home and began throwing his things into a sack. Before long, someone would be here looking for him and he knew he needed to be far away from town. Kreeth had better pay him and pay him good the next time they met. He had done as the man asked. He had made problems for the three snots—that much was sure. Across his face, a smile stretched the skin around his mouth so tightly that his lips hurt. He had always wanted to kill someone, always wanted to know what it felt like. There had really been nothing to it.

Noting at all.

All in all, Salb couldn't see what the big deal was. He felt something easing within his chest, as if a burden he had worn all his life were being lifted. How many times had he wanted to run a knife through someone's neck but held off out of fear? But now—now Salb nearly felt giddy. Too bad it had been the feeb and not Sartor or Maldies. Soon he would take care of that now that the burden was lifted.

So deeply locked in thought was Salb that he didn't hear the intruder sneak up behind him until it was too late, and he spun around in time for a fist to crash into his face like a steel tip of a mace.

Salb hit the floor hard and scrabbled backward, away from his assailant. Bode emerged from the shadows, looking down at him with fury in his eyes.

"Where did you come from?" Salb blurted out.

"I followed you," Bode said flatly. "I saw what you did."

"So?" Salb demanded, letting heat creep into his voice. "I just did what we both know you'd like to do!"

Bode said nothing. His expression was unreadable. He looked down at him, and after a moment said, "I ought to keep right on beating you. So, you were paid to stop me." It wasn't a question.

"It was Kreeth. He wanted me to do it. When he found out you'd been asking around about the Vandin camp, he came to me—told me he might need me to do some other things for him, that you might go snooping up there."

"Who tipped him off? Who?" Bode demanded.

"Your father!" Salb shouted.

"I'm only going to ask you this one time," Bode said, making a point of popping his knuckles as he did so. "What was Kreeth afraid I would find?"

"I don't know!" Salb told him. "I really don't!"

"Get out of my sight," Salb," Bode growled menacingly. "Get out of town and don't ever come back."

Salb picked up his bag, giving Bode a wide berth as he passed him.

Outside, the clouds overhead bled red around the setting sun. Salb moved swiftly off of the road onto a trail only he knew about. He knew a place where no one would bother him while he waited,

As he walked and made his plans, the soft impress of a foot caused him to spin around with his knife ready. "Bode—" he began as a firm hand grabbed his wrist and twisted it until sharp pain forced him to drop his small weapon.

His assailant's voice was haggard. "Wrong Grimmel."

Salb was incredulous. "I thought you were in the Pit."

"Just got out."

Salb backed away from Bode's father. His hair was unkempt and his clothes nearly rags. His wrists bore livid marks where irons had been fastened around them. "How?!" he stammered.

"I have friends."

Salb eyed his knife, where it lay on the ground several feet away, calculating how quickly he could get to it.

"Pick it up," Ravel commanded.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, keeping his body turned towards the man. "You look sick."

Ravel coughed. "It will pass."

"Well what do you want with me?" Salb demanded. "I haven't done anything to you."

Ravel laughed dryly. His hollow eyes held a feverish light. "I have work for us to do."

This was the last thing Salb expected. "Work?"

"Work."

"It pays?" Salb asked. "Because I need money."

"Our boss will pay us well—pay both of us to deal with the people we hate." The insistence burned in Ravel's voice with white-hot intensity.

"What about Bode? What about your son?"

"What about him?" Ravel asked icily. Somewhere in the distance a howl pierced the evening sky. "We have to be going," Ravel said, captivated by something in the plaintive and hungry wail. His eyes burned with a predatory light as he said reverently, "They're calling for us."
Chapter Twenty-One

Voice Of Thunder

Sarah fled and was gone, disappearing ahead of him in the deepening gloom. Niam followed, unable to keep up. Beyond the thick tangle of ferns and vines, he saw that the trees opened up and the way became easier. "Sarah! Seth!" Niam yelled out. The words didn't go very far as the trees and the thick canopy overhead seemed to swallow up all sound. In the clearing ahead, the black waters of Siler's Lake stretched like a placid mirror in the darkening sky, and a girl's from lay supine upon the damp earth by the water's edge.

Sarah.

"No," Niam moaned. Looking around rapidly as he entered the clearing, he saw that he was alone. Sarah's body lay still and stiff, but something was off. Niam peered at her cautiously as he slowed. His stomach lurched when he noted the twisted angle of her head.

This was wrong.

Sarah had been found floating in the lake with her skull fractured just above her brow. Unable to bear the indignity of death's broken posture, he trembled as he knelt beside her and gently covered the ugly lump at the base of her twisted neck with the top of her blouse. Carefully, he cupped her cold chin in his hand and turned her head upright to a more natural position and gasped.

Bug's cold eyes looked up at him instead of Sarah's, expressing nothing except the utter stillness and finality of death. Somewhere in the distance he heard laughter. Salb . . . Kreeth . . . Bode . . . Card . . . their voices blended into a cruel chorus. Hit it harder with your head, feeb . . . follow those three brats and cause them as much trouble as you can . . . this isn't over Maldies . . . Maldies the rat, Maldies the brat...

Niam shut the voices out. Instead he focused his disbelieving eyes on Bug. Beneath her hair, something black began to stir like a worm tattooed into her pale skin. It writhed and turned sickeningly. Niam jerked his hands away from her head as the worm's sinuous form undulated into view.

Not a worm, Niam knew

Writing.

Just like the writing on the boxes at the Vandin camp. Spellbound, he watched as runes boiled out of her hair like a mass of angry ants pouring from their nest. Niam's stomach suddenly felt full of rancid goat's milk. He wanted to heave. Just before he did—

—Lightning flashed in the sky overhead, whiting everything out in sharp light as a bolt struck soundlessly nearby.

Something was different.

Niam stood in darkness. The terrible sickness in his stomach was gone, but the image of Bug's innocent little face staring unblinkingly into the air remained. "Why is this happening to me?!" Niam shouted. Only silent darkness answered his cry. "You where there, weren't you? You were there when my brother and sister died. You saw what happened to Corey!" he bellowed at the source of the Voice.. "I'm sick of this! Show yourself! Who are you?" Niam demanded. "Give me a way to fight this!"

Lightning flashed and Niam winced. He shielded his eyes against the light.

And something was different.

Niam now stood in the stable yard on the far end of Pirim Village. A ring of statues surrounded them. Tall men and women of stone stood gazing down with stern expressions.

Beside him, Maerillus held the stirrup steady so Corey could mount the horse. This wasn't right. He couldn't let Corey get up on the horse. "Don't," Niam tried to say, but his words evaporated into the air like steam on a cold day. "No!" he screamed, but nothing came out of his mouth. A quick, soft noise sounded behind him; he looked back. Between a gap in the statues, Salb hurled a pitchfork. Niam cried out again, but his words felt as heavy as stone in a throat too weak to force them out. The pitchfork sailed lazily trough the air. Trickling tears leaked from lidless stone eyes as Bug's scream pierced the air. Niam moved to intercept the thing before it stuck the horse, but his arms and legs only responded in slow motion. Everyone around him moved at half speed. Corey turned, looked at him, and his eyes held no color, only flat white cataracts of death instead of pupils. Tiny black tendrils wriggled across his features like evil threads.

The horse gave a spasmodic kick as the pitchfork struck with a flat thwack, and Bug's scream accompanied Corey's fall. The sound of it pierced Niam's heart. Maerillus and Davin ran toward the body, but Niam hadn't even finished his first step. "No!" He tried warning them. "That's not Corey!" The not-Corey lay motionless for a moment, but Niam knew it would not remain so for long. Bug ran to its side. Maerillus and Davin skidded to a halt beside her. One of them exclaimed, "He's not dead! Look—I saw him move!"

Niam strained with all of his might, but he moved no faster than molasses on a cold day. This wasn't right.

"Give him room!" Davin shouted as the body started to quiver and jerk.

"Please," he begged the stone visages, "help me." The statue next to him wore a sad expression. From its chest an arrow protruded. Niam knew the man in life whose cold eyes stared ahead as blank as the stone they were cut from. In one the statue's hands was a small crossbow. The other held a metal object that looked as delicate as a snowflake cut in an impossibly intricate pattern. "Jort . . ." Niam croaked

Nearby, the not-Corey raised itself as lines of terrible writing cavorted and skittered across his skin. The flesh beneath rippled as unhealthy things moved and stirred within. Niam's stomach lurched. Nausea welled deep within his gut. His knees trembled with pain.

"Please help me," he prayed.

The not-Corey now stood erect with erratic, tottering movements. It seemed to be slowly feeling out unfamiliar limbs for the first time.

"Please!" Niam croaked. "Help!"

The statue of Jort turned its head toward him and in a grating voice commanded, REMEMBER.

"Give me something to fight this!" Niam begged.

Lightning flashed overhead. "DONE!" all of the statues replied at once.

Another blinding flash cut the sky in half, and the light seared Niam's eyes. Then all of the statues surrounding him cried out like thunder.

FEEL!

Their voices shook the earth.

REMEMBER!

.

*

Niam woke with a start. His stomach hurt. At its center sat a place hot and sour. Quickly, he leaned up and began rocking, praying the motion would soothe his gut. The room was cold. Coals tinkled in the hearth where a servant had left a large fire burning as Niam tucked himself in. Beneath the covers he shivered.

Rocking like this for a good while, his stomach finally settled enough to get up and move around. Outside the hallway was empty, though the two large fireplaces blazed merrily at each end of the long, wide hallways. Maerillus's room lay next to this one. Across the hall two double doors marked the entrance to the other set of guest rooms in the family wing of the Sartor manor. Within one of those, Davin slept soundly—or at least Niam hoped Davin slept in dreamless peace. The floor above was reserved for Maerillus's other siblings. Night staff were undoubtedly cleaning and making their rounds, but Niam wanted to be alone.

Quietly, he closed the guestroom door and padded back to the closet where a thick robe hung and a pair of slippers sat on a small shelf where his boots and another pair of dress shoes waited to be worn. Niam looked at them and grimaced. At least the only time he had to suffer such things strapped to his feet was at the trade conference—and with any luck, he would never have to help out at one of those again. The kinds of people that flocked to the trade conference made Niam itch and want to do things that usually got Maerillus worked up into a frothing fit.

Last year, for instance, a businessman with pretentions of wealth told Niam he ought to spend the rest of his life cleaning out Pirim Village's privies for failing to bow properly. The man also made the mistake of leaving his coat where Niam could get to it unseen. He rode home with sheep's dung in his pockets.

Maerillus spent days harping about the prank, and Mr. Sartor sat him down for a good, stern lecture. It wasn't his fault, though.

Or maybe it was.

Nevertheless, the man deserved it.

Wrapped in a cloak, Niam walked to the door leading out onto the patio. The air outside was crisp and sharp. The Voice's message stuck in his mind like a burr caught in a wool coat. Was the Creator trying to talk to him?

"You had to be there when they died," Niam accused the source of the Voice. "They say the Creator is good, but you let them die."

The night held no answer to these complaints. Niam was struck, however, by the similarity between the statues lining the edge of the patio and the ones in his dream. All around the patio, famous kings and queens from history and mythology seemed to guard the stillness of the estate against any intruding motion. No dragons from the old tales or marauding Guldeen threatened the peace of the night, but only one scrawny boy who had a knack for trouble and a habit of leading his friends into danger.

"Wish I could have had one or two of you when that trall attacked us in the woods," Niam said absently. He nearly jumped when someone in the darkness said, "Me too."

Fearfully, Niam raised his fists, ready to hit the first thing that moved. "Who's there!?" No sooner were the words out than Niam felt ashamed of his reaction.

"Just a little mouse eating in the cupboard," Maerillus quoted a children's nursery rhyme.

"That mouse never made the farmer mess his pants," Niam said reproachfully.

"You don't own the store on pranks," Maerillus joked. Sleepiness was heavy in his voice.

"How long have you been out here," Niam asked.

"Only a little bit before you came out. Couldn't sleep either. Dreams again?"

"Always."

Maerillus shook his head sympathetically. "There's been a lot to dream about lately."

"It's always the Voice, Maer," Niam said bitterly.

Maerillus looked away as if he didn't know what to say. He and Davin were all too familiar with Niam's antipathy toward the source of the Voice.

"So what kept you up tonight?" Niam asked after a moment of awkward silence.

Maerillus's answer surprised him. "I've been thinking about Madeline."

"It's been on my mind, too."

"I bet."

"Still no word about Salb?"

"No," Maerillus said with distaste. "Maybe we're shut of him for good."

"I doubt it somehow," Niam said.

"Me too," Maerillus shuddered. "Ravel was up at the Vandin camp working for Kreeth. If I hadn't overheard him at the barn and turned him in, there's no telling what we'd all be facing now."

"I just wish we could have found out what he was searching for," Niam told him.

"There's no telling," Maerillus said, but his voice dropped as he went on. "I meant to tell you—I heard Dad talking to Lord Joachim today before they left for Pallodine. Kine went back up there. He said someone had been raking through the ashes of the camp, which means that whatever it is Kreeth wants may not have been found."

Niam's mind turned furiously. "He did tell Salb he was looking for some kind of trinket."

"Dad's never liked him. He always said Kreeth would sell his mother for a bag of silver."

"I just wish we knew how Kreeth's involved—I mean, he couldn't have gone up there and done all of that to the Vandin, and then set those boxes around the camp, could he?

Niam already knew the answer to his question before Maerillus said anything. Count Joachim had seen him in town while things were going crazy among the Vandin.

Maerillus just shrugged his shoulders and grunted. A troubled look gnawed its way across his face.

Niam sighed. "What now?"

"Lord Joachim said Ravel somehow got out of the Pit."

"What!" Niam exclaimed loudly. His words sounded harsh in the cold stillness of the night. "He was let out?!"

Maerillus quickly put a finger over his lips and made a shushing sound. "You'll wake my parents." The Sartor's back bedroom door opened out onto the spacious patio forty feet away.

Niam hissed angrily.

"No one can figure it out," Maerillus was obviously nervous. "The guards said he was in his cell that evening, but when morning role was done, Ravel's cell was empty. No one saw anything though he had to pass three guard stations to make it out."

Look . . . I'm sure he's not going to show his face around here."

"Are you certain?" Maerillus asked. "With things getting stranger and stranger by the week, I'm not sure what we can count on."

"We will handle it if he does," Niam said, unsure if there was anything at all he could say to make Maerillus feel better.

Silence fell between them as both drifted off into their own realms of thought. Bug sat at home grieving. The three of them had been to see her several times. Niam knew the look in her eyes the moment he saw her—the look that he had seen in his own reflection over the months following his brother's and sister's deaths. The day they first met, he had recognized a kindred spirit that made him want to protect her from people like Salb. Now his cheeks turned hot as the thought hit him again that he had failed her. He started all of this the day he snuck into the ruins of the abbey. If he hadn't baited and taunted the bullies, things wouldn't have gone this far.

Yet the source of the Voice knew and did nothing! Niam grew bitter—at himself, at nothing, at everything.

The Voice told him to feel, to witness, and to remember. That was all Niam had done in every dream where he watched his sister run in terror for her life. He was forced to feel the killer's vile presence in those dreams. He was a witness all right. Almost a casualty. To make matters worse, tonight he had to witness Corey's death again, played out by something that was not Corey after finding Bug in his sister's place by the edge of Siler's Lake. He closed his eyes tightly at the memory of the wicked runic script pouring across the not-Corey's face.

His stomach suddenly hurt. He was still too close to the dream. He felt the stirrings of nausea in his guts again. Just like he felt the day he came face-to-face with Kreeth at the Sartor manor.

Niam's eyes shot wide open. He must have made a sound because Maerillus looked over at him as asked, "What's wrong?"

Niam cursed. "Wake Davin! Wake him up now!"

Maerillus's face grew serious. "What's wrong?"

"I should have figured it out by now," Niam growled. "It's Kreeth who's behind all of this—he's the sorcerer!"

"How can you be sure?" Maerillus gasped. "I mean, we know he's not a nice guy, but—"

"He did it!" Niam insisted. "He killed my brother and sister!"
Chapter Twenty-Two

A Decision To Act

Dawn was hours away. Davin wiped the sleep from his eyes as he sat in the Sartor manor's spacious kitchen sipping a mug of hot, mulled cider. He yawned and asked his question again, hoping he had not heard correctly, but Maerillus told him again that Count Joachim had already left with his parents. Davin thought about that for a moment. "We promised them that we would let then know about anything new that came up."

Niam remained adamant. "And they're not here!"

"Exactly," Maerillus said. "Which is why we should tell them when they get back."

Niam opened his mouth, but Davin knew what he was going to say, so he beat his friend to it, "No," he looked at Maerillus, "I agree with Niam. It's why we've got to move on this now."

"You can't be serious," Maerillus sputtered. "What are WE going to do?"

Davin sighed. "We can't do nothing."

"We should leave this to—"

"—The experts?" Davin interjected. "How many experts do you suppose there are lying around Pirim Village?"

"Look what's happening!" Maerillus said hotly. "People are dying!"

Davin couldn't help noticing Niam's face drop at this. "We know Jort was a Hammer like Kine. We know that he was killed because of something going on here in the Lake Valleys—"

Niam interjected. "Kreeth killed him!"

"Yeah, and Kine is the one whose job it is to take down people like Kreeth," Maerillus said before Davin could get another word in.

"But that is what I am trying to get at," Davin said, raising his voice. "Jolan Kine is an agent of the Crown."

"One who does this sort of thing," Maerillus said, emphasizing his point again.

"One who also is subject to the laws of the realm," Davin said.

Niam sat at the table across from them, brooding as if Davin and Maerillus were hangmen determining his fate. In a way, that is exactly what he and Maerillus were doing.

"Your point is that we don't have to do anything because the Voice led Niam into making the connection between his dreams, the boxes, and Kreeth—and that we can tell Kine about this and turn him loose on the sorcerer. Am I right?"

Maerillus paused for a moment and then nodded his head. "That about sums it up."

"But—" Niam started to say something until Davin cut him off again.

"BUT." Davin said. "There's a big 'but' that no one is thinking about. The laws covering what a Wizard's Hammer can and cannot do are very specific."

"And just how do you know?" Maerillus challenged.

"Because for the past several days I've been sitting in your library reading up on it."

"Oh," Maerillus said, unhappy that Davin was about to explain why they should go out and tempt death again.

"Hammers must have real evidence that there is a sorcerer or rogue mage at work before moving against them. And he has to have a second Hammer approve anything he does. He must have a warrant."

Maerillus's face brightened. "Then that means there's another one we don't know about working here!"

"I think Jort would have been the 'other one,' Maer. I think Kine has come here on his own. And that means the only way he could do anything is if Kreeth made a move in the open."

Maerillus looked deflated as he realized his only chance of handing this off to someone else was dwindling.

"Kine has been all over Pirim Village. He's on to Kreeth. But he can't do anything direct until he has cause. It's the only way around a warrant."

"But he's got ways of finding it," Maerillus objected.

"Maerillus, where are your parents going today?" Davin asked, trying to take another tack with his argument.

"To Kalavere."

"And where has Kine gone with Lord Joachim?"

"To Kalavere."

"And whose idea was it that we all remained together here at your estate?"

"Lord Joachim suggested it and my dad would have insisted on it anyway," Maerillus said, growing impatient with Davin's obvious attempt to make his idea sound so simple even a child could follow along with it.

"I'm sure Jolan Kine added his copper crown's worth in it as well."

"Where are you going with this?" Maerillus asked, his voice heavy with impatience.

Davin rolled his eyes as if the answer were self-evident. "Don't you find it odd that Kine left the area with everyone else?"

Maerillus scrunched his eyebrows. "Maybe."

"We also know that Lord Joachim meets with other regional lords at the same time."

"Yeah, and . . .?" Maerillus said, letting his voice trail off, not quite sure where Davin was going with this. "All that means is that we're here alone."

"Exactly!" Davin exclaimed. "I'm not home helping my father get ready for the winter. They won't let Niam stay home alone. We're here. I think right where Kine wants us. I've seen the way he looks at us. I don't think anyone knows what to make of us—except that we have a knack of getting into the center of hornets' nests everywhere we go lately. "

Maerillus inclined his head, not happy with the thoughts that were now running through his mind.

"Don't you think it's odd that Lord Joachim and Kine left together—very visibly together?"

"I had wondered," Maerillus admitted. "Especially after we told him what Niam overheard Kreeth saying about us."

"He wasn't happy that we were putting our noses where they didn't belong. Yeah. We've brought attention to something Kreeth is doing. Jort must have had something on him. Now, because of us we've given any Wizard's Hammer even more reason to look hard at what's going on here."

"So why leave when we're so obviously a target?" Maerillus asked, perplexed.

"Because I'm willing to bet Kine is up to something. I'm also willing to bet he knows we'll keep doing what we seem to do best."

Maerillus groaned. "You mean put our noses where they don't belong."

"Well, we're not exactly bound by the laws governing a Wizard's Hammer, are we? We can do what Kine cannot do right now."

Maerillus groaned in resignation. "And when exactly do you want to do this?"

"I want to be in and out shortly after dawn," Davin said firmly. "I want to get enough on the bastard to help Kine bring him down."

*

As Maerillus and Davin got their things together, Niam waited outside in the cold. His body seemed to have a mind of its own, and he could not seem to remain still for more than a few seconds at a time. Across the lawn, a lone girl in white hurried through the frost-whitened grass in little more than an evening gown. Even from where Niam stood unnoticed, he could tell that she was pretty. She kept her head down and seemed locked in her own thoughts. Oblivious to Niam, she moved on toward the servants' wing of the manor. Before disappearing around the corner and slipping into the door on that wing, Niam realized who the girl was.

Betsy.

A stab of sympathy for Maerillus briefly distracted Niam from his own worries. If she were sneaking back in this late at night barely dressed, it seemed pretty obvious why she had lost interest in Maerillus so quickly. Somewhere nearby, Betsy had a lover.

Poor Maerillus.

At least it looks like it's not Kreeth, Niam thought with a shudder. In a moment, Betsy was gone.

The door beside Niam opened, and Maerillus and Davin emerged carrying weapons.

"Here," Maerillus said, still testy because of what they were about to do. He held out a bow and quiver full of arrows. Niam noted he had a bow of his own, albeit one that was considerably longer and more powerful.

Niam accepted it, happy to have some form of protection. Davin handed him his staff. "Thought you should have this, too," he said.

"Thanks guys," Niam said, honestly grateful. Memories of the trall attack still haunted him. Davin carried a bow of his own, and a short, thick bladed sword that looked sharp enough to shave with. Maerillus wore a thinner, lighter blade. If they were attacked by something like a trall this time, hopefully they could bring it down. Hopefully.

"So, you ready?" Davin asked. There was a level, solid tone to his voice that somehow made Niam feel more reassured that they could pull this off.

"I've been ready for this since the day my sister was found floating in the lake. Let's go and get what we need to bring this bastard down," Niam said heatedly.

Maerillus nodded his head grimly.

*

The woods were quiet as the three of them made their way along the winding road that took them to Kreeth's estate. Maerillus was alert to every little noise that emerged from the surrounding woods. A slight breeze blew, and naked limbs brushed against one another like dry bones moving silently across the grave of the night.

Maerillus shivered. Davin asked his question again, pulling Maerillus back into the present conversation. "You're sure Kreeth's servants don't live in the manor?"

"Yes. That's been said a number of times by different people. Even Dad's talked about how he's too suspicious of the people working for him to let them live inside his home."

"For good reason," Niam quipped dryly. "What with all the things he does in it."

"Well, I wouldn't want to live in that place, even if Kreeth weren't what he is," Maerillus said darkly.

Everyone knew its reputation.

Parents told stories about the property to scare children away from it. People thought the estate was cursed. Joachim said that many workers died building the thing. While the place was smaller than his own family's home by half, Kreeth's manor was still large. A number of owners had held the thing over the past century, and tragedy accompanied whoever lived there. Its first owner disappeared mysteriously after killing his entire family. A servant found the man's wife and children decapitated and their heads hanging from a chandelier. The next owner had been the son of a duke from one of the countries across the channel. Rumors still lingered that the man had been caught mutilating his lovers after chaining them up in the basement of one of his father's homes. The scandal nearly ruined the duke, who had his son castrated and exiled for his crimes. For decades he lived as a recluse. A tax collector from the mayor's office found him one day hanging from the end of a rope tied to the railing atop the large curved staircase that dominating the manor's entrance.

After that, people did not remain long in the house. Uneasy servants had spoken about strange noises echoing throughout the manor, of shadows cast by objects that were not there, and of dark, indistinct shapes moving just beyond their range of vision. Maerillus always considered these rumors as the product of overactive imaginations at best, or more often than not, as superstitions that the less educated clung to.

Now that Maerillus has seen more strange things since the beginning of autumn than most people heard about in their lifetimes, he had a fresher perspective on these sorts of tales.

"As long as the morning staff leaves to do their errands in town at sunrise, we ought to have a much better chance of getting in," Davin said.

"They will," Maerillus told them for the third time. "Kreeth keeps them out of the house after midday if he is there. Our staff talks about them all the time. Once they're done inside, he has them tend to the grounds. Their cabins are behind the house where the kitchen is. None of them are permitted inside after dark. They're terrified of him."

"I'm counting on what you've said."

"What if he's expecting something to happen while he's gone?" Maerillus asked darkly.

Davin kicked a stick on the ground absently as they walked. "I'm hoping he'll have his guard down a bit because everyone knows Kine left with Joachim."

"That's a big if," The skepticism in Maer's voice was all too apparent.

"I know," Davin said. "I know."

Before too long, Davin took them off the main road to approach Kreeth's estate from the forest where they would have less chance of being spotted. Kreeth may have been away, but Davin was certain he had people on the lookout.

"How can you be certain one of those tralls isn't roaming around in the woods? Maerillus worried.

"I can't be totally certain about anything," Davin told him honestly. "A trall this close to town would be a dead giveaway to a Wizard's Hammer snooping around."

"I hope you're right about the trall," Maerillus nearly groaned.

Davin gave him the biggest cheesy smile he could manage. "If I'm wrong, I'll apologize."

"That makes me feel better," Maerillus grumbled.

*

Things didn't change until they crossed a narrow stream half a mile from the edge of Kreeth's land. Davin felt it settling in around him slowly. At first, he chalked it up to Maerillus, who started complaining loudly that he wanted to go back. But it was Niam who sounded the first alarm that something was amiss. For his own part, Niam had remained quiet for much of the walk. When he finally spoke up, it was to hiss, "Would the two of you stop bickering like an old married couple!" When Davin and Maerillus's jaws both snapped shut in surprise, he went on. "Listen to the forest. Something wrong."

Davin looked around and listened for a while. What he heard was . . . nothing—no autumn birds, no squirrels, no deer, or foxes broke the sepulchral hush pressing in from every direction.

"You're right. Something's off," Davin said, feeling his body growing tenser by the moment.

"It started once we crossed the stream," Niam said, clearly agitated.

"When we started arguing," Maerillus said quietly. "I felt horrible."

"You haven't liked my idea from the get-go." Davin pointed out.

"No. But ever since we crossed that stream, all I've wanted to do is go back home and never come back."

"Nothing is moving," Davin said. "It's like the entire forest has gone empty."

Niam made an unpleasant observation. "Not entirely."

Davin and Maerillus both looked at him.

"There have been several squirrels keeping pace with us. You two have been too busy bickering to notice. They only stopped when we stopped." He gave a visible shiver. "I've never seen animals act like that. I know you'll think I'm crazy, but I think they've been watching us."

Davin looked up. Two squirrels sat on their haunches steadily looking down at the three of them. They displayed none of their typical nervous ticks or fits of motion. Instead of neurotically scanning the woods for predators, their lack of movement was unsettlingly calm and purposive.

The hair on the back of Davin's neck stood up. Quickly, he bent down, grabbed a stick, and threw it at their branch. The stick struck the limb with a loud, flat crack. The squirrels continued to stare without flinching. "Okay," Maerillus said. "That's too weird." Without a word passing between them, Davin quickly strung his bow. At the same time, Niam and Maerillus did so as well.

Davin took aim and loosed his arrow. Two more twangs followed. Davin's arrow took the first squirrel just below its neck, sending it tumbling back and to the leafy floor with a soft thud where it lay completely motionless. Maerillus's arrow flew right through the second squirrel, and Niam's arrow, a brief second behind it, missed as the animal tumbled over without moving.

Niam walked to one. "Uh, I'm pretty sure I know why the things didn't so much as twitch or kick," he said as a look of disgust traveled across his face. He brought them an arrow with a squirrel still attached to it, holding the shaft away from his body as if the skewered animal was something contagious.

Maerillus's nose crinkled as he looked at it. "Dear Lord, what is that?"

Davin thought that he poor thing barely looked like a squirrel at all, and the sight of it caused a sense of revulsion to travel down his spine. Large patches of fur were missing where it had fallen out in tufts, and its eyes appeared to have partially sunken into its skull as if they were no longer supported by tissue and bone behind them. The animal's arms and hind legs were abnormally long, and where its hind feet ended in a normal pair of paws, it's forelimbs tapered to a set of scythe-like talons.

Niam picked up a stick and used it to pry open the thing's mouth. "Great Lord of Light!" Maerillus exclaimed. "Look at those teeth!"

Repulsed, Davin asked, "How could it even survive?" Instead of sporting a thick pair of large, gnawing incisors, this squirrel's jaws bore rows of uneven and jagged fangs.

"Thing looks diseased," Niam said. "It's covered with lesions."

"Pull the arrow out and stick it in the ground so no one will know we were here," Davin told him, and then said, "Let's find the other two arrows and bury them. If these things are carrying anything, I don't want to run the risk of spreading what they might have."

"They reminded me of the trall," Davin said once they were done.

"Jolan Kine said that tralls were created by the darkest sorcery imaginable," Niam said. He looked pale.

"This is sick," Maerillus said uneasily.

"They were watching us for one of two reasons," Niam said darkly. "Either they wanted to, or Kreeth wanted them to."

"We've got to get a move on," Davin said quickly. "The sun will be up soon and if there are more of Kreeth's creations running around here, we are better off getting this over with."

Almost as soon as Davin's words were out, a long, ululating howl pierced the night. Davin's back ran with goose bumps and he instinctively grabbed the pommel of his short sword.

"How far off was that?" Maerillus asked in alarm.

"Sounded like it was a long way away," Davin said, fighting the rising tide of worry blooming in his chest.

"Then what's that running toward us?" Niam flashed, dropping the short bow he owned and raising his staff defensively.

Davin spun around just as he heard the rapid patter of paws speeding trough the crisp autumn leaves.

"Wolf!" Maerillus cried out.

"I see it!" Davin barked.

Quickly, he pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back and nocked it. At the same moment, Niam shouted in a terrified voice, "More wolves!"

The rasp of more paws slashing trough dry leaves suddenly became distinct. The closest wolf streaked toward them with its head low and barred fangs gleaming in the moonlight. Muscles rippled like liquid beneath the beast's fur as its powerful legs propelled it forward with a predatory grace.

Davin gave in to the well of power that always lay just beneath the surface of his being, and time slowed almost to a crawl. In that moment he noticed how the wolf bearing down on him had been altered just like the squirrels. Its maw was tipped with a set of wickedly curved tusks, and instead of pads, its paws looked like they ended with the articulated talons of a raptor.

Davin felt a white-hot blaze of rage that someone could twist creation into such a perversion. He drew his bow back and watched as his arrow drove through the air, striking the creature below its left eye. The thing crumpled and went down instantly. Davin shifted and nocked another arrow. Exhilaration like he had never known filled his body. He floated in a sea of serenity. There was only this moment. Time stood upon a fulcrum and he was its tipping point. All he had to do was find another target and let his arrow fly.

Next to him, Niam whirled his staff and brought it down heavily on a wolf's skull. The animal let out a savage growl and shook its head. Niam took that brief instant to spin his staff over his head and swung it in a low arc so that the tip connected with the beast's leg, snapping it like a twig. The wolf let out a yelp and limped backward, its fangs bared, and its muzzle pulled back, rippling.

Davin sent an arrow plunging into its side, piercing the thing's shoulder and spearing its heart. He reached back and pulled another arrow from his quiver, savoring the absolute confidence that came with giving in to the ocean he first felt what seemed like an age ago in a side alley of Kalavere.

Maerillus had his bow up, but he fumbled for his arrow while another beast closed rapidly. Davin pulled back his string. He knew he had this. There were no more wolves. This was the last one. All he had to do was aim and release. But as he stepped back to steady himself, a root caught the bottom of his boot. Davin felt a moment of frustration and surprise. Suddenly the ocean of calm certainty was gone and his eyes went wide as his balance betrayed him. Panic flashed through him; as he teetered and stumbled back, he released his arrow too soon, which flew wide and high. Davin fell, sprawling across the ground, and he heard Maerillus yell out in fear.

He scrambled to get up as the wolf jumped and missed. When it landed, the thing wheeled about to have another go Maerillus, but Niam charged the wolf, fending it off by waving his staff and bellowing in fear.

Maerillus used Niam's diversion to draw an arrow back with his powerful bow. The shaft buried itself in the wolf's hip, and the animal screamed in pain. It refused to back off, however, becoming all the more enraged for the pain now flaring in its hind end.

Davin drew his sword and leapt at the animal. Niam lifted his staff. Davin drove his blade into the wolf's side. He felt the metal meet bone.

The wolf snapped viciously at Davin's blade as Niam's staff came crashing down on its skull, and in less than a heartbeat, the thing lay lifeless.

"Is everyone okay?!" Davin shouted.

"I'm fine," Niam panted, looking as if he were trying to see in every direction at once.

"I'm okay too," Maerillus said as he prepared another arrow in case there were more wolves about.

Davin took a moment to gather himself together. His heart raced and his hands trembled. Silently he cursed himself for becoming so arrogant that he allowed a simple root to trip him up.

Maerillus could have died. He wanted to scream. He should have been more cautious with his power, but it was nearly impossible to be cautious when he felt nearly invincible.

In the distance, another howl rose into the night air.

Letting out a long breath, Davin said, "Come on guys, let's keep moving."

"I told you there'd be more things like the trall," Maerillus said quietly as they walked.

"No fair," Davin said in a low voice. "You said there MIGHT be a trall . . . but I'm a man of my word. Sorry Maer."

"Don't mention it," Maerillus said glumly.

*

The farther they walked, the more Davin worried. Had he lead his two friends into a trap? Kreeth must have released the twisted creatures only recently, otherwise Jolan Kine would have encountered them, wouldn't he? An urge to just collect one of the carcasses and return with the copse grew in intensity the closer they got to their goal. The sorcerer may very well have left those wolves running free in case someone (someone like three meddlesome boys) came snooping around. If he had, surely this meant he knew nothing of their growing abilities. Otherwise, more than three of his abominations would have attacked them. Or, had it been a test? Now that three of his wolves lay dead in the woods behind him, Kreeth would have to know someone had come around.

Davin's doubts grew into certainties that he was about to get Niam and Maerillus killed. He noticed that although the eastern sky was slowly brightening, the forest somehow seemed to grow darker, more oppressive. He felt as if there were someone lingering just beyond the range of his senses whispering to him to give up.

Davin had to stop.

"What is it," Maerillus demanded. His mood had also taken a darker turn. "You see something, don't you?" His voice was abrupt, almost accusing.

Davin shook his head. "It's this place, Maer. There's something in the air, or the trees that's trying to get to me."

"It's a little of both . . . but neither," Niam said. He looked around, lost in thought, as if he was trying to find the right words to explain what he sensed. Beads of sweat dotted his brow and his eyes were dark and puffy. "I guess I'm feeling it, too."

"I know. I can tell."

"But how could Kreeth affect an area this large, Niam?" Davin asked. Kreeth's power both impressed and revolted him.

"I'm no sorcerer!" Niam spat angrily. It took a moment to regain his composure. "Sorry. I can feel . . . things. Have you ever felt harp strings vibrate? It's kind of like that, but I think I feel the vibration and the will behind the musician's choice to pick the strings he uses. It's like part of him is here in the air around us."

"I had no idea," Davin muttered.

Niam looked nauseous. "I feel him everywhere."

"Good way to keep people away," Davin grumbled. As he grew silent he heard a noise a short distance away. Maerillus reached for an arrow, but Davin grabbed him and put a finger over his lips. "It's Kreeth's servants. They're on their way to town," he said quietly.

Maerillus visibly relaxed as the voices of two men making lewd jokes about a tavern girl's chastity became audible over the racket of the old cart they drove. The rhythmic hoof fall of two horses plodded by as the men's conversation slowly began to recede after a short wait.

When only the squeak of the wheels could be heard in the distance, Davin spoke in his normal voice. "The road must be closer than I thought."

"That means we're almost there," Niam said.

In moments, the forest gave way to a large expanse of lawn. Davin stood just inside the tree line looking at Kreeth's manor. Maerillus walked up beside him and groaned, "I really want to go back, now."

Niam whined, "But he killed my brother and sister. I'm going, even if I have to go alone. Even if it kills me to do it."
Chapter Twenty-Three

The Bad Place

The road leading to the estate lay in perpetual darkness, flanked on both sides by large oaks so old that they resembled deformed bodies frozen in the rictus of sudden and painful seizures, giving off the impression of a lingering and age-old anger. Ancient limbs grown fat over time could have supported boulders in the broken crooks of their elbows, which were stretched outward like the hands of a drowning man reaching for a shore he would never make. Long bearded trains of moss hung in a mass of frozen tears from thick limbs, and darkness clung to the ancient trunks keeping everything beneath them in perpetual gloom.

To Davin it looked as if some urge terrible enough to drive the oaks from their forest home had left them clinging to the road with thick, muscular roots grasping at the hard earth to choke life from the rock. The road itself was bare earth, worn brick-hard by the impress of wagon and carriage wheels. Here and there, rocks poked through like bones disinterred from a grave. Even in small things such as these an air of frustration and agony that lay about the estate.

At least nothing was stalking them or trying to kill them. Yet the morning was young, and Davin felt skittish because he did not know what else might be waiting for them. His eyes followed the road as it emerged from the dismal protection of the twisted oaks and wound its way around a large hill dominating the center of the grounds. Atop the hill, Kreeth's manor sat like a fat, old head. It's exterior was composed of stone—an indeterminate pale color that looked as if it had been torn from the bowls of the earth and arrived upon the surface pallid and dead as any stone cold corpse. Darker striations and ruddy veins within the blocks made it appear as if the stone wept or bled. Unlike the Sartor manor, which consisted of three main wings radiating in the shape of a T, the old manse before them was of one long rectangular shape. Imposing teeth-like columns rose from ground to roof, and beyond them a set of iron banded double doors were flanked by stained glass windows that continued up unblinkingly twenty feet or more. The manor's visage held its maw open to eat up any who entered the residence.

"That is . . ." Niam began, obviously searching for the right words, but his voice trailed off.

"Hideous," Maerillus finished for him.

"I've spent all of my life here, but never seen this with my own eyes before," Davin said, suppressing a shudder.

"Believe it or not, Dad said that when it was first built, the place was beautiful, but that it fell into disrepair with each successive owner."

"Well, there's nothing between us and it except grass. I wish there were some hedges or gardens to conceal our approach," muttered.

"I'm sure there were at one time," Maerillus remarked. "Good thing we're going to approach it from the side."

"If I were a man like Kreeth I'd want to see anyone coming well before they got anywhere near me," Davin told him. "But if we're lucky, we'll use his paranoia against him." Since he obsessively kept a small staff, there would be fewer eyes to see them. The fact that he was gone helped.

Niam looked as if he hadn't slept in a week, and his hands twitched. "What are you feeling?" Davin asked.

"About half a foot shorter than you," he deadpanned.

"You know what he means," Maerillus said impatiently.

Niam turned to Maerillus, and for a moment Maerillus looked taken aback. Davin understood why. It was the haunted look Niam sometimes wore only multiplied. Right then, Niam seemed to be able to look through a person and see the shadowy soul behind their skin. "You don't want to ever know how I feel right now," Niam said. "Not ever."

Davin cleared his throat to get their attention. Their window of opportunity to get into the manor wasn't going to remain open for long.

"Let's get ready to run."

As they ran, the sensation of doom Davin felt immediately increased. Every doubt he had about this became amplified. You'll trip again, right at the moment when you're needed the most, a voice that was and wasn't part of him slid through his mind. You are bothering an innocent man? Another voice chided. You'll get them killed you know—all of your friends. The voices—so very different from the Voice that had come to him not very long ago—tried to wheedle into his mind. Davin felt naked and exposed out in the open, yet he pressed forward. As he drew closer to the house he forced himself to ignore the thoughts and impulses flying though his head. At last, they arrived at the manor.

He stopped as Niam and Maerillus's footsteps pounded up next to him. See, an eel-like thought crossed from the darkest corner of his mind, Someone inside has heard you now. You've done it boy! They're onto you! Davin looked around wildly to see if anyone had come to look out of a window. "You've got to push them out of your mind," Niam said urgently. "Both of you. I know you can hear them. Push back." Davin looked at Niam. Maerillus stood with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He shook his head as if he couldn't.

"Do it!" Niam hissed. "DO IT," he demanded.

"I don't know if I can," Davin heard himself say, shocked at the puny and timid voice coming from his mouth.

Turn around . . . run back . . . wait for Jolan Kine . . .

Niam's hands closed tightly around Davin's arm. "Find a way!" he said with an intensity that startled him. "Find a way or he wins!" Though Niam barely spoke above a whisper, he might as well have screamed. "Do it," Niam demanded again. "Do it now." As he spoke, something happened that Davin could not explain or put into words. He felt something, almost like a wave, pass out of Niam and pass over him, weakening the effect of the spell Kreeth had cast over the surrounding land. Without giving himself time to think—time to allow the voices another foothold into his head—he sought the well of power that ran like a nameless and timeless sea within himself and drew from it. Only a trickle, but a trickle was all he needed.

Immediately, Davin experienced a sudden loosening sensation accompanied by the release of an indefinable pressure, and urges were completely gone. Inside, Davin shook, but he was alone with his own thoughts. His feelings were his own, and he passed a look of gratitude to Niam. Beside them, Maerillus still struggled. "Use your ability," Davin said quickly. "Become invisible," he said.

"But the voices don't see," Maerillus whined. "And they know what a failure I am."

"Be invisible to the things in your mind," Davin urged. "Niam's right. You can do it."

For a few moments, Davin feared Maerillus wouldn't be able to shake Kreeth's sorcery. Then, bit-by-bit, his face began to lose its tension. A few moments more, he wiped sweat from his brow, and said weakly, "It's done."

"How did you figure out that we could beat the effects of this horrible place?" Maerillus's voice held a mixture of wariness and respect.

Niam shrugged his shoulders as if it had been no big deal, but the haggard lines etched across his face belied his true feelings. "Just getting a feel for how Kreeth's worked his sorcery, I guess," he said.

Davin noticed how Niam shifted his feet uncomfortably. Even a passing association with sorcery was enough to get someone hanged or beheaded in some countries. In darker times people feared finding the mark of a sorcerer—a poisonous nightflower—hanging from their door. Such a thing was nearly as bad as being accused of murder.

"I guess I should go ahead and get this done," Maerillus said, wiping his hands nervously.

"Be careful," Davin told him. "Look around," he reminded him. "If you can get us in through this window, that would be great. If not—"

"—I'll come open a window where we can get in and come back and get you."

Davin nodded his head. Before Maerillus walked off, Niam stopped him.

"There are worse things than men in there."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Maerillus said, and then was gone. His shape faded and folded away as he walked off to sneak in through the servants' door around back.

While they waited, Niam's eyes grew distant. Davin knew that expression. Niam was trying to piece something together before he spoke about it. Every second that passed in silence made Davin feel twitchier by the moment. "There's more here than Kreeth," Niam said slowly, as if unsure of himself.

"More what than Kreeth? More people? More sorcerers?" He felt his fingers reflexively move down to his short sword as the words fell from his lips.

Niam looked confused. "I don't know."

Davin nodded and bit his lip. Aside from the timing, everything hinged on Maer's ability to get them inside. Minutes seemed to drag by. Niam continued staring off into the distance with an inward gaze that made Davin wonder nervously exactly what it was that held Niam's attention.

Davin jumped and quickly drew his sword as the window above them jerked open. Maerillus stuck his head out of the opening. "Niam's not going to like this place," he grimly announced. The tone in his voice told Davin that they would all find the feeling mutual.

Davin resheathed his sword and quickly hoisted Niam through the open window. Before Maerillus had time to hold his arm out, Davin leapt up and grabbed hold of the window ledge. An easy swing brought his left leg up, and he pulled himself through.

"Show off," Maerillus grumbled as Davin looked around. The room they found themselves in looked as if it had not been used in a very long time. Beneath filthy dust cloths, chairs and a large wooden table hunkered like bodies covered in shrouds, bodies that only appeared dead, waiting for the moment when they would be wakened again. Wainscoting covered the walls, and paintings of unknown men hung as if their portraited occupants had been imprisoned there to perish and fade over the long stretch of years.

From the ceiling a large chandelier hung like a huge spider with tarnished brass tines holding candles cracked by desuetude and dry age. A mass of webs covered the candle holders as if the chandelier had grown merely dormant, slumbering yet hungry, waiting for prey to fall into its web—there to cling, helplessly mouthing vain prayers while it perished, begging for help that would never come while the lips that prayed them died in a dying room.

Davin quickly spun around, startled by the sounds of a woman and a child sobbing uncontrollably. Nothing except dust stirred in the room.

"Where is that coming from?" he asked as goose bumps rose across the sensitive parts of his arms.

"What?" Maerillus asked.

Davin realized he alone had heard that. The source of the crying tapered off slowly, yet echoes of it lingered. "Crying. I heard crying. A woman and a child."

Niam gave a strained response. "See. I told you."

Davin turned to address Maerillus about the things he found and the first thing he noticed was that Maerillus looked really shaken up. "Did anything go wrong?" Around him the room lay quiet as a mausoleum. Davin was glad for the silence because he should easily hear anyone approaching from outside the room. Still, this brought no sense of added security to his heightened nervousness.

Maerillus spoke darkly. "This place just isn't right," he said. "It's not like the trip here. It's something else." Davin nodded his head, for Niam had said the same thing.

"No one saw me. The morning staff is finishing their breakfast. You should hear them talking. They hate working here." Maerillus's voice dropped almost to a warning growl. "Guys, I saw things when I walked through the halls. Images."

Niam made an inarticulate noise. Maerillus gave him a wary glance but went on. "Someone's upstairs. I heard the servants complaining about him. They're terrified of him. And when I got close to the stairs leading to the second floor, whoever it is started screaming not to bother him. He had no way of knowing I was there. But he did."

"It's called warding," Niam said, and when both of them looked at him, he yelped silently and stammered, "I don't know where that came from . . . it just popped out."

"Well, at least that warding didn't include one of Kreeth's changed animals or heavily armed men," Davin said.

He couldn't help notice the sidewise glance Maerillus cast Niam as he spoke up about his knowledge of sorcery.

"There's also something I . . . um . . . think Niam ought to see," Maerillus said. "There's a secret door in a large closet filled with broken furniture. Thing's concealed to look like part of the paneling. But we've got doors like that at home."

Davin knew exactly what Maerillus was talking about. During social and business gatherings, those hidden rooms were where the staff kept extra supplies. Smart, really.

"I bet it wasn't wine you saw when you opened it up," Niam said as if he already knew the punch line to a bad joke.

"No. It was a short hallway. At the end of it, there was a stairway. I didn't go down it, but I saw what it led to. A door. And all across it there were these writings and symbols. I—I didn't like the way I felt looking at them."

Beside them, Niam looked as if he were standing in a bed of hot coals. "Guys, I think we should get moving. I hate this place." Davin agreed and motioned them to the door Maerillus had left propped open. Davin put his ear to the crack. From the other side there was only silence. He turned back to tell Maerillus that he ought to go first in case a servant came along. Instead he stopped and gapped.

Maerillus and Niam both caught the expression on his face and spun around. Davin wouldn't have noticed the discrepancy, as small as it was in a situation like this if he hadn't paid attention.

"What?" Maerillus asked sourly once he realized they weren't about to be attacked by something taloned, fanged, and stinky.

"The pictures have been moved," Davin said, a little unnerved.

"Huh?" Was all Maerillus managed.

"The pictures are in different places than they were when we came in." He didn't care whether either of them believed him.

"I'm . . . are you sure?" Maerillus asked.

"Absolutely," Davin said firmly.

"We're not alone," Niam said knowingly.

"You're about to be alone," Maerillus shot back.

Davin eyed the paintings fearfully. The back of his neck prickled as if he expected something else to move.

"This house doesn't want us inside of it," Niam said with such certainty that Davin couldn't help but believe the warning.

"Let's get to that hallway and see what's on the other side," Davin said. "The staff will be coming in soon." He didn't need to tell Maerillus to go first. His friend took his place in front of them and moved quietly through the door. Davin followed. Beyond the door, the state of the house changed. This was the manor's entrance. The entry chamber was a large foyer. To their right, a large, sweeping stairway curled around the room as it rose elegantly to an open landing above. Large stained glass windows dominated the left side of the room, and the rising sun's light seemed to cut itself and bleed across the smoothly polished floor. Urns centuries old occupied the corners, and armored suits polished to a mirrored sheen stood on display pedestals where they loomed over anyone in the room. Across from them two open doors revealed a reception room and a study.

Though the foyer was an improvement over the dining room, the dramatic change only heightened his sense of unease. Before making it to the hallway, Davin looked back to check on Niam and cursed. Instead of following them, Niam was slowly walking toward the stairs. On his face, an unreadable, vacant expression told Davin that Niam might as well have been in the middle of a field of petunias rather than where he was. He moved with careful steps. His head was upraised, and his mouth was moving.

Maerillus almost blurted out, "Is he talking to himself? He's going to trip that ward!"

Davin rushed forward to pull him away. Before he got to him, his eyes widened and he nearly exclaimed aloud. A man, not quite in his late thirties, hung from a rope attached to the balustrade overhead. His head and neck were stretched obscenely, and his face, mottled and black, was frozen in a rictus of fear and desperation. Davin blinked.

And it was gone.

Davin lunged the rest of the way, grabbing Niam's sleeve. His short friend batted at Davin's hand, trying to unlock his fingers from around the clump of fabric in his fist. "Let me go," Niam said feebly. From above, a man suddenly began screaming obscenities. Davin hauled Niam toward where Maerillus waited.

Upstairs, a shrill voice screamed out venomously, "GET OUT OR I'll HAVE YOU BOILED ALIVE!!! I'LL FLAY YOU WHILE YOU BEG FOR MERCY!!!!"

Maerillus croaked, "In here! Hurry!"

Davin struggled with Niam through the hallway door and into a broom closet just as they heard alarmed servants running from the other end of the manor. Maerillus closed the door just in time. People rushed by, with one man declaring angrily, " . . . better not have disturbed the master's guest or you won't have to worry about him boiling you alive. I'll do it myself."

"But we didn't," one of the servants complained as they went trough the doorway. "See. Ain't nobody here."

Silence followed while the front rooms were searched. Davin prayed they had left no signs of their entry in the old dining room. Shortly, he heard the angry man return through the doorway brusquely spitting out orders, "Get your work done and stay out of the front or you'll answer to Kreeth himself." Another servant gave an indistinguishable answer although the simpering tone in his voice was unmistakable.

Maerillus pushed Niam against a wall, whispering hoarsely, "What did you think you were doing? I told you about the stairs."

"I saw someone I know," he said. The far-off look still remained in his eyes. He said almost dreamily, "I saw my sister."

Davin flashed Maerillus a concerned look. "Niam. It's this place. It's getting to you. Snap out of it." He shook his smaller friend urgently. Niam shook his head as if he had been sleeping and didn't want to wake up.

Maerillus had less patience. "We've got to get moving or we're done for here!" he snapped smartly.

Niam looked up with eyes that had grown watery. "I saw her Maer. She was trying to tell me something. I saw her. I saw them all. The hanging man. A bloody woman and her son. They're still here. And they want to be left alone." Tears welled at the bottom of his eyes. "Except my sister," he whispered pitifully. "She wanted to talk to me."

"Davin's right," Maerillus said tersely. "It's just the house. You of all people ought to see that."

More awake now, Niam shook his head vehemently and spoke through clenched teeth. "It's more than that. More, Maerillus."

"Is it anything that's going to stop us or hurt us?" Davin asked, trying to get refocused.

Niam's eyes bored right into his own, steady and lucid for the moment. His voice was flat, cold, and certain. "There are lots of things here that want to hurt us."

Outside in the foyer, the bustle of servants quickly cleaning began to slow. They waited in silence until the staff eventually moved on to other rooms on the first floor. "Take us to the secret hallway," Davin said to Maerillus.

Maerillus slipped through the door to make sure the coast was clear. When he stuck his head back in, he motioned quickly. "Hurry."

Davin and Niam followed along. Davin felt even more exposed in the hallways of the old manse than he had sprinting across the large lawn earlier this morning. Maerillus turned left, and then left again down a narrower hall. Then he gingerly opened what appeared to be a door to a large closet.

They stepped though into a room filled with broken old chairs, chests missing drawers, and legless tables stacked against the wall. At the back of the room, one bare wall stood curiously empty of shelves and clutter.

"This is just like the walls at home," Maerillus told them. He walked over to it and pushed down on a paneled edge. The wall swung back, revealing a short flight of steps. "I was suspicious the moment I saw this. If you'll notice, no other walls in this room are paneled."

Niam flinched as if someone had just thrown cold water on him. He backed away until his back met the closed door behind him. He was having such a terrible time that Davin wondered fleetingly how the staff lived here with the effects of Kreeth's sorcery. Davin eyed Niam for a moment, and decided to keep him up there. "Stay back there while I go down and look," he told Maerillus.

As Davin cautiously moved down the steps, he took a good look at the door. Strange writing covered the thing, forming a crookedly flowing script he had never seen, and the surface bore no knob or latch. Its opening seemed a simple matter of just applying pressure to push it open. Strange that Kreeth would leave a door as important as this so unprotected.

Davin reached out to give the door a tentative push. "No!" Niam shouted. "Get away from it—that thing will kill you!" Davin felt the brief contact of someone's hand connecting with his shoulder, then fingers dug into him and he was literally jerked back so hard that he went sprawling across the floor, striking his head against the bottom step.

In the hallway, alarmed voices cried out. "What was that?!"

Feet quickly began moving toward the room above them.

Niam stood in front of the door, blocking it with his body. Davin realized he must have followed him down.

"Now you've done it!" Maerillus spat.

"I can do this," Niam said with intense concentration.

"Well you better hurry!"

Niam moved his hands around the door, tracing the lines of script. His hands paused over the symbol in the door's center. He closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head. "Not this one," he muttered, moving his hand down to a symbol in the lower right corner, and let out a strained sigh. "This is the one."

Davin watched as Niam turned around and looked at him. There was a frighteningly elated smile on his lips, but it did not reach all the way to his eyes, which had become bloodshot. "This was really clever. It would have kept you here until he released you, or it would have killed you."

Davin stood. His head pounded. "Can you get it open?" he insisted.

Niam nooded his head. The servants were now standing just outside of the room above. Niam simply stood in front of the door. He closed his eyes, and Davin watched his muscles tense. Niam's fists clenched so tightly that the tendons on his wrist stood out like cords. White-knuckled fingers dug into his flesh. Something dropped absently from Niam's balled hands and struck the floor. Davin's eyes followed it to where glistening drops of Niam's blood spattered the rough floor below.
Chapter Twenty-Four

Beyond The Door

Niam faced the door, which was much more than a door. So different from the boxes, a distant part of him realized, but he pushed all thought away. He closed his eyes against a garish light pouring out of the thing, but it did no good. What he saw was not light, but more like an inner illumination of another person's mind, somehow condensed into something physical—viscous, inky, and ultimately malleable. When he looked at it, what he saw were writings and drawings, yet that wasn't exactly it, was it? What had first looked like words flowed and transformed into brilliant and complexly woven strands. Niam felt that if he reached his hands out, he could touch them like yarn. This was part of the trap, too, he knew intuitively, for the glowing strands were like sticky webbing waiting for prey to become ensnared in their lines. Yet instead of a spider there were the five symbols on the door, each one of them deadlier than a red-belly lurking in a woodpile.

Through Niam's closed eyes, light that was not light pierced his lids and seared into his skull. His head throbbed and then began to pound. He closed his eyes even more tightly, and the lines and threads still glowed in the darkness. Somewhere nearby, someone urged, "You've got to hurry." But Niam paid no attention to it. He pushed that voice away. Where the Sorcery impressed itself on his awareness as writing, now Niam saw currents of energy, a script working the threads of someone's will into the fabric of the world. One that was also drawing his attention toward a powerful nexus. That was very clever, but he forced himself to direct his attention away. The pressure behind his eyes began to recede, and he noticed a curious gap in the weave.

Anyone attempting to use their knowledge of magic to undo the warded door would become ensnared by the thing and set it off without even having to touch the door. This was meant to protect what lay on the other side from magic users and non-magic users alike. With force of effort, he reached his hand out, dangerously close to the nexus that threatened to tear his head apart—so close to it that only a fool would have dared keep his attention on it for long. Curiously, his fingers did not want to move, but Niam made them move. He opened his hand and pulled at one of the threads within the sorcerous weave.

Suddenly, all of the pressure in Niam's head vanished, and he was aware that his legs wobbled. Maerillus whispered urgently, "Grab him."

Niam fell as strong arms reached around his chest and pulled him through the doorway. Darkness closed in, and for a time, he knew nothing except a burning in his palms.

*

Niam stood somewhere dark. His palms stung furiously. Before him a girl stood with her back to him. Long dark hair spilled around her shoulders in tangled and dripping wet knots. Her frame, sapling thin, stood out easily beneath the wet traveling cloak she wore. In front of her stood the doorway and the trap he had just sprung. It's pale light, deadly as bone cancer, slowly turned from white to angry red. At least he no longer felt sick. Instead, he sensed contempt and an overweening desire to dominate pouring out of it.

He knew that what he saw was not the door, but the person responsible for it. Around him, indistinct and vague shapes acted out horrible scenes of lust, brutality, and death. They flickered from one event to another.

The blurred lines of a man carefully wound the ends of a rope round and round into a noose, which he slipped over his neck and then leapt into darkness . . .

Flicker.

A shape holding an axe aloft brought it down over a misty form on a bed. Niam winced. He knew what lay within the bed. A woman and a child wept uncontrollably . . .

Flicker.

Two men stood facing one another, their arms outstretched as terrible forces unleashed between them snaked out toward one another and met. A blinding eruption followed . . .

Flicker.

The wavy, ephemeral form of a boy sat in an empty room, laughing as he suffocated a cat writhing helplessly where it had been bound . . .

Flicker.

Something fell through the night sky, tumbling, twisting, and burning, in the throes of fatal agony. The heat and radiance ignited the surrounding forest as it came, a contrail of smoke glowing ember-red stretched behind it for miles. As the thing fell over the horizon, a blinding light split the night in half . . .

Flicker.

A broken and misshapen form shambled through the charred mass of blackened tree trunks. Its furtive movement reminded Niam of the way a dying bug hitched and jerked. It was searching for something as it died. At last, the creature found an open fissure in the ground. With one last spasm, it slipped into the darkness and dissolved, as if pouring itself into the earth . . .

Flicker

The girl still stood in the darkness before Niam. His throat constricted painfully when he opened his mouth, but he asked the question he knew he had to ask—the one that mattered the most to him, despite everything that had happened and everything he had seen. "Sarah. Is it really you I see in these dreams?" His sister turned to face him. Not even death had removed her beauty, though she looked wan and drained. Tear tracks streaked down her face. She looked as if she wanted to say something to him, but when she opened her mouth, Maerillus's worried voice came out instead.

*

Niam struggled to rouse himself. "Wake up, Niam," Maerillus said again. His voice was a mixture of concern and urgency. Then, Niam heard him say, "I think he's coming around."

"Good," Davin said with relief. "Do you still have any water?"

Niam croaked out, "Too thirsty for water."

Maerillus let out an exasperated sound and shoved his water bottle to Niam. "Always have to joke."

"We're through the door," he said, still a bit weak, but growing stronger every second that passed.

"I don't think anyone heard us," Davin answered.

"That was a trap," Niam said slowly, picking himself up. They waited while he shook his arms and legs, testing himself to be sure everything worked properly. "I saw it," he told them quietly. "I saw what Kreeth did with the power he uses. It's like nothing I've ever seen before." And then, in a lower voice, he told them, "This place is stained. Everything that has happened here has left its own mark."

Davin nodded his head. "We need to put that away for later. It looks like we may have our proof." Davin indicated down into the room.

Niam felt a bit unsteady as he turned to see for himself what he had struggled so hard to find. They occupied an alcove overlooking a large basement beneath the far corner of the manor. Old white plaster covered the walls like makeup on a corpse. Water stains smeared the walls, and splotches of mold dotted the entirety of the room. Roughly hewn rock showed through where the mildewed skin of plaster had long ago fallen away. Unlike bone, the rock beneath was dark and uneven.

On the far wall, two narrow windows allowed the morning sun enough room to eek trough. Tall shelves stood like skeletal portrudences grafted onto the sheeted plaster veneer beneath them, and across the top row of shelves an irregular line of crates or boxes blocked much of what little light passed into the room.

Maerillus descended the steps and located a lamp, which he lit using one of the striking sticks Lord Joachim had introduced from the continent. To Niam, they were almost like magic. All Maerillus had to do was rub one briskly against a rough surface and they ignited of their own accord. Using the lamp, Maerillus moved quickly about the perimeter of the room, locating and lighting more lamps until the room held enough light to make everything out in detail.

A large circle deeply engraved into the stone dominated the basement floor. Niam's head ached just looking at it. A pale radiance emanated from its grooves as if a sickly and diseased light poured up from the earth the way blood oozed from a shallow cut. In the center of the circle sat an altar, and on the alter rested a hodgepodge of unrelated and random items—several combs, a child's doll, necklaces and rings, locks of hair. Each item glowed with a faintly malignant aura of its own. And as Niam stood there for a moment and studied it, the word substance was more than a mere description. He realized that something's very essence was leaking into the room, and it made his stomach hurt.

"Hey guys," Niam called out as quietly as he could. "Don't get too close to that circle on the floor. I think it's connected to something really bad."

"Can you do something about it?"

Niam took a few tentative steps closer. While the circle certainly had similarities to the door, he made out no writing or symbols. All he knew for certain was that the energy given off by the circle somehow connected the individual objects on the altar in some way.

He grimaced. His stomach felt heavy, as if something rotten and crawling with maggots in the center of his gut had just burst. Niam looked back at Davin and felt lightheaded. "I'm not sure how this works, and I think it'd be a bad idea if you got any closer to it."

Davin looked disappointed. He studied the objects on the altar and chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Maybe one of us can get something from it. Surely Kine would be able to sense Kreeth's sorcery. If it doesn't make us feel what you feel, maybe we won't be affected."

Niam shook his head emphatically. "I have no idea what is going to happen to all the energy that thing is carrying. The door had a set amount of energy. That killing force within it is still there. I just made it so that it wouldn't flow. At least that's what I think I did. The circle has the same kind of energy, but it seems to have a constant flow working through it."

Davin looked impressed. "I wish I could do that."

Niam looked at him crossly. "No you don't."

Maerillus was listening from the other side of the room as he pilfered trough a crate stuffed with what looked like fresh linens. He asked incredulously, "You mean you still might have gotten yourself and us killed?"

Niam said, "I'm just kind of learning as I go."

Davin sighed. "Well . . . if we cannot grab anything from that alter, we've got to bring something to Kine."

Niam skirted the edge of the sorcerous circle as Maerillus grew curious. "Hey, there's something strange leaking out of the wall beneath the window," he said.

Niam made his way around to Maerillus. High up on the wall, behind the shelves, a strip of plaster seemed to buckling in. A portion of it pressed against the wood of the shelves, which supported the wall's facing and kept it from collapsing completely. The first three shelves held heavy chests. Had it not been for their weight, they would have toppled over long ago.

"Kreeth doesn't believe in taking care of anything, does he?" Maerillus said distastefully.

Davin asked, "What do you think that is, Niam?"

Maerillus followed this up with, "Is it anything—you know—sorcerous?"

Niam leaned in for a better look. Where the wall had crumpled in, between cracks, a thick, viscous, amber fluid oozed.

Maerillus wrinkled his lip as he stuck his head beside Niam's.

"It's not anything magical, no," Niam told him. His voice trailed off into uncertainty as he said, "Hmmm . . . the stuff looks familiar."

Maerillus poked a loose section of wall and cocked his head to the side. "Do you hear that?"

Niam looked around and noticed Davin doing the same. Their eyes met, and Davin shrugged his shoulders. "No," Niam said.

Maerillus continued to poke at the wall. "I'm seriously hearing something strange."

"Don't poke at it like a fool," Niam said.

Maerillus's voice became incredulous. "You're telling me not to poke at something?"

"I'm just saying."

Maerillus reached up above his head and began wiggling a crate filled with rope spools. "Maybe if I move one of these crates we can get a better look."

Suddenly an angry buzzing filled the air. Niam's eyes shot open and he lunged forward to stop Maerillus. "Get back," he gasped.

Maerillus let go of the box and sprung back as if the thing had bitten him. He rounded on Niam angrily and snapped, "I thought you said this wasn't anything magical!"

Niam held the box in place, not daring to move for a few moments to be sure that the peeling section of wall stayed put.

"What's he doing?" Davin asked. His voice was filled with quiet alarm.

Maerillus shushed him. "I think he's doing what he did with the door."

Niam just reached his hand out, drew some of the amber fluid onto the tip of his finger, and stuck it in his mouth.

"Maerillus hissed. "Are you insane!?"

Niam grinned. "Honey," he said innocently. "Bees make a hive just about anywhere they can," Niam told them. "Bug's father is always pulling hives out of walls and attics. These found a crevice and their hive's filling a void between the walls." Niam arched his eyebrow. "Problem is we can't take the hive with us. If they were magical bees . . ."

"Don't even go there," Davin said. "I don't even want to think about it."

Maerillus and Davin continued to check the room, and Niam became seized by a thought. If it hadn't been for Kreeth, Corey would still be alive and Bug wouldn't be at home, a devastated wreck. He looked around the room and became angry with himself for joking with Davin and Maerillus about the bees when he should have been more useful—at least for Bug and his brother and sister. He became even angrier, livid even. His lip quivered. He refused to cry. Not here. Not in this man's home. Crying was a luxury. One he didn't have.

Before moving to help his friends, almost without thinking, Niam pulled a length of rope from one of the boxes. He then unsheathed his knife and cut it. Then he searched around quickly for the right box, and began tying the rope to one near the weakest section of the wall. A hand seized his wrist, and Niam pulled away.

"What are you doing?"

"Poking a hive," Niam said. "Leaving a surprise for Kreeth next time he tries to move one of these lighter boxes." If Kreeth moved a box, he would pull enough rope to unleash several thousand angry bees on himself.

"Niam," Davin said firmly, "stop and think about what you're doing."

"Setting a trap of my own," he mouthed.

"We have to find the evidence we need, and we'll get all the justice we want."

Niam stopped, held his head down, and realized his lip still quivered, only this time it was because of uncontrollable anger raging through him. "Fine," he said, throwing the loose end of rope between two boxes where it wouldn't be seen.

"People like Kreeth always seem to get away with the terrible things they do," Niam said bitterly. "Who are we kidding? Even if we get some evidence on Kreeth, he will get away. Salb did, and Kreeth's a thousand times smarter then Salb will ever be."

Davin said emphatically, "Yes. We will get him."

Niam moved around the room and stopped when he came to a small chest set on a table in a nook beneath the stairs. Arcane writing inscribed on its surface glowed faintly. He continued to stare at it until the writing began to flow into threads of power. The lines were intricately woven around the entirety of the box, but the most intense radiance given off emanated from the lines wound around the latch.

"I've found something," Niam said. "This is trapped, but we can move it."

"How can you be sure?" Davin looked the thing over as if it were a poisonous animal.

"This writing here . . . it's really more like lines of energy. What you see on the body of the box is what holds the energy. This writing here," Niam told him, indicating with his hand where the lid met the chest body, "is what releases the energy built up within the box."

"So we cannot open it?" Davin asked.

"No. But Jolan Kine might be able to."

"Wait a minute," Maerillus interjected. "What if this thing goes off like those boxes at the Vandin camp?"

Niam frowned as he studied the chest. Standing this close to it made him feel extremely uncomfortable. "This is different. On the boxes that exploded, the script flowed and moved as if it were alive somehow. This is more like something that has been stuck in place to serve a purpose. Plus the characters are different."

Without giving warning, Niam took the chest in his arms and hefted it up. "It's heavy and it's making me sick, but I don't think it's going to kill us unless we try opening it."

Maerillus fearfully stepped back. "Think that was funny do you?" He asked hotly.

"I'm just saying," Niam said.

Beside them, Davin said, "I think it's time to go now."

As they began walking up the stairs, Niam said, "Guys. I think Kreeth knows someone got through his door. Maybe we ought to find a different way out of here instead of going through the woods again."

"Oh really? Now he tells us," Maerillus said. "And just how should we do that? Fly?"

"Let's just get out of here," Davin said. "We'll work on sprouting wings outside. Maerillus, see if you can go ahead of us and scout a way out."

When Maerillus returned, he held a finger over his lips, "The servants are unloading the cart out back." Carefully he opened the door that took them back into the hallway. Just before they made it to the foyer, the temperature of the air dropped, and Niam shivered. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and a sense of malice clouded into the room like a thick fog.

"Hey guys," he urgently whispered. "I think there's going to be trouble."

Before Davin was able to turn and see what the problem was, a sudden racket erupted. All down the entire length of the hallway, heavy picture frames began rattling and shaking violently.

"What the—"

A flicker of motion caught Niam's eye, and he jerked his head back just in time to avoid a large painting as it hurtled toward his head. The frame struck the wall behind him and shattered into splinters. Maerillus cursed as one careened toward him. He wasn't quick enough and the painting clipped him on the shoulder. Davin hissed, "Run!" The three of them charged into the spacious room still bathed in somber red hues from the stained glass windows. The armored suits began shaking and clacking ominously. From upstairs a shrill voice started screaming incoherent obscenities.

"Through the old dining room!" Davin said.

Niam turned toward the door and experienced a moment of panic. He was sure the door would be locked. A chair by the wall suddenly streaked out toward them, its legs making a low hiss as it slid across the floor.

"Look out!" Niam cried out and dodged out of its way. He shot a glance back to see if the thing careened into either of his friends. Maerillus danced to the side, almost tripping and sprawling across the floor. Without bothering to move, Davin kicked the thing hard, breaking an armrest and sending the chair spinning across the floor on its back.

Niam made it to the door and cringed as he reached out to try the knob, more sure than ever that it wouldn't open. To his surprise, the door released as he pulled the latch, and the three of them sprinted into the dining room and closed the door just as alarmed voices from the back of the manor could be heard approaching rapidly.

Niam ran to the window and opened it. "Hand this too me when I'm out," he said, pushing the box into Davin's hands.

As Niam launched through the window, he landed on the grass and rolled.

Niam quickly reached up and took the box as Maerillus half dropped it into his outstretched hands. Maerillus then came through. When he landed, he cried out and went over on his right side. Above them, the loud report of the window slamming shut made Niam look up quickly. Before he had time to wonder how his friend would make it out, Davin broke the glass and dove through the frame before it had a chance to catch him as his body sailed clear of the frame. Davin landed in a clean roll as gracefully as any carnival performer. Had this been any other time, Niam might have clapped.

Instead, Niam hurried to Maerillus, who struggled to get up, but his ankle would not bear his weight. Niam slipped his arm underneath Maerillus's to support him, and Davin looked around wildly to see if anyone had seen them yet. "This way!" he said quickly.

When Maerillus saw where Davin was headed, he demanded, "Have you lost your bloody mind?"

"I've got an idea," Davin shot back.

Maerillus winced in pain beside Niam. "You better."

Niam could tell that Maerillus might have broken his ankle. To make matters worse, instead of taking them away from the house, Davin was leading them around to the back of the manor. They came to the corner, and Niam saw why. The servants' carriage sat unattended by the kitchen entrance. Maerillus gasped every time his injured foot hit the ground.

Niam couldn't help but smile. "We'll be out of here soon," he panted breathlessly to his hurt friend. "Everyone is inside looking for us." They made it to the cart, and Niam said to Davin, "I have an idea. We'll lie down in the back. Pull your hood up and drive."

Davin nodded his head and helped Maerillus onto the open tail of the cart. To Maerillus Niam said, "I know you're in pain, but can you make us both hard to see?"

Maerillus's eyes were pinched tight in pain. "I think so," he managed.

Niam hunkered down as Davin grabbed the whip and gave it a crack above the horses' heads. Reluctantly, the animals launched forward into a reluctant trot. Two cracks, and the animals broke into a fast canter. Davin angled around the manor and drove the horses over the lawn. Behind them, someone began shouting angrily. Davin did not look back. He kept a steady hand on the reins as they cut a path across the grass toward the road taking them out of there.
Chapter Twenty-Five

The Assassin

Jolan Kine waited in an indescript Inn on the outskirts of Kalavere. A low fog lent the nighttime air a dank and oppressive feel. He wanted to shift his feet impatiently, but instead forced himself to remain absolutely still. Already, time was moving against him, and he knew that the ruse was about to run its course. To everyone, it should have looked as if he had left the area. Everything that happened now depended on a variable Kine had only reluctantly set into play.

Well, he hadn't set it into play. But if the three boys in Pirim Village were indeed what Joachim and Jort claimed they were, Kine knew that if given space and freedom, they were sure to stir up what needed stirring to expose Garrolus Kreeth and bring him down. All Kine needed to do was trust their nature. And that was a problem. When Jort and Joachim had first revealed the prophecy, Kine had been horror-stricken. Ever since Jort had brought him up from the wharf rat he had been all those years ago, fighting evil sorcerers and mages who practiced their art outside of the law had been Jolan's life. Everything he stood for stood against the disaster wrought by the Valiere. Death camps, armies of living corpses, and wars without end had left the world scarred and decimated—and the name Valiere all but forgotten in lieu of a more fitting title—Dread Lords.

Many in Pallodine would have had the three boys' heads parted from their bodies without hesitation. Kine still lost sleep over his decision to keep the three boys a secret. There were other elements in Pallodine, even within the Order of Hammers, that troubled Jolan. And hence, he waited uneasily on this cold night to speak with someone he would rather have avoided altogether. The crunch of gravel on cold earth alerted him to the fact that the time for the meeting had now come.

Jolan Kine spoke softly in the chilled air. "Dosir."

The other curtly returned a name for a name. "Kine." Jolan always found the priggish tone in Dosir's voice grating.

"I got your message," Kine told him—"What do you want?"

Jolan had never liked Dosir. During his training with Jort, Dosir had done everything possible to hinder Jolan's final ordination, stopping just short of lying about his performance.

"You are late," Dosir said. "Some of us were beginning to wonder about you."

Kine's response was emotionless. "Friends give friends the benefit of the doubt."

Dosir's next comment left no doubt in Kine's mind that it was both a statement and a threat. "Doubt has no benefit where the enemy is concerned."

"And where is the enemy concerned?" Kine asked smoothly.

Dosir's next words set him on edge. "Tell me what you have heard of this Dread Lord that appeared here two months ago."

Kine betrayed no emotion as alarm built within him. "That depends on who you hear it from. I've heard he was ten feet tall and farted fire, that he could fly like a hawk, and one man even told me he took his gold and left him purse full of zemurs' eggs before healing a little girl."

Dosir's voice was blunt. "One did appear to the family of a young girl. He did heal her. And he did catch the man responsible for raping her and killing her brother."

Kine smiled easily. "Maybe he should be given a medal. You know stories like these pop up several times a year. I once had a lady tell me that a Dread Lord took all of her sheep. I was younger then and foolish enough to chase down every rumor I heard. A tree had fallen in the back of her pasture and knocked down the fence holding them in. The nearest thing I found to a Dread Lord was a hungry wolf with a sheep's leg in its mouth."

Kine was ready for Dosir's next words. "I've heard that you are associated with a young man in the Lake Valleys named Davin Hapwell. I've also heard that he fits the description of the Dread Lord perfectly."

"One problem, Hapwell doesn't fart fire. Well, unless a particularly incorrigible friend of his holds the lit end of a stick at the bottom of his rear end. Nor does he fly or turn gold into Zemur eggs."

"I know he was at the Pelican Inn the night this Dread Lord appeared," Dosir said, his voice suddenly becoming too smooth and too slippery. Kine knew he was trying to trap him.

"Alleged Dread Lord, you mean."

"Yes . . . alleged."

Dosir's response was sly. Jolan knew it was time to end this. He dropped all pretense of flippancy. "I've already looked into this Dosir. Hapwell was sick in the inn. Everyone can account for that."

Dosir wasn't deterred. "I've also head stories of Gaius Sartor's son. Rumor has it that he seems to appear and disappear at will."

Kine interrupted him. "A complaint many mothers have about boys when chore time comes."

"And the young man named Maldies—the incorrigible one I supposed. Is it true he found an injured boy at the bottom of Siler's Overlook?"

"Many people like that view. All that proves is that the boy has two perfectly functioning eyes. These are just boys, Dosir. Nothing more. I'm having a hard time understanding your interest in them or your concern with my loyalties."

Dosir's voice became accusatory. "Why were you late?"

Jolan allowed his voice to turn icy. "I was held up by Lord Joachim discussing very real concerns in the Lake Valleys."

"Yes. Jort's death. Very little hard evidence to go on whether a sorcerer is present there, but I find it quite interesting that three boys keep popping up whenever there is trouble, and I've heard there has been quite a bit of trouble. One of our order was killed there, was he not?"

Now Jolan's alarm shifted into defense. Dosir was way too deep into events in the Lake Valleys. Whatever his agenda was, Kine knew that the conversation was leading them across thin ice. "Whatever trouble there is, those boys aren't a part of what is causing it. You've read Jort's reports. There is a very powerful sorcerer at work."

"You are friends with Gaius Sartor and Lord Joachim."

Jolan was glad his hands were beneath his traveling cloak. His fingers silently loosened the thin sword hanging from his hip. "We work well together."

Dosir leveled a steely gaze at Jolan. "Where is Lord Joachim?" he demanded.

"On his way to the closing assembly with regional lords, as is his duty." Kine said coldly.

"And yet Garrolus Kreeth has lodged an official complaint about you and the undue interest you are paying him while you cozy up with your other two friends. Both Kreeth and Gaius Sartor have been named as potential appointments to the lower house."

"If Kreeth has nothing to worry about, I'd think he would have no problem with one of our order doing our job," Kine snapped.

"To many it looks like you are playing politics," Dosir challenged.

"Too many it looks like are playing politics," Kine countered.

"Garrolus Kreeth has many friends not only within both houses, but the crown as well, or have you forgotten?"

Ah. Here it was at last. Jolan's body became as taut as a tightly wound spring. He was ready to draw his blade the instant Dosir made a wrong move. Now it was Kine's turn to make accusations. "How many friends does he have among our order?"

"This is a very close to treason," Dosir hissed.

"Then make your accusation and let's settle this now," Jolan said, sweeping his cloak aside, freeing up his sword arm.

Dosir gave him a sardonic smile. "No. Stories of those boys have reached the highest levels. If they are what has been rumored, you know what you were supposed to do. Or is your loyalty toward your duty in question?" Dosir asked mockingly. Kine's blood ran cold, and he knew he had to leave for Pirim Village tonight.

*

Dosir watched Jolan Kine walk away. On cue, his associate stepped out from the shadows. "Tonight?" Ravel asked.

Dosir nodded. "Tonight. When I am in plain view of dozens of people."

Ravel held up a crossbow. "Jort's crossbow," he chuckled wickedly.

Dosir smiled. "I do love life's ironies."

*

Jolan Kine hurried, not caring whose saddle he took. If this theft were the least of his sins, he knew judgment day would go in his favor. As he worked the girth's straps and checked to be sure he had tightened it enough, his mind worked furiously over the conversation with Dosir, who had all but admitted he was in league with the sorcerer, which meant that if he didn't leave immediately, his life was in grave danger.

No sooner did that thought pass through his mind than a searing pain lanced through the back of his hip. An agonized cry escaped his lips, and his left leg buckled. He went down. His entire leg felt as if it had suddenly been set ablaze.

Jolan crawled beneath his horse, trying to put a barrier between himself and his attacker, who must have been hiding in the rafters. If the assassin reloaded before he found cover, there was nothing he could do.

Suddenly, from the direction of the attack, Kine heard a loud grunt and then the pronounced thud of someone tumbling to the ground. A loud curse and the sounds of fighting followed. Kine continued to drag himself forward. When the fighting stopped, it was followed by the sound of fleeing footsteps.

Jolan prepared himself as someone approached. A firm grip closed around his arm. "Let me help you," Joachim said gruffly.

"Good thing you stuck around for me," Jolan said between gritted teeth.

Joachim grunted in agreement. "Solum bean poison," he said, holding the thick shaft of a short crossbow bolt.

"How much time?" Jolan grimaced.

"The arrow went straight through. You probably didn't get a full dose," Joachim's voice was matter of fact as always.

"Is that your professional opinion?"

"I've been wrong before," Joachim said flatly.

"That makes me feel better."

"Those boys are in trouble," Joachim said as he tried helping Jolan to his feet.

Through waves of pain, Jolan agreed. "This goes all the way to Pallodine."

"No wonder Jort kept quiet about what he was onto," Joachim said. "Curse the man and his secrets." As he tried to hold Kine steady, he added, "Your plan to use those boys better have worked."

Kine felt light headed. "They do have talent for trouble."

Joachim was worried. "If we move against Kreeth, will it buy them some time?"

The world around Jolan began to spin and tilt. "It will certainly give Kreeth's allies something to chew on," he heard himself respond.

"Let's get you on this horse," Joachim said, moving his increasingly limp body toward the mount.

Jolan's vision began to tighten and constrict. "Don't think I can hold on," he mumbled.

"If you fall off, I'll drag you," was the last thing he heard Joachim say.
Chapter Twenty-Six

Hair And Stuff

Maerillus lay in pain in the very room he had been born in. The first place they had come to after slipping out of Kreeth's estate had been Lord Joachim's estate, which rivaled his own family's home and then some. Joachim's family had lived in the area so long and held the title of stewardship for so many generations that the towns of Pirim Village, Havel's Dock, Old Flood, Silver Springs, and Siler's Hollow were synonymous with the Joachim name. The choice to come here had been Davin's. If Kreeth decided to send anyone after them, getting through Joachim's guards would prove an insurmountable task, even for a sorcerer.

Or so he hoped.

With any luck, Niam's last minute plan worked, and the only thing anyone saw was one hooded figure escaping in the cart they stole. But as far as Maerillus was concerned, the three of them were walking on the thin ice of too many "what-ifs" already.

A knock sounded at the door and Mr. Kirse, Joachim's physician, stuck his head in the room. "I have more medicine for the pain if you'd like, young man."

Maerillus shook his head. "It makes me feel too mushy-headed, sir."

For some reason this made the physician smile. "Good boy," he said approvingly. "Too many people become dependent on the essence of poppy. I've seen it wreck lives. When there's an icehouse nearby, I tell people I prefer ice and heat to control the swelling, and the bark of the asprodil bush also helps reduce inflammation."

"It's helping a lot," Maerillus said gratefully.

"You're lucky you didn't break it, but then again I've seen sprains that were far worse than breaks."

Maerillus asked, "How long will it take to get back to normal?"

"I expect you'll be limping for several months."

Maerillus sat up and exclaimed, "I don't have several months!"

The physician made a sour face. "You'll have as long as your body takes to heal, which reminds me, while you were sleeping, I left a pair of crutches for you to use. Do I need to show you how to use them properly?"

Maerillus responded, feeling rather surely. "No. Thank you." Then, remembering his manners, he added, "I've used them before. I appreciate what you've done for me. Honestly."

Before either could say anything else, a commotion in the room outside drew their attention. Lord Joachim, dusty from the road and as grizzled as ever walked peremptorily into the room. He took one look at his physician and then another at Maerillus, and said gruffly, "Not you too."

Maerillus's ears perked up when Joachim told the physician, "Jolan Kine has been hurt. Arrow went through his thigh. Solum bean poison."

"I'll have to examine him immediately," the physician replied.

As the two men left the room, Maerillus quickly grabbed the crutches at his bedside and gingerly helped himself up out of bed. Carefully, he made his way into the antechamber where Kine lay on a couch. His face was pale, and his breathing sounded rough and phlegmy.

"I need help getting this off," the physician said. Once he was able to see the wound, he winced. "There's a lot of pus, but we'll drain that. Falion!" he yelled. And then cursed to himself, "Where's that old badger when I need him?"

Moments later, though, Falion shuffled into the room. "You called, sir?"

"Yes. I need you to go to my offices and get the black bag on top of the shelf beside the patient table—the black bag, mind you, not the brown one."

"Yes sir," Falion murmured as he shuffled back out of the room.

"Well?" Joachim demanded impatiently.

"Well. He's lucky to be alive. A full dose would have killed him outright. Solum bean poison acts on the heart in high doses. In lower doses, the lungs fill up with fluid. I've got to give him something to clear his lungs or he'll die of pneumonia or some other infection. Nasty stuff, that. Too bad the vine grows everywhere."

"Convenient, too," Joachim said bluntly.

"What happened?" Maerillus asked.

Joachim's response was as dry as it was curt. "Somebody's bad aim happened."

The physician let out an ironic laugh. "Bad aim indeed. A little more to the left and he'd be dead."

"I can hear you talking about me," Kine wheezed.

When Falion returned, the physician rummaged through his bag and pulled out something that looked like a plunger attached to a fat needle at the other end.

"What's that?" Maerillus asked.

"A relatively new invention from the school of medicine in Pallodine. Needle's hollow. Allows medicines to be sent directly into a patient's body. Wish I'd thought of it," the physician said. "I often use it to give essence of poppy."

As the physician bent to work on Jolan Kine, Maerillus pulled Lord Joachim aside. "We need to talk," he whispered. "We've got what Kine needs to bring Kreeth to justice."

*

"Tell me again what you saw," Garrolus Kreeth snarled.

"It was only one person," the servant stammered. "That's what we saw. One man in a dark cloak riding away with the cart we drive to town in the mornings."

The rest of Kreeth's staff cowered in the corner, keeping together as if bunching up might somehow siphon off their master's terrible fury. On the wall across from them, another servant was pinned several feet above the floor as if an invisible hand held him.

Kreeth's voice was sharp and dangerous as a viper's fangs. "Tell me again how this intruder got in?"

"We think it was at breakfast time. He—he must have come in through a window."

Kreeth made an angry motion with his hand. The servant slid backward as if being pulled by an invisible rope until he thumped against the wall. Then he began to lift off of the floor as his body slid up the wall.

"That means someone here left a window unlocked," Kreeth growled. "And that means one of you has been working with my enemies."

Everyone in the room went deathly still.

Before Kreeth said another word, the door to the room swung open and Ravel walked into the room, pausing only long enough to give short notice to the two servants hanging against the wall several feet off the ground.

"He lived," Ravel said without preamble.

Kreeth raised a hand and muttered a word, then with a casually dismissive gesture, all of his servants' faces suddenly went blank, and in their eyes, a glassy, vacant stare replaced their fear. The sorcerer snarled, "Why is he still alive?"

"It was Joachim. He jumped me before I could finish Kine off."

Kreeth went silent for a moment. His face lost some of its previous fury, which was quickly replaced with annoyance. "This means I will have to disappear for a while."

"But what about your search?"

"Are you so suddenly concerned with my welfare?" Kreeth asked suspiciously.

"No. I'm concerned about my money."

"I have to see to my servants, first. After that, there is the matter of my guest upstairs. And I have more searchers to command. You'll get your money, and more."

With that, Kreeth snapped his fingers and the two suspended servants fell to the floor in crumpled heaps. "Help me gather these two up," Kreeth said, looking down at them with contempt.

"What are we going to do with them?" Ravel asked.

"Feed them to my guest; I have no use for them anymore," Kreeth said.

Ravel just shrugged his shoulders and bent to grab a servant underneath the arms. What Kreeth did with his staff was his business. After all, the money was good.

*

"He got what?!" Niam blurted out as Maerillus rewrapped the bandage around his ankle and foot.

Maerillus's answer was succinct. "Arrow. Thigh. Poison."

Davin shook his head. "This isn't good."

"Like we haven't had to stand up for ourselves before," Niam said angrily, and Davin understood why. Of the three of them Niam had been the one most personally affected, first by Seth's and Sarah's murders, and then by what happened with Bug and Corey.

"Not when a sorcerer was involved," Maerillus said with a grimace of pain as he tried flexing his ankle.

"You need to leave that alone and let the thing heal," Davin said sounding more than a bit paternalistic as Niam began to count off all of the run-ins they had survived involving sorcery in some way over the past several months.

"The Vandin Camp, the trall, the wolfstrosities, that damned door I had to get us through, Kreeth's angry furniture—in fact, his whole stupid estate," Niam said.

Maerillus added humorlessly, "Let's not forget the squirrelstrosities."

"No," Niam sulked. "Let's not."

"Niam," Davin said as consolingly as possible, "you have to admit that with Kine out of business for a while, it does complicate things for us." Then, to Maerillus, he said crossly, "You really aren't doing your foot any favors. Knock it off."

"Yes Dad," Maerillus said gloomily. "Every time one of us hears the Voice, I get more certain our lives are supposed to be complicated."

Davin sighed. His brain had been spinning furiously since Maerillus had given them the news about the ambush and Kine's injuries. Lord Joachim had personally threatened to make them spend the rest of their lives cleaning out stables if they didn't remain indoors until Kine was better. Davin figured there was fat little chance of that actually happening, but Maerillus hadn't been in a position to protest too much.

"I just wish I knew if Niam's plan to make it look like only one person was escaping Kreeth's estate actually worked," he said.

Maerillus shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sorry. I did my best. I don't know how pain affects my ability."

Davin nodded his head. "I know you did, Maer. For all we know, your ability may actually work better in times of danger."

Maerillus laughed. "Wouldn't that be something if all anyone saw was a driverless cart racing away from the estate."

Niam rolled his eyes and said theatrically, "But you all have to know what's going to happen if we just sit still and hide. The Voice is going to be back with its usual commands—'look,' 'listen,' 'remember,' 'eat your spinach,' and mess like that."

"Well I for one plan on eating my spinach if it tells me to."

Niam crossed his arms and said, "Spinach just gives me gas."

"But if the Voice is involved it'll be super-gas," Maerillus smiled.

"Well if that happens I'll just fart and save the day."

'Try not to be so cross, Niam. We're all in this together," Davin said. Then he threw a pillow at Maerillus for trying to bend his ankle again.

At that moment a knock at the door interrupted them. A petite maid stuck her head in and asked what they would like for lunch. She looked sleepy. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Davin could tell she was nearly dead on her feet. Before she left, the maid gave Maerillus a tired but appraising look and said enviously, "Oh, such pretty locks of hair. Wish mine did that, young man."

Maerillus smiled widely and thanked her.

Niam threw another pillow at him. "Always the pretty one," he complained. Then his eyes opened suddenly as an idea struck him. "Hey, wait a minute!" he called out to the maid and jumped up to catch her. "When was the last time you cut your hair?" he asked.

The maid came back in. "A week ago yesterday," she told him. "My sister does it for me."

Niam gave her his most charming smile, the one that made ladies constantly want to squeeze his cheeks. After the maid had gone, Niam said quickly, "Davin, I need your help with something."

"Oh great," Maerillus interjected. "You two are going to do something and I'm stuck here!"

"Just something small," Niam said as he virtually pulled Davin out of the room.

Before the door completely closed shut, Maerillus called out, "Hey, aren't you going to tell me what you're doing?" and then followed it up with, "Don't hate me because I'm handsome!"

*

Niam said nothing as they walked down the spacious hallway and marched directly into Lord Joachim's study, where the count was busy listening to a foreman discuss plans for repairing a damaged roof before the big snows hit. "I need to talk to Jolan Kine," Niam said without waiting for them to stop talking or even acknowledge his presence.

Lord Joachim looked up from his desk in surprise and frowned, but the expression was gone before it became too noticeable. He held his hand up curtly and told the carpenter to finish talking first. Shocked at Niam's brazen interruption, Davin elbowed his friend in the ribs. "You do realize that is a lord of the realm, don't you?" he whispered.

Niam stood with his arms crossed, tapping a foot impatiently. "He puts his pants on like anyone else."

Davin tried to force a smile on his face that was politely appropriate and at the same time said, Don't blame me. My friend can't help himself.

When the carpenter left, Lord Joachim looked up and said in a voice that was always full of rust and gravel, "I trust that is the last time you'll ever barge into my office unannounced."

"Absolutely sir," Davin said quickly. Then he cast a horrified look at Niam who actually hesitated for a moment and said, genuinely confused. "Sure."

And then, "No."

And then, "Well . . . maybe. It all sort of depends."

Lord Joachim's face showed no emotion, though the corner of his right eye did twitch.

"What is it, Maldies? You do know that Jolan Kine has sustained a life threatening injury?"

"I'm sure he'll have more before all of this is over with," Niam said shortly before Davin elbowed him a second time. Again Joachim's eye twitched.

"What is so important that you need to disturb his rest? He is under the effects of poppy extract, you know."

"Um, it's kind of between us, being wizard stuff and all," Niam said. Then he had to add, "Hey, how can we get some of that extract stuff?"

Davin elbowed him harder.

"I'm just saying," Niam quipped. "Everyone wants to hurt us these days. Some of that might come in handy."

Davin looked at Niam, and then at the unreadable expression on Joachim's face. Davin felt that the best course of action at this point was to take two steps away from Niam and punch him in the arm. "Mr. Hapwell, if you hit him every time he deserves it, you'll have to beat him until his arm falls off," Lord Joachim said dryly.

Davin broke his silence. "I'm sorry Lord Joachim. When he gets an idea—" he began.

"I am aware of your friend's penchant for mischief," Lord Joachim finished. Then he looked at Niam. "I suppose this must be an emergency, Mr. Maldies?"

"Um yeah. It could be," Niam answered.

And then, "I think."

And then, "Maybe."

Lord Joachim raised an eyebrow.

"That's why I need to talk to him."

"About?" Joachim demanded.

"Um hair," he told him. Then, more specifically, added, "And stuff."

"Hair," Lord Joachim repeated, "And stuff."

Niam shuffled his feet. "Yes sir. That's exactly it."

Joachim looked up and said, "It's days like this that I'm glad I never had a boy." He sighed after that and said, "If 'hair and stuff' is important enough to interrupt a member in good standing of the royal court, I am forced to assume that it is of paramount importance that you pester my half-dead Wizard's Hammer."

"Yes sir. That's exactly it. Exactly."

Davin punched him in the arm.
Chapter Twenty-Seven

Some Rules Must Be Broken

Jolan Kine looked as if he had sunken into the bed and nearly become a part of it. His eyes were so bloodshot that barely any white showed through. His face was as pallid as a corpse's, and around his eyes the strain on his health showed most. Niam was taken aback when the Wizard's Hammer spoke to him in a voice so haggard that he sounded as if the ghost of death itself spoke for him.

"Young Maldies—good job bringing that box to me."

"Um," was all Niam managed to say for the moment. "Um, how are you sir?" he managed to ask.

"Worse than I look," he rasped, and then laughed, but he was soon bent nearly in two by a severe coughing fit.

Niam looked up at Joachim, sorry that he had been so insistent on seeing the Wizard's Hammer now that he knew how bad off he was. When he had pictured Jolan Kine, injured by a poisonous arrow, he had in his mind an image of the man with a thick bandage over the wound.

"Um," Niam said. "I had a lot of help getting that box."

Kine slowly raised himself enough to prop himself up with two pillows. When Lord Joachim said, "Let me help you with that you fool," Kine waved him away.

"I'm not dead yet."

"Well good, then," Joachim told him. "Because Maldies here has something important he needed to share with you."

"Important?" Kine coughed painfully.

"Of the utmost importance."

Niam shuffled his feet.

"Go on then, Maldies. Out with it. Something about hair, didn't you say?"

Suddenly, Niam wanted to shrink down into something very small and fast so he could scurry away. Instead, he asked, "How much do you know?"

Jolan Kine laughed again, and his laughter immediately turned into a series of body wracking coughs. Niam really wished he would stop laughing. When Kine saw the look in his face, he laughed harder, and Niam thought for a moment that the act was going to kill him.

"It's the poppy," Joachim said, as if reading his mind. "And actually, it's good for him to cough. He's got to keep his lungs clear."

"He's going to break a rib," Davin said, obviously as appalled as Niam by Kine's condition.

"Better that he should break a rib than lose his life," Joachim said matter-of-factly.

"According to who?" the Wizard's Hammer croaked.

"Duty before death," Lord Joachim replied. Niam never could tell when Lord Joachim was joking and when he was serious. Kine leaned back into his pillows and grabbed a cloth to cover his mouth as he cleared his throat. "So is this about my duty or is it about death, Mr. Maldies?"

"Um. Both maybe."

Jolan Kine arched an eyebrow. The act looked painful. "Did you really disarm a sorcerer's seal when you were at Kreeth's manor?"

Niam shuffled his feet again. Talking about sorcery made him uneasy. "It took me a few minutes and was kind of hard at first, but yeah, I guess that's what I did."

Now both men laughed. Joachim positively roared with laughter. It took Kine several minutes to get himself under control. Niam had no idea what he had said that was so funny, but he wished he hadn't said it. A horrid wet, crackling sound came with each breath Jolan Kine took, and it lasted an uncomfortably long time.

Looking up to Joachim, Niam asked, "What did I say?"

Jolan Kine answered for him. "Young man, do you realize that when there's not a Wizard's Hammer around—and usually that's most of the time—it frequently takes a team of mages hours to disarm sorcerer's seals? And that's at great peril to their own lives."

"Oh."

Lord Joachim added, "What you did alone and in a matter of minutes, scholars will write about for the next hundred years."

Niam felt completely overwhelmed and wished he could have a few minutes to think, but Kine continued on in his hoarse voice. "Your ability is much more sensitive than even a Wizard's Hammer's. And apparently you're somehow attuned to the forces sorcerer's draw upon. I'll tell you, that is something every member of my order would give a year of their lives to be able to do."

"You had 'hair and stuff' to speak to Mr. Kine about?" Joachim said after clearing his throat.

Niam told him about the altar and the objects they saw on top of it, and asked, "Can things in a circle be linked with the people they belong to?"

Kine nodded his head. "Both mages and sorcerers can do bindings. And it is highly illegal to cast a binding against someone's will."

Niam nodded his head and told them about the encounter with Betsy and Kreeth, and about her late-night wanderings. Jolan Kine and Lord Joachim looked at one another silently for a moment. "If this is true, Niam, then Kreeth's influence may be spread over a countless number of people, and there's no telling why."

Joachim's voice grew noticeably worried. "Niam very well might have explained what's behind the nods. I am gathering the names of everyone that's been affected. I'm also going to have troops from my garrison begin patrols. Maybe this has something to do with all of the break-ins that have been occurring lately. Thought it might have something to do with the trade conference. That always brings out its share of thieves. But too much is happening at once that is too damned coincidental for me."

"You know what less than friendly elements are going to say about the patrols, don't you?" Kine asked.

"Yeah," Joachim sighed. "Show of force like that is illegal and unnecessary except during a time of war."

"That's not going to go over well with your enemies in Kalavere or Pallodine."

"Then we'll call it safety drills. Nobody can make hay out of that," Joachim said, absently rubbing his eyes as if he had a headache. "I hate politics. I wish my forefathers had been circus performers."

This elicited chuckles from both Niam and Davin. Joachim turned his attention to both of them. "You young gentlemen are going to spend a good bit of time here with me. Niam, you and Hapwell will eventually stay with the Sartors. I have to send Karin and Brent on an extended business trip. Gaius will quietly allow some of my troops to stay there."

"But!" Both Niam and Davin said at once.

"But nothing," Joachim said sternly. "Before anything else is done, Jolan here has to recuperate. I think things have gotten to the point where he needs to be able to do what's necessary now that he has enough evidence to move against Kreeth. But I've got to get to the bottom of this nods business while he is getting better."

Niam and Davin both held their heads down. "Yes sir," they said in unison.

"I mean it," Joachim warned them. "I better not catch you off of my property before Mr. Kine here is up and moving around."

"I promise," Niam said.

"I promise," Davin said.

Moments later, as they strolled alone down the hallway, Davin asked Niam, "What do you want to do now?"

"Oh," Niam said. "I intend on keeping my promise. I'm going out tonight, but I'm not letting him catch me."

"Good," Davin replied eagerly, "I was thinking the same thing."

*

"I was thinking," Davin said as they snuck across two fields and prepared to skirt the edge of another one, "that maybe we should have said something to Maerillus first."

"Uh-uh. I'm not saying a stinking thing to Maer about this until I know for sure what's going on with Betsy. He's going to be mad at me as it is if he finds out I saw her and Kreeth together and didn't say anything."

Davin moved forward quietly for a moment, keeping his eyes out for any of the tenants who worked and lived on Joachim's property. He hoped that Betsy would go out tonight, once the soldiers from the garrison started patrolling, they were going to have a much harder time. Soon, they reached the Sartor estate, and they drew close enough to the servants' wing to see who entered and left.

"Now it's just a matter of waiting," Davin said, settling down in the dark, concealed by a screen of young fir trees. "How late do you think we'll have to wait?"

Niam shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe pretty late—late enough to move unseen by anyone."

"It's pretty late already," Davin said, shivering slightly beneath his coat. Above them the starlight and moonlight left the world bathed in a softly somnolent glow. Niam settled in as well, and they lapsed into long silence, each gazing into the sky and waiting. Davin was locked in thoughts and fears about the future. He was constantly plagued by the worry that at any moment he might make a mistake that would get someone hurt or killed. After all, one of Kreeth's wolfstrosities had nearly taken Maerillus down. Leave it to Niam, of course to come up with a name like wolfstrosity. Thankfully he had been there to help kill the thing. If the experience had taught him one thing, it was this: he was now certain of the fact that his abilities weren't a guarantee of success, and that scared him.

Davin felt Niam stiffen. "Hey, someone's coming outside."

Davin yawned and stretched. "Bout time. Is it Betsy?"

"Some old guy," Niam said, sounding disappointed.

Davin watched for a moment as the old man turned and slowly made his way toward them. "Niam, what's the chance of someone heading our way at this hour of the night?"

"Not much," Niam said. "Only thing behind us is old trails."

"Where to?" Davin asked absently. He was sure the man was probably just stepping out to relieve himself. Then as the sleepy wheels of his mind began to turn he realized he already knew where the trails went. "Hey—this trail goes back around Joachim's property."

"And straight to Kreeth's," they both said at the same time.

Davin immediately felt more alert. "What do you want to do?" Davin whispered as the man drew closer. "Follow him or wait to see if Betsy comes out tonight?"

Niam looked conflicted. Davin knew it was because he wanted badly to feel like he could make things right for Maerillus. "I think we will have to follow him," he said hesitantly.

Davin leaned in to lighten his friend's mood and said, "Assuming he doesn't drop his pants and pee."

Now that the man was closer, he saw that the old guy was in his nightclothes, and Davin was half prepared for the old fellow to find a tree and relieve himself. Instead, he kept walking down the path leading away from the Sartor estate. Niam turned his head toward Davin and asked, "Did you see the man's face? He looked like he was still asleep."

"His eyes were open," Davin said uneasily.

"Yeah, but I have a feeling that there wasn't much going on behind them."

They kept close to the man, who continued to walk in a shuffling manner, stumbling over roots and branches without actually falling. The moon overhead moved across a quarter of the sky as they proceeded farther into the forest. The first indication that something was up came from Niam, whose gait stiffened and his posture became defensive. He seemed lost in thought until Davin asked him what was wrong. Niam looked up at him surprised. "Are you starting to feel something, too?" he asked.

"No. You tensed up."

"It's him. I can feel him," Niam said.

The moment Davin began to wonder what that might feel like, Niam spoke, as if reading his mind. "It feels like I have a stomach ache, but the ache has moved outside of my body and now it's somewhere ahead of us."

"Any idea how far?" Davin asked, dropping his voice as low as he could.

"Close," Niam whispered.

Several paces later, the path brought them to a natural opening in the forest. Davin dimly made out numerous shapes in the night. He motioned to Niam to follow him off of the trail. To Davin it looked as if a dozen people stood in a loose, motionless bunch. A man's deeply resonant voice began speaking in a string of harsh and guttural words. The moment Davin heard them, he cringed. The words had the effect of two rusty hinges grating together. Davin saw that the sorcerer's language had an even more pronounced effect on Niam's face.

Kreeth's voice grew slowly louder, and a green glow suddenly flared into existence so that all of the people gathered together became easily visible. This made Davin nervous. If they could see everyone so easily, he knew that Kreeth might be able to make them out if he glanced up.

"Let's move back a bit," he whispered.

Niam nodded his head.

Davin backed slowly to where a thicket of waist-high bushes provided concealment. He couldn't help but stare. Kreeth moved almost as if dancing in a slow circle around the group. An unnatural green fire followed him until at last he had the townspeople entirely encircled. Davin and Niam watched for a while as Kreeth spoke. Davin flinched with each word that came from the man's mouth.

"Can you make any of that out?" he asked Niam.

Niam shook his head. "Doesn't sound human."

As they continued to back slowly, a dark shape lifted up out of the bushes behind them. Before Davin had time to reach for his sword, Niam let out a muffled yelp of surprise and fell back heavily onto his butt. A strong hand grabbed ahold of Davin just as he began drawing his weapon. The attacker's other hand closed over Davin's mouth, and in a hoarse whisper from behind a hooded cloak, a man's fearful voice flashed, "Quiet, fool. You'll get us killed."

Most of the man's face was hidden in deep shadow, but his eyes were visible, and they were wide and frightened beneath the hood. Niam gasped. "I know you," he blurted out as quietly as he could manage, causing both Davin and the stranger to turn and make furious shushing noises at the same time.

Niam shot up off the ground and reached up to pull the man's hood back. The stranger reacted as if Niam was contagious and tried to jerk away. Niam was too quick and caught the hood, pulling it back to reveal the man beneath.

Davin gasped as he looked directly into the eyes of Mayor Braun, who frantically waved his hands in agitation. "Be quieter," he hissed. "We're all in danger here."

They both stood there looking at him.

Niam was the first to get over his surprise. "What are you doing here?" He demanded.

The mayor grabbed ahold of both boys' coats and pushed them back several more yards until a large pine tree stopped them. Niam slapped his hand away. "You're supposed to be dead or something," he accused.

The mayor's mouth quivered as he looked up at them. "Yes, yes, yes. It certainly looked that way, didn't it? HE almost had me, but I got away. Terrible things boys, terrible things he tried, but I got away from him, yes I did . . ."

The mayor's voice tapered off but his mouth still worked to try to form words. Davin had the impression that the man had progressed from Nervous Wreck to Falling To Pieces some time in the recent past. Mayor Braun went on as if he were desperately trying to justify himself rather than talking to the two of them.

"I wasn't quick enough to see what was happening . . . not quick enough at all. How does a person handle that much power? And it's all my fault. All because of me." Here he stopped and looked at Niam. His eyes crinkled up as he tired to say something, but the burden of it was too much for him and he began to sob. "I'm sorry boy, so sorry."

Niam frowned as the mayor's shoulders shook while he cried. He flashed a confused I don't know what to do look at Davin.

Davin looked at the distant ring of people surrounding Kreeth as the sorcerer continued to chant. Thankfully he only barely heard the man's voice. Even at this distance, listening made him feel dirty.

"What's all your fault, sir?" Niam asked softly.

The mayor continued to cry and tremble. Niam gave Davin another confused look. Davin shrugged.

"I wish I knew what that man was saying," Niam whispered, though Davin could tell by the look on his friend's face that what he actually wished was to be far away from there.

"Get back," Braun implored them. "Farther back, boys. When you walked through my screening, you made it possible for him to see me."

Although Davin was sure they had enough concealment to remain hidden, he and Niam moved back even farther until a curious look grew across Niam's face. "Wait a minute," he said angrily and stopped.

"Go back, boys—please," Braun begged . . . nearly whined.

Davin noticed a dangerous spark suddenly flare behind his friend's eyes.

"Odd way of putting it," Niam whispered in a voice dripping with suspicion. "He said that we walked through his screening, Davin. Screening."

Davin cocked his head quizzically.

Niam let out an exasperated air. "He didn't mean that the plants were screening him from view. He meant the screening spell he had cast."

Davin felt his eyes widen. "He's a magic user!"

Niam spat venomously, reaching for his knife, "He's a damned sorcerer."

Davin froze for a moment, then in one fluid movement, his sword was in his hand and he held its tip against the mayor's neck.

"Kreeth's presence wasn't the only one I sensed tonight," he growled.

The mayor looked at them like a cornered hare. "Why shouldn't we kill you here and now," Niam's voice was so sharp that it could have drawn blood. Davin had never heard anything like that from Niam, not even where Bode was concerned.

"I stopped," he insisted. "I stopped. Sometimes at night things were watching me, whispering terrible words. They wanted me to let them in . . . b-b-but I wouldn't. You have to believe me," he stammered. "It d-d-destroyed my student. I hope judgment has mercy on me when I die."

Davin looked at the pathetic wreck of a man in front of him. Could Kreeth really have been his student at one time? He now looked weighted down by a thousand pounds of regret. Slowly he let the tip of his sword dip down, though he wasn't ready to put it away.

Niam's eyes held murder. The mayor looked at Niam and began to weep. "I want to know what role he played in the deaths of my brother and sister," he snarled.

Davin understood that scaring Braun wasn't going to help. "Put you knife away, this isn't helping," he said softly.

Niam stared daggers at the mayor, and then said resentfully, "Fine."

"We need to know what's going on here," Davin told him.

The mayor watched the two of them warily. "I . . . I can tell you," he murmured hopefully.

Niam looked hatefully at the man and told Davin, "I want to know everything he has to do with this mess. Then I'll let Jolan Kine have him."

The mayor shook and let out a mewling sound

"Stop that kind of talk," Davin said, becoming increasingly worried by the anger wafting off of Niam. "We aren't executioners."

Niam stared pitilessly at the man now cowering before him. "Yet," he said.

Davin gave him a cross look and said, "Ever."

Niam looked away. Davin looked down at Braun. "What's happening here, Mayor Braun?"

"A very terrible thing, boys."

"Why?"

The mayor's eyes brimmed with tears. "Aboleth," he said, weeping quietly.

Niam stomped his foot impatiently. "What is Aboleth?" he growled, and then looked at the people illuminated by the green flames. "And what does it have to do with this?"

The mayor moaned, "Everything."

Davin quickly said, "Go on," in order to prevent the man from dropping into another silence.

"He summons his powers from Aboleth," the mayor said slowly. "You need to understand that Kreeth wants to finish an initiation he started earlier. Until then all he can do with it is summon powers and knowledge. He has none of his own. Sorcerers cannot use magic like mages."

"So?" Niam growled.

Braun looked at Niam through two feverish eyes. "You really don't know, do you? Mages use powers that are a natural part of the world. But sorcerers—they have to pull power and knowledge of them from somewhere else."

"And," Niam hissed. "What of it?"

Braun looked at Niam, and Davin could tell there was something in the glance that held more than fear. "Garrolus Kreeth wants to finish a process that will allow him do much more. He wants to contain the forces he can only draw in small quantities right now," Mayor Braun hissed.

Davin and Niam looked at one another. "And that would be a bad thing?" he asked.

"Catastrophic."

"Why?" Davin and Niam asked simultaneously.

"Because Aboleth is a place of death. It's toxic to our world. And it's potentially much more powerful than the forces wielded by mages."

"Why can't he do that now?" Niam demanded.

"What's holding him up?" Davin asked. "He looks pretty powerful now."

The mayor shook as he answered. "There's an artifact that he needs. One that goes all the way back to the time of the Dread Lords—when they fought the hordes of Miloch and Kobor as they scoured the world from the east."

"What artifact?" Niam demanded roughly.

The mayor looked up at both of them, and his voice dropped. "Now that's the question, isn't it?"

"Do you know where we can find it?" Davin asked. Whatever man Braun had once been, he was a pale version of now. Davin hoped that acting respectfully might encourage him to be more forthcoming.

"That's why Kreeth's using these people. They're looking for it."

Davin realized that all of the burglaries and break-ins in town made sense. "What does it look like, sir?"

"I don't know," the mayor said defeatedly. "That's what I was hoping to learn tonight."

Niam let out a disgusted sound. Before he had time to say anything else, the mayor's head whipped around. "They're finished. Now he'll seal them to his command."

As soon as Braun said this, a great and sickly light suddenly blazed in the night, coating the world in garish and unnatural shades. Niam moaned in pain. His arms shot up to cover his head protectively. Braun used that moment to twist the sword from Davin's hands and throw it into the woods. Davin reacted in surprise and lunged for the man, but he was too quick. Mayor Braun shot away with surprising speed as Niam bent over and vomited.

Davin cursed, but held his place.

"Why aren't you going after him?" Niam rasped.

"Not leaving you alone out here," he said in frustration.

"But we need him," he said between fits.

Davin waited with Niam as the circle of people broke up. A stab of guilt lanced through him. Once again he hadn't been fast enough to do any good. He put a steadying hand on Niam as he finished losing the rest of his stomach on the ground. "Look man, I'm sorry he got away. It was my fault. I didn't have time to make my power work."

Niam straightened up, wiping his face with a cloth from one of his pockets. He looked away and shook his head. "No it wasn't. Besides, there's no telling what might be out here in the forest. We'd be better off finding your sword."

"We can still try to follow Kreeth," he told Niam. With any luck, they might be able to uncover something new.

Niam said nothing. He looked on as people under Kreeth's spell made their slow and plodding way back to their homes. Davin was sure they would wake in the morning unaware that anything had happened.

When Niam finally did speak, he said, "I've got another idea. Let's follow the old man that led us here. I want to take this from a different angle."
Chapter Twenty-Eight

Whatever Possessed Her

As soon as Maerillus's home came into view, Niam and Davin sped up until they were in front of the old servant that had led them to Kreeth's meeting place. Niam walked close behind him much of the way. Ever since they had chanced across Mayor Braun, Niam had wanted to see if he was able to sense whether or not Kreeth's sorcery remained on his victims. If Braun had been telling the truth and had indeed stopped using the dark art, Niam had still sensed it surrounding the man like a faintly unpleasant odor.

"Stop him," he told Davin quietly. "I don't think it will waken him if you are gentle, and I need him standing still for a few moments so I can test an idea." Davin placed his hands lightly on each of the man's shoulders. "There," he said once the man was still. Niam stepped in close to the man.

Nothing.

Well . . . maybe something.

No. It was just gas.

"Something crawled up in you and died, did it?" Davin complained beside him, and then asked, "What are you trying to do?"

"I thought if I got close enough maybe I could sense the sorcery used on him," Niam told him as the servant shuffled forward again.

"Are you trying to use your abilities?"  
Niam looked at Davin as if he had just asked him if water were wet. "I was standing close to him, wasn't I?"

"I mean use your abilities," Davin said, explaining, "We all have abilities that just come to us and stay. Like Maerillus. He's got to think about being seen to allow someone to see him from a distance. He's got to think about making one of us hard to see when we're near him."

Niam felt his eyes widen, and he hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I never thought to try it out. I just assumed it was different with me."

Niam felt like an idiot. The obvious had been there right in front of him all of this time and he hadn't connected the fact that his friends had been developing some control over their abilities to his own situation.

Niam knew he had to try out his idea, so he caught up with the servant and had Davin stop the poor fellow again. Standing on the lawn by the servants' wing of the Sartor manor, Niam raised his hands and slowly moved them around the man. All he felt was the crisp bite of the early morning air. He dropped his hands and looked at them like a blacksmith looked at a broken tool. Proximity wasn't going to work. Nor was trying to check by using his hands and focusing on using his sense of touch. Maybe there was a reason he couldn't sense the sorcery he had seen with his own eyes worked on this man.

"Maybe I can only tell if someone has used it," Niam said to himself, but then shook his head. "No, because I can feel it after someone has used it and the person isn't around anymore."

"That means you ought to be able to sense it on him," Davin said.

Niam just stood there letting thoughts run though his mind, then rejecting each one as it came. Davin shifted his stance, and the noise he made drew Niam out of his inner ramblings. "I just don't think it's going to work," Niam said at last. He was about to tell Davin that he would try later when his stomach began to rumble, and then the answer occurred to him.

"I think I've figured it out," he told Davin.

Niam realized that he ought to stick to past experiences as his guide. Sorcery made him feel ill. When he had known that Kreeth was ahead of them as they followed Sartor's servant, the feeling had been like a stomachache that had moved outside of his body. No sooner did the thought occur to Niam than he slowly became aware of an aching sense of wrongness in front of him. He felt a smile slowly spread across his face. If he shifted his senses outside of his body, maybe he might be able to feel what the sorcerer had done. Niam looked over at Davin. With the smile still on his lips, he said, "I figured it out."

Davin sat there for one long moment, then he gave Niam an impatient prompt, "AND?"

Niam looked up. "Oh, yeah. He, um, has it. There's an imprint of Kreeth's sorcery on him. It's very faint, but I can feel it. I almost have to imagine I'm in two places at once—or at least, the part of me that gets sick around sorcery is. That's how I feel it. Or a part of me that's there and not there at the same time feels it."

Davin just made a face. "Way too complicated for me."

Niam raised his hands and shrugged his shoulders. "Welcome to my world. Now I need to do this," he said, and reached up to grab the old man's shoulder. He shook him gently, and loudly said, "Hey! You sleepwalking or something? Hey! Wake up!"

The man they had followed looked around, dazed, as consciousness returned to his eyes. "I—I must have just . . ." he began to stutter, then looked around realizing he had no idea what was happening or why he was standing outside.

"It's okay, sir," Niam said jovially. "My uncle used to sleepwalk sometimes, too."

As the old servant attempted to gather his wits, he mumbled, "Um, yes. Well then. I haven't—" but had to stop as he began swaying on his feet.

"Oh my," Niam cried in alarm. "Davin!" Niam moved in to steady the man by grabbing an arm.

Davin got ahold of him by the other side. "You must have really been sleeping hard," he said, playing along.

"Good thing we came by," Niam said, helping keep the man upright. "We're running an errand for Lord Joachim's butler."

"Falion? I know Falion," the gentleman grumbled, becoming more alert as they talked. With a shake of his head he looked around, awake for the first time. "What's going on here? What's this about Falion?"

"I'd rather not say." Niam dropped his voice and told the man, "It's rather embarrassing. A visitor at Lord Joachim's residence lost his wife's Sapphire necklace in a bit of a bet. He overheard his wife telling Betsy at the trade conference where she had purchased it, and wants to know if Betsy remembers so he can buy a replacement."

"Yes," Davin jumped in. "We were wondering how we were going to find Betsy when we came across you. Good thing, too."

Niam said, "That's right. Falion told us this only because there's a man's newlywed happiness on the line, if you know what I mean."

"Utmost discretion," Davin told him soberly.

"Absolute secrecy," Niam echoed.

"I'm sure you'll understand, sir," Davin said, confidingly.

"When we saw you, I told my friend, 'this fellow's the man to help us.'"

"Right," Davin said.

"You will help us, won't you?" Niam asked. "A man should never suffer upset in the household because of a gentleman's wager."

By now, they were almost at the Sartor manor, and the servant muttered in a sleepy voice, "I suppose not."

"Good!" Niam said. "Then you'll just point the way, and we'll let you get back to bed, sir!"

*

The door to Betsy's room opened after the fifth knock. Davin fiddled with his fingers nervously as the young maid stuck her head out and eyed the two of them through groggy eyes. Davin was immediately struck by why Maerillus had been so attracted to her. She had a petite, lithe frame and skin so pale it reminded Davin of alabaster. A scarf held her thick blond hair back, which showed off two large and luminous blue eyes. There was something young about them, a quality not of youth, but of the kind of perpetual youth that remained with some women no matter how old they were. Davin could easily imagine how any man might lose himself in her sweetly innocent gaze. Maerillus never seemed to be able to shut up about how her hair, casually pulled back, left him breathless.

The girl's eyes, however, were ringed with swollen circles and appeared deeply recessed from a prolonged sickness. As she opened her door wider, Davin became aware that her cheeks held an unhealthy blush.

Niam cleared his throat nervously. Davin knew that sound very well. Pretty girls always made Niam act . . . well . . . bizarre. Normally, around girls he just made a joke nobody found amusing and wandered off after a long and uncomfortable silence. The sound of Niam's discomfort brought Davin out of his reverie. When he realized he was gaping at Betsy, he felt ashamed of himself. "Can we talk to you?" Davin blurted out almost too quickly.

Betsy looked at the two of them, and Davin caught a flicker of recognition flash across her face. She looked as if she were about to say something important; but as soon as the look was there, it was gone. Another expression replaced it that seemed alien and definitely out of place on the girl that had just answered the door.

"Oh my," she said, slowly running her eyes appraisingly up and down the two of them. "I'm sure we could find you a place in here."

Davin shot Niam a warning glance as Betsy stepped back to invite them in. As she did so, she allowed the robe she wore to fall open enough to partially reveal a soft swell of a breast. She rested herself slightly on one foot, and Davin couldn't help but notice how her bare knee stuck out and that he had a clear view of the soft, smooth skin of her inner thigh. Davin quickly looked up and noticed Betsy watching him with a wicked smile. Her lips were parted suggestively and she touched her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. The air in the room suddenly seemed to drop. As Davin exhaled, he noticed his breath as a misty vapor in the air. Niam elbowed Davin, and they both raised their eyebrows. Everything that happened next happened within the space of a few seconds.

As Davin walked into the room, he gave Betsy as wide a berth as possible. Behind him, Niam followed. Davin heard him stop and then let out a surprised noise. Betsy shrieked without warning. Her eyes narrowed into slits and her mouth contorted into a silent snarl of rage. Niam pushed Davin aside and lunged forward. "Grab her!" he cried out in alarm.

Davin spun completely around and nearly stopped short by what he saw. Betsy crouched down with her fingers clenched in fists of rage. Her eyes blazed with hatred so deep that they now held an almost reptilian savagery. Niam struggled to keep her hands from raking his arms with her fingernails while she cursed and spat obscenities. "You could have had me," she hissed. "You could have rutted with me like hogs in a sty! I hate you! I hate you! You're both eunuchs. Piss on you both!"

What shocked Davin the most was that the voice he heard was not the voice of the girl he had known before. The hackles on the back of his neck stood up. The air in the room was now frigid. Davin took ahold of her arms, and Betsy broke Niam's grip and knocked Davin back with a powerful swipe of her arm.

Davin sprung toward her and slipped behind her writhing form.

"I need to get my hands on her for just a minute," Niam panted as he struggled with her, trying to keep her from raking his eyes with her fingertips.

While her attention was directed toward Niam, Davin quickly closed with her, wrapping his arms around her and pinning her against her own bed. Beneath him, Betsy bucked and twisted violently. Her strength was incredible. "Mount me!" she spat. "Go on! Take it! I know you want it!" Betsy gyrated beneath Davin's weight. He ignored the feel of her body slipping against his. As Niam closed his hands around her again, she taunted him. "You can close your eyes and think of your sister," she crooned. "I know your brother liked it," she said viciously.

Niam's eyes were shut tightly as he concentrated. Betsy's body began shaking, and she cried out in terror like a wounded animal. "No! No! Stop that! Pull this sow's robe up and—"

Suddenly she froze. Niam bore all of his weight against her as he forced her down into the fabric of the mattress. Betsy held her head back and let out a silent howl of agony.

Without warning, her arms shot out straight, where they remained, stiff and trembling. Davin felt an immediate release of pressure in the air as Betsy's body went limp and still. The temperature in the room quickly returned to normal.

Niam let go of her and stood up straight, looking around as if he was afraid something was going to leap out from the shadows. Davin continued to hold onto her, but her body remained motionless.

"You can let go of her now," Niam told him, exhausted from the ordeal.

Warily, Davin unwound his arms from her prone form. "WHAT was THAT all about?" he asked, nearly dumbstruck.

Niam shook his head. "I could sense Kreeth's sorcery when she opened the door. But Davin, there was something else there."

Davin watched as his friend spoke. Niam began shaking visibly. "What do you mean something else?"

With some effort, Niam swallowed, gathering himself before going on. "At first it was like the door in Kreeth's basement—only instead of seeing the flows of power at work, I felt them. With Betsy it was much stronger than with the old guy. When I got next to her, I felt..."

"What?" Davin asked softly.

Niam looked up at him and there was fear in his eyes. "Recognized," he whispered. "I didn't even know what I was doing until I was holding onto her." Niam stopped to wipe a trickle of sweat from his brow before it trailed down from his hairline into his eyes. "This is hard to explain, but I knew that I had to unhook whatever it was that was bound to Betsy. That's what I did."

"Will she be okay?" Davin asked, worried.

"I hope so," Niam said. Then a look of revulsion spread across his face. "This was bad, what he did to her. Terrible."

Davin knew that what Niam had experienced must have been indescribable. "That looked almost like you . . . well, you know . . . like it was a demon."

Niam nodded his head. "It felt like that, too. But I don't think this wasn't an exorcism. It was something else. As soon as I separated the presence from Kreeth's sorcery, the thing was snapped away—like cutting a tight rope. The sorcery was the rope."

On the mattress, Betsy began to stir. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked around, confused. "What's happened to me," she asked in a tired and weak voice as she noticed two young men looking down at her with obvious concern in their eyes.

"We were worried about you," Davin started to explain, but then thought better of it and added, "Well, Maerillus was the one who was really concerned. So we came over to check on you."

Betsy's eyes lit up at the mention of Maerillus. "Where is he? Why isn't he here?"

"Don't you remember?" Davin asked.

"Remember what?" she asked, an edge of fear creeping into her voice.

"He's recovering at Lord Joachim's estate."

Betsy struggled weakly to sit up. Tears began welling in her eyes. "What's going on? What's happened?'

"He's okay," Niam told her as he sat on the opposite side of the bed. "He just injured his leg is all."

"I feel terrible," she said.

Davin could tell this wasn't going the way he would have wanted it to go. Betsy was so frightened that her voice cracked. "Betsy," he said gently, "we're going to start over. We think you've been sick with the nods. What do you remember?"

Betsy pulled her robe around her body and tucked her legs in tightly. Her arms were wrapped around her knees and Davin's heart ached to see her so frail. She looked lost and alone.

"I remember—not much. Work. I remember going to town. I remember—" And here she stopped as Davin watched the memory of something unpleasant cross her face.

Softly, Betsy began to cry. "I was somewhere in the woods. I remember that awful man. He . . . he . . . I don't know. I'm sorry. I just don't remember much of what happened."

Niam placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. A lot of people have had bad experiences because of him."

"That's right," Davin said. "You're not alone."

Betsy wiped her nose. "You promise?"

"Absolutely," Niam told her.

"Will you come with us?" Davin asked softly.

Betsy looked up uncertainly. "Where?"

"Where you can rest and get better," Niam said.

Betsy looked up at both of them and tried very hard to give them a brave smile. Holding out an arm, she asked, "Can you help me?"

"Absolutely," Davin said, helping her up. As they walked her to Gaius Sartor's office to request a carriage, Davin wondered how he was going to keep out of trouble with Lord Joachim now.
Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Stench Of Death

A week later Davin winced as Lord Joachim walked into the room and nearly threw their coats at them. After hearing that they had disobeyed his instructions, the man had been as hot as a smith's forge. He gave a curt command to follow, and Davin began preparing for the worst. Niam looked over and asked quietly, "What do you suppose this is about?"

Davin didn't want to say anything for fear Joachim might hear. He just shook his head and placed a finger over his lips. Niam, however, went right on talking. "He did threaten to send us to work in the fields," he surmised. "If it's privy duty, honestly you're stronger than me, so I figure you'll get that and I'll do something easier." Davin punched him in the shoulder. "I'm just saying," Niam said sorely.

Joachim led them out of the nearest door and around toward the stables where a carriage waited, flanked by a guard of fifteen soldiers in hard leather armor, bearing short swords and bows slung across their backs. Davin muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "I don't think he'd have guards for us if it was privy duty."

When Joachim opened the carriage door, Davin and Niam just stood facing the dark interior and looked at one another. Neither wanted to get in.

"Go on boys," Joachim said, emphasizing the word, "boys." Davin took a breath and climbed in. As soon as he did, he was surprised to see Maerillus and a pale but improved Jolan Kine waiting for them, chatting amiably.

For his part, Maerillus said nothing. News of what Niam had kept secret from him still ate at Maer, so he just looked away and pretended not to be paying any attention. Niam cast a quick glance in Maerillus's direction and then frowned. Kine noticed the uncomfortable silence but said nothing of it. The moment he and Niam had taken Betsy to Lord Joachim, Kine had recommended Betsy be transferred to Joachim's service and protection.

Davin suspected that Maerillus was more upset about the fact that his access to Betsy would be limited than anything that had been kept from him. Now that Betsy was going to be a member of Joachim's staff, she might end up anywhere. This was why Davin was glad there were no girls in his life at the moment. Of all the people to get sucked into such a complicated relationship, Davin would have fingered Niam as his first pick, not Maerillus. Yet in the space of a few months, Davin had discovered that something supernatural was communicating with him, that he had special abilities and powers most people feared, that a sorcerer was targeting the people of this area, that creatures beyond his worst nightmares existed and at times wanted to kill him . . . and that a Sartor was smitten with a maid.

Life was indeed strange.

"Where are we going, sir?" Niam asked as Lord Joachim stepped in and gave the coach the order to go.

Joachim turned his head and gave Niam a flat, silent stare. "Since none of you has the good sense to stay where you're told, I decided you ought to come with us, Mr. Maldies."

Niam sat there expectantly, but Joachim did not go on. Kine sat beside the count and couldn't suppress a laugh. "You've gone and done it now!" he guffawed. "They're too scared to move a muscle!"

Davin sat uncomfortably stiff in his seat. "We're going to Kreeth's estate," Count Joachim said.

Niam was the first to tense up. "Um, could you run that by me again?"

"You heard me Maldies," Joachim said.

Davin watched the expression on Niam's face change. Several heartbeats of silence went by, and then: "Well that's just good, sir. Go there with a sick Wizard's Hammer and fifteen unprepared soldiers why don't we? Just like we're going on a picnic?"

Maerillus decided he was going to be the next one to speak up. "Niam," he growled. "Be quiet."

Niam pointed at the Wizard's Hammer. "He doesn't look like he can handle much more than getting in and out of the privy to me," Niam said. "And those soldiers ought to have their bows strung and arrows nocked the moment we come even remotely close to Kreeth's property. And you already know that those tralls need to be taken down with spears!"

Maerillus looked at Niam with a curious expression, then he looked at Lord Joachim. "He is right, sir. You didn't see how fast the wolfstrosities moved. Or the trall."

The count looked from Niam to Maerillus, as if he were weighing something in his mind, but said nothing. Jolan Kine sat watching the three of them with what Davin was coming to feel was an annoyingly secretive smile. Niam was nearly ready to stand up. "For another thing, none of you have any idea of what the boxes were like, and if one of your men stumbles onto one of Kreeth's seals, they're going to die. You need more than a body guard to come with us if you're going to bring this man in."

That must have been what Joachim had been waiting to hear, because he looked around at all of them smoldering eyes. "And THIS is exactly what the three of you go gallivanting off to face without a care in the world!"

Niam got ready to say more, but he suddenly stopped.

'Well—" was all he could manage.

"Well?" Joachim demanded.

"But—," Davin began.

"But nothing," Joachim told him flatly. "How many times have stories of your exploits made their ways to my ears? Exploits that very well might have gotten you three killed. Who do you think is going to have to tell my childhood friends that their sons got killed thinking they could stick their noses into places that—by their own admission—my Wizard's Hammer and an escort of professionally trained soldiers aren't prepared to walk into?"

Niam muttered under his voice. "I jig and Maerillus waltzes. Only Davin gallivants, sir."

"Always the comedian," Joachim flared. "This isn't funny."

"And yet we're still gallivanting off to confront Kreeth," Niam nearly cried out.

"Relax Maldies," Joachim said. "It appears as if the good Mr. Kreeth has fled the area."

Niam glared back in thunderous silence. "And you were going to tell me that when?" he demanded.

"Kid's got spunk," Jolan said to Joachim.

The count merely grunted. "They're going to need more than spunk," he said.

Before Niam had a chance to whip himself up into another fit, Kine's voice turned serious. "From what you have told us, there have been plenty of times when only stupid luck kept you alive."

"Like what happened at the Vandin camp," Joachim reminded them.

"Or the fact that I was there when the trall attacked you," Kine added.

"OR," Joachim said, "when you barely got away from Kreeth's home without getting yourselves killed."

"For that matter, if Kreeth had set out any traps when you followed Gaius's servant into the woods, you might have been killed then," Joachim said.

Maerillus held his hands up. "I think we surrender. You've made your points."

"Somehow I doubt that," a stolid Joachim retorted.

Davin cleared his throat. "We did what we thought we had to do. You were both gone, and we couldn't find you to tell you anything." Joachim gave Davin an unreadable stare. "We have done nearly everything you've mentioned to help other people, and I think any of us would do it again."

Joachim and Kine looked at one another, and then Jolan asked, "Is that the way it is, boys?"

"Yes sir," Maerillus said in a diplomatically polite voice.

Niam shrugged his shoulders. "I could go on."

Davin and Maerillus both elbowed him.

"I'm just saying," Niam said.

A call from outside alerted Joachim that they were almost there.

Niam peered through the window. "The place doesn't feel the way it did the day we came," Niam told everyone. "Hey, did you tell them to keep an eye out for squirrel-monster-things?"

Kine spoke up without missing a beat. "We've already cooked those up with dumplings."

Niam made a sour face.

"Looks like you're not the only one who's a joker, now." Davin whispered.

Joachim said, "Yes, Niam. Squirrel-monster-things, wolfstrosity things, and former mayor things."

"Any idea where he's run off to?" Davin asked as the increased sunlight reaching the carriage told them that they were now crossing Kreeth's lawn.

"I have as many people as possible searching for him," the count said as Niam tensed up again. "My Hammer would like to speak with him about his involvement in Seth and Sarah's deaths," Joachim told Niam, and then looked at all three of them, but Jolan Kine leaned forward to speak before Joachim opened his mouth.

"And this is why the three of you will NOT go after Mr. Braun on your own. No 'buts,' Niam. Not this time. The former mayor might not have harmed you and Davin, but there's no telling what else is going on." Niam looked around as if he had been garroted, but for once, he actually said nothing.

*

When the carriage rolled to a stop, Maerillus was happy to be able to get out of the thing and onto his own two feet. The crutches helped, but he was getting sick of hobbling around on them.

Beside him, Niam climbed out of the carriage and began to stretch. A pang of mixed emotions hit Maerillus. He still didn't know how to reconcile the things his friend had hid from him with the fact that Niam had done so in an attempt to look out for him.

Count Joachim walked up and stood beside Kine. "You feeling up to going in?"

"I just want to get a good look at what we're facing," the Hammer said stiffly.

Joachim nodded, then turned to the officer at his side. "Outside first."

The man nodded his head and saluted with his fist over his chest. Then the captain turned and ordered his men to search the perimeter of the manor along with the servants' quarters.

To Maerillus, Davin, and Niam, Joachim said, "I've had this place under constant surveillance since you three made your discovery. One of my patrols saw Kreeth heading toward Kalavere as fast as his horse could take him. I have several eyewitnesses who saw him board a ship bound for Selvika. The sorcerer knew it was only a matter of time before we came for him.

"Mr. Kine needs to get a good look at what he left behind and we're also looking for his staff. My troops say no one has been seen coming or going since the day they started watching the place."

Niam spoke up as soon as Joachim stopped talking. "He might have left more boxes like the ones we encountered."

"That's why I want you to assist my Hammer, Maldies," Joachim's gravelly voice rumbled.

Niam protested. "But sir, I don't think I can do anything about those boxes."

"I just need you to tell him if any are close." Joachim turned his back on the three of them to address the captain returning from the perimeter check.

"Nothing sir. Not a soul in sight. But there may be a problem. The kitchen stinks, so I checked it out. Food's been left in the pots to spoil, sir. No one's been in there for some time."

Joachim gritted his teeth. "I was afraid of something like that. Post a guard in front and in back. I want you and the other two men with us."

"Yes sir," the captain said crisply. As he saluted, Joachim warned him, "Stay with us. Do not go anywhere unless directed by me or Mr. Kine. And if one of these boys tells you to do something that sounds important, you better bet your life that it is."

The captain relayed Joachim's directions and then he and the remaining three soldiers fell in behind them.

Niam walked ahead of the group as they mounted the steps and approached the tall set of double doors. The red tint of the stained glass reminded Maerillus of blood, and he shivered at the memory of the things they encountered on their first visit. Niam stepped up to the door and stood in front of it for a few seconds. "It's not trapped," he announced.

"I agree," Jolan Kine said. "At least not by a sorcerer, anyway."

Joachim stood aside and nodded to the captain to come forward. Immediately the soldiers armed themselves and Maerillus felt his heart begin to beat more rapidly. The captain nodded to his men and as the one to his right swung the door open, the captain held his sword ready for anything that might leap out. Inside, only the heavy silence of the front room and it's cavernous expanse greeted them. Then the soldiers began to gag, and a thick cloying stench of death wafted out and hit them all.

*

Niam turned his nose as soon as the death scent hit him. Before the captain and his men could rush in, he quickly stepped between the soldiers and the door with two upraised hands. "Wait."

"For love of the Creator, move out of the way and let them do their job, Maldies!" Lord Joachim barked.

Niam' shook his head. "Sorry sir, but I think I might still have a job I need to do here." Perhaps it was Niam's sudden polite turn, but Joachim nodded to the troops, and they stepped back a pace. "This better be good, Maldies," the count growled.

Niam held his breath and prepared himself. Even before inhaling the putrid air, the smell found its way into his nose. The worst part was that when he finally took a breath, he tasted it as well. Niam placed his arm over his nose, hoping that would help somehow. Behind him someone retched. Around him, furniture and paintings were strewn in fragments across the manor's expansive entrance. Red light from the stained glass windows lent the surroundings the crimson cast of a charnel house.

Here the ordinary rules of the normal world had become overturned. Niam actually half expected that if he tossed an object up into the air it would keep traveling until it came to rest on the ceiling. A residual hate that reviled the world Niam had been born into hung in the air with the stench.

"There's something bad in this house. I don't think it was Kreeth that did this," he shuddered, indicating the completely ransacked condition of the room. "This started as we were trying to leave."

"Be careful," Jolan Kine called out to everyone.

Suddenly, a man on the landing above screamed. Everyone's eyes shot upward in time to see a well-dressed figure with a rope wound around his neck leap across the railing and plummet halfway down. The rope snapped taut and the force of the man's momentum stopping so abruptly caused his body to jerk and spasm rudely. The man's face bulged and his tongue lolled like a fat sausage link.

A soldier jerked backward so quickly that he lost his footing and fell, dropping his sword as he went down. Niam watched as the man who had just hanged himself disappeared slowly, fading until only empty air remained.

"Ghost," Joachim told everyone. "And an unusually vivid one."

The soldier who fell muttered a silent prayer as he got up, looking pale and shaken. "It's alright," Joachim told him. He handed the soldier his sword and said levelly, "No matter what you see, keep this in your hands." The man nodded his head nervously. "At least it wasn't a revenant," Joachim told Kine.

"A revenant, sir?" the shock in the captain's voice was clear.

"Seen worse," Joachim told the man. "And you may too before the day is out."

Jolan Kine limped deliberately to the space beneath the balcony where the apparition had plunged and addressed the soldiers. "You were briefed, were you not?"

All three men nodded their heads. "Yes sir."

"Good. Then remember what you were told and remember your training. It's not ghosts that are going to hurt you. It's lack of attention that will do it every time."

"Yes sir!" the men called out in unison.

"The basement is probably the room you want to see first," Niam said. Joachim nodded his head and barked out orders to guard the stairway.

"Lead the way," Kine said, wincing as he followed Niam down the hall.

As they made their way cautiously toward the room with the secret entrance, Niam noted that the horrible odor seemed to be lessening. "That means the source is behind us," Joachim declared darkly.

As soon as Niam and the Wizard's Hammer entered the storage room, they both stopped abruptly. An intense spasm of pain seized Niam. Arrows of fire shot straight into his skull behind his eyes. Niam's legs lost all their strength and he gasped as he fell. He had no idea who grabbed him and pulled him out of the room, but the moment he was across the threshold, the pain left him.

Niam took in a shaky breath. Jolan Kine stood above him, looking unruffled except for the pain in his hip. "That didn't hurt you?" Niam asked, stunned that the man remained upright.

The Hammer reminded him, "I'm immune to the worst effects of sorcery."

"Must be nice," croaked Niam. "Must be a major spell working beyond that door. I've never felt anything as strong as this before."

"Then we need more men," Kine said. "And I have to have more time to heal. At least we know this much."

"I thought you could just waltz right in there," Niam said, agitated.

"Maybe," the Hammer replied. "But that doesn't mean there aren't other nasty surprises waiting," he said.

"Why would he do that?" Niam asked, incredulous.

Kine said, "My guess would be to leave anyone trying to get past the door disoriented and weakened before facing what's on the other side."

"Well, what now?" Joachim demanded.

"We find out what happened to the staff."

Niam made a disgusted sound, and Kine looked his way. "If I go in there and Kreeth has set a trap that causes a large rock to fall on my head, I'll be just as dead as anyone else. Just because I'm immune to his sorcery doesn't mean I'm immortal. Remember, the assassin's arrow? The only reason Jort is dead is that he made some kind of mistake. I don't know about you, but I plan on living a bit longer."

Niam looked away, feeling anger rise. "Fine," he said, feeling cheated. He knew this was just a fact-finding trip. Nearly every time he thought he was about to close in on his brother and sister's killer, something stood in his way. Niam pushed his way past the soldiers and then Davin and Maerillus.

"Wait Niam!" Davin called out angrily.

"That's all I ever do is wait!" Niam snapped back and continued down the hallway toward the stairs. He knew what he was about to see. He had smelled rotting bodies before—at the Vandin camp. In the end, it was all the same wasn't it? Death was death. Niam knew that whatever presence dwelt within the house was now bound up in the basement. All that waited above them were the corpses. And if he couldn't get at Kreeth, he knew he could get a good look at what Kreeth had done, and feed that to his anger and hatred.

"Niam!" Joachim's booming voice didn't scare him right then.

Whatever threats the count could make were nothing compared to this. Niam walked into the manor's grand foyer. Voices imprisoned within the old manse whispered all around him. Men, women, and children condemned to live and die here wept, cursed, and wailed in remnants of terrible events, damned to remain there as a shroud of the manor's evil presence.

Niam prayed that the Creator was kind and merciful. He certainly hadn't been so with this place. All of the priests and monks he had ever heard claimed that love was the force that propelled creation. Yet the source of the Voice repeatedly visited him with the most horrible visions and dreams. Only something beyond the normal, waking world of men could know what it had shown Niam. No love there. Just torture.

Was the source of the Voice closer to the creator than men and women?

Something had been there when his bother and sister died, yet it had done nothing. Where was the love and mercy in that? Niam marched into the grand foyer, and he made a beeline for the arched stairway. A small, calm, and quiet part of him whispered that he was being irrational. Yet, what of it? Life was like a continual series of irrational actions, like jumping off of cliffs. Problem was, Niam rarely knew what the end result of his actions were going to be until he was already in the air. So he continued walking, now up the stairs, despite calls from the people behind him. The stench grew steadily, and the anger within Niam's chest grew with it.

He was in midair.

If anyone came into this mansion trying to fool himself that the stench in the air came from anything other than a rotting man or woman, he was deluding himself.

That was the smell of the Voice's love.

In his mind's eye, Niam saw Kreeth's victims, starting with Sarah floating on her back in Siler's Lake, and Seth, whose bones along the choked shore of Siler's Lake was a flawless testimony to the sorcerer's evil for over a year. In here, the images were mere extensions of the voices droning around him.

Niam struggled to shut all of that out. At the top of the stairs he almost stopped. The stench was ferocious. A door lay open. He instinctively knew it had been done to leave a message—a gift—an invitation to look, to peep around the door and find the surprise waiting on the other side. Niam realized this because the man's personality remained within the manor as an after-effect of the sorcery's taint. Nobody else could know that. Niam doubted they would understand what he himself had no words for. His imagination turned as he prepared himself for the sight of the bodies. He already pictured them, lined up where Kreeth had executed them, eyes open and blank.

Finally, he arrived at the open door and walked boldly through it. He knew he could handle it. The charred bodies covered with teeming mats of ravens had proved that, hadn't it? Niam walked a few paces into a wall of sickness and death so thick he could have swam in it. And when he looked around, he realized his folly. What he saw there was a vision beyond his worst nightmare.
Chapter Thirty

Rampage

As Davin entered the foyer, he wrinkled his nose and sprinted past a guard and up the gracefully arched stairway two steps at a time. At the top, he found his wiry friend sitting on the floor weeping at the other end of the balcony. Beside him was an open door. The first impression Davin got was an ominously open door. Every other door was closed. He stopped when he reached Niam. Two soldiers trotted up to wait before entering the room.

"Niam," Davin said cautiously, "is there anything in the room that we need to worry about?"

Niam looked up at Davin with eyes that were becoming swollen with tears. "How could a man do this to other people?"

Davin had no idea what to say. Joachim and Maerillus topped the stairs more slowly than everyone else, keeping pace with Jolan Kine. "Any nasty surprises for us?" Joachim asked sourly.

Davin glanced down at Niam, who raised his head and said with morbid irony, "About seven or eight surprises, give or take. Joachim looked as if someone backhanded him. His face became as dark as a thundercloud. When the captain stepped toward the door and said, "Sir, let us take a look first for you," Joachim brushed him aside.

Maerillus left Kine and walked after Joachim, following him into the room. A moment later, Maerillus shot back out and bent over to vomit. Davin watched, alarmed. Jolan Kine gave Davin a nod as he walked grimly inside. Maerillus raised his head and looked back at Davin in stunned disbelief. "They don't even look like people anymore."

Lord Joachim walked out and his face was ashen. He looked down at Niam as if he would have liked to deliver a reprimand. Instead, he placed a hand on Niam's shoulder. "I wish you would have waited, boy," was all he said.

When Kine stepped back out, Joachim looked at him with a stony expression that was run through with veins of fury. "What did that?" he asked.

Kine shook his head. "Not a man. Not Kreeth."

"But it was done at his orders," he said bitterly and turned to his captain. Joachim's next words rippled with fire. "I want orders drawn up immediately for Kreeth's capture. He is to be hunted down like an animal. Have two men go to Pallodine and Kalavere as soon as it is done. We will need to have permission from Selvika and Caledon to operate in their territories. Their Hammers will need to be notified. I want him alive if possible. I plan on seeing him executed by my own hands."

Joachim placed a hand on Davin's shoulders. "You might as well have a look, too Hapwell. I wish all of my men could, just to see what we're up against." Davin braced himself and walked across the threshold and into the room. The first thing to hit him was a stench so ferocious that it went beyond rotting bodies, and the next thing that hit him was the reason why.

The room had once served as a bedroom. Indeed, a bed occupied the far wall, where all of the sheets had been torn off of the mattress, and chains attached to the wall lay open at the edges of the bed. Whoever had been confined to the bed had ruined the entire thing. Urine stains covered the mattress and thick smears of feces mottled its surface and matted the bedside where it had dripped to the floor. Bodies—torsos really, devoid of limbs—were strewn across the floor. Jagged stumps with bones sticking out made the victims seem like life-like playthings that an insane child had ripped to shreds in a fit of temper. Several trunks still wore servants' uniforms. One still had a head attached. A woman, whose face was blank and expressionless, gazed through cloudy cataracts at the ceiling. Her head lolled to the side and a great chunk of flesh had been ripped out of her neck. Davin saw long streaks of clotted blood fanning out from the unfortunate woman's remains.

No other corpse had an intact head. Most of the dead bodies had been eviscerated in an orgy of slaughter. Thick piles of ropy intestines surrounded by a dense pool of offal mingled with a heavy runoff of congealed blood between corpses.

"What could have done this?" Davin asked, sickened.

Kine surveyed the slaughter and asked darkly, "Can't you guess, Hapwell?"

Davin groaned. He knew the only thing that could have left claw marks like the ones on these bodies was the same thing that had attacked them on the trail leading back from the Vandin camp the day they met Jolan Kine. A trall. A thing created by the blackest sorcery.

Kine said woodenly, "The contents of the guts speed decay."

Davin shook his head. "It's been cold in here. Some days haven't gotten much above freezing. And since nobody's been here, the stomachs and abdomens shouldn't already be turning black and green."

Kine limped over to the fireplace where he grabbed a poker and jabbed it through the ashes, turning over the blackened embers. One made a popping noise and briefly flared a dull orange as it was exposed to the air.

Alarm shot like a bolt through Davin's body, and Jolan Kine raised his cane and pulled on the middle of shaft, drawing a hidden blade three feet long from its sheath. His voice rang with urgency and alarm. "Arm yourselves!" From outside came the hiss of men drawing their swords. "The fireplace is still hot."

Joachim swore an angry oath and growled, "Search the other rooms!"

The soldiers quickly formed up around the nearest closed door and jerked it open. A thick blanket of darkness hung just on the other side. Joachim pushed Davin back before he had a chance to move forward. From the farthest wall, Davin saw a rim of light peeking through dark curtains. The soldiers' faces drew up in disgust as a new scent, nearly as powerful as the stink of death wafted out of the room.  
Davin nearly turned his head. What came out of the room was a thick and hormonal funk of musk, fear, and rage.

"Wait!" Davin called out. "Maybe we can reason with whoever it is," he said quickly.

Joachim's response was hard as iron. "They deserve to be killed."

"What if they're one of Kreeth's victims acting against their will?" Davin let his voice trail off for Joachim to figure out the rest.

"You don't talk to a trall," Jolan Kine snapped.

From the darkness, a wet chuckle made everyone stop talking. As Davin pushed closer to the door, he heard Kine whisper to Niam, "There's too much magic at work here for me to tell anything for sure."

"I can't get much of anything, either," Niam hissed. "Whatever is going on in the basement is affecting everything."

Davin tried to hide his fear as Jolan Kine cursed quietly then called out, "We want to talk! We know you're doing this against your will! Tell us who you are and maybe we can find a way to get you some help!"

From the darkness came more chuckling. It held an animal quality that immediately set Davin's nerves on edge. Niam looked at him uneasily. Joachim gave a frustrated sigh and lowered his sword slightly. Kine looked like a coiled spring ready to be released at any moment.

A rough, feral voice came from the dark, garbled as if its speaker had a mouthful of cotton. "He told me I would be better in a little while. He told me I would feeeel sooooo gooooood," the thing crooned, drawing its words out in strangely accentuated tones. Davin had the impression that it spoke as if speech were an unfamiliar act.

"Kreeth promises what he cannot deliver," Jolan Kine told the owner of the voice. More chuckling gurgled out of the beast's throat. Davin wanted more than anything to think of the being across the threshold as a person, but the bestial scent cloying the air, the stench of rotting victims and offal, and the forced quality of the words made it hard.

"I was so hungry. He told me I could eat as much as I liked." The eager heat in the creature's voice repulsed Davin. Its voice drawled with relish, "What do you think of my meals? My master left them or me. The marrow was my favorite."

Davin swallowed hard, but he stood his ground. As the thing in the room continued talking, he motioned for someone to bring him a lantern. He was glad the guards had checked the other rooms.

"Why has Kreeth done this to you?" Jolan Kine asked, keeping his voice calm and conversational as he stood to Davin's side just behind one of the soldiers. His voice hid the fact that he held one of the soldier's bows ready with an arrow nocked.

"Ahhhh, you must be the Wizard's Hammer. I recognize you, Hammer. My master told me that I might meet you. He said I could eat you if I liked."

"Nobody's going to eat anybody else today," Davin spoke up. "Why don't you come forward a little so I can see who I'm talking to?"

"Wait until it is darker and I promise I will come forward."

"We can't get you the help you need if you remain here," Davin said, raising a hand slightly to warn a soldier to back away. Lord Joachim's troops were beginning to grow impatient. They wanted this over well before sunset. "We want to try to help you," he reasoned. "We won't be able to help if we don't have any idea what Kreeth did to you."

"Ooooh Kreeth did exactly what I asked. I wanted to be one of his hounds. Strooong . . . fassst . . . aliiiive . . ."

Beside Davin, Joachim said, "Stand aside and let my guard go in with the lantern."

Davin nodded and let the man move forward. From the room, a growl nearly stopped the man, but he gathered his courage, gripping his sword more tightly, and eased his way in.

"Ahhhh, it's niiiice when people stop by forrrr dinner."

As the soldier moved forward, the lamp cast a small circle of light across the floor. More men followed. Davin peered into the inky interior, bracing himself for what he was going to see. As the man moved cautiously in, Niam leaned his head around for a better view. That's when the creature let loose with a piercing howl. Everyone went still.

"I know who you are, Maldies!" the creature bellowed.

Davin grabbed Niam and forced him behind Lord Joachim. In the room, the soldiers fanned out in a semicircle, and he heard the creature shifting toward the back corner of the room. One of the men reached the window, and snatched the curtain away. Light flooded into the room, and the creature in the corner crouched on its haunches and screamed. Its hands shot up to cover its face with long fingers that tapered into vicious claws. Its legs had undergone a profound transformation. Dark, bristly fur grew stiffly from its naked waist all the way to its feet, which were large and balanced on two powerfully muscular, articulated pads—each of which ended in three boney sickles. The angle of the beast's knees was reversed, giving its legs a grasshopper-like appearance.

The creature snarled. Below its upraised hands, Davin saw a mouthful of sharp fangs. When it turned its head to snarl at a soldier, Davin felt like someone punched him in the gut. The shock of recognition coursed through him. "Jalt!"

"Great Lord!" both Maerillus and Niam exclaimed simultaneously.

The thing that was Jalt stared at them through red eyes. He drew his lips back in a horrible imitation of a grin and leaped across the room. A soldier moved his sword to strike, but the trall let out a savage screech and violently seized the man with one powerful hand. Long talons found a seam where armor segments overlapped and tore through it into the flesh beneath. The soldier cried out in pain. Jalt snarled and threw him aside where he sprawled across the floor. Then he leapt again and crashed through the window, falling with a hail of broken glass to the ground.

The two soldiers ran to the window as the captain hurried to check on his wounded mate. "He's going for the forest fast, sir!" one of the soldiers exclaimed.

Joachim joined him, cursing angrily.

"Was there anything else like that here?" Niam asked in alarm.

"Nothing else," Joachim's captain shook his head.

Joachim spun and ordered two soldiers to help their wounded comrade out of the manor and bellowed loudly, "I'm tired of this place. Everyone out!"

"We'll have to try to get into the basement room soon," Kine said through gritted teeth as he gripped the balustrade and carefully eased his way painfully down the stairs.

Joachim shook his head. "If you're not up to it soon, I'm burning this place to the ground."

*

The thing that was no longer Jalt ran in great, loping bounds across a grassy field and into the shaded forest savoring the freedom and ease of movement. As the last of his humanity left him, only desire remained—desire to hunt, desire to chase, desire to rend, tear, and gorge. The salty sweetness of marrow and blood tantalized him. A distant echo of memory lingered in Jalt's mind. A command he must obey.

Kill

Eat

Feast

*

Days later, an old man on the outskirts of Old Flood pushed his rickety wheelbarrow across the uneven pasture behind the one reserved for his cows. The ground sloped until it met the forest a good three hundred paces away, and in the distance, the setting moon shone like a curved blade in the early morning sky. Times were going to be hard this fall. Three cows had given up their calves stillborn, and just this morning he had found four pigs slaughtered.

By wolves.

The old man managed to heft the remains of one carcass into the barrow, but the next three were going to be too heavy.

Something nagged him, though.

The pigs looked as if they had been torn apart for sport. Legs and even two heads had been pulled from bodies and left dozens of paces away. What was more, parts of the pigs had been torn and spread all across the ground. Entrails and organs left the frosty grass saturated. The old man had seen plenty of wolf kills in his time. But what kind of wolf left ribbons of intestines hanging from the branches of several old apples? Not even dire wolves did that. Perhaps they had chased the swine up into the tree's branches. This thought made the old man laugh.

Pigs climbing a trees!

The man's laughter stopped abruptly when he heard a low and feral growl somewhere behind him. "Get out of here!" the man shouted. "Go on you devil!"

The animal got quiet and the man stood there for several moments surveying the tree line to see if there were any other wolves skulking about. Wolves rarely attacked humans unless hungry or backed into a corner, and by the sound of it, there only seemed to be one. The man stomped his foot as he shouted in the angriest voice he could manage, "Heeya you rabid sack of fur and guts, get on!"

Silence was his only answer. The wolf had probably been just a straggler eating what the rest of its pack left behind. Wolves were cruel to the weaker and smaller of their kind. The old man shrugged his shoulders and turned to go.

Nothing more than an opportunist, he told himself.

But a soft, frigid morning breeze easing down from the Korse highlands brushed through the trees, and above the wispy crackle of dry autumn leaves, he heard more growling. He nearly turned to yell at the animal again, but stopped.

The morning wind picked up something more than growling. The air brought with it a smell that made the old man's hair stand up on the back of his neck. No wolf smelled like that.

A bear?

The old man suddenly grew frightened. Some real monsters grew in the highlands. Especially cave bears. The old man let go of his barrow and decided to come back with his sons later.

The breeze grew stronger, making the dry limbs clack together. He no longer heard growling, but the smell intensified. As the old man picked up his pace, he winced and cursed his arthritis. Behind him, he heard something moving.

Something big.

The old man kept his pace, not daring to look back or trying to run. Predators had an instinct to chase whatever ran from them. He did not want to see it, at least not until he was safely far enough away to slip behind the barn door. As he swiftly limped over the pasture's uneven and rocky ground, the sound of heavy footfall made the old man swallow hard when he realized whatever it was had jumped the fence. Now his heart began to hammer. This was no bear.

The old man made it to the cow pasture. Maybe the cattle would distract the thing. As he bent to slip between two fence rails, he caught a glimpse of the thing following him and screamed. The beast staring at him through hungry and savage eyes let out a howl of rage. The old man managed to get one leg successfully through the fence, but jerked his other one in a spasm of fear, catching his foot on the top rail. He went sprawling onto his stomach. The thing behind him began moving swiftly toward him in a hopping gait. Its mouth was pulled back, revealing rows of crooked and needle sharp fangs.

"No, no no!" the man cried out in terror.

With a frantic burst of power, he scrambled to get his stiff legs beneath him. All he had to do was make it to the barn, but before he had a chance to stand, the beast was upon him.

Before the day was out, terrified farmers from all around Old Flood descended on the mayor. He and the small unit of troops passing through the town promised the frightened men and women that they would look into the problem and take care of it.

*

By noon of the second day, five troops, two farmers, a child, and half a heard of cattle were dead. Word spread, and panic was alive and well in the lake valleys.
Chapter Thirty-One

More Things To Worry About

Niam was worried. For the past week Bug had repeatedly told him that something in the woods had been following her. "Well, follow it back!" he said more lightheartedly than he felt. Bug had been through enough and he didn't want to add to it. This was probably just her imagination. She punched him in the shoulder.

"Hey! You've been hanging around Davin too much!"

"I can't go chasing something that's following me. I'm too small," Bug complained.

"It's what I'd do," Niam replied with a wolfish grin. "Besides, I don't want to hear any of this 'too small' talk from you." Bug looked down and tried to smile. It was a sad smile, but still a smile, and Niam had been working hard since Corey's death to help her find it again.

On this day he walked alone with her from the Sartor estate to her home near Joachim's manor. A cold wind pushed itself against his jacket, and he put his arm around his little friend to protect her from the blustering eddies pushing and pulling from different directions. Around them, the last of the acorns clinging to tree braches spilled at irregular intervals, and the sound they made resembled someone (or something) keeping pace with them in the brittle underbrush. All Niam wanted was get through the woods and into the open where safety waited. Involuntarily he shivered. Maybe it was Bug's fearful refrain, but there had been times lately when he too felt a pair of eyes boring into him, hadn't there?

"It's cold," came her small, miserable voice from behind a long scarf wrapped around more of her face than her neck. Niam laughed silently at the comical effect. She stopped just as he led her past the forest's edge and onto the well tended landscape of Joachim's property. One of the count's sentries waved a friendly greeting to them, and Niam felt himself relax.

"You're safe, now," Niam said warmly.

Bug crinkled up her nose and hugged him for what must have been the tenth time that day. Niam looked down at her and pushed windblown strands of hair away from her eyes. "You okay girly-fish?" he asked—for probably the tenth time that day.

"Long as you keep giving me nicknames," she told him.

"Every day of my life."

"What if it's that thing that's been hunting people?" she asked, chewing at her lip.

Niam led her to a mound of hay set out for the horses. He sat down with her cross-legged on the scratchy bedding. The sun's afternoon rays were golden and warm on what could have been a perfect winter day had it not been for the creature menacing the countryside. "It's called a trall," Niam reminded her, "and the trall used to be Jalt."

Though Bug already knew all of this, she liked to make him repeat bits of the story, as if by repetition he were somehow able to control the situation by controlling the story. "It seems like the trall is being pushed farther and farther toward the Korse Mountains," Niam reassured her. "That doesn't mean anybody's safe yet, and that's why you have to have somebody with you whenever you go out. The estates are all full of guardsmen and the towns and roads are constantly patrolled now."

"But tralls don't use roads like we do," Bug said fearfully.

"Exactly my point," Niam's voice was serious.

"I promise," Bug said. "I won't go anywhere alone."

The expression of fear still pulled at Bug's face. Niam was frustrated that there was nothing he could do to allay her fears. After a few moments of thought, he said, "Jolan Kine told me one sure way you can tell if you're being stalked by a trall."

"What's that?" she asked, her eyes big and circumferenced by anxiety.

"Those times you felt like you were being followed and watched, did you smell anything?"

Bug looked down, searching her memory. "No . . . why?"

"They stink. Horribly."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. They are foul—all matted in waste and gore. You'd smell him and know without a shadow of a doubt."

Bug's face lightened a little. "I didn't smell anything." As she said this, another thought must have crossed her mind, because her mouth puckered and her face darkened once more. "What about Salb or Card?"

"Card is locked up and Bode's been heard bragging about running Salb out of town to Kalavere," Niam said, and Bug must have heard the sour tone in his voice as he spoke because she said, "He's a real humanitarian."

Niam chuckled.

"You're going back to the bad man's house soon aren't you?" she asked hopefully.

"In just a few days," Niam said, feeling a mixture of fear and eagerness thrill through him where it settled in his stomach. "Jolan Kine's injury took a lot longer to heal than any of us expected, but with luck, much of this will be done before you know it." And as Niam said this, he prayed that it was so. Almost a month had passed since their initial foray into the sorcerer's manor. Joachim was throwing fits over the fact that they couldn't get into the basement until now.

"My dad says people are scared. That they want that place burned down and cleansed, and they say that the trall will keep killing until the sorcerer is dead."

Niam wanted to be there when that happened. "He has to be brought to justice—and he will be. There are a lot of people cleaning up the mess he left behind."

From beyond the stables, a deep, distant voice called out for Bug.

"That's Dad," she said.

Niam helped her up and walked her all the way home. On his return, he decided to go slowly back to Maerillus's home. Soon he needed to make a trip back to his house for his thicker coats. The thought made him sad, though. For a long time now, the house had felt empty, even with his parents there. With them away on business for the count, the place would be as empty as it felt.

As Niam walked, he imagined what it must feel like to be Bug. She had been afraid of Bode's gang since as long as she could remember. Now that there was something that seemed to have stepped out of her worst nightmares running loose in the Lake Valleys, her world had only gotten larger and more terrifying.

Little wonder she was afraid something was following her, but as he stopped and listened, all he heard was the pop of acorns striking dead leaf litter as they fell. Still, he felt a chill travel down his back that was more then just imagination. There was something out there. Something other than the trall. He sensed it.

Bug had only a very limited idea of what was out there. Truth be told, he wanted her a little scared. That fear might keep her from doing something foolish. People still reported that Ravel had been spotted lurking around less than reputable swill houses in Old Flood and Havel's Dock, places far enough away from Pirim Village to remain one step away from being captured again.

The forest was darkening and the wind sharpening its cold claws against the hard rimes of frost yet to coat the land. Niam moved on. All around him the wind rustled dry leaves, lifting clumps and sending them scattering noisily like unseen ghosts kicking up the thick carpet with malicious glee. Niam looked forward to the day when he might be able to enjoy the forest sounds once more without drawing darker feelings from the shadowy places within his mind. Ravel was out there. The trall was still out there. People were dying. And worse—Kreeth was out there somewhere. Everyone across the Valleys now felt a sense of terror, especially as the sun began to set. When the trall did not have to hide from the light of day, it did most of its killing.

Niam returned to the warm, brightly lit Sartor manor where the scents of bread and roast wafted from the kitchen. Over the next day, a dusting of snow fell across the Valleys. Above the surrounding hills, the Korse Mountains rose, their jagged peaks capped in snow like daggers of ice gleaming in the sun. Yet on the ground between the Sartor and Joachim estates ran footprints too obscured by the winds for anyone to tell whether they were from man or beast. In the shadows, a pair of eyes watched, patient and cold.

*

Maerillus stood just beyond the doorway of the sitting room of Lord Faldon's estate. He found the place spacious but not overpowering, an elegant testament to a man who toward the last years of his life chose not excess but simplicity. Faldon had long retired to his family home in Havel's Dock after serving the crown loyally.

Maerillus had gone with his farther, though whether his father or Joachim had insisted more vehemently that he should have remained behind, he was not sure. After the events at Kreeth's mansion, Maerillus was not going to be left behind. He needed to get out and away from home. After a protracted morning of nagging, both men knew he was bent on going with them and that they were going to have to flatly forbid him—which might prompt Niam and Davin team up with Maer to concoct a plan to follow and eavesdrop—or mollify him by letting him come. Joachim finally looked at him and said, "Fine. You'll find out eventually, anyway."

Maerillus knew Joachim was taking Kine and his father to talk with Lord Faldon about the trall loose in the area, and to explain the constant train of patrols winding through the towns and villages in the Valleys.

While his father had told him to wait as the three men spoke with Faldon, Maerillus knew he was going to have to listen in. There had been something strange in his father's eyes as they spoke before the meeting, and it incensed Maerillus that there was obviously something important afoot that he needed to know about.

Now he listened. And everything they covered with Faldon he already knew. After the meeting, the three men remained in the sitting room talking as Faldon left them to attend to other matters. They currently sat together talking quietly. "It was that poison," the Hammer presently grumbled. But another month? This is ridiculous!"

"Kreeth's property is guarded," Joachim muttered. "And we will return as soon as we can and see what that bastard has hidden in his basement."

Kine's face grew severe. "There's no telling what he has working down there, but I can tell you it's nothing good for anyone in the Lake Valleys."

Joachim's voice was sour. "But with no one able to go in or out, maybe we've mitigated the worst of it."

Though Maerillus was sure none of the men in the room could see him, Joachim's temper made him instinctively step back. The man was as testy as a hungry dire wolf.

"There's more unpleasantness brewing than just this," Maerillus's father broke in.

Joachim followed this immediately with an even sourer note. "There's nothing to be done about that right now. Even if King Gerard's son is dead and the succession is now in doubt."

At that, Jolan Kine responded darkly. "Found dead at the dinner table. King's physician says it was a natural death."

"You don't believe it?" Gaius asked in a way that made it clear that the question was more a statement of agreement than curiosity.

"Poisoned arrows, poisoned soup," Kine said in a sinister voice. "Seems like there might be an awful lot of poison going around these days."

"If you are right, then either the physician is part of it, or he's too scared to say anything," Gaius said, and then chose his words carefully. "You obviously seem to insinuate that the two may be . . . connected."

Jolan Kine's words became hard. "I more than suspect that some of my order have been turning attention away from Kreeth, and if the prince's dinner was poisoned, it would have been from someone high up in Pallodine—Someone with a very dangerous set of skills."

"Poison used to be one way Hammer's took down Sorcerers and dark wizards," Joachim added.

"A practice that was outlawed by Gerard himself," Gaius said. "I remember the debate."

"Many of my order were opposed. It's a damned lot easier to poison a Sorcerer than take him down in person. Gerard never was popular with some of us," Kine told them.

"And you?" Gaius asked with a raised eyebrow.

Kine smiled crookedly. "I'm a practical man, Gaius."

"One I imagine with a very dangerous set of skills," the dark irony in Gaius's voice was clear.

"Indeed."

Joachim broke in heatedly before a verbal jousting began. "Those laws have helped bring many Sorcerers to ridicule and scorn because they lived long enough to see trials. And allowing the pubic to see that Sorcerers could be brought to justice has been worth any five assassinations. It's one area I always disagreed with Jort about when the old fox was alive. I want Kreeth tried publically and put down like the animal he is."

Kine now arched an eyebrow. "Idealistic. But how many of our enemies do you think might be allied? I'd just as soon use a poisoned arrow on Kreeth and then deal with the others. You should be in Pallodine right now, Joachim. Already Count Eason is trying get enough support to move into the Lake Valleys to take care of this 'so called trall business.'"

Maerillus had never met Eason but he knew him by reputation. The man was sanctimonious, ambitious, and conniving. A lot of merchants had fled Kalavere for the Lake Valleys over the years because of him.

"I know what Eason is trying," Joachim growled. "He'd be happy to take my title along with my head if he weren't such a sniveling coward."

"No noble has moved against another in the kingdom in over three hundred years," Gaius said, distressed at the thought.

"Right now, with Gerard in mourning, there are many in Pallodine taking advantage of the lack of oversight," Joachim said bluntly. "And I imagine some in his closest circle are making sure that such oversight has blind spots."

"The repercussions some of these plots spell for Maerillus and the boys are frightening," Gaius worried.

"I'll get them out of the kingdom before that happens," Joachim reassured him.

Before they could continue talking, the door across the room opened and Lord Faldon walked in and with a kindly grin announced that it was time for lunch. Maerillus moved away silently, thinking.

Much of what he heard he already knew, and to be honest, the idea that Lord Eason wanted to stir up trouble for Joachim worried Maerillus the most, and not just because the first casualty of an attempt to humiliate or strip the Count of his title would be his father, but also because of what the nasty man might do to the Valleys. He had always wanted to shut down much of the business the Joachim and Sartor families had brought into the area.

Maerillus moved down the hall to muse a little bit. He thought Joachim's words that there was something he was "going to find out anyway" were perplexing. A pang of worry struck him in his stomach. As he moved down the hall to Faldon's kitchen to see if he could get one of the maids to find him some bread and cheese, he saw a familiar figure with carelessly thrown blond hair. Her maid's dress swished as she walked, and Maerillus's heart made an involuntary leap. "Betsy!" he exclaimed. Betsy looked up in surprise. Her sharp features and pretty red lips took his breath away. Her eyes met his, and a strange mixture of emotions crossed her face. Maerillus almost frowned, but he held it in check. She seemed elated and frightened the moment he called her name.

Betsy's face flushed and she bit her lip nervously. "You always have a way of popping up!"

Maerillus couldn't help but grin. "I get that a lot now," he said, fighting butterflies in his chest. Betsy met his gaze for one long moment, and seemed on the verge of saying something, but as she watched Maerillus's eyes trail from her face down the length of her dress, she hung her head down in shame. The smile on his face became awkward, and fell into an expression of shock and hurt. "You're pregnant!" he blurted out against his better judgment.

Betsy began to cry. "It was him, Maerillus! That vile man!" she said between trembling lips. "He did this to me while I was under his spell. I promise I didn't have anyone else in my life! I'm not like that. You must believe me!" She looked up at him with pleading eyes, and for a moment Maerillus was caught up in a torrent of emotions. Kreeth had taken his pleasure against her will—against her knowledge even. In the instant of rage that sprung up inside of him, he had another thought that immediately shamed him.

She was tainted.

But then he caught his composure and silently cursed himself for thinking such a thing. Maerillus thrust the idea from his mind and took ahold of her in a strong embrace. Betsy cried into his shoulder as he ran his fingers through her hair. "Do you think less of me?" She sniffed dejectedly. "I'll understand if you do."

Maerillus wanted to scream in fury. When he said, "Of course I don't," his voice cracked against his will, and he struggled in vain not to cry. "It's not your fault Betsy," he said as tenderly as he could manage. "There's no shame for you in this. Not for you. Not in my eyes." Betsy held onto him and wept even harder. They both wept—in pain, shame, and anger at the violation.

For the first time in his life, Maerillus wanted to kill someone.
Chapter Thirty-two

What The Sorcerer Left Behind

Niam, Davin, and Maerillus stood outside of Kreeth's manor. Overnight a thin scrim of snow had fallen and frozen hard, painting the ground in blemished white tones. Above them perched the den of the most evil man Niam had ever encountered. Joachim had ordered the doors and windows left open, and a large pile of ruined furniture lay where it had been tossed from the killing room Jalt had turned into a bloody sty.

Now, with all of the windows and doors left open, the place looked like the surprised face of an eyeless and headless corpse. Niam shivered. He had no way of imagining the thing Jalt had become. How could anybody so willingly give himself over to something like that? Maerillus looked up at the building with a hard expression that seemed to flicker from rage to contempt and back again. He had been unusually pensive and brooding after arriving back from a trip with Mr. Sartor and Joachim. Maer had barely spoken to anyone, and when he did speak it was only about stopping whatever was going on down in Kreeth's basement.

Niam was glad that for once someone seemed to hate Kreeth as much as he did. He no longer felt so alone, and it made him feel more than a touch of affection for Maerillus. How messed up was it that he felt a stronger kinship with his friend because Maer was now as miserable as he was?

Behind him, an entire company of soldiers now ringed the estate, waiting uneasily to get started. Several weeks ago, Joachim had come back to the manor with these men to dispose of the bodies and the gore-covered furniture when one of the cleaning crews went missing. To all appearances they just vanished into thin air. Now the men shifted with impatience.

"Swords drawn at all times," Joachim's voice finally rang out in the crisp air. "No man is to be more than ten feet away from another. And if anyone sees something odd or strange, you are to back away and send the message. No one will be out of sight. Am I understood?" The response rang out in the affirmative. With a curt nod, Joachim growled, "Let's do this!"

As the troops moved in, Niam followed. Dark eddies of sorcerous energy tugged at him in foul currents. Once he made it to the locked room's secret entrance, he was struck by the power emanating from Kreeth's basement. Kine's voice carried from the hidden passage as he called out, "Something's different about the door."

Joachim's face darkened. "No one has been allowed on the property."

Kine's face appeared in the doorway. "Niam?" he beckoned.

Niam didn't want to get any closer, but he clenched his teeth and moved forward. "I thought you said you brought help," he coughed nervously as he followed the Hammer down the stairs.

"I brought you."

"Oh really . . . I wouldn't bring me anywhere."

"You seem to be able to get yourself in all kinds of trouble when you do."

"Precisely."

"Precisely," Kine echoed, and then his voice became all business. "I can feel the flows surrounding the door, but your senses outdo mine. What are you getting off of this?"

Niam saw right away that something different moved within the thing. Dark lines resembling an evil script crisscrossed everything from the jamb to the hinges. Niam explained this to the Kine. "Mostly they're concentrated around the hinges and the release," he added after studying it a bit more.

"Show me," Kine said. Concentration wrinkled his face as he focused on the trap before him. Niam guided Kine's hands as he traced the flows for the Hammer.

Kine nodded his head. "I thought so. I felt the nodes here and here," he said, indicating several points around the hinges. "That's where he has stored the charge for anyone trying to open the thing."

Niam let out a frustrated sigh. "I can't find a way to undo this. It's almost as if he tied it off from the inside."

"He left the kingdom. He couldn't have done anything like that that I'm aware of."

Niam looked up at him. "Are you sure he left? I don't mean to ask the obvious, but how can we be sure?"

"Multiple witnesses. Both here and on the continent."

"Oh."

"Spell must have altered itself, but we won't know anything until I can get inside."

"Spells can do that?" Niam asked, worried about what might be facing them.

Kine inclined his head sagaciously. "There's a whole branch of magic specializing in it."

Niam shook his head. "I don't like this."

"Nobody sane ever does," Kine grunted.

As Niam studied the trapped door, he noted the way dark whirls of energy pooled at several points, seemingly contained by opaque, filmy sacs, and shook his head. "I don't think this is a bolt or anything like that. The flow is too lazy, like it's collecting on the door's surface . . . like a bladder filled with urine."

"Fire then," Kine said curtly. "With time I'd have sorted it out, but you've proven yourself more than useful today, Maldies."

"How do you plan on handling this?"

"First I plan on getting you out of the way. Pay attention, though. This will help keep you alive. If the lines of force run through an object and build up inside, it will usually explode, and that's a problem for anyone nearby because there will be bits of whatever does the exploding going everywhere."

Niam whistled to himself.

Kine went on. "If the power pools or spreads out, fire will be the likely result. And if there is a massed charge focused on one point, you're looking at a bolt of energy. Nasty stuff, that," he said grimly.

"But you're immune," Niam interrupted.

"Sorcerous fire, yes. Bolts, yes. But explosions will kill me just like anyone else. That's what I use rams for." With that, the Hammer all but pushed Niam up the stairs. "Out and away with you, Maldies. I don't feel like seeing you cooked."

Niam was all too happy to oblige. As he rounded the corner, Kine met Joachim's eyes. "You get everything figured out?" the count asked briskly.

The Hammer nodded his head. "Would have taken me a lot longer if I hadn't had Niam."

Joachim's eyes flickered from Niam and back to Kine again. "We're ready when you are."

Niam listened as Kine's footsteps receded down the stairs. He squinted his eyes, waiting for a deafening roar or a gout of flame to burst into the hall.

The metallic sound of a door latch clinked, and a sudden, brilliant green flash followed it. Wispy filaments of greenish flames shot out into the hallway. The heat from the flames caused Niam's throat to close reflexively. The next moment, he blinked, and it took him several heartbeats to realize that he had been thrown to the floor. He sat up, shakily. Joachim called out to Kine. "You alive?"

"Alive," Kine intoned.

As Niam picked himself up off of the cold floor, soldiers rushed forward. Quickly, he got to his feet and darted past the troops. Kine was laying at the bottom of the landing, unsteadily pushing himself up. The first of the troops at the head of the line paused at the Hammer's upraised hand. Niam bounded down toward him. Davin and Maerillus approached quickly from behind with Joachim.

"Everyone wait a moment," Kine said shakily. He stood and moved his jaw in circular motions to equalize the pressure in his ears, rubbing the wound on his leg furiously. When he saw Niam watching, he gave a thin smile and said, "Usually carry earplugs in case of that." Then he held an arm out to prevent Niam and Davin from worming their way around him. Davin was ready for a fight. Maerillus held the same determination on his face.

The Wizard's Hammer was the first to enter the room, followed by Niam, who gasped at what he saw. At the far end of room, a pile of desiccated bodies lay like discarded rags. The corpses had a deflated appearance, as if everything within them had been drained, leaving only husks of skin and bone behind. Even more disturbing, six bodies were suspended from wooden frames, their bodies making an X where the legs and arms were spread in postures of humiliation. Aqualine and translucent tentacles of some kind emerged from a central point within the magical circle, seeming to sink into the bodies of the people immobilized upon the racks. Their emaciated faces were little more than cadaverous canvasses of skin stretched across skeletal scaffolding beneath.

Joachim and Kine looked at one another for a moment. "Have you ever seen anything like this?" the count asked, trembling with fear and outrage.

"Never this bad," Kine shook his head vigorously. "It's like that thing down there is feeding off of them."

Niam did not want to look down there anymore. His head was full of eels. Below, limbs of energy twitched and hitched hungrily, with a tracheal or esophageal motion.

A firm hand closed around Niam's shoulder.

Two. Kine's and Davin's. "It doesn't get easier, kid. You just get stronger," the Hammer told him.

"How do you manage this?" Niam groaned.

Jolan Kine shook his head. "Jort eased me into this life as much as a mentor possibly could. Even then it wasn't easy. You've been tossed into things even seasoned Hammers rarely face. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to go down there without worrying about any of you."

Niam looked down, fighting wave after wave of the all too familiar sickness that washing over him. Jolan Kine walked past him, and Niam said quietly, "He killed my brother and sister. I'm coming too."

Kine stopped and turned to protest as Joachim said sternly, "You three wait."

Davin stepped to Niam's side along with Maerillus. "This is what we're here for," Davin said with every bit as much authority as Count Joachim. "We cannot let Mr. Kine go down there alone."

The count let in a deep breath and looked at them with an unreadable expression, then impatiently insisted, "You'll let Maldies go first and the two of you watch him. He looks as sick as a goat in a mildewed corn bin. If either he or Kine tells you to get out, don't you dare make me risk my men to haul your sorry hides up here for not listening."

Maerillus and Davin looked at one another and then at Niam, who nodded his head.

"Yes sir," both said at the same time.

A grim, hard smile tugged at Kine's lips and then it was gone. His voice was crisp. "If that's what you want, so be it. Touch anything without my consent and you'll be leaving that hand behind."

"Yes sir," two of them replied in unison. Predictably, Niam said nothing.

They followed Kine cautiously down the stairs into the basement where death and a sorcerer's dark circle waited. "You three go that way and I'll go this way. Niam, keep yourself open and an eye out for anything," Kine commanded.

"Already on it," Niam said between chattering teeth.

The sound of Maerillus and Davin moving close behind was comforting. Though Niam did not know whether his teeth chattered out of fear or nervous anticipation, he forcibly clamped his jaws together so he could hear. The air around him seemed to shake and shudder with unseen perturbations, the way it must feel in the bottom of a small pond after a large boulder rolled into it. Niam sensed little else. He was awash in a torrent of sludge fouler than the thickest scum at the bottom of a privy shaft. A flicker of motion, furtive and nearly indistinct, caught Niam's eye.

"No," he said. "It can't be." He froze and stared at the nearest body hanging from a rack. A woman. How old he could not tell. One eye flickered feebly. "Hey!" Niam shouted out in alarm. "Hey! Jolan! Here! Alive!" was all he was able to get out.

Then Niam reached out to her.

"STOP!" Jolan cried out.

Niam's hand halted just as he realized it was about to come in contact with the tentacle reaching from the floor and into her chest. Quickly he withdrew it.

"Fool! You'll kill yourself and everyone with you," Kine snarled.

Niam looked up at the woman in grotesque amazement.

Kine pushed him firmly aside. "Get those damned emotions under control Maldies, or I'll have you tossed out of here!" he demanded. "You have to be able to think. . . think!"

Niam's face flushed. "Yes sir," he managed.

"She is alive," Joachim said, aghast.

Kine's response was solemn. "The spellwork inside of this circle is keeping her alive as it feeds off of her. I've seen sorcerers use spellwork to siphon the life force off of other living things."

"Why?" Davin asked as if wanting to know why a scorpion stung its prey.

"To empower their spells. Nothing short of drawing power from Aboleth brings more power."

"This is just draining their lives into the earth," Niam said bitterly.

The Hammer stood there rubbing his chin, his eyebrows furrowed in furious thought.

"Look," Niam said, peering beyond the glare cast at the terminus point where the opaque tentacles radiated from the rock. "The floor has been ripped up here. There's a circle within a circle down here!"

Kine and the others had to shield their eyes to see. Niam looked around for any other threats, and seeing none, took a deep breath then stepped across the outer circle.

"Idiot!" Count Joachim snapped.

"There wasn't a trap," Niam told him in a voice detached from the moment. His mind worked quickly as he studied the flows of power emerging from the stone to draw away the life force of the victims. "Not this time anyway," he finished dismissively.

Maerillus looked around through heated eyes, seemingly disappointed by the fact that there was no one to fight.

"This whole thing reeks of a trap, Maldies," Kine murmured as he bent down to examine the floor. "This is a part of something older than the mansion," he said after studying the point of emanation for several long minutes.

"How old?" Joachim growled, not liking the fact that something this dangerous had existed within a half-hour's ride from the edge of his estate.

There's an older circle used for ceremonial magic that appears to be inscribed into the rock beneath," Kine said. "And the writing hewn into the stone appears Guldeen."

Joachim spat a curse.

"Makes sense that Kreeth would try reviving an old practice of theirs," Kine added. Niam knew their sacrifices once left the ground soaked in the blood of their victims.

"Do you think Kreeth worshipped the Dark Gods?" Davin asked in alarm.

Well before men had come to the continent, the Guldeen had served the demon lords of Aboleth. Not gods in any sense of the imagination, yet forbears of all sorts of abominations. The powers and agencies whose auspices fueled the success of the Guldeen were ever hungry. And they held a hatred for humanity that went unrivaled even by their abhorrence of the Feythean, who lived across the sea.

"We've got to do something for these people," Davin said. "Soon. They're going to die if we don't."

Niam knew that they would die anyway. Just as the people stacked like dry bundles of cordwood against the shelves had died.

"No," Niam said. He held his hand out, feeling the power wafting off of the tentacle buried in the poor woman above him. The thing writhed like a slug in the throes of a mating ecstasy.

"What are you doing?" snapped the Hammer.

"Something to get my hand left behind," Niam said remotely. All distractions receded as he blocked everything out except for the effects of the sorcery.

Distantly, someone said, "Grab him!"

Niam moved close to the stream. "Can't think this through. Have to feel it," he heard himself say.

"No. Don't touch him," Kine snapped at the others. "Let him try."

But that voice was far away. All that existed right now was this one tendril of corruption and the person connected to it.

As his fingers came within an inch of the ghostly rope, the glowing cord moved away from him, as if reacting to his presence. No matter how quickly Niam's fingers snaked toward the thing, it shied away.

Through his outstretched fingers, Niam felt a pulsing, dithyrambic current. Something organic, beating, and alive. A presence. Something slumbering, not yet awakened. Alien and inherently hostile.

"Cut the flows," Niam gasped, jerking his hand away. "We've got to cut the flows!"

"Pox take it all!" Davin said and stepped through the circle to grab him.

"There are groves in the circle that may allow us to pry this inner ring up," Kine said to Joachim.

"What's going to happen if we do?" the count's voice was hard and sharp.

Kine looked up at Niam, and Niam met his gaze with a shrug. "I don't know. But I do know that this is feeding something deeper in the ground. "

"Necromancer," Joachim hissed.

Niam's heart quailed at even the briefest thought. Of all the darkest magics practiced, Necromancy and Sorcery were twin sides of one very bad coin—specializing in the resurrection of the dead, of instilling an unholy force into animate and inanimate things. While Sorcery left off with summoning evil intelligences for power and knowledge, Necromancy was the hard side of the dark art where matter and the caustic energies of Aboleth came together in an unholy union. The taint they left behind took a terrible effort to eradicate once it took hold. In the past, this was the thing that had corrupted the Dread Lords.

Or so Kine had recently explained to him.

The Hammer rubbed his hands together. "I need something to pry this up with . . . a sword maybe, unless your men can find a pry bar."

While Joachim sent orders to find something suitable for the task, Maerillus checked the rest of the victims.

"They're alive," he said angrily. "Barely, but alive."

Niam looked down in defeat. "I couldn't stop it," he said quietly.

"None of us can without severing the connection," Davin said.

Niam turned away and his voice quivered. "I ought to be able to," he told his friend. "Otherwise why would I have the powers I do? This just isn't right."

"Niam . . ." Davin began, but stopped. There was nothing he could say as far as Niam was concerned. "Niam, we have to do what we can when we can."

Before Davin was able to say anything else, a soldier came in bearing an armload of tools—pitchforks, hoes, a spade, and several swords. "Found these out back!" he declared, trundling clumsily down the stairs as he came with the cumbersome load. And then he saw the bodies all around. "Blind One's eyes!" the man exclaimed.

Niam snorted humorlessly. It said something that men trained to kill and die were stopped short by the sights in this mansion. Kine used the sharp edge of a spade to break the outer circle. Niam felt some of the forces contained flow out.

"Kreeth will know that we're here now. He's connected to it," Niam said as the energy dissipated. He did not know how he knew. But it was there inside of his head. On the racks all around the room, the cadaverously thin men and women began stirring feebly in their shackles. From the woman suspended above Niam, there came a long, shuddering sigh.

"I'd give good money to know how this was done with the monster out of the area," Davin said between gritted teeth.

"Accomplices," Kine growled, now positioning his spade's blade into the lip of the inner circle. With a motion of his wrist, he told everyone else with flat bladed tools to do likewise. "It looks like the stone in the center of this is funneling the lines of energy from their source below. I bet that was what the empty box you brought me contained. It's too bad that Kreeth had already removed the thing," the Hammer said bitterly. Then he maneuvered himself into position so enough force could be applied to his makeshift lever to move the stone base at his feet.

"Now?" the last soldier to position himself over the seam asked.

"Now" Kine said, and everyone leaned into their implements, straining and groaning.

"Don't let up!" Kine called out. "Stone's moving."

Davin said, "Here, to me." The Hammer looked down at the thick spade and nodded, trading tools with Davin. Davin set the blade into the stone and grunted as he shifted all of his weight onto the haft. Wood popped and groaned beneath the strain. "Now!" Davin said with his jaw clenched tightly. "Harder!"

Everyone responded by digging their legs in and bunching up against the weight of the stone inset. A grating sound suddenly issued from the center of the circle as the stone began to tilt. Immediately, the six lines of power feeding off of the people winked out of existence.

"It's stopped," Niam said with relief, stepping back from the displaced circle, which now looked like a thick disk of stone fixed into a natural rock setting. Visible now, a hole lay below—a crack really—revealing a darkness that appeared limitless.

Joachim called out for more men to help cut the people down from the racks. "Get these bodies out!" he demanded tersely. "I want them identified and returned to their families so they can be buried."

"No doubt some of these have been attributed to that damned trall," Kine said, working at his wound with the flats of his hands.

"Yes," the count agreed.

Niam looked around. How the Sorcerer's accomplices had gotten into the basement without being seen was a mystery to him. "I don't see any kind of passage here," Niam said aloud.

"I was thinking just the same thing," Joachim said crisply, "And my men have been all over the place."

"What are you going to do with this?" Niam asked, curling his lip at the thought of all the death that had taken place there.

"I'll have it burned to the ground," Joachim said angrily.

From above, sudden shouting drew everyone's attention. A soldier burst into the basement. "Sir, it's our missing men. All seven of them, approaching from the woods!"

"What about my guards surrounding the property? Are they under escort?" There was something in Joachim's voice that struck Niam as troubling.

The soldier shook his head. "No sir. But there are animals with them. A dozen or so. Mountain lions, wolves, and bears by the look of them."

"I told you," Jolan Kine said to Joachim.

The count nodded and his face became a mask of fury. Cold steel sparked in his voice when he said, "To arms men. Sound the word." And then to the four of them, "We're under attack."
Chapter Thirty-Three

The Undead

Davin sprinted up the steps after Joachim, who barreled down the hallway shouting orders for everyone to get out of the manor. "Out! Out! I'm not losing another man to this maggot-infested death trap! Out! Send word everyone out! Form up and prepare to fight!"

Davin ran to keep up with Joachim, taken aback by the raw power carried in his voice. Soldiers filed out at his command, quickly, neatly, efficiently, and with stony looks set in their faces.

Outside, as the last of the troops poured out of the building, an officer snapped to attention. "Make sure everyone's out," the count ordered. "Now, what do we have?"

"The north, sir. The men and animals are approaching from the north very slowly, and there's no sign of the guards stationed around the central perimeter of the estate."

Joachim nodded briskly. "They're between us and the road," he said and stepped forward to see for himself what they were facing.

"I want lookouts on all sides of this thing," he said, motioning to the now empty manor. "I'll not have any of us trapped inside by this bastard's sorcery, not while we've got it out here coming to kill us too."

The sergeant made a salute and began sending men to all four corners of the manor. The rest were now standing in a long, rectangular formation, waiting as the officer declared loudly, "All accounted for, sir."

Joachim nodded and moved around the carriages to take a look at the approaching foe.

Davin moved with him. Kine blew out an audible breath of air. "This is interesting," he said dryly.

"This is about the time I usually start running," Niam said in a low voice.

"Maerillus's foot can't take running," Davin reminded him.

"That's why he's bait," Niam said dryly.

Ahead of them, about three hundred yards away, an uneven line of troops moved in slow, unsteady gaits. Their faces wore blank expressions. By the soiled appearance of their uniforms, each man appeared to have suffered some kind of terrible bleeding sickness before succumbing to the effects of whatever magic had been worked on them. Their noses were blood stained, as were their mouths, and a long trail of dried blood ran from both openings onto the fronts of their tunics.

"You ever seen anything like this," Joachim asked the Hammer in a flinty voice.

"Not as such, but I've heard about it enough."

"These men haven't been turned into tralls," Joachim observed. "Nor the animals either."

Better a trall than this," Kine said with an obvious edge to his voice.

"They can't have been . . ." Joachim's voice trailed off. Where he left the sentence, Kine finished it for him.

"Raised."

Davin felt a shock of revulsion hit him like a hammer. "They're the walking dead!" he blurted out.

Joachim turned a withering stare upon him. Davin clamped his mouth shut.

"Yes," Kine agreed. "We won't know for sure until they're on top of us and trying to kill us, but that's undoubtedly what we're seeing."

Before anyone could say anything else, a horn blew from the south. "That's a warning call!" Joachim swore an oath that was followed by a soldier shouting, "Riders! The south guard! Two of them!"

"Keep an eye on those things coming from the north!" Joachim spat, and strode in long strides to the corner of the Sorcerer's lair. Davin hurried along with him. Evidently the men that had been guarding the inner periphery of the estate just on the other side of the wood line were now galloping pell-mell to the main body of troops perched atop of the hill.

"Report!" Joachim shouted before the horses pulled up to a frightened halt.

"Something came out of the woods, sir! At first we thought it was villagers, but they were . . . there were three of them—" The man stopped as he realized the absurdity of the words he was about to speak to his commander. "Sir, they were all—"

"Dead," Joachim finished for him.

The man licked his lips, and pulled the helm back from where it had fallen across his ashen face.

"Like the life was drained out of them. They were all empty, and before we knew it they had killed Bren and Sayers. They're slow but powerful, sir."

Joachim looked at them for a moment. The man who spoke looked down, and his lips trembled. "I know we shouldn't have left the post, but we managed to cut up the men . . . the things that did this. We . . ."

Joachim held his hand up. "You did fine," he said. "We need all of the help we can get right here."

Both men looked at him and gaped, realizing that their flight had only brought them into more danger. "Sir?" the frightened soldier asked.

"More coming our way."

The man looked ready to be sick, but his next question impressed Davin. "How can we help, sir?"

The Count's answer was as simple as it was straightforward. "Around front. Fall in formation. Fight. You do that and you'll make it home tonight, son."

The soldier made a visible effort to steel himself and both men saluted. "Yes sir!"

Joachim turned to face the boys. "Now for you three," he said in a quiet voice. "No one here has seen your eyes. But I'm afraid if you step into this, these men are going to see something they're not prepared for."

"What are you saying?" Davin flashed, fearing he knew where this was going.

"I need you to stay in the rear. Don't get into this. Let my men do what they're trained to do."

Heat blossomed within Davin. "You can't be serious! We're the only ones besides Jolan Kine who've faced things like this! We're here for this reason," Davin nearly shouted.

Joachim's face remained expressionless. "You're not the only ones here who've fought supernatural things in your lives," Joachim told him in a voice the let Davin know the decision was final.

"Who else, then?" Davin protested. This wasn't right, not right at all. They had been contacted by the Voice and give these . . . these endowments for a reason. Davin couldn't in good conscience watch anyone face death while he stood and watched.

"Me," Joachim said as silent and undeterrbale as a river current.

Davin felt his face flush, "Of course, but—"

"But my men are professionals and you aren't even properly trained with a sword yet. And I'm not as worried about you as I am them," he said jabbing his finger back in the direction of his troops.

"But we are ready to face this!

The Count shook his head. "Lots of different kinds of undead exist, Hapwell, and you're not as ready as you think. It's a situation that's about to be remedied, though."

Davin saw that the shambling figures had slowly closed the distance between the hilltop and the wood line below. They were now less than two hundred yards away.

"Archers in line!" Joachim ordered, and Davin noted with a bit of relief that the soldiers held longbows—six feet long with heavy arrows that hit with enough force to knock an armored man down and punch through steel plate. At least six other men stood at their flanks with shorter cavalry bows. In front of the archers and standing ready down slope, three rows of soldiers stood with swords drawn, tensely anticipating the fight to come. The rest of the men stood ready to swing around from the rear and come in behind the advancing enemy.

"Loose at a hundred and thirty yards," Joachim ordered. "Aim for the heads.

Time seemed to slow down as the corpses moved senselessly forward. As his mind processed the insanity of what he saw, seeing the dead shambling toward him, moving under the power of an unholy and unnatural force, he grew uneasy, and it had little to do with the shock that this was actually happening.

Yet . . . something was off about this.

"Release!" Joachim shouted. Bowstrings made soft fffting sounds as arrows rose in lazy arcs through the air and came down where several struck home, knocking the bodies of three corpses to the ground. The animals and remaining men continued dumbly onward, driven by a supervening will.

Davin swiftly moved to where Maerillus stood next to Jolan Kine.

As Joachim ordered another volley and sent his soldiers moving to trap the walking dead in a pincer-like maneuver, Davin whispered urgently, "This just doesn't make sense!"

Kine nodded his head. "Something else is up."

"Why send something like this at us that villagers with axes and pitchforks can handle? I thought there would be more of a threat."

Davin and Kine's eyes met. "Diversion." And at that moment one of the guards at the nearest corner of the house started shouting.

As Joachim wheeled around and began shouting orders for the handful of remaining troops waiting with them to the rear of the manor, Niam looked up, his eyes wide with alarm. "The manor!" he shouted. "Something's happening inside!"

"I feel it, too!" Kine said, cursing.

Maerillus swore an oath and Niam growled in a panicky voice, "We've got to get back inside."

"Let's do this!" Davin snarled, and he bolted for the double doors with his feet pounding the ground hard enough to rattle his teeth. He took the steps two at a time, drawing his sword as he went, and slowed down in the spacious foyer, allowing the others time to catch up. From the hallway leading to the secret basement, entrance Davin saw a commotion. Several men wearing riding cloaks with hoods drawn over their faces backed quickly out of the entryway, and one of them paused long enough to hold up a glass vial in his hand. He looked up, and Davin caught a brief glance at who was concealed beneath the hood.

"Ravel!" he shouted. "It's Ravel!"

Bode's father locked eyes with him. His face was thinner and more worn, but his eyes burned with a fanatic's glow. He laughed coldly and crushed the glass tube in his fist.

Instantly, a billowing cloud rolled and boiled out from his enclosed hand in impossible volumes, thicker than the oily smoke of burning tar. It sped toward them, filling the hall with no sign of stopping.

Davin shouted, "Look out!"

Three sets of running feet slowed suddenly as the roiling mass enveloped them. Davin held his breath as the room filled suddenly with a noxious and obscuring fog.

"Careful!" Kine called out. 'This is magical."

Davin placed a protective arm over his face, covering his nose so he could breath through the fabric of his sleeve. The thick vapor pressed around him, and immediately his eyes and nose began to burn fiercely. Behind him, someone must have gotten a full lungful because one of his companions began gagging and retching.

"Out!" Kine bellowed. "Out now!"

Davin turned and began making his way back in the direction he came. The air swirled around him in a thick miasma of constant motion, causing him to lose his bearings.

"Here!" the Wizard's Hammer called out.

Davin walked headlong through the billowing fumes with his eyes and throat aflame. Just as he started to panic, he emerged suddenly into fresh air and daylight, coughing.

A few feet away, Maerillus sat on the ground coughing so hard his body shook.

Joachim helped Kine out as the sorcerous smoke disgorged itself from the manor. "What's happening around back?" he said asked between choking fits.

"An attack," a sergeant answered. "The guards were killed by something."

"Someone," Davin said savagely. "It was Ravel and several other men. They had hoods, but I saw him clearly enough."

Joachim looked away, back toward the fighting for a moment. Davin could tell that things were going well because many of the troops were now in a ring around the sorcerer's mansion.

A soldier stepped up and cleared his throat.

"Report," the count growled.

"I'm sorry, sir," a nervous infantryman said. "Several men ran out with this foul mess. They didn't seem to be affected by it. We lost them somehow."

"We're not going on a rat hunt, not with Kreeth's monsters running loose. Search the servants quarters and kitchen."

The soldier saluted and retreated around the manor. Davin craned his head over the cart so he could see what was happening below. The soldiers were now working in groups to hack apart anything that still moved.

"I knew this was too easy when I saw how slowly these things were moving," the Count growled.

Jolan Kine arched an eyebrow. "It could have been worse."

"We need to get in there to see what they were after," Joachim said bitterly. The longer I have men here, the more they die."

When the vapors at last cleared out, Davin walked behind Joachim, who allowed Jolan Kine and Niam to lead the way as they kept themselves open to whatever spellwork might be waiting to deliver a deadly surprise. For once, Davin wondered if this was what it felt like to be Niam now that he was the one who had to stand aside while others got to do something.

When they made their way into the landing at the top of the stairs, Niam let out a moan. "They're gone!"

Davin saw immediately what he meant. The stack of bodies that had been piled up on the floor were all gone.

Kine let out a sigh of frustration. Davin scanned the room quickly, noticing something else. "Look," he pointed to the center of the inner circle. The seal we dislodged—it's broken."

"Yes it is," Jolan Kine said, making his way swiftly down the steps and over to the shattered disc of masonry. Looking up, he said, "The centerpiece was removed."

"It didn't radiate any magic," Niam said.

"Hard to tell," Kine murmured. "The place is still saturated with sorcery, and will be for years."

Niam shivered.

"Do you see anything else?" Joachim asked. His voce simmered, and Davin understood how he must feel. All of this happened virtually in his own back yard. Now he had to tell more families that their loved ones wouldn't be coming home.

"No," both Niam and Kine said.

"Let's go, then." Joachim said. "I have to spend the next day helping arrange funerals.

"What do you think he's going to do about this estate?" Davin asked Maerillus quietly as they rode back in Joachim's carriage.

Before Maerillus was able to respond, Joachim turned his hard face to Davin. His eyes brimmed with fury and grief. "I'm cutting down every damned scrap of wood on this property and burning it all. Everything standing. And then I'm sprinkling the ground with salt. Every maggot riddled acre of it."
Chapter Thirty-Four

Training

Davin twirled his sword and spun in time to meet Joachim's blade. A resounding clack jarred his senses as the Count twisted the angle of his attack by shifting his hips. His riposte connected with Davin's helm, driving it into his forehead and knocking him back. "You're dead, Hapwell!" the count said.

"Fourth time today," Jolan Kine taunted. "I've seen children learn to overcome that move in less time."

Davin blinked the remark away. He knew what Kine was up to. After all, they had been driving the three of them mercilessly every day for a month. One man fought with him while another, maybe two, did everything they could to distract him as blows rained down without letup. Kine even went so far as making him strip down into a waist cloth and practice in front of the female staff.

And that had been fine until a quick reversal of the Hammer's blade sent the cloth slipping down to the floor. Davin flushed as the women giggled while he stood there fully naked, blushing. No sooner had he bent desperately to retrieve the cloth than the flat of Kine's blade slapped him across his backside.

Davin not only suffered the shame of revealing his naked body to the servants, any one of which he most definitely was not betrothed to, he then cried out like a little girl when the sword blade left a flaming welt running from one cheek to another.

This brought a gale if laughter from his audience. His pretty audience. "At least he's not throwing horse manure and rotten vegetables at you," Niam quipped as Davin stormed away.

"You're next Maldies!" Joachim shouted.

When Davin arrived the next day, there was a wheelbarrow of horse manure and a crate of rotting vegetables waiting for him.

*

"It's not so bad when Joachim's the one doing our practices," Niam said with a disapproving frown as he rubbed tenderly at his inner calf. "Kine is downright cruel. That man missed his calling. He should be torturing innocent children into false confessions or something."

Davin couldn't help but smile at his smaller friend's discomfort. After all, Niam's remark had led to him being covered in refuse and thick splotches of horse dung for the better part of a day. The only up side to the unwholesome experience was that no one wanted to practice hand-to-hand combat with him while he stank.

"Why isn't he allowing you two to use any of your powers?" Niam asked. "You'd think that's something Kine and Joachim would approve of."

"Our big mouths," Maerillus said sourly. "Joachim found out that sometimes our abilities don't kick in so well. And since they cannot teach us how to use our powers, they're doing a crash course in old-fashioned combat."

"Crash is the main idea," Niam said sorely.

"Well I for one am grateful," Maerillus told them both. "Those tralls were able to see me the first time we encountered them."

"It's not the training we're complaining about," Davin said, feeling too grumpy to look on the brighter side. That would be for later when there were no girls, no dung, no objects to dodge, and he could pound Jolan Kine into the sand with impunity. "It's the methods."

All three boys jumped when a wolfish voice suddenly spoke out behind them. "I'm glad to know you feel that way, boys! I think what we need is more bonding time together," Jolan Kine announced in a darkly mirthful tone.

Niam and Davin groaned.

"Maerillus, you're working with the slatted swords. The lieutenant's waiting outside. Niam, you're doing throws and releases with me once I'm done with Hapwell here—and I can't wait till he sees what I have in store for him."

Davin just closed his eyes and shook his head

The Wizard's Hammer laughed and handed him a blindfold. "In about an hour, go to the kitchen, put these on and wait."

Davin took the cloth and eyed it suspiciously.

"Oh," Kine added as an afterthought. "If you hear anyone laughing, don't worry . . . you've already met the girls."

Davin threw the blindfold as hard as he could at Jolan Kine, wishing it was a rock instead of a long piece of cloth.

*

The next night, Joachim sat in the antechamber outside of his library study with the boys and Gaius Sartor. His physician, Dale Kirse wrapped an oiled cloth containing ice and a stinking concoction that burned and tingled when applied to stiff joints around their heavily bruised limbs. Jolan Kine was away at the pub in Pirim Village talking to the townspeople about their efforts to contain the evils Kreeth had unleashed across the land.

While Gaius and Joachim talked, Niam tried hard to listen to what was being said, but let out a yelp of pain.

"Hey! Careful with that!"

Kirse looked at him unsympathetically. "You're going to hurt. There's no way around that."

Niam gave him back a scolding look of his own. "I'm not sure I like this stuff."

"Grin and bear it, Maldies," Joachim laughed. "It only gets worse as you learn more."

"I think I'm ready to drop out of this school sir," Niam said humorlessly. His stomach hurt fiercely. His head throbbed. His arms and legs felt like they had been run over by a wagon wheel. Repeatedly.

"Only way out of this one is death."

"At least I'd sleep well," Niam complained.

Maerillus threw a pillow at him.

"Hey! I feel sick," he fired at his rich friend. "Wait until I'm dead and then throw all you want."

"How long have you felt like this," Kirse cut in.

"Since I sat down," Niam mumbled.

"Over exertion," The physician said as he finished wrapping the last of his injuries, and then dipped his hand into the icebox, preparing another wrap for Davin. Niam had no idea what was wrong with Kirse. The man's bedside manner was usually much more empathetic, but with all of the bodies he had examined lately between Pirim Village and Havel's Dock, he reckoned that Kirse was as jittery as everyone else. A curfew had been in effect for almost two months now, and people were increasingly restless. Especially since the constant patrols only seemed to help slow down the attacks and disappearances.

The physician's sleeves were stained a deep purple. Apparently Davin noticed it, too, because as Kirse took his arm and began wrapping it in the ice packs and stinking bandages, he said, "I didn't know there were any poke berries still around this time of year."

Kirse looked at the back of his sleeve in surprise. "Must have gotten into some old ones in my shed. I haven't had time to pull the weeds up with everything going on." Niam scrunched his eyes up when Maerillus looked over at him. Kirse's voice was abrupt and sharp. Unusually so.

"How many to date?" Gaius asked Joachim somberly.

"Twelve bodies in the basement, six from the racks, two killed last month, the men who disappeared on the cleanup detail, Mayor Braun, five from Pirim Village, six in the vicinity of Old Flood, and five more out past Havel's Dock, little Corey, Niam's brother and sister . . . and now one of my secretaries cannot be found, so upwards of thirty-nine missing and murdered because of the scum bag."

Gaius closed his eyes. "That trall does most of it's killing at night. The curfew has helped some."

"Not enough," Joachim's voice was full of regret. "And they're all my responsibility to protect."

"We'll finish this. You Know Caledon and Selvika are as serious about their Black Arts laws as we are here," Gaius said.

"Not soon enough," Joachim grunted. "And I also know that there's as much corruption in Caledey and Winstron as there is here, which always plays into a sorcerer's hands. Corruption to them is like shade to cockroaches."

"Speaking of which, what have you done regarding the Eason's involvement in all of this?"

Joachim feigned innocence by raising his hands. "Me? Nothing. The snows have made the passes impractical."

Gaius made a face. "This is a damnable game board, you know."

"Oh yes. And I'm forced at the moment to position my pieces well," Joachim replied.

"That's only going to fly until Eason gets more of his talons into this."

"He already has his talons in this," Joachim flicked his hand dismissively.

Gaius's face darkened. "Damn it man, were you going to say something about it to me or wait until his boot spurs were an inch into our throats?"

Niam noted Maerillus shifting uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye. He had also noted that they were increasingly privy to more and more private talks between Joachim and Mr. Sartor. But to be honest, he wished he didn't know some of what he now knew, and he wondered how Maerillus was able to put up with all of this political intrigue.

Joachim's voice was matter-of-fact, without the least hint of annoyance. "His own troops have moved into Lamir and several other villages just outside of the Valleys."

"What?" Gaius almost shouted.

"Yes. But there's still a lot of snow blocking the passes. He won't be able to do anything here anytime soon."

"If you got half as fired up and onerous about this as you did other things, you'd have taken care of this months ago," Gaius said accusingly.

Niam leaned over and whispered, "They're cute when they argue."

Davin elbowed him on one of his worst bruises.

Kirse flashed him an angry look. Niam looked away innocently, but he felt uncomfortable watching the man wrap Davin's injuries as if he were some kind of pack animal.

Beside him, his friend kept a straight face, but he knew Davin was in pain. Niam winced as the physician wound the bandage so tightly over a swollen lump on Davin's forearm that the red skin turned white around the edges of the cloth.

"I'm biding my time, Gaius. I've deliberately stalled things to give us the time we need to sort this out here. There's too much going on behind the scenes that I don't like, and once word get's to Pallodine an official investigation will have to follow. I want this settled before I invite more enemies into my home," Joachim explained.

"And if you're tried for treason?" Gaius asked.

"We'll have to get this taken care of before anyone can complain to the court," Joachim said flatly.

"That's one hell of a gamble," Gaius rumbled. "And it's all of our heads you're laying on that block. As you go so go I."

"Ouch!" Maerillus cried out. "That's my bad ankle."

Everyone stopped talking as Kirse eased up on winding a bandage around Maerillus's old ankle injury. "Sorry," he murmured. "Forgot."

The men looked back at one another and continued talking. "I'm going to throw up," Niam whined as a wave of nausea hit him. He got up to steady himself and made the kind of desperate calculations a person makes when subtracting his ability to control the reflex to lose his dinner from the distance to the nearest basin or privy.

"You really ought to ease up on them," Gaius said as Niam tried to hold back the sickness.

Joachim raised an arched eyebrow, "An enemy won't."

Gaius raised his hands in surrender, and then changed topics quickly. "You're crazy to let Kine run around town. He's sick too. I heard him coughing again."

Joachim nodded. "Hits him at night. Was something in that vapor Ravel set loose in the manor."

"I thought he was immune."

"He is. But whatever Ravel used was concentrated and natural. Jolan thinks the magic was just a carrier. He said whatever it was must be interacting with the last of the effects of the poisoned arrow. He'll be fine. If it was going to take him down, it would have done him in by now."

Gaius just shrugged his shoulders. "He's working himself ragged training the boys with you and chasing ghosts at night."

"And tralls," Joachim added.

"No luck?"

"The Lake Valleys is a big place to hide."

Niam felt another wave of nausea coming, and this time it was a big one. "Sorry, but I need to go!"

Joachim looked at him and waved him by with a sympathetic gesture. "Don't think this gets you out of practice tomorrow," he said, but not unkindly.

Niam responded by placing a hand over his mouth and bolting for the door.

*

Outside, the snow fell in sheets. The lights burning on Joachim's large estate were beacons of warmth glowing dimly in the frigid curtain the winter storm had drawn across the world. Outside, the temperature had dropped precipitously as wave after wave of thick, dark bottomed clouds rolled over the Korse Mountains and moved in a solid lumbering line on the Valleys.

Niam inhaled the cold night air. The falling snow seemed to have scrubbed it clean. Now that his stomach was empty, he felt loads better. Not for the first time over the past month, he entertained the fantasy of just running away.

He had to admit, however, that he had muscles now. He was never going to be able to wield a sword like Davin or even Maerillus. Yet Niam found under Joachim and Kine's tutelage that he did have an aptitude for thin bladed swords and the long staff.

Kine even told him that given enough years and training, he might be considered mediocre one day. Which was, of course, Kine's way of offering support and encouragement. Joachim followed that with the advice that, "You're only able to rise above mediocre if you live past your first sword fight."

Watching Davin fight was like watching mythological warrior. His gift had begun altering his natural fighting abilities even without tapping into his powers. Niam supposed this was similar to his own prophetic dreams and his ability to sense and see spellwork without thinking . . . or Maerillus's ability to remain hard to see or hear without thinking about it.

As Niam stood there allowing the cold air to push him to his endurance point, he wondered what the three of them might be able to do when they had time to practice and explore their endowments.

Presently, though, Niam's everything hurt.

Slowly, he closed the door behind himself and limped back to the sitting room. When he arrived, Kirse was drawing two red cranberry honey cakes from his traveling pack. "These are for you and Jolan," he said, sitting them down in front of Joachim and Gaius.

Gaius rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. "One of my favorites," he said. "And I thought you were beginning to sour on us."

Kirse grabbed his bags with a grunt, and looked at Niam and his friends. "Eat something light. Drink water. Take a day off," was all he said.

Niam's stomach began quivering again. "No problem there," he said as the physician left without another word.

As Joachim and Gaius cut up their gift, the Count looked up at them. "Bedtime gentlemen. You've got a busy day tomorrow."

"I thought Kirse said we needed a day to rest," Niam spluttered.

"You rest after you die," Joachim told him bluntly. "And you make the person who kills you pay for it before you go."

"Trust me, I will," Niam said morosely.

Joachim and Gaius laughed hard over that, and the three of them gathered themselves up and warily made their way gingerly to their rooms.

*

Karin Ledge made her way to her father's office with snow pouring around her, whiting out the entire world, leaving the night lamps and illuminated windows haloed in the golden glow of firelight. She kept as close as she could to the sidewalk, which had been all but effaced in the deepening drifts. Beyond the meager circles cast by the light from lamps and windows, there was a mesmerizing white, and beyond that, darkness encroached.

Karin hurried as quickly as she could. Patches where the snow had fallen over ice could be treacherous. Slipping and breaking an ankle was an ever-present concern during these snowfalls. Ahead, her father's office suddenly loomed out of the cascading flakes like the prow of an oncoming ship.

Karin was relieved. Her father was the mayor of Old Flood, and had been for the past twenty-five years. She had grown up with Count Joachim's sisters, and was proud to be closely allied with such a good man. This was part of the reason she hurried to be at her father's side.

Ever since her mother's death two years back, he had lost a vital part of himself. Life had been hard for both of them. Mayor Braun's disappearance and the deaths wreaked by that monster set loose by the sorcerer were taking their toll on him. People around Old Flood were terrified and growing restless with their fear. Her home was beginning to feel like a pot set on a fire and left to boil with a sealed lid. Soon something was going to cause that pot to explode. Part of this came as a foreboding, a sense that the heat was increasing steadily. Unfortunately proof appeared in the form of an officer sent by Count Eason through the snow-choked passes between the Valleys and Kalavere. He along with several other men arrived earlier in the day to speak with her dad. They seemed smoothly polite, but it was the kind of politeness that men only wore for show, like a seller of medicines promising cures that only brought a quicker death.

The officer told her father that Count Joachim had refused aid generously offered by Eason and vigorously ignored his lord's best advice on how to track down and capture this beast. Then he all but insinuated that perhaps there never had been a creature at all, but that some of Joachim's own troops were responsible and that a prominent merchant in good standing in Kalavere and Pallodine had been wrongfully accused of sorcery so Joachim could avoid blame. Her dad had come to her in a state of panic about it. This kind of political trouble was a nightmare.

Karin wanted to bring her dad home for dinner and soothe his worries until they could talk to Joachim about what had happened. She finally made it to the steps of her father's office and frowned. Inside only a night lamp burned. Could he have left early? He was supposed to be waiting on her to accompany him.

Karin frowned.

Hurriedly she walked up the stairs. Cold from the snow-covered rails bit into her fingers despite her gloves. Beneath the overhang, Karin kicked the ice off of her shoes and unlocked the door. Inside all was cool and still, which meant that the fires had been left to die a few hours earlier.

"Dad?" she called out.

No answer.

"Dad?"

An ember popped in the fireplace, and a charred log collapsed as the air stirred with the opening of the door. From down the hallway leading to her father's office she heard a soft thump-thump that sounded like a man struggling to pick himself up off the floor. A spark of panic flared inside of her.

"Dad?" she called out in a panicky voice and hurried down the dark hallway, reaching out for the wall in case she stumbled.

Karin felt her father's office door and hurried into the room, relieved that a candle was burning dimly behind his desk. Fearfully she scanned the floor through the gloom, looking desperately for her father's shape on the floor by his desk.

"Dad! I'm here Dad!" she called out.

The sound of a floorboard creaking behind her alerted Karin that someone was approaching quickly and quietly. She spun in time to see the dark, familiar face of Ravel Grimmel leering at her from the darkness.

Then he hit her.

Hard.

Karin fell to the floor, crying out in pain and fear. "What are you doing to me?" she screamed.

Ravel ignored her, walked quickly up to her and kicked her in her head. His boot connected with her temple setting off flashes of light and pain inside her skull. Darkness drew in around her, and how long she was out, she had no idea. Slowly the world resolved itself in front of her, spinning sickeningly. The air inside the office was now bitterly cold, and the ffft-ffft-ffft of large snowflakes striking the window provided a deceptively tranquil backdrop to what was taking place inside the room.

Karin struggled to move, but realized that her hands and legs were bound. "What are you doing?" Her words sounded hollow in the dark room. "Why? Ravel?"

Her father's desk partially obscured her view. Ravel continued to ignore her. He appeared to be rummaging through the contents of a bag.

"Ravel!" she said, hoping to appeal to his sense of decency. If he had one. "I . . . never believed that you could have done those things that got you sent to the Pit. This isn't like you . . . Mr. Grimmel . . ."

Of course it was. Of course it was. All too like a man of Ravel Grimmel's caliber. His response cut across her like a whip. "Shut up." Karin bit back a black tide of fear. Her head ached mercilessly and a cold smear of dried blood crusted across her forehead. She could feel it in her hair where strands sticking to the clots stung, making the area where his boot connected with her scalp throb. The rope Ravel wound around her wrists was almost tight enough to cut off circulation in her hands.

Karin tried to subtly wriggle enough slack to gain any edge she could. Her heart convulsed when Ravel looked up and gave her a mocking smile. "That won't work."

"Please get what you need and leave," she said breathlessly.

"I promise I'll be leaving shortly." The things Ravel left hanging in the air made her want to be sick. Her attacker finally located everything he needed and stood up slowly. In his hands he held some kind of glove—its fingers were tipped with long, wickedly sharp claws. A look of absolute finality shone on his face. It was the look of a man who was determined to do very bad things.

Karin struggled futilely to inch herself away from the man as his footfall thudded against the wooden floor. In cold terror she cried out, "What are you going to do with that?"

Ravel's face was flat, carrying no emption beyond that iron hard determination to do something unpleasantly messy. "I have to make this look like a trall attack, and that's what they'll think at first, until witnesses see men in Joachim's uniforms running away from another victim."

"You're evil!" Karin cried out. "Evil!"

Ravel laughed pitilessly. "That means nothing," he slowly drawled. "It's just a word, and you're just one more step on the way to a goal."

Karin began to scream, and Ravel smiled. Pain followed. Great pain. And then for the final time, darkness drew around her like a blanket. The figure above her continued on with his work, as intent and emotionless at his task as a butcher over a pig's carcass. Outside, the snow continued to fall heavily across the land until the entire Lake Valleys were covered over in a white funeral pall.
Chapter Thirty-Five

An Incoming Rider

Maerillus jigged back as his opponent opened up with a furious volley of jabs. His hands throbbed from the countless impact of parries and blocks so that every time he had the chance, he checked to see if he his finger were still there. Quickly, he backpedaled to open up enough distance to launch a counterattack, but the infernal man kept moving relentlessly toward him.

"Do it now!" Jolan Kine shouted, and Maerillus thought fleetingly that the man had to be crazy. If he tried pulling the move they had worked so hard on all morning, the officer wielding the practice sword was going to brain him a good one on his helm.

Maerillus cursed. The man was coming on too quickly for him to do anything except back up until he lost his balance and fell.

Before he allowed himself time to think about what he was doing, Maerillus launched himself forward, feeling incredibly awkward, and went low into a rolling dive.

The sudden change in direction took his opponent by surprise, and the man's sword passed harmlessly over Maerillus's head. Wincing, he pushed himself up like a spring and whipped his arm around and took his practice partner hard on his left side, just below his ribs.

The man grunted and froze for one brief moment while Maer stood there panting, feeling incredibly lucky that he didn't have a knot rising off the top of his head. Both of them took off their leather practice armor.

"I didn't see that one coming!" Lieutenant Hamm said with a broad smile. "You're learning some of the Hammer's secrets I see."

The officer gave Maerillus a friendly shove that nearly drove him to his knees, but he didn't dare let it show. Between deep gulps of air, Maerillus found enough to say earnestly, "That last attack was a killer."

"Once you've got an opening you've got to press it like your life depends on it, young Mr. Sartor."

Jolan Kine's voice broke in a moment later. "And that's because it does."

"Aye," agreed Hamm.

"Not bad," Kine said approvingly. "If you don't do anything stupid like Niam's last maneuver you might live to see your next birthday."

Niam of course wasn't going to let that one slide. "Um . . . may I remind everyone that my 'stupid maneuver' worked?"

Jolan Kine looked less than amused.  
"Unhooking the straps on your sparing partner's practice armor before a match does not count as a win." Jolan Kine was very emphatic about the "not."

"Hey, it fell off—I saw an opening—I made my move. Good enough for me."

"This isn't a game," the Wizard's Hammer reminded him.

"I'm just saying."

Maerillus knew not many people would have realized that Niam really didn't see what he had done as merely a joke. Between the workouts with the soldiers, the Hammer, and the Count, Niam had been taking the worst poundings out of the three of them. Growing up running from Bode and his band of bullies had forced Niam to consider options no one else would have. He certainly never could have matched Bode muscle for muscle, so instead of using his fists, he did things like trick him into falling over the edge of an old privy well. Maerillus never would have admitted it to Niam, but he sometimes found Niam's way of handling things poetic.

Sometimes.

When it didn't almost get them killed.

"You do have to take this training seriously," Maerillus chided him.

"I've got twice as many bruises as anyone else," Niam said, and they both closed their eyes sympathetically as Davin took blows from Joachim on the other side of the barn where he and the Count dueled one another with Joachim correcting him, then repeating new moves until he got them right.

Which didn't take long.

Already, Davin looked like a pro. None of them could have kept up with Joachim, and although Davin still trailed behind Joachim in skill and finesse, he took longer and longer to beat each day that passed. Davin was already as good as any of Joachim's seasoned regulars.

"Ow!" Davin cried out as Joachim spun his sword, sending Davin's flying, and then brought the tip of his blade down across Davin's wrist.

Niam whistled. "Well, maybe Davin's catching up with me on the bruise thing."

"You think?" Maerillus said sarcastically.

From outside, a soldier shouted, "Incoming rider!"

Joachim lowered is sword and walked to the barn's massive sliding door and pushed it aside allowing the harsh glare of brightly lit snow to flood the interior. Maerillus averted his eyes until they adjusted.

Galloping hard, a soldier raced down the long road leading to the complex of barns, kitchens, servants' homes, and storage buildings behind the sprawling Joachim family estate.

"What now?" Joachim asked aloud.

Jolan Kine moved up to stand beside him as the soldier rode down the deeply furrowed path in the snow shoveled out by the soldiers. The man brought his winded mount to a halt.

"Report," Joachim said before the man had a chance to salute.

"Another attack, sir! Mayor Ledge . . . his daughter, I mean. At the mayor's office."

Joachim looked stunned. His voice cracked. "How long ago?"

"Two days, sir." The soldier looked nervous, as if he were about to be sick. "The road was too bad to get here until now. The mayor had nearly everyone shoveling so we could get word to you. There's more. Another person was attacked, but several people said it wasn't a trall." The man fell silent for a moment, uncertain how to proceed.

"Spit it out!" Joachim demanded.

"Witnesses said they saw men running from the second murder site and that they were dressed in our uniforms."

Joachim let out an explosive breath.

"Well this does make things interesting," Kine said darkly.

Maerillus was about to give Niam an I-don't-think-you-should-open-your-mouth-right-now look, but Niam appeared to be too stunned to say anything.

"That's ridiculous," the lieutenant said in disgust.

"Yes," Jolan Kine agreed. "And clever."

"I'd pay good money to know just how many 'friends' that filthy, dung-eating sack of vermin has waiting to bite at my boots," Joachim said angrily. "Karin is . . . was a dear friend, and she died because of it."

Above them, the soldier cleared his throat. Everyone looked up at him. "Ledge told me that Lord Eason's men were going around talking to anyone who would listen about how badly you've made a mess of things, sir."

"And the worm turns," Kine mumbled.

Joachim's fists clenched.

"What are your thoughts?" the Hammer asked.

"We've got to get to Old Flood before the sun sets," he told Kine. "This thing is about to explode if I don't get it contained."

"There are still things we're missing," Kine warned.

"Don't I know it," Joachim rumbled.

*

"We've got to do something," Davin said unhappily. "Where's that Voice when we need it?"

Niam arched an eyebrow. "Now you're starting to see things my way," he said.

Davin held up his hand to stop his friend before he started.

"Well, it's not like it remained silent when a few words could have helped us stop this," he said bitterly.

Davin took in a deep breath. He frequently had to remind himself that Niam had a personal stake in the Voice's warnings and silences that went back over a year and a half. "I'm just not sure what it can do and cannot do," Davin told him. "I think it's ultimately up to us to decide what gets done."

Niam kicked a dust bunny in disagreement, but let the argument go. "We seem to be drawn to trouble," he began.

"Or it's drawn to us," Maerillus added.

"Or it's drawn to us," he echoed. "So maybe we should just go stand in the woods until Kreeth, Ravel, and the trall show up to kill us." For once, Niam was surprised when Davin and Maerillus actually paused long enough to consider that. "We could return to Kreeth's estate to look around for anything we might have missed," Niam offered.

"I don't know," Davin mused. "The place is lit up day and night now that the garrison is working around the clock to cut everything down and burn it—a half a mile in every direction."

Niam shrugged his shoulders. "It just seems like the Voice comes to us when we're in the right place at the right time is all I'm saying. Maybe we just aren't where we need to be."

Davin's head shot up. "I think that's a great idea!"

Niam sounded shocked. "You do?"

"Yes," Davin said. "I honestly do."

"The Lake Valleys province covers a lot of space," Maerillus said with clear reservations.

"I think it's better than nothing," Davin argued. "Besides, I wonder if all we have to do is get close to an area where we'll find something important."

Maerillus gave it a few more minutes of thought. "Well," he said, "if Niam's right about us and trouble, I suppose it does make it's own twisted sort of sense."

"Thanks pal," Niam mumbled.

Maerillus punched him in the shoulder.

*

Bug ran hard through the thick carpet of snow. The thing chasing her was not far behind. Its feet thudded, keeping pace but never drawing close enough to be seen. Her pursuer was teasing her. In her heart she was terrified that it was playing a game of cat and mouse, toying with her and using her up until she was spent.

Then it would pounce.

Bug wanted to scream, but she knew fear encouraged some animals—so she clamped her lips shut and just ran. Whatever followed had the distinct footfall of something that moved on two feet. Which meant it could be a trall or a person. But tralls also went on four feet, didn't they? Or maybe they didn't. And they stank. That's what Niam told her. But the fact that she didn't smell anything didn't mean it wasn't a trall.

Behind her the steady gait continued. A branch snapped loudly, and she forced her legs to move faster. Ahead, the forest opened up. Home was just a short run past the barns and beehives. Why hadn't she listened to Niam?

Bug emerged from the woods into the open where guards were stationed just up the rise in a one-room building by the barn. That's when she screamed shrilly. The footfalls slowed and stopped, and Bug screamed again. One of the guards looked out of his shack, recognized her, waved cheerily . . . and went back into the small room where it was warm!

Stupid guards!

Bug kept running and didn't stop until she got home. Then she dared to look back. Amid the trees by the forest's edge a dark shape stood. If she hadn't known to look for it, she might not have seen it.

A man. Wrapped in a dark cloak with his hood pulled up concealing his face. Sweat poured down her face and rained down her back, and as the cold air leeched through the fabric of her coat, she began to shiver.

With a massive effort of will, Bug forced herself to go inside, where her father stood cooking salted pork in a pan.

"There she is, my Madeline," he said cheerfully.

Bug felt her knees weaken, and she fought back tears. If she told him that she had been followed, he might go into the woods to look for her pursuer. And if something happened to her dad, she might never be able to get over it.

It was a man, she told herself, trying to find some kind of relief in that knowledge. It was only a man. But it didn't help. Card wasn't a trall, and look what he tried to do to her. Salb wasn't a trall, either. And look what he did to Corey. Then she chided herself for trying to feel relieved because her follower might not have been a trall at all. Everyone around now knew about the things Joachim's soldiers fought at that terrible merchant's estate.

Moving bodies! Eew!

Luckily those monsters had been so slow that the only way they managed to kill someone was by taking them by surprise, but she heard that the Wizard's Hammer warned people that some undead were able to move very quickly.

Bug fought hard to suppress a shiver. But now, she was home. Inside. Safe. A warm, inviting voice spoke up jovially from the small stove.

"Twelve for three days now . . . how does it feel to be a year older?" her father asked, oblivious of the fact that her insides were as wobbly as worms.

"I'm not a year older," she managed to make herself say. "I'm only three days older."

"Oh! You'll have to excuse me. I can only count so high considering I have only four fingers on my counting hand."

"Oh dad," she said. An old joke. He had been telling her that one since he had lost a finger when a blacksmith's anvil fell on it. "I, um, need to go put my dolls away," she said, and darted into her room. With the door firmly closed, she sank into her blankets and began to cry.

Niam had warned her not to go through the woods whenever she ran errands between Joachim's estate and Mr. Sartor's. Ever since she knew she was about to turn twelve she had wanted to be braver—like Niam, like his friends.

She was twelve!

So after a month of scaring herself half to death, Bug decided to do what the boys would have done. She wanted to show herself that she could face her fear.

Bug knew that you had to face your fears, or insult them and run like mad—not let them get to you until you were like a frightened puppy that peed on the floor at every scary sound.

Besides, she reasoned that the trall seemed to be getting father and farther away. Now most of its attacks had been against farm animals, though people still went missing on the outskirts of the Lake Valleys. Joachim's patrols seemed to have done some good.

Or so her dad had said.

When Count Joachim's physician summoned her to deliver some of his honeyed berry cakes to Mr. Sartor and Mr. Kine earlier that day, Bug chose to use the opportunity to take the long way through the woods instead of down open roads to deliver the food.

These trails were seldom traveled in the winter, and Bug felt better as she moved down the path because no other passing had disturbed its snowy surface. She had hoped that maybe she had been tricking herself into believing something was following her after all. Too bad the paths hadn't been snow-covered the last time she thought she had been followed.

To her alarm she did finally find footprints in the snow. They came from a trail never used except during the summer, because that path led to Siler's Gorge and was extremely treacherous during the winter.

Now, however, the snow along the path was packed down from constant wear, and at several points along the path, the footprints left the trail and branched off into the forest towards the Joachim and Sartor estates. And toward the roads and paths she walked between the two places. That's when a cold, icy spear of fear sank itself into her. Now, with a man following her, she had her proof, and she wanted more than anything in the world to tell Niam.
Chapter Thirty-Six

Piper's Flute

The Piper's Flute, with the largest room available in Havel's Dock, served as both an inn for travelers and the town's meeting place for civil matters. Tonight, Davin thought it was packed like a bag of squirming crawfish. He had never seen so many people upset and restless. The air simmered, and he heard it plainly in the voice of Havel Dock's mayor. "Quiet everyone, quiet!" Mayor Niemen called out to cut through the cacophony of agitated townspeople. "Lord Joachim has kindly come to speak with us about this issue, so please listen as he addresses some of our concerns."

There was something about the fidgety man that Davin did not like.

From the center of the agitated crowd a farmer stood up. He coughed nervously and held his hands squeezed tightly shut. Talking tapered off into an expectant hush. When the man spoke, his voice was heavy with grief. "I'm just a farmer, sir. We live on the outskirts of Havel's Dock, and it took me two full days travel and sleeping in barns to get here. That thing has eaten nearly every one of my sheep. We've got nothing left. Nothing. No one goes out at night. No one goes out in the day . . . and no one has seen a single one of the patrols that was promised us. Not that far out. Only in towns and villages, mind you . . ."

The farmer's lip quivered. Davin knew the man had never seen, let alone stood in front of a count before. He smiled at the man's courage. Joachim waited patiently for the farmer to continue, but when the man's nerves got the best of him, the Count nodded and stood up. Joachim wore a thick coat covered by an even thicker cloak bearing his family crest—a golden griffon ascendant with a blazing star in its talons upon a red shield. His tall frame dominated the front of the room and his grizzled features looked more at home in a roomful of farmers and peasants than in any court in Pallodine.

When he spoke, his rough voice only added to the image of what Maerillus always described as a farmer-lord, a workingman's king. "What is your name, sir?"

The farmer looked around and licked his lips nervously. "Chason, sir. And I didn't mean any offense—"

"And none was given," Joachim reassured him. "It's a good question that's on the minds of every man, woman, and child that braved the bitter cold to get here: when will help arrive for you?"

Everyone was now so quiet that the only sound in the room came from the creaking of floorboards as people shifted in their seats. Joachim went on. "You want to know when help will arrive? I'm here to tell you that if that trall is standing outside of your door, your help is too far away to do you any good, and that's the truth of it."

The room sat in stunned silence as Joachim allowed this to sink in.

"What should we do!?" A man shouted out angrily.

People looked around nervously, and Davin was among them. Niam leaned over and whispered, "And I always thought I had my foot in my mouth a lot."

Joachim continued talking. "There is a creature on the loose—maybe even more than one—that no one in this area has had to deal with since we fought the Guldeen."

"Whose fault is that?" someone demanded.

"A Sorcerer that went among us until he was discovered," Joachim said. "He evaded capture and fled the kingdom . . . and unfortunately he retaliated by loosing this monster on us."

Again the room went quiet as everyone absorbed what he said.

"That's easy for you to say," a surly merchant dressed in a coat as fine as any nobleman wore spat. "You're surrounded by your guard and your troops and your Hammer. We don't have anyone here for us!"

Joachim remained standing, with a small, unreadable expression on his face. "That thing killed my son," an old man so stooped by age and arthritis that he seemed to be hunchbacked stammered. "Tore him apart!"

Someone at the back of the room cried out, "Where's the justice? My cattle are all dead. My neighbor's been killed. There ain't no justice in this! None! We'll be ruined if we're not hunted down!"

On the other side of the Count, one of his sergeants shifted nervously as the crowd became more emboldened. Joachim put a hand the soldier's shoulder to keep him still. The Mayor rose to calm everyone as furious shouts burst out across the room, but Joachim leaned over and spoke into his ear. The fidgeting man looked at him, nodded his head so quickly his jowls shook, and sat back down.

"Why did you refuse to help us?" a mousy woman in a long, thick wool dress called out over everyone else. "Men came and talked to us, saying that there was help before the snows fell, but you didn't take it!"

"That's right!" another man rumbled.

"Did you do it? Did you turn down help when we needed it?"

Beside them, the Mayor of Havel's Dock drummed his fingers rapidly against his thighs. Niam looked at Davin and said as quietly as possible, "Does he look guilty? I'm guilty all the time, and I know guilty—and he looks guilty." Maerillus addressed the issue peremptorily by punching him in the shoulder.

"I'm just saying . . ." Niam hissed.

Davin watched how the man looked around the room in a calculating way. "Yes," Davin whispered in annoyance. "Now keep quiet will you?"

Niam watched eagerly, as if he were on the lookout for something else to mistrust. "Quiet! Please get quiet so I can talk!" Joachim called out. "Who told you that we have been offered help?" his words were dead calm. "Someone speak up. We need to clear the air right here and right now." And then Joachim pointed at the mousy woman, whose narrow eyes darted rapidly around the room as she realized she had called too much attention on herself. "You, miss. Who told you that?"

"I had to ask, for my children, Lord."

"I'm sure you did," he told her.

"There were some men from Kalavere . . . Lord Eason's men. They're the ones that told us you refused help."

"That's not all they told us," a man made an ugly face as he spoke up. "They said all kinds of other things, bad things. Snakes they were, and I told people they were up to no good, I did. You mind them . . . all of you. They've been all the way from here to Old Flood spreading their poison."

Davin watched as the Mayor's face turned scarlet.

Joachim turned to the man calmly, and his voice was as smooth as Feythean satin. "I'm sure that the good mayor here has these rumors well in hand."

"Well actually—" someone started, but the Mayor leapt up so quickly that Davin wondered if Niam had lit the bottom of his pants on fire.

"—Actually!" Mayor Niemen broke in before the speaker finished his thought. "I am sure that these rumors are baseless," he said, working his fingers nervously.

Joachim raised his voice even louder. "I know what is being said. Several days ago Karin Ledge was attacked. Not by a trall, but by someone who wanted it to look that way."

"The Mayor of Old Flood blames you!" a voice called out.

Joachim nodded his head. "Mr. Ledge is distraught, no doubt about that. And to make things worse, men dressed as my guards were seen running from the scene. But I will tell you here and now that those were not my men. I know you have only my word, but there are people who would exploit this situation for their own benefit."

Joachim paused for a moment.

"I am grateful Lord Eason has offered his help, but I have noticed that from here to Old Flood and Pirim Village, I haven't seen a single one of his men. And I'd like you to ask yourselves if he is so eager to help, where are they?" Joachim looked around defiantly. "Don't all of you find it suspicious that his men are willing to speak in secret with you but aren't here now? "

"Well . . . that's because they're saying your soldiers have been harassing them," said the Mayor. His face was scarlet. The room went deathly silent again.

Joachim arched an eyebrow. "Then I invite Eason to write a charge and nail it to the Abbey door in Pirim Village as has always been the custom. I will happily meet him in any court of his choosing and charge him with treason."

Nobody said anything until Joachim spoke again.

"If you want to be safe, you're going to have to share your lands. Move closer to the villages and towns. Until this is over with, you will have to rely on one another. I simply do not have enough troops to contain this, and help from Eason will not be the help you think it is. If he is willing to allow his soldiers to work under my command, I will welcome all the help he sends and rescind my charge, and I will welcome any investigator from Pallodine to assist the Wizard's Hammer sitting here with us. And if Eason turns this down, I tell you plainly that he is a coward and a traitor to the realm."

For several heartbeats a long silence ensued.

Then, from outside a woman screamed shrilly. Joachim's head jerked toward the door as several people burst in. "Murder! Murder! Dead bodies in Lord Joachim's carts and they're wearing Count Eason's colors!"

*

Count Joachim looked down silently at the cart bearing his colors and insignia, a griffon of gold clutching a star as it launched itself into the air. Within the cart were two bodies covered in a dark sheet, beneath which one foot and calf lay exposed.

"How very coincidental," Jolan Kine said beneath his breath. Surrounding the cart, a large semi-circle began at the steps of the Piper's Flute and continued around into the icy cobblestone street. The soldiers accompanying Joachim formed a protective circle around their lord, and to his side, Niam and his friends huddled around Jolan Kine.

On the other side of Joachim stood the Mayor, who looked as if he were about to break out into a fit of palsy. "What . . . what . . . IS THIS?" he spluttered.

Niam could see what was running through the some of the townspeople's minds. They had heard everything Joachim told him, but now here sat evidence of the claims Eason's men had made.

As if it had just fallen out of the sky.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Niam shouted in disgust. "You can't honestly believe that two dead men just happen to show up in a cart we just happen to have NOT brought with us. I distinctly remember riding a horse for fourteen frozen, maggot infested miles through snow and ice, trying to keep my fingers from falling off and my eyes from freezing shut."

Davin punched him in the arm, while everyone looked at him as if he had insulted their grandmothers.

"No!" Niam said angrily. "I'm not stopping. That sorcerous bastard killed my brother and sister, so there's not a thing anyone in this town has gone through that I haven't. And for anyone to fall for something this stupid, I'm not keeping my mouth shut! I have just as much stake in this as some of you and more than most, because when all is said and done, everyone else will be alive and half of my family will still be dead."

Niam noticed as he was talking that many people surrounding him nodded their heads as he spoke. That didn't make him feel any better. Not by a long shot. The Mayor moved his mouth as if he were about to say something, but a man with a long scar across his face spoke up before he could say anything.

"What's your name, son?

"Niam Maldies, sir."

The man nodded his head slowly. "I thought you were Brent's boy. I live on the other side of Siler's Gorge, in Lakeview. I helped look for your brother's body."

Niam was too taken aback by this unexpected turn, so he just looked down and mumbled, "I wish I could tell you how grateful we all are to you, sir."

"You said that your brother and sister were killed by the same man behind the trall attacks?" A lady holding a small child asked, clearly shocked by the revelation.

"As far as we know, they were his first victims, ma'am."

Regaining his composure, the Mayor blurted out incredulously, "We haven't had time to investigate all of the facts for ourselves."

Suddenly aware that everyone's attention was focused on him, Niam's face flushed. As he opened his mouth to say more, Davin moved to pull him back, but Jolan Kine stopped him and motioned for Niam to go on.

"If you need an investigation, you might as well start with us. Me. My friends. The Wizard's Hammer, we've been right in the middle of the whole thing from the beginning, ma'am. We're witnesses to what happened."

"This is very improper!" the Mayor tried to break in.

"Let him talk!" someone shouted.

Underneath Joachim's withering gaze, the man shrank back.

` "How do you know that this man made a trall?" the mousy faced woman who had spoken earlier squeaked as she rewrapped a shawl around her shoulders for more warmth.

"We were there. We talked to it, in Garrolus Kreeth's own home. And Lord Joachim has done everything and more to stop this thing. One is already dead thanks to Mr. Kine here."

This set off a flurry of conversation among the crowd. When the Mayor tried to break in one last time, over half of those present scowled at the man. "Go away you old fool!" someone hissed.

Some still looked on with stony faces.

Niam had a moment's inspiration, and before he had time to think about stopping himself, he blurted out, "How much did they pay you?"

The Mayor stopped and looked as if he had been slapped, but the truth was written across his face, plain enough for anyone to see.

"I'm not putting up with this!" he cried out, but his hands worked at the hem of his pants in uncertain, fumbling movements.

"I think this is enough!" Joachim's voice boomed.

Niam jumped. For a self-conscious moment, he thought the Count was angry with him. But when he looked up, the count's angry eyes we locked on the Mayor.

"I knew that Eason's men had already spoken with you. I hoped that you hadn't thrown in with them, but I've always known what a conniving sack of fish guts you were. Get out of my sight before I change my mind and call you to account through duel. I'll be happy to deal with you before I get to Eason." Joachim's voice was as hard and cold.

The Mayor looked around for help, but not even his supporters volunteered to step forward in his defense. In one gesture, the man managed to lift his nose up and spin around in place and walk away, clinging to what little dignity he had left. And a third of the people there went with him.

Joachim sighed. "That could have gone worse," he said, sounding hollow and tired. Then he looked down at Niam and patted him on his shoulder. "Thank you, son. You have something I haven't had since I was five-years-old."

"What's that, sir?" Niam asked.

Joachim smiled, and it was like watching a rock grin. "You're cute, Maldies."

Around him, everyone else laughed.

*

Many long, cold hours after they got back, Niam sat and let his feet dry by the fire in Lord Joachim's library. He always loved books, and a room filled with them always soothed him. Why, he did not know. Maybe it was because people always told him that he thought too much. But when he was in a library, he was surrounded by thoughts set down on paper. There he would always be surrounded by more thoughts than he was capable of holding. In a library, he wasn't such a misfit anymore.

"Well, good for him!" Gaius said about Niam's role in the day's proceeding. "But how did you know that the Mayor had thrown in with Eason's men?"

"I suspected he would. The man goes blind when he gets greedy, so I had your son go there ahead of us," Joachim told him. Mr. Sartor closed his eyes and nodded silently. "I didn't have time to tell you what I was up to. We may have lost Ledge. Karin's death has him beside himself, and with the poison Eason's men are peddling, I would understand if he blames me for not doing enough."

Gaius nodded his head. "I know," he said silently. But he knows you, man!"

Joachim waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, he won't buy into the conspiracy nonsense, but he has every right to be outraged. There's just not enough help to go around. My soldiers have to be everywhere. The trall only has to be right where it is."

"At least you swayed many of the people there," Gaius said.

"Not enough," Joachim said. "But thankfully many people in Havel's Dock knew none of us arrived in a cart. Still, many didn't. One person's word against another, and it gives that conniving toad the appearance of a legitimate reason to side with Eason when he makes his move."

Gaius shook his head in disbelief. "Such a hostile grab at another province is unheard of now!" he said in exasperation.

"When the reye's away...." Joachim reminded him.

"What will you do if Eason tries to come in?" Gaius asked apprehensively.

"This won't go to arms," Joachim reassured him. "I'll force a personal solution first."

Gaius let out a sigh of relief.

Niam chose the moment of pause to speak up. "Um . . . since I kind of helped this thing move along in our favor, any chance we can have some time off to rest? I've got saddle sores on top of my battle sores, sir?"

Joachim began laughing so hard he had to slap his hip in order to make himself stop. "Not a chance, kid."

*

Joachim had one barn set aside on his property for the beehives during the worst parts of winter, and though the bees still managed to maintain enough warmth to make it through the worst snows, having the extra shelter of the barn helped ensure that the hives would make it through the bitter cold times. Two days later the three boys met with Bug, who had sent a desperate message to Niam through old Falion that there was trouble.

"They're still buzzing," Maerillus said with an obvious note of concern in his voice. "I'm not sure I'm liking this."

"Well I told you not to touch them," Bug said in a bossy voice.

Maerillus looked at the hive he had just bumped and wrinkled his nose unhappily. "I'm not too sure we should go sit up there and talk," he said.

"Why not," Davin asked, smiling at his friend's discomfort.

"Oh you think this is funny do you?" Maerillus asked in dismay. "We'll be up there," he said pointing to the hayloft high above them.

"And?"

Maerillus let out a completely exasperated answer. "Those things can fly up there!"

"Boys can be such sissies sometimes," Bug grumbled and began climbing the steps rapidly.

Niam groaned and noticed he wasn't the only one. None of them had done well after little sleep and a hard day's practice with several of Joachim's guardsmen. The only good thing about the day was that Niam seemed to be excelling with the staff. He found security in holding a weapon that had two business ends to it. Swords only had one, and he constantly feared that he might try to put his blade in its scabbard too quickly and stick it in his leg instead. Besides, he didn't have the kind of strength in his arms to be terribly effective with most blades. Jolan Kine assured him that they would build his arms up, but Niam liked to go with what worked, and made a mental note to bend all the practice blades one day when everyone thought he was too far away to be blamed.

"Okay," Davin said once they were all seated—"What's going on, Madeline?"

Bug let out an inaudible growl of indignation. "I thought I was being followed, and I am. It started before the heavy snows hit, and I almost believed I was making it up until several days ago, and that's when I heard him chasing me." Bug paused a moment to collect herself, and then looked up at Niam and said, "I was stupid not to listen to you—I really was. I went into the woods alone."

Niam felt his stomach twist, but he held himself back from choking her until she finished telling him bow she almost died.

When Bug was done, Niam sighed. Maerillus muttered, "Female version of Niam" under his breath.

Niam ignored this. Partly because it was Maerillus being Maerillus, but partly because there was a ring of truth to it. Bug wanted to face her fears and prove herself to him—to all of them. Corey's death had hit her hard, and maybe if he had spent more time with her she wouldn't have gone out into the forest alone to tempt trouble. Niam couldn't be angry with her.

"I think we need to check this out."

"Agreed," Davin said. "Maybe Madeline can take us tomorrow after we're done with our training."

Bug's face brightened at this. Though her face shone with relief, Niam fought to suppress a shudder. She had no idea that they were about to stick their necks into something that might be dangerous, and that scared him for her. He had been right about one thing, however: trouble always seemed to find them. Only, when it found Bug and dragged her along with it, everything became scarier.

A lot scarier.

*

During the warming days, the snow had begun to melt slowly. At nights when it refroze, a shiny gloss of ice crusted over the white surface and hardened. Moving across the ground caused Niam to lift his legs higher than usual because the forward motion of his feet no longer displaced the ice. With each step the crust broke with loud crunching noises, and Niam strained to listen for any unusual noises that might be off cadence with the constant melt-water dropping from the tree branches above them. Loud crashes echoed through the woods as ice weakened and let go of its hold on tree branches, falling to the ground to shatter in an ecstatic crescendo of natural house cleaning. Niam held a long staff made of heat-tempered oak, and its weight gave him a measure of reassurance as they walked. Weeks ago, Joachim had insisted they go armed, though he found Niam's choice none too pleasing.

"Here's where I first noticed the footprints," Bug said, pointing eagerly to the tracks in the ice.

"Looks like they're average size," Niam said.

"Definitely not a trall," Davin agreed, "though melting snow makes reading tracks more difficult." Then he turned to Bug. "Show me where they branch out and cut into the woods," he said.

Bug led the way, and Niam saw immediately that she was right. The snow was worn by numerous passings, and furrowed grooves snaked through the woods in three directions. "These head off toward Joachim's property and yours, Maerillus," Niam said.

"Yes," he growled. "Can't help but wonder why . . . and who."

"We'll have to check the property lines to see if they come out or if someone's been watching and try to figure out whether Bug was a target or just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I heard him as I ran errands to Mr. Sartor's," Bug added.

Maerillus nodded his head slowly. "We'll get this figured out," he said. "I'm about tired of all of this."

"The trail runs back this way, toward the back of Siler's Gorge."

Indeed, the trail did carry them farther back into the deepening gloom of the gorge. The path they followed continued to show that someone had made many trips along its descending trail. At one point, as the path's incline began to increase, they had to grab ahold of the long, thin saplings growing through the shadows in search of sunlight. Rocks emerged from the damp and partially frozen ground frequently enough to allow footholds for a cautious traveler to maneuver himself downward. The only problem was that some of the rocks were solidly fixed in place, yet others had a less secure purchase in the hillside, making them naturally concealed deathtraps.

Only the most diehard fishermen ever came this way, and then only to the landing just at the waters edge, where a natural game trail continued on around the treacherously narrow bank of Siler's Lake.

Niam moved quickly but carefully ahead of everyone else. There was no way he was about to allow Bug to scout ahead where the trail grew increasingly dangerous. Suddenly, without warning, his foot slipped out beneath him. His hands shot reflexively out at the last moment, and he managed to grab ahold of two tree trunks to swing over to a cleft in the steep hillside. Below him, the loose stones bounded down, leaping off of rocks jutting out from the face of the path, clattering into the shadows below. "Careful!" Niam shouted as he went ahead of everyone else. "The rocks are covered in wet ice!"

"You okay!" Davin called out to him in a worried voice.

"It'll grow back, Niam called back through gritted teeth. "No worries."

"I can't imagine anybody doing this enough to make the paths we saw in the snow," Davin said in a strained voice.

Something caught Niam's eye before he had a chance to reply. It was a little thing—almost imperceptible among the frozen rocks and muddy earth.

A bolt of fear arrowed through him. "Um, Davin! Come take a look at this!"

Several long moments later, Davin leveraged himself between Niam and a large rock and looked over Niam's shoulder.

"I only saw this after I nearly slipped. Look and tell me what you see."

A subtle transformation took place in a line of the footprints winding down from above. Indeed, where the incline they traversed was more manageable, the smoothly rounded outline of footprints shifted and altered with each step, and what looked like the impression of long toes tapering to sharply tipped climbing claws emerged.

Davin looked . . . blinked . . . and looked harder. "Oh!" he said darkly.

"What now?" Maerillus's asked.

"Nothing you want to see," Niam said.

"Is it a trall?" Bug blurted out fearfully.

"Strictly speaking . . . I don't think so," Niam said thoughtfully. And then to Davin, he motioned with his hands, "Look here and up there—the transformations occur several times and so far as I know, tralls transform from human to beast one time."

Davin looked over at him and asked, "What do you think it might be?"

Niam gave him the only answer he could think of. "Something else."

"Once we hit the bottom I want everyone's weapons drawn and ready," Davin said. Niam and Maerillus both nodded. At the bottom, they came to a small clearing. To Niam's back the hill rose like an implacable wall of rock and earth, and directly in front of him lay the lake his brother and sister had died in, black as death, cold as the grave, and as still as a dead man's heart.

Niam pulled his staff from its strap and twirled it to limber up his arms after the tense climb. The wood whooshed angrily in the air. To Niam this was a good sound, the sound of wood and air conspiring to wreak havoc on anyone stupid enough to come within striking distance.

Davin and Maerillus followed closely, and then Bug, who Davin had pushed to the rear. Niam insisted on taking the lead. When Davin protested, Niam said, "I have a better chance of feeling anything touched magic or sorcery."

"My abilities kick in when danger's close," Davin argued.

Niam walked ahead without waiting to discuss the matter. "Sometimes yes, sometimes no. But when we're storming a fortress you'll be the first one in line."

Davin huffed but left Niam enough room to employ his staff if things turned nasty. They followed the trail as it wound along the lake's edge. Everyone grew quiet, because something dangerous might be waiting around the next turn. To the left, a narrow gorge opened up. Niam stopped and peered into the crevice. Because of narrow walls there, the sun rose late and set early in the gorge's depths . . . and they were about as deep as they could go. Niam had never ventured this far past the little clearing at the foot of the steep and slippery path, and if they made this trip in summer or spring, the gap he peered into would have been concealed by the thick choke of shrubbery. Davin moved next to him and motioned toward the opening. Niam approached the spot silently and edged his way between a series of boulders. Beyond them a path opened up, smoothed flat by occasional flash floods.

After several hundred paces, the trail tapered to an end, where a large fall of rocks had been pushed from the slope over thousands of years at nature's incessant nudging. The footprints in the snow continued onward over the rocks, which rose in giant steps to a height above the trees.

One rock, however, caught Niam's eye. A large boulder sat near the top of the rock fall in front of a bare spot in the hillside. Sunken into the stone was a recess that two men could walk through side-by-side, and the closer Niam got to it, the more the air seemed to hum and pulse, causing his stomach to clench to the rhythm issuing from above.

Niam jabbed his finger toward it and mouthed the word, "Sorcery." His friends' faces grew determined as they held their weapons ready.

Niam scrabbled up the rocks. Just before he made it to the deep recess, he became aware that he was actually looking at the entrance to a cave. Before he could turn around and say something, a hand closed on Niam's shoulder and he nearly jumped.

"Let me go first," Davin whispered. "We're about to storm the fortress."

Davin led them forward cautiously into the murky entrance. When he turned back to Niam, his eyes glowed like two yellow stars. Niam decided to take Davin's lead, and closed his eyes for a moment focusing on extending his senses outward and into the cave before him, feeling for the lines of power he knew were there, seeking out the tale-tell signs of sorcery.

As Niam did this, he realized just how much more finely attuned his senses were to the presence of magic. Behind them Bug gasped softly. Niam placed a finger over his lips and winked at her. Maerillus put an encouraging hand on her shoulder and mouthed the word, "Later." Bug nodded her head, looking at their eyes in amazement.

Davin moved farther into the cave, and Niam's feet crunched loudly on the pebbles carpeting the floor. If anyone was nearby, they knew someone had penetrated their lair. Yet no other sounds echoed along the stonewalls.

As Niam inched his way along, Davin disappeared around a corner, and said in hushed tones, "I think we're alone."

Niam stepped up his pace and emerged into an opening about the size of Joachim's study. "Somebody's been living here," Davin said. "For a while from the look of things."

Niam's eyes rapidly took in his surroundings. The far end of the cave contained a fire pit against the stone face built using loose rocks. Over the pit ran a makeshift roasting spit. Reeds and straw had been laid down for bedding to soften the ground for a bedroll. Various pots sat along the wall several feet away from the hearth, and Niam saw that one of the pots was stained dark red, and for a moment his stomach twisted. He looked closely. The stains were too light to be blood. Beside the pot sat a rounded river rock stained on its bottom with the same dye. Whoever had been holed up in here appeared to have been using the rock to grind up dried berries.

"What is it?" Maerillus asked, keeping his voice only a little above a whisper.

Niam shook his head. "Not sure."

A stack of wood sat piled neatly beside the fire pit, and an axe rested against the wall. Farther along the way, his eyes continued around the cave's perimeter, moving past a large, oval shaped rock. The longer his attention rested on the rock, the more sour his stomach felt.

As he walked over to it, he caught minute sounds of furtive and desperate scraping against stone. Yet the wall in front of him was bare. Only rock met pebbles, and except for the campsite to his right, all else was bare. Moving closer now, Niam tilted his head, trying to identify the origin of the sound. Suddenly, he felt his eyes widen as he realized what he was hearing. "There are people back here!" he said, alarmed.

"What?" Davin's tone echoed his own.

"More people," Niam said. "They're behind this round rock. It must be sealing them in!"

"Who would do that?" Maerillus asked in disgust, and from beside the rock, said, "He's right. There are gouge marks where the rock has been rolled into place."

Davin looked at the impression left on the cave floor and grimaced. "Hello!" he called out. "Can you hear me!?"

They waited to see if anyone heard Davin's call. Nothing. The insistent scraping continued.

"Maybe they can't hear us," Maerillus offered. "Hit the wall with something." He then began looking around for a rock.

"Got it," Niam told them hastily, retrieving the river stone used to grind food in the clay pot. He carried it over to the seal and began striking the cave wall just to the side of it.

That got a response. The scraping stopped and was followed by a muted thudding from the other side.

"They heard us," he said urgently. "Do you think you can help me move this?" Niam asked Davin.

His friend moved to his side and said eagerly, "I've been wanting to try something like this."

Niam gave him space. Davin wiped his hands dry and got a solid grip on the sides of the seal. With a loud grunt, he put all of his weight into the stone, causing the muscles in his arms bunch up. The veins and tendons running down his neck slowly became taut, and his face reddened by degrees. Several long moments went by as sweat began to bead on his forehead.

Except for the sound of his friend's labored breathing, the cavern remained silent. Davin roared as his body began to jerk against the seal. "Move you maggot infested dung heap! Move!" he growled. Niam watched as Davin's face grew scarlet and blood began to trickle down where his fingertips dug into the abrasive stone surface.

A rough, grating sound issued from the cave floor. Inch-by-inch the stone slowly began to slide forward. Niam rushed in to help, but Davin shook his head violently. "No! This is mine!" In his eyes a fervid determination burned.

Davin strained and pushed, and slowly an opening large enough for a man to stoop and crawl through on all fours appeared. Within, black deepening into more black waited. When there was enough room for anyone trapped to escape, Davin fell back, panting.

For several moments all was silent.

Straining to use his gift to see what lay on the other side, Niam frowned. That was odd. Glowing lines of power surrounded several shifting shapes. Nervously, he moved forward to get a better view and was at last able to make out a number of people crawling across the floor, groping their way forward.

"They're coming," Niam said with uncertainty. He had a bad feeling about this. Why would someone glow with enough sorcerous energy to be this visible? "I think we should step back," he said quickly. "There's something wrong with these people."

Behind them, Bug suddenly let out a sharp, terrified scream. The first person within the darkness began to emerge, a man wearing work overalls that fit his frame too loosely. The skin on his face was pulled tightly across his forehead, and his eye sockets were impossibly hollow, as if everything behind them had been drained out of his skull. The poor fellow's skin was pallid and splotchy, and as Niam's mind rapidly processed the sight, he knew why. The person crawling toward him had been dead for some time. Behind them, Bug screamed again.

"Trall!!!" she shrieked. And everything went to hell.
Chapter Thirty-Seven

The Cave

Davin's sword almost leapt into his hands. He saw Maerillus draw his, too. Davin held his blade in low defensive stance, Maerillus held his high and aggressively. Bug screamed again.

"Niam! Niam!" she cried out in a voice that could have frozen a fire at full blaze.

Davin spun around, praying that she was wrong, and his heart filled with dread as he did. Standing in the entrance behind them, silhouetted by the light pouring in from outside crouched a partly human, partly vulpine form. Scythe-like claws tipped impossibly long arms. The beast had an elongated snout with tusks curling up from its lower jaw, and it was panting like an old mountain lion hungry and desperate for food.

The air within the cave became thick with the putrid stench of rotting meat. Filthy, tattered clothing still clung in places to the creature's frame, and Davin recognized it immediately.

"Jalt!" he called out, hoping to distract it, but the thing's eyes continued to focus on Bug. White frothy drool ringed the best's mouth. It was too far-gone now to respond. Niam lifted his staff and twirled it around furiously as he sprung between the trall and bug, letting out a savage cry of rage. "You stay away from her!"

The trall snarled, but Niam was undeterred. He drove toward it, jabbing the end of his weapon in its face, causing the thing to back away, snapping with bared teeth at the staff, trying to grab it in its maw to shake it loose from Niam's grip.

Davin wasted no time, pushing Bug to the safest spot in the cave, praying that nothing else set its sights on her. He then leapt toward the first undead creature that emerged from the opening, refusing to give it time to rise. "Go for its head!" he yelled to Maerillus. When his weapon struck the copse, the force of the blow travelled all the way up to his shoulder.

Maerillus swiftly liberated the thing's head from its body, and moved in two graceful steps to the next target, where he brought his blade down across the abomination's neck, severing it. The head rolled like a ball across the cave floor in a macabre game of nine-o-pins.

Two came out at the same time, brainlessly clawing at one another as they groped themselves like passionless lovers. White bone protruded through the fingertips of both corpses where they had worn away the bloodless flesh clawing at the cold rock. This was what they had heard scraping at the wall from the other side.

Backing off, Davin allowed the things to come forward. He wanted to get them into the open, to destroy every last one of them. In order to do that, he couldn't allow the bodies to pile up at the entrance. More came pouring through the opening. Davin took out one with a sideswiping blow. Maerillus pushed another to the wall and drew his blade across its neck in a clean slice. The blade only managed to partially decapitate the thing. Its head fell backward, held to the body by a dry flap of tough skin and muscle. All force animating the cadaver fled, and it collapsed like a sack of old root vegetables.

Davin danced back just in time to avoid the outstretched hand of a corpse that had wormed its way across the ground like a drying leech. Maerillus grunted. He fought off two at the same time. As one tried to get an arm around his middle, he slipped out of its grasp before it could crush him in its powerful grip. Davin moved in and brought his sword down on the thing in a powerful arc, cleaving its head in two. Then, he spun around and took out the other one's leg by severing its tendon below the knee. The thing collapsed and began trying to regain its footing. At the same time, the lifeless husk of woman hitched toward Maerillus. She wore a filthy smock now stuck to her body by fluids that had long ago leaked out of her and then dried. His nose crinkled in disgust. He kicked her corpse, tripping it over the abomination lamed by Davin.

Maerillus was on the woman's corpse in an instant. He stepped on the thing's back to keep it still. Snarling in disgust, he levered his blade beneath the corpse's neck, savagely drawing it up and to the side.

Davin dispatched the last one as it still tried to pick itself up with one working leg. "You think that's all of them?" he growled.

Maerillus rasped, "No idea!"

From the corner, Bug squeaked, "Niam!"

Davin cursed. His friend was outside with the worst threat facing them. "I'm on it Madeline!" he said quickly and sprinted to the entrance. As he ran, he heard Maerillus warning her to keep away from the corpses.

Davin emerged into the waning afternoon light. Above them the setting sun painted a bloody tableau across the sky. And in front of him, Niam pulled back just in time to avoid being gutted by a furious sweep of the trall's long arm. With a terrified yell, he brought his staff down in a series of one-two strikes across the trall's body.

The creature let out a high-pitched cry that sounded disturbingly human. When it flinched, Niam used the reaction as a chance to move in and launch a crippling blow at its jaw.

He miscalculated the angle of attack.

The bottom of his staff sailed harmlessly past its head. The trall's eyes narrowed in pure hatred and it leapt at Niam, raking his leg with a wicked blow that took his feet out from under him. Niam screamed and went sprawling across the ground.

The monster jumped, and Niam barely managed to roll out of its way. Hooked claws dug into his coat, nearly ripping the fabric from his body.

Davin rushed into the fray before beast had a chance to mangle his friend. The trall looked up and growled. A mane of bristling hair stood at the back of its neck like the stiff quills of an angry porcupine. "Come on you stinking sac of guts! Come at me!" Davin screamed, waving his sword in its face. Backpedaling each time the thing lunged, Davin yelled, "That's right, pay attention to me!" He desperately needed to distract it, so he taunted it, drawing it farther and farther away from Niam, who scrabbled across the rock to a more defensible position.

A trail of blood followed Niam as he pulled himself up on a rock. The sight terrified Davin. The new jolt of fear caused the power flowing through his body to suddenly dissipate. His gift evaporated. Now only fear remained, but Davin couldn't let up. Gritting his teeth, he drove the monster back to gain enough space to shout in a panicky voice, "You okay Niam?"

"Just finish this thing," Niam moaned.

Davin knew he was going to have to do something to bring this to a terminally quick end. Niam was hurt and Maerillus might still be in trouble. They were too divided and Davin couldn't put an arrow through the trall's head. The last thing he wanted to do was to get inside of its reach. He knew the thing would rip his guts out if he did.

Then he suddenly realized where they were.

"Come on!" he bellowed. "Come on Jalt! I never liked you as a person and the only difference now is that you smell better!"

The trall's lips rippled in fury. It only had eyes for Davin, and a primal anger rolled off of the thing like heat from a smith's forge. That was exactly what Davin counted on. He launched himself at it, allowing one more long-armed sweep to whistle past his face. Then, instead of backing away, he darted inside of the beast's reach and brought his sword up in a well-timed uppercut that sliced shallowly into the thing's flesh just above its elbow.

The trall screamed in fury, retreating quickly. As it stepped backward, never taking its eyes off of Davin, he continued to press it, meeting its swipes with the cutting edge of his blade. The monster's face stretched back in pain and blind rage. Beneath its lips, rows of teeth extended, coated with a murderous froth. That was when Davin made his final move. He ran at the trall, counting on the thing's instinctive reactions. He wasn't disappointed.

The trall instinctively leapt back . . . back and over the rock's edge, where it plummeted forty feet down, bouncing limply across the rocks below in impacts that made Davin wince even as his heart beat triumphantly.

Quickly, Davin bent and picked up a heavy, oblong stone. He hefted it into the air over his head and threw it down to where the trall lay sprawled but still alive, and watched with murderous satisfaction as the rock landed on the monster's squirming form with an audible crunch.

The trall jerked once and moved no more.

Davin made his way back to Niam and was relieved to see that there wasn't as much blood as he feared.

"It's not too bad," Niam told him. "Lucky for me Jalt had bad aim."

Davin took Niam's hand and helped him up. His smaller friend winced as he slowly put his weight on the leg. "Climbing up's going to hurt," he muttered.

When they emerged into the cave, Maerillus was checking the bodies of the undead he had dispatched. Only one more had crawled out of the darkness, and its head lay several inches from its body. "I think this may be it," he said grimly.

"We've got to check and see," Niam said distastefully. "I saw something else within the cavern on the other side."

Maer nodded his head. "We can make a couple of torches that might burn long enough to have a short look inside.'

While Maerillus worked quickly to set up the fire, Niam pulled Bug aside to soothe her frazzled nerves. Davin looked down at the corpses. More women than men lay across the cave floor, and most of them had tattoos inked into their leathery skin at various places along their bodies. He could only guess at the significance of this.

After Niam lit his torch he took a deep breath and bent over, disappearing into the opening. Davin followed closely with his blade ready. The short passage opened up into a larger blackness, and Davin could tell by the echo that they had stumbled onto something big.

"How big is this place?" Davin wondered aloud.

"I can just make out several branches ahead," Niam said, moving father into the bedrock beneath the hillside.

Davin saw where the edge of the firelight kissed the rock. In places around them the stone overhead wept fat tears, which formed small pools, pellucid and clear as the finest crystal or glass. The rock ahead sank into itself where passages pushed farther into the distant darkness. Davin heard the crunch of feet moving over wet gravel.

"Movement!"

"I heard it too," Niam told him. His voice grew weary and dropped an octave. "And I see them. They're the walking dead."

Both he and Niam began backing out toward the entrance, which was good, because the torches were almost spent. They turned and Davin allowed Niam to exit first. Ahead of them, the sound of footsteps moving in the inky blackness brought death and the dead inexorably nearer. Davin turned and bent to make his way into the light. Once he was there, he joined with Niam and Maerillus to push the stone seal back.

Maerillus exclaimed once the thing grated back into place. "What did you see in there?"

After Niam and Davin told him, Maerillus whistled uncomfortably. "Where do you suppose the passages lead?"

"Those go in the direction we travelled," he said.

"Toward my family's estate," Maerillus frowned.

"And Joachim's . . . and Kreeth's," Niam said.

"Where are all of those bodies coming from?" Niam complained. "I mean, if they all were taken from the Lake Valleys, people would notice . . . wouldn't they?"

"Yes," Maerillus said. "They would. Unless the sorcerer can animate bodies after they have died."

Both Davin and Maerillus looked at Niam as if they thought he had an answer. "That's one for Kine to say."

"Most of the corpses we took down were women, and none of them had anything that might identify them beyond tattoos on their hands and arms."

"Tattoos?" Maerillus's voice held an inkling of an idea.

Davin took him to the closest female's headless cadaver, where he looked down and said, "See, on the hand?" Then, looking at the damage his blade had done, he mumbled, "I don't think I'll be able to sleep anytime soon—if ever again."

Maerillus bent to examine the small symbol drawn in blue ink into her skin. "I know what these are," he said solemnly. "This tattoo is the mark of a sailor's woman."

"She was married to a sailor?" Niam asked.

Maerillus's laugh held no humor. "No. Think of her as property that belongs to the sailor's guild. She was a pleasure maid."

From behind them, Bug spoke up in a worried voice, "It's going to be dark, soon."

"You're right," Niam told her. "And we'll be going shortly."

*

By the time they got back to Joachim's property, the sun had set and the sky outside had been solidly dark for hours. Searchers combed the woods, and the first soldier to spot them recognized all four of them immediately. His name was Brian, and he had a port wine birthmark covering half of his face like a livid red scar, and a long furrow ran from his temple all the way down to his jawline, courtesy of a bar room brawl. Despite his fierce appearance, Brain was a kind man, quick with a joke or a pat on the back.

"We've been turning everything upside down!" he called out with relief.

"We haven't been missing that long," Davin said. "Or have we?"

Brian shook his head. "It's not a matter of how long you've been missing—it's a matter of how long the Count's been looking for you. He'd have your maggot-riddled carcasses strung up if it weren't for the fact that there's trouble. Eason and his toadies are hopping around the Valleys, and Mr. Kine has word that there's another Wizard's Hammer on the prowl for the three of you."

Davin met Niam's gaze, and his friend nodded his head slightly. Niam knew what was on Davin's mind: the Hammer that Kine implicated in the attempt on his life. He had let it slip during one of their practice sessions that his order was no longer safe.

Brian frowned. "What have you four gotten yourselves into, anyway?" he asked after noticing the bloody stain on Niam's calf.

"We killed a trall," Niam said nonchalantly.

"And took out a lot of undead," Maerillus added.

"And found one of Kreeth's secret hideaways," Davin told him.

"And found out someone actually has been following me," Bug piped in.

Brian looked from one to the other and gave an uncertain laugh. Then looked down at Niam's injury and noticed the definite pattern of claw marks where the creature's talons tore into the fabric of his pants.

"You're serious, aren't you?" he asked after an uncomfortable silence.

"As a trall," Davin said. His voice was haggard and grim.

"You hurry this way," Brian said, picking up his pace. "The Count will want to talk to you for sure," he said. "And may not have you strung up after all."

As they drew closer to the manor, the lights of the estate blazed brightly. Members of Joachim's staff bustled about, and it looked to Davin as if the entire garrison had moved onto the estate proper. Dozens of tents sprouted up across the grounds, especially within the innermost complex, containing the kitchens, barns, storage buildings, and staff housing. Indeed, several fires blazed outside of the barns, and it looked as if a good many soldiers had bedded down in the lofts and empty stalls.

Niam felt a growing sense of dread taking seed in his stomach. "This can't be about us," he said quietly.

Brian escorted the four of them into the manor, and Gaius walked down the hall with several officers and local businessmen. He looked up briefly, and the worry lines creasing his handsome face lost some of their hold as his eyes first locked onto his son and then slid to Niam.

Gaius politely stopped the officer who was talking to him. He immediately walked over to Maerillus and embraced him. "Where have you four been?" he asked in a voice that hovered halfway between anger and fear.

"We killed the trall, Dad."

Gaius's face blanched. "You did what?"

"Well, actually it was Davin and Niam who did that. I fought a lot of undead corpses."

Gaius blinked.

Twice.

"This . . . isn't some kind of joke is it?"

Maerillus looked down. "No."

Gaius placed his and on his shoulder. "Look at me son."

Maerillus raised his eyes to meet his father's. Gaius said, "I should know by now that it's no joke. The three of you—Madeline included—have a knack for trouble. And I'm proud of all of you."

Niam was as shocked as Maerillus was. In the least, he had expected another hard lecture.

"A lot is happening right now. We need to go see Joachim."

"Dad . . . what's going on?" Maerillus asked as Gaius ushered them into Joachim's office. Joachim was seated with a number of his officers, and they were arguing heatedly with members of the town council. The topic appeared to center around the search for the trall.

"I cannot be divided between the hunt for that beast and what's happening in Havel's Dock," Joachim said angrily. "They'll not make a move this far into my province unless he has an official sanction from Pallodine, and I will guarantee you he does not have that!"

Joachim looked around as Gaius cleared his throat. "I think our young friends here might have the answer to part of this mess we're facing."

Joachim arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Davin spoke up. "We found one of Kreeth's hideouts and killed the trall. Niam and I did, I mean."

"Not really," Niam interjected. "You ran it off of a cliff. I just ran it out of the cave. And you and Maerillus killed a lot of dead people."

Joachim stared at them for a moment, silently. "You mean to tell me the damned thing that's been terrorizing my province is dead?"

Davin nodded his head. "At the bottom of Siler's Gorge."

A councilman dressed in dark red britches and a satiny brown coat with puffy sleeves clapped his hands together in triumph. "Ha! Now this matter can be brought to a close!"

Joachim stood up. He told his officers to gather several squads of men and to prepare a wagon. Then he turned to face Niam and his three friends. "Madeline, I'll have one of my men escort you home. Your father is very worried about you. And as for the three of you, don't get comfortable yet, you're taking us back to where you killed the trall."

"And you can fill us in on whatever made you go down to the gorge to begin with. The trials are deadly this time of year," Gaius rumbled.

Maerillus broke in before Gaius or Joachim could say anything else. "Can someone please tell us what is going on?"

Joachim's voice was strained with fatigue. "Eason began moving his troops into the Lake Valleys this morning after the Mayor of Havel's Dock sold out to him and requested his intervention."

"Oh," was all Maerillus could say.

Niam leaned in to his rich friend, and asked, "This is bad isn't it?"

"Oh yeah," Maerillus told him. "Very bad."
Chapter Thirty-Eight

The Convergence Of The Counts

The council meeting in Havel's Dock simmered like a soup kettle over a hot fire. Count Eason wanted to drive his forces straight for Pirim Village, but he had to convince too many backwater fools in councils like this one to join with him first. Dosir stood emotionlessly behind the council, just to the right of the idiot Mayor. Securing the man's support had not been hard, especially after he proved to be as spineless as a night crawler. Finding support among people like that was always easy. Petty little provincial ambitions were easy to inflame. All it took was the right amount of pressure. Bribes usually worked best.

The Mayor raised his hand and called everyone to order, but much of the crowd bristled with anger as the sniveling rube managed to bungle everything he said. When no one paid him any heed, Eason knew it was time to act.

Turning to face the townspeople he drew his sword with a flourish and held it up for everyone to see. Immediately, voices wound down until the last speaker realized something was happening and grew quiet.

Eason used his most eloquent voice on the crowd; all he had to do was articulate his words as grandly as any stage actor. Impression was everything, and these people were easy to impress.

"Twenty years ago I pledged this to our king," he said, always thrilled by the deep and resonant tone of his own voice. "I vowed my life and blade in defense of the realm and the people of my province. And now the good citizens of the Lake Valleys Province face a dire hour. Help has not come to you, and I could not sit by and listen to stories of the horrors you were facing—so when I received a cry of help from Havel's Dock, I asked myself how I could remain in Kalavere while you suffered. I asked myself what I could do. Only one answer came to me. I had to come to your aid."

Eason allowed the crowd a moment to digest his words. He watched, repressing a triumphant smile as many heads nodded.

"Lord Joachim is a busy man," he continued on. "And too busy to hunt down this beast roaming the fields and villages between here and Old Flood. Just yesterday, three more unfortunate souls were killed right here. I know you have heard the claims that I somehow set Lord Joachim up so I could challenge his title from the crown. But to be honest with you, when a Count has been as negligent toward the citizens of his province as Joachim has to you . . . well, I don't need to set him up. He is doing that himself. This is perhaps the greatest tragedy to befall the Valleys in centuries. But I want you to know that am here. I am here for you. And the soldiers with me will protect you. That is my guarantee and my pledge to you."

Eason grew silent again, waiting for the objections to begin. If he could not soothe the malcontents with assurances of help, plants in the audience waited to shout the objectors down."

No one spoke.

He gave the crowd his warmest smile.

Suddenly, a tremendous crash shook the doors of the inn. He jumped involuntarily; the smile disappeared from his face, but he recovered before anyone noticed. His eyes shot forward to the front of the building. Another tremendous crash jarred the doors, and before he had time to wave his men forward, there came an intense groaning from the meeting hall's entrance. Then one last blow boomed and the doors burst open. A phalanx of troops bearing the insignia of a griffon clutching a star moved in, quickly stepping to both sides of the main aisle. The tall, lean figure of Count Joachim, clad in worn leather armor and carrying a thin saber with a gracefully swept hilt waited at the other end. Beside him limped a young man who held a sack about the size of a pillowcase stuffed with something the size of a large rock. Eason's eyes immediately focused on Joachim, however. Especially his blade.

Joachim's eyes blazed with a hard, fierce anger.

Eason looked around in alarm. His men stood still; not a one of them moved a muscle. The count of Kalavere cringed. Cowards, every one of them.

He realized that if he did not seize the opportunity to appear in control, Joachim was likely to take it from him. A face-to-face confrontation wasn't supposed to take place until the count of the Lake Valleys was on his knees and bound in shackles. Dosir had assured him that Joachim would concentrate on Old Flood and that Havel's Dock would be safely his. But lately Eason had wondered at Dosir's advice and chosen to force things to move ahead of schedule. The Hammer had vehemently argued against the meeting tonight. That was fine. Eason knew Dosir was working like a snake in the grass to undermine him. Once Eason had all of this wrapped up, he would dispose of Dosir. With that thought, he glanced quickly back at the man, and the Hammer bore the slightest of smiles.

Eason's face reddened and he felt an insane desire to bury the tip of his sword into Dosir's neck. The snake had allowed this to happen.

Instead, he straightened his shoulders and met Joachim's glare.

"It is time for you to leave," Joachim said in a lethally smooth voice.

Eason raised his hand and motioned the soldiers to remain still. He would see to Joachim now if he had to. Dosir's vengeful little betrayal would only further his plans, and the Hammer would learn a bitter lesson about double-crossing a count of the realm. Tight spots were nothing new, and he allowed a momentary vision of Dosir's suffering to flit through his mind before shunting it aside to deal with Joachim. No one did this to him in public. He flashed a look of pure hatred at the Hammer, then relaxed his face and turned to the crowed seated in the room, giving them an apologetic smile. One that said unexpected disruptions were unfortunate but must be accepted for the greater good.

"I suppose disruptive guests must be tolerated," he said in told the assembly. "I'm sure you understand."

Joachim's was as quiet as an expectant hush just before a storm. Though the Count's eyes bore holes into Eason's own, his words were not for Eason.

"Mayor Niemen, as the legally authorized guardian of the Lake Valleys Province and its chief magistrate for the Crown, I charge you with suborning treason, which is an offense punishable by death and the forfeiture of all of your assets, titles, lands, and properties."

Niemen stood stock still for a moment. Eason noted with disgust that the man looked about ready to soil himself, so he spoke up before the idiot said anything damning in front of hundreds of witnesses.

"This is all perfectly legal, I'm afraid," he told the mayor reassuringly. "You were within your rights to ask for the assistance of my men." And then, more loudly so that his voice carried to the back of the large room, "This is as I feared it would be. Mr. Joachim ought to be welcoming us with open arms. After all, my men worked non-stop to clear a way through the dangerous passes to get here." Eason then lowered his voice, and allowed it to quiver as he pointed at Joachim. "I'm disappointed in you."

A quiet murmur rose among the citizens of Havel's Dock.

Joachim stepped closer to Eason, who smiled inwardly. If the man attacked him, his own soldiers outnumbered Joachim's two to one. He thought for a moment that it might actually serve his purposes to allow the man to hit him.

"I charge you with treason, Encius Eason, and will see you stand trial in Pallodine or we can settle this in a duel among Peers right here," Joachim said in a voice like a whip. "The choice is yours." He said this as he drew his cloak aside and rested his hand lightly over the hilt of his blade.

Eason clapped his hands together and laughed. "This is nonsense! What level will you stoop to in order to save yourself in front of these people? I have drawn no blood against you or the people of this province. There is no treason!"

Joachim took a step closer.

"I have two of your dead soldiers—murdered and planted in my presence in order to give the passing appearance of a crime."

"Your conspiracies outdo you, Count," Eason mocked. "You see what Mr. Joachim will stoop to, everyone?"

"I have a Hammer who will testify that one of the dead men was likely killed by sorcerous means," Joachim said, keeping his words under tight control.

Eason shrugged his shoulders. "If some of my messengers have been killed, it was no doubt done under your command—In this, I'm afraid you implicate yourself. If there has been treason, it is yours."

More murmuring followed. Inwardly he smiled. These townspeople were already his. Joachim couldn't be so stupid to think he actually had any chance of controlling the situation now.

Yet Joachim took another step toward him.

"You treasonous worm," he spat. "You have ordered the murders of men and women in Old Flood and Have's Dock, disguising these acts as trall attacks in order to perpetuate dissention, deception, and betrayal."

The Count of Kalavere laughed aloud and clapped his hands together delightedly. "You were responsible for putting down the thing that killed those poor, unfortunate people. They died while you did little to help them."

Joachim took another step.

More people murmured. Now restlessly. In the back of his mind, a part of Eason shouted that something was amiss, but he had to keep pressing this. Once a ball was ready to roll downhill, all one had to do was push it a little bit.

Still, Joachim was drawing close enough to make him uncomfortable. His men should have stepped forward. No doubt they were as wrapped up in the spectacle of Joachim's pathetic little fall as the rest of the people in the room. Inwardly he laughed. Dosir must be quaking to see how his plan was backfiring.

And yet Joachim took another step forward.

"That was no trall that killed Karin Ledge and the three residents of Havel's Dock," Joachim said in a voice like the charge of an oncoming lightning strike. Before Eason managed a retort, Joachim motioned for the boy at his side to move forward. The kid was rather short for the young men of the Lake Valleys, with closely cut brown hair and a sharp face beneath two quick, penetrating eyes. No doubt this was one of the three mystery brats Dosir kept complaining about.

The boy limped up. "Mr. Maldies, would you kindly explain one unmistakable way you can tell a trall has been responsible for an attack?"

"Gladly sir," the brat said. "They stink, and the smell lingers when they've been in an area."

Eason positively chortled. "I appreciate that you've brought us an expert's testimony," he said. "But I hardly think that is proof of anything other than a young man's overactive imagination."

Joachim took another step. Without thinking, Eason moved back a step.

"Mr. Maldies, would you kindly drive the point home to the count and everyone else in attendance?"

The scrawny brat looked up at Eason with an unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes. "Gladly," he said, and withdrew something dark from the sac. A number of people surrounding the Count and the boy shrank back and gasped. Before Eason had a chance to see what the boy had in his hands, the twerp looked up at him and said, "Catch," tossing an object in a slow arc toward him.

Eason instinctively reached out and caught the thing. Immediately, the worst smell he had ever experienced struck him with such force that he began to wretch.

Something sticky and wet surrounded his fingers, gumming them up on contact. "What is this?!" he screamed in alarm, dropping the foul thing to the floor and backing up several paces.

"That would be the trall," the young man said. "My friends and I killed it . . . well, technically I didn't kill it, but I did shout at it a lot."

Eason stood there, unbelieving. He kicked the thing and it rolled several feet away, turning face up, revealing a snarling, almost canine face.

"It can't be dead," Eason heard himself say . . . and then stopped, aware he had said too much before his mouth clamped shut.

Cold silence filled the room, and then came the rapid, steady footfall of Joachim, who closed the distance in six long, powerful strides. Eason flung his arms up defensively. He only had a second to wonder why none of his soldiers budged, and then the man was on him.

Joachim grabbed him by the throat. The man's fingers were like vices around his neck, driving him backward until his back connected with the long council table.

Eason reached up, desperately trying to free himself from Joachim's grip but the best he managed was to slap at the bastard's arms as ineffectively as an infant. When the grip around his throat did loosen, Joachim's knee drove into his stomach and all of the air in his chest exploded outward on one abrupt whoosh. Then Joachim's hand firmly took ahold of Eason's head and drove his face into the tabletop with a loud crunch. Lights flashed behind his eyes, and his face went numb as his nose broke with an alarming crunch. Joachim then jerked him backward, sending him sprawling across the floor.

*

Niam stepped painfully back, away from Joachim. The moment Eason looked down at the trall's severed head and all but admitted his involvement in recent events, Joachim burst forward in violence. The Count of Kalavere looked up dumbly from the floor while Joachim smoothly drew his sword from its scabbard and pointed it at the prone man.

"Get up and fight me or get out of my province and face me in court," Joachim said venomously.

Eason's eyes widened as he clearly realized that a ring of Joachim's troops had come in through the back door while he was too busy grandstanding to notice. Niam knew that they must have subdued the men guarding the back before entering. The arrogant count looked up at the Wizard's Hammer accompanying him with the embers of humiliation burning behind his eyes, but the Hammer looked on as unperturbed as a rock in a rainstorm.

"Get this sack of dung out of here!" Joachim ordered one of Eason's own men. Get him out and get the bloody hell out of my territory before my forces cut you and your men to pieces. Now!"

One of the officers rushed forward to help his fallen lord, but the bleeding count threw the soldier's arm off of him and screamed, "Get your hands off of me! Get your filthy hands off of me or I'll have you hanged!"

The soldier's face whitened and he backed off. Before Eason said anything else, Joachim said loudly to his own captain, "Take the names of each member of Count Eason's guard. If a one of them ends up missing when he answers for this in Pallodine, I will add more charges against him."

Loud cries of approval and anger burst forth from the gathered onlookers. Amid shouts and jeers, Niam watched the Wizard's Hammer named Dosir walk away from the gathering. The beaten count picked himself up, dabbing at the blood pouring from his ruined face. He looked at the door without making eye contact with anyone in the room. Livid red splotches of shame covered his features as he made his unsteady way out of the inn.

Niam let out a loud sigh of relief.

Joachim walked up to him and asked, "Out of curiosity, I thought we agreed you were supposed to hold the trall's head up so everyone could see it. What on earth possessed you to toss it to the maggot?"

Niam looked up at the count's chiseled face. "The thing stank. I thought it would be better off in his hands," he said innocently.

Joachim smiled thinly. "Yes. I think it was."
Chapter Thirty-Nine

With Dangerous Intentions

Nearly two weeks went by spent in painful combat training. None of Joachim's officers or guardsmen seemed to care that Niam and his two friends had almost singlehandedly brought Eason's illegal invasion of the Lake Valleys to an end. Niam was so sick of swords and staffs that he was about ready to foreswear weapons entirely and disappear into the mountains as a shepherd until he realized that with his luck he would probably have to use his shepherd's crook to fend off a herd of rabid cave bears or something like that.

While he wasn't the kind of person who sat well with a lot of thanks, a few days off wouldn't have killed anyone, would it? Yet for all of his efforts, the only thing he had gotten over the past eleven days had been mashed fingers from fending off wooden practice blades.

"Staffs don't come with cross guards to protect fingers!" Jolan Kine taunted him as he knelt on the practice mat to make sure all of his digits were accounted for.

At the present moment, Niam winced as a cold wind blew, making his swollen fingers smart fiercely. He was glad, however, for the horse he rode—but he prayed nobody else missed it. Because the trall had ruined his coat, Niam had been forced to borrow from other people, and he had suffered enough. Davin's things fit Niam like Niam's clothes fit Bug, and everything Maerillus wore was just big enough to not fit right in all the important places—elbows and shoulders were too big and the sleeves way too long. Once Maerillus found out that Niam had absentmindedly allowed the coat's cuffs to become soaked in gravy, he was going to be extremely displeased.

Niam couldn't help it, though.

Maerillus should have had the good sense to stop growing about a year ago. And really, if anyone should be blamed, Niam knew that it should be the Sartors. After all, they were the ones who passed their traits down to their son. So really, it wasn't Niam's fault. The moment Maerillus began complaining, Niam was going to tell him to take it up with his mother. After all, if Andromeda had chosen to marry someone a bit shorter than Gaius, then maybe Maerillus's coat would have fit better, wouldn't it?

Of course, Niam reflected that maybe the horse he had stolen—borrowed temporarily—had probably belonged to the Sartors, in which case Maerillus would never shut up. Earlier, Niam crept into the barn where all the good horses were kept because the only other one nearby was an uncomfortably large draft horse with withers that would have turned any man into a eunuch. Joachim told all of them repeatedly that none of them could go walking wherever they pleased while Kreeth's minions still remained on the loose. So Niam made sure that he didn't walk anywhere.

He rode.

Besides, he most definitely was not going where he pleased. His leg ached mightily and the saddle stirrups didn't help. Where he wanted to be was in bed. Going there would have pleased him mightily.

The road was busy today now that word had spread about the trall's death. Niam found that he had become quite a celebrity, which made him uncomfortable. Nothing good came of it. Like a day off. Maerillus might mope about how aggravating it was to have to concentrate to be seen, but Niam reasoned that a year shaved off of his life would be a fair trade for such an ability. Most of the beatings Niam had taken in his life would have been avoided.

Anonymity was what Niam wanted most these days, and now more than ever all of them found themselves noticed by . . . well . . . by everyone. Rumors started to spring up about three local boys constantly seen in the company of a Wizard's Hammer.

In the event that this issue arose, Kine concocted a convincing story to explain Niam's constant presence with the Hammer: On his most recent visit to the Valleys, Kine discovered that Niam had the talent to be trained as a Hammer. And since he and his friends had inadvertently roused the sorcerer's ire, Kine now kept a watchful eye on all three boys.

Niam turned toward his home—his real home—and reflected on how strange it felt to be there. For the past several months, Niam had called the Sartor manner and the Joachim estate his home. As his mount ambled through the deep snow, he looked at the modest dwelling he had grown up in and was overcome by the aching sense of loneliness and loss that he had known since Sarah's and Seth's murders.

Maybe he should have kept his butt at Joachim's estate.

He dismounted, careful to keep from applying too much weight to his injured leg. The trall's attack left the thing inflamed where three angry cuts ran down his calf. Kirse was nowhere to be found, so Bug's father recommended honey—honey!—of all things to keep infection from spreading. To Niam's surprise it worked.

The important thing was that he had developed no infections that could have cost him his leg. There had been a fever, but that passed. Now, Niam just felt sore and tired as he went into his room and pulled several coats out the cabinets over his bed. His mother had made his bed, and placed a new pillow and blanket on it before leaving with his Dad on their trip for Joachim. Though the rooms were cold, the blankets were thick and warm, and his eyelids were growing heavier by the moment. Niam thought how nice it would be to curl up beneath them for a while. Just a short nap. He could make it back to deposit the horse in its stall without making too much ado after waking up. So Niam slipped between he sheets and sighed. There was nothing in this world like the feel of a comfortable bed. As he drifted away, his thoughts became vague and gently distant things, and Niam was soon heavily asleep.

*

Maerillus felt uneasy as he walked along the hallways of his home looking for . . . for anyone. Staff flitted through the rooms of the business wing, busy at their chores, and each time he stopped one of them to ask where his parents were, all he got were blank stares followed by apologies and shrugged shoulders. As the last person walked off without any more useful information, Maerillus frowned. His mother and father were supposed to meet him for an early lunch, but they never showed up. And that was strange. Davin wasn't anywhere to be found, and that was also strange. Niam was gone, too. So was one of his father's favorite horses. And that was . . . well, suspicious. If his father had been called away on business, why hadn't anyone seen him leave? And if he hadn't, why was it that Niam was gone at the same time that the stable was shy one very valuable horse?

That had better be a coincidence.

The halls were quiet, and fewer staff than usual moved about. As he turned past the hallway leading to his parents' rooms, he thought about checking them one more time just in case they had returned there when a familiar figure stepped around the corner.

"Mom!" he called out. "Where in he world have you both been? I was loo—" but before Maerillus finished the sentence, his words stopped in his throat. "Mom?" he asked, suddenly concerned. "Mom? Mom, where's Dad?"

His mother said nothing, but seemed to wear a vague grin as she walked toward him, keeping her left hand extended slightly toward the wall like she was drunk. Yet the way she walked and the childlike expression she wore were not the things that worried him. No. It was the look in her eyes—or rather, the lack of anything in her eyes that bothered Maerillus.

"Mom, what's wrong?" He placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. His mother's head slowly turned toward him. When her eyes found his, the pupils were abnormally large. Her gaze went right through him.

"Gaius?" she asked in a dreamy voice. "I won't be having dinner with the guests tonight, sweetheart—Alexandretta is running a fever."

Maerillus felt the frown he wore become a scowl. "I just saw my sister and she was fine. I've had her looking for you, too."

Andromeda brushed his hand away, and continued on, telling him with a dreamy tone, "I'll be in my nursing room with Lexa."

Maerillus had no idea what to do. The nursing room had been remodeled into a reading parlor years ago. He felt an urgent need to check for his father. Why does this have to keep happening? Frustration surged through him. He couldn't let his mom roam the halls in her present state, but something was probably wrong with his dad.

"Oh maggots!" Maerillus felt his fists clench, and with an explosion of pent up anger, he began running to his parents' suite. As he turned the corner, several maids were stomping snow and ice off of their boots onto a floor mat at the end of the wing. Even from the distance separating them, Maerillus saw the surprise on their faces as their heads snapped in his direction once he started yelling at them to check on his mom.

The door to his parents' chambers stood half-opened. As soon as he rushed into the small antechamber where two coatracks stood, he realized that the room was empty, but Maerillus felt an odd tingling on the back of his neck. Instead of barreling into his mom and dad's bedroom, he slowed before opening the door. Some instinct cautioned that doing so would be a terrible mistake.

Maerillus moved quietly to the door and listened for any sounds of movement or voices on the other side. The hackles at the nape of his neck rose. From the crack at the bottom of the door, he felt a cold breath of frigid air brush across his ankles. Someone had left the bedroom patio door open.

His parents would never have done that. Maerillus was glad that his mother had left the hallway door ajar. Though he heard nothing, he was more certain than ever that someone was in the room beyond. Fearful of being detected, he wondered if he could use his ability to mask sounds. Before opening the door, he closed his eyes and concentrated on being as silent as a cat stalking a mouse. Concentration was always the key when using his power.

Slowly, he opened the door.

It squeaked slightly. Maerillus blocked out any other conscious thought than willing sounds he made to go unheard. Great Lord let this work. Metal hinges grated softly as the door swung open. Loose drapes fluttered languidly as the winter poured itself into the room. To his left sat his parents' canopy bed, and from behind it the urgent whispering of intruders that did not want to be heard.

Maerillus slipped into the room, sure to keep the bed between himself and the intruders. He edged his way closer. His father's dueling sword hung from a post at the other end of the bed. This made him wince. For a second Maerillus considered creeping back out of the room and fetching a blade, but he knew that any delay on his part might mean success on intruders' part, and that couldn't be allowed. With any luck the staff had found his mother and were sending for help. Rather than the sound of approaching footfalls, however, every moment that passed brought only silence. Maerillus knew his dad might be hurt or worse.

Intensifying his concentration, Maerillus rounded the foot of the bed and peered around the side, thankful that the drapes were drawn shut. From inside the canopy, a deep moaning issued, along with incoherent mumbling. Maerillus recognized his father's voice.

"Shut up!" one of the men hissed.

"We shouldn't have let the bitch go," the second voice muttered quietly.

"Someone will bring her back here. They'll think she's drunk. We'll kill the servant and take the two Sartors."

The second speaker didn't sound as sure of the plan. "What if the stuff he ate don't keep him out?"

"Hit him with the butt of your sword," the owner of the first voice growled. "Once we drag them out to the cart, we'll be on our way. There's going to be too much happening tonight to pay us any attention."

Two men dressed in the estate's livery stood over his father. Beneath the servants' uniforms they wore, the bulges of short swords poked against loose tunics. Anger flared within Maerillus. He quickly slipped around the canopy bed and drew his father's sword. The two men suddenly froze, and Maerillus realized that in his anger he had let go of his concentration. The larger of the two drew his sword the quickest. With a snarl, Maerillus sprung forward and slashed the man deeply across the underside of his wrist, causing him to howl in pain and drop his sword. The second man was on him in an instant. His sword flashed downward, but Maerillus darted outside of his swing. The man's stroke was entirely reactive and left him wide open. Maerillus drove forward, but caught a flicker of motion in time to avoid being struck by a heavy vase hurled by the wounded assailant. The porcelain object stuck Maerillus a glancing blow, but the momentum knocked him back.

The armed intruder sprang toward Maerillus, but the man's blade did not have the reach of his father's dueling blade. What it lacked in length, though, it more than made up for in weight. He easily beat the tip of Maerillus's blade aside, causing him to focus on keeping his stance. His attacker came on doggedly. Maerillus used the corner of his parents' bed to give him enough time to grab one of the drapes. With a hard tug, he pulled it from the overhead canopy and used it to deflect his enemy's blade. The man's eyes widened when he realized Maerillus now had the upper hand, and he snarled, "Get him you idiot!"

His accomplice held his wounded arm tightly. "He got me good. Can't close my fingers," he whined. His good hand was now gloved in blood.

The man with the sword circled warily around two marble columns that limited the effectiveness of Maerillus's long blade. "If you don't, he'll have us all good! Now use that damned blade, fool!"

Maerillus suddenly changed tactics and threw the drape at his assailant's face. The man's reaction was immediate. He dropped his guard as he tore at the fabric. At the same time, Maerillus heard the second man moving toward him. With three quick steps, Maerillus launched forward and plunged his blade into the attacker's chest. Maerillus gave his weapon a savage twist as he pulled his blade free. The drape slipped off as the man fell with a surprised look on his face.

Maerillus spun to face the wounded man as the intruder used his good hand to swing a chair at his head. It hit him hard, sending him sprawling to the floor. Maerillus's head burned like fire and the world lurched sickeningly about him.

The sound of approaching footsteps told him that he had to move fast or die.

Propelled by fear, he scrabbled away from the man clutching his useless wrist beneath the crook of his arm. Maerillus felt a fleeting sense of satisfaction that he had severed his tendons and a major vein. The man looked down at him with a mix of fear and distaste. His face was thin and scruffy, and his eyes darted rapidly about as he tried to decide what to do next. In a pained voice, he said, "They told us to look out for you."

"Who?" Maerillus spat.

"Never you mind, boy. You ruined my arm. Now I'll have to wait on the others."

Before Maerillus had time to say anything else, the man let go of his wound and wiped his good hand on his tunic, leaving a smeared and bloody handprint like a twisted piece of child's artwork. Maerillus crawled desperately across the floor.

He had to get to his father's blade.

The attacker drew his own blade. Maerillus knew he wasn't going to make it as man lifted his sword up to deliver a stroke.

Suddenly, a diminutive figure stepped into view and brought a vase crashing down across the man's skull with a ferocious shriek. Maerillus watched in amazement as the vase connected hard with the man's skull. While the thing didn't break, Maerillus was sure something within his attacker's head did. The man's eyes rolled backward and his body collapsed like a limp doll. Standing where he fell was Casey, the old servant Maerillus had nearly scared off of a ladder this past fall.

"Casey!" Maerillus cried out in equal parts surprise and relief.

"That was a fine vase," she said, panting with excitement. "I'd have felt poorly if it had broken. Now be a dear and bring me a good chair to sit on, young man."

Maerillus stood up. His head pounded. "I've got to get Dad out of here! It might not be safe for either of you."

Before the old servant responded, she looked around as alarm bells began ringing throughout the estate. Casey picked up the first attacker's short sword and said adamantly, "I'll stay here and watch him, lad. Go find help and see to this ruckus. I'll run the first man through who thinks he'll lay a hand on Mr. Sartor."

Maerillus closed his eyes against the throbbing in his skull and nodded. He simply didn't have any other option. "Close those doors and lock them," he said quickly. "And then lock the door behind me after I leave and don't open it for anyone you don't recognize."

"I wasn't born yesterday."

Maerillus nodded his head. Somewhere down the hallway someone began shouting "Fire!" Outside, all across the property, alarm bells began sounding in the cold, cold night.

*

Niam awoke with a start. For a moment, he had no idea where he was. The room was dark and the air redolent of hardwood smoke from a fire burning somewhere nearby. Niam even heard the popping of heated wood as the fire bit into its fuel.

Ah, my room, he thought drowsily. Mom must be cooking. There was comfort in that thought, and Niam nearly rolled over and went back to sleep. But there was a fire and his parents were gone.

Niam bolted upright in alarm.

The crackling of hungry flames seemed to be more insistent with each passing moment. Worse, the sound came from overhead.

Niam got out of bed and made his way through the darkened interior. The path from his room, down the hallway, and into the Kitchen was a blessedly simple one. Above him, the sound of the flames was like the sound of an attic licking its thatched tongue across teeth of wooden rafters. That meant the entire roof was ablaze. A flickering light streamed down onto the floor from between the ceiling boards above, and terror instantly flooded into him. That meant the fire had already eaten through the thick layer of thatch on the roof.

And that meant he didn't have much time

Niam jumped out of bed. Dimly, he remembered the reason for his trip home and paused for the briefest moment. On the other side of his room, his belongings sat neatly on his closet shelves—his clothes, books, and a life's accumulation of memories. Sarah's drawings lay in there squirrelled between his own sketches. A pang of grief tugged at his heart, but somewhere in the attic a hot beam cracked loudly amid the flames, and Niam bolted into the kitchen, leaving his coat and memories behind to perish.

As he ran, he noted wispy tongues of smoke gently nudging through the ceiling. Where they met the cooler air below, they curled like babies' fingers, gently caressing the wood beneath. Knowing smoke meant death, he ran to the door at full speed to catch the latch and launch himself outside. . . and collided hard with unyielding wood.

A loud "oof" escaped Niam's lips as he bounced off of the door and fell to the floor. Niam looked up dumbly at the thing as if it had moved four feet to the left without prior warning. "No . . ." Niam said in confusion. Fire bit at the wood more loudly now.

"No, no no no!" he shouted. Hurriedly, he scrambled across the floor on all fours as he tried to convince himself that he had just bungled the latch and that it wasn't locked shut. Feathery-fingered tentacles of smoke pushed trough the ceiling. Niam looked at it and swallowed hard. Dying this way was nearly as unthinkable as drowning.

In a growing panic, he reached out and pushed the latch on the door handle, but it wouldn't budge. For a moment he froze. The air was growing denser. The acrid bite of smoke caught in the back of his throat, making him cough. Niam looked around, noting that the room was growing brighter as he stood there. He had to get out.

The window.

Niam moved unsteadily along the perimeter of the room. In a few short moments the smoke had grown thick enough to make it hard to see. His eyes grew gummy and began to blur his vision. He kept bumping into furniture as he stumbled about. Holding his arms out, keeping his fingers in contact with the wall, his foot connected with something hard and he ran headlong into a cabinet, sending it along with dozens of plates and bowls crashing to the floor.

Niam's forward momentum sent him sprawling across the fallen mess, and for a second time tonight he found himself on the floor. Pain flared in his head and he was rapidly overtaken with vertigo. The next thing he knew, he was on his side with something hot and thick raining across his forehead and trickling down his cheek. A loud pounding seemed to come from somewhere in the room.

Niam blinked in confusion.

When he stretched his arm out, a hiss formed on his lips. His head throbbed. His eyes were now nearly glued shut by smoke and tears. The air was frighteningly thick, and the roar of flames above drowned out nearly every other sound save the fracturing of charred timbers and the pounding that still seemed to be coming from somewhere in the smoke. Everything became indistinct.

The smoke is getting to me, a distant part of his mind warned him. More of the room was aglow. Niam struggled up, ignoring the pain. The moment he took a breath, the air above waist level was almost too thick to bear. Niam lurched blindly across the floor. Now, firelight emanated not only from narrow seams in the ceiling, but from the hallway as well. His lungs felt like they were about to burst. He didn't think he was going to make it. As he lurched toward the place where he knew the window lay, a tremendous crash reverberated throughout the room, and a familiar voice cried in alarm. "Niam!"

Niam's throat worked hard to produce words. "I'm here!" He screamed in terror. He had taken in so much smoke that his mouth was filled with the sickening flavor of charred wood. A painful spasm sent Niam to his knees. Again someone called out frantically. "Niam!"

As he tried to draw enough air into his lungs to respond, his throat closed shut. The world spun nauseatingly, and his field of vision began closing like curtains on a stage. The glow in the room began to recede and grow distant. Somewhere in the back of Niam's mind, he thought to himself, I'm passing out—and with the thought came a small relief. At least I won't feel myself burning. But Niam never felt his torso hit the floor. Darkness wound itself in around him, and his world went away into smoke.

*

"Ouch! Are you trying to kill me?" Niam protested as the world faded back into view and a pair of hands tugged at his armpits tightly enough to wring all of his blood down into his toes. The ground slid beneath his heels as he struggled back to consciousness. Someone was dragging him across the ground.

"You're welcome," that someone said between coughing fits.

Niam felt himself being carefully lowered to the snow, and he turned to lift himself up, but the world spun and he realized that he was coughing hard enough to rupture something. As he reached behind himself to lay his head back down, his wrist screamed at him in pain.

Maybe I already ruptured something, he thought humorlessly, and began laughing between furious bouts of choking.

"Only you would laugh at a time like this."

Niam looked up as everything finally began to resolve itself into a sensible whole. Davin stood above him half bent over, trying to force the soot and smoke out of his throat.

"My Hero," Niam rasped.

While they both collected themselves, Niam finally managed enough clean air to clear the thinking in his head. "Help me up," he groaned.

Davin knelt down at his side to look him over. The blazing house lit up the surrounding woods brighter than the noonday sun. "You look awful," he said.

Niam moved himself carefully, testing all of his moving parts to see if they still worked. "I thought I was dead," he said, finally taking a good look at the fire. The home he grew up in burned furiously.

Niam's hands went up to his mouth as another painful bout of coughing and retching overtook him. When he withdrew his hands to wipe them, he saw that what came out of his lungs was black. "Think I'll live," Niam croaked as he watched his life's memories waft up in sparks and embers into the cold winter air. "My door was locked, Davin. Somebody did this on purpose."

Davin's voice was filled with anger. "I know. Mine was, too,"

Niam looked back at him. It took some time for that information to set in.

"When I heard that one of Joachim's horses had gone missing, I knew you had been bellyaching about not having a good coat to wear, so I put two and two together. I stopped by home on my way here to make sure everything was okay. Someone must have followed me. Wasn't there long before we smelled smoke. Someone jammed our door, too. I got us out, but everything burned."

Niam didn't know what to say. A sense of guilt began to burn within him. "If I had just listened and stayed put—" he said shamefully.

"If you had done that, somebody might have burned my house without me there to get my family out," Davin told him.

"Maybe," he said. "But we've got to get to Maerillus. If someone tried to kill us, they might be after him now.

Lucky for Niam the horse was still in the small pasture behind the house. Davin had one of his own, an old draftie named Brindle, who moved like a boulder through the snow once they left the road and cut though fields making a bee line for the Sartor estate. Niam followed, taking advantage of the furrow made in the snow by Davin's large mount.

As they drew closer, they crested a hill with a commanding view of the surrounding countryside. The Sartor manor glowed like a jewel where it sat atop its own hill like a crown. "There are an awful lot of lights burning down there," Davin muttered nervously.

Niam peered into the dark and was able to make out shapes of people moving rapidly among the buildings closest to Maerillus's home. "Something's up. There are people with lanterns all over the place.

"Look at that!" Davin exclaimed, pointing to where the fields gave way to woods and the western edge of the property. It only took Niam a moment to see what Davin was pointing at.

Orange light illuminated the uppermost branches of treetops in the distance. Something was burning, and it took Niam only a heartbeat to realize what lay in that direction.

"Great Lord," Niam groaned. "That's where Bug lives!"

"Wait!" Davin shouted as Niam kicked his stolen mount and shot away across the snow toward the woods.

Niam ignored his friend's pleas to slow down. The horse snorted nervously as the wood line drew closer. There was no telling what lay beneath the crusty blanket of white, and as the animal tensed and attempted to slow its gait, Niam urged it onward.

"Niam!" Davin called out.

Niam paid him no heed. His lungs burned, but he didn't care. The trail leading from the gorge to the edge of the Sartor estate where the beekeeper's family lived lay just a short distance through the forest.

Branches and limbs lashed at Niam's face as he drove his horse into the gloom. He kept his head down and ignored the smaller limbs slapping his forehead and cheeks. Large trees and branches loomed out of the gloom, and the horse shied away from them with more agility than Niam would have expected. All he had to do was keep moving toward the trail. When the dense shroud of trees abruptly ended, Niam pulled the reins hard to the left and onto the path that clove the woods in two.

Behind him, Davin's mount noisily crashed through the forest while he swore loudly each time a limb lashed across his exposed skin. All Niam was able to think about was Bug. Images of his young friend trapped, choking, and burning to death played out in his mind in merciless detail. He continued to cough up blackened phlegm from his lungs. Ahead, the flickering glow cast by hungry flames licked at the trail's edge, and as it drew closer with the drumming beat of hooves cracking through the icy crust, he prayed that one of the barns was ablaze instead of the house.

When Niam burst into the clearing his worst fears grew into fruition. Ahead, just beyond the low swell of the hill, everything was lit by his young friend's house. The guard's shack and a barn beyond were illuminated by the firelight, while Bug's neighbors and a smattering of estate staff looked on with resignation. Niam angled his galloping mount toward Bug's father and pulled the animal to a stop in front of the sooty man. Before the animal was completely still, he swung his leg over the saddle and leapt off. Pain flared in his leg, but Niam hurried to the man.

"Where is she?"

Mr. Marie wiped the sweat from his face with a dirty sleeve and met Niam's gaze. His eyes were bloodshot from the smoke, and his face and hands were noticeably red. "She made it out with the rest of us in time, thank the Creator."

"Did you see who did this?" Niam blurted out.

Bug's father shook his head. His face was creased with fatigue and his eyes held the same far-away look Niam knew his own might hold if it were not for greater concerns worming their way through his mind.

Davin galloped up to where they stood. Brindle sounded like a bellows and Davin breathed just as hard. "Is she okay?" he asked, coming to a halt.

"Yes, she's alright . . . scared as a filly, but she's okay."

Niam looked around, frustrated that no one seemed to be doing much. Bug's father saw the look on his face and said tiredly, "Don't be angry with them. They did all they could. We've been running around putting out fires since late this afternoon."

"There have been more fires?" Davin asked, shocked.

"Oh aye . . . that there have. Mr. Sartor lost two barns, and several servants' houses are gone, too. The entire garrison has been mobilized. Joachim's got them pulled away from that black sorcerer's property and hopping about looking for the bastards doing this," the man spat.

Niam looked at Davin, and the uncertainty and confusion in his friend's eyes echoed his own. "Where did Bug get off to, sir?"

"A young man your age came shortly after we got out of the house. He said Joachim needed her. He's probably looking for her now," he responded absently, watching his home wasting away to ashes. "With all that's going on, I'll be glad to have her up at the Count's manor."

A wave of relief momentarily swept through Niam, but something about what her father said didn't sit right with him. The timing was wrong. Why would someone show up looking for her right after they had all managed to get out of the house?

"Was it Maerillus, sir?"

"No, lad. This boy seemed more of a commoner. His hair was all lank—"

Niam felt a sudden dropping sensation and interrupted the man, finishing his sentence for him. "Long hair, loose, and kind of greasy?"

Her father nodded his head. "He was sort of tall . . . not quite as big as Hapwell or Maerillus," he said.

Niam felt as if Davin's horse had just kicked him. "Your daughter is in danger. Which way did she run?" he demanded.

Bug's father looked taken aback. "What's going on?"

"Which way did she go?" Niam shouted.

"Back toward the hives," he responded quickly.

Before he could go on, Niam flashed, "Did you tell the guy that came looking for her?"

Worry now creased his brows. "Um . . . no . . . now what is happening with my daughter? I thought all of this business with the trall was over." The irritation in his voice was clear.

"The boy that came for her was Salb," Niam said in disgust.

Mr. Marie's eyes narrowed. "The boy who killed Corey."

"Yes. And he is probably one of the people behind this madness. Our homes burned too."

Mr. Marie's face clouded over in multiple shades of red, and he began bellowing for someone to find him a sword.
Chapter Forty

Fury In The Face Of Fear

The moment Niam saw the fire's glow rimming the tree line near little Madeline's house, Davin had been struck by a powerful premonition of danger. The last time one hit him like this was the day they had walked to the Vandin camp. He had a feeling that whatever menace was afoot this night involved everyone, not just his two friends or Niam's little protégé. Something big was up. Something planned and something evil. A dangerous intent lay behind this.

"My girl has been stalked by a filthy minded pervert and now the person that killed her cousin," he growled. "I won't be absent this time." Beside the fear and anger written across Mr. Marie's face, Davin saw that there was something else there as well—a deep sense of failure. As the man saw it, his only daughter's life had been threatened twice already by Card and Salb, and now a third time tonight.

"And you won't, sir," Davin told him. "Some very bad people are trying to make us dance to their tune, and if we all go running off in different directions, they will."

Something in Davin's words caused Mr. Marie's expression to change. None of the anger abated, but the intensity of his sudden burst of fury ebbed a bit. "But my home and my girl," he said helplessly.

Davin's voice was steady. His eyes caught Mr. Marie's and held them. "Our homes were attacked, too. They're gone, just like yours."

Madeline's father's eyes widened.

"Everyone's fine, sir. They got out just like your family. But the best thing for you to do instead of getting a blade is to go tell your neighbors to look for her. I think you need to be here to organize everyone's search. That's honestly the best thing you can do for your daughter."

Mr. Marie looked back to his home for a moment, and Davin worried for a second that he had failed, but then he nodded, and a steady resolve took the place of some of his anger.

"Now you know what you need to do," Davin said reassuringly.

When Mr. Marie looked back at Davin, he wore the anguished expression of a lost girl's father. "You find my girl and bring her back," he said.

"We will," Davin assured him.

As they trotted away, Niam echoed Mr. Marie's sentiment as he said, "I've got to find her, Davin. She's my responsibility. Bug's in this because of me."

Davin shook his head. "Card would have gone at her anyway."

"Faugh!" Niam spat, then said, "Get Maerillus and as many people as Mr. Sartor has to spare. I'm going to check for Bug in all of her favorite hiding places—Hopefully she's just in a barn loft somewhere."

Davin grabbed Niam's reins before he drew away. "Don't take on Salb by yourself. He's dangerous, Niam."

"Left my staff in the house. I don't have anything with me," Niam replied grimly. "I guess all I can do is find Bug and run."

Davin didn't like that. Not one bit. Especially since trouble had a way of finding them, and that went twice for Niam. Davin forced his friend to meet his eyes. "I'm serious, Niam. People are going to get hurt tonight." Then he firmly stressed each word that followed. "Don't. Fight. Salb."

Niam met his gaze with an indeterminate expression. Davin sighed. If he had a copper penny for every expression that flitted across Niam's face he knew he would be as rich as a king. "I'll figure something out," he said with resignation. "I always manage something, don't I?"

His friend's tone worried him. Davin wished he could stick with Niam, but along with the premonition of danger came the certainty that he needed Maerillus for what was coming. "Just stick close," Davin said.

"The barns," Niam replied, chewing the edge of his lip. Then he looked at Davin and said with a shiver, "This scares me. I don't know if any of us are ready. There's an energy building. It's vile and—" Niam stopped as if he couldn't find the words, so Davin finished for him.

"Evil?"

"I was going to say hungry," Niam said, and with that he spurred his horse into a swift canter toward the closest barn just on the other side of the hill. Davin turned his horse toward the sartor manor, which sat waiting atop its hill like a lighthouse in the night. He gave his horse rein and urged it into a gallop.

No one was on the road as the sound of four hooves pounded the ground. Darkness wrapped around Davin like a tunnel. In front of him was the friend he needed to get to, and behind him was the friend and a little girl he needed to help, and beyond all of this there was something building in the air, like a vanguard of clouds preceding a line of fierce storms.

Davin did not notice the men in dark cloaks until the moment that they attacked him. So dark were their garments that a man all but materialized out of the night swinging a heavy staff that struck his ribs with a jarring impact.

"He's past me," the assailant yelled. Davin cut off a surprised yelp and swung his leg out of the saddle. Pain shot up from his side as he leapt from the horse. Dropping to the ground, he heard the release of a bowstring and the thwack of an arrow striking a tree somewhere deep in the forest. Davin landed and didn't have time to think. He knew he needed to tap into his ability if he was going to survive. Deep within him an ocean fathomless and still waited. All he needed to do was to focus on it for a moment and accept it.

And accept it he did.

Footsteps approached; somewhere in the dark another man dressed as the night readied another arrow. Davin felt the sensation of something surging into him. Every stitch off his being trembled, stretched, and loosened . . . and finally snapped.

A smile formed at the edges of his lips. All around him time slowed to a standstill. He felt himself floating in a point of absolute stillness. The night sky was veiled in a dense canopy of clouds, and the air was sharp and motionless, a burning cold lay across the land. Nothing seemed to move. Except Davin knew that to his right one attacker threw his staff down and drew a blade incase his partner's arrow missed. The man may have been experienced, but his partner only needed to find a good line of sight in order to aim his bow. The archer had no need to close the distance between them.

Despite this, Davin knew he had to stop them. These killers could not be allowed to go loose and hurt other people on the estate.

Davin felt the ocean of power thrumming through him as time slowly sped up. He knew what he had to do. The man with the bow was now the closest one to him, nocking his arrow and preparing to aim. Where the darkness had worked for his attackers as Davin barreled down the road on horseback, now it was his ally. He sprinted across the snowy road, keeping low. An unmistakable tufting of bowstring snapping taut clearly sounded in the dark. Davin dove and rolled as another arrow missed him. The archer cursed as he heard Davin spring up and continue into the wood line.

"He's run for the woods!" the assassin growled.

Davin heard the other man's response, which sent a shiver of anger rippling through him. The attacker's voice was meant to go unheard, but Davin's sharpened senses picked it up. "If it's one of those three boys, we'll get bonuses."

Turning in a slow arc, Davin deliberately dragged his feet as he wove between trees and grabbed the first hefty stick he found. Then he continued to plow a path deeper into the woods, keeping as strait a line as possible. The sounds of feet moving in clumsy pursuit followed.

"Come out and you won't be hurt," a gravelly voice called into the darkness. Davin was certain that the men wanted to remain close to the road in case more travellers ventured down its dark path. They did not know who they were following or who they had just tried to kill. That meant they had more than one objective. One of their goals had to be to attack or slow down anyone moving across this part of the estate.

Why?

Davin did not like not knowing the answer to that. Slowly, he came to a stop and dodged behind a tree as quietly as possible. "He's trying to hide," he heard one of the men whisper. Davin exaggerated the force of his breathing. If he had to be game, he wanted to leave them a tempting trail to follow.

"He's this way," the second voice grunted eagerly. More loudly, the same voice called out, "Easier for you just to show yourself. We had the wrong person. You're safe now, friend."

As they approached, the false assurances continued. Davin listened and continued to breathe heavily. The second killer whispered, "This one's about to wet himself."

As their approach slowed and became more cautious, Davin slowed and quieted his breathing, counting their steps. Slowly, he drew his arm back, sure that he had the weight and the balance of the stick properly gauged.

"How far do you think he ran?" one of the men whispered. "I don't hear him breathing no more."

Davin stepped out from behind the tree and said loudly, "About six paces, you pile of dung." He snapped his arm out and threw the stick, adding a vicious spin to it as it left his hand. The men looked up at him in surprise, and even in the dark, Davin saw their eyes widen. Then the man standing to the left had only enough time to give out a small cry of alarm before the wood struck him squarely between the eyes. Davin was moving before the stick even had time to strike its target. The killer's head whipped back and he fell while his partner gave an involuntary leap to the side. Davin snarled and bore down on his target.

The assassin looked up at him, cursed, and lifted his sword to strike. As he began to swing, Davin threw himself down into a sliding kick. His foe swung. His sword passed harmlessly over Davin's head as he put his weight and momentum behind his attack.

Davin's foot connected with the killer's knee, and a sharp snap followed. Davin looked up as the man's face twisted in shock and pain. He dropped his sword as he toppled. Davin rolled and was up in an instant holding the assailant's blade in his hand. The attacker writhed on the ground, cursing as Davin leveled the man's own sword at his face.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

The wounded man pulled his arm out from beneath himself, and Davin realized that he must have reached into a pocket as he went down because he held a small object that glowed softly in the starless darkness of the night.

"I'll see you dead, first!" the man spat. Despite his intense pain, the killer began fumbling with the object in his hand. Davin plunged his sword into the man's throat before he was able to complete the act. The sword sliced true. A series of wet gurgles followed the killing stroke.

Wrinkling his nose at the gory sight, Davin cautiously stepped on the man's outstretched arm, using his boot to turn the hand over, wary of the object frozen in the dead man's grip. Davin pried the corpse's fingers apart with the flat edge of the sword, and the object it contained revealed itself to be a vial filled with a glowing greenish substance that pulsed as if alive. Davin squinted as he gazed into the vial's contents.

He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw something stirring and moving within.

A shiver ran down his back. As he warily bent to retrieve it, he thought better of taking ahold of the thing. The dead man wore a bulging pouch that had partially shifted to the side as he fell, and it now protruded beneath his left shoulder. Instead of fetching the vial right away, Davin chose to turn the body to the side in order to search the pack. With any luck he might find something to use as a barrier between his own fingers and the mysterious vial. The sack contained several lengths of coiled rope and eyeless hoods. "Just what were you planning to do?" Davin softly asked the still body. It looked as if he and his friends might be valuable enough to be taken dead or alive. Great Lord, Davin thought, a necromancer, the Count of Kalavere, and a corrupt Wizard's Hammer . . . how many enemies have we made?

With that thought, the connection he held with his power trembled within him. Davin forced himself to focus. He rolled the corpse over and removed the strap from around the dead man's shoulder. It came free easily, and he retrieved one of the hoods and used it to scoop the vial up, then rolled it tightly in the cloth and stuffed it into another hood. Wrapping it tightly in one of the ropes, Davin tied the ends off as securely as he could manage. Nearby, the second assassin remained unconscious and still where he had fallen in the cold carpet of snow.

*

The smell of wood smoke clung low to the ground, and here and there patches of thicker smoke drifted in wispy patches from the direction of Maerillus's home. As Davin rounded the side of the building and came to the back entrance, he saw a lot of movement as servants and staff hurried among several smoking buildings. Outside, Maerillus's sister Lexa directed the efforts to staunch the last of the flames around them. When she saw him, she nodded her head quickly, and her voice held all of the severity and sharp command that her mother possessed. "I suppose you're here to find my brother," she said crisply, and then looked him squarely in the eyes. "You can't have him, Hapwell."

Davin pulled his horse to a halt a few feet away from her. "I need him, Lex. There's trouble back toward the beekeeper's barns."

Davin was sure he heard her mutter a curse beneath her breath. "There's trouble everywhere tonight."

"Someone set the Maries' home on fire," Davin told her as he dismounted. "This is bad."

Lexa's voice softened. "Please tell me they're okay. That family has been through enough."

Davin nodded. "They made it out in time. Madeline's run off and the guy who killed her cousin is after her."

Lexa shook her head. "Whatever you three are involved in, don't think I haven't noticed that you're in it deep."

Davin looked down for a moment to avoid her hawk-like glare. Alexandretta was tall and elegant, almost statuesque. Her face held the same formidable beauty of Andromeda, though her dark hair flared with auburn highlights. Where her mother's chest was large and excellently proportioned, and hips softly rounded with a maturity that hinted at an ample fertility, Lexa's frame was more slight and her chest smaller but proportioned with the kind of symmetry that lent her figure a mysterious and aqualine elegance. Andromeda was the picture of matronly power, a woman of a certain age who wore that age beautifully. Maerillus's sister was the image of rapieresque grace. She had a quick mind and a sword for a tongue when roused to anger.

Tonight, however, she was just tired.

"You don't know the half of it," Davin said quickly, realizing how tired he felt, too. Looking around, he frowned and asked, "Where's the rest of your family?"

Lexa's face became set in worry. "My brothers should have retuned from town by now, and mom and dad were attacked. That's where Maerillus is now. He's seeing to their security."

"They okay?"

Lexa nodded. "I think so. They were drugged. Maerillus caught two men in their room. Dad was roughed up, but Maer killed one man . . ." She stopped as a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips and gave a hard laugh. "Casey got the other."

Davin felt his eyebrows arch in surprise. "You mean the old—"

"—That's exactly who I mean."

"Impressive."

"They got to my house and Niam's as well, Lex," Davin said darkly.

Lexa let out a long exhalation. "Fire's are all but out here . . . is everyone okay? How is Niam?"

"I got my family out in time, but if I hadn't gotten to Niam he wouldn't have made it out," Davin said. He watched as Lexa's face went blank again and she visibly suppressed a shudder. Everyone knew Niam had a crush on Lexa, but it was a subject she forcibly avoided and Maerillus pretended did not exist. Niam knew good and well that he and Alexandretta Sartor came from two different worlds, and thankfully the childhood infatuation he had harbored since he was small finally faded sometime in the past.

Davin held back a response when her voice dropped and she said, "You watch out for him. You watch out for my brother, too."

Davin nodded his head, and Lexa recovered herself. As he turned to go, she called after him. "Look out for yourself as well, Hapwell. Find Bug and get everyone back safely or I'll make you pay."

Davin grunted. Sometimes he never knew when to take her seriously or when she was joking. He did note that she used Niam's preferred nickname for little Madeline. On any other day that might be interesting to mull over, but not today. Davin made his way into the Sartor manor to find Maerillus. He knew that once he did, their night was only just beginning.

*

Niam moved through the snow with a painful limp as distant voices behind him called out urgently for Bug. An hour earlier, as Niam worked his way ahead of the rest of the searchers, a blood-curdling scream sent Niam galloping back across the field above the smoldering house. He arrived to find a middle-aged woman weeping inconsolably as a ring of grim-faced men stood in a circle looking down at a ghastly sight.

Peering between onlookers, he caught a glimpse of a small figure covered in a red so dark that it nearly seemed black. He managed to push his way through the men and women and looked down. A pretty girl with ribbons tied in her hair lay with a hideous gaping wound in her neck that lolled open like a dog's mouth. A terrible relief surged through Niam as he gazed at her sightless eyes: Thankfully, this was not Bug. Had she run off before or after this happened?

Niam gave the horse he had "borrowed" to the poor girl's family to allow them to carry her back home. A stab of sorrow struck his heart as he pushed away the image of his frightened little friend running into the dark to hide.

Why wasn't she answering?

He didn't want to entertain the possibility that she had met a similar fate. Instead, he shoved it out of his mind. He winced each time he let loose with a chain of hoarse coughs. Hopefully this was the last time he would ever find himself in a burning building.

Niam stood still every now and then to massage his upper thigh. Although his shin bore the trall's claw marks, pain radiated all the way up the length of his leg. The cramps were getting worse as he walked with exaggerated steps through the snow. The drift of a sluggish breeze swaying the upper boughs of frozen trees set off a number of unsettling groans and pops. It was enough to keep his nerves on edge.

The more barns and sheds Niam checked that came up empty, the greater the tension within him rose. Now every sound hinted at more than ordinary causes. Each snapping twig belied an unseen attack coming at him; every time a sagging tree limb dumped snow and ice onto the ground, Niam heard an assailant dropping from overhead to pounce and strike.

He felt vulnerable without his staff.

When Niam cast a cautious glance around, he noticed that a small candle burned in one of the unchecked barns. It shone with hardly enough light to be noticed.

Frowning, he stopped.

Numerous paths led through the snow in its direction, but that didn't mean anything because workers had used every building on this end of the property since the last snowfall. Should he check it out just to be sure or let one of the other searchers look into it? Every moment that passed left another moment free for Salb to locate Bug.

"Blind One's eyes!" Niam growled, and then turned toward the barn with the pale light dancing in its dim interior. The Marie family's neighbors were so spread out that they might not make it to the building anytime soon.

What could she—or anyone—be doing in that barn with a single candle or lantern on a night like this? Bug was certainly capable of lighting a fire, especially if she had a flint on hand. Around barns, kindling was never in short supply. Yet why hadn't she responded to anyone? Niam 's gut clenched. He knew that he might not like the answer. The thought occurred to him to call for someone to help him, but he doubted anyone would hear his voice if he tried.

Davin's warning to avoid a fight with Salb sounded in the back of his mind almost as loudly as if Davin were standing right there. Oh, don't worry . . . I'm just going to get Bug and get out of this, Niam addressed the worry quietly. At that moment, he felt as if someone were watching him. In the darkness, the tranquility of the cold evening did not match the sensation that somewhere a hidden pair of eyes bore into him. Niam's stomach let loose with a fluttering set of dull aches, and this was rapidly followed by a familiar sickness that came to him like death on a sweet spring breeze.

Sorcery.

Near, but not near enough. Not yet. But Niam knew that whatever it was, this kind of evil always made itself known. The barn stood close, and the small finger of flickering light might as well have been a witch's finger beckoning him forward into her foul lair. Shivering and terrified, Niam willed his feet to move forward. Whatever waited there for him would not wait forever, and he had to get Bug to safety. Neither the sense of black sorcery, nor the danger facing him worried him as much as the fact that Bug had not answered.

Finally, he stood before the barn's front doors and saw that they were partially ajar. The feeling of sickness was stronger here. His stomach shifted uncomfortably and his head began to throb. The smell of livestock hit him as he entered its dark interior. Aside from the feeble light entering through open doors at the opposite end of the aisle, the meager light of a small lantern standing in the aisle only made it seem darker inside. Leading up to the loft, a rickety ladder was propped against the lip of the floor above, and it looked like this was the only way up. Movement from every direction filled the building as animals shifted around impatiently in their stalls. Niam moved quietly into the gloom, taking care not so much to remain undetected—for he was certain that his presence was expected—as to increase the likelihood that he might hear someone before they had a chance to slit his throat.

Niam crept forward, and even the crunch of wood shavings littering the floor jangled his nerves. Suddenly something whirred toward him, and he reacted instantly. Niam stepped aside quickly, grabbing the oncoming figure, flinging it into a spiraling crash against the opposite wall with a loud, surprised squeak.

The hasty move threw Niam off balance, and as he stopped himself from falling, he barked a surprised, "Bug?!"

The figure scrambled up with a pained cry. "Niam!" she gasped and flew into his arms.

"Why haven't you answered anyone? Every person on this side of the estate is looking for you!" Niam growled, immediately regretting his harsh tone.

"It's him! He's been following me!" she moaned.

"Where is he?" Niam asked, fighting back the rising tide of fear.

Bug shook her head. "I don't know! I hid behind a feed bin while he looked through the barn. He left a lantern on the floor. I heard him laughing, and I think he went back out."

That wasn't good. Niam immediately scanned the aisle for anything he could fight with. The only thing on hand was a wide broom that was sure to stop the most ferocious dust bunny. Niam took it up in his hands, and as he opened his mouth to tell her to run, he never got the chance to finish. Bug screamed as a heavy weight collided with them from the left. Pain shot up his hurt leg as he was flung to the ground.

Bug screamed again.

Niam's head began to pound and he wanted to be sick as he scrambled up in time to see Salb holding an arm around Bug's throat. Salb's fingers were deeply stained as if a bottle of ink had spilled across his hands, and he carried the rusty sword that Maerillus had made him throw over the bridge the day they chased him from the old abbey's ruins. Salb's hold on Bug tightened, and Bug's terrified face darkened as her eyes filled with panic.

"You're choking her!" Niam yelled.

Salb's voice was indifferent. "So?"

Hatred blossomed within Niam. He levered the broom beneath his foot and snapped off the wide fan of bristles and then raised it, preparing to attack.

Salb shrugged, lifted his leg slightly, and brought his foot down on Bug's ankle. She shrieked in pain. Salb casually pushed her aside and sneered, "I'll deal with you when I'm done."

Niam moved in quickly as Salb drew his blade from its scabbard. Instead of attacking, he waited until Salb brought his weapon around in an ill-timed slice and flicked his stick upward, knocking Salb's blade aside. Niam rammed his shoulder into Salb and brought the stick around with all of his strength, snapping it as it connected with his attacker's temple. Salb fell aside, and before Niam kicked the maggot, Bug's terrified whimpering stopped him short. She lay on her side with her knee drawn up to her chest, clutching her foot.

For the moment, Salb was down. Niam looked desperately for the sword, but couldn't find it. That meant Salb had fallen on top of it, or it had fallen into the hay and now lay hidden beneath it. Niam knew he needed to get Bug out of the barn and into the open where he could yell for help as he carried her away.

Kneeling at her side, he quickly asked, "Can you move it?"

"It hurts, Niam!"

"We've got to get out of here," he said. Salb began moving and swearing rabidly. Bug's eyes fearfully flashed in his direction. She looked at Niam, held her hand out, and nodded her head.

Niam drew her up, and she cried out as weight shifted onto her hurt leg. Niam's own leg burned and his head and stomach only seemed to make it worse. "Put your weight on me."

To Niam's stunned disbelief, Salb began picking himself up off of the ground. A grumbling and bestial sound issued from his lips. The hairs on the nape of Niam's neck stood on end. Salb slowly stood erect. Niam stared. There was no way anyone could have recovered from a blow to the head that quickly. When Salb reached up and drew his hood back, Niam gaped in alarm. His voice sounded harsh as he asked Bug urgently, "Do you think you can make it outside?"

"No," Bug said pitifully.

"Do your best," Niam snapped.

Bug began whimpering as she placed her weight against a stall door and began hopping toward the other end of the barn. Niam saw why Salb had managed to regain his senses so quickly. When Bode's former ally snarled and faced him, he wore a feverish expression that was filled with hysteria and completely homicidal. But that was not the worst of it. Even in the barn's dim interior, Salb's eyes seemed to gather up what meager light spilled from the lantern, amplify it, and reflect it back the way an animals eyes glinted in firelight.

Salb read the expression on Niam's face and chuckled. It was the dreadful sound of someone surrendering to depravity. "You fool," Niam said in a breathless voice.

"Oh, you're not the only one who has powers," Salb taunted. "I'm impressed you didn't just run like the runt you are."

"You've sentenced yourself to death," Niam spat. "What he's done to you always destroys the idiots that undergo it."

Salb shrugged. "I'm not Jalt," he drawled as if he were savoring the moment.

"The man that did this to you is using you. I've seen more than one person he changed. They all had to be put down like rabid dogs, Salb."

Salb's face registered only an instant's doubt. "I asked for it, Maldies. When this is finished, I will be able to make the change at will, and nobody will keep me from snuffing insects like you out of existence."

Behind him, Bug had only made it part of the way down the aisle. Niam knew that the only thing he could do was stall for time, but Salb was becoming more unhinged with each passing moment. "So that's it?" Niam asked. "You asked for this so you could be a better bully? I can't believe someone like you sold yourself so cheaply. There's got to be more to it than that."

Salb's eyes darted about more rapidly than a human's eyes ought to. "There's a change coming, and when it does, those of us who bring it about are going to be powerful," he bragged.

"Joachim will just have you hunted down," Niam cut him off. "He'll hound you down like he ran off your master."

Salb laughed contemptuously. "You don't know anything, Maldies. Your precious Count and Wizard's Hammer won't live to see the sunrise, and neither will you."

Before Niam could say anything else, Salb moved to retrieve his blade from the ground, but Niam was ready for it. "Hey Salb!" he shouted. The moment Salb looked up Niam kicked hay and sand into his face.

Salb reacted with fury. He screamed and began trying to get the stinging bits of dirt from his eyes. Niam sprinted forward and as Salb swung his fist at his head, Niam tried the dive-and-roll he had seen Maerillus use at sword practice . . . only instead of rolling, Niam's face struck the ground and he crumpled over. Above him, Salb's fingers dug at the grit in his eyes and he cursed Niam, kicking at him blindly. Niam managed to dodge out away in time. His hands shot out and he seized Salb's sword and wrestled it from his grasp. Niam danced back and delivered a desperate backhanded swing at Salb. He felt the blade struck flesh. Salb howled in rage and pain and lunged forward. Niam rolled onto all fours and launched himself out of Salb's reach.

"You'll pay for this!" Salb bellowed. "You and that girl!"

Niam began backing rapidly toward Bug. If he fended Salb off long enough, they might have a chance. The only problem was that Niam had no idea how Kreeth's sorcery had affected him.

"Come on!" Niam cried out to Bug. "Let me carry you!"

"Look out!" Bug shouted.

Niam whirled around in time to see Salb advancing on them. "You hurt my eyes!" he screamed savagely. "I'll kill you for that!"

"You're really going to hate this!" Niam said, and kicked another stinging cloud into Salb's face.

Salb's voice rose in pitch, but he didn't stop. "Bastard!"

Thinking quickly, Niam flung a stall door open, releasing a dozen frightened goats into the walkway. Salb stumbled over an animal and landed on his hands and knees while Niam backpedaled, dragging a whimpering Bug with him.

"Two can play at that game, Maldies," Salb spat. He reached into his pocket, withdrew a pouch, and flung it at Niam's head.

A fine spray of dark powder bloomed outward, and before Niam managed to turn his head, some of the pouch's contents billowed into his eyes. At first Niam just blinked it away, but as he continued to haul Bug closer to the door, Salb sat up wearing a triumphant smile Niam did not like at all.

That was when he noticed an unpleasant tingling sensation working itself around the edges of his eyes.

He blinked.

And he Blinked again.

And the tingling sensation steadily increased and transformed into what he thought felt like a strong sunburn.

"Oh no," Niam moaned.

Bug let out a fearful cry. "What did he do?"

Niam's heart pounded in his chest. His eyes began to water, and the rims of his eyelids became inflamed. Between squinted eyes, Niam looked behind them just in time to avoid tripping over several broken plows lying upside down with their blades pointing into the air. Niam thanked his stupid that luck he managed to miss them. Across the hall, the loft ladder inclined upward. He knew they were not going to hold out long enough to find help. Davin and Maerillus were not going to arrive in time to save him—not this time. Not Bug.

And Niam fought back despair.

A sharp thud accompanied by the startled padding of tiny hooves told Niam that Salb was kicking the goats out of his way. He was coming. If something did not change soon, Salb was going to kill them.

"Up the ladder, Bug! Do it now!"

"But I don't think I can!" she sobbed.

"You have to, Bug."

Her response was no more than a quivering, "Okay." Then Niam heard the creaking of wood as she fought back gasps of pain with each step. Niam clutched the sword in one hand and began climbing the rungs behind Bug. Above him, hay rustled as Bug made it to the top. Niam scooted after her.  
"Hurry Niam," she panted. The terror in her voice was almost physical.

"Oh my," Salb giggled gleefully. "Look what I've managed to tree!"

"Go away!" Bug screamed. "You killed my cousin! Go away and just die!"

Niam's heart sank. He felt the ladder's balance shift as Salb put his weight on the bottom rungs.

"No you don't Maldies," Salb chided. "You're not pulling the ladder up after you. I've got plans for the two of you. And when I'm done, I'm going to make good on my promise to Sartor."

Niam's eyes were nearly swollen shut, but he scrambled the rest of the way up. "Go to the back," he hissed at Bug as he felt more of the smoke and soot coming up in his throat. "Go the other end," he coughed. "Climb out across the rafters." Niam intended on holding Salb off for as long as possible. Maybe they could fend off Salb's relentless pursuit with the sword.

Maybe.

But Niam was nearly sightless.

"I've waited for this for a good while now," Salb gloated. "Maybe you'll get to see that stupid feeb when you're dead," he said, and then imitated Corey by hitting his head against the ladder's rungs. "I just can't take it anymore!"

"Stop it!" Bug screamed. "Stop it! Leave us ALONE!"

"Get back, Bug!" Niam hissed. He had to get her to move back. He grabbed ahold of her, pulling her with him while the sword he held dragged the floor uselessly. Somehow, Bug wiggled free and scampered away. The wood of the ladder grated against the lip of the loft as Salb came up after them.

"Bug!" Niam couldn't say more because his body was racked by a harsh series of coughs.

"I hoped you would make it out of your house," Salb told him eagerly. "I followed you . . . all of you, waiting for my chance . . ."

. . . Niam groped to find Bug, to pull her back . . .

". . . and when that sow slowed me down tonight and I had to slice her throat. That's when I saw your little girlfriend running from the little cookout I had planned for her. But I knew that if you lived, you would come find her!"

"Go Bug!" Niam felt desperate. Images of what Salb would do to her flowed through his mind. His head pounded. Sorcerous energy clung to Salb with the noxious residue of decay. Niam couldn't see anything. Every time he tried to blink, his eyes became so gummed up that he had to blink again. Desperately, Niam wiped his eyes with his fingers and let out a pained grunt. The best he managed to gain was a smeared, bleary, waxy view of the loft.

"They'll stop you Salb. You'll be hanged in the Pit for this, if Joachim doesn't take off your head first," Niam coughed.

"I told you, Joachim's not going to be here tomorrow!" Salb crowed, then began repeating in a sadistic, singsong voice, "I know things that you don't know!"

Bug wept and yelled out, "Get away from us!"

Salb chortled with glee. He was almost there. Niam stopped inching his way back. He didn't want to try using the sword blinded as he was. If Salb took it away from him, he and Bug were as good as dead. Now the killer was too close. Flight was no longer an option. He had to try to fend Salb off long enough to make it onto the rafters. If he could do that, keep Salb at bay long enough, Bug could make it to an opening and scream loudly enough to alert the searchers.

Salb continued to goad Bug with zeal, whipping Bug into a froth of fear. "Card should have had his way with you, you little turd. Too bad I can't kill the feeb again. I'd do it slower and let you watch," he said silkily.

Bug howled in grief. Niam had never heard anything more pathetic in his life. He crawled sightlessly toward the edge of the loft, stretching his hand before him to find Bug, to pull her back so it would just be him facing Salb. "Crawl back," Niam coughed. "Get back," he pleaded. "Please get back over the rafters."

Hot tears stung his face where they contacted the powder Salb had thrown at him. But they were tears born of desperation, not just of the stinging material in Salb's pouch. "Please go, Bug," he begged, but he could no longer hear his own voice over Bug's bellowing grief.

Salb's hands reached the top rung, but he was having fun now, laughing as each word was a slap across Bug's face. "Your cousin was a simpleton and I did the town a favor. Do you think your parents will be happy when you're gone?" Bug's fists clenched as she writhed in inner agony. Niam's hand finally found her hip. Bug's body shook as if she were in the throes of a seizure.

"I know!" crowed Salb. "I'll save you for last and let you watch while I do Maldies!"

As soon as Salb spoke those words, Bug let out an inhuman wail. To Niam it sounded like the pent up howl of ten tortured souls bent by anger and horror until they exploded. The maniacal jeering grin on Salbs face froze as Bug stood up and began kicking him.

"Stop it!" he snarled. "I'm going to make it hurt worse!" he spat.

Bug continued to kick like a feral animal. She was no longer a little girl. Her eyes were slits and her lips drawn back, bearing her teeth in feline fury.

"Stop it!" Salb screamed.

"Die!" Bug bellowed. "I want you to die!"

Die! Die! Die!" Each time she repeated the words, her voice became increasingly guttural and inarticulate. Bug swung at Salb. She clawed him. Her fingers dug into his face and he screamed his rage back, but Bug's fury was greater. She struck him hard in the nose. His cursing cut off abruptly. Bug jabbed her fingers into his eyes, and Salb shifted his weight back defensively. The ladder lurched dangerously. With one great heave, Bug grabbed ahold of the last foot of ladder sticking above the loft's edge and shoved it forward with all of her might.  
"Leave us alone!" she shrieked, more like an animal than a girl.

The ladder moved away from the loft's edge in an almost lazy arc. "No!" Salb shouted. "No!" As the ladder reached the apogee of its arc and passed the critical point of balance, it fell away, spilling Salb to the ground below where his scream was terminally cut short. The only sound in the barn was Bug's weeping. The barn floor below held only the noises of animals. All else on the ground was still and dead. Niam looked over the edge. He had to blink several times and caught the image of Salb's motionless form lying across the broken plows, their blades poking through his chest.

"Come here, Bug," Niam said, hauling her into his lap, where he began rocking her. "It's over for you, now."

Bug buried her head in his chest and wept. Niam held her tightly, silently, and just rocked. He knew that once someone finally checked the barn that none of this was over. Not by a long shot.
Chapter Forty-One

Danger In Disguise

Davin shook his head as he made his way to the Sartors' kitchen with the sacks he had taken from his two attackers slung over his shoulder. For the third time, he said, "I don't think that would be a good idea right now, Lexa! You've already lost enough here as it is!"

Maerillus's sister frowned. Her eyes flashed with impatience and her was voice curt. "That's precisely why I want to send out riders to find them."

Davin sighed. Alexandretta Sartor could be as obstinate as a mule when she had her mind set on something, and the moment he and Maerillus returned with Niam, she settled into a thorny mood because there was still no explanation for her brothers' delay.

"Why am I arguing with you, anyway?" she asked in disgust.

"My perfect charm?"

"That would be Niam," Lexa retorted.

"I would think that maybe it's because I've killed a trall, fought walking corpses, and taken out two men stalking travellers on your property," Davin said, allowing his voice to loose some of its frustration.

Lexa noted the change in tone and sighed. "I just don't like not knowing what is going on," she complained. "There have been a lot of patrols, but none of the soldiers seem to know anymore than we do about who is behind this."

Beside them, Maerillus walked silently. Davin figured it was because she was bullying someone else for a change. When he finally did speak up, it was to say, "I'm glad you two are finally playing nice."

Lexa rounded on him with a look that could have wilted salad greens. "Shut up little brother."

"Davin's right, Lex. Until we have more help here, we don't need to be sending staff out into lord only knows what."

"And I think we know what Niam would say about who is behind all of this," Davin murmured.

"That snake did leave us with a mess," Lexa said angrily.

"There's more to it than just Kreeth," Maerillus told her, to which his older sister just threw up her hands and declared loudly, "That's it! I'm leaving the family!" And then, more sulkily, "No one tells me anything anymore."

Davin's voice hardened. "You don't want to know the half of it."

As they neared the kitchen where Niam waited as old Casey tended to his face, Lexa pointed a stiff finger at Maerillus and poked him painfully in the chest. "I want to know what I going on. All of it. I can't protect my family unless I know what I'm up against."

Maerillus raised his hands and when he hesitated, Lexa jabbed him even harder. "Fine. We will all talk. AFTER this is over . . . when we have time."

Lexa seemed somewhat mollified if not entirely satisfied. "How is Niam?" She asked quietly.

Through the open door, Niam's tired voice responded, "His eyes hurt, but you may be interested to know his ears are fine. He has no problem hearing whatsoever."

Davin rolled his eyes and walked in first, but first he noticed that Lexa had to use real effort to remove the worry from her face. He saw it flicker across her features. Which meant that it went from the semblance of expressionless stone to something resembling preoccupation. But Davin knew that was an unfair comparison. For a Sartor, Lexa was perhaps the most reserved member of the family. Right now, she had more than any rational human being's share of worries.

Yet this was the second time tonight that Davin had noticed something more than passing emotion where Niam was concerned. Yet now was not the time to focus on something like that, so Davin stuck that away into the back of his mind for another day.

Still, Lexa . . . liked Niam?

Davin shook his head. That was certainly the way it might seem, but he was willing to bet good money that Niam had no clue. At the largest table in the kitchen, Niam sat still as Casey dabbed at the area around his eyes. Pink hued smears trailed down his cheeks she cleaned the caustic substance from his face.

"Is that blood?" Lexa asked quickly, pushing Davin aside and leaning down for a closer look.

"It's from the powder Salb threw at me," Niam said in a hoarse voice.

"Hold still, child," Casey warned as she swabbed the most swollen areas beneath his eyelids.

"That hurts!" Niam winced. "Are you trying to take my eyes out?" Niam shrank back, but Davin wondered if it was from the pain or Lexa's presence. He watched, somewhat amused as Niam did everything he could not to look up at Maerillus's sister.

"If you keep squirming like that I'm liable to put one out, child," the grandmotherly servant warned.

"How are you?" Davin asked. Niam had not been in much of a condition to talk when he and Maerillus found him sitting with the Maries as Madeline's father consoled his hysterical daughter. The fact that he and Maerillus arrived too late to help galled him. The only thing the two of them could do was gape as Niam recounted the fight with Salb. Nearby, the killer's body had been laid out and a blanket stretched over the corpse. Before retrieving the horse Niam had loaned out to the mother of Salb's first victim, Davin and Maerillus walked over to examine the body.

Salb's face still wore a surprised expression which death had not removed. As Davin checked the pockets, he discovered that one of them was full of long, ropy, and reddish tubers. He placed those in the sack containing the dangerous vial confiscated from his own set of attackers. While he did this, Maerillus pulled back Salb's eyelids and lips, and muttered quietly, "You're right. His eyes are—"

"Not like ours?" Niam finished painfully.

Maerillus's answer was quick. "No . . . they're like an animal's . . . like a trall's," he said in disgust.

Davin looked over Maerillus's shoulder as he examined Salb's corpse. No other physical signs were evident. Now Davin's first concern was Niam's own eyes. When his friend looked up to meet his gaze, his eyes were so bloodshot that just looking at them made Davin wince. He would not have been surprised if Niam wept drops of blood, yet instead of crimson tears, Niam's were clear and normal as they flooded around the his rims and cascaded down his cheeks in fat, healthy streams.

Which was a good thing, he hoped.

"Had to flush my eyes five or six times to take most of the burning away," he said with a raspy voice.

"Today was a hard one," Davin said.

Niam's voice was fatalistic. "It's about to get harder."

Davin hesitated to push Niam, but he knew that there wasn't much time with all that had already happened. More was afoot, and if they didn't keep ahead of this avalanche, he knew they risked seeing more than just themselves buried by it. He reached up and took down the sack and withdrew its contents. "Found something on one of the men who attacked me, I thought maybe you should take a look."

Niam shrugged his shoulders. "I know. I can feel the thing you're carrying."

"Two things, actually." Davin unwrapped the vial and laid it on the table in front of him. Its contents glowed faintly and continued to writhe with an wriggle.

Old Casey exclaimed, "Oh dear!" She took a fearful step backward, and Davin offered a quick apology. Thankfully Maerillus jumped in and asked her to get a fresh bowl of slightly salted water for Niam's eyes. Davin gritted his teeth. I'm getting so used to this kind of thing that I just laid that vial right out in front of the old girl.

Before he could say anything, Maerillus blew out a breath, "This is crazy!"

Davin nodded. "I thought nothing of it. When we're surrounded by this all the time—"

What is that?!" Lexa broke in. By the look on her face, there was no doubting its effect on her.

Niam pushed her away. Lexa made no argument, though her voice rose an octave as he stood up and moved between her and the vial. "Don't do that!"

"It's okay," Maerillus placed a hand on her shoulder. "Niam knows what he's doing."

Lexa crossed her arms nervously and backed away several more steps as Maerillus inclined his head toward Niam. "You do know what you're doing, right?"

A look of distaste came over Niam's face. He reached out and touched the vial, closing his eyes as he did. As if choking back a gag reflex, he let out a small shudder and his voice became detached. "There's a terrible will bound up in this. I can see it inside the glass. It looks like the flow of living letters I saw on the exploding boxes at the Vandin camp."

"What exploding boxes!?"

Maerillus looked at Lexa and raised a finger to his lips. Everyone's attention went to Niam. He went absolutely still as his face began to tremble slightly. Davin moved forward automatically as Niam's shoulders appeared to bunch up in pain, but suddenly all of the tension went out of his smaller friend and Niam sat back down hard in his chair with a loud exhalation. The sense of danger that surrounded the vial lifted like steam escaping an opened pot. Niam began coughing lightly. In a high, scared voice, Lexa demanded, "What was THAT?"

"Nothing good," Niam said tiredly.

Lexa made a frustrated tisking sound. "Don't joke with me, Niam. Not tonight."

Niam finally met her gaze. "That was a weapon of some sort. That's all I know," he said. Then, he shifted his attention to Davin and spoke before Lexa had an opportunity to say anything else, "What else do you have to show me?"

Davin opened the cloth containing the roots he had found on Salb and placed them on the table. Maerillus used a towel to cover his hands as he removed he tainted vial and stuffed it back into the bag from which it was retrieved. Niam picked several up and frowned as he examined them closely.

"They're local," he muttered to himself. When Maerillus asked him how he knew that, Niam rubbed the tips of his fingers around one and showed him the dirt on his fingertips.

"Oh."

When Niam broke one in half, his frown became more pronounced. "I think I know what stained Salb's fingertips. Take a look at this," he said, showing them the broken end of the root, which was almost a purplish red at the broken tip.

"That looks like something used in a dye," Maerillus said speculatively. Lexa agreed.

Niam nodded his head.

"A poison, then?" Maerillus offered.

"That makes sense," Davin said.

Niam held the root to his nose and sniffed. "Bitter," he muttered. When he touched the broken and fibrous end to his tongue, he grimaced. "I think I know where Salb got the pink powder he threw in my face," Niam told them. "It burns."

"That makes sense, too," Davin said. The look on Niam's face, however, told him that his friend was turning something unsettling over in his mind, and that whatever it was wasn't sitting well with him.

Niam got up and began to pace.

Maerillus and Lexa looked at one another and asked in perfect unison, "What's wrong?"

Niam looked up, surprised. "Do you know how uncanny that is?" With a shake, he scrunched his face up and went on hesitantly, "The stains on Salb's fingers looked familiar . . . ." he mused. When he turned his face to Davin, he looked really bothered now.

"Well, he did throw the powder at you."

"But I saw his fingers in the barn. They were dark. The powder was pink," Niam grumbled.

"He used the roots to make the powder."

"But he had to learn somewhere, didn't he?"

"Salb's obviously in league with the people behind this," Maerillus said.

Niam became even more agitated. "I'm missing something and it's right there!" he said, tapping his head. "And I know it's important!"

"I'm sure it will come to you, eventually," Lexa told him.

Niam made a disgusted sound. His voice became dark and troubled. "You don't understand. I have to figure this out," he said. "Salb almost had us tonight. Bug and I were going to die, and he . . . bragged about what he was going to do . . . and about Count Joachim and Jolan Kine not living to see the sunrise."

"But I'm sure he was just trying to get under your skin," Lexa told him. "The things you told us he said were abhorrent. Salb was a deranged and evil toad. Do you think maybe he was saying that to torture you, too?"

Niam shook his head emphatically. "I don't, Lex. I know he was telling the truth. He had taken away our hope that we were going to make it out. He was trying to hurt us with the truth. He knew something we didn't. He did, Lex. He did."

Maerillus was the first to speak up after a long moment of silence spent watching Niam try to walk a rut into the kitchen floor. "I just don't understand how anyone plans on taking out a count with an active and mobilized force surrounding him."

"But they aren't are they?" Niam flashed.

Maerillus shook his head. "No. He's brought them in closer for heavy patrols since everything started going to hell around here. I saw that lieutenant we've practiced with . . . Brian, I think . . . about an hour ago."

Niam closed his eyes tightly. "I still don't like this. Someone showed Salb where to find these roots and how to prepare them. Jolan Kine told us that some of the most deadly poisons he's ever seen grow around here. I bet this is moonflower vine," he said, indicating the root in his hand. "Which he said can do any number of things. I'm sure burning my eyeballs was just one of them. You remember, he said that depending on the dosage, some poisons could kill—"

"Or make someone incredibly docile!" Maerillus exclaimed, and then slapped his forehead with the flat of his palm. "I do remember! Dad was like a baby when I left him. But Kine said that particular poison had to be administered over a long time."

"I think Salb knew someone was poisoning Joachim and Kine," Niam said.

"We need to get to Joachim's estate," Davin said. "If you're right, we might be too late already."

Before anyone had a chance to say more, the kitchen door opened and two soldiers stepped into the room wearing long, thick overcoats covering leather armor. Both of their faces were bright red from the cold night air. One of them stepped forward to address Lexa. "Begging your pardon my lady, but we're here for the prisoner."

Lexa frowned. "We sent for you hours ago."

The soldier appeared flustered. "We came as soon as we could. There've been several prisoners taken so far." This grabbed everyone's attention. Only Niam—who continued pacing—seemed unfazed.

"You mean you haven't heard, yet?'

"Am I a mushroom being kept in the dark about everything!?" Lexa stormed. "What is going on!?"

"Pirim Village, ma'am. Part of it's burning."

Davin felt the blood drain from his face.

"Great Lord have mercy," Lexa said, stunned.

"I'm truly sorry, lady Sartor."

Maerillus's sister waved a dismissive hand. "Information has been hard to come by."

Beside Davin, he heard Lexa whisper to Maerillus, "That explains why the rest of our family isn't here."

"What can you tell me about your prisoners?" Davin asked.

"Some were professionals, some were paid criminals."

Davin grunted. "They were soldiers, then? Any idea where they're from or who sent them?"

The soldier shifted uncomfortably and his voice dropped. "Someone got to the prisoners before they could be questioned by the count. They were all killed."

"Let me guess," Davin said. "They were poisoned."

The guardsman's surprise was obvious. "How did you know?"

"It seems to be going around," Maerillus said flatly.

"We were hoping to bring the prisoner back for interrogation."

"Where is Lord Joachim," Davin demanded.

"The count was with his physician when I last saw him. The Hammer has taken ill," the soldier said.

Niam suddenly stopped pacing. Everyone looked in his direction when he exclaimed, "Pokeweed! That's it!" Niam then froze, and added, "I mean that's not it!"

"What's not it?" Davin asked.

"You said that it looked like Salb has been stained with a dye. Pokeweed is a dye!"

"But . . . I thought we were talking about poison?" Maerillus interrupted.

"Of course we are," Lexa said. "Pokeweed is poisonous."

"But not poisonous enough to be used to kill someone," Davin said.

Niam looked as if he was about to come undone. "But don't you remember that Kirse told us that he had gotten his hands stained by pokeweed the night he was wrapping our injuries. It wasn't pokeweed!"

Davin looked at Maerillus, "I remember that night. It was the night Niam got sick and left the room."

"Yes!" Niam declared forcefully, "But it wasn't because I was sick. It was because Kirse had been using sorcery."

The soldier who had been speaking cleared his throat nervously and said slowly, "While I don't like all of this talk about sorcery, I know the Hammer's been at these things with you three . . . and I can loose my place and be thrown out of the guard if any word of this falls on wrong ears." He hesitated in order to give them time to consider his words before going on.

Lexa moved to stand before the man. As she came forward, Davin realized that her imperially slim figure radiated aristocratic authority. This wasn't Lexa, his best friend's sister. This was Alexandretta Sartor, who may have been the daughter of one of the wealthiest merchants in the Kingdom, but had been born with all the hereditary mien of royalty.

"No one will give report of your words tonight, soldier. If they prove to be nothing, we will take them as they seem to us—the honest concerns of a loyal guardsman."

A look of relief came over the man's features. "My lady, none of us has had an easy feeling about the lord's physician for quite some time. I know that's not a lot to go on, but I don't trust the man. He's been acting oddly for some time."

Davin nodded his head. "We need to find Brian. Where's the lieutenant?"

"Ready to eat hot coals over everything going on. The lord kept him at the estate instead of sending him out."

"Good. We need him."

"But the prisoner," the man said.

Lexa immediately interjected. "Has sustained injuries that must be seen to before he's fit to go anywhere."

"That's right," Maerillus said. "The person that captured him did quite a number on the fool's forehead."

The guardsman gave them a sly smile. "Right. I'd like to thank that person."

"You're welcome," Davin said.

As they left with the two soldiers, Lexa called out, "Be careful!" When Davin looked back, he noticed that she was watching Niam as he walked through the door. When she caught his gaze, she placed a stern finger over her lips and Davin nodded his head. He wouldn't say a word.

Besides. If Maerillus ever even suspected her interest in Niam went beyond general feed-the-poor-and-give-charity-to-the-lepers sort, he knew that his wealthy friend would have plenty to say about it.

The ride was a quick one, and aside from Maerillus's grumbling about Niam's stolen horse, it went by in silence. When they rode up to the estate, soldiers were busy. Soldiers coming off duty wearily made their way to the cook tents and those leaving checked their saddles and armor.

"We can find the lieutenant from here," Davin told the men. "You should probably go eat before the food's gone."

The soldiers gave all of them a pat on the back and left to report to their commanding officer before eating.

"I see him over there," Davin said, and they pushed their way through a thick knot of surrounding a fire on the other side of the food tables. The officer looked up and gave them a wide smile. "I'm glad you're still alive."

"I'm afraid that it's not over yet," Davin said.

Brian's expression became serious. "When one of you three shows up to say something like that, all kinds of bad things are about to happen. Just my luck that I get all three of you on my shift." He sighed tiredly. When Davin got closer, he saw smears of soot covering the front of his breast armor and there were small, livid burns on one of his hands. "Let's hear it, Hapwell."

Brian listened as Davin filled him in, and his expression became stony and tense by the time he finished. "Are you sure about this?" he asked with the voice of a man contemplating lethal action.

"As sure as we can be, yes."

Brian turned toward several men at the food line and bellowed out, "You there! Flick! Nabs!"

The two weary soldiers were quick to respond. "Find the rest of your squads and get them ready to fight and move." And then he stood up on his chair and bellowed even more loudly, "I need the entire company on standby immediately!"

Murmurs and complaints rippled though the entire tent. A stout man in mail and a flowing cape approached them, eyeing Davin and his friends with a sharp glare. "What's the meaning of calling my company to alert, lieutenant?" The man's emphasis on Brian's rank led Davin to conclude that this had to be the company captain.

Brian saluted with his hand over his chest. "Apologies Captain Send. I was about to send for you. Count Joachim and the Hammer may be in danger, sir."

The captain looked at Davin and his friends sourly. "These would be the ones who brought you this information?"  
"That is correct, sir."

Captain Send looked as grizzled from hard work as Joachim himself usually was. He had quick eyes and a hard and cautious stare Davin had come to associate with seasoned veterans. He spat and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "This have anything to do with that bastard?"

Davin knew exactly which "that bastard" he referred to. "He's fled, but there are more like him, sir." Send swore as Davin told him what he had told Brian.

"And the Hammer is with Joachim, who may be with a Sorcerer," Send mused and hit the flat of his hand with his fist. "The cat's in the henhouse this time . . . and we have no Hammer to help us."

"You have me, sir."

The captain regarded Niam for a moment, then said skeptically, "Kid, you look ten years too young and like something I saw a wildcat once spit out after eating a rabbit."

Niam met the man's gaze and replied hoarsely, "I've followed a dead dog to an almost dead boy, survived a sorcerer's fire traps, gotten past the sorcerer's defenses, faced two tralls, and set a bully's pants on fire, and no offense, sir, but I'm all you've got right now."

Send said nothing for a moment. "Good to know if I need to light someone's butt on fire."

"I also screamed a lot at one of the tralls, sir—and called it names."

"Good to know, Kid. You see one, feel free to tell it whatever you like."

Brian placed a hand on Niam's shoulder. "They may be green, but they've seen more than most of the men under our command. I've seen them in action. They'll hold their own."

"They're going to have to," Send said harshly. "I was with the company that tracked Devon Schatz all the way to the Shakta waste during the Litho campaign. Was with Joachim through all of that mess. I've seen what sorcerers can do."

Davin's ears perked up at this. He had no idea Joachim had been a part of that battle. Devon Schatz was a sorcerer—a summoner—who had taken control of a small country on the southern tip of the continent. Several western nations put together a coalition to drive the foul man out of his lair and bring him to justice. The fighting had been brutal. "We have been training hard with Jolan Kine," he declared.

Send spat once more. "I know you've been working with the Hammer. That's the only reason I'm letting you get my men back into action tonight, boy."

Brian took Send aside, and the boys heard him telling his commander, "I have two squads assembling right now. My men are the most rested. Let us move ahead and check things out, sir. With the rest of the company standing ready, we can have this matter in hand within the hour."

Send nodded. "Do it. I will seal off the entire estate. No one will get in or out," he declared. "Two more squads will follow." Send then called for another lieutenant and began giving orders. Brian put on his helm and said, "Let's move!"

As the squads fell in with them, Davin felt a sense of comfort knowing they weren't going after a magic user alone. As they entered the estate, one of the servants stepped out of the count's office and blanched as he saw a mass of armed guards moving around on the entrance with weapons drawn "What is all of this?" he croaked in surprise.

Brian addressed the man crisply, "Where is the count, Leonard?"

"He's left, sir . . . is something wrong?"

"Where did he go, man?!" Brian snapped.

In a jittery voice, the servant stammered, "He went with Kirse to tend to Mr. Kine. What's wrong?" he asked in alarm.

"Lock the manor down," Brian commanded. "If you see Kirse, do not stop or talk to him. Go get Captain Send immediately, do you hear?"

The man nodded his head and darted back inside. The sound of the closing door was followed immediately by the click of the latch locking tightly on the other side. "Kirse's private office is just on the other side of the count's gardens," Brian said.

"We should go in first," Davin warned him.

Brian nodded his head.

After a tense approach, Davin stood before the front door with Niam beside him looking as if he were staring through the home rather than at it.

"I feel it here. There's a taint to this house just like the one at Kreeth's estate." He shivered and kept his head slightly turned, as if afraid of inhaling something rotten. "I don't know how Kine missed this," he said wonderingly.

"Move out of the way," Davin warned, pulling him aside as Brian joined them with his sword drawn. Two soldiers carrying a battering ram climbed the steps.

"Once the door is open, my men will go in and fall to the side. You go in after them, but do not let yourselves get too far ahead of them. I will not have you so far in that we can't pull you out if things go bad."

"Oh, they always go bad," Niam intoned darkly.

Brian looked at him and frowned. "Then we'll have to go badder."

With a motion of his hand, the soldiers with the ram made the frame shudder with the first blow. The second knocked the door open with a resounding crash.

As the soldiers rushed in, an awful stench wafted out of the residence. Davin forced himself in despite the gag reflex threatening to bring everything left in his empty stomach up. Several men around him coughed and choked.

Holding his sword ready, Davin brought Niam around in front of him, and they worked their way forward into an ornate room. Nothing stirred within the house.

"I can feel a dark power all around me," Niam said. "The strongest presence is coming from back there," he told Davin, pointing further into the dwelling.

"That's where the smell is coming from," Brian said.

"And that's where we have to go," Niam said, bracing himself for what he knew was going to come next.

Davin took a lantern from one of the soldiers and moved down the hall with his friend, coldly intent on keeping his focus on the slightest movement or presence that might crop up. When they came to a closed door, Niam stopped. The stench of decay was heavy in the cold air. Brian motioned them aside as he tried the latch. The door swung open, groaning on its hinges. Holding the lantern aloft, he allowed Niam to stand at the threshold and looked at him questioningly.

"It's thicker here," he said, voice trembling from the strain of the forces he felt. "I think that what I'm feeling is old, though. An echo. A strong one, but an echo."

Brian moved into the room; the lantern threw grotesquely distorted shadows scurrying across the walls. Davin stepped into the darkness and immediately realized he was in a bedroom. A writing bureau stood against one wall, and on the opposite, a wardrobe nearly half the length of the wall sat, tall and stout, made of a dark wood that seemed to blend into the shadows. On the bed in the center of the room, sheets bulged in an easily recognizable shape. Dark stains stood out against the light fabric at the head of the bulge and in its middle. The only reason there were no flies was because of the bitter cold.

Brian nodded his head to several soldiers, and the men flung the sheet off, revealing the bloated corpse of a man. Vomit and a dried white crust encircled the cadaver's mouth, spilling down both sides and onto the fabric below. In the lantern's light, the bottom of the cadaver was thickly stained where the person, tied to the bed, had messed himself as he perished.

"That's Kirse!" Niam said, placing his hand over his mouth in an attempt to stave off the worst of the stench.

"That's impossible!" Brian hissed. "If someone were impersonating him, the Hammer should have known."

Maerillus looked over at Niam, catching his attention. "What if something interfered with his ability to detect the use of sorcery?"

"Something slow . . . like a poison?"

Maerillus nodded his head.

Niam shrugged his shoulders. "If it was subtle enough . . . and if he never got too close to this house, sure. I don't see why not, but we'll have to ask Kine."

Niam quickly backed out of the room and closed the door once everyone else was out. "Back there is where most of the dark power is coming from."

"That's where his office is," Brian told them.

Davin followed Niam, who moved cautiously, keeping alert for traps like the one he had almost sprung in Kreeth's basement several months ago. Almost as if reading is mind, Niam look back and shook his head. The door to the office stood ajar, and before either of them got close enough to open it, Brian let out a growl and pulled them to a stop. He pointed a finger at them and told them to wait. He opened the door and held the lantern in the room, then glanced back at Niam. "Anything?"

Niam nodded his head. "I don't think it's trapped. I just feel a strong presence in there."

Brian directed soldiers into the room.

Niam led them in and stopped abruptly. In the middle of the floor, a gaping hole opened up into darkness beneath the house. "This is where the dark power is coming from," he groaned. His eyes held a disquieting fear. "I've never felt anything like this. It's bad down there . . . really bad."
Chapter Forty-Two

The Deeps

Niam looked down into the hole and felt as if the darkness below gazed back into him. Filthy waves of energy pulsed from the opening. Beside him, Maerillus and Davin peered down as well, and Davin asked, "How deep do you think it goes?"

Brian knelt down and examined the jagged edges of wood, and said, "It looks like the floor was pulled in from down there."

Niam felt a shiver pass down his spine. "Hold the lantern out," he said.

Brian nodded and extended his arm over the opening. A good twenty feet below, Niam saw the faint glint of damp rock. "There's a good drop, but I can see the bottom. I think there's a passage."

Brain stood up. "We'll need lanterns and a rope ladder," he said to several guardsmen. To Niam, he asked, "Do you think there is anyone waiting to surprise us?"

Niam shrugged. "Probably."

Brian nodded. He then called for more soldiers. "We need to get this body out of here while we're waiting for the lanterns and ladder."

"He had to live here while the body rotted," Niam said in disgust.

"He's a necromancer," Maerillus replied. "I don't think the smell bothers him like it does us."

Brian whistled and let out a frustrated breath. "Count's not going to like knowing this was all here under his nose," he muttered.

Stamping his feet, Niam watched as the soldiers carried Kirse's body out wrapped in the bed linens he had died in. "He suffered for a long time," he said, sickened by the image of the man's vomit-covered face bloated and swollen like a sausage.

"Yes," Brian agreed. "I think he must have kept the guy alive long enough to get information from him he could."

Niam felt a pang of guilt. "If I had realized that something was off the day I got sick, maybe we could have figured this out earlier and saved the man."

"Don't," Brain said. "That kind of thinking will make you crazy. I've seen soldiers live with that kind of guilt until it drove them into a bottle."

"Niam's the king of guilt," Maerillus said, but not mockingly.

Nearby, the soldiers returned with the things they needed and began lowering a ladder down into the opening. Lanterns followed, and the guardsmen cautiously descended first. Niam was the next to go. He dropped his staff to Brian, who deftly caught it, and then clenched his teeth, holding on awkwardly as the ladder shifted and swayed with every movement he made. "You alright, Maldies?" Brian asked, handing him his staff.

Niam nodded and lit a lantern while Davin and Maerillus navigated the wobbly ladder. Davin made it look easy. When he dropped the last several feet and landed gracefully, he wore a sly smile. "What?" he asked innocently as Niam and Maerillus watched, scowling.

Niam held his lantern up and inspected his surroundings. They stood in a long, natural passage that looked as if it had once been carved by an ancient underground river. Now, the floor glistened with moisture and the rocks were stained in deep rust-colored patterns all along the uneven passage walls. Twice, Niam winced as he stumbled over the uneven ground beneath him; he had to be careful lest a loose rock send him sprawling. With his luck, he knew he would probably break an ankle if that happened. His body ached all over as it was and his sight still wasn't the best.

After several minutes, Niam noticed that several men were moving their way. "We found a glove," one of the soldiers told Brian. "Looks like they're down that way," he said.

Brian motioned the troops to proceed in the direction of the glove, and the procession quickly became silent as they moved. The echoing footsteps reverberating along the length of their route made listening for approaching enemies impossible. The passage wound along a snake-like path, and Niam quickly became disoriented. They seemed to walk for hours, and while the lanterns gave off plenty of light, the confined areas they crept through reminded Niam that down in the depths of the earth, light was an intruder. Just beyond the lanterns' glow, darkness waited like a pent up tide ready to break through the illumination and surge the emptiness forward. After what seemed like an eternity, the passage widened. Water dripped with hypnotic regularity, and tapering stalactites descended from the roof of the cavern like glottal protrusions of living rock.

The farther they went, the uneasier Niam became. He had to concentrate hard to push the sickening feeling away, but it did not work very well. Somewhere down into the heart of the earth, something dark and vile pulseed like the great heartbeat of a gigantic animal.

Niam jumped when Brian suddenly called for a short break. He shook his head to try to clear it. Looking around, he noticed something and said quietly, "The stalagmites have all been removed."

"How can you tell?" the lieutenant asked.

"Look at these stumps," Niam told him.

Davin knelt to inspect the rocky floor. "Yes. He's right." Then he stood up and moved around the wall of the cavern, holding his lantern aloft as he inspected the surface of the stone. "Look at this," he said, pointing to a circular hole in the rock. "I bet these were bored into the rock to hang lanterns."

Niam coughed. "This must be ancient," he said and moved over to Maerillus and Davin, who were looking at strange patterns scrawled across the rock's surface. "Looks almost like writing, doesn't it?" Davin asked.

Indeed, what appeared to be harsh, angular letters or ugly characters faded and into the rock along broken lines covering a good portion of the cavern wall. "These look angry," Niam nearly whispered. " Uneasy questions flitted through his mind. Why had he been given this ability when it did little good against things like tralls? Or sorcerers? Or even people like Bode? Niam laughed at his foolishness. He had lived under the illusion that the little bit of training he had received with a sword and staff might get him through whatever fate threw at them. He had been badly mistaken. He knew he wasn't ready for what might lay ahead.

"I blew it tonight," Niam said, realizing that his sour stomch had less to do with the effects of sorcery than with his fear.

"You're going to tear yourself apart," Davin said.

Niam made a sour face. "What happens if we run up against something we can't beat?"

Davin looked down. "I honestly don't think we've faced one thing we could beat. Not really. I have to trust I will get through whatever is happening."

"I can't," Niam flashed. His voice echoed oddly down the passage.

Brian's voice cut them off. "Time to keep moving," he said.

Niam grumbled, but quickly joined the head of the group. As they continued, they were soon walking along a narrow passage. Here and there fissures ran through the walls, and several hundred paces further down the path, the quality of the air began to change. Niam couldn't be certain, but he thought he caught a whiff here and there of crisp winter air. When he said something, Davin agreed.

"There must be openings in the ground above us," he said quietly.

Niam wished he knew where they were going so that he could have remained up there. As they moved, the sensation of throbbing power grew more pronounced. Brian raised his hand suddenly, indicating a halt. Niam saw that the passage abruptly ended ahead and opened up into a much larger space. The lieutenant sent several men ahead to see what they were about to walk into.

"You've got to see this, sir!" one of the men said as they returned. "I've never seen anything like this!"

"You're going to need all of the light we've got," the other guardsman added. "It's really big."

The lieutenant looked back at Davin and arched his eyebrows.

"Here we go," Niam said beneath his breath.

Brian held his lantern high. "Come on." The scale of the cavern was enormous. Before them a large cavity plunged deep into the rock. It must have been as large as a pasture. Niam moved close and looked down into they stygian darkness. He shivered.

"That's not what we wanted you to see,"

Niam allowed his eyes to follow the path as it wound along the perimeter of the drop-off. The combined light of the lanterns lit a circle that seemed to tremble at its edges. Natural cavities within the rock had been carved into larger chambers ages ago. Though darkness obscured any details of what lay within, Niam made out smaller grottos extending further into open chambers. Some appeared to have been hewn from existing hollows, others, auricles that had existed possibly from the beginning of time. What caught his eyes, though, were the massive statues standing over all who dared skirt the edge of the yawning abyss. Tall, bestial figures leered across the drop wearing expressions that knew nothing of mercy or kindness. What Niam looked at gave silent witness to beings of anger and hate, guardians of an ancient drive from prehistory for savagery and domination.

Niam recognized them and knew them for what they were. "Guldeen."

"I've seen the ruins they left behind," Brian said. "But never anything like this. I wonder how long they've been here?"

"Time out of mind," Maerillus said. The awe in his voice was obvious. "Look at the faces. The water seeping out of the rock has eroded some of the features."

"Joachim says they were here when men first arrived. Our ancestors rooted them out over the centuries," Davin said.

"I wonder why they were down here," Maerillus mused.

Suddenly, a fierce crackling erupted from the gaping maw in the rock. A brilliant flash of light filled the cavern. From beyond the edge of the wide drop off, green fires licked above the rim like hungry, wispy tongues. Niam felt a stab of pain sizzle through him. He reached out for Davin's shoulder as his legs began to buckle beneath him. "Get me closer to the edge!" Niam yelled.

Davin remained rooted where he was. "Don't think that's a good idea!" he cried out. "Back up!"

Growling, Niam pushed himself away and staggered closer to the edge. The fierce green light jabbed into his eyes, forcing him to shield his face with his hand.

"Maggots!" Davin cursed. "Don't do that again!" Looking into the abyss, Davin shouted, "That looks like the sorcery we saw in Kreeth's basement!"

"That's because we're right below Kreeth's estate!" Niam shouted.

Davin's face formed a scowl as another burst of light lit up the far walls of the cave. Long and translucent tentacles glowing with an unholy power began to lift up from the pit in a braided mass. Niam watched as several tendrils separated from the main vine and lashed out across the pit. Shouts of surprise sounded above the din as men dodged away from the menacing filaments.

Behind Niam, a terrible shriek rose above the bedlam. He spun in time to see a soldier jerk as a glowing rope buried itself into his chest. Its movements had an esophageal quality, as if it was swallowing the man's essence, even while he struggled to pull it out of his body.

"No!" Davin lurched toward it, but Niam managed to catch ahold of him and pull him back.

"He's dead already!" The unfortunate man's movements stopped; though he remained upright, Niam knew it was only because he was being held there. His face shriveled in an instant. Wrinkles spread across his forehead and cheeks like cracks in a pane of glass. Niam watched aghast as the man's skin became mottled and grew pale, taking on a waxy texture, which rapidly grew slack and doughy. Suddenly, the guardsman's face just sloughed off like a mask, making a plopping sound where it hit the floor.

"Run!" Niam screamed.

Half of the soldiers shot back into the passage they had just emerged from. As Niam sped toward the other side, he realized that the men following him were being consumed by the living veins of energy.

Davin appeared beside him and shouted, "Movement!" Niam followed the direction of Davin's finger. From the openings in the rock, dark shapes shifted and swayed in a way that made Niam think of the undead that had come slouching out of the woods at the sorcerer's estate months earlier.

Davin called to Brain, "Walking dead!"

They tried to give themselves enough clearance from the openings in the cavern wall to escape the oncoming attackers, but a man's scream cut through that hope.

This was followed by another. And then another.

Niam spun to see that Davin was running toward the commotion. In wavering shadows cast by the garish green light, something quick and inhuman leapt out of a dark recess at the base of a statue's thick legs. It's body was cadaverously thin, and mottled like the shade of a dead and gangrenous fish

. Davin was on it immediately, taking it from the side, driving his weapon into the creature's ribs. Niam arrived with his new staff twirling. He brought the end of it around with a powerful blow, which caught the thing on the side of its head. The impact of the blow travelled all the way up the staff's length and carried so much force that Niam's hands smarted painfully. He felt the reanimated creature's skull fracture like brittle shale. A large chunk of the thing's face ripped free and was knocked to the ground.

Davin wasted no time with his counterstroke. With a grunt, he gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and brought the blade up in a reverse arc that tore the creature in two.

They both turned in time to see more coming their way. As the undead made their way out of the chambers, they moved stiffly, but the shambling shapes quickly gained speed as they emerged into the open. Niam backed away without thinking.

"There are too many!" he called out.

Davin nodded. "I'll hold them! I saw light further ahead!"

Niam screamed at the soldiers to move. Brian was nowhere to be seen. Dark shapes boiled out of the openings like swarming ants. Davin came to a skidding halt when he saw this and gave Niam a panicked look. A gushing mass of twisted, black bodies poured over the guardsmen, and above the din of the fierce energy stream, bloodcurdling screams of men pierced the darkness.

"We have to go," Maerillus yelled. "There's light down at the other end of the cavern!"

Niam and Davin cast one look back, but there were no survivors. They were totally alone. Fear and madness had found a place in the earth as the dark forms tore the fallen soldiers apart. The Guldeen's bestial faces were dried husks of frozen rage.

"GO!" Maerillus screamed.

Niam ran, realizing that they had dropped their lanterns during the attack. There was enough light to see by as they shot toward the end of the cavern. All along the wall, from recesses in the rock, dark shapes were massing. Fear drove Niam. A feeble and pale light leached through narrow slats ahead, and as he drove himself toward it, Niam realized that there was indeed a way out. Rough stone steps led up sharply, and an old wooden door, rotten from neglect, covered a narrow opening in the rocks. Davin stopped just short of it and kicked the wood with his foot. The door splintered and collapsed like a pile of twigs. Niam knew the horde was rapidly closing. Davin grabbed Niam 's arm and flung him through. As he was sent sprawling out onto a wooden platform, Maerillus followed. Davin emerged, panting.

Niam scurried up, preparing to fight. He was in a cellar of some sort, with smoothly plastered walls and shelves holding round packages and bottles of wine. On the far side of the space, a flight of stairs ascended into a room lit by morning light above.

Before Niam could move to strike anything emerging from the foul cavern, Davin reached up and flung an iron-barred door on this side of the entry closed. He quickly drew a metal pole across two catches, locking it. Against the wall ran a pair of sliding tracks. A set of shelves were connected to them, which explained how Ravel and his helpers escaped so easily the day they found the bodies hanging from the trusses in the sorcerer's manor. "What were those?!" Davin cried out in disgust.

"Guldeen," Niam said, panting hard.

The pitched note of disbelief in Maerillus's voice was clear. "How? They tore those men apart!"

"I'll never be able to get that out of my head," Davin moaned. His face was pale and his eyes wore heavy, tired circles beneath them.

Niam knew exactly how his friend felt. "Did anyone see the lieutenant?" he asked.

"No," Davin said sadly.

"We're alone, then," he said, and growled, "Typical."

"Niam," Davin's voice was carefully controlled as he struggled to overcome hia agitation. "That thing coming up from the opening . . . was that from the creature you saw falling to earth in the barrens?"

Niam nodded his head. "I think so. Maybe it came to ground here to die, but I think some of it remains down there, sleeping but not entirely dead. The Guldeen were drawn to it like flies to rotten meat. Kreeth, too—and I think he's trying to use it somehow."

"It seemed pretty spry to me," Maerillus snapped.

Niam shook his head. "What I saw falling held immense power. Just look at what it did to the barrens. Whatever it is down there at the bottom of that pit sleeps or is still dying.

Davin's voice was heavy with dread. "Can Kreeth wake it up?"

"Niam shrugged his shoulders. "I wish I knew."
Chapter Forty-Three

The Sorcerer's Lair

Davin led the way out of the cellar and into the room above. When Niam joined him, he saw that they were in one of the buildings behind Kreeth's lair. The building was full of musty stacks of old boxes and unused barrels. Several unopened sacks of four and millet were stacked against one wall. The door to the outside was open. Cold air pushed and bullied its way into the room. Niam coughed. Now that some of the nervous energy from the flight out of the caverns had worn off, his leg throbbed. He absently wondered how Maerillus's ankle was holding up. Although the injury was old by now, he knew that it wasn't old enough to take the kind of punishment Maerillus had put it through.

"Hopefully the survivors will send help when they get back to Joachim's estate," Niam said.

"Hopefully," Maerillus echoed him.

"Yeah." Niam knew no one would get there in time to help them. He knew that this might be a one-way trip before coming, but he also knew that this was something he had to do. Niam felt the man who had killed his brother and sister deep within the manor in front of them. He felt his sick presence more acutely than ever. Like the heartbeat of a sparrow synced with the beating heart of an eagle, the pulsations of the thing in the pit overshadowed Kreeth's presence but did not obscure it. Only now that he was far enough away from the cavern below could he sense the necromancer. I have to do this for my sister and my brother, for Bug and Corey, for Betsy, for all the other people the man killed or ruined. Everything that has gone wrong has happened because of him. It was strange knowing that he was probably about to die. Niam's thoughts kept returning to Bug. She was his responsibility. He had made her his responsibility.

Niam's whole body hurt as he emerged into the open air. "Look at that," he said in amazement.

All around the dark manor, anything that grew had been cut down and dragged to great, tangled piles. Everything for at least a quarter of a mile in every direction now lay barren. Branches and limbs stripped from the trees as they were dragged to their pyres littered the ground in a broken riot of hasty destruction.

"How ugly," Davin said. But it had to be done. This is just another example of what people like Kreeth turned the world into.

Maerillus's face clouded over. Niam knew he must be thinking of Betsy and what the failed kidnappers had done to his parents. His voice was sharp as a whip crack. "I hate him!"

Niam knew the anger Maerillus felt very well. "I think he orchestrated everything tonight to get the troops out of here," he said. "All of the chaos and confusion was just so he could grab Kine and Joachim."

"But Kine should have realized there was a sorcerer near," Maerillus protested.

"I think the cakes were how he did it. Kirse's imposter used the red batter to hide the moonflower root." As he said this, he held up his hands to show everyone the fingertips that were stained after rubbing the exposed ends of the roots. "See. Nearly the same color. At first he never had to get close to either the count or the Hammer. All he had to do was have them delivered. There are traitors within Kine's order that have thrown their lot in with Kreeth. We know that at least one has for sure, now."

"But how is Kreeth still behind all of this?" Maerillus demanded. "The worm left the kingdom. There are witnesses. He can't be in two places at once!"

Niam shook his head. "He hasn't had to. He's been here all along."

Maerillus looked indignant. "What?"

Niam grimaced. "I can feel him. The maggot is inside. I think he's been here all along to finish what he started." With a shudder, Niam looked at his friends. They regarded Niam with frozen expressions as they sifted through what they knew, linking all of what had happened in order to put everything together.

Davin said, "I think we have to do this now."

Niam noticed Maerillus taking in a long, preparatory breath. "Yeah," he said. "Now or never."

"Yeah," Niam repeated.

The three of them walked toward the house stepping gingerly through the deep snow, following the footprints leading into the manor. Within, the hallway now stood bare of any paintings and tapestries. All rooms they passed had been vacated. Anything that brought softness and order was unwelcome, a barbarous intruder in this civilization of emptiness. Yet Niam could still feel the manor. There was more to this building; it was a mausoleum designed to hold not just bodies, but events—terrible events.

And the evil effulgence that rolled off of them.

This manor, more than any other place Niam had been, wasn't just a location with a long history. Beginning thousands and thousands of years ago with the fiery impact of a dark being, this place became the culmination of its history.

Davin and Maerillus both looked ahead with the resolution of men marching to their executions. Despite Davin's encouragement, Niam did not have the will to hope for the best. He knew that without a Hammer primed for the fight ahead, success was just as nebulous as vapors rising above spilled blood on frozen ground. He fought hard to push this feeling away. The taint of necromancy hung in the air so thickly that he saw it as a green, tenuous mist shrouding everything. Only Davin and Maerillus remained untouched by it.

Niam made an effort to steady his mind. Every part of him was alive and sensitive beyond anything else he had ever felt before. His swollen eyelids still burned; only now, he imagined that he felt every blood vessel throbbing in syncopation to his heartbeat. His legs felt ready to bolt even before his mind gave them the order to run. He had to hold his staff firmly with both hands to keep them from shaking right off of his wrists.

From the entry into Kreeth's hidden basement room, Niam heard the same angry hiss and crackle that had issued from the thing in the cavern. He forced his weakened legs forward step-by-step to confront the man who had ruined his life and the lives of so many others. But there was one living person he was willing to die for.

Bug.

He no longer had Sarah, but he had his little friend. In that moment before he took the steps leading down to where Kreeth worked his dark sorceries, Niam thought of Bug the day he found her outside the old Abbey's ruins. She had been so small, thin, and fragile, but puffed up with determination to barge right down into the heart of Bode's gang and fight them. Then came the memory of Bug nestling against his chest, weeping after Salb lay broken and impaled on two old plows. Niam pushed that image from his mind. The first was the one he wanted to remember.

Davin and Maerillus held within their eyes the yellow coronas of blazing suns. Niam felt himself attuned to every crackle of necromantic energy snapping like hot coals biting frigid winter air in the room beyond. He knew his eyes shone, too. Today there was no more hiding. Today was the day, win or lose, that he faced down Garrolus Kreeth or died trying. Anything else was just too hard to live with.

As he stepped out onto the landing, Niam trembled. Below him, the stone removed during the last foray into the manor had been replaced. Long, living shoots of energy writhed at its base and arced up to the ceiling, surrounding a hooded figure whose arms were outstretched in a gesture of welcome surrender. Wispy green filaments stood out like faint fuzz on each tentacle. They seemed to lovingly caress the sorcerer, whose body responded with quivering delight. Behind him, Joachim and Kine were tied to the trusses that the sorcerer's first victims had suspended from.

Only now, at the bottom of the trusses, piles of wood waited to be lit. Both Kine and Joachim appeared to be unconscious. And now, the cords flowing up from the floor seemed flush with power and vitality, making Niam's first encounter with them seem anemic by comparison. And around the room sprawled the bodies of emaciated and drained men.

The thing that had consumed them was hungry, and it looked like some of Kreeth's followers had been just so many snacks.

Niam felt the thrumming of the fierce blast of power course through his body. Every part of him revolted against its presence. The necromantic energies hit him like an onslaught of broken glass. Somewhere in the distance, Niam heard someone screaming, and faintly recognized the voice as his own. Overwhelming nausea crashed over him like a wave of grave water, the pooled accumulation of swollen and corrupted corpses melting within their coffins, the slobber of millions of teeming maggots drooling over decomposing bodies.

An evil presence worked to squirm its way into Niam's mind with an unholy and triumphant "YES!" as it attempted to latch onto his body. More. Its "YES!" surged into Niam as he became aware that its craving was for something more than merely flesh. It rushed into him, hungry and ravenous beyond any animal's appetite. Niam felt as if the oily coils of something serpentine closed around his spirit. There it tried to nestle. There it wanted to feed.

And so he sensed that what the terrible being had done to the bodies of living men and women was only a sign of its ultimate victory, which was to corrupt and despoil everything that was not in some way a part of its essence. As the force of the being melted into Niam's body and touched his soul, Niam heard another voice ring through the tumult and agony.

This voice . . . this Voice rang out with the purity of high mountain Alps in the freshmade morning sky, with the clean briny scent of the ocean blown inland by a playful morning breeze. This Voice held the laughter of millions of little children and the songs of choirs too innumerable to count. Within the sounding of that voice, Niam heard Sarah's laughter, echoing down the corridors of time, never to be diminished or stopped.

"NO!" the Voice that was both mountain and ocean, laughter and defiance, rang clear and golden like a beautiful trumpet note that was too perfect to be sounded by human lips.

"NO!"

Suddenly the pressure and invasive presence was hurled back. Niam realized that he held his hands defensively in front of himself, that with each sounding of the trumpet's "NO," he felt a new type of power flowing through him.

Somewhere within the depths of Niam's soul, there existed an ocean fathomless and still, unmoved because it was always in motion, the origin of all motion, containing everything and nothing all at once. He knew that it had always existed within him.

"NO," the Voice rang out, and Niam cried out with it. He realized that at the tips of his fingers, a bowl was forming within the air, not of the air, but composed partly of it, shielding him and his friends from the effects of the necromancy below them.

"NO!"

Niam had never heard a more beautiful word in his life. He heard himself screaming, "NO!" along with it.

"NO!" he roared, turning the defensive force he wielded against the spellcaster bathing in the corrosive magic. Niam watched in amazement as the O protecting the three of them unfurled, opening into a flower's blossom, taking on the scintillating color of sunflower petals. Slowly it straightened and became a wall. Niam pushed against the wall he had somehow created, and while the necromancer's attention was absorbed in ecstasy, Niam made his way down the stairs, straining to take each step, fighting to keep his balance. The evil flow of energy continued spewing out of the floor while its tentacles lovingly cradled Kreeth.

When he reached the floor, Niam placed all of his fury and fear behind his effort. He grunted as he cast the wall outward, willing his defense into a weapon, and watched as the wall sped toward the sorcerer, where it slammed into the stone obelisk on the floor, igniting it in a blinding flash. The Sorcerer was thrown aside as showers of sparks rained down like the starfall of a shattered night sky.

Immediately, the hostile being's presence abated. The tentacles retracted in painful spasms. Niam still felt the thing below, still sensed its insatiable hunger lurking in the impenetrable hole, but the worst of the alien magic was gone.

Maerillus and Davin let out startled exclamations. Niam sagged, and gave a nervous laugh. "Now the hard part begins," he said, straightening and raising his hands before him. Please let me do that again! he fervently prayed.

The hooded figure's reaction was lighting quick. He leapt up with uncanny agility as a piercing screech of rage issued from beneath the cowl. "Watch out!" Davin shouted, and pulled Niam aside just in time to see a sizzling ball of green lightning careen by his head. "The magic's making him fast and strong," Davin warned.

Niam nodded. "I've got this," he said, straining to make another shield so that the next bolt did not fry them where they stood. He knew that if they remained together that the sorcerer was going to take them easily.

"You can drop the hood back, Kreeth," he said, forcing as much contempt in his voice as he could manage. "I know it's you."

While the shield solidified in midair, making an opaque wall that blurred everything in front of it, Niam whispered, "I'll get us close enough, and if I can distract him, lets take him from three sides."

For an answer, Davin patted him on the back.

Another blast of power took Niam's shield square on, knocking him back into his friends. "You must have worn yourself out with that little show you just put on," Niam taunted. "Brothels would pay a good money for something like that. Why didn't you just find a sheep? Would have been safer, I think."

"Stupid cockroach!" the necromancer hissed.

The man's response encouraged Niam. If he could keep him talking for a bit, maybe they could get closer before he had a chance to kill them all. Niam heard himself respond, "No sir, I'm the incorrigible twit, Davin's the stupid cockroach. We still don't know what Maerillus is, yet."

Another blast of weltering energy struck Niam's shield. He felt it weaken as he crashed backward into Davin again. Niam immediately regained his stance and advanced several steps. He knew that if his Kreeth thought that he was one or two more strikes away from losing his protection, they were as good as dead. Fake arrogance, he told himself. He had to appear stronger than he really was. That's the only language this maggot understands. So Niam took a gamble.

Lowering his arms, he dropped the edge of the barrier enough to look squarely at his enemy. "Moonflower root," was all he said, indicating the immobilized count and Hammer with a tilt of his head.

Inside, Niam felt terrified. His knees shook. Standing in one place was nearly impossible.

The man before him stood still for a moment; then he reached up slowly and pulled his hood back, revealing the jaunt, smirking face of Ravel Grimmel. "It was easy to do when I had so many faces to hide behind." As the sorcerer spoke, his face appeared to melt like beeswax and reform itself into a different mould. Now it was the deceased Kirse's image Niam beheld. "You have no idea how many times I wanted to do all of you in, how many chances I had, waiting for the right moment to bring this all to its proper conclusion.

A part of Niam wanted to scream and run, yet what he actually did was say, "Sir, I know many men your age have problems with performance. It's why my grandfather only had seven children. Can you still make a good stream in the morning?"

Kirse's face clouded a stormy scarlet as he began to raise his hands for another attack. Niam kept his shield low, and waited until instinct warned him to move. Niam suddenly pivoted just in time to catch the powerful jolt at an oblique angle, sending it bouncing into the stairway beside them.

Then he lifted his trembling foot and stepped forward. "You're going to have to try harder than that, Kreeth."

The sorcerer gave a derisive laugh. "I hoped you three would make it here tonight. You were so close to catching me. If your friends had been just a few steps ahead, they would have."

"We made it anyway," Davin said.

"And yet you hide behind this little rat," the sorcerer sneered. "Why is that, I wonder?"

"Because you won't come out and play fair," Davin growled.

"You mean like this?" he snarled, as his hand whipped out in a blur sending an object darting across the space between them so quickly that Niam barely saw it. The projectile sailed through his shield as if it didn't exist, catching Davin on the shoulder before he had a chance to completely move out of the way. Niam saw his friend hunch over to pull a small throwing knife from the fleshy part of his upper arm.

Davin wore a grimace, but remained at Niam's side..

"You shield won't work against solid objects," the killer said. "Although I am curious how you gained your powers. I didn't think you'd make it through my little surprise in the caverns. It's been quite a long time since the Guldeen-gar have eaten."

"That's just one more thing you're going to have to account for, Kreeth," Niam spat.

The image of Kirse's face melted, appeared to swirl, and sorted itself out into the merchant's leering features. "A useful trick. Enough to buy me time after you brats interfered with my plans. I was never able to find what I was looking for, but I suppose I have you to thank for all of this. My plan B. I was going to wait until things were settled before delving into the deeps below me, but what I found there made me reconsider everything. " Kreeth held his head back and chortled.

"You should have stopped long ago," Niam replied in a wheezy voice.

Kreeth went on, talking overtop Niam's words. "When I found the Khadihar, there was barely enough lifeforce left in her to tell me what she needed. Lucky for me I had the foresight to begin feeding her years ago. In return, she taught me sooooo many things . . ."

The relish in Kreeth's voice sickened Niam. He took another step forward. Kreeth cocked his head to the side as he watched. "Now I wonder where your third friend has gone," he said with a sly voice.

Niam realized Maerillus had made himself invisible, moving into position for a clear attack. He had to do something to distract the necromancer. Before he could think of what to do, he heard Davin move behind him and saw a flicker of motion arc toward the fiend. Kreeth reacted in a flash, snatching the knife he had used against Davin from the air almost effortlessly. He then arched a contemptuous eyebrow and looked to the side. "I hear you," he hissed and then gave an underhanded toss. The knife tumbled with the speed and momentum of an arrow, and struck the wall at the opposite end of the room with a loud clang.

"No? Not there?" Kreeth asked, annoyed. Then, he spoke a word that struck Niam's ears as vile and utterly inhuman. Niam felt a shift in the power around Kreeth. The sorcerer made a crude gesture with his fingers and a billowing mist poured into the room, spreading quickly, thinning as it expanded, filling the air around them. Niam's lungs began to burn, but that was not its only effect. He watched helplessly as the fine particles conjured by Kreeth began sticking to something just paces from the sorcerer, cohering around a tall, slender form, revealing Maerillus plainly as he slowly moved forward to make his attack.

"Look out!" Niam cried out in alarm, but before he had a chance to react, Kreeth snarled and released something like a wave of compressed air that lifted Maerillus off of his feet and sent him sailing backward through the room. He came down hard and did not move.

Niam screamed as he saw his friend's body flop to the ground. "Now!" Davin shouted, and Niam rushed forward, terrified but enraged, placing his will into the force protecting them and once again sending it barreling toward Kreeth like a battering ram.

The gauzy shield struck the necromancer hard, but this time he made a slicing motion with his hands, and it folded around him, staggering him without knocking him to the ground. Then he leveled a malevolent glare at them.

Niam's blood ran like ice in his veins.

Davin made it to Kreeth just as Niam's attack folded around him and ghosted past, slamming into the wall like a barrel. Kreeth cackled, and flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture. Davin let out a muffled "Umph!" as all of the air escaped from his lungs and he was sent sprawling across the floor. Niam skidded to a halt and raised his hands, preparing to place another wall of force between himself and Kreeth, but Kreeth was quicker. The necromancer gestured with his hand again, casually sweeping it to the side, and Niam gasped as he felt invisible bands of iron wrap around him and lift his helpless body into the air, where he hung immobilized and helpless.

"You never should have crossed paths with me," Kreeth said in snide voice. With another casual tossing motion, Niam felt himself hurled end over end into the shelves at the far end of the room. A loud scream escaped his lips when he felt his right arm fracture as he fell to the floor in a heap.

The pain was excruciating, and he gasped as he tried to sit up. His arm hung limply as the blazing agony. Niam struggled through the fog of pain to grab onto a thought—any thought—as he used his left hand to prop his body up enough to face the sorcerer.

Kreeth walked slowly toward him, shaking his head. "And you thought you were a match for me?"

Niam took in great gulps of air as he tried to steady himself enough to speak. When he finally managed to form words, they came out in stuttering spurts. "K-knew I w-w-was going to d-die," he said barely above a whisper.

Kreeth laughed contemptuously. "And you will, as will your friends and your precious Count and his Hammer."

"D-don't care if I die," Niam said as tears began to stream down his face. He knew they had failed, that the Voice had been a farce, a will-o-the-wisp leading them to believe they could stop this man.

"Oh? You'll care, you brat." He slowly turned his lean frame to the side and clenched his first. As he opened his hand, Niam watched in horror as a green, wispy flame ghosted across the room and landed within the pile of wood surrounding Joachim and Jolan Kine. There, it seemed to bury itself among the logs. Niam heard the crackle of wood taking to flame and he watched it begin licking eagerly at the edges of the pile.

Kreeth went on mercilessly, "You'll care when the flames devour your friends, and as you watch them cook, you'll live long enough to know that your death will be slow and painful."

"Already b-been in a fire once," Niam said, and let out a sound that was part laugh and part sob.

Behind Kreeth, Niam noticed Davin's legs twitch slightly. He was coming round, but not around fast enough—which meant his friend was going to be conscious as the flames began to consume him. The only thing he could do was keep the murderer talking as long as he could and pray Davin roused himself in enough time to put a stop to the necromancer.

"Why?" Niam croaked between gasps. His arm throbbed with a jagged sensation that sent exquisite waves of agony through his body as his muscles convulsed.

Kreeth raised an eyebrow, and his simple words were colder than ice. "Because I can."

"Not good enough!" Niam shouted.

The evil man paused as he drew closer to Niam, and appeared to consider for a moment. "Because if not me, then someone else," he said. "You think I'm the only one of my kind here?" Kreeth held his head back and laughed. There was nothing boastful or mocking in this reaction. The sincerity and depth of the laugh made Niam sure that the man was telling the truth. "I know what is coming, fool. I found out when I was a boy. I never had a chance to piss my time away like you and your meddling friends. I didn't have the coddled life privileged brats like you have!"

As the necromancer spoke, his fists clenched and unclenched in rhythm with the tempo of his voice. Niam's eyes darted to Davin, but did not remain on him for fear Kreeth might look.

His friend seemed to have stopped moving. Niam sank further into despair. As Kreeth went on, Niam closed his eyes. He could not look, did not want to see.

"My family lived as merchants in the lands bordering the Waste where countries are just names and nationalities do not matter. We were among the few who knew of secret passes in the southern mountains that kept us safe from the filthy Shakta clans. We got lost in those mountains and stumbled upon the ruins of an ancient outpost from a time before memory . . ." the necromancer's voice seemed to falter slightly as he narrated the story unfolding within his mind. "That was when I met them . . . so beautiful, so pure, so different and beyond human understanding. They took us, gave us a choice to join with them or die." His voice began to harden once again. "My family was weak. They did not see the advantages that came with the joining that the Dremokh offered. Only I embraced them wholeheartedly."

Niam flinched at that name: Dremokh. The word felt wrong in his ears. . . like Khadihar . . . the sound of both words crawled across his skin.

Kreeth suddenly stopped, and Niam felt the sorcerer seize his chin and force his head forward. "I was able to find the Khadihar in the caverns below because I felt her calling to me. I searched her out over the years, always calling, always speaking lovely words into my ear, always drawing me to her dying ground. Before she fades completely, she is feeding me with her own life. When we are completely joined, I won't need the object I have been looking for. I will be as powerful as the Necromancer Kings that made the world shake thousands of years ago."

"I saw it fall," Niam said. "That thing didn't come from here. It doesn't care about anything . . . especially you. To it, you're just a . . ." Niam broke off for a moment, coughing up painful, thick glumps of dark mucous from his damaged lungs. Even as he knew he was about to watch his friends burn to death and he was about to die, his mind searched for the right words to say. For some reason, naming what Kreeth was, what he had done was crucial. Kreeth had willingly surrendered himself into the embrace of something so vile and evil it had no place on this earth. Naming it and speaking true was now a necessary rite of exit from this world, the one last act of defiance that was left to him. As his mind raced to do this final thing, he realized how absurd and pathetically limited Kreeth's insight was.

And so Niam began to laugh. Kreeth's face drew back in surprise at Niam's reaction. As Niam saw the expression on Kreeth's face change, he began to laugh harder, causing his chest to spasm and rid itself of the crud in his lungs.

"You're just a sad little megalomaniac!" Niam tried to say, but through his hacking and choking only a few syllables made it through. Niam steadied himself until he was able to wheeze out enough words for the sorcerer to hear him, "To that thing, you're just another trall, and you can't even see it."

A sharp blow rocked Niam's head to the side causing lights to flare behind his eyelids. Kreeth shrieked, "You won't talk about her like that!!!"

Her! The word hit Niam like a second physical blow. His mind reeled while he blinked as tears wet his cheeks, streaming off the side of his face now burning with fresh, searing pain. Kreeth made an effort to calm himself, and went on as if Niam's comment had never happened. "She barely made it here, to our home."

"Deluded." Niam mouthed the word, not caring if another blow followed, but Kreeth ignored him.

"Imagine my delight when I realized that not all of her rested." He nodded his head, as if remembering an old conversation. "She told me that you were dangerous." The necromancer drew close once again, and his breath stank like diseased meat. "She told me that I should kill all of you right away, but when you and your friends ruined my plans, that made this personal, you little brat!"

Niam's face burned. His arm burned, his chest burned, and soon he, along with everyone else in the room, would burn as well. He cast a desperate glance past Kreeth's face to where Davin and Maerillus lay on the floor, but salvation wouldn't be coming from either of them. They remained still. Not even Davin stirred, now. The flames were beginning to feed hungrily at the wood beneath Joachim and Kine, inching its way closer to their shoes, and then to the soft flesh beneath.

This was it. His time had run out.

"You killed my brother and sister," Niam forced himself to say. Kreeth began to respond, but Niam had heard and seen enough. He worked up his mouth, and despite the fact that he was parched, Niam spat what little was there directly in the man's face.

The sorcerer reacted immediately, raising his hand and bringing it down hard across Niam's face. He only had time to flinch before blow after blow followed, and a rain of fists pummeled his face until Niam felt only the rocking of the blows. His face went numb. The room and all of the sounds within it began to fade. Niam had no idea how long the beating went on, but as the room returned, it spun at a sickening rate, and he was on his side. Several boxes lay across his body. The taste of blood was heavy in his mouth.

From the direction of Kine and Joachim, Niam heard Kreeth cursing as he knocked blocks of wood around on the floor. The sorcerer must have noticed he was stirring, because he said irritably, "You made me forget myself for a moment. The fire was spreading too quickly, and I want all of you awake for this. I want you to feel it burning you alive. She says that all she needs to finish our joining is a few more souls. Then she will have enough strength to complete the transfer. I might have killed you and your friends more quickly if I had been able to find Linea's Heart. I went to a lot of trouble for that, and I might have had enough power to save her . . . to bring her back, but—" the sorcerer chuckled wickedly, "—this will be enough for us. More intimate, I think."

Niam attempted to open his eyes, but they were nearly swollen shut. Every little movement was agony. Niam moved slowly to his side, too tired to even cry. He shifted his weight and only managed to partially right himself. Too many things had fallen from the shelves as Kreeth savagely beat him to avoid the intense pain sitting up required. Yet he managed to hold his head up enough to squint through eyelids gummed shut by sticky blood. Kreeth was rearranging the wood so that it burned more slowly. He held his hand up in an angry gesture, producing a weak bolt of energy that arced out like lightning, striking Joachim on the thigh. The count's body convulsed briefly, and from his lips came a groggy whimper.

"Wake up!" Kreeth snarled. Then he used a riding crop to strike Kine hard on his thigh. "You too! Wake up, it's time to get this started!" Laughter, gleeful in the depths of vengeful depravity, echoed through the room.

Niam laid his head back, closing his eyes tightly against the onslaught of pain and rolled to the uninjured arm. Dangling from the packed shelves several feet away, Niam noticed that a link of rope had become dislodged and hung as if the stacked boxes had spontaneously sprouted a lone vine. Niam had the passing, bitter thought that if it had been close enough, he might have been able to choke himself with it. Anything would be preferable to the flames that Kreeth held in store for all of them, yet he knew he didn't have a ledge to jump from. The basement held enough dry wood that the space within would fill with smoke and heat rapidly. What Salb failed to do, the sorcerer would finish.

Bug would be safe, though he and his friends would die horribly. This time Niam knew there would be no way out of the trouble they were in, no help coming, no eluding the enemy. Once again, he found himself laughing. The sound came out as a harsh groan. His ribs hurt, and the movement of his body shaking with laughter caused fresh roots of pain to spread from his leg up to his shoulders.

Niam sat there, laughing at the absurdity of dying this way, after all he and his friends had given in response to the pronouncements of the Voice. Kreeth's ranting abruptly stopped.

Something in the air surrounding him changed, the same way pressure often fluctuated before a storm's arrival—only, it happened in the blink of an eye. There was no storm. Not in the basement. Yet something was brewing.

Kreeth scanned the room, startled. "What is that? What is that I feel?" he demanded. His body became tensely animated. He twisted from side to side, searching for something elusive and dangerous.

To Niam, the room now felt warmer and lighter. A freshness permeated the air, and even the smoke from the logs burning around Kine and Joachim was growing thinner, the way wood smoke seemed to sometimes evaporate into a clear fall sky with none of the stench lingering around. Niam almost believed he felt the warmth of the sun penetrating his thick clothes, dispelling the cold from the bowls of Kreeth's lair.

Niam felt a shiver run down his body, but the response was not to the chill, but to something else, another kind of presence entirely. His hurts seemed less painful. His arm no longer throbbed; and was it his imagination, or had the swelling gone down enough for his eyes to open a bit more?

As if in answer to this, the Voice that had guided and spurred Niam and his friends along this path spoke up quietly but clearly, seeming to come from all directions at once.  
YOU HAVE TO MOVE, NIAM.

"Now?" Niam asked. His voice still barely rose above a whisper. "After all of this?"

NOW, it answered him. With it came a warmth and certainty that he would be okay if he only did as it told him to do.

Niam shook his head, while nearby, Kreeth screamed at him to stop.

"Your word's squat with me," Niam told the Voice. All it had gotten him was beaten to a bloody pulp. "Think I'm ready for the smoke," he murmured weakly. A seductive part of him reasoned that once his lungs got enough of it, he knew he might go out before the fire got to him. He felt heavy, as if his body would soon become so leaden with fatigue and pain that it might sink down into the rock and dissolve there.

NOW, the Voice insisted.

Across the room, Kreeth screeched, "Who are you talking to?"

Niam ignored him and addressed the Voice instead. "Still hurt too much," He muttered. "Ask the dog to do it for you."

Niam was utterly exhausted—so sapped that there didn't seem to be much left within him for movement . . . but he looked beyond the sorcerer to his friends lying still upon the floor. And then to Kine and Joachim, who were beginning to stir in their restraints.

MOVE, It told him again. Wrapped within the word were notes both kind and encouraging.

"Stop this!" Kreeth shouted hysterically. "I'll burn everything right now!" he bellowed.

Niam noted this distantly. Everything seemed to be receding. Kreeth hadn't moved, and a part of him knew this was important, something worth thinking about if only he had the energy. Something held the sorcerer rooted in one place.

He's going to begin moving soon, a smaller voice warned Niam. Not THE Voice. A tiny voice . . . sensed rather than heard. His voice. His own. Niam's.

MOVE

Niam managed to lift his good hand and shoo the warning away: Kreeth's or the Voice's . . . it didn't matter.

"I'll do it for my friends," Niam slurred.

He used his one good arm to drag himself away from the broken boxes at his feet. Slowly, Niam placed his arm out, steadied himself, and pushed again. Pain screamed along his body, making the room spin like a child's cartwheeling pinwheel. Again, he repeated the motions. And again. Arm, push, pain . . . arm, push, pain . . . Then begin again . . . arm, push, pain . . . arm, push, pain . . .

Sensing that he only had moments before Kreeth pushed free of the force holding him, Niam gritted his teeth, slowly scooting himself toward the place beneath the shelf where the dislodged length of rope hung down like a lifeless trunk. Waves of darkness danced at the edges of his vision, and he knew it would be sooooo much easier to give in, stop, and lay his head back down, but the Voice's presence awakened a spark of hope within Niam that he might be able to do something after all.

He scooted and fought to remain awake. Something about the rope dangling over the edge of the shelves tickled his memory. A fleeting image of Bug shrugging her shoulders and telling him innocently, "You've just got to know how to handle your bees" flashed in his mind. That was the first time he met his little friend, and the memory of the day unexpectedly struck Niam as funny—and the fact that he found it funny right there in the basement of a sorcerer about to kill him struck him as downright hilarious.

Niam began to laugh. Paces away, Kreeth lurched forward, as whatever it was that had been holding him finally released its grip on him. Equal parts fury and fear shone in Kreeth's eyes. Finding nothing but empty air, his gaze jerked toward Niam. Even from ten paces away, Niam saw Kreeth's pupils constrict, "What are you doing!?" He screamed

Inwardly, Niam shrank in on himself. He tried shaking his head, but the muscles in his neck felt torn. "No idea what you're talking about," he said, mouthing the words more than speaking them, working hard to speak between laughter and gasps for air.

Kreeth looked around frantically. He was terrorized by something neither of them could see.

"Stop that!" he demanded. "Maldies, I know it's you!"

Niam looked around too, but no apparent source revealed itself. He shifted on his unsteady hand and turned himself to see the rope better. He needed to get closer to it. Yet even the act of thinking about moving caused shivers of pain to flare like dry straw thrown on a fire. Niam held his breath and pushed himself forward.

Kreeth began moving swiftly toward him. "What are you doing?" he screamed.

"Don't quite know," Niam grunted. Still unable to suppress the laughter, he used a shelf support to steady himself. "Got to get to the rope," he heard himself slur dreamily.

Somewhere between crying out in pain and pushing himself on two wobbly legs, Niam remembered the day he led his friends down into the basement, and he knew why he needed to get to the rope, knew why the Voice insisted that he move. And on cue, the soft and omnipresent words rang clearly to Niam, YES NIAM, MOOOVE . . .

Drunkenly, Niam made a rude gesture to the Voice, and said, "Shove it, I'm almost there."

"Kreeth saw what held Niam's attention and moved to the rope first. "Stay away from that! Touch it and I'll kill you now!"

Niam raised his eyes to look at the murderer. Behind the man's weltering gaze, he saw terror. "You're a-afraid of m-me!" Niam said, his giddy words verged on hysteria. "Wouldn't pull that, if I were y-y-you," Niam said. Gales of laughter were about to erupt from his chest, and he felt as if they might tear him apart when they did.

Kreeth instinctively grabbed the rope, protecting it from Niam's grasp. Kreeth reached out, his hand clenching as he readied another strike.

"It won't work," Niam lied. "Y-you've got n-no more p-p-power over me." When Kreeth faltered, Niam realized that the man believed him, and he began laughing so hard the pain made his legs give out beneath him.

"Stop it! Be quiet!" Kreeth bellowed.

Niam fell sideways, supporting himself against the shelves. "Y-you said Bee!" Rails of laughter shook his body so hard Niam no longer knew whether he was laughing or sobbing. He just couldn't help himself. The expression on Kreeth's face as the sorcerer tried to figure out how the tables had suddenly turned on him made it impossible to stop laughing.

Kreeth took an involuntary step backward.

"I wouldn't if I were you. I'd just stand right there and try to behave . . . get it—bee-have?" Niam felt himself beginning to slide down on his good elbow. He was laughing so hard he couldn't remain upright any longer. Had he said bee-have or bee-hive? Niam laughed like he had never laughed before.

Kreeth stared in bewilderment at Niam as if he had suddenly sprouted venomous fangs. He stepped back again in order to avoid Niam, reacting as if he were made of acid instead of flesh and blood. The necromancer unconsciously tugged on the rope so hard it pulled the box Niam had tied it to away from the weak plaster behind it. The box fell from the shelf and the sorcerer let out a squeak of surprise and leapt to the side. From within the wall, an angry, furious buzzing rose as thousands of angry bees became dislodged within their hive.

"What is this?" Kreeth's voice rose like a strident trumpet. "What magic is this!" he demanded, raising his hand toward Niam, who lay on the floor cradling his arms, laughing uncontrollably.

"I told you to bee-have!"

Kreeth shrieked in fury, but before he conjured the killing strike, a rumbling mass of bees erupted from the hollow in the wall and boiled into the room, surrounding Kreeth and Niam alike in a vengeful cloud, protecting their queen by delivering thousands of tiny, fiery stings to anything they managed to sink their stingers into.

Niam accepted the pain . . . welcomed it, crying out to the man who murdered so many people, "I know how to handle my bees!" laughing as the enraged bees went about their work.

Kreeth forgot all about Niam, and began swatting frantically at the insects. He gibbered incoherently as the things came at him from every direction. Panicked, circling, trying to knock the bees off of his face and away from his mouth, Kreeth also forgot about two people lying on the floor—who lay there no longer. He raised his arms, summoning a sheath of crackling green energy in a desperate attempt to kill some of the bees diving at him.

From nowhere, a form melted out of thin air.

"THIS IS FOR BETSY!!!" Maerillus roared, bringing his blade upward, removing one of the sorcerer's hands with a vicious slice.

At the same instant Maerillus struck Kreeth, Davin appeared and seized Kreeth by the hood of his robe. He flung him screaming onto the burning wood. The man's robes ignited immediately. He convulsed and began thrashing wildly about. The flames eagerly latched ahold of the necromancer's clothes, and he let out a high, keening scream of disbelief and pain.

Davin picked up an opened cask of lamp oil and slid it across the floor toward Kreeth's burning form. The moment it hit the man's leg, its contents sloshed over its edge where they blazed to life. Kreeth floundered on the wood in uncontrolled spasms, screaming mortally. His legs kicked in an attempt to dispel the flames, but the only effect this had was to knock over more oil, sending a lake of flame spreading in all directions. As the liquid flames fed the ones already working at the wood above them, Niam heard a low whoosh as more oil came hungrily to life. The sorcerer, now shrouded in ropes of fire, balled helplessly into a fetal position, and as he died, the flames grew in strength and life.

"We've got to go!" he heard Davin yell. But all Niam could do was lay there and laugh until the world closed around him in darkness with only a pinpoint of fire at the center of his vision.
Chapter Forty-Four

Unfinished Business

Niam woke to pain. Only, instead of the sharp, livid pain of fresh wounds, he felt the deep, throbbing ache of broken bones, lacerations, and strained muscles mending. He decided that the latter was almost as bad as the former. At least he was in a soft bed large enough for four people sleeping side-by-side. The room he lay in was elegant yet simply furnished. To his right, a large window held back the afternoon light with the help of thick curtains upon which golden embroidered griffons chased themselves—whether in play or battle it was hard to tell. The table beside the bed glowed beneath the culmination of years of beeswax and constant polishing. Simple, solid furniture lacking in ostentation what they made up for in quiet, well-executed strength signified that the room was one of Count Joachim's guest quarters.

When Niam stretched, he realized that his right arm was splinted and tightly wrapped. His lips felt parched and when he moved his jaw, little striations where the skin had split apart stung maddeningly. Slowly, he eased himself up and noticed a small figure curled up at his side.

Niam smiled and felt his heart swell with warmth. Bug slept quietly with an extra quilt covering her entire body up to her eyes. Gingerly, he moved his good arm and laid it so that he could smooth the hair back from her forehead and see the faint traces of soft dark circles where her irises remained hidden behind closed lids.

Movement from the doorway drew his attention away from his little friend. "It's good to see you up," Lexa Sartor said in a voice as soft as fresh velvet. "She's staying here with her family while another house is being built. She refused to leave your side . . . except when we had to clean you, that is."

Niam could tell that the bed linens were fresh, and he realized with alarm that someone must have cleaned him while he slept. She recognized the look spreading across his face, because she laughed. "Oh, it wasn't me you goose. We had one of the older women do it."

That made Niam feel only slightly better. To be fair to Niam's sense of modesty, Lexa changed topics quickly. "I've brought you some broth. Joachim said nothing solid for a while. We were worried about you."

"How long?" Niam asked. His voice was raspy.

"You've been heavily drugged for over a week," Lexa said, sitting the tray down across his lap. "Drink in sips," she said. "Don't gulp it."

Niam opened his mouth to tell her she didn't have to worry about that. He felt too wretched to eat. But the moment the steaming bowl made itself known to his nose, Niam's stomach growled and he realized that he was actually ravenous.

Lexa watched him drink his broth and regarded Bug thoughtfully. "She's quite fond of you."

"She's odd like that," Niam told her. Normally he would have made tracks away from Lexa as quickly as his legs could carry him, but today he felt too haggard to care. He had always known Alexandretta was too far above him on the social ladder to ever entertain the thought of a relationship. Besides, Maerillus would have killed him if he ever caught wind of anything more than the purest brotherly affections for the only Sartor daughter. Still . . . Lexa's presence always brought a hot flush across his face, especially whenever she smiled.

Like now.

Niam took another deep sip to hide the fact that he couldn't look away. Her stern features melted and softened whenever her lips curved upward, and when that happened, she always disarmed him.

"Well, I guess we all are odd like that, then."

Niam inhaled some of his broth and coughed.

From the doorway, another voice saved Niam. Lexa looked as if she had been about to say something important, but her face reacquired its typical detachment as Andromeda sartor entered with Maerillus.

"Are you bothering my sister?" Maerillus beamed brightly.

Niam felt his cheeks redden, but Lexa was quick to respond. "Shhh! Keep baying like that and you'll wake Madeline."

"Poor thing has been through a lot," Andromeda said. "We tried to get her to come stay with us. We're putting up a number of families with children who lost their homes, but the little thing said she wanted to be here where her family was."

"Funny how her family turned out to actually mean you," Maerillus said. "Kid's got guts."

Lexa's reply was cross, though. "And yet you took her down to a trall's cave."

Niam sucked down more broth.

"I already told you that we didn't know the trall was nearby. That was Salb's cave . . . or Kreeth's cave," he said, but Niam knew it was the wrong thing to say.

"And THAT makes it BETTER?"

Andromeda cut them both off. "Children, let the girl rest before you start tugging on her to see who gets the biggest piece."

Niam grinned behind his bowl.

"I see that, Maldies," Maerillus said.

Niam set the bowl down asked, "How are Kine and Joachim, Mrs. Sartor?"

"They were fine once the poison wore off. It took longer for them than it did for us. Gaius and I only got one strong dose. It looks like that bastard had been feeding it to them slowly over a month or more."

Niam nodded his head. "I'm glad," he said, sinking back into the pillows.

"Joachim has been scrambling to help repair all the damage," Maerillus said.

Niam pinched his eyes closed in shame and put his hands over his eyes to hide the embarrassment on his face. "I am so rude sometimes," he said. "How is the rest of your family?"

Andromeda and Lexa smiled. "They were caught up helping put out fires in Pirim Village," Lexa told him reassuringly.

"Yeah," Maerillus added. "Had no idea what was happening here until they got back."

Niam sighed. "We all needed some good news," he said.

"Indeed," Andromeda said, and then announced as Davin entered the room, "Why don't we give the boys time to talk?"

Lexa nodded and gave Niam a small kiss on his cheek.

Niam, for his part, tried not to look nonplussed as she walked out of the room. When they were gone, Maerillus asked, "Is it me or is she acting . . . strangely all of a sudden?"

"She's just happy we're all alive," Niam said a bit too quickly.

Maerillus frowned. "Maybe . . ."

Davin's voice boomed brightly. "Good to see you finally up and moving!"

Both Niam and Maerillus looked at him and shushed him sternly. "You'll wake her!"

Davin gave them a chagrined look. "Sorry!" he whispered loudly.

Niam tried smiling broadly at his large friend, but he was too sore to make it work. Instead, he grunted and asked, "I just want to know one thing—how did you manage to sneak up on Kreeth so easily? I saw you both lying on the floor unconscious one moment, and the next you were tossing the filthy monster into the fire . . . and how did you manage to get me and the count and Hammer out of the basement?"

"That's two questions," Davin said.

If Niam had felt any better, he would have thrown a pillow at him. Instead, he leaned over to Maerillus. "Will you please punch him for me?"

Maerillus balled up his fist and raised it.

"Okay," Davin complained lightheartedly. "You've got to find your sense of humor."

"I think the bees stung it out of me," Niam said, wincing as he readjusted himself on the mattress.

In answer to the first question, Davin said, "The credit goes to Maerillus. I came round first, but Maer here did most of the hard work."

Niam looked up at his rich friend, who shrugged his shoulders. "We were both on the floor as I came back around. Davin whispered to me not to move . . ."

Davin jumped in. "I knew that as long as Kreeth thought we were both out of the game that we had a chance."

"But we needed to get close to him," Maerillus took over talking again. "I thought he was going to kill you, Niam. Then I heard the Voice."

"So did I," Niam said.

"We all did," Davin added.

Maerillus stumbled over his words as he tried to explain what happened next. "It told me to . . . I don't know how to explain it . . . but I just knew that I could make it look like we were still lying on the floor. We had to be careful though. I almost blew it trying to do that AND hide us while we cut the bonds holding Joachim and Kine."

"You had him so terrified that he never noticed we had moved them to a safer spot," Davin said.

"I couldn't believe it when you started laughing," Maerillus told him. The wonder in his voice was plain.

"You spooked me as much as you did Kreeth. We both thought you'd lost it."

Niam felt his face drop. "I had."

"How did you do it?" Maerillus asked. "I mean you looked like a dog that made the mistake of picking on a pack of wild boars."

Niam response was simple, "I gave up. I knew I was going to die . . . that we all were going to die. What else did I have to lose, right?"

Maerillus whistled.

Davin put his hand lightly on his shoulder. "I'm glad you didn't give up. On any of us."

Niam looked at his two best friends, and then down at Bug who still slept soundly at his side. "Me too," he said, smiling. When he looked back at his friends, he felt his chest become heavy. "He told me that there were more of his kind around."

"I heard," Davin said.

"As to that," Maerillus told them, "We're meeting with Joachim once Niam is ready. He wants to talk to us about everything that happened."

"Good," Davin said. "I've got a feeling that none of this is done yet."

*

"Not by a long shot," Joachim said several days later as they all gathered in a semi-circle in front of a blazing fire in the Count's private office. Niam had to be pushed there in a wheeled chair because he was still weak and sore. "Too many matters are still up in the air."

"Like my head," Niam said with a lazy, lopsided grin slanting across his face.

"Don't get to liking that that syrup of poppy too much Maldies," Joachim warned him. "I've seen what it can do to people. You're going off of it sooner than you want to."

The world was a merry place as long as he was on the syrup, but when he went off . . .

"You're bedside manner is as bad as Kreeth's," Niam frowned.

Joachim ignored this. Davin wanted to know what they were going to do about tracking down the men who had helped Kreeth by setting the fires in Pirim Village. "Someone assassinated all of the men we caught the night everything went down. The only ones we interrogated were common criminals and had no clue who paid them."

"Which means there were professionals involved," Gaius said sourly. "But we already knew that."

Joachim nodded his head slowly. "Indeed. Some of the men were . . . I suspect, from Kalavere. We'll never prove it, though."

"On account of that damned Eason," Gaius said in disgust. "He's hid all of the evidence by now."

"No, my friend. Fortunately for Eason, you are wrong."

Everyone looked up at this. "Fortunately how?" Gaius demanded.

"Fortunately for him that he is dead," Joachim said coldly. "His days were numbered after what he tried here. I wasn't going to let him hide behind the backs of my enemies in Pallodine, but it wasn't me that got to him."

"Who was it, then?" Niam asked.

Joachim made a sour face. "Eason was too greedy and intent on getting back at me for something I did to him years ago to realize he was in over his head. Now I'm afraid Dosir has been appointed as interim magistrate over Kalavere."

The room grew uncomfortably quiet. Kalavere's province was now in the hands of their enemy.

"Where's Kine?" Niam asked brightly to lighten the mood. "I miss him, don't you?"

Niam felt Davin's hands close around his mouth, but continued trying to talk until everyone looked at him and he grew quiet. When Davin removed his hand, Niam managed to say, "This is great stuff," before Joachim threatened to have his tongue removed.

"Jolan Kine has gone away for a while," Joachim said once everyone was quiet again. "We have to move quickly before our enemies can regroup. Kreeth had allies in the court, toads that were willing to give him their backing. Good thing for us that you three interfered with Kreeth and that Eason moved too quickly. Otherwise they might have succeeded. Mr. Kine is already in Pallodine. There are things happening there that concern me—and I have to try to put down as many rumors about you three as possible. IF it's even possible."

Niam raised his hand. Too many things were swirling around inside his head to keep them together. Davin shushed him again, but Joachim sighed and said, "Go ahead Mr. Maldies."

"Was it better for us when we just had tralls trying to kill us, sir?"

Across from him, he saw Gaius stiffen and frown. His eyes shot toward Maerillus. In an instant, Niam knew even in the state that he was in what the answer was, and what it meant for the youngest Sartor in the room.

"I'm sorry," Niam said, but Gaius spoke up.

"In your own unique way, you are right," he said. "The danger for you three hasn't gone away. You've managed to throw the covers off of something that threatens us all."

"And now that the people behind this might be exposed, you managed to grab a great many enemies for yourselves," Joachim said in a sober voice. "With any luck I can focus their attention on me for the time being."

"But what was Kreeth up to? He wanted something other than the Khadihar, something else."

This question seemed to irk Joachim, whose face twitched as Niam spoke. "I don't know, and we need to find that out," the count said unhappily.

"As to that . . . what is a Khadihar, and is there any way to put the thing down for good, or is it going to stay there like that below the ground?"

"Another question in a long line of things we have no answers for," Joachim said flatly.

"What do we have answers for?" Niam asked.

Joachim's face grew dour. "That there are problems in the east again, after hundreds of years . . . and that is worse by far than anything we've seen here."

"He said something about the Necromancer Kings," Niam said with a shudder. "He told me that he was making himself more powerful than they had been . . ." his voice trialed off as another memory occurred to him. Suddenly the effects of the poppy didn't seem to be working as well. "Great Lord!" he exclaimed. "This started in the east. He told me what happened, that his family were traders, that they stumbled across something in the mountains. He made a deal with the things they found . . . his family refused and they were killed for it."

Joachim nodded his head. "Everything I've been able to dig up about Kreeth supports this."

Davin spoke up. "Sir, the Necromancer Kings—the Dread Lords fought them. Those wars destroyed civilization."

"That would be correct," Joachim said gravely.

Niam noticed that across from him, the color drained from Gaius's face. Maerillus saw this, too, but clearly didn't know what to make of it.

Niam, however, was like a dog with a bone and did not want to let the topic go. "Besides partially explaining why Kreeth was here to begin with, what does this have to do with us? We've been give these abilities for a reason, so what is this all about. I don't know if we'll be able to survive another sorcerer."

"And Kreeth did say he wasn't alone," Davin observed.

Gaius and Joachim looked at one another for a long moment. Gaius looked back to his son with an expression of worry.

"What is it?" Maerillus asked. If there's something we need to know, I think the truth needs to come out. "It's not like we are some kind of Dread Lords meant to fight things like necromancers and sorcerers. We barely survived."

"My grandmother had a rare gift," Joachim said slowly. "Sometimes, for special occasions or events, she had the ability to speak the truth of things to come. Many years before you three were born, on her deathbed, she gave up her last prophecy in the presence of several other people. Your parents."

"What did your grandmother tell you?" Niam asked quietly enough for his words to be swallowed by the crackle of fire burning in the hearth in front of them.

Joachim's features appeared more angular and gaunt in the orange glow of lamps and fire. In this light, his face seemed too sharp, as pointed and cutting as the words he spoke. "She said that a shadow from the east was growing, and that people would be born to stand against it. You three are the first of many, and it will be up to you to find the others."

Niam looked at his friends. The look on their faces became grim and stony. "We'll never have normal lives," Davin said.

"This is why I was always treated differently," Maerillus said.

Gaius nodded his head. "We knew it was important for you three to remain close."

The more Gaius talked, the more Niam slowly felt a hot lump welling up deep within his guts. At last he could hold it back no more. "My mom and dad knew, and they let me to fend for myself and pushed me off on your families," he said bitterly. "That's just great!" he blurted out.

Joachim's words hit him like a slap across the face. "Not another word! Your mother and father have had to endure the one thing everyone in this room has feared!"

"But they haven't been here for me . . . not since—" and there he stopped, unable to finish his sentence. He wanted to scream, to yell, to summon the wall of force he threw at Kreeth and break everything in the room, but he just sat there in the chair and gripped the edges of his seat instead. "They left me alone," he said, unable to tell whether anger or grief made his words falter.

Joachim sighed. "I sent them away," he said at last. "They did the best they could do. Your mother wanted to take you and run. I convinced her otherwise. She and your dad are trying to protect you right this very moment. I have asked them to travel east where I have a number of contacts who keep an eye on things beyond the Shakta waste, and I think it would be nice if you showed them a bit of respect."

Niam was incredulous. "Why them? Why did you send my parents east?"

"Because that is where your mother was born," Joachim said.

Niam felt as if his head were filling with information too quickly to be able to sort through what Joachim was telling him. His voice came out heavy and thick, and he raised his hands in exasperation. "What else don't I know about my family? Did my father grow me from magic watermelon seeds? The next thing we know you'll tell us we are actually a bunch of Feythean changelings or that we'll start molting on our eighteenth birthdays."

"Don't be melodramatic." Joachim said testily.

"There's not enough poppy in the world for that!" Niam shouted.

Joachim interrupted Niam before more anger had a chance to build up. "When your mother was a little younger than you are now, my father met her family close to the edge of Shakta territory. They were slaves in the lands where people can be bought and sold as cattle. Your grandfather saved my father's life. Out of gratitude, he paid their owner a small fortune, purchasing their freedom and bringing them back here to live. Your mother told only a handful of people what she had once been. It was a thing she hoped to put behind her."

"And a thing I sent her back into the heart of—for you three," Joachim said in an arched voice.

"I should never have found out this way," Niam insisted. The throbbing aches spider-webbed across Niam's body began insistently making their presence known. "I need more medicine," he said, wanting nothing more than to go to bed and stay there until the world dissolved like salt in a bowl of warm water.

"When they return, I think you need to talk to them instead of focusing on things from only your perspective," Joachim said, but not unkindly.

"Sure," was Niam's only reply.

For the rest of the evening he said little, speaking only when spoken to, and then only with short answers. Everyone gave him his space, though he could have cared less whether anyone was put off by his reticence. Before bed he was finally given more medicine to ease his pain, yet despite the relief it brought, sleep was a long time coming.

*

Gaius Sartor and Count Joachim walked across the former grounds of Garrolus Kreeth, inspecting closely the work of destruction that had been necessary to scour as much of the area as possible free of the necromancer's evil taint.

Gaius's gaze was devoid of expression as he surveyed the surrounding landscape. He knew how he appeared to most observers. Strong emotional displays were always frowned upon within his family, yet today he felt the blankness of his face was a necessary thing, for no emotion could possibly show that would match the ugliness of what surrounded him. At the center of the ruined ground lay a burnt hole, as if a festering cyst had worked its way from the bowls of hell to the surface and burst, disgorging the charred remains of Kreeth's manor.

Around them, large piles of wood and dead shrubs smoldered like volcanic vents where everything—everything—that had grown within the circumference of the man's magical influence had been ripped up, cut down, and then raked or dragged into great pyres. In places fires still burned, and gave to the surrounding land the appearance of cursed ground.

No. There was no need for expression. The desolation around him expressed what he felt.

Reading his mind, Joachim broke the silence. "We found more of the man's things in the forest, but they couldn't survive once they got more than three quarters of a mile out. Kine told me that this was done over many years by addling layer upon layer of spellwork across the estate."

"You really think nothing else made it out?" Gaius asked, his voice grim and uncertain.

"We're almost certain that no more tralls run free. My troops are working around the clock in rotating shifts clearing the caves and tunnels of anything remaining."

Gaius raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure that's wise. After all the boys told us about what lies on this end of the network, how can you even think of sending men down there?"

"They're not going as far as that," Joachim reassured him. "The tunnel leading to the pit is being sealed off. From this end we've filled in the entrance with rocks and concrete. This entire hill will be walled off and guarded by a company of heavily armed troops. I've asked the Abbot to help as well."

"Oh. That's all?"

Joachim grunted. "For now."

"It won't be enough if what we think is coming arrives before we're ready."

"For now all we have are rumors from the east," Joachim said, scowling. Along with many isolated events that add up."

Now it was Gaius's turn to frown. "We do have one other thing," he reminded him.

"Oh?"

"My son and the other two boys."

Joachim's voice softened. "I know it's hard."

"Andromeda cries herself to sleep at night sometimes," Gaius told him. "For all of the boys; for our children; for Madeline and her cousin; for the dead and their loved ones. More than anything—and this is the hardest of all—she cries because of the darkness bearing down on us and what it will bring."

Joachim's jaw worked as if he were chewing something he could not swallow. "Until Brent and Karen return, we have what's in front of us. I'll need you to watch things from this end while I go to Pallodine. My men know I've placed you in charge."

Gaius closed his eyes. "That's not a responsibility I want," he said quietly. My businesses are . . . " he was going to say all I care to manage, but Joachim cut him off.

"They're going to have to rest in the hands of the rest of the Sartor family. You have a duty to do this." The Count's voice became hard as he finished his last sentence.

Gaius knew something like this was coming. "It's been a long time since our last campaign."

"You'll remember how to do it," Joachim said flatly.

"Fine," was the only thing Gaius could say.

"Look," Joachim said, turning to his childhood friend, "I know when you came back you wanted to get away from the fighting, and you have. If I could trust anyone else to do this in my place I would have spared you, but Pallodine has become a nest of scorpions. I can't go there and have to watch my back here at the same time. If I don't do this, we will have too many unwanted eyes focused here, and you and I know those boys need more time."

"If things go bad . . ." Gaius began, and his voice hardened now, "I will protect them at all costs."

"You know what to do. Things are ready with the Vandin."

Gaius nodded his head.

Joachim's voice was still resolute on what had to be done to prepare for the future. "I have a blade master coming from Caledon to work with the boys, and before the year is out, we will have more teachers arriving to work with them."

"They'll need it if they are to survive," Gaius said.

They walked back to their horses, and on the ride back to Joachim's estate the count looked bothered. Soon enough, he addressed his concern. "How are the boys?"

Gaius felt a pang of anxiety at this question. "As far as I can tell, they're trying to make their way back to a new state of normalcy. On the outside, they're mending. Inside? I feel my son growing farther and farther away from me with each month that passes."

Joachim thought about this for a while. So much of the future depended on these three boys, and Gaius knew that Joachim wondered whether or not they should have taken more of a direct hand in preparing them for the struggles ahead.

Yet there were many unwanted eyes watching, sometimes covetous, sometimes hostile, often both, not just from Pallodine, but as recent events demonstrated, from Kalavere as well. What had kept the boys safe for so long had been the anonymity of their upbringing. Brent Maldies and Carl Hapwell had both sacrificed good careers as officers to return home and raise their children in in the Valleys. But their protective cover had begun unraveling the day Davin fought the thieves in Kalavere and healed a young girl. Only a few knew what the boys were, but their involvement in the situation with Kreeth and Count Eason now put them in a light that would inevitably draw curiosity from enemies.

"For now I think they deserve a rest," Gaius said. "They can still be boys a little longer."

Joachim smiled a little at that. "Remember when we were that young?"

Gaius chuckled. "We were more full of dreams than brains."

Joachim shook his head. "If I remember, you were the brains of our little group. Brent and Carl were the dreamers."

"Look at us now," Gaius grumbled.

"Duty," Joachim sighed.

Gaius nodded his head. "Responsibility."

"Life," they both said at the same time. Both grew silent, however, as memories filled them. Gaius knew that many of those memories were painful. If life could be likened to a painting, then loss framed it so that even the best of moments in retrospect always took on a bittersweet pigments from the heart's palate. "Those last three campaigns changed everything for us," Gaius said. "So much death and horror. I wanted to come back, though Brent and Carl would have kept on going."

Joachim's smile vanished, and his face became as grizzled and hard as ever. "We all knew our duties waited," he said. Perhaps it was thoughts of their own youths that made him say, "I know you are worried about your son, but he has a good head on his shoulders. He and Davin are smarter than we were, that's for sure."

Gaius made a sound in the affirmative.

"And then there's Maldies . . ." Joachim said. His voice trailed off, leaving many things hanging in the air.

"He's always been a rebel," Gaius said.

"Some colts need to be broken," Joachim pointed out.

"And some just break," Gaius's double entendre was obvious.

Joachim grimaced. "We just have to hope he doesn't fall apart."

"Then we will have to let him rest for a while," Gaius said. He quoted a famous philosopher. "Joy is a fleeting thing and innocence dies with experience."

Joachim nodded. "For just a short while, they can hold onto what they have left." The two of them took the rest of the ride in silence, worrying about the future and privately mourning the past.

*

Winter lasted three more weeks, pushing itself into spring until at last it broke its back on a warm spell that finally brought relief to the Lake Valleys. Nimble shoots pushed eagerly through last year's dead bark and emerged like supple little emeralds, soaking up the morning light and glowing with the green intensity that only spring allows before summer's hues darken into less glorious shades of life. Bug sat with Niam looking out at the first flowers; dandelions blossomed like brilliant suns across the fields, and in the orchards, fruit trees opened themselves across the land in mats of pink and white. Everywhere, bees thrummed busily about the fields, and the air was heady with the perfume of spring.

"The first green leaves and flowers are beautiful," Bug said as they sat on a stump, watching three foals frolic in the pasture spread out before them.

"You ought to come see the fields that were burned off several weeks ago," Niam said to this, "When the sun rises, the new blades of grass light up and glow. I've always loved seeing that."

Bug chewed on a blade of hay, and Niam noted for what was probably the twentieth time recently that Bug seemed to have lost weight. Already skinny, she now appeared to be rail thin. "I was talking to Davin and Maerillus this morning, and we all would love it if you ate with us this week."

When she looked up, she brightened and asked, "Really?"

"Of course!" Niam's cheery note made her smile even more.

Bug's smile faltered a bit as a thought crossed her mind. "But what if I don't feel like eating much?"

"You need to eat something," Niam told her. "Pretty soon you'll be thin enough to use as a sewing needle, and if that happens, you're not going to like what I use you to sew up. You know there are a couple of colts that are ready to be neutered, don't you?"

Bug screwed her face up in a silly expression of disgust. "You wouldn't!"

Niam nodded his head gravely. "Yep. I've already cleared it with Mr. Sartor."

"That's just disgusting!" Bug said.

"Where do you think we get BLT salads from?" Niam playfully asked.

"BLT?"

"You know, balls, lettuce, and tomato?"

"That sounds like the kind of thing Card would like to do," Bug told him.

Niam grinned. "I don't think he's going to be doing anything with his or anyone else's balls for a very long time."

"Somebody should neuter him," she said fiercely.

"Well," Niam countered, "They've got to eat something don't they?"

Bug scowled and stuck her tongue out. "Salb smelled like smoke and raw meat," she complained. "Every time I smell roast or mutton now it makes me sick."

"We'll cook chicken," Niam reassured her.

"Really? I thought the Sartors used theirs to lay golden eggs," Bug replied.

Niam tousled her hair and mussed it up. "They say the gold makes them taste better."

"I don't know," Bug said uncertainly. "I bet gold's hard to get out from between your teeth."

"Clogs up your plumbing, too."

"Eew," Bug complained. "Boys are gross sometimes."

"No," Niam said. "Seriously. That's why Sartors sometimes lay golden eggs, too."

"Eew!" Bug said loudly.

"Hey! I'm just saying!"

A devilish grin spread across Bug's face. "Have you ever peeled one?"

Now Niam made a face and followed it with retching sounds. "That's just gross!"

"I'm just saying," Bug told him as they laughed at the terrible joke.

Bug lay her head against his shoulder, and in a quiet voice, asked, "Niam, will you always be my best friend?"

Niam put his arm around Bug's shoulder and held her tightly against his side. He thought about all that had happened since the fall. He missed Sarah. She missed Corey. But for now, as they sat together, they had one another . . . and for Niam, that was something worth living for.

"I can't imagine life any other way," he said warmly.
Chapter Forty-Five

A Family Matter

Ravel Grimmel stood on a hill just outside of Old Flood. Now that he was back, he kept his hood up to prevent anyone in the area from recognizing him too easily. He was not alarmed when the approach of footsteps told him that he was not alone.

"You got here early," the rich voice of a younger man said.

Ravel turned to see a hooded figure draw up next to him. My trip for Kreeth was a long one. I was eager to get back. I had hoped things might be a little different by now."

"All is still going to according to plan," the man said calmly. "Eason was a fool to move too quickly, and Kreeth was too greedy to hold himself back for bigger prizes."

"What would you have done if his plan to join with the Khadihar worked?"

"It wouldn't have," the hooded man said in a slow, satisfied voice.

Ravel was curious. "How can you be so sure?"

Laughter came from behind the robe's cowl. "Because I found the Khadihar first. She was going to consume him as her last meal, but now she is just going to have to wait until I have found the thing I've been looking for."

Ravel nodded his head, but made sure that it also gave the slightest appearance of a bow. His associate was very insistent about being shown respect. "Dosir had to move quickly in Kalavere. Our agents are ready in Pallodine. Joachim will be leaving soon to get support from the King. People there are nervous. The Count was supposed to be dead by now. Once he talks to the King . . ." Ravel said but did not finish because the man beside him cut him off.

"Ravel, you worry too much," he drawled. "I told you I got you out of the Pit because I had big plans for you. Now that you no longer have to pretend to be Kreeth's lackey, we've got great things to do. The King will be dealt with, I assure you."

Though Ravel was incredulous, he knew better than to say anything for fear of the other man's temper. For that reason, he grew quiet for a moment before bringing up the subject he was dreading. "Those boys are going to be a bigger problem than you thought. I hear they were the ones who stopped our old master."

"They will be dealt with, too."

Ravel knew he had to choose his words carefully. "But . . . will that be hard for you?"

"Is it hard for you knowing what a disappointment your son has become?" the man snapped.

Ravel winced at the tone, not at the question itself. "He's never had the balls I hoped he would have. I was just thinking—"

"I know what you were thinking," the man said.

The edge to his voice told Ravel to leave the topic alone, but curiosity got the better of him. "What do you plan on doing about them, then?"

His associate's voice was dangerously silky. "Do? I plan on pulling the rug out from under them in a very spectacular way. Then I will destroy Sartor and Hapwell."

"W-what about your brother," Ravel asked, waiting for the explosion of temper, but it did not come. Instead, the man next to him reached up and pulled back his hood.

"That," Seth Maldies said with a private, knowing grin stretched coldly across his face, "is a family matter."

*

Niam awoke in the night to the sound of something scratching outside of the bedroom window. For several minutes he tossed and turned, trying to ignore the noise, hoping it would go away.

It didn't.

With a grumbling complaint, he sat up in bed and tossed a robe over his back. His body still ached, but thankfully his arm was almost useful now. He slipped his bedroom slippers on and stood up. From the other side of the window, Niam saw the full, ghostly face of the moon gazing mutely upon the world. "Looks like you're not getting any sleep either," he said as he walked to the window, which rasped loudly as he opened it.

Outside the air was cool almost to the point of being cold. Crickets trilled loudly and sleepless birds chirped as they eagerly awaited the first light of dawn. The night was alive, the air filled with an expectant energy. Niam looked down and immediately saw what had made the noise. He let out a soft exclamation of surprise. "Oh!"

Several dogs sat below the windowsill, their tails wagged eagerly as they regarded him with large, toothy grins on their muzzles. Three pairs of large, pellucid eyes met his, and he sensed an excited emotion of expectation and urgent need coming from them.

"Oh!" Niam exclaimed again as he realized that the feeling he was experiencing did not originate from within himself; it came from the dogs. "I can feel you," he said wonderingly!

Come, they seemed to say. Come help!

Niam regarded them for a moment, then nodded and lifted his leg over the window's edge. "This is going to be interesting," he muttered as he slipped out of the room. The dogs bounded up to him and licked his hands in amiable friendship. "Here I go again," he said to himself, and as he set off to follow the dogs, he spoke out clearly into the night. "At least this time I got more than a ghost dog!"

In the distance his remark was met with a reply as a dog barked. Niam scratched one of his companions on its furry head. Somewhere in the night, someone needed help. Niam whistled as he walked. He knew he had work to do. Tonight, he was ready for whatever waited.

* * *

The End

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