Maiden of Pain

CHAPTER TEN

Out in the bay, the small craft and its occupants took the full brunt of the winter storm. Whipped by the fierce winds, the waves crashed over the sides of the boat until all four were soaked to the bone. The planks were quickly abandoned, and any hope of maneuvering through the tempest was lost. The group merely held onto the sides of the skiff for dear life. Tossed and turned about, Ythnel had no sense of where they were in the darkness.

The skiff suddenly rose on a cresting wave and was pitched over, tumbling the four into the chilling waters. Ythnel panicked, unable to tell which way was up, and let go of the breath she was holding. As the bubbles rose in front of her, she realized they would lead her back to the surface. She frantically kicked after them. She surged out of the depths with a gasp only to be pounded back under by another wave. Refusing to give up, Ythnel surfaced once more.

"Kestus" Her shout was cut short as she swallowed a mouthful of water. She coughed it out and tried again. "Kestus! Muctos! Kohtakah! Anybody?" Ythnel squinted, hoping that something recognizable would materialize in the darkness. The gash in her arm stung from the salt water. Forcing herself to calm down, she whispered a prayer to Loviatar and touched the wound. The flesh wove itself back together, but Ythnel could feel a scar.

She returned to her scanning of the night. As she treaded water, surrounded by an unnerving silence, the waves rolling about her, Ythnel felt a terrifying sense of isolation creep into her heart. Panic began to rise again. She was out of her element and all alone.

"Kestus! Muctos!" This time, she thought she heard a voice calling and began to swim in the direction it came from. The cry sounded again, closer, and a large, dark shape appeared, drifting just ahead.

"Who's there?" she called out uncertainly.

"It's Muctos," came the excited reply. Ythnel thought she saw a waving arm, but in the blackness of the storm, she was still too far away to be sure. With a few more strokes, Ythnel reached the dark shape, and discovered it was Muctos clinging to the overturned skiff.

"Where are the others?"

"I don't know," Muctos sputtered. Ythnel called out their names again, and Muctos joined her in the attempt to locate the others. The wind was dying down, and the rain had been reduced to a light drizzle. With the storm's dissipation, the rolling swells were replaced by small whitecaps chopping the waters of the bay. The slow lightening of the sky signaled the approach of dawn. Ythnel scanned the horizon, hopeful to catch sight of their missing friends.

"Over there!" Muctos exclaimed and pointed off into the distance. "I think I see something. Kestus? Kohtakah?"

Ythnel looked where Muctos pointed. Someone was indeed swimming toward them. As the figure neared, Ythnel could make out the stern features of Kestus, his dark hair plastered against his scalp. The mage no longer had his cloak. Ythnel let go of a breath she hadn't realized she was holding when he finally reached the skiff.

"Where's… Kohtakah?" Kestus panted and leaned heavily against the side of the boat, trying to catch his breath.

"We haven't seen him yet," Ythnel answered.

Kestus nodded and said, "We need to get this boat turned back over."

"How?" Muctos asked.

"We should just be able to flip up one side."

They positioned themselves at the bow, middle, and stern. Together they heaved the edge up out of the water and tossed it away from them. With a small splash, the skiff was righted.

Ythnel swam over and pulled herself in, kicking to thrust herself high out of the water and over the side of the boat. She sat there for a second, exhausted but glad to be finally out of the water. An overwhelming feeling of safety and comfort swelled inside her, bringing her to the verge of tears. The boat rocked, startling Ythnel. She grabbed the sides of the skiff, bracing herself, when she realized it was only Kestus struggling to get in. With a deep breath, Ythnel calmed herself and moved to help him. Together, they dragged Muctos out of the water.

For a while, all three of them huddled quietly in the bottom of the boat, unable to do anything but shiver in the steady wind that blew across the bay. The clouds parted to reveal a bright winter sun that did little to warm them.

"We should look for Kohtakah," Muctos said between chattering teeth.

Kestus shook his head. "If he hasn't shown up by now, he's not going to," he said in a subdued voice. Muctos opened his mouth, but Kestus cut off any protest. "He could be anywhere out there. It would be useless to try and search for him. I'm sorry." Muctos frowned, clearly not pleased, but nodded. They continued to sit in silence, not willing to meet each others' eyes.

"We can't just sit here, or we'll die of hypothermia," Ythnel said finally. "We have to get moving. The only way we'll get warm and dry is by our own body heat."

"What do you suggest?" Muctos's tone overflowed with sarcasm. "I don't think running in place will work given our circumstances."

"No, but we could paddle. We need to get to shore anyway."

"And in what direction might that be?" Muctos's question dripped with undisguised scorn.

"That's enough, Muctos," Kestus growled. The portly mage scowled back but kept his mouth shut.

"I can still see land that way," Ythnel said, indicating a thin, dark line just visible on the horizon to their left. "From the position of the sun, I'd guess that's where we came from."

"Well, then, let's start paddling back," Muctos suggested.

"No," Kestus grunted. "If we go back, we'll risk recapture by the werecreatures or the Karanoks. We head east, to Mordulkin."

"What? That will take days," Muctos cried.

"Then we had better get started." Kestus leaned over the side of the skiff and started paddling with his cupped hands.

Progress was slow. For every hour they paddled, it seemed as though they moved only a few yards. Even taking turns to rest, Ythnel's arms quickly turned wooden, and feeling returned to her hands like a prickly fire only just before she had to dunk them back into the numbingly chill waters. By the end of the first day, Ythnel could see all of them were exhausted. They slept fitfully, huddled together at the bottom of the craft to protect themselves from the wind and share body heat.

Kohtakah was plunged into waters of the Bay of Chessenta like all the others as their little skiff was flipped by the raging sea. Unlike the others, though, he didn't panic. Water was a second home to him. He was a werecrocodile, after all.

Shedding his robes, he reoriented himself and, with a few strong kicks, broke the surface in a spray. It was dark, and the storm still tossed waves about the bay violently. He could not see any of the others.

Something bumped against Kohtakah's leg as he treaded water. A dark triangle broke the surface of the water ahead of him, and a sense of dread filled him. There were other predators besides crocodiles that inhabited the waters of the Bay of Chessenta, he knew. In his current form, he was extremely vulnerable to an attack. Fortunately, he had an alternate shape.

Kohtakah was born a werecrocodile, as many of his generation were. Unlike those who contracted the disease at some point in their lives, he had grown up with the ability. The years had given him mastery of the transformation. It didn't make it any less painful, though.

As his body temperature rose, Kohtakah could feel the blood boiling in his veins. Bones snapped and reformed, tendons broke away and reattached as his body reshaped itself. Kohtakah moaned in response to the pain. It would be over soon, though.

Kohtakah screamed as the mild pain in his right leg became the excruciating sensation of a hundred knives puncturing his flesh. A sharp tug pulled him under water. His scream became a bubbling roar as the transformation completed.

Specialized lids closed protectively over each eye, turning his vision murky. He could still see that the lower half of his right, rear leg was missing and a cloud of red was slowly drifting away from the wound. The change had partially healed the damage so that he was no longer in immediate danger of bleeding to death, but there was enough blood in the water that the scent would attract more sharks, or at least bring his current attacker back for more. He needed to get away from there. With a powerful flick of his tail, he went in search of his companions and their boat.

A dark, blurry shape came hurtling out of the depths, its jaws snapping on the empty water Kohtakah had just passed through. He whipped around and clamped onto the shark's tail as it passed, but the creature's momentum allowed it to yank free. As it swam away, Kohtakah estimated the shark was easily seventeen feet long, nearly as big as he was. ‹

Sensing something behind him, Kohtakah banked to the side. He was too slow, though, and a second shark slammed into him, its jaws closing on his back. His thick hide protected him from any serious damage, and Kohtakah thrashed his body to free himself, taking a few of the shark's teeth with him.

He didn't stop there. With a sharp turn, Kohtakah came around the side of the shark and bit down hard on the animal's pectoral fin. His hold secure, he began to roll violently, twisting and tearing the shark's flesh until the fin pulled away. Fresh blood clouded the water as the shark swam away, its flight erratic as it slowly and uncontrollably descended into the murk. Kohtakah knew he wouldn't see it again.

That left its mate.

It came at Kohtakah head-on, its mouth open wide to reveal rows of serrated teeth several inches long. If he were still in humanoid form, he was sure the creature could easily have bitten him in half. As a crocodile, that was an entirely different matter.

Propelled by wide sweeps of his own tail, Kohtakah shot forward to meet the shark. At the last second, he angled up and grabbed the shark by the nose. His jaws locked in a death grip, Kohtakah spun once more, brutally shaking the shark until he felt the creature's head separate from its body. He released the carcass then and watched it sink into the depths.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him, carrying with it the burning pain from his missing leg. Even in the water, he tired quickly in this form; the heavy muscles of the crocodile sapped his energy faster than his human muscles would. He surfaced, inhaling air through his scaly nostrils to fill his lungs. The storm was abating, and the surface of the bay had calmed considerably. The skiff, however, was still nowhere in sight.

Kohtakah floated for a bit, letting the current take him with only the occasional flick of his tail for guidance and forward motion. His leg throbbed painfully, but he relegated it to a back corner of his mind while he considered his options. He could bide his time until dawn and set his course using the location of the sun. The real question was where to go.

Adder Swamp was out of the question. Lord Mulkammu had seen him with the fleeing mages and declared him a traitor. If he ever showed his face there again, it would be his death.

He could set off for one of the human cities. It would be difficult at first. He had no food, no coin, and now no clothes, but he was sure his sorcerous abilities would quickly find him employment.

He didn't relish the thought of being alone again, however. He remembered when he first came to Luthcheq, the isolation he felt. He recalled the fear and secrecy by which he had to live, not only because he was a werecreature amongst humans, but also because he was a wielder of the arcane who was seeking others who were the same. It was only after he had found the Mage Society that he once again felt as if he belonged.

That thought brought him to his third option. He could search for his friends. It was reassuring to think that he could still call them that. Kohtakah feared that they would consider it a betrayal when they learned he was a werecrocodile. He had been right, but somehow Kestus had overcome those initial feelings and welcomed him back.

Unfortunately, Kohtakah had no idea where the other three might be, or if they were even still alive. No, they live, he told himself, and if such were the case, that meant he had to try to find them.

His decision made, Kohtakah continued to drift, waiting for the sky to clear and the sun appear. The sky gradually brightened, and within a few hours, the sun was peeking over the horizon on Kohtakah's left. Orienting himself by it, he began to swim south, searching, until he spotted the shore. Then he made a lazy turn east and headed north, back out into the bay until he could no longer see the thick line behind him that indicated land.

Kohtakah continued the search pattern the entire day, steadily moving eastward hour by hour. Finally, as the sun began to set, he spotted a dark blot on the horizon. The wind had picked up, chopping the waters of the bay into little whitecaps. He was tired and at the end of his strength, slowed enough by his wound and the battle with the sharks that he was unable to catch any of the fast game fish that swam in the bay. He was sure the blot was his friends in their skiff or at least some other small vessel, and he called on what energy he still had to propel himself through the water closer and closer.

Finally, he was near enough to see the object was indeed the skiff. Night had fallen, however, and he could not see anybody inside. He swam right up to the side of the boat and bumped it with his snout. It made a solid thump, and he heard something stirring. Not wanting to scare his companions, Kohtakah dipped below the water and transformed back into his human shape, the pain momentarily eclipsing that from his lost leg. When he resurfaced a few feet away, he saw Muctos sitting up, looking out across the water.

"Muctos," he called, waving. "Over here." He saw the mage turn toward him and heard him gasp.

"Kohtakah? Hey, it's Kohtakah! Wake up." Muctos bent down and shook someone. Kestus sat up, followed by Ythnel. They were all alive! Muctos pointed toward where Kohtakah bobbed.

"How did" Kestus started to say but shook his head. "Are you all right? Can you swim over here?"

Kohtakah shook his head. "I'm hurt. I don't think I have anything left."

"Don't worry. Hold on. We'll come to you." The three started paddling with their hands. Kohtakah could tell they were exhausted, and he felt honored that they would push themselves further on his behalf. When they reached him, they pulled him into the boat.

"Your leg?" Ythnel gasped as he came fully out of the water.

She directed them to quickly turn him over onto his back. She took the mangled stump in both hands and started to pray. A dark and unholy light radiated from Ythnel's hand, and a momentary pang of fear raced through Kohtakah. Ythnel was a cleric of Loviatar, he remembered. Then a searing pain racked his body, and he stiffened. It was gone in a second, and he was left fully drained. He struggled to lift his head, unwilling to give in to sleep until he saw what was done. Ythnel removed her hands, the glow fading from them, and Kohtakah saw that the skin had closed over the open wound, leaving a fully healed knob just below his knee.

"Thank you," he breathed, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

When they awoke it was midmorning, and land was nowhere in sight. Kestus judged the current had likely carried them farther out into the bay. Once again using the sun, they oriented themselves east and started paddling. Ythnel's mouth was uncomfortably dry; her tongue felt heavy and swollen. She absently scooped a handful of water to her mouth, but spit it out before she swallowed. It was salt water, she reminded herself. They wouldn't be able to drink any of it. Rain would be the only fresh water available to them, and from the clear sky, Ythnel didn't think they would see any soon. The irony made her chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Muctos croaked from his resting place at the stern of the skiff.

"Nothing. I'm just thirsty."

"It'll get worse," Kestus said quietly as he paddled on the starboard side. "Keep your mouths closed to conserve spit." Ythnel nodded and went back to her own paddling.

There was still water as far as the eye could see when their third day in the boat began. Ythnel leaned against the side of the skiff, her arm hanging over the edge and into the water. Kestus sat across from her, staring into the east. Dark stubble had appeared on his face, and there was a hollow look in his eyes. The craft rocked gently in place; no one had the strength to paddle. Kohtakah seemed mostly healed from his encounter with the sharks, but the lack of water and food probably wasn't helping with his recovery. She was worried about Muctos, as well. He had been restless through the night, a sign, Ythnel thought, that he may be succumbing to dehydration quicker than everyone else. Ythnel leaned over and shook the still-sleeping form of Muctos.

"Wake up." Her voice was barely a whisper. Muctos stirred slightly and groaned, but he did not sit up.

"Let him lie," Kestus muttered. "What's the point, anyway? We're going to die."

"No," Ythnel blurted out. The mage's admission startled her, and she searched desperately for some way to prove him wrong. They had come this far, endured so much. She would not lose hope, not give up on Loviatar again. The dream Ythnel had in the swamp shoved its way to the front of her mind. She was sure it had been a message, another sign from the Maiden of Pain that she would endure through these trials. She had been promised revenge, and she meant to have it.

"I–I can purify water for us," she said excitedly, suddenly remembering the spell she had used amongst the wererats.

"What would we hold it in?" Kestus sneered. "And what would we do for food? Water won't provide the strength we need to keep paddling."

"We have to at least try." She turned to Muctos and yanked him up. The mage leaned against her, unable to support himself. "Muctos, I need you to scoop up some water with your hands." She leaned him against the side of the boat and helped him raise his arms. "Please, Muctos. I can't do this alone. I need you to hold the water. My hands have to be free to cast the spell. Please." He sat there, unmoving, his arms dangling in the water. Kestus laughed softly.

"Shut up!" Ythnel screamed. "It won't end this way. I won't let it. There has to be some way to collect the water." She tried to think, but Kestus kept laughing. "I said shut up!" She lashed out at the mage, her face twisted in rage. The blow snapped his head to the left, and he slid sideways to the bottom of the boat, still laughing quietly.

With an infuriated huff, Ythnel turned to Muctos and pulled his arms back inside the boat. She fought to conjure an idea, anything that might help them, but nothing came to mind. So she sat there staring blankly at the water dripping from Muctos's hands to form pools on the floor of the boat.

That was it! She could use the boat to hold the water. Energized by the plan, Ythnel began scooping handfuls of water into the boat with abandon.

"Wouldn't it be quicker to punch a hole in the boat," Kestus chuckled. "Or better yet, just tip us over."

"I'm not trying to kill us, idiot," Ythnel hissed as she continued to shovel in the water. "I'm going to save us." Kestus gave her a puzzled look, but kept quiet as she spent the next several minutes filling the boat with handfuls of water. When there was a sizable pool a couple of inches deep, Ythnel stopped. Positioning herself on the bow seat, she began chanting and moving her hands over the water. When she was done, Ythnel cupped her hand, dipped it into the puddle and raised it slowly to her mouth. Parting her dry lips, she took a sip.

It was fresh.

Crying with delight, she took another quick drink then moved to Muctos, raising a handful to his mouth and pouring it in. The mage sputtered, some of the water running down the sides of his face, but he drank most of it, and Ythnel gave him some more.

"I'm sorry."

Ythnel glanced over to see Kestus sitting back up, looking at her with an expression on his face she could not read. She nodded, and he leaned over to get his own drink. Then he helped Kohtakah.

Twice more that day, they filled the bottom of the skiff with water and Ythnel purified it. There was plenty to drink, but Kestus had been right. With nothing to eat, none of them had the strength to paddle the boat against the current. So they drifted.

On the fourth day, as the sun was nearing its apex, Ythnel spotted something on the northern horizon. It was little more than a dark speck, but it was moving.

"A ship!" Ythnel cried, startling the men from their doze.

"You could be right," Kestus said after staring at the speck for a few moments. "But how do we signal it?"

"I think I know a way." Muctos began to wave his hands, silently mouthing words. Ythnel thought she saw "help" among those passing his lips. When he was finished, he pointed to the north and a gust of wind suddenly swept past the four of them, heading the same direction.

"Now we wait."

They sat staring at the speck on the horizon for what seemed like hours, but when Ythnel looked up at the sky, the sun had barely moved. Looking back, she swore the speck looked larger. She said nothing, though, as it was likely a trick of her eyes either from gazing at the sun for too long or simply from her mind letting her see what her heart wanted. To take their minds off waiting, Ythnel suggested they purify more water. They were all scooping when Muctos shouted suddenly.

"I see sails."

They all paused to look. Ythnel was sure the speck was larger now. And there was a ripple along one side, like wind fluttering a bedsheet hung out to dry. It was gone as soon as she noticed, but she was sure she saw it. Caught in a moment of hope, Ythnel stood up in the boat and began waving her arms.

"We're over here! Over here!"

"Sit down, or you'll capsize us before they get here," Kestus scolded her lightly. She looked down to see the corner of his mouth twist up before he pulled her down. Then all four of them began to grin then laugh uncontrollably, tears streaming down their cheeks.

The square-sailed, double-masted merchant ship Lady Splendor made port in Mordulkin two days after picking up Ythnel, Kestus, Kohtakah, and Muctos from their skiff in the middle of the Bay of Chessenta. The Lady Splendor's captain, a foppish halfling who favored bright silk shirts regardless of the occasion, was most generous in loaning the use of his cabin to the four during the trip. They were well fed and clothed, and Ythnel felt fully recovered from their ordeal as they walked onto the docks of Luthcheq's smaller rival. The city looked similar to Luthcheq: its buildings of white stone crowded together, and its citizens moved about their daily business in an orderly manner, but the bounce in people's step and the ready smiles on the their faces told Ythnel that below the surface, Mordulkin was a much different place.

Kestus led them away from the docks and into the city. As they had discussed on the ship, the plan was to rent some rooms at an inn Kestus had stayed at previously, where they would wait while he tried to get word to his contact. The quartet walked down wide streets full of shops, taverns, and inns. Kohtakah had been given some crude crutches as a parting gift from the Lady Splendor's captain, and he used those to amble along. Ythnel noted how none of the storefront signs were faded, the paint depicting bolts of cloth, steaming plates of food or liquid-filled vials was not chipped. Likewise, the building facades were clean and showed little signs of age. It was quite a contrast to her home of Bezantur, where only the large temples and the nobility could afford to, or cared to, keep up their property. Either the merchants of Mordulkin did well for themselves or the wealth was spread around by some larger governing body that sought to create an atmosphere of prosperity.

Their first stop was a squat building on a street corner with a sign hanging out front. Painted on it was a pile of coins sitting atop of an open book. The four walked in and found themselves in a cozy antechamber. A small fire smoldered in the hearth to the right, providing a comfortable level of heat for the room. In the center of the area was a writing stand. Through a doorway in the far wall, Ythnel could see the edge of a desk and hear the scratching of a quill on parchment.

"Just a moment. I'll be right with you," a dry voice called from around the corner in the office. The scratching stopped, and a thin, older man with wispy curls of white hair appeared. He wore a black jacket with sleeves that fell just short of his wrists over a plain linen shirt tucked into black pantaloons. When his eyes fell on the group, one thick, bushy eyebrow arched in a look that clearly questioned whether they belonged in his establishment. Ythnel realized their secondhand clothing probably made them look like beggars. The clerk opened his mouth, but Kestus spoke up before he could say anything.

"My name is Kestus Aentius. I have an account with you. I am here to make a withdrawal. As you can probably see, I and my companions need to refresh ourselves." The old man seemed to consider this for a moment before shuffling back into his office. He returned shortly, his arms wrapped lovingly around a thick, leather-bound book. He laid the book upon the writing stand and began to thumb through the first pages.

"Aentius.. Aentius.. Aentius. Ah, yes, here we are. Oh." Both eyebrows rose slightly. "Will you be making a large withdrawal today, Master Aentius? I may need some time to collect the necessary"

"No, I just need one hundred authokhs."

The clerk breathed a sigh of relief. "Very well. If you will sign here?" The old man held a quill out for Kestus then indicated a place on the page where the mage was to sign. When he had done so, the clerk went once more to his office. He stopped before a section of the far wall and mumbled something Ythnel couldn't quite hear. The wall disappeared to reveal an iron door. The old man spoke again, and the door swung inward, a secret vault now visible beyond. He returned with two bulging coin purses and handed them to Kestus.

"Will there be anything else?" The clerk closed his ledger when Kestus shook his head. "Until your next visit, then, Master Aentius." He bowed slightly and shuffled back to his office. Kestus turned and headed out the door.

Their next errand took them to a tailor's shop a street over from the coinlender. Kestus had them all measured and ordered outfits made, despite Ythnel's protests. He then purchased clothing from the merchant's current stock to replace the ill-fitting hand-me-downs given to them aboard the Lady Splendor.

They finally came to stop before a sign that depicted a beast with the head of an eagle, the body of a lion, and wings of flame. The building was two stories high, with glass-paned windows on both levels and a black iron-hinged door that swung open silently at Kestus's touch.

"Olare, gentlefolk." Behind a waist-high counter to the right of the entrance stood a man in a green tunic and brown linen vest, his thick mustache hiding the upper half of the broad smile he offered. "Welcome to the Flaming Griffon. Interested in a room or two for the night?"

"Two adjoining rooms," Kestus replied. "We'll need a cot in one of them."

"Of course. How long will you be staying?"

"We're not sure, but this should cover us for a few days." Kestus set the remaining coins in a stack on the counter. "Have dinner sent to our rooms when it's ready please."

"Certainly," the innkeeper fawned, scooping up the coins and dropping two keys in their place. "Your rooms will be up the stairs to the left there. Will there be anything else?"

"Uh, a bath would be nice," Ythnel suggested.

"I'll have water drawn right away, milady." With a knowing smile, the innkeeper rang a bell, summoning a flurry of servants. The trio made their way past the front desk and up the short flight of stairs while orders were being given.

The rooms were comfortable; each had two single beds, a writing table, an armoire, and a window that looked out onto the street. No sooner had Ythnel flopped on her bed than there was a knock on her door. She opened it to find a maid ready to lead her to the bathing room. Her new linen dress draped over her arm, Ythnel followed the older woman down the hall. Once inside the steamy room with the door closed, Ythnel shed her old clothing and slipped into the tub.

"To the trash with these, milady?" the maid asked, holding up the dingy garment between her index finger and thumb. Ythnel nodded before sliding under the water.

After braiding her hair, Ythnel joined the men in their room for dinner. Kohtakah and Muctos sat on their beds, plates of roasted mutton and stewed vegetables resting in their laps, while Ythnel sat at the writing table, shoveling the food in as fast as she could chew and swallow. At least she hadn't drooled as the first tendrils of aroma drifted to her nose. Not that either of the mages would notice, buried as they were in their own meals. Kestus had either already eaten or was not hungry because he paced the floor with an air of impatience. Ythnel was dabbing up the last pools of juice with a thick slice of bread when there was a knock at the door. Kestus practically ran to open it.

"Master Rueldarr said you had a dispatch to send?" A young boy stood in the doorway fidgeting.

"Ah, yes. Ythnel, if you wouldn't mind handing over that envelope on the desk."

Ythnel noticed for the first time a small envelope with the name "Crarl Ormane" scrawled on the front. When she grabbed it, her fingers pressed against a hard blob of sealing wax on the back.

"See that this gets to the Jedea Academy before sunset, boy. There'll be some extra coin if I hear it was so."

The youth nodded vigorously, grabbed the envelope from Kestus, and darted down the hall.

"So, I take it the recipient of that envelope is your contact?" Muctos asked from his seat on the bed.

"Crarl Ormane is the name I was given by my contact. That's who the letter is addressed to. I don't know if it's an actual person or just some sort of password." Kestus strolled back to his cot and sat down. While he had visibly relaxed after closing the door, there was still something pensive about his mood.

"What is the Jedea Academy?" Ythnel asked.

"It is the oldest school in Mordulkin for students of the Art," said Muctos. "It was founded by Soldim Jedea, the first ruler of the city. The Jedea family has ruled Mordulkin since the rebellion that ousted Unther from Chessenta." Muctos paused, and his eyes suddenly lit up. "What if your mysterious benefactor is a member of the Jedea family?"

"Let's not get our hopes up," Kestus cautioned.

They retired to their rooms for the night. Ythnel inquired with a maid about a switch, which earned her a strange look, but one was retrieved from the inn's stables. She performed her nightly prayer ritual and slept soundly.

When Ythnel finished her prayers the next morning, Kestus was already out running some errands. He returned shortly after she finished a late morning-feast. He had with him a couple of new purses of coin and their tailor-made outfits. Ythnel asked if there had been any response to his letter, but the mage shook his head.

Lunch went by, and there was still no word. Ythnel wanted to get out and stretch her legs by walking through the city, but Kestus counseled patience. Everyone needed to be here and be ready to go should a reply come requesting an immediate meeting. Finally, as they were finishing dinner in the common room of the Flaming Griffon, a message was delivered. Kestus read through it silently while everyone else finished their meals. He set the note down on the table, pushed his chair back, and stood up.

"Let's go."

The brisk walk to the residential district, where the academy was located, took a little more than half a candle. The sun was just dipping below the skyline of the city, casting everything in shades of deep purple and golden orange. The houses that lined the streets ranged from simple, single-family dwellings to large mansions with landscaped terraces covering an entire block. As with the merchant district, all the buildings here showed similar signs of regular upkeep, and Ythnel wondered at the amount of coin it would take to maintain so much property.

The Jedea Academy grounds were even more immaculate than its neighbors'. Spring-green grass of uniform height surrounded the twstory complex and was split in the front by a white granite walkway that led from the curb to an ornate, oak door. Brilliant white stone, shining in the fading sunlight, was austere in its lack of decoration. Four square towers formed the corners of the academy, and its sloped roof was covered in tiles of twilight-gray slate.

Ythnel brought up the rear as the quartet walked single file to the door. Kestus looked at them over his shoulder then rapped his knuckles against the solid wood, producing a muffled sound that was barely audible to Ythnel.

"You're going to have to put a little more muscle into it, Kestus, if you expect anyone to hear you," she kidded. Muctos chuckled, which turned into a throat clearing when Kestus glared at him. The mage went to knock again, but the door opened and a young woman with long, straight black hair stuck her head out.

"I'm sorry, but the library is closed for the night. Please come back tomorrow."

"We're not here to look at books," Kestus interjected, pulling the note from a pouch on his robe. "We have an appointment with Crarl Ormane."

The woman's face scrunched up in a mix of puzzlement and frustration as she took the paper from Kestus. "Wait here," she said after glancing at it. The door closed, leaving the four to stand waiting out in the gathering night.

"Certainly a hospitable bunch," Ythnel said. Kestus opened his mouth, but the dark-haired woman reappeared at the door before he could say anything.

"Follow me, please."

Just inside the door was, indeed, a library. Ythnel gazed in awe at the shelves upon shelves of books that stretched across the carpeted floor. She felt insignificant, surrounded by the collected volume of knowledge, and cringed inwardly as the muffled tread of the group passing through the room disturbed the silence that hung in the air like a mantle of respect.

They came to a door and the dark-haired woman knocked once before ushering them into the small office beyond. Piles of books covered most of the floor, with paths cleared between the door, a reading chair, an overflowing bookshelf, and a desk. The desk was occupied by an older man who thumbed through a dusty tome by the light of a brightly glowing quill that rested in an inkpot set on the corner of the desk.

"Master Thilymm, these are the people here to see Crarl Ormane."

The old man looked up, seemingly aware of his visitors for the first time. He placed a marker in the book, closed it, and set it on the desk before standing and dismissing their escort with a nod. He wore a conical hat that covered any hair that might still be on his head, which made his thick, white mustache stand out even more. A jeweled medallion hung around his neck, the multifaceted sapphire reflecting the light of the enchanted quill on the desk as it rested against the silky fabric of his light blue tunic.

"Welcome, welcome. I am Ovros Thilymm, Head Librarian of the Academy."

"Where is Crarl Ormane?" Kestus asked.

"He is not here."

"What? But the note said we were to meet him."

"No, the note said to come to the academy."

Ythnel tensed. This conversation was taking an uncomfortable turn. They had no weapons, but she was sure she could take the old man out before he could call to any hidden allies.

"Don't play word games with me," Kestus fumed. "The note was signed by Crarl Ormane."

"I assure you I am not playing a game. Crarl Ormane is not here because it would be impossible for him to. He is nothing but a name."

"You were right," Muctos muttered. Kestus nodded, but frustration still showed on his face.

"Fine, so we're not going to meet Crarl. Who are we going to meet? Or was there some other reason we were invited here?"

"You can relax," Ovros said, looking right at Ythnel as though he had read her mind. He was more observant than she gave him credit for. "You are going to meet the person you came here to see. Let's go upstairs." He scooted past them and led them back out through the library to a door in the middle of the back wall. The librarian put his medallion against the wood of the door and uttered something unintelligible. A chime sounded, and the door swung open as the single, clear note faded away.

Ovros followed the hallway behind the library to the right until it came to a flight of metal stairs that led both up and down. He began to climb, the clanging of his steps echoing off the stones of hall. The four looked at each other before Kestus started up the stairs. Muctos shrugged and began his ascent, followed by Kohtakah, who navigated his crutches awkwardly. With a quick look back down the hall, Ythnel brought up the rear.

The stairs ended at a landing with another door. Again, Ovros put his medallion to the wood and spoke the command to open it. Another hallway stretched beyond, lined with doors on either side every ten feet or so. Ovros stopped before the third on their left and knocked.

"Come in," came the response in a deep, commanding voice. The door swung open at the librarian's touch, and he stood aside to let the four enter.

"I'll be here when you are finished," he said and turned to leave.

The room they were in appeared to be some sort of lounge. There were four overstuffed chairs set about the room, each with their own end table and candelabra. Thin bookshelves stood against the walls at odd intervals. Another door stood closed in the far wall.

The dominant feature of the room, however, was the imposing figure who stood in the center of it. Thick, shoulder-length gray hair framed a square face and was held back by a gem-encrusted gold band at the temples and forehead. Bushy eyebrows drooped over sparkling eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard ran along the jawline before surrounding a broad mouth. A thick cape dyed red hung over a loose silk robe of deep purple.

"I apologize for all the secrecy," the man said in the same strong voice Ythnel had heard from outside. She started in surprise just the same then blushed when she realized she had been staring, captivated by the physical specimen before her. "If my presence here, my connection to you, were to be known, much planning would be ruined and lives possibly lost."

"Who are you?" There was something in Kestus's voice, as if he already knew the answer, but couldn't believe it. "We know Crarl Ormane is a phantom."

"I am Hercubes Jedea, king of Mordulkin."

Kestus nodded slowly, his face betraying his inability to come to terms with the revelation.

"So you were going to help us," Muctos breathed.

"Yes, I answered Kestus's inquiries through a third party, so as to remain anonymous. Don't look so shocked," Hercubes said to Kestus, in response to the furrowing of the mage's brow. "I've known about the society for a while, but I didn't dare to make contact until everything was in place. In fact, I know more than you may realize, Kestus Aentius, Muctos Dapri-tus, and Ythnel Duumin, though I am surprised to see the werecreature is still with you."

Ythnel could not keep her jaw from dropping open. It was one thing for him to know the mages' names, but how would he know about her. She had never set foot outside of Thay until a few tendays ago.

"Well, you waited too long, your majesty." Anger bolstered Kestus's voice, and there was a fire in his eyes. "The society is dead."

"But you are here," Hercubes replied, "and that will do." He met Kestus's gaze, but his voice softened as he continued. "I am truly sorry for the loss of your friends. Do not turn your anger upon me, though. The Karanoks are the ones responsible. We can still exact vengeance upon them."

"I'm listening," Kestus said.

"Mordulkin and Luthcheq have long been enemies, as I am sure you are aware. While we have been able to turn away invasions, we were too small to mount an offensive of our own. So we waited, biding our time until the fanaticism of the Karanoks created enough instability in the city that we could strike.

"That time has come. What we lack in armies, we make up for in arcane resources. This academy, which my ancestor built, has produced many skilled wizards loyal to Mordulkin and her cause. Luthcheq's edict against magic will end, and the Karanoks will be destroyed.

"There is one obstacle still in our path, however."

"Witchweed," Kestus answered.

"Yes, witchweed. The Karanoks have enough of the cursed plant to stop a legion of wizards. We cannot succeed as long as it remains in the Karanoks' possession. My agents have learned the location of three stockpiles kept within the city limits. If those were eliminated, the forces of Mordulkin could sweep in and take Luthcheq long before new crops grew come next harvest.

"That was what I was hoping your society would accomplish. It is what I'm still hoping you will accomplish."

"What about your agents?" Muctos asked.

"Unfortunately, I have not heard from them in tendays. I fear they may have been discovered and disposed of."

"And you expect us to go back into that city of madness? Forget it. Unlike Kestus, I lost everything when I left. I'm not about to throw away my life trying to return."

"I understand," Hercubes said. "You will be welcome here in Mordulkin, if you wish to stay. What about you?" he asked Kestus.

"I'll do it," Kestus said. "I owe it to the others to see this through. I'm not sure if I can do it alone, though."

"I would go, but I think I would be more of a hindrance in my present condition," Kohtakah said, disappointment thick in his voice.

"I'll go," Ythnel said. They all turned to look at her.

"There is retribution to be meted out and a debt to be paid." Ythnel braced herself for the inevitable protest, but all she got were knowing nods from both Kestus and Hercubes.

"Then it is decided. There are a few details to see to, but they can be taken care of in the morning. Tonight you will return to your rooms at the Flaming Griffon and sleep well. What aid I can give will be waiting for you when you leave.

"Farewell, my friends. May Mystra watch over you."

The carriage rolled past the East Gate and into the city at a leisurely pace. The streets of Luthcheq were filled with revelry, its citizens out in force to celebrate Midwinter. Ythnel pulled her fur jacket tightly around her; the carriage did little to keep the chill of the air out, or the dull roar of the festivities.

"It will probably snow before the night is over," Kestus commented from his seat opposite Ythnel. "There's enough moisture in the air."

Ythnel nodded, wondering what snow would look like. It was a distracting thought, and she shook her head to be rid of it. They were here on dangerous business. A misstep would mean the end. Nervous, she played with the ring given to her by Hercubes Jedea. The three rounded, red stones embedded in the silver band were smooth under her fingertips. The ring stored spells that the wizard had told her would aid in her mission. She had already cast one as they waited in line to enter the city. Her hand moved subconsciously to touch the soft, unmarred skin of her right cheek. "You look… beautiful."

The pause caught Ythnel's attention, but Kestus looked away when their eyes met.

"If I had never met you before, I'd.. I'd never recognize you."

He was right, of course. She looked nothing like the woman who had come to Luthcheq as a governess. Her golden hair was full and shiny, falling in waves just past her shoulders. Deep blue eyes looked out from long eyelashes, separated by a button nose and complemented by lush, pouting lips. A blouse and trousers of flimsy, pale blue silk clung to curves she was not born with. It was all a ruse, bait for a trap.

The carriage came to a halt with a lurch. Kestus opened the door and stepped out then turned to lend a hand to Ythnel. Their breaths were puffs of white in the air between them.

"Are you ready?" Kestus asked, continuing after she nodded. "Naeros favors three taverns in his carousing: the Black Mercy, the Vampire's Tooth, and Bale's Bones. Two of them are a few blocks north of here; the other is on the southern end of town. Be careful. I'm not going to be there to back you up."

"I know."

"No, I mean I won't be helping with the rest. Taking care of the witchweed is going to be up to you. I have my own score to settle first, and I don't know how long it will take me. Hells, I don't even know if I'll succeed." Kestus gave a quick laugh.

"I understand," Ythnel said calmly. "You do what you have to. May Loviatar bless your endeavor." She gave him a small kiss on the cheek and stood back. There was a question in his eyes, and his mouth twisted as though he wanted to say something, but he merely nodded and got back into the carriage. Ythnel watched it pull off down the street and disappear into the frolicking masses. Then she turned and headed north.

The Vampire's Tooth was a sailor's tavern. It sat right across from the piers, a long, squat building that blended well with the dockside warehouses surrounding it. Thin slashes of light escaped through the warped wood of shuttered windows and the battered door. Ythnel's nose wrinkled at the unique combination of salty sea air and fermented alcohol that exuded from the Tooth like the poisonous breath of some great green dragon. It was hard for her to imagine that a self-important noble such as Naeros would patronize such an establishment. Of course, the most unlikely people always wound up where you least expected them. Some of the visitors to the manor back in Bezantur would have certainly raised eyebrows were their appetites ever to be made known publicly.

Steeling herself, Ythnel pushed through the door and hit a wall of sound. What had been only a muffled hodgepodge of noise outside transformed into a roar of distinct activities: the knocking of wooden tankards, the booming of raucous laughter, the skidding of heavy furniture dragged across the floor, and the angry shouting of patrons demanding the fulfillment of their desires. Ythnel stood in the doorway, stunned. Waves of silence rippled out from her as those closest took notice and all eyes were turned upon her.

"If you're lost, darlin', I'll be more'n happy ta take ya home." The anonymous catcall brought a chorus of chuckles and snapped Ythnel out of her momentary daze. Disguised as she was, she could not afford to be caught off guard in a place like this. Confidence would be her greatest weapon. Holding her chin up, Ythnel strode toward the bar, ignoring the lecherous leers from patrons and the hateful glares of the wenches who normally serviced the Tooth's clientele. She scanned the booths and tables as she crossed the sawdust-covered floor but saw no sign of Naeros.

When she reached the bar, there was nowhere to stand or sit. A tall, husky man with a clean-shaved pate and a gold hoop in his right ear shoved another patron who had passed out on a stool. A puddle of drool had formed around his head as it lay on the bar. The push sent the unconscious drunk to the floor, where he continued to snore. Ythnel nodded and took the seat, ordering a tankard of ale from the scruffy bartender.

"So what brings a pretty lady like yourself to this fine establishment?'' the husky man asked.

"I'm meeting someone here," Ythnel said, avoiding the man's gaze by searching the crowd.

"Ya shore ya in da right place?" the tavern master asked when he returned with her drink.

"Actually, no," she replied, turning to look at the round face covered in splotches of short, bristly hair. "Is Lord Naeros here?"

"I ain't seen 'im," the bartender said, a knowing grin growing on his mouth, "an' I don' reckon 'e gonna be 'ere tonight." Ythnel nodded, set down her untouched tankard along with a few coins, and got up to leave.

"Where you goin', pretty?" The husky man was suddenly in front of her, his stained vest and the barely contained flesh underneath filling her view. "Just 'cause your 'lord' ain't here don't mean you gotta leave."

"You're quite right," Ythnel said, smiling. "I could certainly enjoy myself with such a fine specimen as yourself." She leaned in, her eyes smoldering, and wet her lips with a lick of her tongue.

"Now, that's what I'm talking abouuhn." The man grunted as Ythnel delivered a blow to his solar plexus, followed with a heel to his left knee. She gave him another fist just under his sternum, and the man crumpled to the floor on his side. Ythnel stepped over him, ignoring the gaping jaws of the remaining patrons, and left the Vampire's Tooth.

The Black Mercy was only a few blocks west of where Kestus had dropped her off. It was a flat-roofed, single-story building of white stone from which rolled the sounds of merrymaking to mix with the noise of the crowds in the streets outside. Ythnel stood across the street for a few moments, watching well-dressed men and women coming and going from the tavern. With its strategic position near the palace and the apparently higher class of clientele, Ythnel was certain she would find her prey here. She made her way through the celebrants and entered the tavern.

A minstrel played upon a stage to the left. There were tables spread across the center of the taproom, booths on the right wall, and the bar in the back. She spotted Naeros almost immediately. Dressed in a fur-trimmed cloak over a black tunic with the Karanok crest embroidered on his left breast, he sat at a table on the far side of the stage near the bar. A wench snuggled in his lap while he drank and joked with three of his thugs. Ythnel let her gaze stay on Naeros long enough to make eye contact when he finally looked her way. Then she casually looked away and headed for the other end of the bar, feeling his eyes on her the whole way. Ordering a tallglass of wine, she turned to watch the minstrel's performance, keeping track of Naeros from the periphery of her vision. In predictable fashion, he unceremoniously dumped the wench as he stood and sauntered toward her, waving off his henchman when they rose hesitantly to follow. Ythnel continued to ignore him until he spoke.

"I don't believe I've seen you around before. My name is Naeros Karanok." He offered her a smile she was sure he thought was his most charming.

"I know who you are," she said, sparing him a quick glance before taking a sip of her wine and returning her attention to the stage, a coy smile on her lips.

"Well, then, you have me at a disadvantage, and I hate being at a disadvantage. Might I know your name?"

"I am Reary."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Reary." He took her free hand and brought it to his lips. "Would you care to join me?" He motioned to the wall of booths.

"They are all full, my lord."

"Something I will remedy immediately." Naeros moved to the nearest both and cleared his throat. The occupants looked at who was standing before them and quickly vacated. Naeros smiled at Ythnel and offered her a seat first; then he sat opposite her. A serving girl appeared, and Naeros ordered a bottle of wine for them. When the serving girl returned with the bottle and an empty tallglass, Naeros refilled Ythnel's glass then poured his own. He sniffed the bouquet then clinked his glass off hers and took a sip.

"So I haven't seen you before, and your name is not common to this region. I'm guessing you're a visitor to our fair city. Is this your first time to Luthcheq?"

Ythnel took a sip of her wine and smiled. The man was quite astute. She would have to be careful and not give herself away. "No, my lord. I've been here once before."

"And what brought you back, business or pleasure?"

"A little of both. Truth be told, you're the reason I came back." Ythnel knew she was taking a gamble. Being this forward might put him off or make him suspicious.

Fortunately, it appeared his ego was quite large enough to accept that a beautiful woman would come back to Luthcheq just to meet him. He arched his eyebrow at Ythnel and leaned toward her, placing his hand over hers.

"Really? Why would that be?"

"You have quite a.. reputation. I wanted to see such a man for myself." Ythnel smiled through her eyelashes, her foot rubbing against Naeros's calf under the table.

"Well, you've seen me now. What do you think?"

"That there is more to you than I could possibly learn about sitting here in this tavern."

"That, my dear, is certainly true, but I think I have a solution. Why don't we spend the rest of the evening at my tower?" Without waiting for an answer, Naeros slid from the booth and held his hand out for Ythnel. She smiled and accepted it.

They walked out of the Black Mercy alone, Naeros having dismissed his men. His arm and cloak were draped over Ythnel's shoulder as they maneuvered through the crowd. She half-listened as he went on about himself, going over in her head what she wanted to happen next. So far, everything was moving in the direction she had planned. For a moment, she wondered what Kestus was doing and if she would see him again.

That train of thought was interrupted by a sudden crawling of the skin between Ythnel's shoulder blades. Someone was watching them. She glanced behind them but couldn't see anyone suspicious amongst the revelers.

"What is it?" Naeros asked, stopping.

"Oh, nothing really," Ythnel lied. "I'm just amazed at the enthusiasm of the people. It must be freezing out here, yet no one seems to care."

"Chessentans do love their celebrations, and the citizens of Luthcheq even more so." Naeros smiled and led her on again. They crossed the manicured grounds of Naeros's tower, the sounds of the Midwinter festival suddenly distant as they passed under the great trees that formed a semicircular barrier between the Karanok home and city. They stopped before a single wooden door at the base of the tower. While Naeros fumbled for his key, movement back in the trees caught Ythnel's eye. She studied the shadows but couldn't make out anything except thick trunks and leafless branches. A click signaled Naeros's success at unlocking the door, which he held open for Ythnel. Shaking her head at whatever phantoms her nerves were conjuring, Ythnel turned and walked inside.

Therescales weaved his way through the celebrants, his cloak wrapped tightly around him, his focus straight ahead. It was time to leave Luthcheq. Jaerios had been dropping some not-ssubtle hints that Therescales' usefulness to him was quickly waning. With the Mage Society gone, that left Therescales as the only remaining wizard within the city, and Jaerios was ready to concentrate his efforts on purging the arcane elsewhere. He did not want to have to worry anymore about its presence at home.

So, always trying to stay one step ahead of the madman, Therescales decided to make his exit. Tonight, under the cover of the citywide festival, was the perfect opportunity. There were just a few things to pick up from his home first.

He climbed the steps to the front door of the house once owned by his former mentor. The irony of the choice to live here after Haraxius was executed by the Karanoks had always amused Therescales, though in hindsight, he was surprised it had never aroused suspicion among the society. With a shrug of his shoulders, Therescales unlocked his door and walked inside. It was nothing he had to worry about anymore.

Lighting a candle at the entryway, Therescales headed down the hall to his bedroom. He grabbed a couple of changes of clothing and shoved them in a pack. He went to the kitchen next and stuffed some bread and dried meat into an empty sack. All that was left were a few items to gather from the study. He crossed the living room and spoke the command that opened a secret panel in the wall.

"Hello, Brother Asp."

Therescales whirled back to the living room, searching for the source of the voice, but no one was there. Then he heard chanting, and a figure appeared before him. He reached for his dagger, but his limbs felt like lead. In seconds, he was unable to move except to breathe, paralyzed by the intruder's spell. Forced to look straight ahead, he studied the man who now stood before him. The face, with brown hair, a square jaw, and intense, dark eyes, was unfamiliar. He wore a gray, undecorated tabard over a robe of purple. Most striking, however, was the gray tint to the man's skin. Whoever he was, he had to be a mage. That was the only way he could have known Therescales' secret identity.

"I doubt you recognize me," the man said, "but you know what I am, don't you." He walked toward Therescales as he spoke. Therescales could see the hatred, the vengeance, burning in his eyes. Realizing this man meant to kill him, Therescales struggled in his mind to overcome the enchantment that held him.

"How could you betray us to the Karanoks?" The man circled Therescales, his arms folded into the sleeves of his robe. "Were the rumors true? Did you turn in Haraxius as well? No, it does not matter. There is still the blood of the society on your hands. I am here to see that the cries of those who died because of you are answered."

The mage stopped and brought up his hands. He began to weave a pattern in the air with them, his voice intoning Draconic syllables. Therescales recognized the incantation, and his adrenaline surged. By sheer force of will, he broke the spell that held him and in one motion, grabbed his dagger and flung it at the spellcaster. The mage didn't even flinch as the blade struck him in the chest with the chink of metal against stone and bounced harmlessly away. A ball of fire began to grow in the air between the man's hands. Therescales crouched, searching for some way to avoid the coming attack. The mage finished his spell and sent the growing fireball hurtling toward Therescales. At the last moment, Therescales leaped backward, and the fireball rushed over his diving form, singeing the front of his clothes as it passed. Seconds later, it impacted on the far wall of the living room, exploding in a shower of flames and creating a hole big enough for a man to walk through to the outside.

Dazed and his ears ringing, Therescales scrambled to his feet, bracing for another arcane blow, but the Shockwave of the explosion had knocked the mage prone as well, and the man was^ust now struggling to get up. Taking his chance, Therescales dashed through the still-burning hole in the wall and out into the street, running for all he was worth and not looking back.

Kestus stood and cursed. The man was as slippery as his Mage Society namesake. Through the flames licking the far wall, he could see Therescales fleeing down the street and knew the man had too great of a head start.

That wasn't about to stop him.

From a pouch on his belt, Kestus produced a licorice root. He had hoped to save this spell as a means of escape should things have gone bad, but now it was his only hope of catching Therescales. Reciting the incantation, he waved his other hand over the root before tossing it into his mouth. It dissolved on his tongue instantly. Then Kestus took off running.

The feeling was exhilarating. Crisp winter air rushed passed him as he sped after Therescales. Once again, the magic made him feel alive. He laughed with the pure joy of it.

Therescales must have heard him, for the man looked over his shoulder and gave a startled cry when he saw the mage closing the gap between them. He darted down a lane to their left, but Kestus followed right behind. Kestus rounded the corner and found himself at the edge of a sea of revelers. Therescales had already waded in and was about halfway through.

Not about to give up now, Kestus shoved his way through, earning sour looks from those he jostled. He didn't bother to apologize. By the time he broke through, Therescales had reached the end of the street. Kestus growled in frustration. He could feel the magic that granted him the extra speed starting to dissipate. If he didn't catch up quickly, he would lose Therescales for good.

That's when a patrol of city guards appeared from the cross-street Therescales was nearing. Upon spotting them, the rogue shouted at them and began pointing back down the street at Kestus. The guards looked his way and began marching toward him. Therescales once more ran off into the night without looking back.

"Azuth's beard," Kestus swore. Several nearby citizens gave him odd looks at the mention of the patron of mages. When they noted his stony skin, they gasped and backed away. "If they think that's bad," he muttered, "wait until they see this." Pulling some dried bat guano and a pinch of sulfur from his pouch, Kestus began casting the same spell he had used in Therescales' home. The ball of fire formed in the air before him, and he sent it hurtling toward the approaching guards. The crowd behind Kestus gasped when it exploded as it reached the patrol. When the smoke cleared, four charred bodies lay in the middle of the street.

"It's a wizard," someone cried, which brought several screams from individuals in the crowd. The reaction was not unexpected, but it still caused Kestus's heart to ache. Why couldn't they realize what he already knew? On an impulse, he decided to show them. He turned to the crowd.

"Don't be afraid," he called out to them. "Magic is not evil. That is a lie propagated by the Karanoks. It is a tool, like a smith's hammer or a carpenter's saw. It can create beautiful things." Kestus evoked a cantrip he had learned long ago and sent a dazzling flare of light high up into the night sky where it burst like a falling star. Murmurs of appreciation rose from the crowd.

"I was born and raised in this city," Kestus continued, drawing the crowd's attention back to him. "I have been persecuted by the Karanoks because of my ability, my craft." He was working them now. A glance at the buildings around him had reminded Kestus that he was practically in the center of the merchant district of Luthcheq. Sister Rat's report on the tension between the city's business class and the Karanoks sprang to mind. Perhaps he could get the anger seething just under the surface to finally erupt.

"I am tired of that persecution, and I'm making a stand. The Karanoks can no longer impose their tyrannical will on me. And you should stand up to them as well."

"Why?" someone shouted. "We're not wizards." That brought a few nervous chuckles from the crowd.

"No, but you are oppressed just the same. The Karanoks have increased the taxes they levy against you in order to fund this crusade of theirs. They fear magic, and they are desperate to be rid of it. If we got rid of them, however, not only would those taxes be lifted, but it would no longer be illegal to use magic or trade with those who do."

Kestus could hear the gathered citizens start to talk amongst themselves. His heart raced. Had he gotten through to them? Were they going to follow him against the Karanoks? He held his breath.

The tromping of metal-shod feet echoed from down the street. Kestus turned to see a large contingent of city guards appear, bristling with crossbows and spears. Swept up by the idea of leading a rebellion, he called to the crowd once more.

"Now is our chance to rise up and throw off the chains the Karanoks have wrapped around our necks. Are you with me?"

A couple of errant crossbow bolts whizzed over the heads of the crowd and bounced off nearby buildings. As one, the crowd screamed and ran the other way. Kestus swore. He looked back to the approaching guards. There were too many to take out before they reached him. Kestus sprinted after the crowd, his speed back to normal now that the spell had worn off. He made it back to the street where Therescales' house was and paused, trying to decide what to do. He wondered how Ythnel was faring. Even though his personal quest for vengeance had failed, perhaps he could find her and help her still.

First he would need to lose the guards. Word of a wizard loose on foot in the city would spread quickly. He needed a better way to get around.

He spotted an unattended carriage parked by the curb another block up.

The sounds of celebration spilled from the building as Kestus approached. No one was standing around outside, so he climbed into the driver's seat and took the reins in hand. As he slapped the horses into motion, a man stepped from the alley next to the building, frantically lacing up the front of his britches.

"Hey, stop! Where are you going with that carriage?"

"Consider it your Midwinter present to me!" Kestus hollered over his shoulder as he sped down the street.

"And these are my chambers." Naeros swung the ornate, wooden door inward, revealing a large, four-poster bed draped in silk sheets of dark red. He let Reary enter in front of him, pausing in the doorway to watch her as her eyes swept across the room. He smiled at the thought of how undoubtedly impressed she had to be with his collection of handcrafted furniture; a matching armoire and desk completed the set he had had imported from the forests of the Great Dale. He closed the door behind himself with a soft click and came up behind Reary, putting his hands on her now-bare shoulders. Her creamy white skin was smooth and warm to his touch. He leaned in to inhale the fragrance of her hair, but she pulled away, striding over to one of the stone walls.

"What's this?" She asked, examining a loop of braided leather attached to a six-inch handle hanging on the wall. Every few inches along the braid, a metal bead was embedded.

"That is whip. I collect them," he said proudly, sweeping his arm out to encompass the room. He studied Reary for a reaction as she noticed for the first time the various whips hanging at intervals on the walls of the chamber. "It's a hobby of mine."

"I never realized there were so many different kinds." There was genuine surprise in her voice. And something else was there as wellinterest. Her face registered no shock, however.

"Well, that concludes the tour." Naeros put on a sly smile and once more approached Reary. "What do you think?"

"You are a very interesting man, Lord Naeros," Reary breathed. She turned to face him, draping her arms around his neck. The puffy, diaphanous material of her sleeves tickled his neck when her hands slid up to lock behind his head. Naeros ran his fingers along the tops of her arms, following the sleeves to where they ended at a pair of straps connecting them to the bodice of her blouse. Then he stroked her hair with his right hand while his left moved down to her waist. "Do you bring all the girls up here?"

"Yes." Naeros grinned and pulled her to him, kissing her savagely. She returned the embrace with equal force. He swept her up and carried her to the bed, falling on top of her. She ripped off his shirt, laughing, and he could feel desire burst into flame within him. They rolled on top of the sheets, kissing and grappling with abandon. Reary maneuvered herself to a straddling position atop Naeros then pulled away, breathing heavily.

"Don't tell me you're tired already," Naeros chided.

"Hardly." Reary smiled wickedly and lunged for him. As they kissed, she grabbed his lip between her teeth and bit hard. Naeros tasted something coppery in his mouth and shoved her back. He touched his finger to his mouth and came away with blood.

"What the…" he snarled, sitting up. Reary laughed, and Naeros felt his face flush. He backhanded her across the cheek, and her head snapped to the side with the impact, the long tresses of her blonde hair whipping around to cover her face. She sat there silently for a moment, her head hanging within the shrouds of her hair.

"You shouldn't have done that." Naeros's brow furrowed, frustrated by this strange woman.

"So you're the only one who gets to play rough, then?" Reary still hadn't moved, and there was something different about her voice. "That's rather selfish, don't you think." Naeros's eyes widened as Reary's blonde hair shimmered and darkened, the locks on the left side of her head disappearing to reveal a serpent tattoo stretched across her bare scalp.

"In fact, I'm willing to bet you're as much a child in bed as you are in your little torture chamber." Reary's head swung around, and Naeros's jaw dropped when he saw two familiar scars running down the right side of her face.

"You!"

The Loviatan he had once held prisoner in his dungeon laughed again and raised her right hand. Naeros glanced at it and saw it was surrounded by a dark halo of energy. He cried out as she slammed it into his chest. He could feel the energy disperse throughout his body, causing his muscles to convulse. With his last ounce of control, he shoved the cleric off of him, sending her to the floor at the foot of the bed. Then he collapsed back onto the bed, his muscles quivering like jelly.

The Loviatan rose like a specter from the floor to gaze down on him with eyes that promised retribution. She turned and moved quickly to stand before a wooden-handled instrument with a single, thick braid of rope almost two feet long that tapered before flaring out in an oval knot at the tip. She removed it from its hook and held it in her right hand, letting the leather fringe where the rope fastened to the handle play across her fingers as she rolled her wrist back and forth, testing the weapon's balance.

"You don't see nagaikas much anymore," the cleric said, walking casually back to the bed. "Some genius thought they might make a good riding whip, but they're a little heavy. You could really hurt an animal if you didn't know how to use it just right." Her smile was cruel and mocking. "No, they're much better suited for doling out punishment."

Naeros pushed himself up. He felt exhausted, as if every muscle had been taxed to its limit and there was nothing left. The Loviatan lashed out with the nagaika, striking him solidly in the cheek. He reeled with the blow but was unable to catch himself and rolled off the far side of the bed. His face throbbed where the knot struck; any harder and his jaw might have broken.

"Where are you going, Lord Naeros? Surely you're not tired already."

"I'm going to kill you, whore." Naeros struggled to raise himself up on all fours, his limbs trembling.

"Oh, I doubt that." The cleric rounded the corner of the bed, her slippered feet coming into Naeros's view. "It looks like you can barely hold yourself up." He raised his head in time to see the nagaika descend, and he flinched defensively, but instead of the knot slamming into him, he felt a sudden sting on his shoulder. It came again and again across his exposed back, until his flesh burned and Naeros could feel trickles of warm wetness running down his sides. He moaned and collapsed to the cool stone of the floor.

"I should have known you could dish it out but not take it," the Loviatan sneered. "If I had the time, I'd see just how far I could take you. There are other things I have to attend to, however. Fortunately, they'll likely bring you as much suffering as any beating I could administer." She bent down, raised his chin with her fingers, and kissed him hard, breaking his lip once more between her teeth as she pulled away. Then she stood, walked to the wall, exchanged the nagaika for a bullwhip, and left the room without looking back.

Naeros lay there panting until the sound of the cleric's footfalls had long faded. When strength began to flow back into his muscles, he pulled himself along the floor to the side of the bed and propped himself up against the post. He closed his eyes again, concentrating on the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. Whatever the witch had done to him was starting to wear off. A few more seconds and he'd go after her. Then he'd show her a beating she'd never forget.

"My, my, what have we here?"

Naeros's eyes sprang open at the sultry voice, his heart beating wildly with fear that the Loviatan had returned. When he turned to look, he let his breath out and sagged back against the bed. It was only his sister, Saestra, dressed in a black, lacy gown that flared at the wrists and ankles.

"Go away, Saestra. I'm not in the mood for your games right now."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did your conquest not go well tonight?"

"That's none of your damn business. Besides, what are you doing here anyway?" Naeros let his frustration edge his voice. His sister leaned against the door frame, staring at him with a wild look in her eyes. "Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to help me?" He frowned and shifted, uncomfortable under Saestra's gaze.

"Help you?" She laughed. "How delightful. Dear brother, where were you when / needed help?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Have you forgotten so quickly? It wasn't that long ago. A sister follows the advice of her older brother and meets her young lover in The Crypts for a late-night tryst. The pair investigates an open mausoleum, only to be locked inside by the older brother. When they cry for help, they are answered with cruel laughter. Surely you remember all that?

"What you don't know is that while seeking a way out, the two lovers found a secret passage that led to a hidden chamber below the tomb. Within that chamber, they came face-tface with its undead resident. The creature savagely killed the sister's lover and made her its servant." Saestra shivered, and her eyes, which had been looking somewhere far off, came riveting back to lock on Naeros. He shrank back at the feral death he saw within them.

"I'm sorry, Saestra. It was just a practical joke. I never meant for anything to happen."

"Shut up!" She snarled, and Naeros saw the fangs hiding behind her lips. "You left me to die that night. And I did. I became a monster because of you! I can still feel his cold embrace. Do you know what that's like?"

Naeros shook his head frantically.

"Then why don't I show you." She lunged for him.

Ythnel crept down the stairs, her back to the wall and the coiled whip in her right hand. That fool Naeros had made the task of locating the witchweed stockpile much easier with his little tour. The one place he had not taken her was down to the cellar of the tower. As there was nowhere for the witchweed to be stored in the places he had shown her, that left the cellar as the only place it could be.

Most of the servants had been dismissed for the night, allowed to attend the city's Midwinter celebrations. Still, when she reached each landing, she paused and peeked her head around corners or through doorways. Quick glances confirmed that the tower was relatively empty, and reassured, Ythnel moved on.

She came to the main floor and glided across the foyer between the tower entrance and the parlor, her slippers thankfully muffling the sounds of her steps. Before she could start down the next flight of stairs, however, there was a noise at the door. Ythnel ducked into the parlor and flattened herself against the near wall just as the thick, wooden entry door swung open and Naeros's three henchmen strolled in, chuckling about something. Ythnel tensed and let the whip uncoil from her hand.

A shout echoed down the stairs leading back to Naeros's chambers. From her vantage point, Ythnel watched as the three men raced upward, calling out to their lord. Ythnel let go of a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and slid back around the wall. Darting a glance over her shoulder, she descended once more.

Torches set in black iron sconces at the base of the stairs cast their flickering orange and yellow light across the stone walls, vainly attempting to soften the cold, hard reality. The cellar was a single hallway dug out of the earth, the stonework ending with the last step. Three steel doors stood closed along the hall, one at the far end and the other two opposite each other about halfway down from where Ythnel stood.

Not knowing which one led to the witchweed, she was forced to open each door. Behind the first one was a room full of casks of ale and racks of wine bottles. Some burlap sacks marked as dry goods of various sorts were stacked in one corner.

Ythnel opened the second door and sucked in her breath. Down a short flight of steps was the torture chamber where Naeros had beaten her. The chains which had once held her hung limp and empty from the ceiling. The flesh of her wrists itched from the memory.

For a moment, Ythnel was frozen with emotional turmoil. Anger and fear swelled together, fighting each other for control. The conflict did not have the strength to sustain itself, however. Ythnel had already fought this fight, had accepted the pain and suffering, had endured it to come out tempered and honed on the other side. What had happened in this room seemed so long ago now. It had no power over her. Anger and fear fled, replaced by a resolve as hard as cold steel.

Ythnel closed the door and moved to the end of the hall. This was the last room; the witchweed had to be in there. She flung the door open, suddenly impatient to be out of the tower. Inside were stacks of crates, barrels, and sacks. Ythnel ripped open a sack and found dried leaves stuffed inside. It was the witchweed. She jogged back down the hall and grabbed one of the torches from its sconce. When she returned to the room, she held the torch's flame to the open bag until the leaves shriveled and the burlap began to burn. Then she set the torch down and quickly moved the ignited bag next to a stack of crates. She ripped open several more bags, scattering their contents around the room and laying the sacks at the base of a group of barrels or crates. Satisfied with her effort, she picked the torch back up and lit more of the sacks until small blazes were crackling all over the room. Ythnel stepped out of the room, tossed the torch back over her shoulder, and slammed the door shut.

Ythnel bounded back up the stairs to the main level and skidded to a halt in the foyer. On the stairs across from her appeared one of Naeros's men. Caught by surprise, she could only stare as he stumbled into the foyer. He held his blood-soaked hands in front of him, shock registering on a face smeared in blood as well. Ythnel could not tell if it was his or someone else's.

There was so much. He finally noticed her at the top of the steps, but before she could react, he dropped to the floor and lay motionless.

Something inside Ythnel yearned to go up those stairs to see what had happened. She hesitated, pulled between curiosity and duty. With an imperceptible shake of her head, Ythnel turned to the door and left the tower.

She sprinted across the grounds; there was no time to waste. Who knew how long the Midwinter celebrations would last? She needed the distraction just a little longer. Where there had been milling citizens before she entered the tower, however, there was only an empty street. Fear gripped Ythnel. Had she taken too long? A group of people ran by, and Ythnel yanked aside a straggler.

"Where is everybody?" When the young man gave her a strange look, she added, "I was hoping to still do some celebrating."

"Oh, there are still plenty of festivities. There's a gathering over by the palace where some minstrels are playing. We were going to check out this building that's on fire. You want to join us?"

Without thinking, Ythnel looked back over her shoulder to the tower, expecting to see smoke billowing out the top. There was nothing.

"It's over there." He pointed to the southwest, and Ythnel saw a pillar of smoke rising from somewhere in the middle of the quarter.

"As interesting as that looks, I think I'll head over to the palace." Ythnel let the youth go, and he hurried off to catch up with his friends. As she turned down the street toward the palace, she wondered what else might be going on in Luthcheq and whether it would help or hinder her mission.

There was indeed a large crowd gathered before the palace, and several minstrel groups were playing various instruments. Those who had long since shed their inhibitions through alcohol were dancing with abandon to the music of their choice. To Ythnel, some looked as if it were to music only they could hear. Others, paired off on the fringes, embraced their partners for warmth or more intimate purposes. Ythnel waded into the middle. She was often jostled by flailing revelers, but she shouldered her way through undaunted. She had to stop and stand on her toes to orient herself on the palace every so often; the shifting and bumping of the dancers kept throwing her off course. Finally she broke through and found herself in a small space of calm surrounding the palace gate. A single guard stood watch there wearing his ceremonial helmet and breastplate and carrying a spear. Thinking quickly, Ythnel held the whip still in her hand behind her back and lurched toward the guard.

"Halt, you are not allowed"

Before he could finish, Ythnel stumbled into him. She reached up as if to kiss him and whispered the command to trigger one of the spells stored in the ring Hercubes had given her. There was no flash of light or ringing chime to signal it had worked, but Ythnel felt the guard relax slightly against her.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"You're going to make me say that again? Out here where everybody could hear?" She blushed and batted her eyelashes. The guard looked at her in confusion, which changed to understanding when she pushed up against him.

"Well, I can't say as you're exactly the prettiest girl I ever seen, and if the captain finds out I left my post, I'll be in a heap of trouble."

"He doesn't have to know," Ythnel purred. "And we just have to go somewhere no one will see us. Like behind those bushes on the other side of the gate. C'mon. Don't make me wait."

"All right, all right. If you want it so bad, I'm not about to be the one to say no."

He fumbled with his keys, unlocked the gate, pulled Ythnel through, and closed it behind them. While his back was to her, Ythnel darted behind a nearby hedge. He turned around, a look of surprise on his face, as he scanned the grounds for her. She extended her arm so he would see where she hid, her finger crooked in a come-hither motion. He chuckled and followed her.

When he came around the hedge, Ythnel was waiting for him. She snapped the bullwhip out, lassoing his ankle and yanking his feet out from under him. His head hit a paving stone with a crack and bounced once. Ythnel walked up to his motionless body and unwrapped the whip. Then she stripped off his armor and put it on over her own clothes. The helmet was a little loose, even with her hair stuffed up inside. Thankfully, her chest was no longer enhanced by the transmutation spell to the point where the breastplate would have been painfully uncomfortable. When the straps were securely fastened, Ythnel hung the whip off her belt, grabbed the spear, and headed to the palace.

As she climbed the steps to the palace doors, Ythnel scrambled for a plan. The palace was easily twice the size of Naeros's tower, and she had no idea where the stockpile of witchweed might be stored within. She was going to have to risk asking someone and pray that the armor was enough for her to pass as a guard.

The great bronze doors at the top of the grand staircase swung inward ponderously but quietly, their hinges obviously well cared for. Ythnel found herself in a large entryway decorated with marble statues of nude athletes in each of the four corners. Another set of doors stood closed in the far wall, though these were of polished wood with the Karanok crest carved in bas-relief at eye level. Two single doors were located on the right and left walls.

Beyond the inner doors was a high-ceilinged room that appeared to serve as some sort of lounge. Two low tables were surrounded by several comfortable-looking chairs. Ythnel weaved her way through the furniture to a single door in the far wall. She paused for a moment, a kernel of inner doubt questioning whether proceeding was the smartest plan. The only way you'll convince anyone you're a guard is if you walk with confidence, she reminded herself.

Nodding to herself, she pulled the door open and stepped into a vast hall with arch-vaulted ceilings. She had caught only a glimpse of it the last time she was here, before she had been ushered through the double doors across from her, twins of the set that led into the palace from the entryway. She craned her neck, taking in the sweeping arches of white stone from which hung multicolored banners and exquisite tapestries decorated in floral patterns that framed various scenes of athletic competition.

Footfalls echoed from down the hall to Ythnel's left, jerking her from her inspection of the ceiling. A guard wouldn't be gazing at the architecture. She turned to face whoever approached and saw someone in the black-and-gold-trimmed white livery of House Karanok. The corner of her mouth quirked up in a half-smile; bluffing a servant would be much easier than if she were to face another guard.

She met the man halfway, putting her hand up to stop him. His look of annoyance changed to one of confusion, mixed with a hint of fear when he realized who had stopped him. His bowl-cut hair and large nose made it was almost comical.

"What can I do for you, sir? Is everything all right?"

"Nothing for you to worry about. I just need to know where the witchweed is kept."

"I–I don't know. I just clean the family chambers upstairs."

"Then who would know? I don't have time to be stopping everyone wandering in the halls and ask."

"Whoever's on duty downstairs in the guard post would know. You should check with them." The servant was looking up at her strangely, but he glanced back at his feet when she narrowed her eyes.

"You've wasted enough of my time, then. I hope you aren't this disrespectful with the other guards. I've half a mind to report you."

"Oh, no, sir. I didn't mean anything. I'm terribly sorry." He bowed hastily and scuttled away.

Ythnel sighed. She should have known better than to think it was going to be easy. It looked as if she would have to try to bluff her way past the guards after all. Recalling the stairs she had climbed from the palace dungeons on her previous visit, Ythnel moved down the hall to her right until she came to the first door past the entrance to the audience chamber. It opened to a torch-lit corridor that angled to her right and ended in a flight of steps leading under the palace.

At the base of the stairs, she found herself in a large space separated from the rest of the dungeon by walls of bars on two sides. To her left were the cells, one of which she had been kept in. The room itself held a table with a couple of chairs, a desk, and a cot. A guard sat hunched over the desk.

"What do you want?" he asked disinterestedly. Apparently he had heard her coming down the stairs. Uncertain how to answer, Ythnel cleared her throat. The guard stopped whatever he was doing and turned to face her. It was Corporal Urler from before!

"Do I know you?" he asked, squinting at her from his seat.

"Uh, no, I'm normally stationed out on the west wall."

"What are you doin' here?"

"There have been some fires in the city." Ythnel's mind scrambled for words, ideas coming each time only as she started to open her mouth. "One of the fires is at Lord Naeros's tower. His stockpile of witchweed was torched. I was sent over here to guard the palace's storeroom in case it was also a target."

"There's no way anybody could git past the palace gate, let alone make it down here," Corporal Urler bragged.

"I'm just following orders," Ythnel shrugged. "If you want to vouch for"

"All right. No need fer that." He got up and moved to the gate that led farther into the dungeon. "You waitin' fer an invitation? Come on."

The hallway was lit by a single torch about halfway down its length. They passed a closed door on the right, followed by an open archway that led into a large chamber hidden in shadows. As they neared the end of the hall, a door stood in the left wall. Corporal Urler stopped before it, removed a ring of keys from his belt, and unlocked the door.

"Here you go."

Ythnel spoke two harsh words born in the depths of the Abyss and struck out with her hand, grabbing a hold of the guard's face. The dark aura of the Power exploded around wherever her flesh touched his, and small gashes began to appear on his exposed skin. With a strangled cry, he stumbled away from Ythnel, but the damage was already done. Blood poured from open wounds as he backpedaled into the wall and slid to the floor. By the time he hit the ground, he had stopped breathing and his eyes were rolled back into his head.

Ythnel dragged Corporal Urler's body into the room. It wouldn't do to have someone come down the hall and notice him there. Grabbing the torch from its place on the wall, Ythnel set to work. When she had several fires going, she closed and locked the door behind herself. On her way out, she tossed the keys into the corner of one of the far cells then headed back up the stairs.

Once more in the great hallway, Ythnel turned to leave the palace but paused. Something nagged at her in the back of her mind. A memory stirred of her standing bound in the audience chamber before Jaerios Karanok. From his robe he withdrew a medallion in the shape of a scourge. It was her medallion, and here was her opportunity to retrieve it.

It was a crazy idea. The likelihood that he even still had it was remote. The chance that she could find it if he did was even smaller. Yet she had to try. It was one more thing the Karanoks had taken from her, and she meant to haye it all back. The servant had said the family lived on the second floor. She would start looking there.

From where she stood, Ythnel could see a stairway that led up just past the protruding corner of the audience chamber. She darted across the hall and ascended.

The stairs ended in another great hall much like the one below. The numerous tapestries hanging along the full length of the hall, however, depicted members of the Karanok family, often in locations Ythnel guessed were somewhere in the city. While she recognized a few faces, there were many she did not. She hoped the unfamiliar ones were from generations past. It was an unsettling thought that this fanatical family might be so prolific that the woven portraits represented numbers in their current ranks.

Even if it were so, there was nothing Ythnel could do about it. It was best to concentrate on the problems at hand, and her largest one was determining which of the many doors lining the hall led to the chambers of Jaerios Karanok. Checking each one would not only take an incredible amount of time she did not have, but it would also greatly increase her risk of discovery. Yet she had no way of knowing otherwise.

Caught by indecision, Ythnel remained rooted at the top of the stairs. There were three doors within twenty feet of her, two to her left at the end of the hall and one straight ahead. While she debated which one to open, a noise at the bottom of the stairwell caught her attention. Someone was coming upstairs, and whoever it was, was moving quickly. Forced to choose before she was discovered, Ythnel moved briskly to the end of the hall and tried the door on her right. It opened, and she stepped inside without looking, just as she heard whoever was behind her reach the top of the stairs. She left the door cracked enough to peer back out into the hall. An older man in a white night robe, his head crowned in a wreath of gray hair, swept around the corner from the stairs and headed down the hall away from Ythnel. At about fifty feet, he turned to his left and disappeared down a passage Ythnel hadn't realized was there. Moments later, she heard the distant echo of someone knocking, and a muffled voice calling for Lord Jaerios. Then there was silence.

While Ythnel waited, crouched behind the door, it occurred to her she didn't know where she was hiding. She turned, half expecting to see the room's occupant glaring at her balefully. Fortunately, there was no one. Moonlight spilled in from a window in the wall to her left, just five feet from the door. It appeared she was in some sort of study. Bookcases lined the right and back walls. A large desk sat in the middle of the room, with a high-backed chair on the far side and a single, nondescript chair on the near wall. A marble bust stood next to an unlit candelabrum, both bathed in the pale luminescence of the moon. The bust looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place who it was supposed to be.

Voices in the hall returned Ythnel's attention to the door.

"The fire in the palace is contained to the dungeon, my lord. However, with at least two other fires burning in the city, I thought it prudent you were notified."

The older man in the robe she had seen earlier came into view first, talking over his shoulder to someone behind. Before he finished speaking, Ythnel saw who followed. Lord Jaerios's gray-streaked dark curls were tousled, and he wore a silk robe of deep crimson over his night clothes. His current state was a far cry from the regal commander she remembered seeing, but there was no mistaking the man who had condemned Ythnel to death. The pair was trailed by a single guard as they made their way to the stairs. It was all Ythnel could do not to rush out and attack them. Her retribution on Jaerios would have to take another form, however. She could not risk an alarm being raised now.

Once the three passed beyond range of her hearing, Ythnel slipped out of the study and down the hall to Jaerios's chambers. The short passage off the main hall led about twenty feet before turning sharply to the right to end at a closed door. It was the room beyond the open door at the corner of the passage that Ythnel entered. The long, rectangular room had two windows in the far corner, one on each wall. While less ostentatious than his son's room, Jaerios's bedchamber was still richly furnished. The four-poster bed against the wall to the right of the doOr was a dark-stained wood with beautiful grain and lightly gilded trim along the head- and footboards. A matching bureau stood just to the left of the door. In the far corner was a writing desk and chair, positioned so that whoever sat at it would have excellent views of the palace grounds out both windows.

Closing the door to prevent anyone from hearing her search, Ythnel rummaged through the bureau drawers first. She pulled handfuls of neatly folded clothing from their resting places and tossed them to the floor, but her efforts yielded nothing. Her scourge medallion was not tucked beneath a stack of underclothes, nor did any of the drawers have a false bottom in which something could be hidden.

Frustrated, Ythnel stormed over to the writing table. She gave a cursory glance to a freshly inked letter that seemed to be informing an ally or family member that the purging of Luthcheq had finally been accomplished. With a dismissive snort, she set it back down and inspected the other objects that sat on the desktop. A small ceramic jar held a dark fluid that Ythnel guessed was ink, but was too narrow at the neck to have stored her medallion. The slender, wood box next to it kept Jaerios's writing quill. Ythnel sighed, ready to give up. The desk had a center drawer, but at this point, she felt certain the medallion wouldn't be found. Shrugging to herself, she decided to check anyway, opening the drawer only partway with a half-hearted tug. A ream of blank parchment was stacked inside, slightly skewed from the force of the drawer opening. Ythnel started to push the drawer shut when she noticed a slight bulge in the center of the stack of paper.

Opening the drawer the rest of the way, she lifted the corner of the pile and looked underneath. There lay the small scourge, nine straps of five-inch long leather secured to a four-inch handle of iron. Ythnel smiled triumphantly as she scooped up the medallion and fastened it around her neck by two of the leather straps. She felt whole again with it tucked under her breastplate and nestled against the flesh of her chest; an emptiness in her heart she had tried to ignore was now filled. Regardless of what she had been taught during her time at the manor, this symbol of her faith had become a link to her goddess she could not do without, and she intended to never lose it again.

Her purpose accomplished, all that was left for Ythnel was to figure out how to leave. Walking back out the front door was not going to be an option. The fire in the witchweed storeroom had likely alerted the palace to the presence of a malicious agent, and anyone who could not be readily identified would be stopped and questioned. She would have to find an alternate means of escape. It was not an easy task considering she was unfamiliar with the layout of the palace. Standing around in Jaerios's bedchambers was not going to change that, though it might certainly increase her chances of getting caught. Still pondering what to do, Ythnel left the room and headed back down the hall toward the steps. She paused at the head of the staircase, listening for the sound of anyone approaching. She could hear the echoes of footsteps and the murmurs of distant voices, but the sounds came and went, with no one appearing at the bottom of the stairs.

Perhaps they were still fighting to contain the fire in the dungeon, Ythnel thought. Even so, that did not change her options. The activity below told her that she would be discovered before she could cross the great hall.

Feeling exposed, Ythnel decided to hide in the empty study to think things through further. She left the door cracked again so she could hear in case someone climbed the stairs to this level. For several moments, she paced in silence before the single window, which was divided into many square panes by thin strips of wood and stretched from floor to ceiling. The grounds outside extended off into the darkness. A single outbuilding sat a few yards away at the edge of visibility. Ythnel paused and looked up into the night sky. Clouds were converging, the stars no longer visible and the moon a pale haze behind the billowy, dark gray forms. No torches or lanterns where lit on this side of the palace. It was as though this small section of Luthcheq was cut off from the rest of the world.

Inspiration struck Ythnel, but she would have to move fast. The fire would occupy the attention of people inside the palace, but what she planned would probably make enough noise that anyone outside might come to investigate. She moved to the chair on the near side of the desk but changed her mind and went to the pedestal that supported the marble bust. She had finally recognized who it was and thought it fitting that Lord Jaerios would aid her escape. Ythnel tried to rock the pedestal, but it wouldn't budge. For a moment, she panicked, unsure if she could get her idea to work. But she swung around so she was between the window and the pedestal and began to slide the bust to the edge. It was incredibly heavy, and she wondered if she would drop it once its full weight was brought to bear. She paused for a moment to gather her strength, and with one last effort, Ythnel pulled the bust from its pedestal, letting the statue's weight and the momentum pivot her around. She released the bust as she turned toward the window, and the marble piece crashed through the glass and wood to fall head-first, so to speak, almost twenty feet to the paving below and shatter.

There was no time to catch her breath. Ythnel shoved and tugged the heavy desk toward the broken window until it was just a few inches from the ledge. Taking her whip from her belt, she tightly wound the tapered end around one of the desk's legs. She gave it a few hard tugs to make sure it wouldn't come undone and the desk didn't move. Then she tossed the handle out the window. Peering down, Ythnel saw it come up-short, leaving her a good drop of at least six feet. For a moment, she considered running back to Jaerios's bedchamber and grabbing his sheets, but she decided it would take too long. Knocking several large pieces of glass out of the way, Ythnel let her spear fall to the ground outside, swung over the edge and lowered herself down the whip. She dangled for a breath when she reached the handle, looking at the ground below, before letting go to land on the balls of her feet. Forced to leave the whip behind, Ythnel retrieved her spear, darted to the corner of the palace, and glanced at the gate. A group of guards huddled there, but they broke apart as she watched, some heading back out into the streets and others to the palace. Ythnel ducked back behind the corner, and when she checked again, only one guard remained.

Ythnel skirted along the front of the building, keeping her back to the stone, until she reached the side of the grand staircase. Then she drew herself up and moved boldly out into the courtyard toward the gate.

"It's starting to get crowded in there," she said gruffly as she neared the gate guard. "Captain ordered me back to my regular station."

Without waiting for a reply, Ythnel jerked the gate open and walked into the street. Citizens still clogged the area, but any celebrations had ceased, and most were craning their necks to catch a brief glimpse of what was happening beyond the gate. Some were whispering to one another in anxious voices about what was going on. They parted easily for Ythnel in her guard disguise as she headed south toward the Temple of Entropy.

Walled off on its own but not gated, the Temple of Entropy stood just south of the Karanok palace. The main building was nearly three stories tall, its center rising well above the outer section. Thick, fluted columns formed a portico around the exterior, winding around the squared-off, U-shaped entrance and disappearing around the sides of the structure. An annex was connected to the north end of the temple, and a single outbuilding squatted to the south. The grounds were dark and quiet; no celebrations were going on here. Ythnel strode through the silence like a nocturnal predator stalking its final prey whose scent was so intense and all-consuming, its presence so close that no other thought entered her mind except to take it down. She sprang past the short flight of steps and slipped into the shadows of the giant columns. The great bronze doors were closed and locked, so Ythnel rapped the butt of her spear against one of them and waited. Soon she heard the click of a key turning in a lock on the other side, and one of the doors came open enough for a robed figure to emerge. Light from inside the temple flooded out onto the portico, forcing Ythnel to squint in the brightness as her eyes struggled to adjust.

"Yes, what is it?" The figure's features where hidden in the shadow of a cowl, but Ythnel knew it was a man from his voice. She could also tell he was not pleased with having to answer the door.

"Someone is setting fires in the city." Ythnel had been rehearsing what she was going to say as she walked to the temple. Her voice was confident but disinterested, as though she were just following orders. "Both Lord Naeros's tower and the palace were targets, and the witchweed stored there was burned. I've been sent to check on the stockpile kept here." She waited expectantly for the invitation to come in.

"Tell your commander that everything's fine. I'm sure we'll be able to handle anyone who tries to break in. Good night." It was obvious from his tone of voice that the temple clergy did not have a high opinion of the city guard. Before Ythnel could protest, the door was closed and locked once more.

She stood there for a moment, stunned. Anger and indignation welled up, and she proceeded to hammer the door with her spear shaft until it swung open again.

"What is going on outyou!" The man who had first answered the door shouted over Ythnel's pounding, his head sticking out past the door. "Why are you still"

Ythnel swung the butt of the spear and slammed it against the side of his face. The force of the blow knocked the other side of his head against the closed door, and the man dropped to the ground unconscious. Ythnel grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him out into the shadows, where she stripped the robe off of him and put it on over her armor. She wrested the ring of keys from his hand, entered the temple, and closed the door behind herself.

Once the doors had been locked, Ythnel turned her attention to where she was. She stood in a bare nar-thex with walls of flat, white stone. There was a plain, wooden door set opposite the main entrance and three simple, open archways in the left wall that led into the nave of the temple.

What rested in the apse at the far end of the nave explained the lack of decoration, for it commanded Ythnel's attention as soon as her eyes crossed it. Floating just above the floor of the dais was a huge globe of absolute blackness more than twenty feet in diameter. It rested there, unmoving, and Ythnel was reminded of a hole. Absently she wondered, if it were a hole, where did it lead? The stray thought lingered and grew. Perhaps she could spare a goodly breath or three just to satisfy her curiosity. This was, after all, a divine entity, and she had never been in the presence of one, not even Loviatar.

Ythnel took a step into the nave and cast her glance around. There was no one else there, but she wasn't so absorbed by the sphere as to throw caution entirely to the wind. She crept along the gallery on the right side of the nave, using the shadows to mask her movement, though the white priest's robe with its gold trim limited her ability to melt into the background. Her eyes were fixed on the sphere, but it had not changed since she first saw it. She paused at a door about halfway down the gallery, a voice in the back of her head insisting she had spent too long gazing at this object of someone else's worship. There was another reason she was here, a more important task to complete.

A door at the front of the nave creaked open, and out filed a line of robed clerics, Kaestra Karanok in the lead. Ythnel froze in a half-crouch; there really wasn't any good cover between her and the dais. Fortunately, it appeared the Entropists were giving their undivided attention to the sphere. The clerics knelt on the floor at the base of the dais, while Kaestra climbed the first few stairs. Her back to those below, the high priestess raised her arms with her palms toward the sphere and began to chant. The other clerics started to genuflect, adding their own chants as a counterpoint to Kaestra's. The acoustics of the nave sent the echoes bouncing off one another, rendering the meaning of the chants indecipherable to Ythnel. There was nothing further she could gain by standing there, so she tip-toed backward until she felt the rough wood of the door behind her. She opened it in minute increments and slipped through as soon as there was enough space, gently closing the door behind herself.

The side passage she was in ran the length of the nave and rounded the corners at both ends. It was probably a utility corridor, much like those at the manor back in Bezantur, which allowed the clergy and servants to move about the temple without disturbing any worship services that might be going on. Ythnel guessed that the door she had seen in the narthex opened to the hall somewhere behind her, while the door that the Entropists had used to enter the nave lay ahead around the corner. What she really wanted

The layout of this temple was not at all like the manor, so she was reluctant to rely upon any comparisons. She needed to find someone who knew where things were located but wouldn't question inquiries from someone in a robe. She needed a temple servant.

At the manor, the servants' quarters were a floor below those of the members of the church; there were no other buildings on the grounds. A hunch told Ythnel that the Entropists liked to keep themselves separated. Having to share space with servants would be an irritant, something to avoid as much as possible. Giving them their own building where they could spend their off-duty time would be the preferred solution.

Ythnel headed back down the hallway but passed the door that led to the nave. She did not want to go back out the front. The southern end of the temple had jutted out beyond the entrance, and Ythnel was sure there was a side door somewhere farther down the hall that the servants used to enter and exit the building. Sure enough, as she rounded the corner, she found another door on the outside wall. It was locked, but she fumbled through the keys she had taken and found one that worked.

She crossed the distance between the temple and the outbuilding at a trot. Using the same key as before, Ythnel let herself in and tried to get oriented quickly. Stairs to her right led up to a second floor, while a hall lined with doors ran away from her. It had the definite feel of a dormitory to her.

There were several servants milling about in the hall next to some of the doors, speaking amongst themselves. They all seemed to be women. Some noticed her and gave quick curtsies before ducking into their rooms and closing the doors. Not wanting to be left with having to drag somebody out of their room, Ythnel advanced down hall, analyzing the remaining women, trying to decide who to enlist.

When she was about halfway down the hall, a door to her right opened, and a young girl charged out, her eyes on the floor. Oblivious to the presence of anyone around her, she barreled into Ythnel's side. Ythnel turned and grabbed the girl to keep both of them from falling. The girl's eyes widened when she saw the robe. She began to cry, dropping to her knees and stammering an apology between gasps. Ythnel's eyes widened as well. The hair was straight and bobbed at the chin, and the face was a little dirty, but the girl weeping for mercy at her feet was Iuna Saelis.

Once more, the dream from the swamp and Iuna's voice asking Ythnel to show her crystallized in her mind. Ythnel was to be Iuna's instructor, her guide in the teachings of Loviatar. That she should stumble into the girl here only affirmed the revelation. It was a clear sign that Loviatar's hand was behind the recent events in Ythnel's life. But first she had to finish her business with the Karanoks.

"Enough of that," Ythnel said gruffly, falling into the character of a stern priestess. "Stand up." She helped Iuna to her feet, careful not to lean too close and reveal herself just yet. "I need some help, and you've just volunteered yourself, girl."

"Yes, Mistress. I'm so sorry. Whatever you need, I will do my best."

"Hmm, we'll see about that. Follow me." Ythnel led Iuna back across the grounds to the temple and entered through the service door. The past few ten-days had been hard on Iuna, it seemed, for this change in demeanor was nothing like the spoiled little girl Ythnel had first met. She wondered if Kaestra had broken Iuna's spirit, or if that fire had just been banked, the embers waiting for something to breathe life back into them.

"So, Mistress, what is it you need of me, if I might ask?"

Ythnel started, not realizing she had paused while her mind wandered. The question was one she had been avoiding. She knew what she needed, but wasn't sure that the clerical robe alone would be enough to come straight out and ask without raising suspicion. However, she hadn't come up with another way.

"Preparations need to be made to move the witchweed. The stockpiles at the palace and Lord Naeros's tower have been sabotaged, so extra measures are being taken to protect what remains."

Iuna let a frown wrinkle her brow for a moment, but it vanished when she saw Ythnel looking at her. "Wouldn't that be a task better suited for one of the men, or at least someone bigger than?"

"Are you questioning me?" Ythnel snapped, though she smiled inside at Iuna's moment of resistance. The girl had not been broken after all. "Consider this penance for your earlier rudeness. Do not make me add to it."

"Yes, Mistress," Iuna said meekly. She stood there, and Ythnel realized she was waiting to follow her.

"Well, get moving. We don't have all night."

Iuna jumped and nearly sprinted down the hall away from the entrance to the nave. Surprised at the girl's fleet-footedness, Ythnel took a moment to follow. When she caught up, Iuna stood before another door. Ythnel unlocked it with the same key from her key ring and pulled it open to reveal a spiral staircase leading down. She motioned for Iuna to go first. The girl grabbed one of the small, lit lanterns that hung in the hall and descended, Ythnel following a few steps behind. At the bottom, a cavernous room spread out before them, easily one hundred feet long and half that length across. Crates, barrels, and sacks were stacked neatly, almost to the ceiling in some cases, divided into areas by the category of goods they contained. There were various dried goods, foodstuffs, drinks, and temple sundries. Iuna wound through the maze without hesitation, and Ythnel did her best to keep up. She was struck with deja vu as she recalled the day in the marketplace when Iuna had plowed through the crowd on the way to the dressmaker, Ythnel fighting to stay within sight.

Rounding a corner, Ythnel nearly knocked over Iuna, who had stopped before several pallets of burlap sacks stacked against the wall. She didn't need to ask what was inside.

"Go fetch some lantern oil," she commanded. Iuna ran off, the light she carried bobbing in and out of view, marking her progress. In minutes, she was back with a couple of flasks in her hand.

"What do you need these for? There's plenty of"

"Quiet! It is not your place to ask what I need. Now stand back." Ythnel took the two flasks, removed the stopper and dumped their contents over the front of the pallets; the dry burlap quickly absorbed the liquid. "Now give me the lantern." She held her hand out expectantly. Iuna hesitated, but Ythnel put her fist on her hip, and the young girl reluctantly produced the lantern. Ythnel smashed the glass encasing the flame on the corner of a nearby crate then held the naked fire to the soaked burlap. It caught quickly, the blaze leaping across the stacks, hungrily devouring the oil and dry materials. Ythnel stepped back and smiled. but Ythnel had her tightly. Tears were forming in her eyes, which were wide and panicked, the pupils fully dilated.

"It's all right," Ythnel tried to soothe, but the girl shook her head frantically. "I can explain everything. If I remove my hand, do you promise not to scream?"

Iuna looked at her for a moment then slowly nodded. Ythnel withdrew her hand, but held it ready to slap back in place if necessary.

"Mistress Kaestra will kill me if she finds out about this," Iuna whimpered.

"No, she won't. She won't be doing anything to you anymore because you're leaving this place. You're coming with me."

Iuna looked straight at Ythnel, her brow furrowed in obvious puzzlement as she tried to make out the face in the shadow of the cowl. With a deep breath, Ythnel removed the hood, bathing her face in the light of the growing fire. She searched Iuna's eyes for some sign of recognition. Would the girl remember her? Would she fear her? Or would the hate return? Would she blame Ythnel for all that had happened and betray her once more to the Karanoks?

"Ythnel?" The question was one of many contained within Iuna's hopeful face. Ythnel nodded. Iuna jumped toward Ythnel, wrapping her arms around the Loviatan's neck in a hug any mother would envy. Then the girl broke down sobbing, clinging to Ythnel's neck. Ythnel embraced her back and lifted her up. It was time for them to leave.

Ythnel hurried back the way they had come. The fire now covered the entire stock of witchweed and threatened to leap onto the surrounding piles of stored goods. It provided more than enough light for Ythnel to maneuver through the room, and she soon reached the edge of the stacks.

Before she could cross to the stairway, however, a pair of clerics appeared at the foot of the steps. They stopped whatever conversation they had been involved in to take in Ythnel, Iuna, and the roaring blaze.

"What is going on here?" One of them demanded. Ythnel didn't bother to answer. She pulled her medallion out from under her breastplate and channeled divine energy, directing it at the clerics with a shouted command. The two threw up their arms in a startled effort to protect themselves, but Ythnel's target had not really been them. The base of the stairs was suddenly engulfed in impenetrable shadow, extending out far enough to catch Ythnel at its edge. She retreated a few steps and was once again able to see. The clerics inside cried out to each other, lost and sightless within the darkness.

Ythnel backtracked to the middle of the storeroom. Even as far away from the blaze as they were, she could still feel the heat from the fire. She set Iuna down, and looked around frantically.

"Is there another way out of here, Iuna?" She barely got the question out before a fit of coughing took her. Smoke was starting to fill the room, making breathing difficult. She tore a large chunk of fabric from the hem of her robe, ripped that in half, and gave part to Iuna. "Hold this over your mouth and nose," she said, showing the girl what she meant by doing so with her own piece.

Iuna covered her face with the cloth then tugged at Ythnel's sleeve, pulling her farther into the storeroom. Ythnel walked in a crouch, trying to keep her head was able to open it with her keys. Once they were out, Ythnel slammed the door shut. They lowered themselves to the floor, gasping for breath. Ythnel let them sit there for a few moments before picking herself up. She shed the smoke-stained, torn robe in favor of the guard's armor underneath and picked up the spear she had leaned against the wall.

"Come on. We're not out of here yet."

They raced back down the service hall, Ythnel in the lead this time. A door in the wall that was shared with the nave opened as they rounded the corner, and Kaestra Karanok stepped out. Ythnel saw her, but had no time to stop. They both went down in a tangle of limbs.

Kaestra was the first to recover, disengaging herself from the jumble and getting unsteadily to her feet. Ythnel looked up from where she sat on the floor to see the high priestess staring down at her, her mouth agape.

"You! I don't know how you survived Adder Swamp, but it was foolish to come back here. What did you hope to accomplish?'' Kaestra finally noticed Iuna, and her eyes narrowed. "Did you come for the child? How pathetic. She's certainly not worth throwing your life away. And be assured, I will see you dead this time." Kaestra started an incantation, her fingers weaving patterns in the air. Ythnel struggled to get up, to throw herself at Kaestra in an attempt to disrupt the casting, but her limbs suddenly began to stiffen. She instantly recognized the enchantment and fought against its compulsion with all her will. Slowly, she lifted herself off her knees and straightened. Kaestra's eyes widened in horror as Ythnel threw off the effects of the spell with a sinister grin. She took one step toward Kaestra, and the Entropist turned and fled back into the nave.

Ythnel gave chase, shouting for Iuna to follow. She could not afford to let Kaestra get away. It appeared, however, that escape had not really been the priestess's intention. Kaestra stood on the far side of the dais, next to the sphere of Entropy.

"Did you think me so easily defeated? That was but one of the minor powers Entropy has bestowed upon me. Now you shall see the real power at my command." Kaestra began to chant once more. She was too far away to reach in time by running, and Ythnel did not want to throw away the only weapon she had, so she readied herself for whatever was coming. Then she remembered Iuna.

"Run, child," she ordered. "I will meet you outside when this is over. Now run." From the corner of her eye, Ythnel saw Iuna sprint down the nave and disappear through the arches.

Kaestra completed the incantation and waited expectantly. Ythnel glanced around, wondering if she was about to be struck by a blast of divine fire or suddenly transported to some nether plane, but nothing happened. Had Kaestra somehow failed to properly execute the necessary ritual? The triumphant look on her face said no. Ythnel took a hesitant step forward then another and another until she was at the base of the dais directly below the sphere.

A dull white, scaled claw emerged from the sphere, followed by a similarly colored, clawed foot. A bony, devilish face appeared next. The top of the skull was divided into three ridges, with a pair of pointy ears on the sides that lay flat and angled toward the back of the head. Its large, slanted eyes were without pupils and glowed red. A flat nose extended forward to merge with a slight muzzle that snapped open and shut to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth.

"Behold your death, Loviatan," Kaestra cackled. The summoned devil stepped fully from the sphere, revealing a pair of batlike wings protruding from its back and a thin, barbed tail that whipped about its body constantly, as though it were a living, sentient being all its own. "Kill her," Kaestra commanded, pointing at Ythnel. The infernal creature stared at its mistress for a moment, hissing, then locked its gaze upon Ythnel. It took a step down the dais toward her, and she moved backward to match it.

"Loviatar, protect me," she breathed, clutching her medallion. The words were more than a simple plea. Ythnel drew upon the Power, shaping it into a ward against the extra-planar being approaching her. Sensing the barrier, the devil hissed but continued its advance.

Your puny shield will not stop me, fleshling. The serpentine voice echoed in Ythnel's head. J will take your soul back with me to Baator and torture it in ways your goddess could not imagine. It halted within three feet of Ythnel, its forked tongue flicking around the teeth exposed by its malicious grin. She found herself drawn to the deep, red pools that were its eyes. Unable to break the gaze, she was suddenly in yet another contest of wills as fear grasped for her heart. She fought again, as she had against Kaestra, and the fear receded, though Ythnel was shaken up by the contact.

Another hiss was all the warning she got before the devil's tail streaked out at her. She knew it was too late to dodge and prayed the ward would hold. The tail's barb connected, slicing Ythnel's left arm open from bicep to shoulder. An intense chill seeped in through the wound, and Ythnel looked down to see frost forming around the gash. She staggered back a step, her arm hanging limp at her side. You are mine.

In desperation, Ythnel stabbed at the abishai. That was what it was called, she remembered, chuckling to herself. Of all the information stored somewhere in the recesses of her mind from lessons on outsiders, all she could come up with was what the damned devil was called.

The spearhead connected with the abishai's scaly hide but failed to penetrate. At that same instant, Ythnel sensed her ward fail. She cursed herself for the tactical error. She backed away, hoping to put more distance between her and the devil and buy some time in the bargain. Feeling was coming back to her arm, but it would be several minutes before she could make any use of it.

Your weapon is useless.

"Drop!" The command came from the abishai's mouth, rather than inside her head. It sounded like a knife scraping against a whetstone, and so surprised Ythnel that her mental defenses were caught unprepared. She felt her hand release the spear and heard the weapon clatter to the ground.

If Ythnel had been a warrior who relied only upon steel and strength, she likely would have fled at that point. As it was, those things were only minor tools in her armory. Her greatest weapons were the link to her goddess and the Power she could call up through it. Matching the abishai step for step in an effort to keep it from closing the distance between them, Ythnel summoned the Power to her. It responded in a rush of exhilarating pain, the familiar sting of a thousand tiny lashes. Ythnel rose above the pain, shaping the Power into a manifestation of pure force. The air before her shimmered, and the Power coalesced in the form of a nine-tailed scourge tipped with wicked-looking, inch-long barbs. The weapon hovered there between the abishai and Ythnel, awaiting her command.

Your spirit weapon cannot harm me. The taunt lacked the confidence that had been behind the previous ones. It was as though uncertainty had crept into the devil's mind. And perhaps a little fear had edged in as well.

Ythnel sent the scourge whirling toward the abishai. The strike caught the infernal creature across the chest, and the weapon's barbs dug deep, tearing off scales as they raked the demon's hide to leave ichorous paths in their wake. The abishai hopped backward beyond the scourge's reach and crouched there. It seemed to be waiting for something, but nothing happened. It gingerly touched the open wounds on its torso with a claw, bringing the bloody tips up to stare at them in apparent surprise.

With a hiss of rage, it leaped in the air. Ythnel sent the scourge up to meet k, the tails whipping across the devil's face to leave oozing stripes of ichor. The abishai landed off balance, and Ythnel pressed her advantage. The scourge hurtled toward the abishai. It brought its wings around to shield its body, and the weapon dissipated upon contact.

Ythnel gasped in horror. The abishai slowly unfurled its wings, letting out a low, hissing laugh as it realized what had happened.

"Enough of this!" Kaestra screamed from the dais. "I command you to kill her now!"

The abishai glared at its mistress but obeyed, leaping into the air once more. Ythnel dived forward as it came down on top of her. Its claws scored on her back nonetheless, and she grunted as the nerves of her rent flesh burned with pain and froze at the same time from the chill of the strike. The maneuver worked though, as she now lay within reach of her pitchfork. Behind her, the sound of the abishai's wings flapping told her it had risen again for another attack. Grasping the weapon in the crook of her good arm, she swung around and propped herself up into a sitting position, the butt of the shaft braced against the floor at a forty-five degree angle.

Once more, Ythnel called upon the link to her goddess, called upon all the Power she could channel. Crying out for vengeance, she focused all the pain that had been visited upon her, the suffering that demanded retribution, into the spear she held. It began to glow an angry red that pulsed faster and harder as Ythnel pushed every last thought of punishment she could conjure into the wood and metal weapon.

The abishai, thinking its victim finished, was already hurtling toward Ythnel when she brought the spear to bear. Unable to stop its descent, it slammed into the glowing weapon. The monster's momentum carried it down the shaft, the spearhead piercing internal organs and breaking through the scales of the abishai's back. In a final pulse of red energy, the spear and the devil exploded, showering Ythnel in gore and splinters.

"Run, child," Ythnel ordered. "I will meet you outside when this is over. Now run." Iuna sprinted down the nave but paused at the doors that led out of the temple and turned back to look one more time. Mistress Kaestra had completed her spell and stood at the top of the dais grinning in triumph while Ythnel approached warily.

Then the monster appeared out of the midst of Entropy and Iuna decided it was time to leave. She slipped out the door and closed it behind her. Her heart was racing with fear as she leaned up against the door.

What should she do now? Ythnel had told her to wait, but Iuna wasn't sure the woman would survive. If she was killed, Iuna would be left to fend for herself. Not a very promising prospect, Iuna admitted to herself. More than likely, she would be recaptured and be severely beaten, if not worse.

"She has to win," Iuna whispered to herself. "She promised she would take me away from here." Tears started to well up, and she scrubbed at her eyes defiantly. She was not going to cry. She was going to be stronglike Ythnel. If she could suffer all that she had and still come back to challenge Mistress Kaestra, then Iuna could, too.

Iuna decided to move a little ways down the portico and tripped over the body of the priest who had answered the door for Ythnel. When she realized what it was, Iuna screamed, but quickly clamped her own hand over her mouth to cut herself off. Ythnel was in there fighting for their lives, and she didn't need Iuna alerting anyone else that something was wrong at the Temple of Entropy.

"No!" Kaestra screamed. Her face was a mask of fury. "I will not be denied this victory." She strode down the steps of the dais, her right hand raised in a clenched fist, a black haze forming around it. Ythnel scrambled away, pushing herself to her feet and turning to face Kaestra. The Entropist struck out with her hand, and Ythnel staggered backward, barely avoiding the blow. Enraged, Kaestra lunged, her hand outstretched. The move was sloppy, and Ythnel dodged aside easily. The momentum carried Kaestra past Ythnel, and Ythnel stuck her leg out, hooking the Entropist's ankle with her own foot. Kaestra tumbled to the floor face-first. As she struggled to get up, Ythnel kicked her in the ribs, putting plenty of force behind the greaves of her armor, and heard bone crunch. Kaestra groaned and tried to get up again, but Ythnel stomped on her arm just below the triceps, snapping the bone. Kaestra cried out, clutched her broken arm, and rolled onto her back to face Ythnel.

"Consider yourself denied," Ythnel panted.

Kaestra's lip curled in a snarl. "I am not through yet."

"No, I think you're quite finished."

"Think again." Kaestra raised her good arm. Ythnel leaped back, mistaking the gesture as some sort of attack. Then she heard a rumbling behind her and turned to see the dark sphere of Entropy moving through the air toward her.

"Let's see how you fare against a god," Kaestra cackled. The sphere advanced inexorably through the nave. It came into contact with the front row of pews, and the wooden benches disappeared, their forms twisting and distorting as they were sucked into the sphere.

Ythnel gasped, eliciting another laugh from Kaestra. The high priestess sat up and motioned again. Entropy picked up speed, coming straight for Ythnel.

She dived to the floor, and the sphere passed over her by inches, leaving a path of destruction in its wake. Ythnel tried to crawl away, but Kaestra sent the sphere after her. She rolled to the side, and Entropy flew past her into the near wall, leaving a gaping hole. The wall trembled then collapsed in a shower of stone and mortar. Ythnel managed to hide among the ruins of the wall before the dust cleared enough for the high priestess to see her.

There was no way she could defeat Entropy, Ythnel knew. Neither could she keep dodging its charges. She was tiring and would eventually make a mistake or react too slowly. If she couldn't beat the sphere, though, she could finish off Kaestra. It appeared that Entropy was responding to the high priestess's directions. Without her guidance, perhaps it would return to its former stasis.

"You cannot hide, Loviatan!" Kaestra called out. "I will destroy this whole temple if I have to."

Ythnel believed her. She cast about for something to use as a weapon. A glint caught her eye, and she saw the steel tip of her spear resting not far from her on the floor. However, reaching it meant moving from the small cover she was hiding behind. Deciding to risk it, she darted for the spearhead.

Kaestra spotted Ythnel and immediately sent Entropy after her. Ythnel grabbed the short length of shaft still attached to the spearhead and stood, swivel-ing to face Kaestra.

"I've had just about enough of you and your god," Ythnel said and hurled the spearhead at Kaestra. The high priestess opened her mouth in surprise, and her eyes widened as the makeshift weapon flew true, burying itself in her breast. Blood blossomed across Kaestra's white tabard, and her eyes fluttered. Her mouth worked in an effort to say something, but all that came out was a trickle of blood. She sagged back against the end of a pew and died.

Ythnel let out a sigh of relief then remembered Entropy. She looked to her left and saw the sphere hovering motionless less than a foot beside her. "That was closer than I would have liked."

With one last look around the nave, Ythnel staggered out of the temple and into the night. She leaned heavily against one of the columns outside to catch her breath and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. The air was chill, and she felt gooseflesh rise along her arms and legs.

"Ythnel!"

The shout brought Ythnel's head up, and she saw Iuna coming toward her from the shadows of the portico. Ythnel pushed herself up off the column and embraced the girl with her good arm.

"It's snowing, Ythnel. I've never seen snow before."

Ythnel looked out into the night to see flakes of white coming down in a steady flurry. The ground was already covered in a light dusting.

"I've never seen snow before, either." She smiled down at Iuna. "Come on. Let's get out of here." They walked out under the snow toward the waiting street. Ythnel wasn't sure how they would get out of the city, but she was too tired and sore to think about that now.

A black carriage pulled up to the gap between the walls surrounding the temple, blocking access to the street. Ythnel halted as soon as she saw it, shoving Iuna protectively behind her. Between the snow and the shadows, she couldn't identify who was driving.

"Get inside. We don't have all night. Or would you rather walk?" Kestus hopped down from the driver's seat of the carriage, a welcoming grin splitting his face. Ythnel breathed a sigh of relief and jogged to the carriage, pulling Iuna along behind her. Kestus helped them both inside, closed the door behind them, and climbed back up to take the reins. Then the carriage took off once more into the night, heading toward the South Gate and out of Luthcheq.