Realms of War

SECOND CHANCE

29 Flamerule, the Year of Risen Elfkin (1375 DR)

The autharch's soldiers tied Kemas's hands together and pulled the rope over a tree limb so that only his toes touched the ground. Then they beat his naked back, shoulders, and ribs with a cane.

The boy tried clenching his jaw so he wouldn't cry out, but that didn't work. Then he tried not to hear anything the autharch, alternately cajoling and screaming as the mood took him, had to say. If he didn't understand the questions, he couldn't answer them and so betray his comrades and his faith a second time.

Preventing that was the most important thing in the world, but he could already feel that it wouldn't always be. The jolting pain would go on and on until stopping it was all that mattered. Then he'd tell the autharch whatever he wanted to know.

So why not give in now, if surrender was inevitable in any case? He struggled to push the tempting thought out of his head.

Then one of the legionnaires said, "Someone's here to see you, Autharch. An officer from Umratharos." The beating stopped as everyone turned to regard the newcomer.

The stranger possessed the thin, long-limbed frame of a Mulan aristocrat, like the autharch, or Kemas himself, for that matter, but contrary to custom, didn't shave his scalp. Straw-colored hair framed a face that might have been pleasant if it weren't so haggard and severe. The blond man bowed slightly, as if the autharch might conceivably outrank him but not by much, and proffered sheets of parchment with green wax seals adhering to them. He wore a massive gold and emerald ring on his middle finger, and Kemas sensed he was displaying that to his fellow noble as well.

Broad-shouldered and coarse-featured for a Mulan and possessed of mean, pouchy eyes, the autharch scanned the documents, then grunted. "A tour of inspection."

"Yes," the blond man said in a rich baritone voice. "Our master"-Kemas assumed he referred to Invarri Metron, tharchion of Delhumide-"wants to make sure every noble in his dominions is loyal to Szass Tam and making ready for war."

The autharch peered about. "But where is your retinue, Lord Uupret? Surely such an important official isn't traveling alone."

"For the moment, yes. My men fell ill, and rather than stay with them and risk catching the sickness myself, I rode on alone. My business is too important to delay."

The autharch blinked. "Yes. I'm sure."

"Then I hope you'll be kind enough to explain what's going on. Why are you and your troops encamped in this field?"

"To further the northern cause, I assure you. Just east of us stands a temple of Kossuth. Obviously, I won't allow a bastion of His Omnipotence's enemies to exist on my own lands, especially when it's positioned to threaten traffic on the Sur Road. I'm going to take the place, kill the fire worshipers, and then my wizards will raise them as zombies to serve our overlords."

The blond man nodded. "That sounds reasonable. But what about the boy?" Kemas flinched.

The autharch chuckled. "Oh, him. I attacked the temple last night, but we didn't make it inside the walls. Which was fine. I didn't expect to on the first try. I was really just feeling out the enemy. Anyway, after we fell back, this little rat evidently decided he doesn't like fighting very much. He sneaked out of the shrine and tried to run away, and our sentries caught him. Now we're persuading him to tell us everything he knows about the temple's defenses."

"He looks about ready." The blond noble advanced on Kemas and gripped his raw, welted shoulder. Kemas gasped and stiffened at the resulting stab of pain.

"Be sensible," the newcomer said. "Spare yourself any fur shy;ther unpleasantness. Give the autharch what he wants."

Kemas felt lightheaded. He thought he was fainting or dying, and would have welcomed either. But the sensation passed, and he started talking.

It shamed him. He wept even as he spoke. But he couldn't stop.

When he finished, the autharch said, "That's that, then. He'll make a scrawny excuse for a zombie, but at least he won't be chickenhearted anymore."

"My lord," the blond man said, "I would regard it as a favor if you'd give the lad to me. As you say, he wouldn't be all that impressive an undead, and I confess, I'm fond of certain pleasures. Seeing him like this, teary-eyed, barebacked, and bloody, reminds me that I haven't had the opportunity to enjoy them since I set forth on my journey."

Kemas had imagined he couldn't feel any more wretched, but he was wrong. He shuddered, and his stomach churned. He wondered if his further torment, whatever it turned out to be, would be Kossuth's punishment for his treachery.

The autharch cocked his head. "Since the boy isn't fit to travel, I take it that you plan to bide with me for a while."

"With your permission. It's a stroke of luck that I have the chance to watch you and your men actually fight a battle. It will give me a better idea of your capabilities than anything else could."

"Well, I'm delighted to offer you my hospitality, especially if it will lead to you carrying a good report of me to Tharchion Metron." The autharch shifted his gaze to one of the soldiers. "See to Lord Uupret's horse and provide him with a tent."

"You can toss the boy inside it," the blond man said. "It will be convenient to have him close at hand."

The legionnaire didn't literally toss Kemas, but he shoved him. The push sent a fresh burst of pain through the boy's back and sent him staggering. He fell, and with his hands tied behind him, could do nothing to catch himself. He slammed down on his belly, then rolled over on his side to peer up at the tharchion's emissary. He was afraid to look at him, but afraid not to, also.

The blond man's face was as cold as before, but revealed none of the gloating lust or cruelty his prisoner had expected. The officer sang something, crooning so softly that Kemas couldn't make out the words, then darkness swallowed everything.

When Kemas woke, a pang of fear froze him in place until he remembered what had befallen him and that, in fact, he ought to be afraid. Hoping to take stock of his situation without revealing that he'd regained consciousness, he opened his eyes just a little.

Night had fallen, and the wavering yellow light of a single lantern pushed the deepest shadows into the corners of the tent. The flaps were closed, but the blond man sat on a camp stool facing them anyway, as if he could still see out. He slumped forward with his left hand supporting his forehead, seemingly weary or disconsolate.

Which was to say, he had his back to Kemas, and scarcely seemed alert. He had, moreover, untied his captive's hands.

Kemas cast about. He didn't see any actual weapons within easy reach, but a wine bottle sat on a little folding table. Trying to be silent, he pushed back his blanket, rose from the cot, picked up the bottle, and tiptoed toward the man on the stool. He swung his makeshift bludgeon down at his captor's head.

The blond man jerked his upper body to the side, and the bottle only clipped him on the shoulder. Kemas jerked it up for another blow, but twisting around, his captor grabbed his forearm and immobilized it. Then he jumped up, hooked his leg behind Kemas's, and dumped him onto his back. Still gripping the boy's arm, twisting it, he planted his foot in the center of Kemas's chest.

"I don't want to hurt you," the blond man said.

Kemas kept struggling, but the only result was to grind pain through his shoulder joint.

"It's true," the blond man said. "If I were your enemy, why would I untie you or lay you on the cot? Why would I use my songs to heal you? You did notice that someone tended your wounds, didn't you? Otherwise you wouldn't have the strength to play tricks."

Kemas hadn't noticed, but recalling the beating he'd taken, he realized it must be so. "All right. I yield."

The blond man gave him an appraising stare, then released him. He moved to the tent flaps, pulled them slightly apart to make a peephole, and peered out. "Good. It doesn't look like anyone heard us scuffling."

Keeping hold of the bottle-not that it had done him much good before-Kemas clambered to his feet. "I don't understand any of this."

The blond man waved for him to sit down on the cot and dropped back onto the stool. "Then let me explain, starting with the basics. Are you aware that the zulkirs have gone to war with one another?"

"I heard you and the autharch say something about a war, but I couldn't take it all in."

"Well, here's the nub of it: Szass Tam wants to make himself supreme ruler of Thay, and the other archwizards refuse to accept him as their overlord. By and large, Delhumide and the other northern tharchs stand with the pretender, while the southern provinces support the rest of the council."

"But what does that have to do with the temple? Why did the autharch attack us?"

"The Church of Kossuth stands with the council, as well it should. Szass Tam betrayed and murdered scores of your priests and monks. The news just hadn't reached you in this remote location. But it did reach your autharch, and he decided to wipe out your enclave before you could strike at him or his masters."

"Judging from the way you talk, you're against Szass Tam, too."

"Yes. My real name is Bareris Anskuld, and I serve in the Griffon Legion of Pyarados. I'm on a scouting mission to find out what Szass Tam's forces are up to in Delhumide and who still stands against them. I ran into the real Lord Uupret on the trail, and when I realized I could use his ring and documents to examine Szass Tam's troops and fortresses up close, I killed him and assumed his identity."

"Didn't he have a company of guards protecting him, like the autharch asked about?"

"Yes, but I had my griffon, my magic, and a formidable comrade who dogs my steps whenever I'm not pretending to be somebody else."

Even so, fighting an important noble's retinue sounded liked a desperate undertaking. "Aren't you afraid of meeting someone who knew the real Lord Uupret?"

Bareris shrugged.

"And if you want people to think you're just an ordinary noble in the service of the tharchion, wouldn't it be wise to shave your head? So you don't look… peculiar?"

"I'm a bard. If I offer an explanation for my hair, I can make people believe it, just as I made the autharch think it reasonable that one of his master's chief deputies is traveling alone."

"I suppose." But it seemed clear that Bareris was taking risks that no prudent spy would have chanced, as if some self-destructive part of him wanted his enemies to penetrate his disguise.

The blond man scowled. "That's enough blather about me. The night won't last forever, and we need to talk about how to save your temple."

Kemas swallowed. "Do you think it can be saved? I. . I told the autharch the truth. I told him everything."

"I know. I laid a charm on you to compel you."

"What?"

"Keep your voice down!"

"Why would you do that if you're really the autharch's enemy?"

"Because I judged that you were going to talk eventually in any case. Was I wrong?"

Kemas wanted to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, his eyes stung, and he squeezed them shut to hold in tears. "No," he whispered.

"You don't need to be ashamed. Torture breaks nearly everyone in the end."

"Well, you should have let it break me!" Kemas didn't know why that would have been preferable, but he felt it nonetheless.

"Had it gone on much longer, it might have injured you badly enough that I couldn't heal you, and that wouldn't do. I have a task for you."

Kemas took a deep breath. "What?"

"After you gave the autharch what he wanted, he convened a council of war and made a battle plan. I used my influence to keep it from being as cunning a strategy as it might have been, though it's possible I didn't need to." For just an instant, Bareris's lips twitched up at the corners. Kemas realized it was the only time he'd seen the bard display any semblance of a smile. "Contrary to his own opinion, the autharch isn't a subtle man. If he were, he would have realized that your temple likely hadn't heard the tidings from the south and tried first to take the place by trickery."

"So the battle plan is worthless?"

"No. My magic couldn't accomplish that much. It simply isn't as good as it could be. But here's the real point. I now know exactly what resources the autharch commands, and precisely how he intends to employ them. It's information the temple's defenders can put to good use, once you carry it to them."

Kemas stared at him. "Me? I'm a prisoner!"

"It's dark, and I pilfered a legionnaire's cloak and tunic for you to wear. You should be able to sneak out of camp and back to the shrine."

"But you can cast spells. Your chances are better than mine. Why don't you do it?"

"I'm needed here. The autharch's troops aren't elite warriors, but they look fairly capable, they outnumber your temple guards, and they have a couple of necromancers to lend magical support. I can improve your chances by lurking in their midst and then lashing out at the right moment. I'll kill the wizards and proceed from there."

Once again, Kemas could only infer that his companion had little regard for his own safety. "Is protecting our little shrine so important that it makes sense for you to run such a risk?"

"Anything that hinders Szass Tam's forces for even an instant is worthwhile. I wrote down the autharch's plan while you slept. Are you ready to take the parchment and go?"

Kemas swallowed. "No."

Bareris frowned. "Do you think I'm trying to trick you?"

"No, I believe what you told me. It's… you heard what the autharch said about me. I'm a deserter."

"And so?"

"I'm afraid of all this! I want to get away from the danger, not put myself back in the middle of it."

"Yet the temple means something to you, or you wouldn't have resisted torture for as long as you did."

"I suppose."

"How long did you serve there?"

"Nearly my whole life. My family's Mulan, but we don't have much land or money, either, and I'm a younger son. My father enlisted me in the Order of the Fire Drake-the sworn protectors of Kossuth's holy shrines and relics-thinking it would make a good life for me."

"Did it?"

"Yes. I made friends, and I liked the masters and teachers." He sneered. "I even liked the martial training and thought I was becoming a fine warrior. I imagined I'd do well if I ever had to fight a real battle."

"But until the autharch came, you never did."

"No. The temple's in the middle of settled territory and has walls like a real fortress. Nobody's bothered it for generations. The garrison was mainly there for the sake of tradition."

"Tell me what happened during the battle."

"I was on the wall with my bow. I was about to start shooting, and then an arrow flew up from below and hit Abrihando-the fellow next to me-in the chest. He fell down, thrashed, and screamed for me to help him. But I'm no healer. I couldn't do anything. I just stared at him until he stopped moving.

"Afterward, I wanted to crouch down behind a merlon and stay there so an arrow wouldn't hit me, too. Still, I made myself shoot a few times. Then zombies ran toward the foot of the wall with ladders. Our shafts couldn't stop them."

"No," Bareris said, "you generally have to cut them to pieces."

"People scurried to shove the ladders over backward, but some of the zombies made it onto the top of the wall anyway. They smelled rotten, and their eyes shined yellow. They swung their axes, and more of our folk fell, some shrieking, some already dead.

"I put down my bow and drew my sword. I really did mean to go and help. But then something even more horrible than a zombie climbed over the top of the wall. It was a dead man, too, but with its belly ripped open and lengths of gut hanging out and waving around like snakes. They even had mouths full of fangs."

Bareris nodded. "A vilewight."

"I just couldn't make myself go near it. Not even when it caught my friend Madivik with its gut-arms. He screamed for my help, too, but I stood frozen while the poison of the thing's bites shriveled him away. It turned toward me next and would have had me too, but one of the temple priests cast a blast of fire at it. I don't think he destroyed it, but he knocked it back over the wall.

"After that, I was done. I scurried down off the wall walk and hid in the stable until the autharch broke off the attack. Later on, I sneaked out one of the posterns."

Bareris nodded. "It was your first real battle, and fear got the better of you. It happens to many untried warriors, especially if facing nasty foes like undead. You'll do better next time."

"I don't want there to be a next time."

"Deep down, you do. You'd grieve to see your comrades and your temple destroyed. It's evident in every word you say."

"You don't understand. When I ran away, I broke my vows. Even if I did manage to get back inside the temple, the other Fire Drakes would kill me themselves."

"Maybe not. If you consider them your friends, they're likely fond of you as well. Perhaps enough to show mercy, particularly considering that you'll have brought them useful information, and if not, at least you'll die knowing you've redeemed your honor."

"That's all that matters to you, isn't it? You don't care at all about staying alive, but I do!"

Bareris hesitated, then said, "I won't argue that you're mistaken. But I've taken your measure, too, and I can see that if you let it, shame will blight the rest of your life. Whatever else happens to you, in your own estimation you'll be the coward and oathbreaker forevermore. But it doesn't have to be that way, because you have what I never will: a second chance to make things right."

Kemas took a long breath. "All right. I'll try."

"Good." Bareris sprang to his feet, grabbed a pair of folded garments, and tossed them to the boy. "I have a sword for you as well."

When Kemas had donned his disguise, tucked Bareris's message inside the tunic, and hung his new baldric over his shoulder, he and the spy proceeded to the tent flaps. Bareris peeked out, then said, "Go on."

Kemas reached to pull the hanging cloths apart, then faltered.

"I can sing a song to bolster your courage," Bareris said. "I will if you need it. But I'm afraid that if I do, afterward you'll worry that you only acted bravely because you were drunk on magic."

"I'm all right," Kemas said. Trying not to think or feel, just move, he forced himself out into the open.

No one was up and about anywhere close at hand. Kemas headed north, past officers' tents and the snoring mounds that were common soldiers asleep in their bedrolls on the ground. He averted his eyes from the dying campfires lest they rob him of his night vision and resisted the urge to tiptoe like a thief in a pantomime. Better to move as if he had nothing to fear and trust his stolen garments to protect him.

A figure emerged from the darkness. The soldier peered at Kemas, and he held his breath. Finally the legionnaire raised a casual hand, Kemas returned the wave, and the man turned and trudged away.

Another twenty paces brought Kemas to the edge of the camp. Now was the time to creep, so the sentries wouldn't spot him sneaking away. Even if they believed he was one of their own, slipping out of camp to engage in some sort of mischief, they'd still try to stop him.

Mouth as dry as desert sand, heart thumping, he kept low and skulked from shadow to shadow. Perhaps his dark mantle and wiry frame helped to hide him, or maybe the tired men on watch weren't exceptionally vigilant. For no one spotted him, and eventually he peered back and judged that he'd left the camp a long bowshot behind.

Now he could turn his steps toward the temple, and until he drew near to the ring of pickets surrounding it, give more thought to haste and less to stealth. If that was what he really wanted to do.

Did he? At that moment, he was free. Safe. He needn't face the autharch's soldiers and undead horrors again, nor scorn and possible punishment from his own comrades. He could avoid it all simply by running away.

But he wouldn't avoid the guilt that would come as a result. Bareris, damn him, had warned that it would weigh on him like a curse till the end of his days.

Kemas made sure his broadsword was loose in the scabbard, then he headed east.

Stands of apple and cherry trees rose among the fields surrounding the temple. As Kemas had already discovered to his cost, the autharch's pickets were lurking in the groves, taking advantage of the cover, and no doubt eating the ripening fruit. Unfortunately, even knowing they were there, Kemas saw little choice but to skulk through the orchards himself. The only other option would be to attempt his entire approach to the shrine over open ground.

He made it far enough to spy the limestone wall of the temple complex between the trees. Then a soldier pounced down in front of him, or at least it startled Kemas so badly that it felt as if a wild beast had plunged out of nowhere to bar his path. In reality, the legionnaire had simply slipped down from the crotch of the tree where he'd been perching, his form obscured by the night.

"Who are you?" the picket asked.

Kemas reminded himself that it was dark. He was, more shy;over, wearing the uniform of the autharch's guards and coming from the direction of the noble's camp, not the temple. Maybe he could talk his way out of this. He took a breath and said, "The officers decided you could use a few more men standing watch up here."

"Did they send you without a bow?"

Kemas shrugged as if to convey disgust at the idiocy of the men in charge.

"Come talk to the sergeant," the picket said. "He'll tell you what to do."

No, Kemas thought, he'll recognize me. He had too good a look at me when you bastards caught me before.

He wanted to turn tail, but if he fled now, he'd never reach the temple. He smiled and said, "All right." As soon as the soldier turned his back to lead the way, he'd draw and cut the fellow down from behind.

But he was no accomplished deceiver like Bareris, and something in his tone or manner must have put the legion shy;naire on his guard, because the man frowned and gripped the hilt of his own blade. "Tell me the name of the person who ordered you here," he said.

Kemas whipped out his sword and ran at the picket, hoping to kill his adversary before the other man's weapon cleared the scabbard. But the soldier scrambled backward, and that gave him time to draw. He beat Kemas's blade out of line and extended his own, but fortunately, his aim was off by a hair. Otherwise, Kemas's own all-out charge would have flung him onto the point.

He hurtled past the picket, knew the man was surely pivoting to strike at him from behind, managed to arrest his forward momentum, and lurched back around. The guard's sword flashed at his neck, and he parried it.

The jolt stung his fingers but didn't quite loosen his grip. He riposted, and trained reflex guided his arm through one of the moves his teachers had drilled into him. He feinted to the flank, disengaged, and cut to the head. His sword split the left side of the pickets face from brow to chin and crunched into the bone beneath. The soldier's knees buckled and he dropped, dragging the blade down with him.

His feelings a tangle of relief, incredulity, and queasiness, Kemas stared down at the other swordsman. Shouts and the thuds of running footsteps jarred him from his daze. The legionnaire's comrades had plainly heard the ringing of blade on blade, and they were rushing to investigate.

Kemas yanked his sword free and sprinted onto the clear ground between the grove and the temple wall. When he'd covered half the distance, arrows started flying after him. He couldn't see them, but some came close enough that he heard them whisper past his body.

He fetched up in front of one of the sally ports. The light of the torches on the battlements shined down over him, and he realized that, even though he'd distanced himself from the trees, he was likely a better target than before. He pounded on the sturdy oak panel. "It's me, Kemas! Let me in!"

With a crack, an arrow plunged into the door. Kemas threw himself flat and continued to shout. Other arrows clattered against the entry. Some rebounded and fell on his back and legs.

Then he caught the groan of bars sliding in their brackets. He looked around, and the postern opened just enough to admit a single person. He jumped up, scurried through, and the small gate slammed behind him.

With the arrows streaking at him, he hadn't been able to think of anything else, and felt a giddy elation at escaping them unscathed. Then, however, he observed his rescuers' glowering faces and the naked weapons in their hands.

"Surrender your sword," Zorithar said. With his long, narrow face and broken nose, he was one of the senior Fire Drakes and notorious for the harsh discipline he imposed on the youths in training. His expression and tone were like cold iron.

Kemas gave him the weapon hilt first. "I need to talk to Master Rathoth-De. It's important."

"Don't worry about that," Zorithar said. "He'll want to talk to you, too."

Kemas's new captors marched him to the hall where the high priest administered the temple in times of peace, and where he still sat in the place of honor at the head of the council table. But he had no martial expertise, and thus it was Rathoth-De who was actually directing the defense.

The commander of the Fire Drakes looked too old and frail for that duty, or any responsibility more taxing than drowsing by the hearth. But his pale gray eyes were clear and sharp beneath his scraggly white brows, and he carried the weight of his yellow-and-orange plate armor as if it weighed no more than wool.

He studied Kemas's face for a time, then said, "It was a crime to run away and folly to return."

"He ran afoul of the autharch's men," Zorithar said. "They were chasing him, and apparently he had nowhere else to run."

Kemas swallowed. "With respect, Masters, that isn't true. I mean, it is, but there's more to it. I came back to bring you this." He proffered Bareris's letter.

Rathoth-De muttered and ran his finger under the words as he read them. His scowl deepened with every line. "It says here that the autharch knows everything about the temple, includ shy;ing which section of the north wall has fallen into disrepair."

Kemas took a deep breath. "Yes, Master. He tortured me, and I told him." He might have explained that at the end it was a charm of coercion that had actually forced him to talk, but somehow that seemed a contemptible evasion.

Zorithar sneered. "No surprise there. You'd already proved yourself a coward. He turned his gaze on Rathoth-De. "Maybe we can reinforce the wall."

"Master," Kemas said, "if you read on, you'll see that the scout from the Griffon Legion believes that our best hope is to let the autharch execute the plan he's devised and then turn it around on him."

Rathoth-De skimmed to the end, then grunted. "This does suggest possibilities." He explained Bareris's idea.

Zorithar frowned. "We've never even heard of this Anskuld person, and we don't know that we can believe a word he says. This could be a ruse."

"If I may speak, sir," a warrior said. "I have to say, I don't think so. I was watching from the wall when Kemas ran to the temple. The archers were doing their best to hit him. Which they wouldn't, if the autharch wanted him to deliver a false message."

"I agree," said Rathoth-De, "and even if I weren't convinced, the autharch has the numbers to overwhelm our little garrison eventually. We need to try something both bold and clever to have any hope of defeating him."

Zorithar shook his head. "So that's your decision? To gamble everything on this one throw?"

"I think we must." The old man turned his gaze on Kemas. "The only question remaining is what to do with the lad."

"He forsook his comrades and broke his vows to the god," Zorithar said. "Drown him as the rules of the order decree."

"Even though he risked his life to return and make amends?"

"I'm not convinced that he did it out of remorse," Zorithar said, "or devotion, or of his own volition. But it doesn't matter anyway. The rule is the rule."

"Masters," Kemas said, "I know the punishment for what I did, and I'll accept if you say I must. But let me fight for the temple first. You can use every sword."

"Not yours," Zorithar said. "You'll shrink from the foe as you did before, and leave your brothers in the lurch."

"You may be right," said Rathoth-De, "but surely the boy has given us some reason to think he's found his courage. Enough, I think, to warrant putting the matter to a test. Are you willing, apprentice?"

Kemas drew himself up straighter. "Yes."

"Then approach Kossuth's altar."

The altar was a polished slab of red marble with inlaid golden runes. Tongues of yellow flame leaped and hissed from the bowl set in the top. Such devotional fires burned all around the temple complex, and Kemas had long since grown accustomed to their heat. But as he came closer, it seemed to beat at him, because he knew and dreaded what was to come.

"Place your hand over the flames," said Rathoth-De.

Kemas pulled up his sleeve to make sure it wouldn't catch fire, then did as his master had commanded. For a moment, it didn't hurt, then the hot pain flowered in his palm and the undersides of his fingers. It grew keener with every heartbeat.

It occurred to Kemas that it shouldn't be this way. He was pledged to Kossuth, and his god and fire were one. But he wasn't a priest, just a glorified temple guard, unable to reach the ecstasy and empowerment presumably waiting inside the torment.

He told himself the ordeal surely wouldn't last for long, for unlike Zorithar, Rathoth-De wasn't cruel by nature. But it did last. The pain stretched on, and the old man kept silent.

By the burning chain, did Kemas smell himself? Was his hand cooking?

It was brutally hard to know that he could snatch it back whenever he chose, and no matter what else might follow, this particular agony would subside. He clenched his will and muscles to fight the urge.

Until hands gripped him and heaved him back from the flames. He peered about and saw that two of his fellow warriors had wrestled him away.

"I told you that you could stop," said Rathoth-De, "but you were concentrating so hard on keeping still that you didn't hear me."

Kemas took a breath. His hand throbbed. "Then I passed the test?"

"Yes." Rathoth-De shifted his gaze to Zorithar. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Zorithar grimaced and gestured in grudging acquiescence.

Steeling himself, Kemas inspected his hand. It wasn't the blackened claw he'd feared to see, but it was a patch shy;work of raw, red flesh and blisters. "I put my offhand over the fire, so I can still use a sword. But I won't be able to manage a bow."

"Don't be so sure," said the high priest. "If there's one thing a cleric of Kossuth learns to do well, it's tending burns."

The priest chanted prayers over Kemas's hand, smeared it with pungent ointment, and wrapped it in linen bandages. The next day, though the extremity still gave its owner an occasional pang, it was well enough for him to aid in the preparations for the struggle to come.

To his relief, the other Fire Drakes accepted his presence among them without offering insults or objections. Evidently the majority believed him fit to resume his place.

He wondered if they were right. He'd fought and killed the picket, but it had taken only an instant, and desperation and his training had seen him through. He'd endured the fire, but realized now that that too had only taken a few moments, even if it had seemed an eternity at the time. It didn't necessarily mean he'd found the courage to stand his ground while a true battle raged on and on.

As Bareris had warned they would, the autharch's force approached the walls after sunset. Across the temple complex, horns blew the alarm, and Kemas rushed up the stairs to his assigned place on the wall walk.

When he squinted out over the parapet, it certainly appeared as if the autharch's entire company stood in battle array before the main gate. Supposedly the noble's mages had cast subtle illusions to foster that impression, and the darkness likely aided as well.

In any case, it steadied Kemas to know that he was looking out at a diversion, not a committed assault. A hurtling arrow could still kill him just as dead, but still, for the moment at least, the danger seemed limited and endurable. He strung his bow, nocked a shaft, picked out a murky figure on the ground below, and let fly.

He continued that way for a while, shooting steadily and ducking down behind a merlon whenever it seemed that an archer or crossbowman on the ground was making a concerted effort to hit him. Twice, scaling ladders thumped against the parapet, but not near him, and the defenders who were closer dislodged them expeditiously.

Then, his kite shield and surcoat emblazoned with the ram shy;pant fire-breathing wyrm that was the emblem of the order, Zorithar came striding along the wall walk. He scowled at Kemas. "Rathoth-De thinks the real battle is about to begin. Find a place among those who are going to fight it."

Kemas swallowed. "Me?"

Zorithar snorted. "Of course, you. We've determined that you're a fearless hero, remember? Now, move!" He hurried on, no doubt deciding who else he could pull off the front wall without the enemy realizing that the defenders knew what was about to occur.

Kemas scurried down the stairs, ran across the temple grounds, and found a place to stand. After that he had nothing to do but wait. He strained, listening for some warning sign of what was to come.

He never heard it. Rather, the decaying section of the north wall exploded inward all at once, and men ducked and averted their faces to shield their eyes from flying gravel. By Bareris's reckoning, the autharch's wizards weren't especially powerful adepts, but even so, the crumbling stonework had been too weak to withstand them.

Beyond the breach, men howled like banshees, and charging feet pounded the ground. The autharch's troops meant to penetrate the opening before their foes could shake off their surprise and move to defend it.

It was only when the first attackers had scrambled inside, and were attempting to find their bearings amid the darkness and choking dust, that they perceived their counterparts hadn't been surprised. The Fire Drakes had expected their enemies to enter how and where they had, and had spent the day transforming the immediate area into a killing box. Carts, benches, piles of brick, and anything else that could be incorporated into barricades shielded ranks of warriors standing poised and ready for slaughter. Archers perched on the sections of wall to each side of the breach, and on nearby rooftops.

The priests of Kossuth cast their most destructive spells, and blasts of flame ripped through the mass of the enemy. The temple bowmen shot. Kemas caught himself nocking, drawing, and releasing as fast as he could and forced himself to slow down and aim.

Though it was scarcely necessary. The autharch's men were jammed so tightly together that any arrow was likely to find a mark, and the flying shafts and bursts and sprays of fire did such grievous harm that surely the attackers' first impulse was to turn and flee.

But they couldn't. They still had comrades, oblivious to the slaughter erupting just a few yards ahead, pushing through the breach behind them and bottling them in.

Their officers and sergeants realized it, and that the only possible way out of the trap was forward. They bellowed commands and their soldiers rushed the barricades.

Kemas dropped his bow and snatched out his sword just in time to parry the thrust of a spear. The Fire Drake on his left swung his mace and bashed in the spearman's skull.

Kemas returned the favor mere moments later, dispatching an axeman who was pressing his comrade hard. Up and down the line and on all three sides of the killing box, men roared and screamed, struck, defended, and fell.

A moment came when Kemas didn't have a foe within reach. It was then that, panting and wiping stinging sweat from his eyes, he spied Bareris.

True to his word, the bard was fighting alone in the midst of the foe. His sword was bloody from point to hilt, and a sort of haze shrouded his body. The blur no doubt made him more difficult to target and was evidence that he wasn't entirely suicidal. But it surely couldn't protect him from the foes driving in from every side, and Kemas was certain he was about to die.

But then the opponents in front of Bareris faltered as though abruptly afraid to engage. That too must be the result of one of his songs. He ran at the men he'd cursed, and they recoiled. The unnatural terror evidently hadn't caught hold of the soldiers to the rear and on his flanks, and they struck at him but missed. He reached one of the barricades, and recognizing him for an ally, the Fire Drakes behind it helped him clamber to the other side.

At that point, Kemas glimpsed motion from the corner of his eye and remembered that his own safety was likewise at issue. He hastily faced straight ahead and beheld the zombies shambling toward him.

From the moment the wall burst open until then, he hadn't been scared, perhaps because he hadn't had time to think. But it was as if the brief respite he'd enjoyed had given dread fresh purchase on his spirit, or maybe it was simply the withered, decaying faces of the walking dead that stabbed fear into his heart and loosened his guts.

He reminded himself of what Bareris had told him. A living warrior could defeat a zombie. He just had to cut it to pieces.

Somewhere overhead, a priest chanted a prayer, and three zombies burst into flame before they could reach the barricades. Unfortunately, the creature stalking straight at Kemas wasn't one of them.

It moved slowly, though, and that enabled him to strike first. His sword bit deep into the zombie's neck. Had it been alive, the stroke would have killed it, but its black, slimy lips didn't even twitch, nor did it falter. Reeking of corruption, it heaved its axe over its head, then swept it down in an awkward but powerful blow. Kemas twisted aside to keep it from splitting his head in two.

He pulled on his sword and it stuck, possibly caught between two vertebrae. Its head flopping on its shoulders, the corpse-thing lifted the axe for another try. Kemas gripped the hilt with both hands, heaved with all his might, and the blade jerked free.

He cut at one of the zombie's upraised hands. His sword lopped off fingers, and the axe fell out of the dead man's grasp. He took another swing at its neck and hacked deeper. The creature toppled forward and wound up draped over the barricade. Kemas was reluctant to touch the filthy thing, but it was in the way, and so he gripped its shoulder and shoved it off onto the ground. It was only then that he felt a surge of elation at having bested it.

He started to smile. Then, hunched forward, gut-tentacles writhing and lashing, the vilewight appeared among the autharch's troops. Despite the press, the legionnaires scrambled to clear a path for it.

The undead's sunken eyes burned brighter, and its fanged mouth sneered. It extended a gnarled, long-fingered hand, and a shaft of darkness leaped from the tips of the jagged talons. It blazed across a portion of the barricade, and the men it washed over collapsed, their bodies rotting.

Priests chanted. Fire leaped up around the vilewight but guttered out instantly, leaving it unburned. Archers loosed their shafts. Some pierced the dead thing's flesh, but the creature didn't even appear to notice.

It pointed its hand again. Another flare of shadow cut into the ranks of the defenders. Meanwhile, one of the warriors slain by the previous attack lurched up onto his knees, threw his arms around the legs of a live man, and sank his teeth into his thigh. A second dead Fire Drake clambered up off the ground.

Kemas realized that if spells and missiles weren't working, someone needed to get in close to the vilewight and tear it apart. Otherwise it would keep hurling sprays of shadow, killing Fire Drakes, and transforming their corpses into undead slaves until the survivors could no longer hold the barricades. Unfortunately, it looked as if even the temple's bravest protectors feared to approach the creature.

But Kemas had forgotten the man who seemingly cared nothing for his own well-being. Bareris vaulted back over the barricade and charged the vilewight.

Had they chosen, the autharch's living soldiers could have intercepted the bard, surrounded him, and cut him down. But perhaps they too feared to come too close to the vilewight, or maybe they were simply confident of its prowess, for they chose to orient on other foes.

The vilewight cast a blaze of darkness. Bareris sprang to one side, and the leaping shadow missed. He shouted, a boom loud and startling as a thunderclap, and his cry split the undead's leprous hide and knocked it staggering. The bard rushed in and cut at its torso.

At the same moment, someone among the enemy yelled a command, and the legionnaires renewed their assault on the barricades. It seemed to Kemas that they didn't attack as fiercely as before. Now that their lord had brought his most powerful weapon into play, they expected it to turn the tide of battle, and saw no reason to take extraordinary chances while it did its work.

Still, they fought hard enough that for a while, Kemas didn't dare look at anything but the space and the foes immediately in front of him. Finally the pressure eased. He peered back at Bareris and the vilewight, and gasped.

During the first moments of the duel, it had appeared that Bareris was a match for his foe, and maybe he had been, but if so, Lady Luck had turned her face from him. He was unsteady on his feet and had switched his sword to his offhand because his dominant arm dangled torn and useless at his side. It looked as if gut-tentacles had bitten him both above and below the elbow, and he'd ripped the wounds larger by pulling free.

He'd landed more than one slash in return, but it hadn't made any difference to the lithe, pouncing manner in which his adversary circled, feinted, and struck. The bloodless cuts didn't seem to trouble it any more than the arrows hanging from its flesh like a porcupine's quills.

It sprang in, clawed hands raking, lengths of intestine striking like adders. Bareris dropped low, beneath the attacks, and tried to slice its leg out from under it. He scored but failed to cut deeply enough to make the vilewight fall. At once it twisted and stooped to threaten him anew. It caught the sword in its fingers, allowing the edge to bite in order to immobilize it, and reached for the griffon rider with its gut-tentacles. The rings of lamprey fangs gaped wide.

For an instant, Bareris strained to pull his weapon free, but his left arm wasn't strong enough. He relinquished his grip and flung himself backward to avoid the gut-serpents. As he scrambled to his feet, he snatched a dagger from his boot.

The vilewight regarded the smaller blade, and its jagged leer stretched wider. It knew Bareris no longer had any hope of defeating it. Not alone, and if any of the Fire Drakes was brave enough to go to his aid, that dauntless warrior was busy with other foes.

Obviously, no one would expect Kemas to do it. He was just an apprentice. A boy. He'd already done as much as any fair-minded person could ask.

Yet if he faltered just then, allowed fear to paralyze him once more, then everything he'd accomplished-killing the picket, holding his hand over the flame, and all the rest of it-had been for nothing. The autharch's men would slaugh shy;ter the Fire Drakes and priests just as if Kemas had never found the courage to return at all, and somehow, the thought of that was insupportable.

He left his place at the barricade and scurried along behind the backs of the men who were still fighting there. He needed to put himself directly in front of Bareris and the vilewight, so he wouldn't have any other enemies in his way when he advanced.

As he climbed over the barrier, the moment felt dream shy;like and unreal. Maybe that was his mind's way of trying to dampen terror.

He ran at the vilewight. It glanced in his direction, then lunged at Bareris. Apparently it hoped to finish off its wounded opponent before a new one could close the distance.

It might well have succeeded, too, because Bareris stumbled. But one of the temple priests, still alive somewhere and hoard shy;ing a measure of unexpended power, chose that moment to bring another burst of flame leaping up around the vilewight's feet. As before, the flare died without burning it, but the attack slowed the creature for an instant. Time enough for Kemas to circle around behind it.

Hoping to sever its spine, he cut at its back. He gashed its leathery hide, but that didn't keep it from starting to pivot in his direction.

He could keep trying to cut it as Bareris had already slashed and stabbed it repeatedly, but suddenly a differ shy;ent tactic occurred to him. He tossed his sword in the bard's direction-even wounded and with his good arm crippled, Bareris could wield it as well or better than he could-and sprang onto the vilewight's back. Up close, the carrion stench of the undead filled his nose and mouth with foulness.

He hooked his fingers into the creature's eye sockets and clawed the cold jelly away.

The vilewight stiffened, staggered, and lifted its hand. Darkness seethed around the talons. Kemas grabbed its clammy wrist to keep it from discharging a flare of shadow into his face.

But he couldn't defend against all its attacks. He didn't have enough hands. Gut-snakes twisted around to reach for him, their rings of fangs gnashing.

Bareris rushed forward with Kemas's broadsword in hand. He struck savagely, repeatedly, and the sightless vilewight couldn't block or dodge. The strokes landed to better effect than before.

Bareris cut into one of its knees. It fell forward, and Kemas scrambled clear of it. The bard hacked its skull to pieces, and it stopped moving.

Kemas felt empty and could think of nothing to do but stand, wheeze, and look at the fallen creature. Bareris, however, wheeled at once, searching for other threats.

But he needn't have bothered. While they'd fought the vilewight, their comrades had held the barricades against the rest of the autharch's servants, and it looked as though the demise of their ghastly champion had destroyed the attackers' morale. They shrank back from the ranks of Fire Drakes, and someone shouted, "Retreat!" They turned and scrambled for the breach.

The defenders didn't try to stop them. Kemas wondered if it was because everyone was too exhausted to strike a single unnecessary blow. The Great Flame knew, he was.

He was even wearier at the shank end of the night, when the priests had tended the wounded and lit the funeral pyres of the dead, the Fire Drakes had made the complex as secure as it could be with a hole in the wall, everyone had eaten a hot meal, and Rathoth-De sent for him. He was glad of his fatigue, for perhaps it was the numbing effect of it that kept him from feeling anything much as he entered his masters' hall. His arm in a sling, Bareris stood conferring with the officers of the temple.

"We won," said the high priest, an unaccustomed hint of petulance in his voice. "It doesn't seem fair that we should have to leave."

"But you must," Bareris said. "You repelled the autharch's household troops. You won't withstand a real army when Invarri Metron gets around to sending one against you."

"He's right," said Rathoth-De. "We need to pack up the relics, treasury, and sacred texts and clear out as soon as pos shy;sible." He smiled. "Don't take it hard, Master. It sounds as if the Firelord has work for us in the south."

Kemas decided he'd come close enough to bow. "Sir, I'm here to face your judgment."

Bareris frowned. "Surely the boy has proved useful enough that it would be folly to punish him."

"Thank you for speaking up for me," Kemas said, "but please, no more. This is a matter for the Fire Drakes, and for my commander to decide."

Rathoth-De smiled. "So it is, and our rule says a deserter must die. But it appears to me that he already has. The god's fire burned away what was unworthy in you and purified what remained, and that's good enough for me."

Kemas sighed and felt his muscles go limp with relief. He hadn't been conscious of feeling particularly afraid, yet it was suddenly clear to him just how much he'd wanted to live.

Scouting for threats on griffon-back, Bareris, along with his ghostly comrade Mirror, accompanied the servants of Kossuth on their journey south. Kemas tried repeatedly to make a true friend of the bard but always found him taciturn and aloof. He could only pray that, just as Bareris had helped him find his way to fidelity, so too would the blond man one day discover a remedy for the spiritual sick shy;ness afflicting him.