"My life isn't worth the trouble!" he called.

"I know that feeling," Bareris answered. "I've had it myself for a hundred years, so who am I to tell you you're wrong? But look around at your comrades who risked torture and execution to stand here with you tonight. Aren't their lives worth fighting for?

"And if they aren't reason enough," Bareris continued, "I'll give you another: revenge! When we take the Dread Ring, we'll butcher every necromancer, blood orc, and ghoul inside. I admit, we won't get Szass Tam himself, but we'll deprive him of his heart's desire, balk him, and gall him as no one ever has before.

"And one day, we rebels will drag him down off his throne and slay him. As it turns out, it won't be this year or the next, and the Council of Zulkirs may not be there to help us when we do, but it will happen. This siege is the beginning. Imagine what we can do with the arms and magic we'll plunder from the Dread Ring. Imagine how word of our victory will draw new recruits to our ranks. We'll finally be a true army all by ourselves."

He looked out at the crowd and saw resolve returning in the set of their jaws and the way they stood straighter. He drew breath to continue on in the same vein, then froze when a hulking shape abruptly appeared at the back of the throng.

It was tall as an ogre and had four arms. Red eyes blazed from a head also possessed of a muzzle full of needle fangs. Bareris knew its scaly hide was actually dark purple like the duskiest of grapes, but it looked black in the night.

"I can see you're all brave little lambs," said Tsagoth, a sneer in his tone. "But this is your one warning: the Dread Ring is full of wolves."

He snatched up a young Rashemi woman and beheaded her with a single snap of his jaws. Blood gushed from the stump of her neck. He pivoted and disemboweled a man with a sweep of his claws. Short sword in hand, a third rebel charged the blood fiend from behind, and Tsagoth turned again and locked eyes with him. The swordsman jammed the point of his blade into his own neck.

Aoth ran into the crowd, while Mirror and Jet flew over it. Off to the side of it, Gaedynn, moving with almost preternatural speed, strung his bow and nocked an arrow. Meanwhile, Bareris drew his sword and sang. The world seemed to shatter and mend itself in an instant, and then, magically whisked across the intervening distance, Bareris was standing directly in front of Tsagoth.

The vampiric demon laughed down at him with gory jaws. "Too slow, singer," he said as he disappeared.

Bareris lunged. His blade encountered no resistance, proof that Tsagoth hadn't merely turned invisible. He'd employed his own innate ability to translate himself through space. Gaedynn's arrow streaked through the spot the creature's head had occupied an instant before.

Bareris stalked onward, pivoting, sword at the ready. He crooned a charm to give himself owl eyes.

A hand gripped his forearm. Startled, he wrenched himself around, trying both to break free and to bring his blade to bear before he saw that it was Aoth who'd taken hold of him.

"It's over for now," the sellsword captain said.

"You don't know that. Just because he ran, it doesn't mean he ran far."

"Of course it does. Think. No lone warrior, not even Tsagoth, would linger for long in the midst of an enemy army."

"Well, I'll make sure."

"No," said Aoth, his voice soft but steely, "you won't. You climbed up on that pile of dirt to motivate these folk, and it was working, but now Tsagoth's rattled them. You have to go back and talk some more. Otherwise, the blood drinker's undone your good work, and he wins. Is that what you want?"

Shaking, Bareris closed his eyes and struggled to dampen his hatred and rage at least a little. Tried to think of something besides Tammith crumbling in his embrace as the Alamber Sea dissolved her flesh like acid.

"I'll go back," he managed.

Aoth posted more sentries and rousted Lallara and her subordinate wizards to cast additional defensive enchantments, just in case Tsagoth tried to sneak back. Then he returned to the center of the camp, where Bareris was still addressing the rebels and brandishing his naked sword for emphasis. The red light made the blade look bloody.

If Aoth was any judge-and after a century of commanding men, he'd better be-the bard's oration was having the desired effect. The rebels no longer regarded the blood fiend's incursion as a terrifying guarantee of horrors to come. Now it seemed an infuriating provocation.

Aoth made his way to Mirror's side. "Thank the gods for that golden tongue," he murmured from the corner of his mouth.

"It's bad that Tsagoth's here," replied the ghost. "We'll have to watch over our brother to make sure the old grudge doesn't goad him into folly."

"In case you didn't notice, I just promoted myself to acting zulkir a little while ago. I have this whole army to 'watch over.' Bareris knows what's at stake. I'm sure he'll be fine."

Standing atop the battlements above the Dread Ring's primary gate, Malark-for it was easier to think of himself that way than as the original Malark's magically created surrogate, especially now that they were no longer in proximity-gazed south. The council's army was out there somewhere in the night, probably within a day's march of the fortress. The scouts and diviners had given him a good idea of its size and composition, but even so, he looked forward to seeing such a mighty host of killers for himself and to watching it and the castle's defenders slaughter one another.

A dark, looming form appeared before him. He reflexively shifted his feet just a little-though most observers wouldn't even notice, the change in his stance prepared him tor combat-even as he perceived that the new arrival was Tsagoth, come to report as expected.

"How did it go?" Malark asked.

"Anskuld and many others saw me make the kills. One of my victims was a young, dark-haired Rashemi girl, pretty as you humans reckon such things."

"Excellent. Are you thirsty? Would you like me to conjure an imp for you to feast on?" Although, bound as he was into Szass Tam's service, Tsagoth generally had to make do with the blood of mortals, he much preferred to prey on other creatures native to the higher worlds.

The blood fiend glared, his crimson eyes blazing. "I'm not a dog for you to reward with treats."

Malark decided not to observe that when Tsagoth, with his lupine muzzle, bared his fangs that way. there was a certain resemblance. "Of course not. You're my valued comrade, and I was trying to show you courtesy."

Tsagoth grunted.

"Why so touchy, if your errand went well?"

"When I arrived, the bard was addressing the rebels. He told them Szass Tam has some demented scheme to kill the entire world."

"Ah."

"Is it true?"

Malark considered denial but decided a lie was unlikely to allay the blood fiend's suspicions. "I wouldn't call it 'demented,' but otherwise, yes. Please tell no one else." Many of the Dread Ring's garrison wouldn't believe or understand Tsagoth even if he did tattle, and, like the undead demon himself, they bore enchantments that would oblige them to perform their functions no matter what they knew. Still, it would be pointlessly cruel to frighten them.

Tsagoth twitched as he felt Malark's mild-sounding request impose irresistible compulsion.

"Have I served well these past hundred years?" the blood fiend asked.

"I assume that's a rhetorical question. You're one of our master's greatest champions."

"I've done all I have in the hope that one day he would return me to my own plane. If you want my very best, one last time, promise me that after we preserve the Dread Ring, you'll send me home."