Chainer practiced making snakes while he waited. He was getting quite good at it.

When he activated the First's teleportation spell several hours later and returned to Cabal City, the only things left alive in Teroh's camp were an unconscious Samite healer and a stable of fine white chargers.

The first thing Kamahl saw when he awoke was Chainer. In the cramped, candlelit room, the Cabalist crouched over him like a smirking vulture.

"The Cabal is here," Chainer said, and Kamahl groaned.

"How long have I been out?" Kamahl's body felt heavy, drugged, and leaden.

"Just over a day. You should lie still. You've been wounded, and you aren't done healing yet."

"Wounded?" Kamahl searched his fuzzy memories. "I was fighting at the gates. We were breaking them on the walls. I remember a glowing knight, and the smell of… burning air. Then everything went white and jagged and hot."

"You were laid low by a justicar," Chainer said. "They generate righteous lighting, or some such nonsense. We don't know what they are, really, but that's twice now they've surprised us. You and I are going to have to do something about that."

"I'm ready," Kamahl said angrily. He tried to rise, but only his head made it off the pillow.

"Not yet you aren't. Lie still, or you'll never heal." Kamahl lifted his arms. They also felt heavy, and he could see thick scars running up both forearms. Or were they calluses? There was a sickly odor in the room that was making it even harder for him to concentrate.

"I've come to show you something," Chainer said. "We've been waiting for hours. You're not one of those people who jumps out of bed ready for the brand new day, are you?'"

"My arms feel wrong," Kamahl said. "My chest is too heavy. Did I breathe in some of that righteous whatever? I feel like I'm gasping."

"You were in pretty bad shape. I couldn't let those Order fools take you, and I didn't trust our own leeches to patch you up right." Kamahl blinked. "So who healed me?"

"I did," Chainer said proudly. "I arranged to have the Mirari brought in, so I could use it to fix you. Worked like a charm, too." "The Mirari? Where is it?"

"Safely back in its vault," the First said. He had been hidden behind Chainer, but now he came forward to Kamahl's cot. "It was beautiful to watch, however. Chainer remains one of the few people who can touch the Mirari and use it without destroying everything around him."

The barbarian turned his head and tried to breathe as shallow as he could. The Cabal Patriarch was the source of the sickening odor. Or was he? Kamahl realized his face had been burned, too, and it felt tough and callused like his arms. When the First retreated back behind Chainer, Kamahl could still smell something tainted. Unclean. With a growing sense of dread, he realized the smell was coming from him.

"Am I zombified, or just gangrenous?" he asked seriously. Chainer laughed.

"Neither. That's a side effect of my treatment. It should be temporary."

Kamahl's head was clearing fast. "Your treatment? Since when are you a healer?"

"Since never. But I am a maker. I make things, living things. And with the Mirari's help, I was able to make you whole again. Instead of an entire creature, I only created the parts I needed. The leech helped me graft them in place, but I think you'll agree it's a seamless job."

Kamahl lifted his heavy arms again. He felt more calluses on his chest, feet, and deep under the short ribs on his left side. "More light," he said, and Chainer obligingly brought the candle closer.

Kamahl's hands were covered in stiff copper snakeskin that had grown into and merged with his normal flesh. The new skin was nearly smooth, and the pattern was delicate, but Kamahl could feel the toughness of the individual scales. The edges of each scale were sharp. Kamahl ran his finger underneath one, and the finger came back bleeding. He stared at his own blood for a moment, then looked up helplessly at Chainer.

"You turned me into a snake?"

"No," Chainer chided, "of course not. I patched a few holes and touched up a few surfaces. It'll breathe and grow just like normal skin. But it's even sturdier than the stuff you lost. Anything less than a full-on sword thrust just bounces off." He smiled. "What do you think?"

"Get it off me." Kamahl spoke calmly but forcefully. "Now."

Chainer looked crushed. "But… I can't. It's a permanent graft."

"I didn't ask for it. I don't want it."

"You're tired," the First stepped forward again. "You need some time to adjust. It's a major change, after all, and-"

"Get the Mirari in here," Kamahl said, "and undo what you did."

The First's voice grew cold as the grave. "I'm afraid that suggestion is not a possibility. It's also remarkably ungrateful."

Kamahl shut his eyes. "Neither of you understand," he said. He lashed out and took Chainer by the shirt front, holding his new skin in front of Chainer's face with his free hand. "We barbarians don't do this kind of thing. Chop off my arm, and I must learn to fight one-handed. Put out my eyes, and I must learn to fight blind. This-" he released Chainer and shook his scaly fists at his friend- "is an abomination. It goes against everything I've ever believed." He lowered his arms. "I'm sorry, Chainer, but you've made a mistake. Thank you for your gift. I will not accept it."

"We should let Kamahl get some rest," the First said. "Sleep, barbarian. Everything will look different in the morning." He glided out of the room without another word or a second glance.

"You're really angry," Chainer said.

"Not angry, Chainer. Serious."

Chainer shook his head. "I'm sorry, Kamahl. I truly am. The First is right." Chainer followed his patriarch's path, but he backed out, so he could keep an eye on Kamahl. "You should get some sleep. We'll talk more in the morning, and I'll see about… I'll see what I can do."

Kamahl remained silent for the next several hours as his anger and frustration grew. He couldn't stand the feel of Chainer's gift. The snakeskin itched and chafed his natural skin raw wherever the two touched. He could already feel how it threw off his timing and muted the messages the rest of his body continually sent to his brain. Worst of all, it marked him as a coward and a weakling who couldn't even overcome his own injuries without spare parts from the Cabal's nightmare pantry.

He couldn't stand it-would not stand it. Kamahl let his mind drift, back in time to his training at Balthor's feet, back in space to his home on the Pardic Mountains. Pardic was not the tallest range on the continent, but it was one of the deepest. Tribal legend said that the Pardics ran right to the center of the planet, where the temperature was so hot that the elements and mana alike were combined into one glowing, red-hot ball of fire and molten rock. Kamahl struggled to control the energy he was gathering. This would be an extremely difficult spell under ideal conditions. As it was, Kamahl would need every ounce of concentration he could muster to keep from immolating himself completely. He stared at his hands and focused his thoughts on the sensation of the alien skin. The same sensation echoed in his side, on his legs, on his face, all the places Chainer had treated. He isolated those sensations, in effect isolating those parts of his body and those layers of skin that were no longer his own.

In Kamahl's native language, there was a word for the act of sterilizing and sealing a wound with fire. The word was "cachede," and Kamahl pronounced it now.

The huge barbarian growled and gritted his teeth as the snake-skin grafts all burst into flame simultaneously. He could not clearly recall the pain of the original injury, but he was certain that this was far worse. The horrid stench of burning flesh filled the room, and noxious smoke stung his eyes. Kamahl clenched his fists as they burned, holding them aloft so as not to ignite the bedclothes. When the last of the scales was burned away, the fires on Kamahl's body sputtered and died. He sat in complete agony for a moment. Then he shoved himself out of the bed and clumsily began bathing his fresh wounds with water from the bedside basin. I will live, he promised himself. I will heal. I will fight again under my own power, on my own terms.