Sarnakyle held his hand up for a moment. "You saw how easily a demonic presence can lurk in a human form. We must be cautious, and tell only the earl what we know."

Siggard nodded. "Or the enemy might know our secrets. Don't worry; I understand."

As they approached the gate, the two guards lowered their spears to block the way.

"State your names and business."

"Siggard of Bear's Hill, and Sarnakyle of Kehjistan," Siggard replied. "We are here to stay for the night, and then head southwards on the King's Road."

"Why are you heading south?"

Siggard pursed his lips, then spoke. "My friend and I are visiting some of my relatives in Gellan's Pass."

The first guard's mustache bristled. "You might have some difficulty with that. We haven't had word from the south since shortly after Blackmarch. Pass and be recognized."

They entered the town, immediately assaulted by a menagerie of sights and scents as they went along one of the narrow winding streets. The blocky stone buildings rose high above them, and several times they had to dodge a rain of reeking excrement as somebody emptied out a chamber pot.

"I suppose some people enjoy living like this," Siggard muttered, wiping some mud from a passing horse off his cloak.

"People like to dwell together," Sarnakyle said. "And in a city or town you can find artisans, craftsmen, all those trades that cannot flourish in a village."

"Art for squalor," Siggard said. "I wonder if the trade is worthwhile."

Sarnakyle smiled. "When you come to the east with me one day, my friend, you will see why it is. Now, do you know anything of this earl?"

"I served under the Earl of Brennor at Blackmarch, but I do not know if he survived," Siggard replied.

"We can probably assume that he didn't," Sarnakyle said. "I did not hear of any of the leaders living through the battle, and if any had, the bards would have spoken of them in their songs. Does he have a son?"

Siggard nodded. "Tilgar. Earl Edgewulf is a good man, who knows when and how to listen. I have not met his son, though. I have heard that Tilgar is brave, but not much else."

"We must hope that he is the equal of his father," Sarnakyle stated.

When they arrived at the stone castle that housed the seat of the Earl of Brennor, they were shown in to a small audience chamber. There they waited, Sarnakyle taking a close look at the tapestries on the wall while Siggard sat in one of the three chairs that had been provided.

"This is interesting," Sarnakyle said, pointing at one of the pictures. "This shows a battle between Heaven and Hell. I didn't think that mythology had spread so far."

Siggard blinked. "We have always believed in Heaven and Hell. We may even have learned of it first."

Sarnakyle chuckled. "Now there you must jest! No learning could equal the greatness of Kehjistan!"

The door opened, and a rotund man with a bushy gray beard walked in. Siggard looked at him closely, but it was not Earl Edgewulf. The man appeared too old to be the earl's son, though.

"I am Hunfrith, the steward of Brennor," the man said. "Please, be seated. I understand that you request an urgent audience with his lordship, Earl Tilgar."

Sarnakyle nodded and sat. "It is of the utmost importance."

Siggard blinked. "Not Earl Edgewulf?"

Hunfrith shook his head sadly. "His lordship was slain at the battle of Blackmarch. Earl Tilgar now holds the seat of Brennor."

"Our condolences," Sarnakyle said. "But we really must see his lordship now."

"Now, what this is about?" Hunfrith asked, leaning forward.

"It would be better if his lordship heard it first," Siggard said.

"Understand my position here," Hunfrith said. "You are asking to see his lordship, who is a very busy man. Not only is there now a food shortage, due to a lack of merchant trade, but the king's son, Prince Hrothwulf, was slain with the old earl at Blackmarch, a battle for which we have no reliable accounts. This means that there is now no successor to the throne, and now that his majesty has become ill every landowner who has rings to give away is trying to solidify his power. For all I know, you two could be assassins, or you could have news of minor importance at best. So I need to know that this is worthwhile."

Siggard decided to take the risk. "There is an army of demons raiding the lands around Brennor. My own village has been attacked and destroyed, and so have most of the settlements around the town. That is why no merchants have come with harvest goods."

"Their strategy will be to cut off your supplies and then attack the town," Sarnakyle added reluctantly. "I have seen this before in Kehjistan. From what you have told me, they have already succeeded."

Hunfrith looked at them incredulously. "Do you honestly expect me to believe this?" he demanded. "An army of demons? I wish that was a new rumor; I think I preferred the stories of goblins and a dragon. This must be some sort of ridiculous joke."

"It is no joke," Siggard asserted. "I was at Blackmarch, and I saw what faced us. We were not fighting against men, but the foulest creatures of Hell."

"You were at Blackmarch," Hunfrith said.

Siggard nodded.

"And how did you survive the battle, may I ask?"

Siggard shrugged. "I do not remember. I just recall the shield wall breaking, and then I was in the forest with a giant lump on my head. I lost two days."

"It sounds to me like you are a deserter trying to cover your cowardice with tales of ghosts and goblins," Hunfrith stated.

"Siggard is no deserter, and we have important news," Sarnakyle said impatiently. "You may come under attack any night now. Will you kindly let us pass?"

Hunfrith stood up. "Absolutely not!" he bellowed. "You are lucky I don't order you two hanged for cowardice! Now get out of my sight before I change my mind!"

Siggard shook his head and stood angrily, turning to Hunfrith. "This is not over."

The steward smiled thinly. "Shall I have the guards escort you out?"

"We know the way," Sarnakyle said bitterly. With that, they turned on their heels and left.

They found a suitable inn shortly before sundown. The accommodations were acceptable, but barely, and it was the best they had seen in the northern side of town. At least the help didn't try to harass them while they ate.

"We will have to try again tomorrow morning," Sarnakyle said, supping on some thin vegetable soup. "If this town isn't prepared, the archdemon will simply walk through it."

"We'll need a way to get past the steward," Siggard said, ignoring his own soup and longing for some of Emilye's delicious mutton stew. The very thought of her brought a tear to his eye, and as he wiped it away he had to wrench his thoughts back to more immediate matters.

"Perhaps we can deliver something," Sarnakyle suggested. "Is there anything the castle is in desperate need of, besides a new steward?"

Siggard shrugged and stood up. "I have to get some fresh air."

"One moment," Sarnakyle said. "I'm almost finished." He downed the last of his soup, left a small silver coin on the table, and joined Siggard.

In the street, Siggard took a deep breath, but the air was not as fresh as he had hoped. Sarnakyle leaned against the inn's gray stone wall, and together they watched the few townspeople meander around, some looking as though they had some sort of direction, others appearing to be lost souls.

"Do you remember anything about the archdemon you fought?" Sarnakyle asked. "Anything at all could help."

"Lots of horns," Siggard replied.

"Most greater demons have lots of horns," Sarnakyle said. "I have no doubt that the Prime Evils themselves must look like balls of spikes. Anything else?"

Siggard thought for a moment. "There was a symbol on its chest. I can't remember what it was, though."