«Rivi threw it there,» Petrov said grudgingly, as Hezekiah dragged the staff out. «Wouldn't let anyone else touch it because it was magic. She hates magic and every damned sorcerer in creation.»

«Doesn't that make the Fox nervous?» I asked.

«The Fox hasn't got enough brains to be nervous,» Petrov answered. «He's too sodding barmy to see Rivi's just using him.»

«Using him for what?»

But Petrov clamped his jaw tight and wouldn't say another word. I didn't press the issue – once we got old Bleach-Hair back to Sigil, the Harmonium could sweat everything out of him.

The wights dragged away the beam at last, and Hezekiah leapt forward to open the door. I dashed after him, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and barely managed to drag him back in time… because the second the blockage was gone, the door burst open with the force of a cannonball and Kiripao hit the floor in a diving roll. His momentum carried him up to his feet in one fluid motion, and he had embedded his fist through the ribcage of the nearest wight before he realized we were the good guys.

The wight, in life a female elf, glared pointedly down at Kiripao's hand plunged wrist-deep into her chest. Kiripao blinked for a few moments, then got the message. «Sorry,» he muttered, and levered the hand out of her thoracic cavity, dragging with it some stray bone fragments and a spill of the red powder that seemed to serve these wights as blood.

«Could I smell your hand?» I whispered to him.

«No.»

Kiripao's robes had been reduced to charred rags during the fire-fight. He'd rearranged the remaining scraps into a passable loincloth, leaving his chest and legs bare. The flesh thus revealed was a three-colored patchwork: the angry red of burns, the pale pink of an elf's normal skin, and a milky white as unblemished as a freshly gessoed canvas. I'd seen that white before, and not just on blank canvases – it was new skin, recently regenerated by a powerful influx of healing magic. Over the next few hours, it would gradually adjust itself to match the rest of Kiripao's body; in the meantime however, it showed that the pious brother had taken quite a beating, and someone had patched him up afterward.

Of course, I told myself, Kiripao must be in good standing with his god. If he prayed for his injuries to heal, the deity would answer his prayers. And he could have patched up Yasmin and Oonah too in the same way… at least to the point where they were out of immediate danger.

Oonah hobbled from the control room a moment later, working up a warm smile when she saw this was a rescue party. Whatever healing she had received, it wasn't enough – her legs moved stiffly, as if each step brought her fierce pain. Her arms had the same stiffness as she reached to take back her ice-staff from Hezekiah; but once she grasped the staff in her hands, some of her constriction appeared to ease. I wondered if the staff had inherent healing powers, or if she simply felt better holding it. With reverent care, she set the butt of the staff onto the ground, then leaned her weight wearily upon it.

Several more seconds passed; I held my breath, waiting for Yasmin to emerge from the control room. Kiripao and Oonah said nothing. When I could bear it no longer, I rushed to the doorway and plunged inside.

When you're a Handmaid of Entropy, it seems you don't respond well to healing.

Yasmin sat propped against the far wall of the control room, her head sagging, her hands lying limply in her lap. For a moment, I didn't know if she was even alive; but then her chest lifted with a soft and shallow breath.

In a heartbeat I was crouching by her side, but reluctant to touch her for fear of causing pain. Her dragon-skin sheath had not been damaged by the firewands, but where the sheath hadn't offered any defense – her arms, her bare shoulders – Yasmin's flesh was deeply singed. Her hair had burned down to the scalp. Even worse, there was a patch of wet stickiness on her back, just below one shoulder blade. I guessed that Qi or Chi must have dirked her with a magic dagger, strong enough to pierce the tough dragon hide that was supposed to protect her.

With a tortured moan, Yasmin lifted her head to look at me. Her cheeks glistened with tears, squeezed out by the pain against her will. In a sighing whisper, she said, «You'll have to… draw another sketch of me, Britlin. The other one…»

She looked down at her hand and moved the fingers slightly. Flakes of burnt paper fluttered into her lap.

«What can I do to help?» I asked.

«Not much,» Oonah said from behind my back. «She's resistant to healing magic – all the Doomguard are.»

«I tried my best,» Kiripao added, «but her will fought back too strongly.»

«Entropy… must not be cheated,» Yasmin whispered. «A Handmaid… must stay… loyal…»

Her voice drifted off. At first, I thought she was simply too tired to continue speech; but her eyes had focused on something at the far end of the room, and I turned to see the others entering the control room in the company of the wights.

«Wights…» she murmured.

«Don't worry,» I assured her, «they're on our side.»

«But they are… they have…»

A flicker of life pierced through her dull resignation; I had no idea why. «Yasmin, don't get yourself excited – save your strength.»

«But the wights,» she forced herself to speak. «They could… contribute…»

She was too weak to finish her sentence, but Wheezle hurried forward. «As a Dustman, I am familiar with the devotions of Entropy, though I am not a follower myself. Handmaids disapprove of conventional curative magics, but they practice a different form of healing that adheres to the precepts of their faith. I believe they can simply… withdraw health from one body and transfer it to someone else.»

«Not all of the health is transferred,» Yasmin whispered. «Some life energy is simply… dissipated… in the process. Praise Entropy.»

Immediately, I offered, «If she wants a life infusion, she can have some from me.»

«No,» Yasmin said, putting great force into that single word. «The wights…»

«She is correct,» Wheezle nodded. «Once health begins to drain from one body to another, the flow is next to impossible to stop. Better to take the energy from the wights, honored Cavendish. It will lay them cleanly to rest, just as Unveiler would; and it is an obviously noble cause.»

«Noble!» Petrov snorted. «Pardon me while I puke.»

Hezekiah calmly threw a backfist into Petrov's gut. The man doubled over, stopped from falling only by the wights who held his arms.

«Not bad,» said Kiripao, «but try for more snap in your wrist.»

Wheezle asked for four volunteers from the wights. All of them stepped forward, including the ones holding Petrov and Miriam. I wondered if they were simply eager to please the person who held the scepter, or if some measure of generosity still lurked behind those flaming eyes. Perhaps all undead possessed a degree of good will as well as bad; they merely walked down wicked paths because their creators were almost always evil.

For the sake of simplicity, Wheezle chose the four wights who didn't have their hands full with our prisoners. The first was an orc woman with greasy black hair and a more than usually greenish complexion. She settled gently onto her knees beside Yasmin and actually managed a smile (despite her boar-like tusks). Then the wight hissed softly and held out her hand for Yasmin to take.

Yasmin's lips moved in silent invocation. I found it difficult to picture an impersonal force like Entropy being able to confer favors on its faithful… but how different was this from the practices of druids? Druids didn't worship any particular deity, they attuned themselves to Nature itself; in time, that attunement let them draw upon the power of Nature to perform magical deeds. Thinking about it, I had to admit the downhill force of Entropy was just as strong, if not stronger, than the vitality surging through plants and animals. If you attuned yourself to Entropy, why couldn't you learn to channel that strength?