Thunder cascaded through the night, and the druid felt the tremendous noise vibrate through his moccasins. The pack shifted its attention to Stonefur.

Decide for us, the she-bitch heavy with pups said. We follow where you lead.

Broadfoot growled.

Stonefur glanced at the big bear. The wolf licked his chops in consideration. Rain dripped from his wet muzzle. Even the wolves knew they couldn't all escape Broadfoot's wrath.

You fight me, Stonefur said.

Yes, Haarn agreed.

When I beat you, the bear no longer take part against me.

No.

A sinking feeling dawned in Haarn's stomach. He felt a moment of vertigo shiver through him. There was no turning back from where he stood and he knew it.

Stonefur flashed his teeth and said, Then we fight.

Without a word, Haarn started slipping off his gear and hide armor.

"What are you doing?" Druz asked.

"Preparing."

Haarn folded his hides and his clothing so that they turned in to themselves. There was a chance they could stay drier that way.

"For what?" the woman demanded.

"To fight."

"You're going to fight the wolf?"

"Yes." Haarn was irritated with her, not believing that she needed this explained.

"Why did you remove your armor?"

"To make the confrontation more fair."

"That's stupid."

Haarn let out his breath, watching the wolf prowl and build up his own confidence, and fought back an angry retort.

"No," he said, "it's the only way I can do this."

"You have powers, Haarn," Druz said. "Use them."

"No. This must be balanced." Haarn glanced at his companion. "However this should turn out, you're going to stay out of it."

"The hell I will!" Druz's eyes flashed beneath the hood of her traveling leathers. "I'll not be left up here on this mountain to be slaughtered by those wolves."

"You won't be harmed."

"You can't know that."

"Broadfoot will protect you should it come to that," Haarn said. He stood bare-chested in the near-freezing rain, clad only in his moccasins and breeches, which were damp and heavy. "Broadfoot will also keep you from interfering with this fight. He won't be gentle."

"I didn't come here to-"

"Woman!" The tone in Haarn's voice caused Druz to stop speaking and step back. "You came here to get that wolf's head. I'm going to give it to you. Don't argue with me."

Fire flashed in Druz's eyes.

"I have bound us all with this agreement," Haarn said. "I'll not suffer it broken."

"A warrior doesn't give away his strength," Druz argued.

"I'm not a warrior."

Haarn transferred his knife to his left hand. In his mind, he knew his declaration, defensive as it was, wasn't true. During his years, he had fought at his father's side as well as on his own, but those fights had been against men for the most part, not animals who lived in the forests and plains. Druz said, "You're setting yourself up to fail." "I won't fail," Haarn told her. "Not as long as I've got a breath left within me." The clouds burst without warning, unleashing the torrent of rain that had been threatening. He pushed away all thoughts of the cold and concentrated on staying alive. Your long tooth won't be enough to save you, Stonefur said, flicking his tail. Easing down, eyes on the wolf, Haarn reached into his discarded gear and retrieved a small fighting club. The weapon was short-hafted and was run through by a leather wrist thong. It was shaped by a knife blade, hardened by druidic spellcraft, and capped in bone. It's fair enough, said Haarn. "You're not going to use your scimitar?" Druz asked. "No," Haarn answered. "You can't take that monster on with only a knife and a club. That's suicide." "It's as balanced as I can make it." Haarn popped his arm and caused the weighted club to snap into his hand. "The scimitar would give me too much of an advantage." "You didn't seem to mind taking the advantage where you could against the slavers." "No," Haarn said, "I didn't." He nodded toward Stonefur. "Let it begin." The wolf turned to his pack. His fierce growls drove them back into the shelter of the brush and trees. Stonefur came toward his opponent at an oblique angle. Gathering his courage and his sense of purpose, Haarn circled as well. His attention was torn between the wolf and Druz Talimsir. He didn't know if the mercenary would be able to restrain herself. And if she didn't, Haarn knew it would cost them all. Stonefur rushed in, catching Haarn in mid-stride as he circled. Quick, white fangs flashed for the druid's crotch, drawing his hands down to protect himself. Haarn's hands only met empty air, though. Stonefur shifted directions without effort, gliding by, then sinking his fangs into the druid's right ankle. The wolf remained on the run, using his weight and his grip to yank Haarn off-balance.

"Eldath's mercy, Brother Tohl, awake!"

Tohl stared at the grinning visage of Borran Kiosk standing before him. The battlefield on which they stood-near Morningstar Hollows, a small village northwest of Alagh?n-was one Tohl had seen many times, but never during the time of the epic battle between forces of the living and hordes of undead. During his career as a priest of Eldath in Alagh?n, he'd made the pilgrimage to the battlefield several times. Acquainting the acolytes with Alagh?n's history in regards to Borran Kiosk had been part of his responsibilities for decades.

Mist swirled up from the battlefield spattered bright with the blood of men, elves, and even a few dwarves. Men and elves had lived in Turmish then, as well as other cities along the Vilhon Reach. The dwarves had traveled down out of Irongfang, their city in the Alaoreum Mountains, when they'd heard about the menace Borran Kiosk and his undead minions had presented.

Brother Tohl knew it was a dream as he surveyed the carnage-he'd had similar nightmares over the years. Borran Kiosk had never shown up in any of those earlier dreams.

The mohrg stood amid the death and devastation. A torn and tattered purple cloak hung from his shoulders and fluttered in the breeze laden with flies and the stink of death. Though Tohl had never before seen the commander of the undead armies that had threatened to overrun Turmish, he had no doubt about the creature's identity.

Kiosk strode among the dead. Besides the humans, dwarves, elves, and a few scattered gnomes and halflings, there were also corpses of men and women of all races that had been dead long before the battle had taken place. As the mohrg moved among them, he touched a few with the crooked bone staff he carried. After he passed, the touched corpses jerked and pushed themselves to their feet and started shambling after their master.

"Follow me," Borran Kiosk entreated.

The undead lurched after the mohrg, stepping toward the deepening sunset.

"Brother Tohl!"

Tohl knew the words came from some other place than the dream. For a brief moment he considered following the words out of the horror that surrounded him.

Wait, a soft voice bade.

Mistress? Tohl stood his ground. During all his years he had prayed to Eldath and felt certain that the Quiet One had worked in his life in small ways, but he'd never before heard her voice. Even so, the old priest was certain he heard it now.

Patience. Something can be learned here.

Tohl's heart beat faster and threatened to rouse him from the dream. He had a vague sensation of being shaken, of someone's hand on his shoulder. He ignored the intrusions and stayed within the dream.

Marshalling his courage, girded by the certainty that he was doing Eldath's work, he crept around the fringes of the battlefield. He stayed within the trees outside the clearing that Borran Kiosk and his undead army followed. Branches whipped at Tohl's face and tore at his skin