"Stay away!" the woman shrilled. She held her empty hands up before her.

Borran Kiosk cocked his head, surveying her.

"No! Please don't kill me!" She shrank down, dwindling to a kneeling position with her arms wrapped around her head. She kept her eyes averted from his skull, but looked at his skeletal feet covered in blood.

Stopping just out of the woman's reach, Borran Kiosk gazed down at her and said, "Do you know who I am, woman?"

"Yes."

"What is my name?"

The woman shook her head, gasping in painful fear.

Borran Kiosk opened his jaws and let his tongue spill out. The dripping purple appendage coiled like a restless snake as it approached her. The mohrg relished the taste of the woman's fear, so palpable through the tongue. Some of his other senses, and the pleasures of the flesh, had been taken from him or dulled by the magic that brought him back to unlife, but they had been replaced by the ability to taste another's fear. For Borran Kiosk there was no finer elixir.

"If you know my name," the mohrg said, "say it. Spare your life a little longer."

He caressed her cheek with the bloody tongue, leaving smears in its wake.

The woman trembled, gasped, and cried. Tears tracked her face, and the mohrg tasted the sweet salt of them.

"Your death," Borran Kiosk promised her, "is a certainty. It can be the most horrible thing you've ever been through, or it can come so fast you're not even aware of it. The choice is yours."

"I don't want to die."

Grabbing the woman's hair, Borran Kiosk yanked her head back up at him.

"Please. Please don't hurt me."

"My name," Borran Kiosk commanded, shaking her head.

Coughing and hacking, eyes blurred with drink and tears, the woman said, "Borran Kiosk."

"And you remember me?"

"I've heard tales of you since I was a little girl," the woman said. "I never thought you were real-only something made up to frighten children." She wailed, "Gods help us if you are real."

"I am real," Borran Kiosk declared, pressing his fleshless face close to hers. "I am real and I am come back from the icy pits where the priests of Eldath kept me. I am come back for my vengeance."

Holding a hand up before her face, the woman wept and trembled.

Borran Kiosk laved the tears from her cheeks with his bloody tongue, tracking her face and marking her features with grotesque patterns.

"Do you want to live, woman?"

She hesitated, and he knew she thought he was trying to torture her further by giving her false hope. Light from the flames clinging to the wall danced over her face and sparked highlights from her hair.

"Answer me," Borran Kiosk said. "Would you live if you could?"

"Yes. Gods help me for being so weak."

Borran Kiosk touched the woman's face with his hand and said, "Then I shall let you live."

An uncontrollable shiver ran through the woman. "Thank you! Gods bless you for that!"

"Only one god has blessed m, e" Borran Kiosk said. "I will do Malar's work to bring this city to its knees. Aye, and even the whole of the Vilhon Reach if the Beastlord should choose to put that within my grasp."

The fire clinging to the wall crept closer to them, and Borran Kiosk could feel it soaking into his bones.

"You will let me go?" the woman asked.

"Yes," Borran Kiosk said, turning his grim visage on her, "but your life comes with a price."

"Anything, Lord Kiosk."

The woman bowed her head, flinching from the flames that licked too close. Outside, through the open window, thunder echoed along the street as a man's voice took up a harsh cry of warning. The dead elf had not gone undiscovered long.

"Tell them," Borran Kiosk said, "that I am coming for them. Do you understand?"

The woman nodded.

"Tell them that I will not rest this time until all of Alagh?n is within my power." Releasing the woman, Borran Kiosk took a step away and said, "Now go."

Fear held the woman in place, and she only trembled.

Borran Kiosk grabbed the woman by the arm and yanked her to her feet. He shoved her toward the door near the dead sailors. She stumbled and almost fell, but she kept her balance and ran toward the door. Her hands wrapped around the back of her head, as if afraid he would strike her with his tongue. She disappeared through the door and her footsteps rang on the stairs. "Help!" she screamed. "Someone help me! He's killed everyone!" Satisfaction filled Borran Kiosk as he surveyed the burning and bloodied ruin of the tavern. Even before he'd been reborn as a mohrg he'd burned with hatred. As a living man he'd stalked and killed dozens of men, women, and children of all races. He'd been careful, but in the end the city watch had gotten him. After he'd been humiliated in court, then executed in public and buried, he'd risen, undead and vengeful. Whatever had compelled him to kill while he'd still been human had only grown in power since his rebirth. Going to each of those he had slain, Borran Kiosk put his hands upon them and spoke the words that would bind them to him should they rise again-and they would rise, he knew, as long as the townsfolk didn't destroy the bodies. He gazed at the corpses, wondering if enough people would believe the woman he'd spared to make the families of the dead let the bodies be destroyed. He thought perhaps they might, but it didn't matter. If these and the dead priests weren't to be the first of his new army, then there would be others. He crossed to the smashed window and looked down. Rain swirled in, riding the harsh storm winds and drenching him anew. He braced himself on the broken sill, gazing down at the body of the elf clad in black. "A monster!" the woman screamed out in the street. A man had seized her, thinking maybe that she was too drunk to know what she was doing. " 'Ere now," the man said, folding the woman into his large arms and keeping her from striking him. "An' tell ol' Kafeer some'at's the matter." "Borran Kiosk," the woman yelled. "He's back. He told me to tell everyone." She turned and pointed back up at the tavern. Knowing he was backlit by the flames claiming the tavern, Borran Kiosk raised his hand and revealed his skeletal arm beneath the stolen priest's robes. Lightning flared, and his arm burned brilliant white from the reflected glare. A group of soldiers dressed in the colors of Alagh?n's city watch rounded the corner. A commander astride a war-horse led them, matching his mount's speed to the men slogging through the water-covered street. "Where away?" the commander demanded. He carried his sword naked in his fist, the polished steel catching flickers from the lightning and the colored lanterns of the businesses still open at the late hour. "There!" the woman screamed again, pointing at the tavern window where Borran Kiosk stood. Heeling his restless mount, the iron-shod hooves ringing against the cobblestones, the commander glanced up at the tavern. He pointed with his sword and shouted, "Get that man down from there!" The guardsmen hastened to do as the commander ordered, falling into a two-by-two column. Borran Kiosk's tongue writhed in hungry glee as he watched the warriors start across the street. "Are you that confident, Borran Kiosk?" Wheeling, the mohrg turned to face the speaker. His tongue flexed before him, ready to spring and pierce.