“Summon a physician!” said Gaelin. He stood there a moment, staring at the scene. The herdsman – a youth not much older than sixteen or seventeen, with soft blond whiskers on his chin – howled in agony, slumping to the floor, where he vomited again, adding to the pool of corruption on the floor before him. He lapsed into a fit of trembling, his face pale as a sheet. Gaelin wrinkled his nose in disgust, trying to stand his ground.

Then the liquid on the floor seethed and moved. It trembled, and then gathered quickly, drawing itself up into a nightmarish figure that stood up and confronted Gaelin. The thing’s skin was black, gleaming corruption, and the only feature in its misshapen face was a distended maw filled with needlelike teeth.

“Gaelin! Look out! It’s a fiend of some kind!” shouted Seriene.

Gaelin hadn’t even realized she was near, but her warning was unnecessary – like everyone in the room, he had retreated about four or five paces without realizing it, and his sword had found its way into his hand.

On the floor beside the thing, the highlander weakly crawled away, retching in a more human fashion now.

“I bear a message for you, Gaelin Mhoried,” said the creature, its face stretching into an evil grin. Its voice sounded like the mewling of a cat, but it was throatier and burbled and whistled through its foul mouth. “Bannier wishes to remind you that you have six more days to decide your sister’s fate.

You know of a place called Caer Duirga?”

“I know the place,” Gaelin replied.

“Go to Caer Duirga alone if you wish to see your sister alive. Bannier will await you there. If you do not come, she has been promised to me. I will enjoy her a great deal.” It laughed, a particularly horrible sound.

Gaelin took two steps forward, raising his sword. “I’ll see that you won’t have that opportunity, darkling.”

“You would break the tradition that guards a messenger from harm, then, prince of Mhoried?”

“You carry no banner of truce that I see. And I won’t let a thing like you walk out of this hall to terrify my subjects at will.” Gaelin advanced cautiously, and following his example several other knights and guards drew their weapons and began to hedge the creature in. The fiend merely grinned and hissed, dropping into a crouch, its long talons clicking together as it readied itself for the fight.

“Bannier laid no conditions on me after delivering his message, mortals,” the creature said. “I can leave this hall full of dead knights and nobles, and there is nothing to stop me.

Who will be the first to taste my kiss, eh?”

“No one here, fiend!” From behind Gaelin, Brother Huire stepped forward, the golden emblem of Haelyn raised high.

Chanting an ancient prayer, the priest pointed at the monstrous creature, and a ray of brilliant light struck the fiend in the center of its dark torso. The creature shrieked in rage, and sprang to ward the priest with unbelievable swiftness – but in midleap, the golden light seemed to wither its body into ash that drifted away, like a cloud of foul smoke. Not a single trace of the thing survived, except for the hapless herdsman who had been forced to carry it into Gaelin’s presence. Gaelin turned to look at Huire, astonished at the priest’s show of nerve.

“My apologies for interfering,” Huire said humbly, “But I was perhaps the only person here who could have dealt with the creature thus. It might have injured many people if you’d tried to defeat it with common steel.”

“Apology accepted,” Gaelin replied. “What of the lad?”

“A captive used by the monster, probably innocent. I’ll tend to him immediately.” Gaelin nodded his assent, and the priest knelt beside the youth and began to examine him. Letting out a deep breath, Gaelin sheathed his sword and looked around. Most of the court was watching him intently.

“Enough of this,” he muttered. “I’m tired of Bannier’s attentions.

Princess Seriene, Erin, would you come with me?

Boeric, you as well. Send word to Count Baesil that I need to see him at once. And Huire, please join us as soon as you can.” He turned and strode away, heading for the room he had appropriated as his private audience chamber, while the others followed.

Gaelin stared out the window, deep in thought, waiting for the rest to arrive. Behind him, he noticed a pronounced silence between Erin and Seriene, while Boeric simply waited.

In a quarter-hour, Huire and Baesil both appeared. Running his hand through his hair, Gaelin turned and faced his friends and advisors. “How is the herdsman?”

“He should be fine, my lord. He feels terrible about carrying that thing into your presence.” The priest steepled his hands before him. “He’s had a terrible fright, but the brave lad won’t admit it. I hope he’ll be all right.” He tapped his temple.

“Do what you can for him.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Gaelin glanced over the others, and took a seat at the head of the table. “You are all aware of my predicament,” he began.

“Bannier holds my sister hostage and threatens to kill her if I don’t surrender. If only my life were at stake, I would honor his bargain and deliver myself to his hands. But it would be wrong of me to leave Mhoried without a Mhor at a time like this, just as wrong as it would be to do nothing and allow Ilwyn to die at Bannier’s hands.”

“You’ve made a decision?” asked Seriene.

“Yes,” Gaelin replied. “I will go to Caer Duirga. But I won’t go alone, because I don’t trust Bannier. If it lies within my power, I mean to free Ilwyn.”

“What if you can’t free her?” said Baesil.

“Then I will surrender myself to Bannier, and hope that he’s more trustworthy than I shall have proved myself to be.”

Gaelin looked around the table. “If that happens, there must be another Mhor. That will be Count Baesil Ceried.”

Baesil protested. “Gaelin, I can’t! There’s no way all the lords will follow me! When the Mhoried line dies, so does Mhoried!”

Gaelin looked into his face. “You’re the finest noble in Mhoried. If it comes to it, Baesil, I know you’ll do your best.

Who knows, maybe enough of the nobles will follow you to keep Mhoried in the fight. But I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

He smiled with grim humor. “I’ve something to live for myself, and I don’t want to die unless I have to.”

Without looking up, Erin said, “When will you leave, Gaelin?”

“Count Baesil’s scouts report that we’ll be fighting in the Marnevale pass tomorrow. I mean to be there, to see how that goes. It’s two days’ ride to Caer Duirga, so I expect I’ll leave either the day after tomorrow, or the day after that. As to what happens next… I don’t know. But I’m going to get Ilwyn out of Bannier’s reach, or die trying.”

Early in the morning, Gaelin and his advisors joined Baesil Ceried as he left for Marnevale. The Mhorien general had already dispatched his troops; this last group consisted of his officers and the Knights Guardian. They set forth in a drizzle that lasted all morning, soaking them to the skin, but at least the day was fairly warm.

Baesil’s plan was simple. At Marnevale, two steep ridges were separated by rocky walls only three hundred yards apart. The Ghoerans could ignore the gap and skirt the ridges, but this would delay them by at least a day, and the gaps at the far end of the ridges were just as defensible as Marnevale. Baesil’s men had raised a long earthwork across the gap, which they would hold as long as they could. A second line had been built behind the first, so the troops holding the front would have the opportunity to fall back while a rear guard held the Ghoerans. Baehemon’s great advantage – his armored cavalry and knights – would be neutralized by the fortifications, and he would have to take the line by hand-tohand assault in the teeth of four hundred archers and six hundred infantry.