It would have happened regardless of whether or not Delbin had asked him about his family. Nethosak was where he and Raud had last met. Nethosak was where one critical decision had forever changed Kaz's life.

It was where Raud had died.

Far off in the heart of Nethosak, death was also on the minds of two weary minotaurs now awaiting an audience with the high priest. They had ridden like the wind after the final debacle, leaving behind the last of the ogres, who was likely dead by now from the loss of its limb. The other ogre had deserted one night and fled back to its own kind, not wishing to face the high priest's wrath. In their hearts, the minotaurs knew they faced punishment for their absolute failure, but pride, so ingrained in most of their kind, had prevented them from simply never returning to the imperial capital. Now they were both regretting the tug of that pride.

The antechamber in which they waited did little to ease their minds. Tapestries depicting the glory of Sargas, especially his punishment of those who had strayed from the path, lined the walls between high marble columns. Carved on each of the columns was the face of Sargas in his manifestation as the Great Horned One. The faces were all set so that they peered down in judgment at those standing before the entrance to the high priest's sanctum.

The huge iron doors swung open, and a solemn acolyte clad in the red-and-black robes of his calling stepped out to face the pair. "His Holiness will see you now. You will speak only when spoken to and answer all questions completely. Is that absolutely understood?"

Knowing that there was no room for argument, the two minotaurs nodded. The acolyte turned to face the open doorway. "Follow me."

With growing trepidation, they did, one of them pausing only long enough to stare at the huge relief above the doorway. The carving, a great dragon, seemed to stare hungrily down at anyone who walked beneath it. The minotaur shivered,' then hurried to keep pace.

The room they entered was the size of a small arena and surprisingly lacking in decor. There were no windows, and the only illumination came from two torches a few yards ahead of them, one on each side of the vast chamber. The ceiling, what they could see of it, loomed high above, adding to the newcomers' sense of inadequacy. Here they were nothing but cogs in the grand scheme of Sargas, small parts that could, if necessary, be easily replaced.

"Come forward."

The voice was strong, commanding, and echoed throughout the chamber. The acolyte stepped aside, indicating that the two should proceed alone.

They had taken no more than three or four steps when high flames rushed from each side, abruptly illuminating the chamber. A row of bright, suddenly flaring torches led to a wide dais more than twice the height of either minotaur. At the top of the dais sat a great stone desk, the front of which also bore the face of Sargas on it.

Behind the desk, quill in one hand, rested the High Priest of the State. His hood and robe were much like the acolyte's, but decorated with a trim of gold along the hood and cuffs and down the front. Beneath the hood was a thin, studious face, one more appropriate for clerical work than the rigors of battle.

Neither of the pair felt any comfort about that. Everyone knew the high priest's brutal power.

"We are not to be disturbed," the high priest commanded the acolyte.

"Yes, Your Holiness." The acolyte bowed, withdrawing. A moment later, the doors closed, leaving the two newcomers alone with the high priest.

"You were given a task."

It took them a moment to realize that one of them was supposed to respond. The taller of the two nodded, then quickly added, "Yes, Your Holiness!"

"Your name?"

"Tosher, Your Holiness. This is Cinmac." At mention of his name, the other minotaur raised a heavily bandaged hand in solemn greeting. Blood had turned most of the bandage red.

The quill did not move. "Where are the others?"

Tosher swallowed, unable to answer. Cinmac finally grunted, "Dead, Your Holiness."

"All of them."

"Yes, Your Holiness… except an ogre that ran off."

At last finding his voice again, Tosher blurted, "They came from all around us, Your Holiness! We were outnumbered, and those damned ogres panicked! We would've been slaughtered. We-"

"Silence." The high priest stared at both minotaurs. "It was not that way, was it, Cinmac?"

"No, Your Holiness." Cinmac clutched his wounded hand. "I can't explain it. He was everywhere. It was as if he knew we were coming. I never saw one warrior so effective."

"And what of the item I supplied you with? Why did you not take him with that? Who decided to avoid its use? Tell me."

The injured minotaur glanced at his partner before replying. "It didn't seem right. Not magic. We're warriors! We know swords and axes, not magical talismans!" Cinmac silently cursed himself for volunteering for the mission, but then, he had thought the favor of the high priest would be invaluable. What he and the others had forgotten was that the disfavor of the high priest was worse to fear. "The blasted ogres surrounded him with the nets, and then we closed in. Don't know what happened next. Some of the ogres just never followed through."

"The magic talisman…"

Tosher snorted. "I used it in the end, but he was still too tricky! I made the trees grab him, but he climbed over them and jumped me. He knocked the piece out of my hand. The trees didn't seem to care who was in their way. They nearly got me by mistake. They probably got him."

The quill came down hard on the desk. Tosher and Cinmac both stared as it snapped and the tip went flying. The high priest glared at Tosher. "That had better not be the case. I want him alive… at this point. You two have bungled things far more than I could have imagined possible."

With Tosher silent again, Cinmac tried to explain their failure. "He's a champion of the arenas, Your Holiness. You said so yourself. I've never fought a warrior like that. Give us more soldiers, though, minotaurs-not those untrustworthy ogres-and we'll capture him this time. He's got only a"-the warrior shook his head in disbelief-"a kender to help him."

Tosher snorted. "What sort of minotaur is that who'd have one of those little buggers around?"

"An interesting minotaur," the high priest unexpectedly replied. "An interesting one."

"We'll sneak up on them in the night," Cinmac added, "but quieter this time. You still want him alive so-"

"Most definitely." An edge of menace tinged the cleric's words.

"Well, so this time it'll be different, especially now that we know what to expect. You take that axe, for example! It had to be magic, too! I'll swear by Sargas himself that he didn't have an axe when he appeared, but did just before he cut down one of the ogres!"

"Aye!" dared Tosher again, caught up in the story. "Out of thin air it came, Holiness! An axe that gleamed even in the night!"

"Did it now? Most interesting." The high priest scratched the underside of his muzzle. "Enough talk from both of you. Even with this axe, I still find it astonishing that one warrior sent both of you fleeing. Is this the way of the warrior as you were taught? I think not. You fled from battle when you should have been willing to die on your feet."

Neither of the figures before the high priest dared to utter another word. They knew that what he said was truth. Even Cinmac's terrible wound was not excuse enough.

"I sent you to find one minotaur, one whose presence I require, but whom I do not want others in the kingdom to see again. You cannot track him even though I tell you where he lives, and then you let this one warrior… one warrior!… lay waste to your ranks as though you were children just beginning to learn to walk." The high priest rose. He was taller than either of his minions, albeit slighter in build. His eyes burned down at the pair. "You have failed me. That is the sum of all your excuses. Even with magic of your own, which I reluctantly decided you needed, you failed miserably."