Flummoxed if not intimidated, the wizard hesitated.

By then, Lauzoril's other minions were scrambling to intercept Aoth, but they were too slow. He had time to march up to the zulkir and drop to his knees without anyone coercing him. Malark did the same.

Lauzoril frowned. It was a pinched little frown, just as all his smiles were grudging little smiles. "Well," he said, "it's taken half the night, but someone finally caught him."

"No, Your Omnipotence," Malark said, "I didn't. As you surely observed, Captain Fezim obeys your summons of his own volition. Neither I nor anyone else had to force him."

"He resisted the escort I sent to fetch him," Lauzoril said.

"That was a misunderstanding," Malark said. "You'll note, he extricated himself from the situation without seriously hurting anyone. He's too loyal a legionnaire to rob you of the use of any of your servants, even in a moment of alarm and confusion."

"Good." Lauzoril shifted his gaze to Aoth. "Captain, if you are the man your companion claims you are, a faithful soldier willing to give his life in the service of his liege lords, then permit the orcs to secure you on the table, and I'll undertake to make what follows as painless as is practical. Refuse, and my enchantments will compel you."

"Master," Malark said, "may I respectfully ask why you're doing this?"

"Don't you know? It was your mistress's idea."

"No, Master," Malark lied, "she didn't confide in me."

"Then I suppose I can explain. She suggested I examine the griffon rider with all the tools at my disposal and see what I can discover about the blue flame."

"I assume she recommended this while Captain Fezim was blind and unable to perform his usual duties."

"Well, yes."

"Your Omnipotence has surely observed that he has now recovered his sight."

"Of course. I'm not a dunce. But his eyes are still glowing, and I still think it may prove worthwhile to study him."

"I respectfully suggest that my mistress would disagree."

"Then it's too bad she's in Eltabbar this evening, isn't it? Otherwise you could run and ask her. Not that I would feel obliged to accede to her notions if they ran counter to my own."

"No, Your Omnipotence, of course not. It's only that Captain Fezim is one of Nymia Focar's ablest officers-"

Lauzoril snorted. "He's just a soldier. Another such commands the Griffon Legion now, and I imagine he'll do every bit as well. Better, probably, considering he's Mulan."

"You're correct, Bareris Anskuld is also a fine soldier, but-"

A trace of color tinged Lauzoril's cheeks. "Goodman Springhill, your prattle wearies me. If you persist, I'm apt to decide you aren't just tiresome but insolent, and then, you may rest assured, your affiliation with Dmitra Flass won't shield you from my displeasure."

Malark noticed his mouth was dry.

He wasn't afraid to die. But it was entirely possible the archmage had something else in mind. The art of Enchantment lent itself to punishments that crippled and degraded both body and mind but left the victim alive. And despite his prim demeanor, Lauzoril had as sophisticated a sense of cruelty as any other zulkir.

Yet Malark intended to try the wizard's patience for at least a little longer, even though he himself wasn't entirely sure of the reason. Maybe he was simply stubborn, or averse to losing an argument.

"I understand, Master," he said, "but I think I'd be remiss in my responsibilities if I didn't at least point out that Captain Fezim isn't the only creature infected with blue fire. We've received reports of others, and I assume that if you vivisected them, the bodies would yield the same information."

"I remember those reports," Lauzoril said. "The other creatures have become dangerous monstrosities."

"Still, my agents can trap an assortment of them," Malark said. "It will just take a bit of doing. It will delay your investigations a little, but that could work to your advantage. It will give you a chance to involve Mistress Lallara."

"To what end?" Lauzoril asked.

"I shouldn't even presume to speculate," Malark said. "After all, you know everything there is to know about the supernatural, while I know virtually nothing. But I wonder-if the blue fire can get inside a person or animal, generally with hideous results, maybe it can jump from one living being to another. Maybe it would even try to invade you when you cut into the creature. If so, you might want the defensive spells of the zulkir of Abjuration to make sure the power didn't possess you."

"Ridiculous," Lauzoril snapped. "I too am a zulkir. I don't need that shrew or anyone else to protect me. However"-he took a breath-"if a legionnaire is fit for duty, perhaps it would be improvident to sacrifice him when an altered pig or some such would serve just as well. Captain Fezim, you're dismissed. Go away and take this… jabberer with you."

"Yes, Your Omnipotence." Aoth held his head high and maintained a proper military bearing until the goblin closed the crimson door behind him and Malark. Then his squat, broad-shouldered frame slumped so completely that for a moment it looked as if his legs might give way beneath him. "By the Flame," he sighed. "By the Pure Flame. I didn't think you were going to convince him."

"To be honest," Malark said, "neither did I. I'm still not sure which argument did the trick. Probably the last. For all their might, zulkirs aren't eager to risk their own skins, particularly when they don't understand the peril. That's how they live long enough to become zulkirs, I suppose. Here, take this." He gave Aoth his spear.

The war mage gripped his shoulder. "I won't forget this."

Malark smiled. "I was glad to help." Aoth had killed a great many men in his time. It felt right to set him free to slaughter more, and to seek an end more befitting such a warrior.

chapter five

29 Mirtul-2 Kythorn, the Year of Blue Fire

Like many orcs, Neske Horthor would have taken offense at the suggestion that she'd ever felt "pity." But it took only a dash of brains to recognize that the prisoners had it hard, marching on short rations day after day with whips slicing into their backs and fear gnawing at their nerves. It was no wonder that one occasionally dropped dead, succumbing to exhaustion, fever, or pure despair.

Such a child had keeled over that day, whereupon Neske halted the march long enough to dress the corpse. It was wrong of her, she supposed. She should have carried the body on to Xingax. But he'd never know about it unless somebody tattled, and Khazisk wouldn't. She and the necromancer had worked together long enough to come to an understanding.

She pulled her skewer back from the campfire, inspected the chunks of fragrant, blackened meat impaled on it, and offered it to Khazisk, sitting cross-legged beside her with the sweep of his red robe pooled around him. "Try it. It's good."

The wizard's narrow, supercilious face screwed up as she'd known it would. "Thank you, no."

She laughed. "You do all sorts of nasty things with rotten bodies. I've watched you. But your stomach rolls over at the prospect of fresh meat, just because it happens to come from your own kind. If you had any sense, you'd realize that's the most nourishing kind of food."

"You're saying you eat orc?"

"Every chance I get." She bit the top piece of juicy meat from the skewer. It was too hot, and seared the roof of her mouth, but she wolfed it down anyway. "You know, it's a puzzle."

"What is?"

"Our real enemies, the ones we're at war with, are in the south. Yet our masters have us sneaking in and out of Thesk, raiding villages and capturing the peasants."

"You mean paradox, not puzzle."