The speech was crude, but the trio knew the meaning. The patrol had spotted Galvin's scimitar. All eyes had been on Brenna before, which is likely why they had gotten this far.

"Run!" Galvin ordered, but Wynter and Brenna were already in full stride.

The sorceress was lagging behind, however. The day's journey and the climb up the cliff had already taxed her to her limits. Wynter doubled back to get her.

"Help her up on my back!" Wynter yelled to Galvin.

"No time," Galvin replied, positioning himself between the centaur, Brenna, and the oncoming ores. "They're on us." The druid drew his scimitar and squinted his eyes, reaching out with his mind to the citrus trees.

The screaming orcs, led by their angry leader, closed fast, and the druid could smell the dried sweat on their grotesque bodies. Their lips curled back in a hyenalike snarl as they chanted for the trespassers' blood.

Galvin continued to concentrate on the trees, and in response, the branches snaked forward like striking snakes to entangle the orcs. The limbs whipped around the orcs' flailing arms and legs, holding them fast and hoisting them several feet above the ground.

The lead sentry struggled and barked a few orders in the orcish tongue, but his charges were slow to respond, looking astonished at the branches that were like ropes about their limbs.

Brenna took advantage of the situation to begin a spell. Her singsong chant was uneven because she was out of breath. Still she persevered, padding through the grass toward the entangled guards as she continued to murmur the arcane words. When she stood in front of the sentry, she finished the incantation. His struggles stopped, and he stared at her with wide, attentive eyes.

"I've bewitched him," she announced over her shoulder to the Harpers. "He'll be mine for several days, but now that I have him, I'm not so sure what to do with him."

"He can be our guide," Wynter answered. "Can you make him lead us?"

"Sure," Brenna said. "I could even make him cook for us and polish your hooves if you want. What about the orcs?"

"The entanglement won't last much longer," Galvin said, a touch of concern in his voice. The orcs had begun to strain against the branches. "Do you have something else-some spell to keep them quiet about all of this?"

The enchantress smiled broadly, pleased to have Galvin ask her for help. She searched through a small pouch at her side, gathering more spell components.

"I can try to make them forget about us, but I'm not sure it will work. They seem rather dense. But I'll do what I can." She breathed deeply and began another enchantment. Between phrases, she thought she heard the druid say, "Thanks."

When she finished, she returned to the Harpers and her charmed friend. "We'd better get out of here," she suggested, "just in case it didn't work."

Wynter fell in behind Galvin, Brenna, and their newfound guide. The centaur's legs felt weak; he suspected it was nerves. He continued to remind himself how much he hated this country as they proceeded to move deeper into Thay.

Two levels above his sorcerous army, Maligor paced in front of a cell door. The Red Wizard was tired, having just completed a series of spells that added a hundred more darkenbeasts to his forces. His exhaustion left him with little stomach for this place. The corridor stank of urine and sweat. The eight cells in this area were rarely cleaned, and they were almost always occupied. The wizard was constantly displeased with enough slaves, soldiers, and townspeople to keep them full. The horrible conditions kept the prisoners dispirited and easy to handle, and diseases usually kept the place from becoming too overcrowded.

Sometimes Maligor elected not to feed the occupants for a week or longer, leaving the corpses of those who starved to rot in the cells with the survivors. And when prisoners were tortured, it was prolonged and in full presence of the others. Maligor enjoyed watching the contorted faces of the captives as one of their kind was whipped and gutted in their full view. But the prisoner beyond this cell door was different. He had been brought here only a few hours ago, not to be punished, but to reveal information Maligor considered crucial to his plans.

Maligor continued to pace in front of the cell until he heard through the door the clinking of chains and the scratching noise a key makes as it turns in a lock. Confident the two gnoll guards had secured the "guest," he raised his robe to his ankles and extended one slippered foot to prod the cell door open. He entered cautiously to make sure his expensive clothes didn't brush against the filth on the door, then stepped down carefully into the cell chamber. When his eyes adjusted to the gloom within-the room was lit with a small, oil-burning lantern-he saw his guest chained to the far wall.

The man was squat, but he had a broad, sturdy frame and a barrel-like chest. Maligor saw the cuts and bruises on the man's body and imagined he must have put up a substantial struggle to avoid being captured. His head hung limply forward against his chest; the gnolls had probably pummeled him into unconsciousness, the wizard mused. At least the guest didn't seem to be seriously injured.

The man was bald, and his head sported a design-a pale orange, four-taloned hand, indicating that he was a worshiper of Malar, the Beastlord, one of the commonly worshiped deities in Thay. Maligor himself favored Myrkul, whom the Red Wizard considered a far superior power and whom he honored with the permanent tattoo of Myrkul's symbol on the center of his forehead.

Maligor doubted his visitor's loyalty to Malar, since the man's symbol was painted rather than permanent. It had begun to fade from the rivulets of sweat that ran down his brow. The other symbols on the man's head were already obscured. The Red Wizard scowled in frustration; much could be learned about a Thayvian's beliefs and pontics from studying the symbols on his head. The man's clothes were well made and in good repair, but they were dirty, covered with dust and powdered rock. In the soft glow of the lantern light, the powder gleamed, making the Red Wizard's eyes widen and twinkle in response.

"Rouse him," the Red Wizard ordered.

The gnolls were quick to comply, shaking the man and splashing water on his face from the leather flask that hung at the man's side. The guards were among the largest gnolls Maligor had at his disposal, each a little more than eight feet tall. Looking like the offspring of a canine and a human, the gnolls' dark fur blended in with the cell's shadowy decor. Their small, shiny eyes glared out from above their hyena-shaped muzzles, and they lolled out their tongues, waiting for their master's next command.

Gradually the man's eyes came open, and he raised his head to stare at the gnolls' evil visages. Tilting his head to avoid their foul breath, he glared straight into the wizard's face.

"Zulkir Maligor!" the man gasped. "I am not under your personal command! I have done nothing to offend you. By what right did you bring me here? The Council of Zulkirs will be furious when they learn what you have done!"

Maligor's lips produced a thin, evil grin that quickly silenced the frightened man.

"The council isn't going to know," the Red Wizard replied menacingly. "I'm no fool. This dungeon is fully protected from the prying eyes of other wizards." He leveled his gaze on the man, who had begun to sweat even more profusely.

"Willeth Lionson," Maligor stated, finally addressing the man by his name. "Tharchion Willeth Lionson." The Red Wizard didn't know the man personally, but he knew much about him. Being on the Council of Zulkirs, Maligor had helped select Willeth to oversee Thay's gold mines. The Tharchion was accountable to the council and had allegiances to no individual Red Wizard.