The naga gasped and covered her mouth in surprise. Even though she had used the same words, the spell wasn't working as it had when Maligor cast it. This darkenbeast was too big and was retaining many of its weasel features-its hind legs, ears, stubby tail, and round, frightened eyes. Its skin was covered with festering boils, as if the thing were diseased. For a moment, the naga considered calling for the Red Wizard, hoping he could correct her miscast magic. Then she realized he would be angry because she had cast a spell he had not yet taught her.

Nervously she eyed the creature as it continued its transformation. Webbed wings covered with short gray hair grew from its sides. The darkenbeast, whimpering loudly in pain from its transfigurement, turned its hideous head toward Asp, its crimson eyes glowing with hatred. The thing hopped toward her, flapping its deformed wings and nearly succeeding in rising from the ground. The naga gathered herself to her full height and prepared to defend herself with magic.

But the darkenbeast stopped inches from her. Its stench was overpowering and kept her from concentrating to cast any enchantments. The naga held her breath and looked into the monster's face. Suddenly she realized that the thing was waiting.

"Attack the peasants," she hissed, mentally picturing the camp outside Amruthar's northern gate.

The darkenbeast turned and lumbered away, then awkwardly took off into the night sky toward the city's northern edge. The creature was hardly graceful, as Maligor's creation had been. Instead, it was clumsy and unbalanced, and the naga hoped someone would kill it quickly so it wouldn't return to her and cause problems.

She slithered into the tower, casting a last glance at the diminishing form of her misbegotten darkenbeast.

In the tent town, Wynter listened to the dwarven slaves talk among themselves. Their deep voices sounded pleasant enough, and he wished he knew what they were saying. They had been hungry, devouring an entire sack of fruit that Wynter had purchased for them. Brenna had tried speaking to them in several languages, hoping the dwarves would understand something. She told Wynter she wasn't sure if the slaves spoke only Dwarvish or if they were playing ignorant.

"It doesn't matter," Wynter said. "They'll be free soon… as soon as it seems safe to let them go. I just wish I could tell them that."

Brenna smiled and decided the least she could do was help clean up the dwarves. She uncorked her waterskin and padded toward them. Suddenly she heard a commotion coming from the direction of the gate. Turning, she saw the guards on the gate lining up across the barbicon, drawing their longbows.

Screams from the merchants nearby filled the air, and in the gathering darkness, the enchantress saw a grotesque flying creature diving toward the center of the tent town.

"Galvin!" she shouted as Wynter galloped past her toward the attacking beast. The centaur had his staff held out before him like a lance, and merchants jumped out of his way as he charged through.

The druid sprang to his feet in time to see a dozen guards on the barbicon loose arrows at the winged creature. The beast screamed terribly and plummeted into the mass of tent town residents. Galvin and Brenna rushed toward where they had seen the thing fall, elbowing their way through the growing crowd.

The druid soon found himself at the forefront of the assembled merchants, and like the other onlookers, he stared slack-jawed at the creature. Four arrows were lodged deeply in the grotesque beast's underside. Obviously dying, it flapped its monstrous wings weakly, raising a small cloud of dust.

A child screamed as the creature's skin began to bubble and pop, boiling away like water. The wings quivered and beat faster as they shriveled and were drawn into the rapidly diminishing form of the beast. The crowd backed up, yet none turned away, engrossed with the vile tableau.

Finally the creature's leathery skin began to recede, revealing the silky, blood-soaked fur of a large weasel. The animal lifted its head, a stream of blood trickling out of its mouth, then it twitched once more and died. The crowd lingered, each lost in his own thoughts, wondering precisely what it was he had seen. At last the guards from the barbicon made their way into the tent town to disperse the throng.

One guard stooped over, picked up the body of the weasel, and turned to carry it inside the city. The guards ignored the shouted questions from the crowd. Disgruntled that they would get no information from the guards, the crowd began to break up and return to their tents.

Galvin found Wynter and Brenna near the gate. "I-I saw it, Galvin," the sorceress said evenly. "Before it hit the ground, I saw it. It was like the thing that attacked us in Aglarond. Do you think someone knows we're here?" Brenna glanced about nervously.

"I don't think so," Galvin whispered, noting that a few of the merchants who had returned to their camps next to the gate were staring at the trio. The druid strolled toward their own makeshift camp. Brenna and Wynter followed. "I think it would have gone straight after us if it was meant for us."

"That makes sense," Wynter agreed. "We were on the edge of the tent town and would have made easy targets."

"I hope you're right," Brenna said. She shivered, more from fear than the cool night air, and continued to glance behind her occasionally toward the gate.

The druid paused to wrap his cloak around her shoulders. As he did, he noticed that the tent town had resumed its former appearance, just as if nothing had happened. He shrugged and continued striding toward their camp. Galvin wondered if attacks such as this were commonplace here. It could explain the merchants' nonchalant bearing in the aftermath of the attack.

"The dwarves!" Wynter shouted suddenly, trotting to the edge of the tent town. "They're gone!"

The former slaves had left their ropes behind and left the Harpers' possessions untouched. The druid knelt on the ground beside a footprint left by one of the dwarves, then glanced to the north.

"They went toward those trees," the druid observed.

"Thay's not a safe place to be at night," Wynter said nervously.

"Nothing's safe for those dwarves," Galvin concluded. "We were going to free them anyway." The druid rose and brushed the dirt off his knees. Before he had taken a handful of steps toward his belongings, a cry pierced the night air.

"Jujus!" a woman screamed. "Juju zombies! Szass Tam's undead will kill us all!"

Once again the tent town leapt to life as the cry of "stiff-walkers" passed like a crashing wave from the outer rim of tents to the city gates. The Harpers determined from the people's cries that Szass Tam was behind the attack and that the "stiff-walkers," or undead, were the shadowy creatures they could make out shuffling toward the tent town.

The people on the outer edge of the tent town, including Brenna, Wynter, and Galvin, were the first to react. The night-cloaked figures had already come upon some of the campers there, silently lifting their blankets and awkwardly prodding through their tents and lean-tos. It was obvious the undead were looking for something-or someone.

The merchants grabbed their torches and lanterns, hoping the light would keep the undead creatures at bay. The women gathered their children and ran toward the gates. As the campers pushed closer to Amruthar's walls, the ragged-clothed corpses shambled through the canvas and discarded belongings, the stench of their decaying bodies wafting across the tent town. There were ten of the things that had long ago been living creatures. They had hollow eye sockets and skeletal frames, and despite their degree of decomposition, they still had vaguely human shapes. The undead regrouped at the edge of the tent town, then, as one, they glanced up with their empty sockets straight toward Brenna and the Harpers.