He felt the naga relax, glad that the moment to fight had come. A pity, he thought, that she would not be leading the gnolls anywhere. She would not be involved in any battle, and that might crush her spirit. He had been lying to her to keep her loyalty; he intended to use her in the mines.

"I want to talk to your sergeants," he continued. "I want to personally commend them for their diligence. Don't you think that would be a good idea?"

She straightened, slowly pulling herself away from his embrace and trying to appear as the general she considered herself.

"That will mean a great deal to them, Maligor," she said evenly.

"Good," he replied. "Send them to me. Then get yourself to bed."

Asp smiled and her eyes sparkled. She nodded and slithered from the room, returning to the tower many minutes later with eight armored gnolls. Maligor met them in the entry chamber, not wanting the gnolls' mud-encrusted boots to track dirt into the tower. The naga retired to her own room, leaving Maligor to deliver his message.

However, when the Red Wizard was positive the naga was out of hearing distance, he delivered a quite different speech-one that did indeed inspire the gnolls, but one that left Asp out of the picture.

"You are the backbone of the army," he began in a commanding tone, letting his eyes bore into theirs. "You do not need the naga to lead you. You are the leaders, the generals, and victory will be assured with the units under your guidance."

The gnolls grinned, their canine teeth reflecting yellow in the chamber's light.

"At dawn, you will lead the army south. I will tell you the target then. I do not fear that you will leak this information," Maligor said, his words now soft like velvet, "but I know that other Red Wizards have the power to pull things from minds. We don't want to give them an opportunity to learn our target."

He noticed that the smallest of the gnolls was glancing at the staircase Asp had crawled up minutes ago, and he suspected this one was loyal to the naga.

"Don't concern yourself with Asp," Maligor said, guessing the gnoll's thoughts. "I will inform her of the change of command in the army. I will deal with her wrath. Now go. We all need to rest before the morning."

But the Red Wizard still had work to do. It was fortunate he was younger now; lack of sleep would have taken its toll on his older body. Thrusting his hands in his deep pockets, he strode down the tower's main corridor and started the long descent to the darkenbeasts below. Along the way, he visualized how the creatures would fly from the bowels of his home, up the stairs, and through the corridors like a wave of death. It would be a splendid sight. Tomorrow.

Beneath his tower, the number of darkenbeasts had swelled. They were crowded into the large chamber; no space was vacant, and the Red Wizard had to concentrate to keep from retching from the smell. His mind snaked out, contacting the creatures, quieting and comforting his children and telling them that tomorrow they would have a new home with plenty of room and plenty of food for rending. Then he contacted one of the oldest darkenbeasts, one of his firstborn, whose mind was very familiar to him.

Maligor concentrated again and began a series of orders.

Fly north, my child, he began, picturing caves and abandoned buildings. Fly to the places you see in my mind. Others of your kind are waiting there.

The creature's mind was linked firmly with his, and Maligor sensed the wanton joy it was feeling, the anticipation of flying.

When you are there, we will tell the other darkenbeasts about our plan, Maligor continued. We will tell them about tomorrow when all of us will fly to our new home. Now go.

The favored darkenbeast shrieked with delight and used Maligor's mind to learn the way out of the tower. It flew up the stairs, through the long corridor, and hovered before the large doors. It shrieked again, and the frightened guards opened the doors.

Then it was out into the night air, flying low until it passed far from the city, then soaring to a higher elevation, relishing the feel of the wind rushing past its wings. Maligor felt the sensation, too; his mind soared as he climbed the stairs to his bedchamber.

A legion of fifty skeletons marched behind Brenna, Galvin, and Wynter. The fleshless skeletons were armed with spears, broadswords, hand axes, and other weapons; some were mounted on skeletal horses, their bones clinking together and sounding like wind chimes. In a grotesque way, their appearance was almost humorous. Some were dressed as men would-in pants, tunics, and hats. Others wore robes and cloaks. But the majority sported bits of outfits or fragments of blankets. Szass Tam felt that dressing them in some sort of clothing would help hide their appearance, especially during the day, until they were close to the walls of Amruthar.

Following the skeletons shuffled a division of zombies, also about fifty in number, some of which were so recently dead that Brenna thought they could pass as human. At first she wondered why Szass Tam didn't put these up front. However, on closer examination, she discovered that their stench gave them away and made them more repulsive than the animated bones. All of the zombies were clad, some in armor. They shuffled forward with their eyes cast on the ground in front of them, since they were unaccustomed to the sunlight. None of these carried weapons, intending to fight with their claws, which were filthy and carried diseases.

The remainder of the undead numbered about forty-jujus; zombie monsters, including a quartet of decomposing hill giants; yellow musk zombies, which were part man, part plant; and a few things with manlike shapes that the heroes couldn't identify.

Even though they preferred the comforting darkness of night, all of these undead were able to move about freely in the light of day. The Harpers and Brenna worried what might join their legion after the sun set a dozen hours from now.

The centaur wore barding, horse armor that made him feel as if he were being treated like an animal rather than a man. But from a distance, he thought he would appear to be a knight on horseback, and he rather fancied that idea. His rump was covered with a crupper-segmented, padded metal plates riveted together that extended to just below the tops of his back legs. A hole allowed his tail to poke through.

On his back was a flanchard, another piece of smooth and polished plate. It looked as if it had been molded to his body but possessed none of the flexibility of his natural hide; it connected to the crupper and extended to the start of his human torso. The flanchard chaffed a little and felt heavy and uncomfortable; Wynter had never worn armor before. However, he knew it would protect his flanks, and that was where the bulk of his injuries had been sustained earlier. The peytral portion-the section that would normally protect a horse's neck-had been discarded. Instead, Wynter wore part of a human's plate-a cuirass, a backplate and breastplate over a heavy quilted shirt. Oddly, that part of the ensemble fit him almost perfectly and was surprisingly easy to move in. His head was protected by a close helmet, the visor of which was up so he could see more easily. Of Mulhorandish make, it didn't match the cuirass, being newer, more ornate, and covered with stamped designs.

In metal gauntleted hands, Wynter carried an enchanted bardiche, a formidable pole-arm that consisted of a stout wooden staff with a long, slightly curved blade at one end. It had been ensorcelled to strike more easily and was weighted so that when it struck opponents, it could slice off limbs. It was sharpened until it glinted keenly in the sunlight.