The sun was setting on Thay in front of the heroes and their undead charges. Wynter glanced over his shoulder so he could watch the skeletons and zombies.

"Why are they here?" the centaur asked Brenna. "They're dead, aren't they?"

"It's a long story. I'll tell you later," she sighed. "I only wish you could remember." Brenna stared at the undead army. They were frightening and macabre, shuffling stiffly, some hunched over. She wondered if there was any spark of life within them. Did they realize what they were doing and whom they served? Did they know they were being denied a true death because of sorcery? It was just another form of slavery. She had thought about that a great deal during the past few hours, just as she had been thinking about a lot of other things since leaving Szass Tam's fortress.

This was wrong, she knew, Wynter's condition and this entire procession against the Red Wizard Maligor. Choosing the lesser of two evils was still an evil. And any evil in Thay was an abomination as far as the enchantress was concerned.

"They smell funny," Wynter complained, interrupting her thoughts. "They look bad, too."

"I know," she said softly, smiling at the simpleminded centaur. "Try not to think about it. Look at the sunset. Isn't it beautiful?" The orange rays spread out over the groves of trees to their right and left and the verdant plain before them. The breeze that blew over the grass teased their faces.

"Pretty," the centaur agreed. "Your name is Brenna, right?"

The enchantress nodded sadly and tilted her head so she could see Galvin. The druid was several yards behind them and was apparently studying the centaur.

"Where are we going?" the centaur persisted.

"A city called Amruthar," Brenna replied.

"Tell me when we get there. I'm going to look at the dead men," Wynter decided, falling back to march between the first two rows of the undead. Balancing his enchanted bardiche under one arm, the centaur waved happily at Galvin.

Feeling morose about his witless friend, the druid didn't acknowledge the gesture. Galvin was angry at himself for not being with Wynter when the plant trapped him. Strangely, he was even angrier that the plant hadn't killed his friend. The druid knew that, in the wilderness, only the strong survived, and Wynter could no longer survive on his own. He hated seeing his friend this way-an adult with a child's mind.

The druid scowled, frustrated and disappointed that he should wish for his friend's demise. Civilized people wouldn't be so cruel, he decided. He rode up to Brenna, hoping she could take his mind off his morbid thoughts.

Brenna smiled weakly. "We can't win, Galvin. It's only you and me now. Wynter is…" She was at an uncharacteristic loss for words.

The councilwoman looked over her shoulder at the hulking centaur. Her emotions had been turned inside out the past several days, and the things she considered important-laws, government, control-seemed insignificant. She had grown to care for the centaur and the druid more deeply than she cared to admit. The pair of Harpers, who embraced the wilderness and the loose structure of their organization, were opposites of almost everything and everyone she knew. She found herself thinking more about their welfare than that of Aglarond, and she wondered how she could have changed so much since she entered Thay.

The druid cocked his head, noting her troubled expression. "We can't quit," the druid stated, glancing back at the army and seeing Wynter playfully pass his bardiche to a large skeleton. Galvin grimaced. "If we quit, Szass Tam will kill us, and we can't help Wynter if we're dead."

"I just wish we had never come here. Wynter chose to leave Thay years ago. He never should have come back. We should have stayed out of this evil land, too."

The druid realized that the enchantress blamed herself for their dilemma. If the Aglarond council, of which she was a member, hadn't asked the Harpers to investigate activities in Thay, things would have turned out differently. But Galvin also recognized that sooner or later the Harpers would have poked their noses into the country anyway. The lich was right. The Harpers were meddlers.

"It's not your fault," Galvin said.

The enchantress didn't reply. She stared ahead into the sunset.

The druid picked up the pace, and Brenna followed his lead. After they had covered several hundred yards, the druid glanced over his shoulder to make sure Wynter was all right. The centaur was tugging at the cloak of a skeleton. When it tugged back, Wynter giggled and left it alone.

The sun set as the army reached an area dotted with farms. The barns and houses looked like black splotches beneath the growing grayness of the sky. Here and there lights came on in buildings as lanterns were lit and families settled in for the evening.

The night heralded the arrival of more troops for Galvin's and Brenna's army-two dozen shadows, like the creatures that had attacked them when they camped outside of Amruthar, and twice that many of something the pair could not identify. The latter initially appeared no different than the shadows, until they took a position behind Brenna and Galvin and made the pair's horses skittish and difficult to control. The air turned cold in the presence of the creatures, and the sorceress couldn't help shivering.

These new undead first appeared as amorphous blobs, then as man-shaped clouds of darkness insubstantial enough that they could manipulate the shape of their arms, legs, and heads. Those closest to Brenna adopted her form to mock her.

"What in the name of the gods are those things?" Galvin asked the councilwoman. He appeared to keep his eyes focused on hers, but he was actually peering nervously behind her at the undead. The druid was finding it increasingly difficult to see in the growing darkness.

Then he spied something ahead, a small row of flickering lights. They had to be torches along Amruthar's wall, so far away they looked like fireflies. He wished that Szass Tam had allowed them to bring lanterns so he could check on Wynter and the undead army behind him. He was uncomfortable not knowing his army's precise numbers and location.

"I only wish I knew what they were," Brenna replied nervously. "They're not like anything I've ever heard about. They're certainly not shadows."

Before she could say another word, one of the creatures laughed hollowly, startling the sorceress and the druid. None of the other undead in the patrol had seemed capable of speech other than an occasional moan, which Galvin at first thought might have been the wind.

"Death," said a shape that had assumed Brenna's form. The thing's haunting tones seemed at once to come from behind and in front of her. "We are death shrouded in darkness. Sweet, sweet darkness." The thing laughed again, the sound echoing in the night until it finally receded like a tide.

"Sweet death," another of the strange creatures echoed. Then another and another took up the phrase until the words blended together and sounded like a swarm of insects.

The sorceress wondered how the things could speak. The creatures had no mouths, nor indeed any other visible facial features. Gathering her courage, she turned and was startled to find herself mere inches from one of the creatures.

"How-" Her voice cracked and she shivered. "How do you talk?"

More haunting laughter followed, then a raspy voice filtered through the terrifying cacophony. "The death master makes it so. The death master makes the grave only the beginning. The death master makes us strong."

"What are you?" Brenna persisted, surprised she found the courage to speak with the undead.

"Wraiths," the word sounded like a rush of wind and came from the figure closest to Brenna. "Mankind's lover. We embrace men with the soothing kiss of death."