He raced onward. Just a few more strides would carry him within striking distance of his foe, and with enchantment quickening his actions, he had reason for hope that his adversary didn't have time to attempt any more magic.

But the necromancer had a trick in reserve. Even as his body backed away, his face seemed to spring forward like a striking snake. In reality, Bareris perceived, it was the tattooed skull mask that had torn free of his skin, and as it did, it rounded itself into a snarling head, and a gaunt, decaying body materialized beneath it. It had, in fact, become a ghoul, a slave creature or familiar the Red Wizard had carried inside his own body to evoke in a moment of ultimate need.

Startled by the vile-smelling thing's unexpected materialization, Bareris faltered. The ghoul leaped, its jagged, filthy nails ripping at his face. They nearly snagged him, but then trained reflex twisted him out of the way. He hacked at the bumpy ridge of spine in the corpse eater's withered back, and the undead's legs buckled beneath it.

Bareris sprinted on. Looking unexpectedly soft-featured and callow with his macabre mask stripped away, the Red Wizard lifted his talisman for another blast. Bareris had believed he was already running his fastest, but somehow he achieved an extra iota of speed to close the distance. He cut at the necromancer's hand, and the medallion and severed ringers tumbled through the air.

At that instant, Bareris hated the wizard, relished hurting him, and had to remind himself that he needed him alive. He shoved the necromancer down onto the grass, lifted his sword to threaten him-

A voice chanted rhyming words, and the ambient temperature fluctuated wildly. Bareris realized So-Kehur wasn't entirely useless after all. He'd finally found the presence of mind to cast a spell.

Something stabbed into the middle of Bareris's back. It didn't hurt, precisely, but weakness streamed outward from the site like ink diffusing through water. His sword suddenly felt too heavy to support. The blade dropped, and the hilt nearly pulled itself from his grasp. He collapsed to his knees.

He told himself he didn't need his stolen strength. He could hold a hostage down with his weight, and menace him with the lethal sharpness of his blade. He floundered after the necromancer with the maimed hand, but now the mage was the quicker and stayed beyond his reach.

Until a mesh of sticky cable abruptly materialized on top of Bareris, binding and gluing him to the ground. "I did it!" So-Kehur crowed. "I took him alive, just like you wanted."

"So you did," the other wizard gasped, rising unsteadily, "and now I'm going to kill the wretch." Using his intact hand, he fumbled in one of his scarlet robe's many pockets, no doubt seeking the talisman required to facilitate some sort of death magic.

Enfeebled as he was, it was difficult for Bareris even to turn his head. Still, praying she could help him somehow, he peered around for Tammith, only to see her slumped on the ground clutching at a bloody wound in her leg. An orc stood over her, spear aimed to stab her again if she attempted further resistance. Elsewhere, the creature's fellow guards had all but completed the task of catching and subduing the rest of the slaves.

Bareris would have taken any risk to rescue or protect Tammith, but those things were no longer even remotely possible. He had to escape alone now in the hope of returning for her later, if, indeed, he could even manage that.

Rapidly as he dared-too much haste and he might botch the casting-he started singing. Weak as he was, he felt short of breath and had to struggle to achieve the precise intonation and cadence the magic required.

His would-be killer seemed clumsy with his offhand and was possibly on the verge of sinking into shock from the amputation of his fingers. He was slow producing his talisman, but when he realized Bareris was attempting magic, he managed to snatch it forth, flourish it, and jabber hissing, clacking syllables in some foul abyssal tongue.

A thing of tattered darkness, with a vague, twisted face and elongated fingers, swirled into existence between the necromancer and the prisoner caught beneath the sticky net. The wizard pointed, and the shadow pounced.

At the same instant, Bareris completed his spell-song. The world seemed to shatter into motes of light and remake itself an instant later.

The greatest spellcasters could work magic to whisk themselves and a band of comrades hundreds of miles in a heartbeat. Bareris had seen it done. He himself had no such abilities, or he would have employed them to carry Tammith to safety as soon as he clasped her in his arms, but he had mastered a song to translate a single person several yards in a random direction. A desperation ploy that could, with luck, save a man's life after other measures failed.

Thus, he now sprawled on his belly a short distance away from his enemies and the slaves. As best he could judge, no one had spotted him yet, but somebody unquestionably would if he couldn't conceal himself within the next few moments. He tried to crawl, and with the curse of weakness still afflicting him, the effort was so difficult it made him sob.

Crouching low, the shadow-thing started to pivot in his direction. Then something grabbed him by the sword belt and yanked him backward.

chapter six

26 Mirtul, the Year of Risen Elfkin

Mari Agneh rarely had much of an appetite, and this morning was no exception. She scraped the eggs, fried bread, and peach slices off her dish into the chamber pot then performed what had come to be a ritual.

First, she slid the edge of the knife that had arrived with breakfast across her forearm. The blade appeared sharp but failed to slice her skin. In fact, the length of steel deformed with the pressure, as if forged of a material soft as wax.

Next she gripped the spoon. It too was made of metal and had an edge of sorts. A trained warrior, striking in fury and desperation, should be able to hurt someone with it, but when she thrust it at her outstretched limb, she felt only a painless prod, and the utensil bent double.

That left the pewter plate. She slammed it against her arm, and it didn't even sting. It was like swiping herself with a sheet of parchment.

It was always thus. Every item that entered her prison immediately fell under the same enchantment, a charm that made it impossible for her to use it to hurt anyone, herself included. Strips of bed sheet and portions of the skimpy whorish costumes that were all she was given to wear unraveled as soon as she twisted them around her neck and pulled. Even the walls turned soft as eiderdown when she bashed her head against them.

She wondered how many more times she could perform her tests before accepting the obvious truth that her captor's precautions would never ever fail, before abandoning hope.

What would happen to her then? Would she let go of the last shreds of her pride? Of sanity itself? The prospect was terrifying yet perversely tempting too, for if she broke or went mad, perhaps the torments would be easier to bear. Perhaps Aznar Thrul would even grow bored with her. Maybe he'd kill her or simply forget about her.

She struggled to quash the weak, craven urge to yield and be done with it, then noticed the vapor seething through the crack beneath the door.

Mari's first thought was that some malevolent god had seen fit to grant the prayer implicit in her moment of despair, that Thrul, or one of his servants, was blowing a poisonous mist into the room to murder her. She didn't actually believe it. The zulkir hadn't shown any sign of growing tired of his toy, and she was certain that if he ever did decide to dispose of her, he'd at least want to watch her die. No, this was something else, which didn't make it any less alarming.