heaved aside another body. A cloud of flies stirred up by the motion drifted lazily in front of his face. Dev spat at the air, but the insects buzzed relentlessly around his hair and ears. 'Well, Hallis the holy man wasn't any shy;where nearby at the time, so what's she going to do? Gut wound won't kill you quick, and Morla, she'd rather slit her own throat than lay out in the sun with an open wound, so what'd she do? No bandages, no time to make 'em, so she just balls up her left fist and sticks it in the wound to stop the blood.'
'Merciful gods,' Gerond murmured.
'Not so merciful, as it turned out,' Dev said cheerfully. 'The men lost sight of her. Eventually, they found old Morla wandering the battlefield as the fighting was winding down. She was half dead with fever and infection, but it took Hallis the longest time to get her to sit down and take her hand out of her own entrails. Turns out, she'd pressed that fist so hard in her wound she'd made it twice as painful as it could have been.' That pain was something Dev didn't want to contemplate. 'But Hallis treated her in time, knitted that wound up smart with his prayers and beseeching to his god. Didn't even leave a scar on her lovely, wrinkled belly. But that left hand, you can't make it forget. Unless she minds it with her whole strength, that hand trembles. No priest or prayer in this whole world going to fix that. The only cure's in Morla's mind, and she hasn't rooted it out yet.'
Dev had turned away, his eyes back on the horizon, but he could feel Gerond watching him.
'All men are not created the same,' the priest said after a moment. 'Most would rather live than die. Most would prefer to walk off this battlefield alive, if not whole.'
'Better they'd died.'
'Then why do you serve Morla?' Gerond demanded. 'Won't a similar fate await you?'
Dev shrugged. 'I serve Amn any way I can, holy man, any way they'll let me-for a price.'
'Whatever gold you receive won't be enough, if you die out here,' the priest said.
'Is that so?' Dev asked, his voice rich with scorn. 'Who said I wanted gold?'
'Then what?'
Dev halted and gestured for Gerond to lower the litter. 'Shut it, now. We're here.'
'How do you know?'
'Because I just busted a shin trying to move this body here,' Dev said.
He pointed to the ground. A large stone statue lay across their path. Like a lass sleeping in moonlight, Chieva had her serene face turned to the stars. Moss and curling weeds twined around her solid arms, which were raised in supplication to the goddess.
Dev motioned for Resch to remain on the litter. He and the priest took cover at the base of the statue. Leaning against the stone, Dev took out Morla's instructions and broke the wax seal. He folded back the parchment and began to read.
There was quiet on the field for a long time after that.
Dev didn't know how much time passed, but suddenly, someone was shaking him insistently. He looked up into Resch's wide, shadowed face. He hadn't registered the man's presence.
'What's wrong with him?' he heard Gerond whisper. Resch motioned for the priest to be quiet. His gaze moved between the parchment and Dev's face. The question was obvious, and abruptly, Dev realized that Resch the Silent probably couldn't read.
Dev handed the parchment to the priest. 'Tell 'im,' he said. Gerond took the instructions and read aloud:
'Scout Devlen, if you are reading this, you have reached Lady Chieva, and here your true task begins. You will not be leading a decoy mission this night. Instead you carry vital missives to be distributed to our fractured camps throughout the foothills of the Small Teeth. My own men are leading the kobold and goblin patrols astray so you may move among the enemy. Your skills in the wild will be put to the ultimate test in this, as will your tactics of deception. Good fortune to you, charlatan, and I trust you'll forgive me my own deception-'
He stopped reading when Dev wheeled around and vomited on the statue.
Mouth burning, Dev emptied the contents of his stomach. The field around him wavered, seeming to take on an unreal quality. Resch and the priest were far away. He was alone, drifting in the land of the dead, with only Chieva for company. The arms of the statue dug into his chest. Chauntea's emissary was holding him up in sympathy, Dev thought. He almost felt ashamed for fouling her with his terror.
Then, in a rush, the world returned to normal pace. The priest was speaking, too loud. The priest was always speaking, Dev thought. He wanted to cave in the man's skull.
'I didn't understand before,' Gerond said, shaking his head in wonder. 'I thought you a mercenary, but now I know better. Amn hates you for pretending wizardry. The only way for you to salvage any honor at all is to die a hero's death, in service to the land that shuns you.'
'Hard to do out here, chasing the dark with a couple of mouthy hangers-on,' Dev muttered, but he hadn't recovered his dignity. He wiped his dripping chin.
Gerond chuckled. 'But you
Dev hurled himself at the priest, but Resch stepped between them, catching him with an immovable arm against his chest. With the other, he shoved Gerond back. He shot the priest a fierce glare when Gerond opened his mouth to speak.
Slowly, Dev relaxed. Things had spun wildly out of control. The deceiver had finally been deceived, and look how he'd fallen apart because of it. He shook his head. A mess, Dev, that's what you've always been. That's what they've always told you.
'We have to move,' he said, gathering himself. He shook his head when Resch went to the litter. 'No more time for that, pretty face. You weigh too much, and speed is our only chance now.' He took his bow off his shoulder and nocked an arrow from the quiver. The fletching felt soft against his fingers, his muscles comfortably tight as he drew the string. 'Let's go,' he said.
He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, his mind whirling with the implications of the mission Morla had given him.
Was it a punishment? Did she expect him to fail? Dev had a hard time believing the old woman could be so cruel, but then, he'd been wrong before about her.
Dev stepped around the sprawled body of an ogre with a line of arrows bristling from its spine. Goblins and kobolds lay in similar frozen agony, the blood crusting their muzzles. Dev averted his eyes. His stomach felt wrung out, twisted with stale nausea. He breathed through his teeth until his tongue ached and he couldn't stand it.
Testing the air a moment later, he was surprised to find it fresher, so much so he thought he could breathe without fear of retching. Even the clouds of flies had dissipated. For an instant Dev was relieved, then he felt a wave of fresh terror course through his body.
The air shouldn't be so pure, not with all the dead monsters lying in piles. It should be foul with rotting ogre flesh.
Unless some of the monsters were still breathing.
Dev kept walking, trusting his companions to be behind him. He could hear the priest huffing along to his left. He heard nothing to his right, but he could smell Resch's faint odor. A swift night breeze at his neck told him the way was clear directly behind him. Just ahead and to the east, he saw the mangled remains of a dead horse and her rider. They'd collapsed together on the field. Amn's banner fluttered slackly from the rider's hand. It was no sort of fortification, Dev thought, but it was close enough. He headed straight for the banner, motioning for his companions to follow.
A fine mess, Dev, and that's the truth, he berated himself. You should have seen this ambush coming before you put your foot in it.
When he could see Amn's colors, Dev spun, drew his bowstring taut, and released.
The arrow whistled past Resch's shoulder, but the big man didn't flinch. He dropped flat to his stomach behind the dead horse and yanked the priest down with him. In the distance, the arrow thudded into a dead ogre's
