her chin. Oropash, deeply shocked, tried to comfort the weeping empress.
“Ants!” Ackal cried, struggling against the two men. “Can’t you see? Her flesh is infested with ants!”
Valaran said sharply to Helbin, “Do something!”
“I’m not a healer,”
“Where is the emperor’s physician?”
In a stricken voice, Valdid reported that His Majesty had dismissed Klaraf two days earlier.
Ackal continued to howl about ants. He raved they were crawling over him, in his clothing, going into his ears, nose, and eyes. He could feel their hot pincers tearing at his flesh.
He struggled to his feet, seeming to throw off Nazramin’s hold on his left arm. In fact, the prince released his brother intentionally. Ackal clawed at his own face, scoring bloody lines across his cheek before Lord Rymont locked both arms behind his back. Ackal screamed and wept uncontrollably.
Tol had seen men die in a hundred unpleasant ways, but he had never seen anything like the torment Prince Nazramin was inflicting on his own brother. He had to try and stop it.
Instantly, the palace scene vanished. Once again, Tol was sitting with his back against the cedar tree. Early lay sleeping beside him. The two of them were no longer alone.
Ringing them round were twelve mounted nomads, spears leveled.
Mandes’s vision had distracted him from his watch, but there was no help for it now. He shook Early awake. The sight of the dozen intruders caused the kender to sigh.
“Oh. And here I was dreaming of the hills of Balifor.”
A warrior with a heavy northern accent ordered them to stand. Four nomads dismounted, stripping them of their weapons. Then, under the iron gaze of the mercenaries’ chief, Tol and Early were soundly beaten.
When he thought they’d had enough, the leader ordered their hands bound. A length of rope attached their wrists to a ring on a mercenary’s saddle. The troop formed up and put spurs to their mounts, forcing the captives to jog to keep up.
Although they were in considerable pain, neither of them suffered any broken bones. Both had expected the beating to end only with their deaths, but obviously Mandes wanted them alive for his own reasons-and none of the reasons that came to Tol’s mind were pleasant.
Still, they were alive. He still might be able to save Ackal IV. He knew where the lead image was hidden. Once its hold was broken, surely Helbin, Oropash, and the combined wisdom of the College of Wizards could repair the damage that had been done to the emperor’s mind.
A tree root snagged his foot and he fell. Early instantly dug in his heels, but he couldn’t stop the moving horse and was yanked off his feet. The two of them were thus dragged over rough ground several hundred feet, the mercenaries laughing all the while, until the leader halted.
Nose to nose with the kender in the dirt, Tol muttered, “Four legs may be faster, but two legs are nimbler. Follow my lead!”
The chief cursed and ordered them to stand. Early got to his knees. Tol gestured with a jerk of his head toward the chief’s horse. Early’s left eye was swollen shut; his right widened as Tol mouthed the word
Before the chief could snatch at the leashes, Early scrambled forward. The nomad’s horse had short, thick legs, but there was ample room for a kender underneath. Since their hands had been bound together in front of them, Early had no problem getting his nimble fingers on the cinch of the chief’s saddle girth.
The nomad calmed his unnerved horse and shouted for a man to haul Early out. The kender was dragged out by his ankles and kicked a few times.
“I’m supposed to bring you in alive,” the chief growled, “but nobody said you had to have eyes when you get there! Any more trouble and I’ll have them out, both pair!”
The ride resumed with Tol trotting on the chief’s left, and Early on the right. After a league, when both thought they would expire from the effort of keeping up the pace, the chief reined up.
“You men without talismans continue the patrol.” Half the band turned and rode away. The chief tugged the leash connected to Tol’s bound wrists. “Come ’ere!”
Tol shuffled forward. A loop of string was placed around his neck. Dangling from it was a square of parchment; on the square were drawn arcane symbols in an elaborate design. Tol asked its purpose.
“Gets you through the mist,” was the brusque reply. The chief and the five remaining riders wore identical talismans, as did their horses. Talismans were placed around the necks of Tol’s war-horse and Early’s pony.
Tol didn’t need the talisman, since he had the nullstone, but the mercenaries didn’t know that. When the time was right, he would act.
Ahead, the grade steepened as the trees thinned out. The stony slope was divided down the center by a well-worn path. This was the foot of the Axas Pass. The mountain itself loomed above, walled off by bulwarks of white fog. The mist rose to a great height, at least a thousand paces. Although made of vapor, it was an impressive barrier, pearlescent by starlight.
They headed up the trail in single file. The chief, leading Tol and Early, was second in line. Barbarian though he was, the man was not a fool. As they neared the mist wall, he ordered the men following to level their spears at the captives’ backs.
“Don’t try to bolt in the fog,” he said. “Make trouble, and you’ll be spitted like partridges.”
“Doesn’t your master want us alive?”
The chief sniffed. “If I bring you in lifeless, Ergoth, I’ll lose a large part of the bounty, but you’ll be dead!”
They rounded a bend and the trail steepened dramatically. The mercenaries’ stocky horses picked their way carefully along a path never meant for four-legged beasts. The going was awkward for Tol and Early, too, not only because their hands were tied, but because dampness from the fog had frozen on the slate floor of the high pass. Captives and horses alike slipped and stumbled on the frosty stones.
The line of mercenaries halted as the lead rider reached the sharply delineated wall of mist and reined up. The stuff looked impenetrable. He checked his talisman, and his horse’s, then drew a deep breath and thumped heels against his horse’s flanks. He entered the white void and vanished.
“Move,” said the chief, jerking at their ropes.
Early caught Tol’s eye, brows rising:
Tol’s head shake was barely perceptible.
They moved slowly into the mist. Tol closed his eyes, expecting a chill or dampness like fog. Instead, he felt a caress of warmth. He opened his eyes.
Inside the barrier, the air was clear. More, it was warm and bright, like daylight. No sun was visible (it was night after all), yet neither were there stars. The vault above was white, illuminated by a soft glow with no obvious origin. Strange magic indeed!
The mercenary chief laughed at their reactions. “Never fails!” he said, looking up at the oddly colored sky.
Tol seized the moment. There was some slack in his leash. He grasped the loose rope in both hands. Early did likewise. They planted their feet and hauled back on the ropes with all their strength. The loosed girth cinch did the rest.
The chief was sliding backward over his horse’s rump, saddle and all, before he could react. He hit the ground hard. In a flash his captives were on him, wrapping the rope around his thick neck.
The next rider came through the mist wall and saw his leader’s predicament. He lowered his spear to charge, but Tol tightened the rope around his hostage’s throat.
“Keep off!” he shouted. “Make a move and I’ll wring his neck!”
All the mercenaries hesitated. Blades for hire knew little of loyalty, but Tol counted on them caring about their commander.
“Early, get their talismans.”
Grinning, the kender tore the parchment wards first from the horses’ necks. The beasts were instantly blinded by the unnatural fog. They stood stock still, afraid to move, and Early quickly deprived their riders’ of the protection as well. As the remaining nomads entered, he collected more talismans.
The formerly fierce mercenaries were so thrown off balance, they could do nothing but grip their animals’ manes tightly. Their terror rendered them as immobile as their mounts.
