the only thought that kept Tiviam sane in the months to come.
Borinder, long-legged and fleet of foot, was the first to reach the Terror of the East. Tiviam couldn't even tell precisely what happened; he knew only that he saw a blur of blades, and the jovial soldier's sword was shattered. A second flash, equally swift, and Borinder himself lay in pieces on the lawn.
The Terror raised his hands, palms out, and a gout of liquid flame the envy of any volcano arced through the air. Nassan lacked even time to scream as half his body liquefied, sloughing from his bones. Arral, hurling himself desperately aside, proved more fortunate. Though a portion of his leg sizzled away like so much frying grease-though he would never again walk without a crutch-he would live. The gods were even kind enough to allow him to pass out, that he might dwell for a time in the realm of Shashar Dream-Singer, rather than in the agony of his own ruined flesh.
And that left Tiviam, standing alone before the man who'd inflicted crippling scars upon an entire culture. He was dead; he knew he was dead. But in that, Tiviam was wrong.
He approached in a desperate lunge, broadsword leveled to punch through armor and into the bastard's black and putrid heart. But the Terror of the East moved, far faster than any man, and the guardsman saw a haunting crimson glow emanating from beneath the warlord's breastplate. The broadsword passed harmlessly, and the black-armored arm slammed downward, trapping Tiviam's elbow in a grip of unyielding steel.
A twist, a barely perceptible flex, and Tiviam convulsed in agony. The sword fell to the grass as his arm flapped uselessly, the bones within broken, the elbow separated at the joint.
Empty sockets stared into frightened eyes. Tiviam trembled beneath the weight of death's own regard, and hoped only that it would bring an end to the pain.
And then he was falling, all support gone. For the Terror of the East had simply disappeared. LOCATING CORPORAL TIVIAM had been just as easy as the guard had suggested. Corvis and the others set themselves up in the Three Sheets, and it was only the second evening when a broad-shouldered fellow with cropped hair and his left arm in a leather sling showed up and began drinking as though to douse a fire in his gut. In fact, Corvis realized upon seeing him enter, the man had been present the other day, sitting off alone in a corner and guzzling mead. He'd been right there, had Corvis known to talk to him.
Coaxing the story from him had proved somewhat more challenging. Corvis loosened his tongue with multiple rounds, and left a small but gleaming heap of coins on the counter before him-real, this time, in case the whole escapade should take too long for an illusion to hold. And still, in the end, it was not Corvis at all, but Irrial, who got what they came for. In her huskiest voice, her auburn locks falling across her face, she fawned over the 'courageous warrior.' Her breath came in sympathetic gasps over his mangled arm, and her eyes grew moist at the account of his fallen companions.
And only when she-and Corvis, sitting rapt at the next table, hanging on every word-had heard it all, did they depart, leaving Captain Tiviam to his efforts at washing the memories away. When last they saw him, his head was slumped over a drinking horn, empty save for a tiny puddle sloshing around the bottom. Into that vessel, over and over, he repeated again the last words he'd said to Irrial.
'He could have vanished at any time. He didn't have to kill them at all…'
Corvis and Irrial pushed through the crowded market, weaving around last-minute shoppers hoping to do a final bit of business before the vendors closed up for the night. This late into the evening, the sounds of Denathere had grown muted but otherwise remained unchanged. Corvis had to fight the urge to stick a finger in each ear and waggle them about, trying to clear an obstruction that he knew was purely imaginary.
It was, for a few minutes, preferable to actually thinking.
Mindlessly, he allowed Irrial to guide him back to their quarters. The rooms stood on the third floor of an establishment far nicer than the Three Sheets (it'd been the baroness who acquired them, and it showed), but truth be told Corvis was so distracted that, if his life had depended on it, he never could have recalled its name. Only when they were settled in one of the two bedchambers-replete with chairs upholstered in cherry red, down- stuffed mattresses lined with clean linen sheets, even a brass lamp with jasmine-scented oil-did he reluctantly crawl from his comfortable mental quilts and direct his thoughts toward the tale they'd been told.
'I think we have to assume,' he said without preamble, 'that whoever's behind this has a much more detailed knowledge of me and my methods than we'd suspected.' Even saying it aloud made him uncomfortable, and he could only hope his voice was steady. The last time someone had popped up with excess information about Corvis's past, he'd thrown the entire nation into shambles and nearly obliterated Mecepheum itself.
To say nothing of Corvis's family…
Seilloah leapt up to the tabletop, sniffed unhappily at the glittering lamp, and then nodded perfunctorily before proceeding to chew at something stuck between her claws. 'Probably a safe assumption,' she agreed.
Irrial, however, sounded less convinced. 'Why? What about the corporal's story worries you-other than the thought that someone might be even more vile than you were?'
'It's a combination of things,' Corvis said, vaguely disturbed by the cat-witch's behavior and, for the nonce, oblivious to Irrial's verbal dig. 'The men who died in that house by what's been made to look like Khanda's soul- consumption, the red glow Tiviam described…' He tapped his fingers idly on the edge of the table, stopping immediately as Seilloah glared at him. 'It's all the little details, and they're all right.'
'What about that glow?' the baroness asked.
'Khanda. I usually wore the pendant on a chain, and it hung beneath the armor. Only someone very close when I used my magics-his magics-would have seen it. So, yeah, maybe someone who saw me fight in the past was just astoundingly observant, and remembers every detail, but I'd say the odds are pretty heavily against it. Plus, they wouldn't necessarily understand the significance of what they saw.'
'But it's nice to be noticed. An artist is never appreciated in his own time, you know?'
Corvis felt his fingers curling into fists. 'Would you stop?' He was never certain if he'd only thought it, or whispered aloud.
'See? That's exactly what I mean. You never appreciated me, Corvis. I bet you don't remember my birthday, either.'
He allowed his eyes to squeeze as tightly shut as his fists, hoping the others would attribute it to his exhaustion.
'No,' he continued finally, 'I think we'd better prepare ourselves for the notion that we're dealing with someone who knew me personally, or who's spoken in depth with someone who did.'
'At least it's a short list,' Seilloah remarked around a mouthful of fur. Then, 'I hate to bring this up, but Jassion did go to see Tyannon…'
'No. No chance.'
'Corvis-'
'No. I'm not saying it's impossible that she'd have helped him to find me, under the right circumstances, but even if she remembered details, why would she tell him? They wouldn't do him any good in hunting me down. We're looking for someone else.'
Seilloah and Irrial exchanged skeptical glances, but neither pressed the issue.
'So yes,' he said, 'it's a small list. And the first step is to find them.'
Corvis looked deeply into the lamp's burning light, focusing past his fatigue. And gods, the last few days shouldn't have been so exhausting! I should never have agreed to getting old…
'Davro first.' Corvis felt the faint tug of his spell, gazed off in its direction even though there was little to see but a dull beige wall. Wading through sluggish thoughts, he translated the strength of the pull into a sense of distance, and that distance into a line on his mental map of Imphallion…
'Still in that bucolic valley of his, I think.' Corvis couldn't help grinning, remembering his response upon first learning what had become of the fearsome ogre.
'I'm not sure that means anything,' Seilloah warned. 'He was really unhappy with you.'
'True. But he also doesn't want anyone knowing where he lives. I doubt he'd risk drawing attention to himself. Still, we'll follow up if we need to.'
Again he concentrated, using the flickering flame as a focus. But this time, there was…
'Nothing.' He rocked back in his chair, blinking rapidly. 'Losalis is gone, Seilloah.'
'Are you sure? Maybe someone just broke the spell.'
'Maybe.' But he didn't sound at all convinced, and for long moments he refused to speak any further.
'Losalis was a good man,' he said finally, answering the question embedded in their silence. 'Or at least he
