Undead

are our spellcasters?'

Bows creaked, crossbows snapped, and arrows droned through the air. Several found their mark, but failed to penetrate the bat-thing's hide. It raced ahead of the horsemen and whirled around to face them. Mystical energy, visible as ripplings in the air, streamed down at them from its head.

Nular winced in anticipation of the horsemen's destruction, but they had another trick to play. Riders and mounts vanished and reappeared several yards closer to the castle. The leap whisked them out of the way of the creature's blast, which covered the piece of ground they'd just vacated in ice.

The shadow bat wheeled, seeking its quarries once again. Twisting in the saddle, one of the riders pointed a wand. Fire streamed from the tip of the weapon and splashed against the creature's wing. It convulsed and began to fall.

Then the beast spread its wings, arrested its plummet, and swooped toward the riders again. But by that time, the men were pounding through the sally port. Nular heard the small gate slam shut after them.

The bat flew high enough to peer over the outer wall of the keep. But if it thought to continue the chase, the sight of so many soldiers standing ready and the wizards and priests scurrying to aid them, must have discouraged it, for it wheeled and retreated toward the rest of Szass Tam's army. Legionnaires cheered and howled derision after it.

Nular descended the stairs to the courtyard. By the time he arrived, the newcomers had already dismounted, thrown back their cloaks to reveal the crimson robes beneath, and started drinking the cups of wine the grooms had brought them. They set the goblets aside to greet Nular.

One rider was exceptionally pudgy for a Mulan, and a wand dangled from his belt. The other had sharp, haughty features and was missing the fingers on his right hand. Both were panting and sweat-soaked, with a gray cast to their skin.

'Masters,' Nular said, 'are you all right?'

'We will be,' said the Red Wizard with the maimed hand. 'The nightwing-the creature that chased us-moves in a kind of poison cloud, but now that it's flown away, the sickness will pass. My companion is So-Kehur, and I'm Muthoth. We're messengers from Hezass Nymar.'

'He sent two,' So-Kehur wheezed, 'in the hope that at least one of us would make it past the enemy.'

'What is your message?' Nular asked.

'The tharchion and his army have crossed the Lapendrar safely,' Muthoth said, 'less than a day's march to the north, and without the necromancers knowing about it. The governor will move in and strike when the time is right, in concert with the forces closing in from the north and east.'

'I'm pleased to hear it,' Nular said. In fact, he was astonished that the infamously unreliable Nymar had actually decided to commit his troops and person to battle. 'And also honored to have you as my guests. Unless you're minded to try to slip past Szass Tam's army a second time.'

'Thank you, no,' Muthoth said. 'We'll stay here where it's safe.'

Dmitra Flass knew she wasn't the most powerful illusionist in Thay. She had her skill at politics and intrigue and her primary role in the opposition to Szass Tam to thank for her election as zulkir in the wake of Mythrellan's demise. Or perhaps, knowing that whomever succeeded Mythrellan would likewise receive the lich's homicidal attentions, no one else with any brains had wanted the job.

In any case, Dmitra was zulkir whether her arcane capabilities justified it or not, and only the zulkir, by virtue of the rituals that had consecrated her ascension, could perform the task required of her now. Accordingly, she sat chanting in the dark, stuffy confines of the enormous rocking, creaking carriage-essentially a conjuration chamber on wheels-for bell after sleepless bell. A circle of her underlings recited with her, sending flickers of light, whispers and chiming, surges of heat and cold, baseless sensations and manifestations of unreality, dancing through the air. But those wizards were able to work in shifts. As the essential hub of a vast and intricate mechanism, Dmitra had to perform her function continuously.

That mechanism consisted of far more than the occupants of a single carriage. Other such coaches rolled among the marching legions of Eltabbar. Their positions would define a magical sigil if any flying creature gazing down from above had the knowledge and wit to connect them with imaginary lines. The entire fleet of wagons had its counterparts amid the armies of Tyraturos and Pyarados, all working as one to keep Szass Tam's scouts and soothsayers from discerning the foes advancing on their flank and rear.

Dmitra reached the conclusion of one lengthy incantation and drew breath to start another. Then someone touched her on the shoulder. She turned and saw Malark. For a moment, a stray wisp of illusion painted iridescent scales across his brow.

Careful not to unbalance the forces at play, she uncoupled her power from the structure she'd created. It could manage without her, but only for a little while. 'Is it midday?' she asked, her throat raw and dry.

'Yes,' Malark said, 'just as you ordered.' He offered her a goblet of water.

It was cold, a pleasant surprise given the army's current circumstances. Malark must have persuaded a wizard to chill it with conjured frost. She gulped it greedily.

'I also have food,' the spymaster said. 'Raisins, dried apricots, bread and honey-'

'I'll start with that.' He proffered a silver tray. 'Do we know,' she continued after her initial bite, 'whether all this effort is actually accomplishing anything?'

He shrugged. 'My agents can't see any indication that Szass Tam knows we're creeping up on him, and the diviners say they can't, either. Since I don't practice their mysteries, I've little choice but to defer to their expertise. I imagine their opinion is reliable. After all, we have the entire Order of Illusion working in concert to do what you do best.'

'You're right,' she said, 'that should suffice, but you don't know Szass Tam like I do. He's a genius, and a master of every school of wizardry. So can we really hide whole armies from him, or was that Rashemi griffon rider correct? Is this a feckless plan?'

Malark smiled. 'Captain Fezim would be gratified that you recall his opinion, though chagrined to hear you call him Rashemi. But in response to your question, I can only say that in war, nothing is certain, especially when facing an enemy like Szass Tam. But brilliant though he is, you've always proven his equal in guile whenever it truly counted. So I trust your judgment, and think you ought to trust it, too.'

'Thank you,' she said, and felt a swell of affection. Collecting and evaluating intelligence was a demanding task, especially in the midst of an army on the march. She hadn't required that Malark attend to it and also ride alongside her coach to guard her while she was vulnerable, fetch her food and drink, and soothe her frazzled nerves. He'd volunteered for the latter duties, as he always did his utmost to assist her, and without wheedling for lands and lucrative sinecures like so many courtiers.

'Once we destroy Szass Tam,' she said, 'I'll make you a tharchion, or whatever else you want.'

'Some people might object to that, considering I'm not Mulan, nor even a Thayan.'

'Then they'll just have to choke on it, because I mean it-whatever you want.'

He inclined his head. 'You honor me, but let's discuss it after the war is over. Right now, all I truly want is to kill a great many of your enemies.'

Aoth glanced around, making sure he knew where everyone was, as his command winged its way across a sky that was clear and blue for once. Bareris gave him a nod. Aoth felt a fleeting pang of hostility, and then wondered why.

'Because your eyes water every time he comes near,' Brightwing said.

Aoth snorted. 'You've been known to stink yourself.'

'That's different. I'm an animal. I'm allowed. Do you resent him for persuading you not to desert?'

'No.' A new thought struck him. 'Do you? If I left, you'd enjoy a safer, more luxurious life, too. You could gorge on horseflesh every day.'

The griffon laughed her screeching laugh. 'Now you tell me! But no. You raised me to fight, and I wouldn't want to miss a battle like this. Look at them down there.'

They were soaring high enough that Aoth had called upon the magic in one of his tattoos to ward off the chill. High enough that he could gaze down on them all-the legions of Pyarados, Eltabbar, and Tyraturos converging on the foe. They were visible to him because the same spell of concealment that cloaked them enshrouded him.

When he contemplated them, he reflected on how difficult it could be for even two companies to coordinate