Undead

Dmitra smiled. 'That's my first impulse, also, but I wouldn't want to waste a genuine opportunity. Your Omniscience, what's your opinion? What game is Nymar playing this time?'

Iphegor frowned. 'Your Omnipotence, I wish I knew. Much as it irks me to admit it, he hasn't lost his connection to the Lord of Flames. He's still a priest, and it's possible he wishes to mend his quarrel with me, just as he asserts. In addition, I find his claim that he only ever served Szass Tam to achieve a life of opulent wealth, and that he fears that such an existence is slipping forever beyond his reach, to be plausible. Still, there's no disputing the man's a treacherous worm. Who knows where his allegiance really lies, or where it will reside tomorrow?'

'Not I,' said Samas Kul. If Hezass was in fact motivated by avarice, he ought to sympathize, for, taking full advantage of his position as Master of the Guild of Foreign Trade, he'd made himself the richest man in Thay even before his ascension to leadership of the transmuters. His red robes reflected the fact, for they glittered with more gems and precious metal than any of the other costly attire on display in the chamber. Unfortunately, even the finest raiment couldn't make his obese, sweaty, ruddy-faced form attractive.

Lauzoril pursed his lips and pressed the fingertips of his hands together to make a pyramid. 'The important question,' the zulkir of Enchantment said in his dry tenor, 'isn't whether Hezass is a scoundrel, but whether his information is accurate. If so, then as Dmitra Flass observed, we may have a chance to win a meaningful victory at last.'

'I concur,' Nevron said, scowling so fiercely that anyone who hadn't heard his words might have assumed he disagreed. A number of his tattoos took the forms of hideous faces, the countenances of the demons and devils that, as a master conjurer, it was his particular art to command. 'Szass Tam descends from the heights to lay siege to the Keep of Sorrows. We swing an army in behind him. They'll be the hammer, and the castle and the edge of the cliffs, the anvil. We'll pound the necromancers, and they won't be able to retreat.'

'You can't count on Nymar to bring the troops he pledges,' Samas said. 'He'll keep them in their garrisons to protect the lands he still holds, and afterward, claim sickness in the ranks prevented them from marching. Or else, that his scouts reported Aglarondan troops maneuvering on the western border, and he had to leave his men in place to protect against a possible invasion. He's done it before.'

'I remember,' Dmitra said. 'He doesn't much care to ride heroically into battle, does he? But if we can prevail on him to bring his army as far as the western bank of the River Lapendrar, to make certain Szass Tam can't maneuver in that direction, that in itself would be a help.'

'Right,' Nevron said. 'We can do the real work ourselves, if we commit enough of our own strength.'

Samas responded, as well as Lallara, in much the same vein. Before long, it became clear to Aoth that, without bothering to say so overtly, the zulkirs had decided on a strategy. Now they were discussing how best to implement it.

Aoth gnawed his lower lip. In theory, he and the zulkirs' other subordinates were present to provide their opinions, and he would have preferred to hold his tongue until someone specifically asked for his perspective. But it didn't seem that any of the mage lords meant to do so.

Wishing he were somewhere else, he cleared his throat. 'Masters?'

The zulkirs all turned to regard him, some more coldly than others, but none with extraordinary warmth. 'Yes, Captain?' Dmitra said.

'I think,' said Aoth, 'we should evaluate Hezass Nymar's claims carefully, and not just because he's a known traitor and liar. I realize that many of you have magic to determine whether a man is speaking the truth as he understands it, and I imagine you've applied those tests in this instance. But on the face of it, the scheme he's attributing to Szass Tam makes little sense.'

'Why?' Nevron asked. 'The Keep of Sorrows is an important fortress. If he takes it, it will be far easier for him to strike into Tyraturos, and if he's successful there, it opens the High Road for incursions into Priador.'

'Yes, Your Omnipotence,' said Aoth, 'if he's successful. But the keep is generally considered impregnable, or nearly so. Until now, Szass Tam has only undertaken major battles and sieges under conditions advantageous to himself. Most of the time, he picks away at us, raiding, burning crops and granaries, killing a few folk here and there to raise as zombies and swell the ranks of his legions. He's been slowly tipping the balance in his favor, as if-as Hezass Nymar suggested-he doesn't care how long it takes to win, or what condition the realm is in when he does. Why, then, would he suddenly change tactics and commit his troops to such a reckless venture?'

'Because he's grown impatient,' Lallara said, 'and made a mistake. The wretch isn't infallible, whatever you and fools like you may imagine.'

Aoth glanced at Nymia Focar in the forlorn hope that his superior would support him. She was an able warrior and capable of seeing the sense in what he was saying. But, as he expected, she gave him a tiny shake of her head, warning him to desist. The motion made the silver stud in her left nostril flash with a gleam of lamplight and the rings in her ears clink faintly.

He wished Malark were present. Dmitra often heeded his opinion, but hadn't seen fit to bring him. Perhaps he was busy with some other task.

Milsantos Daramos might also have spoken on Aoth's behalf, for the former tharchion of Thazalhar had been both the canniest and the bravest Thayan general in recent memory. Unfortunately, he'd succumbed to old age three years back.

In the absence of such men and the counsel they might have offered, Aoth stumbled on alone. 'I understand that the lich is capable of miscalculating. Everybody is. But I still worry that there's something about this situation we don't understand.'

Samas grunted. It made him seem even more swinish, if that was possible. 'You realize, Captain, that if the lich marches on the Keep of Sorrows, we have no choice but to defend it. Unless you advocate simply opening the gates and surrendering.'

Aoth clamped down hard to keep resentment from showing in his face or tone. 'Of course not, Master. But the keep should be able to resist a siege for a considerable time. We needn't be in a hurry to commit the bulk of our forces to defend it, and we needn't look to Nymar for anything. We can proceed cautiously.'

'And perhaps lose the castle as a result,' Lallara rapped. 'Perhaps even forfeit the opportunity to win the war.'

'Which is something,' Dmitra said, 'we cannot afford. You said it yourself, Captain, more or less. Time is on Szass Tam's side. We must defeat him while we're still strong.'

Aoth inclined his head. 'Yes, Your Omnipotence. I understand.'

Tammith Iltazyarra winged her way through the night sky as a flock of bats, the lights of Escalant shining below. The sea reflected Selыne's crescent smile, and the haze of glittering tears that followed her, like an obsidian mirror. Tammith's inhuman senses registered the sea in somewhat the same way that a living person might discern the presence of a wall or cliff face looming close. She didn't merely see it, but felt it as a confining pressure. It exerted a force upon her, because no vampire could cross open water.

Once upon a time, her transformation into a swarm of leathery-winged beasts would have significantly altered her consciousness. The human-or quasi-human-Tammith was prey to shame and regret, and the bats were not. But it had been a long while since such feelings troubled her in any of her various guises. She supposed that meant she truly was dead now, and she was glad of it. Existence was easier this way.

Their shrill cries echoing from roofs and walls to guide them, the bats flew into an alley, checked a final time to make sure no one was watching, then swirled together. In a moment, they merged to become a petite, dark- haired woman in a plain cloak and gown. In other circumstances, she would have worn a sword and mail, but she didn't feel vulnerable without them. Her most formidable weapons were always with her. Xingax, curse him, had seen to that.

She walked onward, through streets that were busy even after dark, because Escalant was a thriving port. Though under Thayan governance, it was a colony, geographically removed from the realm proper, and as a result, the zulkirs' war had yet to blight it. In fact, the contented faces, well fed and unafraid, the music and laughter sounding from the taverns, and the scarcity of soldiers reminded her of Bezantur as it had been when she was alive. Something stirred inside her, some vague approximation of melancholy or nostalgia.

Then the temple of Kossuth came into view, and she quashed the feeling, whatever it was, to focus on the task at hand.

Like all the Firelord's houses of worship, this one was a ziggurat, built of blocks of cooled lava. Fires burned