Bareris stalked onward, pivoting, sword at the ready. He crooned a charm to give himself owl eyes.
A hand gripped his forearm. Startled, he wrenched himself around, trying both to break free and to bring his blade to bear before he saw that it was Aoth who'd taken hold of him.
'It's over for now,' the sellsword captain said.
'You don't know that. Just because he ran, it doesn't mean he ran far.'
'Of course it does. Think. No lone warrior, not even Tsagoth, would linger for long in the midst of an enemy army.'
'Well, I'll make sure.'
'No,' said Aoth, his voice soft but steely, 'you won't. You climbed up on that pile of dirt to motivate these folk, and it was working, but now Tsagoth's rattled them. You have to go back and talk some more. Otherwise, the blood drinker's undone your good work, and he wins. Is that what you want?'
Shaking, Bareris closed his eyes and struggled to dampen his hatred and rage at least a little. Tried to think of something besides Tammith crumbling in his embrace as the Alamber Sea dissolved her flesh like acid.
'I'll go back,' he managed.
Aoth posted more sentries and rousted Lallara and her subordinate wizards to cast additional defensive enchantments, just in case Tsagoth tried to sneak back. Then he returned to the center of the camp, where Bareris was still addressing the rebels and brandishing his naked sword for emphasis. The red light made the blade look bloody.
If Aoth was any judge-and after a century of commanding men, he'd better be-the bard's oration was having the desired effect. The rebels no longer regarded the blood fiend's incursion as a terrifying guarantee of horrors to come. Now it seemed an infuriating provocation.
Aoth made his way to Mirror's side. 'Thank the gods for that golden tongue,' he murmured from the corner of his mouth.
'It's bad that Tsagoth's here,' replied the ghost. 'We'll have to watch over our brother to make sure the old grudge doesn't goad him into folly.'
'In case you didn't notice, I just promoted myself to acting zulkir a little while ago. I have this whole army to 'watch over.' Bareris knows what's at stake. I'm sure he'll be fine.'
Standing atop the battlements above the Dread Ring's primary gate, Malark-for it was easier to think of himself that way than as the original Malark's magically created surrogate, especially now that they were no longer in proximity-gazed south. The council's army was out there somewhere in the night, probably within a day's march of the fortress. The scouts and diviners had given him a good idea of its size and composition, but even so, he looked forward to seeing such a mighty host of killers for himself and to watching it and the castle's defenders slaughter one another.
A dark, looming form appeared before him. He reflexively shifted his feet just a little-though most observers wouldn't even notice, the change in his stance prepared him tor combat-even as he perceived that the new arrival was Tsagoth, come to report as expected.
'How did it go?' Malark asked.
'Anskuld and many others saw me make the kills. One of my victims was a young, dark-haired Rashemi girl, pretty as you humans reckon such things.'
'Excellent. Are you thirsty? Would you like me to conjure an imp for you to feast on?' Although, bound as he was into Szass Tam's service, Tsagoth generally had to make do with the blood of mortals, he much preferred to prey on other creatures native to the higher worlds.
The blood fiend glared, his crimson eyes blazing. 'I'm not a dog for you to reward with treats.'
Malark decided not to observe that when Tsagoth, with his lupine muzzle, bared his fangs that way. there was a certain resemblance. 'Of course not. You're my valued comrade, and I was trying to show you courtesy.'
Tsagoth grunted.
'Why so touchy, if your errand went well?'
'When I arrived, the bard was addressing the rebels. He told them Szass Tam has some demented scheme to kill the entire world.'
'Ah.'
'Is it true?'
Malark considered denial but decided a lie was unlikely to allay the blood fiend's suspicions. 'I wouldn't call it 'demented,' but otherwise, yes. Please tell no one else.' Many of the Dread Ring's garrison wouldn't believe or understand Tsagoth even if he did tattle, and, like the undead demon himself, they bore enchantments that would oblige them to perform their functions no matter what they knew. Still, it would be pointlessly cruel to frighten them.
Tsagoth twitched as he felt Malark's mild-sounding request impose irresistible compulsion.
'Have I served well these past hundred years?' the blood fiend asked.
'I assume that's a rhetorical question. You're one of our master's greatest champions.'
'I've done all I have in the hope that one day he would return me to my own plane. If you want my very best, one last time, promise me that after we preserve the Dread Ring, you'll send me home.'
Malark sighed. 'You think you'll be safe if you simply escape Faerun, don't you? In all honesty, I have to tell you, you won't.'
Tsagoth snorted. 'I know Szass Tam is capable of making a great mess, but I doubt he'll even destroy this one squalid little excuse for a world. His magic surely won't reach into all the worlds there are.'
'The Spellplague did.'
'So people say, but I still like my chances.'
'Have it your way, then. Once we eliminate the threat to the castle, I'll return you to the Abyss. Now, is it clear what I need from you next?'
'Yes. The zulkirs will camp on the lake or near it. When practical, I'm to seize Rashemi maidens and drown them, so they die in water like Tammith Iltazyarra did.'
'Precisely.'
'What I don't understand is why it's so important to nettle Bareris Anskuld and undermine his judgment. He's just one soldier in an army.'
'In his way, he's as accomplished a champion as you are; I'm sure Aoth or the zulkirs will give him men to command, and in any case, this ploy is just one little element of my overall strategy. I'll give you tasks more worthy of your stature as the siege proceeds.'
'All right. Whatever you want.' Tsagoth hesitated. 'Tell me one more thing.'
'Surely.'
'If you know what's coming, why do you serve Szass Tam so willingly?'
'The promise of perfect beauty and perfect peace.'
'I don't understand.'
Malark smiled. 'No one does. It makes me feel lonely sometimes.'
CHAPTER SIX
10–14 Mirtul, The Year of the Dark Circle (1478 DR)
Long before he was old enough to enlist, Aoth had yearned to join the Griffon Legion of Pyarados, because he'd been certain he'd love flying. As he had. And more than a hundred years later, he still relished it just as much as ever.
But this was the sort of morning that took the joy right out of it. The cold rain chilled him despite the magical tattoo and minor charms intended to keep him warm and dry. Maybe he was sensing Jet's discomfort across their psychic link, for his familiar was certainly drenched as well as vexed at winds that consistently blew in exactly the
