pebble clattered down the hillside.

Gorath had his sword in hand before it stopped rolling, and said, “Owyn!”

The young man from Timons stood, peering into the night, blind from having gazed at the campfire. From out of the darkness a voice spoke in a language Owyn didn’t comprehend. Arrows slammed into the dirt at Owyn’s feet, to emphasize whatever command was given.

Gorath said, “Don’t resist. We’re surrounded.”

A group of men and moredhel advanced into the light. One of them walked up to Gorath and looked him in the eyes a moment, then with as powerful a blow as he could muster, he struck Gorath across the face. Owyn looked at the moredhel, sure he had seen him before, but not certain where.

Then the moredhel advanced upon Owyn and spoke the King’s Tongue. “You must have conspired with that walking garbage to kill my brother.” Suddenly pain exploded in Owyn’s face as he was struck.

In shock and dizzy from the blow, Owyn lay on the ground. He realized that this must be the brother of the magician Nago, whom they had slain in Yellow Mule. To the two of them, Narab said, “I would happily put your head on a pike, human, and hoist it while I drag this traitor behind me from here to Sar-Sargoth, but I am going to give that pleasure to Delekhan.” Turning to the others, he said, “Drug them, bind them, and bring their horses!”

Owyn was roughly pulled upright, and a bitter drink was forced past his lips. He tried to spit it out and was struck hard across the face for his trouble. His head was cruelly pulled back, and his nose held while the concoction was poured down his throat. He was forced to swallow. A few moments after he had, he felt his legs and arms growing leaden, his mind confused, and his vision hard to focus. He found his hands tied tightly behind him and a blindfold tied around his head. Then he was hoisted into his saddle by rough hands. Once there, his feet were lashed to his stirrups, and the horse was led away. Other men and dark elves appeared, leading horses, and Narab ordered them to mount.

The nightmare ride began.

The horses were changed many times, and Owyn remembered resting for a period—minutes or hours he couldn’t recall—but he knew time was passing. The drug was obviously designed to dull his mind so whatever magic he might have possessed was unavailable to him. Several times he became aware enough to realize the drug was wearing off, but then he was given more to drink. Once he fell awkwardly from the saddle and hung by the ties on his feet, forcing his captors to halt and right him. They added more ropes.

He was vaguely aware of being thirsty and hungry, but it was a distant discomfort. Mostly he existed in a grey fog, punctuated by the constant pounding from the horse upon which he rode. Then he was dragged from the horse and hauled through a cold, damp place and cast down onto rough stones. He lay there for a time, still bound and blindfolded.

He lapsed in and out of consciousness and was aware of his discomfort, but the drug in his system kept him apart from it. Then one moment ceased passing into the next, and he awoke in pain. He moved slowly and discovered himself free of leg restraints, though his arms were still bound and he was still blindfolded.

Owyn sat up and moved his aching and stiff legs. The insides of both of them were bruised, and he knew he had ridden a long way without being able to sit a comfortable seat. Even had he been conscious, he sensed the ride would have been punishing; it had taken at least seven or eight days, from what he could recall, and he had switched horses a number of times. But with senses dulled and tied to his saddle, it was only by the gods’ mercy he was alive.

The sound of footfalls, heavy boots on stone, approached, and the sound of a cell being unlocked announced the arrival of his captives. Hands yanked Owyn to his feet, and he couldn’t avoid groaning in pain.

The blindfold was removed from his eyes and even the relatively low brightness of a torch outside the cell caused Owyn to blink. A dagger cut through the ropes around his wrists, and when he moved his arms, agony shot through his shoulders. The pain almost caused him to fall, but he was held upright by two guards.

Narab came to stand before Owyn, and said, “He should still have enough of the drug in him to be harmless.” He turned and they escorted Owyn out of the cell. From a cell next door, Gorath was also escorted, and Owyn noticed he didn’t seem to be in better shape, though he walked with apparently less discomfort.

The tunnel was long and dark, and Owyn sensed it was deep underground. Despite his dulled magic senses, he knew immediately that at one time great power had resided here. There was something ancient and terrible about this place, and despite his drug-dulled senses, he was very afraid.

They were taken through a series of tunnels to a landing from which rose broad stairs. They were escorted up the stairs along a broad hallway, and led to a massive chamber. In the center of the chamber rested a massive throne, currently empty. At its right was another, smaller throne, upon which sat a large, powerfully built moredhel, who could only be Delekhan.

Narab said, “Master, I have a prize for you.”

The guards pushed Owyn and Gorath forward, so they landed sprawling at Delekhan’s feet. “What is this?” Delekhan demanded, rising to stand over Gorath.

“Gorath of the Ardanien! I have captured him. Let me have the honor of cutting out his heart, to revenge my brother’s death.”

“Your brother was a fool!” shouted Delekhan. Owyn looked up at the towering figure and saw a broad face, surprisingly blunt of features for one of elven kind. His face was a mask of rage, the most expression Owyn had seen on a dark elf so far. “And you are as well,” Delekhan added. “You’ve wrecked everything, you dog!”

Owyn looked at Narab, who stood white-faced, almost trembling with shock and outrage. “But . . . I have brought back a traitor! We can torture him to discover the names of the other dissidents.”

“You know nothing!” Delekhan turned to the guards. “Return those two to their cells below. I will question them later.” To Narab he said, “Your life hangs by the slimmest thread. Presume one more time, and your head will adorn a pike outside the gate!” He turned toward a door. As he walked away, he said, “Now get out of my sight, you bungler, and do not dare to approach me until I send for you.”

Although Owyn was no expert on the facial expressions of the moredhel, he could see murder clearly written on Narab’s face. And it was directed at Delekhan’s retreating back. Owyn was jerked around by two guards, hauling him to his feet, and once again he was forced to march back into the bowels of the dungeons at Sar-Sargoth.

No food or water was brought, and Owyn considered it academic, as they were likely to be dead within hours. Time passed slowly, and Gorath was silent. Owyn felt no impulse to speak, as he was awash with numbing fatigue. The ride, the lack of food and sleep, the drug, all were making it difficult for him to do anything but lie on the icy stones and attempt to rest.

Time passed slowly, a blur of thoughts which fled before they were remembered; perhaps he dozed for a while.

Suddenly he sat up, his skin awash with a tingling sensation. Magic! Energized by the fey effect of someone, somewhere casting an enchantment, he reached for the bars of his cell. A metallic click sounded, and the bars pushed open. “Gorath!” he said in a harsh whisper.

Gorath looked over and his eyes widened as he saw Owyn free. “Someone is using magic to set us free!” Owyn said, moving through the door, his injuries and fatigue forgotten.

Gorath tested his door and found it also unlatched. “Who?” he wondered.

“I have no idea,” said Owyn. “Whoever helped you escape the North the last time, perhaps?”

“Let us worry about that later,” advised Gorath. “We must get out of this fortress before we are missed.”

They moved through the halls of the dungeon. At the large hall that led upward, they found a dead guard, his blood freshly pooled on the floor. “Whoever threw the spell must have done it from here,” suggested Owyn.

“Over there,” said Gorath, pointing to a table upon which were piled the belongings that had been stripped from the two prisoners. Gorath put on his sword and tossed Owyn his staff. Owyn said, “I don’t suppose they left me any of my gold?”

Gorath said, “Hardly.”

Owyn knelt and examined the dead guard. He came away with a small pouch. “Well, this will have to do.”

Moving to the stairway, Owyn asked, “Do you know a way out of here?”

“Several,” replied Gorath. “This city was built for tens of thousands of my people to occupy. If Delekhan has more than a few hundred outside of the central palace area, I’ll be shocked. Moreover, many of the tribes here are strangers to one another, and there are many human renegades as well, so once we are free of the central palace, we may be able to use guile to find our way out.” He moved up the stairs. “But only if we are away from here when they find we are gone.”

Gorath led Owyn up a flight of stone steps, through a hall, and down a dark passage. Moment to moment they expected to hear the alarm raised behind them, but no hue sounded.

Suddenly they were aboveground, in a courtyard devoid of life. Gorath motioned, and Owyn followed, the twin spurs of fear and hope moving him despite his injuries and the drugs still in him.

They hid in a grove of scrub as fresh snow fell. “Does spring ever visit this land?” asked Owyn.

“Yes,” said Gorath slowly. “Very late, and our warm days are too few. But yes, we do see spring.”

“I thought Yabon a cold place,” said Owyn.

“What is your home like?” asked Gorath.

“Timons? Warm, most of the time.” Owyn stared into the distance. “We get rain, quite a bit, and occasionally great storms off the sea, but in the summer it’s quite hot. My mother tends gardens, and my father breeds horses. I didn’t realize how much I miss it until now.”

“Why did you leave?”

Owyn shrugged. “A boy’s foolishness. My father had a servant, a magician from the North named Patrus who lived with us for a time. He taught me my first lessons. After I studied a while at Stardock, I came to understand that he wasn’t very powerful as magicians go, but he was very smart. He understood things. I think that’s what I was really looking for, how to understand the world better.”

Gorath was silent a while, then at last he said, “I think we all would be better off if more of us sought understanding and fewer of us sought power.” He glanced at the fading light. “Come, it is time.”

They had been waiting for darkness, to attempt to slip out of the precinct around the fortress. Moredhel warriors and renegade humans, infantry and mounted solders had been moving for hours. At first they had assumed they were the object of a search, but after a while it was clear this was far more than a hunt for a pair of fugitives. This was a mobilization.

Gorath led them through a series of snow-filled gullies, over a hill, and then down a long draw that led to a flat plain south of the city. “The plain of Sar-Sargoth,” said Gorath. “Legend has it this is where the Valheru met in council. Great circles of dragons rested there while their riders assembled.”

Owyn saw a sea of tents and a large pavilion in the center, in front of which rose a standard, a crimson field upon which a white leopard crouched. “How do we get around that camp?”

“We don’t,” said Gorath, leading him toward the center of the encampment. “If we don’t find friends here, at least I think we shall not find enemies.”

Several moredhel warriors glanced at Gorath and Owyn as they walked through the camp. They appeared indifferent to Gorath and Owyn’s approach, though one got up and ran ahead. By the time they reached the large pavilion, the occupant stood waiting at the door to greet them.

“Greetings, Gorath of the Ardanien. Were not the dungeons of Sar-Sargoth to your liking?” The speaker was a striking female moredhel. Tall and regal of features, her hair was gathered into a knot behind her, and allowed to fall in a cascade of dark red. She wore armor in the same fashion as the males of her tribe, yet even in her warrior’s garb, Owyn was struck by her beauty. Alien and strange it was, but no less compelling for that. She stepped aside, indicating they might enter. She waved them to a place near a small fire. “Eat, rest for a while. I thought Delekhan would have killed you by now. Your escape will cause him no little discomfort.”

“You sound pleased at the prospect, Liallan.”

“My husband’s rise took me with it, Gorath,” she said, “but our marriage had nothing to do with affection. It was a wedding of powerful tribes, to seize control of our respective clans, and to keep them from shedding one another’s blood . . . for a time. Nothing more.”

“Is that why the charade, Liallan? You don’t believe in Delekhan’s mad plans any more than I, yet you openly support him. You command a tribe as powerful as his own, your influence in council is second to none but Narab.”

“You’ve been gone from us too long, Gorath. Much has changed in a short while. Narab even now musters his clan, and turns to face Delekhan.” She sat down next to Gorath and took a small piece of meat from a simmering pot next to the fire. She placed it between Gorath’s teeth in a gesture that was clearly seductive, yet even Owyn could tell it was a ritual rather than an open invitation. “Our new master is displeased with Narab. Something to do with your capture, I believe.”

Gorath accepted the ritual offer of food, then handed a bowl to Owyn. Owyn tore off a large piece of bread from a loaf next to the plate and used it to scoop up a mouthful of hot stew. Gorath said, “Why would your husband be upset with my capture? He certainly tried hard enough to keep me from fleeing south.”

Liallan sat back. She looked at Gorath a moment, then said, “You are a warrior of great honor, Gorath, and your bravery is unquestioned, as well as your caretaking of your clan, but you are naive at times.”

Gorath looked ready to take umbrage and studied the woman with a narrow gaze. “You come close to giving insult.”

“Don’t take it as such. In these cynical days, your openness and honesty are refreshing.” She reached up and unbuckled her breastplate, removing her armor. Owyn saw she wore a simple sleeveless tunic beneath the armor. She possessed a long neck and slender arms, yet there was nothing frail about her. Her movements hinted at speed, and the muscles of her arms and neck showed power. She was a dangerous woman, by any race’s measure.

“What are you saying, Liallan?”

“I’m saying you were picked for a role. You were the ideal clan chieftain for this part.”

“I was allowed to escape?”

Liallan said, “Who do you think engineered your escape from Sar-Sargoth all those months ago?” After a moment, she said, “I did. Just as I misdirected Delekhan’s soldiers into the snow plains while Obkhar’s family fled to the mountains near the Lake of the Sky. If they avoided the eledhel and the dwarves at Stone Mountain, they may be safely back in the Green Heart.”

“Why?” asked Gorath.

“To keep Delekhan busy,” said Liallan. “He has his timetable, I have mine. It suits my purpose to delay his assault of the Kingdom a while longer. His stupidity in treating with Narab will buy me another month. Once Narab’s head is upon a pole at Sar-Sargoth’s gate, it will take at least a month for Delekhan to bully the fractious clan leaders back into obeying him without question. Delekhan wants an early-spring campaign; I prefer one a little later in the year.”

Owyn asked, “Did you help us escape?”

“This time? No,” said Liallan. “I reap no gain in doing so. Whatever you may have done, you achieved on your own.”

Owyn said, “No, someone else opened that cage.”

“Then I suspect it may have been Narab. That fit of pique is what I would expect of him. If Delekhan threatens him for capturing you, then why not release you?”

“Will you help us again?” asked Gorath.

“I will consider such an effort an investment against the future of the Northlands, Gorath. Killing you or turning you over to my husband gains me nothing. Letting you go costs me little, and in the future your help may be useful. I have agents throughout the Northlands, and I will send word to certain of them to aid your travels south.”

Gorath said, “I will do what I can to assist you if fate allows.”

She smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “Rest for a while, then I will have horses ready for you. Take to the west and avoid the roads. The best route is by what the humans call the Inclindel gap, south of Sar-Isbandia. But avoid the village of Harlik, for Moraeulf camps there, and he knows you well.”

She stretched, and Owyn was again struck by her beauty and catlike grace. “Rest now, for in the morning things will become quite lively outside the city. Narab’s clan answers his call, and Delekhan will no doubt call down the wrath of The Six upon him. It should be over shortly.”

“Who are these six magicians?” asked Gorath.

Liallan’s voice dropped to a near whisper, as if someone might be listening. “They advise, and more. They scheme into the night with Delekhan. Only a few see them, and no one knows who they truly are. It was they who advised Delekhan to obliterate your tribe.”

“But why?” demanded Gorath. “We were never among Delekhan’s rivals, even if we served only with reluctance.”

“Because you were small, and your tribe had long been one to stay aloof. When your father died, you took your people and fled to the cold northern mountains. Wise, but it made you suspect. You avenged yourself, which was expected, but among those you killed were those related to Delekhan by blood. He could not ignore your acts, for he was under scrutiny, and he was driven by his need for powerful allies. In short, you made a bitter enemy, and your tribe’s destruction was an effective object lesson. As will be Narab’s death.”

“Did The Six order that?”

Liallan shrugged. “I do not know, but I would not be surprised if my husband didn’t hear warnings over the last few months casting doubts on Narab and Nago. Your slaying of Nago did Delekhan a favor. He was reluctant to move against one brother while the other was alive. Together they were the two most powerful spellcasters of our nation, and their clan is not one that can be ignored.”

Gorath ate in silence a moment, then said, “Where did The Six come from?”

“No one knows. No one even knows what race claims them. They are Spellweavers far beyond the powers of our race. Some suspect they may be Pantathians come among us again.”

“Murmandamus,” Gorath said softly.

“Yes,” said Liallan. “The same as those who served the Marked One.”

“Do they abide in Sar-Sargoth?”

“When they counsel Delekhan. Presently they are with his son Moraeulf in Harlik. They seek out more fugitives from your clan, those who are trying to win freedom and get south to the Green Heart.”

Gorath said, “Then I have even more pressing reasons to carry warning to Prince Arutha. If I cannot get my hands around Delekhan’s throat, I will aid one who will bring him low.”

“Tread carefully,” said Liallan.

To Owyn it sounded as if she were being sincere in her concern.

“Perhaps all our schemes will bear fruit. If I raise my Snow Leopard banner above the walls of Sar-Sargoth, Gorath, you and the surviving Ardanien will be welcome to return to the heart of their people.”

Gorath’s expression was guarded. “You are as much to be feared as Delekhan, Liallan.”

She smiled and again looked dangerous. “Only by those who seek to harm me or my tribe, Gorath. Return to your Northern mountains in peace if that day comes.” She stood, and said, “Rest. I will have horses outside before sunrise.” As she reached the doorway, she looked over her shoulder, and added, “Hide well, and move quickly, Gorath. If you return to my sight before Delekhan is overthrown, I must needs present him with your head as a peace offering.”

“I understand, Liallan. You’ve been generous to one humbled by fate.”

She left, and Gorath said, “She’s right, Owyn. We need to rest.”

Owyn lay down next to the fire, content with a full stomach, and glad to be rid of the drugs that had dulled his senses for so many days. Still, it seemed as if only a moment passed between closing his eyes and Gorath’s shaking him, saying, “It’s time.”

He rose and forced stiff aching muscles to obey as he wrapped a heavy fur-lined moredhel cloak around him and mounted a waiting horse. If the guards were curious as to who Liallan’s guests were, they said nothing, merely standing aside as the two strangers rode off.

The building was run-down, but there were a dozen horses tied in front of it. “We can get something to eat inside,” said Gorath.

The purse Owyn had liberated contained a few coins, Kingdom, Quegan, and even a Keshian silver piece, as well as some gems. They dismounted, and Owyn said, “What is this place?”

“You’d call it an inn. One of the conventions brought to the North by your people. My kind have never created such, but we have come to appreciate their benefits.”

They went inside to find a dark, small room, with as many as twenty men and moredhel standing around. A bar that was little more than long planks set upon barrels ran along the far wall of the building. Gorath shoved aside two men, and said, “Ale and something to eat.”

The human barkeeper produced a platter of cheese and bread, surprisingly good given the shoddy surroundings. They ate, and Owyn trusted Gorath’s instincts on his ability to blend in. “Where are we?” he whispered.

“Near the City of Sar-Isbandia. What you humans call Armengar. There are villages and towns throughout this region. Much trading with the south.”

Owyn said, “Most of us who live in the Kingdom think of the Teeth of the World as a wall separating our peoples.”

“It’s a barrier to warfare, perhaps, but enterprising men find a way to trade. There are a dozen ways through the mountains south of here.”

From behind a voice spoke lowly. “And all are heavily guarded, Gorath.”

Gorath spun, his hand falling upon his sword hilt. “Draw steel and die,” said the other moredhel. “Eat your cheese and live.”

Gorath didn’t smile, but his face relaxed. “I see you’ve managed to keep your head attached to your shoulders, Irmelyn.”

“No thanks to Delekhan,” said the other moredhel. He indicated with a nod they should move to a small table in the corner. Owyn picked up the cheese, took his ale, and followed.

Sitting in the crowded room, the moredhel named Irmelyn said, “Delekhan will have the rivers running piss and chickens laying dust by the time this all ends. Drink while you can, my old foe.”

“Why are you here, Irmelyn? I was told Obkhar’s tribe had fled.”

“Most have, but a few of us remain behind, in the hope we can free our chieftain.”

Lowering his voice to a whisper, Gorath asked, “He’s alive?”

Irmelyn nodded. “He’s alive, and close by. He’s being held prisoner in the naphtha mines under the destroyed city.”

“Prisoner?” Gorath looked confused. “Why isn’t he dead?”

“Because Delekhan doesn’t know he’s working as a slave in the mines. They think he is a man called Okabun, from Liallan’s Snow Leopards.”

Gorath said, “So you linger nearby to free him?”

“We do. We need help. Would you care to provide that help?”

“In exchange for what?”

“For a way south. As I said, the passes are all heavily guarded, but I know a way to get through.”

“What do we need to do?” asked Gorath.

“Come outside.”

They rose and left the relative warmth of the inn. Once they were outside, Irmelyn said, “We have discovered a way out of the mines. Unguarded.”

“Then why doesn’t Obkhar just walk out?” asked Owyn.

With a snarl, Irmelyn said, “When I want to hear from you, pup, I’ll kick you.”

Gorath said, “Then tell me, why doesn’t Obkhar just walk out?”

“Because of the fumes that hang in the tunnels. When the humans fled after firing the city, several tunnels from the old keep collapsed. One didn’t, but it is small, and the fumes that hang there would explode if a spark was struck, and the fumes would overcome anyone seeking to pass.”

“But you have a plan?” said Gorath.

“We have found masks, used by humans in the old days, constructed of bone and membrane from a dragon’s lungs. They let air pass through but keep the deadly fumes out.”

“So you need someone to get inside and get a mask to Obkhar,” said Owyn.

The tall moredhel glared at the young human, but said, “Yes, we need someone to get a mask to Obkhar and escape with him.”

“Why us?” asked Gorath. “Why not a member of your clan?”

“There are only a few of us left in the Northlands, and Moraeulf’s soldiers know all our faces. You, on the other hand, while known by name, are not well-known by sight. The Ardanien lived apart for many years; you could claim to be a member of any number of clans and who would say no?”

“What do you propose?” asked Gorath.

“Go to the slaver, a human named Venutrier. He claims to be from the Kingdom City of Lan, but I know him to be a Quegan. Tell him you wish to sell the boy.”

“What?” Owyn was about to object.

Gorath held up his hand. “Say on.”

“Venutrier is as venal a human as you could wish to meet. He will certainly try to capture you. Let him.

“Two of his guards will be alerted and allow you to enter the mines with your bundles and will store them for you. When you are taken below, they will come to you with your bundles and leave you unwatched. Obkhar will be somewhere on the level to the west of the great gallery. More than that we can’t tell you. If you agree and get him out, we will see you and your companion safely south.”

Gorath said, “Before I say yes or no, tell me: have you word of Cullich?”

Irmelyn said, “Yes, she is not far from here. A hut between here and the village of Karne. We can see her on our way south if that is your desire.”

Gorath was quiet for a moment, then said, “It is. We will do it.”

Irmelyn said, “Go then to the mine entrance. You will be challenged. Tell the guard you wish to speak to Venutrier. I will take your horses and weapons and meet you at a place Obkhar knows.”

“Care to tell us?” asked Owyn.

“If you do not free Obkhar, you have not kept your part of the bargain, human. You can fare as well as you may without our aid.”

Gorath said, “Come along, Owyn. We have a distance to walk.” Without looking back, he led the human away and set out for the mines.

Venutrier was a huge man, gross fat barely contained by a massive belt he wore around his waist. He looked over at Owyn, and said, “Where’d you catch him?”

“I didn’t,” said Gorath. “He’s a runaway kitchen whelp from the Kingdom who thought to come fight for gold. Well, he couldn’t play knucklebones, and it turns out he can’t pay his gambling debts.”

“He’s a bit scrawny,” said the slaver. “Come with me.” Without waiting to see if Gorath followed, he walked toward the mine entrance.

They entered the mine, and Venutrier asked, “Who are you, warrior?”

“I am Gorath of . . . the Balakhar, from the Green Heart.”

“Not from around here?” said Venutrier. “Good. We could use a strapping worker such as yourself.”

Guards lowered spears and suddenly Gorath and Owyn were surrounded. “Had you been from here, my friend, you would have known that no one comes without allies to my mines. Lord Delekhan has ordered an impossible amount of naphtha for the invasion of the Kingdom, and I need workers. Get them below.”

Gorath and Owyn were hustled below by the guards and taken to the second level of the mines, as Irmelyn had predicted. Then they were taken to a large empty cavern.

One of the guards lingered as the others walked away, and he whispered, “Stay here.”

They remained alone for a period, the darkness cut through by only one faint light, a lantern cleverly fashioned with a thin transparent membrane covering the flame. “I don’t expect we’re going to see a lot of torches around here,” observed Owyn.

“If there are fumes of naphtha in the tunnels, I expect you’re correct.”

Shortly a guard returned, carrying the bundles taken from Owyn and Gorath. He also carried a third bundle. “Here, take that tunnel there. You will be facing west. Find your friend and then go down to where you hear water. You must swim out.”

The guard vanished, and Gorath picked up the new bundle. It contained three odd-looking devices, obviously designed to wear over the nose and mouth. They gathered up their remaining possessions and departed.

The tunnel to the west went downhill, and abruptly Gorath stopped.

“What is it?” asked Owyn.

“We must be under the old city of Sar-Isbandia.”

Owyn didn’t know what to say.

Gorath continued walking. Soon they came to a large gallery, where the sound of work could be heard. A single guard moved idly around the huge gallery, overseeing the wretches laboring to lift buckets of the thick oil that ran through the earth, to bubble to the surface.

Owyn’s eyes teared, and he said, “I can see why they need the mask if it gets much worse than this.”

Gorath said, “Look for one of my people who wears his hair in a high fall, and who has a scar running down his face from forehead to chin.”

When the guard was at the farthest point in his rounds, they slipped through the main gallery to another tunnel. Those who labored hardly spared them a glance, intent as they were upon their own miseries.

Not seeing Obkhar, Gorath said, “Let us continue to the west.”

They moved down a long corridor that turned into another gallery, and in that one labored a small band of moredhel.

Owyn looked around, and said, “I don’t see any guards.”

Wiping away tears, Gorath said, “I think they linger near the fresher air at the ends of the tunnels. Where would these prisoners flee to?”

“Nowhere, Gorath,” came a voice from behind them.

They spun to be confronted by a large, gaunt moredhel who possessed the scar Gorath had described. “Obkhar!”

Looking Gorath up and down, Obkhar said, “At first I thought the fumes had finally taken my senses, but I see they have not. How is it you are here? I heard that your head had been spitted on a stake outside Sar-Sargoth.”

Gorath folded his arms across his chest. “Not all who remain in the Northlands willingly bend to Delekhan’s will. And not all who rebel die. I had help in escaping, as you do now. Others died so that I might win free.”

“You have a grave debt to repay.”

“All the more reason to see Delekhan’s reign ended, Obkhar! He shall pay blood debt to me and mine.”

“Most of my kin are now in the Green Heart, but should you raise your banner against Delekhan, Gorath, we will come to your cause.”

Gorath smiled. “So you at last forgive me for giving you that scar?”

Laughing, Obkhar said, “Never. I still intend to kill you for that, someday, but for the time being we need to be allies.”

Owyn produced the masks. “Where is the tunnel of fumes?”

“This way,” said Obkhar, leading them down a side tunnel.

They reached a point where the fumes threatened to suffocate them, and Obkhar said, “Put on your mask. They will help your eyes not at all, but you will be able to breathe. We have a long way to go and an icy swim at the end of it. The tunnel out is half-flooded, and leads to a branch of the River Isbandi.”

They put on the masks, and Owyn was surprised to discover they worked. The fumes burned his eyes, but by blinking rapidly he could see. He almost gave Obkhar a heart attack when he illuminated himself and his companions with his magic. The old moredhel chieftain said, “For a moment I thought you had struck a flame, and we were all about to be incinerated.”

They reached the tunnel that was flooded and entered icy water that rose to their knees. As they walked they moved deeper and soon they were up to their chests. Obkhar signaled and ducked his head underwater. Owyn and Gorath did likewise. They felt a tug and suddenly were swept into an underground stream.

Kicking hard, Owyn followed and when he came up, his head bumped stone. Fighting down panic, he moved a short distance away, and his head broke clear of water. Obkhar said, “You can take your mask off.”

“Good,” replied Owyn. “Because mine came off underwater.”

Something that may have been a chuckle came from Gorath. Obkhar said, “We have less than a mile to swim.”

They set off, Owyn fearing he would be pulled down by the weight of his sodden clothing, but he mustered the strength to continue. Suddenly above he saw stars and he realized they had come outside.

A short way down the river torches burned, and when they swam toward them, voices softly called out.

“It is I, Irmelyn.”

They were helped out of the water, taken to a fire, and given heavy robes to wear while their clothes were dried. “Any alarm?” asked Obkhar.

“None so far,” said a moredhel unknown to Owyn. “The guards we bribed will say nothing. It may go unnoticed for a very long time that you are not there. Many die in the mines and their bodies lie unnoticed in tunnels.”

Gorath asked, “Now, what of Cullich?”

Obkhar said, “Is she still alive?”

Irmelyn said, “Yes, and she lives nearby.”

“I was told I could see her on our way south,” said Gorath.

Obkhar looked at Irmelyn, who nodded. “A promise is a promise,” said the chieftain. “I must leave now, with those of my tribe who are to travel the passes with me. Irmelyn will guide you to Cullich and then on your way over the mountains.”

“Avoid Harlik,” said Irmelyn. “Moraeulf and The Six are there.”

“I will,” said Obkhar, as he finished changing into dry clothing. He said, “Gorath, fare you well, old foe. Let no one but me take your life.”

“You survive,” said Gorath, “so that I may take your head someday.”

After they had gone, Owyn said, “You two sound almost fond of one another.”

Gorath ate a piece of dried beef given him by Irmelyn, and said, “Of course. Friends can betray you, but with an old enemy, you always know where you stand.”

Owyn said, “I never thought of it that way.”

Irmelyn said, “They are an odd race, aren’t they?”

“Very odd,” agreed Gorath.

The hut was primitive, barely four walls of scrap wood cobbled together and roofed with thatch. A stone chimney emitted a faint wisp of smoke, the only sign of anyone inside.

“She’s in there?” asked Gorath.

Irmelyn nodded. “Yes.”

Gorath dismounted, as did Owyn. Irmelyn said, “Delekhan has her watched occasionally. I had better stay here. If I call, come quickly.”

Gorath nodded, and opened the door.

If the woman who waited inside was shocked at the unexpected appearance, she masked it well. She merely looked up from her corner next to the fire, and said, “Enter and close the door.”

“Is that your warmest welcome, Cullich? Your husband has returned.”

Owyn’s mouth dropped open.

She rose, sinuous and powerful in her movement, and while her gown was in tatters and her hair dirty and matted, Owyn was struck by the resemblance between this woman and Liallan. This woman’s hair was raven dark, while Liallan’s was red. While Liallan had been slender and lithe, Cullich was buxom and wide of hip. Her face was wide-boned, but there was something in common with the sunken-cheeked leader of the Snow Leopard Clan. Both women radiated power.

“Husband?” said the woman in mocking tones, her blue eyes fastened on Gorath. “How so? Clan leader? By what right? Ruler of a host? No more. Once you held those titles and had earned that rank, with guile and bravery, cunning and strength. Around you the Clan Ardanien lay curled like a sleeping dragon, awaiting your word to rise up and crush whoever opposed us. Where is that dragon now?”

“Gone, scattered to the north, across the Teeth of the World, hiding.”

“Then call yourself clan chief and husband no more, Gorath. You lost the right to those titles when you gave the order to flee Sethanon, when you refused my wisdom.”

“Wisdom, old witch? You counsel murder and madness. Do you still dream of conquest, of all the ranting of Murmandamus? Did you learn nothing by the obliteration of our people at Armengar and Sethanon? Two sons did I see fall along the way. One of them was our son.”

“What would you have of me, old man?” asked the woman.

“I seek to end the madness. Will you aid me?”

“How, by dying and having my head placed on a spear outside Sar-Sargoth?”

“Delekhan must be stopped.”

“Why? What destiny would you choose for our people, Gorath? Would you have us bend our heads to the earth once more? Should we serve the eledhel Queen as we once did the Valheru? We are a free people! Or do you feel the tug of the Returning?”

“No!” said Gorath, his eyes flashing in anger. “But I have heard things, learned things.” Pointing to Owyn, he said, “Not all humans are our enemies.”

“No,” said Cullich. “There are those who will serve us for gold.”

“No, I mean there are those who would live with us as neighbors, in peace.”

“Peace?” said the woman, with a laugh of contempt. “When have the moredhel spoken of peace? You sound like one returned to Elvandar. They who were once rampaging bulls are now gelded oxen, serving the Queen, no better than slaves.”

“This is not so, wife,” said Gorath. “The glamredhel have joined the eledhel, and not as slaves, but as welcomed brethren.”

“The mad ones!” said the moredhel woman. “You think it true, then you go. I will abide. Here is my home, and eventually I will find someone who can use my talents, and my knowledge, and he will be a warrior, and I will show him how to rise and take power and how to hold it. I will have other sons, sons that will live.”

Gorath sighed. “I feared that such would be your reply.”

“Then why have you come here? Surely not to rekindle a love long dead between us.”

“No . . . I need your help. For a short time, then I shall be gone from your life, one way or another.”

“For the sake of that love, now dead, I will listen,” she said, openly surprised by Gorath’s admission.

“Where are Delekhan’s forces now?”

Cullich looked out her frosted window. “Massed on the Kingdom border. The banners of Clans Krieda, Dargelas, and Oeirdu are held in reserve near Raglam. I hear both Liallan’s and Narab’s forces are to march soon.”

Gorath smiled. “Narab has turned on his master, like a rabid wolf.”

“Nevertheless, there are ample armies along the border to make crossing difficult.”

“We have a way,” said Gorath.

“Then what would you have of me?”

“You know things, witch. What do you know of The Six?”

“I once sought to scry on them, and for my troubles I was rendered senseless for more than a day. I know only that they possess arts beyond my understanding. Of all the things Delekhan has his hand in, this may be the most dangerous. He thinks he controls them; I wonder.”

From outside the house, Irmelyn shouted. “We must leave.”

“Go,” said the witch. “I think we shall never see one another again, and for that I am not sad. Too much pain has passed between us. These will be our last words as husband and wife. When you pass through that door, our marriage will end. But know this: I wish you well in whatever life awaits you.”

“As do I,” said Gorath sadly. “Be well, wife.”

“And you, husband.”

Gorath left the hut and when the door slammed shut, ending his marriage, he hesitated an instant, then he and Owyn mounted and rode off. Irmelyn shouted as they rode, “We must clear a pass before sundown, else those who will look the other way when we go by will have been replaced.”

Lost in thought, Gorath said nothing, and Owyn could only think that with luck, he might live to see the Kingdom again.