Yagoth hesitated to hit Pavel too often. Ogres were simply too strong, and humans, too fragile. He didn’t want to kill the sun priest prematurely.

What he could do was jerk Pavel up off his chair and give him a good shaking. That was enough to rattle the cleric’s bones, jab pain through his battered body, and presumably, keep him from meditating. Accordingly, Yagoth performed the petty torture every couple minutes, enjoying the way his captive gasped and cried out, until another ogre appeared in the library doorway and gave him a nod, to indicate that the sun had risen completely above the hills to the east.

Every priest petitioned his god for spells at a particular hour sacred to the deity. Naturally, the Morninglord communed with his servants at dawn. Stop a sun priest from making contact with Lathander at that time, and you denied him the chance to renew his magic.

Yagoth had likewise taken other measures to render Pavel helpless. He’d confiscated the human’s armor and weapons, including the enchanted mace he carried tucked in his own kilt. He’d tethered one of Pavel’s ankles to his chair. His best trick, though, had been to break the sun priest’s leg, splint it crooked, then use one of the few healing spells Vaprak granted him to fuse it in place that way. Pavel couldn’t possibly run with it bent and twisted as it was. He’d be lucky to hobble.

“Work,” Yagoth growled. “Find something useful, and I’ll give you food and water.”

Pavel sighed. “I already discovered what Sammaster learned here, and shared it with you, too.”

“That’s useless.”

“I explained from the start, the pieces of the puzzle are scattered across Faerûn. We never expected to find the entire secret here, just a portion of it. But if you let me take it back to Thentia….”

“You’ll profit, and I’ll gain nothing.”

Pavel’s face tightened with pain, perhaps a sudden twinge from the scabby cut and purple bruise on his forehead. “No one will profit, or rather, the whole world will. Stopping the Rage will benefit everyone, ogres included.”

Yagoth grumbled, “Even if you’re telling the truth, that isn’t good enough.”

“Preserving all Faerûn from devastation and tyranny ‘isn’t good enough?’ That’s insane.”

“Thar was a mighty kingdom once. It’s my destiny to restore and rule it, as great Vorbyx did. Vaprak has given me signs. He guided me to a place of power, and gave me the tools—you and your dead halfling friend—to find and understand the lore the ancients left here. Now you’re going to read every tablet, every parchment. Read until your eyes bleed. Read until you can teach me how to enslave dragons, or give me some other secret to win my throne.”

“What if there’s nothing here that will serve?”

“There is.”

“Just suppose there isn’t. At the end, if I’ve done my best, will you set me free, to return to Thentia and help end the Rage?”

“No. If I can’t have what I want, then let the whole world go down in blood and ruin. What do I care?” Yagoth leered. “But if you help me, you can go free.”

He doubted Pavel believed him, but perhaps the human wanted to. It had been Yagoth’s experience that captives who were suffering and desperate would sometimes seize and cling to any hope, no matter how absurd. In any case, it did no harm to try to motivate the sun priest by whatever ploy came to mind.

“You already rule your tribe,” Pavel said. “If you want to wind up with even that many subjects, release me now, before another dragon flight happens along and massacres them.”

Yagoth scowled, picked up a stack of tablets, and dumped them clattering on the table in front of the human.

“Read,” said the ogre. “Read or go thirsty, and starve. Look for mention of a blue dragon.”

“There won’t be one. I realize the blue wyrm seemed like a portent to you, but it wasn’t. It was just one more drake wandering far from its normal habitat under the influence of the frenzy.”

Yagoth smacked Pavel with the back of his hand. The human flew from his chair. Since Yagoth had tethered him to the seat, the length of rawhide jerked it over, too, to bang against the floor.

Alarmed, the ogre stooped to peer at his prisoner. He hadn’t meant to strike Pavel. He’d simply gotten tired of listening to the human argue, until finally his patience snapped. But if he’d killed the wretch….

Pavel groaned and rolled onto his side. Yagoth heaved a sigh of relief.

The carved and polished wooden amulet floated at the center of the pentacle chalked on the floor, and Rilitar prowled around it, peering, muttering under his breath, and periodically making a sinuous mystic pass. Each such gesture briefly produced a pattern of multicolored light, hanging in empty air like a chart on a wall.

Taegan watched intently, eager to hear what Rilitar would say. The avariel had worn the pendant under his clothing for some time. According to the elf wizard, the talisman was somewhat akin to a magic mirror capable of catching and holding the reflection of the first demon, devil, or elemental spirit that approached it. Except that the amulet didn’t register an actual image, but rather, truths concerning the entity’s essential nature. Or something like that.

His iridescent hide still singed and raw in a couple spots, Jivex crouched on a tabletop, among a mortar, pestle, alembic, and jars of powder, iron filings, mushroom caps, and dried leaves. At first, possibly enjoying the displays of colored light, he’d watched Rilitar work with considerable interest. But half an hour later, his serpentine tail switched restlessly, threatening to send a piece of glassware or crockery flying with every flick.

Finally Rilitar plucked the amulet from the air, recited a rhyme, and broke the border of the pentacle with a scuff of his toe. Taegan could tell from the magician’s scowl that his report would be less than satisfactory.

“Is there nothing?” the avariel asked.

“Well,” Rilitar said, “I wouldn’t say ‘nothing,’ but we don’t have what I hoped we’d get. Normally, if a wizard repeatedly used a chasme as his conjured agent, the demon would bear … well, call it his arcane brand. But if it was there, the charm couldn’t read it.”

“So what does that mean?” Jivex asked.

Rilitar shrugged and said, “I don’t know. Perhaps the chasme’s master erased his signature. I don’t know a spell to do that, but maybe he does.”

Taegan smiled wryly. “All this ambiguity makes my head ache. I much prefer thinking about fencing, where one has only so many ways to stick or cut a man, and he, only so many means of defense.”

“Whereas,” Rilitar said, “in wizardry, the possibilities are almost limitless. That’s what makes the Art so beautiful, so magnificent, but it poses problems when you’re trying to solve a magical puzzle.”

“Did the amulet reveal anything else?”

“Yes, but I don’t entirely know what it means.”

Jivex snorted. “What else is new?”

Rilitar chuckled at the gibe. “If it’s any consolation, friend dragon, much as my lack of insight vexes you, it’s a greater frustration to me, because it wounds my conceit. But be that as it may, the chasme’s aura differs from that of any tanar’ri I’ve ever encountered. That’s why wards don’t hold it at bay, and banishments don’t drive it from our plane of existence. The spells don’t recognize it for what it is.”

“That raises a question,” Taegan said. “If Sammaster’s minion can mask a fiend’s essential nature, why not use the same trick on the abishais? He could have sent all his conjured assassins romping through the House of the Moon, the clerics’ protections notwithstanding.”

“Well, he did use the abishais to set up an ambuscade for you and Jivex, in case you appeared to interfere in his plans.”

“But that was just a secondary ploy. His primary objective was to murder Sinylla, and she was a formidable spellcaster. He would have been more assured of making the kill if he’d sent all his servants after her, and really, just as likely to eliminate the dragon and me if we turned up. The point of luring us into the merchants’ garden was to limit our ability to maneuver, but being inside the temple was even more confining. No, I think he failed to disguise the abishais’ natures because he couldn’t. For some reason, he can only work that trick with the chasme.” He hesitated, then grinned ruefully. “A discovery that ought to lead us triumphantly on to infer the traitor’s identity, except that it doesn’t seem to be happening.”

“No,” Rilitar said, “it doesn’t. We have an abundance of curious facts, but no idea what they mean. Perhaps we should go question the Zhents.”

When they exited the wizard’s house, the morning sky was clear, and the air, warm. Crying and singing their wares, vendors pushed carts of marigolds and peonies and glistening perch, trout, and mackerel, through the streets. As Jivex flitted about, the latter kept attracting his interest, and soon he swooped and snatched a fish. Taegan had expected no less, and already carried a coin in his hand to appease the outraged seller.

Afterward, he said to Rilitar: “I feel we’re close. The answer is before us. We just haven’t spotted it yet. We will, though.”

“But not in time to help Sinylla.”

Taegan felt a pang of sadness and anger, the latter emotion directed less at the chasme or its faceless master than at his own inadequacies.

“No, not in time for that,” the avariel said. “We came so close to saving her! If only a healer had reached her a little sooner, I believe she would have pulled through. But ‘if only’ does no good. The truth is, I failed the poor lass, after more or less guaranteeing that everyone would be all right.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself. Knowing the risks, she chose to fight this fight. I’ll miss her, though. She was a true prodigy, at both arcane and priestly magic. I’d never seen her like before, and doubt I will again.”

Which meant, Taegan reflected glumly, that of all Thentia’s scholars, Sinylla might have been the one whom Kara’s venture could least afford to lose.

“Yet for all her talents,” Rilitar continued, “she was blithe and unassuming, full of mirth and kindness. Nearly all her fellow wizards liked her, and you’ve met us, Taegan. Half of us don’t like anybody.”

“That half including Phourkyn,” the avariel said, “but he fought to save her. Perhaps he did save me. He drove the chasme back when it had me down and was reaching for my throat.”

“So we can cross him off our list of suspects.”

“It would appear so. He couldn’t have conjured or psychically directed the chasme at the same time Sureene was interrogating him, could he? But if it isn’t you, him, Firefingers, Sinylla, or Scattercloak, then who? Fat, fretful Darvin in his pretentious robes of white? A supposedly less powerful member of your circle? A stranger lurking somewhere in town? The possibilities rattle around in my skull like dice in a cup.”

“I should have been there,” Rilitar said, “to stand with you and help protect Sinylla.”

“No,” said Taegan, “that’s unacceptable. If I’m not permitted to blame myself, then neither are you. You’re not Helm the all-seeing, and couldn’t know the traitor would strike when and where he did.”

“You’re right,” Rilitar said. “It’s just hard to see Sinylla perish so young and full of promise. Humans live such brief—”

A shadow swept over them, and folk started to clamor. Taegan looked up, just in time to glimpse enormous wings beating, a flash of bronze scales in the sun, and the human figures, tiny by comparison, clinging to the dragon’s spine. Then the wyrm vanished behind a tall building.

“That’s Wardancer,” Rilitar said, “one of Kara’s seekers. But where’s she headed? Firefingers’s tower is the other way.”

Taegan’s intuition supplied the answer: “She and her riders are headed the same place we are. Come on”

He spread his wings and leaped into the air.

Will opened his gummy eyes, surprised to find he was still alive. It was hard to be particularly happy about it. His wounded shoulder hurt too badly, especially since infection had set in, causing greenish pus to ooze from the ragged puncture and painting red streaks on his skin.

Trying to block out the throbbing pain, he warily lifted himself up from the depression in the ground and peeked through the thorn bushes. Then he sighed with relief, because the dragons were still there, crouching on the moor, shuffling about, snarling and ranting to themselves like the mad things they were. Had they wandered off while he was unconscious, it would have been just as disastrous as if they’d discovered him passed out in his hole.

The four wyrms on the heath were greens, one huge, old one and three that, though smaller, were still colossal compared to a halfling, human, or even an ogre. Maybe they’d laired in the great wood that was Cormanthor on the southern shore of the Moonsea, or in the Border Forest to the west, before frenzy launched them on their aimless journey.

Wherever they’d come from, they hadn’t had an entirely easy time getting so far. Some of their prey had put up a fight, slashing and stabbing holes in their hides. Probably that was why they’d stopped to rest, though left to their own devices, they wouldn’t bide for long. The Rage wouldn’t let them.

If Will could only have been certain they’d go tearing off in the proper direction, it would have made his life easier. But as he had no way of knowing, he had no choice but to resume his labors.

He waited until none of the greens were looking in his direction. Then he popped up, whirled his sling, and hurled one of the mud balls he’d shaped. Blessed Mother Yondalla, but it hurt to move quickly! Biting back a gasp of pain, he dropped down once more.

The mud ball thudded in the sparse grass with a softer, more ambiguous noise that a stone would have made. The greens whirled and charged toward the noise, then, growling to one another, prowled about the vicinity from which it had issued.

That was all right with Will. He was twenty yards away. But then the biggest wyrm decided to sweep a larger area. It stalked away from its fellows on a spiral path that would bring it within a stride or two of the depression where he lay hidden.

If he wasn’t mistaken, he’d be downwind of the reptile, and he’d rubbed himself with juice crushed from the proper leaves to deaden his scent. Still, he was all but certain the green would smell his festering wound when it came close enough, glimpse him despite his screen of thorn bush, or simply hear the pounding of his heart. Yet all he could do was lie perfectly still and hope. He surely couldn’t run. The wyrms would spot, pursue, and overtake him in a matter of seconds.

Nostrils flaring, forked tongue flickering, horned and crested head twisting this way and that, the green loomed above him, close enough for him to distinguish the reptile’s individual scales. Gleaming despite the layer of heavy gray cloud attenuating the sunlight, they made an intricate mosaic of jade, olive, and emerald, of all the myriad hues of leaf and moss. As Will held his breath, trying not to cough or gag on the stink of the wyrm’s corrosive poison, he thought that if, as seemed likely, it was his time to die, at least the last thing he’d ever see was beautiful.

The drake arched its head forward. In another instant, it would peer over the thorn bushes. Then one of the other wyrms called to it. The big green spat a little puff of vapor that rotted away the uppermost fringe of the bushes, pivoted, and strode to rejoin its comrades.

Will waited until the reptile made it all the way back. Then he crept south, found a new hiding place, and in due course threw another mud pellet, drawing the dragons after him again.

Afterward, he decided that was enough. He hoped he’d lured the dragons close enough for his purposes, and in any case, the same simple trick couldn’t fool even demented wyrms for long. Keeping low, he skulked away from them, up a hill and down the other side, toward the hollow containing the black lake and the temples of the infernal powers.

The ogres were still camped in front of the grandest shrine. Will looked for his pony and Pavel’s horse, but saw neither. The giant-kin had likely eaten them.

It was yet another stroke of misfortune, but there was no point fretting over it. Will sneaked on to a green, corroded bronze statue of an eyeless, four-armed demon positioned partway down the hillside. Crouching behind it, he might stay hidden for at least a few heartbeats.

He placed a stone in his warsling and let it fly, to crack against the head of the sentry lounging just a few yards away. The ogre dropped to one knee, and dazed, rubbed its bloody forehead. Will clipped the guard a second time, and it toppled forward onto its face.

Will turned is attention to the brutes in the filthy, slovenly camp below. They could eat skiprocks until the supply ran out. Despite the handicap of slinging with his off hand when he was sick with pain and fever, the missiles rebounded properly, bashing multiple targets with each throw. Will grinned.

I’ll bet now you wish you’d taken the trouble to track me down, he thought, instead of just assuming I’d bleed out. Now roar and hoot, you brainless, treacherous louts.

They did bellow. The only problem was that soon, one of them pointed and shouted that there, there was the halfling! Will glanced behind him. The crest of the hill was still empty.

How could that be? He was sure he’d drawn the dragons close enough to hear all the commotion. Unless they’d flown away as soon as he lost sight of them, and of course, that was exactly how his luck was running.

He cowered behind the statue for as long as it was practical, popping out to sling stones, ducking back to avoid the spear and rocks the ogres threw at him. When the giant-kin were a few strides away, he scrambled backward, making them chase him farther.

He knew it would only be a little farther. He couldn’t stay ahead of them for long.

He jerked himself out of the path of a thrown hatchet. A pair of ogres pounded at him, spears leveled. He wished he still had his hornblade, or at least his dagger.

Then, behind him, something screeched, loud enough to shake the earth. The ogres froze, eyes wide with dread. Will didn’t have to look around to know what they had seen.

By the time Taegan and Jivex reached the cobbled plaza in front of the Zhents’ mansion, Wardancer had deposited her riders on the ground and taken flight once more, to circle above the house. The bronze was watching to make sure nobody sneaked out the back way.

Baerimel, Jannatha, and to Taegan’s surprise, Darvin Kordeion and Scattercloak stood before the front entrance, a high, black-enameled door reinforced with iron. Had they already knocked, demanding admission? If so, the Zhents had opted not to respond. Scattercloak, hooded and shrouded as ever, stood before the panel, reciting an incantation in his emotionless voice, and lashing one hand, covered almost to the fingertips by a long, flopping sleeve and gloved in gray leather beneath, through a mystic figure. The magic accumulating in the air made shadows twist and twitch where they lay on the ground.

“Stop him,” Taegan said, “without hurting him.”

“Right,” Jivex said.

Hovering, the faerie dragon stared at Scattercloak, and a brassy note blared through the air. It was loud even where Taegan was standing, and judging from the way the wizard flinched, it had sounded right beside his ear. The shadows stopped writhing the instant he botched his spell.

He and his fellow mages rounded on Taegan and Jivex.

“What’s wrong with you?” demanded Darvin, his snowy robes shining in the sunlight. “Help, or stay out of this.”

Rilitar appeared in the center of the square, vanished once more, and an instant later, materialized at Taegan’s side. The puff of air thus displaced rustled the avariel’s feathers.

“Please, wait,” the elf wizard said. “What do you intend?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Baerimel asked. Judging from the redness in her eyes and the tangles in her hair, she’d wept most of the night away. “Maestro, you said the chasme led you to this house.”

“It means nothing,” the bladesinger said. “The first night I encountered the chasme, Jivex and I followed it to Scattercloak’s house before it winked out of sight.”

That silenced them all for a moment, and during that hesitation, something blocked the sunlight streaming from on high. Taegan had to stifle the instinct to cower, even though he realized it was one of Kara’s allies swooping down.

Wardancer touched down with considerable agility in what was, for her, a cramped space. The tip of one scalloped wing brushed a shower of russet paint flakes from a wall, but otherwise, she did no damage. Up close, she smelled like the sea, as bronzes often did.

“What’s wrong?” the dragon asked. “Why haven’t you battered down the door and hauled the Zhents out?”

“As I was just endeavoring to explain,” Taegan said, “that’s not a sound idea.”

“According to Baerimel,” Wardancer rumbled, “they drove Samdralyrion mad, resulting in his death, then murdered little Sinylla. I was fond of that child.”

“We don’t know that they’re to blame,” Rilitar said. “In fact, Maestro Nightwind and I very much doubt it.”

“Because you’re obsessed with the notion that a member of our own circle is responsible,” Scattercloak said, “even though you have no proof. Now, it seems, you mean to point the finger of suspicion at me, even though the fencing teacher already declared me innocent.”

“No,” Taegan said, “I remain convinced of your innocence.” He’d forfeit any influence he had over them if he admitted to being fallible or uncertain. “The point I was endeavoring to make is that our enemy consistently strives to make us suspect the wrong person.”

“I’ve lived near and beneath the Moonsea for centuries,” said Wardancer. “I know the Black Network and the evil it does. If the folk in this house are Zhents, then I can readily believe they’re responsible for our woes.”

“I confess,” Taegan replied, “I’m a stranger to this region. But from what I’ve gleaned, though the lords of Zhentil Keep are tyrants, and their troops, brigands and pirates, most of their subjects are simple farmers and craftsmen, like the majority of folk in any land. It’s likely the merchants who live here have no more harm in them than the average fellow born and bred in Thentia.”

“Have you never heard of spies?” Darvin asked.

“I have,” Taegan said, “but please, think it through. If by some chance the merchants are agents of the Black Network, then they can’t serve the Cult of the Dragon also. The one conspiracy has nothing to do with the other.”

“You don’t know that,” said the wizard in white.

“Yes,” Taegan said, “I do. It’s obvious to anyone who makes the effort to ponder the matter calmly. It’s true that early on, the Zhentarim sought to exploit the Rage to further their own ends, but that’s scarcely the same thing as wanting dracoliches to overrun the world. The Zhentish lords want to conquer it themselves.”

“It comes down to this,” said Scattercloak. “I intend to do everything possible to ensure my safety.”

“I take it,” said Rilitar, “that in your mind, ‘everything possible’ encompasses breaking into the merchants’ home, dragging them forth, interrogating them under duress, or perhaps simply murdering them out of hand. Well, I have bad news for you. Those things aren’t possible, unless you kill me first.”

He placed his hand on the wand he wore sheathed on his belt.

“Trust elves,” said Darvin, “and their convoluted way of thinking to make any situation worse. If your forefathers hadn’t created the Rage, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

“True,” said Taegan. “Though all of us save Wardancer would be slaves to dragon kings, but I doubt you’d find it a pleasant existence. Those ancient mages liberated Faerûn. We’re each and every one of us in their debt. It’s scarcely their fault that, millennia later, Sammaster corrupted their work.”

It seemed strange to hear himself extolling the accomplishments of elves, when he’d always considered his race to be of little account. But he was simply giving the spellcasters of eld their due.

“If you had to bear the curse of frenzy,” Wardancer said, “you might well think their enchantment already partook of corruption. Still, there’s justice in what you say, and I’m glad I possess no thralls. In a sense, when the ancient elves delivered the small folk out of bondage, they freed the metallic drakes as well, to find a cleaner way of living, even if the means exacted a price for our liberation.”

“This is all irrelevant,” said Scattercloak.

“Perhaps,” Taegan said, “so let’s return to the issue at hand. Which is that dragons attract attention, and accordingly, much of Thentia is watching us at this very moment, peeping from windows and around corners. What will people think if you force your way into this house and harass or slay the inhabitants?”

“The inhabitants,” said Darvin, “are Zhents.”

“It wouldn’t matter,” said Taegan, “if they were trolls. Folk would still decide that the town mages have grown cruel and arrogant. That they’ll commit any crime or atrocity that strikes their fancy, without regard for the law. The burghers will likewise conclude that the dragons who keep calling at Firefingers’s tower are of the same mind, and at least as dangerous.”

“You know what the upshot will be,” Rilitar said. “The Watchlord and the noble families will bar dragons from entering the city. They may even seek to expel us wizards. We’ll lose our homes, and more importantly, be unable to continue our studies. All Faerûn will suffer if that befalls.”

“Let Master Shadow-water and I interview the spice traders.” Taegan grinned. “I can virtually guarantee that they’ll be happy to cooperate with us after we chivvy four hostile arcanists and an angry dragon away from their door. Perhaps we’ll have Sureene use her magic to question them as well. If they have anything to say that can illuminate our present difficulties, we’ll obtain the information, I promise you.”

Darvin sneered. “With Sinylla lying on her bier, what are your pledges worth?”

“No one could honestly guarantee that your work would be devoid of risk,” Taegan said, “and I didn’t. I do promise that I’m close to identifying the traitor.”

“By what method?”

“Avariel wizardry,” Taegan said. “The secret magic of the sky.”

If anyone else had claimed such powers for his reclusive kind, living like barbarians in the depths of the wilderness, he would have laughed. Though, it occurred to him, it was his own people who’d taught him bladesong, and it at least was far from a primitive discipline. Humans certainly had nothing comparable.

In any case, the important thing was that, with luck, Darvin and his allies wouldn’t realize that his pretensions to mysterious and far-reaching occult abilities were merely a bluff.

Baerimel started silently crying, the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I just wanted to do something. I need to. Sinylla was my cousin. I was right there with her. I should have been able to save her. But …”

“I understand” Taegan said. “I was there, too, and we will avenge her. But not by lashing out at random. Not by bringing Kara’s enterprise to ruin. That would mean our enemy had won.”

Baerimel gave a jerky little nod and whispered, “I know.”

“So do I,” Jannatha said.

Wardancer grunted. “If Sinylla’s own kin say to pull back, then I’ll honor their wishes.”

Taegan arched an eyebrow at Scattercloak and Darvin and asked, “What of the two of you?”

“I too relent,” said Scattercloak, “for now.”

“Hold on,” said Darvin to his cloaked and hooded colleague, “I still think—”

Scattercloak vanished.

Darvin’s pudgy face turned red at the other mage’s rudeness, and presumably, the frustration of having his intentions thwarted. He turned on his heel and stalked away.

Taegan didn’t relax until Baerimel, Jannatha, and Wardancer departed as well. Then he slumped with relief.

“For a while there, I thought we were all going to wind up brawling in the street.”

“I could have beaten them,” Jivex said.

“I admire your martial fervor,” Taegan said with a smile, “but that’s not the point. Win or lose, it would still have been a disaster. You’d think the others would comprehend that. Wizards are supposed to be wily.”

“Exactly,” said Rilitar, “too wily for anyone to fool or threaten us. Thus, when it happens, it’s alarming enough to stifle our reason and panic us. We have to unmask Sammaster’s agent soon, my friends. Otherwise, one way or another, our enquiry is doomed.”

“I know.” Taegan said

“Shall we go ahead and knock on the merchants’ door?” the magician asked.

Taegan shrugged and said, “I’m reasonably certain it’s pointless. Unless my instincts are in error, the abishais simply commandeered the Zhents’ towers and garden without their knowledge. But I suppose we’d better go through the motions.”

Will was closer to the onrushing greens than any of the ogres. If the wyrms didn’t gobble him up first, it would be because he was so much smaller. He threw himself to the ground to make himself less conspicuous still.

The giant-kin, conversely, shouted and screamed. A few bolted. Others hurled spears and stones, or scrambled forward brandishing flint-headed axes and clubs.

As a result, the greens ignored Will to rip into the ogres. Even so, he was in danger. An enormous scaly foot plunged down and jolted the ground less than a yard from the spot where he lay curled in a ball. Had it stepped on him, it would have squashed him to jelly.

Kara, the halfling thought, I deserve a bonus for this. If we ever see each other again, dig deep into that purse of gems you carry.

As soon as the wyrms raced by, he jumped up and ran, trying to swing around the reptiles. It wasn’t entirely possible. The dragons kept whirling and lunging unpredictably to attack ogres that were seemingly out of reach. Closing the distance in an instant, the greens snatched up the giant-kin, bit them into pieces, or clawed them to tatters of bloody flesh and shards of shattered bone.

A wyrm spun around and glared directly at Will. Well, he thought, I still think this was a good idea, even if it isn’t working out. Hating the spastic clumsiness of his crippled arm, he fumbled a stone into his warsling for one final and surely futile cast.

But before he could let the missile fly, an ogre hurled an axe that stuck in the dragon’s mask just below its eye. The green snarled and pivoted to pounce at its attacker. Will scurried on toward the largest temple.

Not all the ogres had forsaken their camp in front of the structure to chase Will up the hillside. Of those who’d remained, some were dashing to join the fight. Others had begun to retreat toward the shelter of the huge stone pile.

Most of them never even made it to the broad flight of stairs leading up to the primary entrance. A winged shadow swept across the ground, a plume of acidic vapor washed over them from on high, and they reeled and fell, their warty hides charred and blistered. In the mad confusion of the slaughter on the hillside, Will hadn’t even realized that one of the greens had taken to the air. But it had, and employed its breath weapon to deadly effect. It plunged to earth to crush more victims beneath its hugeness, then struck and ripped at any prey that yet survived.

Will sprinted around to the south side of the temple and through one of the secondary entrances. The urge to keep moving, to get below ground where the dragons couldn’t follow, was like a goad jabbing at him. Still, he forced himself to hide behind a pillar and wait until the path was clear.

After a minute, Yagoth and three of his warriors pounded up from the vaults. Will had assumed some guard would run to inform the shaman and any of his followers who happened to be attending him of the battle outside, and plainly, that was what had happened.

Now go out, fight, and die, the halfling thought. And sure enough, Yagoth bellowed “Vaprak!” and led his minions charging out the door.

Will descended into the tunnels and groped his way through the dark until faintness and vertigo overwhelmed him. He struggled to cling to his senses, but passed out anyway.

When he woke, it took him several seconds to recall where he was, and why. Even afterward, he still felt so weak and sick that he feared it was addling him, that he no longer accurately recalled the layout of the crypts.

Though it went against all the instincts he’d acquired as a thief, he decided to call out. Why not? If any ogres remained underground, he was likely dead in any case.

“Pavel!” he cried. “Pavel!”

His voice emerged as a feeble croak, and it seemed clear that nobody, whether human or ogre, was likely to hear it.

But after a moment, an answer echoed out of the blackness: “Will!”

The halfling heaved a sigh of relief. He’d assumed Yagoth had kept Pavel alive, but that wasn’t the same thing as knowing, and until that moment, he hadn’t.

“Keep talking, charlatan,” Will replied. “It will help me find your worthless arse.”

“All right,” Pavel said. “Yagoth assured me you were dead, but I didn’t believe it. I knew I’m not that lucky.”

Will staggered toward the sound until light blossomed in the gloom, glinting on the contours of the twin idols flanking the entrance to the secret library. The halfling quickened his pace, tripping over the ogre corpses that still littered the floor. The enormous blades that had killed them clanked beneath his boots. The surviving giant-kin had torn them from their mountings.

The source of the light turned out to be a torch in a sconce, enchanted to burn forever with a cool greenish flame. When it illuminated Pavel, Will winced. Seated on a chair beside a table heaped with stone tablets, the priest looked exhausted and half-starved. The gash and livid bruise on his brow were surely painful. But it was even more disturbing to observe his crooked leg. The filthy ogres had crippled him.

“You look like something somebody dumped out of a chamberpot,” said Will. “I mean, even more than usual.”

“I can honestly say the same of you. What kept you?”

“I couldn’t get past all the ogres until I worked out how to create a little distraction. Let me untie that tether, since you’re plainly too stupid to figure out the knot.”

“All right, and while you do that—”

Out in the corridor, the broken blades rattled. One of the ogres was coming, and had likely heard Will and Pavel’s voices.

Will scurried to the rear of the chamber and hid in the shadows beneath a table. He placed a stone in his warsling.

Red eye glaring, the normal one squinched shut, Yagoth shambled through the doorway. Dragon breath had scalded his warty, branded hide, but the injury didn’t appear to be slowing him down any. He held his spear leveled in his hands, and had Pavel’s mace tucked in his kilt.

“Show yourself, little rat!” he bellowed. “I know you’re in here!”

“No one’s here but us,” Pavel said. “Are you hearing voices? I keep telling you, you’re insane.”

Yagoth ignored the taunt and started prowling around the room. “I understand the trick you played, halfling. My people are dead because of you. But I’ll still achieve my destiny. After I kill you, and the sun priest finds me the weapon I need, I’ll make myself chief of another tribe, and build my kingdom from there. The banner of the blue dragon—”

Will lunged out into the open and hurled the rock.

It was supposed to put Yagoth’s scarlet eye out. Instead, it glanced off the ogre’s low, blemished forehead, leaving a bloody graze, but no more. Yagoth roared and charged.

In better times, Will could have slung another stone before his foe took two strides, or dodged and tumbled with such agility that Yagoth would have found it difficult to score a hit on him. But in his current state of decrepitude, he could manage neither. He scrambled back beneath the cover afforded by the table.

Which vanished instantly, when Yagoth grabbed hold of the furniture and tossed it aside. Tablets crashed down everywhere, some shattering against the floor.

Snarling, Yagoth stabbed repeatedly with his spear, and Will gave ground. The halfling realized his opponent was pushing him into a corner, but lacked the speed to maneuver out of the box. In another moment, he’d have his back to the wall, and most likely, the lance in his vitals an instant after that.

“Flee!” shouted Pavel.

Brilliant idea, thought Will. I would, if I had anyplace to flee to.

But bellowing in anger and surprise at his own behavior, it was Yagoth who shambled backward. Will belatedly realized that Pavel had afflicted the ogre with a magical compulsion.

Most likely, it would only last a moment, but maybe that was time enough for another cast. Will dropped a stone into the sling and let it fly.

The missile hit the mark. Yagoth screamed and clutched at his ruined eye. As he reeled, his foot landed on a fallen tablet. He slipped and fell.

Will rushed him, and thumb-gouged Yagoth’s good eye. The ogre howled and flailed blindly. Will ducked, seized a tablet in a two-handed grip, and pounded Yagoth over the head with it. After two blows, the shaman slumped down motionless, but Will kept on hitting him until he hammered his skull out of shape.

Then he turned to Pavel and wheezed, “What was the point in waiting so long to cast a spell?”

“I had to decide who I disliked more, you or Yagoth. Well, actually, I only had one chance. Once the ogre realized I could work magic, he’d knock me out immediately if he could. Thus I needed to choose my moment carefully.”

“I take it,” said Will, “that he imagined you didn’t have any spells prepared.”

“He abused me every morning at dawn, to keep me from praying, but he underestimated my ability to concentrate, and the strength of my bond with Lathander. I managed to acquire a few spells despite the harassment.”

“So why didn’t you use them to escape? Too lazy, or too gutless?”

“Too lamed. I couldn’t fix the injury by myself. For that, I’ll need your help. Once I’m untied, and I’ve mended your shoulder, I’ll lie down on the floor, and you’ll re-break my leg with my mace. Pulverize the bones if that’s what it takes, just as long as you can straighten the limb when you’re done. Then I’ll heal myself. Can you do it?”

Will supposed he had no choice, though the thought of inflicting such agony on his friend made him feel queasy.

He forced a grin and asked, “Are you serious? It’s exactly the kind of thing I’ve always wanted to do.”