The last four tried to run, and he screamed in fury as he cut them down. The last one turned and tried to fight, a fat man whose face was oily with sweat. When he struck the man's head off, his sword broke in half, as though it could take no more. He found himself once again in the village square, his hands and clothes covered in blood and gore.

Then the rage left him, and he felt a combination of horror and disgust. He collapsed to the ground, throwing up everything he had eaten in the last two days. Even when he had nothing more to vomit, he still retched, and finally he sat up, trying to spit the horrible taste out of his mouth.

"When you get angry, you don't do it by half measures, do you?" Sarnakyle said.

Siggard turned to see the wizard sitting on the overturned tree again, watching him.

"I've done something monstrous, haven't I?" Siggard asked weakly.

Sarnakyle shook his head. "Although this won't make you feel any better, you did what had to be done. I have never seen a demonic possession ended without the death of the host."

"I feel so hollow," Siggard mumbled.

"This kind of killing does that," the wizard said. "You were not in the middle of battle, you were slaughtering those you might consider defenseless. But they were clutched by evil, and could not turn back. You probably did their souls a favor.

"When I was back in Viz-jun, I was called upon to investigate a possession. A small child, no more than two years old, had killed his parents. Even in the heart of Kehjistan, there was nothing that could be done. Finally, I had to kill the child to banish the demon.

My reaction afterwards was almost identical to yours."

Sarnakyle leaned forward. "Had you not reacted this way, I would have wondered if you were still human."

"I have killed the traitors," Siggard said. "Why don't I feel as though I am revenged? Is vengeance truly this hollow?"

"Sometimes," Sarnakyle said. "In your case, I think you have not destroyed what you needed to destroy."

"What do you mean?"

The wizard pointed to one of the bodies around them, his orange-red robes billowing in the breeze. "These were victims themselves. These are the effects of the illness, but the ailment still lives. Their crime was to be weak-willed in the face of darkness. The death of your family, and all of this horror, has been ordered by the archdemon leading the demonic army. It is he who must die."

"How do you know there is an archdemon?" Siggard asked.

Sarnakyle smiled. "Armies like this are led by a baron of Hell. The lesser demons will not follow one of their own kind. Some greater power must lead them."

"I see," Siggard said. He stood up, his resolve giving him strength. "I swear, by the blood of my family, and the lives I have taken today, that I will find this archdemon and destroy it."

Sarnakyle nodded grimly. "That is a worthy goal, my friend. Come now; we should rest for the morning, but first I should tend to you, and make certain that none of this blood on you is yours."

"You're rather lucky," Sarnakyle said, bandaging Siggard's back. "You were wounded once, and it was very light. Already it is mostly healed."

Siggard stood and looked around. At Sarnakyle's suggestion, they had retired to Tylwulf's cabin, for, given the farmer's words, all of the village traitors were dead. Still, the wizard had insisted on placing wards around the cottage, just in case there were one or two others that Tylwulf hadn't mentioned.

Siggard donned his tunic, wincing slightly as his back strained against Sarnakyle's bandages. The flames from the torches mounted on the wall cast an eerie, flickering light, and for a moment Siggard just wanted to leave and be done with the place.

"It will be morning soon," Siggard said. "Perhaps a couple of hours until sunrise."

"We should rest in the time we have," Sarnakyle said. "But first, we should draw up a plan. Where do we go from here?"

Siggard shrugged. "We find the archdemon, and then we kill him."

Sarnakyle smiled, an amused look on his face. "That might just work, assuming our enemy's army has decided to take leave of him. If I might suggest another plan: when we were fighting Bartuc, he would raid the undefended villages, cut off the support to the walled towns, and then attack them. It seems to me that this demon would do the same; it makes strategic sense. Perhaps we should go to a fortified town, and let this archdemon come to us."

"Very well," Siggard conceded. "We'll go to Brennor, then."

"I will hold watch," Sarnakyle offered. "You look like you could use the rest more than I."

Siggard nodded and wearily stepped into the master bedroom. His eyes widened when he saw blood smearing the walls, and a demonic star painted on the window. He shook his head and walked into the kitchen lying opposite the room they had been attacked in.

"At least I might be able to sleep here," he muttered. He lay down on the wooden floor, fully clothed lest some harm come in the night, and fell into a slumber.

His dreams were a maelstrom of faces, most in torment. He saw the people he had killed, laughing at him as he struck them down again and again. And then he saw Emilye, her beautiful eyes filled with sorrow, as though in pity for what he had become.

He sat up, his body awash in a cold sweat. Sarnakyle stood over him, some fresh clothes in his arms. "It is mid-morning," the wizard said. "I decided you should rest as long as you could." He passed the bundle to Siggard. "Try these on; they will suit you better than what you have now."

"Where did you get them?" Siggard asked, examining the clothes. He held up a warm-looking black-hooded cloak and some leather trousers. Both seemed to be of exceptional workmanship. Then he looked at the remains of the bundle, a long-sleeved gray tunic that seemed to be made of sheepskin.

"I found them in a chest in the cellar," Sarnakyle replied. "They seemed to be too large for either Tylwulf or his wife, so I can only assume they must have belonged to his father."

When Siggard paused, looking at the clothes suspiciously, Sarnakyle added: "I have checked them. There are no traces of magic on them, either good or evil."

"Were you able to find any weapons?" Siggard asked, fondling the cloak.

Sarnakyle shook his head. "I'm sorry."

Siggard nodded. "Thank you, my friend. If you will give me a moment to get dressed, we can be on our way."

The clothes fit Siggard almost perfectly, the only problem being that the trousers were slightly overlarge. That difficulty was easily fixed, though, by Siggard's sword belt, the empty sheath swaying at his side.

They strode west on the Queen's Road, a cobblestone path that Siggard remembered his father taking him along several times. The sky was overcast, and on occasion there was a brief burst of rain. It was enough that Sarnakyle stopped and drew a red cloak from his traveling pack.

"If we are to fight this archdemon," the wizard said as he pulled the cloak on, "I do not wish to die of a chill first."

Siggard gave him a slight grin, and then they began to walk again. It was difficult to tell how late in the day it was; the sky was completely cast over, and at best there was a brief ray of sun as the clouds scudded across the sky.

"I fear there may be lightning," Sarnakyle said. "I can feel it coming in my bones."

"Let us hope that we can find shelter before then," Siggard said. "If you hadn't let me sleep so long, we could have been there by nightfall. As it is, we will probably arrive sometime tomorrow morning."