Without hesitation, the mustached officer stepped up and thrust out his ungloved hand. This had not been the first time he had sworn a blood oath to his commander and, of the five, only he no doubt thought that he understood why Malevolyn desired to reemphasize to the men the loyalty they owed the general.

"Palm up." After Zako had obeyed, Malevolyn held the dagger points-down over the fleshiest part-then jabbed his officer's palm.

Zako stifled a gasp, the man keeping his eyes straight ahead, as had been expected of him. Because of that, he did not notice something strange about both the knife and where it had punctured his skin. The two gems in the hilt briefly flashed the moment the points pierced his hand. More curious, although blood flowed from the tiny wounds, little of it actually spread over the palm, most of it seeming drawn toward the black blade-where it then disappeared.

"Have yourself a sip of wine, Zako," Malevolyn offered, pulling back the dagger. As his aide steppedaway, the general signaled to the next man, upon whom he repeated the same process.

After all five had been bled, Augustus Malevolyn saluted them. "You have given me your lives. I promise to treat them as the valuable gifts they are. You are dismissed." As the soldiers departed, he called to Zako, "Before you deal with the witch, have Captain Lyconius bring every man under his command to my tent, will you?"

"Aye, general!"

When the others had gone, the voice of Xazax drifted from the shadows. "This goes too slow, warlord. It will take days at this rate."

"No, now it will go much faster. These five have been given an honor, so they see it. Zako will tell Lyconius and he, in turn, will tell his men and so on. I will order the officers to give a ration of drink to each soldier who shows them he has once more sworn his life to my cause. The pace will quicken incredibly, I promise you."

A few seconds later, Lyconius, a thin, fair-haired man older than the general, asked to be admitted. Outside, every soldier under his command awaited. Malevolyn bled the captain first, then had him line the men up. The mention of a ration of drink afterward made each fighter all the more eager to be there.

However, only a few of Lyconius's men had been dealt with when Zako, looking much perturbed, burst into the tent. He knelt on one knee before the commander, head down in shame.

Somewhat irritated at this costly interruption, General Malevolyn barked, "Speak! What is it?"

"General! The witch-she is nowhere to be found!"

Malevolyn tried to conceal his annoyance. "Her belongings; are they still in the tent?"

"Aye, general, but her horse is missing."

Even Galeona would not ride out into the vast desert at night. Taking a casual glance over his shoulder, Malevolyn noticed the shadow of the demon shift. No doubt Xazax did not find this news pleasant either, but at the moment neither man nor demon could afford to waste time on her. If the sorceress had somehow learned of their intention and had chosen to flee, it truly mattered little in the long run to her former lover. What harm could she do? Perhaps, once he wore the armor, he would hunt her down, but now Malevolyn had more important concerns.

"Never mind her, Zako. Return to your normal duties."

Relief in his voice, the aide thanked him, then hurried from the tent. General Malevolyn turned back to his task, bleeding the next man, then commending him for his bravery.

The pace did indeed quicken, just as he had told the mantis it would. The combination of honor and drink caused a line to spread throughout the entire encampment, each man anxious to prove his worth to his master and his fellows. Tomorrow, they felt, the general would lead them to a glorious victory and riches beyond their wildest dreams. That they might be too few to take a stronghold such as Lut Gholein did not occur to them; General Malevolyn would not have made the sudden decision-so they assumed-if he did not already have some battle plan ensuring success.

And deep into the night, the last man proved his loyalty, hand out, the dagger already pricking his palm.

The final soldier and the officer who had guided him in both departed after saluting their trusted leader. From without, Augustus Malevolyn could already hear the sounds of celebration, as each of his men savored their ration of drink and toasted their future good fortunes.

"It is done," rasped Xazax, emerging from the shadowy corners. "Each and every one has tasted the dagger's bite and of each and every one the dagger has sipped…"

Turning the ceremonial weapon over and over in his hands, the general commented, "Not a single drop, not the tiniest stain. Where did all the blood go?"

"Each to its own, warlord. Each to the one it must go. This one promised you an army against whom even Lut Gholein could not defend long, remember?"

"I recall…" He touched the helmet, which he had not taken off once since camp had been made. It seemed so much a part of him now that he swore it would never leave his side, that he would only remove it for necessity's sake. "And I say again, I accept the consequences of our deal."

The mantis's body dipped in what might have been an acknowledging bow. "Then, there is no reason not to proceed immediately…"

"Tell me what must be done."

"In the sand at your feet, you must draw this symbol." Using one of the skeletal hands, Xazax traced the mark in the air. The general's eyes widened slightly as the demon's gaunt finger left a fiery, orange trail behind, highlighting the symbol.

"Why don't you just do it?"

"It must be done by he who will command. Would you prefer it to be this humble one, warlord?"

Seeing Xazax's point, Malevolyn bent down and drew the mark as it had appeared in the air. To his surprise, as he completed it, strange words suddenly burst from his lips.

"Do not hesitate!" urged the mantis eagerly. "The words were known to him; they will be known to you!"

His words… Bartuc's words. Augustus Malevolyn let them flow, savoring the power he felt from their use.

"Hold the dagger over the center." When the general had done that, the demon added, "Now… speak the name of my infernal lord! Speak the name of Belial!"

Belial? "Who is Belial? I know of Baal and Mephisto and Diablo, but not of this Belial. Do you mean Baa—"

"Speak not that name again!" Xazax nervously chittered. The mantis twisted his horrific head left and right as if he feared discovery by someone. Evidently finding nothing upon which to base that fear, the demon finally responded in calmer tones, "There is no master in Hell save Belial. It is he who offers you this wondrous gift! Recall this always!"

More familiar with the magic arts than the mantis might think him, Malevolyn knew that Hell had once been described as being ruled by the Three Prime Evils. Yet, he also knew of legends which had told of the three brothers cast up onto the mortal plane, their rule over Hell a thing of the past. In fact… one of the more obscure legends mentioned Lut Gholein as the possible location of Baal's tomb, although even the general doubted the veracity of such a fantastic tale. Who would build a city on top of a demon lord's tomb?

"As you say, Xazax. Belial, it is. I simply wanted to get the name correct."

"Begin again!" the monstrous insect snapped.

Once more the words spilled from Malevolyn's tongue. Once more he held the vampiric dagger high above the center of the symbol-Belial's symbol, the general now realized. At the end of the incantation, the eager commander called out the demon lord's name…

"Plunge the dagger into the center-exactly!"

General Malevolyn drove the twin-tipped blade deep into the sand, catching the center of the image perfectly.