What was more, Dardas was certain that Weisel wasn't even aware of the situation. The man had effectively lost himself and didn't know it. Dardas felt that soon, very soon, he would, if he so chose, be

able to simply snuff Weisel into nothingness.

But there was no point in hastiness. The idiot might be useful for something.

"Berkant," Dardas called, having finished his meal.

The mage, a youngish man with an honest unaffected expression on his face, looked up sharply. He, too, was done eating. He came quickly but uneasily toward the general.

"Yes, General Weisel?"

Dardas kept his tone casual. "Any communications from Felk?" He knew there had been none. Berkant was in charge of relaying Far Speak messages directly from Matokin, and he naturally wasted no time delivering them. These wizards, loyal or not, plainly lived in fear of the Felk leader.

"No communications, General," Berkant said.

Dardas nodded. "Come with me—oh, if you've finished your meal?"

Berkant blinked at the general's unexpected magnanimity.

"I have, General."

"Good. Come to my pavilion. I may be charging my officers to eat regular rations, but they're free to drink whatever they can procure for themselves: As it happens, I myself have a fine bottle of something." Dardas was aware of the curious stares of the other officers that followed as they strolled to the tent.

Berkant was nervous, but Dardas wasn't without charisma and charm. He poured out two glasses, and they sat.

Dardas kept the talk initially about military matters, specifically communications. Far Speak mages had been installed in Callah, Windal, and now Sook, naturally, so that Matokin could receive direct reports about the status of the occupied cities of his growing empire.

Berkant relaxed a bit. The liquor was strong, but had such a mellow taste it snuck up on a person unprepared for it.

"Berkant," Dardas said finally, "it may be you can't answer what I'd like to know. I don't know if Matokin has placed restrictions on what information I should be privy to." He shrugged, as if to indicate that it was all right with him if he was so restricted. "But I would like to know something about magic."

"Magic?" Berkant said, his open face suddenly closing tightly.

Yes, thought Dardas darkly. That Felk bleeder Matokin meant to keep him ignorant.

These thoughts didn't show on Dardas's face. "Not the mechanics of magic," he explained airily. "It makes no difference to me how you wizards work your spells. I'm impressed by it all, to be sure. But, no. I'm interested only in the history of magic. It wasn't a field of study my tutors made much fuss about."

"I see, General Weisel." Berkant mulled it over a moment. "Well, perhaps I can enlighten you. Magic, of course, is a purely natural talent, one that has been with our species since it learned to speak. Maybe before. It—"

Already he was warming to the subject. Dardas let the mage ramble awhile. He seemed to enjoy holding forth. Probably Dardas was the only member of this military outside the circle of wizards who'd ever engaged him so in conversation. The animus between the army's regular numbers and its magic-using squads was quite strong.

Maybe, like Dardas, they were simply unsettled by the presence of so many wizards. Matokin might have shown true brilliance in recruiting powerful mages into his new military (not to mention using magic to resurrect the general who led it), but did he truly grasp the tension he'd also created within these ranks?

"Before the Great Upheavals," Berkant was saying, "things were different."

Dardas perked up, paying closer attention now.

The Great Upheavals had occurred even before Dardas's day. Once, mighty empires had thrived on the Northern and Southern Continents, but they had both crumbled from within. Before that time, however, wizardry was relatively widespread. Both the empires of the Northland and the Southsoil had made efforts to develop the sciences. The best practitioners were kept at the ruling courts.

"When those continental empires fell, it was a time of much fear." Berkant was showing the effects of the liquor, though, like any amateur drinker, he didn't seem to know he was getting drunk.

"I see," Dardas said, refilling the wizard's glass.

"Rumors abounded that occult forces were responsible for the empires' collapse. Magical practitioners went into hiding or renounced their disciplines. Some fled to the Isthmus. In the Northland, a very few attached themselves as healers to the armies of the new warlords."

"Fascinating," Dardas said. He, of course, had been one of those warlords. "But what about here, on the Isthmus?"

"The Issh— The Issh—" Berkant actually giggled, then reined himself in. Overenunciating, he now said, "The Isthmus once served only as a trade route between the continents. When the Upheavals came, many trade clans were stranded here, and they, as you know, settled this land."

"Yes," Dardas said, hiding his annoyance. Soon the liquor would make this mage useless as a source of information. "But what about the magicians?"

"The wealthiest and most powerful of the trade clans had the insight to give shelter and succor to the suddenly outcast wizards. They recognized magic's value, its potential advantage. They didn't fear magic as did the rabble." Berkant drained his glass in one heroic swallow. This time Dardas didn't refill it.

The mage continued, "The wizards were absorbed into these newly founded wealthy houses of the Isthmus. They took mates and entered the families, and the penchant for magic was passed through the generations, though often the lore of it was distorted or outright forgotten, and the strength of talent weakened, in some cases all but disappearing."

That explained why magic ran strongest among noble families, Dardas thought.

"Very well, Berkant. That's enough for now. Dismissed."

Berkant teetered up onto his feet and exited the pavilion, managing to stay upright at least until he was past the flap.

Dardas sipped meditatively at his own drink, savoring the flavor, as he did all of life's little pleasures now.

Portal magic. Far Movement magic. That was what he needed to know about. It was a powerful tool in his arsenal, and it was completely at his disposal as this army's commander. But... he knew nothing about how it worked, and Matokin had evidently given orders to these army mages that Dardas remain in the dark.

He called for his aide.

The officer appeared immediately. "Yes, General Weisel?"

No one addressed him as Lord Weisel anymore. Apparently word had gotten around.

"We'll be moving in the morning," Dardas said. "Inform the senior staff."

"Yes, General Weisel."

To the south lay the city-states of Ompellus Prime, Trael, and Grat. All three were some distance away. But, of course, Dardas need only order a squad of Far Movement mages to scout ahead, and the army could transport itself to any of those cities' doorsteps.

Those portals. What sort of place, exactly, did they open up into? Did that strange, milky world have inhabitants?

Dardas had seen none when he'd passed through with his army on the way to level U'delph. But he'd barely gotten a glimpse of the place, so distorted was everything, so overwhelming the sense of otherness there.

Yet, very strangely and despite its alienness, something about that realm had seemed ... familiar. It was as if he recognized the place without having any memory of it at all, as if he was remembering something from a dream. It made no sense.

Yes, a strange war this was. But it was war, nonetheless. And war was the environment in which Dardas thrived. It was, in fact, the only state of reality in which he felt at home. That was why he had risen to such heights as a military commander in his first incarnation. The Northland had provided him with a virtually endless series of adversaries, peoples, and rival armies to be conquered.