The man's question touched off many others, all at once. All wanted word about this place or that, cities and hamlets both nearby Callah and far away. They went so far as to ask urgently after specific individuals who lived in these places, some of which Bryck had never heard of. He lifted a hand and waited.

When he had quiet, he darted his eyes right and left, adding to the sense of secretiveness that had come over the scene. His questioners huddled closer.

"I've come from the south," he said, and they hung on his syllables. These Callahans were the first of the Felk conquests. They effectively knew nothing about the current state of the war. Or little enough that Bryck's inventions wouldn't immediately be decried as lies.

So he told them of the uprising against the Felk in the captured city of Windal, not far to the southeast.

The one-eyed landlady quietly took a seat to hear. Everyone behaved as he'd hoped, much like the gullible ensemble of Chicanery by Moonlight behaved when Gleed the wandering fortune-teller declared that their village had been built atop the belly of a slumbering giant. It was one of his more popular plays.

Bryck left while there was still time to get indoors before curfew.

DARDAS (3)

DARDAS FELT THE cold. It was Weisel's body he was wearing, yes, but this chill came from deep within, and it had nothing to do with the cooling autumn weather of the Isthmus.

"Hurry with it," he said, intending the command to be stony but hearing a tiny thread of unease in it. That was nothing, of course, to the unease he actually did feel, and justifiably so.

He was, after all, dying. Or rather being returned to the death from which he'd been resurrected.

It was unavoidable, inevitable. So Matokin had explained it, some while ago. Matokin, naturally, was the first person Dardas had seen upon waking from his own death inside the fleshy vessel of Lord Weisel.

Resurrection magic was powerful, fantastically so. But it needed to be maintained, with rejuvenation spells. Without these, death would return, like a chronic disease.

It had started early in the night. Dardas had been informed as to what symptoms would present themselves, and had sent word directly to Matokin in Felk, via Berkant and his Far Speak abilities. The message was coded. Matokin had acknowledged.

A short while later, as Dardas felt his condition worsening, a mage came through a portal and reported immediately to Weisel's tent.

The army, which was marching and riding south by conventional means, was already camped for the night. Dardas hadn't yet opted to use the Far Movement magic to transport his forces instantly to the city-state of Trael, which was their next logical target.

This mage had identified himself as Kumbat. Like all the wizards Dardas had encountered, he looked no different from anyone else. Just a man. But he was more than that. He had powers that most men and women didn't possess.

"Hurry," Dardas repeated, barely able to hold back the fear now.

Death was coming for him... death that had been cheated once, and now wanted its property back. It

was like a great cold mouth was opening beneath him, rising swiftly now, meaning to swallow him whole.

Kumbat shed his dark robe and suddenly launched into a whirl of gestures and gyrations. Words croaked from his lips, fast and unrecognizable. His face contorted and reddened. Sweat stood out on his forehead. There was no one in the tent but the two of them. Dardas lay on his bunk, no longer able to keep to his feet.

It was a mighty display. Dardas watched, transfixed, still feeling the cold death-mouth rising to consume him, but distracted in these last moments of life by the uproar of the mage's movements and the atonal chanting.

Dardas remembered his original death. His heart had seized, and he had died a few days later, in bed, fading in and out of consciousness. This death, now, was much more intense, immediate, and personal. Death itself was coming for him specifically and the nonsensical actions of this so-called mage were doing nothing to stave it off.

Matokin had cheated him. The godsdamned Felk bleeder!

Kumbat, sweat streaming off his half-naked body now, lunged forward and laid his hands on Dardas's chest.

A great shock erupted through Dardas's body. Incredibly, he felt his hair actually standing on end. His body jumped, and it felt like his blood was suddenly boiling in his veins. He tried to cry out, but his tongue locked.

Kumbat removed his hands.

Death was no longer near. Dardas blinked wildly. He vaulted off the bunk, his heart racing.

"By the madness of the gods!" he exclaimed. It was one of those Isthmus sayings he had picked up in this new life.

New life, he thought, a grin cutting his features. That new life, it seemed, was going to continue awhile longer.

Kumbat, himself recovering, was putting his robe back on.

"That," Dardas heaved, "was fine work."

"I only obey my Lord's orders," the mage said.

That was Matokin, of course, not Lord Weisel he was referring to.

Dardas's grin cooled a bit. "Well, I'm glad for your efforts. Tell me, Kumbat, how did you accomplish it? It felt to me as if you were pouring, I don't know, naked energy into my body."

Kumbat's face went still. He looked levelly at Dardas. "I must apologize, General Weisel, for I cannot speak of such matters."

Dardas's grin had vanished entirely now. He was drawing steady breaths.

"General, I am to report immediately to Lord Matokin upon completion of this assignment. May I have your leave to go?"

Asking permission, Dardas thought sarcastically. As if these damned mages needed his consent to do anything. They were all Matokin's instruments. He must never forget that.

"Dismissed," Dardas said quietly. Kumbat had arrived at the camp by Far Movement, and by Far Movement magic he would return to Matokin to report that Dardas remained alive.

Kumbat had even addressed him as "General Weisel," though this mage certainly knew the truth ... that another lived inside the host body of Lord Weisel. It was another subtle affront, a reminder as to who was really in charge here.

Suddenly, there was an intrusion.

What happened? That was the strangest experience I've ever had. Do I understand right, that the resurrection magic was wearing off—

With what was now a reflexive mental motion, Dardas suppressed Weisel's thoughts till they could no longer be heard. He didn't need the distraction or the annoyance right now. Offhandedly he wondered if Weisel would have died along with him if Kumbat hadn't intervened. Maybe not. Death had been coming for Dardas. The host body, including Weisel's consciousness, probably would have survived.

It was past the midnight watch, but Dardas felt charged with strength and vigor, despite the long ride today and the one he and his army would undertake tomorrow. He paced around his tent, flexing his

limbs. Death had been close enough that he'd felt its icy breath on him. Now, he was restored, just as Matokin had promised the rejuvenation spells would do.

He ought to call for one of the female playthings that his aides always seemed able to produce for him. Why, he would cork her brains out.

No. That student he had requisitioned. He had arrived today. No, she had. Sent by portal from the Academy at Felk, fresh, hopefully uncontaminated by the strictures Matokin had imposed on all the other mages in Dardas's army. Perhaps this student, if she was naive enough, could be manipulated to divulge the information he wanted.

He called for his aide. Just about every one of his junior officers had been rotated through the post by now. Dardas had learned a good deal about his army this way. These were good troops, for the most part. Dardas would lead them to victories, and their loyalty would grow.