"In the name of all the gods of Good, in your own dear name, Bright Solinari…"

Regene's prayer lifted up from her prison. She had no magic, and she had no weapon, only her little belt knife and her trustful prayer.

"And what," said Tramd, head high, sun gleaming on his red beard, "what does yon White Robe imagine her prayers will do for her?"

Baited, Dalamar said nothing. A deep growling came out from the darkness behind the door, and the stench grew stronger. Dalamar knew it for the reek of carrion or that of a carrion-eater. Sweat rolled down the sides of Regene's face. Her prayer grew louder, and the flesh of her knuckles whitened, so hard did she grip her little knife. Tramd turned his back on the enclosure as though what happened there was no matter to him. Crossing the room to a small table near the door into the corridor, he murmured a few words. From out of the air appeared a silver flagon and two gleaming silver cups. He poured the cups full of a wine so deeply red that it seemed almost black. From one he sipped, carefully, as though judging a vintage. Satisfied, he offered the other to Dalamar.

"Thank you," Dalamar said to the host from whose hand he would accept no gift, "but no."

Tramd shrugged and drank more deeply. "Your friend won't have to die, if you tell me what I want to know. Who sent you for me?"

Dalamar stood still as stone, watching Regene pray. He would not plead for her, and he would not bargain for her. She had made her choice to come here. In the cause of her own ambition, she had followed him from the Tower. In her cause she had come here, knowing he would serve only his cause.

Wild roaring filled the room as a beast-man, something with blind, cauled eyes, gray-scaled skin, and fangs for teeth burst out of the darkness beyond the stone door. Filthy black hair like a wild mane cascaded down the thing's back, and in its hands it held a broad-axe whose blade gleamed in the rainbow-light.

"It is a grimlock," Tramd said, "and a hungry one, too. It mostly eats rat flesh down in those caves, but it's always happy for a bit of human meat when it can get that."

Regene leaped back, hit the wall of light, and fell to her knees. Scrambling, she rose, her knife still in hand. "In the names of the gods of Good-" She ducked as the grimlock swung the broad-axe, fell again, and rolled away. She was no fighter, but she was quick on her feet.

"Tell me what I want to know, mageling," said Tramd, his tone not so reasonable as it had been, "and I will call off the grimlock."

Again, Dalamar turned away. "She's a White Robe. Why do you imagine I would care if she fattens some grimlock's larder?"

Regene slashed at the grimlock, swift with her little knife. The beast-man sprang, swinging down the blade of its axe. Regene cried out in pain, and blood sprang bright on the shoulder of her robe. The grimlock roared, furious that the blow hadn't struck true and severed the woman's arm. The broad axe whistled in the air, and Regene flung herself aside. Sparks leaped from the stone where the iron struck. Regene staggered back, hit the light again, and this time used the repelling force to her advantage, letting it fling her out from under another axe blow. The grimlock roared, turned swiftly, then stumbled, falling into the barrier of light. Flung, it staggered forward, the axe falling from its grip.

Regene dashed for the axe, bleeding from the shoulder wound made by the savage claws of the blue dragon. She snatched the weapon, swinging wide with it. She had not the least technique, not the first idea how to fight. She knew, though, that she must keep the staggered grimlock from her, and the best way to do that was to keep the axe in motion.

Dalamar did not move or even shudder. He kept his eyes on Regene. Her eyes alight, her teeth bared in a warrior's grin, she advanced, one step and then another, bleeding and swinging the axe. The grimlock retreated, stunned by the contact with the light barrier and compelled back toward it. Tramd's breath sounded harshly in Dalamar's ears, then seemed to stagger.

"Kill her!" the dwarf shouted to the grimlock, who wanted nothing more than to do that. "Kill the mage!"

Enraged, the grimlock lunged for Regene with taloned hands. The axe caught it at the elbow, severing its right arm. Blood black as pitch spouted from the wound, and the beast-man shrieked. Screaming in a language whose every word sounded like curses, the grimlock twisted aside, staggering back. It hit the wall of light and was flung forward again. Regene dashed in, the axe high above her head like a headsman's blade. She let it fall, and the beast-man died, the shining blade buried between the grimlock's shoulders.

Regene turned, her sapphire eyes shining with her triumph-

– And the light-prison collapsed around her as she and the corpse of the grimlock vanished.

The carrion stench of the dead grimlock lingered on the air, not covered by the sticks of pungent incense Tramd lit. "Now," said Tramd, waving his hand to disperse the fragrant smoke. "Will you tell me what I want to know, Dalamar Nightson? Who sent you?"

Dalamar noted the change of address, and he did not indicate his satisfaction or curiosity in any way. Once again, the dwarf offered him wine. Again, he declined to take the cup. "I will tell you nothing, Tramd, and I don't see why it matters that you know."

"Do you not?" Tramd looked around the tower chamber. The only light in the room now was that of the sun, strong at mid-morning and growing stronger. "It matters to your friend. Do you doubt that?"

Dalamar did not. "What goes on between you and me seems to matter a great deal to Regene. But what matters to her, as you have surely seen, doesn't so much matter to me."

A small, sea-scented breeze drifted through the window, carrying the sharp cries of gulls. Dalamar thought he heard the sea itself, but so high up, that was only his imagination. He wondered where Regene was, but not in words, for he did not doubt Tramd would be able to scan his thoughts. He buried the wondering in a deeper field of varying emotions.

"Ah," Tramd sighed. He pressed his lips together, shaking his head in disappointment. "Then it must be as you wish. I can do no more." He lifted his hand, a languid gesture, almost a weary one. But not weary, not really, for in his eyes a cold killing light shone, and glee.

Dalamar turned, his belly tightening. In the corner behind him, darkness gathered, shadows coalescing in despite of sunlight and spreading on the stone floor to become substantial, vaguely man-shaped, and tall. Pale eyes glared in the darkness-not points of light, but simply places where darkness was not. Cold flowed out from that darkness, wintry fingers determined to find warmth and kill it.

Swiftly, Dalamar lifted his hands in the dance of magical gesture, and his voice in a spell sung in Kagonesti words to charm the coalescing shadow.

"Heed," he sang, "hear and heed! In my words, find my need. Hear, heed and hear! My song commands, come not near!

The lightless being shivered, but not under the sway of magic, only with grim laughter.

"I hear," the Shadow hissed, its voice like wind in frozen leaves, "and I do not heed. I hear and care not for your need!"

Closer it came, cold running before it. The first edge of its darkness touched Dalamar, and weakness flowed through him, turning his knees watery. Trembling, he lifted his hands again, and he sang another spell, a charm to put the creature to sleep. But shadows don't sleep, they only hide, and this Shadow laughed as the magic ran through it, effectless.

Closer, closer, the darkness flowed closer, and now it seemed to Dalamar that his muscles were turning to tallow. Useless! He staggered and scrambled around in his mind for the catalog of his spellwork, the magic he knew, whatever he could grab and use before this Shadow sucked all the life from his body. But his wit was like numb hands, like fingers too cold and weak to pick up and use anything. Chants seemed like nonsense, filled with sounds that were not words. The Shadow came closer, reaching with its winter grasp.