The gods granted Soth enough self-knowledge to see how low he'd fallen…

The death knight dashed the skull to pieces on the ground. He picked up another. It, too, held a fragment of his history.

For failing in his quest, for letting his own child burn to death before his eyes, Soth's elf maid bride called a curse down upon the once-noble knight…

So it was with every one of the skulls. Someone had gathered Soth's history and turned it against him, even as the death knight himself grew confident that his past was once more under his control. This wasn't the work of Malocchio Aderre; the skulls were on Sithican soil, beyond his reach. That meant someone within the domain. The White Rose, then.

Soth paused. Such sorcery was far beyond Kitiara's abilities. But if not her, who? What other powers had set themselves against him?

A shadow of uncertainty darkened Soth's already desolate thoughts. With it came a sensation the death knight had all but forgotten. For the first time in centuries, Lord Soth felt the icy touch of fear.

Eleven

Ganelon awoke bathed in late afternoon sunlight, nestled in a bower strewn with white rose petals. Their heady perfume lay heavy upon his senses. He thought to sit up, but a lethargy inspired by the roses' bouquet overwhelmed him. With a sigh, he let himself sink deeper into the verdure.

He tried to recall how he'd come to this place. Bird song and distant laughter chased away the vague thoughts before they could coalesce into memories. It didn't matter. He was safe here.

"As it should be," said a cool, lovely voice. "You are only truly safe with someone who loathes you absolutely."

At the sound of Helain's voice the drowsiness lifted from Ganelon. Heart racing, the young man struggled from the sylvan bed. His leg brace foiled his attempt to stand quickly, and for just an instant, sunlight dazzled his eyes. When his vision cleared, he saw her.

She sat upon the green, her face aglow with madness. The smile upon her face was so wide that her dry lips cracked and bled. For all its prominence, though, that smile was empty. So, too, were her beautiful blue eyes, which stared blankly down at the thing cradled in her lap.

One of Helain's hands rested upon his scabrous cheek. The other stroked her own tangled red hair. "You freed me," she said as she bent to kiss the creature's chancred lips.

A cry of horror finally welled up from Ganelon's soul. "Helain!" he wailed.

Helain gasped and shrank bank. Chuckling, the creature raised its misshapen head from her lap. "Ah, roused at last," the thing said, glancing down at its own swollen crotch in case the double entendre had eluded Ganelon. It hadn't.

As he looked upon the creature's corrupt visage, the memories flooded back-poor lost Bratu, capture by the Vistani, Inza's magic and the torture she'd promised when that sorcery failed to make him break the oath he'd sworn to the Bloody Cobbler. This creature had rescued him, pulled him through the shadows even as the Vistana raised the red-hot poker to his face. The Whispering Beast. He and Helain were in the hands of the Whispering Beast.

"G-Get away from her," the young man stammered.

The Beast pushed himself to a crouch. Helain immediately threw her arms around his sunken chest. "What makes you think she wants to be left alone?" he asked. "I doubt she was ever this affectionate with you, little boy. If she was, it was wasted effort."

With one filthy hand, the Whispering Beast broke Helain's clinging embrace. He stood, revealing himself in all his hideousness.

He was starvation thin, taller than any man Ganelon had ever seen. Stringy hair covered his entire frame, gray-white where dirt and excrement hadn't matted it. Arms that seemed to bend the wrong way hung down past his knees. The hands at the ends of those misshapen limbs were graced with slender fingers that constantly twitched and traced vulgar patterns in the air. Those agile digits hinted at the most horrible thing about the Beast. Underlying the corruption were the faint remnants of a beauty so profound it could not be hidden by any amount of grime.

A leer split the Beast's twisted visage-yet his face, too, held vestiges of magnificence. His simian skull, all but fleshless at the crown, had the high cheekbones of a noble-born elf. Weeping sores all but obscured that feature, just as an orange rheum dulled his bright, piercing eyes. The pus welled at the corners and filmed the orbs. From time to time, it drooled down his cheeks, tears of festering corruption.

The sight of this malignant creature so transfixed Ganelon that he did not notice the crowd gathering around him. The hillside was filled with lunatics. They crawled toward the Beast like supplicants, hands outstretched, eyes averted. The creature smirked at their reverence and spat upon those who got too close.

Finally, when the mob was ready to close in, the Beast lifted the grim necklace from the tangle of his hairy chest. Upon that chain of fire-blackened steel dangled thirteen human ears. He raised one of these gruesome ornaments to his lips and whispered into it. As one the madmen screamed. Whimpering and barking like whipped mongrels, they disappeared over the top of the hill.

Helain, too, fled. Ganelon turned to pursue, but found befouled fingers wrapped around his arm.

"The best part of the joke is the poor ninny didn't even hear what I said."

The slaughterhouse stench from the Beast made the gorge rise in Ganelon's throat. The young man pulled away, gagging. "She's not yours," he managed to gasp as he fell to the ground.

"Technically correct," the Beast replied. "No one properly condemned her for breaking her oath. In a more practical sense, however, she's been mine from the moment she vowed to love you forever."

"Helain still loves me!" Ganelon shouted angrily.

The Beast rolled his eyes. "You still haven't figured it out? Helain loves the man you were, the daring dolt who swept her off her feet. After you got all safe and promised never to do anything dangerous again, she found you, well, boring."

"I did that for her."

"Don't you feel foolish, then," the Beast sneered.

Ganelon wept. The Beast watched him for a moment, disdain clear on his horrible face. "Wipe away those tears, little boy. The wronged lover act won't play with me." He leaned close. "I know that you've dreamed of breaking the promise to stay by her side. You've practically frothed at the mouth at the thought of roaming the countryside again."

The Beast held up one of the severed ears and placed it over Ganelon's. The young man could feel the maggots dripping off the dead flesh as the Beast whispered, "If you weren't so stone stupid, you'd realize how faithless you've been to poor Helain. Why, a cynic might even think you were glad she went mad and ran off. It gave you an excuse to be a hero again."

Ganelon shoved the Beast away. "I'm taking her away from here," he said.

"I told you: She likes it here. She thinks so little of herself, she's only at home with someone who detests her." The Beast thumped his hollow chest. "No one loathes the false more than I do."

His thoughts awhirl, Ganelon turned away. He looked out over the hillside, still strangely green when all the rest of Sithicus had long ago browned with autumn's first frosts. "If not to rescue Helain, why was I brought here?" There was silence for a moment, then the sound of the Beast's laughter. Ganelon turned back, an accusatory finger leveled at the creature. "I won't be mocked," he shouted. "I won't-"

The rest of Ganelon's angry rejoinder died on his lips. The Whispering Beast was no longer alone. It crouched subserviently at the feet of a figure in a pure white robe. Her face, her hands, and every inch of her frame were concealed by the habit.