"They asked for names, mistress, so you can speak to them as well," replied Leer. "No one ever spoke to us before, except to give us orders."

"Well, I see the world a bit differently than most," said Braids, blushing. "No one speaks to me all that much either. Now, let's get into town before the boys kill everybody. I'm a little tired of talking to zombies."

Barrel, Nod, Soot, and Grim had already swept through the two large buildings-the cooper's house and the tavern-and had split up to enter the smaller hovels that surrounded them. Braids and Leer headed for the granary to check out the ramshackle warehouse.

Inside were three burly men sitting on large crates and smoking cigars. In the corner of the room sat a fourth man behind a desk with a leather-bound book open in front of him.

"What in the depths is that?" gasped one of the cigar-smoking workers when Leer barged into the room, tearing the door from its hinges and tossing it aside like so much kindling.

"Your destiny, my good young man," said Braids as she stepped in behind Leer and allowed her dementia space to settle over her eyes. "Handle them, Leer," she said, pointing to the workers, "and leave him to me."

As Braids walked toward the back of the room, the three workers dropped off their crates and came toward Leer.

"Look, beastie," said brave one, "we don't want no trouble, so take your ugly face and your uglier wife and leave."

With that the talker took a swing at Leer, which hit the snake assassin full in the chest and knocked him back about a foot. The other two circled around the snake and cheered on their friend.

"What are you doing in my granary?" asked the owner as the cloud-covered dementia summoner strode toward him. "What do you want?"

"Information about a big barbarian man," said Braids as she wound a black cloud of dementia space around her hand behind her back. "Now don't flinch, or this will hurt even more." Braids whipped her hand forward and flung the cloud at the little man like a hand full of pebbles.

Getting no reaction to his first punch, the leader jabbed at Leer again, this time with his lit cigar clenched between his knuckles. Leer quickly stepped to the side and grabbed the large man's wrist as it passed, adding his own arm strength to pull the man off balance and ram the cigar-burning punch into the face of the worker behind him.

The force of the blow crushed the second man's nose and broke several fingers in the attacker's hand. Still holding the attacker's wrist as the man screamed in pain, Leer lifted the large worker off the ground, grabbed the man's head with his other hand, opened his jaws, and chomped down on the exposed neck. With deadly venom coursing through his veins, the brave worker went limp in Leer's grip.

As the dementia cloud reached the owner, it broke apart into tiny bits that circled the man's head like a cloud of gnats surrounding an open flame at night, diving periodically to pierce the man's skin, ears, and eyes. He shook his head and flailed his arms at the cloud, but the agitated particles merely descended faster and began eating away at the flesh on his hands.

"Just let my little babies do their work and you won't suffer… much," said Braids as she waited for the cloud to finish penetrating the man's brain.

Leer turned toward the worker with the broken nose, grabbed the man's face, and curled his claws around the back of the worker's head. With a quick, violent flip of his wrist, Leer snapped the man's neck and dropped him to the floor like a rag doll. Before Leer could grab the third worker the man turned and fled toward the door, but he stopped suddenly and then backed up with Orim's claws skewered through his body.

"We need him alive?" asked Grim.

"No," replied Leer.

"Good thing," stated Grim.

The cloud had completely disappeared from around the owner's head, and the man was no longer struggling. The tiny dementia creatures had bored into his brain and begun taking control.

"Now, about the barbarian," said Braids, sitting on the man's desk and leafing through his ledger. "What can you tell me about his recent visit?"

"Thank you for seeing us on short notice, First," said Llawan, "and for accommodating our special needs."

"My home is your home, Empress," said the First, smiling. "If we cannot accommodate our allies we risk turning them into enemies."

"We were worried you would strap us to your chair when we asked Veza to set up this meeting."

"Believe me," said the First as he paced around the tank where Llawan swam in the middle of his meeting room, "the chair-and this tank-are as much for the protection of my visitors as they are for my own. Now, what may I do for you today?"

"We are concerned that the traitor Laquatas will obtain the Mirari," said Llawan, jetting to the back of the tank as the First rounded the corner.

"Which is why 1 have sent my most powerful dementia summoner and five of this world's most fearsome killers to track down the rogue barbarian and retrieve that which belongs to the Cabal," replied the First.

"We believe you underestimate the former ambassador," countered Llawan. "Laquatas deals in lies. Even when he tells the truth, it is based on some underlying lie. You may believe that mistress Braids and her snake-headed assassins are working for you. But in the end, they can do nothing but play their part in Laquatas's plot, for he has scripted it for them."

"You know much about Cabal business, Empress," said the First as he ran his hand along the outside of the tank, etching the glass with his acidic touch. "I am impressed."

The Empress swiveled around and sent a jet of ink over the tank to stream down perfectly over the First's scratches, diluting the acid. "We make it our business to follow closely the dealings of Laquatas," she said, "For example, did you know that he has somehow mobilized Order forces, which will attempt to steal the orb from your assassins before they can return with it?"

"I do keep my eye on local politics as well as troop movements, Empress," replied the First, returning to the front of the tank. "I do not believe even a garrison of Order troops could stop Braids."

"We do not share your optimism," said Llawan. "We would feel more secure about the Mirari and about our business dealings with the Cabal if you sent extra troops into the lowlands surrounding the Pardic Mountains to help Braids deal with the traitor's Order forces."

"Are you threatening the Cabal, Empress?" asked the First. "I hear those naval trade routes have become quite lucrative for the Cabal, have they not?"

The First stroked his chin thoughtfully and smiled broadly at the empress. "Yes, I believe I can spare some Cabal forces to aid in the recovery of the Mirari. I believe that would be a prudent business decision. Would any of your forces be available as well, Empress?"

"Our forces?" asked Llawan. "How would mer forces come to your aid in the middle of Otaria?"

The First walked slowly and steadily up to the tank, stopping a fraction of an inch from the glass. "Why, via your network of underground tunnels of course. Had you forgotten?"

Llawan stoically faced the gaze and proximity of the First, insulated by the glass and the seawater from the pungent odor that had made Veza ill, but she blanched at the mention of the tunnels.

Quickly recovering her royal demeanor she said, "Now it is our turn to be impressed. Unfortunately, we cannot spare any of our forces for this venture. They are needed elsewhere. That is why we have come to our friends in the Cabal for help."

"And you shall have it, Empress," said the First, backing up to his normal position at the head of the room. "You shall have it."