A metal manticore abruptly lurched into motion, and Aoth aimed his spear at it. But, maybe still not entirely free of the waning effect of the Old Ones’ snares, the leonine, bat-winged automaton simply paced across his path without seeming to perceive him.

When it moved on by, however, with its spike-tipped tail curled up off the floor, it became clear that at some point, Pearl-eye had become aware that Aoth was stalking her. At the moment when the manticore’s progress had hidden her from view, she’d appeared intent on reactivating golems and striking at the men on the ledges, but now the wand in her gray, outstretched hand pointed at him, and pale light seethed at the tip.

He dodged right, the same direction the manticore was going, and then a serpent made of sizzling lightning leaped from the end of the wand. Its strike missed, but not by much, and in the instant before it blinked out of existence, its mere proximity made his muscles burn and clench.

Fortunately, the restorative power of a tattoo quelled the pain, and then, once again, he had the manticore between him and the ghoul. Now what? It had to be a move she wasn’t expecting to offer any hope of ending the duel quickly.

Still moving with the manticore, using it for cover, he discarded his shield so he’d have at least one hand free. Then he ran at the golem, jumped, and tried to scramble over its hindquarters.

The automaton’s back stood as tall as he was. The surface was rounded and smooth, and just as he was clambering up, the razor-edged wings gave a clattering flap. He had to snatch his head sideways to keep one wing from slicing his face to the bone.

Then he had his balance, his feet under him, and he could tell Pearl-eye hadn’t spotted him. She was watching for him to reappear at one end of the manticore or the other, not over the top of it.

He hurled darts of emerald light. They were far from his most destructive spell effect, but they couldn’t possibly damage the wand, and when they pierced her withered, rotting form, she staggered. He jumped off the manticore’s back and charged her.

But she recovered and scrambled backward before he could close. Her retreat took her out of the foundry proper and back into the section of cavern that connected to the shattered gate.

For a moment, Aoth imagined that might work to his benefit because she was separating herself from her allies. Then, removed from the crippling influence of the Old Ones’ wards against constructs, the silver mites clinging to the folds of her robe seethed into motion.

Jhesrhi thought that if she’d been at the head of the column, she might have done something. Somehow whisked Vandar out of sight before any of the undead spotted him, blasted Dai Shan as soon as he called out, and justified the precipitous action afterward.

But Lod traveled in the middle of the procession, and he’d wanted her company. Thus, when things started happening in the darkness up ahead, it caught her by surprise. And with the bone naga’s followers clogging the passage, she still had no way of aiding Vandar with her magic.

But maybe she could keep Dai Shan from exposing her masquerade. Once again bringing the uncaring savagery of her fiery self to the fore, she looked up at Lod, who, with his wagon slaves now dead, was slithering along with his skull nearly brushing the ceiling.

“I know the man who shouted,” she said. “He’s one of the foremost obstacles to your plans. Let me kill him.”

Swaying slightly, fleshless head tilted, Lod studied her. Then he said, “It sounds like the human wants to talk. If I draw him in close and then don’t like what he has to say, it will be easy to destroy him.”

“He’s a master of shadow and trickery. He might find it possible to escape even you. But let me burn him right now, before he realizes you’ve decided on his death, and-”

“You don’t really believe he could slip away from me and all our comrades too? You want to kill him immediately for some other reason. What is it? Do you hate him? Are you worried that if I don’t send you after him right now, it won’t be you who ends up taking his life?”

“Something like that.” Even as she spoke the words, Jhesrhi knew they weren’t a particularly useful lie. But she was at a loss for anything else to say.

Lod chuckled. “I promise that if I order his death, you can slay him in the manner of your choosing. For now, though, let’s hear him out.” He looked down the passage, which was now less jammed with doomsepts, direhelms, and the like. Apparently, Vandar had fled, and a number of the undead had chased after him.

“I’m coming forward,” called Lod. “If you’re a friend, do the same.”

“Does the august lord,” Dai Shan replied, “pledge that neither he nor his stalwart warriors will harm me?”

“I do.” Lod glanced down at Jhesrhi. “Don’t worry. We of the Eminence don’t consider a promise to a living human binding.”

As they headed up the passage, Jhesrhi imagined lashing out with flame, freeing Cera, and fleeing with her. But such a desperate ploy would never work.

She had no idea if she was a match for Lod, and even if she was, it didn’t mean she could incapacitate him and all the other undead in the immediate vicinity with a single spell.

She likewise didn’t know Cera’s precise location, only that the sunlady was somewhere toward the rear of the procession. She did know that when she’d last seen her, her comrade had been stumbling along white-faced between two zombies too weak and dazed even to walk without her captors holding her up.

But suppose, despite all those impediments, Jhesrhi and Cera did somehow manage to break away. Then they’d still be trapped in the deathways just as they were now, and it was worse than unlikely that anyone else would happen along to unlock the way out.

Thus, Jhesrhi saw no choice but to walk peacefully into a parley with Dai Shan and hope that, somehow, her lies came out more convincing than whatever the Shou had to say.

She, Lod, and the undead naga’s attendants soon arrived at an intersection of passageways where a statue of Jergal sat writing at a desk and two slain zombies lay on the floor. One of them had Vandar’s spear sticking through its knee. The red metal gleamed, reflecting the little fire burning atop her staff.

Lod cast around, then fixed his attention on the corridor to the left. “I assume when I see a blind made of shadow,” he said, “that someone is hiding behind it.”

Dai Shan stepped out of the darkness. His eyes widened ever so slightly, but otherwise, his face was the usual pleasant, imperturbable mask.

Jhesrhi’s fiery and human sides united in the wish to see him burn, and she had to clench herself to refrain from striking at him. She steadied herself with the reflection that, if things went considerably better than expected, she might be able to force him to tell her what had become of Aoth.

The Shou bowed and said, “The serpent lord is as majestic as he is unique to my experience. Is it possible he commands the entire fellowship of the undead that my poor departed friend Falconer served so ably?”

“The Eminence of Araunt has no commander,” Lod replied. “All who belong are equal. Still, someone had to create it, and someone has to guide the campaigns that will fulfill its destiny.”

“I have every confidence the visionary before me is equal to the task. How strange, then, to find him in the company of Jhesrhi Coldcreek, and she with her mouth ungagged and her staff in her unbound hands. Perhaps, for all his wisdom, he doesn’t realize she’s one of his most formidable and determined enemies.”

“I’ve explained,” Jhesrhi said, “that I served the cause of Rashemen under magical duress. How, merchant, do you justify yourself? Moments ago, you said you’d kill Vandar Cherlinka. Well, if your word is any good, where is he?”