“We could try,” said an Old One in a mask like the gnarled face of a tree spirit ringed with stubby twigs.

“I know you’ve lost friends,” said Aoth. “I understand the wish to avenge them. But think of the welfare of your country and your own welfare in particular. There could be more Raumvirans in the Running Rocks, and if so, you need to know.”

“I don’t like it,” Shaugar growled, “but the Silverbloods owe you, Captain, and you have a point.” He glowered at the ghoul. “We Old Ones promise to release you and give you a day to clear out of our territory in exchange for answers to our questions. Start with the one Captain Fezim just raised. Are we still in danger?”

“No immediate danger,” Pevkalondra said. “No more than the rest of the Rashemi.”

“Convince us,” said Aoth. “What were you and your raiders doing here?”

The Raumviran hesitated, not, he sensed, because she was concocting a lie but rather because the answer was somewhat complicated.

“Do you understand,” she asked at length, “that undead from an unknown land far to the west of Faerun have come to Rashemen?”

“I do now,” Aoth replied. Speaking through Jet, Jhesrhi and Cera had explained it to him. “The emissaries reanimated Raumvirans, Nars, durthans, and the Firelord knows what else to create a force capable of subjugating Rashemen.”

“Yes,” Pevkalondra said, “and then our confederacy explored various ways of achieving its purpose. One such option was via a straightforward military campaign, but your victory at the Fortress of the Half-Demon led Uramar-the chief envoy from the Eminence of Araunt-to decide to pursue a different scheme he hatched with Nyevarra, a durthan, instead.

“The plan,” the ghoul continued, “gave a central role to witches, and thereafter, Uramar concentrated on reanimating more of them. He ignored Raumvirans, even though we’d sustained heavy losses in the battle. His disregard made it clear my folk were destined for only a minor role in the Rashemen to come.”

“Unless,” said Aoth, “you did something to increase your power and prestige.”

“Yes. So I cast around to determine how to accomplish that, and I discovered hathrans weren’t the only mages who in one fashion or another support the Iron Lord. The Old Ones were up here in the mountains, and I hoped that if I led a war band to destroy them, one enclave after another, my efforts would demonstrate the worth of Raumathari wizardry and arms.”

“And if they didn’t,” said Orgurth, “you’d still have all the enchanted weapons and talismans you’d looted. If it came to it, you could make this Ura-something show you respect.”

“Exactly,” said the ghoul.

Orgurth leered. “Too bad it didn’t work out.”

“So you’re telling us,” said Aoth, “that yours was the only band of undead raiding in these mountains?”

“Yes,” Pevkalondra answered. “All the durthans and such are pursuing Uramar’s scheme.”

Aoth nodded. “Fair enough. And now let’s talk about that. What is the cursed scheme?”

The ghoul grinned, likely because she was anticipating the effect her next words would have. “Corruption. First and foremost, of the Urlingwood itself, the sacred earth Rashemi so revere. The durthans apparently know how to tilt the balance of forces centered there to strengthen their witchcraft and the dark fey while weakening the hathrans and their particular allies. The overt conquest of Rashemen will be a trifling matter after that.”

Seemingly astonished, the Old Ones stared down at her. Then Shaugar said, “Nonsense! If the durthans knew how to do such a thing, they would have done it during the Witch War of old.”

“They couldn’t,” Pevkalondra said. “The hathrans guarded the heart of their power too well.”

“And do you think they’re any less vigilant now, mere tendays after you and your undead friends were committing atrocities throughout the land?”

“Yes, because a traitor opened a magical gateway into the Iron Lord’s castle itself.”

“Dai Shan,” said Aoth, his fingers tightening on his spear. He thanked Kossuth, Amaunator, Tymora, and any other deity who might conceivably have had a hand in Cera and Jhesrhi successfully killing the little snake, but a part of him would always regret he hadn’t done the job himself.

“Yes,” Pevkalondra said, still grinning, “and that and the new powers undeath conferred on the durthans enabled them to subvert and weaken first our foes in Immilmar and then in the Urlingwood itself. They killed hathrans, donned their masks, and impersonated them. Vampires turned or enslaved other defenders of the old order, while ghosts possessed still more. A plague of treachery, torpor, and muddled wits swept through the covens, the Huhrong’s Citadel, and the lodge houses, and as a result, the forest is already under our control.”

“You’re lying!” Kanilak spit. “Nothing’s weakening our magic. It’s as strong as ever.”

Pevkalondra inclined her head. “True enough, boy, as my soldiers and I discovered to our cost. But in your crude way, you Old Ones are like Raumvirans. You’re makers, and your magic derives more from the mind and less from the soul. In retrospect, it makes sense that your power might stand strong for a while longer than that of your mistresses.”

The ghoul turned her stained, jagged grin back on Aoth. “So you see,” she said, “I’ve lost a battle, but you’ve lost the war. The Eminence of Araunt has occupied the ground it needs to ensure its triumph and neutralized all who might have broken its hold in time.”

Aoth considered the situation and decided it justified Pevkalondra’s confidence. Indeed, because she didn’t know Lod himself had come to Rashemen to speed the dark rituals along to their fruition, the Eminence’s position was even stronger than she realized.

“The Black Flame burn me,” he said, “if I ever travel without my own army again. If I walk down to the corner for a mug of beer, the entire Brotherhood of the Griffon is going with me.”

“Then you admit defeat,” Pevkalondra said.

Aoth smiled back at her, and something in his expression made her give a tiny start, predatory monstrosity though she was. “Well, no,” he answered, “I wouldn’t say that.”

He pivoted back toward the Old Ones. “You heard,” he said. “Your country’s enemies have deprived it of its usual cadre of protectors. We have to assemble a new one quickly to drive the vermin out of your sacred wood. Obviously, that effort starts with you. How soon can you be ready to march?”

For a heartbeat, no one answered. Then a man in a wolf mask said, “We can’t just do that because we want to. We can only leave the Running Rocks if the hathrans command it.”

“Stinky just told you,” Orgurth said, “the witches can’t command it. They’re dead, addled, or too stupid to see what’s falling apart right in front of them.”

“Still,” Shaugar said, “our vows are vows, and even if we did break them, no man is allowed in the Urlingwood.”

Orgurth shrugged. “Once you start breaking rules, what’s the difference if it’s one or two?”

An Old One in an iron T-shaped mask that left his cheeks and the corners of his mouth uncovered said, “To break our oaths would disgrace us. To defile the Urlingwood-”

“It’s being defiled now!” Aoth shouted. “How can you let that happen and still tell yourselves your vows and your religion count for anything? I’m an outlander-Abyss, I’m one of the Thayans you Rashemi all despise-and I don’t claim to understand your ways. But if it were my sacred forest, I’d save it and worry about getting punished for disobeying orders afterward. That’s what loyalty and duty mean to me!”

For a moment, the Old Ones were quiet again. Then Shaugar said, “But the ghoul was right. We are crafters first and foremost, and you saw how many of our staves and amulets we’ve already emptied of magic.”

“I’ve also seen plenty of intact Raumviran golems still standing around in the foundry,” Aoth replied. “Old Ones put them to sleep, and you can wake them too.”