He looked up, beckoned, and another of his men hurried forward.

"Aye, B— Milord?"

"Take yourself on ahead there, Torlahn. Tell Hurthang I'm after being certain now. There's a pocket of pus and nastiness up ahead, and I'm wishful he should go slow and easy, for they may've guessed we're coming."

Torlahn nodded and pushed off with his ski poles. He faded quickly into the fog, and Brandark looked around with a jaundiced eye.

"I don't want to sound as if I'm complaining," he observed, "but it's just occurred to me that fifty-eight men—well, fifty-seven men and one woman—could find themselves just a bit outnumbered by a nest of demon-worshiping filth on its own ground."

"That just occurred to you now? " Vaijon asked in a hoarse whisper, surveying the same woods, and shook his head in disbelief.

"I'm a city boy," Brandark replied with dignity, "not a Horse Stealer. I'm not the expert on raids and sneaking about in the woods." He sniffed and jabbed one of his ski poles at Bahzell. "That's the management for this little operation, my boy."

"And a good thing, too," Bahzell rumbled, "for the two of you are after carrying on like little old ladies in a brothel! We're after trying to sneak up on 'em, as even this Bloody Sword knows, and I'd take it kindly if the both of you would be keeping your jaws still for just a bit. And as for being outnumbered, well, I'm doubtful somehow that Sharnā and his lot would be wanting to keep a lot of men under arms out here. Even a Bloody Sword might spot such as that—though I'll grant you he'd need to be walking right into 'em before he stopped chattering long enough to be taking notice!"

"There's no need to be rude ," Brandark said with even more dignity. He and Vaijon exchanged slightly strained grins, and then the two of them concentrated on moving as smoothly and silently as possible.

That sick sense of something putrid and vile grew stronger and stronger as Bahzell concentrated upon it. The chaffering with Brandark had distracted him from it for a few moments, but now it was back and worse than ever, and his ears flattened under his hood. He glanced at Kaeritha and made a small gesture for her to retain her position at the center of his section, then pushed ahead to overtake Hurthang. He wasn't certain why it suddenly seemed so urgent for him to do that, but he didn't question the feeling, either.

One of Hurthang's men saw him and hissed a warning that brought the entire section to a halt. Hurthang himself loomed up out of the fog, eyebrows arched and ears cocked as Bahzell caught up with him. Bahzell started to speak, then swayed, gagging as a carrion reek seemed to catch at the back of his throat like filthy hands. He caught himself on his ski poles and shook his head violently, then spat into the snow.

"What?" Hurthang asked, his voice little more than a rumbling thread.

"We're close," Bahzell said equally quietly. "What's ahead?"

"Not a lot," Hurthang replied. "A clearing of sorts, and a valley. It's an ugly place, too. I'd not set foot in it under other circumstances, and that I'll tell you plain, Bahzell."

"And why not?"

"That's more than I can say, to speak truth. Maybe it's naught but the fact that I know what it is we're hunting. That's cause enough for any man to be feeling a bit hesitant, I'd guess. And it's after being the sort of nasty, narrow, twisting place I hate. In fact, it's narrow enough I'd almost think as how the tracks up and vanish right into a hillside to look at it, but it must be there's a way around it on the far side as we just aren't able to see from here."

"I'd not count on that," Bahzell said grimly, for a sudden stab of certainty had gone through him like a knife the instant his cousin mentioned a hillside. "There's no way around that hill, Hurthang. The bastards are after being inside it."

"Inside?" Hurthang sounded dubious, and Bahzell nodded.

"Aye. Kilthan had the right of it when he said as how Sharnā's lot hide themselves underground, and I can be feeling some kind of trickery even from here."

"Wizardry? " Hurthang hissed, but Bahzell shook his head quickly.

"No, not that, but like it. I'm thinking it's a bit of Sharnā himself, spread out so as to be tricking minds and eyes to keep us from seeing what's really there. And I'd not be surprised if it's the real reason the place is after looking 'ugly' to you, too. He'd not want to encourage folk to come right in on his... people."

"Then just how is it we're supposed to be getting at them?"

"Well, as to that, it's surprised I'll be if Kerry and I betwixt us can't convince that little bit of Sharnā to be moving aside," Bahzell replied, and bared his teeth in a vicious grin. "Old Demon Breath's scared to death of himself, and I'm thinking that when a pair of champions come calling all unannounced, and bring himself along with 'em when they knock on the door, that door will be after opening."

Hurthang looked less than totally convinced, but he nodded and waved his men into concealment to wait while Bahzell went back for Kaeritha and the rest of the party. Then the two champions, accompanied only by Vaijon, Brandark, and Hurthang, moved to the very edge of the woods and peered out into the foggy late morning light.

As Hurthang had said, the woods gave way to a narrow valley between brooding hills. The tracks they'd followed this far snaked out into that valley, looking somehow furtive and lost, and seemed to vanish straight into a rough, almost vertical hillside. But the scene didn't look quite the same to all of them, and Bahzell heard Kaeritha—and Vaijon—suck in sharp breaths even as the hillside began to waver like wind-struck water to his own vision. Details were hard to make out, but his jaw clenched as he caught the likeness of a huge scorpion carved out of the rock above an arched opening that was somehow... wrong. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what made that arch look subtly perverted and diseased. After all, how could a simple opening in the stone look "perverted"? The concept made no sense, and yet that was the only word which fitted that obscene, waiting mouth under the protective claws of the scorpion.

"What is it?" Hurthang asked quickly as he caught his cousin's expression.

"What we came for," Bahzell replied grimly. He tore his eyes from the rippling hillside to scan the other slopes, looking for any sign of guard posts or sentries. There were none, and he supposed that made sense. Even knowing exactly what they sought, neither Hurthang nor Brandark could see a thing but blank stone. Coupled with the sense of aversion Hurthang had felt for the entire valley—and which Bahzell felt, as well, when he let himself—that offered Sharnā's followers almost perfect concealment, and posting sentries would actually be more likely to attract attention, not less.

But Bahzell knew what was hidden there, and his belly tightened as he sensed a dark, malevolent presence inside that hill. Not Sharnā himself, though there was a trace of the dark god present. No one who'd ever sensed him could mistake that skin-crawling shudder of pure evil for anything else. But there was something more, another presence, infinitely weaker than Sharnā's potential power but enormously stronger than any mortal creature. He glanced at Kaeritha and Vaijon, and their expressions showed they sensed it, too. But they looked perplexed, uncertain as to just what it was they felt, for unlike him, they had never faced one of Sharnā's greater demons.

He drew a deep breath, then sank back into the cover of the forest edge and waved his friends in close.

"All right, then," he said softly. "We've found what we came for, but I'm thinking we've a real fight on our hands." He darted a sharp glance at Kaeritha and Vaijon. "The two of you are after sensing something else in there, too, aren't you, now?"

"Yes," Kaeritha said shortly, and Vaijon nodded.

"Well, I've sensed its like before—and so have you, Brandark." He flicked a look at his friend. "In the Shipwood."

"Phrobus!" Brandark whispered. "D'you mean there's a bloody demon in there?!"

"And why not? Sharnāis after being their patron, and as Kerry said naught but a moment ago, he's after knowing we're coming, whatever the bastards inside that hill may know or guess."

"A demon?" Hurthang shook his head. "That sounds like being just a mite much for our lads to handle, Bahzell."

"Aye, it does that. And I'll not say I'm looking forward to it myself," Bahzell admitted. "Still and all, it's a pleasure I've had before, and if I'm not all aquiver with eagerness, at least I've another champion to back me this time. You and the lads be leaving the demon to Kerry and me, Hurthang. There'll be enough others in yonder for you lot to be dealing with."

"Are you sure about this?" Kaeritha asked quietly. "I mean, you're the only one of us who's actually ever faced a demon, but I've always heard the worst possible place to take one on is underground."

"I've no doubt of that at all, at all," Bahzell said grimly, "and I'll tell you true, it was footwork as much as bladework got me off whole last time. But more even than that, it was himself. He was with me when I was needing him worst, and I've no doubt at all as how he'll be with both of us—with all of us—" he amended, waving one hand to encompass their entire party "—this time, as well."

"I don't either," Vaijon said, and smiled suddenly at the two champions. "And if He is with us, what more do we need?"

"Oh, I'd say a bit of courage, a good sword, some muscle, and more than one man's fair share of luck," Bahzell said judiciously, with a smile of his own. "Still and all, you've put your hand on the meat of it, Vaijon. And all we need or no, it's a damned sight more than anyone on t'other side is likely to be having!"

He paused a moment, looking around the circle of his friends' faces, seeing his own fear—and he was afraid, he admitted—and determination in their expressions, then nodded. No man could ask for better companions. He would take his chances with Tomanāk and these people any day.

"All right, then," he said. "Here's what I'm thinking to do... ."