Sapphire's head hung from the half-blood's grip, with black fluids smeared from her gaping mouth across her pale cheeks.

Leesil steeled himself for Ratboy's screaming assault.

The small undead merely lowered his sword arm until the blade point dipped into the flowing water. He stared blankly with his one good eye and his head slowly turned from side to side in denial.

"You couldn't," he said weakly. "She was in the sewer ahead of me. It's a trick."

Leesil flung the head and shifted his second blade back to his free hand.

Sapphire's head struck Ratboy in the stomach, and he closed his arms around it, still clinging to his sword.

"Take a closer look," Leesil said.

Ratboy looked upon Sapphire's blond curls matted with her own black fluids. For a moment, he didn't react, still denying what he held in his hands. His pale face suddenly twisted in a soundless, tearless sob.

"That's for Beth-rae," Leesil spit out. "You cut her throat with your nails back in Miiska. Remember? And Eliza. You left her dead in her own backyard for her brother, Brenden, to find."

Rage welled in Leesil again for all the lives Ratboy had destroyed.

"How does it feel," he whispered, "to lose?"

This time, Ratboy did cry out. The head slipped from his hands as he rushed forward, swinging wildly with his sword.

Leesil controlled his hatred as he sidestepped. All he needed was a clear shot at the monster's neck. Chap howled and closed in.

"Stay back!" Leesil ordered.

The hound snarled in frustration but retreated, circling behind Leesil.

Ratboy swung again-and again. Leesil blocked, the short sword glancing and sliding away along the curves of his blades.

This butchering whelp wasn't skilled, but he was strong and enraged, and Leesil feared becoming locked in a stalemate until he was too exhausted to continue. Undeads seemed to possess endless stamina. But as he circled, forcing Ratboy to keep changing positions, he saw the undead falter once.

Leesil heard Chap growling from behind, but the hound stayed clear. Ratboy struck hard. As Leesil blocked, he dropped to one knee in the water. He kicked out with his free leg to the inside of Ratboy's knee.

The joint gave a muffled crackle on impact, but Ratboy only stumbled and struck again. Leesil rose up inside the downward stroke, his blocking blade's edge up. When the blow connected, there was no clang of steel.

Ratboy's wrist struck the blade's edge, and Leesil slashed outward.

Hand and sword flew away in the water. The undead jerked up his arm to strike again and then gaped in disbelief at the stump of his wrist.

Leesil kicked out to Ratboy's other knee, letting his whole weight drop down and drive the blow home. A resounding crack followed as his boot collided with bone. His outstretched foot dropped through the water to the tunnel floor, and he shifted his weight to it. He slashed his second blade across, waist level, and Ratboy retreated two steps.

Ratboy's movements were halting and unstable, but he showed no sign of outright pain, only angry disbelief. The lower half of his tunic hung loose from the cut, and his sunken stomach was slick with his own black blood.

Leesil lifted his left blade at guard, the right low and ready. Ratboy lunged, and his one remaining hand lashed out.

It was so fast that Leesil couldn't block or duck in time. Thin, cold fingers closed on his throat as fingernails bit into his skin.

The grip faltered briefly, squeezed painfully tight, and then faltered again.

Gasping for air, Leesil realized what was happening. The small-boned bastard was bleeding out, weakening. Undeads were not inexhaustible after all.

Ratboy opened his mouth, head thrusting forward. Sharp teeth and fangs rushed at Leesil's face, and he jammed his right blade upward. Its point pierced the underside of Ratboy's jaw, snapping his mouth closed. Ratboy's head barely flinched, but it was enough, and Leesil sliced up with his left blade.

It cut halfway through the forearm of the hand about his throat, and the grip released.

The undead swung wildly with the stump of his right arm, and Leesil ducked aside, slipping to Ratboy's flank. He dropped his right blade and braced his free hand against his left forearm as he swung the remaining blade back.

Ratboy turned his head, open mouth dribbling dark fluids.

Leesil swung down with his full weight. Bone ground on steel as his weapon severed straight through Ratboy's neck.

The headless body splashed down.

Leesil fell to his knees with a second splash, panting.

Anger and dark delight washed from him in the bite of cold water. The tunnel became instantly quiet but for the soft sound of lapping liquid running against the walkways.

Finished-but Leesil felt his past failures only partially rectified.

Exhaustion took him, and he remained there for a long while with his head down, trying to regain his breath. What finally stirred him was Chap's warm and wet tongue upon his cheek.

Leesil crawled slowly to his feet and sheathed one blade, then felt through the water for the other until he found it. Both blades in place, he turned about, searching for the heads, and spotted Chap standing on the walkway next to the torch. Both heads rested before his front paws, as did the sack. Leesil gathered the trophies with a sense of release instead of triumph.

The moment he finished tying the sack to the back of his belt, Chap took off down the tunnel toward where they had first entered. Leesil followed without questioning the hound's decision.

They had to find Magiere.

Chapter 20

Magiere studied Welstiel. He looked much the same as he had in Miiska, composed and controlled. She looked at his black leather gloves and cloak, and his voice echoed in her thoughts.

A moment, if you please.

Lord Au'shiyn's dead face surfaced in her mind. His murderer had used those very words to draw the Suman's attention.

"You," she whispered aloud, still uncertain what her senses now demanded she believe. "Your voice… your hands."

He was calm and detached, still the cryptic mentor he'd played for her back in Miiska. Magiere tried to find the hunger inside that always warned of an undead's presence, but it wouldn't stir.

"Did you follow Ratboy here, or did he follow you?" she asked.

He frowned as if such a question were childish.

"I am not one of them," he said. "I have been preparing you for what lies ahead. You would have never battled these creatures without inspiration, and now look what you've become. So much more than you were, even since your awakening in Miiska."

What did he mean by inspiration? Nausea threatened to creep in upon the tail of Magiere's bewilderment.

"You arranged this?" she asked, a sickening awareness growing. "And what happened in Miiska as well?"

"A simple matter," he answered, "of making sure you were the one to purchase the vacant tavern."

Confusion began to feed slowly into outrage.

The council of Bela, Chap's hidden manipulations, the elves seeking Leesil's life, and now Welstiel. How many had played Leesil and herself like puppets, tugging their strings from both near and far?

Welstiel waved his hand, apparently growing frustrated with her. "All but a means to an end, and you have nearly reached that end. The rest you will learn on our journey, and so I've come for you. The conjuror is unpredictable, and I wanted to be present in case he became a true danger."

He was mad, but Magiere was uncertain what to do. Her gaze kept returning to the black gloves.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," she said.

"You haven't heard where we are going," he responded.

"I don't care."