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  Leng’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

  Vivian licked her lips as sweat glistened upon her forehead. “If I become the Master, Leng, I’m going to remember that you’re trying to use me. You’re not Old Father Night’s servant as the Master is. You’re an old sorcerer from Muscovy who thinks he can wield the powers of Darkness like any wand or spell. If you help turn me into the Master, Leng, I promise with everything I have to insure that you will never bind the spirit of Zon Mezzamalech or gain control of the amulet.”

  Leng shook his head. “That won’t work. Kergan when he became the Master didn’t do anything to harm me, and I tricked him terribly. If anyone had cause to try and do me ill, it would have been him.”

  “That’s because the spirit in the amulet wouldn’t let Kergan hurt you because you gave it what it wanted. But I can show it in a hundred different ways how you’re trying to suborn its will and power. I know you, Leng. I know you’re trying to bind the Master even as you grovel before him.”

  Leng stood very still. He appeared to be thinking. “It’s too late even if I wanted to change things. You’re the only human left in Glendover, besides me. Unless a new host is found, the Master will perish. I’m sorry, Vivian. I will have to chance your ire or risk becoming the Master myself.”

  “That’s not true,” she whispered.

  “What isn’t?”

  “There are more humans in Glendover.” She choked up, and although she tried to continue speaking, she seemed incapable of speech.

  “Speak, woman, I command you.”

  Her voice came out low and throaty. “There are more humans in Glendover Port than just us.”

  “What?”

  She hung her head. “Deep in the dungeons below the citadel…” She swallowed hard. “That first night when we stormed Glendover, I saved a handful of people. Cuthred has been feeding them for me ever since.”

  “Cuthred!” snapped Leng. “Is this true?”

  “Yes,” rumbled Cuthred.

  Something akin to awe filled Leng’s face. “You’ve done that, girl. You really have?”

  “I’m not proud of it.”

  “No, no, of course not,” he said, while stroking his chin. “You probably hoped to save them if you could. But now you’re going to sell at least one of them to me. You’re going to buy a few more weeks with one of them. Is that what you’re offering?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, as tears brimmed in her eyes.

  Leng shook his head. “You amaze me. You truly amaze me. There is more to you than just beauty.”

  Vivian looked up as the tears trickled down her cheeks.

  “Who are these dupes?” he asked.

  “The Duke’s daughters,” whispered Vivian, “all three of them.”

  “Interesting. Tell me, do they hate King Egbert?”

  “I believe so.”

  Leng pursed his lips as he studied Vivian. “Why shouldn’t I have your throat slit and be done with you?”

  Vivian straightened in Cuthred’s grip as she smiled seductively. “Can’t you think of a reason, my lord?”

  Leng’s eyes became lust-filled. At last, he spun on his heels and hurried from the chamber.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “My advice is simple,” Gavin said.

  Swan and Ullrick stood beside him in the wooden corridor. Swan wore a white gown with a white fillet across her forehead. From her neck hung a silver chain, upon which dangled a golden flame symbol. Ullrick wore a blue silk shirt, blue trousers and black boots. His oiled beard was combed, and he wore a rakish felt hat.

  From the mayor’s chamber came the loud banging of a gavel. Arguing sounds subsided. A red-caped page leaned out the door and told them to be ready. The mayor was about to announce them.

  After their foray north, with yet more physical evidence of darkspawn and many eyewitness accounts, they had returned to Castle Wyvis. Fanning out from there, pigeons and heralds had gone in all directions. In the mayor of Tara’s office met the leaders of the factions who had answered positively. An alliance had been hammered out, an army hastily assembled, at least on parchment. Now a strategy was being formed.

  “My advice is simple,” Gavin said again.

  “What is it?” asked Ullrick. He had changed since the foray north. He smiled less, frowned more, and he kept his opinions to himself.

  “Are you listening?” Gavin asked Swan.

  She nodded nervously, plucking at her gown. This was her big moment.

  “We should race to Banfrey,” Gavin said. “There we should all board ship and flee to Albion. We might survive that way. This way…” He shrugged. “You realize we can’t win, don’t you? You realize almost everyone we speak with today has only weeks left as a human.”

  “Your joke is in poor taste,” said Swan.

  “He’s not joking,” Ullrick said grimly.

  Swan frowned at Gavin. “You swore an oath.”

  Gavin shrugged once again, although he seemed troubled.

  Then the page beckoned.

  A forest of occupied chairs had been stuffed before the mayor’s dais. Many important barons wearing fox-lined mantles and their ladies with marten capes sat in them. Crammed benches lined the walls. Hanging from those paneled walls were ornate guild-shields of Tara. From Forador Swamp south to Oswald Ferry and from the Crags east to Bosham Castle by the Sea they had come. Mayors and Guild Masters from the important towns of Tara, Ware and Kildare sat in attendance. The barons of castles Wyvis, Kleve, Kells, Dagda and Callach had come with their retinues. Brown and yellow-robed devotees of Hosar from Thoron and Bede eagerly awaited Swan’s words. Hedge knights grouped by region made sure their voices would be heard today.

  One of the largest groups was Swan’s Crusaders. The foray north had added warriors to her banner. Now a small contingent of fast-moving and hard-hitting horsemen roamed north of the swamp, rescuing whom they could. These homeless but hardy souls naturally gravitated toward her. Still in shock, usually physically ill and terrified by their ordeal, many survivors drank her courageous words as if they had a raging thirst. They wanted to hurt the darkspawn captains. The spirit of Zon Mezzamalech had taken everything they had ever cared for. Those toughened by their calamities took Swan’s proffered hope and told each other that they believed in her promise of victory.

  Swan made her entrance as people clapped and cheered. She gave a speech and pointed out to them her crusading commanders in their blue surcoats with the yellow sun symbol sewn onto the chests. She said a few more words and then opened the floor to debate. The arguments started small, quickly grew larger, become heated and then divided the august company into three factions. Lady Pavia championed the Wait Tough Group, the biggest. In essence, she said drill everyone, peasants, bandits, city dwellers and knights, marshal a huge army, and then smash the darkspawn in a defensive battle when they dared to come south of the swamp. Swan and Aelfric pleaded the Fight Them North Strategy. Most of the northern survivors and the crusaders leaned that way. The last and final group was discovered when Lady Pavia pointed out that they had yet to hear from the Captain General. Gavin gave them the Grand Unity Plan. Plead with the Cragsmen to join them and beg the King or the High Priest to fight alongside everyone else. If need be retreat until the entire island could be marshaled into one host. Then retreat and retreat again, and then retreat some more and yet again.

  “Why all this retreating?” asked Lady Pavia.

  “So the undead wear out,” Gavin said. “I’ve been north. I’ve seen the bones of undead as they rot and fall apart. They only last so long.” Sir Aelfric nodded at that, muttering agreement. Gavin continued, “The spirit of Zon Mezzamalech uses the undead to grab fast. Later, I suppose, he’ll use the other darkspawn. What we need to do now is to wait until the present undead rot away, while at the same time not giving them opportunity to make more.”

  “Can we retreat long enough?” asked Lady Pavia.

  “To Albion is my suggestion,” Gavin said.

  That
caused pandemonium, and it lost the Captain General whatever support he had gained. “That’s impossible,” he was told more than once.

  In the end, after another four hours of discussion, Lady Pavia’s strategy was agreed upon. In detail, that meant several things. First, they must keep the swamp route open to rescue more of the northern people, until the darkspawn tried to follow through the swamp in strength. Once that happened, catapults behind a vast log wall across the swamp-route and bolstered by wood-wise foresters, mercenary crossbowmen and a core of well-armored thegns should be able to seal that opening. Meanwhile, everyone else would head to Bosham Castle by the Sea. That ancient fortress guarded the thin strip of land along the coast, the usual invasion route between North and South Erin.

  At Swan’s suggestion, heralds would be sent to the Cragsmen and to the King. The bigger the army the better, for it looked as if the spirit of Zon Mezzamalech had a huge horde in North Erin.

  Gavin made one last speech. “We had better send word to the High Priest to guard his galleys. If he’s wise, he’ll commandeer anything that floats. I think the spirit of Zon Mezzamalech took Glendover Port so none of us could escape Erin. To close the trap, he has to take Banfrey or more precisely, Lobos Port.”

  “Ships leave elsewhere,” said a rich merchant.

  “Small fishing boats do,” Gavin said. “Big merchant ships can only put in at Glendover and at Lobos.”

  “Let us hear no more about ships and trying to flee to Albion,” said Lady Pavia. A chorus of agreement greeted her words.

  Thus, little else was said about the High Priest’s galleys. In any case, no one really believed darkspawn would cross the open sea. The old legends said they never dared. Only the Marauders, humans in darkspawn employ, had ever sailed upon the sea in force. Lady Pavia, who had been reading up on the old legends, told them as much. Several withered Wisdoms from the Emma Shrine read from huge, leather-bound books to confirm her words. Besides reading the legends, Lady Pavia had scoured the temples and shrines for devotees of Hosar with power. So far, an old monk with a crooked staff who could make water ripple when he mumbled was all she had found.

  After the meeting, Swan and Gavin left he mayor’s palace with Hugo trailing behind. As they strode down the long flight of steps that led to the main market square, Swan spoke with an urgency that made her voice quaver. “You’re making it difficult for me to keep you on as my Captain General. So from now on, you must keep your opinions to yourself.”

  “You’ll need a different captain general then,” Gavin said stiffly.

  She peered at him. He clanked about in his martial array of mail armor. A long scabbard, with gems sewn into the leather, slapped at his left leg. His knightly spurs jangled at each step. He held his helmet in the crook of his burly arm. None of that compared in military bearing to his hard features. He had tight lips, a short cut beard, askew nose and calculating, oh-so-shrewd eyes.

  “You could have worked them better,” she said. “I’ve seen you take noble crowds and twist them to your way of thinking. You’ve made an art of it.”

  He shrugged with a clink of sound.

  “No. I think you deliberately acted cowardly. You want to run away.”

  “Most definitely I do.”

  “I don’t understand you,” she said.

  “I thought I made myself plain enough.”

  “No one is braver than you, Sir Gavin.”

  He laughed.

  “No. Don’t laugh. You know it’s true.”

  “Hardly,” he said.

  “Hardly?” she asked. “Tell me who went on a four-man scouting expedition into the heart of Zon Mezzamalech’s domain? Or who gave up their silver sword when it would be needed most? Who, pray tell, does everyone look to when things are grimmest?”

  “That would be you, milady.”

  Swan shook her head. “Not in the middle of a fight, sir. And speaking of fights… Who, as far as I know, has been the only one to give the darkspawn a defeat? Why, that’s you again, Sir Gavin. Yet every time you speak, at least lately, you make people nervous. At every turn you counsel running away.”

  “We’re doomed,” he said. “Anyone who wants to live and who understands the reality of that runs away.”

  “You could have run before, sir. You were at Banfrey. It would have been easy enough to book passage to Albion. Yet you came back. What did you see on your scouting expedition? You’ve become gloomy since then, defeatist.”

  Gavin hadn’t told anyone about Joanna, not even Hugo. Guilt ate at him too much for that. He had failed Joanna, run out on her. He had failed the others, too. He wasn’t sure he could take more failure, more blood on his hands. If Joanna could become darkspawn…what hope was there for the rest of them?

  “Don’t you want to hurt those who have hurt yours?” asked Swan.

  “For a seer, you have quite the bloodthirsty attitude.”

  “I’m at war, Sir Gavin. What game are you playing at?”

  “Survival,” he said.

  “Is that what you do best?”

  “It must be. I’m still here.”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you want my sword?” he asked.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Do you want me to resign my Captain Generalship?”

  “No! I want you to defeat the enemy. But first you’re going to have to believe it’s possible again.”

  “That will take a miracle.”

  Swan took his hand as her face softened. “Do you know what I think about when I start worrying?”

  He grew uneasy. The way she stared into his eyes… It made him forget about Vivian. It had been too long since he had been with a woman. He eased closer so she brushed against him. “What do you think about?”

  “How you looked at me at Leng’s feast. How you stood and spoke up for me when no one else would.”

  He moistened his lips and wondered at the fluttery feeling in his gut.

  Hugo coughed discreetly.

  They glanced up at the Standard Bearer six steps above them.

  “Your commanders are coming,” Hugo said.

  Gavin stepped away from Swan, uncertain what he truly felt for her.

  She released his hand. “Let us leave the market place.”

  Gavin nodded agreement, and together they fled down the steps.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Iron-nailed boots crashed on the plaza’s cobblestones. Lanterns rattled against pikes. Bristle-bearded night-watchmen grumbled foul oaths as they made their rounds in groups of fifteen or more. Their hounds whined and barked and shields clattered against clumsily held weapons.

  The town of Tara overflowed with Midland men-at-arms and peasants with exalted ideas. They brought whores, thieves and gamblers with them, those who preyed upon the drunken and unwary. They made life difficult for the night watch. Hoarse shouts to halt usually sent culprits running. That meant an extended chase through the narrow lanes that often ended with nothing but red faces and shouts from angry burghers to quit making so much noise. Fortunately, the mayor promised that things would go back to normal once the crusaders set out to Bosham Castle by the Sea. The night-watch counted the hours to their departure.

  At the moment, a band clattered down cobble-stoned Noble Lane, the hounds whining and for no apparent reason tucking their tails between their legs. A sinister taint hung in the air. It made the hackles rise on the bravest dogs. The odor was akin to the huge jungle cats of the Far South and a mixture of something that might have been conceived in the terrible Netherworld below.

  A beast hid in nearby shrubbery. The beast, a thing with red eyes, watched the clumsy night watchmen depart. It waited in bushes that grew beside the Hotel de Gaem. The hotel was a large brick building, built by a baron for when he brought his retinue to Tara. Riotous sounds of revelry came from within. It was the last night in town before weary days of marching and then probably boring garrison duty.

  As the beast listened to the drunken sounds, nee
dle-sharp claws slid from his finger-pads. He yearned to leap into the Hotel de Gaem and rip out everyone’s innards. Slow-witted vermin, they were an infestation of unwarranted arrogance. They thought themselves the height of creation. They deserved nothing but death, swift extinction as only he could provide. The beast growled low under his breath and let his claws slide back into their skin sheaths. The commands given him by Leng still controlled his will. First, slay Swan. Then kill Sir Gavin. And then… Then he could run wild to his heart’s delight. Then he could slash and hew everything that moved on two legs.

  Long, long ago as a pup he had suckled on a wolf’s teat. He had eaten raw meat. In those days when those with two legs had seen him, they had hurled rocks and driven him from them. Maybe later other beings came, other two legs, ones who fed him and tried to teach him human speech. They pretended to be nice, like Gavin the traitor! O, he yearned to rip out that one’s heart and feast upon it even as it gushed forth blood. Yes. He yearned to do that above all else. Above— No! First, slay Swan. Then kill Sir Gavin. Then he could run wild to his heart’s delight.

  He had spent weeks on the blood-trail, weeks south of the swamp and in enemy territory. Now, word by courier bat (one of the Lord of Bats’ pets) had informed him she had been north the entire time. North! Rage roiled within his breast. He had held back his savage passions for too long. He had sniffed the cold trails and hidden himself from the weak, two-legged vermin for much too long a time. Now…tonight…

  The fravashi, he who had once been a young boy, who had shared a cell with the giant Cuthred, he bounded fast across the street. Swan! He knew her scent, had a rag with her odor wrapped around his silky neck. His nostrils dilated as he ducked under a beam, ran on all fours across a lane, then leaped incredibly ten feet into the air, scrambling onto a blacksmith’s shingled shed and then onto the main roof. First, slay Swan. Then kill Sir Gavin. He opened his snout to reveal baboon-like fangs. He was the fravashi. Of all the darkspawn, he was the fastest and deadliest. Not even blood-drinkers could compare to him. Leaping into the alleyway, landing lightly on all fours, he spied through a window a soft white shoulder. It was on the third story of this fortress-like hotel. The woman turned, peering into the night. Swan!