Naull stepped through the door and was startled when someone grabbed her arm from behind. She turned and Lem smiled at her, then glanced at the ruined platform. She smiled back, nodded, and stepped onto the wooden planks. The half of the platform that was against the south wall of the slaughterhouse had held Regdar's considerably greater weight well enough but Naull was still hesitant about it. Heights had never been her strong suit.

With Lem still holding her arm, ready to snatch her back into the anteroom should the rest of the platform give way, Naull stepped farther out—far enough to peer over the jagged edge, down to where the two watchmen had fallen.

She could see one of them, partially buried in the broken planks, a cloud of dust settling around him. It looked to be Asil, and he wasn't moving. Lying facedown as he was, she couldn't see his face.

Naull looked over at Regdar, who was waist deep in roiling gray fog, and she swallowed in a dry throat.

"Are they all right?" he asked from over his shoulder, pausing for a reply.

Naull shook her head and answered, "I can't tell. Asil isn't moving. I can't hear anything."

She looked back down and enough of the dust had settled that she could see Jandik, or at least the bottom half of him. The rest was buried under broken planks of rotten wood. He wasn't moving either.

She turned to tell Regdar and was just in time to see the top of his helmed head sink silently into the obscuring mist. Her breath caught in her throat.

She stepped away from the door, crossing halfway to the stairs, having slipped out of Lem's gentle hold. She stopped, looked back at the door, and saw Lem and Samoth follow her out and peer over the edge themselves.

"Constable Jandik!" Lem called. "Asil...are you all right?"

They all waited for the space of a few quick breaths but there was no answer.

Naull looked out over the room and the sight of the fog made her shiver. It was obviously conjured in some way. The edges were too straight, almost at right angles. The fog was meant to hide something. It extended as high as the floor of the platform, and obscured about a quarter of the huge space that was the abandoned killing floor. It didn't drift like natural fog, but seemed almost contained by glass walls or some other, invisible force.

The platform trembled and Naull heard a low thud as if something heavy had fallen to the ground. She pressed herself against the wall, and Lem did the same. Samoth ducked back into the anteroom.

"What was that?" Samoth asked.

Both he and Lem looked at Naull, who said, "It's the...thing." She turned to face the stairs and shouted, "Regdar!"

There was no answer.

"Regdar!" she called again, louder than before.

She jumped when a hand touched her arm. It was Lem again.

"He won't answer," the watchman said. "He won't want to give away his position in that pea soup."

"Lem!" Samoth hissed from the doorway. "Get over here...Jandik's lantern."

"Damn," Lem breathed, skipping across the ruined platform to Samoth's side. The two of them looked down. "Jandik was holding a lantern when they fell. The flame's caught on all that old wood."

Another low, booming thud vibrated the platform, and Naull said, "They'll burn alive."

"If they aren't dead already," Samoth mumbled.

"We have to climb down there," Lem said, already slipping out of his canvas rucksack.

"Wait," Naull said. "Regdar's—"

"Got enough trouble," Lem interrupted, "with whatever's making that booming sound."

Naull nodded and looked out over the magic fog as Lem and Samoth gathered up their lengths of rope and tied them to anything that looked strong enough to hold.

The sound came again, closer.

Naull ran through what spells she had left but she'd have to see the thing to use them.

The sound came again, much closer, and Lem started climbing down.

 

 

Regdar judged his arms to be about two and a half feet long, and he knew the blade of his greatsword was five and half feet in length. He held the blade straight out in front of him and couldn't see the tip.

Five feet, he guessed, no more.

He stood at the foot of the stairs on a damp, rough, stone floor, surrounded by gray fog as featureless and unyielding as endless Limbo itself. He could hear the thing approaching and could hear the voices of his comrades. He was happy they weren't following him. Naull's spells would be as dangerous to friends in the fog as to enemies, and Lem and Samoth were better off climbing down to save their fellows from the fire.

Lord Constable....

Regdar repeated the words in his mind. It was up to him.

The floor trembled under another booming footstep, and Regdar held his greatsword in a ready stance that protected his head and the front of his body. He might only be able to see five feet ahead of him but that was all the room he needed.

Another footstep, and the thing was close—very close.

As the vibration subsided, Regdar heard a boot scrape the rough floor next to him. He turned slowly, keeping ready to defend himself. He could see the vague outline of a man against the gray nothing of the fog.

"Lord Constable," Lem whispered, "it's me...Lem."

Regdar would have nodded but wasn't sure Lem could see him.

"Stay there," the lord constable whispered.

"I'm outside the fog," the watchman whispered back. "I can just barely see you."

Another booming footstep, and Regdar could tell that it was very, very close. He turned and saw a shadow looming up in the mist. It had the shape of a man but the behemoth was easily eight feet tall. Without a second's hesitation, Regdar charged, bringing his sword around in a high, hard slash aimed at the thing's midsection. He'd moved only half a step when the shadow thrust out its left hand and Regdar's mind registered a flash of light.

His body moved faster than his conscious mind. Regdar let the momentum of his sword slash spin his body down and under the streak of ragged, yellow lightning that burst from the shadow's outstretched palm. The lightning bolt passed within an inch of Regdar's face, and he had the unpleasant feeling of each tiny whisker standing on end, as if drawn to the bolt. The mist turned instantly to nearly boiling water that scalded his face but he managed to dodge it.

Regdar's spin brought his face around to see the lightning bolt slam the shadowy form of Lem full in the chest. The watchman never had a chance. Caught in the lightning's deadly embrace, Lem shook on his feet as if dangling from wires, his whole body convulsing. The mist was blasted away and Regdar saw the watchman's eyes burst in a shower of pink fluid. He smelled Lem's flesh burning a moment before the bolt bounced back, arcing angrily from Lem to Regdar.

The lord constable wasn't as fast or as lucky the second time. The bolt hit him in the right thigh. His armor seemed suddenly made of a million stinging bees and his eyes, jaw, and other orifices clamped tightly shut. He could hear himself rattle out a staccato groan, then it was gone as fast as it hit him.

He opened his eyes, waiting for the lightning to hit him again.

 

 

Naull watched Lem's twitching body fall to the floor, heard Regdar groan, and didn't have time to scream before an arc of blinding yellow light spat out of the fog and touched Samoth in the chest. The watchman blew out his breath in a stuttering moan and flapped his arms at his sides as if he was trying to take wing. All that happened in less than a second, then the lightning bounced off him and back into the mist.

There was a sound like a sack of rice being dropped on the floor, then the sound of wood exploding—she'd heard enough of that lately that the sound would never leave her.

Before she could think of what might have been broken, the chain lightning arced again, finding Asil's steel armor. The fallen watchman twitched as if he was being pummeled by the jagged bolt but he made no sound. From there the lightning bolt shot at Samoth again. The watchman had survived the first blow, if just barely, and was on his knees, holding his face in his hands. The lightning took him in the back and though it looked like it should have pushed him forward, Samoth jerked backward so hard and so fast that Naull heard something snap in the suffering watchman. Samoth's limp form fell as the lightning traced a vision-smearing arc straight upward, clawing at one of the dangling meat hooks and creating a puff of burning, powdered rust in the air. It snaked to a second hook, and Naull watched it with paralyzed fascination.

The bolt touched another hook startlingly close to the edge of the platform. Naull bent her knees, ready to jump.

The next bounce took the lightning bolt down at such an odd angle it seemed almost to curve around the edge of the wooden platform. It hit something, and Naull heard Regdar grunt loudly, then say, "Damn it!"

Finally she took a breath, relieved that he was at least alive, and she only dimly registered the lightning bolt arcing to another meat hook, then straight at her. If she ever thought she might be able to dodge that, she must have been mad.

The bolt struck her left earring and rattled her head. Every hair on her body stood on end and she could swear she felt the fluid in her eyes start to boil. She couldn't see and hoped it was because her eyes were closed, not because they'd burst in her skull.

Her eyes snapped open and she saw the lightning bolt tracing a line from her to another meat hook, then it released her and she fell to her knees riding a wave of excruciating pain.

Naull fell onto her stomach, coughing as she tried to get her lungs to work in rhythm again. From that vantage point she could see the lightning jiggle poor, dead Samoth again, and she was sure the bolt was thinner, dimmer. It had only one hop left, and it touched Jandik's armor. By then all it did was crackle. The tracker's body didn't move, and the chain stopped there.

 

 

It was all Vargussel could do not to jump for joy.

Oh, he thought, to the Abyss with it.

He jumped for joy.

The spell he stored in the shield guardian had worked better than he had any reason to hope it would. Chain lightning was a powerful spell but it could be finicky and unpredictable. Though it had spent much of its energy on meat hooks and, at least by the sound of it, shattering the stairs behind Regdar, it had killed all of the watchmen, wounded Regdar himself, and knocked the young mage momentarily senseless.

Vargussel laughed out loud. Killing them was enough but to do it so spectacularly pleased him to no end.

Regdar? the woman called weakly.

Vargussel watched her crawl to the top of the stairs. She peered into the mist but her eyes settled on nothing.

Naull, the lord constable replied. Vargussel liked the sound of his voice. It was weak, quavering. Is anyone else alive?

No, the woman answered.

Vargussel laughed again and squeezed the amulet.

Kill them, he commanded the shield guardian. Kill them slowly....

 

 

Regdar's heart sank at the news that he had lost his entire patrol but he didn't have time to grieve.

The huge shadow in the mist stepped forward, turning at the waist and shoulders, and it pulled back one massive arm. Regdar, knowing it was about to strike him, stepped in the direction of the blow, his own arms back, holding his greatsword over his right shoulder and waiting for the thing's arm to come to him.

The behemoth obliged, and the punch came fast and straight at Regdar. The lord constable set his jaw, narrowed his eyes, waited half a heartbeat, then slashed at the thing's wrist.

When his heavy, enchanted steel blade met the creature's wrist, the impact sent waves of painful vibrations through Regdar's arms, then the rest of his body. His eyes snapped shut and tears squeezed through the lids. He became conscious of each of his ten fingers peeling off the pommel of the greatsword one at a time. The punch never landed, though, and he knew that even though the impact had twisted the sword out of his grip, he'd felt resistance before it came to a full stop. He'd cut the thing.

Regdar let himself fall and rolled away as soon as his back hit the floor. There was a deafening thud when the thing's foot came down, and the floor shook under him, but Regdar kept rolling.

He opened his eyes just as he rolled out of the mist. He blinked at the corpse of Lem, the watchman's eyes ruined, his armor scorched, but Regdar had the wherewithal to take up the enchanted long sword that had once belonged to Lorec and done Lem no good at all. Regdar smelled smoke. He craned his neck to see a black, sooty cloud billowing up from the ruined platform.

Fire, he thought, like we don't have enough to worry about.

"Regdar!" Naull screamed from above.

The lord constable looked up and saw Naull peering over the splintered edge of the platform at him, a nasty burn reddening one side of her face.

"Can you walk?" he shouted to her.

Naull nodded.

"Can you cast?" he asked next.

She nodded again. Regdar was about to tell her to wait for the thing to come out of the mist when a huge hand of steel reached out of the wall of fog and wrapped itself around Regdar's head.

He heard Naull scream his name again, but that was quickly drowned out by the rush of blood in his head. Regdar heard something squeak and was terrified to realize that it was his own jaw. He pulled in a breath and managed to actually get some air, but the inhalation was quickly forced out of him when the behemoth jerked him toward itself.

Regdar didn't want to imagine what the thing meant to do—squeeze his head off if he was lucky, eat him slowly if he wasn't. Not willing to wait and find out, Regdar whirled the long sword in his right hand and dragged it across the beast's wrist. When the blade slipped into a gap, which Regdar trusted was the wound from his own greatsword, he yanked the blade up and into the wound.

Lorec's enchanted blade was sharp indeed, so that even as the thing increased the crushing pressure on Regdar's head, the warrior managed to saw through its wrist until its hand popped off.

Regdar fell. The weight of the thing's hand nearly broke his neck. He had no choice but to drop the long sword so he could use both hands to pull the severed hand from his head.

 

 

After watching Regdar being dragged back into the fog by his head, Naull scrambled to her feet and ran to the stairs. She almost fell on her face trying to stop when she remembered the lightning bolt and the sound of exploding wood. She couldn't see through the fog but she had every reason to believe that the stairs weren't there anymore.

Groaning from a pain in her hip that stabbed at her when she stepped back the way she came, Naull ran three long strides, then dived for the rope that Lem and Samoth had used to climb down from the platform. She tightened her grip on the rope and would have closed her eyes if she could. Instead she had to settle for telling herself over and over again: It's not so high. It's not so high. It's not so high.

She forced fear-stiffened legs over the edge of the collapsed platform. When her full weight fell off the edge, she started sliding down the rope. The rough hemp burned what felt like an inch-deep gouge in her palms, and Naull's first impulse was to let go. She fought that and managed to squeeze the rope tighter, hoping to stop the painful slide. Instead, she just slid a bit more slowly, and her hands started to shake. Though Naull meant to squeeze even tighter, her hands opened on their own and she fell.

Eyes closed, jaw clamped shut, Naull braced for an impact that didn't come as quickly as she'd hoped. In truth she was in the air for less than a full second, but Naull felt as if she had an eternity to imagine what it would feel like hitting the floor—and she hit.

There was a cracking sound she hoped wasn't her leg breaking, a sudden stop, the feeling that her feet were caught in something, then a twisting cramp in her neck when she had to stop her head from snapping back onto the flagstone floor.

Groaning through clenched jaws against the pain in her neck, her side, and her hands, Naull tried to stand. She kicked at whatever was holding her feet and felt the sole of her left boot catch on something. When she pushed as hard as she could with her left leg, something snapped—wood—and pain cascaded up her right leg.

Spinning on her rear, she slid off the pile of broken, slowly burning wood and came to rest looking down at her leg. A huge splinter as big around as two of Naull's fingers protruded from her right leg, just above the ankle. Blood seeped out around it.

Another loud boom echoed from the fog, and Naull heard steel scrape against steel. That was all she needed to hear to remind her of the stakes, and she did her best to push the pain from her mind. She stood and found that her leg would still hold weight but the feeling of the jagged wood in her skin sent cold tendrils up her spine.

There was more smoke than fire from the rotten, damp wood smoldering around her, and Naull coughed. She held a hand over her nose and mouth, squinted in the stinging smoke, and was just able to breathe.

Naull limped past the body of Lem, not looking at the watchman. She started casting a spell even before she crossed the abrupt threshold of the roiling mist. Only two steps in, she saw two humanoid shapes. One was easily eight feet tall, so she aimed her spell at that one.

Three bolts of blue-green light shot from her outstretched hand and whizzed unerringly at the giant shadow. When they hit the creature, they burst in flashes of blue light, and the thing rocked back. It put one foot behind it, steadying itself with a great thud.

I hurt it, she thought, but not badly enough.

The smaller shadow—Regdar, but with a too-small sword—took advantage of Naull's attack to slash three times at the thing's legs. One blow connected with a steel-on-steel sound that set Naull's teeth on edge. Sparks arced through the fog.

The behemoth answered the slash with a kick that knocked Regdar back on his heels. Naull gasped, sure that her lover was about to fall backward and equally sure that he was dead.

 

 

A low growl rattled deep in Vargussel's throat as he peered through the spell, focusing and unfocusing his eyes on the conjured image in a vain attempt to see through his own obscuring fog.

"Damn it all," he grumbled aloud.

He tried every trick of the spell he could to make out more detail, to shift his perspective closer, higher, lower, around to the left, back to the right, waiting for any detail to reveal itself. He could see that one of the shield guardian's hands was missing, and that worried Vargussel as much as it infuriated him.

The spell that the young mage cast when she stepped into the fog was a simple one that revealed her relative level of expertise, but it had managed to further damage his construct.

Time to end it, Vargussel thought.

Closing his eyes, wrapping his fingers tightly around the amulet, the mage sent a new set of instructions to the shield guardian, along with a mental image of Regdar.

The rod, he sent. The death ray. Now!

 

 

Regdar rolled away the second he hit the floor and managed to just barely avoid the thing's massive foot, which slammed onto the flagstones less than an inch from his left hip. Without bothering to stand, Regdar slashed at the creature's leg and left a good-sized gash in its calf. His sword stopped when it met the solid steel shinbone within. Fearing the worst, Regdar tried yanking the sword from the behemoth's leg only once. The blade didn't budge so Regdar let go. A gouge across the thing's steel thigh struck Regdar's eye. It was the scar he'd given it at the Thrush and the Jay.

I'll kill it piece by piece, he told himself, if I have to.

He scanned the floor for his greatsword while keeping one eye on the behemoth. The monster stepped back and brought its only remaining hand up to its shoulder. It looked to Regdar as if the beast meant to draw a greatsword of its own, and the prospect of facing the thing armed made Regdar redouble his efforts at finding the sword.

Regdar knew that the magic that had briefly staggered the thing must have come from Naull. He could see her shadowy outline deep in the fog. She was well enough away from the thing that—

—there it was!

Leaving any thought of decorum far behind, Regdar scurried, crawled, rolled, and squirmed his way to his fallen blade. His fingers wrapped around the pommel, and he looked up at his opponent. It was indeed drawing a weapon of some sort from its back but in the dense fog it was impossible for Regdar to see in detail exactly what it was. It looked like a staff made of steel—no, not steel, platinum. The behemoth leveled the rod at Regdar as if it was taking aim with a crossbow.

Regdar scrambled to his feet and kept his heavy blade in front of him, momentarily unsure what to do. He heard Naull begin the nonsensical chant of a spell.

The two things that happened next were indistinguishable in Regdar's mind, so perfectly were they timed.

A blinding flash of light illuminated the fog around them so that Regdar felt as if he was bathing in its luminescence—and Naull was in front of him. She hadn't stepped in front of him or jumped in front of him. She was just there, between Regdar and the burst of light. Naull's body flashed in perfect silhouette before him. He heard a sort of thump, like something heavy but soft hitting the floor after a long fall, but it wasn't Naull falling.

The young mage froze as if a great, invisible hand reached up from the ground, stopped her in mid step, and crushed her in its grip. Regdar heard her bones snapping, her breath being forced from her lungs. Her flesh quivered and stretched over ribs that snapped under the force of her own constricting muscles like dry twigs in a giant's hand.

Regdar wanted to scream, or cry, or do anything, but he couldn't. All he could do was wait the few short seconds it took his reeling mind to realize that the woman he loved was dead. Again.