Reghar the Fang drew his new shame about him like the dark hooded cloak he wore as he approached the front gates of Quitonne.

None of the gate wardens took particular notice of his arrival as he and his stolen mount blended in with the many other visitors passing through the tall gates. For one who longed for notority and adulation, Reghar was grateful for the bland anonymity that draped him now.

But the anonymity also served to remind Reghar of the humiliation he'd suffered during his defeat at Terjal Rakmir's hand--and worse, his own meager achievements had gone unnoticed by the very one he'd once wished to impress so long ago. He'd only one thing more to be thankful: that his failure hadn't been witnessed by Grafter, nor was the Ageless One around to chide him for it.

Reghar had ridden through the Grip on his stolen horse like a man chased by demons--for he hadn't the luxury to guess whether or not any enchanted creatures remained. He continued to ride, without stopping, until he'd completely cleared the swamplands, resting briefly afterward only to feed and water the horse when he could. Finding some foodstuffs in a pack attached to the horse's saddle, Reghar ate sparingly while he rode; he did not wish to have Terjal and the others meet up with him too soon.

Though he had been unable to verify Grafter's demise, something within himself knew the old master had met his final fate. Reghar felt neither relief or sadness at such revelation, nor did he feel any need for gloating. Surely, in his years under the old mage's tutelage, Reghar suffered heavily under Grafter's relentless sarcasm. Yet, he still felt no satisfaction that it had been he, Reghar the Fang, who had survived, and not the "immortal" Grafter. What good was immortality, Reghar thought, if it only protected one from the passage of time?

And now with the first direspawn, White Rage, destroyed and the fate of Creeping Lust uncertain, Reghar had nothing left to do but bolt for Quitonne in hopes of finding another ally.

As Reghar steered his mount through the colorful marketplace, he pretended to glance with interest at the sellers' wares. What he was actually seeking was the right face: a guide who could take him directly to the one he sought. Most of the people in the bazaar, however, were of the plump and cheerful sort, laughing as they informed passerby of the quality of their goods. None seemed of the sort willing to leave their booths in order to play escort to a stranger.

Reghar passed stall after stall until he found just the right person. Leaning against a booth bearing bolts of fabric was a short, thin young man, perhaps no older than Reghar himself. The young man had long, narrow eyes that took in everything around him with a sullen nonchalance as if waiting for opportunity. But when he spied Reghar, cloaked and hooded, the young man's eyes seemed to snap open a little wider and he strode directly up to the Fang's horse.

"You seek someone," the young man said, a statement and not a question, as he clutched at the horse's bridle.

Reghar did not look directly at the young man as he spoke, "Let us find a place with less of a throng, shall we?"

The young man nodded, a faint smile tilting the corners of his mouth, as he led Reghar to a nearby alleyway.

###

"I am called Nohden," the young man told Reghar, "in case you have further need of me after this. Ask anyone; I can be found easily. So, give me the name of the one you seek."

Reghar smirked at the young man's eagerness to please--no trace of haughtiness now, not with the promise of payment in the offing. "He is called Graznod the Redeemer."

At the mention of the name, Nohden's tanned face paled a little. As he turned to make a hasty retreat, Reghar reached down from his horse and grabbed a handful of the young man's tunic in his fist, lifting Nohden to stand nearly upon his toes. "Didn't you tell me you could find anyone?" Reghar ground, his voice rough as he gave the young man's tunic a fierce shake.

"Yes," Nohden said, his voice breaking. "But not that one, please, sir!"

"And why not, pray tell?" Reghar asked, his tone becoming as sardonic as Grafter's had been.

"But you do not appear ill; surely you have no fatal sickness?"

"What do you mean: 'fatal sickness'? Is this Graznod fellow a healer?"

Nohden swallowed hard, the lump of his Adam's apple moving in a sharp dive down his throat. "He heals for a price: a very dear price. Please, find another to take you to him."

Reghar, still grasping the young man's tunic, slid from his horse and slammed Nohden against a wall. "No, you will take me--I will waste no more of my time finding another guide."

"I will take you near enough, then. But I will not enter the Redeemer's abode with you."

The look of open fear upon Nohden's face made Reghar half wish he hadn't asked at all.

###

They rode to the far end of the city: Reghar sitting behind Nohden as the young man took the reigns. The Fang held the point of a dagger pressed to the young man's side just in case Nohden decided to make escape.

Nohden halted the horse several yards in front of an ancient building, its walls grey with tattered, crumbling mortar. Vines, like dark green serpents, choked two columns lining the darkened entranceway. "We stop here," Nohden said, a slight tremble in his voice. "The Redeemer lives in this place, that I know--everyone knows. Do not knock or attempt to enter." The young man lifted his head as if searching the sky for attacking raptors. "He will know someone wishes to enter his abode. He always does. Now I must leave."

Reghar sensed Nohden wasn't lying, so eager was he to get away. "All right," the Fang said, removing the dagger from the young man's side, "you may leave now."

Once they'd both dismounted, Reghar expected the young man to scurry away in fright. But Nohden remained standing before Reghar, though the young man's eyes looked about nervously. Obviously Nohden's need of remuneration for service rendered was greater than his fear of the Redeemer. "Now," the young man said, his voice quivering slightly, "for my payment."

Reghar hadn't thought of what to pay the guide, indeed he had left the Grip with nothing. "This horse, then," Reghar said, tossing the reigns to Nohden, "should suffice."

Nohden scowled for a moment before replying, "I have a horse of my own stabled, and better than this one. Yours has been ridden hard and won't fetch a good price." Then, glancing at the darkened doorway of the Redeemer's home, Nohden led the horse away without further comment.

###

Reghar stood before the darkened double doors of the Redeemer's home, waiting.

The Fang began to feel some of his old impatience boiling up from his gut, mixing with a bit of old resentment. Once again intimidated by ancient men, Reghar thought angrily to himself. Forever testing him.

As if in response to his thoughts, the doors began to split open, yet no light spilled out. Reghar slipped between the doors before they had completely opened. In a sudden rush of bravado, the Fang was now eager to confront Graznod the Redeemer.

The Redeemer's Great Hall looked as if no one had ever lived there, and for a moment Reghar thought he'd been tricked. Nets of cobwebs, powdered heavily with grey dust, draped each corner from floor to ceiling. Yet the furniture within the hall was opulent with chairs and chaises fitted with fine brocade. Tapestries describing bucolic country scenes adorned all four walls. Reghar saw what he could of this beneath the light of a single torch above the hall's entrance.

When he heard footsteps sounding behind him, he turned to face a tall gaunt man. The man's pallor was as grey as the walls of the house but his dark eyes held a curiously contented gleam: the light of sprite or imp. "So," the man spoke to Reghar, "you have found me, after all."

"Graznod the Redeemer," Reghar said stupidly, eyes blinking rapidly as his earlier bravado waned at the grim sight of the man. Clearly, the Redeemer was more than some old man ready to bait a young apprentice. Reghar sensed something purely sinister swimming beneath the man's gentile expression: like a spider inpecting an insect fallen into its web.

But the Redeemer seemed amused, perhaps somehow having sensed the Fang's earlier cockiness. "I am that very one. And you are...?"

"Reghar the Fang. And I have a...proposal for you."

Graznod nodded slowly, circling Reghar and looking at the Fang as if he were examining a garment being offered him. "I thought you appeared too healthy to require my services. But I am always willing to lend an ear to proposals of any kind; and if they are to my liking, I may give my approval."

Reghar, now unnerved by the Redeemer's polite, urbane chaff, stared at Graznod for a heartbeat. What had he expected? A serpent-headed demon ready to breath fire upon him? This was only a man, after all. Nothing to be frightened of. "I know little of your business, I must confess," Reghar said, his uneasiness ebbing. "I have heard you are a healer?"

Graznod wheezed out a low chuckle. "I am able to heal, yes. But I have other specialties that go beyond mere healing. Please," the Redeemer gestured toward a chaise, "rest yourself, I can see that you've had a long journey."

As Reghar eased himself upon the chaise, he realized that his cloak was streaked with road dirt. He quickly drew the soiled garment from his shoulders, embarrassed. "What are your...other 'specialties'?"

Graznod, who'd taken the chaise directly facing Reghar, smiled tolerantly at the Fang. "You needn't know of them--only the very desperate require such services. You do not appear desperate in that way."

"In what way? Please tell me."

Graznod's mien darkened to an intractable glower. "If you must know: I have the ability to spare one from certain death. But such help comes at price which only the hopeless will pay. You see, I can cheat death only once; after that, should one die again, that one gives himself over to me in everlasting servitude." Then, clapping his hands twice, he added, "You will see."

From behind the Redeemer came a servant bearing a tray filled with fruits, cheese and breads. Reghar took little notice until the man was close enough to set the tray upon the wooden table between them. As the man stood up and stepped backwards to turn away, Graznod reached up and grasped the servant's wrist. "This," Graznod said to Reghar, "is one of my 'Redeemed'."

Reghar started, his hands gripping the edge of the chaise, as he gazed up at the servant. The man's flesh was the mottled grey of a corpse, and there were dun colored spots of corruption on his cheeks, neck and hands. The right eye was gone and in its place a round brass plug. The man's remaining eye, milky and clouded so that its original color was unknown, stared at Reghar with the dumb indifference of a zombie. For the man was a zombie: the undead animated to a kind of life that was not life at all, Reghar realized with horror.

"This one," Graznod said calmly, still gripping his servant's wrist, "sought me because he had a cancer in his belly which no one could cure. When I made him well, he paid me in gold and in the promise of everlasting servitude upon his second death--which he thought would come long after he'd reached old age. Unfortunately for him, a dagger in the back a few years later, administered by a jealous lover, allowed him to pay the second part of the bargain. I have a legion of Redeemed at my disposal, serving me as I choose." Then he motioned the zombie away with a simple wave of his hand.

Reghar stared after the Redeemed as the servant shuffled slowly out of the Great Hall. The Fang felt a crawling chill sink into his spine. Grafter had never bothered to make mention of exactly how Graznod conducted business, only that the Redeemer had been born into a fairly wealthy family in Quitonne, the son of a much-sought cloth dyer name Drasksov.

Grafter had said that Graznod was no spellcaster, yet his talent for alchemy was renowned throughout Ryndorhn. But that had been the only compliment the Ageless One had given the Redeemer. "Oh, how Graznod would love to obtain my 'recipe' for immortality," Grafter had once said, his voice full of glee. "But the instructions alone would be useless to him, he hasn't the conjuring ability to facilitate the enhancement of immortality upon himself."

Reghar reached beneath his tunic, remembering suddenly why he'd wanted to meet with Graznod. In his hand he held a thin sheaf of parchment which he offered the Redeemer. "Now, to my proposal. I have spent the last five years studying under the tutelage of Grafter the Ageless and--"

Graznod released another wheezing chuckle. "Grafter the Ageless! So you traveled from the Grip to bring a proposal to me from that old man? Has death found a way to claim him despite his immortality--and he is need of my talent?" Then Graznod laughed once more, louder than the last.

"Grafter is ageless no more, it is true," Reghar said after the Redeemer's laughter had subsided. "He perished at Terjal Rakmir's hands in a great spell battle I am sure. The proposal I bring to you is my own. I have with me," holding up the pages of parchment again, "notes outlining Grafter's secret of immortality--"

"Terjal Rakmir?" Graznod interrupted. "Ah, then you and Grafter must have been the spellcasters controlling the direspawn Rakmir and his band sought. Your beast ruined many of my potential Redeemed--but then, the creature did the same to Lord Vaukmond's forces as well. Fortunate for you that the outcomes did ill-favor no side more than the other, else I'd have you routed from my presence in the instant."

"Yes, it was I who summoned the first creature, White Rage," Reghar replied, a vein of irritation in his voice at being interrupted a second time. Of course he hadn't expected Graznod to have suffered White Rage's ravages, yet he felt a curious satisfaction in the knowing. "I brought over another direspawn, but lost control of it once White Rage was destroyed by Rakmir."

Graznod's thick eyebrow's drew upward in surprise. "Terjal Rakmir has been quite busy, hmmm? And the second direspawn, where is it now?"

Reghar felt the sting of disgrace begin to heat his cheeks, melting quickly the pride he'd entered the hall with. He so disliked discussing failure. "I do not know its fate--it is possible that the creature still lives, though I don't know where it has gotten to. Now, my proposal."

Graznod leaned back against his chaise and spread his arms expansively. "Then please do explain it to me."

###

Reghar watched as Graznod scanned each page of parchment with the skill of a jeweler inspecting a precious stone. "These instructions are interesting, but they are useless to me."

"You may not have conjuring ability, but I do. I can help you."

"So long as I join you in defeating Terjal Rakmir," Graznod said, glancing up briefly. "That I would do without this," waving the papers. "Rakmir has unwittingly chosen to involve himself in matters which I have set in motion; if he'd stayed safely ensconced at Cloudreach, I would toss these papers in the hearth and send you away. But, since our thirst for revenge against Rakmir is mutual, I will agree to your proposal--whether or not you are able to transform me into an immortal." Then, putting the parchment upon his lap, Graznod leaned forward slightly. "But beyond revenge, my own motives for eliminating Terjal Rakmir are more practical: without him, Lord Vaukmond is vulnerable to any form of sorcery. So, what 'practical' motives have you, Reghar the Fang?"

"My motives are not be as grand as yours," Reghar said, a smile forming upon his lips. "But they are nevertheless tied to my fulfilling the proposal I have presented to you. In my last battle against Rakmir, I lost much of my spell energy. Rakmir travels with one of his former students, Aiya Lindsmund, an Adjutant to the Duke of Windemere--a conjurer in her own right. I have discovered that she possesses an inherent talent for amplifying the spell energy of any spellcaster nearest her. I have also discovered a way to drain that power from her and funnel it into myself. Once this is done, and Rakmir is defeated, I will pass to you the mantle of immortality. With that, you can easily crush Lord Vaukmond and have Windemere, Quitonne--perhaps even all of Ryndorhn--under your control."

"And of course," Graznod said wryly, "you will remain at my side as Court Sorcerer once I have routed the House of Tahlahnn as well?"

"That was my other proposal," Reghar the Fang said, grinning.

###

"He's waking," Graznod said as he dribbled powder upon the face of a very old man.

The Redeemer had told Reghar that the old man's name was Sandor Centlanth and that he'd once served in Lord Vaukmond's court. The old politician would also be able to gain them entry to Honor's Start, Graznod assured.

"And what incentive," Reghar had demanded, "would he have for doing that?"

Graznod had answered simply, "I have his wife and son with me." And so the Redeemer had shown Reghar the open coffins where Sandor's beautiful wife and young son slept in bewitched slumber. Then Graznod had said to Reghar, "Your arrival was fortuitous after all, since I will need the services of a conjurer to summon Sandor's body to my chambers."

The Redeemer then applied a poultice to Reghar's forehead, giving him just enough spell energy to summon Sandor from the safety of old man's own bed, bringing him directly to Graznod's abode. The Fang had fainted afterward, the last of his spell energy drained with the effort, collapsing just as the still-comatose Sandor materialized before him.

Now Reghar watched as Sandor Centlanth's eyes began to flutter open. The Fang felt renewed joy as he saw the look of open terror on the old man's face.

No one had ever been afraid of the Fang. In the flutter of an eyelid, that had all changed.

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