Aiya slowly came awake, realizing she was being borne down into darkness, flung over someone's shoulder. She could tell by the thudding, uneven cadence of footsteps that there were others ahead of the one who carried her.

She tried to lift her head to get a better look at her surroundings. They seemed to be traveling deep into the bowels of Honor's Start--she assumed they were still within the keep. Twisting her head a little, she saw that the stone steps were crumbling in places, causing the one who carried her to stumble a little over the debris. Curtains of dusty spider webs draped each corner and crevice along and above the spiraling steps. A sphere of light bounced from wall to wall as someone ahead carried a torch, obviously taking each step before him carefully. She smelled stale air threaded with mortar dust.

Aiya kept very still, not wanting her bearer to know she'd regained consciousness. She vaguely remembered being cuffed just as they'd realized she'd loosed a spell scream. They...

They...Who where they?

Names and faces began to scatter through her mind like wind-driven leaves: Graznod the Redeemer...wouldn't that been the tall, gaunt one? The one with the pallor of a corpse? Terjal had spoken of him, though he'd not wanted to introduce her to the Redeemer. Sandor had also spoken of the Redeemer--but had dissuaded her from meeting with him as well. Aiya remembered the zombies she and Arjas had battled at Sandor's hold--they were Graznod's Redeemed.

The Redeemed. Hadn't Terjal and Sandor both told her of Graznod's minions: the undead reanimated into everlasting servitude after death took them a second time? In her quarters, these undead had crowded round a man with black hair, the one who'd asked if she remembered him...

The man with black hair. He seemed familiar, yet she was unable to recall a name with which she could attach to his face. Black hair, wide and rounded chin--

Cloudreach. She'd seen him at Cloudreach long ago--

"She's awake!"

"Make sure she stays still."

"You're the bloody wizard--you put her to sleep this time."

Aiya heard an exasperated grunt, then footsteps moving closer. Suddenly a hand grabbed up a fistful of her hair, yanking upward so that her throat curved sharply as if offered in sacrifice. She felt a fine patina of powder mist her face as she kept her eyes tightly closed.

Within a heartbeat, darkness closed her thoughts down--everything save the nightmares that followed.

###

Graznod the Redeemer heard the shouts coming up the hallway to Aiya Lindsmund's quarters. He glanced casually out the large single window: there hovered his air chariot, the ravens' large wings whipping the air into a strong breeze. He'd called them up, just in case.

His Redeemed clustered about him, Graznod waited for Terjal Rakmir.

###

Terjal had little idea whom he might expect to find in Aiya's quarters. But once he'd burst through the door and into the clutches of an army of walking dead, that person's identity became clear.

One of the undead grabbed Terjal and threw him to the ground. Terjal heard Arjas call out from behind him: "Try to get behind them and slash through their spines!" But the shouted suggestion escaped one guardsman who rushed ahead of Terjal's Blades.

The guardsman swung his broadsword, backhanded, toward the throat of the zombie clutching the conjurer. Terjal managed to wrench himself free as the creature suddenly lost its grip upon him. Terjal rolled clear just before the blade sank into the corrupted flesh of his captor. He watched as a sudden blast of golden dust blustered from an opening in the undead creature's throat. The dust spiraled round the guardsmen's body, dissolving the now doomed man, armor and all, within it. The man hadn't time for a scream of agony before the last of him disappeared.

Having seen the quick demise of their comrade, the other guardsmen made as if to heed Arjas's warning, each seeking to move behind the advancing zombies. But the undead were ready with weapons of their own, which they held before them, slicing the air as if through thick brush.

As the guardsmen rushed the zombies, they realized too late that the creatures each possessed the strength of several men. One after another, the guardsmen were hauled off their feet, necks neatly twisted and broken before their own swords could meet those of their undead opponents'. Soon the floor was littered with dead guardsmen. Terjal lost sight of his Blades in the blur of battle as there were still guardsmen standing. He heard, reassuringly, fragments of calls by Strandholt and Arjas, as well as Darman's growled curses.

Suddenly, Terjal felt himself lifted to his feet and dragged away from the skirmish, his nostrils assaulted by the stench rising from the tattered burnoose of his captor. He knew who and what they were: Graznod's Redeemed. As if to confirm his guess, he heard the Redeemer's voice above him. He looked up to see Graznod's smugly grinning face staring down at him as Terjal tried to jerk his arms free from the Redeemed's grasp.

"So, Terjal Rakmir," Graznod said, his voice heavily sardonic. "It would seem your victory celebration is quite premature. But it was kind of Lord Vaukmond to dress the city so decoratively--though I don't suppose the Weapon Master ever suspected that it would all be done for my benefit."

"And do you really think," Terjal replied through clenched teeth, still struggling in the Redeemed's arms, "that a handful of your 'servants' shall defeat the Duke's forces?"

Graznod smiled languidly. "I have more than a 'handful' of servants stationed throughout Honor's Start. With the Duke's army so depleted, my victory is quite certain."

"And do you expect to march them against the Imperium's army as well?"

"Yes, of course. I've prepared for that. You see," Graznod swept his hand across the room, "these men--Lord Vaukmond's own--shall become part of my army of Redeemed--as well as any more who fall before me. Even your own Blades might become my servants--perhaps the finest of them, with their expertise in battle. If you had ever cared to learn the art of Necromancy, you would know how easily such a task can be accomplished."

Terjal strained violently against his undead captor, pearls of sweat beading upon his brow, but the Redeemed held him tighter, its hands tightening like pincers. If he could only get his hands free! "What have you done with Aiya?" he shouted, thin strings of saliva exploding from his lips.

Graznod shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Poor Terjal, such concern for your bride-to-be would be admirable to someone who cared about such things. And look what love has made of you." Graznod shook his head in mock sadness once more. "What has become of your famous Master of Cloudreach calmness-in-the-face-of-adversity? And now you are so helpless before your enemies. Since your only talent lies in casting spells--you're now nothing more than a weak, defenseless teacher who must surround himself with the muscle of warriors." Then he stepped forward, drawing from his robe a vial filled with a dark liquid. "But as a Redeemed, your powers will be three times as strong--maybe more. And you will cast spells at my bidding, indeed, you will live for it--as well as an 'undead' can live, that is." Graznod loosed a low, wheezing laugh. Then, turning to a Redeemed, "See that his mouth opens to accept the fluid. If he won't allow me to pour it down his throat, cut him and I will pour the elixir into that opening."

Frantic, Terjal thrashed his head away from the vial as another Redeemed clasped his head, urging it to face Graznod and his elixir of everlasting life/death. As the second Redeemed attempted to pry Terjal's lips apart, the conjurer opened his mouth just enough to sink his teeth into the tips of the zombie's brittle fingers. Terjal nearly gagged at the rotten, moldy taste as it lay upon his tongue.

Irritated and impatient, Graznod shouted, "Cut him, then!"

But before the second Redeemed could slice its dagger across Terjal's chest, an explosion sounded from the doorway. Both Terjal and Graznod, distracted momentarily, turned their heads in the direction of the sound.

A battering ram had widened the doorway, its nose still pushing at the mortar. A contingent of mounted guardsmen drove their horses through the yawning doorway. The riders all carried torches which they brandished before the nearest Redeemed, catching afire a few of the undead. The flames ran easily in quick red seams along the frayed burnoose of each zombie. Once fully consumed in flame, all the Redeemed shrieked as one before crumpling to piles of steaming ash.

Lord Vaukmond, mounted upon his favorite gelding, burst from the ranks, his great war ax held aloft. "Burn them all if you can't get at them with sword or ax! Leave not a one standing, by the gods above!" he shouted as he landed his own ax against the spine of a Redeemed.

Terjal turned to look at Graznod. All of the Redeemer's haughty confidence seemed drained from his pale face. For all his meticulous planning, Graznod's knowledge of the Duke's resourcefulness was obviously incomplete, that Vaukmond was quite the tactician. The Redeemer had misjudged Lord Vaukmond, obviously dismissing him as nothing more than a Weapon Master: one who gloried only in sword, ax and brute strength. Terjal smiled to himself. Graznod had never known of Lord Vaukmond's secreted troops, whose numbers were known to no one--save Terjal and Aiya, whom the Duke trusted.

Graznod, turning away from the sight his own forces' destruction, glowered at Terjal and said simply, "This is not ended. It will never end--no matter what you may think." Then the Redeemer turned and ran straight for the open window.

Terjal felt the lone Redeemed behind him crumple and lose its grip as one of Vaukmond's warriors struck the creature's spine. Terjal ran, nearly slipping on piles of ash, toward Graznod as the Redeemer heaved himself out the window, falling from its ledge. For a moment Terjal thought Graznod had leapt to his death, but as the conjurer reached the window he discovered that this was not so.

The Redeemer had leapt instead into a chariot hovering in the air, drawn by a great flock of ravens. Graznod gave Terjal a parting grin as he spurred his birds into rapid flight. But that grin disappeared as the Redeemer watched Terjal cast a ball of flame directly at his air chariot. The glowing sphere hit its mark, and Terjal watched as Graznod and his chariot blew apart in a rain of glittering fragments.

###

"There is one still remaining--a spellcaster, I'm certain," Terjal told his Blades and Lord Vaukmond. "I sensed it during the spellscream--he has Aiya with him...somewhere. I'm afraid he may have found a way to replace his own lost spell energy by draining Aiya's."

Fortunately all three of the Blades had managed to stay clear of the clutches of Redeemed, the bodies of which were now reduced only to piles of ash. Arjas, the Blade having the most experience in fighting the zombies, had dispatched one undead after another, cleaving his scimitar neatly into each creature's spine. Strandholt and Darman, following his lead, had struck each Redeemed as Arjas had instructed, with much success.

Vaukmond had discovered fire as a weapon against the zombies quite by accident. As a swarm of the undead invaded Honor's Pavilion, a frightened page took up bow and arrow from a fallen archer and, being unfamiliar with the weapon, aimed for a wall sconce. The powerful arrow struck the sconce, toppling its lighted torch upon a row of zombies standing beneath it. The undead burst into flames immediately, their bodies dissolving quickly to ash.

Lord Vaukmond, his brow creased with worry for his Adjutant, told Terjal, "There are many catacombs deep below Honor's Start--few maps exist of them. This spellcaster of yours may have taken Aiya into one of the chambers there."

Before Terjal could reply, he heard Darman give a shout from the hall. Soon the sharp clank of metal against metal was heard echoing down the hallway. Terjal and Vaukmond ran toward the sounds of battle.

Darman, Strandholt and Arjas, having just left Terjal's presence, were now engaged in a melee with four burly men garbed in the armor of the Duke's Guard. Confused, Terjal could only watch as his Blades handily parried with the seeming impostors. Lord Vaukmond muttered half to himself as he took up his own weapon, "The Quartermaster will answer for this!" With a wide swing of his war ax, he neatly beheaded the nearest impostor.

Darman had pinned the last of the impostors beneath the toe of his boot, ready to run the writhing man through with his sword, when Terjal shouted for him to stop. The First Blade looked at Terjal, his face passively indifferent even after the heat of combat. "They came upon us by surprise, pretending to be of the Duke's Guard--but I recognized them as mercenaries. This one," Darman pushed harder against the prone man's throat, causing the mercenary to grunt, "is named Orlon--the worst of any I've known."

Terjal knelt beside Orlon. "You know where the spellcaster's taken Aiya Lindsmund--you must have come from there. Take us to them and I'll see that your life is spared--though I can't guarantee where that life will be spent."

Orlon nodded silently beneath Darman's boot, his eyes bulging for the lack of oxygen. With a signal from Terjal, Darman hauled the mercenary to his feet and gave him a harsh shove down the hallway. The First Blade's hand gripped tightly the mercenary's neck, the point of his dagger against the man's back.

Now Terjal was forced to hope that this man, whom Darman counted among the worst of all warriors--for--hire, would have enough honor to lead them to Aiya's captor.

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