Xorus’ fog scaled Carias, shrouded the woods around the Zyzax and blocked most of the daylight during the journeymates’ return south; even when they passed nearest Denlineil they could no longer see West Denlineil Bridge or the living statues. Some leagues further the Baroness suddenly steered her horse off the highway to Moncrovia and down the slope toward the shoreline of Denlineil Stream. Flooher’ty Sea when they reached it was silent but for the gallop of their mounts through the end-water. The sand had washed away in places to reveal well-weathered wooden planks of the older highway under a cliff, its sides furrowed and exposed, sand and small rocks occasionally sliding down to the beach; beyond that, grassy foothills met the upper highway and Mount Carias’ southeastern foot. "The water, half a century ago, began to rise," explained the Baroness on the middle of their second day toward the Holy Convent, "and so the highway most travel today was built up there."

"Terr’Sol is so hidden by Xorus’ fog," Ma’teus said, "I can only guess the time of day from the tide – I do hope we are not caught against its rise." She looked up at the cliffs; several lifeless oaktrees reached through the fog, innumerable grey fingers twisting around each other as if to drain the life out of the green clumps of mistletoe caught in their clutch.

"How far is it possible to travel the ocean without impediment?" Quigley asked.

"Halfway along from the line of my family estate near here and the Royal City," said the Baroness. "After that we will need the cover of darkness for our trip to the main highway." By evening’s gloom the companions’ mounts were still wading through tidewater when the Baroness located a large cave for their night’s rest. The cave was spacious, extending went deep beneath the foothills. An array of stones deposited by the tidewater – polished and rough, red, brown and mottled – covered most of its floor, with a wide clearing of wet, packed sand upon which the companions accommodated themselves.

After they and their mounts were safely inside and the Men gathered driftwood, Ma’teus used her flint to strike up such a campfire that its cheery warmth sent the eddying fog back into the night. Pivrax used his considerable length and limbs to scale the cliffs and retrieve grass and lupine enough for Vuvu and the horses, and the journeymates rested after their meal of fruit, bread and dried meats. "Tell me," Porcie asked Val’ha, "the boy Tim who we met outside Moncrovia, the one who is a son of Tropruscht – is the convent we are headed to the same in which he was raised? I have seen the Old Church high on the hill behind the Holy Convent and its orphanage when I pass by."

"If it is the only such convent in Moncrovia, it is the one." Val’ha paused. "Sir Porcie, when you pass by? Did you not attend the funeral rites of your intended, Kayleen?"

Porcie crunched his face and laughed. "Dear Val’ha! Kayleen (Ariadne be with her) belonged to the Clerickal Church, not the Zeusan Church – they have neither cloisters nor homes for the displaced. We are heading to the Holy Convent of the Zeusan Church."

"Oh. But why is there more than one religion? The gods are no matter if they are worshiped or not."

Tarl-Cabot smiled. "I could question the existence of gods without Terrans! And there are differences, Val’ha, or King Joel would not have allowed only the Zeusan Church to officiate at any betrothal ceremony for his children."

"Why not? Though my family has always favored Zeus more than any other…"

The Baroness put her hand up. "Lady Elf, your father taught you so much about everything but how we actually live outside the Elven realm. Yes, the gods are and yes, it does not matter whether you worship any particular one, none atall or cast daily poxes upon all their houses. The branches are solely the vain construction of mortals and have little to do with questioning the existence of the immortals."

"How many branches are there?"

"Three…" began Porcie.

"Two, lord knight," said the Baroness. "The Clerickal Church prays to all of the houses of the gods, but not the House of Saints – they do not acknowledge the saints…"

"Why not? That seems foolish to me."

"Unlike the Zeusan House, its rival the Heated House, the Demigod House or even the Halforc House, all in the House of Saints were at one time mortal. The Clerickal Church does not deign to serve, much less recognize, those who were once living among us."

"Why not?"

"Questions! Questions like a curious child!" The Baroness shook her shoulders. "The Clerickal Church concerns itself with insipirility, study and magickal things – spells, realms. The Zeusans pay homage only to the House of Saints and the Zeusan House, their causes justice and the plight of others."

Val’ha poked her feet into the hard wet sand. "Why did you say three, Porcie?"

"The House of Terr’des, my friend, and while the Baroness confuses you by the minute, I must add that all recognize the balance of the House of Terr’des within their churches."

Ma’teus gazed out toward Xorus’ fog, still kept in check by Flooher’ty Sea. "Balance is not the word I would use at present."

"Why did King Joel spurn the Zeusan Church, Tarl-Cabot?"

Tarl-Cabot raised his eyes toward the Baroness, who gestured for him to answer. "Igri told me that after King Joel II was killed during the Great Battle of 3040, Joel III sought approval by the Order of the Sages for High Wizarder Oromasus to continue his service. In the process, regent Prince Joel III requested personal testimonies from the High Cleric and the Zeusan Pope, but the Pope declined him. Our late King Joel IV perpetuated the crown’s outrage on his father’s behalf and has thus kept in place the custom of recognizing only the Clerickal Church."

"Why did the Pope refuse him?"

"The reason was not personal – the bad blood that runs in Prince Joel had not surfaced in their family yet – but the Zeusan Church’s position on insipirility is and always has been that it celebrates selfish desires, not the goodwill of aiding others."

"It is no surprise that the Zeusans began in Conschala and the Clerickal Church in Asch’endra," put in the Baroness.

"What do you mean?" There was a touch of anger in Ma’teus question.

The Baroness sputtered slightly. "It is nothing."

"You reinforce the old saw about dark, cold Conschala, Baroness Val Tress, admit it! The dour sister of bright Asch’endra, the duchy contemned by the Crown Prince of the Blue Rose."

"If only Prince Joel so disdained you!" The Baroness huffed several short breaths, gathered herself and continued. "Lady Ma’teus, I have no qualm with the Conschalan duchy. I never have, and the land – the land that we sit under – my land and that of my forebears, clearly extends to the Conschalan side of our kingdom, my troth may have perished for the Conschalan cause – I am as Conschalan as you and therefore request any criticisms be made in silence." The companions stared at the fire, listening to its crackle against the soft nocturnal tide.

Pivrax reached into his pants and withdrew a small clay oval with holes in it and began to play a sprightly melody. "The Mes-mo roundelay!" Tarl-Cabot stood, laughed and pulled Val’ha to her feet, taking her hands in his. "Do not look at me as though I speak Old Dwarf!"

"Poppysmoke!" The Baroness jumped to her feet, yanked Porcie up and glared at Tarl-Cabot. "It was my mother whose victory gave rise to this dance, foolish Man! You will do it properly or you will not do it at all!" She interlocked her fingers with Porcie, bidding Tarl-Cabot and Val’ha to do the same. Pivrax, who had quit playing his ocarina, waited for Sir Quigley and Ma’teus to partner and the three couples to form a circle on the sand a short distance from the fire.

He resumed his tune, louder than before, and Val’ha followed Tarl-Cabot as they began to dance, moving from foot to foot, side to side and occasionally spinning around the circle. "Ha!" Val’ha was joyous once she figured out how to avoid stepping on Tarl-Cabot’s boots and the journeymates danced more rapidly with each successive round.

Quigley and Ma’teus shot to the center of the circle and went back out again; the Baroness and Porcie moved to the inside, causing Quigley and Ma’teus to charge them. The pairs missed each other and resumed their wheel. "Come!" Tarl-Cabot did not give Val’ha any time to think before he took her into the center of the roundelay; to her horror Quigley and Ma’teus flew at them, hitting them sideways before twirling away.

"Ouch!" Val’ha cried out more from surprise than any real pain; Tarl-Cabot led her to the whirling circle, then again into the middle. The Baroness, a mad grin on her face, barreled at her, but she spun herself and Tarl-Cabot out of the way before they collided, and the couples jigged about the roundelay for another minute, all three pairs suddenly swinging inward at the same time.

The Baroness gave a meaty, "Skullbuck!" and bucked her forehead against Val’ha’s when the pairs smashed into each other; through the stars and shifting came a nasty headache, the laughter of Val’ha’s companions and bodies crashing. As she felt the back of her neck and tried to focus on her surroundings, she heard the Baroness say, "That is the Mes-mo roundelay!" Helping Val’ha to her feet, she offered, "If you ever wish to, I would be more than happy to teach you the Mes-mo reel…"

"NO! No…no, no thank you, Baroness!" Val’ha tried to walk away but felt dizzy, stumbled and was caught by Ma’teus; the laughter around her raising to howls.

"It was a dance inspired by conflict. What were you were expecting?"

**

"Val’ha." It was the middle of the night, the fire was out and her companions but for Baroness Val Tress lay fast asleep. Val’ha felt her forehead, still numb from the skullbuck she had gotten during the roundelay. "Lady Val’ha, come," whispered the Baroness with such urgency that Val’ha immediately bolted up and grabbed her scimitar, searching about in the Baroness’ faint tinderlight that washed into the caveway shadows. The Baroness lit another candle from her own and proceeded toward the depths of the cavern. Val’ha had not earlier checked to see how far it went beneath the foothills, but decided to give Val Tress the benefit of her doubt, following her around a large rock at the very back of the cave until they reached a Human-made corridor. The Baroness stopped, her voice still low though they could no longer see their companions. "Distress has wracked my heart since your first night-flight, Lady Val’ha. All of my past – all of my life – all that I am lies in a rubble heap, if I am to believe your vision, but…I must see it for myself. Unless and until I bear my own witness to the fall of Val Tress Hall, there is a part of me that whiffs at disbelief – I cannot stop thinking about it. This secret corridor leads to the barony grounds; I need you with me."

Val’ha hurried to keep up with her. "Why, Baroness? Why do you need me?"

"I could tell you that I trust you more than any other, I could tell you that I like your company, or even that you should attend me, since it was your astral flight that has caused me such distress in the first place. But the fact remains that I need the cloaking amulet around your neck to cover me; we will be going aboveground and Xorus’ fog might detect me otherwise."

Val’ha found the Baroness’ comments flattering, curious and a bit infuriating, but held her tongue further. "This secret corridor," she asked instead, "what was its use?"

"The same reason I knew that we would find the great cave in which our friends rest. It was an escape once. Perhaps some of my staff and guard even used it when the Prince’s army descended upon Val Tress Hall." The Baroness grew a bit cheerier.

"An escape?"

"Young Elf, you cannot know how many battles there have been over the mountain passes. Gyger Pass, the Ospet crossing…but Val Tress Pass was most fought over, protected by the Val Tress Women for eight generations! It is why we have always had our own force where most of the insipirile titled do not, and it is why this corridor was built long ago – to allow at least for the escape of the children and the weak in the times when it has been necessary."

"Is it part of the Conschalan movement you have hinted at?"

"Keen Val’ha! The clearing in the caveway, its accessibility by horse from the beach – it has always served those who need its harbor, and yes, I am told the Conschalans used the corridor and the cavern to meet, escape and hide."

"Why can you not speak of the Conschalan movement? You said they protect Conschala, but who are they besides the Baron?"

They traveled the corridor for several more minutes before the Baroness answered. "Conschala was where I met him, in a meeting at the Swan and Dragon in East Denlineil forty years past." She breathed deeply. "Even King Joel never really knew the depth and breadth of Conschalans’ commitment to ensuring its duchy would be treated equitably within the commonwealth; in fact, the key to its existence was that the ruler could never be tortured into naming names, and so our good King had no idea who we were, nor do I think does the Prince, but they are very much aware who leads – led – it."

"The Baron may yet only be imprisoned…" Val’ha offered.

"Ha! Then you do not know Prince Joel. No, I am certain my love’s life has been ended. But to answer your question, first and foremost the Conschalans are above reproach and more committed to insipirility than insipiriles, but they (we) are a faction comprised from the royal classes – the King’s family – who are willing to fight and die to defend our land even,if it should so come to it, against Castle Moncrovia itself."

"By taking Baron Val Tress, then…"

"Prince Joel must have been assuming that without leadership, the other Conschalans would scramble, eliminating effective resistance to his plan to ascend the throne."

"They must have scattered indeed, for we have traveled through a great swath of Conschala but heard nothing of them, and I would attest that it has come the time to stand."

"And what we aredoing, rushing to hide in the Reiglo Islands!" The Baroness paused. "That was unfair to Tarl-Cabot. As to the Conschalans, you are correct – they must still be in hiding. Who knows where they are or where they are headed, or if they have met atall, or if they have been discovered and killed – secrecy is their greatest asset and most frustrating drawback. But let us hope they are bound for confrontation against the Prince eventually."

"I often wonder, Lady Baroness, why it was that the three of us in particular – we and Tarl-Cabot – were called by King Joel to meet him at Castle Ohrt."

"I too have pondered this many times," said the Baroness. "It was clear that he was looking for trustworthy mercenaries to protect him – perhaps he saw in us these qualities."

"Do you really believe it was Prince Joel? Our own witness, Gregarcantz…"

"That provincial chowderhead? Zettel-drunks! I am convinced it was the Prince and consider no other."

"Why, then, did he kill Lady Frippe and High Advisor Arpon-Altraine?"

"Dear girl! After the High Wizarder, they were most esteemed within Castle Moncrovia – no others but Captain Cyr had such access to the King’s ear, nor influence over his policies, so delegatory and guileless was my cousin with his counsel. No, they stood in Prince Joel’s way and he eliminated them before he murdered his parents. Ah! Here we are."

Though the corridor continued into the pitch, the Baroness stopped at a portion of carved granite where several lines of crystallized rock spidered along the wall. Val’ha lifted her candle down the passage. "That leads only to our family catacombs, Val’ha, we are beneath the heart of my barony." Baroness Val Tress blew out her tinder-flame, dropped the extra wax and put the candle in her pants pocket. "Keep your fire alive." She ran her fingertips along the veins of dirty crystal, murmuring to herself either an incantation or the proper way to manipulate the hidden door, Val’ha could not tell. With a burst of satisfaction, the Baroness stopped moving her hands, pushed against two of the veins and jumped back; nothing happened. "Loki’s bear!" The Baroness put her hand to her chin and tapped her left boot for almost a minute before she approached the cavewall again, pressing first one crystal vein, then another, then the first again. She pushed Val’ha back; a rumbling sound from within Terra was followed by cracking as the formation of a door broke loose from the rest of the rock and swung open. Crudely hewn stairs led up through the blackness, and the Baroness relit her candle from Val’ha’s, withdrew her sword and led the way to the Val Tress estate.

"Have you considered what will become of us if what Inez said was true, and your father’s spell weakened to the point that Xorus can locate us anytime, anywhere?" the Baroness asked. "I was and remain, mind you, skeptical in the extreme that she revealed anything of truth. Even so, you must wonder if there is a kernel of foretelling."

"I do not know what to believe. Would my mother not have told me in my dreams already?"

"We-ell, dear Elf – and I am choosing my words as gingerly as I can – from everything I have learned of your parents’ powers, they were limited as – the weakness of your cloaking amulet, the spell that hid you on Mount Carias. Their spirits may not have the strength to reveal all that they wish but for dribs and drabs, until they are done. Was this not Ma’hadrin’s method?" Val’ha nodded. "With even the slightest chance of Inez’ rant being true, I could not imagine what trauma wracks your spirit," continued the Baroness, "and I will do whatever it is to help you ensure that your future does not end as she has spoken. I want you to know that when I ask about my own welfare and that of our companions, it is with this in mind."

"Tomorrow," Val’ha said. "From tomorrow, perhaps we will consider what she says to be possible, even probable – but on this day we are protected by the amulet, I have no child and we travel unbidden by the doppelganger-wraiths."

For a time the Baroness was silent. "I understand. If there is no other way to avoid your fate, however, we are left with destroying Xorus’ birthstone. Only such action will void the curse upon your mother, you…"

"Enough! Please, Baroness Val Tress." Val’ha felt herself beginning to cry; within herself she realized her thoughts and spirit – even her body – were adjusting to the potentiality of her death, fraught with resentment, even hatred, toward Ma’teus for their mother’s death; a wave of fear at the thought of being invaded as Feukpi had done to Chext’a; the burden of guilt that if she failed, her daughter and her daughter’s daughter onto forever after would be found by Xorus’ wraiths and sprung with his twisted hex.

Val’ha began to turn ill and was gratified when the Baroness called her name. "We are here!" Val Tress stopped for a moment, appearing to gird herself for whatever lay beyond the boulder blocking their passage out. The Baroness doused her candle and bade Val’ha do the same, kicked a root near the passage floor and threw herself against the cavewall, her sword across her breast.

Heads cowled and weapons ready, they exited to find themselves under a small foothill, not much more than a mound, in what had been a vineyard before it was razed. Ahead of them the road that led from the coastal highway ran past destroyed trees, crops and waterworks toward the fallen buildings of the Val Tress barony. The Baroness stood in silence, her head rotating slowly as she absorbed the destruction; Val’ha noticed that there was no Song – none at all, neither the Song of Terra nor Xorus’ corruption of it. Also, the thicket of Xorus’ fog was only far to their left, at the coastline, becoming a slight mist over the estate grounds that distracted trisahn into coloring everything with pale blue and leaving the air around her heavy, dead and burnt-smelling. The Baroness’ throat caught and she held her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. So devastated was her expression that Val’ha wanted to cry and holler for the razing of Val Tress Pass, her own home and all of it. Such madness, it is all such madness…

The Baroness grabbed Val’ha’s arm and pulled her down behind some grapevines that still stood. From the mist a procession of barefooted, barefaced Humans, all with black capes, staves and waist-length hair and some carrying sacks or black candles whose light made their faces bony and wrinkled, marched toward Val Tress Hall. At the front, a Man waved an iron sword in the air, sending whatever tendrils of the opaline fog still wafted into nothingness. Their striking leader carried only a tall opaline staff, her face producing its own light beneath the demon’s horns of the waning moon. "That Woman…" Val’ha squinted again to be sure. "Baroness, the leader is Cagliostra!"

"How in Zeus’ name…Where is her light-circle?" They sat frozen, watching Cagliostra and her followers – four Women and nine Men – proceed in long, halting paces. A Woman just behind Cagliostra shook her gourd-staff, rattling strings of many-colored bones and teeth against the bulbous tip and sounding as if she stood only yards away. The procession did not detect them and two of their number produced drums that they beat in tandem with each stride. Val’ha and the Baroness followed in stretches, darting behind mounds, tree husks and other obstructions, the Baroness seeing for the first time the bodies of her servants and guards along with the corpses of the animals that once graced her grounds. By the time they reached the rubble of the main hall, tears drenched the front of the Baroness’ shirt. "It is times such as these," she said through her teeth, "that I must fight the hatred and desire for revenge that could so corrupt my spirit, but…but he must be stopped. They must all be stopped."

The drumbearers dropped the drums to their sides and all was quiet as the procession-goers positioned themselves in a circle, holding their candles and staves stiff-armed in front of them. Val’ha and the Baroness hid behind a hedge and, though they were down-slope of the main foothill, they could see that Cagliostra and her followers surrounded a pit. "Master Xorus is rectified, Brother Fleshome," said Cagliostra in her charismatic rasp, "that your corpses have done their work. We dare not wait longer, for even with the trap of the Master’s cloud, the spirits of these dead would leave their bodies very soon."

The swordbearing Man plunged his weapon into the pit, tip first. "So mote it be, Sister Cagliostra," said Fleshome, who spoke with a thick tongue.

Cagliostra raised her arms and her voice rolled down the ruined hills. "We come tonight, Master, come this night, my Lord Xorus, let down your locks long and flowing!" Terra shuddered, from Flooher’ty Sea up the coastal plain, shaking everything in its path and sending a queasy wave through Val’ha’s feet to her head. Cagliostra’s followers cast doubtful glances around them even while struggling to remain in their mortified positions.

"Throw your offerings slain by my brew into the pit," Cagliostra demanded of the three who brought sacks. "Eight cats of black whose tails we have kissed to show our devotion to your eternal grace! A black lamb to show you our vin’bain-ding, sacrifice of blood, pain, entrails! Four heads of black dogs to guide your way!" A jagged line of opaline lightning, as if from the moon itself, cracked and split through the sky until it reached the sword in the pit; the sword started spitting and scattering sparks that singed the feet of Cagliostra’s followers and caused them to hop and howl.

"Lightbearer," said the Woman with the rattling staff as she indicated a philter that hung from Cagliostra’s belt. Cagliostra said nothing, pulled it loose and handed it to the Woman, who dripped some of its contents onto her feet, breast and top of her head before passing it to the next person in the circle and rubbing the drops into her skin.

Each of the followers repeated this until Brother Fleshome returned the philter to Cagliostra. She did not rub the liniment on herself, but instead sprinkled the remaining liquid into the pit and raised her staff once more toward the sky. "Spirits and rulers of Terr’des, await! The weakness – their blood and their bones and their meat – do not signify disdain to your purpose! We offer you hemlock and water of aconite, juices of cowsbane and nightshade and soot/Take these! The poisonous dust of a rose boiled in child’s fat, dropped on the toes of each foot."

"I believe," Baroness Val Tress whispered to Val’ha in a horrified tone, "that she is attended by the leaders of the Church of Terr’des."

"What are they going to do?" Val’ha asked.

"Add to Prince Joel’s navy."

"What say you, Bearer of Light," cried the Woman, shaking the bone-strings of the rattling staff, her hair fallen around her ears. Val’ha saw they were pointed.

Cagliostra raised and waved her left hand. "Contain yourself, Sister Schytz!"

"That is High Priestess Schytz, the Volcan heretic," said the Baroness.

"I am the instrument of Xorus." The coven bowed to Cagliostra, Schytz so deeply Val’ha thought her nose might poke Terra. "Submit yourself to my order!" Cagliostra proffered her ebony staff toward the Night Moon, creating in the air an opaline pentagram that lasted thirteen seconds. "Hail, fair moon, ruler of night/Guard me and these here beneath you till light."

"Hail, fair moon, ruler of night/Guard Cagliostra and me here till light," said the witches. "So mote it be!"

"Should we not consecrate the magickal circle?" asked Schytz meekly.

Cagliostra’s eyes widened and she clenched her free hand; the night sky darkened, stars fading from view and the Song growing until Cagliostra brought her fist to the priestess’ neck, released her fingers in a spider’s dance and suddenly everything was as before. Schytz cowered and Cagliostra clapped her staff between her palms, bringing the thirteen witches to their knees. "There is first something I must do," Cagliostra said, "for in failing to adequately support my cause before the Order of the Sages to serve as Prince Joel’s Black Dog wizard, the High Wizarder of Joh’oprinia shall serve her debt with vengeance. Let us take our proper state to receive the energy of Terr’des." Cagliostra directed another opaline light-bolt that splashed fire on the animal corpses, whose grey smoke quickly floated the smell of death to Val’ha’s nose, bringing her to revulsion.

Brother Fleshome passed around a wineflask from which the dark witches and Cagliostra drank. She stepped back and the others began to dance in a frenzied manner about the fire, candlewax spilling and each one taking a rock from the ground and throwing it into the flaming pit. Seven times they circled, faster with each turn until they had wet faces. "Lo’a k’bhasah, lo’a k’bhasah," they chanted, their pitch growing by the second; on the seventh pass around the sacrificed remains of the animals, the witches stopped, raised their candles and staves and said, "This we have shared with the Song of Terra, fire, water, air; our hearts will now stand firm, and through these thirteen stones the seed of hatred will grow."

"Lord Baron Cry!" one of the priests screamed. "Protector of graveyards, God of Destructive Waters, we dedicate this dance to you and demand your vile blessing!"

Schytz and Fleshome stepped aside to allow for Cagliostra’s reentry into the magickal circle. Holding one of the dolls Val’ha had seen in her shop, she lofted and threw it into the fire; as it exploded in yellow-light flame, the priests and priestesses continued their foul chorus: "Lo’a k’bhasah, lo’a k’bhasah…" Cagliostra took one of the black candles and sprinkled its wax over the burning doll:

"As I do this candle hexing,

Bring for Heemstress three nights vexing

Candle black, as black as night

Bring her pains of flesh tonight!

Lesions on her skin will grow, infection, cut, a painful blow

Sores and pain afflict her now – for three nights she shall wonder how

Dukes of darkness, knights of Terr’des

Heemstress smite with dread disease!

When three nights of pain have passed,

Make her well again, at last!"

"Lo’a k’bhasah, lo’a k’bhasah…"

"What are they chanting?" Val’ha asked the Baroness.

"They are summoning Xorus. Many of their words have been corrupted from Dark Elven – K’bhasah is the sword that cuts away the barriers to our realm and subdues the Song; lo’a means…"

"’Vessel’ – yes, that I know."

"They are preparing for the lightbearing ritual – Cagliostra has cast her vengeance upon Heemstress and raised the hatred of her followers. I suspect she is preparing to channel Xorus’ power." Val’ha was disgusted and frightened to her toes, fascinated and awestruck all at once. High Priestess Schytz shook her rattling staff and slowly Cagliostra floated across the pit until her feet were level with the witches’ heads and she levitated over the K’bhasah sword. "The Woman who shakes the asson – the calabash gourd with the serpent’s bones – is calling the Dark God to the lo’a."

"Cagliostra."

"Yes – lo’a, in addition to ‘vessel,’ also means ‘lightbearer’ and she is about to become both." As Cagliostra started spinning, the others chanted harder and louder, dancing around the circle faster than ever, until Val’ha was sure someone would fall into the fiery pit or collapse from exhaustion, but they continued their Dervish-whirl for several minutes. When they stopped so did Cagliostra, now possessed again within the crown of Xorus’ opaline light-circle. "The Woman – Schytz," the Baroness said, "she is the houngan, intermediary for the lo’a."

"Xorus, I beseech you!" While the other witches tried to stifle their panting, Schytz waved her calabash asson thirteen times. "Xorus, God of Black Magic, I command your presence in the lo’a!"

"M’irth-lo’a, m’irth-lo’a, m’irth-lo’a," canted the Terr’dean priests. "Truest communion comes only through your divine possession." The orb of Cagliostra’s light-circle began to grow milky and shaped itself into a boiling opaline moon, swallowing her within it. At least a hundred lightning bolts slit the air, causing Val’ha’s ears to pop and go deaf; they pierced the milky orb and smashed it into lightworks that rained a million sparks far past Val’ha and the Baroness.

The sphere was gone but the translucent light-circle remained, inside no longer Cagliostra but Xorus, or his doppelganger. Just as Val’ha had seen his mortal image in the sky-palace of Aentfroghe, Xorus was thin, in black pantaloons, black stockings sewn with silver and black buckled shoes with pointed tips. He wore a black fur cape over an opaline shirt. His hands were long and bony, thirteen silver rings inlaid with opals. A black pointed hat covered his long white hair, and under his peppered white beard and moustache was a large opal pendant at the end of a silver chain; his skin was pallid, his nose long and his black eyes, bitter and narrowed, heaped scorn upon his worshipers, now scratching the ground with their bare hands, fawning and throwing Terra everywhere. "WHY DO YOU SUMMON ME?" His voice drew from the Song, darker than anything Val’ha had ever heard: It occupied the entire world, that beneath, and it struck the heavens; it was hateful and hate-filled and its thickness was frozen, with a stench and the buzz of carrion flies; it was calm, mighty and dreadful.

The houngan Schytz stood as the others, still licking the dirt, began to sing in their highest voices (though they did not raise their eyes or heads), "Axorn-lo’a, Axorn-lo’a," or "vessel that is Xorus."

"Master Xorus, God all-powerful," Schytz beseeched, shaking her asson. "We ask that you take our vin’bain-ding and feast on the spirits that have offered themselves to you!"

Xorus’ eyes lowered to the pit and the fire grew tenfold, catching the hair of some witches, who stopped tearing at dirt and started tearing at themselves.

"BY THE MYSTERIES OF THE DEEP,

BY THE FLAMES OF MISTRESS DIMATOX,

BY THE POWER OF TERR’DES AND BY THE SILENCE OF THE NIGHT,

BY THE HOLY RITES OF ORCUS

I CONJURE AND EXORCISE YOU NOW, DISTRESSED SPIRITS!

"PRESENT YOURSELVES HERE AND REVEAL UNTO ME YOUR CALAMITY,

WHY YOU OFFER VIOLENCE,

WHERE YOU ARE NOW IN BEING AND

WHERE YOU SHALL HEREAFTER BE."

"Tibon’ange, tibon’ange," said the witches, "tibon’ange, tibon’ange," more swiftly each time until they did not make sense. The air filled with the screams of a million ghosts, squeaking metal, scraping slate and the death of children. Val’ha, the Baroness and all of the priests and priestesses were knocked to the ground, their ears ripped by ringing that made wolves cry, and echoes from Mount Carias enough to knock everyone down again.

The bodies of Humans – the Val Tress staff, guards and courtiers – jerked and jolted, and the light of their pallid images pulled from their bodies. Some scrambled to claw back into their corpses, but as Xorus’ light-circle intensified in color, hundreds of spirits were drawn toward him, their screams like wind drawn through a narrow crack, until each sizzled inch by inch into the light-circle and were consumed entirely. Xorus drew deeply through his nose, his eyes closing before he once more glowered upon his worshipers. "WHAT COMMAND YOU?" His voice toppled rubble and made witches roll up into a ball; Val’ha was suddenly afraid the godspeak would draw their companions, and she looked down the main road but saw noone.

Schytz rattled her asson beads, produced a small sheet of poplar bark and read, "By horntips of this darkest night/by light of harvest wane/bring life where there is no more life/bring dead to life again!"

"So mote it be!" the witches screamed, sending Xorus spinning and flailing within his light-circle.

"SALUTE AND CONJURE, OH BEAUTIFUL MOON,

BEAUTIFUL NIGHTSTAR, BRILLIANT LIGHT WHICH I HAVE IN MY HAND!

BY THE AIR THAT I BREATHE, BY THE BREATH WITHIN ME,

BY TERRA’S SONG, I CONJURE YOU!

BY ALL THE NAMES OF THE PRINCES OF TERR’DES LIVING IN ME,

BY THE INEFFABLE NAME ORCUS,

BY YOU, MOST HOLY VEEDO, BY LINDA, SNOW, EEEGH AND WUWA!

"I CONJURE YOU AGAIN, BY ALL THE HOLY NAMES OF DEMONS, SO THAT YOU MAY SEND DOWN POWER TO OPPRESS, TORTURE AND HARASS THE BODY AND THE SENSES OF THOSE HERE WITHIN MY MIDST, SO THAT THEY SHALL COME UNTO ME AND AGREE TO MY DESIRES, LIKING NOBODY IN THE WORLD FOR SO LONG AS THEY SHALL REMAIN UNMOVED BY ME. LET THEM BE TORTURED, MADE TO SUFFER – COME, THEN, AT ONCE!

"COME, MISTRESS DIMATOX, WITH VEEDO, WITH LINDA, WITH SNOW, EEEGH AND WUWA AND ALL OF THOSE IN YOUR HOUSE! I CONJURE YOU BY THE POWER OF THE GRIMOIRE TO OBEY MY WILL, AND I PROMISE TO SATISFY YOU!" He laughed the macabre delight of death’s freedom and for several seconds the sky was blue and everything bathed in daylight. The spiritless corpses in the ruins and about the grounds began to wail and protest.

"Tibon’ange! tibon’ange!" When the witches said, "So mote it be," amidst moans and cries of the unwilling undead, Val’ha almost did not hear them for, limbless or not, regardless if they had been burned, battled or tortured to death, corpses rose to their feet, pushed from under the rubble of Val Tress Hall and struggled toward the levitating demon-god. Val’ha put her ear to Terra, unable to bear witness another second to the horror before her: Within the Song’s corruption, the sound of scraping rocks, scratching and clicking and clacking rose steadily through the ground, until the bony fingers of hundreds of catacombed dead began to claw and dig their way from beneath, pulling their skeletons out to join the morose death march over the vineyards and fields toward Cagliostra/Xorus and leaving behind as many gopher-holes over the Val Tress family vaults. There were a thousand of them – guards with axes in their skulls, a scullery maid who had died of food poisoning several months prior, violated bodies of nude Women, the skeletons of Val Tresses from eight generations, the dispirited, the limping, the crawling – all of them taken against their will, bound for slavery in Prince Joel’s Black Dog navy. "They are not who they once were." The Baroness’ voice was weighted with such resigned sorrow that Val’ha began to weep. "They are not, but their agony is no less real. Let us head back."

"Oh, spirit of Xorus!" High Priestess Schytz proffered her staff to the demon-god, who even when she called his name seemed little to notice her as he focused on the circle of undead who came to stand behind the priests and priestesses:

"Because you have diligently answered our demands,

I do hereby license you to depart without injury to us –

Depart! I say, and be willing and ready to come whensoever duly exorcised and conjured by these sacred rites of magic;

I conjure you to withdraw peaceably and quietly,

And may the House of Terr’des continue forever between you and me!"

"So mote it be," the coven members finished. Xorus dematerialized into Cagliostra’s bloodied figure, so assaulted that her light-circle was invisible; she fell limp and was caught by two priests.

Val’ha and the Baroness were transfixed at these happenings: A multitude of obeisant corpses and skeletons swayed in unison, awaiting their orders while the priests and priestesses encircled Cagliostra, patting her hands and spitting on her face. Suddenly she took in a deep knifing breath like she had been underwater for far too long, and within another few minutes, though still shaky and drenched in her own blood, she took her staff, spoke quietly to Fleshome and Schytz, and pierced the coven circle to lead her followers back down the road and, with dragging and stomps from their doddering rabble, the undead fell into line after Cagliostra and trudged into the Xoran fog bound for servitude in Moncrovia. Val’ha’s mind was numb by the time the last of the grisly parade vanished into the mist, which she now noticed was pouring back into the air above the Val Tress barony from every direction. "Let us head back." The Baroness spoke as if her mouth was filled with cloth and gravel. "There is nothing else to see."

**

"It is more apparent than ever," said Ma’teus, guiding Firedancer through the gentle early-morning seawater, "that hallowed and protected grounds are not the only barriers to Xorus’ expansion." The Xoran fog only allowed several yards’ vision in any direction, but at the sealine its edges curled and stretched to find a hold over the water but could not. As a result, the shoreline was thick and gloomy, but just a couple feet into Flooher’ty Sea all was blue-grey and clear, with only white mustaches of autumn cloud and even, somewhere behind them, the cries of gulls.

Very early that morning, when Val’ha and the Baroness had returned to their camp, they found the others awake, mounts skittish after an hour of the malcrafters’ noisemaking, nerves frayed by the emptying of the tombs, corruption of the Song and Xorus’ thundering utterances. They tried to return to sleep after a time but could not, and now traveled in exhaustion and listless dread. "From the beginning of his second coming, his power over the Song stopped at the water," Val’ha told Ma’teus.

"What is his relationship to the doppelganger-wraiths and the other spirits?"

"Some spirits he feeds upon," said the Baroness. "Some spirits, most unwillingly, have become his wraith-drones skilled in spying, spellcasting and unlimited travel within the Terran realm. They are shards of the Dark God as much as they are his messengers, made so when they were corrupted by Xorus’ First Wraith."

"His fog, you told us once, trapped the spirits of those slaughtered at Val Tress Hall. It also resurrects the corpses?" said Quigley.

"Yes. Xorus is the fog, the fog is Xorus – that is why, if he gets to the corpses fast enough, Xorus is able to have both an undead slave and a spirit to feed upon. You have seen the rapid spread of the fog – it is hunger that drives Xorus outward, reaching every hour further into Asch’endra-Conschala for more to possess, more to eat. Only the sea, it appears, stands in the way of further conquest."

Val’ha shuddered and pulled her cowl against the damp chill. "I wonder if there is a chance we might free the doppelgangers before Inez’ words come true."

Noone answered, leaving Val’ha adrift in futility and despondence for several long minutes until finally the Baroness spoke. "I remind you, Lady Elf, that key to ending all of this is the destruction of the birthopal. Within an hour we reach Moncrovia, and from all we know the Prince is in Joh’oprinia, Zini and Feukpi headed to Apocania and Cagliostra, drained by her necromancy, straggling leagues behind us by our return. If there is only Lord Joel to deal with, perhaps the time is now to break into Castle Moncrovia and take the bedamned stone."

"Hold that thought with caution," Tarl-Cabot said, "for I am certain that though Lord Joel himself is green, his guards number in the hundreds, his corpses in the thousands. Furthermore, his father might have returned by now and last, when we take the birthstone, what will we do with it? How will we destroy it? What will it do to us if we possess it? No, Baroness Val Tress, what you say is worthy and valiant, but we are since my brother’s death only seven and outlaws by decree. Let us see what awaits us."

What lay ahead, when around mid-afternoon the coastal highway and Flooher’ty Sea’s shoreline gradually converged, was no longer Moncrovia or even the trees that surrounded the Royal City; even timber used to construct the highway was ripped from the ground for the production of Prince Joel’s Black Dog navy. As the journeymates approached what had been the Moncrovian docks, they heard sawing and pounding and in the soup of the fog, it came into view: Corpses and skeletons laden with lumber and metal strips, buckets of nails, hammers and rippers and saxes carried their supplies to other undead that, on sawhorse and stumps, shaped and built ships, several dozen in various stages of completion amid tall mounds of wood and metal, the detritus of Moncrovia’s buildings and trees, none of which – including Val’ha’s end-block lodging and the oaktree Dragonslayer once rested under – still stood.

Val’ha’s insides wilted at the site where Eedebee had once docked the Bugbear, in its place one of ten ready warships, like the others a fifty-yard low open vessel that resembled a giant rowboat and accommodated only two functions: land battle, with a rack of two hundred swords and axes at one end, and rowing, with as many seats and iron-turreted oars. The smell of graverot clung to everything.

Val’ha recalled Prince Joel’s instructions to Cagliostra: Take every ship still in Moncrovia’s harbor – have your creatures tear the city’s structures apart board by board to build me the rest…When you have been accepted into the Order of the Sages and I have gone through my coronation, I shall give to you official appointment as steward of my navy.