Black Wolf’s Bargain

By Andrew Hunter

The armies of the dead stand, prepared to march into the land of the Red God, and Garrett, Deathlord and Reaver of Songs, must lead them. Somewhere beyond Chadir’s bleak cliffs lies Brenhaven, the city that he once called home. What sort of welcome have the red priests prepared there for the young necromancer and his friends? It will probably involve a lot of fire.
Across the sea, Marla and her vampire companions struggle to accept the revelation of her true birthright. Surrounded by more dragons than she had ever dreamed existed, all looking to her now for guidance, she must step from the shadows into the light of a new dawn for dragons, fae, and humans alike.
And just where do those white ghouls keep sneaking off to anyway? Find out all this and more in Black Wolf’s Bargain, Book Seven of The Songreaver’s Tale!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Hunter
• Release date: Jan 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370838813

Andrew Hunter

Andrew Hunter is a freelance curator, artist, writer, and educator. Hunter was previously the Frederik S. Eaton Curator of Canadian Art at the Art Gallery of Ontario, where he produced major exhibitions and publications including Every Now Then: Reframing Nationhood, In the Ward: Lawren Harris, Toronto & the Idea of North, and Colville. Born in Hamilton and a graduate of the Nova Scotia College of Art & Design, Hunter has held curatorial positions across Canada, including at the Vancouver Art Gallery and the Art Gallery of Hamilton. He has taught at the Ontario College of Art and Design University and the University of Waterloo and lectured on curatorial practice across Canada, the United States, England, China, and Croatia. He is a member of the advisory board for the Institute for the Study of Canadian Slavery at NSCAD.

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Book Seven of the Songreaver's Tale

By Andrew Hunter

Copyright 2018 Andrew Hunter

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Prologue

The reek of saltwater and burning pitch stung Lyssa Veranu’s senses. The horizon glowed like a string of hot coals, stretched between the black waves of the sea and the lead-dark pall of the night clouds above.

It’s started, said the young sailor that leaned against the railing beside Lyssa. He was trying to sound brave, but she could see the glimmer of fear in his eyes, or perhaps it was just the reflection of burning ships in the distance.

Will this be a problem, Pierce? Jannis asked from his perch in the rigging above. The tailor’s gray tailcoat fluttered in the wind, and his fangs gleamed in the ruddy light, a thrill-drunk grin on his ghostly pale face.

No, sir, the sailor answered, Captain Greene won’t be caught by the likes o’ them sir… not by the likes o’ them!

Lyssa sighed as she stepped back from the railing. Her palms moved to the twin sabers at her hips, and she thumbed the cross-guards, loosening them in their scabbards. She had no fear that mortal men like the Chadiri could take her life, but they could take the ship from under her, and vampires made terrible castaways.

Look alive lads! Captain Greene shouted through his pipe-clenched teeth, We’re about ta make our run!

Young Pierce sprang to action, leaving Lyssa alone at the railing as he ran to his station.

The sails ruffled like a twirled cloak, and the Dicer’s Charm wheeled about, tacking into the wind.

Hanging like a spider in the rigging above, Jannis sucked in a deep breath and laughed. Can you smell it, Lyssa? he called down, "Can you smell it?"

I can smell it, Lyssa muttered. The scent of fear hung heavy on the night wind, fear and death.

He’s here, Lyssa, Jannis cried, I can feel it.

We don’t know that! she answered, tired of always being the voice of reason in these matters.

Who else, Lyssa? Jannis cackled, thrusting his open palm toward the burning horizon.

We’ll know soon enough, she sighed, turning her eyes from the fires, her night vision already spoiled by the glare. She’d give the enemy no advantage tonight. Too much depended on this… too much.

Lyssa retreated from the railing and crouched between the bulkhead of the ship’s aftcastle and the steep wooden staircase leading to the deck above. She tried to clear her thoughts, find her center, but nothing worked. What was she doing here? Would she ever see Marla again, and, if she did, would her daughter still be the girl she knew?

Together now! Captain Greene yelled as a burst of spray lashed across the deck.

One by one, the sailors joined in song, their voices hoarse with exertion as they strained at their halyards.

Serou nathale

Tenir faszaa

Sedou magraye

Tsenebre Ta

Lyssa lifted her head, feeling a crawling sensation on the back of her neck as the crew wove their chant to the Queen Beneath the Waves. If she’d ever had any doubt that the men of Fraelu had elven blood in their veins, it was gone now.

The crisp scent of an approaching storm filled the air, and then the wind fell deathly still.

"Serou Na’Tul!" Captain Greene shouted, and the wind rolled in from behind with typhoon strength.

Jannis cried out as he clung to the ropes, swaying as the wind filled their sails, driving them toward the fiery horizon and the island that lay beyond.

Jannis dropped to his feet on the swaying deck with a scowl on his face.

Did you know they were going to do that? he whispered, eying the Fraelans darkly.

It would explain how they managed to sneak Tinjin past the Chadiri, Lyssa said as she rose from her crouch.

I hope their luck holds, Jannis sighed, "at least until they’ve snuck us past as well."

Lyssa followed him to the prow of the ship to watch as they raced toward the ruddy glow ahead.

The following wind now reached the wall of smoke that obscured the sea ahead, blowing it like dust from a table. Lyssa’s eyes widened at the sight of a drifting hulk, almost completely consumed by flames. The burning ship’s deck listed away from them, displaying a view of the barnacle-encrusted hull, steaming in the heat of the conflagration.

Chadiri! Pierce shouted, and a cry of triumph arose from the rest of the crew.

Stow it, lads! Captain Greene snarled, silencing his men.

The Dicer’s Charm glided past the crackling hulk, so close that Lyssa could feel the heat of it against her cheek. She moved to the railing to watch it recede into the night behind them, and saw the strewn flotsam that swirled in their wake. She squeezed her eyes shut when she saw the feeble movements of the men who clung to the fragments of their lost ship.

Need a drink? Jannis asked, producing from his coat pocket one of the many flasks he’d packed for the voyage. Lyssa could see the fear behind his smile. For all his bravado, the vampire had sense enough to be terrified of the sea.

Lyssa shook her head and frowned as she watched him take a long drag from the flask’s mouth. You shouldn’t drink so much, she chided him, We don’t know when we’ll be able to get more.

Fraelu is crawling with fae, if the legends are to be believed, Jannis chuckled, his lips glossy and red in the flickering light.

You’re a fool to believe it! she snapped, We don’t know what’s waiting for us ahead!

Forgive me for being an optimist about it, he sighed, stoppering the flask again and slipping it back into his coat. He turned his attention to the light of another fiery hulk coming up fast from the billowing smoke ahead.

Dark whispers rippled through the Dicer’s crew, and Lyssa’s keen ears had little trouble picking them up.

A Fraelan vessel, Lyssa sighed.

The flaming prow of the wreck rose from the churning waters, its hull shattered amidships. A carving of a seal-headed maiden adorned the splintered bowsprit. The wooden sculpture had abalone eyes, or rather she had one left, for they had been glued in with pitch, and this seemed to have loosened in the heat. The selkie’s other eye had already fallen into the sea, and black tears of molten pitch dribbled from the empty socket.

Captain Greene dragged the stocking cap from his graying hair and whispered something in Fae as they slipped past. Pierce and a few of the younger men frantically searched the water for survivors, but their shoulders sagged in frustration as the smoke swallowed up the broken vessel behind them.

"It was the Misty," old Meegan the Shipwright whispered sadly, hat in hand.

No, Pierce answered, "the Misty’s twice the size o’ that!"

No, lad, Meegan sighed, Once her glory’s left ‘er, a ship’s nought but withered spar and shrunken plank.

"That wasn’t the Misty!" Pierce spat as he returned to his post, and Meegan said no more as he covered his bald pate again with his baggy cap.

Lyssa? Jannis called out, drawing her attention to the sea ahead.

Lyssa bared her fangs at the sight of a whiffling ball of fire that arced across the smoky horizon. It splashed into the sea to starboard, and another soon followed after it, closer now.

Time ta pray, lads! the Captain hissed as he leaned hard across his wheel.

The Dicer’s keel shuddered as their prow veered hard to port.

Why are we… oh! Jannis gasped as another ship burst from the smoke bank ahead. A gryphon-headed carving with outstretched talons decorated the prow of the triple-masted Fraelan vessel that now crashed through the waves ahead. Its deck swarmed with bare-chested men with green sashes around their waists and curved blades in their hands.

"Thu Magra na’Kaelu!" the men screamed, their swords held high.

"Na’Kaelu vendola!" Pierce and the rest of the Dicer’s Charm crew cheered as she gave way before the larger vessel.

Answering cheers arose from the Fraelans ahead, but a mighty crash cut their revelry short.

Lyssa gasped as a Chadiri war galley burst from the roiling smoke to bury its black iron ram in the hull of the Fraelan triple-master.

Several green-sashed men fell from the big ship’s deck into the gurgling black sea, but Lyssa had no time to ponder their fate as the Dicer’s Charm heeled over and bobbed in the wake of the monstrous war galley.

A bit o’ wind, Your Majesty, if ya please! Captain Greene shouted, his pipe lost somewhere on the spray-washed deck.

"By his might! screamed red-vested marines as they swarmed across their crow’s beaked boarding ramp onto the deck of the Fraelan triple-master.

"Fraelu vendola!" howled the green-sashed sailors as they met the boarders with flashing steel.

Lyssa felt a dizzying swell of Fae magic as the deck lurched beneath her feet, and the rigging moaned and creaked above her. A lash of salt water stung her face as the wind snatched the Dicer’s Charm clear of the grappling titans ahead. They jetted past, astern of the Chadiri galley, and Lyssa watched as the two warring vessels disappeared into the smoke. The booming of the wind in the Dicer’s sails soon drowned out the clamor of battle behind them.

And then the ruddy smoke gave way to shadow and mist, and even the few stars glimpsed through the haze above soon winked out.

What’s this? Jannis whispered, more than a little unnerved by the supernatural gloom that now swallowed up the smuggler’s boat.

The Queen Beneath the Waves, Meegan whispered as he doffed his cap reverently, She welcomes us home.

Jannis gave Lyssa a skeptical look and drew his coat tighter against the chill of the dark.

The crew fell to utter silence, save for Captain Greene who let out a long sigh through his teeth. The only light that now remained was a faint, colorless glow that seemed to come from all directions at once, leaving only the dim outlines of Lyssa’s fellow travelers silhouetted against the almost imperceptible gray light.

Lyssa caught the scent of rotten crabs and seaweed, and the crash of waves on rocks soon gave way to the gentle lapping of water on sand.

A sailor dropped the anchor over the side, and the line creaked as the Dicer’s Charm slowed to a gradual halt.

A flickering light drew Lyssa’s attention to the water off the starboard side.

A cloaked figure in a longboat lifted a hooded lantern high, waving it back and forth as her boat drew near. The strange mist seemed to lift from the sea around them, and Lyssa could now make out the shore and high, rocky walls of a sheltered cove. One by one, the stars returned to fill the sky above, and Lyssa at last breathed her own sigh of relief.

Pierce cast a line down to the woman in the boat, and she grinned up at them as she caught it. Her yellow teeth glittered in the lantern light, and the gray fur around her mouth bore the stains of chaw-weed. The reek of it on the faun’s laughter confirmed the habit.

I knew ye’d slip through! the faun woman called up to them as she secured the line to her little boat.

Evenin’ Tabby! Captain Greene laughed back.

I told you the place was crawling with them, Jannis whispered, nudging Lyssa in the elbow.

Mind your manners, now, Lyssa hissed, We aren’t in Thrinaar.

Captain Greene almost danced down the steps to the main deck, gracing the two vampires with the most sincere smile Lyssa had yet seen on the old smuggler’s face.

Welcome to Fraelu, my lady, he said with a slight bow, "Now you can pay me."

Chapter One

Ragged banners of red cloth hung limp from their poles above the ranks of Chadiri dead. What remained of the remains of Garrett’s undead soldiers stood in silent ranks, ankle-deep in the furrows of the old barley field outside the village of Plank. Garrett frowned at the reanimated corpses of the enemy soldiers as he paced along the length of the split-rail fence that separated the field from the eastern road. The zombies of the Kriesslegion stared back at him with cloudy eyes, but the headless skeletons of the Raven Legion looked more like rusty suits of armor that had simply lost their helmets. What noble spark, what immeasurably small flicker of purpose separated Garrett, or any man, from being nothing more than one of these lifeless shells?

Are we going back to Wythr now? Mujah asked.

Huh? Garrett said, breaking from his thoughts to look at the Lethian boy.

Mujah sat, perched on a rail of the fence. The dark-skinned boy wore a gray felt overcoat and a new hat, broader-brimmed than his old one, but still blue in color. Gammi Boots had finally convinced him to trade his old, oversized, mold-ridden rags for a fresh set of Astorran clothes. He looked taller now.

Are we gonna go home now? Mujah asked.

We’re gonna meet up with Max at the border next, Garrett said, After that, maybe… I don’t know.

Mujah looked relieved.

Did you wanna go home? Garrett asked, I could have somebody take you back, if you’re ready.

No! Mujah replied, looking a bit frightened.

Garrett smiled. You’re gonna have to face Hetta eventually, he laughed.

Mujah nodded glumly. I know, he sighed, I just… I’d rather put it off as long as possible, you know?

I’ll talk to her for you, Garrett said with a grin.

Really? Mujah said, his expression brightening.

Yeah, Garrett said, I mean, after that letter you wrote to the king about me, I owe you one.

Mujah gave him an ivory grin.

Anyway, it may be a long time before any of us sees home again, Garrett sighed as he looked across the field of undead soldiers, At least these guys get to go home.

A strong breeze suddenly rose, ruffling the rotten banners and carrying the smell of Gammi Boots’ kitchen from the west. Garrett’s belly grumbled.

Let’s head back, Garrett said, waving for Mujah to accompany him as he walked.

Mujah hopped down on the far side of the fence and watched as Garrett climbed over as well.

Why does it do that? Mujah asked, pointing to the withering grass at Garrett’s feet.

Oh, Garrett said, noticing the spreading black stain beneath his boots, That happens whenever I’m sad or angry about something. It has to do with the Songreaver’s power inside me.

Why are you sad? Mujah asked as they walked together back to town.

How do you know I’m not angry? Garrett laughed.

Because you look sad, Mujah answered.

Garrett’s eyes fell to the dusty road before them. I don’t know, Mujah, he said quietly, I guess things just didn’t turn out the way I thought they would.

But we won! Mujah protested, You chased all the bad guys out, and the king is your friend again. They’re even gonna help us fight, aren’t they?

Sorta, Garrett said.

Huh?

I mean that the Astorrans will help us, as long as they pretend that we’re not really friends, Garrett explained, Most of the Astorran people still think we’re bad guys.

But we’re not! Mujah exclaimed.

Garrett gave him a crooked smile. It’s not always easy for people to tell who’s bad and who isn’t, Mujah, he chuckled.

But the Chadiri are bad, right? Mujah asked.

"Some of ‘em are really bad, Garrett said with a shrug, and some of ‘em are only a little bad, but they all work together to do bad things, so, yeah, they’re bad guys."

What if some of them are good? Mujah asked.

I’d really like to meet one that was! Garrett laughed.

Mujah fell silent as he considered it.

Did you work that new spell out yet? Garrett asked.

Almost! Mujah said with a broad grin, I still have to learn the word for growing roots.

I thought the fairies were helping you, Garrett said.

They are, Mujah said, "but to pronounce it right, you have to feel it right inside. I’ve never had roots before, so it’s kinda hard to know how they should feel when they grow."

You should ask Lady Browelle, Garrett said, I bet she knows all about roots.

Mujah said nothing for a moment. She kinda scares me, he admitted at last.

Me too, Garrett chuckled. The dryad noblewoman had yet to pass sentence on him for the crime of being the Songreaver.

They walked on in silence for a moment, enjoying the morning breeze. A flicker of motion drew Garrett’s eyes to the forest that bordered the western edge of town. He grinned when he saw the pack of gray wolves that now burst from the trees with the enormous black direwolf Ghausse in the lead.

Watch it! Garrett laughed as the huge wolf nearly bowled him over in exuberance. The pack of smaller wolves swarmed around them next, surrounding Garrett and Mujah. Ghausse’s wet tongue slapped against Garrett’s cheek as the big wolf whined with delight. Garrett dug his fingers through the wolf’s gray-black fur and scratched playfully at his jowls.

Good Hunting, Songreaver, spoke the large gray wolf that now loped over to stand on the road beside Ghausse. The fae-born animal’s voice sounded almost human, but not quite.

Good Hunting, Treesnap, Garrett returned the wolf’s greeting.

Soon we will return to our own lands, the talking wolf said, but I must speak with you, and ask permission to take part of your pack with us when we go.

"Part of my pack? Garrett said, wondering what the gray wolf meant. He looked at Ghausse and then felt suddenly heartsick. You mean Ghausse wants to go with you?" he asked.

Treesnap looked up at the big black dire wolf, and then his tongue lolled in amusement. No, Treesnap laughed, Our big brother here would not be parted from your side… though we would certainly welcome him if he chose to follow us… No, I speak of the white-haired were-men that wish to return to the lands of the North.

The Kriesslanders, Garrett sighed, Yeah, I figured they’d want to leave.

I have no wish to weaken your pack, Songreaver, Treesnap continued, but they have spoken their desire to me, and I will guide them home, should you release them of their duty to you.

Yeah, I know they wanna go home, Garrett said with a wave of his hand, I can’t blame them for that.

They number your mate among their own, the talking gray wolf added quietly.

My… oh, Garrett said, feeling the cold heartsickness returning.

The pack of gray wolves now drew close around the two humans, watching for Garrett’s reaction.

Treesnap took a step backward as a rime of frost spread across the gravel beneath his paws.

I’ll talk to Haven about it, Garrett said quietly, his breath steaming in the warm morning air.

We leave at moonrise, Treesnap said as he backed away into the withering grass, his golden eyes wary, Do I have your permission to take your were-men along?

Yeah, Garrett said.

And your mate?

Garrett chewed at the frost on his lip and looked away before answering. If she still wants to go with the Kriesslanders then, he said, She can do what she wants.

The wolves of Treesnap’s pack looked at one another in surprise, but the gray-furred pack leader only bowed his head in response.

You have the blessing of the Frostfur, Songreaver, Treesnap said in his almost-human voice, and you have my thanks.

You don’t have to thank me for anything, Garrett said.

You have brought the people of the sky and earth together again, the gray wolf said, I had feared that I would never see such times as my grandfather sang of.

I guess it’s a strange time for everybody, Garrett chuckled.

Indeed, Treesnap said with a toothy grin, Good Hunting, Songreaver.

Good Hunting, Treesnap, Garrett answered back.

Come brother, Treesnap said as he looked up at Ghausse, Let us run together yet a little longer.

Ghausse bounded away after the pack of smaller gray wolves as they disappeared into the forest again.

Mujah watched them go and then quietly asked, Is Haven really gonna leave us?

Garrett shook his head. I dunno, he admitted, turning toward town again.

I hope she doesn’t, Mujah said as he walked beside him.

Me too, Garrett answered softly.

They encountered a group of fauns and centaurs when they reached the edge of town. Garrett stopped to wish them well as the fae creatures took their leave. Nearly half of the fae had already left town at the end of the Greenmeet, though many still lingered, trading songs and stories, and not a little wine, with distant relatives and new friends.

Cenick nudged his way through the crowd of tipsy fae to rescue Garrett from the blessings of a rambling centaur shaman who kept slapping the young necromancer’s shoulders with a sprig of mistletoe. I need to talk to you, Garrett, Cenick said, his tattooed face dark with concern. He put his broad shoulder between Garrett and the horse-flanked shaman and guided him away.

Once free of the fae, Garrett whispered back, What is it?

We need to do something about the Inquisitor, Cenick explained.

Oh, Garrett said. He looked at Mujah who was still following along at his side. Why don’t you go get some breakfast, Mujah? Garrett said.

Don’t you want some too? Mujah asked.

I’m not hungry right now, Garrett lied, I’ll get somethin’ later. He didn’t want anything in his stomach when he faced Jareg Schruut.

All right, Mujah agreed, I’ll see you later then.

Garrett waved at the Lethian boy as he turned toward Gammi Boots’s house.

Did he say anything? Garrett asked, his smile disappearing as he looked at Cenick again.

He praises his god and curses us, Cenick answered flatly, That is all he will ever do.

I still want to talk to him, Garrett said as they walked toward the low stone building that had been the town jail before the Astorrans fled.

Cenick put his hand on Garrett’s shoulder, stopping him.

Garrett, the tattooed necromancer sighed, There are some men who cannot be reasoned with. You have to be ready to accept that.

I thought you wanted me to treat people the way Uncle Tinjin would? Garrett chuckled.

Cenick’s eyes hardened. Even Uncle knew that some men have given their very souls to darkness, he said, For such creatures, death is the only mercy.

Sounds like something Max would say, Garrett laughed.

Cenick gave him a bitter smile. Max wouldn’t have taken him prisoner to begin with, he said.

You think I was wrong not to kill him? Garrett scoffed.

No, Cenick said, "It is never wrong to feel pity for your enemies, but, if this man goes free, he will kill again. He will burn innocent people… children as well. He cannot be allowed to leave this place alive, Garrett!"

Garrett’s heart sank. I thought we were supposed to be better than them, he said.

We don’t burn people, Cenick replied.

Garrett looked away.

You don’t have to kill him, Cenick said quietly, Leave him to me.

What? Garrett sneered incredulously.

I will do what must be done, Cenick said, his hand moving to the pommel of the curved jungle knife at his belt.

Why do people keep offering to kill people for me so I don’t have to get my hands dirty? Garrett demanded, "I’m in charge here, and, if anybody gets killed, it’s my responsibility and my fault!"

Cenick’s eyes narrowed and his lips pulled back over his teeth. He reached out and lifted the horned skull medallion from Garrett’s chest, nearly identical to the one that he wore over his own purple robe, save for the glossy coating of ice that now covered Garrett’s. "This, is why! he growled, Because we don’t want to lose you, Garrett!"

Garrett snatched his ice-crusted talisman back from Cenick’s hand and stamped toward the jailhouse. You’re not gonna lose me! he said.

Two of Cenick’s zombies, clad in rusty armor, stood outside the door of the jailhouse. They gave Garrett a questioning look as he stormed toward them.

Move! Garrett shouted as he pushed his way past and opened the creaking wooden door.

The stench of rotting flesh overwhelmed Garrett as he stepped inside the shadowy jailhouse. He squinted his watering eyes and made out two more zombies, standing in the flickering light of a witchfire torch.

The Inquisitor Jareg Schruut sat, shackled to a bench against the far wall. Garrett was glad that he had skipped breakfast as the thin man in tattered red robes lifted his face to greet him.

The Inquisitor graced him with a festering smile, pulled back over blood-red gums and abscessed teeth. His left eye sparkled green in the witchfire light, but the other stared, unseeing and milky white, in the pustulous ruin of the right half of his face. His thin hair hung in matted strings to either side of his puffy red ears, and the skin of his throat hung like a wattle from his narrow jaw, a patchwork of bruises and lesions.

"Abomination," the Inquisitor rasped.

Yeah, that’s me, Garrett answered as he dragged a wooden stool from a nearby table and sat down a few feet away from the Inquisitor’s bench.

The Inquisitor’s eye lifted toward the door again as Cenick entered the room behind Garrett.

Are we to begin the interrogation now? the Inquisitor laughed dryly.

If that’s what you wanna call it, sure, Garrett mumbled as he pressed his sleeve against his nose. The smell was almost unbearable, this close to the man.

Ask your questions then, Schruut hissed, "I welcome the diversion of such… amusements."

Garrett steeled his will and then took another breath. Did you know that Prex was working for the Volgrem? he asked.

Jareg Schrutt’s smile vanished.

Garrett grinned. Yeah, he said, "They tore him apart when he stopped being useful to ‘em… I wonder if they promised you anything."

I do not consort with demons! the Inquisitor raged.

But you’re not really surprised that Prex did, are you? Garrett laughed.

Schruut’s infected jowls wobbled as he trembled with rage.

You know I’m not lying, don’t you? Garrett said, You guys really do have some way of telling… that’s why they send you out to inquisite stuff. You know I’m telling the truth about Prex, don’t you?

"You corrupted him!" Schruut cried.

Nope, Garrett said, lifting his hands inoffensively.

Schruut glared at Cenick now for a moment before turning his eye back to Garrett in disbelief.

"And I’ll bet that the whole, attack Gloar and send the Dragon Lord to die, idea was Prex’s too, Garrett guessed, Felix wasn’t really in on it at first, but the Volgrem killed him and took his body, so he might be now."

The Inquisitor flinched at Garrett’s words.

I haven’t figured out why the Volgrem want us fighting like this, Garrett mused, but it’s pretty obvious that we’re supposed to be killing each other off, and they definitely wanted the dragon out of the way. Personally, I’m gettin’ kinda tired of doing the Volgrem’s work for them, aren’t you?

"We are enemies!" the Inquisitor hissed.

Yeah, I know, Garrett said, "It’s not like I expect you to join forces with us against the Volgrem or anything. I’m not that stupid… I mean, I can’t really think of a way of even letting you go alive… but I wish I could."

Jareg Schruut looked slightly confused.

"I don’t want to kill you, Garrett sighed, I’m not a bad… he paused to laugh now. I was about to say that I’m not a bad guy, but you’d know I was lying if I did, he added, We’re all bad guys here. I see that now." He looked back a Cenick with a sad smile.

This stupid war turns everything bad, even things that shoulda been good, Garrett sighed, Maybe it all shoulda been good, but that’s not what the Volgrem want.

"They do not shape our destiny!" the Inquisitor replied.

The Chadiri, you mean? Garrett asked.

The inquisitor only squinted at him in response.

What is it that you people want, anyway? Garrett asked.

A cruel grin spread across the Inquisitor’s mottled lips.

"Victory," he whispered.

Well, yeah, Garrett said with a wave of his hand, but how much victory do you need?

All victory belongs to God, Schruut answered.

So you want to beat everybody in the world, right? Garrett mused, To prove that Malleatus is the best god.

"He is the only true God," Schruut countered.

All right, Garrett said, then why do you wanna kill everybody else off? Wouldn’t you want them all still alive to see how great Malleatus is?

All who submit their hearts to His will may live! Schruut spat back.

Garrett struggled to control his anger now, pressing his fingertips against his knees through the fabric of his purple robe. He studied the dusty floorboards for a moment before he felt calm enough to speak again.

So your job is to go around, telling everybody how great Malleatus is, right? Garrett asked, forcing a pleasant tone into his voice.

"He has no need of evangelists, demon! Schruut laughed, My purpose is to uncover heresy and false teachings and bring them to light!"

"That was your purpose," Garrett said coldly as he looked at Schruut again.

The Inquisitor sneered at him as he leaned back against the stone wall behind his bench.

You know I can’t let you go back to being an Inquisitor again, Garrett said.

Another has already taken my place, Jareg Schruut said, I have served my God with all my life, and I will surrender that life, gladly, into His hands, whenever you decide to end it.

Garrett gave him a weary smile. It’s not my place to end your life, Mister Schruut, he said.

The Inquisitor snorted in derision. "I am for Zara’Thul then?" he chuckled.

No, Garrett said, getting to his feet again and pushing the stool away, "I’m in charge here, and you’re my prisoner."

Schruut stared at him.

I’m not going to kill you, Mister Schruut, Garrett said, and I’m not even gonna have somebody else kill you instead. I’m gonna offer you a job.

Garrett heard Cenick’s sharp intake of breath behind him, and he saw Schruut’s lip curl in disbelief.

I want you to be the Chadiri Ambassador to Gloar, Garrett said.

Spittle flew from Jareg Schruut’s splotchy lips as he gave a mocking laugh.

And I want you to be the priest who teaches my people about Malleatus, Garrett added.

Schruut’s laughter died away.

I want you to teach us, Mister Schruut, Garrett said, "I want you to tell us why we should follow Malleatus."

Garrett! Cenick whispered.

"I’m giving you