Unclean

That clashing noise diminished as, no doubt, the legio

At first, Faurgar Stayanoga thought, it had made sense. They'd take to the streets as the priest in the alehouse had urged, and when the zulkirs saw how many they were, and how displeased, they'd have to rethink their decision.

More than that, it had been fun. Intoxicating. His whole life, Faurgar had walked warily in the presence of Red Wizards, legio

But he was scared, because the legions had turned out in force to deal with the disturbance, and he and his friends were trapped, with blood orcs advancing from one side and human warriors from the other. The orcs leered and howled their piercing battle cries. The men strode quietly, with faces like stone, but despite their differing attitudes, both companies looked entirely ready to kill.

Faurgar looked up and down the street and found nowhere to run. Some of his companions pounded on doors, but no one would open to them. Evidently hoping the legio

Faurgar simply stood, mouth dry, heart pounding, uncertain of what he ought to do. It didn't look to him as if the guards intended to spare anyone, and if so, it seemed better to go down fighting. But if he was wrong, if there was even the slightest chance of surviving…

By the Great Flame, how had he come to this? He was the son of respectable parents and a journeyman mason. He didn't belong in the middle of this nightmare.

The orcs reached the first kneeling man. Steel flashed, blood spurted, and the penitent collapsed to flop and twitch like a fish out of water. Soldiers trampled him as they continued to advance.

All right, thought Faurgar, now we know for certain that they mean to kill us all. So fight! But he didn't know if he could. Tears were blurring his vision, and even if they hadn't been, the urge to cringe was so strong that he could hardly bear even to look at the warriors. How, then, could he possibly strike a blow?

As if too full of bloodlust to permit their human comrades an equal share in the killing, the orcs abruptly screamed and charged. One ran straight at Faurgar.

Fight! he told himself, but when he tried to raise his trowel, his hand shook so badly that he dropped it. Knowing it was craven and useless, but powerless to control himself, he crouched and shielded his torso and face with his arms.

And as if the Storm Lord were responding to the spectacle of his wretchedness, the night burned white. Prodigious booms shook the earth, and torrents of frigid rain hammered down, ringing on the legio

The legio

The orcs moved to obey, then a flare of lightning struck a peaked rooftop on the right-hand side of the street. The flash was blinding, the crash loud enough to jab pain into Faurgar's ears, and everyone froze once more.

One of the human soldiers shouted and pointed. Blinking, Faurgar reflexively glanced to see what had caught the legio

"That's Szass Tam!" someone exclaimed, and certainly the guards were coming to attention and saluting. Faurgar and his fellows knelt.

The lich's dark gaze raked over them all, warrior and cornered troublemaker alike. "This won't do," he said. He seemed to speak without raising his voice, yet despite the din of the storm, Faurgar could hear him clearly from yards away.

"Unlike some," Szass Tam continued, "I'm not eager to see Thayan soldiers slaughtering Thayan citizens, not as long as there's any hope of avoiding it. Accordingly, you legio

"Yes, Your Omnipotence!" the commander of the human guards shouted.

"And you citizens," the necromancer said, "will do precisely that. I understand that you've behaved as you have out of concern for the realm, and to that degree, your patriotism does you credit, but you can't accomplish anything by damaging your own city and compelling the guards to take harsh action against you. I promise a better outlet for your energies in the days to come.

"Now go," he concluded, and a heartbeat later, inexplicably, he was gone. Faurgar had been looking straight at him, yet had a muddled sense that he hadn't actually seen the wizard vanish.

The human officer barked orders. His company divided in the middle, clearing a corridor for Faurgar and his companions to scurry along. The orcs scowled but offered no protest. Szass Tam was their zulkir too.

Their zulkir, and the greatest person in the world. Thanks to him, Faurgar was going to live.

Malark stood at the casement watching the lightning dance above the city. The peaceful city. Even those folk who hadn't had the opportunity to hear Szass Tam speak had discovered that cold, blinding, stinging rain washed the fun out of looting, vandalism, and assault, or in the case of the legio

The door clicked open behind him, and he smelled the perfume Dmitra was wearing tonight. He turned and knelt.

"Rise," she said, crossing his darkened, austerely furnished room, a silver goblet in her hand. "I've received a message from Szass Tam. He's retiring to his estate in High Thay for the time being. I can contact him there, but the implication is that I should refrain except in case of an emergency."

"Do you think he knows you warned the other zulkirs of his intentions?"

"By the Black Hand, I hope not. I also hope it was the right thing to do. My instincts told me it was, and they've rarely played me false, but still…" She shook her head.

"If I may say so, Tharchion, you look tired. If you don't feel ready to sleep, shall we sit and watch the storm together?"

"Why not?" He moved a pair of chairs up to the window and she sank down into one of them. "Do you have anything to drink, or must I call for a servant?"

"No wine." Now that she'd come closer, he knew what she'd been drinking. He could smell it on her breath despite the overlay of perfume. "But some of that Hillsfar brandy you like."

"That will do."

As he passed behind her to fetch clean cups and the decanter, he automatically thought of how to kill her where she sat. One sudden blow or stranglehold, and no magic would save her, but he didn't actually feel the urge to strike. Aside from the inconvenience to himself, obliged to give up a congenial position and flee Thay just when life here was becoming truly interesting, there wouldn't be anything profoundly appropriate or exceptionally beautiful about the death. Dmitra was his benefactor, perhaps even in a certain sense his friend, and she deserved better.