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These were swiftly followed by more crashings, a horrible snapping and gnawing, roars and squeals of pain, sharp splintering sounds, and several heavy thuds, as if large, hurrying bodies had fallen, rolled, and scrambled about. Then the crashings of movement resumed, swiftly dying away into the distance.

The Scaled Master turned to Khavan. "Good. We've truly recreated the Blood Plague of old. Some victims fall to the Malady of Madness, but others turn into beasts and forthwith attack all creatures they see."

He wagged his finger at the Fangbrother like a tutor enlightening a particularly stupid pupil. "Soon," he said flady, "Aglirta will be ours."

"Ours?"

"Ours," Arthroon repeated firmly, "to keep forever, once anyone who drinks anything in this land is either under our protection or swiftly dead."

"And the overdukes?" Khavan dared to ask.

"We shall see. They bide in Stornbridge, feasted by the tersept there. Some who bow before the Scaled One serve at that table. Yes, we'll soon see."

Lord of the Serpent Hanenhather shook his head. "Clumsy, Arthroon, very clumsy. Let a plague-beast just wander and slay whilst you chatter? How then is it a weapon in your hand? Or for our faith?"

The bear-beast lay sprawled and dead, torn bloodily open by the plague-monster Brother Landrun had been spell-tracking.

The monster that was lumbering toward the Serpent-lord right now. Another unfortunate villager twisted into a new shape by the plague… a peak-stalker, this one: all massive gray head and claws, stonelike skin, and size and weight to overmatch any two oxen.

The Serpent-lord shook his head again. Arthroon didn't even know of their presence-and obviously cared nothing for the fate of the bear-beast, which could have served the Brethren well in the days ahead. And such men preened under tides like Scaled Master these days. Ah, well…

"Be still, Landrun," he snapped. "Blunder forward now, and you may be forced into another shape rather than yon stalker."

Brother Landrun froze and turned fearful eyes to his superior. Lord Hanenhather was smiling slightly as he wove his spell, but his eyes were as cold as ever-and Landrun shivered more than once as the peak-stalker twisted, dwindled… and was suddenly a man.

Lurching and stumbling, it turned away from them, into the trees. The Lord of the Serpent smiled after it. "Go, Tersept of Ironstone, and give the orders I bade you," he said softly, "and war will soon rage in Aglirta again- ah, such a realm of blooddiirsty, restless hotheads!"

Brother Landrun swallowed. "And the real Tersept of Ironstone, Lord?"

"Oh, he died rather suddenly, I'm afraid. You remember what our pet direjaws devoured by the roadside, last night?"

"A slithersnake as long as a wagon," the Brother of the Serpent said slowly, frowning-and then looking horrified. "You mean-?"

"Yes." The Serpent-lord's smile wouldn't have looked out of place on the face of the direjaws. " 'Twas a noble slithersnake, to be sure."

Landrun fought down nausea. "But if no one can trust his lord or wife to really be themselves, then…"

"We can spread blood-chaos from one end of the Vale to the other," Hanenhather replied, "and watch overdukes and boy kings-and clumsy Scaled Masters, for that matter-fall."

He chuckled. "Good feasting for some. Come, Landrun, we've work to do. You need more practice controlling these beasts. I think it's time a few simple farmers had their chances at playing overdukes."

There'd been just enough warm water in the wash ewer for a pleasurable soak in the dark. Craer had brought on that darkness the moment the bowl on the floor was full, by snuffing out the oil lamp. He'd long since lifted his dripping feet out of the bowl, dried them on the robe left ready, and pulled on his boots again. He'd never so much as disarranged the rest of his clothing. Doing so would have been less than prudent, if even half the events he expected to befall this evening started to happen.

On his first stroll around the room he'd found the