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find you too? Shouldn't you ask Max
for help? Maybe the vampires can get her out?"
    Bargas's face darkened at the mention of
vampires. He glanced at his son, but seemed to swallow whatever he
was about to say. "Listen, boy," he said, "Nobody alive knows how
to hide like a ghoul does when he don't wanna be found. Even if a
few redjacks get lucky and sniff us out... well, a ghoul's gotta
eat, y' know."
    A few nearby ghouls snickered at the
joke.
    "And, anyway," Bargas added, "You've got your
own duty to your own kin."
    "Huh?"
    "Your uncle's house," Bargas said, "They took
it from you 'cause it was just you alone to defend it. Now you're
comin' back for it with an army. Tinjin's my oldest friend, but
you're his family... the closest thing he's still got in this world
to a son. You go and get his house back. You make him proud,
boy!"
    "We'll be all right," Warren said, "I
promise."
    Garrett nodded, not trusting himself to
speak.

Chapter Four
    After three days on the road south, the skies
had darkened to a perpetual, drizzly gray, and Garrett knew that he
had seen the last of the sun. The patter of light rain on his hood
and the damp, sluggish chill of the wind suited his mood
perfectly.
    In his mind, he replayed, over and over
again, his farewell to Marla, just before leaving the swamp. She
had rushed through her goodbyes, giving him a quick hug, the kind
an adult might give someone else's child, and made him promise to
take care of himself. The Moonwings took to the skies while the
last rays of sunlight reddened the evening clouds. He had watched
her fly away towards Wythr and the safety of home.
    He sat astride the dire wolf Ghausse who
padded along silently beneath him. Marla had insisted that the wolf
would see him home safely. Garrett had long since overcome his fear
of the huge riding wolf, and even grown quite fond of him. Ghausse
too, seemed far more at ease since their first meeting. The big
wolf had grown accustomed to the traces of death magic that
lingered on necromancers like Garrett, a scent which caused most
animals to react with fear or aggression.
    The other wolves, Hauskr and Reigha, had
raced ahead to find their own way back to Wythr, the capital city
of Gloar. Warren no longer needed to ride. He, his father, and a
half dozen other ghouls had already departed, on paw, toward the
Astorran border. Chunnley, the brown-furred ghoul, had agreed to
accompany the army and the remainder of the Marrowvyn ghouls back
to Wythr in service as the camp cook, much to Jitlowe's chagrin who
had taken to preparing his own meals after finding a Chadirian belt
buckle at the bottom of his soup bowl one evening. Jitlowe, a
Zhadeen gentleman of impeccable tastes, had never shared his fellow
necromancers' familiarity with the carrion-eating ghouls.
    Jitlowe and the other necromancers who had
survived the campaign rode at the heads of the columns of zombies
under their command, spread out like a great, writhing undead snake
three miles long and nearly a mile wide. Max had taken advantage of
the lull between the battle of the moon pool and the news of their
strategic victory to replenish the ranks of the Gloaran army. For
all practical purposes, it was now his army. He rode at its
head with Serepheni at his side as Zarathul , Deathlord of
the Northern Wastes.
    Garrett rode a short distance behind Max and
Serepheni, falling further back as they traveled. The two lovers
rode along, cheerfully discussing plans for their future, and the
sound of their laughter grated on Garrett's nerves. He did not
begrudge his friend Max his happiness. Garrett knew that Max's life
must have been every bit as hard as his own... another one of
Tinjin's orphans. Still, that tired, headachy image of Marla taking
Claude's hand as they ran toward their waiting gaunts throbbed in
his brain and made his friend's laughter sound like mockery.
    "Garrett," Cenick called out as he rode his
shaggy little pony up beside him, "Would you care to ride out and
do some