Laughing； Flesbharrower lifted the loremaster over his head and hurled it into the circle。 As it hit the ground； its scream died in a flash of fire。 Only its stave remained； slowly melting on the surface。
As the sun set； Fleshharrower began using his fragment of the Stone to reshape the molten iron； forge it into something new。
Softly； as if he feared that the Giant…Raver might hear him； Troy asked the Lords； 〃What's this for？ What's he doing？〃
〃He makes a tool；〃 Mhoram whispered； 〃some means to increase or concentrate his power。〃
The implications of that gave Troy a feeling of grim gratification。 His strategy was justified at least to the extent that the main body of the Warward would be spared this particular attack。 But he knew that such justification was not enough。 His final play lay like a dead weight in his stomach。 He expected to lose mand of the Warward as soon as he revealed it； it would appall the warriors so much that they would rebel。 After all his promises of victory； he felt like a false prophet。 Yet his plan was the Warward's only hope； the Land's only hope。
He prayed that Lord Mhoram would be equal to it。
With the sunset； his sight failed。 He was forced to rely on Mhoram to report the Raver's progress。 In the darkness； he felt trapped； bereft of mand。 All that he could see was the amorphous； dull glow of the liquid earth。 Occasionally； he made out flares and flashes of lurid green across the red； but they meant nothing to him。 His only consolation lay in the fact that Fleshharrower's preparations were consuming time。
Along the wall on both sides of him； First Haft Amorine's Eoward kept watch over the Raver's labors。 No one slept； the poised threat of Fleshharrower's army transfixed everyone。 Moonrise did not ease the blackness； the dark of the moon was only three nights away。 But the Raver's forge…work was bright enough to pale the stars。
During the whole long watch； Fleshharrower never left his molten circle。 Sometime after midnight； he retrieved his newly made scepter； and cooled it by waving it in a shower of sparks over his head。 Then he affixed his fragment of the Stone to its end。 But when that was done； he remained by the circle。 As night waned toward day； he gestured and sang over
the molten stone； weaving incantations out of its hot power。 It lit his movements luridly； and the Stone flashed across it at intervals； giving green glimpses of his malice。
But this was indistinct to Troy。 He clung to his hope。 In the darkness； his calculations were the only reality left to him； and he recited them like counters against the night。 When the first slit of dawn touched him from the east； he felt a kind of elation。
Softly； he asked for Amorine。
〃Warmark。〃 She was right beside him。
〃Amorine； listen。 That monster has made his mistake…he's wasted too much time。 Now we're going to make him pay for it。 Get the warriors out of here。 Send them after the Warward。 Whatever happens； that Giant won't get as many of us as he thinks。 Just keep one warrior for every good horse we have〃
〃Perhaps all should depart now；〃 she replied； 〃before the Raver attacks。〃
Troy grinned at the idea。 He could imagine Fleshharrower's fury if the Giant's attack found Doriendor Corishev empty。 But he knew that he had not yet gained enough time。 He answered； 〃I want to squeeze another half day out of him。 With the Bloodguard and a couple hundred warriors； we'll be able to do it。 Now get going。〃
〃Yes； Warmark。〃 She left his side at once； and soon he could hear most of the warriors withdrawing。 He gripped the wall again； and stared away into the sunrise； waiting for sight。
Shortly； he became aware that the dry breeze out of the south was stiffening。
Then the haze faded from his mind。 First he became able to see the ruined wall； then the hillside； finally he caught sight of the waiting army。
It had not moved during the night。
It did not need to move。
Fleshharrower still stood beside his circle。 The fire in the ground had died； but before it failed； he had used it to wrap himself in a shimmering； translucent cocoon of power。 Within the power； he was as erect as an icon。 He held his scepter rigidly above his head；
he did not move； he made no sound。 But when the sunlight touched him； the wind leaped suddenly into a hard blow like a violent exhalation through the teeth of the Desert。 And it increased in ragged gusts like the leading edge of a sirocco。
Then a low cry from one of the warriors pulled Troy's attention away from Fleshharrower。 Turning his head； he looked down the throat of the mounting gale。 。
From the southeast； where the Southron Range met the Gray Desert； a tornado came rushing toward Doriendor Corishev。 Its undulating shaft plowed straight across the Wastes。
It conveyed such an impression of might that several moments passed before Troy realized it was not the kind of whirlwind he understood。
It brought no rain or clouds with it； it was as dry as the Desert。 And it carried no dust or sand； it was as clean as empty air。 It should not have been visible at all。 But its sheer force made it palpable to Troy's sight。 He could feel it ing。 It was so vivid to him that at first he could not grasp the fact that the tornado was not moving with the wind。
The gale blew straight out of the south； tearing dust savagely from the ground as it came。 And the tornado cut diagonally across it； ignored the wind to howl straight toward Doriendor Corishev。
Troy stared at it。 Dust clogged his mouth； but he did not know this until he tried to shout something。 Then； coughing convulsively； he wrenched himself away from the sight。 At once； the sirocco hit him。 When he stopped looking at the tornado； the force of the wind sent him reeling。 Ruel caught him。 He pivoted around the Bloodguard； and threw himself toward Lord Mhoram。
When he reached Mhoram； he shouted； 〃What is it。
〃Creator preserve us！〃 Mhoram replied。 The yowling wind whipped his voice from his lips； and Troy barely heard him。 〃It is a vortex of trepidation。〃
Troy tried to thrust his words past the wind to Mhoram's ears。 〃What will it do？〃
Shouting squarely into Troy's face； Mhoram answered； 〃It will make us afraid！〃
The next moment； he pulled at Troy's arm； and pointed upward； toward the top of the tornado。 There a score of dark creatures flew； riding the upper reaches of the vortex。
The tornado had already covered more than half the distance to Doriendor Corishev； and Troy saw the creatures vividly。 They were birds as large as kresh。 They had clenched satanic faces like bats； wide eaglewings； and massive barbed claws。 As they flew； they called to each other； showing double rows of hooked teeth。 Their wings beat with lust。
They were the most fearsome creatures Troy had ever seen。 As he stared； he tried to rally himself against them…judge their speed； calculate the time left before their arrival； plan a defense。 But they staggered his mind； he could not prehend an existence which permitted them。
He struggled to move； regain his balance enough to tell himself that he was already tasting the vortex of trepidation。 But he was paralyzed。 Voices shouted around him。 He had a vague impression that Fleshharrower's hordes greeted the vortex with glee…or were they afraid of it； too？ He could not tell。
Then Ruel grabbed his arm； snatched him away from the wall； shouted into his ear； 〃Warmark； e！ We must make a defense！〃
Troy could not remember ever having heard a Bloodguard shout before。 But even now Ruel's voice did not sound like panic。 Troy felt that there was something terrible in such immunity。 He tried to look around him； but the wind lashed so much dust across the ruins that all details were lost。 Both Lords were gone。 Warriors ran in all directions； stumbling against the wind。 Bloodguard bobbed in and out of view like ghouls。
Ruel shouted at him again。 〃We must save the horses！ They will go mad with fear！〃
For one long moment； Troy wished High Lord Elena were with him； so that he could tell her this was not his fault。 Then； abruptly； he realized that he had
made another mistake。 If he were killed； no one would know how to save the Warward。 His final plan would die with him； and every man and w