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“Shall I send someone down here to take my place?”
    Xar considered. “Send one of the lazar. Not Kleitus,” he added hastily. “One of the others. I may have some questions for them when it comes time to raise Samah’s body.”
    “Yes, Lord.” Marit bowed respectfully and left.
    Xar remained, glaring into Zifnab’s cell. The old man had apparently forgotten the Patryn’s existence. Rocking from side to side, Zifnab was snapping his fingers and singing to himself. “ ‘I’m a soul man. Ba-dop, da-ba-dop, da-ba-dop, da-ba-dop. Yes, I’m a soul man …’ ”
    Xar hurled the cell bars back into place with grim delight.
    “I’ll find out from your corpse who you really are, old fool. And you’ll tell me the truth about Haplo.”
    Xar strode back down the corridor toward Samah’s cell. The screams had ceased for the moment. The dragon-snake was peering in through the bars. Xar came up behind him.
    Samah lay on the floor. He appeared near death; his skin was clay-colored and glistened with sweat. He was breathing spasmodically. His body twitched and jerked.
    “You’re killing him,” Xar observed.
    “He proved weaker than I thought, Lord,” Sang-drax said apologetically. “However, I could dry him off, permit him to heal himself. He would still be weak, probably too weak to attempt to escape. However, there would be a danger—”
    “No.” Xar was growing bored. “I need information. Rouse him enough that I may speak to him.”
    The bars of the cell dissolved. Sang-drax walked inside, prodded Samah with the toe of his boot. The Sartan groaned and flinched. Xar stepped in. Kneeling beside Samah’s body, the Lord of the Nexus put his hands on either side of the Sartan’s head and raised it from the ground. The lord’s touch was not gentle; long nails dug into Samah’s gray flesh, leaving glistening trails of blood.
    Samah’s eyes wrenched open. He stared at the lord and shivered in terror, but there was no recognition in the Sartan’s eyes. Xar shook the man’s head, dug his fingers to the bone.
    “Know me! Know who I am!”
    Samah’s only reaction was to gasp for breath. There was a rattling in his throat. Xar knew the signs.
    “The Seventh Gate! Where is the Seventh Gate?”
    Samah’s eyes widened. “Never meant … Death … Chaos! What … went wrong …”
    “The Seventh Gate!” Xar persisted.
    “Gone.” Samah shut his eyes, spoke feverishly. “Gone. Sent it … away. No one knows … Rebels … Might try … undo … Sent it …”
    A bubble of blood broke on Samah’s lips. His eyes fixed in his head, staring in horror at something only he could see.
    Xar dropped the head. It fell limp and unresisting, struck the stone floor with a crack. The lord laid his hand on Samah’s inert chest, put his fingers on the Sartan’s wrist. Nothing.
    “He is dead,” Xar said, cool with controlled excitement. “And his last thoughts are of the Seventh Gate. Sent the Gate away, he claims! What nonsense. He proved stronger than you thought, Sang-drax. He had the strength to continue this deceit to the end. Now, quickly!”
    Xar ripped apart Samah’s wet robes, laying bare the still chest. Producing a dagger—its blade was marked with runes—the lord set the sharp tip over Samah’s heart and pierced the skin. Blood, warm and crimson, flowed from beneath the knife’s sharp edge. Working swiftly and surely, repeating the sigla beneath his breath as he drew them on the skin, Xar used the knife to carve the runes of necromancy into Samah’s dead flesh.
    The skin grew cool beneath the lord’s hand; the blood flowed more sluggishly. The dragon-snake stood nearby, watching, a smile lighting the one good eye. Xar did not look up from his work. At the sound of footsteps approaching, the Lord of the Nexus said merely, “Lazar? Are you here?”
    “I am here,” intoned a voice.
    “… am here,” came the sighing echo.
    “Excellent.”
    Xar sat back. His hands were covered with