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stretched. Normally, he would have chided himself for not having awakened when she approached, but his rules were different when Nadja was involved. He rarely heard her whispering feet.
    Gruum thought hazily. There was something…but he could not grasp it with his mind. A world that had been vividly clear a moment before had now evaporated. “I don’t recall any dreams.”
    “Pity. You dreamt of something. I sat here with you for two hours. You slept fitfully, but try as I might, I could not join you.”
    Gruum felt a pang of unease. Was this girl working her own sorcery now as well? “Why do you want to share my dreams?” he asked.
    “I want to meet them .”
    Gruum did not bother to ask the girl of whom she spoke. He knew she meant the Dragons. “No,” he said emphatically. “No, you do not want to meet them. They are terrible to look upon. They will make you feel like mouse in a lion’s paw.”
    Nadja laughed. “I would like to see that!”
    “Have you seen your father? He’s missing.”
    “Have you not heard?” Nadja asked in return.
    “Heard what?”
    “Father is gathering his most loyal guardsmen. They will march to the Red Temple.”
    “Why?” Gruum asked.
    “To kill the bad priests. To burn them out of the palace.”
    Gruum stared at her for a moment, and then sprang to his feet. He grabbed up his sword and buckled it on.
    “What’s wrong?” asked Nadja curiously.
    “He may have chosen the wrong side. But then again, he may not have. I plan to determine which it is.”

    #

    Gruum found his way to the servants’ levels. He pushed past cowering washerwomen and hunched basket-carriers. “Make way for the King’s man!” he shouted, and they melted before him.
    He walked among a dozen chambers, but could not find a flooded one. He did, however, locate a series of doors that were nailed shut. He forced one open, and looked inside. There were strange designs painted in wax upon the floor. He set to work opening another door, and behind him he heard the servants fleeing. They knew they were found out. He let them go, not having time to determine which were guilty and which were merely frightened.
    Behind the second door he found a figurine of carven bone in the middle of a bowl of spoilt milk and blood. A pattern was woven around the bowl in crusty liquids he could not identify. Then he found the source: a dog had been strung up and drained. He heaved a sigh; at least it was not a child.
    The last door ran cold water beneath the crack at the bottom. He licked his lips and drew his saber. It had been nailed shut. He pried open the door and it came free easily. Each nail wiggled in its hole like an old man’s tooth. He surmised the nails were a formality, being removed and put back on a regular basis.
    Gruum cast the door open and thrust a lamp inside. The interior was dimly lit, but he saw enough. He choked as the stink of the place hit him. A score of bodies lay heaped upon the floor. A figure representing Anduin stood at the far end of the room, presiding over the piled dead. Crudely sculpted, the Dragon idol was made primarily of black wax. Bits of dried flesh sat in the idol’s eye sockets. Gruum suspected they were real human eyeballs, now shriveled and rotten.
    He noticed the ceiling next. Strangely, it was covered in thick frost. Huge icicles hung down from it, like stalactites formed of ice.
    “Let me see!” Nadja said, pushing at his elbow.
    Gruum startled. He had not known she was there. “One so young as yourself shouldn’t—” he began, but she would not listen.
    She pressed under his arm. “Oh! They are all dead , and frozen by the look. How did they make this place so cold?”
    Gruum looked up at the ceiling. It did indeed seem that something very odd was at work here. “I don’t understand it, but I recognize vile sorcery when I see it.”
    “Gruum, don’t be so provincial. You don’t have to fear everything you don’t understand.”
    “Provincial?” Gruum demanded