“Garranon,” it said clearly.

Garranon’s shoulder stiffened further under my hand because he heard it, too. I don’t know that I would have recognized the voice of the king’s stable master, but I would recognize the voice it now used anywhere.

“Jakoven,” Garranon replied steadily.

I caught sight of Tisala, someone’s sword in her hand (she hadn’t been wearing one), stalking around behind the thing. Her sword looked more useful than the ceremonial short sword I held.

The body of the stable master shook its head dolefully, and as I watched, the rot began to spread across its left cheek. “Twentyyears, Garranon. I gave youtwenty years and you betray me.”

I watched its eyes carefully. It saw only Garranon. I doubted if Jakoven even knew where his creature was.

“Yes,” agreed Garranon.

The thing began shuffling forward again, saying, “See what happens to those who betray me? See what you have done to this man?”

Before it could touch Garranon, I threw up a shield of magic. After seeing the trick with the door, I shouldn’t have been taken by surprise at what happened—though in my defense, watching the accelerated rotting of the stable master was distracting me.

The pulse of magic that hit my shield was stronger than anything Oreg had ever hit me with. Red sparks flew up and ignited small fires on the great timbers that arched three stories over our heads. Tankards of alcohol burst into flame around us, lighting the hall as if it were daylight.

I cried out with the flash of pain it caused and lost hold on my spell. But Tisala ran the creature through with her sword and knocked it off balance, so it stopped short of Garranon. Instead, it stumbled to its knees and gasped in pain.

She’d struck right through the spine, but it began pulling itself toward Garranon anyway. Tisala jerked her sword free for another try, but stopped when it began speaking again.

“I’m all right,” it said in another voice that must have been the stable master’s own. “I’m just very hungry. I’ll eat and be just fine.” As it talked, great clumps of hair fell off with bits of scalp still clinging to it.

I tugged Garranon back onto the dais because he stood frozen in horror or guilt. I could feel that breaking my shield changed something with the creature. The magic that held it wasn’t quite as focused. It stopped to eat a crust of bread that lay in its path. Crumbs fell like snowflakes out the sides of its face where the muscles of the jaw had rotted away. If I lived to see this finished, I’d have other things to dream of than the Asylum.