“Stay back,” commanded Oreg from the far side of the room, near the open doorway, and the men who’d drawn their weapons as Tisala attacked halted where they were. “If you touch it, your flesh may well rot way as quickly as his is. Let Ward and me deal with it.”

“What is it?” I asked Oreg, but it was Orvidin who answered, his face gray and drawn.

“A golem,” he said, spitting on the floor to ward off evil spirits, a habit that leads the Oranstonians to call us Shavig barbarians. “I haven’t seen one of these since my father offended the Acholynn in Avinhelle, and I hoped to never see another.”

“Perhaps,” said Oreg, who’d circled the thing and took his place beside me, staring all the while at the remains of the stable master, which finally finished the food on the floor and started to slither forward with legs dragging behind it.

“Garranon?” The thing sounded bewildered, but its advance was steady, if slow. “The king said I shouldn’t have let you go. Did I do wrong?”

Tisala lifted her sword again, but Oreg waved her off.

“Fire, Ward. Not the kind you use to light the kitchen fire, but what you did at Silver Fells.”

What I’d done at Silver Fells was to call down Siphern, God of Justice, to carry away the souls of the villagers slaughtered by the Vorsag. Not something I’d repeated often enough to know how to do it at a moment’s notice.

I tried calling the god as I flung my magic at the stable master. Flames leapt off the animated corpse as if it had been doused in brandy, but I knew that nothing had answered my call.

Alight with the fire eating away at the flesh that remained on the skeleton, the creature hesitated. It shook its head and muttered—this time in a broken whisper. “Hungry,” it said.

Tisala stepped in and thrust her sword past the flames and through the blackened head where it slid through the temple and into the eye and stuck there. It was a metal-handled sword and she had to let go as my magic-fueled flames shot up it as if it were a branch of wood.

The golem shifted away from Garranon for the first time. It looked right at Tisala with its good eye.

“Hungry,” it said.

“Jakoven’s lost control of it,” said Oreg, adding his fire to mine, but it continued after Tisala. Tisala backed down the aisle way, keeping her face toward the thing. The golem, far from being affected by the sword sticking out of its skull or our fire, moved faster until Tisala was trotting backward as Oreg and I followed.