As they neared the platform, Arcolin felt something—a cool touch of some kind—on his skin; he shivered. He felt struggled, fearing it was another evil attack; the Marshal glanced up at him. “Gird’s grace, Captain. It is but Gird’s grace; do not fear.”

“I—I didn’t know—”

“After what you’ve been through, I don’t wonder. Everyone step up, now, and do not be alarmed if it makes a noise.”

The platform made no noise, however. “Now, Captain,” the Marshal said. “We need a sheet from the back—there’s a narrow corridor with doors to small rooms. The third on the left is clean linens. Bring us two sheets, if you will.”

Arcolin found the linen closet without difficulty and brought back two clean, folded sheets that smelled of the fresh herbs kept with them. At the Marshal’s direction, he laid one on the platform; the others lowered the plank until they could slide Stammel off onto the sheet.

“Do you know what’s happening?” Arcolin asked. “What bespelled him?”

“If that fellow Korryn was invaded by a demon—if he invited one in, for some reason, and he seems the sort to do so—it might be seeking another host. Stammel, weakened by injury, would be easiest.”

“Korryn said something about willingly giving up himself to one greater than himself,” Arcolin said.

“That would be a demon,” the Marshal said. He slid his hands up to Stammel’s head and cradled it. “You go where I was, Captain. Both hands on his chest, above and below the relic. You others—” he said to the two soldiers. “One of you take each an ankle. What we need now is the power of those who love this man. He refused the invader; he is still trying to fight it off. We must help. But if he loses the fight, Captain, you must be ready.”

It took Arcolin a long moment to understand; he felt the blood draining from his face. “You don’t mean—kill him? Kill my own sergeant?”

“If the demon wins, we must. You and I both; you with the sword, and I to ensure the demon invades none other.”

“But surely you can save him—you, the relic—”

“I hope so. I cannot promise. Demons do not die when the bodies they take over die. Sometimes they fade, after a while, and if the person is strong enough, in body and will, then … but usually with some residual injury.”

Arcolin stared down at Stammel’s face, the face he knew so well … the absolutely reliable sergeant he had depended on for so many years. All that honesty, all that courage—could it be lost so easily, and would he have to—his mind shut that out. “Stammel,” he said, as if Stammel could hear. “Matthis … don’t give up. We’re here.”

“He’s not Girdish, is he?” the Marshal asked.

“No. He follows Tir.”

“When your people arrive, we’ll send one of them for a Captain of Tir. Keep talking to him, Captain, as if you expect him to hold a position. He may hear you; it cannot hurt. You others as well, or if you can, pray for strength for him. I will add my prayers.”