They were some distance from Shogg’s Ford now, holed up in a stand of tangled trees and supposedly cloaked from hostile divination by Penthos’s magic. Free of any pursuit, their gaze had turned to Enth.

There was still a little blood about his mouth, Dion saw. The creature stared back at them, those owlish, freakish eyes thankfully masked by its dark lenses. It seemed to have a defiant, mulish expression on its face, although she appreciated that might just be her preferred interpretation. Probably the thing was not human enough to have true expressions.

“It’s dangerous,” Harathes stated, glowering at the hateful thing.

“We knew that,” Lief told him.

“We didn’t know just how much,” the warrior insisted. “That could have been any one of us. It could have ripped Dion’s head off before we could stop it, at any time.”

“Penthos, you can control it,” the priestess observed.

“Well, of course,” the magician agreed. “Alas, I was meditating when the incident occurred, but in my presence a mere thought would suffice to stay its hand.” He cast a withering look at Harathes. “For some of us, that means ‘quite fast.’ ”

“We need to bind it,” the swordsman insisted. “Cage it, maybe.” He looked to Cyrene, seeking support, and she nodded.

“And transport it how?” Lief asked. “And if we parade him around tied up, someone’s going to decide to take him off us, just to see why. And we’d be slowed down. Look—”

“Penthos.” Dion’s voice silenced them all.

The magician regarded her, uncertain whether he was about to be told off.

“Can you give it commands, instructions it must abide by? Laws to live by, in fact.”

“Of course, a simple matter. In fact I achieved as much when I gave Lief the—”

“Yes, right, well,” the small man interrupted hastily. “Let’s not rake up ancient history.”

“What laws?” Cyrene asked.

“Well, that is what we must decide,” Dion told her. “We must be safe from it, now we’ve seen how… well Penthos has wrought, in giving it this form.” She sent a pained glance at the magician, whose proud beam immediately dissolved into bafflement.

“Please, more complaint, even now?” the mage whined plaintively. “I—seriously, you don’t understand the sheer artifice of what I’ve done—”

“You didn’t have to make it into a murderous killing machine,” Cyrene told him hotly.

“My dear, it was already a…” Penthos looked from her to Dion. “I really don’t understand how this is my fault.”

“Tell it, it must not kill or harm anyone ever again,” Dion stated.

“Very well,” Penthos began, drawing a great sigh, but then Lief spoke up.