“Ah, yes,” said the demon. “I apologize. I am Undergeneral Behemoth, chief steward, adjutant, and aide-de-camp to the lord high general.” Now the little demon laid a clammy claw on Yehuda Leib’s shoulder and leaned in with a dirty-toothed grin. “You will come to know me quite well, I expect.”

This seemed like an unpleasant prospect.

“I’m Yehuda Leib,” said Yehuda Leib.

“Yes,” said Behemoth. “We’re familiar with you.”

Yehuda Leib had no idea what this meant, but it was hardly comforting.

“There are three things that you may wish to know about the lord high general,” said Behemoth. “Firstly, he is called Dumah, which means ‘Silence,’ and it is not an arbitrary name. His is the jealous silence, the silence that consumes. He will not break it to speak. For this reason, I am often called upon to interpret his meaning for those unused to his methods of communication. This fact notwithstanding, it is very important that, while in the lord high general’s presence, you address him directly, and not, as some mistakenly do, me.”

Yehuda Leib nodded.

“Secondly,” said Behemoth. “It is very important not to resort carelessly to popular slurs in the presence of the lord high general. As the leader of the Army of the Dead, he is rightly concerned with issues of hierarchy and rank, and he will brook no diminution of his rightful status. Therefore, be sure never to refer to him, as is the vulgar custom, as a demon. He is a Messenger of the Eternal, an Angel, no lower than any other, and if you wish to remain in his good graces, you will bear this in mind.”

Again, Yehuda Leib nodded. They had begun to approach a thick, rich curtain at the end of the corridor. Light was flickering inside.

“Finally,” said Behemoth, “and this may seem simple, but I cannot possibly stress it enough: Lord High General Dumah’s anger is quick, sharp, and efficient, and I have never seen him shy away from the furthest extremity of its violence. For this reason, it is extraordinarily important that you do not look Lord High General Dumah in the eye.”

Behemoth came to a stop before the curtain and turned to look at Yehuda Leib.

“Do you understand me?”

Yehuda Leib swallowed. “Yes,” he said.

“Good,” said Behemoth, and he drew back the curtain.

Chapter Sixteen: The Advance

The chamber of Dumah was still.

A large tabletop model of the Far Country dominated the center of the high, peaked tent, flickering and shifting, rearranging its geography every time Yehuda Leib looked away. He recognized the little ramble of Mammon’s Treasure House, the Dead City beyond the thick Gallows Grove. He could even see the castrum where he stood now.

But of them all, only the tall, many-sided tower of the House of Death stood firm, immovable in the center of the map.