Trumpets blasted. Dumah was beside him, his stallion’s hooves sending the icy snow flying up in their wake. Yehuda Leib’s lungs were on fire, and he was screaming, his throat aching with the strain, as he charged down the slope, and they came to the long approach, the ground flattening out beneath their mounts, and Yehuda Leib urged his pony forward, faster, and it sprang on with lightning in its legs.

But something was wrong.

Beside him, Dumah was wheeling, turning back to the ridge.

Yehuda Leib and Dumah were at the bottom of the ridge, but the entire Army of the Dead remained above, arrayed for battle.

Only the two of them had advanced on his order.

What was happening?

Yehuda Leib turned his pony’s head, trotting quickly to Dumah’s side.

“What is it?” he said. “What’s going on?”

Dumah’s eyes were alive with alarm.

He didn’t know.

And all of a sudden, like a bell tolling in silence, they heard it:

Sniveling laughter.

—

With a lurch, Yehuda Leib knew:

Mammon.

There he was, beside Behemoth on the ridge above, a sharp-toothed smile splitting his salt-scarred face.

“Thank you, Behemoth,” he said. “I’ve never owned an army before, and I have to tell you—it’s a rather splendid feeling.”

“We had a deal!” cried Yehuda Leib, his voice choked with fury.

“A deal?” laughed Mammon. “You were my property, and you attacked me!”

“But,” spluttered Yehuda Leib. “But!”

Mammon rolled his eyes. “Oh, spare me.”

“You’re a liar!” said Yehuda Leib.

“And you’re an idiot,” said Mammon. “Why should I partner with you? You make unwinnable war on an unbeatable foe, and all so you can steal once more what you took from me in the first place. You must think me such a fool.”

“Yes,” spat Yehuda Leib. “A dead fool!”

“Best of luck to you,” said Mammon. “But as a veteran wagerer, allow me to inform you: the odds are not in your favor.”

“You’re a snake,” said Yehuda Leib. “I don’t know why anyone ever deals with you.”

“Honestly,” said Mammon, “neither do I. And yet there always seems to be someone willing to strike a bargain.”

Behemoth shifted nervously beside Mammon.

Yehuda Leib gave a furious yell and lifted his heels to spur his pony back up the slope. All he could see now was Mammon’s sick, treacherous little smile, and he wanted nothing more than to bash it and bash it and bash it until it was gone.

But a thick hand reached out and stopped him.

Dumah’s dark eyes were sparkling strangely.

He gazed at Yehuda Leib and then turned back to the tower.

The tower.

Perhaps there was something Yehuda Leib wanted more, after all.

Dropping his hand from Yehuda Leib’s chest, Dumah hefted his huge sword, gave it a flourish, and fixed his eyes on the army at the top of the ridge.