“Norath. Magden Norath, the Escalonian renegade. The Pracchia’s chief researcher and monster-maker. We never located a body.”

“How do you know? I never met anybody who knew what he looked like.”

Norath had been a wizard with a difference. His tools had not consisted of incantation and the demons of night. He had shaped life. He had created men and monsters every bit as dangerous as anything Varthlokkur, Mist, and their ilk were able to summon from Outside.

“Can you suggest a better candidate?”

“You’re making a hell of a long jump to a conclusion,” Ragnarson said. “Even giving you the benefit of the doubt, why attack Liakopulos? You’re spinning a nightmare out of moonbeams.”

“Maybe so. Maybe so. But it’s the only hypothesis that fits the facts.”

“Find some more facts. Try another hypothesis. Say the man had his soul erased before he was sent. Whoever wanted the General dead would assume his people would cross your path, wouldn’t he?”

“Possibly. I don’t think an erasure could be done without destroying the brain completely. Let me try something else.”

Varthlokkur rose and strolled over to the Unborn. He rested one hand on the thing’s protective globe. He closed his eyes. His body became as slack as that of the dead man. He and the corpse leaned together, two drunken marionettes buoyed by the Unborn.

Ragnarson struggled against the encroachment of sleep. He stood and stretched his aching muscles. He wondered what Trebilcock was doing. The materialization of assassins must have been a tremendous blow to Michael’s pride. He would be savage in his effort to unearth something.

The wizard’s tall, spare figure slowly straightened. Color returned to his face. He batted a hand before his eyes as if to scatter a cloud of gnats. He tottered toward Ragnarson, his gaze still unfocused. After a moment, he said, “I went inside him. It’s amazing how little there is to him. The skills and cunning a killer needs, but without the background, without the years of growth and training…. He’s maybe a month old. He came from somewhere to the west. He remembers crossing the Lesser Kingdoms to get here, but isn’t clear about directions or geography. There was someone with him and his brothers. That someone knew what was going on and told them what to do. He has a vague memory of his father having lived near the sea. His sole purpose was to eliminate Liakopulos.”

“Ah. Put that together and it sounds like a blow by the Guild against one of its own.”

“What? Oh. I see. High Crag is west, and it overlooks the sea. No. I think my stab in the dark hit closer to the mark. He remembers his father. Or creator, if you will. The memory fits what’s known of Norath.”

“Why Liakopulos?”

“I don’t know. Usually you ask who would benefit. In this case I can’t think of a soul. The General has no enemies.”

“Somebody was willing to make a big investment in getting rid of him.”