The air was thick with the sounds of agony and the terrible buzzing of the hive. The insects were so numerous and so large that it became impossible to see clearly. Teroh held his sword loosely in his hand, and scanned the crush of screaming people. There were no ranks in the room anymore, however, only panicked individuals fighting for their lives.
I must escape, Teroh realized. I have to get word of this to Bre-tath. Though he was livid with rage at the thought of another retreat, Teroh knew his original thinking was correct. It was worth the loss of a hundred, or five hundred, or a thousand, if ten thousand more would march to replace them.
Teroh turned his sword on the cloth wall of the tent beside him and dove through the rent. He got to his feet and looked back into the hospital, but there was nothing he could do for those who remained inside. He could only take their deaths to Bretath and use them to raise more troops for the crusat.
Teroh turned and sprinted for the command tent across the compound. Without a torch, he didn't see the two spears jammed deep into the ground with a length of chain stretched neck-high between them. He felt it, however, as the chain and the spears held, cracking his larynx and slamming him flat on his back. Choking, dazed, and helpless, Teroh stared up at the starless sky. A calm, careful tread approached him. Whoever it was carried a light source on his chest, and Teroh watched a tall, slender man with braided hair and hollow eyes lean over him.
"Hello, Major." Chainer's dagger was out, and he laid the tip of it on Teroh's jugular vein. "The Cabal is here, and everywhere. Your crusat ends now. Goodbye, Major."
When he was done, Chainer wiped his dagger on the long grass and stayed on the eastern road until the commotion in the sanctuary, the command tent, and the barracks died down. Under his direction, the bugs focused their attack on the soldiers and stayed away from the ranch and stables. He knew the insects would continue to gorge until they had consumed everything in their immediate area, growing larger all the while. Then, they would turn on each other.
Chainer practiced making snakes while he waited. He was getting quite good at it.
When he activated the First's teleportation spell several hours later and returned to Cabal City, the only things left alive in Teroh's camp were an unconscious Samite healer and a stable of fine white chargers.
The first thing Kamahl saw when he awoke was Chainer. In the cramped, candlelit room, the Cabalist crouched over him like a smirking vulture.
"The Cabal is here," Chainer said, and Kamahl groaned.
"How long have I been out?" Kamahl's body felt heavy, drugged, and leaden.
"Just over a day. You should lie still. You've been wounded, and you aren't done healing yet."
"Wounded?" Kamahl searched his fuzzy memories. "I was fighting at the gates. We were breaking them on the walls. I remember a glowing knight, and the smell of… burning air. Then everything went white and jagged and hot."
"You were laid low by a justicar," Chainer said. "They generate righteous lighting, or some such nonsense. We don't know what they are, really, but that's twice now they've surprised us. You and I are going to have to do something about that."
"I'm ready," Kamahl said angrily. He tried to rise, but only his head made it off the pillow.
"Not yet you aren't. Lie still, or you'll never heal." Kamahl lifted his arms. They also felt heavy, and he could see thick scars running up both forearms. Or were they calluses? There was a sickly odor in the room that was making it even harder for him to concentrate.
"I've come to show you something," Chainer said. "We've been waiting for hours. You're not one of those people who jumps out of bed ready for the brand new day, are you?'"
"My arms feel wrong," Kamahl said. "My chest is too heavy. Did I breathe in some of that righteous whatever? I feel like I'm gasping."
"You were in pretty bad shape. I couldn't let those Order fools take you, and I didn't trust our own leeches to patch you up right." Kamahl blinked. "So who healed me?"
"I did," Chainer said proudly. "I arranged to have the Mirari brought in, so I could use it to fix you. Worked like a charm, too." "The Mirari? Where is it?"
"Safely back in its vault," the First said. He had been hidden behind Chainer, but now he came forward to Kamahl's cot. "It was beautiful to watch, however. Chainer remains one of the few people who can touch the Mirari and use it without destroying everything around him."
The barbarian turned his head and tried to breathe as shallow as he could. The Cabal Patriarch was the source of the sickening odor. Or was he? Kamahl realized his face had been burned, too, and it felt tough and callused like his arms. When the First retreated back behind Chainer, Kamahl could still smell something tainted. Unclean. With a growing sense of dread, he realized the smell was coming from him.
"Am I zombified, or just gangrenous?" he asked seriously. Chainer laughed.
"Neither. That's a side effect of my treatment. It should be temporary."
Kamahl's head was clearing fast. "Your treatment? Since when are you a healer?"
"Since never. But I am a maker. I make things, living things. And with the Mirari's help, I was able to make you whole again. Instead of an entire creature, I only created the parts I needed. The leech helped me graft them in place, but I think you'll agree it's a seamless job."
Kamahl lifted his heavy arms again. He felt more calluses on his chest, feet, and deep under the short ribs on his left side. "More light," he said, and Chainer obligingly brought the candle closer.
Kamahl's hands were covered in stiff copper snakeskin that had grown into and merged with his normal flesh. The new skin was nearly smooth, and the pattern was delicate, but Kamahl could feel the toughness of the individual scales. The edges of each scale were sharp. Kamahl ran his finger underneath one, and the finger came back bleeding. He stared at his own blood for a moment, then looked up helplessly at Chainer.
"You turned me into a snake?"
"No," Chainer chided, "of course not. I patched a few holes and touched up a few surfaces. It'll breathe and grow just like normal skin. But it's even sturdier than the stuff you lost. Anything less than a full-on sword thrust just bounces off." He smiled. "What do you think?"
"Get it off me." Kamahl spoke calmly but forcefully. "Now."
Chainer looked crushed. "But… I can't. It's a permanent graft."
"I didn't ask for it. I don't want it."
"You're tired," the First stepped forward again. "You need some time to adjust. It's a major change, after all, and-"
"Get the Mirari in here," Kamahl said, "and undo what you did."
The First's voice grew cold as the grave. "I'm afraid that suggestion is not a possibility. It's also remarkably ungrateful."
Kamahl shut his eyes. "Neither of you understand," he said. He lashed out and took Chainer by the shirt front, holding his new skin in front of Chainer's face with his free hand. "We barbarians don't do this kind of thing. Chop off my arm, and I must learn to fight one-handed. Put out my eyes, and I must learn to fight blind. This-" he released Chainer and shook his scaly fists at his friend- "is an abomination. It goes against everything I've ever believed." He lowered his arms. "I'm sorry, Chainer, but you've made a mistake. Thank you for your gift. I will not accept it."
"We should let Kamahl get some rest," the First said. "Sleep, barbarian. Everything will look different in the morning." He glided out of the room without another word or a second glance.
"You're really angry," Chainer said.
"Not angry, Chainer. Serious."
Chainer shook his head. "I'm sorry, Kamahl. I truly am. The First is right." Chainer followed his patriarch's path, but he backed out, so he could keep an eye on Kamahl. "You should get some sleep. We'll talk more in the morning, and I'll see about… I'll see what I can do."