The enemy had indeed set up a screen of interference, but the city's wizards had done their job well and he felt only a very mild discomfort as he reappeared in the special teleportation reception room in the west wing of Marshal House, the only room in the building that wasn’t shielded with anti-teleportation magic. He identified himself to the eight Senn guards and the two wizards who stood around the room, on guard against assassins and saboteurs who might try to teleport in, and endured the security check to prove that he was who he said he was. Two of the guards then asked him to accompany them into the building.

     They took him along corridors and up flights of stairs, past dozens of other Senn guards, all with the disturbingly intense look in their eyes that alone would have betrayed what they were even without the tattoo. One of them also had the brand of a well known trading company on the back of his hand, the elderly priest noted, indicating that he had committed some kind of crime against it. Resalintas paid it no mind. The man was in the Senn guard now. Everything that he'd been and done before being taken for conditioning was gone now, as if the man had died in the conditioning chamber. It probably meant that the man hadn't volunteered for the guard, that there was no loved one benefiting financially from his sacrifice, but all Senn guards were equally dependable and trustworthy no matter how they came by the tattoo.

     “In here, Sir,” his escort finally said in his dead, emotionless voice. “General Klima's expecting you.”

     “I know,” replied Resalintas, knocking twice on the door and going straight in without waiting for a reply.

     The General was sitting at his desk and reading from a sheaf of papers. At the priest's entry he rose from his chair with a sigh and walked to the front of the desk, a grave look on his face. “Captain,” he said in a croaky voice, stopping to clear his throat. “Glad you could make it. Good of you to come at such short notice."

     "Your summons piqued my interest," replied the old priest, but he was only speaking to conceal his astonishment at the change that had come over him in the months that had passed since their last meeting. This was the man who had slapped the Emperor’s son back into place at the council of war on Pargonn, a man of strength and confidence, but the man who greeted Resalintas now seemed only a shadow of his former self. His hair was noticeably whiter now and his face was wrinkled and sagging around the cheeks. When they shook hands, some of the strength had gone from his grip. Worst of all were his eyes, though. Where before they had burned with energy, anger and determination, they now held only a vacant emptiness where something vital and irreplaceable had died. It was a look the old priest had seen before, in people who had lost their families in some terrible tragedy or refugees who'd been forced to abandon their homes and flee to a foreign land. What in the name of hell's happened to him? he wondered.

     The General seemed to read his thoughts and shrugged dismissively. “The war is not going well,” he explained. “I’m one of the few people in this city who truly understands just how bad things are, and on top of trying to stop the Shads I have the additional task of trying to explain it all to our beloved leaders. As you can see, it’s taken its toll.”

     “I know what you mean,” replied the old priest, feeling a great sympathy for him. “We have the same problem down in Ilandia. So you understand that I’m needed down there more than ever. What in hell am I doing here?”

     “You’re needed more in Bula Pass,” replied the General. “I knew you’d be angry. That’s why I summoned you here first, so I could explain in person.”

     “You’ve got Captain Tarros in Bula Pass,” said Resalintas. “A greater priest than I will ever be. Two Captains of Samnos in one place...”

     “Captain Tarros is dead,” said the General flatly.

     Resalintas was stunned, an expression that felt alien to his hard, granite face. “Dead?” he said as he fought to regain control of his features. "A tragedy, a terrible loss. What was the creature that had the honour of sending him to stand before Samnos? A dragon? The rak General himself, perhaps? No lesser creature certainly..."

     “A clay man,” replied the General, and now it was his turn to get angry. “A bloody clay man! Can you believe it? That man’s killed dragons, raks, vampire wizards… He's routed whole armies with a single glance, and he gets stabbed in the back by a bloody clay man, a creature he could have killed with one flick of his little finger! Every time I think about it...” His voice trailed off in frustration and he sank heavily into one of the chairs on the visitor’s side of the desk, but the anger had brought some of the fire back to his eyes and some of the years that seemed to have settled on him slipped away.

     “A clay man?” said the old priest in disbelief. “I thought we’d solved that problem.”

     “So did I. So did we all. It seems, though, that they’ve found another way to defeat our mind reading spells, a way that doesn’t depend on amulets or any other material item. Our wizards suspect that the Shadowwizards are casting mind protection spells directly onto the clay men themselves, onto their very bodies, in which case strip searches are useless for detecting them. There is at least one ray of hope, though. Our wizards think they might be able to develop a mass Reveal spell that can be cast on a whole crowd of people at once, and will reveal the mind protection spells directly.”

     “Too late to help Tarros, though,” said Resalintas. “Damnation, this should have been foreseen!” Suddenly, though, his face paled as a new thought came to him. “The Sceptre! Is it safe?”

     “Safe enough, for the time being,” replied the General. “The clay man disguised itself as Tarros and entered the tent where it's being held, but it killed him when he tried to lay hands on it. Burned half the flesh from his bones, apparently."

     Resalintas nodded. "It won't allow itself to be touched by any unworthy person. Most of our own men would have suffered the same fate, good and loyal though they undoubtedly are. If the creature had wrapped it in a Shroud of Morpheus, though, he could conceivably have made off with it, to our complete ruin. Who will wield the Sceptre now?”

     “You will, of course,” replied the General. “That’s why you’re going there.”

     “Ridiculous,” replied the old priest however. “There are at least half a dozen priests in the empire alone better fitted than I to wield the Sceptre, not to mention the rest of the world.”

     The General shook his head sadly. “Not any more,” he said. “The war has taken a terrible toll.”

     Resalintas stared in shock. “They can’t all be dead! Noughtus, Thorn, Phobian...”

     “Noughtus fell in the battle of the Stonecrop two weeks ago,” replied the General. “Thorn led the eighth Pollonian Hussars through the Verps to relieve Fort Bow a month ago. Neither he nor the regiment has been seen since. Phobian is still alive, but was crippled in a battle with three Shadowwizards, all of whom he killed, incidentally. He’s now been promoted.”

      “What about Arndur?” persisted Resalintas. “Or Grallis. Victa. Tufflin.”

     “All still alive and doing great things,” replied the General, “but come now, Captain, I thought modesty was frowned upon in the priesthood. You’re better than any of them, and you know it. Oh there are better priests then you elsewhere in the world, obviously, or you’d be carrying the Sword of Retribution, but you’re by far the greatest priest remaining anywhere in the Beltharan Empire.”

     Resalintas was reluctantly forced to agree, and the thought depressed him immensely. He hadn’t realised things were that bad. “All right,” he said therefore. “I’ll go to Bula Pass and take up the Sceptre, but I want something in return. I’m afraid that Ilandia may be overrun before the end of the month. The enemy outnumbers us terribly, just with their living soldiers, not to mention their undead, and Milus Rona is a fool. If you have any reserve troops, any at all, they must be sent south immediately. Reinforcing Tatria must be your first priority if you don’t want the enemy marching into Belthar by the back door.”

     The General shook his head. “Our last reserves were sent east two weeks ago. There’s hardly a soldier left in Belthar except the Emperor’s bodyguard, and even that’s been reduced to just one regiment to guard the palace and Ravenswood, where his family’s gathered. We’ve even seriously considered recalling some of the reinforcements we sent you earlier.”

     “You can’t do that!” exploded Resalintas in outrage. “Without them...”

     “I know, I know,” replied the General placatingly, “but you must understand, the Rahm corridor is nearly a thousand miles long, and even if Tatria fell tomorrow, there’s no way the enemy could negotiate the entire length of it before next spring's thaw. Bula Pass is much shorter, and open all year round. You’re a priest of Samnos, dammit! Try to see the larger picture!”

     Resalintas nodded. “You’re right, of course,” he said sadly. “If Ilandia and Rahm have to be sacrificed, then so be it. But can’t something at least be done about that fool Rona? Skulnya is a marvel, and if he were in charge down there I’d feel a lot happier about running out on them.”

     “Are you making an official complaint?” asked the General.

     “Yes,” replied the old priest without hesitation. “In my opinion, the High Prefect of Ilandia represents a threat to the security of the empire and should be replaced. I recommend Skulnya as his replacement.”

     “Very well,” said the General. “I’ll speak to the Emperor about it. I can’t promise anything, though. You know there’ll be politics involved.”

     The expression on Resalintas’s face showed what he thought about politics. “I appreciate the effort,” he said, “and if that’s all, I’d better be going. The enemy won’t wait for me.”

     The General held out his hand and Resalintas shook it, noticing that Klima's grip was now much firmer than it had been when he'd entered.

     “Good luck on your new posting,” he said. “May the Gods go with you.”

     “And with you,” replied Resalintas, and he turned to leave.