The Fallen Champions, the residents of a most prestigious cemetery. All had killed Dennisat least once, some more than once-the greatest of these, an almost full-blood Tarthenal, had slain the King seven times, and Bruthen could remember, with absolute clarity, the look of growing rage and terror in that Tarthenal’s bestial face each time his fallen opponent arose, renewed, stronger and deedlier than he had been only moments earlier.
He entered the bizarre necropolis, eyes drifting across the Various weapons, once so lovingly cared for-many of them bearing names-but now sheathed in rust. At the far end, slighty separated from all the others, stood an empty urn. Months earlier, out of curiosity, he had reached down into it, and found a silver cup. The cup that had contained the poison that
