The night sky was lit by flames, and black smoke swirled across the valley as the town of Shelsans continued to burn. There were no screams now, no feeble cries, no begging for mercy. Two thousand heretics were dead, most slain by sword or mace, though many had been committed to the cleansing fires. The young knight of the Sacrifice stood high on the hillside and stared down at the burning town. Reflections of the distant flames shone on his blood-drenched silver breastplate and glistening helm. The wind shifted, and Winter Kay smelled the scent of roasting flesh. Far below the wind fanned the hunger of the flames. They blazed higher, devouring the ancient timber walls of the old museum and the carved wooden gates of the Albitane church.

Winter Kay removed his helm. His lean, angular features gleamed with sweat. Plucking a linen handkerchief from his belt, he examined it for bloodstains. Finding none, he wiped the cloth over his face and short-cropped dark hair. Putting on armor had been a waste of time this day.

The townsfolk had offered no armed resistance as the thousand knights had ridden into the valley. Instead, hundreds of them had walked from the town singing hymns and crying out words of welcome and brotherhood.

When they had seen the knights of the Sacrifice draw their longswords and heel their horses forward, they had fallen to their knees and called on the Source to protect them.

What idiots they were, thought Winter Kay. The Source blessed only those with the courage to fight or the wit to run. He could not recall how many he had slain that day, only that his sword had been blunted by dusk and that his holy white cloak had been drenched in the blood of the evil.

Some had tried to repent, begging for their lives as they were dragged to the pyres. One man -- a stocky priest in a blue robe -- had hurled himself to the ground before Winter Kay, promising him a great treasure if he was spared.

"What treasure do you possess, worm?" asked Winter Kay, pressing his sword point against the man's back.

"The orb, sir. I can take you to the Orb of Kranos."

"How quaint," said Winter Kay. "I expect it resides alongside the sword of Connavar and the helm of Axias. Perhaps it is even wrapped in the Veiled Lady's robe."

"I speak the truth, sir. The orb is hidden in Shelsans. It has been kept there for centuries. I have seen it."

Winter Kay hauled the man to his feet by his white hair. He was short and stocky, his face round, his eyes fearful. From all around them came the screams of the dying cultists. Winter Kay dragged the man toward the town. A woman ran past him, a sword jutting from her breast. She staggered several steps, then fell to her knees. A knight followed her, wrenching the sword clear and decapitating her. Winter Kay walked on, holding his prisoner by the collar of his robe.

The man led him to a small church. In the doorway lay two dead priests. Beyond them were the bodies of a group of women and children.

The prisoner pointed to the altar. "We need to move it, sir," he said. "The entrance to the vault is below it."

Sheathing his sword, Winter Kay released the man. Together they lifted the altar table clear of the trapdoor beneath. The priest took hold of an iron ring and dragged the trapdoor open. Below it was a narrow set of steps. Winter Kay gestured the priest to climb down and then followed him.

It was gloomy inside. The priest found a tinderbox and struck a flame, lighting a torch that was set in a bracket on the gray wall. They moved down a narrow corridor that opened out into a circular room. There were already torches lit there, and an elderly man was sitting before an oval table. In his hands was a curiously carved black box some eighteen inches high. Winter Kay thought it was polished ebony. The old man saw the newcomers and gently laid the box upon the table.

"The orb is within it," said the captured priest.

"Oh, Pereus, how could you be so craven?" asked the elderly man.

"I don't want to die. Is that so terrible?" the prisoner replied.

"You will die anyway," the old priest said sadly. "This knight has no intention of letting you live. There is not an ounce of mercy in him."

"That is not true," wailed the prisoner, swinging toward Winter Kay.

"Ah, but it is," the knight told him, drawing his sword. The little priest tried to run, but Winter Kay sprang after him, delivering a ferocious blow to the back of the man's head. The skull cracked open, and the priest crumbled to the stone floor. "Is that truly the Orb of Kranos?" Winter Kay asked.

"Aye, it is. Do you have any inkling of what that means?"

"It is a relic of ancient times. A crystal ball, some say, through which we can see the future. Show it to me."

"It is not crystal, Winter Kay. It is bone."

"How is it you know my name?"

"I have the gift, Sir Knight, though at this moment I wish I did not. So kill me and be done with it."

"All in good time, priest. My arm is tired from constant work today. I'll let it rest awhile. Show me the orb."

The elderly priest stepped away from the table. "I have no wish to see it. The box is not locked."

Winter Kay strode forward. As he reached out for the lid, he realized the box was not made of wood at all but had been cast from some dark metal. "What are these symbols etched upon it?" he asked.

"Ward spells. The orb radiates evil. The box contains it."

"We shall see." Winter Kay flipped open the lid. Within the box was an object wrapped in black velvet. Putting down his bloody sword, Winter Kay reached in and lifted it out. Carefully he folded back the cloth. The priest was right. It was no crystal ball. It was a skull, an iron circlet upon its brow. "What nonsense is this?" demanded Winter Kay. Reaching out, he touched the yellowed brow. The skull began to glow, as if a bright candle had been lit within its hollow dome. Winter Kay felt a powerful surge of warmth flow along his fingers and up his arm. It was exquisite. It continued to flow through his body, up through his chest and neck and into his head. He cried out with the pleasure of it. All weariness from the day of slaughter fell away. He felt invigorated.

"This is a wondrous piece," he said. "I feel reborn."

"Evil knows its own kind," said the old man.

Winter Kay laughed aloud. "I am not evil, fool. I am a knight of the Sacrifice. I live to destroy evil wherever I find it. I do the work of the Source. I cleanse the land of the ungodly. Now tell me what magic has been placed in this skull."

"Only what was always there. That... that creature was once a mighty king. A great hero destroyed him and freed the world of his evil. However, the darkness within him cannot die. It seeks to reach out and corrupt the souls of men. It will bring you nothing but sorrow and death."

"Interesting," said Winter Kay. "There is an old adage: 'The enemy of my enemy must therefore be my friend.' Since you are named by the church as the enemy, then this must be a vessel for good. I find no evil in it."

"That is because its evil has already found you."

"And now you begin to bore me, old man. I shall give you a few moments to make your peace with the blessed Source, and then I shall send you to him."

"I will go gladly, Winter Kay. Which is more than can be said for you when the one with the golden eye comes for you."

Winter Kay's sword swept up and then down in a murderous arc. Having been blunted by a day of murder, the blade did not completely decapitate the old man. Blood sprayed across the room. Several drops splashed to the table, spattering the skull. Light blazed from the bone. As Winter Kay gazed upon it, an ethereal face seemed to form for a brief moment. Then it faded.

Wrapping the skull in its hood of black velvet, Winter Kay returned it to its box and carried it from the burning ruins of Shelsans.