Nemain was very confused. She’d been having a nice talk with pretty Zanth in his shiny shiny armor, and then she tried to fight the big metal thing but it hit her, and then she tried to fight the strange man but she missed and now her sword was stuck. And then Zanth and the strange man were talking and Zanth fell down again and now he’s mad, and my sword is still stuck. She clacked her beak and continued determinedly tugging on her sword. Zanth was saying lots of things, but her sword was stuck in the ground so she couldn’t listen. She gave it a final halfhearted pull and looked up at Death with a sorrowful expression. “Kraaw~ .” Death stared at her for a few seconds, then reached down and turned her head toward Zanth. “Pay attention.”
        Zanth was standing pulling his kids up and setting them on their feet. “As I was saying, Nemain, I need you to come with me. This is an opportunity to accomplish what Father himself has been unable to do for many years. Think of the glory we can have!” He gave her a worried smile.
        Nemain started at him for nearly a minute, silently. She sniffed, and Zanth noticed that her large black eyes were rimmed with tears. “Nemain? What’s wrong?”
        She sniffed again, and clacked her beak, tears running down her feathers. “Grakk. Can’t. Want to but can’t.”
        “Why can’t you come with me?”
        Nemain looked down at the ground. “Gotta go to meeting. And. And.” Her voice wobbled and she choked back a harsh sob. “SWORD IS STUCK.” The words seemed wrung out of her very fabric, and she looked down at the weapon with such absolute sadness that Zanth was momentarily speechless. He looked up at Death. “Ah, could you…?”
        Death nodded gently moved Nemain away. Grasping the pommel, he smoothly drew it out of the ground and handed it to her. Nemain just stared at him with something akin to worship. Zanth grimaced. As powerful as she was, Nemain obviously had some pretty significant weaknesses. “Nemain.” She looked up at her name. “Can we go now?”
        She shook her head, feathers ruffling. “No, no, meeting time now.”
        Zanth sighed wearily and walked over to her, putting a hand on her bony shoulder. “Tsernogard told me to tell you that you should come with me.”
        Nemain digested this for a moment, fiddling with her sword. She leaned on it. “Kay.”
        Relieved, he nodded. “I can take one more, right?” he said, looking at Death, who was watching this whole pantomime with something akin to amused condescension. Death grinned and motioned for him to continue. Zanth thought for a moment, then sketched a few runes in the air with his finger. “Thobricus.” The name was weighted with heavy magic. A low susurration filled the air in front of Zanth as a shape slowly condensed there – a gleaming skull and a shadow body. Thobricus grinned because he couldn’t do anything else, but when his gender-neutral voice echoed in Zanth’s head it carried a clear bounty of irritation and gloomy sarcasm. [Always glad to answer a summons, gleaming Lieutenant. What can I do for you?]
Zanth took a step back from the intense cold radiating from the ghostlich. “First, you can turn down your frost aura. It may match your personality, but it is quiet uncomfortable for those of us who can still feel.”  
[Certainly.] Thobricus glowered as only a floating skull could glower, but grudgingly dimmed his blue flames. [Did you summon me just for the usual thinly veiled insults, or do you have some greater task in mind?]
“I do indeed, pathetic remnant. You will accompany us in yonder metal contraption and assist me however I see fit in the coming competition.”
Thobricus turned to regard the vehicle and its strange owner, a gleam of interest in his eyes. [If you so command, I so obey.] He continued to stare at Death, who gave him a little wave. “If you’re all ready, I believe we can depart?” Zanth nodded and poked Nemain, who dazedly trailed along behind him, stealing glances at Death every couple seconds.
Death opened the truck door and motioned them to get inside. Nemain regarded the rather small opening blankly, and then turned to look at Death. “Rr?” Her enormous wings flapped once and then folded, still clearly larger than the doorway would allow. Zanth massaged his temples, feeling a stress headache coming on.

        Some minutes later, the green pickup truck careened though the void between worlds. Thobricus sat strapped in the passenger seat, the seatbelt covering his right eye socket and frozen to his skull. His telepathy didn’t work on Death, so he spent all of his time telling Nemain to shut up, who consistently ignored him. Nemain herself was buckled in the middle seat, one great wing wedged uncomfortably against Death, who had to lean way over to the window in order to see around the mass of feathers, and the other crumpled up against the ceiling. The position made her hunch forward so her beak was right next to Death’s face. Death had given up on the radio, since Nemain seemed convinced that she was a talented singer, and was now dealing with her incessant and awkward questions about, well, everything.
        Zanth, cold and miserable, lay curled up in a tangled heap of children on the bed of the truck, as far away from the end gate as possible. He shut his eyes tight against the screaming madness of the Between and tried to think happy thoughts.