Date: 2014-09-17 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: The final book of the Sovereign of the Seven Isles begins in the mountains of Andalia with Alexander—wounded, surrounded and fleeing for his life. Isabel learns that Phane can use her link with the darkness for his own, terrible ends. And Abigail rallies the Coven to face the Sin’Rath, a threat now magnified a hundred fold. Battle rages across the Seven Isles, and Alexander Reishi stands at the center of it all. As forces converge on the Nether Gate, he departs on a desperate quest to free Isabel, kill Phane and banish the Shades for all time. **
Publisher: Alexander Publishing

Reishi Adept

Sovereign of the Seven Isles: Book Seven

by

David A. Wells

REISHI ADEPT

Copyright © 2014 by David A. Wells

All rights reserved.

Edited by Carol L. Wells

This is a work of fiction. Characters, events and organizations in this novel are creations of the author’s imagination.

www.SovereignOfTheSevenIsles.com

To Mom.

Contents

- Title Page
- Dedication
- Map of the Seven Isles

- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Epilogue

Chapter 1

“They’re coming,” Jack said.

Alexander sat up, wincing in pain from his leg wound. “That didn’t take long,” he said, taking Luminessence from its resting place next to his bed. Using it for a crutch, he leveraged himself to his feet.

Anja stood at the open door of the Wizard’s Den, her seemingly oversized broadsword held easily in one hand, belying the appearance that she was a teenage girl.

Jataan lay unconscious, Lita’s healing magic doing its work while she sat at his side willing him to recover from the injuries he’d suffered in the underdark.

Chloe buzzed into existence in a ball of light, orbiting Alexander’s head nervously. “There’s darkness among them, My Love.”

“Probably Nero,” Alexander said, limping to the door and steadying himself with his free hand on Anja’s back before hobbling to the edge of the temple ruin.

“Lend me your eyes, Little One,” he said silently.

Alexander had hoped they would have more time. He’d expected the Babachenko and the Acuna wizards to take longer to regroup. He was disappointed on both counts.

A small army was assembling on the flat circle of stone that used to be the fabled city of Mithel Dour. Just yesterday, it had been the Andalian seat of power—unassailable from its perch high above the plains below. Now it was simply gone. The Linkershim had been complete in their unbuilding of Mithel Dour, perhaps the oldest city in the Seven Isles, a place constructed with unmatched grace and beauty, magical in every sense of the word … and Alexander had destroyed it. He felt a pang of guilt, not for the people who’d lived here, they were thoroughly detestable, but for the loss of such a magnificent piece of history. Mithel Dour predated the ascension of humanity. It had been a work of art. Now it was nothing but an artificial plateau littered with the furniture, clothing, and other belongings left behind by its fleeing inhabitants.

The lake that had once been held at bay by the palace itself had been reduced to a mountain stream flowing through ruins onto the plateau, meandering around the abandoned clutter in a thousand rivulets before trickling off the edge.

“Looks like about two hundred soldiers with a handful of wizards among them,” Alexander said.

“Fortunately, the path leading up here starts at the palace level,” Jack said. “It’ll probably take them a while to climb the debris field.”

“Not nearly enough time,” Alexander said. “I was really hoping we’d have a few days to heal—that and I need to have a look around the world.”

“We might be able to elude them if we go deeper into the mountains and hide inside the Wizard’s Den.”

Alexander shook his head. “The Babachenko is guiding them. We have to run.”

“I’m not sure you’re up to that,” Jack said, gesturing toward his leg.

“Me neither,” Alexander muttered. “We’re going to need some help.”

He winced slightly as he turned back to his Wizard’s Den.

Despite the pain of sitting cross-legged, Alexander easily slipped into the firmament and found Kiera checking the straps on her saddle.

“Report,” he said, appearing beside her.

“Lord Reishi,” Kiera said with a respectful nod. “We’ve destroyed about half of the shipyards but we’ve received reports of a large force of Lancers moving to defend what remains, so we’re falling back to the forest to consolidate our position.”

“Good. Looks like Talia’s plan worked.”

“Only partially. They managed to save most of their ships.”

Alexander shrugged. “No plan ever survives contact with the enemy. Some damage to their shipyards is better than none.”

“Were you successful?” she asked.

“More so than I expected,” Alexander said. “The force lances are powerless and Mithel Dour is no more.”

She cocked her head quizzically. “You destroyed the city?”

“I had a hand in it. And the Andalians aren’t too happy about it, which brings me to the reason for my visit. We need a ride.”

“My wing rider and I will be in the air within the hour. Where will we find you?”

“In the mountains east of the city’s remains,” Alexander said. “Roar when you get close … you’ll see my light.”

“Understood.”

“Thank you, Kiera,” he said, fading back into the firmament.

He remained there for a few moments, weighing his options. There was so much he needed to do, yet every moment he spent in the firmament was one less moment he had to distance himself from the small army moving his way.

He opened his eyes with a sense of renewed frustration welling up in his belly. He wanted to see Isabel, he wanted to tell his father that the Lancers were crippled, and he wanted to check on the state of the battle for Fellenden, but he needed to flee. And with his leg only partially healed, the sooner he set out, the better his chances of escape.

Jack and Anja were outside watching the progress of the advancing enemy while Lita sat at Jataan’s side. She kissed him on the forehead and followed Alexander out into the morning sun, leaving Jataan to rest and heal in the safety of the Wizard’s Den.

Two paths led from the open-air temple, one heading to the remnants of the palace, the other leading deeper into the rugged mountain range rising up out of the heart of the Andalian continent. The first leg of the mountain trail led down, but quickly leveled out, running along a ridgeline that gradually began to rise toward an even taller peak in the distance.

“We should wait here and kill them,” Anja said. “The path is narrow enough that their numbers wouldn’t matter.”

“If Jataan and I were well enough to fight, and if they didn’t have wizards with them, I might agree, but under the circumstances our best option is flight.”

“I’m tired of running from these people,” she said, her brow deeply furrowed.

“Me too, but we have little to gain by fighting them.”

“So what’s the plan?” Jack asked.

“Kiera’s coming to pick us up,” Alexander said. “We’ll find someplace safe where we can heal and I can do some scouting, then we’ll make for the Gate and go to Karth.”

“You’re just going to let the Babachenko live?” Anja asked.

“For now,” Alexander said.

“But he deserves to die.”

“Yes, he does, but his death isn’t nearly as important to me as Isabel’s life.”

She shook her head. “I just don’t understand. You’re at war with these people, yet you avoid fighting them every chance you get.”

“Fighting them and defeating them are two different things. If we killed ten thousand of their soldiers, it wouldn’t weaken them in the least, but destroying Mithel Dour and undoing the force lances has crippled them.”

Alexander set out before she could voice another objection, smiling to himself at the frown creasing her brow as she turned his words over in her young mind. It wasn’t long before his full attention was fixated on the rhythmic stabs of pain in his leg. Each step hurt. Worse still, each step set back his recovery, aggravating his wound and undoing the healing he’d already done.

Objectively, he knew that each step brought him closer to the looming mountain peak ahead, but it seemed as if he were walking in place. The sun was high in the sky when the path became a series of staircases cut into the stone.

“They’ve reached the temple,” Jack said.

Alexander stopped, steadying himself with Luminessence, and sent his mind to Chloe. It looked like an advance team, probably the Babachenko’s most dangerous men, and they were about an hour away. If he pushed himself, they might make the mountain top before the enemy reached them.

“Keep an eye on them,” he said, willing himself through the pain to move faster. The world narrowed down to a simple duality—the next step and the pain he would have to endure to claim it.

He reached the top in a trance. It took a moment to realize that there wasn’t another step. The scene before him had scarcely registered, but as it did, his entire attention was captured in an instant. The mountaintop had been perfectly leveled, creating a platform just over a hundred feet wide and half again as long. A perfect, double-ringed circle a hundred feet in diameter had been cut into the granite floor. Magical symbols of ancient and arcane origin filled the space between the circles. Seven arches of stone, spaced equally around the circle, gracefully swept up to join at an apex a hundred feet overhead, forming the illusion of a dome. In the center was a raised stone dais.

“Who’s that?” Anja asked, interrupting his fevered thoughts, pulling him back to the present moment with the sheer intensity of her tone.

“Nero,” Alexander said, adjusting his grip on Luminessence and drawing the Thinblade. The wraithkin was at the base of the stairs, moving blink by blink toward them.

“Back up at least thirty feet,” Alexander said, giving Anja a look that forestalled any protest. She grudgingly obeyed. Jack tossed up his hood and vanished. Lita cast her shield spell. Alexander waited at the top of the stairs while his friends spread out behind him.

Nero stopped fifteen feet away, eyeing Alexander warily. “You have Tyr’s Thinblade,” he said.

“It was never his.”

“I suspect he believes otherwise.”

Alexander cocked his head, smiling. “Why haven’t you attacked? We both know you didn’t come all this way to talk.”

Nero scowled, visceral hatred momentarily contorting his face. “You have nowhere to run and Master would prefer that you be delivered alive. Yasim and his men won’t be long.”

He was right about that, the Royal Assassin and six men had reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Believe it or not, I’m glad you’re here, Nero. I have a theory I’ve been wanting to test.” Alexander closed his eyes and willed Luminessence to pulse with a kind of brilliance that transcended natural light, illuminating the world in a flash that marked that moment in time, filling it with light potent enough to wash away even the most pernicious darkness.

Nero screamed, a mix of demon shriek and human death wail. In the stark relief of Alexander’s light, the tendril stretching through the aether from the Wraith Queen to Nero was revealed, a black thread anchored to the wraithkin’s soul. Azugorath claimed that dark and broken soul as she retreated from the light, howling in fury and pain.

Grievous wounds opened across Nero’s body, a stab here, a slash there, all of them spilling his lifeblood onto the stairs. He slumped forward, trying to right himself but slipping in his own blood and falling hard, struggling against too much injury, desperately fighting for one more breath.

“Huh, that worked better than I thought it would,” Alexander muttered.

The Royal Assassin and his men had stopped halfway up the series of staircases and he was casting a spell. A cloud of darkness began to form before them, amorphous, swirling and undulating, advancing ahead of them. Slowly, it moved up the stairs, obscuring a direct line of sight, possibly limiting the advantage Luminessence gave Alexander in a fight.

Alexander turned away from the stairs and stopped in his tracks. The magic circle and the stone arches were all glowing with soft white light, but more than that, their colors revealed that this ancient shrine had become imbued with powerful magic, light and pure. He strode toward the center, feeling a warm and reassuring wave of magical energy dance over his skin as he stepped across the twin circles.

His friends followed silently—even Jack was speechless as they approached the central dais. It was a circular well twenty feet in diameter and two feet high filled with rich black soil. The faint image of a fallen tree stained the floor, as if, a very long time ago, a great tree had stood in the well.

“A vitalwood,” Alexander whispered. “The fay must have revered them.”

Anja pointed her broadsword at the approaching cloud of darkness. “Can we kill them now?” she asked.

“We’ll let them come to us,” Alexander said, “but yes, we can kill them now.”

The cloud of darkness approached slowly, Yasim and his men huddling behind it, but as it met the magic circle, it evaporated, leaving the Royal Assassin and his band of murderers exposed. Yasim stood a few feet outside the threshold of the circle, flanked by his men, and began casting another spell.

Inky darkness flowed from his hands like black water splattering forth toward them, but when it passed into the domain of the magic circle, it vanished as if it had never even existed.

“Kill them!” Yasim barked.

Four of his six men advanced into the circle, flinching slightly when they crossed the glowing lines beneath their feet, then spreading out to attack from multiple angles. Alexander recognized the two who remained behind—Chief Overseers, mage wizards in their own right.

Light flashed as Lita killed one of the four with a light-lance. Anja advanced toward the remaining three.

When they all stopped and drew throwing knives, Alexander raised his light, simple natural light, blinding to his enemies while illuminating to his allies. Anja charged into the fray, covering the distance in seconds, bringing her broadsword down through the nearest man before any of them could recover from their momentary blindness.

The two remaining men moved to circle her. As she fixed her eyes on one and raised her sword, the man behind her stiffened with a blade through his heart. Jack vanished into the chaos a moment later.

Anja lunged, driving the point of her blade at the last remaining soldier, impaling him through the heart. He slumped to his knees.

“That was too easy!” she shouted at the sky.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Jack said.

“Why not?”

“That’s why,” Alexander said, pointing to the flood of men pouring onto the platform behind Yasim and the two Chief Overseers.

“You have nowhere to run, Pretender!” Yasim shouted. Ranks of men formed behind him. A hundred, then two hundred—all armed with longswords and armored with breastplates and shields.

“Come on into the circle, then,” Alexander said.

Yasim motioned for his company of heavy infantry to advance.

Alexander let them enter the circle before raising his light and holding it bright, closing out his surroundings and letting go of all his other concerns in favor of simply flooding the world with light. It was almost like being in the firmament, endless and infinitely potent.

A roar echoed into the mountains beyond.

Alexander released his light, feeling somewhat drained from pouring such intense will into Luminessence, yet feeling greatly more confident in the power that his staff afforded him. The advancing army was still dazzled, milling about aimlessly, colors of fear pulsing with each beat of their pounding hearts.

Moments later, Kiera threaded through the arches and landed right in front of them. Alexander opened the Wizard’s Den and his friends filed in quickly without a word. He closed the door and was strapping into the saddle when Kiera lifted off, her wyvern gripping one ancient stone arch with his rear talons and using it to launch himself into the sky before the enemy could react. As the ground fell away, another wyvern floated into formation at Kiera’s wing.

“You have good timing,” Alexander shouted over the wind. He scanned the mountains rising higher still and picked one that looked level enough. “Land there,” he shouted.

Kiera nodded, gently banking her wyvern, then signaling to her wing rider to sweep the area for danger. Kiera tipped into a gentle glide while her wing rider gained altitude, moving to circle the mountaintop.

They landed lightly on a craggy, windblown stone butte a few dozen feet long and not quite as wide. Cliffs fell away for hundreds of feet on all sides. Alexander dismounted and opened the door to his Wizard’s Den. Jack’s colors stood at the threshold, his visible form cloaked by magic.

“We’re good for now,” Alexander said.

Jack threw his hood back as he strolled out onto the rocky mountaintop, stopping well short of the edge and peering over.

“Quite a view,” he said, tossing a rock into the sky and cocking his head to listen for its impact.

“I think we’ll stay here for a while,” Alexander said, hobbling into his Wizard’s Den and straight to his bed.

“Tore your wound open again, didn’t you?” Lita said, pulling a chair up in front of him and inspecting the blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his leg.

Chapter 2

Alexander materialized in the room where Isabel, Lacy, and Wren were eating lunch. He knew in a glance that their situation had gone from bad to worse. Isabel’s colors swirled in a contest between her will and Azugorath’s. Lacy and Wren wore Andalian slave collars. All three looked like they were on the verge of breaking.

Isabel stood, forcing a smile.

“You’re still alive.”

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Her smile turned more genuine.

“Phane said you were a prisoner. I feared the worst.”

“The Andalians had one of those collars on me for a while, but I’m free now. How are you holding up?” he asked, worry creasing his brow.

“Phane has discovered a spell that makes me lose control to the Wraith Queen,” Isabel said, matter-of-factly.

“But you’ve managed to resist,” Alexander said. “I can see the turmoil in you. I know this is hard, but you have the strength to fight this. Just hang on a little while longer. I’m coming for you.”

“No. You can’t,” Isabel said. “Phane told me that Elred Rake is going to blindside the Ruathan Army from the north and that Abel has been charmed by the Sin’Rath. You have to fight this war … coming here would probably just get you killed.”

“Isabel,” he said sharply, snapping her back to reality. “Don’t you dare give in to him.”

She nodded tightly, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I’ll keep fighting, Alexander, I promise. But you have to go help Ruatha and Ithilian.”

He could see that she was almost out of hope. She seemed to be holding on more out of habit than conviction.

“Things have changed, Isabel,” he said intently, trying to reach through her despair and speak to the woman he’d fallen in love with. “Mithel Dour has fallen, the force lances are gone, and Mage Gamaliel has crafted a weapon from the vitalwood capable of banishing Azugorath.”

She blinked several times, then smiled at him, her colors overwhelming the dark taint and banishing it in a rush.

“You’ve been busy,” she said. “But you still have to go see about Ruatha and Ithilian before you come for me.”

“I will,” Alexander said. “I plan to have a good look around before we move again.”

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you,” he said, fading out of sight and moving to Ruatha with a thought. He found General Talia on Kai’Gorn’s highest battlement, startling the man when he materialized beside him.

“Lord Reishi,” Talia said with a respectful nod.

“Report,” Alexander said.

“Our insurgent offensive destroyed sixty percent of their shipbuilding capacity along the northern coast. In addition, we’ve employed many of the displaced shipbuilders in several new shipyards we’re constructing in the Western Province.”

“Well done,” Alexander said. “I’ve borrowed Kiera and her wing rider for the moment, but you’ll have them back soon.” Alexander spent a few minutes briefing General Talia on Andalia’s recent misfortunes.

“I recommend we press our advantage,” Talia said.

“I agree. Wage war against Andalia as you see fit, General.”

General Talia saluted, fist to heart, as Alexander faded out of sight.

He decided to evaluate the threat against Ruatha before visiting his father and the wizards. After a momentary rush of immeasurable speed, he was floating high over New Ruatha. Finding no army, he moved east until he found the bulk of the Ruathan Army encamped near Headwater. A few leagues farther, he found a unit of Andalian Lancers fighting a losing retreat against two legions of Rangers picking at them with arrows.

Moving farther east, he found the bulk of the Andalian forces pulling back to Buckwold and manning a series of fortifications they’d built near the city itself. Alexander expected that their confidence had been shaken when the force lances stopped working. Good enough.

He thought of Elred Rake and found him at the head of a legion marching south out of the northern wilds of Ruatha. Rake sat atop a rhone and he was cradling a staff with colors that screamed of magic, ancient and potent. Three wraithkin walked among his retinue, blinking forward occasionally to keep up with the horses. Two wizards accompanied him along with a number of military commanders and men-at-arms.

Stretching out behind them was an assortment of thugs and ruffians, a mercenary force just over ten thousand strong. No match for Ruatha’s army, but significant enough to require attention … and the commitment of resources. They were headed toward Blackstone Keep.

Alexander appeared in the middle of the road a few dozen feet in front of them. All of the riders reined their horses to a stop while the three wraithkin blinked forward, lining up before Alexander.

Rake’s staff flared with color and he flickered momentarily as a suit of armor made from nearly invisible magical force encapsulated him from head to toe. His eyes narrowed suspiciously before he sent a force-shard from the tip of his staff right through Alexander’s projection.

“He’s just an illusion,” Rake said, dismounting. He sauntered through the three wraithkin and stopped a few feet from Alexander, smiling with a sense of gleeful triumph. While his demeanor was unsettling, his colors proclaimed that he believed victory was at hand.

“He’s harmless,” Rake said, waving his staff through Alexander. Several of his people dismounted, fanning out behind him and the wraithkin.

“What do you want, Pretender?”

“Oh, the only thing I want from you, I’m quite certain I’m going to have to take,” Alexander said.

“You may have had all the advantages before, but not anymore,” Rake said, brandishing the staff like it was a trophy.

“I see you’ve got a new walking stick,” Alexander said, idly wondering what advantages Rake thought Alexander had enjoyed over the past year.

Rake scowled. “You know very well what this is!”

“Looks like a staff to me.”

Rake deflated slightly. “You really don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?”

“This is Mage Cedric’s war staff,” Rake said triumphantly, brandishing the staff again.

Alexander hesitated, trepidation seeping into his psyche.

“Ah, now you understand … this was supposed to be yours, but I stole it right out of the Bloodvault.”

Now he was worried.

“What’s the matter? No quip?” Rake asked, casually lowering the staff tip at him. He spoke a single word, the staff’s colors flared, and Alexander was scattered into the firmament.

Instinctively, almost without conscious intent, he found himself in the place where the witness lived. Bringing his psyche back together was much easier as well, all vestiges of the fear he’d initially felt at being scattered into the firmament had vanished.

Whole again, he thought of the Bloodvault. It was intact, but the corpse of a wraithkin was frozen halfway inside one wall, a mask of fear and pain etched into his face. It looked like he’d been trying to walk through the wall when the stone remembered that it was supposed to be solid. Unfortunately, his hands were clear of the wall, so it was a safe bet that Rake had everything that was inside the Bloodvault.

Alexander thought of Erik Alaric and appeared in the encampment at the base of Blackstone Keep. His brother-in-law was addressing a formation of troops arrayed before him.

“Lord Reishi,” Erik said when Alexander appeared beside him.

“Hello, Erik. I’ve come to warn you,” Alexander said. “Rake has secured a powerful magical staff and he’s headed this way. You have about four days before he arrives.”

“I have a regiment here,” Erik said. “We can defend the Keep from within, but we can’t hold out for long in a siege.”

“Do you have horses for all of your men?”

“And then some.”

“Good. Put a small unit of men in the Keep to hold the bridge. Make sure they have plenty of arrows. Use the rest of your men to keep Rake occupied until my father can send help.”

“Understood, Lord Reishi,” Erik said, hesitating for a moment, worry rippling through his colors.

“She’s alive, but Phane still has her.”

Erik nodded, looking down at the ground.

“I’m going to get her back,” Alexander said. “No matter what.”

Erik nodded again, swallowing hard.

Alexander flickered out of sight and appeared in a command tent near Headwater.

Duncan looked up from the map he was studying and smiled. “It’s good to see you, Son.”

Alexander spent a few minutes providing his father and Hanlon with a thorough report on the state of affairs as he understood them, then listened while his father offered an equally detailed yet succinct report on the progress being made against the Lancers now that their force lances were useless.

“In short, we have the Andalians on the run,” Duncan said. “Even after I send a regiment of Rangers to bolster Erik’s forces, I expect to have northern Ruatha secure by early summer. By then, Talia will probably control half of Andalia.

“I’m more concerned about Abel and Ithilian. Ruatha won’t have much of a crop this year. Without food shipments from Ithilian, a lot of people will go hungry.”

Alexander nodded. “I’m going to have a look at Abel’s situation right after I see Lucky and Kelvin.”

“Be safe, Son. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Alexander said before vanishing. He moved with a thought to Glen Morillian, projecting his image into Lucky’s workshop, finding the rotund alchemist working at a table filled with bubbling and sputtering glassware. His colors were flaring with power as he directed his will and magic into his creation.

Alexander waited quietly, not wanting to disturb his old tutor lest his work be ruined. After several minutes, Lucky held up a small glass beaker, swirling the contents and sighing wearily as he shook his head.

“Hi, Lucky,” Alexander said.

He turned with a start. “Oh, my boy, it’s good to see you,” he said, looking down a moment later and shaking his head. “I’m afraid my success has been quite limited. It took twenty-three tries before I was able to produce a single batch of Wizard’s Dust, and while my rate of success has improved, I still fail far more often than I succeed.”

“I’m glad you’ve stuck with it,” Alexander said, smiling. “Most people would have quit after the first failure.”

“But I’ve only succeeded three times,” he said, shaking his head again.

“That’s three times more than anyone else in the past two thousand years,” Alexander said. “What you’re doing is difficult, and it should be. That you’ve succeeded at all is wondrous. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Lucky.”

“But we have seventeen good candidates for the mana fast, and I was hoping to have enough Wizard’s Dust for all of them by now.”

“Even one new wizard would help us,” Alexander said. “Just keep at it.”

“I will, of course.”

“Good,” Alexander said, then spent several minutes recounting all that had happened since they’d last spoken. Lucky listened intently, smiling broadly when Alexander told him about Mithel Dour and the Lancers, but shedding a tear when he learned that Isabel was still in Phane’s grasp.

“Any word of Abigail?”

“Not yet. I plan on visiting her after I look in on Ithilian and Abel.”

Lucky nodded. “She and the Coven would be best suited to deal with the Sin’Rath.”

“As much as I hate to send her against them, I was thinking the same thing. Keep at it, Lucky. Slow progress is better than no progress.”

“Take care, my boy,” Lucky said as Alexander faded out of sight.

His next stop was Kelvin’s workshop. If Lucky’s workspace was a study in organized chaos, Kelvin’s was the exact opposite. Over forty men were busy at work, hammering, forging, bending and shaping elements of Kelvin’s various projects. While they moved about in seemingly random fashion, a few moments of observation revealed just how well-organized Kelvin’s efforts really were. The big Guild Mage stood in his planning room, staring at a remarkably complex diagram hanging on the wall.

“Hello, Kelvin,” Alexander said, materializing beside him.

It took Kelvin a moment to tear his focus away from the diagram.

“Alexander, it’s good to see you.”

“You as well,” Alexander said, quickly briefing Kelvin on all that had transpired over the past weeks and months.

“I’m gratified that Luminessence has lived up to my hopes,” Kelvin said.

“And then some,” Alexander said. “I’m hoping you can help me with something else. Have you ever heard of Mage Cedric’s war staff?”

“Only in legend. It was said to be extraordinarily powerful. Cedric used it to hold Malachi Reishi’s armies at bay for decades, though the accounts I’ve read don’t mention specifics.”

“I’ll have to ask the sovereigns about it,” Alexander said. “If it is that powerful, then Blackstone may be at risk.”

“I can spare two wizards to support Erik,” Kelvin said. “Hopefully, that will be enough. As for the Sin’Rath, I believe I can help Abigail defeat them. I’ve used the shavings and sawdust that remained after I carved Luminessence to enchant three arrows with light-based banishment spells. While the Sin’Rath are not entirely demonic, I’m confident that these arrows will kill them.”

“Outstanding,” Alexander said. “From what Isabel tells me, they’re extremely dangerous. Abigail will need all the help she can get.”

“I’ll put together a quiver with a few additional arrows she might find useful and send a Sky Knight to deliver it at once.”

“Thank you, Kelvin,” Alexander said, fading away.

The world rushed by and Alexander found himself floating in a large command tent. Abel was sitting at the head of a long table flanked by two of the most beautiful women that Alexander had ever seen. He had to focus on their dark and angry colors to remind himself that they weren’t what they seemed to be. Prince Torin and General Brand sat to Abel’s right while Mage Lenox sat to his left. Several more high-ranking officers and nine wizards occupied the remaining chairs. A nervous-looking junior officer stood at rigid attention at the far end of the table, his eyes flicking from Abel to the Sin’Rath and back again.

“My orders were clear,” Abel said, with a hint of anger in his voice. His colors swirled with turmoil and magic. “You were supposed to escort every single wizard from the Ithilian Guild back here. Can you explain to me why you disobeyed my orders?”

“Lord Abel, please forgive me, but the wizards refused,” the young officer said. “They agreed to send only those who chose to accompany me. The rest remained behind, claiming that you don’t have the authority to command them under Ithilian law.”

Abel started to respond but stopped short when Peti whispered in his ear. He listened intently, nodding slightly as she spoke.

“You are dismissed,” he said to the officer. The young man seemed relieved as he hastily left the tent. “General Brand, send a regiment of soldiers to the Wizards Guild and forcibly escort all remaining wizards back here.”

“By your command, Lord Abel,” General Brand said, standing and offering a salute before striding purposefully from the room. His colors were infected with darkness as well, but differently and more intensely than Abel’s. Alexander floated closer to the general, finding what he feared he would find: bite marks on his neck.

Peti looked over at Agneza and they shared a smile.

“You were right, Sister,” Agneza said. “Our coven will be reborn.”

“More powerful than ever,” Peti said. “Once the Reishi Coven is no more, there will be none who can stand in our way. The Seven Isles will be ours.”

They both laughed while the men around the table looked on, enthralled by their magic.

It’s never easy, Alexander thought to himself, floating through the tent and up over the Gate encampment. The countryside flashed by in a blur and he was in the Ithilian Wizards Guild. A number of wizards sat around a table talking of magic so esoteric and arcane that Alexander scarcely understood the meanings of the words they were using. He appraised them for a moment, scrutinizing their colors before appearing at the end of the table.

Several stood quickly, a few began muttering the words of a spell, but one stood and bowed. “Lord Reishi, welcome to the Ithilian Wizards Guild. How can we be of service?” The other wizards stopped their spells and regarded Alexander with wary interest.

“Hello, Wizard Petronius. I’m glad to see that Phane hasn’t gotten his hooks into you again.”

The wizard withdrew a talisman from under his shirt. “I had this enchanted to ensure that I would never be possessed again.”

“A wise precaution,” Alexander said. “I’ve come with a warning. The Sin’Rath have taken Abel and the wizards who obeyed his summons. Their intent is to breed with your wizards and then sacrifice them to their offspring in order to reconstitute their coven.”

“Dear Maker,” one wizard said.

“We have to help them,” another said.

There was a murmur of assent.

“No,” Alexander said. “There’s little you can do. The Sin’Rath will charm you the moment you get near them. You have to hide. You have to work against them from the shadows, from a distance, through proxies. If you confront them directly, you will lose.”

“There must be something we can do,” Wizard Petronius said.

“There is,” Alexander said. “General Brand is coming with a regiment of soldiers to round you up and take you to the Sin’Rath. He’s been bitten, but I believe that his men are just following orders. When he arrives, you must subdue him and take him into custody so you can explain to the soldiers what’s really happening. Once they understand, send some of them back to the Gate encampment to spread the word. Enlist the aid of Queen Sofia and the captain of the city guard. Also, seek out women capable of fighting and employ them as personal guards for your wizards.”

“Queen Sofia left for the Gate encampment three weeks ago,” Wizard Petronius said. “She was worried about some strange reports we’ve been receiving, so she asked Mage Jalal to accompany her.”

“If the Sin’Rath found her, she’s already dead,” Alexander said. “I’ll see if she’s still alive. If so, I’ll let her know that I’ve warned you.”

“Lord Reishi, if we can’t confront the Sin’Rath, how do we save our king and our colleagues?”

“You don’t,” Alexander said. “My sister and the Reishi Coven will kill the Sin’Rath. I want you to spread the word that Abel has been compromised. Also, stop any supplies from being sent to the encampment.”

“Yes, Lord Reishi. Thank you for the warning,” Wizard Petronius said before Alexander faded out of sight.

He thought of Sofia and found himself in a network of caves. The Queen of Ithilian sat by a fire with her daughter Evelyn and Mage Jalal. Numerous soldiers milled about, some standing guard, others sleeping, while still others prepared meals. The colors of everyone revealed anxiety at best and outright fear at worst. Alexander appeared across the fire from Sofia.

She bolted to her feet, fear coursing through her already emotionally fragile colors. It took a moment before she recognized him.

“Oh thank the Maker! Alexander, they have Abel. Those monsters have my husband.”

“I know, Sofia. I’m relieved to see that you and Evelyn are alive. When I heard you’d gone to the Gate encampment, I feared the worst.”

“I saw one of them,” Evelyn said. “They’re hideous, but none of the men will believe me.”

“It’s not their fault, Evelyn. The Sin’Rath are demon spawn and their magic is powerful.”

“So what are we going to do?” she demanded.

“You are going to stay hidden,” Alexander said. “The Reishi Coven will deal with the Sin’Rath, but it may be several days before they arrive.”

“Are those creatures going to kill my husband?” Sofia asked, a tremor running through her voice.

“I doubt it. Abel is too valuable to them alive. He’ll be safe until they have no more use for him … but the wizards are another matter.”

“I was afraid of that,” Mage Jalal said. “I should have seen this coming. I should have warned them.”

“It’s hard to see things that you’re not looking for,” Alexander said. “I’ll let my sister know where you are so she can coordinate with you before they move against the Sin’Rath.”

“Thank you, Alexander,” Sofia said.

“We’ll get him back,” he said, fading into the firmament.

He found Abigail preparing a meal at a makeshift camp on the northern coast of Ithilian. Magda and four witches he didn’t recognize sat around the fire while four wyverns slept on the beach nearby.

“Hello, Abby.”

“Where’ve you been?” she demanded, abandoning her cooking and standing to face him. “I’ve been worried sick.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” he said with a mischievous smile. When her expression softened, he motioned for her to sit and then recounted all that had transpired since they’d last spoken.

“So now there’s two of them and they have nine wizards,” Abigail said, walking away from the fire. “This just keeps getting better.”

“Mage Gamaliel is sending a quiver of special arrows for you.”

“That’s welcome news,” Magda said. “The Sin’Rath have proven to be far more powerful than I anticipated. The one called Peti nearly killed me.”

“And she did that just a couple of days after I put an arrow into her left eye and out the back of her head,” Abigail said.

Alexander raised his eyebrows. “That’s unsettling.”

“Wait … how’s Jack?” Abigail asked.

“He’s fine. When I sat down to meditate, he was at his desk, busily scribbling in his notebook.”

“Well, at least there’s that,” she said. “Tell him I said hi.”

“I will. In the meantime, I’ll go talk to Cassandra and see if she can send some reinforcements.”

“Tell her that where the Sin’Rath are concerned, I’ve come to believe that overkill is very much in order,” Magda said. “She’ll understand.”

“I’ll deliver your message,” he said, turning to his sister.

“I love you, Abby. Stay safe.”

With a thought, he was standing atop the fortress island plateau. The place looked to be on a war footing. Sky Knights were drilling attack runs high overhead. Cassandra stood at the edge of the well the Coven used to focus their power into a single spell. Witches were gathering. Trepidation and purpose filled their colors.

“Lord Reishi,” Cassandra said with a deferential nod. “Your visit is well timed.”

“What’s happened?”

“A rider has just arrived with word from Bianca. Zuhl has taken the northeastern fortress island and he’s moving soldiers onto the Reishi Isle.”

“I knew he was up to something,” Alexander said, “but I didn’t expect that.”

“Worse still, he has a dragon.”

Alexander sighed, shaking his head. “I guess I should have seen that coming. He’s built up the fiction that he’s the Dragon God. A lie that big would be tough to maintain without a dragon.”

“We’ve just begun to make preparations for our attack,” Cassandra said.

“I need you to set that aside for now,” Alexander said, then took a few minutes to explain the situation on Ithilian with the Sin’Rath. He finished with Magda’s request for help.

“Those were her exact words?”

Alexander nodded.

“I see,” Cassandra said, looking into the well, deep in thought for a moment. “She and I have had many discussions over the years about the proportional use of force. Her position has always been one of moderation and restraint. That she’s embraced ‘overkill’ in this instance tells me just how dangerous the Sin’Rath really are.”

“They need to be stopped before they can reconstitute their coven,” Alexander said. “And they need to be stopped with minimal harm to the Ithilian wizards and Abel.”

“I understand. I’ll personally lead all of the witches in this fortress against the Sin’Rath. The remaining Sky Knights will begin scouting operations against Zuhl.”

“Good. Don’t attack until we can figure out how to deal with his dragon,” Alexander said.

“Understood, Lord Reishi. I’ll dispatch a message rider to Bianca at once.”

“Thank you, Cassandra,” he said, fading out of sight and back into the firmament.

His magic was becoming second nature, an extension of his will, as easy to command as his own hands. In a blink, he was standing in a large tent within the stout wall surrounding the Reishi Keep.

Commander Perry was studying a map of the Reishi Isle laid out on a large table. He looked up quickly when Alexander appeared but composed himself almost instantly, saluting crisply.

“Lord Reishi.”

“Report.”

“We’ve secured the majority of the Keep with the exception of the throne room and adjacent areas as well as several areas deep under the structure itself. The tentacle demon seems to be hibernating, though it stirs every time we get near, so I’ve ordered my men to stay well clear of those chambers.

“Your friend Rentu recently brought word that the underground fortress has been occupied by Zuhl’s soldiers. My scouts tell me that several thousand men have established a fortified position around the entrance and more are arriving daily. As I have insufficient to both secure the Keep and mount an attack against the invaders, I’ve chosen to monitor their activities. So far, they’ve shown no interest in the Keep.”

“At forces least there’s that,” Alexander said. “Maintain your defensive position here, but be ready to move the bulk of your forces at a moment’s notice. Also, you may hear an explosion from the direction of the hidden fortress. If you do, take no action.”

Commander Perry saluted as Alexander vanished, flitting to the hidden fortress. Over a thousand men occupied a makeshift fortification built up around the entrance. A wide trench formed a half circle around the encampment with a high earthen berm littered with sharpened stakes behind it. Three wooden towers armed with ballistae provided watchmen with a clear view of all approaches.

Alexander drifted invisibly into the passages of the hidden fortress, finding soldiers at every turn. He found the chamber where he’d last seen Mage Gamaliel’s explosive weapon, but it was gone. Zuhl’s soldiers had secured a path to the chamber where the Nether Gate resided, barricading several unstable passages with debris, rock, and dirt. Alexander wanted to laugh when he saw that the explosive weapon was part of the material used to fill one of the passages. They had no idea what it was.

Several dragon priests and a wizard wearing a collar were working on the Nether Gate. They seemed to be building a complex apparatus between the Gate and the control pedestal. Several of the components glowed softly with colors of magic.

Fading back into the firmament, Alexander wondered if Zuhl had devised a way to open the Gate without the keystones. He doubted it, considering how much effort Phane had expended to acquire the keystones, but that didn’t change the fact that Zuhl seemed to believe otherwise and it would be unwise to doubt the resourcefulness of a seven-hundred-year-old mage.

Deciding that he should consult the sovereigns before he chose a course of action, he shifted his focus to yet another problem: Hector.

Alexander located him quickly, materializing in the middle of a clearing in the expansive Karth jungle just as Hector, Drogan, and several dozen soldiers emerged from the thick foliage.

Hector’s colors swirled with guilt and loss. Drogan motioned to the soldiers and they fanned out surrounding Alexander. He ignored them.

“Hello, Hector.”

“I’ve been expecting you,” he said.

“So you’ve probably thought about what you were going to say to me then. Let’s hear it.”

“What is this?” Drogan asked warily.

“He’s just a projection,” Hector said.

Drogan cocked his head, then reached down and picked up a rock, tossing it through Alexander’s illusion.

“Huh.”

“I’m waiting, Hector.”

“Phane can bring Horace back … and you can’t.”

“You know better than that. Phane is a liar. That’s what he does.”

Hector shook his head defiantly. “You’re wrong. You have to be wrong.”

“Listen to yourself, Hector. You want this so badly that you’re willing to believe anything, but deep down you know the truth. Horace is dead. Nothing can change that. Don’t throw away everything that he died for.”

“He died for nothing! It was so pointless, so unnecessary. I have to undo it.”

Alexander shook his head sadly. “Some things can’t be undone. But it’s not too late to redeem yourself. Leave these people, return to the House of Karth. They’ll take you in and give you the time you need to mourn your brother and come to your senses.”

“No! Horace will live again,” Hector said, approaching to within arm’s length of Alexander’s projection. “I’ve made my choice and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. You’re not even here.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Hector, but I will.”

“How?” he said, waving his hand through Alexander’s illusion.

“You forget where you are,” Alexander said, tipping his head back and projecting a long howling wail that carried out into the jungle. The birds fell silent.

“What are you doing?” Hector asked, alarm growing in his colors.

“I’m killing you,” Alexander said, projecting another loud call into the jungle.

“Make him stop,” Drogan said. “He’ll attract predators.”

“Please don’t do this, Lord Reishi.”

“You’ve chosen to serve the darkness,” Alexander said, a hard edge to his voice. “The truth is, I’m doing you a favor. If Phane ever made good on his promise to resurrect Horace, you would discover the true meaning of the word horror.”

Alexander transformed into a ball of brilliant white light and rose several dozen feet overhead, projecting a keening wail that was sure to attract the attention of predators for leagues in all directions.

It wasn’t long before the first chameleon lizard arrived, killing a soldier at the edge of the clearing and dragging his corpse into the jungle. Alexander didn’t remain for long after the hunting pack of lizards arrived. Hector had been his friend. He hated that it had come to this, but duty demanded it. He slipped back into the firmament amid screams of terror and death as Phane’s expedition force was picked to pieces.

He found Wyatt and Ayela in a cave with a dozen or so Karth soldiers and Tasia, still recovering from her fight with Aedan.

Wyatt stood quickly and saluted, fist to heart. “Lord Reishi, I wish I had better news to report. My men are all dead. Princess Lacy and Wren were recaptured, and we failed to secure the third keystone.”

“I know,” Alexander said. “I’m sorry about your men.”

Wyatt nodded, looking down at the ground with a great sadness welling up in his colors. Ayela put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“Lord Reishi, what can we do?” she asked.

“I need you to get Lacy and Wren out of the Regency fortress and away from Phane and Isabel.”

“What about Lady Reishi?” Wyatt asked.

“She won’t be free until I banish the Wraith Queen,” Alexander said. “Right now, the best thing we can do for her is to get everyone she cares about away from her. But there’s a problem. Lacy and Wren are wearing Andalian slave collars. You might need Trajan’s help to remove them.”

“He went north,” Ayela said, shaking her head sadly. “I fear he’s lost to us. That cursed bone has claimed his sanity.”

“I’m sorry, Ayela.”

“Me too,” she whispered.

“We’ll think on the problem,” Tasia said from her makeshift bed against the cave wall. “Perhaps there’s another way to defeat these collars you speak of.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Alexander asked.

“My body is broken, but my mind is just fine,” Tasia said. “And with the help of Ayela’s potions, I’ll mend soon enough.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Would you like me to relay a message to Bragador?”

“When I accomplish the task appointed to me, I will return home. Until then, I have nothing to report.”

“Fair enough,” Alexander said.

Tasia hesitated a moment before speaking again. “Is Anja well?”

“She’s well and she’s amazing. I’ll tell her you said hello.”

“Thank you,” Tasia said.

Chapter 3

Alexander returned to his body and a mild headache. Not too long ago, he would have been in serious pain from spending so much time using his illusion magic.

He touched the Sovereign Stone and took his seat at the table. After detailing recent events, he turned to Malachi.

“Tell me everything you know about Mage Cedric’s war staff.”

Malachi scowled. “That blasted staff kept my armies at bay for years. I tried to replicate it, I tried to steal it, I even tried to destroy it, but Cedric was always a step ahead of me.”

“What does it do?” Alexander asked.

“Mostly close-combat spells—fire, ice, and the like.”

“Mostly?”

“Its real power is the falling-star spell.” Malachi scowled again. “I could never figure out how he did that. The whole war would have turned out differently without that staff.”

“What exactly is a falling-star spell?”

“Just like it sounds,” Malachi said. “That staff can call stars out of the sky. The first time he used it against me, I lost five legions in an afternoon. Fifty thousand battle-hardened soldiers, wiped out to a man in minutes. After that, the war ground to a halt for decades. Neither side dared commit large numbers of troops, so the fight turned to magic and subterfuge, assassins and treachery.”

“Why didn’t he use the staff against you?”

“I owned the oceans and the Gates,” Malachi said. “Cedric couldn’t get close enough to my territories to attack … not for lack of trying, mind you.”

“What would this falling-star spell do to a city?”

“Level it,” Malachi said. “There wouldn’t be anything left but a smoldering hole in the ground.”

“How do I defend against it?”

“You don’t. The only defense against a spell like that is to be elsewhere when it hits.”

Alexander shook his head in dismay. “Why didn’t he put that in the first Bloodvault?” he whispered.

“Mage Cedric probably believed that such power should be earned,” Balthazar said.

“From what you’ve said about Mage Cedric, I suspect he gave serious thought to destroying it,” Constantine said. “A wise mage would create a weapon like that only out of desperation.”

Malachi snorted derisively.

“Who has this staff?” Balthazar asked.

“A thug named Elred Rake. He’s working for Phane and he’s headed straight for Blackstone Keep.”

Malachi smiled. “Well, well … maybe Cedric’s staff will finally be put to good use. How delicious … his Keep destroyed by his own weapon.”

“Silence,” Alexander commanded.

“Such a weapon would make Phane considerably more dangerous,” Balthazar said. “I recommend you direct your full attention to recovering it or destroying it.”

“I need to go get my wife,” Alexander said, shaking his head helplessly.

“It sounds like this threat is more imminent,” Dominic said. “While I certainly understand your concern for Isabel, you must remember your duty as the Sovereign. After Blackstone falls, this Elred Rake will move against your cities in northern Ruatha and they will be defenseless against such power.”

A battle raged in Alexander’s mind. He knew what he had to do, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to accept it. After Mithel Dour fell, he thought he finally had the advantage, that he could choose his next move without his hand being forced by one of his many enemies.

“What would Lady Reishi have you do?” Balthazar asked quietly.

Alexander put his face in his hands as his resolve hardened. She would never forgive him if he let New Ruatha fall just to save her. And deep down, he knew that he wouldn’t forgive himself.

“It’s always something,” he said.

The table fell silent for several moments.

“I’m concerned about Zuhl’s intentions with regard to the Nether Gate,” Balthazar said.

“Me too,” Alexander said, pulling his thoughts away from Isabel. “Is there a chance he could open it without the keystones?”

The sovereigns turned to Malachi.

“How should I know?” he said with an indifferent shrug.

“You built it,” Alexander said. “Is it possible? Could he open it?”

“Possible? I suppose, but I couldn’t tell you how. I was very careful to bind it to the keystones.”

“Could he be doing something else?” Alexander asked.

“He may be trying to replicate it,” Constantine said. “Or more probably, he may be trying to replicate the underlying spell.”

“He’d be a fool to try,” Malachi said with a snort.

“Why?”

Malachi hesitated before answering. “The Nether Gate combines a number of spells: one to open a portal to the netherworld; another to command forth a desired demon while preventing others from coming through; and yet another to bind the summoned demon to the will of the one who opened the Gate. Each of these spells alone would be useless at best or disastrous at worst.”

“Your descriptions of Zuhl seem to indicate an abundance of caution and greater-than-average patience,” Balthazar said. “Given that, it’s doubtful he would make such a reckless mistake.”

“He may be pursuing some goal that we haven’t considered,” Darius said.

“In any case, it might be prudent to detonate your weapon,” Constantine said.

“I agree,” Balthazar said. “Whatever his intentions, he cannot be allowed to succeed.”

The other sovereigns nodded agreement … even Malachi. Alexander eyed him suspiciously.

“What? Zuhl is as much Phane’s enemy as you are,” he said. “Any harm you do to him will serve my son.”

Alexander snorted, shaking his head. “There’s one other thing,” he said. “I got lost in the firmament.”

The table fell deathly silent, all six sovereigns looking at him with a mixture of alarm and awe.

“Lies!” Malachi spat. “You’d be dead.”

Alexander shook his head slowly, then he carefully recounted everything he remembered from the experience—the depths of the firmament, the profound sense of peace and connection to all life, how Chloe had helped him find his way back. They sat quietly in rapt attention, hanging on every word until he finished and then still they stared at him silently as if they were trying to process a new understanding of the world that contradicted everything they knew to be true.

“I’ve never heard of such an account,” Demetrius said.

“Nor have I,” Balthazar said.

“That’s because it’s impossible,” Malachi said.

“Do you have any advice?” Alexander asked.

Again the table fell silent.

Finally, Balthazar said, “Proceed with extreme caution. I wish I could offer more, Alexander, but this is uncharted territory.”

“Perhaps you could re-create the experience in a more controlled way,” Constantine said. “You must have some sense as to how deep within the firmament you traveled. If you set out to explore those depths in a much more limited way, it may reveal new insights, or help you develop greater control and awareness.”

“It would also be wise to have your familiar ready to call you back after a predetermined period of time,” Darius said.

“You said that as you descended, you lost your attachment to worldly concerns,” Balthazar said. “Did this detachment come on all at once or was it gradual?”

“It was gradual, but once I’d passed a certain point, what remained of my worldly concerns seemed to vanish very quickly.”

“Then I would recommend stopping while you still retain some measure of attachment to the world of time and substance,” Balthazar said. “Hold there and attempt to contact Siduri. Perhaps he will hear you.”

Alexander nodded, considering the suggestion even as fear fluttered in his belly. He’d never felt such peace and contentment as he had in the depths of the firmament. When he thought about it, he longed to return. Even the knowledge that death resided in that place of calm contentment wasn’t enough to erase the allure of such profound belonging and stillness.

“Perhaps there is another course of action,” Darius said. “This state of mind you have labeled as ‘the witness’ is similar to the detachment necessary for a wizard to cast a spell. Without it, we would be lost. Yet we must also be acutely aware of our worldly purpose in the moment that we release our will into the firmament. This duality of mind is the foundation of a wizard’s magic. Perhaps you should revisit some of the more basic lessons taught to apprentice wizards in order to better develop this faculty.”

“And once again, we’re reminded that you’re not even a real wizard,” Malachi said.

Alexander ignored him. “I wish I had more time.”

“Or …” Balthazar said. “Wizards develop detachment because it’s essential to spell casting. Witches use emotion to accomplish the same effect—resistance to the pull of the firmament. If you cultivate a strong emotion prior to delving into the depths of the firmament, it may provide you with the duality of mind necessary to both experience and resist such primordial power.”

“I hadn’t considered that.”

“I only suggest it because strong emotion is much more easily generated than detachment, though it cannot be sustained for nearly as long, so be cautious with this approach,” Balthazar said.

Malachi laughed. “You think you’ll defeat my son by learning magic like a woman? If only he could see just how desperate you truly are.”

“Magic is just a tool,” Alexander said. “In the end, Phane’s absence of conscience will be his undoing. His magic can’t save him from that.”

“Conscience is nothing but a hindrance to those who seek power … a luxury that a ruler cannot afford,” Malachi said. “You’re a child playing an adult’s game. In the end, your conscience will stay your hand when you should strike. In that moment, Phane will kill you.”

Demetrius shook his head sadly. “How could you have strayed so far, My Son?”

“If I hadn’t been betrayed, there would have been no war,” Malachi spat. “Clinging to outdated moral principles would have led to my doom.”

“You were betrayed because you turned away from the Old Law,” Demetrius said. “Your doom was self-inflicted.”

Malachi started to respond but Alexander silenced him with a raised hand.

“Thank you, Gentlemen,” he said, walking away from the table.

***

Alexander returned from his visit with the sovereigns and stretched, still sitting on his meditation table.

Jack looked up from his notebook and said, “So how’re we doing?”

“Abigail says hello,” Alexander said.

Jack smiled. “That’s good to hear. I miss her.”

“Me too.”

Alexander stood up, rubbing the soreness out of his nearly healed leg, and took a seat at the table. He spent the next half hour detailing the state of affairs in the world to his friends.

“Sounds like our enemies have been busy,” Jack said.

“A little too busy. I wasn’t expecting the Sin’Rath to move to Ithilian and it never crossed my mind that Rake would actually get into the Bloodvault.”

“So what are we going to do?” Anja asked.

“As much as I want to go get Isabel, I’m worried about Rake.”

“Rake is a thug,” Jataan said. “He’d like to believe that he’s the smartest man in the room, but he rarely is.”

“That’s what I’m worried about. With Phane pulling his strings, there’s no telling what kind of damage he can cause.” Alexander looked down, shaking his head helplessly.

“She’ll understand,” Jack said.

“I know, but that doesn’t make it any easier,” Alexander said. “It feels like I’m abandoning her, and it doesn’t help that I can’t tell her what I’m doing.”

The table fell silent until Jataan cleared his throat.

“I feel that I must apologize, Lord Reishi. I assigned Hector and Horace to you, and Hector has betrayed you.”

“You couldn’t have known how things were going to turn out. Losing his brother broke his spirit … his reason failed next. Hector’s lost to us, if he’s even still alive.”

“I should have judged his character more carefully,” Jataan said.

“I can see better than you can, Jataan, and I didn’t see this coming either.”

He nodded, but his colors roiled with inner turmoil.

“So, what’s the plan?” Anja asked.

“We leave for Ruatha at dawn,” Alexander said, removing a small metal tube from his pouch. He unstoppered it and dumped a little pebble onto the table. He looked at it intently, weighing his decision before drawing his dagger and crushing it with the pommel.

“What was that?” Anja asked.

“I had one of Kelvin’s explosive weapons delivered to the hidden fortress on the Reishi Isle a while back. Given Zuhl’s unhealthy interest in the Nether Gate, now seemed like a good time to detonate it.”

“You mean you just blew up the Nether Gate?” she asked.

“No, but I’m pretty sure I just brought the mountain down on top of it … along with a few thousand of Zuhl’s soldiers.”

Jack chuckled and started writing.

“Why did you wait so long?” Anja asked.

“I was hoping to kill Phane with it,” Alexander said. “If there’s one thing I can be certain of, it’s that Phane will eventually wind up in front of the Nether Gate.”

Jataan nodded.

Chapter 4

“I was afraid of that,” Alexander said, opening his eyes.

“What?” Anja asked.

“There’s an army camped around the Andalian Gate … and they’ve buried it,” he said. “Looks like we’re flying north.”

“Will that be fast enough?” Jack asked.

“I hope so,” Alexander said. “If they hadn’t piled several tons of dirt and rocks on top of the Gate, I’d be tempted to make a run for it in the night. As it stands, we’d never make it through.”

“It’ll take at least four days to reach New Ruatha,” Kiera said.

“I could fly there in two,” Anja said.

“Are you offering?” Alexander asked, pointedly.

Anja frowned. “No.”

“Four days it is then,” Alexander said.

“We’ll have to stop to feed the wyverns somewhere on the north coast,” Kiera said. “From there we can make Kai’Gorn by dark.”

“All right, if we have to stop on the coast, let’s head for the shipyard Talia’s building in the Western Province.”

Alexander left Luminessence against the doorframe and stepped out onto the plateau high in the Andalian mountains that had been home for the past few days. He offered his friends a smile before closing them inside, then he mounted up behind Kiera, double-checking his straps. Kiera signaled her wing rider and the two wyverns leapt off the mountaintop into the sky. Alexander felt the increasingly familiar thrill of falling and then the crush of gravity as the wyvern’s powerful wings thrust against the air, propelling them higher. He silently gave thanks that the weather was fair and warm.

It wasn’t long before the thrill of flight gave way to monotony. Kiera flew high enough to be safe from any conceivable attack from the ground. While the world seemed to pass by slowly, the edge of the evergreen forest blanketing the Western Province passed beneath them soon enough. The sun was high in the sky when they landed in the makeshift aerie set a fair distance from the hastily constructed shipyard and the town that was rapidly growing up around it.

Handlers went to work unbuckling the saddles and feeding the wyverns as Alexander and Kiera dismounted.

“It’ll be a couple of hours before we’re ready to fly again,” Kiera said.

“All right. I think I’ll go have a look at the shipyard.”

Alexander opened the door to his Wizard’s Den and his friends filed out into the afternoon sun.

“I have to say, that’s a remarkably relaxing way to travel,” Jack said, taking in his new surroundings.

A few moments later, two Rangers arrived and reined in their horses. Recognition spread through the lead man’s colors.

“LaChance, right?” Alexander said. “You were Kevin’s lieutenant.”

“I was indeed, Lord Reishi. Regent Alaric sent me to assist General Talia. He promoted me to commander and assigned me to lead the incursion into Andalia.”

“Outstanding, Commander. Why don’t you tell us about your progress over lunch.”

LaChance summoned a wagon and Alexander and his friends piled in for the short ride into town. The place looked like it had been built yesterday. The main road was dirt with shrubs and grass still clinging to the space between the wagon ruts. The buildings, many of them still under construction, were built with freshly cut timbers. Tents picked up where the buildings left off, sprawling haphazardly off into fields littered with stumps.

The people were busy, bustling this way and that; hauling wood to the paddlewheel-powered sawmill that straddled a nearby stream; clearing trees, both to create more space for the expanding population and to feed the shipyard’s insatiable demand for lumber; and working in every conceivable type of shop, from smithies to bakeries.

LaChance led them into one of the larger buildings and motioned to the table in the center of the main room.

“Welcome to my headquarters,” he said with an unabashed smile. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but a week ago this was nothing but a patch of dirt.”

“Sounds like you’re making good progress,” Alexander said.

“We are, and I expect that to accelerate now that you’ve given General Talia the order to move on Andalia.”

“That was quick,” Alexander said. “I just talked to him yesterday.”

“We received a message rider this morning,” LaChance said. “One of the things I’ve learned from working for General Talia is that he plans for just about every conceivable situation. I’m sure the moment you gave the order, he set his plan into motion. I’m expecting a fleet to arrive within the week loaded with soldiers, weapons, food, and gold.”

“Outstanding,” Alexander said. “How are things on the ground here?”

“I suspect it’s like most everywhere else … we have too much to do and not enough to do it with. I’ve put most of my resources into the shipyard, so the town is coming along more slowly than most people would like. Fortunately, the weather has been mild so the tents are adequate for now, but that won’t last. There’s grumbling about the working conditions, pay rates, the high cost of just about everything, and a thousand other things.

“Most of the people from the Western Province are invested in defeating the Andalians, but a lot of the people from the shipyards we destroyed to the east aren’t happy and they mostly blame us. On top of that, I’ve got agitators from every trade guild imaginable stirring up trouble, threatening to go back to the Andalians, to stop working and even sabotage our operations. I’ve run off a few of the true believers, but it’s a fine line. On one hand we need the shipwrights; on the other, I can’t afford an outright revolt, so I’ve had to make a few examples.”

“Have the Andalians moved against you?”

“Nothing significant. We’ve caught a few spies, but I’m sure more have gotten messages out. My scouts tell me that a legion of Lancers is camped just east of the forest along the coast, but I think they’re just protecting what’s left of their shipyards.

“Fortunately, they can’t seem to let go of their rhone. If they were a bit more adaptable, they might be a threat. Honestly, we couldn’t repel an all-out assault if they decided to attack on foot … at least not yet. We’ll be in a far better position once reinforcements arrive.”

“What’s Talia’s plan of attack?” Jataan asked.

“With the Lancers in northern Ruatha on the run, Mistress Constance will be sending me a wing of Sky Knights armed with firepots. I’ll use them to destroy the rest of the Andalian shipyards.

“We have about thirty-five hundred militiamen, but none of them have much training, so we’re working to arm them with bows and train them to fight in units. Once they’re a bit farther along I plan on thinning the ranks of the Lancers to the east. Maybe draw them into the forest where we have the advantage.”

Jataan nodded approvingly.

“General Talia is also sending me a couple of bards and three men from the Elite Guard. I’m not sure what five more people can do that we can’t, but he wouldn’t be sending them if he didn’t think they’d be useful.”

“You might be surprised, Commander,” Jack said. “I’ll prepare a letter for the bards. With a bit of guidance, I’m sure they’ll be able to help you with your trade-guild problem.”

“I don’t see how, but I’ll take your word for it,” LaChance said.

The door opened and a man rushed in, stopping short and struggling to catch his breath. He was dressed in fine clothes, wore several rings and carried a walking stick with a polished silver pommel. His neatly trimmed silver hair formed a crown around his bald pate.

A moment later, another man bustled in, stopping in his tracks and looking to the first man for instructions. Receiving none, he waited patiently, if a bit nervously.

“Commander LaChance, you should have summoned me,” the first man said, as if he were scolding a child. “I am the mayor, after all. I should be present to greet any guests of importance. So who do we have here? Message riders from Ruatha?”

LaChance regarded him calmly. “Mayor Humphrey, this is Lord Reishi, Sovereign of the Seven Isles.”

The man blanched slightly, but very quickly regained his composure. “Lord Reishi, what an unexpected surprise.” Within a few words he seemed completely at ease. “I must thank you on behalf of all Andalians for your valiant efforts to free us from the yolk of Acuna tyranny.”

“Please, join us,” Alexander said, motioning to an empty chair while appraising the man’s colors. He found them wanting.

“How kind of you, Lord Reishi,” Humphrey said, turning to the second man before taking his place at the table. “Go see to the preparations for Lord Reishi’s quarters.” The second man didn’t hesitate, scurrying out of the room before Alexander could object.

Humphrey sat down, placing his hands flat on the table. “This is very exciting,” he said. “We’re so proud of our burgeoning little community and the important role we have to play in the war effort. I trust that Commander LaChance has informed you of our progress, but I wonder if he’s made you aware of the many supply shortages our good people are suffering with. I would list the items we’re in need of but I’m afraid that would take too much of your time. Suffice it to say, we are short of everything … from food to iron.”

Alexander got the impression that the man could talk for an hour without taking a breath, so he stopped him with a gesture.

“Mayor Humphrey, I’m sure Commander LaChance is allocating his resources as best he can.”

“Oh yes, of course, I don’t mean to diminish the important work the Rangers are doing here, and Commander LaChance has been more than fair … on most counts, anyway.”

Alexander waited without responding, watching a hint of duplicity ripple in Humphrey’s colors. When it became apparent that Alexander wasn’t going to inquire about his concerns, he continued.

“You see, we have an opportunity that Commander LaChance has been reluctant to take advantage of, and I was hoping that you would see the wisdom—”

“What opportunity?”

“Ah, yes, well … for quite some time, a resistance organization has been working against the Andalian government and the Acuna. Of course, the Babachenko labeled the leader of these freedom fighters an outlaw and a brigand, but now that open war has come to Andalia, they seem like a natural ally. Unfortunately, I’ve been unable to persuade Commander LaChance of the value of such an alliance.”

“What I told you, was that I’m not making an alliance until I meet the man first,” LaChance said firmly.

“While I see the potential value,” Alexander said, “I agree with Commander LaChance. What’s this man’s name?”

“He’s called Nightshade,” Humphrey said.

Alexander schooled his expression, nodding to himself while watching the mayor’s colors intently. Anja started to blurt something, but stopped when Jack spilled his drink, standing so quickly that he knocked his chair over. In the ensuing commotion, Alexander silenced Anja with a look.

“I’m so sorry,” Jack said, hurrying to clean up the mess he’d made while Humphrey looked on disapprovingly.

“Have you met this man?” Alexander asked, drawing the mayor’s attention back to him.

“No, never,” Humphrey lied.

“I see,” Alexander said, feigning disappointment. “That’s unfortunate. We can use all the allies we can get. Do you have a way to get word to this Nightshade? Perhaps he would agree to a meeting with me.”

“I do have a contact, but I won’t be able to meet with him until after dark,” Humphrey said.

“Also unfortunate,” Alexander said. “I have urgent business elsewhere, so we’ll be leaving shortly.”

“Surely your business could be delayed for a day,” Humphrey said. “Nightshade could provide us with supplies and silver. His assistance might make all the difference in the fight for Andalia.”

“I’m afraid not, Mayor Humphrey,” Alexander said. “However, I’m sure Commander LaChance would be happy to meet with him.”

“As I understand it, Nightshade is extremely cautious,” Humphrey said. “So far, he’s been unwilling to meet with the commander … but I’m certain he would make time for you, Lord Reishi.”

Alexander pretended to weigh the man’s words but then slowly shook his head.

“I’m afraid my business is too urgent to be delayed. As much as I’d like to meet him, I need to be on my way.”

“Really, Lord Reishi, you must reconsider,” Humphrey said.

Alexander held the man with his blind eyes until Humphrey’s colors started to show discomfort.

“No,” Alexander said, waiting for the man to open his mouth to protest again before continuing. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I have some military matters to discuss with Commander LaChance.”

Humphrey looked taken aback. “But … I’m the mayor. I should be present for—”

Jataan took a step forward and Humphrey stopped talking.

“Yes, well, I do have many other issues to attend to. Lord Reishi,” he said curtly before turning on his heel and shuffling out the door.

“Follow him, Little One,” Alexander said silently.

“Yes, My Love.”

“He’s not really as insufferable as he made himself out to be,” LaChance said. “Truth is, he’s been a real help managing the day-to-day operations of the town.”

“I have no doubt,” Alexander said. “Unfortunately, he’s working for one of my enemies.”

“What?” LaChance said, genuinely surprised and a little flustered by the revelation. “Who?”

“I’m pretty sure that Nightshade is a man named Titus Grant. He’s stabbed me in the back both literally and figuratively. If he’s here, we need to deal with him or he could disrupt this entire operation.”

A wyvern roared, fury and pain echoing into the sky. Alexander bolted for the door and set out at a dead run toward the aerie. His friends fell in behind him. More sounds of battle reverberated through the trees as they neared. A wyvern leapt into the air, coming into view only briefly before a shadowy creature of almost translucent darkness latched on to its wing and tore the thin membrane to tatters. The wyvern snapped at the shadowy attacker and it vanished, leaving only wisps of darkness fading like smoke on a breeze. But the damage was done. The wyvern crashed to the ground, its wing no longer able to support it in flight.

Alexander arrived to find all eight wyverns injured and a number of handlers dead or dying. Kiera stood in the middle of the aerie, flanked by several Sky Knights looking for any further threat, but the forest fell silent save for the sounds of wounded wyverns.

He stopped several feet from Kiera, her colors roiling with rage. Outwardly, the only indication of her feelings was the ferocity in her eyes.

“Report,” Alexander said.

She took a deep breath to steady herself before speaking.

“Shadows came out of the forest and attacked the wyverns. We fought as best we could, but there were too many of them. They didn’t attack us unless we got in the way … they were just after the wyverns.”

“Lita, tend to the wounded. LaChance, I need twenty Rangers and horses for all of my people.”

Lita went to work immediately, caring for the wounded Sky Knights. LaChance pointed at one of his men. The Ranger turned on his heel and ran for the stables.

“Who do you think did this?” Jack asked.

“Probably Yasim,” Alexander said. “This sounds like a spell I’ve seen him cast.” He opened his Wizard’s Den with a gesture and went to his magic circle, while Jataan stood just inside the doorway, his hands casually clasped behind his back.

Alexander slipped into the firmament and thought of Yasim. Sure enough, he found the Royal Assassin in a steep ravine not half a league from the aerie. He was accompanied by the same four men who had guarded Alexander’s tent during their journey to the Western Province. A dozen assassins were with him as well, the very same men that the Babachenko had threatened to send after Abigail. Alexander rose into the sky and mentally mapped their location.

He emerged from his Wizard’s Den to the sound of horses approaching at a gallop.

“Stay mounted,” he said to the Rangers, as he took the reins offered to him and hoisted himself into the saddle.

“Listen up. We’re going after the Andalian Royal Assassin and his men. All of them are dangerous, so don’t hesitate to strike.” He turned to LaChance. “Have your fastest ship made ready to sail.”

LaChance saluted and started issuing orders.

“I would join you, Lord Reishi,” Kiera said.

“Good. Mount up,” he said, spurring his horse toward the forest.

Chapter 5

The terrain was rough, but not unmanageable for the nimble horses favored by the Rangers. As they reached the ridge looking down into the ravine, Alexander dismounted, signaling for silence.

“Send me your mind,” Chloe said.

Alexander gestured for everyone to hold their position and obliged his familiar without a word. Humphrey was speaking to a tradesman, a man with questionable colors.

“If Nightshade wants the Stone, he has to move now,” the mayor said. “The pretender plans to leave soon.”

The man nodded, handing Humphrey a pouch. “I’ll deliver your message. Are the strike preparations on schedule?”

“Yes. With the silver you’ve provided, we’ve been able to get nearly half of the shipwrights on board, but we won’t be able to keep them if the supply ships from Ruatha get through.”

“We’ll take care of that,” the tradesman said, stepping back into an alley and disappearing into the shadows.

“Follow Nightshade’s man, Little One.”

“I will, My Love.”

“Looks like I was right about Humphrey,” Alexander said, looking down into the ravine with his all around sight. Yasim’s men were well hidden but they were also boxed in. They had only two directions to retreat—up the ravine or down the ravine. Even better, they didn’t seem to be aware of Alexander and his men.

“Any idea what Nightshade’s up to?” Jack asked.

“Short term, he’s organizing a strike. Long term, I suspect he wants to rule Andalia. But we’ll deal with him later.”

“What do we face, Lord Reishi?” Kiera asked, a hard edge in her voice.

“Yasim is a necromancer mage. Some of his men are very skilled assassins. The rest are killers for hire. I suspect all of them are far more comfortable stabbing people in the back than they are in combat. A few have magic, but Yasim is the only wizard in the bunch—and he’s the one I want dead the most.”

“He’s the one who wounded the wyverns, yes?” Kiera said.

“Yes. I suspect the Babachenko sent him to make sure that I don’t leave Andalia.”

“What’s your plan of attack, Lord Reishi?” Jataan asked.

Alexander opened his Wizard’s Den and retrieved Luminessence. “We move quietly. The archers will attack by surprise from the high ground, then we’ll engage the rest. I suspect Yasim’s magic will fail under my light, but he’s still dangerous. He wears enchanted armor and his dagger is dark and powerful.”

They set out, moving slowly down the steep slope, sacrificing speed for stealth. Every ten steps or so, Alexander stopped and looked through the trees, checking on Yasim and his men. They seemed to be preparing for battle, yet didn’t appear to be aware of Alexander’s presence.

When Alexander and his people reached a point just a hundred feet above the secluded camp, they could see Yasim and his men setting out toward the town, traveling single file along the little stream that had carved the ravine. Alexander looked to his Rangers—all had arrows nocked and ready.

He lifted Luminessence and raised its light, harsh and glaring to his enemies but illuminating and revealing to his allies. Arrows sailed through the trees a moment later, catching many of the hired killers by surprise, killing more than a few.

Yasim and his assassins quickly found cover, avoiding the rain of arrows falling into their midst. It didn’t take the remaining mercenaries long to gather their senses and seek refuge behind the stout trees growing along the stream banks.

Alexander shouted, “I just want Yasim! The rest of you are free to go if you leave now!”

One man stepped out from behind a tree, showing his hands, looking at Alexander with suspicion and hope, furtively glancing down the ravine.

“Run,” Alexander said. The man turned and ran, but a moment later an arc of inky blackness leapt from behind the tree where Yasim had taken cover and struck the man square in the back, blasting him forward onto the ground. His skin turned dark as his colors faded.

“That looks like eight dead, Yasim!” Alexander shouted. “Surrender and put that collar around your neck and I’ll let you live.”

His offer was met with derisive laughter.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Alexander muttered, motioning for Jataan to take half of the Rangers and flank to the high side of the ravine.

Dark tendrils began moving away from Yasim’s position, creeping along the ground toward his fallen men.

“I don’t like the looks of that,” Jack said, pulling his hood up and flickering out of sight.

When the tendrils reached the fresh corpses, the dead arched their backs, shaking as if in excruciating pain before springing to their feet with far more agility than the dead should be able to muster. As one, they turned toward Alexander and howled. A moment later, they were frantically charging toward him. The Rangers’ colors rippled with fear.

It took Alexander a moment to fully process what he was seeing. He sent a surge of light into the world, flooding the forest with such pure radiant brilliance that Yasim’s dark spell broke and his dead fell once again, crashing to the forest floor in midstride.

Darkness began filling the ravine like smoke, thick and impenetrable to normal sight. Alexander raised his light, but it wouldn’t penetrate the darkness. He raised it brighter still, another pulse of the purest light, washing away the unnatural darkness but only after he drew power from the realm of light itself. A wave of weariness flowed into him, forcing him to lean on his staff for a moment.

The Rangers with Jataan loosed another volley into the enemy, felling three more. Yasim sent a number of shadow creatures at them, wing and claw and fang taking form in midflight. Alexander tried to raise his light again but all he could muster was natural illumination, bright and blinding to his enemies, but with little power to dispel Yasim’s dark magic. He drew the Thinblade and charged into battle with Anja close on his heels and the Rangers advancing behind them, bows at the ready.

The first shadow reached Jataan. He slipped aside and cleaved through it with a sword that seemed to materialize in his hand. The creature vanished in a puff of foul smoke. The remaining shadows swept into the Rangers, tearing into flesh and killing three men in as many seconds, then vanishing. Kiera killed one with a light-lance spell. A Ranger killed another with a hasty, but lucky, swing of his sword.

Alexander reached the closest assassin, sliding out of the path of his sword and sweeping through the man with the Thinblade, killing him almost as an afterthought on his way to Yasim. Anja killed another man with a brutal hack of her oversized sword. The courage of the enemy seemed to break all at once and the remaining killers turned and fled down the ravine. The Rangers took them down with a continuous barrage of arrows, dropping one after the next in rapid succession.

Alexander reached Yasim just as the Royal Assassin unleashed another spell. In the space of a heartbeat, Alexander felt all of his strength fail. He went to one knee, unable to stand, debilitating weakness filling every recess of his being. He tried to raise his light, but didn’t have the strength.

Yasim smiled down at him, the look of triumph frozen in place when Jataan decapitated him with a stroke from behind. In that moment, Alexander’s strength flooded back into his body just as quickly as it had left him. He stood, scanning the carnage and finding only his people still breathing.

“Well done,” he said to Jataan as he knelt beside the Royal Assassin’s corpse. He took the slave master’s ring from Yasim’s finger and the slave collar that was looped around his belt.

Alexander slipped the ring on and touched it to the collar. A moment passed before the clasp opened with a click.

“Have someone particular in mind?” Jack asked, flickering into view.

“No, but I’m hoping Kelvin can figure out how to remove one of these collars without using a master ring.”

A Ranger sergeant approached. “I have four dead and three injured. The area is secure and all of the enemy are dead.”

“Tend to your wounded, bury your dead, and collect the enemy to be burned,” Alexander said.

“Yes, Lord Reishi,” the sergeant said.

“I don’t understand why we don’t just go kill the Babachenko,” Anja said. “They’re not that tough. The last two fights have been easy.”

“Tell that to them,” Alexander said, looking at the dead Rangers. “Without Luminessence, this would have turned out very differently. And we had surprise and the high ground on our side.”

She frowned, looking a little sheepish at the sorrow creasing the brows of the Rangers as they prepared to bury their fallen.

Alexander opened the Wizard’s Den and locked Yasim’s enchanted dagger and armor in his strongbox, along with the collar. After a moment’s thought, he put the ring in his pouch. The wounded Rangers were helped into beds while everyone else tended to the dead. After a brief but somber funeral, they mounted up.

They were nearly back to town when Chloe reached out to Alexander.

“Send me your mind, My Love.”

He reined in his horse and closed his eyes. A moment later he was perched on a rock outcropping near the apex of a cave. Titus Grant and his wife Joss were there, seated at the head of a finely crafted table that looked remarkably out of place in the unfinished cavern. A wizard and a number of diverse yet quite competent-looking individuals shared the table with them. The tradesman who’d spoken to Humphrey sat toward the far end.

“Humphrey said the pretender will leave soon, so we don’t have much time if you still want him,” the tradesman said.

Grant seemed torn. Again, Alexander wished he could see the man’s colors.

“Of course I want him,” he said. “But I can’t afford to underestimate him again.”

“This may be our last chance,” Joss said. “He took our home and our standing from us. Look at where we are, Titus. This is intolerable.”

“I know, but he’s dangerous. Even more so with his allies surrounding him.”

“I’ve never known you to shy away from an adversary,” she said, seeming a bit confused.

“I’ve never faced an adversary who can see me when I don’t want him to.”

“If the mayor is correct, we haven’t much time to prepare,” the wizard said. “Perhaps your interests would be better served by allowing him to leave Andalia so that you can focus on consolidating your power over the rebels.”

The table fell silent again while Grant weighed his options.

“That would certainly be the safe course,” he said to the wizard. “The thing is, every time I’ve ever won big it was because I took a risk.”

The wizard nodded thoughtfully. “Success will deliver Andalia to you. Failure will cost you everything.”

Grant looked to his wife. She nodded.

“All right then,” Grant said, looking to another of the men at the table. “Make my ship ready to sail, and lay in stores for a long journey. We’ll have to sail the eastern seas to reach Karth once we have him.”

The man nodded, even though fear rippled through his colors.

“What about the strike?” another asked.

“You stay here and proceed with the plan. The message has already been sent to the Andalian fleet. I’m sure that the rebels will be more amenable to our offer when they learn that their supply ships are at the bottom of the ocean.”

“Understood,” the man said.

“So now we just need a way of luring him into a trap,” Joss said.

“That and a trap capable of holding him,” Grant said.

“You don’t think a collar will be enough?” Joss asked.

“It certainly wasn’t enough back in Mithel Dour,” Grant said, looking up and tapping his chin. “He did seem very concerned about the well-being of his pet dragon though. If we could get a collar around her neck, I suspect she could serve as both bait and leverage.”

“Ambitious and quite dangerous,” the wizard said. “The collar would prevent her from reverting to her true form, but it would do nothing to limit her strength, and very likely only serve to exacerbate her ferocity.”

“Unless she’s paralyzed,” another man at the table said, setting a vial before him. “One drop of glowworm toxin and she’ll be helpless.”

“And once the toxin wears off, then what?” the wizard asked.

“Once we have him, we kill her,” Joss said.

“That would be unwise,” the wizard said. “Killing her may provoke the dragons of Tyr.”

“He’s right,” Grant said, shaking his head. “That’s the last thing we need.”

“Perhaps there’s another way,” the wizard said, turning to the tradesman who’d delivered Humphrey’s message. “You say he plans to leave soon. Will he be traveling by ship?”

“That’s hard to say. He arrived on a wyvern.”

“If he leaves by flight, then he’s beyond our grasp,” the wizard said. “But if he were to leave by ship, perhaps we could provide the crew.”

“If we put a bunch of our people onboard, he’ll know,” Grant said. “Besides, I’m not sure I like the idea of being trapped on a ship with him. I’ve seen him fight.”

“He still has to eat,” the man with the glowworm toxin said, placing another vial next to it. “We make him a nice meal and he goes to sleep.”

“I like that better,” Grant said. “We’d only need one man onboard. As long as he stays out of sight, the pretender will be none the wiser.”

“I’ll go,” another man said.

“Good,” Grant said, standing up. “We need to get to my ship quickly so we can be in position to intercept them.”

“Come back to me, Little One,” Alexander said, separating his mind from Chloe.

When he returned, he found Jack sitting behind him and holding him steady in his saddle. The Rangers had dismounted.

“Just a suggestion,” Jack said, slipping to the ground. “You might dismount before you decide to leave next time. You almost fell out of your saddle.”

“Point taken,” Alexander said.

“Any news?” Jack asked.

“It seems that Grant has plans for me.”

“That’s too bad,” Anja said. “I almost liked his wife.”

“You wouldn’t feel that way if you knew what I know.”

Chloe buzzed into view. “She wanted to kill you.”

Anja frowned. “In that case, we should go kill them.”

“Maybe there’s another way,” Alexander said, dismounting and opening his Wizard’s Den. Moments after he sat down, his mind was floating on the ocean of creation. He thought of Joss and found her riding hard toward the coast with her husband and a dozen other men.

Alexander was waiting for them when they rounded a bend in the forest trail. Grant reined in sharply, looking for signs of an ambush. Finding none, he motioned for his people to make ready as he cautiously approached.

“Hello, Alexander,” he said. “May I call you that? Or would you prefer Lord Reishi?”

A crossbow bolt fired by one of his henchmen sailed through Alexander’s illusion and Grant nodded to himself as if confirming a suspicion.

“I’d heard about your magic, but I wasn’t sure I believed the stories. I’m curious how you managed to find me. I tend to be invisible to divination spells.”

“I didn’t find you … I found her,” he said, pointing at Joss.

A flicker of worry registered in Grant’s expression before it was replaced with practiced confidence.

“I know about your plan,” Alexander said. “The man you sent to poison me will be apprehended. The Andalian fleet will sail into a trap and you will be reduced to a fugitive running for your life … unless you agree to my terms.”

A glimmer of worry danced in his eyes, but only for the briefest moment.

“Ah, spread a little thin, are we?” Grant said. “I was wondering why you’d go to the trouble of warning me about my impending defeat. You never struck me as the type to gloat at the expense of a tactical advantage.”

“I considered hunting you down and killing you myself, especially after hearing your wife’s suggestion for Anja,” Alexander said, pausing to let the significance of his words sink in. Joss’s colors flooded with fear. “But honestly, you’re just not that important.”

“Out of curiosity, what are your terms?” Grant asked.

“Disengage your forces in the north and go kill the Babachenko. Do this, and I’ll forgive your past crimes. Refuse, and I’ll go to the Babachenko and tell him your name. Then I’ll suggest that he can find you through your wife, just as I have.”

Grant hesitated, struggling to maintain his mask of indifference. “I’m sure the Babachenko has more important things to do right now.”

“I’m sure he does, but I’m equally certain that you’re on his list. It’s one thing to be hunted when nobody knows who you are. But once he has your name, there won’t be anywhere in the Seven Isles that you can hide, at least not if you want to stay with your wife.”

“What makes you think I can kill him?” Grant asked.

“Because he won’t see you coming,” Alexander said. “Your rather unique magical talents make you the perfect man for the job.”

“You’re asking me to take quite a risk.”

“Just a few minutes ago you were saying how your greatest successes have always involved risk.”

Grant looked a bit startled.

“Yes, I heard every word. Now you’ve heard my terms. Do as you will, but know this … I will be watching.”

He faded out of sight before Grant could speak, sending his mind to the north coast of Andalia and searching for the enemy fleet. It didn’t take long to find them harbored in a large cove well east of the shipyards. It looked like they were making ready to put to sea.

He flickered to Kai’Gorn and found Talia making preparations to send his fleet to war. The docks were abuzz with activity, ships being loaded, men bustling this way and that. The only man standing still was Talia. Alexander materialized next to the general.

“Lord Reishi, do you have new orders?”

“Yes, and a warning,” Alexander said. “The Andalian fleet is aware that you’re coming. They’re planning to attack. Has the wing of Sky Knights arrived?”

“They’re due this evening.”

“Good. Take me to your maps.”

Talia led him to a small building adjacent to the docks. A map of southern Ruatha and northern Andalia was spread out on a table.

“The Andalians are harbored in this cove,” Alexander said, pointing. “They’ll put to sea by nightfall. Send the Sky Knights against them first thing in the morning. They should be in deep water by then. Sink them all. I want the Andalians to watch their fleet float away and never return.”

“Understood.”

“Also, send a pair of Sky Knights to LaChance. Kiera’s wyverns have been injured and I might need to fly.”

“I’ll dispatch them immediately, Lord Reishi.”

“Well done, General,” Alexander said, fading into the firmament and returning to his body.

“Let’s go have another chat with the mayor,” he said, as he mounted his horse and turned toward town.

Chapter 6

“He made me do it, Lord Reishi. Please don’t kill me,” Humphrey sobbed.

The mayor had been brought to LaChance’s headquarters by a pair of Rangers. He’d tried to lie and bluff but his courage failed when Alexander drew the Thinblade.

“You mean he paid you to betray your own people.”

“No … well, he did pay me, but only after he threatened to kill me,” Humphrey said, desperation and fear coursing through his colors.

Alexander regarded the man as he considered his options. Humphrey started to fidget nervously.

“Have you ever killed anybody?”

“No, Lord Reishi. Never.”

“Will you serve the Old Law from this moment forward?”

“Yes, Lord Reishi,” he said, nodding emphatically.

Alexander scrutinized his colors. The mayor meant what he said … at the moment anyway.

“Very well. You’ll make a list of all of Nightshade’s agents in this community for Commander LaChance. Then you’ll go to the men you’ve recruited to participate in the strike and tell them it’s been called off. You are no longer the mayor. You are now the commander’s assistant. You will help him manage this community as he sees fit. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Lord Reishi. Thank you.”

“I’ll be watching you. If you betray the Old Law again, I will take your life. Do you understand?”

“Yes, absolutely. I’ll serve you faithfully, I promise.”

“No … you’ll serve the Old Law faithfully.”

A flicker of confusion danced through his colors but he nodded hastily nonetheless.

“Make your list,” Alexander said, pointing to a desk against the wall. Humphrey did as he was told without a word. Alexander sat down at LaChance’s table.

“How are the wyverns?” he asked.

“They’ll mend,” Lita said, “but I’m afraid none will be flying anytime soon.”

“I’ve ordered my men to increase security around the aerie, but honestly, I’m not sure how we can defend against magical attacks,” LaChance said.

“Hopefully, you won’t have to,” Alexander said. “Given the situation, we’ll be staying the night. Have my ship ready to sail at dawn.”

“It’s ready whenever you are,” LaChance said.

“Good. I think I’ll have a look around town.”

“Do you want an escort?” LaChance asked.

“No, we’ll manage. When we come back, I’d like to talk about Humphrey’s list of names.”

“How about over dinner? I think the cook mentioned something about roasted boar.”

“Sound’s good,” Alexander said. “I’ll let you get back to work, Commander.”

Silently, Alexander said, “Keep an eye on Humphrey, Little One.”

“Yes, My Love.”

He walked outside, stopping on the porch and surveying the town.

“I thought we were in a hurry to get to Ruatha,” Anja said.

“We are. Message riders are on the way. We’ll leave by air in the morning.”

“Then why did you tell LaChance to have a ship made ready?” she asked.

“I want to see what Grant and Humphrey do,” Alexander said. “And I don’t want my enemies to know what I’m actually planning.”

“This isn’t how I thought war would be,” she said.

“What did you expect?”

“More fighting and less lying.”

“Deception is often the most potent weapon of war,” Alexander said. “Causing your enemy to act on a false belief will undo them more quickly than almost anything else.”

“I’d rather just kill them,” Anja said.

“Sometimes I know how you feel,” Alexander said, setting out for the aerie. A platoon of Rangers stood guard while a group of workmen were busy building a fence. He found Kiera pacing in front of her wounded wyvern. She stopped, nodding respectfully but motioned for silence so as to not wake her steed, then led them to a small building adjacent to the handlers’ quarters.

“How are the wyverns?”

“They’ll heal, and much quicker for Lita’s efforts,” Kiera said, nodding her thanks to Lita.

“Good. I have a mission for you once you’re ready to fly.”

“Of course, Lord Reishi.”

Alexander produced the ring he’d taken from Yasim and held it out to her. She took it curiously.

“This ring will unlock an Andalian slave collar. I want you to fly to Karth and deliver this ring to Captain Wyatt, then remain there to provide him with whatever support he needs.”

“How will I find him?”

“Have a seat, I’ll just be a minute.”

With a gesture, he opened his Wizard’s Den and went to his magic circle, slipping easily into the firmament. A moment later he materialized in a room with Wyatt and Ayela. With a bit of effort, he projected an image of Karth onto the table.

“Where are you hiding?”

Wyatt frowned, trying to orient himself.

“We’re here,” Ayela said, pointing at Alexander’s illusory map.

“Good, stay in the area and look for two Sky Knights,” he said, fading out of sight. He appeared in the room with Kiera and projected the map of Karth onto the table in front of her, marking Wyatt’s location so she could update her flight maps. Once she’d marked her objective, he returned to his body.

“Wyatt is working with the House of Karth against Phane. Since they’re seriously overmatched, they’ve been trying to undermine Phane’s efforts covertly … unfortunately, with limited success.”

“How many should I take with me?”

“Just your wing rider,” Alexander said. “Remaining unseen is your best defense against Phane. At the moment, he has many more pressing concerns to deal with, but if you attract his attention, it could prove fatal.”

“Understood,” Kiera said, hesitating momentarily. “I understand that Lady Reishi is his prisoner.”

“She is,” Alexander said.

“I am duty bound to attempt her rescue,” Kiera said.

“I know how you feel, but it would do more harm than good,” Alexander said. “Your objective is to free Wren and Lacy. That will limit Phane’s options considerably.”

Kiera frowned but held her tongue.

“No one wants Isabel back more than I do,” Alexander said softly. “But this is the way it has to be.”

“As you wish, Lord Reishi.”

“Thank you, Kiera.”

He spent the rest of the afternoon inspecting the town and their operations, more to bolster the morale of the people than anything else. In reality, he was waiting. He considered trying to contact Siduri again, but decided that the risk was too great. The last time he’d tried, it had cost him three days. While Chloe could probably pull him back, she was otherwise occupied with Humphrey.

By evening, the town had transformed from the bustle of work to a festive celebration, apparently in his honor. While he felt it was entirely unnecessary, the people seemed excited by the prospect of a good meal and a brief reprieve from the frenzied effort to build a town, a shipyard, and a fleet.

Humphrey was waiting for them when they arrived in the town square, which had been set with tables and strung with lanterns, all surrounding a central fire pit where a number of wild boar were roasting.

“Lord Reishi, I’ve done as you asked and called off the strike,” he said. “Everyone in town is now aware that Nightshade is a criminal and an enemy. He’ll find no allies here.”

Both his colors and Chloe’s voice in Alexander’s mind confirmed that he was telling the truth.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Alexander said.

“Please, let me show you to Commander LaChance’s table,” Humphrey said, a bit too eager to please.

Alexander gestured for him to lead the way as he scanned the crowd for any hint of a threat. As always, Jataan was doing the same. Many were watching Alexander, most with curiosity but a few with suspicion, though none of them seemed dangerous. He idly wondered where the two message riders General Talia had dispatched were.

Moments after he sat down, the servers began bringing food and drink. A young woman moved along the front of LaChance’s table filling goblets with dark red wine. When she reached Alexander and began pouring, he realized at a glance that something was wrong.

“Stop!” he said, halting her from filling his glass and preventing Jack from taking a sip.

“Where did you get that bottle of wine?” he asked the young woman, scrutinizing her colors carefully, yet finding no guile or malice, only a timid desire to please … or perhaps to go unnoticed.

“Mayor Humphrey’s assistant, My Lord,” she said, a tremor in her voice. “He said it was specially for you—the best we have. Is it not to your liking? I can get another bottle if you wish.” A hint of fear rippled through her colors.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Alexander said. “Where’s Humphrey’s assistant now?”

“He was in the preparation tent,” she said, pointing to a large tent set off to the side of the town square.

“Leave the bottle and go about your duties,” Alexander said.

She curtsied awkwardly and hurried off.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, leaning to look past Anja.

“The wine’s been poisoned,” Alexander said quietly. “It seems that Humphrey may be a better liar than I gave him credit for.”

“He hasn’t spoken with his assistant today,” Chloe said in his mind. “I was with him every moment since he left you.”

“Huh,” Alexander said, frowning.

“Perhaps his assistant has other allegiances,” Jack said.

“Allegiances or not, he just died and he doesn’t even know it yet,” Anja said, starting to stand up. Alexander stopped her with a hand on her arm.

He sent his vision into the preparation tent and found Humphrey’s assistant peeking out of a tent flap, watching to see if Alexander was drinking his wine. He was a thoroughly ordinary-looking man with virtually no distinguishing features. The kind of man you forgot the moment you saw him, yet a closer look at his colors revealed cunning and intelligence—a perfect spy.

Alexander picked up LaChance’s empty goblet and pretended to take a long drink, all the while watching the man who was watching him. The spy smiled with satisfaction and slipped out the far door of the tent.

“Follow him, Little One.”

She flitted off through the aether, invisible to all.

“Who do you think he’s working for?” Jack asked.

“Probably Grant, but it’s hard to say,” Alexander said. “Where’s Humphrey?”

“Coordinating the service,” LaChance said. “Do you want me to send for him?”

Alexander nodded.

Appetizers arrived a few moments before Humphrey did.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “None of you have touched your food.”

“Tell me about your assistant,” Alexander said.

Humphrey frowned with a shrug. “I actually haven’t seen him since I sent him to prepare your quarters at our first meeting. I assumed that Commander LaChance had reassigned him.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Not long,” Humphrey said. “He offered me his services as soon as I was elected mayor. He has always been quite helpful.”

“Thank you,” Alexander said. “If you see him, tell him I’d like to thank him in person for the very fine wine that he chose for me and my friends.”

“Yes, of course, Lord Reishi. Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Alexander said

Humphrey left with an awkward bow.

“I know that look,” Jack said.

“I need a distraction,” Alexander said.

“Big or small?” Jack said with a broad smile.

“I just need a few seconds, maybe half a minute without anyone looking this way.”

“I think I can manage that,” Jack said, pushing away from the table.

“What’s he going to do?” Anja asked.

“Probably sing,” Alexander said.

And sing he did. After working his way around to the far end of the square, Jack stepped up on a table and, without warning, began singing a traditional Andalian war ballad. It didn’t take long before all eyes were on him.

“Everyone stay here,” Alexander said, opening his Wizard’s Den behind his chair, the door facing away from the banquet. He slipped inside and trotted to his magic circle, transitioning into the firmament in moments, then projecting an illusion of himself at the banquet table, while simultaneously covering the door to his Wizard’s Den with a curtain of illusion. It took some effort but not more than he could muster.

“What are you doing?” Anja asked.

“Laying a trap,” he said with a smile before starting to choke, interrupting Jack’s song as he stood frantically, hands around his throat, toppling over and thrashing around on the ground. Lita rushed to his side, pretending to minister to him while the crowd looked on in shock, confusion, and growing horror as his thrashing gradually subsided and his body went still.

LaChance started snapping orders to his Rangers who quickly began to secure the area.

“Carry me to a tent,” he whispered to Lita without moving his mouth.

“Help me get him into a tent,” Lita snapped. “I need light and a clean space to work.”

LaChance didn’t hesitate, pointing to the two nearest Rangers who frowned with alarm when they tried to grab Alexander’s illusion.

“Play along,” Lita whispered urgently.

With looks of confusion, the Rangers pretended to carry a body that looked like it was there but really wasn’t. Jataan followed, a spear suddenly in hand. Anja had her broadsword out as she scanned the crowd with a look of pure fury while Jack raced to the tent to offer whatever aid he could, making a show of his passing through the crowd. Once the Rangers had formed a cordon around the tent, Jataan and Anja went inside.

“Now what?” Anja asked.

Alexander was standing in the middle of the tent, the two Rangers who had ‘carried’ him inside looking even more confused than before.

“You wait, while I watch,” he said, vanishing from sight and floating above the town square.

People milled about, talking in small groups and openly speculating about what had happened. Some seemed fearful that Alexander had been killed. Of those, some worried that his death would bring the wrath of his allies while others feared that it would leave them open to reprisals from the Andalians. A few voiced hope that his death would mean the end of war and a return to the relative comfort and safety of their lives prior to his arrival on Andalia. The only point of consensus was a general sense of disappointment that the feast had been ruined.

New faces began to join the milling crowd, men slowly filtering in from the surrounding forest, all of them slipping into the town square alone but all of them focused on Alexander’s tent. He floated higher until he found a cluster of men in the forest. They were silent, and though the forest was dark as pitch, they didn’t have a fire or even a lantern. With a thought, he was in their midst, scanning the faces of men hardened by battle. One had the colors of a wizard. Alexander moved closer and found Wizard Edric sitting on a log next to Tyr. The would-be king of his namesake isle was rocking slightly, anxiety, impatience, and rage rippling through his colors as if a war between fear and lust were being waged within his mind. Humphrey’s assistant sat nearby.

Alexander returned to town, reappearing inside the tent.

“About two dozen men are infiltrating the crowd. Another fifty are waiting just outside of town.”

“Who do they serve?” Jataan asked.

“Tyr,” Alexander said, turning to LaChance. “Quietly inform your men of the threat. Have those in the square remain on guard and have the rest of your detachment quietly surround the square. Once they’re in place, announce that I’ve been killed and that the feast is canceled. We need to clear the area before the fighting starts.”

He faded out of sight, floating above the square.

LaChance conferred with the two Rangers in the tent for a moment, then they slipped out to pass the message along. After about ten minutes, LaChance went outside and announced Alexander’s death. A mixture of surprised gasps and a smattering of cheers rose from the crowd followed by a whistler arrow shrieking into the sky.

The enemy soldiers drew weapons and began moving toward the tent from all sides, lashing out at any of the townspeople who were unfortunate enough to be in their way. Within seconds, the Rangers found themselves in a pitched battle, fighting for their lives while trying to avoid harming the panicked crowd.

Alexander snapped back to his body, reminding himself that no plan ever survives contact with the enemy. He drew the Thinblade and took up Luminessence. The door of the Wizard’s Den closed behind him with a thought and the evening shadows vanished under the brilliance of his light. The enemy faltered, shielding their eyes, many in the crowd falling to the ground to escape the blinding brilliance, while others stood stock-still, seemingly mesmerized, yet unaffected by the sheer radiance of the light.

The Rangers loosed a volley of arrows into the dazzled enemies, killing almost half. Jataan and Anja were the first to emerge from the tent, weapons drawn. The remaining enemy were easily subdued, disarmed and rounded up at sword point. All were still too dazzled to fight back. While Jataan was unfazed by the sudden defeat of the enemy, Anja looked disappointed. More Rangers began filing into the square, quickly establishing control of the frightened crowd.

With a gesture, Alexander summoned Jataan to him, opening his Wizard’s Den once again and going to his magic circle, while the commander stood guard at the entrance. He slipped back into the firmament and went to the dark and quiet camp and found Tyr and his men moving toward town.

“We don’t have much time,” he said, emerging from his Wizard’s Den. “Another fifty men will be here soon.”

LaChance trotted up. “We have nine prisoners and fifteen enemy dead. I lost six Rangers, five more are wounded and twelve innocents were killed.”

Alexander nodded with a sigh, only briefly second-guessing his decision, wondering to himself what he might have done differently. His thoughts were interrupted by the roar of a pair of wyverns overhead. His message riders had arrived, later than expected, but just in time to be of use.

He raised his light, softly illuminating the square. “Clear the area,” he commanded, motioning for the Sky Knights to land. They came down gently, sending a swirl of sparks into the sky from the cook fires.

“Sky Knights Ratagan and Horst reporting as ordered, Lord Reishi,” the lead man said.

“Good timing,” Alexander said. “Lita, attend to the wounded. LaChance, I need twenty Rangers. Assign another six to assist Lita and prepare the rest of your men to defend the town against an attack from the south. We face fifty men and a wizard.”

When the twenty Rangers arrived, Alexander sent them into his Wizard’s Den along with Jataan, Jack, and Anja. Once all were inside, he closed the door without a word of explanation and mounted up behind Ratagan, quickly tying himself into place.

“Fly south.”

Ratagan nodded curtly and launched into the sky, acceleration crushing Alexander into the saddle. Within minutes he saw the enemy moving along the top of a spur toward town, carrying torches, making no attempt to hide their position.

Alexander picked out a clear patch behind them and pointed it out to Ratagan. With a slap on the neck and a gentle tug on the reins, his wyvern banked into a steep dive, descending a bit more quickly than Alexander would have liked, then slowed abruptly with a powerful downward thrust and landed hard.

“Well done. Harass them from the air but don’t get too close—they have a wizard,” he said, sliding to the ground and opening his Wizard’s Den with a thought.

Ratagan saluted and launched into the air, sending dust swirling around the Rangers filing out of the Wizard’s Den.

“Keep silent,” Alexander said, leading the way toward the enemy.

Ratagan and Horst made a pass, tossing javelins into the enemy’s midst, killing two without warning. Tyr’s men scattered, looking for cover from the surprise attack. Alexander began trotting toward them, trying to balance stealth with speed and hoping that the Sky Knights’ attack would provide a sufficient distraction.

Five shards of blue force streaked up toward the Sky Knights but they had sufficient altitude to roll out of the way unscathed. Tyr’s frustrated curse drifted through the late evening air. All eyes were turned skyward when Alexander’s troops moved within arrow range.

“Form up,” he commanded.

Twenty Rangers lined up, bows in hand, arrows nocked.

Alexander looked to both sides, ensuring that all of his men were ready before raising his staff and flooding the world with light, pure and bright. The Rangers loosed their first volley a moment later and fired a second before the first arrows had reached their targets.

Tyr and his pirates were caught by surprise, dazzled by the light and completely defenseless against the deadly rain falling into their midst. Cries of warning gave way to screams of pain. Four volleys ripped through the enemy ranks before Tyr’s wizard erected a shield wall, fifteen feet high and fifty feet wide. Alexander sent his sight forward to inspect the damage. Tyr’s force of fifty men had been reduced to less than ten, all of them huddled behind the magical blue wall, fear coursing through their colors.

“Move to engage,” Alexander commanded, dimming his light to a level of brightness that required almost no effort or concentration. With a gesture, he sent half of his Rangers with Jataan to the right of the wall, while he led the rest of his people to the left.

As each unit neared their respective edge of the shield, it vanished and the remaining enemy fired crossbow bolts at Alexander and his people. Several Rangers fell. Alexander took a hit to the chest but his armor saved him.

Anja shouted in rage when a bolt glanced off her left shoulder, slicing shallowly but painfully across her upper arm. She charged with a guttural snarl, her broadsword held high. Alexander and his Rangers followed close behind as both units collapsed in toward the enemy. Anja hacked the first man she came to, nearly cleaving him from shoulder to hip. She shook the fresh corpse off her oversized blade just as Wizard Edric unleashed a jet of fire at her. Like an arrow, it streaked in a straight line from his hands and struck her full in the chest, fire hot enough to transform a man’s flesh into char. The spell roared, crackling and casting an angry orange glow onto the nearby trees. The force of it blew Anja backward and onto the ground before the spell ran its course.

Alexander felt a thrill of panic, followed almost instantly by cold rage. He slipped Demonrend from its sheath and threw the blade with all his strength at Edric—and it flew true, tumbling through the night and hitting him square in the chest.

Before he could reach her, Anja had regained her feet, the front of her tunic and shirt burned almost completely away. She was so caught up in her battle lust and fury that she didn’t even see Alexander racing to her side.

“I’m a dragon!” she shouted to the dying wizard, cleaving a nearby man’s leg off almost as if swatting away a mosquito while stalking toward the shocked Wizard Edric, now on his knees. “I was born of fire!”

She reached him and took his head with a stroke. Jataan arrived a moment later, the Rangers looking at him with a mixture of respect and fear. The few bandits who’d survived the onslaught had fled into the forest the moment the shield wall failed.

Alexander retrieved Demonrend and cleaned the blade, looking for Tyr among the fallen, but finding only his henchmen. He opened his Wizard’s Den and turned to Anja.

“Go get changed,” he said. “Your clothes are ruined.”

She looked down at her bare scorched chest and then back to the men standing around trying not to look at her. She flushed slightly before hurrying to cover herself.

Jack appeared nearby, nodding his approval at the carnage littering the hillside.

“All things considered, today has been a pretty good day,” he said. “The Royal Assassin dead, Grant turned to your purpose, and Tyr running like a dog. Nice of them to show up here.”

“I should have known they’d all look for me here,” Alexander said.

“Well, it is the only scrap of dirt on this entire isle that you control right now,” Jack said.

“If I’d have given it a moment’s thought, we’d have stopped on some out-of-the-way beach to rest and feed the wyverns before being on our way to Kai’Gorn.”

“And your enemies would have been stronger for it,” Anja said, emerging from the Wizard’s Den wearing one of Alexander’s tunics.

The sergeant in command of the Ranger platoon approached.

“The area is secure. I have four dead and five more wounded, two grievously.”

“Get your wounded into the Wizard’s Den,” Alexander said, raising his light and signaling Ratagan to land nearby. Within two minutes they were in the air, heading back to town. Ratagan and Horst landed in the square, sending townsfolk scattering in fear of further attacks and leaving them in hushed awe of the wyverns. Alexander dismounted and looked back up at the Sky Knights with a smile of thanks.

“Kiera has an aerie set up about five hundred yards to the east. Tend to your wyverns.”

Ratagan and Horst saluted and launched into the sky.

LaChance approached as Alexander opened his Wizard’s Den and Rangers began carrying their dead and wounded. He directed them to the tent Lita had commandeered to treat the injured.

“Considering that the enemy never made it to our line, I take it they’ve been dispatched.”

“All but a handful,” Alexander said. “Unfortunately, Tyr escaped.”

“That’s a pity,” LaChance said. “I’ll put together a hunting party. He won’t get far on foot.”

Alexander nodded approvingly, scanning the town square and seeing a few of the dead still scattered where they’d fallen. People were gathered in the shadows as if waiting for something. Fear and anger clouded their colors. Many held tools: woodsmen’s axes, pitchforks and the like. Others held torches. A man pushed through the crowd carrying the body of a young girl, no more than ten. Tears streaked his face. He approached Alexander with the defiance of a man who believed he had nothing left to lose. He didn’t seem to notice when Anja stepped up next to Alexander and drew her sword.

“That won’t be necessary,” Alexander said.

She put the point of her blade in the dirt and rested her hands on the pommel, eyeing the approaching man and the small mob assembling behind him.

Jataan seemed to materialize on Alexander’s other side, hands clasped casually behind his back.

The man laid the child at Alexander’s feet and looked at him, his face a mask of sorrow, his red eyes puffy from tears.

“You killed her,” he said, a tremor rippling through his voice.

Another man stepped up next to him, an axe held at his side.

“He’s right. You may not have landed the blow, but you’re responsible for her death.”

The crowd murmured in agreement.

“You brought war.”

“We lived in peace until you arrived.”

“Look at her. Look at the dead scattered all around you.”

“It’s all your fault.”

A woman, her colors flushed with anger, stepped up. “What do you have to say for yourself? We deserve an answer!”

The crowd shouted agreement.

“We deserve justice!” another shouted, eliciting loud agreement and more than a few raised makeshift weapons.

“He should pay for his crimes!”

Loud assent followed, though none stepped forward.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” the woman demanded.

The anger of the crowd rose, shouts for justice and reprisal filling the square. Rangers began to fan out behind Alexander, positioning themselves.

Alexander regarded the crowd calmly for a moment, letting their emotion flow until it reached a peak, until they were a moment away from taking action, and then he raised his light, flooding the square with brilliance.

Most in the crowd shielded their eyes, anger turning to fear. He held the brightness for only a moment before letting it go dark, filling the square with shadow and the flickering light of fire and lamp … and deafening silence.

“You claim that I’ve brought war to your home, but I’m just returning the favor. You and yours brought war to me first. Did you think your country could wage war in other lands without reprisal or repercussion—without consequence to you?”

“That wasn’t our doing,” a man shouted.

“We’re not to blame for what our king does,” a woman said.

“Wrong!” Alexander said. “Those who rule over you are tyrants—criminals of the highest order. They derive their power from your consent, from your obedience. If you choose to disobey, then they have no authority. Your acquiescence grants them power. The very same power they used to bring war to my home.

“Obedience to tyranny is a crime against humanity. Every one of you who obeyed the laws and edicts of your corrupt rulers are complicit in their crimes. You enabled them to commit atrocities the world over because you obeyed.

“Each and every one of you is a sovereign human being with free will granted to you by the Maker. But he didn’t leave you to wander in this life without guidance. He whispers truth to you in the face of every moral dilemma you encounter. At every turn, with every choice, you have only to listen to your conscience to know the right and just course.

“But you chose to submit to the will of tyrants and liars, to place their dictates above true justice. You chose to believe that because another claims authority over you, that their word is law, but it is not. There is only one law … the Old Law. And it comes not from the will of men, but from the nature of the world.

“When you chose to ignore that, when you chose to deny the gentle voice of morality that is your conscience in favor of obedience to an authority that has no rightful claim on your free will, you chose tyranny and war.

“And now the consequences of your choices have come back to you … and they are unbearable,” Alexander said, gesturing to the dead child at his feet.

“Many of you will not accept the truth of my words. Many will go on believing that I have wronged you because to do otherwise would require that you face your part in this war, that you admit guilt, even if only to yourself.

“Worse still, it would require that you disobey the dictates of those who would rule over you. And each and every one of you knows that the murderers behind your dead king have no qualms about causing death and suffering to those who disobey.

“But that simple fact, the lengths to which they are willing to go to ensure your obedience, reveals the one undeniable and immutable truth of tyranny … it cannot survive if you do not obey.

“Go home. Mourn your dead. But know this, war has come to your shores and it will only end with the death of tyranny or the death of the Old Law. And as with all war, this one will be decided in the hearts and minds of the people long before it’s decided on the battlefield.

“Ultimately, your future comes down to one simple question: Will you choose to stand in the light or will you choose to bow to the darkness? I suggest you listen carefully to your conscience before answering.”

Alexander turned away from the crowd, his heart heavy despite the heat he felt coursing through his veins. So much loss. And for what? So that some few could rule over others. Such a selfish and trifling thing in the face of an innocent child’s death.

Chapter 7

Isabel had to admit that she had allowed despair to get the better of her; worse still, her dour mood had infected her friends. Both Wren and Lacy seemed resigned to their fate. Both looked to her for guidance and leadership … and she had offered precious little of either.

Alexander’s visit had reminded her that hope never dies. He’d turned the tables against overwhelming odds. He’d taken victory from those who thought they’d already won. Phane would be learning of Mithel Dour soon. What Isabel would give to see his reaction.

She laughed to herself. Softly but with genuine mirth. Lacy looked a bit worried. Wren more hopeful. Isabel decided then and there to get back into the fight. She had come here for a purpose, several really, and she had yet to accomplish her goals.

Rather than worry about the problems she faced, she decided to consider her options, to look with fresh eyes at her situation and see if there were opportunities she could exploit.

Killing Phane was unlikely. He was too well protected. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t hurt him or deprive him of resources or capabilities. She’d broken his mirror … no small thing. And yet, that had only been possible through his carelessness and her brazenness. Yet the result was undeniable. His vision was diminished. Information that would have been at his disposal with virtually no effort was now out of reach, or at the very least, difficult and costly to obtain.

So what else could she break?

What did he have in the fortress city that she could destroy? He had no wizards. His soldiers were too numerous to attack in any meaningful way. The fortress walls were far too stout for any power at her disposal. The wraithkin—

Isabel froze with the thought. It hadn’t crossed her mind before. Alexander had scouted the chamber and found it too well defended to even consider … but he wasn’t here, and he wasn’t as desperate as she was.

What if she could get to Azugorath?

The Wraith Queen resided deep under the black tower, Phane’s fortress in the center of the city. Outwardly, it wasn’t especially well guarded, but she knew better. Within, its defenses were likely well beyond her.

But the prize was worth the risk. If she could kill Azugorath, she would be free of Phane’s power. She could escape. She could return to Alexander.

That left the how. She had no power capable of banishing a demon without access to the light, and the light was denied her by the demon she needed to banish. Even with her access to the realm of light restored, she gave even odds that her Maker’s light spell would only annoy a demon queen like Azugorath.

What if—

She dismissed the thought. It was madness … and yet, her situation called for something truly desperate.

What if she freed the Wraith Queen from her cage? Surely Phane would not abide Azugorath’s unfettered presence in the world of time and substance. He would take steps to bring her under his control, or send her back from whence she came.

He could banish her.

But would he?

And what of the wraithkin? Would they remain loyal to him if their mother was freed. More likely, they would turn on him at Azugorath’s direction.

And what would she do? What if she killed Phane? Then what?

The solution could easily be worse than the problem.

Isabel turned it over in her mind, searching for another weak point where she could strike, but found none. In many ways, Phane’s greatest weakness was also a strength. He was all alone. He trusted no one, so there was no one he relied on enough to make them a worthwhile target.

That left Azugorath.

“We should talk,” she said, though she had yet to form even the seed of a plan.

Wren and Lacy came to her on the balcony, seating themselves around a small table.

“Do you have an idea?” Lacy asked.

Isabel took a deep breath and started talking. She didn’t stop until she’d laid out her entire plan.

“That’s insane!” Lacy said.

“It does sound dangerous,” Wren said.

“I can’t argue with either of you, but we have to do something,” Isabel said, doubt creeping into the back of her mind.

“How do you know this idea wasn’t planted by the Wraith Queen in the first place?” Lacy asked.

“I don’t … but I don’t think it was.”

“What if you fail? What if Phane finds you out?”

“Then I’ll have gained valuable information that Alexander can use when he comes.”

“He can get that information with his magic anyway. You’ll be risking your life for nothing.”

“I’d be risking my life for freedom,” Isabel said. “You don’t know what it’s like having her in my head, infecting my dreams, making me question my own thoughts. Sometimes I think I’m losing my mind. I have to do something.”

“And what if you succeed?” Wren asked. “What if you free her, and she gets loose?”

“I don’t know,” Isabel whispered. “I just know I have to do something.”

“Sometimes the best course of action is inaction,” Lacy said. “My father used to say that when he was facing a particularly difficult decision. Maybe now is one of those times.”

Isabel was starting to doubt herself again, starting to doubt the ideas in her own head. It was intolerable. She felt so helpless, and yet Lacy was probably right.

“We have to find a way to strike,” she muttered.

“Strike who, Mother?” said a strangely inhuman female voice from the threshold of her chambers.

Isabel whirled to her feet, facing the intruder who had entered so silently. It was one of Phane’s female guards, a woman Isabel had seen before.

Hearing her voice and seeing the expression on her face, Isabel knew who it really was.

“What do you want, Rankosi?”

Lacy motioned for Wren to get behind her as she picked up a dinner knife from the table.

“I want to hurt Phane. I want to watch him squirm helplessly. I want to take everything he holds dear and smash it into dust. He holds you dear … Mother.”

“We both know you aren’t going to kill me,” Isabel said, casually angling to place herself between Rankosi and her friends.

The face of the possessed woman contorted into inhuman rage for just a moment before regaining composure.

“I could kill them,” he said. “Phane would be displeased with their deaths.”

“True, but I bet you’d like more than just his displeasure,” Isabel said.

Rankosi snarled, stepping aggressively forward but stopping a second later.

“I want to wear his skin like a cloak and dance on his chest while he screams.”

“So why don’t you just kill him?” Lacy asked.

“Silence!” he shouted at the top of his stolen lungs. “You do not get to speak to me. In fact, I have a score to settle with you. Perhaps I shall settle it right now.” He drew his sword and started forward.

A step and a half later, Isabel blew the possessed soldier across the room with a force-push spell.

“You will fail, Rankosi. I will kill you before I let you harm them.”

“You’ll kill this body … not me. I’ll just take another and return, again and again. Or maybe, I’ll take her.” He pointed at Wren.

Isabel chuckled, shaking her head. “You couldn’t take her if you tried for a hundred years. I know what you need to possess a person, and she doesn’t have it.”

He looked intently at Wren for a moment before turning away with a thoroughly inhuman growl and retrieving his sword. He stalked toward Isabel but stopped well out of reach.

“I will have my vengeance. Phane tricked me. He deceived me. He will pay.”

“So go make him pay.”

“He feels no guilt,” Rankosi said, spitting on the floor. “He does not despair. He is beyond my possession.”

“So kill him,” Isabel said with a shrug.

“This body is too weak.”

“Well then, I don’t know what to tell you … unless—”

“Unless what?”

“He derives great power from the Wraith Queen. If you banished her, he would be furious.”

“Again, this body lacks the necessary power.”

“Then free her,” Isabel said.

“You know not what you ask, Mother. Azugorath’s appetite is voracious. I would have some few humans remain in this world. I do so enjoy the fear of those I possess.”

“Colluding with a shade,” Phane said, seeming to step into the room out of thin air. “I wouldn’t have expected that. Oh, Isabel, if only you would let me teach you. You have no idea the power I could show you.”

“I have some idea, Phane.”

Rankosi snarled at him. “You will pay. The dragon was a powerful possession.”

“Far too powerful, I’m afraid,” Phane said, stifling a yawn. “Be gone, Shade. These women belong to me. Go meddle elsewhere.”

“I will taste your fear, Mage.”

“No, you won’t. The darkness holds no fear for me. I embrace it and it nuzzles me back.”

Before Rankosi could respond, Phane smashed the soldier into the wall with his magic so forcefully that blood sprayed across most of the room. A faint shadow with glowing red eyes floated through the stained wall and was gone.

“He presents something of a dilemma to me,” Phane said. “If I banish him, your link to the netherworld will vanish and Azugorath will lose what tenuous hold she has on you, yet if I let him roam free, there’s no telling what mischief he’ll cause.”

“I say you send him back where he belongs,” Isabel said.

“I’m sure you’d like that. Of course, you have no say in the matter. The real question is, how do I put him to work for me?”

“I’d be more worried about what he’s going to do to you,” Isabel said. “He seemed pretty intent on hurting you. And I can’t say I blame him. You have that effect on people.”

“Charming as ever, Isabel, but you needn’t worry about me.”

“Oh, I wasn’t worried.”

He flashed his boyish smile. “Perhaps we should try again. You overcame Azugorath’s influence once before, but that may have been the product of chance.” He turned to Wren. “What do you say, Child? Are you ready to die today?”

Wren’s eyes widened and she started trembling slightly but she held her ground without flinching. “Why don’t you just leave people alone? Or better yet, why don’t you help them? You have so much power. You could do so much good, but instead you choose to do this.” She tapped the collar around her neck.

He regarded her for a moment, slowly shaking his head. “I don’t expect you to understand. Suffice it to say, some are born to rule, others are born to serve. War and strife arise when those who live to serve fail to accept their place in the world.

“Civilization itself depends upon obedience to authority. Without it, there would be chaos.”

“You’re wrong,” Wren said. “Civilization depends on respecting other people. From what I’ve seen, authority is just an excuse used by liars to take from others.”

“Says the child wearing the slave collar.”

“You make my point,” Wren said.

“And you miss mine,” Phane said. “Authority can only be claimed by those with adequate power and will. A ruler must be ruthless. He must be willing to do that which others will not or he’ll be killed by his rivals. Don’t you see? The authority upon which peace and security rests cannot survive in your imaginary world of moral strictures. Oh sure, for ordinary people your precious Old Law is a useful construct, but in the real world, where the fate of nations is decided, power is survival and weakness is certain death. All of your artificial moral limitations are meaningless. Do you really think my enemies feel bound by the Old Law?”

“Alexander does,” Isabel said.

“So you say, and I honestly hope you’re right, because that will assure my victory against him. But what of Zuhl? Will he voluntarily limit his actions to appease some imagined conscience or to conform with some outdated and archaic moral code?

“He certainly will not. He’ll use any and all power at his disposal to kill me and claim total power. What’s more, if he succeeds, then he will be the rightful sovereign.

“Those who would rule live every day of their lives on a battlefield. It cannot be otherwise. To step forth onto that battlefield and yet be unwilling to do the distasteful things necessary to secure victory is nothing short of suicide.”

“Wrong again, Phane,” Isabel said. “To rule with restraint and compassion is nobility. To sacrifice for your people rather than expect them to sacrifice for you is the very heart of honor. The sovereign who can do that will win the love of his people and through their love he will earn their loyalty—true loyalty, which is something you’ll never have. Real loyalty is not obedience born of fear, but a genuine willingness to sacrifice for principle. What you fail to grasp is that the people who fight under Alexander’s banner don’t fight for him, they fight for themselves and for their families. They don’t serve him, they serve his master—the Old Law.”

Phane sighed, shaking his head. “Perhaps someday you’ll understand the burden of power, but clearly not today.”

With a gesture, he lifted Wren from her feet and deposited her in a chair. A few words stilled her tongue and bound her in place.

“Are you ready, Isabel?” he asked, not bothering to wait for her answer before beginning his spell.

Isabel shifted her feelings as she’d been taught, calling forth her love for Alexander and for life itself, holding it up as a bulwark against the coming onslaught. Phane cast his spell and her will detached from her body. Azugorath flooded in, claiming dominion, but Isabel was ready. She held up her love to the light within her—and the light responded in kind, shining forth and washing away the taint of the Wraith Queen before she could act.

Isabel staggered a bit when Azugorath fled from her mind, shrieking in fury.

“You lose again, Phane.”

“Yes, but I only have to win once. You have to win them all. And I’m nothing if not persistent. Beware of the shade,” Phane said, turning on his heel and vanishing in a step, as if he’d passed through some invisible doorway.

Isabel went to Wren and hugged her without a word.

“He’s not going to stop,” Wren said.

“Not until he’s dead,” Isabel replied. “We have to get you out of here.”

“But how? I can’t get this collar off, and even if I could, I’m sure Phane has sealed off the sewer grates.”

“We need help,” Lacy said.

“I know. I’m hoping Alexander will visit again soon. He can relay a message to Ayela and Wyatt.”

“That still doesn’t solve the problem of the collars,” Lacy said.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Isabel shot back, her frustration and fear getting the better of her. She reined in her emotions a moment later, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

“I know,” Lacy said quietly.

***

Isabel hadn’t been sleeping well of late. The Wraith Queen often came to her in her dreams, pushing against her will, attempting to wrest control. Usually, she was able to wake herself, disrupting Azugorath’s influence in the process, but this time was different.

The Wraith Queen did not appear in her true form. Instead she was clothed in the body of a young woman, and she was trying to kill Isabel rather than control her. Somewhere in the distance, Isabel’s rational mind knew that it didn’t make sense, but caught in the heat of the moment, in that distorted fugue state of the dream, she wasn’t listening to her rational mind. She was in a fight for her life and she meant to win.

For some reason, her magic didn’t work, so she was fighting with her hands. She had the advantage and was on top of the demon, bludgeoning her, hitting her again and again, all the while wondering why she didn’t just cast her light-lance spell.

“Stop! Isabel, please stop,” Azugorath cried out, plaintively, desperately. A tremor of deep sadness in the voice pierced the veil of her dream state, reaching her like a slap in the face. She hesitated, struggling against her rage and battle lust, that primal need to kill the enemy that one can only feel in the moment of a fight.

A blow struck her on the side of the head, knocking her off the enemy and rekindling her bloodlust, blinding her to all else. She rolled to her feet, reaching for her sword, but it wasn’t there. Again, her rational mind attempted to intrude on the delusion of the dream. She was in a battle. She should have her sword.

Another person came into view, suddenly, as if materializing from nothing. She slapped Isabel across the face, hard.

A moment later she was pulled back into the fog of the dream as if she’d been yanked by a string tied to her back.

She saw her enemy again, staggering to her feet. She lunged, hitting her in the midsection with her shoulder and taking her to the ground like a rag doll, landing on top of her and scrambling to gain position so she could rain blows down on her and end this struggle once and for all.

“I love you, Isabel,” Azugorath whimpered weakly. Her words were so out of context, so outside the realm of even dream logic that it stunned Isabel. Like a bucket of cold water, it snapped her awake in an instant.

She gasped in horror. She was straddling Wren, the young woman’s face beaten, bruised, and bloody. Her head lolled to one side as she slipped into unconsciousness.

“No, no, no,” Isabel cried. “Oh, Dear Maker, no! What have I done?”

She rolled off of Wren and knelt at her side, listening for her breath. It was faint and labored, but she was alive. Relief and rage surged into Isabel and she bolted to her feet, scanning the dark room in a glance. Even in the low light she could see Phane standing against the wall, smiling.

Without a thought, she unleashed a light-lance at him. It burned hot and bright enough that he actually had to concentrate to deflect the deadly spell. She snatched up a chair and threw it at him as she closed the distance. She wasn’t thinking of anything other than his blood. The chair bounced harmlessly off his shield, but she followed it with a force-push, magic and will hurled at him with all the fury she could muster. It hit his shield hard, forcing him back a step, putting his back literally against the wall.

She lunged at him, both hands going for his throat, but he stopped her with his magic, effortlessly lifting her from the ground and holding her before him.

“I’ll kill you!” she screamed, casting another light-lance from a distance of only a few feet. It was diffused by his now-fortified shield, creating a brilliant flash of light, leaving her dazzled and momentarily blinded when the room fell back into shadow.

He tossed her to the floor. She hit hard, but scrambled to her feet, sending another light-lance at him, only to watch it fall harmlessly against his shield.

“Such rage,” he said, almost reverently. “If only you understood the power of the darkness and fury together. Your potential is virtually limitless, and yet you refuse to embrace it … all for a meaningless child.”

Isabel’s anger faltered at the thought of Wren, lying unconscious on the floor with Lacy at her side. Guilt flooded into her, seeming to fill every recess of her soul and psyche. It was crushing, all-consuming, and entirely bigger than she was.

In that moment, she knew that Phane’s plan would work. If she killed Wren, she would be lost to the darkness. The guilt would be more than she could bear. The remorse she felt at having hurt her friend filled her to the point of overflowing, and still it came, relentless and overpowering. The sheer intensity of it dwarfed even the fear, pain, and despair of the trials. It was like nothing she had ever experienced … because she deserved it. She had failed to defend against the influence of the Wraith Queen; she had hurt her friend and for that she deserved to be condemned to the darkness.

As the guilt morphed into self-loathing and despair, she heard the faint echo of laughter coming from deep within, emanating from Azugorath, both mocking and anticipatory. Isabel was giving her what she wanted.

She drew herself up and faced Phane. His little smile of triumph transformed into a slight frown. She sat down on the floor and closed her eyes, clearing her mind and thinking of Alexander. The guilt was still there, fresh and raw, but she gently, firmly brushed it aside. At first it felt like a betrayal, as if such an intense feeling deserved to be felt, even wallowed in. But she persisted. She didn’t call for the light, or ask it to come to her … instead she held up all the love she could muster in her heart to the light as if in offering, as if she was giving away the very best parts of herself without thought to consequence or reward.

The battle played out in her mind. Outwardly, she was calm, serene even. But within, a contest raged. On one side was all of the hate and rage and malice that a queen of the netherworld could bring to bear. Azugorath railed against her, hurling images of Wren’s injuries at her, accosting her with visions of nearly beating her friend to death, mocking her as unworthy of the light.

On the other side, Isabel took it all, accepted everything the darkness threw at her and returned only love. She banished every vestige of fear, anger, and guilt in favor of all-accepting love.

“What’s she doing?” a nearly frantic voice asked. It sounded vaguely familiar, but Isabel ignored it. She’d found a place within herself that she didn’t know existed. Always before, she’d relied on her unique connection to the light and thoughts of Alexander to engender strong feelings of love within herself, but this was different. Somehow she had transcended that. She’d found a place of perfect stillness within herself that she instinctively knew had always been there, offering quiet guidance and unconditional love.

It was a place of pure light—yet it didn’t shine into her from the portal created by Sara’s birth. It didn’t come from without—it came from within, from a spark at the very core of her being, a place of such calm, quiet, and ancient power that she could hardly believe she’d never felt it before.

She opened her eyes and saw Wraithkin Issa standing next to Phane. Issa looked worried and he was bleeding from a wound that was freshly opened, though not fatally deep.

“Make her stop,” Issa said.

Past the calm in her heart, Isabel heard the Wraith Queen shrieking with rage and fear. Isabel smiled, settling into the place within that she’d never known before, the natural spark of the Maker’s light that she now knew resided within everyone.

“Mother can’t protect us when she does that,” Issa said.

Phane looked at him sharply, taking in Issa’s injury for the first time, then looking at Isabel with alarm.

“Stop it!” he commanded.

“No.”

“Mother says she has to choose, us or her.”

All of Phane’s smugness and triumph washed away, leaving only anger and a hint of fear. “Preserve the wraithkin,” he snapped. “I can always come back to her.”

Isabel felt like something broke, as if a thread snapped and the veil of darkness shrouding her access to the realm of light vanished. Deep within, she knew that Azugorath hadn’t released her completely, she still had a hook in her, but her influence had been greatly diminished.

“You lose again, Phane.”

Issa vanished, reappearing where he stood, all hint of injury gone in an instant.

“For now,” Phane said, slamming the door behind him as he left.

Isabel scrambled to Wren’s side.

She was awake but weak, her face bloody and discolored, swollen and broken. She tried to speak but Isabel hushed her.

“I’m so sorry, Wren,” she said, gently and tenderly placing her hands on Wren’s face. With her eyes closed she drew on the light, now freely available to her, pouring her love and the Maker’s healing light into her young friend. After several moments, she released her spell and Wren slipped into a deep sleep.

Isabel carefully picked her up and carried her to bed. She pulled up a chair and sat down, taking Wren’s hand.

“What just happened?” Lacy asked, sitting on the opposite side of the bed.

“Azugorath got to me in my dreams—made me do this. But I found a way to fight her, and I won and that gave me some of my power back.”

“Enough to kill Phane?” Lacy asked.

“Probably not, but enough to heal Wren, and that’s enough for now.”

“You’re bleeding,” Lacy said.

Isabel hadn’t even noticed the blood drying on the side of her face. She vaguely remembered a blow to the head.

“Sorry,” Lacy said. “I threw a pitcher at you when you were on top of Wren.”

Isabel smiled, gently touching her wound. “Thank you,” she whispered.

***

Isabel woke, sore and stiff from sitting beside Wren all night. She’d fallen asleep hunched over with her head on the bed. Lacy was still sleeping in the chair on the other side of the bed. Wren opened her eyes. Her face was yellow and still slightly swollen but healing quickly.

She tried to speak but only managed a croak. Isabel gently offered her a sip of water.

After wetting her mouth, she took a deeper drink. “What happened?” she asked, her voice still weak and cracking.

“I’m so sorry, Wren,” Isabel said, bowing her head in shame. “I almost killed you.”

“No, you didn’t, Phane almost killed me. You wouldn’t do this to me.”

Isabel held up her hands, displaying her bruised and cut knuckles like a badge of shame. “My hands did this to you. I should have been stronger.”

“Don’t blame yourself. That’s what he wants.”

Lacy woke, blinking the sleep from her eyes and sitting forward with a look of surprise bordering on awe.

“Your injuries … they’re almost gone.”

Wren tenderly touched her face. “They don’t feel gone.”

“Believe me, you’re in a lot better shape than you were last night,” Lacy said. “Isabel healed you.”

“I thought you couldn’t do that anymore,” Wren said.

“I found a way to get it back, for now anyway,” Isabel said.

“Then the beating I took was worth it.”

Isabel shook her head slowly. “Not to me. Phane was right. If he makes me kill you, I’ll lose myself to the darkness.”

“Then we should kill him first,” Wren said.

“Easier said than done. Although, it seems more possible today than it did yesterday.”

“What do you have in mind?” Lacy said.

“I have a spell that might get through his defenses,” Isabel said. “If it works, he won’t be able to use his magic.”

“For how long?” Lacy asked.

“I’m not sure, but probably less than a minute. I’ve never cast it on someone like him before.”

“Assuming it works, then what?” Lacy asked.

“We’ll need weapons. If we all come at him at once, one of us is likely to get a blade into him. We’ll only get one chance at this. If we don’t take him down, he might just kill us all.”

“But we have to do something,” Wren said.

“Maybe there’s something else I can do,” Isabel said.

“How can we help?” Lacy asked.

“Take care of Wren while I meditate. When Dierdra brings food, see if you can steal a knife.”

Lacy nodded as Isabel got up and stretched. She put a pillow out on the balcony and sat cross-legged, closing her eyes and clearing her mind. She found the portal to the realm of light within her mind easily and quickly, just as she had before she’d been infected by the Wraith Queen’s taint, but the spark of light she’d found the night before was elusive. She could sense that it was there, but for some reason she couldn’t find it. The harder she tried, the more distant it became.

After nearly an hour, she opened her eyes in frustration and returned to her friends and a platter of food. The sight of it made her stomach rumble. She piled cheese, bread, fruit, and slices of ham onto a plate and sat with Wren and Lacy while she ate.

“Any luck?” Lacy asked.

Isabel shook her head, swallowing hard before answering.

“Last night, I found a place of stillness within myself. It was so calm and centered, like all of the turmoil in the world had no power to change it. When I focused on it, the Wraith Queen fled from my mind, but I couldn’t find it again. The harder I tried, the farther away it got.”

“Maybe you’re trying too hard,” Wren said.

Isabel nodded, considering the possibility.

“What did it feel like last night?” Lacy asked. “I mean, when you found this place, did it feel different?”

Isabel smiled around a mouthful of fruit, nodding.

“It did. I think I know what I’ve been doing wrong,” she said, taking one more big bite before returning to the balcony and her meditation pillow.

This time she didn’t try to find it, she just tried to feel the calm, knowing, all-accepting love that had radiated from the light within. She didn’t push or force or expect, she simply felt. For what seemed like a long time, nothing happened. But bit by bit, her mind grew quieter and her soul grew calmer, more accepting, less expecting, until it happened.

Light from within seemed to flow through her, filling her with love and acceptance. In that place, everything seemed right, as if all events were unfolding according to a plan that was much greater and more complex than she could comprehend. Despite all she’d been through, she couldn’t help but believe that everything was going to be all right.

With that simple belief came enormous power, not the kind of power that could wage war, not even the kind of power that she could direct to her purpose. It gave her something else, something she hadn’t had in a long time: Hope. It washed away her doubt and filled her with purpose. Her resolve became something altogether more than it had ever been before.

She was no longer just fighting for her life, her family, and her principles. She was now an agent of the light. She was an instrument of something far greater than herself. Outwardly, her goals hadn’t changed … her enemies were the same as they’d always been, and just as formidable. But inwardly, everything had changed. Just a subtle shift in her perspective, a slight alteration in how she saw the world, made all the difference.

She may be defeated, she may even die. But she would never serve the darkness. Somewhere in the distance, she heard Azugorath shrieking in fury.

“Let go,” Isabel commanded.

“Never!” cried the Wraith Queen.

Isabel responded not with force, but with unconditional love, freely given and without expectation. The demon tapped into the darkness within Isabel, bringing forth images of such horror and depravity that a part of Isabel wanted to flee, to cower, to escape, but she didn’t. She held fast to the light, offering it to the demon even as her soul was battered by the evil spewing forth from the netherworld.

She didn’t flinch. The stillness of that ancient, timeless power gave her the strength to withstand all that the Wraith Queen could call forth from the depths of the darkness. All of that hate and rage fled her mind like shadow flees the sun.

“Stop!” Issa said.

Isabel ignored him, continuing to revel in the light.

He slapped her, knocking her from her pillow and disrupting her focus, but not entirely detaching her from the light within. She knew, even as she rolled to her feet, that nothing would ever separate her from that power, not even death.

Issa was bleeding again, from the same wound she’d seen the night before. She smiled, raising her hand and casting her Maker’s light spell. He looked at her with disdain, as if he’d faced other such attacks in the past and survived, as if he expected to survive this attack as well.

Her spell fired, brilliant light piercing into his chest, passing straight through him, but without causing even a hint of injury. His eyes went wide and his face went white as a number of grievous wounds opened all over his body, blood spilling freely as he slumped to his knees, a look of shock and disbelief distorting his visage as Isabel snatched up a dinner knife and drove it into the top of his skull before he could regain enough sense to blink out of the world of time and substance.

Azugorath wailed and fled deeper into the depths of Isabel’s psyche until she could no longer hear her whimpering and mewling.

“I didn’t think they could be killed,” Lacy said, standing well behind Issa’s corpse, holding a knife.

“We don’t have much time,” Isabel said. “Phane will take steps to ensure this doesn’t happen again.”

As if on cue, Phane stepped into the room through an invisible doorway.

“Indeed I will,” he said.

Isabel didn’t hesitate. She cast her Maker’s light again.

Phane looked at her with impatience, allowing her to finish her spell. As it passed through his shield and through him, his expression changed—guilt, remorse, despair, fear all vying for dominance as he struggled with the revealing effects of the light flooding into his broken soul. He stood stunned, as if he couldn’t process all of the unfamiliar feelings tumbling through his mind.

“Now!” Isabel shouted, charging toward him.

To her credit, Lacy didn’t hesitate. What she lacked in training and experience, she made up for with courage and conviction. The two women closed the distance to Phane in seconds. Isabel thought of Wren’s injuries and shifted her emotion from love to rage. It happened quickly, more quickly than she would have thought possible. Her force-push came swiftly and powerfully, crashing into Phane’s shield, shoving him back.

His expression registered confusion.

Isabel stopped at a distance of only a few feet and poured all of the fury she could muster into her light-lance. It flashed bright and hot, burning into Phane’s shield with an intensity that required his attention to defend against, attention he couldn’t give in his current state of mind.

The shield broke, popping like a bubble.

A second later an unopened bottle of dark red wine smashed into his head, breaking and showering him in crimson. He staggered from the blow. Wren picked up a goblet to throw next but stopped when Lacy crashed into him, plunging her knife into his belly, crashing into the wall with him and going to her knees as he slumped to the floor. She pulled the knife out to stab him again when he snapped back to the present moment, gasping in pain.

With a single gesture, he hurled them all across the room. Isabel fell hard. She struggled to get a breath but couldn’t. Rolling to her side, she saw the bloodstain spreading out across Phane’s robe. He wore a look of fury and surprise, as if he still couldn’t process what had just happened. Isabel glanced over at Lacy crumpled on the floor twenty feet away. The princess wasn’t moving. Wren was staggering to her feet.

“You may be more trouble than you’re worth,” Phane said, opening his Wizard’s Den and crawling inside.

Isabel closed her eyes and focused on regaining her breath. After a few minutes, she went to Lacy and found her unconscious with a nasty bump on the head. Isabel laid her hands on the wound and directed her healing light into the princess, then she lay down beside her.

Some time later, how long she didn’t know, Wren gently shook her awake.

“Are you all right?”

Isabel nodded, closing her eyes tightly from a sudden jab of pain. “Lacy?” she asked.

“She’s asleep but breathing normally.”

“Good, I’m just going to lie here for a while longer,” Isabel mumbled. She felt a blanket settle over her before she drifted back to sleep.

She woke to a sharp pain in her ribs. One of Phane’s female soldiers was standing over her. Several more were arrayed around the room, all armed with crossbows.

“Get up,” the soldier commanded.

Isabel rolled onto her belly and pushed herself up to her knees. Phane stood near the door, scowling at her. His robes were still stained with blood and he looked like he was in pain, though not nearly enough for Isabel’s taste. She staggered to her feet, wincing involuntarily.

Another soldier dumped a pitcher of water on Lacy. She sputtered and coughed, spasming in pain before rolling to her side and curling into a ball.

“Bring her,” Phane said, pointing to Lacy.

“What are you doing?” Isabel demanded.

“Whatever I want,” Phane said, turning his back on her, moving stiffly. Two soldiers dragged Lacy from the room while four more motioned for Isabel to stand clear.

“Oh, Dear Maker, what have I done?” she whispered.

“You made him bleed,” Wren said. “Lacy knew the risks and she accepted them.”

“And it might have just cost her everything,” Isabel said, gingerly sitting down at the table. “At least your injuries are healing nicely.”

“Whatever you did really helped a lot. I can barely feel any pain.”

Isabel examined Wren’s face, grimacing at the sickly yellow discoloration. “Looks like you’re going to have a scar on your cheek.”

Wren shrugged. “The Sky Knights wear their scars like a badge of honor. Maybe they’ll take me more seriously now.”

“I can just about guarantee it,” Isabel said, giving her hand a squeeze.

Chapter 8

It took several minutes before Lacy’s senses came back to her. She was being carried by two women, one holding each arm. The cool spring breeze on her face told her she was outside, but she couldn’t be sure where. For some reason she didn’t seem to have the strength to lift her head. It lolled forward, offering her a view of her toes dragging on the flagstones and the feet of the two soldiers carrying her through the streets.

She let herself remain limp, conserving her strength. Her head hurt. The pain spiked with each step, throbbing with a sickeningly predictable rhythm. All at once she became nauseous and vomited. The soldiers ignored her distress, dragging her through the bile.

By the time they reached the black tower at the center of the city, she was starting to feel well enough to stand on her own. But she let them continue to carry her despite the pain of their rough grip on her upper arms and the tingling in her fingertips. They took her inside, following Phane along a path of corridors and stairs until they came to a large bare stone room. The soldiers sat her on a hard wooden chair in front of a rough-cut table and left without a word.

She looked up weakly, surveying her surroundings. The room was dimly lit by lanterns spaced evenly along the walls. There was a door on the opposite wall. Two magic circles were cut into the floor and inlaid in gold and silver. A space of only a few feet separated them.

Phane sat across from her, regarding her intently. When she didn’t react, he sighed wearily.

“You can’t win,” he said, leaning forward and holding her eyes deliberately. “You. Can’t. Win.”

She held up her bloodstained hand. “You bleed just like any other man.”

He sat back and smiled like the sunrise, his demeanor shifting to good humor in an instant—a response that Lacy found altogether unsettling.

“I must say, you have surprised me. I thought you were weak and helpless, a child caught up in events far bigger than you. I was wrong.” He stopped to laugh gently, as if sharing a joke with an old friend. “You should know that precious few people have ever heard me utter those words. But I’m big enough to admit my mistakes.”

Lacy wanted to laugh in his face, but thought better of it. She wanted to say that his very existence was wrong, that every breath he took was a crime, that he could only do right by the world if he killed himself.

“I suspect that spending time with Isabel has given direction to your courage, but that would only be possible if you had courage in the first place.”

He set the box she’d carried for so long on the table.

“You know what I want. All you have to do is name your price. I’ll pay it.”

“Die,” Lacy said.

Phane’s smile brightened. “Such defiance. A quality to be admired in a princess … though not overly so.”

“I’m not going to open that box, not ever.”

“Not even for your dear brother? Would you like to see him? I can show you his plight.”

He gestured to the door and it opened as if on some magical cue. Two soldiers escorted a middle-aged man into the room. He looked stricken with fear. Phane smiled, magically lifting him from the ground and binding him in the air within one of the circles, shackles of red-tinged magical force encircling his wrists and ankles.

“Isabel made all of this necessary when she broke my mirror. If I permit you to see her again, I hope you’ll pass along stories of the suffering she’s caused.”

“Please,” the man said, “I’m just a shopkeeper. I obey the laws. I don’t hurt anyone. Why are you doing this?”

“Hush,” Phane said gently, almost tenderly. “You’re not being punished. You’re being used. I need a soul to give to my Master in exchange for information, so I’m going to sacrifice you to get what I want.”

“I don’t deserve this. Please don’t do this. I have a family. They need me.”

“Of course you don’t deserve this. If you did, my Master wouldn’t accept your soul in trade.”

The man’s eyes widened, full understanding of his fate settling onto him like a curse.

“Don’t do this, Phane,” Lacy said, a hint of horror in her voice.

“You can stop this anytime you like. Open the box and this man is free to go.”

Lacy froze, looking at the box and then at the man, who was suspended helplessly by magic, awaiting a fate worse than death.

“You know I won’t do that,” Lacy said.

“It’s up to you,” Phane said in a good-natured tone. “His life is in your hands.”

“Please, give him what he wants,” the man begged, tears flowing freely down his face. “I have two children. They need me.”

Lacy closed her eyes.

“What’s wrong with you? Why won’t you help me? I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“His questions are valid, Lacy,” Phane said. “You have the power to save him. It would be such a simple thing.”

“Please …” the man said.

Lacy looked up with tears streaming down her cheeks and met his eyes—gentle eyes, kind eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“No, you don’t get to be sorry,” he said, his fear turning to anger. “This is wrong. Just open the box. Please don’t let him kill me.”

Lacy looked down at the table, trying to harness the rage building in her gut.

“So be it,” Phane said. “Shall we begin?”

He began chanting in an angry, guttural language until darkness seeped out of the floor, collecting under the man’s feet. All at once it flowed into him. He wailed, helpless and terrified as his body desiccated in a matter of seconds, all hint of life draining out of him, leaving the dry husk of a corpse hanging in the air.

“Show me Prince Torin,” Phane commanded.

The air before the dead man became silvery, abruptly displaying a table inside a large tent. Torin sat beside King Abel. Behind them stood two of the most hideous creatures that Lacy had ever seen. Both were grotesquely deformed, ugly beyond words, and yet the men in the room seemed completely enchanted by them. Torin looked at the one beside him with loving eyes, as if he were looking at his soul mate.

Lacy’s stomach squirmed. She looked at the box, but dismissed the thought in the same moment. She heard her father’s voice in her head: Nobility is about doing what’s right, especially when it’s difficult.

“The witches must be truly hideous to your eyes,” Phane said. “Even with all of my magic protecting me, they still look sublimely beautiful. Of course, I know better. Those are the last two of the Sin’Rath, but they have a plan to reconstitute their coven.”

He turned away from Lacy and back to the corpse hanging within the magic circle.

“Show me their uninitiated sisters,” he said. The scene changed, shifting to the inside of a cave, where three equally deformed and monstrous creatures sat around a fire, eating the remains of what looked like a man.

“These three are offspring of other Sin’Rath,” Phane said. “Each is almost old enough to take a wizard’s link for themselves. Sometime within the year, these three creatures will kill the most powerful wizards under the Sin’Rath’s spell, consume their link to the firmament and become witches in their own right.

“The other two are pregnant as well. Fortunately, their young take many years to mature, much like a human child. Be thankful that your brother isn’t a wizard.”

“What will they do to him?” Lacy asked, unable to help herself.

“They’ll use him to control Fellenden, as much as they can anyway. Without help, he’s lost. Of course, I could provide that help … for a price.”

Lacy slowly shook her head, in spite of the feeling that something vital within her was breaking. “I know what you are, and I will never give you dominion over the Seven Isles.”

Phane nodded to himself and turned back to the corpse.

“Show me Zuhl’s horde,” he commanded.

The scene shifted, displaying an army so vast that Lacy couldn’t even imagine how they could be defeated.

“Would you give him dominion?” Phane asked. “Because that’s what you’re doing when you deny me the power that I need to defeat him. There aren’t enough soldiers in all the world to stand against his army. Without the Nether Gate, nothing can stop him.

“Do you think Zuhl will allow you to rule your people? You’ve seen firsthand how barbaric his army is. He will enslave your people and work them to death, but that won’t matter much to you and your brother because he’ll kill you long before that.

“Without my help, you would have fallen under his power months ago. I saved you, Lacy. You owe me. Open the box!”

“No!” Lacy said, standing to face him.

With a gesture, the images vanished and the dead man crashed to the ground, his body breaking into hundreds of pieces.

“You try my patience,” Phane said, taking a small pouch from within his robes. “I doubt this will circumvent the box’s defenses, but I’m willing to give it a try.”

“What’s that?” Lacy asked, warily.

“Henbane,” he said, pouring a small pile of powder into his hand and blowing it into her face.

Lacy felt disoriented for a moment before everything went black.

Chapter 9

“You’re making me nervous,” Wren said.

“I’m sorry,” Isabel muttered, continuing to pace restlessly across the room.

Phane had taken Lacy three days ago. With each passing hour, Isabel’s dread had grown until it felt like she was overflowing with it.

“He said he wouldn’t kill her,” Wren said.

“That was before she stabbed him.”

Phane had been absent since that encounter, and security around her lavish prison cell had been significantly increased. The women guarding her had been replaced by men, a development that probably meant the threat of the Sin’Rath was far removed. Isabel could only imagine the damage they were doing wherever they’d gone.

Of more interest was the fear in her new guards. They were more wary, skittish even, but not just of her. From her balcony, she could see men stationed in pairs all around her estate grounds. Their added vigilance had Isabel wondering about the nature of the threat they feared, and more importantly, weather she could make use of it. When she asked the guards, they ignored her. In fact, they studiously avoided conversation with her at every turn.

Dierdra was similarly tight-lipped, yet Isabel could see a greater fear in her as well—a fear that seemed to subside only moments after she arrived with their meals, as if she saw Isabel’s chambers as a safe harbor.

“Maybe he’s just keeping her somewhere else so she can’t work with us against him,” Wren said.

“He took her into his tower, and Slyder hasn’t seen her come out.”

The door opened and Dierdra entered with their dinner. A soldier just outside closed the door behind her. She stopped, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, before placing the tray on the table and setting out their silverware. Knives were absent from the place settings, and the meat, slow-roasted beef, was cut into bite-sized pieces.

At least they’d made him bleed, Isabel thought to herself.

“What are you so afraid of, Dierdra?” Wren asked, seating herself at the table. “We won’t hurt you.”

Dierdra glanced at Isabel, then shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe I should go have a look for myself,” Isabel said.

“You know you’re not allowed to leave the estate,” Dierdra said.

“They won’t notice … if I look like you,” Isabel said, pointedly leaning forward and holding Dierdra’s eyes.

“Please don’t. Prince Phane was very angry the last time you took my likeness.”

“Then tell us what has everyone so scared,” Isabel said.

Dierdra swallowed involuntarily, looking this way and that, as if she thought they were being watched. When she leaned over Isabel’s shoulder to put her plate on the table, she whispered, “The shade.”

Isabel nodded to herself, stifling a smile. If Rankosi was thinning the ranks of Phane’s soldiers, that served her. And if Phane decided to banish him to the netherworld, that served her too.

She stabbed a piece of meat, but a horn sounded just below her balcony before she could bring it to her mouth. Dierdra went white. Isabel looked to Wren with an unspoken command: Be ready.

A flash of light lit up the sky, like a single ray of sunlight stabbing down through the gloaming of late evening. Isabel knew exactly what had caused it in an instant. The roar of a wyvern answered the alarm horn.

Isabel pushed away from the table and faced Dierdra. “Sit down and say nothing. If you interfere with me in any way, I will kill you.”

Dierdra went white and sat down, nodding tightly.

Isabel raced to the balcony and smiled when she saw two Sky Knights overhead. A muffled thump outside her door drew her attention. Before she could take three steps into her chambers, the door opened. Wyatt and Ayela slipped inside.

“Lady Reishi, it’s good to see you well,” Wyatt said. “Lord Reishi commanded that we bring you this.”

He held up a gold ring, set with a dark gemstone. Isabel smiled in triumph, snatching the ring from him and putting it on.

She hurried to Wren and said, “Hold still.” When she touched the ring to Wren’s collar, Isabel felt a tingle of magic dance over her followed by a knowing: She was master of that slave collar now. With a thought, it popped open and she took it off Wren’s neck.

“Hurry,” Ayela whispered harshly. “I hear boots.”

A man shouted an alarm out in the hallway.

“What’s your exit?” Isabel asked Wyatt.

“Kiera will land on your balcony at the signal.”

Isabel handed Wyatt the collar. “Deliver this to Mage Gamaliel at your first opportunity.”

He nodded, slipping the slave collar into his tunic.

The door opened. Ayela blew a handful of dust into the two soldiers’ faces. They stumbled forward, falling over a step later. More were coming, and fast.

“Signal Kiera,” Isabel said. “I’ll hold the door.”

Ayela nodded, racing across the room to the balcony.

Wyatt stepped up beside Isabel as she cast her shield spell. The first man through the door took an arrow through the throat. The man behind him was blown back by Isabel’s force-push, crashing into the two men behind him.

A flare lit up the room from behind them, followed only moments later by a gust of wind as Kiera’s wyvern slowed its descent and landed on the balcony railing.

“Quickly!” she shouted.

“Take Wren and go,” Isabel said.

“What about you?” Wyatt asked, loosing another arrow at the doorway, killing a man who peeked around the corner.

“I’m not ready to leave yet. Besides, Lacy may still be alive and I won’t go without her.”

Wyatt hesitated, looking at her pleadingly.

“Take Wren to safety and you’ll help me more than you know.”

In the space of a blink, he made his decision, turning and scooping up Wren like a doll, carrying her to the waiting wyvern and helping her into the saddle behind Ayela and Kiera.

Isabel sent a light-lance through the wall two feet beside the door. A man in the hall fell. She raced to the balcony as Wyatt was mounting up.

“Have your people prepare to assault this fortress,” Isabel said to Ayela. “Phane’s plans all revolve around the Nether Gate. As soon as he leaves, this place will be vulnerable.”

“Understood. Take care of yourself, Isabel.”

She nodded with a smile. Then she looked at Kiera and said, “Take Wren to the fortress island. Tell Cassandra to prepare her for the mana fast if she wants it.”

“By your command, Lady Reishi,” Kiera said.

“I love you, Wren,” Isabel said.

“I love you too,” Wren said, wiping a tear from her cheek.

“Go,” Isabel said, turning back toward the door, expecting to see soldiers streaming into her room, but seeing only Dierdra, sitting with her face in her hands as if closing her eyes would shut out all of the evils of the world.

A whoosh of air swept past Isabel as the wyvern leapt into the night sky. She removed the slave master’s ring and quickly buried it deep in the soil of a potted plant on her balcony. Then she went back to her table and sat down. She was chewing a piece of meat when a dozen soldiers filed in, shields raised and swords drawn. She ignored them, taking a bite of potatoes and washing it down with a sip of wine.

“Where are they?” the sergeant demanded.

“They flew away,” Isabel said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m eating.”

The soldiers fanned out around the room, all still at the ready, though none of them seemed to know how to react to her.

She was halfway through her meal when she felt a collar snap into place around her neck. A wraithkin smiled at her when she turned to see who was behind her. She nodded to herself, taking another bite of beef just as Phane strode into the room.

“Explain yourself,” he demanded.

She cocked her head, frowning a bit before smiling. “I serve the light and I’ve come here to kill you.”

He lifted her from her chair with his magic and drew her through the air until she was floating a few feet before him.

“Don’t trifle with me, Isabel. I can make your time here even more unpleasant.”

“Everything about being near you is unpleasant.”

“Where is the child?” he asked, as if noticing Wren’s absence for the first time.

“Like I told your men, she flew away.”

His golden eyes glittered with anger. “Explain.”

Isabel shrugged. “My friends came here and rescued her.”

“They rescued her, and left you, Lady Reishi, here in my grasp.”

“Yes,” Isabel said.

“Why?”

“I told you, I came here to kill you, and you’re not dead yet.”

Phane touched his slave master’s ring, shaking his head with mock sadness. “Your little friend is dying right now.”

“If you say so.”

He scowled, dropping her without notice. She stumbled but caught her balance before falling.

“You have a slave-master’s ring,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “You’re really beginning to try my patience. Give me the ring.” He held out his hand.

“I didn’t keep it,” Isabel said. “What would be the point? I knew you’d just figure it out and take it.”

He cast a spell with a few words, looking Isabel up and down intently.

“Well, now that you have a collar of your own, I bet you wish you’d kept the ring. Not that it would do you any good. In light of recent events, these comfortable quarters are no longer in order.”

“What, you’re not going to beat me again?”

“Would it do any good?”

“Probably not,” Isabel said with a shrug.

“Come with me,” he said, turning on his heel. The soldiers fell in line behind them.

“Much has transpired since last we met,” he said, an edge of anger in his voice.

“What’s the matter? Did you just get word of Alexander’s escape?”

He stopped, facing her with a flash of fury in his eyes before regaining control and forcing a smile.

“A temporary setback,” he said, leading her out of the estate and onto the street. “In the end, your beloved will fall. One way or another, I will rule the Seven Isles. The only question that remains is which path I will have to walk to reach my rightful place.

“Your temporary defeat of Azugorath was impressive, as was your rather unsettling spell.” He stopped again, this time with an expression of genuine concern tinged by a hint of confusion.

“I was expecting a simple light-lance … nothing I couldn’t defend against. What you hit me with was altogether beyond my experience, and not just magically speaking. I felt things that I’ve never felt before. For a few moments I actually felt bad about some of my past victories. Your spell turned triumphs over bitter rivals into something other than they should be.

“For those brief moments I believe I felt shame, remorse, and even guilt. Until then those things were just empty words to me. Thankfully, the experience passed quickly.” He hesitated, frowning deeply as if trying to comprehend a facet of human nature he’d never given thought to before.

“Tell me, Isabel, is that how you experience life? Do those feelings haunt you?”

She laughed, not to mock him but because she couldn’t help it. When he looked on the verge of action, she stifled her humor and shook her head.

“No, Phane, those feelings don’t haunt me. I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it. It’s a simple thing, really. If you do right by other people, you don’t feel remorse or guilt or shame.”

He regarded her seriously for several moments. “For the first couple of days after you tried to kill me, I was very angry with you. Not because you made it possible for Lacy to stab me, I was rather impressed by that, but for the feelings you made me have. They were disturbing. But now that I’ve had time to reflect on the experience, I realize that you’ve given me a gift.”

“What are you talking about?” Isabel asked, hair standing up on the back of her neck.

“You asked me once when I realized that I was different. I was six. I had a dog. Helpless little thing, wouldn’t stop whining. It peed on my bed … so I killed it. My mother came into my room not a moment later. She was distraught at the sight of the dead mutt. I didn’t understand why. She said: Don’t you have a conscience? Then she left the room, crying.

“I’ve often wondered at her reaction. And until now, I never fully understood it. Conscience has always been just a word to me. But for a few moments, while I was under the influence of your spell, I believe I actually experienced it. I didn’t like it, but that’s beside the point.

“I see now, more clearly than ever before, why most people are so beneath me. To be constrained by such feelings, to be haunted by such unpleasant sensations, it must be paralyzing.”

Isabel shook her head sadly. “You don’t understand at all. You aren’t just immune from the unpleasant emotions people experience when they do wrong, you also miss out on the good things. In many ways, you’re not even fully human.”

He cocked his head as if he was considering beating her to death, but seemed to think better of it.

“Well, it would seem that my lack of humanity, as you put it, affords me an advantage that you and your precious Alexander simply can’t match. After this little conversation, I’m more confident than ever of victory over your lot. Zuhl is another matter. He’s like me. I guess that makes him a worthy adversary … and a dangerous one.”

Phane started walking again. “Come along.”

They walked in silence for several blocks. Isabel thought about Phane’s words, his new understanding of himself and his enemies. Ultimately, his very nature isolated him. He could never fully trust another. He could never love. He could never care enough for another person to lay down his own life to preserve them. What’s more, he would never expect his enemies to do such a thing.

That made him shortsighted. It narrowed the field of options he would even consider. He was all alone. While resourceful and very powerful, he could never be allied with a group of like-minded people all working toward a common goal. His lack of conscience might be an advantage in the short run, but ultimately, it would lead to his ruin.

Evil isn’t sustainable, Isabel thought. She smiled. Alexander would like that.

“You seem pleased with yourself,” Phane said without stopping.

She considered her response, a number of flippant options tumbling through her mind, but she decided to broach another subject.

“What did you do with Lacy?”

“Oh, you won’t be seeing her again,” he said.

Isabel felt a thrill of fear and loss course through her. She’d been worrying about the princess for days, but didn’t really believe that Phane would kill her. He seemed much more interested in turning his adversaries against everything they held dear rather than taking their lives.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that her usefulness has run its course.”

Isabel stopped, her anger rising quickly.

“If you killed her, I’ll—”

He spun to face her, rage flashing in his eyes.

“You’ll what? You’re collared. Your magic is beyond reach. Without it, you’re helpless—at my mercy.

“Oh, Isabel, do you think your paltry resistance to Azugorath has saved you? Do you believe the rescue of your friend has placed your soul beyond my grasp?

“I’m taking you to see the scope of your doom. You believe me to be unfeeling, but I assure you that I will take great pleasure in the look of horror on your face when you see the true nature of your future.”

She froze, all manner of possibilities cascading through her mind. And for all of her imaginings, she knew that Phane had probably conceived of a worse fate than she was willing to imagine.

He smiled at her distress like a child with a new toy.

She struggled to still her sudden trembling when one of the soldiers in the cordon surrounding them drew his dagger and stabbed another soldier in the back. The cry of pain drew Phane’s attention. With a word he burned a magic circle into the road. Another quick incantation and the circle became a shield wall surrounding him and Isabel along with the three nearest soldiers.

What followed was madness. The soldier attacked another of his companions, wounding him grievously before two others stabbed him. No sooner had he fallen to his knees than one of the two who’d killed him turned on the other and hacked him in the neck, spraying blood on the street.

Three more attacked him, killing him quickly, but then, just as quickly, one of the three turned on the other two. He killed one, then wounded the other before he fell. The four remaining men attacked each other as if they believed that any man with a weapon was a threat.

The last soldier standing laughed with twisted glee.

“Fear is such a marvelous thing,” Rankosi said. “It will make a man kill his own brother … only to lament his crime so deeply that he will then take his own life. I must thank you for preserving these three.” He gestured to the guards within the magic circle. “It’s always best when there are a few survivors to tell the story.”

With a malevolent smile he sliced diagonally down the length of his forearm, spilling bright red blood onto the flagstones. His expression of glee abruptly transformed into one of pain and terror as the shade left his victim.

“Looks like you’ve made a new friend,” Isabel said.

“I knew there would be consequences for taking the dragon from him, but his wanton murder is becoming a problem. My soldiers are beginning to lose their nerve.”

Isabel looked at the carnage surrounding them and shook her head. “Looks like a bit more than a problem. If this keeps up, your men might start deserting you.”

He looked at her with fresh rage flashing in his eyes. “I assure you, they fear me far more than they fear the shade.”

From the looks on the faces of the remaining three men, Isabel wasn’t so sure.

“If you say so. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re losing men.”

“I suppose you would have me banish him—close off the darkness within your mind.”

“That’s one option,” she said with an innocent shrug.

“Always pushing. In truth, that’s one of your more endearing qualities—to a point. Come along,” he said, dispelling the magic circle with a gesture and walking briskly toward the black tower looming at the end of the street.

***

Isabel was dismayed when she entered the tower and discovered that it was much like Blackstone Keep in its magical construction and defenses. Corridors were warded and shielded. A few passages were fully walled over until Phane uttered a command and the stone barring passage vanished only to reappear behind them. She knew without doubt that escape from this tower would be nearly impossible.

There were no soldiers, only wraithkin and a few serving girls, all young and all fearful. Phane ignored them as he led her through a series of magically lit passages, down many flights of stairs and past numerous security measures, some mundane but most magical in nature.

They came to a room with two wraithkin at the door and three more within. Set into the far wall was a slab of stone that looked nearly identical to the Reishi Gates, except much smaller. The smooth black stone arch was carved with similar runes.

Phane laid his hand on the archway, spoke a word and the stone transformed into a passage. He stepped through without a word, turning back toward Isabel, commanding her to follow with a look. Once she was through the gate, it closed. They entered a small, austere room. Then Phane led her through a door and down a long hallway to a double door at the end. Two wraithkin stood guard.

The door opened onto a balcony set into the side of an expansive domed room. Isabel stepped up to the railing, her heart in her throat. The entire perimeter of the room was enclosed by a magical circle, but that wasn’t what made her blood run cold.

Floating in the center, well off the ground, was a set of three magical circles cast in silver and accented with gold. Each was twenty feet across and each was set at ninety degrees to the next, in effect creating an area of magical confinement in the shape of a sphere.

Within the sphere was Azugorath, the Wraith Queen, Isabel’s own personal tormentor. A creature of darkness and shadow without a distinct form. What substance she did possess writhed and squirmed as if she longed to be free. As Isabel stared at her, a set of red eyes formed out of the darkness, staring back. The malice and hatred for life shining from those eyes made Isabel tremble. As much as she wanted to look away, she couldn’t seem to break the hold those eyes had on her. Her eyes began to hurt. Then the pain spread to her head and a coldness started to seep into her bones.

Phane roughly spun her away from the railing.

“Are you a fool? Even in the confines of her cage, she can drain your life with her gaze … if you let her. I didn’t bring you here to see her, I brought you here to see them.” He swept his hand across the breadth of the room.

It was only then that Isabel saw the collection of smaller magical circles uniformly filling the floor of the room. Three contained creatures that looked very similar to Azugorath, yet much smaller and less distinct.

“It took a great deal of work and considerable trial and error, but I finally succeeded.”

Isabel felt a tingle of fear wash over her as she looked out over the scores of empty circles.

“Each of those circles will contain a wraith which will provide one of my wraithkin with their power. It will take some time, but eventually all of my wraithkin will be tied to his own individual wraith, freeing Azugorath to focus her entire will on you.”

The blood drained from Isabel’s face and she felt suddenly cold. Phane was true to his word—she was standing before her doom, and it terrified her. Only when she saw the look of smug satisfaction on his face did her courage return.

She swallowed her fear and reminded herself of the light within, that quiet, timeless source of hope she’d found at the very core of her being. Whatever considerable horrors Phane could send against her would always pale in comparison with that light, even if it didn’t seem like it at the moment.

“You will fail,” she said softly, even though she didn’t fully believe the words herself.

“Defiance in the face of certain defeat is not a virtue,” he said.

“You wouldn’t know what a virtue looked like if it walked up and hit you in the head.”

He laughed softly.

“You really are extraordinary, Isabel. I’ve faced many enemies, and more than a few defied me, until I defeated them and then most begged for mercy. I have defeated you, and yet here you stand, defiant as ever. In time, I will harness that indescribable quality you possess that gives you the strength to face this,” he swept his hand out across the expansive room, “and still stand with courage. When I do, yours will be the most feared name in all the Seven Isles. You will serve as my personal representative. Kings will fall to their knees, trembling, when you enter the room.”

“If I could give you just one glimpse of that indescribable quality you speak of, you’d be the one on your knees trembling,” she said. “In that moment, you would grasp the totality of your failure as a human being. You would understand that I will never serve you or your master. You would know that every achievement you’ve ever counted as a victory has really been just one more step toward ultimate defeat.”

A smile spread across his face and he started clapping slowly, mockingly, but Isabel could see the doubt in his eyes.

“Spoken like a true queen,” he said. “It will begin slowly. She will start to reassert herself in your mind, probably as you sleep at first, but then during waking hours. One by one, I will transfer my wraithkin from her, and each time, her influence over you will grow, until finally, she will own you.

“Your little friend may be out of my reach, but that matters for nothing. Once Azugorath has possession of you, I’ll send you forth against the House of Karth. Not because they matter, they’re a trivial threat, but because it will provide an opportunity to use you as a weapon against your own cause. You’ll watch helplessly, trapped within your own body, unable to exert your own will, as you slaughter my enemies, your friends, by the thousands. You will spill so much blood that it will stain your very soul.

“You’ll resist at first, but eventually, the sheer magnitude of death at your hands will overwhelm your precious conscience. Then, after much pain and suffering, you will see the truth: Conscience is a lie. It’s nothing but a deception constructed by those who would rule to protect their power and control the masses. Once you understand this, you will be free. Your guilt and remorse will wash away. You will embrace your power and take your rightful place as my Lady Reishi.”

“You know, sometimes I think you’ve told so many lies that you believe the world will become what you want it to be just because you say it’s so,” Isabel said. “It’s almost like you believe that your delusions are reality, and reality is the real fantasy.”

“Well, I guess we shall see whose vision of the world becomes reality.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Isabel said.

“Come, I have more to show you,” he said, leading her out of the room and retracing his steps back into the upper levels of the black tower.

Isabel paid careful attention to the route they took, even though she didn’t believe that she could ever penetrate the myriad defenses between Azugorath and the outside world. But information about the enemy was never a bad thing.

At a certain point, Phane took her into parts of the tower that she hadn’t seen before. Staircase after staircase took them level by level upward. When she finally reached the flat, square surface of the tower’s top, she stopped to let the cool breeze wash over her sweat-slick skin. Her legs felt a bit wobbly from the exertion. It had been too long since she’d been on the road.

Phane stood, arms crossed, looking at a contraption like nothing she’d ever seen before. It resembled a boat, but above it was a giant balloon made of leather sewn in a patchwork and sealed with pitch and tar. Several stoves burned on the upper deck of the boat, each with a chimney directing the heat and smoke into the balloon. Stout tethers moored it to the black tower.

A dozen men were busy loading supplies, while four more worked aboard the vessel.

“Quite ingenious, I must admit,” Phane said. “Airships like this were used against us in the war. Cedric knew that the Reishi Isle was spelled to detect any form of magical incursion so he invented these vessels to penetrate our defenses and land infiltrators inside our borders.”

“Are you trying to tell me that that thing can fly?” Isabel said.

“I am indeed,” Phane said. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but this is quite a marvel of the mundane. And therein lies its usefulness.

“You see, I have a dilemma. Hector and Drogan are trapped within the mountain where Siavrax created the Goiri. Most of their men have been killed, thanks to my dear cousin, but my demonic informants tell me that the survivors have secured the bones.

“Now, I can summon a number of creatures capable of flight, but all of them are magical in nature—thus ill-suited to transport such precious cargo. This solves my problem.”

“Why not just use a wyvern?” Isabel asked, even as her own mind railed against such a suggestive question.

“Because they all work for you,” Phane said. “I tried to capture and tame one, but it wouldn’t be broken. I tried to steal an egg but they are rare and wyverns tend to choose remarkably treacherous places to give birth. My hunters never returned.

“But this,” he said, gesturing toward the airship, “this doesn’t require magic of any kind. It’s perfectly suited to the task.”

Isabel found herself wondering when Alexander would visit next. She had a lot to tell him.

“It won’t be long now. I will have the final keystone soon, and when I do, we’ll go to the Reishi Isle and end this war.”

He nodded to the men aboard the ship. The captain saluted and started barking orders. The men who had been loading supplies loosed the moorings and the ship began to rise into the sky. It was slow and ponderous, but it flew.

Phane smiled.

Chapter 10

Abigail looked up into the grey sky when she heard the distant roar. The wyverns napping not too far off stirred. A thrill of anticipation urged her to her feet. Moments later, dozens of wyverns descended through the low clouds, making a pass overhead before circling to land all around their camp.

“We’re going to need more food,” Dalia said.

“I saw a flock of sheep about a league to the south,” Bree said.

“That’ll do.”

Abigail and Magda met Cassandra as she dismounted.

“I see you took my warning to heart,” Magda said.

“The Sin’Rath have long been a concern. It’s time we dealt with them,” Cassandra said. “Lady Abigail, Mage Gamaliel sent these.” She held up a quiver with nine arrows. “The three with white feathers will banish a demon, the three with red feathers will deliver a torrent of fire, and the three with blue feathers will deliver an explosion of magical force.”

Abigail smiled, taking the quiver almost reverently. “Thank you, Cassandra. Come, share our fire. We have much to discuss.”

“If the second Sin’Rath is equal to this Peti you speak of, we face a formidable enemy,” Cassandra said, after listening to Magda and Abigail recount their running battle through the heart of Fellenden.

“Toss in nine wizards we’re not supposed to kill,” Amelia said.

“And a couple of legions of soldiers,” Bree added.

Cassandra nodded to herself.

Abigail looked to Magda who seemed content to give Cassandra the time she needed to think through the situation.

“Perhaps we should make contact with our allies before we decide our course,” Cassandra finally offered.

“Alexander said Sofia and her people are a few leagues to the northwest of the Gate encampment,” Abigail said. “It’ll take the better part of a day to get there.”

“It’s late and the wyverns are hungry,” Magda said. “We should use what light we have left to hunt, then fly south at dawn.”

“Agreed,” Cassandra said.

***

Mage Jalal was waiting for them when the soldier led them into the cave network. The Sky Knights had landed in a large clearing an hour away from the forested hillock riddled with caves where Sofia and her people were hiding.

He raised his hand in warning as they approached. Twenty soldiers armed with short bows were arrayed in the shadows behind him.

“State your names,” Jalal said.

“Abigail Ruatha.”

“Magda Reishi.”

“Cassandra Reishi.”

He watched them as if looking through them, nodding to himself after each spoke. A few words dispelled the magical ward across the passage.

“Welcome. Our accommodations are not suitable for such esteemed company, but we must make do with what we have. Please, come with me.” He took a moment to raise the shield again before leading them deeper into the cave network.

Abigail made note of the route they took. These people were allies, but she’d learned long ago to become familiar with the terrain of any place that might become a battlefield. Jalal leaned heavily on his staff as they walked. He was old and his body was frail, but his eyes were clear and lucid.

He led them into a large cave and introduced them to Sofia and Evelyn without any hint of formality, then took his seat by the fire as if the walk had tired him.

“Thank you for coming,” Sofia said. “We are truly desperate. Please, sit.” She gestured to the log stools surrounding the fire.

“When last I heard, Conner was well,” Abigail said. “He’d just defeated Zuhl’s army in northern Fellenden. Over the past several months, I’ve come to know your son. He’s a good man. You have reason to be proud.”

“Thank you,” Sofia whispered. “I miss him. And I worry about him every day.”

Abigail nodded, falling silent for a moment as she looked into the fire.

Then she said, “Tell us what you know of the Sin’Rath.”

Sofia, Evelyn, and Jalal spent the better part of the next hour providing as much information as they had to offer. By far, Mage Jalal had the most to say. He had used his divination magic to learn a great deal about the enemy, though most of the information he provided only served to confirm the difficulty they faced.

“The Sin’Rath know we’ll try to spare the lives of the wizards and soldiers surrounding them,” Cassandra said.

“I expected as much,” Magda said. “One of them, on her own and on the run, was more than Abigail and I could handle. With time to prepare and an army at their disposal, I can only imagine how dangerous they’ll be.”

“So what are we going to do?” Evelyn asked.

“An open assault would just get our people killed,” Abigail said. “And the Sin’Rath would probably escape anyway.”

Cassandra nodded.

“That leaves a covert attack,” Magda said.

“Such an approach would be risky,” Jalal said. “They’ve placed many wards around their encampment. Most are designed to warn of intruders, but those on the log walls surrounding the king’s council hall and personal chambers are designed to kill.

“What’s more, each corner of the central fortress has a tower manned with several soldiers and a wizard. It may look like a hastily built fortification, but it’s quite well defended.”

“Perhaps a distraction is in order,” Cassandra said.

Jalal shook his head. “We’ve initiated several probing attacks to gauge their response. In every instance, they increased security for the command fortress while sending soldiers against the threat. I doubt you can draw them out with anything less than a genuine threat to their position, and then you risk Abel and Torin.”

“Can the wards on the command fortress be dispelled?” Abigail asked.

“It’s possible, but risky,” Jalal said, considering her question. “I suspect that the one attempting to dispel the wards would trigger them. Regardless, any attempt would alert the Sin’Rath, I’m certain of that.”

“How many soldiers in the camp?” Abigail asked.

“Two legions,” Jalal said. “Certainly more than we can manage.”

“And nine wizards?”

He nodded sadly.

“Do we know if any of them have been bitten?” Magda asked.

“I believe that two have,” Jalal said. “The Sin’Rath have only sent two wizards forth, always the same two—the rest remain within the command fortress at all times.”

“They seem reluctant to bite the most powerful men under their spell,” Magda said. “I suspect that being bitten interferes with a man’s judgment enough to make them less valuable to the Sin’Rath. We’ve had dealings with men who’ve been bitten—they were not rational.”

“That makes sense,” Jalal said. “Such potent magic would almost have to warp the mind of one under its power.”

“What if we capture the two wizards they let out?” Evelyn asked.

“To what end?” Cassandra said.

“I don’t know, maybe we could draw the witches out or make them send more wizards to find their friends. At least they would have two fewer wizards.”

“We could impersonate them,” Magda said. “Infiltrate the command fortress under the guise of their two men returning.”

Cassandra nodded, seeming to consider the suggestion.

“You mean you can make yourself look like them?” Evelyn asked.

“It would take some preparation and the presence of the men to be impersonated, but yes, we could.”

“Once inside, then what?” Jalal asked. “You’d face two Sin’Rath and seven wizards including Mage Lenox, not to mention an endless supply of soldiers.”

“Attack by surprise would give us the best chance of success,” Magda said.

“I agree, but it’s unlikely that you’d be able to kill both of the Sin’Rath at the same time. Killing one would surely alert the other, and then you’d be trapped and surrounded by more than you could manage.”

Abigail listened as the discussion continued into the night. Jalal had given the situation a great deal of thought. Unfortunately, so had the Sin’Rath. They’d made preparations for their security that seemed to take into account every possible means of assault or infiltration.

One by one, every reasonable plan of attack was suggested and rejected. Abigail decided that a more desperate approach would be necessary. With her new perspective, she started to consider her options and then formulated a strategy. Only after the fire began to dim and silence fell in the cavern did she offer her plan of attack.

“That’s insane!” Evelyn said, after Abigail finished talking.

“It would give us a good chance of surprise,” Magda said.

Cassandra nodded, looking intently into the fire.

“Your plan is bold yet risky,” Jalal said.

“Can you draw us a map of the command fortress?” Abigail asked.

“Certainly,” Jalal said.

Chapter 11

The rain had stopped but the air was cold and damp. It was dark, clouds the color of soot hanging low in the sky, obscuring any hint of light from the stars or moon. Abigail and Magda rode behind Amelia on her wyvern. Two dozen Sky Knights spread out behind them flying in formation just below the clouds. A well-ordered, heavily fortified Ithilian military encampment slid into view thousands of feet below. Clearly marked streets described a grid of light in an otherwise indistinguishable void.

Abigail and Magda leaned over the wyvern a little to gain a better view as the wing of Sky Knights made their first pass, each seeing for themselves the lay of the land and picking out their objectives. Silent and nearly invisible against the ashen sky, the wyverns floated well past the encampment and banked for the attack run.

Abigail felt her pulse quicken. She checked the Thinblade, then her bow and two quivers of arrows, all carefully tied to ensure they wouldn’t come loose during the flight. The formation split in half, a dozen wyverns lining up, one behind the next with Amelia in the lead and Cassandra right behind her, while the rest formed a V and broke off, flying in a wide circle around the outside of the camp walls.

Magda pulled her locking bolts loose and turned in the saddle. Abigail saw a hint of fear in her eyes behind iron resolve and was grateful for it because her stomach was roiling at the thought of what they were about to do. She pulled her locking bolts loose and took Magda’s wrist; the triumvir firmly grasped her wrist in turn.

They watched their target come into view thousands of feet below. Amelia looked back and nodded. Abigail swallowed hard and nodded back. At just the moment when they were directly above the command fortress, Amelia reined in her wyvern, his wings flaring, coming to a momentary stop in midair.

As one, Abigail and Magda slipped off the side of the wyvern and into the sky. The cold wind tore at Abigail’s face, stinging her eyes and sucking the breath out of her lungs. She held on to Magda’s wrist for dear life, struggling to breathe as the wind screamed by, drowning out nearly every other sensation with the sheer ferocity of its roar. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d always questioned the sanity of her plan. Objectively, she knew it could work, but now, in the midst of it, every instinct she had screamed out that she was about to die.

The ground approached at an alarming rate of speed, buildings becoming distinct beneath her, then elements of those buildings coming into view under the dim lighting of the lanterns carried by the sentries atop the walls and towers.

The world rushed up at her, the roof of a building inside the command fortress hurtling toward her. Only seconds remained and still it came closer. She looked to Magda with rising terror. Then they slowed so quickly that Abigail felt a bit lightheaded and they landed on the rooftop as easily as stepping off a stair.

Both crouched, scanning the wall for any hint of detection, regaining their composure after the intensity of free fall.

It had worked … so far. Abigail felt like laughing, even though she could hardly catch her breath and her heart was pounding in her throat.

Cassandra flashed into view like a blur, then slowed to land quietly between two buildings not far away. A few moments later, another witch dropped out of the dark sky into the heart of the command fortress, landing silently and unseen on a nearby rooftop. In scarcely more than a minute, a dozen witches had infiltrated the enemy position without detection.

Abigail oriented herself, aligning her mental map with the actual fortress layout, picking out the location where they were to meet their team. Magda nodded as she pointed, both of them carefully sliding toward the edge of the building on the shallowly pitched roof. They had landed on a two-story barracks building. Abigail hoped they hadn’t woken any of the soldiers sleeping within.

They peered over the edge, then sat down and dangled their feet for a moment before holding hands and slipping off into the alley running alongside the building, Magda’s spell slowing their descent and silencing their landing.

Abigail untied her weapons and unslung her bow, nodding for Magda to lead the way. They slipped through the shadows in the narrow spaces between the closely constructed buildings until they reached the appointed meeting place. Bree and Kat were already there, Cassandra and Dalia arrived a few seconds later.

Abigail listened for any hint of an alarm, but the camp was quiet, the soldiers apparently unaware of their presence. They moved toward the central building where Jalal believed Abel and Torin would be found with the Sin’Rath. While the outer wall was well guarded and warded by magic, the interior of the command fortress wasn’t patrolled. The dirt roads and paths between buildings were entirely empty at this hour of the night.

When they reached the back wall of the main building, Magda placed her hand on the logs and whispered under her breath. She nodded. Abigail drew the Thinblade and made three careful cuts, then waited for Magda to cast a spell before making the top cut. A wide square section of wall broke free and Magda gently and quietly lifted it out and leaned it against the wall with the aid of her magic.

Abigail peeked into a dimly lit corridor fashioned from rough-cut timber. Except for the five doors along the opposite wall, it was empty, but her heart still beat faster as she stepped inside. Jalal had provided an accurate map of the command fortress but his sight didn’t extend to the particulars of each building’s layout. Looking up and down the corridor, she chose a direction, pointing down the hall when Magda stepped through. So far, her plan had worked brilliantly … but they had yet to make contact with the enemy.

Cassandra was the last one in, carefully pulling the section of wall in behind her, holding it with one hand as if it weighed only a few ounces. Bree and Kat lashed it into place with several leather straps and Cassandra gently withdrew her magic, letting the straps hold it. The breach in the wall wouldn’t stand close scrutiny, but it was difficult to notice in the dim light.

Magda crept up to the nearest door, placing her hand on the wood, closing her eyes and whispering the words of her spell. Cassandra moved to the side of the door while Kat took up a position with her back to the wall directly opposite the door. Magda’s eyes opened and she held up two fingers. Cassandra and Kat nodded. Magda placed her hand on the door again and began casting another spell, this one more involved. When she nodded, Cassandra and Kat pushed through the door as if it had become less than solid.

Abigail strained to hear any sounds of commotion beyond the door, but all was quiet. Not long after they had entered the room, the door opened and they slipped back into the hall, silently closing the door behind them.

“Servants,” Cassandra whispered. “They won’t wake for hours.”

Room by room they repeated the process, entering each servants’ room silently with the aid of magic, then spelling the servants, all men, to ensure they would sleep soundly regardless of any commotion. It took time, but it also reduced the likelihood of an alarm being raised.

One end of the hallway ended in a door leading to the alley outside. Abigail checked the lock and bar on the door, signaling to Magda that it was secure before they went to the other end of the hall and cautiously rounded the corner. Two doors remained, the first a storeroom, the second the kitchen, which was cold and quiet when they slipped inside.

Two more doors led out of the kitchen, one leading to the storeroom, the other opening into the main dining hall. A trapdoor along one wall led to a cellar below.

“Abel’s quarters are probably upstairs,” Abigail whispered.

Magda opened the door to the dining hall just a crack, then closed it quietly, holding up one finger and pointing toward the back of the room.

“Wizard?” Cassandra whispered almost inaudibly.

Magda shook her head, providing instructions to Cassandra and Kat with hand signals. Magda and Cassandra started casting spells while Kat moved to the door, watching and waiting until just the right moment to pull it open.

Magda sent a sphere that looked like a mirage toward the suddenly surprised man. It hit him less than a second later and he screamed, tipping his head back and raising the alarm … but nothing happened. No sound came forth. Even a moment later when Cassandra’s spell hit him and he fell unconscious, there was no sound when he hit the floor. Kat and Bree hurriedly carried him into the kitchen and laid him carefully along the wall behind a preparation table.

Through the dining room they came to the main room, a large, rustic hall with a hearth on the near wall and several comfortable-looking pieces of furniture surrounding a low table in the center. A staircase occupied the far wall. They crept across the room to the base of the stairs and found them dimly lit by a single lamp hanging from a hook at the top.

Magda led the way, testing each step for any hint of noise before committing her weight. Three steps from the top, the stair pulsed with purple light the moment she touched it. A long wailing shriek filled the house, rousing all of the occupants.

The alarm had been raised.

This was the moment that Abigail had been waiting for and dreading, the moment her plan would stand or fall. Things would happen quickly. The remaining eight witches who had infiltrated the command fortress would attack the wizards on the towers while the witches still in the air would begin their attack runs, columns of three each targeting a tower. Each wizard would face five witches. Each would be hit with spells designed to silence, restrain, and subdue. The goal was to render them harmless and then carry them away from the encampment in the talons of the wyverns, to be delivered, safely if possible, to Mage Jalal, who was waiting with a series of magic circles spelled to contain his friends’ magic while the effects of the witches’ charms wore off.

At the same time, three groups of soldiers would launch diversionary attacks against the encampment to distract the soldiers from the commotion at the command fortress and draw them away from the real battle.

All of the events unfolding in the distance vanished into the background of Abigail’s mind as Magda surged forward, muttering the words of her shield spell along with the rest of the witches. Cassandra and Magda stood shoulder to shoulder at the top of the stairs waiting for their adversaries to present themselves in the long hall that ran the length of the house, ending in a door to the balcony. Bree and Kat took positions behind them, while Abigail peered around the corner from the staircase and Dalia guarded against attack from the first floor.

A wizard emerged from the single door in the middle of the hallway, holding a swirling ball of blue-black energy between his hands. He released it at Magda and Cassandra the moment he saw them. It accelerated toward them with crackling arcs of electrical energy reaching out to the walls, leaving charred black scars on the wood in erratic patterns. When it hit their shields, the energy of it spread out over the surface of their magical protective bubbles, draining the power from them and dispelling them in a matter of seconds, leaving the two triumvirs defenseless against the next wizard who came forth.

Fortunately, his spell wasn’t quite ready. Cassandra hurled a force-push at him, which only succeeded in shoving him back a few feet as the magic fell harmlessly against his shield. Kat and Bree each placed a hand on Magda’s shoulder, whispering the words of a joining spell to lend their magic to her as she raised a shield across the hallway. A moment later, lightning arced forth from the second wizard’s hand, striking the shield and testing its strength for several seconds before extinguishing, plunging the hall back into shadow.

Magda released her shield and placed her hand on Cassandra’s shoulder, feeding her with power. Cassandra opted for quickness, throwing another force-push, but this time it was powered by four witches. Magical energy swept down the hall, crashing into the shields of both wizards. While the force wasn’t enough to break their shields, it was enough to throw them both the length of the hallway and into the door at the end.

A third wizard stepped into the hallway and cast a force-push at them, blowing Magda and Cassandra into Bree and Kat, knocking them all to the ground. The first two wizards were back on their feet, while a fourth stepped into the hall, wearing a suit of armor made entirely of magical force, and wielding a sword of the same blue crackling energy.

Magda cast a shield wall again, barring the passage just ten feet away while Cassandra, Bree, and Kat lent her their magic to bolster the defense. The first two wizards each cast a blue orb into the shield, causing it to flare and then dim. Magda seemed to struggle to keep her spell from failing. The third and fourth wizards waited, one a few feet back, the one in magical force armor right next to the shield wall.

Things had gone from bad to worse.

Shouts of alarm began to rise outside. The front door to the house crashed open.

“Soldiers!” Dalia shouted.

Abigail drew the Thinblade and hastily cut a hole in the wall close to the top of the stairs. Sheathing her sword, she pushed the roughly circular chunk into the room and unslung her bow.

Two more blue spheres struck the shield Magda was struggling to keep in place. Dalia positioned herself on the stairs, her shield stopping several crossbow bolts fired by the first squad of soldiers. She shoved the men to the ground with a force-push.

Abigail looked through the hole in the wall and saw her target. It wasn’t Peti … she would remember that monster for the rest of her life … but it was unmistakably a Sin’Rath witch. Her hideous deformity and demonic features gave her away in a glance. Torin stood between her and the door, his sword drawn as if he meant to protect her with his life.

In the commotion, the Sin’Rath witch hadn’t noticed the breach in the wall. Abigail selected an arrow, one of the three with white feathers sent by Mage Gamaliel. Time seemed to slow as she nocked her arrow, pulling the feathers back to her cheek.

“I’ll protect you, Lady Agneza,” Torin said, over the din of battle.

Abigail loosed her arrow. It leapt at her target, glowing bright white as it flew, cutting through Agneza’s shield as if wasn’t even there and finding its mark in her black heart. Surprise and pain registered in her eyes. She looked directly at Abigail, then down at the still-glowing arrow running through the left side of her chest and out through her back. The light pulsed, brighter than any natural light, yet gentle to the eyes. Agneza screamed in wild desperate pain, then seized up, standing frozen for a moment before she toppled to the floor, dead.

Torin and the four wizards stood stock-still, stunned and confused as the demonic grip on their will began to fade.

“Now!” Abigail shouted.

Magda dropped her shield and all four Reishi witches cast force-push spells into the hallway.

In their confusion, the wizards lacked the concentration necessary to sustain their shield spells and were blown to the ground. Magda silenced the nearest wizard with a spell. Cassandra rushed him, laying her hands on him and rendering him unconscious before he could react.

Bree bound his hands and feet, while Kat gagged him, leaving him lying in the hall as Magda and Cassandra pressed forward, taking full advantage of the wizards’ disorientation.

Within a few minutes, the four wizards and Torin were all subdued, while Dalia held the staircase against the soldiers, her shield easily defeating their crossbow bolts and her force-push easily defeating them.

“What have you done?” Torin asked, weeping.

Abigail slapped him across the face, hard.

He blinked at her in silent shock.

“Torin, where’s Abel?”

“You killed her … why would you kill her?”

“Where’s Peti?”

He smiled with relief. “At least she’s still alive.”

“Where is she?” Abigail asked, slapping him again.

He seemed to come to his senses a bit, though still not fully.

“In the cellar. Will you take me to her?”

“Bree, Kat, take Torin and the wizards to the balcony and signal Amelia,” Abigail said.

Both witches went to work dragging the subdued men outside into the night.

“Dalia!” Abigail shouted.

Moments later, she came around the corner at the top of the stairs.

“They’re right behind me,” she said, racing down the hall.

Magda began casting a spell, tossing a green orb that looked like a ball of thorns past Dalia into the far end of the hall at the top of the stairs. It hit and began to grow a tangle of brambles, quickly filling a section of hallway from floor to ceiling.

Abigail took a moment to decapitate Agneza, even though she was relatively sure the witch was dead, then went to a spot in the room and cut a hole in the floor. She slipped through, hanging for a moment before dropping into the kitchen.

Magda, Cassandra, and Dalia followed. The cellar door creaked as Abigail lifted it, revealing a dark and dank room below.

Magda brought three glowing orbs into existence and sent them down the wooden stairs, casting dim illumination into the room. Several moments later, she descended cautiously.

The cellar was lined with crates and barrels but devoid of life. Behind a set of crates, they found a place where the wall and floor had been dug away, opening into a passage descending steeply into the earth. Crude stairs had been cut into the compacted dirt and the ceiling was shored up with rough-cut timbers at irregular intervals.

“It won’t take the soldiers long to find us,” Dalia said after casting a spell securing the trapdoor to the kitchen above.

“We’ll move with very dim light,” Magda said, dismissing two of her illuminating orbs with a wave of her hand and bringing the third into a close orbit over her head.

“Mage Lennox is still unaccounted for,” Cassandra said. “If he’s with the witch, Magda and I should be in the lead.”

Abigail nodded, slinging her bow. The air was cold and still. Magda’s light was so dim that Abigail found herself feeling her way along the rough wall, testing each step before putting any weight on it. After fifty feet of steep stairs, the passage leveled out, meandering in seemingly aimless fashion through the bedrock. A few minutes of walking brought them to a fork, one passage larger than the other.

Cassandra cast a spell while Magda knelt to examine the floor. Both silently agreed that the larger path was the better choice. Another few minutes brought the first hint of life in the still, quiet darkness. Magda stopped and dismissed her glowing orb, plunging the tunnel into darkness.

Abigail froze, straining to hear the enemy. Distant echoes of some ancient and angry language reverberated softly off the earthen walls. Magda continued in the darkness, Abigail right behind her with one hand on her shoulder and the other on the wall. As they rounded a bend in the corridor, light reached Abigail’s eyes, flickering like fire in the distance. She unslung her bow.

The light grew as they moved closer, and the guttural chanting became more distinct and disturbing. Slowly and cautiously, the four of them crept up to the edge of an opening high on the wall of a large natural cave. Crude stairs were freshly cut into the wall allowing easy access to the floor twenty feet below.

The scene unfolding was something out of a nightmare. A magic circle had been cut into the floor. Three young women lay dead, their throats cut and their bodies positioned so that their life’s blood would flow into the circle, staining it red under the torchlight.

A rough stone altar occupied the center of the circle. Mage Lennox was lying prone and still atop it. Straddling him was a hideous demon-spawn witch. Her skin was ashen black. She was nearly bald save for a few wispy strands of hair. Two small bone protrusions occupied each side of her forehead. And her mouth was lined with sharp, fang-like teeth as black as night.

She stretched her arms toward the ceiling, her head thrown back as she chanted a series of words entirely alien to Abigail. Blood was smeared around her mouth and dripped from her chin onto her deformed chest. Lennox was bleeding profusely from the throat, crimson flowing into a groove cut into the stone around the edge of the altar.

As black streamers began to flow from Lennox into the young witch, her chanting became more strident … then exultant as the mage’s power flowed into her.

Peti stood with Abel against the far wall. She looked pleased as she watched her sister complete her final rite of passage into the Sin’Rath Coven. Two other equally hideous young women stood with her, envy and lust almost radiating from them as they watched their sister become more than she had been before.

Magda and Cassandra started whispering. A second later, Peti looked straight at them.

“Intruders!” she shouted.

Abel drew his Thinblade and stepped in front of Peti, shielding her as she backed into a nearby passage. The two uninitiated Sin’Rath growled and hissed before retreating with Peti. The witch atop Lennox seemed oblivious to the events unfolding around her, completely enthralled with the transfer of power taking place.

Magda hit one of the two uninitiated Sin’Rath with a light-lance, burning a hole through her back and out her chest. She fell with a thud. Cassandra cast a bubble of liquid fire at the witch atop Lennox. Light flared when it burst, filling the magic circle with orange-hot flame and igniting the would-be Sin’Rath in a whoosh. Her dying shriek could barely be heard over the fire’s roar.

Abigail raced down the stairs, staying close to the wall to ward against the heat. She reached the passage just as the ceiling several dozen feet away collapsed, sending dust billowing out into the room.

Magda reached her a moment later.

“I’m really starting to get tired of her,” Abigail said.

Magda nodded.

“We should go,” Cassandra said, shielding her face from the heat of the fire.

Abigail stared for a moment longer before shaking her head and heading back toward the surface. When they reached the smaller fork, Abigail and Magda shared a look. They took the passage without discussion but were disappointed to find that it led to an underground stream, nothing more than a source of water.

“Where do you think the passage Peti took comes out?” Abigail asked as they retraced their steps.

“Probably somewhere outside the command fortress,” Magda said.

“So will she run or fight?”

“That’s hard to say. She’s cunning but not entirely rational.”

“Soldiers!” Dalia said, cutting their conversation short, pointing to torchlight flickering in the distance.

“I need light,” Abigail said, drawing the Thinblade and stalking forward. Light grew behind her as Magda brought seven illuminating orbs into existence over her head. They rounded a bend and encountered a cluster of soldiers filling the passage with raised shields and spears.

“Surrender,” one said.

Abigail ignored him, striding up and casually lopping off the spear point of the nearest weapon, then holding up the Thinblade as the three Reishi witches came up behind her.

“Do you know what this is?” she demanded.

There was a murmuring among the soldiers.

“My name is Abigail Ruatha. You will stand down and lead us out of this warren. If you even hint at attack, I will cut you all into tiny little pieces and leave you here to rot. Is that clear?”

“Yes, My Lady,” the leader said, turning to his men and barking orders.

“Huh,” Magda said, “the Sin’Rath’s charms must be limited by distance.”

“How did you know they wouldn’t attack?” Cassandra asked.

“I didn’t,” Abigail said, following the soldiers with her sword still drawn.

They returned to the kitchen. As the soldiers filed out into the main room, Abigail heard a brief but tense conversation that ended with a shouted command: “Seize them!”

The few soldiers remaining in the kitchen turned to raise their weapons. Abigail cut three spears with a swipe of the Thinblade, then backed away while the witches began casting spells. More soldiers entered the room, fanning out with shields and spears raised. General Brand strode in behind them.

“You will surrender or die,” he said.

“He’s bitten,” Magda said.

“As are many of his men,” Cassandra said.

Several soldiers looked back and forth between Abigail and General Brand, confusion and uncertainty in their eyes, but more were possessed of righteous determination.

“You try my patience,” Brand said. “Surrender now.”

“Retreat,” Abigail said, backing through the door to the servants’ hallway.

“Attack!” Brand commanded just as Magda, Cassandra, and Dalia each cast a force-push into the van of the soldiers, shoving several back into their companions and causing many to fall in a jumble.

Cassandra spelled the door after closing it behind her.

“It won’t hold for long,” she said.

Abigail cut through the wall, kicking a large chunk of it into the alley behind the building. Once outside and into the dim light of rising dawn, she shot a whistler arrow into the air. It was answered with the roar of wyverns.

“Can you get us up onto the roof?” she asked.

“Of course,” Magda said. “Hold hands.”

All four of them clasped hands, forming a circle. Magda whispered the words of her spell and they began to rise into the air, slowly, only a few feet every second, but quickly enough to put them on the second-story roof well before the soldiers breached the door and stepped into the alley.

Brand emerged from the building, shouting for his men to find the intruders. Abigail ignored him, scanning the guard towers and smiling with satisfaction. All four of the wizards were gone. Most of her plan had worked. All that remained were Peti and Abel. Her smile transformed into a grimace when one of the soldiers on the nearest tower spotted them and shouted an alarm.

“How many soldiers do you think are bitten?” Abigail asked.

“Not enough to defeat us,” Cassandra said, waving at a pair of witches on the roof of another building nearby. In the growing light, the other eight witches became visible on four different rooftops. With their target wizards all taken safely away by the wyverns, each pair had ascended to predetermined extraction points to await Abigail’s signal.

“Good. Change of plan. We take the fortress and secure the soldiers who have been bitten.”

“How do you propose we do that?” Cassandra asked.

“I don’t want to kill General Brand, but we need to get him off the field. Without leadership, those who haven’t been bitten will yield to my authority.”

“I think we can manage that,” Magda said, signaling to Amelia to land. She was leading the steeds of the witches who had infiltrated the command fortress. After a pass, she floated in to light on the rooftop with Abigail while the rest of the wyverns picked out their riders and landed nearby.

“The wizards have been secured,” Amelia said, her face red and windblown. “Mage Jalal is with them now.”

“Excellent,” Magda said. “We’re going to take the fortress. As soon as we subdue General Brand, I want you to snatch him up and take him to Jalal as well.”

Soldiers were pouring out of every building and forming up in the central square to attack the wyverns with arrows, while General Brand shouted for them to be quick about it.

Magda and Cassandra joined hands and began chanting. A moment later, amber light arced from their hands, leaping off the rooftop, over the crowd of soldiers and striking Brand full in the chest. The light seemed to flow around his entire body, dancing and flickering over every inch of him. He froze in place and then fell over.

A great whoosh of air made Abigail duck as Amelia’s wyvern launched off the roof, landing briefly on one taloned foot, scattering the nearby soldiers as she carefully took Brand with the other talon. Before the soldiers could react, she was in the air and flying low over the encampment.

“Can you shield me from arrows?” Abigail asked.

“Of course,” Magda replied, casting a spell around her.

Before she stepped up to the edge of the roof to address the soldiers, she looked sideways at Magda.

“Just how many spells do you know anyway?”

“Seventy-eight,” Magda said with a little smile.

“Huh,” Abigail said, nodding to herself as she started toward the edge of the roof, but then stopped.

“Dalia, will you go get me Agneza’s head, please?”

“Of course,” Dalia said.

“Soldiers of Ithilian, hear me,” Abigail shouted into the confusion and fear below. “My name is Abigail Ruatha and I am your ally.” She drew the Thinblade, the ancient badge of royalty, and held it up for the men to see. “King Abel and many of his men have fallen under the spell of two very powerful and very evil witches. To your eyes these demon-spawn creatures seem beautiful beyond measure, but you have been deceived.”

There was a murmur of disagreement that grew into angry denials.

“Liar!” one man yelled.

“Lady Peti said that women spread falsehoods,” another said.

Several others shouted threats at Abigail.

She made a mental note of those who objected the most vocally.

“Some of those in your ranks have been bitten. They are beyond reason and must be detained until the venom runs its course.”

A soldier with emblems of rank pushed through the crowd and fired a crossbow at Abigail. The bolt turned aside at the last moment, but it came close enough that Abigail flinched.

“Lady Peti said you would lie to us,” he yelled, turning to the men behind him. “Don’t listen to her—”

Magda interrupted him with a force-push, blowing him to the ground and leaving him dazed.

“Look at his neck,” Abigail said. “You’ll see that he’s been bitten.”

Before he could regain his senses, the nearest soldier checked him, backing away like he was contagious.

“She’s right. He has bite marks.”

As they were absorbing the truth of their situation, several more soldiers fired on Abigail. This time she didn’t flinch, trusting Magda’s magic to protect her as it had so often in the past. Dalia came rushing up with Agneza’s deformed and grotesque head. Abigail took it by the horn and held it up.

“This is Agneza as she truly looks. Her dark magic deceived you—made you see her as beautiful, but she is not, and neither is her sister Peti.”

Abigail tossed the head into the crowd. Many stood in stunned shock and horror, but those who’d been bitten attacked their companions with reckless abandon.

“Subdue them!” Abigail shouted, but the din of battle drowned her out. The fight lasted barely a minute since there were only a score of men who’d been bitten. Most died in their frenzied attack but a few were saved and subdued.

Abigail watched with a mixture of sadness for the loss of life and anger at the last remaining Sin’Rath.

“I swear that I will see the Sin’Rath ended if it’s the last thing I do,” Magda said.

Abigail nodded, turning to Dalia. “Go get Sofia and Jalal. Bring them back here, quickly.”

Dalia nodded and raced to her waiting wyvern, mounting quickly and launching into the sky.

“What do you have in mind?” Cassandra asked.

“Sofia will take command of her army and Jalal will tell us where the witch went with Abel.”

“What about them?” Magda asked, nodding to the men below. They stood in a loose circle around Agneza’s head, those nearest staring with disbelief and revulsion while others tried to get close enough to see.

“Once it sinks in, I suspect they’ll do everything they can to help us.”

Chapter 12

“Lord Abel is at the gate,” Bree said, slightly out of breath.

“Is that witch with my husband?” Sofia asked.

“She is, along with a cordon of men surrounding them both,” Bree reported. “Dalia, Kat, and Amelia are on the gatehouse tower. The guardsmen have been instructed to stay off the walls.”

“Good,” Abigail said, standing up from the table in the main council chamber where Abel had conducted business. Sofia, Evelyn, and Jalal were there along with more than a dozen witches from the Reishi Coven. The rest of the wizards had remained hidden in the cave network to avoid becoming charmed again.

It had been little more than an hour since Sofia had arrived. Jalal had divined that Peti was still inside the main encampment with Abel and that they were rallying their troops to assault the command fortress. Even with a number of witches and Mage Jalal, Abigail knew they wouldn’t be able to hold it against a force of twenty thousand.

“Mage Jalal, I’d like you to stay here with Sofia and Evelyn,” Abigail said.

“I’m coming with you,” Sofia and Evelyn both said at the same time.

“This might get ugly,” Abigail said. “I’d rather you weren’t in the way when the fighting starts.”

“He’s my husband,” Sofia said.

“He’s my father,” Evelyn said.

Abigail nodded in resignation, turning to Bree. “Keep them safe.”

They filed out of the command building into a light drizzle falling out of a calm, uniformly grey sky. Wyverns were perched on a number of rooftops and witches manned the guard towers at the four corners of the fortress. Halfway across the central square, a thunderous roar stopped them in their tracks. The wyverns launched into the sky, scattering in all directions like a flock of birds fleeing a predator.

One of the witches on a guard tower shouted: “Dragon!”

Alarms went up from the encampment outside the command fortress and the soldiers within seemed on the verge of panic. An expectant stillness came over everyone in the square as they awaited the first glimpse.

“It’s blue,” Abigail said. “Can you see if it has a rider?”

“No rider … and it’s not Ixabrax,” Magda said.

The dragon flew straight for the command fortress, descending in a gentle glide, then flaring its wings and landing in the square as men and witches scattered, making ready to attack.

“Hold!” Abigail shouted over the rush of wind, shielding her eyes from the dust.

“Abigail Ruatha!” the dragon called out in a rumbling voice. “I was told I would find Abigail Ruatha here.”

Abigail took a deep breath and steeled her nerves before striding out to face the dragon with as much feigned confidence as she could muster. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her legs were trembling, her hands were sweating. She had to remind herself to breathe as she approached.

It struck her just how ephemeral and small human struggles were in the face of such a creature. The dragon’s ice-blue scales glistened with rainwater, her brow swept back into a single horn that marked the first in a series of spikes running the length of her spine. Her barbed tail flicked about like that of an irritated cat.

Magda followed to the side and just behind Abigail as she approached the dragon’s head, held low to the ground so she could look Abigail in the eye.

“I urge caution,” Magda said under her breath.

“A wise precaution,” the dragon said. “Are you Abigail Ruatha?”

“I am.”

“You will come with me,” the dragon said.

“Not without answers, I won’t,” Abigail said.

The dragon’s eyes narrowed and she moved her snout closer to Abigail.

“Do not defy me, Human.”

“Who are you and why have you sought me out?”

The dragon hesitated for a moment. Abigail got the distinct impression that she was giving serious thought to eating her.

“I am Zora, mate to Ixabrax. He has been taken and enslaved by the human known as Zuhl. You will help me free him.”

Abigail couldn’t help herself—she smiled with unabashed joy.

“You’re his mate? I’m so glad he found you.”

Zora ignored her. “You will come with me … now.”

Dalia raced into the square, skidding to a stop when she rounded the corner and saw Zora. The dragon’s head snapped to look at her with suspicion.

“We won’t attack you,” Abigail said, motioning to Dalia to hold her position. “You’re safe here.”

Zora looked around warily, her tail nervously flicking this way and that.

“What is it, Dalia?” Magda asked.

“Abel and the witch fled when the dragon arrived.”

“Climb onto my neck and hold on tightly,” Zora said.

“Slow down,” Abigail said. “I’m right in the middle of something here.”

“You will set your concerns aside.”

“No, I won’t.”

Zora cocked her head. Abigail couldn’t tell if she was bemused or just irritated.

The dragon snorted a gust of chilled air at Abigail, sending shivers through her body.

“You’re trying my patience, Human.”

Abigail tried to banish the cold but couldn’t stop trembling until she considered the situation and her anger started to rise.

“And you’re trying mine, Dragon. I’m right in the middle of a war here and the outcome of this battle will shape the future of an entire island kingdom. Countless people will be affected. And you want me to drop what I’m doing and fly away with you?”

“Your concerns are of little interest to me. I care only for Ixabrax, and you are the one being that I know of who can help me free him. You will help me or I will become a far greater and more immediate threat to your future than any other enemy you face.”

Abigail stepped closer to Zora’s snout, drawing the Thinblade and holding it up for her to see, close enough to strike. The soldiers and witches all tensed, frozen in place.

“Don’t threaten me, Dragon.”

Zora’s tail cocked back, poised to strike.

Abigail turned the Thinblade in front of her and said, “This is what you want. But it will do you no good without me, so hear me well. Ixabrax is my friend and it breaks my heart that Zuhl has collared him again.” She sheathed the Thinblade. “I will help you free him, but only on my terms.”

Zora’s eyes narrowed again. “And what terms are those?”

“We join forces, we work together to free Ixabrax and destroy Zuhl, but only after I’ve ended the threat here.”

“Unacceptable.”

“Which part?”

“You will come with me now. Whatever threat you face here can wait.”

“No, it can’t! I’ve been pursuing this witch across half the world and I finally have her within reach. I’m not about to let her get away now.”

“Ixabrax must come first.”

“No!”

Zora’s head moved back as if she were seeing Abigail anew.

“I see why Ixabrax likes you. Because of that, I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt. Any other human who spoke to me in such a fashion would be little more than indigestion by now.” Her giant head moved closer. “Now you will hear me. Every moment that Ixabrax wears a slave collar is intolerable. He must be freed … today.”

Abigail threw up her arms. “So what’s your plan? Do you think you and I can make a run at Zuhl and survive? He’s a mage … he’s surrounded with soldiers, priests, and drakini … oh, and he’s got a dragon fighting for him.” Abigail shook her head, running her hand through her silvery blond hair. “My father used to say: Be driven by emotion but ruled by reason. You’re allowing emotion to rule you. When we go after Zuhl, we’ll need a plan … and a lot more power than you and I can bring to bear alone. Look around you. I have an army of witches mounted on wyverns. If we work together, we can succeed, but we have to be smart about this.”

A wyvern came in and landed on the wall, flinching skittishly when Zora unfurled her wings and brought her head up to face the potential threat. The rider shouted something to the soldiers within the walls, but she was too far away for Abigail to hear.

“Zora, you don’t need to fear us.”

The dragon looked back to Abigail, folding her wings again.

“I don’t fear you.”

Abigail snorted, nodding to herself. “Fair enough, but you should fear Zuhl. He’s dangerous and ruthless. If we do this wrong, he’s just going to put a collar on you, too.”

Zora bristled, her tail flicking around with irritation.

“That will never happen.”

“Not if we do this right.”

A nervous soldier appeared at the edge of the square, reluctant to come any closer until Abigail motioned for him to approach. His eyes didn’t leave Zora and he only got close enough to shout the message.

“Abel and the Sin’Rath have fled through the Gate.”

“What?!” Abigail shouted. “Where did they go?”

“I don’t know,” the soldier said, backing away.

Abigail put her hand on her forehead as she walked in a small circle, her mind racing for answers to a dozen questions, the foremost on the list being where had they gone? She stopped, facing Zora with her fists planted firmly on her hips.

“This is on you, Dragon.”

“Be that as it may, it would seem that your quarry has escaped, and with it your excuses for delay are gone as well.”

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” Abigail said, her eyes closed and her head tipped back. The light drizzle on her face was cold but sobering.

“We had her … now there’s a demon-spawn witch with an Island King and his Thinblade loose somewhere in the Seven Isles.” Abigail shook her head and faced Zora. “There’s no telling what damage she’ll cause now.”

“This witch is not my concern—”

“Oh, yes she is. You want to free Ixabrax? Well, the price just went up. First, we do this my way. After we free Ixabrax, you’ll both help me kill Zuhl once and for all, and not just his simulacrum … him. Then,” she continued before Zora could respond, “you’ll help me kill the Sin’Rath witch that just escaped. You’ll give me your word on this right now or there’s no deal.”

Zora’s eyes narrowed, her catlike irises contracting slightly. Silence fell on the courtyard. Abigail stood her ground, scant feet away from the snout of a beast that could make a light meal of her in the blink of an eye. As the moments slipped by and the tension built, Abigail felt common sense begin to penetrate the anger and frustration fueling her rash words. Her confidence started to erode … then the dragon spoke.

“Bargain struck, Human. But know this, if you fail to free my mate, or if he is harmed, your life is forfeit.”

Chapter 13

Ratagan circled Kai’Gorn before gliding in for a gentle landing amid dozens of other wyverns in the small but crowded aerie. Handlers were working quickly to unsaddle and care for the returning beasts.

“Be ready at dawn,” Alexander said, releasing the straps holding him to the saddle and sliding to the ground.

Ratagan nodded, patting his wyvern on the neck to calm the beast.

It was late afternoon and the sun had already fallen behind the city walls.

A Ranger approached and said, “General Talia instructed me to await your arrival, Lord Reishi.”

“Good. I’d like to speak to him,” Alexander said, opening the door to his Wizard’s Den, drawing more than a few looks from the people working in the aerie.

“I see we’ve arrived,” Jack said from his desk, putting his papers away before strolling out into the afternoon air.

“I think I’d rather ride with you,” Anja said. “Being stuck inside your Wizard’s Den without you always makes me nervous.”

“You could always fly yourself,” Alexander said.

She gave him a look.

“General Talia’s in his war room,” the Ranger said. “I’ll show you the way.”

The aerie had been set up within the walls of the city, near the main keep, so the walk was short. Alexander smiled at the orderliness of the place. It was altogether different from the last time he’d been here. People were working, the streets were clean and nobody seemed the least bit afraid of the soldiers, Rangers, or occasional Sky Knights they encountered. Talia had done well.

They found the general in a large room with four tables placed exactingly in the center of the room with uniform spacing between them to allow the officers surrounding those tables access to the detailed maps laid out upon them. The walls were lined with precisely sketched maps all pinned up side by side on uniformly sized sheets of parchment. In one corner, Talia sat behind a desk placed at an angle to face the center of the room. He was deeply engrossed in the document before him.

“General Talia,” the Ranger said, “Lord Reishi has arrived.”

Talia looked up, nodding respectfully to Alexander as he stood.

“I trust your journey was uneventful.”

“The last leg of it was,” Alexander said. “How goes the war?”

“The Sky Knights’ attack was successful. All of the vessels in the Andalian fleet sent to sink our supply ships have been destroyed. I was just reviewing the report submitted by the Wing Commander who led the attack. They were very thorough. I expect no survivors.”

Alexander nodded. He didn’t relish the idea of killing so many people. Most were just sailors, but unfortunately for them, they’d chosen to obey a tyrant.

“Did we sustain any losses?”

“Not a one,” Talia said. “The enemy ships didn’t have any magical defenses, so the Sky Knights were able to set them on fire from well out of ballista range.”

“Well done, General. LaChance is making good progress, but I suspect he’ll be facing some resistance from the Andalian people going forward. Many blame me for bringing war to their home.”

“That’s to be expected,” Talia said. “LaChance is a good officer. I have confidence that he’ll manage.”

“I think you’re probably right. We were able to destroy or disperse the more significant threats in the area. Now he just has to convince the people to choose the right side.”

“In time, I’m sure that choice will become self-evident.”

“I hope so, General.” Alexander paused to look around the room. The officers were mostly ignoring him in favor of doing their work. “Well, it looks like you have things well in hand here. We’ll get some rest. I’d like to be in the air at dawn.”

Talia saluted crisply and went back to his reports. The Ranger who’d led them to the war room appeared as if on cue.

“I’ll show you to your chambers, Lord Reishi. I’ve notified the kitchen. They’ll have a hot meal ready in a few minutes.”

Alexander nodded gratefully. He was tired and stiff from flying all day. A good meal would clear his mind.

He’d spent the flight thinking about his magic. The one thing he was certain of was that he had yet to reach his full potential. If he was going to defeat all of the enemies he faced, he would need to master his magic, and sooner would be better than later.

He’d learned from experience that, unlike other wizards, the surface of the firmament was no threat to him. Its depths were another matter. He’d found a place of such peace and tranquility, such timeless belonging, that he felt drawn to it even now. And yet, he knew that allure could lead to his undoing.

Siduri had found a way to live there, to exist in physical form in the depths of that endless ocean of potential. He had mastered the firmament in a way that no other wizard had ever even considered—he had become one with source. Alexander could only imagine the power that Siduri could bring to bear if he chose to. He could only speculate on his own power and capability … if he was able to master the firmament as Siduri had done.

He needed a mentor, and there was only one person who could provide the guidance he needed … and that person wasn’t interested. Alexander knew that Siduri was a good man, though deeply wounded. He was confident that, given time and opportunity, he could convince him to help. But that required a conversation, which in turn required the ability to reach out and make contact with him.

A feat he’d done only once, and then only by accident when he’d been on the brink of death by torture. Not a path he relished walking again.

There had to be another way. The sovereigns had offered a few alternatives. Alexander had thoroughly considered them and decided to attempt using emotion to counterbalance the draw of the firmament’s depths.

“You’ve been quiet since we arrived,” Anja said, after dinner.

Alexander nodded. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?”

“Magic.”

“You’re going to reach out to Siduri again,” Jack said.

“You almost died the last time you tried that,” Anja said.

“I know, but I need his help. There’s no one else who can teach me what I need to learn.”

Anja frowned. “I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”

He shook his head, opening the door to his Wizard’s Den with a gesture.

***

It took a few minutes to work his anger into a force of nature within him, heat and energy boiling in the pit of his stomach. Phane was his inspiration. All of his injustices and evil provided ample justification for Alexander’s righteous anger.

With his emotional defenses in place, he tried to find the firmament, but it was well out of reach. Anger didn’t mix with the calmness he needed to release his consciousness into the ocean of creation. He began to wonder how Isabel had managed to create the perfect balance of mind that was necessary to cast spells with emotion. Thinking of her lessened his anger.

He tried again, bringing his anger to intensity and then attempting to observe the feeling within him from the perspective of the witness, detached and uninvolved, but the heat faded quickly, leaving only a sterile and objective justification for his anger without any real emotion behind it.

He opened his eyes. Chloe looked up at him. She was sitting cross-legged in front of him within his magic circle.

“It’s not working. I can’t be both angry enough and calm enough at the same time.”

“Perhaps the firmament should come first.”

He nodded, giving her a wink before closing his eyes and clearing his mind of the remnants of his fabricated ire. Once he’d calmed himself, the firmament came easily. He spent a moment just listening. There was rising angst in the world. Open war raged on nearly every isle to one degree or another.

Alexander focused on that fear and suffering to build his anger. It grew quickly and it felt right, justified even. So many people were hurting all for the ambitions of so few. Anger was a natural human response to injustice and evil.

With that in mind, Alexander began to descend into the depths of the firmament, passing into an unformed realm that precious few had ever experienced, let alone mastered. He reminded himself again to listen for Chloe’s voice as the song of creation grew faint and then faded into the still, silent void.

His worldly concerns began to fade with it. Peace began to envelop and permeate his consciousness until he stopped, content to simply be. It felt like he’d come home to a place he’d always known existed, always longed to return to—a place that was far beyond the meager power of words to describe or explain.

Detached, he found his awareness watching his anger, still held tightly by some small part of the self that he’d almost forgotten existed. It was a curious thing, to see the anger within him swirling like an eddy in a fast-moving stream, watch it without feeling it, to know that it had justification yet be unable to experience the heat of it.

Then he remembered.

He didn’t know how long he’d been in the depths, but he was certain that he’d lost nearly all sense of himself, and time as well. Reluctantly, as if letting go of something precious beyond words, he returned to the roiling surface, the music of reality rising to a crescendo and then abruptly vanishing as he returned to his body.

Chloe stopped pacing when he opened his eyes. She floated up in front of him. “I was starting to worry.”

“How long was I gone?”

“Three hours. I was just about to come find you.”

He nodded to himself, replaying the experience in his mind. He’d reached the void, that place of peace, while retaining his anger. It had served its purpose, though he felt that his control of the entire experience had been tenuous at best. While he’d been able to resist the allure of infinite creation, he was no closer to finding Siduri. Worse still, he wasn’t confident that exploring the depths of the firmament was the correct path, though it did seem to have value, even if he couldn’t quite understand why.

“Any luck?” Jack asked.

“Not really. I mean, I got lost and then found my way back, but that doesn’t get me any closer to Siduri.”

Lita chuckled to herself, drawing everyone’s attention.

“You’ve achieved what perhaps no wizard or witch has ever achieved before, save for this Siduri you speak of,” she said. “And you discount it as a failure.”

“I guess when you put it like that,” Alexander said, stretching his legs. “I’m just not sure how to make use of it. All I want to do once I get there is stay there. I don’t know how that helps me.”

“Sometimes important discoveries have no immediate application. But that doesn’t make them any less important.”

Alexander nodded thoughtfully. “When I get the chance, I’ll ask the sovereigns about it, but right now I should try to get some sleep. We have a long journey tomorrow.”

***

The patchwork of farms and orchards slipped by far below, light green with new spring growth. Southern Ruatha had been spared the destruction of battle for almost a year. Alexander was happy to see that crops were flourishing and life for some at least was normal.

He rode behind Ratagan with Horst several dozen yards to the right. The wyverns had fallen into a routine, beating their wings every so often to regain altitude, then locking them in place and gliding on an ever-so-gentle slope toward Southport.

The brisk morning air had given way to a warm sunny day. From his vantage point, it was hard to imagine that the world was in such turmoil, but it was, and that burden weighed heavily. As the monotony of flight set in, Alexander found his mind turning to his magic. His all around sight had expanded significantly since it had first manifested, but it still had limits in terms of range.

With his eyes closed, he watched the world below, exercising his sight, pushing his vision to its limits, focusing on details far below and then holding his vision on them until the subject of his inspection moved out of range. After an hour of the practice, pushing the bounds of his power to their limits, his head started to hurt. He took that as a good sign … like sore muscles, it was an indication of progress.

He pressed on, picking out a cow in a pasture below, sending his vision a thousand feet from his body and holding it there, slowly circling the lazily grazing animal and fighting against the urge to return to his own body until distance ripped him away.

The pain in his head increased, but he ignored it, repeating the exercise over and over until his head hurt so badly that he began to worry that he might actually injure himself. When he estimated that they were about an hour away from Southport, he closed his eyes and tried to let the wind wash the pain away. His mind turned to Isabel. Thoughts of her were always soothing.

As the pain began to subside, he suddenly found himself looking through the window of a circular cell, ringed with a magic circle. Isabel was in the small cell, pacing back and forth. She seemed both worried and deep in thought. A rush of thoughts flooded into his mind—concern for her, confusion about what was happening to him, and a sudden fear that he had inadvertently used his clairvoyance without the protection of his magic circle … yet he was still present in his own mind, still aware of his body strapped into the saddle of a wyvern, floating over the plains of southern Ruatha.

As quickly as the rush of jumbled thoughts had come, he returned completely to his body. His head was pounding, sharp pain stabbing into his mind from behind his eyes with each beat of his heart. The agony came on so quickly that it provoked a wave of nausea. He vomited into the sky, wiping his mouth clean with his shirt sleeve.

Ratagan looked back and questioningly signaled for a landing. Alexander shook his head. The pain hadn’t subsided, but he’d managed to focus his will against it, recalling lessons learned during the trial of pain. It took a minute or so to master the agony he was feeling. It didn’t subside or even lessen, but he was able to clear his mind and endure, trusting that it would pass in time.

When Southport came into view, he realized that something had changed. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, probably because he’d been so preoccupied with the pain behind his eyes, but he could see the horizon—something he’d lost when his eyes had been damaged by the cold of the aether. It was as if his all around sight had suddenly expanded to encompass the scope of normal vision.

The pain abruptly faded into the background. It wasn’t gone, just not nearly as interesting as the experiences he’d just had. He’d used his clairvoyance without shifting into the firmament, or at least he thought he had—and his all around sight had suddenly expanded. The implications made his mind race. He was lost in thought when Ratagan turned in his saddle and tapped him on the shoulder.

“You all right, Lord Reishi? We’re here.”

Alexander shook his head slightly, looking around and finding himself in Southport’s aerie. They’d landed. He smiled in spite of the halo of residual pain still floating around his head.

“I’m good,” Alexander said, unfastening his straps.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Ratagan said. “It happens to the best of us.”

Alexander just nodded, sliding off the wyvern and patting the beast on the side.

Kevin was waiting nearby. “Lord—”

“The name’s Alexander, Kevin.”

His brother-in-law nodded, smiling a bit sheepishly. “I guess I’ve been here for so long that titles and such are becoming second nature.”

“It looks like Southport’s better off for your leadership,” Alexander said, opening his Wizard’s Den while surveying the city. The aerie was located on the roof of a large structure, offering a good view of the shipyards and the port. A fleet of fast-attack boats was anchored in the bay, dozens of ships ready to sail at a moment’s notice—more lined the docks and piers jutting from the sea wall.

“As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve actually grown fond of this place, though I’d trade my office for a ride through the Great Forest in a heartbeat.”

Jack smiled broadly, pointing across the city. “I can see the inn where we met.”

“I think you’re right,” Alexander said.

“Any news of Isabel?” Kevin asked.

“Phane still has her, but she’s alive and well.”

“Are you sure?” Kevin asked, concern for his sister showing plainly in his eyes and his colors.

Alexander faced him squarely. “I am. In fact, I just looked in on her. She’s not happy, and she’s locked in a magically protected cell, but she’s unharmed.”

“How did you look in on her?” Anja asked. “Don’t you need your magic circle?”

Alexander ignored her question, giving her a look that forestalled any further inquiry.

“Kevin, this is Anja, and in spite of her appearance, she’s actually a dragon.”

Kevin looked at her, then back at Alexander. Seeing that he was serious, Kevin bowed formally.

“Welcome to Southport, My Lady. It’s a pleasure and a privilege to make your acquaintance.”

Anja blinked, then smiled broadly.

“I like him.”

Jack chuckled. “I would never have expected such honeyed words to roll so easily off a Ranger’s tongue. Perhaps you have been here too long.”

“One thing I’ve learned in my time here is that courtesy never hurts.”

“Well said,” Jack replied with a look of mischief.

“Come, let me show you to your quarters,” Kevin said.

***

After dinner, Jack spent over an hour telling a rather embellished version of Alexander’s journey since he’d named Kevin Regent of Southport. While Jack’s story would have been engrossing if Alexander hadn’t lived it, he was preoccupied with thoughts about his magic. It was changing again—becoming more. As much as he welcomed the promise of greater capability, such developments were usually accompanied by pain and danger.

When Jack finished his story and Kevin began recounting his time in Southport, Alexander did his best to listen attentively. Information was always welcome, and sometimes even useful. Kevin had organized the city with near military precision, rooting out the corruption that had so permeated the place under the previous regent’s stewardship.

The shipyards were now working in three shifts, turning out fast-attack boats at a rapid pace, most of which had been sent south to Kai’Gorn. Kevin and Talia had developed a good working friendship through the letters and reports they sent each other via frequent message riders. He also kept in contact with New Ruatha, though less frequently. The Lancers ravaging the north had never made any serious attempt to penetrate the Great Forest, so southern Ruatha had become a refuge for those fleeing the war, and Southport had grown quickly because of it.

After the meal was cleared and Kevin had left them to retire for the evening, Alexander opened his Wizard’s Den and put his weapons on the table, then stepped back out into the large sitting room at the heart of the royal suite Kevin had provided them.

“I need to try something and it might be dangerous.”

Chloe spun into a ball of light.

“How so?” Jataan asked.

“My magic is changing again. During the flight here I think my all around sight merged with my clairvoyance. For just a moment, I was with Isabel, but I could still feel my body on the back of Ratagan’s wyvern. I need to find out if I can use my clairvoyance without the protection of a magic circle.”

“And you’re afraid that you’ll become possessed,” Jack said.

Alexander nodded, remembering back to that horrible moment when he’d killed two of his own Rangers.

“If I lose control, you need to subdue me.”

“I don’t understand,” Anja said.

“If I attack you, it’s not really me. Take me down and hold me down. If I don’t come to my senses, bind me and put me in a magic circle.”

“Are you sure this is necessary, Lord Reishi?” Jataan asked.

“I need to know what my magic can do.”

Jataan nodded.

Alexander sat down at the table and closed his eyes. He could see the room as plain as ever, perhaps even a bit more clearly. He pushed past the door and into the hall, paying close attention to how it felt, noting the dull pain still present behind his eyes. He sent his point of view up through the ceiling and into the sky over Southport, rising up to a height of a thousand feet, still well within the prior range of his all around sight. From there he looked around. He could see to the horizon. That alone made him smile, a curious sensation, feeling his body react to his visual experience while his sight was far removed from his physical location.

He looked north to the watchtower at the edge of the Great Forest and began to move toward it, slowly at first, cautiously. He reached the previous limit of his all around sight, and then passed it without difficulty. With a thought, he was floating above the broken watchtower, looking down at the site of his first encounter with nether wolves.

While hovering over the plateau, he gently probed his own mind and body, feeling the wood of the table beneath his hands, hearing the crackle of the fire burning in the hearth mixed with the gentle rustle of the wind over the watchtower. It took some effort to separate the sounds of each location.

The pain behind his eyes was starting to build, but it wasn’t even close to unmanageable. He thought of Blackstone Keep and the world rushed by. In a moment, he was floating over the ancient fortress. The pain began to intensify. He scanned the horizon and saw a telltale smudge of color in the distance. Rake and his thugs were getting closer. The pain grew, stabbing sharply into his mind—he returned to his body with a thought.

“Alexander?” Jack said.

“Yeah, I’m fine, it just hurts a bit.”

The sharp stabbing sensation behind his eyes began to subside, diminishing quickly into a dull headache.

“Let me have a look at you,” Lita said, sitting next to him and placing her hand on his forehead while muttering the words of a spell.

“You’re pushing too hard too quickly,” she said. “I detect some minor damage. Nothing that won’t heal, but you should refrain from doing whatever you just did for a while.”

Alexander nodded.

“What did you do, anyway?” Anja asked.

“I went to Blackstone. It was odd, more like my all around sight than my clairvoyance because I could still feel my body and hear what was happening here while seeing and hearing everything there at the same time.”

“Impressive,” Jack said. “It would seem that you still have more potential to realize.”

“I think you’re right,” he said, opening his Wizard’s Den and heading for his circle.

“I thought you were going to take it easy,” Anja said.

“I won’t use my new vision, but I want to try reaching out to Siduri again.”

“Last time you got lost in the firmament,” Anja said.

“I found my way back. Besides, I’m going to try something different this time.”

“Should we be concerned?” Jack asked.

“Probably, but I don’t think there’s anything you can do to help me.”

He sat down in his circle and offered his best reassuring smile to his friends.

“If I’m not back in an hour, Chloe will come in and get me.”

After only a moment, he was in the firmament. His plan was risky, dangerous even, but he didn’t know how else to proceed. Holding on to anger had allowed him to return from the place of peace, but that path didn’t seem to lead any closer to the first adept. That left two options … and one of those involved dying.

Alexander sent his mind to the fortress island, deliberately attempting to penetrate the wards and allowing himself to be scattered across the firmament. Instinctively, almost reflexively, a small but essential part of his psyche retreated to the place of the witness. Rather than begin the process of reassembling himself, he just watched. Bits and pieces began to drift out of his awareness, pieces of himself seemed to be slipping away. Still he watched.

Isabel came into his mind and then she too began to fade from thought. A surge of panic overcame him and he began to struggle to get himself back, casting his mind across the ocean of creation and grasping desperately for the parts of himself that had been lost. For what seemed like a long time, he struggled to reassemble his identity, pulling pieces back to himself as he found them, but he still didn’t feel complete. Parts were missing. He could tell they were gone by the holes their absence left in his memories and his sense of self.

After stretching out across the whole of creation with his mind, he began to search beneath the surface of the firmament, reasoning that the lost parts of himself had to go somewhere. When he found the first fragment and drew it back to himself, he felt a surge of hope and began to search in earnest, finding more missing pieces sinking toward the formless depths. Bit by bit, he reassembled his mind, feeling more than a little frightened of the consequences of failure. He could only imagine the outcome if he allowed parts of himself to fade away into undifferentiated source.

It was entirely possible that he could lose memories, skills, personality traits, even feelings for those he loved. As much as the depths of the firmament called to him with the promise of peace and tranquility, they had become a threat to his very identity, a danger to his unique existence.

Fully himself again, he floated on the surface of the firmament, considering the outcome of his experiment. Both of his last two attempts had resulted in a panicked retreat. Both had threatened to claim his sense of self. Both had failed to bring him even one step closer to Siduri.

He called out to the first adept, imploring him to respond, begging for his help, but to no avail. Only the song of creation answered. He returned to his body and stretched his legs, sitting on the edge of his circular table with his face in his hands.

“I take it things didn’t go well,” Jack said.

“No, I’ve tried two of the three suggestions the sovereigns had for reaching out to Siduri. Both nearly killed me. Worse still, the third way starts by killing me.”

“What!” Anja said.

Chloe spun into a ball of light.

“I was on the brink of death when I first found Siduri in the firmament. It’s the only time I’ve gone there physically. So I guess I just have to figure out how to die without dying.”

“No!” Anja snapped. “You need to stop this. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Perhaps she’s right, Lord Reishi,” Jataan said. “If Siduri were willing to help, he would offer it.”

“Maybe, but I can’t help feeling that he’s the key to this whole thing.”

“You are the key, Alexander,” Jack said. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but the world rests on your shoulders. Most people don’t understand that, but we do. If you fall, we all lose.”

“No pressure, huh, Jack?”

The bard shrugged helplessly. “Deal in what is.”

Alexander snorted. “I seem to recall hearing that somewhere before.”

Chapter 14

Ratagan launched off the ramparts, his wyvern gaining altitude with each powerful stroke of its wings. Southport slid past until they were floating over green fields. Alexander caught sight of the road leading to Highlands Reach and thought of his childhood home. He had always dreamed of going back there, building a house overlooking a rich, green pasture and raising a family. He realized that he hadn’t thought about that in some time. Now that he did, he understood that it was just a dream, nothing more. The reality of his life had placed very different demands on him, demands that he had an obligation to live up to.

As much as he longed for the peaceful, simple life of his dream, he understood now that his duty, the purpose of his life really, was to ensure that others could live that simple, quiet, and profoundly rewarding life. It struck him as odd that so many people thought of power as something to aspire toward, something noble and worthy, when in reality anyone with a soul would flee from it the moment they realized the truth of it. Power was about bending other people’s free will, making them comply and obey. Good people didn’t think in those terms, which made the avid pursuit of power a vocation for evil people.

Worse still was the certainty that evil people would never stop trying to lord their will over others. And the natural result of that truth was that evil people would always gravitate toward government while most good people would avoid it at nearly all costs.

Government wasn’t a necessary evil, it was necessarily evil. It couldn’t be otherwise given the nature of those who yearned to be a part of it. Balthazar Reishi had understood this fact of human nature and committed himself and his family to protecting those who just wanted to be left alone to live their lives, protecting them from those who craved power over them.

Whether he liked it or not, that was Alexander’s lot in life as well. He’d come to accept that he was the Reishi Sovereign and champion of the Old Law. His wants mattered far less than his duty. He smiled to himself as he took one last look at the road that led to his old life before looking forward.

As much as he wanted to test his new sight, he was wary of overexerting himself. Rake was nearing Blackstone Keep. Odds were good that Alexander would find himself in a battle before the sun set and he wanted to conserve his strength and his magic. That left him with plenty of time to think.

Twice he’d failed to reach out to Siduri. While he might eventually find success along either of those paths, he doubted it, and both presented dangers that were beyond his understanding. It was frustrating that the one person who could help him gain that essential understanding might only be reachable through the very understanding he had to offer.

That left the one last path, the one that began with his death, the only one that had ever succeeded. Aside from being potentially lethal, he didn’t relish the pain he was certain he would have to endure. Objectively, he knew that pain was manageable, he knew he had the capacity to withstand nearly any degree of agony, but that didn’t make it appealing. That kind of suffering always provoked a little flutter of fear in his belly.

And yet, he knew deep down that he would attempt to re-create the experience that had led to his physical transition into the firmament. How could he not? His friends doubted the value and feared the risk, but they hadn’t been there, they didn’t understand.

Siduri had called Alexander “one with source.” His understanding of just exactly what that meant was becoming clearer, though by no means complete. He needed Siduri to teach him. He needed a mentor who understood. And he needed Siduri to end the shades. He shook his head with frustration. He couldn’t even make contact with the first adept, never mind persuade him to teach Alexander what he needed to know and then willingly sacrifice himself to the Taker. Alexander hardened his resolve—that there was a chance was what mattered.

The Great Forest floated beneath them, green and lush. The steep barrier peaks of Glen Morillian rose in the distance to the west. Far to the east, the Pinnacles were just barely visible poking up through the haze shrouding the horizon. For a time, he let his mind wander, watching the world go by beneath him, but then a thought occurred to him. If his sight had changed, perhaps his illusion magic had changed as well.

He focused his mind and visualized a ball of light, bright and white. Nothing happened. He tried to re-create the state of mind he used while in the firmament to project his magic, but again nothing happened.

His mind wandering again, he returned to Siduri and his experience in the construct created by the first adept. He couldn’t help but wonder just how real it had been. Was it in fact a separate reality? If that was the case, the possibilities were endless. More likely, it was just an elaborate illusion designed to deceive even its heartbroken creator.

But if it was an illusion, it was a very real one. So real that it had substance. Alexander’s mind wandered down that path of speculation, lost in a thousand what-ifs until he heard Ratagan curse. His mind snapped back to reality.

At this height, Blackstone Keep had just come into view, nothing more than a black protrusion on the edge of the world. Three bright points of fiery light trailing streamers of yellow and orange fell from the sky. They seemed to move very slowly at first, rapidly accelerating as they neared the world, causing the air itself to ripple and shimmer around them.

Alexander held his breath, waiting with a growing sense of dread for the falling stars to make impact. Trailing streamers that reached to the heavens, the three points of light hit Blackstone, one after the other. Each created a flash of light brighter than the sun. It was an odd sensation the see such power unleashed with no accompanying sound. The air seemed to condense and spread out from each impact, racing away in every direction at terrible speed. Smoke and fire rose into the sky, forming a cloud, black and hot.

Then the sound hit.

It was a crack like thunder, only infinitely louder. The wyverns flinched, barrel rolling into a dive, instinctually seeking the refuge of the trees below. Alexander focused his sight on Blackstone, trying to see the extent of the devastation, somehow thinking that if he looked long enough it might undo the damage, but finding that it only served to confirm his fears.

Blackstone Keep had been destroyed.

What had once been a great fortress, home to the wizards of old, was now a pile of broken and fused rubble blasted apart by a spell of such power that Alexander understood with perfect certainty why Mage Cedric had placed the weapon capable of such destruction in the last of the Bloodvaults. No one should possess such power. It was beyond reason to wield a thing capable of that much devastation. Alexander was equally certain that Rake would use it again just as quickly as he could.

New Ruatha would be his next target, and there was no power in the Seven Isles capable of withstanding such an attack. Once again, Alexander was in a race. Ratagan leveled his spooked wyvern and looked back to Alexander for guidance.

He pointed toward New Ruatha. “All possible speed!” he shouted over the wind.

His mind cleared of all what-ifs and speculation about his magic. He needed to focus on what he was going to do next. Malachi had said that Cedric could only use his falling-star spell once per day. Blackstone was about a day’s ride from New Ruatha. Alexander had to get to Rake before he was ready to strike again. Countless lives hung in the balance.

The weight of his duty pressed down on him … and he embraced it. So often before, Alexander had lamented his responsibility as Sovereign. Today, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Rake was a criminal who had just forfeited his life and Alexander meant to collect.

In truth, Blackstone had been destroyed by Shivini months ago. It had become nothing more than a cold, lifeless, hollowed-out mountain. A tomb for ancient magic and breathtaking treasure … and also for the Rangers that Erik had left to man the bridge.

The aerie at New Ruatha was a flurry of chaos, wyverns launching off the walls as others landed. Handlers were rushing about, working to clear returning wyverns from the yard while preparing others to launch. Ratagan followed a narrow, very fast descent to avoid the patrols. His wyvern dove through the chaos, breaking its fall with a frenzied series of wing beats and landing hard enough to knock Alexander’s wind out. He slipped to the ground, opening his Wizard’s Den with a gesture. Ratagan dismounted a moment later.

“Be ready, we’ll be leaving soon.”

Ratagan saluted grimly as he signaled to a nearby handler to bring food for his steed. Horst landed nearby.

“Jack, go figure out who’s in charge here and tell them we’ll be mounting a coordinated attack. I need them to prepare all available forces.”

“Will do,” Jack said, heading for the door.

Jataan followed him to the threshold of the Wizard’s Den, stopping precisely under the arch of the door, hands clasped easily behind his back.

Alexander went to his magic circle and sat down to meditate.

Moments later, his mind arrived in Erik’s encampment, west of Blackstone. The Rangers had sustained heavy damage from falling rocks. Alexander was relieved to see that Erik was alive. Nearly a thousand of his men couldn’t say the same. The landscape was pockmarked with impact craters, large and small. Where larger rocks had struck soldiers, there was often nothing more than a red-tinged hole in the ground.

Alexander appeared in front of Erik.

He looked exhausted and horrified at the destruction, but he was working to get his unit organized, identify his wounded, and mobilize the rest. He seemed startled when Alexander spoke.

“Alexander—” he said, his voice trailing off.

“I’m so sorry, Erik. You’ve suffered too much already. I know this is hard, but I need you to ride. How many men do you have?”

Erik blinked a few times, then looked around at his fallen, nodding absently.

“Erik—”

He seemed to snap back to the moment, taking a deep breath and facing Alexander squarely. “I have three thousand Rangers without injuries, but only half as many horses.”

“Prepare those who can fight to ride, keep the rest here to tend to the wounded. I’ll send help.”

“Thank you, Alexander.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

He released his illusion and floated above the ruin of the Keep. It was utterly devastated. All of the buildings that had encrusted the surface of Blackstone’s peak were crushed, broken beyond any hope of salvage. Where the falling stars had hit, fissures ran away from enormous craters, penetrating deep into the bowels of the mountain, one opening a hundred-foot hole that exited out one side of the mountain near the ground. Alexander passed into the Keep, searching the depths of the broken fortress. It was a shambles. Some corridors remained intact, but there were so many collapses and so much structural damage that physically traversing the interior would be nearly impossible and probably fatal.

He penetrated into the very foundation of the Keep and found the treasure room. It was caved in. Only the tiny domed vestibule just outside the door had withstood the collapse of the ceiling under countless tons of stone. At least it hadn’t been destroyed. He had hopes of using the wealth in Blackstone’s treasury to rebuild the Seven Isles. As for the rest of the place, it looked like a total loss.

He thought of Rake.

The thug was riding a mangy but powerful-looking horse. Two wizards rode beside him, one on either side, with several well-armed and armored men just behind them, all with colors that said they liked killing. Three wraithkin occasionally flashed into and out of existence as they kept up with the horses. Rake’s version of a royal guard, thugs, cutthroats and strong-arm criminals, rode in a cluster a hundred strong around him, and the remaining ten thousand formed a loose, undisciplined cluster around them all.

The sun was just setting, casting long shadows across a landscape torn apart by cataclysmic forces. Rake seemed inordinately pleased with himself … he also seemed determined to get somewhere. He was pressing his army to keep up with the cavalry and it was becoming strung out.

Alexander rose high into the sky, looking for the path that Rake’s army was marching. He expected it to lead straight toward New Ruatha, when in fact, it led directly toward the ruins of Old Ruatha, the capital city of the isle before the Reishi War, destroyed during the later years of Malachi Reishi’s reign.

Some said it was haunted, others said it was cursed … people took the stories seriously. Few ventured into the ruins, fewer still returned. Those who did, spoke in hushed tones of darkness and madness. Most importantly, rank-and-file soldiers would not willingly march through it. Rake could use it to limit his exposure to attack.

He wasn’t heading directly toward New Ruatha … he intended to capture the city rather than destroy it. Certainly a more strategic move. New Ruatha was built atop a giant plateau, making it more easily defended than most cities, and it sat along the river that ran between Northport and Headwater, a waterway that served as the primary trade route for northern Ruatha. If he were to gain control of the city, his new weapon would make him unassailable by any sizable military force.

Alexander shifted back to Erik and found a force of nearly three thousand Rangers separated from the rest of the regiment.

“We can be ready to ride within the hour,” Erik said when Alexander appeared before him.

“Good. Make haste for the ruins of Old Ruatha. Rake and his army are in a hurry to get there. Plan to attack at dawn.”

“Understood,” Erik said.

Chapter 15

Alexander returned to his body and opened his eyes, finding his father and Hanlon standing before him watching him meditate.

He got up and hugged his father without a word, then turned to Hanlon, offering his hand.

“Isabel is well, but Phane still has her.”

The Forest Warden nodded, clenching his jaw. “Thank you.”

“I have Duane mustering a legion of Rangers to send north,” Duncan said. “He’s planning to ride at dawn. The Sky Knights are running continuous scouting missions and overwatch flights. Unfortunately, most of my forces are still in the east cleaning up the Lancers.”

“Call the Sky Knights in except for minimal patrols and have them put together an aid flight for Erik’s Rangers. Have the rest prepare for a dawn attack against Rake’s encampment on the northern edge of Old Ruatha. Erik will be coming from the east with three thousand Rangers. How many men can Duane field if he leaves tonight?”

“Five thousand, but he won’t get there until well after dawn.”

“By dawn, he’ll be close enough that Rake won’t use his falling-star spell on them,” Alexander said.

“I’ll give the order,” Hanlon said, sharing a look with Duncan, then turning on his heel.

After a moment of hesitation, Duncan said matter-of-factly, “I don’t believe we have enough power to defeat him, Alexander. His attack against Blackstone was—”

“He can’t do that again until tomorrow afternoon. He’ll be dead and cold by then.”

“What’s your plan?”

“I’m going to have Ratagan fly me close to Rake’s camp and drop me off, then I’m going to slip in and kill him—and take that blasted staff away from him.”

“That’s risky. How many men will you take?”

“Jataan, Jack, and Anja … I’m going to send Lita with a few Sky Knights to help the Rangers.”

“Wait … Anja, the dragon?” Duncan asked, acknowledging her for the first time.

“General Valentine, it’s very nice to make your acquaintance,” Anja said, with a somewhat awkward but sincere curtsy.

It was so out of character that Alexander did a double take.

“What?” she said. “He’s your father.”

Duncan bowed formally. “It’s an honor to meet you, Anja. Welcome to New Ruatha.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Turning back to Alexander, Duncan gestured around the Wizard’s Den and said, “You could easily fit a platoon of soldiers in here.”

“I was hoping to get close to Rake without detection. Numbers won’t help me do that.”

Duncan nodded, but looked less than convinced.

“After Duane leaves, don’t field any more troops. Rake can kill them if they’re out in the open. But I don’t think he’ll destroy the city if he can help it.”

“Be careful, Son,” Duncan said.

“I will,” Alexander said and hugged his father again.

He and Duncan and Lita walked out of the Wizard’s Den, leaving Jataan, Jack, and Anja inside. Alexander turned to them and said, “When I open this door, we’ll be inside Old Ruatha.”

“We’ll be ready, Lord Reishi,” Jataan said.

Alexander scanned the aerie for Ratagan, finding him with Horst, both checking their harnesses.

“Expect Duane just after sunrise,” Duncan said.

“Tell him to come in fighting.”

***

It was full dark, the first hours of the night, the air was cool but not frigid and the sky was clear. Alexander took a moment to explain his plan to the Sky Knights. Within minutes, he and Lita were mounted up and launching into the sky.

It took the better part of an hour to reach the edge of the city ruins. Over the open plains, it seemed like the world had flipped. The sky was bright and vivid, while the ground was black as the void.

The ancient ruins were blanketed in fog, thick and low. Alexander sent his sight forth, scouting for a landing spot close to Rake’s camp but far enough away to avoid detection. As he searched, he noticed that the ruins themselves hinted at dark colors … more unsettling still, it was pervasive, emanating equally from all of the ruined buildings.

With that in mind, he picked a spot, an empty square with only a smattering of stone debris scattered across its surface. Alexander guided Ratagan into a relatively soft landing inside the fog-shrouded ruin. The wyvern came down and froze in place, vapor swirling away in whirling eddies. The air was thick and seemed to dampen sound, muffling hints of noises in the distance just enough to make Alexander wonder if he was actually hearing anything at all.

He slipped off the wyvern and waved his thanks to Ratagan. The Sky Knight saluted and launched into the sky. Within the span of three wing beats, he was gone. Alexander opened his Wizard’s Den and retrieved Luminessence.

Jack peered past Jataan into the fog. “That’s unsettling,” he muttered.

“Stay close, this place actually is cursed,” Alexander said.

“So it’s not haunted then?” Jack said, shrugging innocently at the look Anja gave him.

The fog was cold, penetrating and damp. It wasn’t long before their clothes clung to them like wet blankets. Alexander tried to set a brisk enough pace to stay warm, but he had to stop every so often to scout ahead with his magic.

Then there were the sounds in the distance … shrill, high-pitched screams tinged with a hint of panic. They were faint, distant, even through the fog … but they were getting closer.

He tried to find the source of the noises but found only tainted ruins. No matter how many times he tried to relax, he invariably felt his muscles tense. The place had a way of wearing on his courage. He sent his vision up through the fog, scouting the distance to the enemy line. Not long now. They’d been inside the ruins for nearly an hour and he could see fear even in Jataan’s colors.

At one point, Alexander thought he saw a face in the fog, silvery and serene, but then it was gone. Not a minute later, the silvery silhouette of a person peeked around the corner of a broken building. She looked straight at Alexander, then ducked back before he could turn and see her—but he had seen her.

She was a ghost.

Alexander’s experience with ghosts was limited, but he knew they could be dangerous if they wanted to be. He stretched out with his sight and gave himself over to the moment.

“Don’t mean to raise an alarm or anything,” Jack whispered loudly, “but I think I just saw a ghost.”

“Yeah, me too,” Alexander said.

“Is that what those are?” Anja asked.

The silvery apparition of a beautiful young woman appeared a dozen feet ahead of them, looking almost solid in the fog. Alexander stopped, wondering if he should try to talk to her.

“You’re a descendant,” she said. “You shall join us.”

She froze, flickering for a moment in the fog, then vanished.

“Didn’t much like the sound of that,” Jack said.

“Me neither,” Alexander muttered, scanning the fog warily.

Everything got very still for a moment before the world felt like it exploded in a death shriek. Every stone … every piece of debris … every square inch of Old Ruatha began wailing a forlorn, terrified, panicked howl. It started loud and intense before trailing off into abject hopelessness.

Irrational fear flooded into Alexander, followed by recurrent surges of new fear, each seeming to build on the last. He and his friends stood frozen, rooted to the spot. It took every scrap of his will to push past the fear and collect his reason. Even after he’d mastered himself, his hands still trembled.

Before he could even assess the threat, a dozen ghosts floated up out of the flagstones in a loose circle surrounding them. A quick look told him that his friends were still working through the death shriek. The ghosts seemed to see Alexander and his friends all at once. In that moment, their faces transformed from human to those of the dead, gruesome and decayed.

They attacked as one, coming at them from all angles. Alexander braced for the impact of their onslaught but felt none. Several ghosts advanced on him, but they fled into the aether, shrieking in fear when they got close to Luminessence.

The rest swirled between them, howling and wailing, before settling on the other three. Jack, Jataan, and Anja stood frozen, staring off into the distance while silvery light danced around them. The night went silent and calm.

Alexander shook Jataan, but the General Commander didn’t seem to notice. He opened his Wizard’s Den and dragged him inside. As he moved to get Anja, he heard a scraping, snarling, mewling noise in the fog—close enough to pose an imminent threat.

After he’d gotten Anja safely inside, he found Jack huddled on the ground, his face in his hands. Something dark was approaching in the mist. Alexander dragged Jack to safety. A creature howled.

He unleashed Luminessence, and the ghosts haunting his friends wailed, coming free of their bodies in swirling, formless energy and fleeing into the fog. The thing stalking in the dark barked a few times, then whined and ran away.

Alexander closed the door and carried each of his friends to a cot. They were alive and breathing steadily but they were not awake, in spite of the fact that their eyes were wide open. He looked at them helplessly, weighing his limited options. He didn’t want to leave them unattended but he had a job to do.

He’d set a battle in motion—Erik and Duane were coming.

“I will stay with them, My Love,” Chloe said, spinning into existence nearby.

“Thank you.”

“Just don’t be too long.”

He nodded, checking on his friends one last time before taking up Luminessence and drawing the Thinblade. He stepped up to the door and opened it, quickly sending forth his sight to get his bearings. He stepped through and closed the door, then turned toward the enemy camp and started running.

It wasn’t long before the silvery streamers of ghosts came up alongside him. Some seemed like they were playing; others transformed into monsters and rushed at him, only to flee, wailing hysterically as they neared Luminessence. Alexander kept running.

The creature in the dark howled as if it had just gotten his scent again. It was on the move, its feet thumping in rhythmic harmony, felt more through the ground than heard through the fog. Alexander ran faster.

He wanted to give in to the fear, the wild panic gnawing at his will. Everything around him felt wrong … a creature of darkness hunting him and ghosts trying to haunt him.

He was afraid, alone in the dark. The enemy line was his only refuge.

He had to keep his wits. He was about to do battle, not with ghosts and demons, but with men. After all of the noise the cursed and haunted denizens of Old Ruatha had produced, his plan to enter Rake’s encampment by surprise was no longer viable. He was certain that the men standing guard on the city’s edge were now acutely alert, actively searching the fog for hints of movement.

The creature was close now, snarling and snapping, unseen in the fog. Alexander could hear it gaining on him with each stride. He gauged the distance to the ruined wall marking the edge of the city—it looked to be just fifty feet away.

The creature was getting closer with each step.

Light would save him, Alexander was certain of it. Light would also alert the perimeter sentries of his location. He turned to face the approaching threat with the Thinblade up and at the ready. The fog swirled. Darkness without form or distinction rushed out of the murky air, charging him with terrible speed. Even with his magical sight, he dodged a moment late and was hit, but he managed to deliver a solid strike against the darkness in the bargain.

Alexander was tossed like a doll through the air, landing in a jumble. The darkness retreated, mewling as it fled. Alexander took a moment to collect himself, regaining his feet and checking both Luminessence and the Thinblade. He hadn’t taken two steps when something big roared … and it was close.

He ran again, sprinting for the wall with all his strength, pouring everything he had into speed. The creature was right behind him. He could hear it snorting and wheezing with each galloping stride. Fear added a step. The fog thinned, revealing torches in the distance. He raced on but couldn’t help looking back. What he saw made his eyes hurt. A beast with six legs, three to a side, and two heads, one larger than the other, both with the oversized mouth of a dog, lined with razor-sharp teeth. It was black and leathery, devoid of life or color, except for its dead yellow eyes.

Alexander stumbled to a stop, turning to face the thing. It was too close to outrun to the wall … if that would even stop it. As much as he wanted to avoid drawing undue attention to himself, light was necessary. He raised Luminessence and released a pulse of brilliance. It entered the world from the realm of light like a detonation, washing the demon from existence and penetrating the stone itself, expelling the taint in a rapidly expanding wave.

He couldn’t help but watch the colors of the curse fade into the distance, even as soldiers shouted from behind him.

Then the city roared—the battle cry of ten legions shouting defiance and rage into the sky, the haunted death knell of those who’d long ago fallen into ash.

Alexander turned and ran again, stumbling and just catching himself before falling headlong into the dirt. Regaining his balance, he ran with speed born of fear. Ten feet from the wall, he felt something lift him into the air, tossing him over the wall and into the midst of a four-man sentry post. Alexander watched an unformed shadow fall against the plane of the wall as if it were smoke blown against a pane of glass.

Alexander landed hard, feeling a bit stunned—struggling to regain his senses.

“Surrender! You’re surrounded!”

He got to his hands and knees. Four men did indeed surround him, weapons drawn. He took a moment to assess the situation while pretending to struggle at getting up, an easy sell considering how he felt.

He lurched to his feet, slicing through the two men to his right and slipping between them, turning to face the remaining two men. Both lunged at once. Alexander stepped easily to the outside of the first, cutting him in half as he stepped behind him and snapped the tip of the Thinblade into the skull of the last sentry.

He set out at a light run toward Rake’s command post. The first pair of soldiers to interfere fell to the Thinblade so quickly that others nearby backed away. Alexander scanned the enemy and saw fear. He slowed to a brisk walk. Someone fired a crossbow bolt. Alexander stopped momentarily to let it pass by him.

Three men rushed him. He cut them down with little effort. Five more came. He cut them down, too. A platoon attacked in organized fashion: shield wall, pikes, and swordsmen. Alexander met the attack with violence. More men arrived. Each threat was seen before the enemy even committed to the attack. Alexander was never where they wanted him to be, never where they expected him to be. Instead, he moved toward his target with each step, taking every opportunity to lash out with the Thinblade, cutting men down as they made themselves available.

Until they didn’t.

He swept through a man, scanning for his next enemy but finding only a field of carnage, a hundred soldiers dead all around him, more watching from a distance but making no move to confront him. Killing had become too easy. So many had fallen to his blade so quickly and none had laid a stroke on him. Alexander reminded himself that these soldiers didn’t matter as he began stalking toward Rake. No one confronted him again until he reached Rake’s personal guard. They were waiting for him.

Dozens of crossbow bolts arced gracefully toward him from Rake’s outer cordon. He opened his Wizard’s Den at a right angle to the attack and stepped inside. A glance told him that his friends’ condition hadn’t changed.

He stepped back out and closed the door a moment after the bolts had fallen harmlessly to the ground.

Forty men were formed up and advancing. Behind them, an equal number were reloading their crossbows. Rake and his wizards were just behind the crossbow ranks.

Alexander momentarily raised his light, bright enough to mimic the noonday sun, as he swept into the enemy line, slashing and wheeling, cutting and killing. Men fell screaming and bleeding, parts of them cleaved away. Alexander pressed forward with single-minded intent. Rake.

Enemy soldiers attacked, but Alexander saw the moments to come, dodging and moving to avoid danger and then finding just the right moment to strike with deadly effect. He cut through the soldiers as if they were powerless against him.

When three wraithkin appeared around him, he pushed his light brighter still, pulsing with a kind of brilliance that the netherworld simply could not withstand. The Wraith Queen’s darkness fled. A look of panic and shock filled the three men, as multiple injuries began appearing, opening and spilling forth their life’s blood. All three slumped to their knees, then toppled to the ground in growing pools of red.

Rake launched a force-shard at Alexander. He stepped just a few inches out of the way, letting it pass him by as he killed another soldier attacking from his flank. Both wizards tried to cast spells, but he raised his light, blinding them, forcing them to cover their eyes, disrupting their concentration and their spells with it.

Two more men, well-armed and armored, confident in battle, faced Alexander, shields raised. They attacked, thrusting in unison. Alexander stepped to the side, sweeping up through their spears and taking both soldiers’ hands at the wrist. He lunged into the first, bringing the Thinblade back across his body and cleaving him in half, then swept it back, decapitating the second man.

He was inside Rake’s inner cordon.

Rake faced him, his colors swirling with surprise, then morphing through guile and into calculation. He was flanked by wizards and surrounded by six of his inner circle. His guards were only beginning to register that Alexander had penetrated their defenses.

“Let’s talk about this,” Rake said, with a big crooked smile, all the while tipping the point of the war staff at Alexander.

Alexander ignored him, slipping to the side just as a jet of fire shot forth, passing close enough to singe hair but not near enough to do harm. One of Rake’s guards screamed as he went up in flames.

Alexander raced closer, snapping the Thinblade out in a whipping motion and catching the nearest wizard with the last three inches of the blade right across the eyes and well into the brain.

Rake yelped in alarm, bringing up the war staff, a suit of magical force armor appearing around him.

Alexander caught his balance, turning to face Rake from an angle that placed the second wizard behind his patron. Alexander met Rake’s eyes.

“This isn’t supposed to happen,” Rake said, bringing the war staff to bear on Alexander. The wizard behind Rake began casting a spell.

Alexander darted to one side, cleaving the war staff in half and taking Rake’s hands in a single stroke.

He screamed, full throated, head tipped back, rage and pain filling the air.

“This isn’t supposed to happen,” he whimpered a moment after his wail had run its course.

Alexander slipped past him, his focus on the wizard. The man’s hands came up, his colors beginning to swell … until Alexander took his arms off at the elbows with a flick of his blade. The wizard’s shriek of pain was cut short when Alexander brought the Thinblade back up through his torso.

The second wizard died in pieces.

“Stop!” Rake said, on his knees, holding up his bloody stumps. “This isn’t—”

Alexander cut off his head, kicking it into his Wizard’s Den and tossing the fragments of the war staff in behind it before closing the door.

“Rake is down!” a man yelled.

The royal guard saw Alexander as if anew, dozens of men turning toward him and attacking from all sides. He ran straight at the collapsing line, cutting into the men in his way with almost reckless abandon. The dance consumed him, the present moment merging with moments to come, outcomes seen before they happened, enemy soldiers falling as predictably as the snow. He slipped this way, snapping his blade through those in his path, danced that way, cutting down thugs within reach—every movement certain, every strike deadly. Very quickly, he was back inside the main body of Rake’s legion, a massive throng of unruly miscreants and cutthroats.

A glance back revealed a small party of royal guard taking orders from two of Rake’s lieutenants. They were organizing to both maintain a chain of command and to give chase. Conflicting purposes caused confusion and paralysis among the inner circle for the first few critical moments.

Alexander tried to blend in. Not ten steps later, a soldier moved to challenge him. Alexander cut him in half in passing, drawing attention from others nearby. He kept walking.

A few men began pursuing him.

The royal guard caught up and pointed him out, commanding everyone within earshot to attack. Not good odds, Alexander thought. He started running again, striking only at those who got in the way. Within the first dozen seconds, he’d killed as many men. They came at him with less enthusiasm after that, most seeing that the royal guard was closing the distance and apparently deciding to leave it to them.

A dozen men on horse charged from behind. What remained of Rake’s guard had come to exact revenge. Alexander turned to face them, raising his light brightly enough to spook the horses and blind the men, while at the same time opening his Wizard’s Den and stepping inside, dousing his light completely and closing the door.

He leaned the staff against the doorframe and carefully cleaned off the Thinblade before sheathing it.

“They sort of appear to be sleeping,” Chloe said.

“Are their eyes still open?”

“Yes,” she said, somewhat downcast.

Alexander sat next to Anja, looking at her with all of his sight.

“There’s darkness at work,” he said after nearly a minute. “It’s very faint, but it’s there.”

“What do we do?” Chloe said.

“I’m not sure. Maybe Lita will know,” Alexander said.

“Your light should have banished the darkness.”

“It banished the ghosts … maybe they left something behind.”

“I don’t see anything, and I’m more familiar than most with the aether,” Chloe said, buzzing up close to Anja’s face. “Maybe you’d better do it again though, just to be safe.”

Alexander shrugged. All it would cost him was effort. A small price to pay for helping his friends. He lifted his staff in both hands and raised the light, filling his Wizard’s Den with brilliance for just a few moments, holding it for as long as he could, bathing his friends in that purging and healing energy from the realm of light, until his strength failed and he slumped into a bed.

He rested for nearly an hour, letting his mind clear and his body recuperate from the battle and from the strain of wielding Luminessence. Outside, dawn was coming, and a new battle with it.

Rake’s men would be hit from the air and from the west at sunrise. An hour or two later, five thousand Rangers would arrive from the south. Alexander had already taken the beast’s head, now it was just a matter of killing the horde with minimal casualties to his people. He could help with that.

After checking his friends and finding them sleeping with their eyes closed, he tightened his boots, drew his sword and took up Luminessence. The door opened to a camp in chaos. Horns blew in the distance, men were shouting. Dawn was breaking and everyone was moving to meet the attack. Alexander stepped forth unnoticed, the door closing behind him.

A unit of mixed cavalry, armed with a wide variety of weapons and armor, rode by heading toward the sounds of fighting to the west. They were enlisting everyone in their path.

Alexander sheathed the Thinblade and fell in behind them, staying a good distance away, trusting that his blood-encrusted clothes would help him blend in. It worked for a while … until he got closer to the fighting and came across one of Rake’s few remaining lieutenants. The man became apoplectic when he saw Alexander, pointing at him with a wordless mix of surprise and fury.

The alarm went up. Alexander responded with a brilliant flash of light, stepping into the moment of blindness that followed, killing the five nearest men and then slipping deeper into the chaos of the defensive line holding back the Rangers’ initial attack.

A team of four wyverns roared overhead, drawing shouts of warning from the ground. The Sky Knights dove in unison, casting firepots into the throng, pulling up to wheel around for another pass. Orange light flared in the distance, vanishing into the sunrise, followed by screams.

Alexander stopped, reaching out with his sight and finding the place in the line where the thugs were weakest. He turned toward that point and started cutting his way there. As before, it didn’t take long before men began to shy away from a fight with him. He walked past those who stood down without even acknowledging their existence. Those that did attack met a counterattack that was faster, sharper and better placed than they could match.

He reached the back of the thugs’ line at its weakest point and hurled himself into the soldiers holding that spot, slashing this way and that, cutting men down in swaths, blood soaking into the dirt. After a few seconds of frenetic slaughter, when he stood in a field of carnage, he stopped and raised his light, blinding his enemies and clearing the vision of his friends, showing them where to attack.

Erik was ready. He was holding a column of cavalry in reserve. Five hundred men with shields and spears roared into the thugs’ encampment through the gap that Alexander had provided.

While everyone else was reacting to the cavalry charge, Alexander slipped out of enemy territory.

Erik led his men into the camp, cutting, trampling and spearing their way through the softer ranks before wheeling in an arc back toward the enemy line a hundred yards from where they’d entered. At the apex of his arc, he shouted the order and his men began hurling firepots into the tents and wagons within the interior of the camp. With flame away, Erik’s Rangers turned back toward the line, charging through chaos, cutting down or trampling anyone in their way.

Nearing the line, Erik blew a horn, never letting up on his charge. The Rangers hollowed out a channel through their ranks, leaving only a small number in the front where Erik would arrive. Moments before his lead horses crashed into the thugs manning the enemy line, Rangers began peeling away, leaving a corridor open for Erik and his column to race through, then closing up behind him and pressing into the weak spot he left in the enemy’s line.

Inside the Rangers’ line, Alexander fell back to the inner ranks and made his way to Erik, drawing his attention with light. Erik arrived with the reins of a horse in hand, holding the steed steady so Alexander could mount up.

“Order a retreat,” Alexander said.

“We’ve done significant damage,” Erik said.

“I know. I want them to chase you. I want them spread out east to west when your brother arrives from the south.”

Erik nodded as if to himself, then turned and gave the order. It took a few moments for it to filter out to the men, more time still for them to reverse their momentum. Giving ground required a different strategy than driving a wedge into an enemy’s flank.

Arrows rained down just beyond the line, deterring pursuit. Rangers held formation, defending with large round shields and spears on the retreating line, a second row of men with shields and spears behind them, a row of bowmen right behind them, picking targets and taking shots.

With deliberate order, the Rangers fell back, leaving a heavy shield wall at the column’s tail followed by several dozen rows of mounted archers firing on anyone who came within range. The rest of the unit formed a column ahead of them moving east with haste.

True to form, the thugs gave chase. The main body of the unit had only just come together from the forced march the night before. More than a thousand stragglers still trailed off to the north. Those arriving after dawn were welcomed by the ringing of steel and the haze of smoke. There was a general sense of confusion amongst the rank and file. Rumors of Rake’s demise spread quickly. Confidence waned.

Stories of Alexander’s single-handed slaughter of so many men spread even more quickly. Tales of how he’d arrived from the haunted city provided the next wave of bad news that filtered through the army of thugs. Many lost confidence. Some began to desert.

But not all … not even most.

Just over a thousand men mobilized from Rake’s horde. It took over an hour before they mounted up to the fanfare of horns and gave chase, leaving a large chunk of the camp perimeter simply missing.

They pressed their horses, driving them to work harder than they should. Some of their animals gave out, falling by the wayside and leaving their riders to walk, but most caught up to the tail of the Ranger column. The first volley of arrows taught them to keep their distance. The Rangers had maintained their formation, shields at the back, archers keeping the enemy at bay. Light cavalry rode ahead of them, ready to break ranks at a moment and wheel to meet the threat.

The thugs stayed a good distance back, sending units off to the side to look for opportunities to gain ground and to flank. Alexander sent his vision forward, searching the terrain for an advantage and found something he could use: a twenty-foot cliff running for two hundred feet with a path along the base of it.

When he returned to himself, he remembered that he was riding a horse. While he’d remained in his saddle, he could have easily fallen. He pulled out of the column and dismounted, handing his reins to Erik.

“I won’t be long. Guard the door.”

He opened the door to his Wizard’s Den, worrying for his friends, all still unconscious.

“Any change?”

“No, My Love.”

He sat down in his circle.

Alexander appeared before Lita and the lieutenant in command of the wounded and the Rangers who had remained to help them.

“How many men do you have who can run and then fight?” Alexander asked. Lita took a moment to collect herself, then took the lieutenant by the arm, nodding for him to answer.

“I can field five hundred on foot,” he said.

“Good,” Alexander said, then projected an image of the terrain in the nearby area. “I need you to get your men here, along this ridge, all armed with bows and as many arrows as possible.”

The lieutenant looked at the illusion, then took out a map and oriented himself to what Alexander was showing him, nodding when he got his bearings.

“I can have five hundred Rangers lining this cliff within two hours.”

“Make it sooner … we’ll be there by then with the enemy in pursuit. Wait for my light. When you see it, have your men send their arrows at the enemy, one volley after another. When we double back, you’ll come down and join our force.”

“Understood, Lord Reishi.”

“I’ll see you on the battlefield, Lieutenant,” Alexander said, disappearing. He thought of his father and appeared in a stable with Duncan and Hanlon.

“Son,” Duncan said.

“Rake is dead. Send the rest of Duane’s Rangers north.”

“Understood. Stay safe.”

Alexander smiled before he vanished, appearing before Duane on a muddy road.

“Lord Reishi,” Duane said.

Alexander shook his head. “I’m your brother, call me Alexander.”

Duane looked uncomfortable.

“Rake’s encampment is less than an hour away,” Alexander said. “A large section is missing from the southwest perimeter. They’ll be softest there. Also, all of his magic is dead … you’ll just be up against men.”

Duane nodded, scanning the horizon, estimating the distance of various landmarks.

Alexander projected an image of the landscape with Rake’s army spread out across it, showing Duane his location in relation to the enemy.

“Attack here,” Alexander said, pointing to the section of the camp perimeter where the men had picked up and given chase to Erik.

Duane nodded. “If I push through there, we cut his forces in half.”

Alexander projected his desired outcome onto his illusionary map, showing Duane where he wanted him to end up.

“When you push through, you’ll move to block the north-south gap between the ruins of Old Ruatha and the ruins of Blackstone. The rest of your legion is coming from New Ruatha as we speak. That will force the thugs to run north where we can contain and eliminate them without any threat to the people in New Ruatha.”

“All right, so I’m to cut through them to the far side and then challenge any move through the gap to the east.”

“Exactly,” Alexander said.

“If they push, should I run or fight?”

“Fight.”

“All right, so they come at us and we kick them in the teeth,” Duane said. “When they go north, they’ll be west of Blackstone. I should race north too, around to the east so I can flank them.”

“Good. The rest of your legion will come straight north while Erik hits them from the west. Once we have them on the run, we’ll pick them apart.”

“Understood,” Duane said.

Alexander returned to himself and stepped out of his Wizard’s Den, closing the door and taking the reins of his horse.

“The ambush is set, plans are in motion and reinforcements are on the way,” he said, swinging into the saddle. “We’ll do better if we slow down a bit.”

“The unit behind us is wary of our archers,” Erik said. “I suspect they’ll keep their distance until dark no matter how fast we travel.”

A few got close enough to pick off, but for the most part, the thugs remained well out of bow range. Alexander led them to the ambush site, parading them into place. Nearly five hundred men lined the cliffs above, all far back enough to be invisible from the road. They were winded, but ready. When the main body of the thugs was stretched out along the trail at the base of the cliff, Alexander raised his staff and his light.

There was no battle cry, no shouted order, just a sudden and steady rain of arrows delivered into the enemy from above. Men screamed, shouted and raged … and then they fell. The ambush was perfect. And it turned Alexander’s stomach. So many killed so quickly. The bulk of the enemy forces fell within the first minute. A few escaped, a few more died when they charged into the column of Rangers. The whole thing was over in a matter of minutes.

Chapter 16

“Take them out into the sunlight,” Lita said. Rangers started moving Jataan, Jack, and Anja out of the Wizard’s Den while Alexander watched, feeling more than a bit helpless.

The battle had turned decisively once the thugs realized that Rake and all of his inner circle were dead. An every-man-for-himself mindset began to take root. Then they realized they were surrounded on three sides and their disorder transformed into a rout north. They’d broken into several groups, a few of the smaller groups even surrendering. Duane was giving chase with a legion of Rangers, while Erik commanded the rear operating base and aid station.

Lita had effectively commandeered a dozen Rangers to help her care for the injured, and apparently, they had seen her do enough good works that they’d become loyal to her, obeying her instructions without hesitation.

“Not to worry,” she said. “Sunlight will wake them right up. After that, they may be a bit … disturbed, for a while.”

“As long as they wake up,” Alexander said.

“They will,” Lita said, putting a hand on his arm reassuringly. “Come back in an hour.”

He nodded absently, struggling to tear his focus away from his friends’ well-being. He decided to check with Erik to take his mind off them. He found him supervising the arrival of a wagon train from New Ruatha. As supplies were being unloaded, the wagons were being reloaded with soldiers whose injuries allowed movement but would require some time to heal.

“How are they?” Erik asked.

“Too soon to tell. How’re the Rangers doing?”

“They’re tired but they’ll be good by tomorrow. We’ll move north at dawn. I should have my wounded evacuated by then.”

Alexander sent his sight north, flashing across hundreds of miles until he found Duane and a legion of Rangers fanned out across the plain, picking at a horde of angry criminals. Rangers got just close enough to hit them with arrows, then backed off, like a pack of dogs, one small unit at a time nipping at the enemy’s heels, falling away to let another unit take its shot from a different angle.

He returned, smiling. “Duane has the horde well in hand at the moment, but the advantage could easily shift in the night.”

“He’ll consolidate and fortify before nightfall,” Erik said. “If the thugs attack his camp, they’ll get worse than they give.”

Alexander nodded, considering his next steps. With Rake dead, the Sin’Rath was the next most volatile situation, and more than a bit challenging. He wanted to visit Isabel, if only to say hello. He needed to check in with Abigail. He also wanted to talk to the sovereigns about his recent incursions into the depths of the firmament. And then perhaps, he thought he might enlist the aid of the wizards to simulate death in hopes of re-creating his experience with Siduri, though he expected some pushback on that last one.

“I was hoping to ask a favor,” Erik said.

“Of course.”

“I have nine men who are too seriously wounded to move. They can all survive, but only if we can get them back to New Ruatha, and quickly. Will you take them?”

“Of course. I’ll leave as soon as we can get them moved into my Wizard’s Den.”

Erik put his hand on Alexander’s arm, gently preventing him from turning away.

“When you see her, tell her I said hello.”

“I will, Erik.”

After Alexander had walked several dozen feet, Erik yelled, “Alexander!” He came trotting up and said, “I almost forgot, we recovered Rake’s remains … minus his head. We also found some of his belongings, including a box that we couldn’t open—it looks old.”

“Show me.”

Erik led him inside his innermost guard ring to a large tent. A heavy cage occupied the center of the dirt floor. A guard stood in each corner of the tent, with another two standing on opposite sides of the cage. Within the cage was a large chest, locked and chained.

“Several of the items that we collected from Rake and his people looked important. We’ve secured them in that chest,” Erik said, gesturing for the guard to open the cage door.

It took a few moments for the man to unlock the cage and remove the chains from the chest. He left the lid closed and stepped out of the cage.

“Stand guard outside the tent,” Erik said.

The six men saluted and left.

Alexander opened the lid, revealing a number of interesting items: among them, a ring, three vials of liquid, a pouch of powder that glimmered with the colors of magic … and an octagonal box.

It was indeed old—pre-Reishi War old, fashioned from ornately carved silver panels and held together with gold solder shaped to look like foliage growing up along each joint. A raised lid culminated in a single plate of pure gold on the very top. A perfect magic circle, scarcely larger than an inch in diameter, was carved into the octagonal wafer of gold, and a single hole had been drilled into its exact center.

Oddly enough, the box revealed no aura of any kind. Alexander sent his sight into it, but was rebuffed—not scattered or harmed in any way—he just couldn’t see inside.

“Interesting,” he said. “I think I’ll take a few of these items. Distribute the rest to your most deserving men.”

Alexander selected all of the enchanted items, put them in a pouch and tied it off. Without better information about each item, it would be dangerous in the extreme to let his men have them. He hoped the wizards would be able to determine the function and value of each.

“Good,” Erik said. “If I don’t need to worry about that chest, that frees up six of my men.” He gathered up the rest of the baubles, mostly jewels and a few small bars of gold.

“Happy to help,” Alexander said, securing the box and other items within his Wizard’s Den. “I’d better go arrange for a ride.”

He found Ratagan and Horst with their wyverns and about a dozen others off to the side of the encampment. With the enemy on the run, the Sky Knights had stepped back into a scouting role for Duane and a recovery role for Erik. Several were preparing for the flight back to New Ruatha.

“We’ll launch within the hour,” Alexander said.

“We’ll be ready, Lord Reishi,” Ratagan said. “Word is, you took quite a chunk out of the enemy last night.”

“Stories do tend to become exaggerated,” Alexander said, thinking of Jack. “I’ll be back soon.”

He returned to Lita’s aid station. When he saw his friends sitting up, his concern transformed into relief.

Lita was checking Anja’s forehead. “Well, you’re hotter than normal,” she said, frowning. “But then, you’re a dragon, so I don’t really know what normal is.”

“I’m so glad to see you’re all awake,” Alexander said.

Jataan tried to stand, but thought better of it and sat back down.

“Easy, there’s no rush.”

Anja looked up at Alexander with a deeply furrowed brow.

“I don’t like ghosts.”

“I must agree,” Jack said, rubbing his eyes. “It’s the strangest feeling. I can remember that something happened, but I just can’t quite recall the details. The last thing I do remember for sure is fear … quite a lot of it actually.”

“I shared a similar experience,” Jataan said. “It reminded me of the fear induced during the trials, artificial, but no less real and urgent at the time.”

“So I hear you killed Rake,” Jack said, smiling mischievously, “single-handedly … after slaughtering half of his army, and then you vanished into a bright flash of light.”

Alexander shook his head. “Something like that.”

“That will make for a fine song. Shame I didn’t see it myself.”

“I too regret that I wasn’t at my post, Lord Reishi,” Jataan said.

“I regret missing the biggest battle yet,” Anja said. “Stupid ghosts.”

“How’re they doing, Lita?” Alexander asked.

“They’re recuperating quickly, now that the last of the haunting has been burned away. I expect a full recovery by afternoon.”

“Good. We’ll be taking a number of the most seriously injured to New Ruatha as soon as possible. Start preparing to move them into the Wizard’s Den.”

He opened the door, stopping briefly when he caught the faintly sickening odor of dead flesh. Rake’s head was still under the table. He didn’t even remember why he’d kicked it into his Wizard’s Den in the first place—maybe just to make absolutely certain that Rake was dead or maybe just to spite the thug. Either way, Alexander wondered what it said about him, about what he was becoming.

He had power now … real power.

And he’d used it.

A trail of carnage blighted the landscape to prove it.

Only a handful of the enemies he’d faced last night ever had a chance against him. Most were fodder, naked to the Thinblade and helpless against his foresight. He’d cut them down anyway.

He reminded himself that they would have killed him if they could have, that they were soldiers in an enemy army, that they’d all been criminals long before that. It didn’t soothe his conscience. That much blood didn’t wash away easily. Lives had ended by his hand.

The blood that had dried between Rake’s face and the floor crackled when Alexander picked up the head. He didn’t look at it, instead carrying it to the balcony and tossing it over into the endless fog.

It took him another few minutes to move the strongbox containing his most sensitive items into one corner and push furniture up around it, making room for the wounded Rangers, but leaving access to his meditation table.

After helping Jataan, Anja, and Jack inside and to their beds, Alexander went with Lita to the tent that housed the most gravely injured, nine souls, hanging on for their lives. One by one, Rangers carried the wounded into the Wizard’s Den, cots and all. With everyone inside, Alexander closed the door and made his way to Ratagan, who was ready and waiting. They were in the air within minutes.

The scene to the east was jarring. Blackstone was in ruins, cold and broken beyond salvage. Below, a train of wagons trundled along toward New Ruatha, most of them loaded with the less seriously wounded. He sent his sight north, finding Duane in a blink. His legion was still picking at the thugs, leaving a trail of dead scattered for miles along their meandering path.

Alexander returned, paying careful attention to his head, sensing for any pain behind his eyes. With a thought, he was floating just outside a cell. Isabel was sitting in the center, meditating with a kind of serenity that he hadn’t seen in her before. Her colors seemed slightly different as well, and not just due to the increased influence of Azugorath. He wished he could project to her, but seeing that she was still unharmed was enough … for now anyway.

He returned to pain, dull and throbbing behind his eyes. While unpleasant, it was manageable. More importantly, it was instructional. Before, reaching all the way to Isabel with his new sight had caused much more pain. He would try it again tomorrow and see what happened.

The flight was a short one but it gave Alexander some time to think. The Glittering City came into view in the distance, a plateau encrusted with buildings all lined with lanterns. New Ruatha was a sight to behold from the air.

Given the chance, Rake and his thugs would be plundering and terrorizing New Ruatha at this moment. No words would have persuaded him to turn aside. It was a grim thing, war.

As much as the memories of carnage and blood still haunted him, Alexander had come to terms with the battle. He’d killed so many, but far fewer than had died in Northport, fewer even than those who’d drowned in the air attack he’d just ordered against the Andalian fleet.

This battle felt different, though.

He’d done the killing. He’d been the weapon. He’d watched the dying.

This was why he hated evil people. They inevitably made good people do things they would come to regret.

Ratagan floated in for a graceful and gentle landing. With operations in the north, most of the wyverns were deployed, making for an easy approach to a nearly empty aerie. Alexander slipped to the ground and headed for the aid center. By the time he arrived, six Rangers had assumed royal guard duty, trailing along behind him.

“I’m Wizard Kreuk,” a tall, scraggly looking man with long stringy hair and unkempt charcoal robes said. “And who are you?”

“I have some people who need your help,” Alexander said, opening his Wizard’s Den.

Kreuk peered inside, then looked at Alexander with a bit of mischief. “Indeed, Lord Reishi, let’s get these people taken care of.” With that he swept into command of the infirmary staff, coordinating quarters, movement, treatment, and meals for each of the new patients with a fluid kind of order that was actually impressive. Within a few minutes, the wounded were moved into a ward and each patient was being individually assessed by Wizard Kreuk.

Jataan, Jack, and Anja were on their feet, though none were at fighting strength.

Duncan and Hanlon arrived shortly after they’d finished putting the Wizard’s Den back in order.

“I’m glad to see you’ve returned in one piece,” Duncan said. “Especially considering the stories I’m hearing.”

“I hear you took on the entire army … by yourself,” Hanlon said.

“The stories are exaggerated.”

“I would hope so,” Duncan said, taking Alexander by the shoulders. “Be more careful.”

Alexander nodded, looking down for a moment. “I hear what you’re saying, but men were counting on me and things didn’t work out as planned, so I did what I had to do.”

Duncan appraised his son, smiling gently to himself. “I understand … but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Come, let’s have a meal before you’re off again.”

“I could eat,” Jack said.

The fare was simple but hearty and there was plenty of it.

It felt good to just sit and have a conversation with his father. Before long, Alexander felt calmer and more centered than he had in a long time.

After saying goodnight to his father, he went to his magic circle. He needed guidance and the sovereigns were his first stop. After touching the Stone, he sat down at the Reishi Council table, offering greetings and a detailed report of recent events, with emphasis on his experiences in the firmament.

When he finished his account, Malachi burst out laughing, guffawing in his face.

“So this Rake character blasts your fortress into a heap of rubble, and then you destroy Cedric’s staff, a weapon that could have actually tipped the scales in this war. Sounds like you lost twice. And I won. It’s just so delicious watching the remnants of Barnabas Cedric vanish from the world.”

“Better destroyed than in enemy hands,” Demetrius said.

Alexander nodded, looking pointedly at Malachi. “I’m more interested in your thoughts about my experiences in the firmament.”

The table fell silent.

Balthazar shrugged, opening his hands helplessly. “I wish I had insight to offer, but this is beyond me. All I can provide is speculation.”

The rest of the table nodded in agreement, except Malachi, who was deliberately ignoring everyone else.

“So speculate.”

“The deep place of calm,” Constantine said. “Once there, did you attempt to reach out to Siduri?”

Alexander thought about it for a moment, slowly shaking his head. “No, I realized that I’d forgotten how long I’d been gone, so I went back.”

“Perhaps you must first master this state of mind, learn how to go there and maintain a sense of yourself, as well as the world of time and substance while you’re there. As with many of your other talents, practice may be the key.”

“This feels a lot more dangerous,” Alexander said.

“It is a lot more dangerous,” Balthazar said. “Take precautions and proceed with deliberate thought and planning.”

“I will.”

“Small steps, Alexander,” Balthazar said. “I mean it. The firmament is nothing to trifle with. It can literally swallow you whole.”

“I’ll be careful. Any thoughts about the attempt to let myself become scattered in the firmament?”

“I would advise caution there as well,” Balthazar said.

Malachi snorted derisively, shaking his head in disgust but holding his tongue.

“The description you’ve given of being scattered resembles some accounts of the loss of attachment to reality that wizards and witches suffer when they get lost in the firmament,” Balthazar said.

“I seem to be able to come back from it, where most wizards don’t.”

“True, but that could just be a matter of time spent with your mind scattered. At a certain point, I doubt you would be able to reassemble your psyche again.”

“Or, I might have to pass that point to realize my full potential,” Alexander said.

“Unfortunately, there’s only one sure way to find out, and if you’re wrong, you’re dead.”

“I’ll work on the deep peace for now,” Alexander said. “Any ideas about the box?”

The sovereigns looked at each other for a moment before Demetrius sat forward.

“It sounds like this box is similar to the one warding the keystone entrusted to House Fellenden. Perhaps a wizard skilled in the arts of divination would be able to learn its function.”

Malachi fell very still and silent.

“Do you have anything to add?” Alexander asked, leaning in toward him.

He scowled. “It will probably open with a drop of your blood. Cedric had a thing for bloodlines.”

“But why two blood locks?”

“I suspect that Mage Cedric is trying to tell you something about the contents of the box,” Balthazar said. “Perhaps you should seek more information before you attempt to open it.”

“You’re probably right,” Alexander said, stepping away from the table and returning to his body only briefly before slipping into the firmament to have a quick look at the state of the world.

Chapter 17

Anatoly looked out the window of the council chamber into a dreary sky that was spitting rain according to its whim. Behind him his two legion commanders and his newly minted court wizard discussed troop deployments. Anatoly held these meetings each week more as a formality than anything else. His command staff was young and inexperienced. He didn’t leave any of the important decisions up to them, though he always gave them the opportunity to offer an opinion before he made a decision.

His legion commanders, Watch Captain Iker and Commander Blake were both good men, lightly battle-tested, but neither of them was a general officer. Not in the sense of rank, but in the mindset of the men. They couldn’t see the whole board.

Wizard Oliver was really just a boy a couple of months past his trials with a few spells in his repertoire. Of course, Anatoly had to admit that Oliver could cast more spells than he could. Short, scrawny, and a bit timid, Oliver was also smart and thoughtful.

That left Liam, his squire. It had been the custom for the King of Fellenden to take a squire from the ranks of the nobility. Anatoly didn’t want a squire, he wasn’t the king, but the nobles kept pressuring him, so he held a competition and opened the position to all. Liam, an orphan, was the clear winner. A big, burly young man with curly blond hair and blue eyes, he was soft-spoken and gentle at heart, but a berserker on the battlefield with his two-handed sword.

Anatoly had chosen Liam mostly to establish some measure of dominance over the nobles, most of whom viewed him as an interloper and a foreigner come to plunder their lands through more peaceful means than Zuhl.

His tactic had been less successful than he’d hoped—rather than cowing them, they’d just become more resistant to his every move.

But it had also placed Liam in his care. Anatoly found it refreshing to have a charge again, someone to teach. Liam was a quick study, always alert and willing to put any new skill to work right away. He’d grown up on the streets, and the position of squire included room and board. Liam was as genuinely grateful as he was loyal. He was open about his hope to rise in status and wealth so that he would never again live with the poverty he’d suffered as a child. Anatoly admired that.

His real concern lay with his two other charges, both far beyond his protection. His worry for Alexander was ever-present. He was at the center of events and there were a lot of powerful people who would kill him if given the chance. But at the moment, Anatoly was worrying more about Abigail.

The dragon had arrived in Fellenden a few days before. It knew her name … it knew his. After a tense conversation, Anatoly had watched the beast fly south, toward Abigail. As he had every day since Zora came and went, Anatoly was hoping that he’d done the right thing. Few things could disturb his sleep—the knowledge that he might have killed Abigail was one of those things.

He played back that conversation again in his mind, saw himself standing before a great icy-blue creature crouched in the middle of the empty aerie, her tail poised to strike, her enormous jaws just a few feet from him, crystalline-blue catlike eyes staring right into him. The memories of those moments were a bit surreal, clouded by a visceral fear that seemed to grip his soul and squeeze just to the point of panic.

Zora had threatened him. He was willing to risk that, but then she’d threatened to destroy the city … and everyone in it. He’d hesitated, questioning her, demanding answers before making his decision to reveal Abigail’s location. He told himself that he didn’t have a choice, but he knew better. There was always a choice, a weighing of options. Risk Abigail or risk Fellenden City. He knew what she would have told him to do, but that didn’t make him worry about his decision any less.

His greatest hope was that the dragon had told the truth, that she was Ixabrax’s mate. Abigail might be able to work with that. Otherwise …

“Regent Grace,” Captain Iker said.

Anatoly pulled himself back to the moment and returned to the table, standing behind his chair, both hands on the back. He knew what was coming.

“I concur with Commander Blake, we should send his legion to the Gate. We would be far better positioned to defend the isle from there.”

“We’ve been through this, Iker.”

“Soldiers are only effective if deployed,” Blake said.

“Effective against whom?” Anatoly asked, assuming the mantle of the instructor.

“Well … Zuhl, of course,” Blake said.

“Conner already defeated Zuhl’s forces. There’s nobody there to fight.”

“But we’d be in a better position—” Iker started to say.

Anatoly cut him off. “No, we’d be moving soldiers for nothing, wearing them out and using up supplies. We don’t know where the next battle will be fought. Until we do, we’re staying right here.”

“It just doesn’t seem right,” Iker said.

“We’re at war and we’re just sitting here,” Blake said.

Both had made this argument frequently over the past weeks. Anatoly had been patient, trying to help them see the bigger picture, but both were so blinded by a desire to rush into battle that his words had no power to reach them. They were young officers from minor nobility, both joining the Fellenden Army after Torin put out the call, and both good men, but neither had actually seen much fighting, just a few minor skirmishes.

Most of the men in the two legions protecting Fellenden City had never been in a real battle. He did have a pretty good group of sergeants who’d come from the Ruathan units that had been fighting from the beginning. They’d been assigned to train his soldiers and develop a cadre of leadership within the two legions.

“That’s mostly what war is,” Anatoly said. “Waiting around for the killing and dying to start. No sense looking for it when it’ll find you soon enough.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a wyvern roared overhead, signifying that the rider was carrying important information. Anatoly closed his eyes.

“Perhaps Prince Conner has sent orders that we join him,” Blake said.

Anatoly opened his eyes and frowned, shaking his head as he went to the window and waited for the message rider to arrive. It didn’t take as long as he would have thought before the door burst open and a windblown, out-of-breath Sky Knight hurried into the room.

“The Gate is open—Zuhl’s coming through,” he said in a rush, stopping to catch his breath now that his message had been delivered.

“How is that possible?” Wizard Oliver asked. “Only Lord Reishi or someone wielding a Thinblade can open the Gate.”

At first, Anatoly was stunned by the news. Disbelief paralyzed him for a moment, but it passed quickly. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, using that simple human act to center and ground himself.

“Did you see it yourself?”

The Sky Knight nodded, still working on regaining his breath.

“How many men did you see?”

“A hundred thousand … maybe more, and the Gate was still open with more coming through when I left.”

Anatoly nodded to himself, turning back to the window. He could feel the tension in the room emanating from the people behind him, all of them looking to him for salvation. The problem was, he knew there was none, not from this. All he could do was all that he could do … and it wouldn’t be enough.

“Commander Blake, deploy your legion to the south,” Anatoly said, as calmly as he could. “Captain Iker, prepare to evacuate the city. Wizard Oliver, you’re with me from this point on.”

“Where are we going?” Oliver asked.

Anatoly ignored him, taking the Sky Knight by the arm and walking him back outside. Liam fell in behind them.

“How many Sky Knights are in the aerie right now?”

“Eight.”

Anatoly nodded, picking up the pace. Once he reached the courtyard, he trotted to the stables. Within minutes, the four of them were thundering down the road, scattering pedestrians out of their path. They arrived to an aerie on a war footing. The messenger had clearly told his fellow riders of the threat before coming to deliver the news to Anatoly.

A ranking Sky Knight rushed up to him when he arrived.

“Your orders?”

Anatoly dismounted.

“Send message riders to Conner, Bianca, and Abigail. Send the rest save one to warn nearby cities. Have your last man do another flyover and give me an update on Zuhl’s force strength and movements.”

“Understood, Regent Grace.”

“Also, prepare to flee south—we’re abandoning the city.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to stay?” the Sky Knight asked. “Some walls are better than no walls.”

“Walls won’t matter,” Anatoly said. “If the Gate’s open, there’s no end to him. We have to run or he’ll swallow us whole. Get your men in the air.”

Anatoly mounted back up and rode for the officers’ briefing room adjacent to the barracks. Most of the officers serving in his legions would be there by now. Blake and Iker would be relishing the thought of the battle to come. Anatoly suspected that both would find the truth of it a sour and unwelcome surprise.

Everyone in the room stood when he entered, sitting again when he waved them down. Anatoly had no patience for formality or decorum. Of all the things he hated about being the Regent of Fellenden City, he hated the deference people paid to him the most. It always made his stomach turn just a bit when people bowed and scraped.

“Listen up,” he said, waiting for the room to fall silent and then waiting for a few moments more to draw out the tension.

“War will arrive on our doorstep within the day. We’re outmatched by this enemy in every way. We can’t win … so we run. We’ll head south with as many people as we can and we’ll fight a retreating action against any force Zuhl sends after us.

“Message riders have already gone out. If there’s any help to be had from our allies, they’ll send it when they can. Until then, it’s up to us to save as many lives as possible.”

He surveyed the officers in the room, most young, most inexperienced, most eager to be tested in battle. All too soon, they would have their wish. His mood darkened—he let it, embraced it even. He always felt better going into a fight when he was angry.

He walked out into the street, Liam and Oliver following after him. He had a plan in place for fleeing a large-scale attack, but now that he was actually facing the bulk of Zuhl’s army, his plan seemed woefully inadequate. He’d developed the plan because it was the responsible thing to do as regent—to have plans for possible threats. But this was more than a threat … this was doom marching.

Even if his plan worked flawlessly, it would only buy time. Given Zuhl’s numbers, he would inevitably take Fellenden. The question that occupied Anatoly’s mind was how many people would survive? Without help, without ships, many, many of the people he’d sworn to protect would die or be enslaved.

Conner had a sizable force, several legions, but nothing compared to the numbers Zuhl commanded, never mind the fact that Conner was well north of the Gate while Fellenden City was south. He wouldn’t be coming anytime soon, if he could escape Zuhl’s horde at all.

Help wouldn’t be coming through the Gate—not if Zuhl decided to hold it, anyway. That left help by sea and by air. Ithilian would send troops, but their navy had suffered serious damage against Zuhl’s warships. What they could send didn’t stand a chance against the sheer number of enemy soldiers.

The Sky Knights would send help first. Not enough to do any meaningful damage to Zuhl’s army, but more than enough to provide good scouting information so Anatoly could set the best course possible. This would be a hunt and he was leading the prey. One misstep could mean ruin.

He knew where he was leading these people—most of them didn’t. If they did, they would probably refuse to leave the city. Anatoly had carefully examined all of the maps he could get of the isle, looking for very specific terrain features that he could use to his advantage in battle, or in this case, retreat. He knew the path and the destination.

His plan hinged on a scrap of dirt aptly named Fool’s Gap. He’d asked about the origins of the name and gotten a number of stories in return. One said it was so high in the mountains that it could snow you in overnight, so only a fool would make camp there. Another said it had a double meaning: first, any army that tried to hold the gap would end up getting killed by winter; and second, any army attacking an army in the gap would lose badly. One story even suggested that it was the site of an ancient battle that turned the tide of a war.

Whatever else it was, Fool’s Gap was a narrow pass that offered the only road over the mountains between central Fellenden and the eastern coast. Scouting reports confirmed that the gap narrowed to just under a hundred feet at its peak and maintained that width for nearly three hundred feet before widening into a steep descent eased by well-defined switchbacks.

If Anatoly could get his people there before Zuhl’s barbarians got to them, and if he could hold the gap, he could get the people to Shoalhaven, where they could be evacuated by ship. That’s where his plans ended and his worries began.

He stopped at a rampart to look out over the still-damaged, but rebuilding city and shook his head. So much loss and there was so much more to come. He’d seen Zuhl’s army. If Zuhl controlled the Gate, there was no stopping him.

Anatoly wished Alexander would pay him a visit. The Gates were supposed to be secure. That they weren’t was deeply troubling. More than that, he needed help. Alexander could make that happen faster than anyone else. Deal in what is, he told himself, setting out for the stables. He would need every horse in the city and more.

The stable master was a bit overwhelmed, but a brief conversation with the man satisfied Anatoly that all available horses would be put to use. He thanked him and started for the door when a Sky Knight burst in.

“Regent Grace, they said I would find you here.”

“Report,” Anatoly said.

“The Gate was still open when I flew over about an hour ago. It looks like a river of soldiers pouring out of it. The barbarians are expanding to form an enormous perimeter. I think his whole army is coming through.”

“Any hint of a unit breaking off to march on our cities?”

“No … it looks to me like he’s establishing his position.”

“Thank you,” Anatoly said. “I want a report every hour. Keep a scout over that Gate for as long as you can, but stay high.”

“Understood,” the Sky Knight said.

Anatoly walked him out of the stables, then spent the rest of the day wandering around the city, talking with people, urging them to hurry, offering guidance and reassurance even as he pressed them to flee quickly.

Between two such stops, Liam cleared his throat.

“Out with it,” Anatoly said without looking.

“Why don’t we attack before they get organized?”

“There’s no better way to get them to form up than to attack. Besides, it’s always easier to defend.”

“We could send in spies,” Oliver said.

“What do you think the Sky Knights are?”

“Well, yes, but they can’t tell you who’s in command and what they want,” Oliver said.

Anatoly frowned. “The enemy’s in command and they want to kill us.” He held up his hands, forestalling any further questions. “We aren’t going to attack because I don’t want to provoke them. I need every second I can get to move these people to safety. And we aren’t sending spies because eventually, Alexander will stop by. When he does, he’ll get better information than spies without the risk.”

“Are you sure Lord Reishi will come to you?” Oliver asked.

“He will when he hears about this,” Anatoly said, going back to the business of urging a city’s inhabitants to flee their homes.

Chapter 18

Anatoly looked down from the gatehouse at a band of barbarians twenty strong. Several had crude jewelry fashioned from human bones. Each was armed and armored in their own way with a mixture of spears, clubs, axes, and swords. They carried themselves like experienced mercenaries, accustomed to violence, happy to kill, but these men weren’t for sale.

“Send out one hundred young women and we’ll permit you to surrender.”

Anatoly stared at the men below, smug and superior in their perceived power. They were messengers for a horde like nothing the Seven Isles had ever seen and they believed they were untouchable.

“You can’t be considering their demands?” Oliver whispered harshly.

Anatoly gave him a sidelong look that could have withered a cactus.

“And once we surrender?” Anatoly yelled.

“You will serve Zuhl.”

“I see. May we consider your demands?”

“You have five minutes.”

“How generous of you,” Anatoly said.

He turned to Wizard Oliver. “Have you ever killed a man?”

“What?”

“Have you ever killed a man?”

“No … never,” Oliver said, shaking his head.

Anatoly nodded, putting his hand on the young wizard’s shoulder. “We’re about to be in a fight for our lives and I need you to be up to the task. A man’s first kill is a difficult thing. Better for it to happen in a controlled setting.”

“Wait … what are you saying?”

“I want you to kill that man down there,” Anatoly said.

“Why?”

“Because we’re going to kill them all anyway and I want you to know that you can do it before we’re up to our necks in trouble and you have to find out then.”

Oliver swallowed hard and nodded to himself. “That man just demanded a hundred women—so that he and his men could rape them. He carries a message of war and wears trophies of past kills. He’s an enemy of the Old Law,” he said, a bit tentatively, almost as if he was trying to justify what he was about to do.

“You strike first,” Anatoly said.

Oliver nodded, looking a bit stunned.

“It’ll take us some time to gather the women,” Anatoly yelled.

“It always does,” their leader said, drawing guffaws of laughter from his men.

Oliver began mumbling under his breath. He’d gone calm, detached, almost as if he was no longer fully inhabiting his own body. With a final string of foreign-sounding words, he raised his hand. Three blue shards of force shot forth, one after the next, striking the surprised barbarian commander high in the chest three times in a row, like three deep thrusts of a dagger. Disbelief morphed into terror as blood welled up into the gashes torn in his armor and spilled down onto his horse.

Before the barbarians could react to the surprise attack, Liam calmly took aim at the barbarian to the right of the dying leader and drove a crossbow bolt down into his chest, toppling him from his horse before the leader even fell. A moment later, Anatoly shouted the order and fifty archers rose from behind the rampart, firing into the enemy envoy.

“Won’t that provoke them?” Oliver asked, looking down at the carnage. The archers fired a second volley, killing the wounded and taking down the few who survived the initial attack.

“Yeah, but this’ll buy us some time,” Anatoly said. “Uncertainty can be paralyzing. I’m hoping Zuhl will hesitate when he doesn’t hear from his platoon of thugs.”

The Gate had stayed open all day and through the night. Only after the flow of men and supplies had trickled to a halt, did it close in the morning. Now it was well past noon.

It would take an army at least a day to move a sizable force from the Gate to the city. The last scouting report had said that the horde was beginning to divide into three units, one was heading for Breden, the second was heading for Irondale, and the third much more sizable unit was digging in at the Gate.

Most of Breden’s populace had fled west toward Wakefield. Bristol Bay’s people were fleeing south along the coast. Conner had sent word that he would flee through the Iron Oak. Not a great option, but when Anatoly looked at the map, he saw that it was the only choice that made any sense, since part of Zuhl’s army was moving north toward Irondale along the only road. Unfortunately, it would also mean that the only army that could help would be delayed.

By evening, Anatoly had gotten the bulk of the population out and on the road south with more than a little grumbling, protesting, and complaining. Most of these people had been displaced during the first invasion. They were tired of war. Anatoly understood completely, but it made absolutely no difference whatsoever. He had to order, cajole, and outright threaten people to get everyone out, or almost everyone anyway. A small number of citizens had chosen to stay behind.

Anatoly decided to put them to use. He called a public meeting late in the day, after the vast majority of the people had gone. Rumors spread that he’d called the meeting as a trick to lure people in so he could take them south by force. As a result, the turnout was limited, but enough people showed up to accomplish Anatoly’s objective.

He walked briskly into the square, taking his place on the raised stone platform, looking impatient as if he had other places to be.

“Listen up!” he said, waiting a few moments before continuing. “If you’ve chosen to stay, that’s your right and I won’t try to stop you. I’ll be leaving a company of men behind. Their mission will be to make it as costly as possible for Zuhl’s forces to hold the city. They’ll employ traps, poison, ambush, and murder to cut at Zuhl for as long as he remains here.

“If you’re staying here to fight for your home, you’ll be far more effective if you work with my soldiers, coordinate your attacks with them, help them cause maximum damage to the enemy. If you choose to work alone, do so without interfering with our efforts.”

He walked out of the square before they could accost him with questions. It was numbing to use these people as he just had. They held on to hope that they would survive if they stayed. Anatoly knew that they would not. The soldiers who had volunteered to stay all did so knowing that they would probably die in the effort. These people believed they had a chance.

He knew that he would never be able to persuade them to leave and he wasn’t about to force them … so he put them to work. He made them useful. Anatoly hated war. It was always a contest between bad and worse choices. These people would probably all die, but if their sacrifice could buy some time for those with the sense to flee, then so be it.

“What’s next?” he asked.

“I think that’s it,” Liam said.

“Some of the Sky Knights are still in the aerie, but they’ll be leaving before Zuhl’s army gets here,” Oliver said.

“Captain Iker has a regiment of cavalry deployed just outside the city,” Liam said. “Commander Blake is pushing south to establish control of the route we’ll be traveling. Most of our people have been on the road for at least an hour.”

Anatoly stopped in the middle of the street, looking around at the empty buildings. It took so much time and effort, so much care and attention to build a city … and it could all be undone in one night.

With the populace gone, the streets were eerily calm and quiet, expectant almost, as if they knew a storm was coming. He feared that this storm would wash away Fellenden entirely.

“All right, I guess there’s nothing more that we can do here. Both of you, get your gear and meet me at the stables.”

He stopped at his favorite place in the keep on his way to his quarters. It was a small balcony, just big enough for three or four people, and it was high on the west-facing wall, offering an unobstructed view of the horizon. The sun was lost behind a bank of thick grey clouds blanketing the western sky. There was still an hour of light left, enough to get to Iker’s encampment. He started to turn away when Alexander appeared.

“Hello, Anatoly.”

“Well, your timing isn’t perfect, but I’m awfully glad to see you. I’ve got a bit of a situation here.”

“Yeah, I just saw. Breden’s been overrun and it isn’t pretty—rape, torture, blood sports with the prisoners. It’s bad. I expect that unit, about ten legions, to come south to Fellenden City once they’re done there.”

“Any soldiers you can send my way?” Anatoly said.

“I just spoke to Torin and Sofia. They’re organizing a flotilla to move at least a legion to Sochi.”

“So Abigail is all right? She got Torin away from those witches?”

“She did, then things got complicated. The last Sin’Rath, a witch named Peti, is the one controlling Zuhl’s army. She charmed Abel and used him to escape to Fellenden through the Gate, then she opened it to Zuhl and charmed General Kergen, Zuhl’s military commander. With him and his senior staff under her spell, the rest of the soldiers are doing her bidding without even knowing it.”

“Huh, I’m not sure how I feel about that,” Anatoly said. “I can’t help being a bit amused that Zuhl got his army stolen. I just wish the witch hadn’t brought it here.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“You plan on telling Zuhl? I’d love to see the look on his face when he finds out. He might actually kill her for us.”

“I’m going to hold off on that,” Alexander said. “If he did kill her, he’d have exactly what he wanted, his army right in the middle of Fellenden.”

“Might slow them down a bit,” Anatoly said. “And I’m sure it would distract him for a while.”

“I have other plans for him at the moment. Abigail just arrived at the Reishi Keep with a small army of witches and a somewhat temperamental dragon. I’m headed there now. I’ll shut down the Gates, then Abigail and I are going after Ixabrax and Zuhl. Kevin is sending us a fleet of attack boats out of Southport. Bianca’s Sky Knights will fly with us, save for one wing that she’s sending to you. As soon as we’re done there, Kevin’s fleet and the rest of Bianca’s flight will head toward Fellenden.”

Alexander paused for a moment, looking down at the floor. “I can’t stop them, Anatoly.”

“I know.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Run south to Fool’s Gap, get the people through to Shoalhaven and then hold the gap. After that, I’ve got nothing.”

“I’ll let Torin know to land his soldiers there instead of Sochi,” Alexander said. “Conner is sending Corina to you with the bulk of her flight. He’s into the forest with his entire army and most of the populace of Irondale. About twenty legions of enemy soldiers will arrive there by tomorrow … we’ll see if they give chase into the forest or just take the city.

Anatoly nodded. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full, too. How’s Isabel?”

“Alive and imprisoned, but more determined than ever.”

“I worry about her under Phane’s boot.”

“Me too, all the time,” Alexander said, holding his mentor’s eyes. “Save as many people as you can.”

Anatoly nodded as Alexander vanished. Some help was better than none, he thought.

Liam and Oliver were at the stables waiting for him when he arrived. Liam handed over the reins to his horse without a word and went to work strapping Anatoly’s pack to the saddle. Anatoly took a moment to pet the animal’s forehead and speak to her in soothing tones before mounting up and leading his two charges through the deserted streets of Fellenden City.

An officer waited for him at the south gatehouse, saluting as he passed out of the city. The gates closed as those few who remained behind made ready to defend their home. Anatoly didn’t stop to look back until they had reached a small rise. The sun had set and the light was falling fast. The city looked like a smudge of grey and purple on the landscape in the distance.

“How are you feeling, Oliver?”

“Sad.”

Anatoly gave him a sidelong look.

“I mean, the city felt so empty.”

“Not about the city, about killing that man today.”

“Oh, that. I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ve really processed it yet.”

Anatoly swallowed the urge to make a comment, instead turning to Liam.

His squire shrugged. “The man I killed was the enemy.”

Anatoly nodded. “Well, if either of you start having problems with it, come to me.”

Both nodded silently.

Captain Iker was camped less than an hour from the city with about five thousand cavalry. His regiment was tasked with delaying the enemy long enough to get the people through Fool’s Gap. Commander Blake and his legion and a half were assigned with clearing the path, protecting the people, and preparing Fool’s Gap to hold against the barbarians. Anatoly would be remaining with Captain Iker’s unit for the time being.

His tent was ready when he arrived. He wasn’t much for all of the formality of high office, but he had to admit it was nice to have a hot meal and a warm bed waiting for him. He knew that such luxuries wouldn’t last.

The following morning, the cavalry set out at daybreak. Corina caught up to them midmorning, floating overhead with nearly seventy wyverns under her command.

“Keep the men moving,” Anatoly said, clicking to his horse.

“Yes, Regent,” Iker said.

Anatoly went to a little hill and dismounted, holding his horse’s reins firmly. Corina landed gently some distance off, but still close enough to spook the horses a bit. Anatoly handed his reins to Liam.

“Stay with the horses. Oliver, you’re with me.”

They met Corina halfway between her wyvern and their horses.

“Regent, I’ve seen the enemy and they are vast.”

“I know. How much time do we have?”

“Ten raiding legions are three days’ march from here and headed this way. They were just leaving Breden when we flew over yesterday evening.”

“How was the army when you left them?”

“Running for their lives,” Corina said. “They were afraid, but with good reason. I left Conner a dozen Sky Knights for scouts and message riders.”

“Good, he’ll need them to get past the barbarian encampment at the Gate. Bianca is sending another wing and I have a squad with me. I need day-and-night scouting plus message riders. Use the rest of your Sky Knights to harass the enemy.”

Corina smiled without humor. “After assigning scouts and messengers, I’ll have a strike force of about seventy-five. However, while I relish the idea of killing these barbarians, we won’t be able to do any meaningful damage. Their numbers are just too great.”

“What damage you do will be meaningful to those you do it to.”

She smiled more genuinely.

“Don’t waste any weapons, just get baskets of rocks and drop them from high enough to kill.”

“Excuse me,” Oliver said, looking back and forth between them. “Can a wyvern carry a wagon filled with rocks?”

“Of course,” Corina said. “But I doubt we want to waste our wagons.”

“No, but I have an idea,” Oliver said. “We could make a large box like the back of a wagon, attach a beam on the center axis for the wyvern to hold, then make one end open by the pull of a rope and the other end tilt up by the pull of another rope. We fill it with rocks, fly over, pull the first rope, then the second … and dump the entire box of rocks on them all at once.”

“Ambitious,” Corina said. “I like it in principle, though I’m not certain we have the means to construct such a device on the road.”

“Give me a few men, and I’ll build you one,” Oliver said, turning to Anatoly.

“Couldn’t hurt,” Anatoly said. “You can have six men. If it works, it could be a powerful addition to the Sky Knights’ arsenal.”

“Build it and I’ll test it,” Corina said.

Oliver nodded, suddenly looking a bit out of his depth.

“For the time being, we’ll start gathering rocks—we’ll wait till the enemy gets a bit closer before we attack,” Anatoly said. “Also, Alexander tells me the witch Peti has charmed Zuhl’s commanders … she’s the one running this army now, so fly high enough to avoid her magic.”

“I see,” Corina said, looking off at the horizon. “Any word of Abigail and Magda?”

“They’re at the Reishi Keep preparing to attack Zuhl. Apparently, the dragon that paid us a visit is involved. When they’re done there, Bianca and a fleet out of Southport will be headed our way. Until then, we’re on our own.”

“Understood,” she said, returning to her wyvern.

Anatoly held his horse until Corina had launched and gained a bit of altitude. The Sky Knights would make a huge difference, just in scouting alone, but no matter how he did the calculations, the numbers just didn’t work out. The barbarians always came out on top, and that was just against the ten legions coming for him, never mind the sixty legions camped at the Gate.

With a sigh, he decided that that particular problem was beyond him, so he turned his mind to the work at hand. Within an hour, his entire regiment was scouring the countryside for rocks between the size of a man’s fist and a man’s head. All of the empty spaces in their wagons were soon filled.

By evening, Oliver had found a small abandoned farm and taken a wagon along with a load of lumber he found inside the barn.

He put his men to work the moment the regiment stopped for the night. When daylight failed, Corina cast a spell, calling forth a dozen glowing orbs of light to illuminate his work area.

Anatoly watched with a bit of admiration as young Wizard Oliver directed the efforts of six soldiers as if he were a general officer. By midnight, he’d finished his creation, a sturdy cart with a hinged crossbeam handle that swung only one way. With the handle up, it looked like a giant picnic basket. One end had a hinged door that opened downward when the pins holding it were pulled free. The other end had a stout rope attached to it that the Sky Knight could pull to tilt the cart toward the open end during flight. The whole thing sat on the back of a wagon frame.

The following morning, Corina’s wyvern lighted on the handle of the cart, then easily snatched it from the wagon frame, gaining altitude with each wing beat. As she lifted off, a few rocks fell from the wagon, but the only soldier in danger of being hit was able to raise his shield in time.

Oliver fidgeted nervously. Dozens of Sky Knights and thousands of soldiers watched Corina circle higher and higher. She wanted to test the weapon at the altitude her strike force would attack from, which was high enough to avoid any but the most powerful magical attacks.

She leveled out and came around to target the test field where a few bales of hay had been set on end to simulate enemy soldiers. The rocks began to spill out slowly at first, but then all at once the cart tipped and the entire load fell into the sky. Most of the stones missed the hay bales, but the two that hit blasted them to pieces. The area where the bulk of the stones hit was crushed, cratered, and pockmarked.

The Sky Knights and soldiers cheered as Corina’s wyvern roared.

“Well done, Oliver,” Anatoly said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll assign another platoon to you to gather the necessary materials to assemble more. Also, I want you to train one of your men to build the entire thing so we can send him to Fool’s Gap and get him started making them there.”

Oliver nodded, looking at the pattern of destruction his device had inflicted on the empty field.

“I just killed a lot of people, didn’t I?”

Anatoly looked at him seriously, nodding slowly. “A weapon designer can have a lasting impact on warfare. Your device may well be used a thousand years from now to kill people we’ll never know.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“I am. I don’t care one wit about a battle a thousand years from now. I want to know if your invention can put a dent in this enemy right now.”

Oliver was silent for a long time, staring at the target field. Anatoly took a breath to say something when Oliver nodded to himself as if coming out of a trance.

“In that case, I think I can improve the design to make it deadlier, but I should talk to Corina before I make any changes. She might have a few suggestions.”

Anatoly chuckled, patting Oliver on the shoulder as he turned for his horse.

Chapter 19

“How many?” Anatoly asked, a hint of alarm in his voice.

“Just under a legion,” Corina said. “I suspect they’ve been running to catch us. At this rate they’ll be on our heels by midday.”

Anatoly thought the enemy was far enough behind that he’d be able to get the people through the gap before they caught up. He hadn’t considered that they would send an advance force to give chase. Know your enemy, he thought.

“How many rock carts do we have?”

“Just the one we tested yesterday and the two we built last night,” Oliver said. “I changed the design to expand the area of effect, but we haven’t tested those boxes yet.”

“Well, we’re going to test them now,” Anatoly said, looking down at the map and frowning. As quickly as the advance legion was traveling, they would catch up to his trailing regiment well before the people made it to the gap.

“How far ahead of us is the main force?”

“Less than a day’s march,” Captain Iker said.

“Doesn’t leave us much choice,” Anatoly said, rubbing the stubble on his chin and frowning at the map again. “We’re going to have to stand and fight—the question is where?”

“About a half a league from here, the road begins winding through a series of hills,” Corina said, tapping the spot on the map. “It would offer high ground, but it’s not so steep that the horses couldn’t charge down into the enemy.”

“I guess that’s as good a place as any,” Anatoly said. “There are a few spots that look more promising, but they’re well out of our way. Corina, send word to Blake and start putting those rock carts to use. Maybe we can slow the enemy down a bit. Iker, pass the word along to your men and send a company ahead to scout and prepare the battlefield.”

As they rode toward the hills, Anatoly felt like a wolf was nipping at his heels. He looked back frequently, half expecting to see the telltale plume of dust that accompanies an army on the march, even though he knew they were still too far away.

He smiled humorlessly as four wyverns passed overhead, three of them carrying rock carts. This was their third run of the day and the reports had been promising.

Oliver had entirely redesigned his rock cart overnight. The bed was now separated into six sections. Six square holes were cut in the cart floor, with a sturdy trapdoor over each, locked in place with a heavy bolt attached to a rope. When the Sky Knight pulled the rope, the trapdoor opened and all of the rocks in that section fell free.

Corina seemed pleased with the redesign as it allowed her Sky Knights to spread the damage across a much larger area. The problem that Anatoly now faced was a lack of rocks. While Iker’s soldiers had been gathering them diligently, there were only so many to be had and the Sky Knights were using them up as quickly as they could be gathered.

By evening, they’d reached the series of hills in the wide valley where Anatoly had chosen to make his stand. He picked the largest of the hills and ordered Iker to make camp on top of it. Odds were, the barbarians would get close, then wait for dawn to attack. Still, he instructed his soldiers to dig in and set a perimeter guard in case they sent scouts or assassins in the night.

The light was just falling, casting shadows from the western mountains that reached across the entire valley when Corina strode up, still wind-worn from flying all day.

“My compliments to young Wizard Oliver,” she said. “His second design is quite deadly against a large force.”

“I just wish we had more rocks,” Anatoly said.

“I’m told that Fool’s Gap is quite rocky.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t help us now. How much damage do you think you did today?”

“We killed several hundred and wounded many more,” Corina said. “They made some effort to defend with shields, but to little effect.”

Anatoly nodded. “Tomorrow’s going to be ugly. They outnumber us by almost two to one.”

“True, but we’re defending from the high ground. I suspect that tomorrow will be far worse for them than for us.”

“I hope you’re right. We have to hold them here. If they get through us, there’s nothing between them and our people. Blake would have to fall back to defend them and then he wouldn’t have the time he needs to prepare the gap.”

***

“What do you mean, they’re not there?” Anatoly asked. The sky was just beginning to show a hint of light on the eastern horizon. He’d spent most of the night alternately fretting about the battle to be fought today and walking the perimeter. He’d slept for only about two hours and then only at Liam’s urging.

The breathless Sky Knight shrugged, shaking his head helplessly. “They’re just not there. It’s still too dark to see their trail, but I don’t think they made camp last night.”

“Dear Maker,” Anatoly whispered to himself, staring vacantly at the map on his field table for a moment, considering his options. They could only have traveled so far overnight.

“Get me Corina,” Anatoly said to the Sky Knight.

“Right away, Regent Grace.”

“Where do you think they went?” Liam asked.

“Hopefully, they fell back to regroup with their main force, but I doubt it. More likely, they slipped past us in the night. Go find Iker and tell him to get his men ready to ride immediately.”

Liam nodded, trotting away into the rising morning light.

Corina strode up a few moments later. “I’m told the enemy has disappeared,” she said.

Anatoly nodded grimly.

“I’ll send up a wing of scouts to find them. They can’t have gotten far.”

Anatoly looked back to his map with a growing sense of unease. He had a sinking feeling that things had just gone from bad to worse. Less than an hour later, his fears were confirmed when one of the scouts returned.

“They’re about a league south of us at a point where the terrain is rough and rocky, and they’re digging in,” he said.

“Can we skirt them?”

“I doubt it,” the scout said. “It looks like they’re trying to build hasty defenses across the entire valley. By the time we get there, we’ll have to fight to get through.”

Anatoly frowned, nodding to himself. “Their strategy is tactically sound, I’ll give them that. If they can hold us here until their main force arrives, we’re done.”

“We could try to go around to the west,” Liam offered.

“It would take too long and they could easily get ahead of us again,” Anatoly said. “No, they’ve boxed us in nicely. They’ve picked a spot where our cavalry can’t operate effectively and now they’re defending and we’re attacking.

“Corina, send message riders to Blake and prepare the rest of your flight to attack. Once the light comes up, I’ll need more detailed scouting reports about the terrain and enemy fortifications. We need to either find or make a soft spot and punch through. Then we can run south and pick a battlefield more suited to our strengths.”

***

Sitting atop his horse looking out over the rocky and treacherous terrain where the barbarians had chosen to fight, Anatoly shook his head. The ground was uneven, littered with small boulders and scarred with deep trenches cut by seasonal streams flowing from the mountains to the east. It was nearly devoid of topsoil, hence there was little vegetation, leaving a barren and windswept landscape. In short, it was the perfect place for infantry to make a stand against cavalry.

They had heavily fortified the valley, concentrating on those places where horses could ride easily, while leaving the more rugged parts sparsely manned.

“It looks like we have three options,” Corina said. “The main road is the clearest and easiest path to travel, so they’ve fortified it the most heavily, building a small wall of stones across that section. The other two gaps,” she pointed to the map, “contain large numbers of soldiers busy digging trenches and building berm walls, but they aren’t done yet and will probably need the better part of the day to finish. I recommend we attack the gap on the west end of the valley.”

Anatoly nodded. “Is there a clear path back to the road and level ground once we’re through?”

Corina nodded. “It’ll only take a few minutes to get past this barren patch and back onto the grasslands.”

“All right, that’s our target. Iker, once we punch through, I’ll need a defensive line along the eastern flank to hold against their reinforcements until the rest of the regiment can get through. Corina, I want your flight to pound them with everything you’ve got where we’ll punch through. Once we get close, shift east to their main force. As soon as we commit, they’ll probably start moving troops toward us. Slow them down as much as possible.”

“Understood,” Corina said.

The barbarians continued to work on their hasty fortifications even as Anatoly’s forces prepared to attack. His regiment was assembled not a thousand feet from the enemy line with his heaviest horses carrying the most well-armed men in the van. Orders had been given; everything was in place.

When shadows began to flash past across the landscape, he looked up at the clear blue sky. The Sky Knights would be the first to attack, dropping rocks, hurling javelins and, in Corina’s case, throwing magic into the enemy ranks. When the first column of wyverns began their attack, Anatoly looked over to Iker and nodded. A whistler arrow screamed into the air, signaling the charge.

A thousand soldiers spurred their horses toward the enemy line. Shouts of alarm wafted on the early morning air as the barbarians shifted from building their fortifications to defending them.

The first Sky Knights, three armed with rock carts and many more armed with bags of rocks, made their run, concentrating on the point in the line where the initial charge would hit, softening the enemy and distracting them to ensure the cavalry could get through in the first push. The last thing Anatoly wanted was for his soldiers to lose momentum and get caught in a melee surrounded by barbarians. His plan hinged on the first charge breaking through and opening a hole for the rest of his force to ride through.

Shouts and battle cries turned to wails of pain and fear as rocks slammed into the enemy line, crushing and shattering bodies where they hit. The rest of the barbarians began to shift to meet the attack. Another column of wyverns shot by overhead, this one diving quickly, gaining speed as they lost altitude, hitting the enemy line with tail strikes that cleared a swath with each hit.

One by one, the Sky Knights hit the same spot, some with rocks, others with their wyverns, still others with javelins until the final column floated overhead. Corina was the last to attack, sending a small sphere of blue force into the enemy that exploded on impact, tossing men through the air and leaving a gaping hole in their shield line.

Anatoly nodded in satisfaction when his cavalry charge arrived less than a minute later, hitting their soft spot and trampling over those without the good sense to get out of the way. He nodded to Iker and another whistler went up, signaling for the rest of the regiment to charge.

Four thousand horse, ten abreast, began to rumble across the battlefield. The Sky Knights had turned, one squad at a time, and were making attack runs at the barbarians moving toward the breach. They killed many, but not nearly enough. Thousands of hardened soldiers were now moving with all possible speed toward the line.

Iker’s initial charge broke through. The latter half of the charging unit stopped and turned toward the enemy advancing from the east, forming a line of heavy horse. The few barbarians to the west had been killed or wounded, leaving only a steeply rising series of rocky hills on their western flank, just as Anatoly had planned.

He was starting to worry that his plan was working too well when a unit of barbarians advanced on the defensive line guarding the eastern flank. The hundred men moved quickly with their shields raised, lowering them only when they got close enough to hurl a volley of javelins. Dozens of Iker’s men fell in the attack. Several horses were wounded, causing them to run wildly into the enemy where their riders were easily pulled down and killed.

The barbarians quickly re-formed into a wedge, again protected by raised shields, and rushed the cavalry line, attacking the horses with their spears. The attack broke through and a stream of barbarians began to flood into the gap that only moments ago had been clear. Anatoly signaled to pick up the pace. He had no interest in fighting on this field.

The barbarians’ simple strategy of attacking the horses was quite successful. Some of the horses ran wildly away from the battlefield; others threw their riders into the chaos; still others fell from their wounds, taking their riders to the ground with them. By the time Anatoly reached the gap, hundreds of horses and men littered the eastern flank and the barbarians were pressing in against the frantically defending cavalry while still more enemy soldiers flowed through the breach in the line.

Anatoly motioned for Iker to lead the bulk of the unit through, then took his guard, twenty men strong, and charged toward the breach. Liam and Oliver rode with him. The first barbarian Anatoly reached tried to spear him off his horse, but his dragon-plate armor blunted the tip and the spear slipped off to the side. He brought his battle-axe down, one handed, into the back of the man’s head in passing.

His charge staunched the flow of barbarians into the channel he’d cut through their defensive line, but he found himself in the midst of the enemy, in the very melee he wanted to avoid. A barbarian stabbed up at him but he brushed the spear point wide with his axe haft, then drove the top spike into the next man, leaving the first one for the soldiers behind him. A series of three blue shards of force streaked by him, striking three soldiers dead center.

Anatoly wheeled his horse to bring his axe down on another soldier, then seeing that his guard had closed the breach, he turned to the cluster of barbarians stabbing into the side of the cavalry riding past and charged into them, swiping with his axe on one side and then the next as he rode through.

Three men saw him coming and moved to bring him down. He was already committed, there was no changing course now, so he charged into them. One hurled a javelin and it hit hard, striking him in the middle of the chest and almost knocking him off his horse. The other two speared his horse in the chest, causing the animal to rear and throw Anatoly to the ground.

He landed, stumbled a few steps and found himself face-to-face with two charging barbarians, both armed with spears. He set himself, axe raised, and waited. Moments later, both spears leveled at his chest, he turned to the right, letting the weapons just miss him as they passed and brought his axe down on the side of the first man’s neck, cleaving his head and shoulder from his body, then allowing the axe’s momentum to carry him into a spin that brought it around full circle and caught the second man high in the center of the back.

Both immediate threats down, he scanned the battlefield. More than half his cavalry were through the breach, but the barbarians were pushing toward his reconstituted eastern defensive line again. Another volley of javelins took down several more of his men.

“Look out!” Liam shouted.

Anatoly spun just as a barbarian reached him, driving his spear point into his breastplate with so much force that it knocked him to the ground, curling the tip of the spear in the process. The barbarian looked at Anatoly and then at his spear point with growing realization.

“How is it that you wear dragon armor?” he demanded, drawing his sword.

Anatoly pulled the knife from his belt and threw it at the man, burying it to the hilt in his chest before rolling to his hands and knees and staggering to his feet. Liam crashed into another barbarian who was charging Anatoly from behind, trampling him into the ground. Anatoly casually drove the top spike of his axe into the man’s heart before he could regain his senses.

The cavalry line broke again when a large group of barbarians charged it with spears raised. The bulk of his forces were through at this point. Carnage littered the ground, blood of friend and foe mingling in the dirt. Many of his men who’d been unhorsed were fighting a pitched battle without organization or order, striking out at any barbarian close enough to hit, but on the ground, in single combat, the barbarians had the advantage.

A column of wyverns roared overhead, casting rocks into the enemy ranks. Anatoly saw Corina toss a bubble of liquid fire into the back ranks of the enemy, well away from friendly forces. He scanned the battlefield, blocking a spear thrust with his axe and whipping it around to cut savagely into the side of the man who had attacked him.

Liam appeared out of the din of battle, splattered with blood, his sword blade dripping red, and offered Anatoly a hand up onto his horse. After another quick scan, Anatoly swung up behind his squire.

“Where’s Oliver?” he asked.

Liam pointed to the south. The young wizard had found a patch of high ground just past the enemy lines and was busy sending force-shards into the barbarians as quickly as he could cast his spell.

The last of the cavalry reached the breach. He looked around for Iker but couldn’t find him. The captain was supposed to signal the soldiers defending the eastern flank of the gap to withdraw.

“Run the line,” Anatoly shouted to Liam, pointing to the defenders about to be overrun by a much larger force of barbarians.

Liam spurred his horse into a gallop, racing behind the line of defenders as Anatoly shouted, “Retreat!”

The men began to peel off, racing to keep up with the bulk of the force that had just cleared the gap and was moving into the grasslands to the south. Soldiers on foot swung up behind others still mounted and the entire regiment fled the battlefield as the Sky Knights made a final series of attack runs at any barbarians who tried to pursue.

For several minutes they ran, just trying to put some distance between themselves and the enemy. Anatoly found Iker, blood-splattered and a bit shaken, when he arrived at the main body of his regiment.

He dismounted before Liam had fully stopped the horse.

“Head count,” he said.

Iker stared at him blankly.

“How many did we lose, Captain?”

Iker blinked.

“Captain!”

Iker seemed to snap out of it a bit. “I didn’t expect it to be like that,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Battle,” Iker said. “That’s not how it is in the stories.”

“You think,” Anatoly barked, taking the man by the shoulders and shaking him a bit to get his attention. “Set that aside and focus. How many did we lose?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“Well, go find out, Captain. And while you’re at it, get this regiment moving. The enemy will be right behind us and we can’t afford to fight them on their terms.”

Iker nodded as shadows flitted by. The Sky Knights had finished their attack runs and were flying south to scout a good place to make camp.

By midday, the energy of battle had dissipated and they were riding hard. Iker found Anatoly when they stopped to feed and water the horses.

“Just over forty-four hundred,” he said. “We lost nearly five hundred men today.”

“Still think battle is glorious?”

Iker shook his head solemnly.

“Good. For a lot of your men, this was their first battle. Make your rounds, talk to them, help them come to terms with the killing they did today, and teach them to direct their anger over the losses we took toward the enemy.”

Iker nodded, still looking a bit stunned. He wandered off into the throng of soldiers. Anatoly turned to Liam and Oliver.

“You both did well today. Think about the battle while you ride. Play it over in your mind. Look for the mistakes you made and learn from them.”

Both of his charges nodded absently.

“Hey.”

They both looked up.

“This is going to get worse before it gets better. You both need to mentally prepare yourselves for that.”

They were quiet for several minutes until everyone had finished their meal and the regiment was preparing to ride.

“Do you think they’ll run to catch up with us tonight?” Liam asked.

“I doubt it,” Anatoly said. “They have to sleep sometime. If all goes well, we won’t face them again until Fool’s Gap.”

Chapter 20

Isabel opened her eyes when she heard the footsteps approaching. She’d been confined to her circle cell for days. Wraithkin brought food and water but ignored her questions, refusing to utter even a single word to her, no doubt at Phane’s instructions.

She’d used the time to alternately fret about Azugorath and to meditate on the light. Though her collar prevented her from touching the firmament, and the Wraith Queen was again actively blocking her link to the realm of light, every now and then she could still find that spark she’d discovered at the center of her being.

She quickly learned that searching for it, working toward it, and struggling to find it were counterproductive. The true path lay in effortless silence. When she was able to quiet her mind and still her emotions, it would find her, blooming unbidden in her mind and soul, consuming her with a sense of belonging and connectedness like nothing she’d ever felt outside of Alexander’s arms. She found that it called to her, beseeching her to return. In that place she was content—at peace.

While Phane likely considered her isolation a punishment, she found it helpful in her pursuit of this new and unexpected facet of her existence. She spent most of her day in meditation, patiently quieting her mind in the hope that the light would come to her again.

Her meditation was frequently interrupted by Azugorath’s efforts to subvert her will and claim command of her body, but so far, she’d been able to resist. What frightened her most was the Wraith Queen’s growing strength. Each attack was more intense and more invasive. Deep down, Isabel knew that it was only a matter of time before she would succumb, but she resolved to resist for as long as possible. She might lose in the end, but her enemy would know that she’d been in a fight. Also, she reasoned, the more she fought, the more energy Azugorath would have to devote to her, thereby sparing the Seven Isles from whatever other uses Phane might have for her.

Isabel stood and brushed herself off before the door opened. A single wraithkin smiled at her.

“Master has summoned you.”

She was tempted to sit back down, but the prospect of escaping her cell, even if only for a few hours, outweighed her desire to snub Phane and his minions, so she followed without a word. After a ten-minute walk through the innards of the black tower, they came to a set of double doors guarded by a pair of wraithkin. They opened the doors without a word. She stopped at the threshold, scanning the room and feeling a little thrill of fear at what she saw.

A long banquet table was set with all manner of food and wine. Serving girls stood along both walls, all looking down as if they thought doing so might make them invisible. Phane sat at the head of the table. To his right was a slight little man with a narrow face that made him look vaguely like a rodent. He was dressed in a perfectly fitted grey suit and he sat very straight, his hands clasped on the table.

The rest of the dozen or so people at the table seemed capable, powerful even. While all of them deferred to Phane, it seemed that some did so grudgingly. Her heart caught in her throat when her eyes landed on Hector and Drogan.

“Ah, Isabel, how nice of you to join us,” Phane said. “Please, come, sit. Share a meal with us.” He motioned to the empty chair on his left.

At the mention of her name, the little man to Phane’s right looked at her sharply, a hint of rage flashing in his beady grey eyes. She ignored him, instead boring into Hector with her glare. He glanced at her once before casting his gaze back down at the table.

She sat down, never taking her eyes off of him. “You can’t even look at me, can you?” she said.

He didn’t respond.

“You want to know why that is, Hector? It’s because you’ve betrayed your own conscience and you know it.”

Several of the men at the table laughed at her. She ignored them, glaring at him, daring him to look her in the eye. He kept his head down, almost like the serving girls lining the walls.

“Come now, Isabel,” Phane said with a jovial smile. “Don’t taunt the man, he’s lost so much already. You can hardly fault him for wanting to save his family.”

She turned her glare toward Phane. “He’s not saving Horace and we both know it. The only one who seems to believe that lie is Hector.”

“On the contrary, my dear Isabel, Hector has served me well. He’s delivered the key to victory right into my hands. Would that all who serve me did so as diligently.” He looked at her pointedly.

“I don’t serve you, Phane, and I never will,” she said.

He smiled like the sunrise, even as the man sitting across from her scowled. The rest of the people at the table fell silent, all eyes on her.

“Do you allow all of your slaves to speak to you like this?” the man in grey asked.

“Of course not, Babachenko,” Phane said. “Isabel is special. I have great plans for her.”

“Oh,” Isabel said with a laughing smile, “so you’re the man who thought he could lie to my husband and get away with it.” She stopped to laugh out loud. “How’d that work out for you?”

The Babachenko’s scowl turned to anger. He raised his hand toward her, beginning to mumble under his breath.

“Stop!” Phane said, slapping the table hard enough to cause all of the silverware to rattle. “Babachenko, Isabel belongs to me. You will not raise your hand to her.”

He struggled to regain his composure, then smiled unconvincingly, rage still dancing in his eyes.

“As you wish, Prince Phane, but I must ask … why have you not used her against the pretender?”

“Oh, I intend to, but she’s not ready yet,” Phane said. “Perhaps later I’ll show you the extent of my preparations to that end. For now, suffice it to say that you and your Acuna wizards have arrived just in time to see the beginning of the end of our enemies, all thanks to Hector and Drogan here.” He held out his hand toward the two men.

Hector still didn’t look up.

“Their successful return has also provided me with an opportunity to demonstrate my power and my generosity. When I sent Hector on this very dangerous mission, I made him a promise—a promise that I intend to keep. In doing so, I’m confident that I will put any doubts you may have to rest, as well.”

The Babachenko started to protest but Phane stopped him with a raised hand and a boyish smile. “It’s all right. I’d be concerned if you didn’t have doubts about our alliance, especially after you’ve lost so much. Tomorrow, under the moonless sky, I will show you that you’ve chosen wisely.”

“How exactly do you plan on doing that?” one of the Acuna wizards asked bluntly, drawing a sharp look from the Babachenko.

“I’m going to resurrect Hector’s brother,” Phane said.

Hector looked up, renewed hope burning in his eyes. The rest of the table sat in stunned silence, a mixture of disbelief and wonder etched on their faces.

“You have every right to be skeptical. I would be were I in your place, but rest assured, after tomorrow night you’ll be as certain of our victory as I am.”

Isabel started laughing, stopping only after all eyes were on her.

“If you believe any of that, you’re as delusional as he is,” she said, motioning toward Phane with her head. “First off, the magic of the netherworld is the magic of death. Do you really believe that such darkness can return life to the dead? Second, you’ve met my husband, Babachenko. You had him in a cage wearing a collar inside a warded section of your keep and he still destroyed your city. What do you think he’s going to do now that he’s free to wage war against you on his terms?”

The Babachenko deliberately composed himself and smiled, though his eyes remained alight with anger.

“Admittedly, I underestimated him,” he said. “I can assure you, that won’t happen again. Besides, I’ve recently learned that he has returned to Ruatha. When he had the opportunity to press his advantage and take all of northern Andalia, he chose to run. Not exactly the mark of a courageous leader. In fact, some might say that he’s behaving like a coward.”

“Others might say he has more strategic goals in mind,” Isabel said. “After all, Andalia is of tertiary concern now that the Lancers have lost their magic. I’m curious, do you still call them Lancers now that Alexander has destroyed the power of their force lances?”

The Babachenko started to bristle but collected himself quickly. Phane sat back, swirling his wine goblet, smiling like a kid at a carnival.

“Were it not for Prince Phane’s protection, I would see you suffer for your insolence.”

“I’ll bet,” Isabel said, stabbing a piece of meat and chewing deliberately while looking him in the eye.

“I can cause her great pain without doing any damage,” the Babachenko said, turning to Phane. “Perhaps we could use her to make her husband suffer.”

“To what end?” Phane asked.

“Punishment.”

“I appreciate your anger, Babachenko. I even share it, but your idea of punishment is insufficient for my taste. When I’m done with dear Isabel here, she will become my weapon. She will strike the blow that kills her beloved husband. I expect his despair in that moment to be crushing. But even that isn’t enough for me. After he dies, his soul will be drawn into the Sovereign Stone. There, in that timeless place, I will come to him often to describe in great and sordid detail all of the things I will make his wife do in my name. He will hear stories of lives and kingdoms crushed by her hand. I will tell him of her children—of our children. For every day of my life, I will torment him with the enormity of his failure. So you see, Babachenko, he will pay for his crimes against us.”

The Babachenko nodded deferentially. “You have indeed given this more thought than I have. Your plan for vengeance is quite thorough.”

Isabel chuckled to herself, washing down a bite of bread with a sip of wine to mask the thrill of dread that spread through her at the prospect of Phane actually doing the things he described. “Aren’t you two getting ahead of yourselves? I mean, he did just defeat you pretty soundly,” she said to the Babachenko. “And you’ve been trying to kill him for the past year, Phane. Sounds to me like both of you are underestimating him … again.”

“I will admit that Alexander has acquitted himself far better than I would have imagined,” Phane said. “But he can’t win. Hector and Drogan have returned with the remains of the Goiri. I will use the power of those cursed bones to open the warded box containing the final keystone to the Nether Gate and then we will depart for the Reishi Isle. With all of my Master’s minions to serve me, the Seven Isles will succumb to my will. Alexander will fall. Your friends will all die badly.

“Your stubborn optimism is becoming sad and delusional, Isabel. You’ve lost. You might as well embrace that painful truth and accept the world as it is. Life will become much better for you once you do.”

Worry about the Nether Gate occupied her mind. The moment she’d seen Hector, she knew that he’d returned with the cursed bones, and that Phane would soon have all three keystones … but she wasn’t about to let him or his henchmen see any hint of concern.

“I think you’ve told so many lies that you can’t tell the difference anymore,” she said. “I think you believe that simply saying something makes it reality. From where I’m sitting, there’s a long way between here and the fantasy you just described.”

She saw a flicker of doubt in the Babachenko’s eyes.

“In fact,” she continued, “Alexander will probably come at you in ways that you never expected. He’ll blindside you, hit you where you’re weak, bleed you one cut at a time. And when you strike back, he just won’t be there.

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Babachenko? He was alone, stripped of his weapons, deprived of his magic, a prisoner and a slave. And yet, he took so much from you. Your city, your Lancers, your home. If you go against him again, I suspect he’ll take your head.

“But it doesn’t have to be that way. Alexander is nothing if not fair. If you offered him Phane’s head instead, I’m sure he would let you return to Andalia and rule the isle in the name of the Old Law. You could have your title, your power, your privilege, your wealth … everything you’ve lost. All for the price of one man’s head.

“Think about it. Phane seduced you with his lies. He set your nation on a path to war—a war that’s cost you terribly. What has it cost him? You and your people suffer so that he can have dominion over you? Not much of a bargain if you ask me.

“You have ten wizards in this room with you. Together, you could kill him right now.” She leaned forward, a bit surprised that Phane hadn’t interrupted her. “Put an end to this war. Kill him and preserve yourself. This is your chance at salvation … take it.”

The room fell silent as she held the Babachenko with her piercing green eyes. He twitched slightly, seemingly unable to break free of her gaze, until Phane started clapping slowly, breaking the spell of her words.

“You see now why I spare her,” Phane said. “Just imagine how formidable she’ll be once I’ve broken her conscience and turned her to our purpose.”

The Babachenko looked back to her, as if considering her words.

Phane took a long pull from his goblet, then motioned for a serving girl to refill it.

“There is one other thing I’ve been meaning to ask of you, Babachenko,” Phane said, waiting until he pulled his eyes away from Isabel to continue. “Since the pretender and his family are the heirs to Ruatha, the isle will be without a ruler once they’re defeated. I was hoping that you would take on the responsibility in my name. I realize that it’s a lot to ask. Ruling two island kingdoms would be a challenge, but I’m quite certain that you’re up to the task.”

The Babachenko seemed to consider Phane’s words for a moment before nodding, almost as if to himself. “I would be honored to bear such a burden,” he said with a smile, raising his goblet to Phane.

“I thought you might,” Phane said. With a gesture, the serving girls started taking plates away from the table. Isabel snatched a piece of bread and a slice of meat from hers before it was whisked away, folding the bread around the meat into a sandwich.

“Hector, Drogan, regale us with the story of your travels,” Phane said.

Both men looked at Phane and then at each other as if they’d been ordered to cut their own wrists.

“Go on,” Phane said.

Drogan shrugged. “We marched through the jungle until the pretender showed up and attracted some predators. The chameleon lizards killed most of our men, but we managed to escape into the Dead Swamp. A few more died on the way through there. We lost the rest inside the fortress.”

“Ah …” Phane said, swirling his wine. “Where’s a bard when you need one? I must say, Drogan, that was the most boring story I’ve ever heard. I guess it’s a good thing you have other talents.”

He shrugged again, unfazed by Phane’s criticism.

“Perhaps you could elaborate for us, Hector. I’m especially interested in the crystal chambers you found.”

The Babachenko looked up sharply, excitement alight in his eyes.

Phane smiled knowingly.

“There are two of them,” Hector said a bit hesitantly. “If you put a person in each, their minds, and I guess their souls, switch bodies.”

The Babachenko leaned forward, as did the rest of the Acuna wizards.

“Does their magic transfer as well?” he asked.

“Yeah, at least it did for the witch that used it on Ayela.”

“That would mean … immortality,” the Babachenko whispered.

“Indeed it would, Babachenko. Of course, I must ask that you keep this knowledge a secret. After all, not everyone can live forever.”

“No, they most certainly cannot,” the Babachenko said with a broad smile. “To an alliance well made, Prince Phane.”

Phane raised his goblet again. Isabel idly wondered if he ever got drunk. He was on his fourth glass of wine and didn’t seem affected in the least. She finished off her sandwich while Phane and the Acuna wizards talked excitedly of selecting new, younger bodies to take for themselves. The idea that they would be depriving other human beings of the lives that they were born to never came up.

As they speculated on their imagined futures, a wraithkin appeared at the foot of the table.

“All is ready, Master.”

“Ah, excellent,” Phane said, standing. “Gentlemen, if you’d like to accompany me to the top of the city’s walls, you may bear witness to the beginning of the end of this war.”

Chapter 21

Phane and the Babachenko walked ahead of the rest of the group. Isabel could hear them talking quietly. It was early evening and the air was cool but pleasant enough, especially after several days spent in a cell. A few of the Acuna wizards eyed her suggestively but quickly lost interest when the wraithkin escorting her smiled back at them. For all of the enemies surrounding her, Isabel felt perfectly safe amongst them, at least for the time being. Only when thoughts of Azugorath pushed their way into her mind did she feel a thrill in her belly, and each time, she resolved anew to face the Wraith Queen without fear.

It took nearly half an hour to make their way out of the black tower and up to the top of the fortress walls. She couldn’t help feeling a bit impressed by the scope of the fortifications. The walls were a hundred feet across and perfectly flat on top. While there were no battlements or siege engines, there was plenty of room for defenders to assemble and fight any attack from a vantage point a hundred feet above the jungle floor.

Phane led them toward the southwest corner of the city. A group of soldiers was already assembled, most armed with crossbows, cocked and loaded. Phane stopped well short of a line etched in the stone as one of his officers trotted up, stopping smartly and offering a crisp salute.

That’s when Isabel saw Lacy. She was flanked by two soldiers and looked like she’d been beaten a few days prior, but she stood with her head up and smiled when she saw Isabel. Isabel smiled back. She wanted to go to the princess and give her a hug, but thought better of it. Phane might not be willing to hurt Isabel, at least not too seriously, but she wasn’t so sure that he wouldn’t kill Lacy now that he could open the box without her.

Lacy mouthed the word Wren questioningly. Isabel smiled brighter, pointing north. Even fifty feet away she could see the relief in Lacy’s expression.

“My father created a device he called the Nether Gate,” Phane said to the crowd. “As a precaution, he also created a set of three keystones. The Nether Gate can only be opened with the complete set, and once it is, the denizens of the netherworld can be called forth and bound to service. I have searched and fought for these keystones for many months.”

He held up the box containing the last of the three keystones for everyone to see.

“Princess Lacy was kind enough to deliver this into my hands, but she’s been less than willing to open it for me.” He looked at her sternly, then smiled like the sunrise. “Today, thanks to the brave efforts of Hector and Drogan, her intransigence no longer matters. The skull of the Goiri, a creature of legend, has been set into the wall just over there,” he said, pointing toward the corner of the fortification. “Within the sphere of this cursed bone’s influence, magic ceases to affect the world of time and substance. This power will be my key.

“I told you, Lacy. You could have had everything. You could have ruled Fellenden in my name. You could have protected your people. But you chose to defy me. And now, your assistance is no longer necessary.”

She scowled at him and his smile brightened.

“Drogan, take this box into the null magic field and open it for me.”

Drogan shrugged, nodding to Phane without a word. Phane whispered something to him as he took the box. Drogan nodded again before ambling a few feet over the line marking the perimeter of the null magic field. He fumbled with the lid for a moment while Isabel held her breath, hoping against hope that the box would remain locked, but then it popped open with a click. Drogan took out a small black stone pyramid and held it up for Phane to see.

He tipped his head back and laughed at the sky.

“History will say that our enemies lost the war on this day,” he said, holding out his hand toward Drogan.

Isabel and Lacy shared a worried look.

Drogan appraised the keystone for a moment, frowning skeptically before walking back toward Phane. When he crossed the line etched into the top of the wall, the box, still open and in his hand, seemed to come alive, a faint white glow emanating from within. He stopped, looking into the empty box, his brow furrowing. A moment later, a flash of magic erupted from the box, vaporizing his head and shoulders in a single blinding instant. His arms and what remained of his torso and legs fell to the ground, along with the keystone still clutched in his dead hand.

“Huh,” Phane said. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

The Babachenko and the Acuna wizards all laughed with him as he pried the keystone from Drogan’s death grip and inspected it closely.

“Pity. Drogan was a good man. He always did as he was told, no matter how distasteful the task.”

“Such men are rare,” the Babachenko said. “Did he have a family?”

“You know, I’m not sure,” Phane said. “If he did, I’ll see to their needs. It’s the least I can do for such faithful service.”

“Indeed,” the Babachenko said. “I too believe that loyalty should be rewarded. After all, without men like Drogan, who would do the bidding of men like us?”

“Well said, Babachenko.”

Phane casually strolled over to Isabel, holding the keystone up between his thumb and forefinger.

“This is what losing looks like. You’ve fought me every step of the way, but surely you must see now that there’s no hope for your friends. They will all die. The sooner you forsake them and embrace me, the easier it will be for you to accept that.”

“It’s not over yet, Phane. It’s a long way from here to the Reishi Isle. I’m sure I’ll have at least one more chance to drive a stake into your heart.”

“Defiant to the last,” he said, shaking his head. “In truth, I guess I wouldn’t have it any other way. You wouldn’t be worthy of the title Lady Reishi, if you gave in to me too easily. For a conquest to be worthwhile there must be resistance, and you’ve certainly offered me that.”

“You might want to get used to that, Phane, because I’m never going to serve you of my own free will. And really, it’ll be a pretty empty victory to have me as nothing more than a puppet for your pet demon.”

He laughed, turning to the Babachenko. “Isn’t she a delight?”

He bowed his head slightly, though it was clear he didn’t agree.

“Come, we have much to discuss,” Phane said, motioning for the guards to return Isabel and Lacy to their cells.

“Hey, Hector, did you see how easily he shrugged off Drogan’s death?” Isabel said loud enough for all to hear.

Hector clenched his jaw and looked down.

“Drogan’s death was unfortunate,” Phane said. “But there’s nothing I could do once it was done. Horace, on the other hand, is another matter. Since you’ve returned with his remains, and you’ve agreed to pay the necessary price, I will resurrect him tomorrow night. Your long awaited reunion is only a day away, Hector. You have my word.”

Isabel laughed mockingly.

***

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor when she heard footsteps. Not an hour had passed since the wraithkin had returned her to her cell. This time she remained sitting. Phane looked pleased with himself when he opened the door—never a good sign.

“Oh, don’t bother to get up,” he said, even though she’d made no move to rise. “I just wanted to try something.”

He muttered a few words and she was unable to stand or speak, frozen in place. Then he put his hand on her head and began chanting in a guttural and angry language. Her frustration at being paralyzed by his spell welled up into panic.

Then the darkness flooded into her mind, the portal to the netherworld opening wide and pouring forth. It felt like she was drowning in an unclean ocean of coldness. Panic gripped her for a moment, paralyzing her will as completely as Phane had paralyzed her body.

And then it was over, the portal to the netherworld slammed shut and she found herself leaning over her crossed legs with her forehead on the floor, screaming at the top of her lungs. Shaken and overwhelmed by the sheer intensity, surprise, and suddenness of the experience, she broke down and began crying, despite her fierce desire to show Phane no weakness.

He stood over her for several moments.

“Yes, I think that will do,” he said, turning on his heel and locking her cell door behind him as he left.

Isabel rolled onto her side and wept for a long time. She felt violated in every sense of the word. Her psyche had been immersed in the unfiltered evil of the netherworld and it felt like it had scarred her very soul.

She woke in the middle of the floor some time later, screaming and scrambling to escape the monster haunting her dreams. It took her a moment to regain her senses. That’s when she realized that the monster had been Azugorath trying to worm her way into Isabel’s mind through her nightmares.

She sat with her back to the wall opposite the door, her knees pulled up against her chest as she focused on her breathing, trying to slow her hammering heart. It took a few minutes, but she gradually regained her composure enough to think through what had just happened to her.

Phane had tapped the darkness through her link.

The ramifications were terrifying in so many ways. He could use her to do unspeakable evil. And each time he did, she would feel the darkness pass through her, an experience that she doubted her sanity could withstand for very long or very often.

She started to wonder at the wisdom of coming to Phane in the first place, but dismissed her second-guessing the moment it entered her mind. Deal in what is, not what if, she told herself.

The truth was, her options were desperately limited. At the moment, the most important thing she could do was meditate on the light and attempt to cleanse herself of the horrific experience that Phane had subjected her to. In time, she was confident that another opportunity to strike would present itself. Until then, she had to wait and survive.

She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind, but vivid images of everything she’d ever felt guilty about came to her one after the next, assailing her with a barrage of recriminations. Real transgressions from her past gave way to imagined crimes until she was feeling remorse for things she’d never done and would never do.

With a quick shake of her head, she opened her eyes and stood up, pacing back and forth, struggling to let go of the feelings of deep remorse still lingering in her heart and mind.

“I serve the light,” she whispered to herself. “I serve the light.”

Chapter 22

The dread induced by her brush with darkness had subsided, only to be replaced by dread for the ritual spell Phane was preparing to cast. Whatever his promises, Isabel knew full well that he wasn’t going to resurrect Horace.

Horace was dead.

But then Phane was a necromancer arch mage.

And a relatively creative one at that. There was no telling what he might actually be intending. Whatever it was, Isabel was certain of only one thing: it would end badly for Hector. He’d betrayed the Old Law and her personally, but she didn’t want him to suffer.

This time there weren’t any footsteps warning her of a visitor … her cell door just unlocked and opened. A wraithkin stood at the threshold holding a box. She found it disturbing how the wraithkin always looked at people like they knew something that everyone else didn’t.

“Master commands that you wear this,” he said, holding out the box.

Isabel crossed her arms and looked at the wraithkin defiantly.

“Master also said that I am to dress you, if necessary,” he said, his smile taking on a lascivious quality that made her skin crawl.

“Leave the box and close the door,” she snapped. “I’ll be a few minutes.”

The wraithkin looked disappointed but he set the box down and closed the door.

Isabel held up a black satin dress by its two very thin straps and shook her head.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

“Do you require assistance?” the wraithkin asked through the door.

“No!” she said, dropping the dress and beginning to take off her traveling clothes. The dress fit perfectly, expertly tailored to the inch. The soft black shoes were equally well fitted. Isabel found herself wondering how Phane had taken such exacting measurements without her awareness. She shook off that all-too-familiar sensation of insects crawling all over her and adjusted the dress to cover as much of her as possible. It was cut low, almost entirely backless and didn’t quite reach to her knees. Isabel would never have chosen such a dress in a million years.

The wraithkin smiled when he opened her cell door.

“Master will be pleased. Come.”

Isabel followed, wondering anew exactly what Phane had in mind. She had always expected that he would put her in a front-row seat for whatever he was going to do to Hector.

Tonight was the night. And there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

Resisting wouldn’t do any good, especially with a slave collar around her neck. She had resigned herself to behave until a real opportunity to strike presented itself. Now was not that time. Also, she wasn’t about to risk herself for Hector.

The wraithkin led her out of the black tower, a curious and surprising turn of events. She followed him through the city streets, drawing more than a few looks until they came to a very old stone wall surrounding an entire city block. Through a guarded gate, Isabel entered a lush jungle garden that presented the illusion of being overgrown. In the late evening shadows, she could just see torchlight flickering farther into the artificial jungle.

The wraithkin set out on a path that she hadn’t noticed until he started walking it. In the dusk, the shadows were beginning to play tricks on her eyes. The jungle was thick and wild, yet the path yielded to her easily. She followed more out of curiosity than anything else. The torchlight was ahead, somewhere deeper into the jungle—now that she was well inside it, the fact that it had been grown and tended mattered for nothing. For all intents and purposes, Isabel was walking through the wilds in a dress she wouldn’t willingly wear outside of her bedroom.

All at once, a series of rough-cut stone columns appeared. Each was two feet across and ten feet tall. More than two dozen pillars stood in a giant circle at evenly spaced intervals. Large, flat stones lay across their tops, creating an unbroken ring of stone ten feet overhead.

The torchlight was coming from within the stone circle. The wraithkin ushered her in. Reluctantly, she passed between the two nearest pillars. Each held a small alcove on the inside where a torch burned, illuminating the interior of the circle with a hauntingly primitive light.

The pillars surrounded a stone walkway five feet across, which gave way to a series of three steps descending into a well in the center of the ritual site.

The outside edge of the well was encircled with lines of silver and gold spaced two feet apart. A pit plunged into darkness in the exact center of the well, with a magic circle cut into the stone around its edge. Six more magic circles surrounded the central pit, all identical in size and design, save for the one where Phane stood.

It was larger by half than the others and it contained three circles within it, all arranged in a triangular pattern so that each would overlap the other two, forming a spot in the center where one could stand in all three circles at once. Phane stood in that spot with his back to the pit. He smiled when he saw Isabel.

She took a moment to take it all in, picking out details that she’d missed in her first glance. Three women, bound and gagged, knelt near Phane in one of his three circles. In another of his circles knelt a young man with his hands and forehead on the floor in prostration to Phane. In the center of his third circle rested a small polished wooden casket.

Dozens of people stood all around the steps that led down into the well. All of them wore identical black hooded cloaks that obscured their faces, but she couldn’t help feeling that all eyes were on her. A chill raced up her spine.

“Isabel, come, join us,” Phane said, turning to face the pit, and motioning to the circle on his right.

Hector stood stock-still in the exact center of that circle, looking straight ahead toward the pit. A goat staked to the floor next to him bleated. A naked woman lay bound at his feet, sobbing. Behind him, just inside the bounds of the circle was a full-sized casket with the lid open. Hector held an axe loosely in his right hand.

Phane looked over his shoulder and smiled at Isabel suggestively, motioning toward the magic circle to his left. It was empty except for a steel ring bolted to the stone floor with chains and manacles attached to it. Isabel stopped, staring at Phane with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“I’m afraid there’s no time for any of that right now,” he said, raising his hand and lifting her from the edge of the well with his magic.

“Put me down!” she shouted, struggling helplessly as she drifted into the circle to his left. Her arms were held out against her will and the shackles floated up and snapped into place around her wrists.

“No sense struggling, Isabel,” he said, turning his back on the pit once again and raising his arms to the people assembled around the steps.

“Honored guests,” Phane said, a little too pleased with himself, “I’ve asked you here to witness the greatest feat of black magic that has been attempted in the past two thousand years. Tonight, I will raise the dead.”

He let the substance of his statement linger on the cool evening air for a moment before continuing.

“This is no simple thing. Preparations must be made. Sacrifices must be offered. A price must be agreed upon. The bargain must be sealed with blood.

“Please, step into the circle and join hands. Your unbroken ring of living blood within the magic circle will give it power sufficient to contain the forces that I will harness and bend to my will this night.”

There was a bit of hesitancy among the robed and hooded guests, but then one stepped forward into the outermost circle, facing the pit and offering his hands to those who would fill in the spaces on either side of him. More joined him, until the circle was filled with an unbroken ring of people, all facing inward, all hooded and all holding hands.

Phane spoke a series of words and raised his hand in a strange gesture. Dark wisps that looked like jet-black fire erupted from his hand. He hurled the fire at the circle of people. It leapt to the closest one, wrapping around his hand and that of the next, binding them together. The black flame streaked around the entire circle, creating an unbroken chain of magic, binding each person’s hand to the next so that they couldn’t let go even if they wanted to. Another quick spell and the entire outer magic circle became a set of two walls of magical force, further entrapping Phane’s guests. There were a few words of protest from some of the Acuna wizards, but Phane ignored them, turning back to the pit at the center of the ritual.

Isabel tested the shackles around her wrists, finding them more than adequate to their task. She bored into Hector with her glare but he remained stock-still, staring straight ahead as if he was steeling himself for something. She got a faint whiff of rot—death lingering on the still night air.

“This is a very special place,” Phane said, drawing everyone’s attention once again. “This pit is an altar to the Master of the netherworld, a place where his avatar can be summoned and his will can be exerted within the world of time and substance.

“Consecration of such a place takes a great sacrifice. Nine hundred and ninety-nine lives must be cast into the pit, a task we completed only yesterday.”

“You bastard!” Isabel shouted, struggling against her chains even though they cut into her wrists.

“Silence,” he snapped, raising his hand toward her in an angry gesture. She tried to curse him again but no sound came out. He smiled at her helplessness, turning back to his guests.

“Now, I’ve bound you all together to create an unbroken chain of living blood within the magical circle that will contain this ritual. Your participation is vital to the success of this spell, but I assure you that none of you will be harmed in any way, unless you remove your hood and allow my Master’s avatar to see your face. He does not forget those that he looks upon and he covets all that he sees. Aside from that, I ask only that you remain respectfully silent.”

There was a murmur of grudging assent from the circle.

“Let us begin,” he said, turning back toward the pit, raising his arms and beginning to chant. Phane hurled words at the pit that Isabel didn’t understand. She wasn’t even certain that the language Phane was speaking was a human language, given how harsh, guttural, and angry the words sounded.

Even though she couldn’t speak, she could hear just fine. The distant rustle of the leaves and the noises of the jungle became still and silent. The air seemed to grow heavy and cold. The orange flickering torchlight dimmed. Phane’s words grew angrier and more aggressive, hate and rage flashing in his eyes as he threw himself into the ritual. His voice rose until he was shouting at the world with a kind of unbridled fury that Isabel had never witnessed before.

It was frightening to see the true nature of his soul. What’s more, in this setting at least, Phane seemed to be completely himself, honest and unabashed in his desire to dominate and subjugate every living person in the Seven Isles. Looking at him in the throes of his spell, Isabel couldn’t help but realize that in his mind, the Seven Isles belonged to him. In his mind, those who stood in the way of his total dominion were the real perpetrators of evil in the world. To Phane, what he desired and morality were one and the same.

His chanting grew to a crescendo, filling the well with palpable tension and fear. The women at his feet wept, trembling under the weight of impending doom. He stopped, his arms held high and his face raised to the sky. Silence fell for several moments, which only served to heighten the stench of fear mingled with the odor of rot from the pit.

Phane drew a knife from his robes and sliced across the palm of his left hand, drizzling blood on the heads of the three women kneeling in the circle to his left. They flinched and whimpered when the warm liquid splattered on them, then began wailing when they saw that it was blood.

“I have spoken the words,” Phane said, flicking his hand toward the three women sobbing at his feet as if he were brushing lint off his sleeve, his magic roughly tossing all three of them into the pit. They hit the far wall of the circular shaft with three thuds, followed by a chorus of screams that receded into the darkness.

Isabel felt sick to her stomach. When the screams stopped abruptly, Phane smiled at her with a wink. In that moment, she wanted to kill him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, and she was utterly helpless to do anything about it … and he knew it, reveled in it even.

After a moment of enjoying Isabel’s glare, he turned back to the pit.

“I have given offerings of blood and flesh,” he said, falling silent and waiting expectantly. All at once, the air began to move, flowing toward the hole as if the darkness deep within was trying to draw the world in.

Phane smiled, raising his hands again.

“I call forth Azi Dahak, Malphas, and Ravan, vassals of the Master himself.”

His voice contained a slight tremor as he spoke the names, as if even he was afraid of what he was doing. The air abruptly stopped flowing toward the pit, growing heavier and colder in just moments. It felt oppressive, unclean, and carried a stench of death with it that nearly made Isabel retch.

Her nausea was stilled by a thrill of fear at the howl of pent-up frustration, rage, and hatred that suddenly emanated from the pit. It filled the night with a long wailing indictment of life and light. The sound was entirely unnatural and inhuman, filled with unadulterated spite and the mind-warping suffering of endless torment.

Air started to flow out of the pit, rank, fetid and putrid; it carried with it the stench of ancient death. Isabel swallowed back a bit of vomit, struggling to maintain her composure. Darkness welled up from the pit and flowed like water unbound by gravity into the three circles opposite Phane, Isabel, and Hector. Slowly at first, then all of a sudden, the three demons coalesced into solid form.

“I am Azi Dahak and I have answered your summons,” the first said. He stood seven feet tall, with black scaled skin and eyes that glowed like embers. He was humanoid, but more lizard than man, with clawed feet and hands, a long barbed tail, and a snakelike face, complete with forked tongue.

“I am Malphas and I have answered your summons,” the second said, a viscous, burbling mound of black ooze. A mouth formed in the side of the blob only long enough for it to speak, then vanished into the undulating mass of darkness. A tentacle formed and lashed out at Phane but was stopped by the magic circle. It recoiled, five mouths forming all of a sudden and wailing, howling, and barking their frustration and rage into the night.

“I am Ravan and I have answered your summons,” said the third. He looked almost like a man, standing six feet tall and perfectly proportioned, except his skin was far too pale and beautiful, almost as if he’d been carved from fine white marble. His eyes were yellow, his hair was silver and flowed to the middle of his back. His mottled green teeth were all filed to a point. Each of his fingers ended in an inch-long jet-black claw.

“Vassals of the Master, lords of the netherworld, I have called you forth and bound you to serve me so that you might deliver a message to our Master.”

“No, you must let me go,” Malphas said, its mouth vanishing in a bubble that welled up from its viscous body until it popped, leaving a hole in its side that slowly filled in with blackness. Several eyes appeared in its side, all looking intently at Phane, all blinking in unison.

“I will not go back,” Azi Dahak said. “You have brought us here and given us form … surely there is more we can do for you before you banish us to the formlessness of the netherworld.”

“I too would stay,” Ravan said. “I can be of great service to you … if you would just free me from this cage.” He reached out and dragged his claws down the magical barrier surrounding him.

“You will—” Phane started to say when Ravan interrupted him.

“Who is this one? I would have her. She is special,” he said, pointing at Isabel.

“You will—” Phane tried again.

“No! You will give her to me. Now!” Ravan shouted, deliberately placing his claws against the magical barrier and slowly raking them along the magic, causing faint red sparks.

“I want her,” Azi Dahak said. “Give her to me and I will serve you for a thousand years. I will give you the world, all for the price of this pittance.”

“If she were a pittance, you wouldn’t be willing to trade me the world for her,” Phane said, smiling without humor.

All three demons began to rail against their captivity. Azi Dahak and Ravan began to flail against the barrier, while Malphas formed two huge, hammer-like hands and began to pound the stone beneath.

Phane waited for several moments, letting the demons struggle against his magic as if he knew that their efforts were doomed before uttering a single word in the guttural, inhuman language he’d used to summon them in the first place.

All three stopped, though it looked as if they were struggling against some unseen force. Phane smiled again.

“You are bound to serve me. I care not for your desires, only that you obey.”

“I will not!” Ravan said, eyeing Isabel all the while. “You must give me more.”

“No!” Phane said, magic magnifying his voice to drown out the demon’s protests. “Azi Dahak, Malphas, I charge you with delivering a message to our Master. Tell him that I wish to trade a dead soul for a living soul.”

All three suddenly lost interest in Isabel, several eyes growing again out of the undulating blackness that was Malphas, each looking around a bit frantically this time. A small mouth formed and began wailing in terror, but in a very small voice.

“Is the living soul willing?” Azi Dahak asked, his forked tongue flicking the air.

Phane looked to Hector. Isabel tried to yell, but she was still silenced by Phane’s spell. She railed against her shackles, but they held, cutting deeper into her wrists, drawing a trickle of blood that ran down her hands and dripped off her fingers. She ignored the pain.

“I am willing,” Hector said, his voice cracking a bit.

All three demons became very excited, agitated even, like a hungry animal when its master puts food just out of reach.

“I have spoken the words, offered the tribute and given you your tasks,” Phane said. “I now discharge you, Azi Dahak, and you, Malphas, to the netherworld to deliver my message.”

He began chanting again and the two demons started struggling against the magical barrier, this time with a frantic, almost desperate effort. Phane spoke a final word, barking it into the night, and the two demons melted back into formless darkness, flowing back into the pit, a forlorn, keening wail following them into the netherworld.

“What of me?” Ravan asked.

Phane ignored him, turning to Hector.

“Blood the circle,” he said.

Hector nodded woodenly but made no move to obey.

“You must blood the circle,” Phane said, a bit more urgently.

Hector seemed to snap out of his daze. Slowly, mechanically, he raised his axe and brought it down on the goat’s neck. The bound woman at his feet cried out at the thud of the axe falling. His strike wasn’t forceful enough to decapitate the animal, but he cut through its spine, spilling blood at his feet. With one hand he dragged the goat to the edge of the circle and let the blood flow into the channels cut into the stone.

“Good. Now the woman.”

Hector looked over at him, his gaze briefly drifting to meet Isabel’s eyes, but he looked away quickly, his eyes settling on the woman trembling at his feet. He started toward her but stopped, blinking several times and shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

If she could only speak, Isabel knew she could reach him, but she was mute, helpless.

“It’s the only way,” Phane said, gently, sympathetically. “If you want your brother back, you must do this.”

Hector stared blankly at the woman for several moments. Phane seemed to be holding his breath, until, slowly, hesitantly, Hector reached down and grabbed the woman by the hair. She cried out, struggling against her bindings and trying to plead for mercy around the gag in her mouth.

“We don’t have much time, Hector. The message has been sent. My Master’s avatar will arrive soon. If you don’t blood the circle, he will take you … for nothing.”

Hector seemed to remember his determination and quickly hacked the side of the woman’s neck as if he feared that waiting a moment longer would have shaken his resolve. Isabel slumped to her knees, tears flowing down her cheeks. Up until this moment, she thought that there was a chance for Hector, that he might come to his senses and return to the light. The woman struggled weakly, flailing helplessly as Hector dragged her to the edge of the circle and flopped her on the ground to let her life’s blood flow into the grooves cut into the stone.

The blood flowed from the goat and the woman, filling the grooves until the entire circle was red. With a gesture, Phane lifted the dead woman and the goat and tossed them into the pit.

“Well done, Hector. Well done,” he said.

Isabel staggered back to her feet, swallowing the bile and rage she felt, turning her attention to the spark of light at the center of her being. She was far too distraught to actually reach it, but thoughts of that calm, still, centered place within her helped focus her mind.

Phane turned to her, smiling boyishly.

She glared back.

He began speaking the words of another spell, this one using an entirely different language than the one before. She felt the portal to the darkness within her psyche begin to open. She tried to fight it, tried to call on the light, begged the Maker to save her from the darkness, but she received no answer.

Moments later, the portal opened wide and darkness flooded into her. Pain, fear, and despair seemed to fill her up to the point of bursting, challenging her sanity. Depravity and deliberate malice coursed through her, unbidden and unwelcome … and she was helpless to do anything except endure it.

When she thought she was dying, that her identity could suffer no more of the darkness and its corruption, it began to flow out of her as if it were being pulled from her body. Her back arched and her feet lifted from the ground. Only the shackles cutting into her wrists kept her within her circle. Thick, dark liquid flowed from her mouth and eyes, swirling into a glob and floating out over the center of the pit. The portal to the netherworld closed when the last of the darkness left her, dropping her roughly to the ground.

She fell to her knees and retched, spilling the contents of her stomach on the stone floor as she tried to overcome the sense of filth and rot that clung to her soul. It took several moments to regain her sense of self, to wrest her emotions back from the unclean influence of the netherworld. Still, she was shaken and felt dirty, guilty even. The experience had taxed her will and drained her energy until nothing but apathy remained. She rolled onto her side and curled into a ball.

Once the darkness was free of Isabel and swirling in a mass over the pit, Phane lifted the casket containing Horace’s remains and sent it into the glob of whirling darkness. The wood and metal of the casket rotted away, desiccating and rusting in seconds until it had completely vanished, leaving only Horace’s bones mingled with the darkness whirling in midair.

The darkness slowed, spinning to a stop as it flowed into and became one with Horace’s remains, until finally, the darkness was gone and all that remained were stained bones.

They fell into the pit a moment later. Phane was holding his breath again, waiting with anxious anticipation. Isabel’s curiosity overpowered her misery. She opened her eyes, but made no move to get up. Her whole body felt hollow, scarred and raw.

The torches surrounding the ritual circle began to flicker even though the air was dead calm. Phane knelt, bowing his head.

A wave of shadow emanated from the pit like an explosion without any force, passing through and around Isabel, leaving her skin crawling and her stomach turning anew. The torches extinguished all at once when the wave hit them, plunging the world into darkness.

Isabel felt the presence before she could see or hear it. A sense of unbridled power and hate filled the night. She slowly pushed herself to her knees and then staggered to her feet, watching expectantly, her heart in her throat.

A presence rose out of the pit. As dark as the night was, the indistinct form that hovered before her was darker still, only its red eyes providing any light at all. It hurt to look at it. She wanted to turn away, but refused, choosing instead to face her enemy, the enemy of life and light itself.

The malicious red eyes scanned the scene, noting Ravan first, who had gone to his knees as well, then turning to look at Hector, Phane, and Isabel in turn, his gaze seeming to penetrate to the depths of her soul. The red eyes looked at Isabel until she began to tremble, intense fear coursing through her, building to the point of panic. They looked at her for a long time before turning their gaze back to Phane. She felt a wave of relief.

“You wish to trade a soul for a soul,” the presence said. Its voice was grating, discordant and entirely unnatural. It made her ears hurt.

“Yes, Master,” Phane said, rising to face the Taker’s avatar. As Isabel’s eyesight adjusted, she thought she saw Phane present Hector with an open hand.

“And you have summoned Ravan to collect this soul at the appointed time?”

“Yes, Master.”

Ravan howled as the Taker drew him into the pit and cast him back into the netherworld, screaming.

It turned its gaze on Hector. The silence built to the point of tension before the horrible voice spoke again.

“Do you offer me your soul willingly?”

There was a long pause.

“Yes,” Hector croaked, a tremor of fear running through his voice.

“I will return Horace to the world of time and substance for the duration of your natural life in exchange for your soul at the moment of your death. Do you agree to these terms?”

Isabel tried to shout, struggling to slip free of her shackles, but she was helpless to intervene.

“Yes,” Hector said, a bit more confidently.

Isabel slumped to her knees, weeping.

“Bargain struck!” it said, its voice taking on a deeper, more powerful and authoritative tone. A moment later the ground shook as if the world itself had been struck like a bell. The tremor didn’t last long, but Isabel was certain that everyone in the entire Seven Isles had felt it.

The darkness receded into the pit and the torches burst into flame once again, flooding the well with flickering light. It took a moment for Isabel’s eyes to adjust. What she saw made her cry out silently, recoiling from the results of Phane’s conjuring. New fear coursed through her as she realized what the Reishi Prince had just done.

Phane tipped his head back and laughed out loud even as the rest of the people in the well fell deathly silent.

Floating in the center of the circle surrounding the pit was Horace.

He was a shade.

“Hello, Brother,” Horace said in a voice that sounded much like it had in life but with a whining raspy quality to it.

“What have you done?” Hector demanded, turning to Phane with a look of horror and betrayal.

Phane laughed at him, guffawing at his distress.

“You just made it too easy, Hector. And thanks to you, I now have a shade of my very own.”

Hector stared at him in disbelief for a moment, his mind seeming to work through the enormity of Phane’s betrayal. It didn’t take long for him to reach a decision. He brought the axe blade up toward his throat, but not quickly enough. Phane snatched the weapon from his hand with his magic and pulled it to him. Hector transformed into vapor and began to drift away.

“Sorcery? Really?” Phane said mockingly, reaching out with his hand as if grasping something. He yanked his closed fist back toward himself and Hector reverted to his material form, standing stock-still, his arms bound to his sides by Phane’s magic.

“You can’t escape me, Hector,” he said, producing a slave collar from his robes and sending it floating across the distance to snap in place around Hector’s neck.

“Sleep,” he said, and Hector slumped to the ground, unconscious. Phane lifted him with his magic and placed him in the casket waiting behind him, closing the lid with a flourish and chuckling to himself as he turned back to Horace.

“You will remain in the world of time and substance for as long as your brother remains alive. Submit to my will, bind yourself to my command, and I will ensure that he lives for centuries, and you with him. Refuse, and I will kill him, sending you both back into darkness.”

Horace seemed to rail against the choice he’d been given, but finally said, “I submit to your will.”

“Very good,” Phane said. “I trust you won’t mind if I proceed with the binding spell then.”

Horace shrieked in protest.

Phane laughed. “Did you expect me to take your word for it? Submit or die.”

Horace thrashed against the magical barrier for a few moments.

Phane smiled at his distress.

“I will submit to the binding,” Horace mewled.

“I knew you’d come around,” Phane said. “This will only take a few minutes.”

He began chanting again, filling the night air with words of hate and fear. A haze of shadow began to form around him. As it grew more distinct, it began to flow in a stream toward Horace, engulfing the shade with dark magic that looked like bindings made of black cords. Once they had wrapped tightly around him, they faded from sight.

“Horace, take this offering,” Phane commanded, presenting the young man still kneeling at his feet with an open hand.

Horace floated quickly toward his victim as the man tried to stand, suddenly aware of the part he was to play in the ritual, but it did him no good. Horace had him before he got one foot under himself.

“It feels good to be back,” he said.

“I imagine it does,” Phane said. “I command you to prevent the shade Rankosi from killing any more of my men. Fight him for possession every time he tries to take someone. Keep him in the aether.”

Horace snarled a curse, then turned and walked the young man into the pit, his shadowy form floating away into the night a moment later, leaving his victim screaming as he fell.

Chapter 23

Alexander slipped off the wyvern, motioning for Ratagan to stay in the saddle. He’d intended to remain in New Ruatha overnight, but after learning of Peti’s plan and seeing the consequences of Zuhl’s horde unleashed on the people of Fellenden, he’d taken only enough time to visit Anatoly and make arrangements to send him help before departing for the Gate.

He’d spent the flight from New Ruatha watching the sun slide toward the horizon and silently exhorting Ratagan to fly faster, even though he knew that his Sky Knight escorts were making best speed. When he wasn’t willing the wyverns to fly faster, he was fretting over the possibility that Peti would launch an attack into Ruatha or Ithilian with part of her new army. Quite suddenly, Phane had become of secondary concern, at least for the moment.

He trotted to the controls on the side of the Gate and opened it to the Reishi Isle, staggering back a few steps, a little thrill of fear coursing through him at what he saw. Zora was curled up on the Gate platform, one ice-blue eye opening a moment after the Gate did. Horst and Ratagan’s wyverns launched into the sky with yelps of fear. Zora went from sleeping to crouched like a cat in an instant, her giant head facing Alexander squarely, her eyes measuring him, a snort of breath sending another chill racing up his spine.

He held his arms out to his sides, palms open in a show of peace.

“My name is Alexander Reishi. You must be Zora.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.

“I’ve come to help free Ixabrax.”

Her eyes shifted to the Thinblade on his hip.

“You will wait,” she said, tipping her head back and roaring. Wyverns scattered from their perches atop the wall surrounding the Reishi Keep.

Moments later, soldiers and witches began to converge on the Gate. Alexander nodded to himself. What better guard dog than a dragon, he thought. Abigail arrived a few minutes later with Magda.

“Alexander!” she shouted, running toward the Gate, racing right past Zora and hugging her brother.

“Dear Maker, I’ve missed you,” she said, holding on to him like he might not be real.

“I’ve missed you too, Abby.”

She glanced around past his shoulder, then stepped back looking this way and that with a hint of fear.

“Where’s Jack?”

Alexander smiled, opening the door to his Wizard’s Den with a gesture.

Jack looked up from his desk and smiled, rising to his feet as Abigail rushed to him.

Magda stopped several feet away, smiling at the sight of Abigail and Jack’s reunion, before turning and nodding deferentially to Alexander.

“It’s good to see you, Magda. How’s she been?” he said, motioning toward his sister.

Magda paused to consider her answer for a moment.

“She’s proven herself to be a leader worth following.”

Jataan had silently taken his place just behind and to Alexander’s left with Lita next to him. He was eyeing the dragon warily.

“Mistress Magda,” Lita said, smiling warmly.

“I hear you’ve had quite the adventure,” Magda said.

“I can’t wait to tell you all about it,” Lita said, suddenly excited.

Anja walked right past them all and straight up to Zora, stopping not five feet from her snout.

“Hello,” she said.

Zora blinked, sniffing the air and then frowning.

“Why have you taken the form of a human?”

Anja shrugged. “It’s easier to live among them if you look like one of them.”

“Why would you choose to live among them?” Zora asked, looking genuinely perplexed.

“Because I love him,” Anja said, looking back over her shoulder at Alexander.

Zora looked at Alexander, then back at Anja, frowning deeply.

“You’re bound to this one?” she asked.

“I am.”

“And your mother permitted him to live?”

“He saved my life before I was even born,” Anja said. “My mother was grateful.”

“She should have eaten him before your attachment had time to deepen,” Zora said.

“No!” Anja said. “Why would she do such a thing?”

Zora sighed. “It would have saved you great pain. In time, you will come to see the truth, Child. But it’s not my place to teach you those lessons.”

Horst and Ratagan landed gently several dozen feet from the Gate, their wyverns visibly agitated by Zora’s presence.

Magda turned to the dragon.

“May I ask that you withdraw from the Gate to allow these Sky Knights to bring their wyverns through?”

She ignored Magda, her catlike eyes still fixed on Anja.

“Will these humans do as they say? Will they help free my mate?”

Anja smiled as she laid her hand on Zora’s snout.

“Yes, they will.”

“Very well,” Zora said, launching into the sky with a whoosh. Anja watched her take flight with a wistful smile.

Abigail and Jack emerged from the Wizard’s Den holding hands. Chloe buzzed into view in a ball of light and flew in an orbit around their heads, giggling all the while, before vanishing again.

Anja walked straight up to Abigail and then looked pointedly at Alexander.

He smiled, nodding to himself. “Anja, this is my sister Abigail. Abby, this is Anja.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Anja said.

Abigail cocked her head and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“You should be flattered,” Jack said. “She’s not usually this polite.”

Anja made a face at him, then turned to Alexander. “So this is your castle?” she asked, walking to the edge of the Gate platform and stopping to take in the Reishi Keep.

Alexander had to admit to himself that it was a majestic sight with the last light of the day reflecting off its towers and Zora circling overhead.

“I guess so,” he said.

Once Ratagan and Horst had led their wyverns through the Gate, Alexander closed it. A moment later, Commander Perry stepped forward from the crowd of soldiers and witches that had gathered.

“Lord Reishi,” he said, saluting crisply.

“Commander Perry, I’d like to convene a war council within the hour.”

“I’ll see to the arrangements myself,” Perry said, turning on his heel and calling two of his officers to him with a gesture, then disappearing into the crowd of soldiers.

“Ratagan, is your wyvern up to another quick flight?” Alexander asked, pointing to the top of the three towers rising out of the heart of the Reishi Keep.

“Of course,” Ratagan said.

“What are you doing?” Anja asked.

“I have to turn off the Gates.”

“Oh,” she said, frowning as she looked up at the towers. “Well, I want to go with you.”

“Me too,” Abigail said.

“I’m just going to turn off the Gates,” he said.

“And we’re going with you,” Abigail said. “Open the door.”

“All right,” Alexander said, shaking his head and opening his Wizard’s Den.

A few minutes later, Ratagan launched into the sky, gaining altitude with each powerful stroke of his wyvern’s wings. He landed gently on the highest bridge spanning the distance between two of the towers.

“We won’t be long,” Alexander said, dismounting and opening his Wizard’s Den. Everyone filed out onto the bridge.

“Huh,” Jack said, looking out toward the smudge of light on the horizon left by the setting sun. “Somehow, the view from up here seems more peaceful than it did last time.”

“Maybe that’s because we don’t have a bunch of people trying to kill us right now,” Alexander said, patting him on the shoulder in passing as he entered the Keep. It was cold and dark, altogether lifeless. Just as he’d left it. He knew that the tentacle demon was still lurking within, but it was far from the top of the towers. Aside from that, Perry’s men had cleared most, if not all, of the unwelcome inhabitants.

Alexander led the way up the stairs, passing through several levels, all as vacant as the last, before he reached the broken door to the Gate room. It seemed so anticlimactic. From the moment he’d learned that Peti had possessed Abel, he’d been terrified that the witch would send her armies into the rest of the Seven Isles and plunge the world into a frenzy of slaughter and carnage. As he touched the control and deactivated the Gate system, tension seemed to drain from him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, turning his mind to the next threat.

The next enemy he planned to face was the tentacle demon that had taken up residence in the Reishi Keep’s throne room. Its presence posed a constant threat to the soldiers garrisoned there, limited their access to the Keep, and stood in the way of Alexander reaching the lower levels where the Sovereign’s library was located. Once there, Alexander would be able to take command of the Keep’s magic and defenses, much as he had with Blackstone Keep.

While all of those reasons were important, they were not the real reason he needed to face the tentacle demon. Central in his mind was Azugorath. His ability to defeat her was a constant question, a nagging source of doubt and trepidation. If he went against her and fell, all would be lost, yet he knew without doubt that he would confront her, no matter the risk.

The tentacle demon would be a test of Luminessence. Of all the creatures born of darkness that Alexander had ever faced, this demon seemed the most formidable, dangerous, and undefeatable to him. He could still vividly remember how quickly and powerfully it could move, how wide its fang-lined mouth could open, and how caustic the acid oozing from its tentacles was.

Even with all of his magical sight, even armed with the Thinblade, he knew that he would die if he faced the tentacle demon in open battle. But … if Luminessence could banish it, then there was a good chance its light could send Azugorath back to the netherworld as well.

“I thought this place would be more interesting,” Anja said, running her finger along the edge of the podium that housed the master controls for the entire Reishi Gate system.

Alexander chuckled. “Come on, let’s go have a war council.”

***

Alexander scanned the officers and witches present in the large tent that Perry had hastily transformed into a council chamber. A series of field tables, set up end to end, occupied the center of the tent with chairs lined up against both of the longer walls. Magda, Cassandra, Commander Perry, Wizards Dinh and Jahoda, as well as nearly two dozen witches that Alexander had never met, sat at the table along with a number of Perry’s officers. Horst and Ratagan sat along the walls with several of the ranking sergeants under Perry’s command.

Most of the people present were exactly as they appeared. While many possessed the vibrant and rich colors that Alexander had long ago learned to associate with magic, all but two had the colors of good, decent people who were dedicated to protecting the world from the likes of Phane and Zuhl.

Two of the sergeants stood out. Their colors were dark and cloudy, filled with malice and deceit. Each sat in a chair along the walls of the tent close to the end of the table where Alexander’s chair was placed.

Commander Perry stood when Alexander entered, followed by the soldiers under his command and the witches. Alexander waved for them to sit back down, finding himself a bit flustered by the deference he was given, especially here in the field.

“Lord Reishi,” Commander Perry said, still standing. “All key personnel are present and accounted for.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Alexander said, making his way to the head of the table, his sight more focused on the two unwelcome guests than anything else. Abigail took the chair to his right. Perry was already in the chair to his left.

Anja walked right up to the commander and looked him in the eye for a moment like she expected him to move. When he just frowned back at her she leaned in.

“You’re in my chair.”

He looked to Alexander, who shrugged helplessly.

Jack leaned in and whispered to Abigail, “Told you she’s not always that polite.”

“My apologies,” Commander Perry said, moving to the next chair down the table.

Jataan took up his position behind Alexander and just to his left, his dark eyes scanning the room for any hint of threat. More often than not, Alexander thought his diligence was a bit overdone, especially in settings like this, but today he felt differently. The two men with dark colors were scarcely more than ten feet away on either side. Without Jataan at his post, if they attacked in unison, one might get through. With the Commander of the Reishi Protectorate standing watch, Alexander doubted he would even have time to get up before they were both dead.

That provided some measure of flexibility. If they were assassins, they would make their move soon enough. If not, then they were spies. Alexander was thinking furiously how he might use them to mislead Zuhl, or whoever they worked for, when his battle sight came to life.

Both men surged to their feet in unison, drawing long daggers as one and lunging toward him, catching him between them … except that Alexander saw their attack one precious moment before it actually happened. By the time the man to his right had drawn his dagger and raised it to strike, Alexander had bolted to his feet, drawn the Thinblade and taken his hand off at the wrist, bringing the flat of his sword down on the man’s shoulder.

“On your knees.”

The second man had risen to his feet in the same moment as the first, but by the time he was standing with his dagger in hand, Alexander was well out of range and Jataan was standing in front of him, his hands empty and at his sides.

“Drop it,” he said.

The man looked around a bit frantically, then lunged at Jataan, the tip of his blade driving straight at Commander P’Tal’s heart, but the commander wasn’t there when the blade arrived. He slipped to the side and drove the point of a dagger that quite suddenly appeared in his hand into the soft spot just behind the man’s ear.

The entire fight lasted all of six or seven seconds, just long enough for every witch at the table to begin casting a spell, then stop when they realized that the threat had been eliminated.

“Who sent you?” Alexander asked.

The man shook his head defiantly.

“I can always take your other hand,” Alexander said.

“Or your head, for that matter,” Abigail said, stepping up next to Alexander with her Thinblade drawn and pointing at the one-handed prisoner.

“He’ll kill me.”

“And you think we won’t?” Abigail said, snorting derisively.

“Commander Perry, how long have these two men been under your command?” Alexander asked.

“They arrived with the last supply shipment from Ithilian, about three weeks ago.”

“Or they infiltrated at the same time to cover their arrival,” Alexander said.

“That’s more likely,” Perry said. “My apologies, Lord Reishi. Until now, these men have proven to be two of my best sergeants.”

Alexander turned his attention back to the man before him. His severed hand still gripped the dagger meant for Alexander and the stump of his arm oozed blood, yet the man didn’t whimper or cry, though he was trembling.

“Are you a spy or an assassin?”

He didn’t answer, but his colors shifted.

“Both then, huh? A spy until the right target presented itself.”

He looked at Alexander, shaking his head slightly. “How did you do that? Get out of my head!”

“Was it just you and this other guy?” Alexander asked, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

The man didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to, his colors told enough truth for Alexander to know the answer. He nodded to himself, sighing slightly before he took the man’s head with a flick of the Thinblade. The room fell silent, all eyes on him. He cleaned his sword and put it away before returning to his chair.

“It was just the two of them, at least as far as he knew,” Alexander said. “Commander, would you have them removed, please?”

“You knew they were dangerous, didn’t you?” Anja said.

“I did.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked.

“I was trying to see if I could use them to deliver bad information to Zuhl—make him do a little dance for me.”

Jack started laughing as he scribbled in his notebook.

Anja huffed. “War should really be more about fighting and less about lying.”

He shrugged helplessly.

As the corpses were carried from the room, all eyes turned to Alexander. He spent the better part of an hour detailing the state of the world as he knew it. While much of what he had to say was already known by many at the table, and not all of his report was relevant to the immediate operations they were planning, Alexander felt it was important for the witches in particular to be as well-informed as possible. Given their mobility, they could easily find themselves fighting in any of the many battles yet to be fought all across the Seven Isles. The better their understanding of the strategic threats and objectives on each isle, the more effective they would be.

Abigail spoke next, recounting in terrifying detail her running battle with Peti and how she’d been pressed into assisting Zora. Listening to her account of the negotiation she’d had with the dragon, Alexander couldn’t help but smile. In many ways, Abigail had just turned the tide against Zuhl. A dragon as a willing and motivated ally was formidable beyond words. Two dragons could win a war.

When she finished, Alexander nodded to Commander Perry to deliver his report.

“The wall is complete and the Keep is mostly cleared, except for the inner and lower chambers which are still inaccessible due to the tentacle demon.

“My scouts tell me that Zuhl has massed a sizable force near the Nether Gate with more soldiers arriving daily. We’ve spotted a few of his scouting parties near the Keep but they withdraw when challenged.

“Additionally, he has another smaller encampment on the northern coast which appears to be a staging area. His ships arrive periodically to unload men and supplies, then leave immediately.

“We’ve developed good relations with the indigenous people. While Rentu still insists that Lady Reishi should have remained here, he and his people have been very helpful in providing information and acting as guides for my scouts.

“About a week ago, I received a report that another group expressing an interest in the Nether Gate made contact with Rentu’s people. Their leader is named Trajan and apparently he isn’t entirely mentally stable. I’ve sent scouts to search him out and formalize an alliance, but he’s proven to be quite elusive.”

“I’ll bet,” Alexander said. “I know who he is, and from what I know about him, he isn’t likely to respond to reason.”

“Should we continue to search for him?” Perry asked.

“No,” Alexander said, shaking his head as he considered how to best use Trajan Karth and the cursed bone that was driving him to madness. “If I had to guess, I’d say he came here to destroy the Nether Gate, and I’m inclined to help him do that, but sending soldiers to find him will just push him deeper into the shadows. I’ll talk to Rentu and see if he’ll act as an intermediary for us.”

“Very well,” Perry said. “I’ll leave him to you. I’m concerned about Zuhl’s soldiers. He already outnumbers us by a large margin and more men continue to arrive. Eventually, I fear he’ll turn his attention to the Keep.”

“I suspect that we’ll have to fight him over the Nether Gate first,” Alexander said. “I’ll have Erik and Duane bring their legions here as soon as they finish up with Rake’s men. That’ll bolster your security and provide us with the force strength we need to mount an attack.”

“Which leads me to my next concern,” Perry said. “The periphery of the Keep is secure, but the inner chambers are still inhabited by the tentacle demon. While it hasn’t shown any interest in venturing forth, it has killed a number of men that got too close to the throne room.”

“If all goes as planned, it’ll be dead by sundown tomorrow,” Alexander said.

“You intend to confront it?” Magda asked.

Alexander nodded. “We’ll go in at dawn, kill the demon, and find the library. From there I can claim control over the Keep. I’m hoping that once I do, I’ll be able to use my clairvoyance within the fortress islands to figure out the best way to get to Ixabrax.”

“Are you certain that you can defeat this demon?” Cassandra asked.

“Not really,” Alexander said, shaking his head.

“Maybe one of the arrows Kelvin sent me can kill it,” Abigail said.

“I wouldn’t mind having that as a backup,” Alexander said.

“I would urge caution, Lord Reishi,” Perry said. “The few soldiers who have survived encounters with it report that it is frighteningly formidable.”

“I’ve been face-to-face with it, Commander, so believe me when I tell you that I’m not making this decision lightly.

“The day after tomorrow, we’ll rendezvous with Bianca and her flight. The day after that, we’ll assault Zuhl’s fortress island. Our first priority is to free the dragon. After that, we’ll kill Zuhl’s simulacrum, sink his ships, take the island and kill his troops, or as much of that as we can manage anyway.

“If we’re successful, his soldiers at the Nether Gate will be cut off and we can start thinking about a plan to eliminate them as well. Does anyone have anything to add?”

“I’ve just received word that the young woman named Wren has arrived safely at the fortress island with Kiera,” Cassandra said.

“Isabel will be happy to hear that,” Alexander said, pushing away from the table and standing. “Oh, Wizard Jahoda, I’d like you to return to Ruatha to help with the excavation of Blackstone’s ruins. Your talents with stone make you the ideal person for the job.”

“I’ll be ready to depart at dawn,” Jahoda said.

“Good,” Alexander said, turning to Abigail and opening his Wizard’s Den. “I’m going to have a look around and maybe talk to the sovereigns. After that, I thought we could catch up. It feels like I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“I’d like that,” Abigail said.

“May I ask a favor?” Magda said, a bit hesitantly.

“Sure,” Alexander said.

Magda produced a figurine of a wyvern. “This is my steed, Taharial. He was transformed into this paperweight by Peti. I’d like to change him back but I don’t know how. Perhaps the sovereigns might have some insight that would spare me months of research.”

“I’ll ask. I’m sure they’ll be able to steer us in the right direction.”

Chapter 24

Alexander thought of Isabel and found himself floating over one of many enclosed wagons in the center of a legion of soldiers traveling toward the coast of Karth along a well-trodden jungle road. He moved inside the wagon and found Isabel alone and staring out the window. The look of worry creasing her brow tugged at his heart. He wanted to take all of her angst and fear away, but was powerless to do so. He appeared in the seat across from her.

“Hi,” he said.

She forced a smile past her anxiety.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, struggling to hold back tears.

“I know how you feel.”

“I’m afraid, Alexander. So much has happened. It feels like we’re losing.” Tears began to flow down her cheeks.

“Isabel … you’re a prisoner of the enemy and he only tells you what he wants you to know. Of course it looks like we’re losing from where you’re sitting, but we’re not.”

He held her eyes firmly, willing her to find her courage. She sniffed, wiping her cheeks.

“Talia is mounting an invasion of northern Andalia, and our fathers have chased the Lancers back into Warrenton. Rake is dead, and your brothers have his men on the run. Abigail has managed to convince a dragon to fight with us, and I’ve buried the Nether Gate under a thousand tons of rock. Also, Wren has arrived at the fortress island … she’s safe.” He didn’t mention the invasion of Fellenden, the destruction of Blackstone Keep, or Peti’s usurpation of Zuhl’s army. Isabel had enough to fret about without him adding to her worries.

She nodded, detaching herself from her emotions, her colors changing subtly as she refocused her mind.

“That’s all good news, but Phane’s been busy too,” she said. “He’s figured out how to use lesser wraith to power his wraithkin so he can free up Azugorath to focus all of her energies on me, and it’s working. I can feel her strength growing and her attacks are becoming harder and harder to resist. I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time. And that’s not the worst of it.”

“Tell me,” he said gently, wishing for all the world that he could touch her.

“Phane has the final keystone,” she said like a pronouncement of doom. “We’re headed for the Nether Gate right now.”

“We knew it was only a matter of time,” Alexander said. “Honestly, I think that helps us.”

“How can you possibly say that?”

He sighed. “I wish I could explain my thinking in detail, but I can’t risk Phane learning our plans.”

She nodded, looking down at her feet for several moments.

“He made Horace into a shade,” she whispered.

Alexander closed his eyes, a thrill of fear and revulsion racing through him. Of all the things she might have said, that was the least expected and the least welcome.

“And he used me to do it.”

“Oh, Dear Maker, Isabel, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

“Not really,” she said. “Somehow he’s figured out how to access the darkness within me and use it for his purposes … and there’s nothing I can do about it , except—”

The despair and hopelessness he saw in her colors finished the sentence for her. The thought of losing her, that she might take her own life, was beyond his ability to bear. He could take a great deal of pain and suffering, more than most, he suspected, but not that.

“Isabel! Listen to me. You have to hold on. You have to fight, no matter what.”

“But he’s using me to—” She started crying again, pulling her knees up to her chest and holding them against herself tightly. “How can I let him use me to hurt people?”

“I need you to focus,” he said intently. “I know you’re afraid, but I need you to tell me exactly how he turned Horace into a shade.” It broke his heart to see her this way. As much as he genuinely needed to know the details of Horace’s transformation, he wanted to give her a reason to distance herself from her emotions even more, to remind her that her training as a witch gave her the power to step back from her feelings and impose her will on her emotions rather than letting them control her.

“Hector sold his soul to the Taker in exchange for Horace’s life,” she said, snorting derisively. “I tried to reason with him. I tried to tell him that Phane was betraying him, but he wouldn’t listen. He was more willing to believe a lie that he wanted to believe than a truth that he didn’t want to be true.”

“So Hector’s dead, then?”

“No … the Taker said that Horace would live for as long as Hector does. That’s when Phane collared him, put him to sleep and locked him in a box. And now, Horace will do whatever Phane tells him to. The bastard has his very own shade.”

Alexander paused, his mind reeling at the implications.

“What?” she said, her curiosity momentarily overcoming her despair.

“Are you sure he said that? Are you sure Horace will die when Hector dies?”

She nodded, a frown of confusion furrowing her brow.

“I wish I could kiss you right now,” he said, smiling broadly. “I think you just gave me exactly what I need.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll tell you all about it some other time, I promise.”

She sniffed again, some of her characteristic confidence returning to her colors.

“Tell me you have a plan,” she said.

“I have a plan—several, in fact. So how did Phane get the box open? Did Lacy help him?”

“No, she fought him every step of the way. She’s got more courage than I gave her credit for.”

“So she’s still alive then?”

“She is. She’s in one of the other wagons.”

He nodded to himself.

“She actually stabbed Phane,” Isabel said with a hint of mirth. “I managed to gain access to the light and hit him with my Maker’s light spell. He was dazed for a few seconds. Really, I think he got his first taste of conscience and didn’t know how to handle the guilt and shame. Lacy didn’t hesitate for a second.”

“Sounds like you admire her.”

“I do. I have magic and training—she grew up a pampered princess. All things considered, she’s impressed me, but more than that, we’ve become friends.”

“Good. I’m glad you have a friend and ally close at hand. There may come a time when you need each other.”

“Phane’s been keeping us apart since we tried to kill him, and he put this around my neck.” She tapped the Andalian slave collar.

“You didn’t get the ring I sent?”

She smiled, leaning in close to whisper, “Slyder has it.”

“Sounds like you might get another chance at Phane then.”

“I hope so,” she said.

“I love you, Isabel. And I need you. Remember that always.”

She nodded. “I love you, too.”

He slipped back into the firmament and thought of Wyatt, finding him in a cave with Ayela and a few dozen of her soldiers. They were standing around a table littered with maps, discussing the insanity of assaulting the fortress city.

An older-looking man shook his head, clenching his jaw. “This is madness. The Regency stronghold is impregnable. Your father would never condone such a reckless attack.”

Alexander appeared at the table opposite Wyatt and Ayela.

Most of the men were startled by his sudden appearance, including the man arguing against an assault.

“Lord Reishi,” Wyatt said. “You’re a welcome sight.”

“How is this possible?” the older man demanded, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Wizardry,” Ayela said, clearly exasperated.

“Wizardry is a crime,” he said.

“It was a crime when the Sin’Rath had their hooks in every man of importance on this isle, but not anymore,” Ayela said.

“And you are?” Alexander asked him, ignoring the tension in the air.

“General Janos, commander of the Karth Army.”

“General, how many men do you command?”

He looked from Alexander to Ayela, seeming a bit confused as to who was in charge.

Ayela sighed wearily. “He has two legions.”

“Good. How soon can you get to the fortress city?”

“Such an attack is suicide,” Janos said, now back on familiar ground.

“Not if Phane is gone,” Alexander said, “and he is.”

“What do you mean?” Janos demanded.

“Phane is headed for the Reishi Isle, along with a legion of his troops. The fortress city is vulnerable.”

“How can you possibly know this?” Janos said, uncertainty creeping into his demeanor.

“The same way I’m standing here talking with you when I’m really half a world away,” Alexander said, continuing before Janos could respond. “I understand that all of this is difficult for you to accept, General, but I need your help. Now, how quickly can your forces be ready to attack the fortress city?”

He hesitated, frowning deeply before answering. “A week, ten days at the outside, but—”

“Good,” Alexander said. “Get them moving in that direction.”

“I do not answer to you,” Janos said. “Severine Karth is my king.”

“I see that you humans are still bickering,” Tasia said from the entrance to the cave. She walked to the table gingerly, favoring her side.

“It’s good to see that you’re healing, Tasia,” Alexander said.

“And Anja?”

“She’s safe and well. If everything goes according to plan, you’ll be seeing her in about a week.”

“How so?” Tasia asked.

“I’m coming to Karth to lead the assault against the fortress city,” Alexander said, turning to Ayela and Wyatt. “Which brings me to my next question. Can you take the Gate by then?”

“I don’t see why not,” Wyatt said. “Last report had the garrison there at just over a hundred men.”

“The Gate?” Janos said. “Why would we bother with the Gate? It doesn’t even work anymore.”

Alexander ignored him. “Be ready, Wyatt. I expect to come through in about a week.”

“It’ll be good to see you, Lord Reishi.”

“Severine Karth would never agree to any of this,” Janos said.

“My father isn’t here,” Ayela said. “This is what needs to be done, General.”

He clenched his jaw, frowning deeply before slowly shaking his head.

“I am the commander of Karth’s legions. My men will disperse into the jungle to defend our homes and our people. We should never have gathered here in the first place.”

Alexander turned toward him, stepping into his space. “The Seven Isles is at war, General, and you have a choice to make. You can serve the Old Law, you can serve the darkness, or you can go home. But whatever choice you make, your soldiers are going to attack the fortress city.”

The rest of the men in the cave had all turned to watch the confrontation, a few of them whispering amongst themselves.

“My men will follow my orders, and I say we’re not doing any of this,” Janos said.

Alexander regarded the man for several moments, evaluating his colors and finding him to be a decent man, though not overly courageous. Then he said, “Ayela, do you trust Wyatt?”

“Yes, with my life,” she said, taking Wyatt’s hand.

“Do your men respect him?”

“I believe they do.”

“Good. Wyatt, I’m promoting you to the rank of general and assigning you to command Karth’s legions. You will serve the Old Law and the House of Karth. Do you understand?”

“You can’t do this!” Janos said, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.

“Don’t be stupid, Human,” Tasia said.

“Stop calling me that,” Janos said, his composure beginning to fray. “You’re as human as I am, Woman. And the idea that any of you believe she’s really a dragon makes you just as crazy as she is. We’re done here. My soldiers are going back to their posts.”

He turned and strode toward the door. Alexander appeared in front of him. Janos stopped in his tracks, blinking a few times before looking back at the table where Alexander had been standing an instant before.

“How?”

“You are dismissed, General. If you attempt to interfere with our plans, you will be detained.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said, giving Alexander a wide berth on his way to the entrance.

“Is he going to be a problem?” Alexander asked.

“I doubt it,” Ayela said, turning to two of her men. “Bring him back before he can send our army packing.” The men left without a word.

“In that case, I’ll see you both in about a week,” Alexander said, pausing for a moment. “Oh, I almost forgot. Trajan is on the Reishi Isle with a number of his men.”

“Thank you, Lord Reishi. I’ve been worried about him.”

“See you soon,” he said, fading into the firmament. He thought of Lucky and found him just sitting down to a bowl of steaming hot stew with Kelvin.

“Alexander, it’s good to see you,” Lucky said. “I’d offer you a bowl, but well, you know.”

“We’ve just received word of your victory over Rake and his brigands,” Kelvin said. “It would seem that northern Ruatha is nearly secure.”

“I’m not sure I’d count it as a victory,” Alexander said. “Blackstone’s destruction is a great loss.”

“Not nearly as great a loss as New Ruatha would have been,” Kelvin said. “You saved lives, Alexander. A keep, even one as impressive as Blackstone, can be rebuilt.”

“I know, but it still galls me. If I’d arrived a day earlier, I might have been able to save it.”

Lucky gave him the smile that said he expected Alexander to arrive at the correct answer without help from his tutor.

“I know, deal in what is,” Alexander said. “I need you to send me some things.”

“All right,” Lucky said, “what do you need?”

“First, I need a healing draught capable of mending an injured dragon.”

“Is Anja wounded?” Kelvin asked with a hint of fear in his voice.

“No, Anja’s just fine. Tasia, the dragon helping Wyatt and Ayela, was injured and her wounds are healing slowly.”

Lucky frowned, thinking for a moment. “Was she wounded in her true form?”

“Yes, she was fighting another dragon possessed by the shade.”

“I see … that complicates things a bit.”

“How so?” Alexander asked.

“If her injuries were sustained in human form, she could be healed by a normal potion, but since the injuries were to her true form, the magic to heal her will have to be more potent. Nonetheless, I’m sure I can come up with something.”

“Thank you, Lucky. If I can speed her recovery, it’ll make it that much easier to take the fortress city.”

“You’re going to attack Phane in his keep?” Kelvin asked, new worry in his voice.

“No, Phane is on his way to the Reishi Isle and the Nether Gate,” Alexander said. “I’m going to kill Azugorath while he’s away and then I’m going to go get my wife.”

“Ah, and how is Isabel?” Lucky asked.

“Well enough, all things considered,” he said, not wanting to go into detail about her despair and suffering, more to spare himself from having to think about it than anything else.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Lucky said. “I may have something else that will help, though I wanted to talk to you before I had it delivered. I’ve developed a potion that will let Anja transform from dragon into human form. I have three of them, if you want them.”

“Huh—” Alexander paused to consider the ramifications of the magic that Lucky was offering.

“I haven’t been able to convince her to go home, and she would be safer, and more formidable in a fight, in her true form. Might as well give her the option.”

“Is there anything else we can do?” Kelvin asked.

“It looks like Phane and Zuhl are headed for a fight over the Nether Gate. I’d like to have as much power on the Reishi Isle as we can bring to bear when that happens. With any luck, one or the other of them will die in the fight and leave the survivor weak enough for us to take down.”

“I’ll see to it,” Kelvin said. “You’ll have every enchanted item and wizard I can send.”

“Good. Erik and Duane will be headed for the Gate soon. Have your people meet them there,” Alexander said, pausing and looking down for a moment. “There’s one other thing I need, Lucky.” He told them both of the invasion of Fellenden and Peti’s control over Zuhl’s army, then revealed his plan for defeating them. Lucky and Kelvin both fell deathly silent before Lucky nodded to himself.

“I’ll send it, of course. But I know you well enough to know that if you do this, it will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“I know,” Alexander whispered, “but I’m not sure I have another choice.”

“Try to find another way, for your own sake,” Lucky said. “I’ll send a number of other potions as well.”

“I’ve been concentrating on enchanting arrows and slingshot bullets for use against the Lancers,” Kelvin said. “I’ll send what I have along with the last two of the smaller explosive weapons.”

“Good. If we can get Phane and Zuhl on the same battlefield at the same time, that will be our best chance of ending this war. I want to be as ready as possible.”

“We will be, Alexander,” Kelvin said.

“Take care of yourself,” Lucky said.

“I will,” Alexander said, fading out of sight.

Next he found Erik and Duane in a command tent looking at a map of northern Ruatha.

“How goes the war?” he asked.

Both men looked up, a bit startled by his sudden presence.

“One of these days I’m going to get used to that,” Erik said.

“Speak for yourself,” Duane said.

“Rake’s men are scattered and on the run,” Erik said, giving his brother a sidelong smile. “We have a number of platoon-sized units scouring the countryside for the few that remain.”

“Do they still pose a threat?

“Not really, at least not a big threat,” Erik said. “Although I wouldn’t want to be living in a small village if a group of them came upon it.”

“Well done,” Alexander said. “Leave a detachment here to clean up and bring the bulk of your forces to the Gate.”

“Where are we going?” Duane asked.

“The Reishi Isle. Looks like we’re going to have a battle over the Nether Gate, and soon.”

Both men nodded.

“We’ll be on the road within the hour,” Erik said.

“Good man. I’ll open the Gate for you in a few days.”

He vanished, thinking of Captain Targa and finding him on the bridge of his ship.

“Hello, Captain.”

Several sailors drew weapons at his sudden appearance, but sheathed them again just as quickly when Targa waved them off.

“Lord Reishi, Regent Alaric told me to expect you to appear on my deck,” Targa said. “We’re a few days from the fortress island.”

“Good. I expect to attack in three days. Bring your fleet as close as you can without drawing attention. I’ll visit again when the Sky Knights are ready and I have a better idea of what we face.”

“Very good, Lord Reishi.”

Alexander thought of Rentu and found him sitting next to a fire, staring into the flames, deep in thought. Alexander appeared across from him. Rentu didn’t seem startled in the least. In fact, he seemed to be expecting Alexander’s arrival.

“Hello, Alexander,” he said, his pronunciation a bit off but still understandable.

“I was wondering how we were going to talk without a common language,” Alexander said.

“Wizard Dinh taught me your words.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Commander Perry tells me that you’ve been scouting for him.”

Rentu nodded somberly. “A great darkness is coming to our forest. My dreams are haunted by it and I’m powerless to protect my people against it.”

“You’re not alone, Rentu,” Alexander said. “We’ll fight this darkness with you.”

“This I have seen as well. We shared a dream once. We saw a terrible battle fought where the land meets the water. That dream is gone. Instead, I see a place that I am unfamiliar with, except that it’s here in our forest. How could that be, Alexander? I know this forest well, and yet I have never seen this place.”

“I don’t know. Can you describe it to me?”

“It is a level field strewn with rocks. There are no trees, no grass, no life—just dirt and stone. On one side there is a door to the darkness. On the other side there is a great light, but it is not shining. Four armies meet in this place. Their battle shakes the world, but I see many outcomes and I do not know which one is true.”

Alexander considered his words carefully. Rentu lived a primitive life, but Alexander knew from personal experience that his dreams offered a glimpse into the future.

“There will be a battle here,” Alexander said. “But it will probably be fought in the mountains where the enemy is camped.”

Rentu shook his head, dismissing Alexander’s assertion without comment.

“Perry tells me you’ve made contact with a man named Trajan,” Alexander said.

“Yes. His mind burns with madness.”

“Can you find him?”

“Perhaps.”

“Will you deliver a message for me?”

“I fear him,” Rentu said without looking away from the fire. “I cannot see him in my dreams. I do not know his heart.”

Alexander nodded. “The bone club he carries protects him from your dreams and from my sight. As for his heart, he was once a good man but he’s been driven mad. I believe he came here to destroy the doorway to the darkness.”

Rentu stared silently into the fire for several minutes. Alexander let him think.

“What message?” he finally asked.

“I want to offer him an alliance.”

Rentu nodded. “I will try.”

“Thank you, Rentu.”

“There is something else you should know. Your woman will decide the future.”

A thrill of fear coursed through Alexander.

“How?” was all he could manage to whisper.

Rentu shook his head slowly, looking up and holding Alexander’s eyes.

“Light and darkness fight within her.”

“Tell me what you’ve seen.”

“Many things. Many futures. In some dreams she is filled with darkness. It pours out of her like a flood. None can stand before it. In others she is killed. The battle ends in slaughter but nothing is decided. In still others, her light banishes the darkness. I do not know which future will come to pass.”

Alexander felt paralyzed by fear and uncertainty. All of his worry and angst over Isabel’s plight came crashing down on him at once. He lost focus and slammed back into his body. His heart was hammering in his chest and his palms were slick with sweat. He put his face in his hands, struggling to hold back tears.

Chapter 25

“Alex, what’s wrong?” Abigail asked urgently. She was sitting at the table in the Wizard’s Den with Jack, Anja, and Magda. Jataan stood by the open door, ever vigilant.

Alexander shook his head, swallowing the lump in his throat and wiping his eyes before any tears spilled forth.

“Just worried about Isabel,” he managed.

“Is she all right? Did you see her?” Abigail asked.

He nodded, his stomach in a knot.

“She’s doing about as well as can be expected, considering.”

“Tell us,” Abigail said.

He sat silently for a moment, marshaling his courage and resolve, then got up stiffly from his magic circle and sat down at the table. With an effort of will, he tried to detach from his emotions, to step back from his feelings so that he could report on all that had transpired without losing his composure. He talked for several minutes, leaving nothing out. As he spoke, his emotions receded. New questions presented themselves. By the time he finished, he was already thinking about the places and people he would visit next. He had a long list when he’d sat down. Rentu had been just over halfway down that list. There was still so much more to do.

When he stopped talking, his friends fell silent.

“If the future will be decided by Isabel’s heart, then I have great hope for the best of outcomes,” Magda said.

“Me too,” Abigail said.

“She’s holding on by a thread,” Alexander said. “And I keep finding things that I have to do that are more important than rescuing her.” He felt a sick feeling well up in him. Nothing was more important to him than she was, and yet, he’d let her languish in Phane’s clutches.

“Nonsense,” Jack said. “You’ve made the necessary decision at every turn. What’s more, you know it, and so does she.”

“He’s right,” Abigail said. “And you’re not giving her enough credit. She’ll hold on for as long as it takes.”

“I hope you’re right,” he whispered, his gaze scanning the room aimlessly and falling on his strongbox. He frowned, remembering the box he’d recovered from Elred Rake, the one that had been stolen from the third Bloodvault. Renewed curiosity momentarily displaced his worry. What gift had Barnabas Cedric left for him that was so valuable that it was stored inside a box protected by a blood lock which was in turn stored inside a Bloodvault?

He got up and retrieved the box, placing it on the table before him.

“What’s that?” Abigail asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied, trying to take his mind off his worries and happy to have such a worthy distraction. “It was in the third Bloodvault along with Cedric’s war staff.”

“Well … why haven’t you opened it yet?” Abigail asked, leaning forward with interest.

“I’ve had other things on my mind,” he said, with a shrug. “Honestly, I forgot all about it the moment I learned that Zuhl’s army had invaded Fellenden again.”

“So, open it already,” Abigail said.

“Yeah, open it,” Anja echoed.

He nodded, closing the door to his Wizard’s Den with a gesture before he pricked his finger with the tip of Demonrend and squeezed a drop of blood onto his fingertip. After pressing the blood onto the locking mechanism, a faint tingle spread into his hand and up his arm, followed by a momentary buzzing in his head and a click as the lock popped open. He held his breath and carefully lifted the lid.

His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. He sat back in his chair, staring in disbelief at the contents. Chloe buzzed into a ball of light, spinning into the air until she was stopped by the ceiling. She started singing in a high lilting voice, the words in a language that Alexander had never heard as she began flying in an orbit over his head.

“Well, what is it?” Abigail asked, leaning past Jack to see inside the box.

“Dear Maker,” was all Alexander could manage to whisper.

Anja got up and hurried around the table to look in the box, frowning when she saw the contents.

“They look like oversized acorns,” she said. “Why would Mage Cedric leave you nuts?”

“These acorns are from the vitalwood,” Alexander said with a mixture of hope and disbelief. The colors were unmistakable: vibrant, expansive, and filled with life and light. Of all of Mage Cedric’s gifts, this was the most profound. It wouldn’t help Alexander win the war, but these acorns held the promise of a world without war, a world where life was revered and cherished, where people of conscience had real, tangible proof of the Maker’s love, where the lies told by evil people would fall on deaf ears and be met with nothing but laughter and ridicule.

If Alexander could resurrect the vitalwood forests, they would serve as a conduit through which the Maker’s light could shine into the hearts and minds of men, reminding them of their true nature.

“Such a thing is beyond priceless,” Magda said.

All of his friends, even Jataan, were standing behind him looking in wonder at the three acorns.

“I will never forget how it felt to stand in the presence of the vitalwood,” Jack said. “This could tip the balance of power in the world toward the light for all time.”

“Then our enemies will surely try to destroy them,” Jataan said, bringing them all back to the present moment. “You were wise to close the door before you opened that box.”

“He’s right,” Jack said. “Phane, Zuhl, the shades—none of them could succeed in a world filled with vitalwood trees. No one would believe anything they said.”

Alexander gently closed the lid. A muffled click told him that it was locked again. “Huh,” he said, trying, unsuccessfully, to lift the lid again. “I guess I understand why Cedric put them in this box. I don’t think they can be detected when it’s locked.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Magda said, beginning to whisper arcane words under her breath. A few moments later, after her aura swelled with power, she smiled, nodding to herself. “They are beyond my magic. I believe they will remain hidden for as long as they remain within this box.”

“Good,” Alexander said, taking it to his strongbox and locking it inside. He shook his head at the frightful power contained within the steel locker. Most of the items were dark and evil, but the power of the vitalwood acorns surpassed them all. “Let’s keep this a secret … from everybody for the time being.”

His friends all nodded.

“What are you going to do with them?” Anja asked.

“Off the top of my head, I think we should ask Ilona if we can plant them in the Valley of the Fairy Queen. She’d be the best caretaker we can find and she could keep them secret until they grow large enough to produce acorns of their own.”

Chloe laughed. “My mother will be elated. When can we leave?”

Alexander chuckled. “We have a war to win first, Little One. As long as our enemies have power, they’ll be a threat to anything this precious. Bringing the vitalwood back to the Seven Isles will be the most important thing we ever do. We can’t risk failure in this, not for anything.”

Magda smiled wistfully. “I’ve often wondered if those who lived through momentous events in history realized that their deeds would echo into the future, that others, ages hence, would read of their struggles and imagine what it was like to live during those times. As trying as this past year has been, I wouldn’t trade one second of it if it meant that I would have to miss this moment.”

“Well said. I might even have to quote you,” Jack said.

“I needed that,” Alexander said.

“What?” Anja asked.

“Hope,” Alexander said with a smile, returning to his magic circle and sitting back down to meditate. He opened the door as he closed his eyes.

He slipped into the firmament and thought of Torin and found him in one of the port cities on northern Ithilian, organizing the loading of soldiers and supplies into a fleet of ships. There were a few warships, but the majority were merchant ships pressed into service as troop transports. Torin stood on the docks under a hanging lantern, flipping through a sheaf of papers.

Alexander appeared just as a young man trotted up, stopping in his tracks, eyes wide and mouth agape when Alexander materialized out of thin air.

“Hello, Torin.”

“Lord Reishi, you’re an unexpected, but welcome surprise.”

The young man looked from one to the other, blinking quickly.

“What is it?” Torin asked him, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“Captain Vance says he can’t leave port until his mainsail is replaced.”

Torin shook his head. “Tell the captain that he will mend his sail and put to sea at dawn as planned.”

The young man hesitated until Torin gave him a withering glare. He nodded quickly and raced off into the chaos.

“I apologize for the distraction, Lord Reishi.”

“Let me guess, the captain thinks he can shake you down for a new sail.”

“He’s not the first to try,” Torin said. “It seems the greater our need, the more they demand.”

“It’s not surprising,” Alexander said. “I’ve come to tell you that Anatoly is moving the people from Fellenden City through Fool’s Gap to Shoalhaven. He thinks he can hold the enemy in the gap while the people get through.”

Torin closed his eyes for a moment. “He must be desperate.”

“He is. Ten-legions-against-two desperate. I’m sending him a flight of Sky Knights and a fleet out of Southport, but that won’t be enough.”

“It might be enough to buy us some time,” Torin said. “If I can land my troops at Shoalhaven, I can get some of the refugees out by sea.”

“That was my hope as well,” Alexander said, pausing for a moment. “I don’t have the power to stop Zuhl’s army. I may be able to do significant damage to the main force, but Peti has sent twenty legions to Irondale and another ten to pillage central Fellenden. The best we can hope for at the moment is to keep them contained.”

“So Fellenden is lost then,” Torin said, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“I’m sorry, Torin. Save as many lives as you can. If I can do more, I will.”

Torin nodded, looking down at the dock.

“Lacy is alive, but Phane still has her. They’re headed for the Reishi Isle right now,” Alexander said, answering his unasked question.

“The Nether Gate? Did she give him the keystone?” Torin asked.

“No, he found another way.”

“Can you stop him?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not going to let him have it without a fight.”

Torin smiled wryly. “I guess you have your hands full, too.”

“More than I’d like,” Alexander said, fading from sight.

He thought of Conner and found him in the Ironwood Forest with a force of only thirty men. Alexander appeared in front of him.

“Where’s the army?” he asked.

Conner looked up, blinking a few times.

“General Kern is leading them south.”

Mage Dax and Wizard Sark sat around the fire, both looking a bit sheepish when they saw Alexander.

“Why aren’t you leading them? Abigail put you in charge.”

“I have to save my father,” Conner said. His colors screamed in conflict.

“No, you have to lead the army south. Anatoly is counting on your help. He can’t hold out for very long without your forces.”

“Kern has his orders. There’s nothing I can do that he can’t.”

“Nonsense,” Alexander said. “Return to your army and leave the Sin’Rath to the Coven. They’re the only ones that have a chance against Peti.”

“He’s my father,” Conner said. “I won’t leave him to the enemy.”

“This is folly, Conner. If you do this, you’ll be lost as well. Worse, she’ll have two more wizards under her spell.” Alexander gestured to Dax and Sark.

“I have to do something,” Conner said, pleadingly.

“Yes, you do. You have to return to the army and lead them against the ten legions pursuing the people of Fellenden.”

Conner looked like he was about to burst. The conflict in his colors was so bright, Alexander wondered that no one else could see it.

“He would come for me,” Conner whispered.

“Not if he knew it wouldn’t do any good,” Alexander countered. “I know Abel well enough to know that he’s a careful and thoughtful man. When Evelyn was a hostage, he didn’t go running off to save her. Not because he didn’t love her, but because he knew his efforts would have failed and just made things worse in the bargain. And that’s exactly what will happen if you do this … you will fail and the Sin’Rath will be more powerful for it.”

“How can I live with myself if I abandon him?”

Alexander regarded him for several moments, trying to formulate an argument that would be persuasive to the young prince.

“Do you trust Abigail?”

Conner looked a bit confused, more from the abrupt change of subject than anything else. Finally he said, “Of course.”

“She made a bargain with a dragon. After we help this dragon free her mate, she’ll help us kill Zuhl and the Sin’Rath. We aren’t abandoning Abel. Peti knows his value; she won’t harm him.

“I know you want to save your father, but that task is not for you to do. Your duty is to lead the army south with all possible speed and defend the people of Fellenden.”

He looked lost, his spirit momentarily broken by the conflict raging within him. Shaking his head, he put his face in his hands.

“Will you do your duty, Conner?” Alexander asked after a few moments.

He hesitated, still torn, but nodded.

Alexander turned to Dax and Sark.

“How’s the army?”

“Worn out and strung out,” Dax said. “The Ironwood is thick and difficult to traverse. We’re moving slowly and I fear we’re losing men in the trees.”

“Any sign of pursuit?”

“Thankfully, no,” Sark said. “Our scouts tell us that twenty legions have taken Irondale and are beginning to rebuild the shipyards.”

“Huh,” Alexander said. “So the witch has adopted Zuhl’s strategy.”

“It would seem so,” Dax said. “While tragic for Fellenden, it does give us some time.”

Conner looked up, his eyes filled with worry and brimming with tears.

“We’ll get Abel back,” Alexander said.

He nodded, guilt shining brightly in his colors.

“There’s nothing you can do to help him, Conner. Focus on the people you can help.”

“How do you do it?” Conner asked. “How do you make the decisions you do knowing that your choices might hurt the ones you love?”

Alexander hesitated, fresh concern for Isabel welling up within him, followed quickly by renewed guilt.

“I remember a lesson my father taught me a long time ago: Be driven by emotion, but ruled by reason. You’re allowing emotion to rule you. Step back from your emotions and think. You can’t beat the Sin’Rath and neither can I, but Abigail and the Coven can, especially with the help of a couple of dragons. Leave that to them. Focus your efforts on the enemy you can defeat.”

Conner nodded.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“I’ll return to the army and lead them south,” Conner said.

“Good man. I’m going to hold you to that.”

He nodded as Alexander vanished.

With a thought he was floating over the horde surrounding the Gate in central Fellenden. They were digging in, building fortifications and organizing their encampment as if they intended to stay for a while. Supply trains were arriving by torchlight from the cities that had already been sacked. At least the bulk of the enemy was staying in one place, Alexander thought, shifting his awareness to the Reishi Isle and Zuhl’s encampment near the Nether Gate.

They had built a wood-and-earth bulwark around the entire mountain meadow where the entrance to the mountain fortress had been. A string of empty wagons rolled into the freshly cut passage leading into the mountain while another string of wagons filled with dirt and rocks rolled out. Zuhl’s soldiers were trying to dig a passage to the Gate chamber.

He moved to the beach on the north coast of the Reishi Isle and searched for a few moments until he found Zuhl’s landing site. He saw over a legion of soldiers encamped there and more being offloaded from one of their five remaining warships. Alexander idly wondered if Zuhl was aware that his army had been purloined. He suspected not, given his continued attention to this front. The moment he learned the truth, he would probably direct all of his power to regaining control over his army. A prospect that had Alexander concerned. Peti didn’t seem to be too interested in consolidating her hold on Fellenden. If Zuhl regained command, he’d probably disperse his army across the entire isle, making his conquest of Fellenden virtually unchallengeable.

Alexander returned to his body and touched the Sovereign Stone, convening the Reishi Council.

“I opened the box,” he said. “It contains three acorns from the vitalwood tree.”

The table fell silent, until Balthazar started chuckling softly. “It would seem that Mage Cedric was truly intent on repairing the damage done to the Seven Isles by so much war.”

“I plan on taking them to Ilona,” Alexander said.

“That would be my suggestion as well,” Constantine said. “She’s best suited to nurture them to maturity.”

Alexander nodded, happy to have his intuition confirmed.

“One of the Sin’Rath transformed a wyvern into a figurine. Is there any way to change it back?”

“Certainly,” Demetrius said. “In fact, there’s an entire section within the library dedicated to transformation spells.”

“Good … that brings me to my next question,” Alexander said, turning to Malachi. “How do I kill the tentacle demon?”

“With a banishing spell,” Malachi said, offhandedly. “Oh, wait, you’re not an arch mage. You can’t cast a spell of sufficient power to banish such a demon.”

“Will Luminessence destroy it?”

“How should I know?”

Alexander shook his head, silently wishing that he could kill the long-dead sovereign.

“I suspect that the brightest light from Luminessence will harm or perhaps kill it,” Demetrius offered.

“Failing that, Demonrend is almost certain to destroy it,” Balthazar said.

Alexander nodded, looking down at the table and feeling a little flutter of fear at the question on the tip of his tongue. So much depended on the answer.

“Will Luminessence kill Azugorath?”

Malachi shrugged with a malevolent grin.

“She poses a greater problem because she has no corporeal form,” Demetrius said.

Alexander nodded again.

Malachi chuckled, shaking his head. “You are a child,” he said, dismissively.

“How do I kill her?”

“You can’t,” Malachi said. “She’s already dead.”

“If you didn’t have a banishing spell and you had to defeat her, what would you do?”

Malachi clenched his jaw.

“Answer me!”

“If I had your staff, I would attempt to banish her with that.”

“No, there’s something else,” Alexander said, leaning in. “Tell me.”

Malachi seemed to struggle against some unseen force before blurting, “I would contain her.” He looked away, his face contorting in anger.

“How?”

“A phylactery.”

Alexander frowned, his mind racing.

“Like the thing you were going to put your soul into to become immortal? Like the thing you described in the lich book?”

“Yes,” Malachi snapped.

Alexander sat back. “Where do I find one?”

Malachi scowled, shaking his head defiantly even as he said, “In the library.”

“What does it look like? Where is it in the library?”

“It’s a silver bottle, etched with gold runes,” Malachi said, deflating a bit. “It’s in a secret compartment in the back wall near the right corner.”

“How do I use it?”

“Speak the word for ‘death’ in Old Reishi. It’s inscribed on the bottle.”

“Then what?”

“Then it will draw in the nearest disembodied soul … provided it works,” Malachi said. “Of course, that means that you’ll have to be close to her.”

“How close?”

Malachi shrugged. “It isn’t designed for this. I made it with the intention of speaking the word a moment before I plunged a dagger into my own heart.”

Alexander stared at him. He felt like his sanity was unraveling in the face of such madness.

Malachi smiled mirthlessly. “I can see from your expression that you still don’t understand. Nothing in this world is free, power least of all. You can’t achieve immortality without risking death.”

“What stopped you?” Alexander finally asked, after taking a moment to process Malachi’s words.

“Fear … and then death,” Malachi said, gesturing to the council chamber.

“Maybe you’re not as insane as I thought you were.”

“You’re too kind,” Malachi said with a mocking nod.

“You misunderstand me. Insanity might have explained your evil.”

Malachi snorted.

“I would urge caution, Alexander,” Balthazar said. “This phylactery that Malachi speaks of is a thing of darkness and malice.”

“I agree,” Constantine said. “Luminessence will serve you far better.”

“You’re probably right, but I’m afraid that it won’t be enough.”

Demetrius frowned deeply, leaning forward with a sigh. “My son may be attempting to deceive you,” he said.

Malachi clenched his jaw but remained silent.

“How so? He’s bound by the Stone to tell me the truth.”

“Yes, but he’s not bound to reveal information that you do not ask for,” Demetrius said.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Alexander asked, turning back to Malachi.

“Many things … you’ll have to be more specific.”

“I see what you mean,” Alexander said, taking a deep breath. “Malachi, is the compartment containing the phylactery trapped or warded?”

Malachi scowled. “Of course it is, you fool.”

Alexander shook his head, reminding himself that every interaction with Malachi Reishi was a battle, and that even after death, the Sixth Sovereign was dangerous.

“How do I retrieve the phylactery safely?”

“You can’t. Only an arch mage can cast the proper spell.”

“What will happen if I open the compartment?”

“Most likely, you’ll die,” Malachi said.

“But then the Sovereign Stone would be lost within the library. Phane would never be able to retrieve it.”

Malachi shrugged. “You’d still be dead and he’d rule the Seven Isles unchallenged.”

“A tyrant’s rule is never unchallenged,” Alexander said, turning to Darius.

“Once I claim control over the Reishi Keep, will I be able to use my clairvoyance within the fortress islands?”

“Yes, once the Keep has recognized you, the fortress islands will as well,” Darius said.

“That’s a bit of good news, at least,” Alexander said. “Thank you, Gentlemen.”

He returned to his body, stretching before he stood.

“Any news?” Jack asked.

“Not really,” Alexander said, taking his seat at the table. “Except that I should be able to see into the fortress islands once I take command of the Keep. That’ll be useful.”

Magda nodded thoughtfully.

“You want to go in quiet?” Abigail asked.

“Initially,” Alexander said. “If a few of us can get inside undetected and free Ixabrax before they know we’re there, we can hit them from the sea and air while we search out Zuhl … or his simulacrum. The larger attack might serve as a distraction. We’ll come up with a more thorough plan after I’ve had a look.”

“Did the sovereigns have any suggestions regarding Taharial?” Magda asked.

“Yes, apparently there’s a whole section of the library devoted to transformation spells.”

“That’s encouraging. Thank you, Alexander.”

The table fell silent for a moment.

“I’m worried about Anatoly,” Abigail said softly.

“As am I,” Magda said.

“I know how you feel,” Alexander said. “I wish there was more we could do. Conner’s not even close and Torin’s even farther away. As much as I want to go help him, we can’t pass up the chance to kill Zuhl. Besides, I don’t want to back out of the deal you made with Zora.”

“No,” Abigail said, shaking her head. “She was pretty clear about the consequences of betraying her.”

“We could go with the Sky Knights after we free Ixabrax,” Anja said.

Alexander shook his head slowly.

Anja frowned.

“We have to go to Karth. I need to kill Azugorath. I just hope Luminessence is powerful enough.”

Anja’s frown deepened. She seemed to be struggling to find words to express her thoughts, but her colors revealed her conflict. There was a battle to be fought and she didn’t understand why they weren’t going to help.

“Isabel got her light back, briefly. She and Lacy managed to get a blade into Phane … again. The truth is, she’s right where she needs to be. If I can eliminate the Wraith Queen, Isabel will have one more chance.”

“Huh,” Anja said. “So you’re not just trying to save your wife, you’re trying to kill Phane.”

“Exactly. I can’t beat him in a fight. He’ll kill me the moment he sees me coming. But Isabel is already standing right next to him and her Maker’s light spell can get through his defenses. She’s the best chance we’ve got.”

Chapter 26

“I grow impatient, Human,” Zora said. “We should take the fight to Zuhl today.”

“No,” Alexander said, approaching her snout. “After I claim this Keep, I’ll be able to see inside the fortress island where Ixabrax is being held.”

Zora had seen them approaching the Keep and launched into the sky from her place as guard dog at the Gate, landing in front of them.

Abigail stepped up next to Alexander. “Please Zora, let us do this. We will free Ixabrax. I gave you my word and I intend to honor it. If my brother can see where he’s being held, we’ll have a much better chance of success.”

“When?” Zora said.

“If all goes well today, we’ll fly at dawn tomorrow and launch our attack the day after,” Alexander said.

“I will hold you to that, Human,” Zora said. “You may pass.”

“Thank you, Zora,” Alexander said, skirting the dragon on his way to the Keep. Abigail, Jack, Anja, Jataan, Lita, Magda, and Cassandra were accompanying him along with a couple of soldiers who had spent time in the Keep clearing the outer chambers. Lieutenant Carson, a young man from a noble house, was their commander. He and his men gave Zora a wide berth.

The entry hall was cleaned of the debris that had littered the floor the last time Alexander had been there. Lanterns hung along the walls, though none were lit. The high glass ceiling had been repaired, allowing ample light into the room.

“Looks like Commander Perry’s been busy,” Alexander said, trying to imagine the entry chamber at its height. It must have been truly impressive.

“Very much so, sir,” Carson said. “The outer chambers are clear and in good order, but the central chambers are sealed with wards cast by Wizard Dinh. Unfortunately, the bulk of the Keep’s upper levels and all but the first two lower levels can only be accessed through the core chambers.”

Alexander nodded to himself as he raised his light and proceeded into the corridor leading to the throne room. The wide hallway was clean but dark and cold. He felt like a trespasser, each footfall echoing into the darkness. He began to expect an attack at any moment, but it didn’t come. They moved cautiously, everyone’s colors betraying trepidation as they neared the central chambers, turning this way and that at Lieutenant Carson’s direction.

“Here,” he said, pointing to a large double door. They had passed several doorways, most of which were open, only rusting hinges bolted into the doorframes offering proof that the rooms had once been enclosed.

These doors were different. Each was ten feet wide and thirty feet tall. Both were carved with ornate scenes of horsemen on the hunt. Delicate gold leaf and finely wrought silver inlays reflected Alexander’s light, bringing the scenes to life. More importantly, these doors hadn’t aged. They were as solid as the day they were hung.

“Wizard Dinh sealed these doors after casting a few spells to see what was down the hallway beyond,” Carson said.

“How do we unseal them?” Anja asked.

Magda stepped up and placed her hand on the pull ring, whispering a few words under her breath.

“That should do it,” she said. “Wizard Dinh explained the nature of his spell to me last night.”

Alexander motioned to Carson to have his men open the heavy doors, which swung without so much as a squeak and locked into place against the walls on either side, revealing a wide hall with an arched ceiling fifty feet overhead.

While the outer chambers of the Keep had been thoroughly cleaned by Perry’s men, this hall was thick with undisturbed dust. The remnants of a carpet ran down the center of the floor, the moldering remains of furniture were interspersed along the walls at even intervals with decayed and rotted tapestries between them. It didn’t look like anyone had walked this path in a very long time.

Anja sniffed, wrinkling her nose.

Alexander sent his sight down the hall, which ran straight for several hundred feet with numerous doors on either side, some still intact but most decayed to dust. A few smaller passages intersected but none showed any hint of recent traffic. After several hundred feet, Alexander came to a place that looked familiar. Five dead men, split in half from the tops of their heads down through their torsos were scattered amid the remnants of three force lances. Powerful wards still stood at the threshold of all three corridors surrounding the large double doors that led to the Reishi throne room.

Alexander had faced Rexius Truss there and lured five of his Lancers to their deaths. When he returned to his body, he said, “This is as far as you go, Lieutenant.”

“We would accompany you into the Keep, Lord Reishi,” Carson said, his colors flaring with disappointment.

Alexander smiled. “I don’t doubt you, Lieutenant, but I know what’s down that hall. Return to Commander Perry and report our progress.”

“As you wish, Lord Reishi,” he said, saluting crisply.

Alexander set out at a brisk pace. Dust rose with each footstep, cloaking the floor in a low cloud behind them. The place was quiet as a tomb and about as inviting.

He stopped ten feet from the shield that spanned the width of the corridor where it came to a tee with another passage of the same dimensions. Forty feet ahead were the large double doors leading to the throne room.

“What are we waiting for?” Anja said, starting forward.

“Stop!” Alexander said firmly enough to halt her in her tracks.

“What?” she said, a bit taken aback.

“There’s a shield across the hall that will kill you,” he said. “Wait here, I have to ask the sovereigns a few more questions.” His Wizard’s Den opened with a thought and he went to his magic circle before touching the Stone. He didn’t bother to sit at the council table, choosing to stand behind his chair instead.

“Will the shields around the throne room allow me to pass?” he asked.

“Yes,” Balthazar said, “unless they’ve been altered.”

“Malachi, will the shields let me pass without harm?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Alexander said, turning away but stopping as a thought occurred to him. “Why did you summon the tentacle demon and what did you bind it to do?”

“I summoned it to guard the core of the Keep in the event that we were overrun,” Malachi said.

“Huh, I wondered why it hadn’t left,” he said, returning to his body.

“Everybody inside,” he said.

“Where are you going?” Abigail asked as he stepped out the door.

“Through the shield. I’ll let you out in a moment.”

With a thought he willed the door closed and approached the shield cautiously, extending his left little finger. It became warm and a tingle raced over his skin but he was unharmed. Satisfied that he was immune to the ward, he stepped through into the space between the three shields surrounding the throne-room door and opened his Wizard’s Den again.

“Be careful, all three passages are warded across the threshold,” he said before his friends stepped into the hallway.

He sent his sight into the throne room and frowned. It was cold and empty except for the sentinel. One of the large double doors opened silently with a gentle pull. The throne room was just as he’d left it except for a few marks where the demon’s tentacles had marred the fine stonework. Alexander stepped onto the white marble floor and scanned the room. Sunlight streamed into the chamber through the ornately worked crystal windows that formed the ceiling high overhead, filling the room with soft, diffused light.

Even with the fine coating of dust covering every surface and all of the artwork lost to the ravages of time, the place was still impressive. The sentinel stood from the throne but made no move to advance.

“Huh,” Alexander said, striding toward the raised dais on the far end of the room, “I’d forgotten all about you.” As he got closer, he saw that the sentinel was marred and stained with black splotches, places where his stone body was just slightly eaten away by powerful acid. Alexander climbed the steps and stopped a few feet from the magical guardian, appraising it thoughtfully.

“These people are my friends. You will not harm them or hinder them in any way. Do you understand?”

The sentinel’s eyes pulsed white and it nodded.

“Do you know the way to the Sovereign’s library?”

It nodded again.

“Excellent,” he said, sending his sight forward, passing through the antechamber just off the throne room, down the hall and into the large circular room that had once been a bedchamber.

Curled into a ball in the center of the room, its tentacles wrapped around itself, was the demon. It began to stir when Alexander’s awareness entered the room. He returned to his body and drew the Thinblade.

“It’s close,” he said.

Jataan was suddenly holding a sword. Abigail nocked an arrow with white feathers. Jack vanished, eliciting a frown from Cassandra. She, Lita, and Magda began casting spells while Anja drew her sword.

“I’ll go first,” Alexander said. “Abigail, you’re right behind me. Everyone else, wait until I use my light. If that doesn’t work, hit it with everything you’ve got.”

His pulse quickened and he felt a flutter of nerves in his stomach as he headed for the antechamber. Just a few steps past the broken door and into the narrow hallway leading to the bedchamber, he heard a roar that sent a chill racing over every inch of his body.

The far end of the dark, narrow passage filled with an open maw as the beast began to pull itself toward Alexander with alarming speed. Wisps of noxious-looking smoke rose where the club-like ends of its acidic tentacles touched stone. It roared again, freezing Alexander in place with momentary fear, but he broke through to a place of cold awareness and clear thinking a second later.

He raised Luminessence and focused his will, calling forth its brightest light. The world exploded in scintillating brilliance, flooding the passage with light so bright that it should have blinded everyone present. The tentacle demon howled in pain and fear, its dark, coarse flesh burning away in thick clouds of black smoke as it scrambled to retreat from the light. It reached the bedchamber quickly and fled from the threshold of the hall, escaping back into shadow.

Alexander let his light dim to a level that required no effort but still illuminated the area brightly. He took a deep breath and deliberately calmed himself. Chloe buzzed into a ball of light, then vanished again.

“That was unsettling,” Jack said.

“You seem to have a penchant for understatement, Master Colton,” Magda said.

“Indeed,” Cassandra said.

“I remember you telling me about that thing,” Abigail said. “It seems a lot worse now.”

“I don’t think it’s dead,” Anja said. “Shouldn’t we go after it?”

“Let’s wait until that smoke clears,” Alexander said, pointing to the heavy cloud of blackness hanging in the air toward the far end of the hall.

“I can help with that,” Magda said, stepping forward and whispering the words of a spell. A few moments later the air began to flow past them toward the smoke, pushing it into the bedchamber and dissipating it.

They approached cautiously, Alexander sending his sight into the room before they reached the doorway. It was empty, save for several dark splotches of blood on the floor leading down the stairs into the lower levels of the Keep.

“Looks like you hurt it,” Jack said, dubiously eyeing a puddle of demon blood from a safe distance.

“I wouldn’t touch that,” Alexander said.

“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind,” Jack said.

“Looks like it went downstairs,” Anja said.

“Well, we had to go that way anyway,” Alexander said without making a move to follow. Luminessence hadn’t killed it, but it had wounded it, perhaps seriously. Certainly enough to make the demon angry. He suspected that he would have to hold his light at its brightest for longer than he was able to in order to kill it. Not the outcome he was hoping for, yet not a failure either. With practice, he might learn how to maintain his light for longer periods of time. Azugorath would almost certainly be harder to kill than this demon.

He sent his sight down the spiral stairs, following the trail of blood down one level, then another and another until he came to a landing with an open archway leading into a room with three passages leading out. The floor was pockmarked with acid erosion. The blood trail led through the open archway across from the stairway entrance.

“Looks like it’s running,” Alexander said. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

He returned to the throne room.

“Sentinel, follow me.”

Once back in the bedchamber, Alexander stopped and faced the stone guardian.

“How many levels below is the library?”

“Seven,” the sentinel said, its voice distant and hollow.

“The demon is on the fourth level below,” Alexander said. “We should probably finish it off before we go to the library.”

“Yeah, I’d rather not have that thing behind us either,” Jack said.

Alexander led the way, taking care to avoid stepping in the sporadic puddles of blood marring the stairs. They spiraled through bedrock, opening to each successive level a hundred feet below the last at a landing with an open archway leading to a large chamber. He couldn’t help wondering what lay in the darkness of the ancient Keep. One day he intended to thoroughly explore the place … but not today.

He stepped cautiously into the room that served as an entry hall for the fourth level and stopped, listening for any hint of the demon.

“Sentinel, stand guard here. Allow none to pass through this chamber except for us.”

The guardian nodded, its white eyes glowing softly.

A few steps into the passage marked with the demon’s blood, Alexander stopped, frowning at the floor. It had been traveled recently, though not by anything that wore boots. Odd-looking footprints marked the stone at irregular intervals. Alexander tried to imagine what kind of creature might have made the markings but found himself at a loss. As he proceeded, he wondered if he would soon find out.

“Looks like the demon isn’t the only thing down here,” he said softly.

“Of course it isn’t,” Jack mumbled.

The hallway ran straight for nearly a hundred paces before opening into a large room, too dark to see anything save for the wall that they’d entered through. The ceiling was forty feet high, supported by stone pillars spaced every forty feet. Alexander raised his light, sending shadows cast by the pillars out into the enormous room.

Rusted and broken remnants of iron cages were spaced at even intervals between the pillars, all of similar size and laid out in orderly fashion. The odd tracks led off in several different directions.

“What was this place?” Anja asked.

“If I had to guess, I would say it was a laboratory used for breeding enchanted creatures,” Magda said.

“Do you think any of them are still alive?” Anja asked.

“Judging from the tracks we’ve seen, almost certainly,” Cassandra said.

“Looks like the demon went straight through the room,” Alexander said, pointing to several irregularly spaced acid scorch marks. He sent his sight forward, searching for any hint of color or movement, but found only an empty room that measured five hundred feet on a side. At one time it could have held nearly a hundred creatures in its many cages.

He set out cautiously, keeping his light bright enough to illuminate several dozen feet in every direction. As they proceeded, the cages became larger, some enclosed in magic circles, though none were occupied by anything more than bones. He was starting to relax when the tomblike silence was shattered with a high-pitched screech that echoed throughout the room.

“What was that?” Abigail said, nocking an arrow.

“It didn’t sound like the demon,” Jack said.

Alexander sent his sight forward toward the sound when another shriek hit them like a wave. The noise was so shrill and intense that it made his ears hurt. He caught the colors of something in the darkness, then another … and another.

“Looks like there are several of them,” he said.

Magda, Cassandra, and Lita began casting spells, Jack tossed up his hood and vanished, Anja drew her broadsword.

“Correction,” Alexander said, “there are a lot of them.”

Somewhere in the distance, beyond passages that they had yet to walk, the demon roared. Out of the warrens on the far wall came creatures that Alexander had never seen before. In the darkness, their colors looked twisted and malformed, like made beings. They reminded him of the colors of the gorledon.

He raised his light brighter still, enough to fill the room without drawing on the power of the realm of light. It took effort but nothing that he couldn’t maintain for several minutes. The creatures came out of irregular passages in the walls that looked like they’d been dug rather than cut.

They were about five feet tall, and stood on four insect-like legs that ended in a single sharp spike each. Their torso rose up above the trunk, armored in segmented black chitin with three rows of hooked spikes along the back and sides. Two multisegmented arms ended in oversized pincers. A wide mouth lined with sharp ridges of chitin where its lips should have been and bordered by mandibles on either side occupied the majority of its face, which swept back into a single horn that curved over the top of its head and nearly touched the back of its neck. Five openings lined each side of its head where its ears should have been.

The hideous creatures looked like ants fleeing a mound that had been flooded, first a dozen, then scores pouring out into the room. Alexander expected them to shy away from his light, but they seemed oblivious to it.

“Back away slowly,” Alexander said.

When he spoke, all of the creatures’ heads snapped toward him as if they’d just noticed intruders in their lair. As one, they shrieked, filling the room with sound so intense that Alexander feared his ears would burst. When it stopped, he could barely hear. His friends were all reeling from the onslaught of deafening noise … and the creatures were coming.

They moved quickly, skittering across the stones on their four legs, converging on them from the front and sides.

Abigail drove an arrow into the mouth of the nearest one, killing it. The rest ignored their fallen, moving with single-minded determination.

Magda sent a pea-sized blue sphere into their midst. It exploded in a burst of force, sending creatures sprawling to the stone floor, but more took their place.

“Run!” Alexander shouted, drawing the Thinblade. Everyone fled toward the entrance with Alexander bringing up the rear and Jataan holding back just enough to be a step ahead of him. The first creature overtook Alexander scarcely twenty steps from the relative safety of the corridor. He spun as the creature lunged, cutting it off across the torso, following through full circle, nearly losing his balance but catching himself before he fell. He stumbled the last few feet into the corridor, passing between Jataan and Anja who stood in the entrance, weapons drawn, awaiting the onslaught.

Jataan drove a pike through the next nearest creature, then transformed his Weaponere’s stone into a short spear. Anja hacked another at the neck, killing it with a stroke, but it fell into her, cutting the outside of her leg with the hooked spikes lining its back and side. Her injury only served to make her angry. With a shout of rage, she lunged forward, stabbing another through the face and kicking it off her blade before another grabbed her by the leg with a pincer. She hacked it off with a shout of pain and fury, bringing her blade back up and cleaving the creature across the torso.

Jataan stabbed one, then a second and a third in quick jabbing thrusts, driving the point of his spear into their mouths and out the back of their heads, dropping them where they stood almost instantly.

Anja hacked another, taking a step out into the room, the pincer still clamped on her leg. Alexander turned, dropping Luminessence so he could grab Anja by the back of her tunic and yank her behind him while driving the Thinblade forward into the next creature in one fluid motion. Darkness momentarily engulfed them until Cassandra brought a dozen orbs of glowing light into existence with a few words.

An arrow whizzed past him, through a creature’s head and into the one behind it. Anja shouted a curse from behind him. Alexander brought his blade across and through two more that had clambered over the rapidly growing pile of carnage in front of them.

Magda’s arm came over his shoulder and the entire pile of living and dead creatures exploded away from them, blown back into the room by the force of her magic.

“Fall back,” Alexander said, snatching up Luminessence and retreating into the corridor with Jataan at his side. Piercing sound nearly brought him to his knees a moment later, leaving only a shrill ringing in his ears. The creatures renewed their attack, skittering three abreast into the corridor toward them.

Alexander set himself, an arrow zipping past him, killing the creature in the center, only to have another take its place as the corridor began to fill with them. Jataan’s spear transformed into a pike, killing another, then reverted back into a spear. Alexander swept the Thinblade into the nearest two, cleaving them in half, taking a step back, only to kill another three as they scurried over their dead. Jataan killed two more with blindingly fast thrusts of his spear.

“Run to the Sentinel,” Alexander shouted without looking back as he and Jataan gave ground. Three more came, pushed from behind by a flood of the horrible creatures. He killed one, narrowly avoiding another’s pincers, his future sight guiding his movements and his sword. He let go of thought and gave himself over to the battle, allowing magic, experience, and instinct to guide his hand.

“Cover my flank,” he said to Jataan as he pushed forward into the torrent of monsters. The Thinblade moved in a blur, slashing, cutting, and killing with each movement. He held his ground, a spear point darting past him every few seconds, stabbing those that attacked from his left side, allowing him to concentrate on slaughtering the seemingly endless flood of creatures pouring toward him.

The broken and dying began to build up at his feet, their black blood flowing out onto the stone floor, making it slick. Alexander gave ground, checking behind him to see that his friends had fallen back to the room with the Sentinel.

“Run!” he shouted again. Jataan ignored him, a trickle of blood running from his ear. Alexander tapped his shoulder with Luminessence and motioned for him to flee.

They reached the room and Abigail loosed an arrow into the corridor. Alexander thought he saw red feathers as the enchanted shaft shot past him in a blur. A second later Magda stepped into the threshold with Cassandra and Lita standing behind her, each placing a hand on her shoulder. The corridor erupted in an explosion of orange-red fire the color of a sunset, filling the entire passage with flame hot enough to melt steel. The fire washed up against Magda’s shield and rebounded into the corridor, blasting the charred remains of countless creatures back into the large room at the other end.

Alexander watched the power flow from Cassandra and Lita into Magda as she began casting another spell, this one taking more time and drawing greater power before she placed her hand on one wall of the corridor and released her magic. The stone itself rippled like water, then began to flow into the corridor, filling the passage for twenty feet with stone that looked like hardened lava, sealing it from floor to ceiling.

Chapter 27

Alexander sent his sight through to the other side and saw that the large room lined with pillars was filled with hundreds of the creatures and they were in a frenzy. When they reached the stone barrier, they began chipping away at it with the points of their pincers. He was alarmed by just how quickly they were able to dig through the solid stone. In less than a minute, they’d eaten through nearly a foot.

Behind them, the demon roared. Alexander sent his sight deeper into the darkness and found the tentacle demon emerging from the warrens that had presumably been these creatures’ lair. It was nearly healed from the injuries that Luminessence had inflicted. Some of the creatures attacked it, shrieking with such intensity that their sonic attack could be heard through the stone and through Alexander’s temporary deafness.

He snapped back to himself and assessed his friends. Everyone looked a bit dazed, some had blood coming out of their ears. Anja was bleeding from several wounds on her legs.

“Sentinel, hold this room,” he shouted, his voice sounding muffled even to himself, as he strode into the staircase and headed down, Luminessence lighting the way. His friends needed rest and healing, but he dared not stop here. There was no telling how many of the creatures lived beneath the Reishi Keep and he couldn’t risk becoming trapped.

He moved as quickly as he dared, the world sounding muffled and gauzy, each footstep felt more than heard. His leg started to feel stiff and sore, still not quite fully healed. Under normal exertion, he hardly noticed the pain anymore, but racing down so many stairs reminded him once again.

At the next level, he stopped and sent his sight back to the barrier that Magda had created. The creatures had already eaten away a few feet of the stone. He was suddenly yanked aside, his sight snapping back to his body as Jataan drove his spear into the face of another of the creatures coming from the entrance to the fifth level.

Cassandra stepped up and filled the room with a jet of flame, the stench of burning chitin filling Alexander’s nostrils. He pressed on, racing downward but choosing each step carefully lest he stumble.

As the entrance to the sixth level came into view, he sent his sight forward, quickly searching for any hint of danger. Finding none, he continued down. By the time he reached the seventh and lowest level of the staircase, his legs and lungs burned. Anja was bleeding freely and leaning heavily on Jack. Alexander opened the door to his Wizard’s Den and Jack helped her inside. Lita followed.

He closed the door without a second look and sent his sight forward into the seventh level. A shout of warning brought him back before he could do more than discover that the room before them had only one exit, but two archways that were filled with stone.

He looked back up the stairs and saw Jataan kill another of the creatures, but there were many more behind it. Stepping into the fifty-foot-square room, Alexander scanned for threats. Down the corridor, he saw the movement of twisted and unnatural colors, followed by a shriek that would have been more painful if his hearing wasn’t already impaired. More of the creatures were coming from the passage leading out of the chamber.

Magda grabbed him by the shoulder and he heard her speak clearly and calmly in his mind.

“Library,” she said, pointing to one of the archways filled with stone.

Alexander nodded and ran to it. As he placed his hand on it, a tingle of magic raced over him and his hand pushed through. With a thought, he opened his Wizard’s Den and urgently motioned his friends inside. Jataan was the last to enter as a number of the creatures converged on Alexander. He slashed three in half before pushing backward through the magical door, stumbling and falling hard, dropping Luminessence.

He staggered to his feet, his breath knocked out of him, half expecting the creatures to flood through the door and renew their attack, but they didn’t come. He started to breathe a sigh of relief when he noticed movement behind him and his battle sight showed him the coming moments. Even with the magical warning, the attack came too quickly to avoid. A tentacle, black and thin but terribly strong, wrapped itself around him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides. Another coiled around his neck. Both constricted as they lifted him from the ground and turned him to face a creature that looked like a nightmare.

The thing stood six feet at the shoulder. Its skin was black as pitch, except for dark red stripes radiating down its forelegs. Each of its six feet was clawed like a cat’s, except the claws didn’t look like they retracted. Its head was large with a long snout and its mouth was filled with black needlelike teeth. Six eyes wrapped around the sides of its head, just below two blood-red horns that curled back from its brow. Sprouting from its shoulders were two long tentacles—both of which were currently wrapped around Alexander.

He didn’t hesitate, his blood already hot with battle and fear. With just his wrist, he swept the Thinblade up and through the two tentacles, cleaving them both in a blink. He fell to the ground, the beast roaring in pain and rage. It leaped, arcing through the air along a trajectory that would bring it down right on top of him. He rolled to the side, but not quite far enough. A clawed foot came down on his left shoulder, tearing deeply into his flesh and pinning him to the ground, hot pain ripping through him.

He swept the Thinblade into the creature with all of his strength, slicing up through its belly, cutting the thing nearly in two. It toppled to the ground, its jaws still snapping, even as its blood, black and angry, boiled across the floor toward him. Alexander rolled out of the way, scrambling to avoid the growing pool of demon blood that made the stone floor sputter and smoke along the leading edge of the expanding pool.

Regaining his feet, he snatched Luminessence from the floor before the blood could reach it and backed away, wincing in pain from the deep gouges in his shoulder. Only then did he see the full scope and grandeur of the room he stood in.

Evenly spaced panels in the twenty-foot ceiling provided soft glowing light. The entrance opened to a space about twenty feet on a side with a magic circle inlaid in gold and silver. A small sitting area with a table and comfortable chairs was just to the right. The walls were two hundred feet on a side. The floor was lined with row after row of bookshelves, all filled to overflowing. Some books screamed of magic, while others simply glowed softly with the telltale colors of enchantment. A path ran straight down the middle of the room, offering easy access to the rows of shelves.

Alexander sent his sight through the room quickly, searching for any other threats, but found none. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, deliberately calming his pounding heart, he opened his Wizard’s Den, then sat down heavily on an overstuffed chair in the sitting area.

Jataan was the first out, short spear in hand.

“Lita, Lord Reishi is wounded,” he shouted, scanning the area before checking the demon cleaved nearly in half on the floor.

Lita bustled up to Alexander and frowned at his wound, shaking her head and pursing her lips. She laid her hand gently on him and began muttering the words of a spell.

Abigail stepped out of the Wizard’s Den, took one look at the dead demon and gave her brother a withering glare. “We could have helped,” she said, too loudly.

Alexander just nodded.

Magda and Cassandra took only a moment to survey the carnage before they smiled like children in a candy store, looking out at the countless magical tomes accumulated over two thousand years of study by the House of Reishi.

“How’s Anja?” Alexander asked without looking up.

“Resting,” Lita said. “She’ll be fine in a few hours … and so will you, provided you agree to lie down and rest.”

He nodded again. Jack offered him a hand which he took gratefully, regaining his feet.

“Stay away from the back wall—it’s trapped,” he said, heading for a cot in his Wizard’s Den.

“If they told you about a trap, they might have mentioned the demon,” Abigail said, still talking too loudly.

“I didn’t ask about a guardian, and Malachi isn’t one to volunteer information.”

He lay down, closed his eyes and let Lita go to work cleaning his wounds. Before she was finished, he lapsed into a deep sleep. When he woke, his shoulder was stiff and sore, but not as painful as he would have expected. His hearing was also back to normal. He worked his jaw to pop his ears and felt a slight stab of pain, a reminder of the enemy he would have to fight again to escape the Keep.

He got up and went out into the library, stopping to check on Anja along the way. She was still asleep, breathing deeply. Lita smiled at his concern from the table where she was watching over her patient.

Surveying the library anew, Alexander noticed the large three-dimensional map table off to the left side of the entrance. With a frown, he went to the side of the table that had a panel of stone set into it at a slight angle. The outline of a handprint was cut into the stone. The table top itself was a detailed model of the Reishi Isle and the surrounding fortress islands.

Alexander placed his hand on the handprint and felt magic wash over him. Right before his eyes, the features of the Reishi Isle began to morph and change. He watched with rapt attention. Standing on either side of him, Jack and Abigail watched as well.

In the center of the island was a tiny model of the Keep. When Alexander focused on it, it enlarged to fill the entire map table. But more amazing than that, the broken section of the Keep where Phane had attacked just after Alexander had recovered the Sovereign Stone looked exactly as it did in the present moment.

“Look,” Abigail said, pointing to the wall surrounding the Keep and the soldiers encamped within.

“Remarkable,” Jack said.

“Huh,” Alexander said.

Suddenly, the scene changed, shifting to a large toroid room just across the entry hall on the seventh level, the warded passage opposite the door to the library. In the center of the room was a silvery sphere glowing brightly with magic.

“What’s that?” Abigail asked.

“I think it’s the power crystal,” Alexander said. “At least the chamber looks just like the one inside Blackstone.”

“What’s that around it?” Abigail asked.

“I suspect it’s a stasis field,” Magda said. “It was said that the Reishi created a spell that would stop time itself.”

“I guess that would protect the crystal without letting it stop spinning,” Alexander said. “Now I just have to figure out how to turn it off.”

“Can you see the rest of the island in detail?” Magda asked.

The table shifted again, showing the entire isle surrounded by the five fortress islands. He thought of the island that Zuhl was occupying and it filled the table.

“Huh, this is even better than my clairvoyance because I can let you see what I see.”

The top of the island was filled with soldiers, drilling with their weapons in large unit formations. Three of Zuhl’s warships were anchored nearby and a number of drakini flew around the island in pairs. Alexander pushed in, searching through the interior of the fortress. He found Zuhl sitting in a small library near the top level, reading a book that looked very old. He seemed at ease, as if his plans were proceeding as expected.

“I’m going to kill that man … again,” Abigail said.

“If Ixabrax wasn’t in there, I’d consider destroying the fortress island right now.”

“Where do you think he is?” Abigail asked.

“Try deeper inside the fortress,” Cassandra said, “about midway from the top.”

Alexander shifted his view, finding a large cavern in the center of the fortress that served as the birthing chamber for the wyverns. In the center of this chamber slept Ixabrax.

“Makes sense,” Magda said. “The passages are large enough for him to get in and out.”

“And it’s the safest, most secure place in the fortress island,” Cassandra added.

“I wonder what else this map can show us.” Jack said.

Alexander drew the view back to the entire Reishi Isle again.

“I suspect it’ll show anything within these boundaries.”

“Perhaps a look at Zuhl’s coastal encampment would be helpful,” Jataan offered.

Alexander shifted to the north coast where Zuhl had been landing soldiers. It was a sprawling, somewhat disorganized camp, that held well over a legion. A smaller unit, several hundred strong, was preparing to leave, lining up along a freshly cut road that wound into the forest in the general direction of the hidden fortress and the Nether Gate.

“He has sufficient force strength to overpower our defenses here,” Jataan said, “yet he doesn’t appear to be interested in the Keep.”

“Probably figures the Nether Gate is the endgame,” Alexander said.

He focused on the mountain concealing the fortress where the Nether Gate was hidden and the scene shifted again, revealing a large force encamped in the area outside the fortress entrance. Their fortifications were still under construction, and the work to excavate the chamber housing the Nether Gate seemed to be progressing more rapidly than Alexander would have imagined.

He moved inside the newly dug corridor and saw that it was being rebuilt with what looked like freshly quarried granite slabs for the floor, ceiling, and walls. Carts filled with dirt and stone were being pulled out by teams of Zuhl’s men, while empty carts were traveling back toward the ever-moving work site.

Dozens of men with picks and shovels were digging, while others loaded carts with the loosened debris. As they made progress, a wizard was casting a spell, over and over again, bringing a slab of stone into being with each casting. He used his magically created stone to form the corridor walls, floor and ceiling, protecting the workers from the risks of further cave-ins.

“Looks like they have their own version of Wizard Jahoda,” Magda said.

“At this rate, they’ll reach the chamber within a few weeks,” Jack said.

“The question is, what then?” Alexander said.

“That’s hard to say,” Magda said. “Zuhl is an accomplished wizard with a great deal of experience. Left alone with the Nether Gate for long enough, he may well devise a way of making it work.”

“Or he may discover the secrets of its construction,” Cassandra said.

“Either way, we have to stop him,” Abigail said.

Chloe buzzed into existence and landed on the edge of the table.

“Can we see the tree, My Love?”

With a smile, Alexander shifted the view of the table to the secluded grotto that protected the last vitalwood from the outside world … but there was nothing there, save for a little mountain lake with an island in the center. Evidence of the rift torn in the world of time and substance by Selaphiel was plainly visible, but the tree itself was gone.

“Where did it go?” Chloe asked.

“I don’t know, Little One, but I intend to find out,” Alexander said.

“Where could it have gone?” Jack asked. “I got the impression that Selaphiel’s spell protecting it was well beyond any mortal power.”

“Me too,” Alexander said, frowning at the scene before him. “I’ll take another look with my clairvoyance once we’re out of the library.”

“I must say, Alexander, this place is a treasure trove beyond imagining,” Magda said. “Cassandra and I have walked the stacks. There are tomes on every conceivable magical topic—many of which neither of us has ever even considered. I could spend a hundred years in this room and never be able to study them all.”

“More to the point, there are a number of tomes that we would like to take with us,” Cassandra said. “With your permission, of course.”

Alexander hesitated, scanning the shelves arrayed before him. This library represented two thousand years of accumulated knowledge, all safeguarded from the ravages of time and war and theft. In a very real way, this library was his family’s greatest legacy—a repository of knowledge and history, magic and experimentation. Whatever he did, he couldn’t allow this library to be diminished.

“No, Cassandra, these books must remain here.”

“But … there’s so much to be learned,” she said with more emotion and distress than he had ever seen from her. “Such knowledge should be shared with the world. It could do so much good.”

“I agree, but such knowledge must also be preserved and protected,” Alexander said. “And I believe that that is the first and most important purpose of this library.”

Both Cassandra and Magda’s colors flared with loss and dashed hopes. Both women had spent the majority of their lives pursuing magical knowledge. This collection represented the best opportunity in the entire Seven Isles to further that study.

“Let me consult the sovereigns,” Alexander said. “I’m sure you’re not the first who wanted to borrow a book from this library. And I do intend to share this knowledge, but I have to do it in a way that preserves this place for future generations.”

They both nodded, though somewhat reluctantly.

“I see the wisdom in that,” Magda said. “While we’re here, may I look for a book on transformation that will help me reverse Taharial’s plight?”

“Of course, look at any book you like,” Alexander said.

Chapter 28

Alexander took his seat at the Reishi Council table.

“I’ve reached the library.”

Malachi’s habitual frown morphed into a scowl.

“Your guardian is dead,” Alexander said, holding the Sixth Sovereign with his glittering, blind eyes.

Malachi harrumphed, shaking his head.

“The tentacle demon fell to Luminessence then?” Constantine said.

“No, it fled my light. We gave chase and found a race of creatures living under the Keep like nothing I’ve ever encountered.”

“Then which guardian do you speak of?” Balthazar asked.

“The demon that Malachi left inside the library.”

The first five sovereigns sat forward, concern etched in their faces.

“Were the books harmed?” Balthazar asked.

“Of course not,” Malachi spat before Alexander could answer. “The demon was there to protect them, not destroy them.”

“So you left another trap for your own son,” Demetrius said, shaking his head sadly.

Malachi shrugged. “I taught Phane to be ruthless and ambitious. He learned those lessons well—so well in fact that he became the greatest threat I faced. Phane was far too eager to rule and I had no intentions of dying prematurely to give him the chance. Precautions were necessary to dissuade him from a rash attempt on my life. It would have been such a tragedy to have to kill my last remaining child.”

“You mean like he killed all of your other children?” Alexander said.

“Their deaths pain me to this day, but Phane won out. He demonstrated that he alone was fit to rule.”

“Murdering your brothers and sisters doesn’t make you fit for anything but a hole in the ground,” Alexander said.

“If by some miracle you do succeed in killing my son, and Zuhl, and the Sin’Rath, and the Babachenko, and all of the other enemies that will challenge your rule, you will come to understand that power hindered by morality is always a short-lived proposition.”

“Your forefathers demonstrated the lie of such an absurd assertion,” Alexander said. “For eighteen hundred years, they ruled the Seven Isles according to a moral code—a set of principles not derived from whim or self-interest, but from the nature of life and the world itself. And it worked. Peace reigned and life for the average person was blessedly ordinary. You destroyed all of that, and I intend to remake it. But I didn’t come here to argue with you, Malachi. I came to ask about the library.”

“What would you like to know?” Balthazar asked.

“Is there an easy way to find the books that I’m looking for? And did you ever loan books out?”

Balthazar nodded. “Say the word ‘librarian’ and the librarian will appear. He will be able to assist you with any of the workings of the library. As for lending books, we all maintained a strict policy that no original book was ever to leave the library. However, there is a device along the wall, next to the map table, that allows for the copying of books. All that is required is a blank book of sufficient pages and size to accommodate the original text.”

Alexander chuckled to himself, shaking his head slowly. “Magic will never cease to amaze me. I found the map table and had a brief look around the isle with it, but I couldn’t find the vitalwood tree. Could it have been taken by Selaphiel?”

“Doubtful,” Balthazar said. “The map table is blind to the existence of the vitalwood. I designed it that way as a precaution to protect the tree.”

“That’s a relief,” Alexander said. “The map table also showed me a room that looked like the crystal chamber in Blackstone, except there’s a silvery sphere of magic surrounding it.”

“When the Sovereign Stone was lost to the world of time and substance, the Keep protected the crystal with a stasis field to ensure that it wouldn’t stop spinning and shatter,” Balthazar said. “You must touch the control stone inside the chamber to dispel the stasis and awaken the Keep.”

“Does the Keep have defenses like Blackstone did?”

“Of course,” Balthazar said, “both internal and external. Once the crystal is spinning again, you’ll be able to see within the Keep and control its capabilities with a thought.”

“So why does the map table work without the crystal?”

“The library is a place outside the world of time and substance, much like a Wizard’s Den. All of its magical features are internal and separate from the Keep.”

“Huh,” Alexander said, formulating his next question. “Will I be able to use the Keep’s defenses to fight the creatures waiting just outside the door?”

“Within the Keep, there are many passages that can be warded with magical shields that will allow selective access to those you permit as well as many that can be warded against all passage. As for offensive weapons, those are designed to defend against external threats.”

“Tell us about the creatures you encountered,” Darius said. “Perhaps we can offer suggestions for combating them.”

Alexander spent a few minutes describing the horrible, insect-like creatures, their twisted colors and the deafening shriek they emitted. He told the story of their running battle and retreat and of how they would face the creatures again once they left the library.

Malachi became very still and silent while he spoke.

“Tell me everything you know about these creatures,” Alexander said, turning to the Sixth Sovereign.

He hesitated for a moment before beginning with a snarl. “I created them, but I never expected that they’d breed. They’re a cross between a bat, a type of giant beetle, and another insect that I don’t have a name for. They’re completely blind, but they have hearing so keen that they might as well be able to see. Also, they emit a sound so loud and shrill that it can make a man’s ears bleed. Honestly, I didn’t think they were very promising for my purposes.”

“And just exactly what were your purposes?”

“To win the war, of course,” Malachi said. “Siavrax Karth had been experimenting with hybrid creatures for years with significant success. I thought it only prudent to follow a similar line of inquiry.”

“How do I fight them?”

“How should I know? I only made a few of them and I didn’t spend much time testing their capabilities.”

“Perhaps something as simple as a dampened wad of paper in your ears would protect you from their shriek,” Darius said.

“It’s certainly worth a try,” Alexander said. “I’m not looking forward to fighting my way out of here.”

“Perhaps a silence spell would facilitate your exit uncontested,” Constantine said.

“He can’t cast a silence spell,” Malachi said, “because he’s not a real wizard.”

“No,” Alexander said, “but I bet Magda and Cassandra can.”

“You brought other people into the library?” Malachi said, his eyes going wide in dismay.

“Sure, why not?”

“The door will only permit the Sovereign to enter for a reason.”

“And what might that be?”

“To protect your power, much of which is contained within the books in this collection,” Malachi said, as if he were talking to an idiot child.

Alexander shook his head sadly. “What a lonely life you must have led. That’s the difference between good and evil. I trust every one of those people with my life; you didn’t even trust your own son.”

He walked away from the table and opened his eyes to see Magda and Cassandra sitting at the table in his Wizard’s Den, both completely absorbed in the books they were reading. He left them to it, walking out into the library, flexing his shoulder and wincing a bit at the stab of pain.

“Librarian.”

A moment passed before a man in simple white pants and shirt appeared. He was bald, slight of build and shorter than most men. Also, he was translucent, as if he wasn’t really there at all.

“Lord Reishi, I am at your service.”

“Huh,” Alexander said.

Jataan seemed to materialize beside him.

“My friend has a wyvern that’s been transformed by dark magic into a figurine about this big,” Alexander said, holding his finger and thumb three inches apart. “I need a spell that will return the wyvern to its normal healthy state.”

“Of course, please come with me,” he said, hurrying off into the stacks, leading Alexander to a shelf of books, stopping abruptly and pointing one slender finger at a large tome. “This is the spell you seek.”

“Thank you,” Alexander said. “Now show me how to create a duplicate of this book.”

“This way,” he said, walking briskly back to the head of the room, skirting the demon corpse without a hint of distress, and stopping before a set of shelves against the wall close to the map table. Rows of uniformly sized books filled three shelves below the top shelf which was slightly angled with a raised lip running along the lower edge like a lectern.

“Place the book you wish to duplicate here,” he pointed to the left side of the angled shelf. “Then place a blank book from the shelves below on the right side. The process will begin automatically.”

Alexander did as instructed. A moment passed before both books opened to the first page. Words began to appear on the blank page of the empty book as if they were being written by hand, though much more quickly than any scribe could have written them. The page filled up with words, matching exactly the words from the original, then both pages turned in unison and the next page began to fill up.

Alexander stood mesmerized until Jack started laughing.

“Someday I’m going to want to borrow that … a lot,” he said.

“I’ll bet,” Abigail said, taking his hand as they watched the page turn again.

Alexander returned to the Wizard’s Den, finding the two witches still reading with near-exclusive focus.

Lita smiled at him. “You’ll probably have to touch them on the shoulder to get their attention,” she said.

He tapped Magda. She blinked a few times before her eyes returned to the present.

“Come on, I want to show you something,” he said. “You too, Cassandra.”

They reluctantly pulled their attention from the tomes before them. He led them out and showed them the book being copied.

“Remarkable,” Magda whispered.

“Indeed,” Cassandra agreed.

“This is the spellbook that will help you with Taharial,” Alexander said, “at least according to the librarian.”

“Lord Reishi, I am at your service,” the librarian said, appearing nearby at the mention of his name.

“Apparently, he can help you find any book you want.”

“This place is a wonder,” Magda said. “I’ll be sad to leave.”

“Speaking of which, do you have a spell that creates silence?” Alexander asked.

“Yes, it’s a common spell, often effective against other spell casters, provided they don’t know a counter that relies on hand gestures alone.”

“Good, how long does it last?”

“The duration varies with intent,” Magda said, “a few moments up to thirty minutes or so. Why?”

“Because that’s how we’re going to get out of here,” Alexander said. “Those creatures rely on sound to see. If they can’t hear us, we’ll be invisible to them.”

“Huh,” Jack said, heading back into the Wizard’s Den and his desk.

“I’d like to take a look at the back wall while we wait for your book to finish writing itself,” Alexander said. “I could use your help, both of you.”

“Certainly,” Magda said, following Alexander to the wall with the hidden compartment containing Malachi’s phylactery.

“The sovereigns tell me that the map table can’t see the vitalwood, Little One,” Alexander said silently to Chloe while they walked.

“Oh, thank the Maker. I was so worried.”

They reached the back wall of the library and found that the last row of shelves ran the length of the entire wall, floor to ceiling. Alexander scanned for any hint of magic past the ubiquitous aura emanating from the library itself and found nothing.

“Somewhere along this wall is a hidden and trapped compartment, but I can’t see it.”

Magda frowned for a moment, as if considering which of the spells in her repertoire she needed. Then she began to mutter under her breath. Her colors flared, and her frown deepened. She cast another spell, shaking her head.

“I can’t see it either,” she said.

“Librarian,” Alexander said.

“Lord Reishi, I am at your service,” he said, materializing before him.

“Can you show me where the hidden compartment is in this wall?”

“Of course,” he said, walking to a section near the right corner and pointing to a book on the bottom shelf. “Push this book in against the back of the shelf and the compartment will open.”

From several paces away, Alexander sent his sight to the book and examined it closely, drifting behind it and finding a section of the shelf that protruded, just about the same size as the book’s spine. A faint, almost imperceptible aura of magic confirmed the librarian’s guidance.

“Malachi says the trap on the compartment will kill me if I try to open it. Any suggestions?”

“Perhaps action at a distance is called for,” Cassandra said.

“And adequate shielding,” Magda added.

“I’m willing to try, if you are,” Alexander said.

“If we withdraw to the central path, that should provide enough distance to protect us.”

Once there, Magda cast a number of spells in preparation, the first creating a wall of magical force that lined the opposite shelf, the second erecting a bubble of magical energy surrounding them all, and the third creating a bubble around the section of wall in question.

“I’m ready,” she said, offering her hand to Cassandra.

Cassandra took it, casting a spell that would link their power, allowing her spell to penetrate Magda’s shields. Her next spell took a bit longer to cast. With a gesture, the book pressed in against the control.

A section of the bookshelf along the back wall swung outward into the path between it and the next row of shelves. A moment later, the wall behind it vanished in a three-foot-by-three-foot section, opening into a cubbyhole containing an ornately made bottle.

A moment after that, a gout of blackness erupted from within the cubbyhole, jetting outward and splattering into the shield wall opposite it, spraying in every direction like water, before quickly coalescing into a ball of black liquid. It hesitated for a just a second, then launched toward them in a stream of inky darkness.

Alexander focused his will on Luminessence and released a burst of light so bright and so pure that the darkness evaporated with a shriek that made Alexander’s skin crawl, the last traces of it nearly reaching them before vanishing into the aether.

Jataan was standing beside him, just outside of Magda’s shield, when he let his light fade.

“Yeah, that would’ve probably killed me,” Alexander said. “Malachi’s almost more trouble than he’s worth.”

“And yet, he may have provided you with the means to free Isabel,” Magda said, dispelling her shields with a gesture.

Abigail and Jack came running up.

“What happened?” Jack asked.

“We just triggered a trap,” Alexander said, heading toward the hidden compartment. He stopped before it, examining the space and the bottle with all of his sight, searching for any hint that he’d missed some other defense left by Malachi.

“Do you really think that will defeat Azugorath?” Abigail asked.

“I can hope,” Alexander said, cautiously touching it with a single finger. Satisfied that the defenses had been expended, he lifted the bottle from its resting place. It had an expansive aura with a hint of darkness swirling in its potent colors. “It certainly looks powerful.”

“One more weapon can’t hurt,” Jataan said.

Alexander nodded. “Let’s go have a look at that book.”

Chapter 29

It was nearly complete, only a few dozen pages remaining to be duplicated. He turned back to the map table, laying his hand on the panel and thinking of the door to the library. The entry hall just outside was filled with nine of the creatures, all standing stock-still as if they were listening for intruders. More filled the staircase and the single corridor leading into the darkness through the wall opposite the stairway entrance.

“I have to get into that room,” Alexander said, pointing to the sealed archway directly across from the library door.

“Then what?” Abigail asked. “It looks like suicide out there.”

“Once I have control over the Keep, I’ll be able to restrict their movement,” he said, “maybe seal up the staircase and give us a fighting chance to get out of here.”

“I’m all for that,” she said.

When the book had been completely duplicated, both books closed with their back covers facing up. Alexander handed the copy to Magda and returned the original to the shelf.

“In time, I hope to duplicate this entire library,” he said, “but for right now, this will have to do.”

Magda and Cassandra both nodded their agreement.

Anja’s voice filtered out of the Wizard’s Den. “Where are we?”

“In the library,” Alexander said. “How’re you feeling?”

“My leg hurts. Where are those creatures? I want another stab at them.”

“Just outside the door, but I’m afraid you’ll have to sit this one out,” Alexander said. “I’m going to slip past them quietly, if I can.”

“Is that wise, Lord Reishi?” Jataan asked.

“Beats trying to fight them. Magda, I need you to spell me with silence for a few minutes.”

“Of course.”

“All right, everyone inside,” he said, motioning to the Wizard’s Den.

Magda cast her spell from just inside the door. It was a strange sensation—sudden absolute silence. He clapped his hands, but there was nothing except the feeling of his hands coming together. He nodded to her before closing the door and stepping through the magical membrane that served as the library’s door into a room filled with horror.

The creatures closest to him twitched, seeming to react to the sudden absence of sound surrounding Alexander. He stepped to the side slowly, cautiously avoiding contact, threading his way past Malachi’s unnatural creations on his way to the door on the opposite wall of the room. It was a nerve-wracking, painstaking few minutes. Each step placed cautiously, each movement calculated to avoid contact. When he got near one of the creatures, it would react to the sudden absence of sound by cocking its head, distress flaring in its colors, as if it had gone suddenly blind.

He reached the door, placing his hand on the smooth surface and pushing through into a small room overlooking a much larger toroid-shaped space with a silvery sphere occupying the exact center. A low wall like the railing of a balcony marked the opposite side of the small room with a simple pedestal topped by a large black stone positioned in the exact center. Alexander placed his hand on the stone. A moment passed, then another, then the stasis field vanished like a soap bubble popping. The large, narrow diamond-shaped power crystal was there in center of the toroid, spinning as if it had never stopped.

Alexander felt like something inside him was awakening, slowly coming back to life. Focusing on that feeling caused an image of the Reishi Keep to spring into his mind, fully formed and perfect in every detail. His attention was drawn to the damaged observation platform and tower. It looked like it was healing, slowly regenerating stone to replace the portions that had been blasted away by Phane.

He smiled to himself, shifting his focus to the staircase that ran through the core of the lower levels. Each archway leading to each level could be sealed with a foot of magical stone with a thought. He closed them all, save for the seventh level, before looking into the fourth level where they’d first encountered the insect creatures.

The blockage in the corridor created by Magda’s spell had been breached. The first several feet had been reduced to gravel, but the last few feet were eaten through by acid.

He tested the silence surrounding him, and finding that the spell was still in place, he pushed through the door into the entry hall and carefully made his way into the stairwell, sealing off the seventh level with a thought. Then he opened the door of his Wizard’s Den and quickly stepped inside.

Magda dismissed her silence spell with a word and a gesture.

“The Keep is alive and under my control,” he said. “I’ve sealed the lower levels, so we just have the creatures in the stairwell to deal with … and the demon.”

“It got out?” Jack said.

“Looks that way. I’ll know more after I get a chance to look around.”

“So how many of those things are out there?” Anja asked.

“A lot,” Alexander said with a shrug. “The staircase is filled with them.”

“So, do we sneak through or do we fight?” Abigail said.

“I think we fight,” Alexander said. “I don’t want to run into that demon with a bunch of these creatures behind us.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “What’s your plan?”

“I thought I’d stand in the doorway and cut them to pieces,” Alexander said, drawing just the look he was expecting from Abigail.

“Perhaps fire,” Cassandra said. “It seemed to work before.”

“I’d rather not use another arrow, if I can help it,” Abigail said.

“And you needn’t,” Cassandra said. “We can throw fire.”

Magda nodded agreement.

They spent a few moments organizing their attack. Once everyone was in place, Alexander to the left of the door with the Thinblade in hand, Jataan to the right of the door, Cassandra and Magda at the door, side by side, Alexander willed it open.

Creatures tumbled through. Alexander and Jataan sliced into them quickly, scattering black carnage onto the floor of the Wizard’s Den. Magda released her spell, blasting the creatures back into the stairwell with a burst of magical energy that opened a space before the door.

Cassandra fired a gout of liquid fire into that space. It splattered on impact, rebounding against the creatures closest to the door, spraying orange-hot, sticky flame in every direction. The jet of fiery liquid streamed forth, unrelenting, filling the world just outside their door with hot death, then stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

Alexander closed the door.

“It might be a few minutes,” Magda said.

Alexander picked up part of a dead creature that had fallen into the Wizard’s Den and carried the carnage to the balcony where he casually tossed it over into the endless fog. Within a few minutes, he and his friends had cast the remnants of all the dead creatures away.

He waited for about ten minutes before opening the door. The stench and heat hit him first. What lay beyond was haunting and horrific. Hundreds of the creatures had been killed by fire and the superheated smoke that it created. They walked cautiously, picking their way past charred husks that looked as unnatural in death as they had in life.

It wasn’t until they reached level four that they encountered the first living creature, though it was injured severely enough that it was an effortless kill. Alexander felt a pang of guilt as he flicked the tip of the Thinblade through its head.

He stopped, leaning on Luminessence and sending his sight upward, winding around and around the spiral staircase toward the bedchamber hundreds of feet above. His reconnaissance complete, he returned to his body.

“There’re a few dozen of them still alive and active between here and the surface. The demon is back in the bedchamber and it looks like it’s killed twenty or thirty more.”

Jataan took point, short spear in hand. He worked systematically, deliberately identifying his next target, calculating the most efficient way to kill it and then attacking with such detached, calm precision that Alexander began to wonder what it would take to rattle the man.

He followed closely, offering a warning when one was coming around the ever-present corner. Jataan dispatched them all, cleanly, and with a thoroughness that left no doubt.

It took a while, but they finally reached the bedchamber, Alexander taking point and bounding into the room, Luminessence held high. The tentacle demon was attached to the ceiling, as if lying in wait.

Alexander poured his will into Luminessence, bringing forth its most brilliant light—so perfectly white and pure that it could wash evil from the world of time and substance.

Brilliance flooded into the room. The demon shrieked in pain and rage, its skin igniting under the life-affirming light. Its flesh bubbled and boiled, sputtered and hissed, burning away into a dark smoke that drifted to the ground and coated the floor in splotches of black.

It launched itself at him, moving with frightening speed, sailing through the air, tentacles trailing behind. Alexander’s battle sight warned him a moment before the attack, giving him the time he needed to dive out of the way, narrowly avoiding the demon’s wide-open mouth.

The monster hit the ground and tumbled across the room, hitting hard against the wall. A second later, it was up on its tentacles.

Alexander rolled onto his back. He held Luminessence with both hands, bringing the light back up as he staggered to his feet, willing it to shine with all possible brilliance. It drew on his strength, sapping his energy, but still he gave his will to the staff.

The renewed light hit the demon from a different angle, searing the flesh from several tentacles, causing the monster to falter and topple to the ground. A tentacle darted forward, but Alexander dodged it and cut it with the Thinblade. His light continued to pour forth. He began to feel as though Luminessence was demanding all that he had, every last bit of his life and energy.

All at once the demon seemed to deflate slightly and go still.

Alexander released his light, plunging the room into the shadows of normal illumination. The tentacle demon gave one last thrash, struggling to attack with tentacles that had already been burned away, before completely deflating and slumping to the stone floor.

Alexander sat down, all energy drained from him save for the momentary exhilaration of a meaningful victory.

***

Dawn had just broken in the hazy distance, low clouds diminishing the sun to a grey-orange splotch on the horizon. A flight of wyverns nearly a hundred strong soared in formation with a dragon floating effortlessly well above and ahead of them.

Alexander looked over the side of Ratagan’s wyvern and saw at least two thousand men marching along a freshly cut road through the rugged forest several thousand feet below. More of Zuhl’s soldiers heading for the Nether Gate. He made note of their position.

The journey went quickly, the wyverns flapping wings in unison to lift the entire formation, then locking their wings to coast. By late afternoon, they came in for a landing on one of Bianca’s flight decks. Handlers took Ratagan’s wyvern by the reins as Alexander dismounted and opened the door to the Wizard’s Den.

“Master Colton is certainly right about this means of travel,” Magda said, smiling at Bianca as the Flight Commander approached. Then she turned to Alexander and said, “During our journey, I devised a modified spell, entirely due to the book you lent me, Lord Reishi, that I believe will give me the ability to bring Taharial back from his present state.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Honestly, not really,” she said. “I’ve only had one day of study. Usually, I take many weeks to think on a spell before attempting it, but today is not a usual day. With the help of my sisters, I believe that I can save my steed.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Alexander said.

“Lord Reishi,” Bianca said, stopping before him and bowing slightly. She was flanked by her command staff, all of her Wing Commanders’ colors shining with magic.

“Are your forces ready to fly?” he asked.

“Within the hour if need be,” she said.

“Good, have them prepare to attack Zuhl’s fortress island just before dawn. Ratagan and Horst will need to leave with me in time to get there two hours earlier.”

“I’ll see to the preparations,” Bianca said.

“We also need a place for Zora to land and rest,” Abigail said. “I’m sure a side of beef wouldn’t go amiss either.”

“Will a place on the surface do?”

“I don’t see why not,” Abigail said.

Bianca nodded to one of her Wing Commanders. The woman hurried off to attend to the dragon.

“I’d like to meet with the commanders and witches as well,” Alexander said. “My plan is going to require some careful timing and coordinated execution.”

***

Alexander had been thinking about the map table in the Reishi library. With it he could show his friends a scene from the world in real time.

It got him wondering about his own illusion magic. While the witches and commanders were assembling, Alexander opened his Wizard’s Den and sat down inside his magic circle. In two breaths’ time, he was floating on the firmament. A moment later, he was hovering over Zuhl’s fortress island. He focused on the shape of it, the features, the details, memorizing every aspect of it.

When he was certain that he had a firm grasp of the island in its current form, he projected into his Wizard’s Den and created an illusion of the fortress island on his table … and it was terrible. Ill-formed, lacking detail, missing important features.

He released the illusion.

“What are you trying to do?” Abigail asked, sitting back a bit from the table as if she might get something on her.

“Project an image of the place we’re going to attack.”

“Well, are you looking at it now?”

“No,” Alexander said, frowning deeply at his sister.

“What? I don’t know how it works.”

“I’m not sure I know how it works either, but you just gave me an idea,” he said, sending his sight to Zuhl’s fortress island. Then, while still holding his clairvoyance on the target, he split his focus, seeing there, projecting here, creating a perfect replica of the fortress island: a pair of drakini floating by on patrol, twenty-five hundred men encamped on the surface, three ships holding station half a league away … the whole perfect illusion filling the surface of the table in the middle of his Wizard’s Den.

“Impressive,” Magda said. “Is this depiction in real time?”

“Yes, it’s exactly as I see it,” Alexander said.

While creating the initial illusion took some effort, maintaining it was nearly effortless, requiring only that he kept the location being viewed present in his mind.

“That’s quite a trick,” Jack said.

“Used well, this capability is an insurmountable strategic advantage,” Jataan said.

The implications cascaded through Alexander’s mind. He lost focus and the illusion vanished, though the illusion he’d cast of himself remained.

“The commanders are assembled,” Bianca said from just outside the door. Everyone except Jataan and Alexander left the Wizard’s Den. Alexander remained in his magic circle and Jataan remained in the doorway.

Alexander’s illusion, every bit as real-looking as his own flesh and blood, appeared at the head of the council table. His friends and many ranking witches sat around the table. The walls were lined with chairs filled with lesser witches and Sky Knight commanders and squad leaders.

It seemed so natural the second time, like it should have been obvious all along. He looked with his clairvoyance at the fortress island and projected a perfect replica on the table, so real that it looked like you could reach out and touch it.

“We have limited resources but many objectives …” Alexander began, laying out his plan in careful detail, ensuring that everyone participating in the attack understood the objectives, their priorities, and the order of attack. He spent time focusing on specific locations around and within the fortress island, providing each unit with a clear picture of their field of battle.

He also offered insight into the probable response of Zuhl’s forces, examining their equipment and weapons up close, searching out the drakini and showing the Sky Knights what they would face in the air. Finally, Alexander projected an image of Ixabrax, collared and cowed, curled up in a ball in the wyvern birthing chamber.

The capability to project real images of places at a distance was unlike his other magical talents in its development, in that it came so effortlessly, almost as if the capability had been there for some time and he’d just never used it before. Or perhaps, it was a new combination of abilities that he was already using. Either way, Alexander came to believe that Jataan’s pronouncement was true.

By midway through his presentation, his audience had fallen silent, seeming spellbound by the clear, real, substantive, and absolutely accurate illusions of places that awaited. He defined objectives, assigned roles to each unit, made allowances for enemy reactions, and prepared for withdrawal from the battlefield.

Once the Sky Knights and the witches knew the plan, Alexander projected onto the bridge of the Angellica, startling a tired-looking Captain Targa.

“Lord Reishi. Your orders?” he said, recovering quickly.

“How many men can you deliver to the seawall of the fortress island an hour before dawn?”

“Fifteen hundred,” Targa said.

“Good. I want you to divide your fleet,” Alexander said. “I need a transport group to deliver the soldiers to the island and an assault force to attack one of Zuhl’s ships. Who would you have command the assault fleet?”

“As much as I hate to admit it, that blasted pirate, Finley Raisa, is the best man for the job.”

Alexander smiled, laughing. “I haven’t seen Captain Raisa for a long time. Here’s what we’re going to do, Captain …”

Chapter 30

Alexander held on to Ratagan’s wyvern, leaning into the saddle and struggling to breathe, the wind roaring past his ears, the creature diving toward the sea below with a kind of speed that seemed entirely reckless. Then the wind slowed, stillness and crushing weight filling the void left by the absence of roaring. The world evened out, the ocean a few dozen feet below sliding by in the darkness.

The fortress island loomed above them as they floated through the night just above the waves, ocean spray kissing Alexander’s sweat-slick skin with increasing frequency. He sent his sight forward, searching for enemy sentries in the lowest level of the fortress, guards protecting the seawalls and docks. He found them acting according to their patterns … predictable.

He had scouted them, watched them, timed them. He knew where they would be, how they would react to an alarm, who would come by what route to provide support. He knew their plan because he’d spent time watching them execute their plan.

Horst came in first, coasting out of the light sea fog, causing the vapor to swirl as he passed into the lantern light. The guard was standing on a small watchtower, scarcely ten feet tall, located in the center of a sea wall that was currently unoccupied by any vessels. Horst’s wyvern flared its wings, thrusting its tail underneath itself and into the chest of the guard on the tower, yanking the man away from the seawall and flicking him into the surf, before landing silently.

Ratagan’s wyvern flared hard, landing softly a moment later on the seawall. Alexander patted Ratagan on the shoulder, then pulled his locking bolts loose and slipped off to the ground. Both Sky Knights quickly launched and turned in unison, silently coasting into the fog just yards over the wave caps.

Silence descended on Alexander. He reached out with his sight and found the enemy right where he expected them to be, two dozen men guarding the dock level, and only a two-man patrol close enough to matter. Zuhl was overconfident in his security.

He surveyed the seawall platform, twenty feet of level stone between the side of the fortress island and a twenty-foot drop to the water. It ran for a hundred feet in either direction before opening on each side into enormous enclosed docking facilities capable of housing dozens of ships. Three men guarded each enclosed dock.

Alexander opened the door to his Wizard’s Den. His formidable assault team filed out in turn: Chloe, Jataan, Anja, Jack, Lita, Amelia, Dalia, Bree, Kat, and twenty soldiers led by Lieutenant Carson. Alexander worried about the young officer’s enthusiasm, but he’d been the first to step forward when Alexander had asked for volunteers.

He motioned for silence, then he went to his magic circle, slipping into the firmament and projecting himself into the midst of his people, creating an image before them of the entire battlefield, the fortress island, all three enemy ships, and two friendly fleets—a troop transport fleet hugging the coastline, slipping by one of Zuhl’s three enormous warships, and an assault fleet comprised of faster, better-armed ships traveling in a broad arc that would bring them into weapons’ range of Zuhl’s outermost ship at dawn.

He pulled back, showing the two flights of Sky Knights and witches flying to join the battle. Then he showed Zora, ridden by Abigail and Magda, floating high above the entire scene, waiting for their moment.

Finally, he narrowed in and showed the two guards strolling up the corridor just ten feet inside the fortress wall. Jataan remained in the threshold of the Wizard’s Den, nodding to Anja. She frowned briefly before drawing her broadsword and slipping off into the darkness.

Alexander watched her take up a position at the edge of an access corridor between the seawall and the interior corridor. The two men were oblivious to her presence. She waited until they reached her range, then swept out, taking the nearest man’s head in a stroke before bringing her blade back, one-handed, and cleaving the second man from the side of his neck to his lower ribs.

Alexander reached out with his sight, looking for any hint of a threat. Finding none nearby, he sent his presence to Captain Targa.

“Execute!” he said, fading out of sight and appearing before Captain Raisa.

“Execute!” he commanded, vanishing again, bringing his sight back to his physical location and searching for pathways leading upward. It took only seconds for the magic of his clairvoyance and the magic of his connection with the Reishi Keep to meld and give him a perfect mental map of the entire fortress island.

“Lieutenant Carson, you and your men will coordinate the landing,” Alexander said. “Everyone else, with me.”

He returned to his body, closing the door to the Wizard’s Den a moment after stepping out of it, stopping only to get his bearings before heading upward into the fortress.

Down a corridor, up a staircase, across another corridor and up another staircase brought them to yet another corridor. Alexander stopped at the top of the staircase, his friends crowding in just below him. He sent his sight forward. Three men sat at the end of a long hallway, fifty feet away.

“Are there others near those soldiers?” Jataan asked, after Alexander had described the situation.

“Two levels up and several hundred feet east, there’s a guard post with six men.”

“With your permission, Lord Reishi,” Jataan said.

Alexander nodded.

Jataan slipped around the corner and sprinted down the hallway toward the three men. He’d covered thirty feet by the time they noticed him coming. A javelin appeared in his hand, then leapt into the chest of the man in the middle. Jataan reached him a moment later, taking hold of the javelin and transforming it into a short sword. He flicked his blade at the man on the right, cleanly slicing his throat, then whipped it back and stabbed the man on the left through the heart. His blade vanished before he even pulled it out of the man’s chest. None of them even managed to clear a blade, much less raise an alarm.

Several staircases and another series of hallways led to another staircase. Again, Alexander stopped at the top, looking around the corner at the enemy.

The hallway was twenty feet wide and just as high. Across from Alexander was another staircase leading down. To the left, a hundred feet down the hallway, stood a gate, seven feet tall and four feet wide, made of steel bars spaced at six-inch intervals. It glowed slightly of magic.

Two bunkers were built into the bedrock stone on either side of the gate, providing the fortress’s defenders with excellent protection. Each bunker housed a ballista and crew.

Beyond the gate was a short corridor leading to a forty-foot-diameter circular room with one other exit, directly across from the entrance. The walls were lined with arrow slits manned by dozens of archers.

This kill chamber was one of a handful of choke points limiting access from the lower levels to the middle levels of the fortress island.

Alexander described the enemy, weapons, and defenses.

“We have to break this gate and defeat the defenders so our soldiers can get through here unhindered,” he said.

“What do you have in mind?” Jack asked.

“The direct approach,” Alexander said. “Once I open the way, assault through.”

He stepped out into the hall and ran toward the gate. It didn’t take long before the soldiers saw him and shouted the alarm. He raised his light, bright enough to blind his enemies and thwart their ballistae.

As he closed the distance, he drew the Thinblade, stabbing into the bunker’s firing port and slicing into the thick stone, drawing a U-shape through the granite. He put his foot against the block and pushed it forward until gravity took hold and toppled it into the ballista room. He moved quickly to the other side, slashing the gate into several large pieces on his way before cutting a hole in the other bunker’s stone defenses.

Alexander stepped through, finding a three-man fire team, all struggling to shield their eyes from his light. He killed them quickly and moved into the hallway surrounding one side of the kill chamber. Over a dozen archers seemed surprised as he swept into them, killing with each stroke, taking them so quickly and violently that none even loosed an arrow. The witches cleared the other side of the choke point. Down a short hall and through another door brought them all to a small room with a door in each wall. One led to an empty barracks room, another to a bath chamber, the third to a staircase going up.

Alexander opened his Wizard’s Den, sat down in his magic circle and sent his mind into the firmament before looking at the entire battlefield from high above.

The sky was just beginning to show color on the horizon. He found his forces, Sky Knights, and fleets. The assault was under way.

Captain Targa and his troop transports were already docking at the seawall and offloading their cargo of soldiers, who were moving to secure the lower levels of the fortress island.

Bianca led her wing of witches toward the outermost ship. Cassandra and her Sky Knights stayed high, circling and waiting.

Raisa was driving his fleet hard, pushing to get into position to strike at just the right moment.

Dawn broke, sunlight washing over the ocean.

Bianca tipped her flight into a dive, coming down toward the giant ship at a steep angle. She loosed a ball of blue magical force that hit the ship’s shield, draining it just a bit. Each witch in her flight followed suit, draining the shield one spell at a time until it flickered and failed. Each wyvern pulled up a moment after their rider’s spell was cast.

The crew on Zuhl’s ship was in turmoil, scrambling to respond to the sudden attack.

Captain Raisa came next, a dozen of his ships launching firepots with heavy ballistae. The missiles trailed streamers of smoke in a long arc across the water. Ten hit, splattering fire across the decks and sails. Another volley of nearly two dozen firepots went up as more of Raisa’s fleet came into range. Zuhl’s ship took hits all across its flank and deck, sails and rigging. Within moments of the second barrage, the ship became engulfed, an enormous torrent of flame rising off the water, spewing black smoke into the sky like a beacon.

Alexander appeared on Captain Raisa’s deck.

“Well done, Captain,” he said. “Proceed to your secondary objective with haste.”

“Aye sir,” Raisa said with a curt nod.

Alexander backed off, taking in the whole battlefield once again.

As predictable as the sunrise, the drakini launched from the nearest bay high on the side of the fortress island. Fifty of the unnatural dragon-men took to wing, moving in a cluster toward Raisa’s fleet.

Alexander watched his plan unfold flawlessly. He was starting to become a bit nervous because nothing had gone wrong yet. Cassandra led her flight out of the clear blue sky from above the drakini. The first javelin volley was devastating, killing or wounding over half of the drakini before they even knew they were under attack.

The cluster broke and scattered, drakini going in every direction with squads of wyverns giving chase. The drakini were quick and agile, strong and vicious. One came around, charging a Sky Knight from below, a decided position of weakness. It breathed frost on the wyvern’s wing, then tore into it with hands and feet, before breaking the engagement and letting the wyvern spiral into the water.

The battle became a swarm with Sky Knights struggling to maintain formation and order in the midst of two dozen drakini attacking at random. The drakini moved erratically, abruptly changing direction, making it difficult for the wyverns to track and engage, but there were many more Sky Knights than drakini.

The battle turned decisively when Bianca and her witches rejoined the fray. Alexander scanned the battlefield, seeing Zuhl’s remaining two ships break and run in opposite directions along the Reishi coastline.

He shifted his focus to Abigail and Magda riding on Zora’s back. The dragon was diving fast, having waited just a few minutes past dawn to make her move. She aimed with unerring precision for the large entrance on the side of the fortress island that opened into an interior road running straight to the birthing chamber. Her arc carried her with fluid grace and terrifying speed into the road, where she swept her wings back and coasted on inertia and magic with Abigail and Magda clinging to her back for dear life.

***

Abigail hung on to one of Zora’s back spikes with all of her strength, leaning into the dragon to present the lowest possible profile. She could feel the ceiling moving above her only a few feet from her head. Zora was stretched out, her wings swept back but still spread wide enough that they nearly touched the walls, her head and tail elongated and held straight, the world passing by all too quickly and so dangerously close.

She reminded herself to breathe. Then they reached the birthing chamber and Zora violently flared her wings, breathing a gout of frost into the room the moment she saw Zuhl. Abigail was crushed against the dragon’s back, her breath pushed from her lungs.

“Get off,” Zora said, pausing just long enough for their feet to hit the ground before she launched into battle, springing forward like a cat, pouncing toward Zuhl. But Ixabrax hit her broadside and they went tumbling across the enormous domed room.

Abigail landed hard on the chamber floor, still struggling to regain her breath, but she caught her balance quickly, drew an arrow and sent it at Zuhl. It bounced harmlessly off his shield. Magda sent a blue sphere at him. It flew straight and fast, hitting his shield and causing the bubble of protective force to flicker.

He eyed them with a humorless smile and raised his staff. A shard of ice, six feet long and a foot wide at the middle, formed before him and streaked toward Magda. She threw a force-push at it, narrowly deflecting the attack, sending the shard into the wall behind her hard enough to shatter it into a thousand pieces.

The dragons broke from their catlike wrestling match, and Ixabrax launched toward the apex of the dome. Zora turned her breath on Zuhl, spraying frost and cold so frigid that it could literally freeze a man solid where he stood.

Zuhl raised his staff, projecting a second shield in a half shell toward the icy onslaught. A coating of ice built quickly on the shield, forming six inches within a few moments, dispelling the shield but leaving a dome made of ice twelve feet at the base and almost ten inches thick at the apex.

Ixabrax crashed into Zora again and they whirled across the floor into the wall, a clawing, roaring mass of moving death.

Abigail did her best to ignore them as she took aim at Zuhl, having carefully selected one of the shafts with blue feathers—a force-bomb arrow. Her aim was quick and true. The arrow leapt from her bow and covered the distance in a fraction of a heartbeat, hitting the ice dome surrounding Zuhl with enormous force, a bubble of magical energy exploding from the point of impact in a blink. The ice shattered and Zuhl was tossed twenty feet across the birthing chamber, coming to rest against a wall, still a bit dazed.

Magda sent five force-shards at him, but he managed to raise a shield before the magical blades reached him. He shook his head, seeming to regain his bearings and power very quickly. He sprang to his feet, as if his body were on wires and he’d been pulled into place, brought a new shield up around himself with a few words and then began to cast another spell, holding his staff as he chanted.

***

Alexander raced past a guard post, startling the three men sitting in the little alcove off to the side of the corridor. Jataan kept pace with him. Anja stopped only long enough to quickly and violently deal with the three guards.

Up two more flights of stairs, then down a corridor, Alexander ran onward, his mind fixated on the battle taking place in the birthing chamber, running with all of his strength to get there in time to make a difference.

He burst into the room, breathless and nearly at the end of his strength, his legs trembling and weak. Leaning on Luminessence, he lit the room with his light, filling the chamber with magical brilliance that clarified his friends’ vision while blinding his enemies.

Zuhl erected a wall of ice in front of himself, blocking Alexander’s light. Magda hit his shield from the side, draining it again.

Ixabrax tossed Zora across the room, then pounced after her.

“Focus on the dragon!” Alexander shouted. “Hold him down!”

The five witches joined hands, four of them lending Dalia their magic. She formed an amber ball of energy and sent it at Ixabrax. It hit him on the side of the neck, spreading amber light across his scales, stunning him momentarily, giving Zora an opening. She sprang into him, clamping down on the collar around his neck, driving him to the ground and leveraging her weight to keep him pinned.

Abigail sent a red-feathered arrow at Zuhl, hitting the wall of ice shielding him from Alexander’s light. It hit, exploding in a conflagration, orange and red and yellow fire expanding brilliantly, boiling the wall of ice into steam in moments. He screamed, shielding his eyes against Alexander’s light as he tried to escape the scalding steam.

Alexander dropped his light, running as fast as his exhausted legs would carry him toward the contest of dragons.

The witches all turned on Zuhl, casting light-lances and force-shards at him in unison. He took a force-shard in the shoulder before raising yet another shield and pouring his will into it to defend against the barrage. The moment the witches’ spells ran their course, Zuhl dropped his shield and pointed his staff at them, sending a cone of frost, quickly engulfing them in frigid air, swirling and crystallized. When the fog cleared a few moments later, all five were on the floor coated in frost.

Alexander reached the dragons, drawing the Thinblade as he ran, dancing to avoid being hit by their thrashing tails. He waved Jataan back, moving into position, timing their movements, listening to his magic with every scrap of his attention, waiting for the moment.

And then it came.

Zora adjusted her grip on Ixabrax’s collar, presenting a clear target. Alexander slipped forward and severed the slave collar. Ixabrax thrashed free of Zora, hitting Alexander and sending him flying across the floor, before launching toward Zuhl, breathing a gout of frost at him in midflight.

Zuhl’s shield took the frost. Before Ixabrax could reach him, Zuhl hit him with a force-push powerful enough to send the dragon crashing into the wall.

Anja had worked her way around behind Zuhl, her blade raised in both hands. She was within a few steps of throwing her broadsword when Zuhl opened a door in the world of time and substance and stepped through it, vanishing from the battlefield.

Ixabrax tipped his head back and roared, fury reverberating through the fortress island and into the ocean air beyond.

“I feel the same way!” Anja said. “I was just a few steps away.”

Jataan went to Lita, who lay curled on her side, shivering and shuddering along with her four sisters.

The battle mage looked up plaintively at Alexander and said, “Can you help them?”

Alexander opened his Wizard’s Den and they carried the five witches inside, bundling them in blankets. Magda cast a few spells to warm them and they stoked the fire in the hearth, putting on a kettle to boil.

While his friends tended to the witches, Alexander sat down in his magic circle to find Zuhl. He was atop the plateau, his next spell just reaching fruition. Alexander watched as the wizard grew rapidly, his arms transforming into wings, his pale skin changing into blue scales and his nose growing into a long and powerful snout—Zuhl had just transformed into a blue dragon about half Zora’s size.

Cassandra saw him take off from the plateau, roaring for his remaining drakini and priests to follow.

Drakini poured out of the fortress island, and priests all across the plateau began to transform into small blue dragons. Within a minute, Zuhl was leading a significant force toward the coastal encampment, abandoning his men and the fortress island.

For a moment, Alexander thought Cassandra was going to go after him, but she didn’t, instead turning her attention to the regiment on the plateau. The battle that followed was brutal and efficient. The enemy soldiers that remained had no magic.

Alexander settled in for a fight.

Seeing the entire battlefield, he appeared before a startled and frightened platoon leader with twenty men about to round the corner into a defensive position. Alexander stopped them and showed them a way around so they could attack the position from behind.

Then he backed out again to see the whole fortress island, every enemy, every friendly. His strategy seemed to form naturally, dictated more by the deployment of forces and the terrain than anything else. He appeared in front of another platoon leader, this one on the other side of the island, and told him where to move his platoon, where he would encounter a two-man post, where he should take up a position to make a larger attack later.

Out quickly and then back in, reappearing before the next platoon leader he needed to direct. He sent the man and his soldiers in a long route that would avoid a guard post and bring them into position to attack a main choke point leading to the upper levels.

It wasn’t long before Alexander had his entire force engaged according to his direction, using his magic to keep his people perfectly aware of the enemy’s position, strength, and armaments before each engagement. He guided his people into attacks that caught enemy soldiers between two forces. His men systematically killed or pushed all of Zuhl’s men back and up onto the plateau. By late that evening, the only place that Alexander’s forces hadn’t taken was the top of the fortress island.

All of the paths to the plateau surface were barricaded, guarded, and generally over-defended. The Sky Knights had landed inside the fortress, taking over the unused landing bays and beginning a rotation of attack runs that focused on keeping death raining down from above into the enemy on an ongoing basis.

“We have plenty of rocks,” Bianca said. “No sense risking engagement when we can just kill them from the air.”

“I could use a meal,” Ixabrax growled from his place against the wall of the giant landing bay. Zora looked up, seeming to wake from her nap at the mention of food. This bay was empty of wyverns. Alexander had chosen it because he wanted to include the dragons in his plans.

“If you two want some of Zuhl’s barbarians for dinner, now would be a good time,” Alexander said. “As far as killing all of them, I’m not sure it’s worth the trouble.”

“Speak for yourself, Human,” Ixabrax said, stretching his wings before launching out into the darkening sky. Zora followed a few moments later, shaking her wings out before taking flight.

“What are you suggesting?” Magda asked.

“We leave them here,” Alexander said with a shrug. “Why bother with a bunch of thugs? Besides, they don’t have any ships.”

“This fortress could be a valuable position,” Bianca said.

“We’ll come back to it later,” Alexander said.

“We don’t really need it right now,” Abigail said. “And we already got everything we’re going to get here.”

“I was really hoping to get Zuhl,” Jack said.

“Yeah, but we got Ixabrax,” Abigail said, “and this time, he wants a war.”

They spent the night loading troops and shipping them out under cover of darkness to protect them from the enemy high above on the plateau. By dawn, all that remained were Sky Knights and witches … plus two well-fed dragons.

The witches injured by Zuhl’s frost had recovered with warmth and bed rest. All but Lita were mounting up to fly with Abigail.

“Be careful, Abby. I love you,” Alexander said, hugging his sister.

“You be careful, too,” she said. “I love you, Alex.”

After goodbyes were said all around, they broke into units, all heading to their respective destinations.

Abigail and the witches launched due north with both dragons, heading for the Isle of Zuhl and Whitehall to kill Zuhl.

Bianca and her large flight of Sky Knights launched toward her fortress island to pick up supplies on their way to Fool’s Gap.

Alexander launched with Ratagan and Horst bound for the Reishi Keep, accompanied by Jataan, Jack, Anja, Lita, and Chloe inside his Wizard’s Den.

Targa and Raisa were already well on their way to Shoalhaven.

The enemy soldiers holding the surface of the fortress island were left to their own devices … without food, fresh water, or a boat.

Chapter 31

Alexander pushed his clairvoyance while he flew with Ratagan, searching out the Reishi Isle, learning the terrain and landscape through close inspection alternating with high-level viewing. He returned fully to his physical location frequently, usually feeling a slight headache, but those faded quickly.

His pain had just subsided, so he reasoned that it was time to try again. He searched the forest for anything of interest and saw a scouting team moving toward the Reishi Keep.

He pulled up, getting his bearings before moving in closer, watching the enemy soldiers move with deliberate stealth toward the outer wall. He returned to himself and judged the distance. The wyvern could probably make it in time … depending on the intentions of the scout soldiers.

He tapped Ratagan on the shoulder, motioning for him to land quickly inside the wall of the Keep. The Sky Knight nodded and tipped into a rapid dive, heading straight for the first space large enough to accommodate his wyvern. The beast flared its wings, crushing the air from Alexander as it nearly crashed into the ground.

He slipped off quickly, opening the door to his Wizard’s Den and going to his magic circle. Jataan took up position in the doorway even before Alexander sat down.

He cleared his mind and slipped free, floating over the Reishi Keep, feeling the ancient fortress like an extension of his will, another body with another entire set of senses and capabilities.

He ranged out, finding the two soldiers perched on a low bluff that afforded them a good view of the Keep and the outer wall. They were just watching, most likely scouts but they could be part of a larger attack. Alexander searched the surrounding forest, but found no other soldiers.

Shifting his focus to the Keep, he took a mental inventory of its defensive capabilities, finding a number of magical powers that would suit his needs. With a focused thought, he sent a dozen blasts of white-hot magical energy from the battlements at the two soldiers, ripping into them with terrifying accuracy and potency at such a long range.

Alexander opened his eyes and went in search of Commander Perry, a slight twinge of guilt nagging at him for killing the two soldiers. The guilt slowly morphed into anger at the things evil people make good people do. He deliberately set those feelings aside. There would be more death before there would be peace.

He steeled himself to that fact and reaffirmed his commitment to victory for the Old Law, even if the cost was hard to bear. All of the other alternatives were catastrophic for the Seven Isles. He had to win, and yet, the battle that would decide the future would likely be fought without him.

He told himself again that it was the only way.

“Lord Reishi,” Commander Perry said, saluting crisply. “I take it the magical fire from the Keep was your doing.”

Alexander nodded. “I’ll need a tent for a few days, Commander, until the wizards arrive.”

“I’ll see to it at once.”

“Also, we’re going to need space for several legions.”

“We haven’t yet cleared the Keep sufficiently to hold such numbers.”

“Have the men moving into the Keep clear as they go.”

“As you wish, Lord Reishi.”

Alexander opened his Wizard’s Den and went to his magic circle. Moments after sitting down, he was floating over a cluster of large armored men, all surrounding Peti and Abel. The King of Ithilian was well, but still entirely under the witch’s spell. As Alexander watched, Peti killed a man, draining his blood into a large tub.

Alexander floated up into the air and was sickened by what he saw. A giant sigil had been dug into the ground, soaked in the blood of Zuhl’s soldiers. Peti had already killed thousands. He could only imagine her intent.

He shifted his point of awareness and appeared before Sofia, focusing on his objectives rather than the circumstances.

“I’ve just looked in on Abel. He’s alive and well but still charmed.”

Sofia pursed her lips, taking a moment to process Alexander’s sudden arrival on her balcony and his report about her husband.

She nodded slowly but resolutely, then asked, “How can I help you, Alexander?”

“I need your Gate legion.”

“Where?”

“The Reishi Isle.”

“This is important, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Very much so,” he said.

“You can have this legion, but only if Evelyn and I command it.”

“Done,” Alexander said. “I’ll open the Gate tomorrow morning. Bring everyone you can.”

“Unfortunately, most of the wizards are in the city and Torin has already taken a legion north,” Sofia said, “but I still have Mage Jalal acting as my court wizard. He’s remarkably resourceful for a man who looks so frail. Aside from that, I have only soldiers.”

“That’s what I need,” Alexander said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

A few moments later, he was floating above a huge fleet of warships crowded into the strait between Andalia and Tyr.

He moved in, focusing his vision on the flagship, an enormous vessel almost half the size of one of Zuhl’s battleships. He slipped below decks and found Isabel sitting at a table, staring ahead like she was in a contest of wills, darkness swirling in her beautiful colors. Alexander appeared in the chair across from her.

She blinked, smiling in spite of the weariness in her eyes.

“I see you,” she whispered.

“I see you too,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m losing, Alexander,” she said, matter-of-factly. “She’s winning.” She tapped the side of her head.

“You have to hold on, Isabel.”

“I have … I have held on. I’m holding on right now.”

Her condition and her plight tore at his heart. He wanted to reach out and save her from her torment, but he was helpless to act, so he changed the subject.

“How many men does Phane have?”

“Three legions, a hundred wraithkin, and a dozen Acuna,” she said, speaking too quickly. “Plus Tyr and his hundred ships.”

“I love you, Isabel,” Alexander said. “Hold on to the light. When the time is right, bring it forth.”

“I love you, Alexander,” she said, very deliberately and very sincerely as he faded out of sight, pushing a flood of feelings aside and focusing on the task at hand.

He found Lacy, locked alone in a cabin not far from Isabel’s. She was wearing a slave collar. Otherwise she looked well enough given her circumstances.

He faded into the firmament and thought of Abigail. He found her riding a wyvern over the ocean, coasting through the chill air, wrapped in warm riding furs. She was still some distance from the Isle of Zuhl, flying in formation with almost three dozen wyverns.

Next he found Conner. He was south of the Iron Oak Forest with two and a half legions of cavalry, including almost two legions of Rangers. They were moving with all possible speed toward Fool’s Gap, but they were still days away. The rest of the army, infantry and archers, were consolidating at the south edge of the Iron Oak, picking up stragglers and preparing to move south.

Finally, he thought of Anatoly and found him inside a fortified tower built atop a giant boulder at the west end of Fool’s Gap, right were he’d constructed his first defensive line—a trench backed up with a wooden-spiked berm and topped with four lines of soldiers armed with shields and pikes. More soldiers waited in reserve at the base of the berm, ready to fill in gaps or to counterattack should the line fail.

Behind them stood row after row of archers, all with several quivers of arrows each. Two hundred heavy cavalry waited in reserve behind them.

Given his terrain, a hundred feet of dirt bordered on two sides by two-hundred-foot stone walls, his forces were deployed well. If anything, his reserve force, more than three-quarters of a legion camped on the far side of the gap, was becoming restless.

Marching up the switchback approach road were a thousand soldiers, beating war drums. An hour’s walk to the west, the rest of the enemy force was encamped, almost ten legions. They looked as though they weren’t planning on staying where they were for long.

Alexander appeared beside Anatoly, startling Oliver.

“Good timing,” Anatoly said. “Is it as bad as it looks?”

“This is a probing attack,” Alexander said, motioning to the thousand men approaching. “The main force is an hour away and they look like they might move against you all at once.”

“About what I thought,” he said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Any help coming?”

“A flight of Sky Knights should arrive sometime today, probably later this afternoon. Conner and his cavalry will get here in a few days. Torin will land his troops in a few days as well.”

“So we hold,” Anatoly said, nodding to himself like he was stating the obvious, turning to Commander Blake. “Ready the archers. Five-arrow volley.”

“Yes sir,” Blake said, stepping out onto the tower’s balcony and instructing a flagman to send the signal. Blake turned and nodded to Anatoly once the archer commander had received it.

The probing regiment raised shields, approaching under a turtle shell of steel plates. While they were all armed differently, all of these men carried some form of large shield. The entire thousand men moved as one, inching closer to Anatoly’s line. They passed into the kill zone. Anatoly waited. The leading edge passed out of the kill zone, too close to Anatoly’s line to be safe targets for the archers.

He nodded to Blake. The commander ordered the flagman to send the signal for the archers to fire five volleys in rapid succession.

Moments later, a hail of arrows rained down on the shields, some penetrating and drawing blood, most breaking against steel. The four lines of men atop the berm shifted formation the moment the arrows began to strike, pulling out slingshots and throwing lead bullets into the leading edge of the attackers, tossing three volleys before returning to their defensive formation.

The combination of attacks was effective, wounding nearly half of the probing force. Anatoly signaled Blake for volley number two. Two separate forces of archers lining the cliffs above on each side of the gap loosed three arrows each … their range better for their altitude, they killed many soldiers in the back ranks.

The probing force fell back further, two-thirds of its number dead or wounded.

“So now they took our measure,” Anatoly said.

A drumbeat went up from the probing force, a call to arms. Alexander looked at the main force, sighing to himself.

“Here they come,” he said.

“All of them?” Captain Iker asked.

“No, looks like about one legion,” Alexander said.

“Put out the word,” Anatoly said. “Signal Corina.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Alexander said, vanishing and finding Corina with her flight well back of the main battle line, all armored and waiting. Dozens of wagons and even a few giant saddlebags filled with rocks were staged around the mountaintop wyvern camp.

He appeared in front of her and smiled without a word, creating a perfect image of the battlefield as it was in this moment. He moved his focus to the main enemy force, picking out the group in the center that seemed to be the command element, moving in closer to show the nature of the guard force around them.

“Anatoly tells me you can do some pretty good damage with these rock carts,” he said. “Target these people here.”

Corina nodded agreement. “We can launch on your command, but what about the advancing legion? Shouldn’t we hit them instead?”

“No, hit their leadership hard,” Alexander said. “Strategy and position are all that Anatoly has going for him. They can’t get position, and strategy only comes from good leadership. Take that away from them, and Anatoly might be able to hold the gap.”

She nodded, calling out to her Sky Knights to make ready. They started mounting up and taking to wing, spiraling higher and higher in preparation for their attack runs.

Alexander returned to Anatoly.

“Corina will hit their commanders,” he said.

Anatoly nodded, looking up as the first squad coasted overhead. Alexander sent his sight to them, floating along beside them, watching their approach from right over their shoulders. The wing leader pointed out the formation at the center of the enemy army, checking to see the signal from each of his Knights before tipping into a dive, each wyvern pulling in behind two leading wyverns, forming two columns on an attack run.

The lead Sky Knight pulled a heavy lanyard. One by one, the boxes inside the cart dangling below his wyvern popped open, spilling dozens of rocks into the sky. The next Sky Knight loosed his payload a moment later. A steady stream of stones rained down, showering the tightly clustered horde of soldiers with devastating results, killing men by the hundreds. After all the rocks had been deployed, the Knights turned back toward the wyvern camp to refill their carts.

Thousands of men lay dead or dying below as more Sky Knights floated in, dropping death from the sky to kill and maim indiscriminately. The enemy suffered terrible losses. Without magic, they were all but defenseless against such an aerial attack. It lasted nearly an hour. Wyverns launching, Sky Knights dropping rocks into the midst of the enemy and returning to reload. They started their attack in the central camp, pounding the leadership hard before spreading out to kill many of the rank and file.

By the time it was done, Alexander estimated twenty thousand dead or wounded. The field was red with blood and the air filled with cries for help, water and mercy. He’d hoped that such a devastating attack would motivate the enemy to retreat, but it seemed to provoke the exact opposite response.

The seven remaining legions had nowhere to go except to follow their assault legion. Most of the men just milled about aimlessly, looking for someplace to direct their aggression. But two legions began to mobilize and follow after the troops already moving toward Anatoly.

The assault legion formed into a loose column about fifty abreast and two hundred deep, shields up and interlocked in haphazard fashion. A volley of arrows went up at Anatoly’s signal. It produced more of a clatter than bloodshed. The advancing enemy closed in tighter, filling the spaces between shields, the entire legion moving along at a crawling pace, but closing the distance nonetheless.

Anatoly held up five fingers to Commander Blake. A few moments later, five volleys of arrows went up over the berm, raining down into the enemy shields, most falling harmlessly against their defenses but some getting through.

“Signal the slingers on the bluffs,” Anatoly said.

Blake took up a horn and blew it three times—the great, low, booming tones reverberated throughout Fool’s Gap, filling the air with tension and expectancy.

A few moments later, stones began to fall from the bluffs, raining down on the attackers from both sides, pelting their shields, disrupting their defenses, even killing a few. Anatoly’s people atop the cliffs were armed with slingshots and an endless supply of stones the size of a man’s fist.

He looked over to Blake, signaling for another volley of five. Arrows went up, finding more targets with the enemy under siege from the cliffs, killing or wounding nearly a quarter of their number.

Someone near the front of the enemy ranks blew a horn. The entire legion, or what remained of it, broke ranks and raced forward, shields held high but no longer interlocked and close. Arrows rained into their midst, killing many more, but they gained precious ground. A shouted command brought the leading edge of the charge to an abrupt halt, men forming up and interlocking shields again as more men filled in the ranks behind them, forming another steel turtle shell over the closely packed cluster of men. Arrows clattered against their shields, dwindling as the last of the volley fell to earth.

“Ready one on my command,” Anatoly said, raising his hand, holding up his finger, watching the enemy. He trusted Blake to get the signal right.

A muffled shout went up and the enemy shields all came down as one, followed by a volley of javelins.

Anatoly shouted, “Now!” dropping his hand the moment he heard the enemy command.

Arrows and javelins arced through the air, crossing paths only briefly before crashing into their targets.

Arrows reached the enemy before most could raise their shields. The damage was severe, hitting close to half of all that remained, leaving gaps in their defenses.

The javelins hit the shield line atop the berm wall hard, penetrating shields in some cases, stabbing into the guts of the men holding them, some passing into the second and third ranks, killing in most cases, in others wounding so severely that death seemed a foregone conclusion.

Before Anatoly could signal for another volley, the enemy charged again, this time in a headlong rush to reach the berm wall. Arrows were no longer an option for these men, but another two legions were rushing in behind them, clogging the switchback road that led up to the gap and filling the space between the two cliffs with men, pushing in behind the more organized assault unit.

Anatoly’s line braced for the charge as the rear ranks began hurling stones into the onrushing enemy with their slingshots. Most stones bounced off their shields, but some made it through.

The enemy reached the berm wall quickly, but rather than assault it all at once, they broke into four units, each called to their position by a banner held high. They formed up into wedges protected by raised shields and moved forward, advancing up the spiked incline methodically, defending against the pike and slingshot attacks with their heavy shields.

The first wedge reached the shield wall. Rather than thrust into the wall, the lead man reached out with his war axe, hooked the nearest man’s shield over the top and yanked him down the hill into the midst of his soldiers. He died quickly. A pike darted out and stuck the lead man through the shoulder. Another took his place.

Four points on the line came under focused attack at once … and it was working. The enemy was weakening the line, primarily through the tactic of pulling defenders down the berm one at a time where they could be hacked to death quickly.

Behind them, another twenty thousand men began to crowd into the gap, charging forward with reckless abandon.

“Signal the archers to fall back to the secondary line,” Anatoly said.

Blake dutifully waved the flag to the archer commander.

“Spread the word,” Anatoly said, “on the whistler, the shield wall will fall back to the narrows.”

“Right away,” Iker said, trotting off to deliver the message to his runners.

“You need to fall back, too,” Liam said.

Anatoly didn’t respond, staring at the advancing enemy, watching his archers begin to pick up and run back to the second line of soldiers. He’d chosen a narrow spot in the gap, not even a hundred feet wide, to form the basis of his second defensive line.

“He’s right, Anatoly,” Alexander said. “You need to fall back to your secondary command post. You’re about to be overrun.”

Anatoly nodded reluctantly. “I’ve always hated to retreat.”

“I’ll go see what Corina has ready,” Alexander said, vanishing and reappearing in the wyvern camp well to the rear of the battle.

Corina was standing in the middle of the camp yelling for someone to hurry up.

“Your first attack was a success, but rather than retreat, they came straight at us.”

“I see. I have a squad loaded and ready right now,” she said. “I can send more as they’re made ready.”

“Whatever you can do will help,” Alexander said, vanishing and moving his sight to the enemy wedges attacking Anatoly’s line. He manifested three bright orbs of light and began to float around the weakest points in the line, moving toward the advancing enemy in erratic and threatening ways, blinding or distracting them while they fought. The technique worked. When the enemy soldiers ducked or flinched to avoid one of Alexander’s orbs, they would open themselves up to attack, usually with dire consequences.

The whistler went up and the line began to fall back. Alexander started racing up and down the line, three orbs of light dazzling enemy soldiers all along the way, flashing up to within inches of their eyes, moving with the speed and precision of thought, unbridled by the constraints of time and substance.

The illusory light he could muster was nothing compared to the brilliance of Luminessence, and it didn’t even belong in the same category as his staff’s brightest light, but it was enough to blind, dazzle, distract, and otherwise sow chaos within the enemy’s ranks.

Anatoly’s forces fell back, quickly racing toward the narrows and the second line, filing in between the men waiting for their turn to hold against the enemy. Many of the last to retreat were cut down by javelins, but otherwise the action was a success. The second line closed ranks and locked their shields.

The horde charging from behind the assault force reached the berm just as the four wedge units were re-forming into a single unit on the near side of the berm. The horde came over the top and spilled into the enclosed space like a wave.

The commander of the assault force tried to assert command and gain control, but finally simply braced for the impending flood of barbarians. They washed over the berm and around the assault force, surging toward the line with battle lust and mob mentality.

Anatoly gave the signal. Archers and slingers began to fire at will. The air filled with arrows and stones, whizzing and hurtling toward the enemy in the kill zone. This was the spot that would be stained the reddest. Rank after rank of archers filled the space behind the shield wall. Soldiers just behind the shield line hurled stones with their slingshots while the soldiers lining the cliffs rained stone and shaft into the enemy.

While the assault force had shields, this horde had no such protection. Most wore light armor, a few had breastplates.

The arrows devastated the onrushing barbarians, felling them in waves as each volley crashed into them, but still they came. The surge of so many pushing forward carried those in front, driving them toward the shield line that bristled with hundreds of pikes and spears.

A wyvern roared and then the sky seemed to fall onto the switchback road as twelve Sky Knights dropped several tons of stones into the back ranks of the horde. The sound alone was enough to stop the battle for a moment. The barbarians faltered as those nearer the front seemed to realize that they were trapped and being pushed toward a field of death littered with corpses, arrows sticking up at odd angles by the thousands.

Momentum carried the next wave of enemy into the kill zone, advancing into a lull created by the death of so many men in so little time. A few reached the shield line but were easily killed by pike before they even got close enough to attack.

Anatoly shook his head sadly before ordering another volley.

“Corina will send what she has when she has it,” Alexander said.

Anatoly nodded, looking out over the battlefield, enemy soldiers clambering over their dead comrades to get one step closer to death. Arrows raining down into them, bodies beginning to pile up.

“They can overwhelm us if they’re willing to take the losses up front,” Anatoly said.

Alexander nodded. “I’m hoping they don’t have anyone left who’s smart enough to realize that.”

“The commander of that assault force knows what he’s doing,” Anatoly said, pointing his finger out into the growing carnage. “If he manages to get control of his men, we’re in trouble.”

“Bianca should be here later today,” Alexander said.

“And Conner a few days after that, I know,” Anatoly said. “If we make it that long, we’ll have a chance.”

“You just have to hold out, Anatoly.”

“I know, Alexander. This was my plan, remember? But I also know how it ends. You need to be prepared for that.”

“I don’t want to hear that. I won’t let you give up,” Alexander said.

“Give up?” Anatoly said with a humorless chuckle. “I’m not giving up, I’m going to fight with my last breath. But I’m outnumbered ten to one.” He paused, looking out over the sprawling carnage. “Well, maybe seven to one now. The point is, I’m going to run out of arrows eventually and then it’ll come down to men on a line stabbing at each other. That’s a numbers game.”

Alexander sighed, nodding to himself, forcing himself to face the reality of Anatoly’s situation and then to face the very real possibility that Anatoly might die in this mountain pass. Intellectually, he had always known that it was possible, but it never carried weight before. Now, in the face of such an onslaught, Alexander had to face the fact that his mentor and one of his oldest friends might meet his end in this battle.

Thinking about it made his stomach churn.

“Tell me what I can do,” Alexander said.

“You’ve done all you can, for now anyway,” Anatoly said. “It looks like the momentum has shifted. They seem to be falling back to their base camp.”

“If I came over a berm and saw that,” Alexander said, gesturing to the field of death spread out before them, “I’d turn around too.”

“Yeah,” Anatoly said, nodding, his eyes staring off into the distance. “Check in with me later. I might need your help.”

“I will,” Alexander said. “What are you going to do?”

“I thought we’d go get some of our arrows back. Then we wait. It’s their move.”

Alexander nodded. “I’ll be back tonight,” he said, vanishing into the firmament and returning to his body.

He felt restless. So much was happening around the Seven Isles and he was waiting, sitting still. He needed to do something useful. He considered leaving, heading to Karth, but reconsidered again for the same reason—the delivery he was awaiting was far too dangerous. He had to be here when it arrived.

Also, he felt a sense of obligation to explain in person to Erik and Kelvin why he wouldn’t be leading them into battle. Forces were converging, all eyes on the Nether Gate … and Alexander was leaving. He felt a pang of guilt but dismissed it, falling back on his reasoning to keep his resolve intact.

“How’s he doing?” Jack asked from his desk.

“So far, the battle’s been pretty lopsided,” Alexander said. “Anatoly has position and archers, but the barbarians have numbers and they aren’t afraid to spend lives to get what they want.”

“We could still go there,” Anja said.

“As much as I’d like to, we wouldn’t get there in time and I doubt we’d make much difference.”

“We’d make a difference,” Anja said with a frown.

Jack offered Alexander a sympathetic smile.

After a meal eaten with the soldiers that had manned this fortress for months, Alexander checked back with Anatoly. The enemy had retreated and appeared to be regrouping, but showed no interest in attacking at night. Bianca had arrived and was working with Corina to organize the two flights under their command. Anatoly set his watch and put his people to bed. Alexander returned to his body.

Lita changed the bandage on his shoulder and he went to bed himself. Using his magic for so many hours had taken a toll on him, leaving him physically exhausted and mentally sluggish.

He woke early the next morning. “Time to open the Gate,” he said, gently stretching his shoulder.

Lita stopped him from getting up with a hand on his forehead. “You seem to be on the mend,” she said, “just take care with your shoulder.”

He nodded his thanks and headed for the door, trailing his friends behind him.

Just after dawn, he stood by the Reishi Gate, the magical passage open, allowing an entire legion of Ithilian infantry to march through.

Alexander escorted Sofia, Evelyn, and Jalal to a command tent and a hearty breakfast while their soldiers marched into the Keep, spreading out and claiming the interior, one space at a time.

He spent a few minutes describing the enemies they faced and his strategy to intervene only after Phane and Zuhl had engaged—hopefully exploiting any injuries they might sustain. He didn’t add details that he didn’t need to add, not out of mistrust but out of caution. His plan contained many parts. Few of his allies needed to know more than their part.

After breakfast, he left them to organize the quartering of their soldiers. It would take the better part of the day to move the entire legion—all things considered, a quick trip.

A few moments in the firmament told him that he could do nothing to help anyone right now. Everyone was either traveling or waiting for a fight to start. In Anatoly’s case, he seemed to have been given a reprieve, but at a price. The entire enemy force had made camp and were busy reorganizing, repairing equipment and tending to their wounded—a well-planned, coordinated attack was probably coming, but not today.

He returned to his body and stood up with a frown, aimlessly looking this way and that.

“What?” Anja said.

“I have a whole day with nothing useful to do,” Alexander said.

“Perhaps you should rest,” Lita said. “You’re still not fully healed, you know.”

“I’ve had enough rest,” Alexander said. “I’m going for a walk. I need to think.”

I’m coming, too,” Anja said.

“I’ll stay here, if it’s all the same to you,” Jack said, gesturing to his desk.

“I have work to do in the infirmary,” Lita said, touching Jataan’s hand as she left.

Alexander set out along the wall that Perry and his men had built. It was an impressive structure, fully twenty feet tall and half as wide. The stones fit tightly and were cut in such a way that gravity pulled them tighter and more solidly together. The Keep itself was an imposing and impressive place, all the more so now that Alexander had access to the formidable weapons and defensive capabilities it possessed. He was probably safer here than anywhere in the world save Glen Morillian.

“When are we going to leave?” Anja asked.

“Probably day after tomorrow,” Alexander said.

“I don’t understand. Why don’t we go now?”

“I’m waiting for the Rangers and the Wizards to reach the Gate on Ruatha so I can let them through.”

They walked for a while in silence, Anja skipping from time to time to keep up, Jataan ever present in the background. Alexander stepped back from the war in his mind, looking at it from a wider, broader perspective, categorizing his enemies and the threat they posed to the world.

In the long run, the shades were still the greatest threat. Rankosi, and now possibly Horace, posed a more immediate threat, but the shades in general represented an end to all things.

As much as Alexander hated to admit it, Peti was next on his list of world-changing dangers. If she managed to summon her coven’s namesake, Sin’Rath herself, the world would fall under her dominion, every man bowing to her will without any hope of resisting her charms.

After the two demonic threats plaguing the world, Phane and Zuhl ranked next, both deadly in the extreme and only ranked lower on his list because of their relative mortality.

Looking at each of these enemies, Alexander realized that only the shades were his to fight alone. Zuhl would fall to Abigail and the Coven, Alexander was confident of that. Phane would fall to Isabel, or not at all. Her magic could penetrate his defenses where no one else’s could … and she was standing right next to him, no small piece of the plan. Peti was beyond him in a way that made his skin crawl. The Coven would kill her, costly though it might be. That left the shades—Rankosi and Horace.

Alexander’s plan to undo them hinged on Siduri, the ancient adept who had lived for so long in self-imposed isolation, ravaged by his own guilt, hesitant to touch the world again for fear of breaking it. Siduri alone could unmake Rankosi and his brothers. Isabel’s report about Hector and Horace confirmed it. Alexander just had to prove it. He was confident that Siduri would do what needed to be done once he fully understood the consequences of his actions … or inaction.

The first step was to make contact, a task that Alexander had repeatedly failed to accomplish. He thought about his encounters with Siduri, the first at the well of the blood of the earth deep under Bragador’s mountain, and the second in Siduri’s construct.

The second encounter still puzzled him, raising a number of questions that nagged at him incessantly. Why did he have to nearly die to reach Siduri’s construct? How had Siduri created another world in the first place? And how had Siduri returned him to the world of time and substance?

Alexander turned these thoughts over in his mind and decided that he needed to learn more about how his magic worked before he tried to contact Siduri again. If he could build his own construct, maybe he could figure out how to go there physically. He felt a little thrill of fear in his belly at the thought. He might be able to get there … but he had no idea how to get back.

Regardless, the concept merited exploration. He opened the door to his Wizard’s Den and went to his circle without explanation.

“I hate it when he does that,” Anja muttered to Jataan.

Jack looked up long enough to see Alexander headed for his circle and went back to his writing.

Alexander slipped quietly into the firmament, listening to the song of creation in all its chaotic harmony for a moment before turning his attention to creating a place of his own within the infinite ocean of possibility.

The most immediate decision was determining the form of the construct. Alexander looked at the Seven Isles from so high that he could see the curve of the world. It looked like a map below him, albeit somewhat obscured by clouds here and there. He looked at each island, recalling his experiences and travels, trying to pick out a place of simple beauty. Many came to mind, but the one that stood out the most was a little box canyon above the vitalwood’s grotto.

It was only a hundred feet on a side, sheer cliff walls rising hundreds of feet on three sides, a waterfall cascading down the fourth, running in a burbling stream through a lush little grove before spilling off the cliff and falling into spray hundreds of feet below. Alexander shifted his focus there and explored the little place again, taking in the simple, pristine beauty, the calm, idyllic tranquility and solitude. It was perfect.

He slipped back into the firmament, unsure of how to proceed. Always before, he’d projected his illusions into the world of time and substance. This was entirely different. When he tried to create a duplicate image of the box canyon in the firmament, he slipped out into the world of time and substance, illusion and all. The first few times, the soldiers nearby were alarmed, to say the least.

Alexander persisted, trying again and again, working until he got hungry, failing every time he tried. His efforts felt forced and unnatural, at odds with the apparent will of the firmament to project an illusion inside of it.

He opened his eyes and sighed with frustration.

“Nothing?” Jack said.

“Nothing except the same failure over and over again.”

“Maybe you’re following the wrong path.”

“Yeah, but it’s the only path I can see.”

“Then take a step back,” Jack said.

“Huh,” Alexander said, nodding to himself. “I think I’ll go see how the Ithilians are doing, maybe find some lunch along the way.”

He thought back to his experience in Siduri’s construct, and more importantly, how he’d gotten there in the first place. Again, it came back to dying on the floor of the Babachenko’s cell. He could send his mind into the firmament at will, but he’d only transitioned there physically when he was dying. That wasn’t very helpful.

“Looks like they’re making good progress,” Jack said.

Alexander looked up from his thoughts and saw a steady flow of Ithilian infantry marching through the Gate. Perry’s officers were quickly and efficiently directing the new arrivals to their respective quarters. Alexander reached out with his mind into the Keep. He could feel it filling up with people, areas coming to life again, warmth and light replacing the cold and dark that had gripped the place for so long.

Sofia and Evelyn sat outside under a hastily erected canopy with General Brand and Commander Perry. Younger officers and runners came and went with regularity, passing instructions to the arriving army.

“Ah, Alexander,” Sofia said, “we were just about to have lunch. Won’t you join us?”

“I’d love to,” he said, taking a seat at the table. “How are things coming along?”

“Well enough,” Sofia said, “though General Brand is concerned that we’re leaving Ithilian unguarded.”

“Your legion was guarding a closed and locked Gate, General. No one can open the Gates now but me. Besides, if Phane manages to get control over the Nether Gate, Ithilian won’t survive anyway.”

“Fair point,” General Brand said. “Might I ask how you intend to deploy our soldiers?”

“Phane is approaching from the south with three legions,” Alexander said. “Zuhl has that many or more in the northern wilds of the Reishi Isle. Both of them are headed for a confrontation over the Nether Gate. That will be our opportunity to strike.”

Brand nodded.

“Two legions of Rangers will be coming through on your heels,” Alexander said. “We’ll garrison the men here until Phane gets close. He’s the key. Once he makes landfall, you’ll move closer to the Nether Gate.”

“You’ll move?” Brand said. “Will you not be joining us, Lord Reishi?”

Alexander paused, holding the man with his blind eyes. “No.”

“I don’t understand, Alexander,” Sofia said. “Where will you be?”

“I have another task to attend to.”

“You can’t be serious,” Evelyn said.

“I am. It’s important.”

“Who will command our forces in your absence?” General Brand asked.

“Erik Alaric will lead the attack.”

“I still don’t see what’s so important that you have to leave right before a big battle,” Evelyn said.

“The truth is, in a large-scale engagement, I can be more useful with my magic than I can with my sword. And I don’t have to be here to bring my magic to the fight.”

“You still didn’t answer my question,” she said.

“No, I didn’t,” Alexander said with a little grin. As outspoken as Evelyn was, Alexander liked her. She was genuine to a fault, whether you liked it or not.

Lunch was served. Alexander shifted the conversation to the battle to come, discussing terrain, enemy weaknesses and strengths, strategy and objectives. He detailed everything he knew about the approaching enemy forces. General Brand was particularly interested in his report, going so far as to take notes. By the time the meal was over, he seemed a bit more at ease with the battle plan.

“Send someone to let me know when the last of your men are through,” Alexander said, excusing himself from the table with a courteous bow to Sofia and Evelyn.

“Certainly, Lord Reishi,” General Brand said.

Alexander spent the next few hours meditating, searching enemy encampments, looking at the forces arrayed before him, ferreting out details about their organization, equipment, and weapons in an effort to gain better insight into what he faced. He looked at Phane and his fleet of oversized rowboats, each manned by two dozen men—soldiers all.

He looked at Zuhl and his men in the forest to the north. They still showed almost no interest in the Keep but were moving to a number of camps just north of the Nether Gate, staging for the battle to come.

He looked at Peti, his stomach turning at the sight of many thousands of men dead, drained of blood, their bodies piled high to be burned. She continued to kill the soldiers, pouring their blood into an enormous sigil she’d drawn in the middle of her encampment. He drew back, feeling vaguely uneasy at the sight of the symbol on the ground. It held a hint of dark magic in its colors.

He shifted to the fortress city on Karth and explored its walls, fortifications, and corridors, searching for any vulnerability he might exploit, but found few. It truly was a fortress. Into the black tower he descended to the chamber deep underground where the Wraith Queen was kept. She was still contained in her triple magic circle, floating over a room filled with smaller circles, many of them containing lesser wraith, smaller, less distinct, but every bit as evil and hateful as their mother.

Moving up through the black tower, he assessed the defenses and found them to be daunting. Aside from a wide variety of magical safeguards, there were also several guardians defending the path … and then there was the door. Much like one of the Reishi Gates, it was a slab of black stone that magically opened to an identical slab in a chamber five hundred feet beneath it—the only chamber that led to Azugorath.

If Alexander was going to reach the Wraith Queen, he would have to pass through that door. He moved closer and saw an inscription atop the arch. Making a mental note of it, he left Karth and went to Whitehall on the Isle of Zuhl, searching out the interior of the sprawling white marble keep, finding the halls well guarded by soldiers and a few priests and drakini. Zuhl’s chambers were deep under the palace, fortified by stone, steel, and magic.

Inside, the ancient mage slept in an enclosed crystal sarcophagus, time itself seeming to stop within. The head of the sarcophagus merged with the curved wall opposite the entrance. To either side stood two alcoves embedded into the wall. On the left, encased in a substance that seemed at once crystalline and liquid, were two identical copies of Zuhl’s body. Those on the right contained unformed masses of tissue, glowing softly with the colors of life.

Alexander withdrew from Whitehall into the firmament. He spent over an hour simply spread out over the whole of creation, listening, hoping for some inspiration to strike, some idea that would get him closer to contacting Siduri. Nothing came to him, but his meditation did leave him feeling more centered and more confident in his plan.

Before returning to his body, he went to the Gate on Ruatha and found that almost a full regiment had arrived. Erik and Duane were still a ways out, but they would arrive by nightfall.

He got up and headed for the Gate, smiling when he saw a runner coming toward him with a confused look on his face.

“I was coming to tell you that the legion is through, Lord Reishi,” the man said, somewhat breathlessly.

“Thank you,” Alexander said without stopping. He went to the Gate, closed it to Ithilian and opened it to Ruatha.

Chapter 32

He woke early the following morning, grabbed a bag of dried fruit and nuts and headed for the Gate. He’d left it open during the night and arrived to find Duane sharing breakfast with General Brand.

Duane got up and gave Alexander a salute when he saw him coming. Alexander gave his brother-in-law a hug.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, stepping back.

“You too. I got here late last night. Erik should be along in a few hours.”

“Good. Has General Brand briefed you?”

Duane nodded, chewing on his lip for a moment. “Do you think Isabel will be with Phane?” he finally asked.

“I’m certain of it,” Alexander said. “She’s on her way here right now.”

Duane nodded, hope flaring in his colors, determination glittering in his eyes.

“You’ll have your chance, Duane. Just don’t take your shot until you’re sure you have one.”

“I hear you’re leaving,” Duane said.

“I am, just as soon as your army gets through and the wizards arrive.”

Duane took a bite and chewed slowly, looking off in the distance for nearly a minute.

“You’re going after that demon that has her, aren’t you?”

Alexander nodded firmly, putting a finger to his lips.

Duane took another bite. Brand sat back, seeming to reappraise Alexander.

“How long before the Rangers are through?”

“I’m hoping by dark,” Duane said around a mouthful. “We were pretty spread out when the call came.”

“Any word on the wizards?”

“Only that the few Sky Knights we have left on Ruatha went to go get them yesterday. Apparently, Mage Gamaliel was delayed because he was busy creating a few more weapons for the fight.”

“If he’s flying, he should be along sometime today,” Alexander said. “Have a runner come tell me when he arrives.”

“Of course,” Duane said.

Alexander returned to his command tent, opened his Wizard’s Den and went to his circle. He’d scouted Anatoly’s enemy the night before and saw that they were preparing for a morning attack. He wanted to lend whatever assistance he could to the fight.

He arrived over the battlefield just as the enemy was moving toward Anatoly’s line. The lead soldiers carried shields and oversized quivers filled with javelins. Those farther back carried a wide variety of weapons and wore light armor.

Anatoly had cleared the battlefield up to his berm wall, piling enemy bodies in two huge rows stretching across the gap. The advancing soldiers would have to climb over those who had gone before them to get to the berm. The field behind his front line was stained with blood and littered with broken arrows and weapons.

A hundred feet farther into the gap, at the narrows, was his secondary line, as before. Reserves, cavalry, and row upon row of archers waited behind that line. The bulk of his legion was over an hour’s march down the mountain. He’d lost men during the initial attack, but not nearly as many as Zuhl had.

Alexander appeared next to Anatoly in his command tower.

“Looks like you’re just in time,” Anatoly said.

Enemy soldiers began to round the corner into Fool’s Gap, spreading out to form a turtle shell, tightly packed together, all shields up. They were just out of arrow range. Behind them, the rest of the army held in a long train stretching down the switchbacks all the way to their main camp.

The turtle began to move, slowly and ponderously, but steadily toward Anatoly’s line. The soldiers behind them formed into a tightly packed column fifty abreast and eight hundred deep. Anatoly faced five legions. This was the strategy that worried Alexander the most.

He sent his sight to Shoalhaven, soaring toward the city on the coast, scanning the verdant countryside along the way. As he neared, he saw a train of soldiers escorting the refugees of Fellenden City—bedraggled, dirty, exhausted, hungry people displaced from their homes by the enemy preparing to breach Fool’s Gap. He looked out to sea and saw a fleet of ships in the harbor, longboats sliding across the water by the hundreds. He returned to Anatoly.

“You’ve succeeded,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“The people, they’ve made it to Shoalhaven, and Torin has arrived with his army.”

Anatoly smiled, nodding to himself. “Thank you, Alexander.”

He seemed at peace, at ease with the situation in a way that made Alexander a bit nervous. Even his colors were calm, which was unusual for Anatoly before a battle. He made a habit of cultivating a strong feeling of anger before a fight—said it gave him an edge. Today he seemed like a man who’d made an accounting of his life and was satisfied with the results. He was quiet for a while, just watching the enemy’s slow advance.

“Helping to raise you and Darius and Abigail was the greatest privilege of my life,” he said without looking over at Alexander. “I love you.”

“Anatoly, you’re scaring me,” Alexander said.

The big man-at-arms looked sideways at him with a smile and a hard glint in his eye. He gestured to the advancing army.

“Deal in what is, Alexander. Their commander understands that the only way through us is to overwhelm us. That’s his plan, and he has the troops to do it.”

“You held them last time,” Alexander said.

“If that assault legion hadn’t been overrun by a mob of less disciplined soldiers from behind, it would’ve turned out differently. The good news is, we’ve already killed most of their best soldiers.”

Rocks started to pelt the sides of the slowly advancing turtle formation from the defenders lining the cliffs to each side.

“Signal Corina,” Anatoly said.

Blake gave the order and a whistler went up. Anatoly’s colors began to shift, revealing a coiled anger growing within him. Alexander started to feel a bit better.

Echoes of war drums beating in the distance reverberated up the narrow canyon. A few moments after the drums began, the entire four legions behind the assault legion began to chant in time with the beat. The air filled with tension, colors flared, fear on Anatoly’s side, bloodlust on the barbarians’ side.

The assault legion stopped near the first low wall of corpses. Slingers along the berm wall threw stones, as did those on the cliffs to either side, but most bounced harmlessly off the barbarians’ shields. They began to move forward again, taking increased casualties as they negotiated the first wall of corpses. Those that reached the other side formed up into a shield wall, providing some cover to the soldiers clambering over the carnage behind them.

Within a few minutes, they had filled the space between the two low corpse walls, covering the entire area with raised shields. The rain of stones slowed. A horn blew. As one, the barbarians lowered their shields and hurled javelins at the soldiers manning the berm wall. Many of Anatoly’s men fell.

The slingshots all seemed to loose at once, filling the sky with a cloud of swarming bullets, hailing down on the turtle shell of raised shields. Again a horn blew and they lowered shields, hurling javelins almost in the same motion, then raising their shields once again. More of Anatoly’s line fell.

Two columns of twelve wyverns each came in over the battlefield, flying straight down Fool’s Gap, beginning their attack run, spilling stones into the sky by the wagon load over the heads of the assault legion and carrying their attack into the legions of infantry assembled in the rear.

Stones crashed into the shields, breaking, denting and rending them asunder in a storm of swirling chaos, rocks hitting, bouncing, and rolling throughout their formation, men dying with sudden violence that they never saw coming.

Within moments, the bombardment was over, the Sky Knights had passed the front line and continued on, raining death down into the rear ranks until they were out of rocks. The damage was staggering, thousands dead, even more wounded.

The enemy horn sounded again, three short bursts, and the remains of the assault legion charged with a thunderous battle cry, toppling the closer of the two corpse walls and flooding through toward the berm wall. Stones hailed into their ranks, dropping men in midstep with each hit.

They closed quickly, raising shields against the onslaught, charging with abandon like a wave toward Anatoly’s front line. They seemed to reach the berm all at once, stopping to re-form their shield wall several paces before the trench running in front of the berm. More filled in behind them and locked shields as well, presenting a unified defense that was nearly impervious to stones.

Once the unit was reassembled, they threw another volley of javelins, this one at close range, targeting the shields in the front line, penetrating most, and hitting many of the men holding the line. The horn blew again, long and loud.

The assault legion charged the berm wall, sliding down into the trench, before clawing their way up the steep, muddy slope and into Anatoly’s pikemen.

“Light it,” Anatoly said over his shoulder.

Blake blew a horn. Flaming arrows darted down from the cliffs, igniting the oil-soaked straw filling the trench with a whoosh. Men caught on fire, screaming, scrambling desperately to escape the flames, but the steep slope of the berm wall was like a trap—the more a man struggled, the more he slid … and the more he burned. Fire erupted out of the trench, roaring upward, hot and angry, reaching fifteen feet into the sky, killing or maiming scores of barbarians.

“Sound the retreat,” Anatoly said.

Blake blew a series of blasts on his horn, more elaborate than the enemy’s, almost like the chords of a song.

The front-line soldiers manning the berm wall turned and ran for the secondary line, leaving the enemy to wait for the wall of flames to subside.

“So far, so good,” Alexander said.

“So far,” Anatoly agreed.

Under the cover of fire, Anatoly’s front line was able to retreat without incident, slipping safely through the secondary line at the narrows before the men on the new front line locked and set their shields.

Another two squads of Sky Knights coasted overhead, well out of arrow range. Black rain, heavy and deadly, fell from their bellies far in the distance over the main column of soldiers, the most concentrated cluster of enemy on the battlefield. Screams and death wails echoed in the gap.

The remains of the assault legion breached the berm wall in three places simultaneously, men pouring through and assembling in formation, shields up and weapons at the ready, merging into a single turtle-shelled bulwark.

A seemingly endless flow of men moved through the breach points, filling in the assault legion’s back ranks and then some … and then even more as the well-protected front slowly advanced toward Anatoly’s shield wall at the narrows. Each step forward represented another rank of enemy soldiers falling in behind the advancing force.

Alexander watched with Anatoly in his makeshift tower constructed of wagons ingeniously stacked and chained together. Off to the side, near one wall of the gap and several dozen feet behind the narrows line, the tower rose only ten or twelve feet, but it was enough to afford a clear view of the battlefield.

“Shouldn’t we attack?” Oliver asked.

“Not yet,” Anatoly said. “Not until they’re packed in tight, right up against our shield wall.”

Oliver frowned.

The enemy continued to advance, slowly, cautiously, shields raised across the front line and for several ranks behind them—a crush of barbarians pressing the armored front forward.

They were only fifty feet away now.

“There!” Anatoly said, pointing. “See that man with the horn?”

In response to his question, the horn blew.

“Yes,” Oliver said.

“The man next to him … can you kill him from here?”

“Maybe,” Oliver said, frowning.

The enemy surged forward in response to the horn, shields raised against arrows and stones. It was a lumbering affair at first, large men lifting heavy shields and running forward, but as they gained momentum, their charge became more a force of nature than a coordinated attack. Most armies tried to maintain some semblance of order in the midst of battle, but these men had reached a level of bloodlust and unbridled fury that could only manifest in battle frenzy.

Through the building wave of steel and the tumult that accompanied it, Oliver stepped back from his emotions, detached from worldly concerns and cast his will into the firmament. Three wedges of blue force, each as sharp as a needle at the point and only an inch wide at the base, appeared a few feet from his outstretched hand. One after the other, each streaked to their target, the man standing next to the man with the horn. All three flew true, hitting with frightening precision a hundred feet across the battlefield, driving like three deep dagger blows into the man’s face. He went down amid the charging troops.

“Well done,” Anatoly said, then turned to Blake. “Signal hold.”

A series of notes filled the morning air. Moments later, shouts of “Hold!” rose from the sergeants commanding the line.

The barbarian surge crashed into the shield wall, a great, protracted cacophony punctuated by screaming and shouts of rage as steel met steel. Anatoly’s pikemen exacted a heavy toll on the barbarians, stabbing and killing, finding a way past the raised shields to cut into flesh, darting in and pulling back bloody.

The line held, though they were pushed back by the pressure of the barbarian ranks crushing into the assault legion, driving the whole formation farther into the gap under the sheer force of weight and inertia. The shield men gave ground grudgingly and at a price, leaving a treacherous field of carnage for the barbarians to find footing on, stabbing between their shields even as they leaned into them with their shoulders, holding the line.

The pike lines fell back as the shield wall did, stabbing overhead, using the grooves cut into the top edges of the large shields to guide their pike shafts and offer a leverage point to lend strength and sudden motion to the tips of their weapons.

The barbarians relied on other tactics, dropping their shields as they brought their weapons up and over, coming down with powerful downward strikes. Such a tactic would have driven smaller shields into the dirt and brought the enemy falling forward, but the soldiers manning Anatoly’s line were armed with large rectangular shields having two spikes at the bottom that were anchored into the ground. The barbarians’ downward strikes rarely worked and often as not wound up breaking their weapons.

Failing their favored attack, they began to use their war axes to hook the tops of the enemy shields, pulling Anatoly’s men into their back ranks where they died quickly and brutally.

The shield wall finally came to a stop, Anatoly’s men defending successfully and maintaining their line, though at the expense of dozens of lives. The barbarians had taken so many casualties that the field under their front line was littered with dead and dying.

“Now,” Anatoly said, nodding to Blake.

Another horn blew. The cliffs and the back field erupted in an explosion of arrows and stones. The air filled with shafts and bullets, arcing from three directions into the crush of barbarians filling the gap.

Sounds of pain and fear filled the air, magnified by the cliff walls, but still the enemy pushed forward, clambering over their dead to renew their assault. Arrows and stones rained steadily into their back ranks, ripping into and pummeling barbarians indiscriminately and with devastating results.

An enemy horn blew.

In five places across their advancing line, the enemy used shields to create a series of steps culminating in launch points close to Anatoly’s line. On the second sounding of the horn, five men climbed the steps, then raced along another two or three shields held overhead by their comrades and leapt over the line and into the pikemen.

They came up swinging, killing or wounding at least three men each before they were cut down. Another five barbarians rose on the backs of their companions in an attempt to repeat the attack. Oliver knocked three down, one right after the other with force-shards. Liam killed another with a crossbow bolt. The last of them leapt into a raised pike and impaled himself.

Another wing of Sky Knights floated overhead in two columns, flying in line with the gap, loosing their cargo of stones into the enemy ranks, killing a swath of barbarians with ruthless suddenness.

“That’s the last of the stones,” Anatoly said. “The Sky Knights will come en masse in about twenty minutes.”

“For what it’s worth, the enemy looks like it’s only about four legions strong,” Alexander said. “You’ve taken quite a bite out of them.”

“It’s easy to rack up a kill count when they flail away at you like these savages have.”

“More importantly, you’ve gotten the people safely to Shoalhaven.”

Anatoly nodded, looking out over the battle raging before them.

The steady hail of arrows slowed to a trickle, then stopped.

“Last of the arrows,” Blake said.

“We’re down to blade and shield,” Anatoly said.

The battle at the line stagnated, two armies pressed up against each other, taking a nick here and a scratch there, cutting when and where they could. Swords and spears bristled from the clash as every soldier vied for a shot at the nearest enemy, but most strikes fell harmlessly on an opposing shield.

On Anatoly’s line, as men fell, they were carried away, clearing the field for others to take their place. On the barbarians’ side, the bodies stacked up, forcing Anatoly’s men to retreat a few paces or let the barbarians gain the high ground by standing on the corpses of their own fallen.

“Start killing, Oliver,” Anatoly said, gesturing to the enemy spread out before them.

“What do you mean?” Oliver asked, a deep frown furrowing his brow.

Anatoly put his hand on Oliver’s shoulder and looked him in the eye.

“Start casting your spell into the enemy ranks. Kill them indiscriminately as quickly as you can.”

Oliver blinked a few times as the command sank in. His colors whirled with turmoil, but finally settled into a sense of resigned necessity. He took a moment to center himself, stepping up to the railing of the makeshift tower and muttering the words of his force-shard spell. Three deadly blades of magical force darted into the enemy ranks, just beyond those who held shields, tearing into unprotected flesh, drawing blood and screams from three enemy soldiers.

“Order the archers to retreat to Shoalhaven,” Anatoly said.

“Understood,” Blake replied.

Slingmen still hurled stones into the enemy from the cliff walls and from just behind the shield wall, but the arrows were gone. Archers were just a liability now and they would be useful if the city came under siege.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. A war axe slipped out of the cracks between the enemy shields, hooking over the top of one of Anatoly’s shields and yanking the man forward into the barbarians. As the first man fell, the men to either side suffered similar attacks, being dragged to their deaths within the enemy ranks.

Several men surged forward into the gap created in the line. Big, powerful barbarians assaulted into the pikemen, driving through to Anatoly’s very thin back ranks. More followed into the breach, assaulting the flanks of the shield wall.

“Signal the cavalry, then call the reserves.” Anatoly snapped to Blake, turning to Oliver and pointing to the breach. “Thin them just beyond our line.”

Oliver nodded, casting three more force-shards into the soldiers surging into the breach.

Alexander vanished and poured his entire will into creating a brilliant light right above the breach point, focusing it toward the enemy only. Blinding in intensity, pure white in color, he shined his light into the face of the enemy assault … and they faltered.

The brightness of it blinded them enough to stop their charge in its tracks. Alexander released his light a few moments before the line separated to allow a cavalry charge. The heavy horse crashed into the barbarians, pouring into the back ranks, crushing them underfoot, cutting them down with relative ease as they struggled to fight while still too dazzled to see clearly.

Reserves rushed in, filling the gap in the shield line and killing the few enemy soldiers still remaining behind the line. The cavalry withdrew as Corina and Bianca floated overhead with over two hundred Sky Knights. Each of the witches cast a bubble of liquid fire, splattering orange-hot death across a swath of men. Column after column of Sky Knights followed, raining javelins into the enemy with ruinous effect, thinning their ranks as they passed overhead like the shadow of death.

Another enemy horn blew, filling the narrow canyon with reverberating sound.

Barbarians in three spots hooked shields simultaneously and pulled, dragging nine men into the back ranks of the barbarians’ army, opening three gaps in the line at once. Three wedge formations pushed into the gaps, forcing them wider, killing the men to either side, piercing Anatoly’s line with armored formations in a matter of seconds.

“Call the cavalry back,” Anatoly said to Blake.

All three enemy wedges pushed through the line, opening up three clear passages at once, allowing the enemy soldiers to move through. They poured into Anatoly’s back field like ants marching to war.

What had been an orderly battle along a shield line abruptly transformed into a very lopsided melee. Given order, structure and formation, Anatoly’s force could hold its own against any army in the Seven Isles, but the heavy shields that made his line so effective, also made his men slow and ponderous once the line broke.

The pikemen were equally disadvantaged in that their weapons were virtually useless once the enemy got close. So much so that most of them dropped their pikes in favor of short swords.

“Sound retreat,” Anatoly said, “then make ready to ride.”

“Understood,” Blake said, a little of the color draining from his face.

“Liam, Oliver, secure the base of the tower,” Anatoly barked, scanning the battlefield. It was a lost cause. He scarcely had a thousand men left on the field. He estimated that the enemy still had well over twenty thousand, possibly quite a few more than that. The barbarians pressed forward, ruthlessly and wantonly cutting down Anatoly’s men who were now struggling to withdraw with some semblance of order, many small groups falling back under cover of interlocked shields.

The Sky Knights came back for another pass, toppling a swath of barbarians in a hail of javelins like a squall moving through a forest felling trees in its path. While devastating, their attack did nothing to change the course of the battle. Anatoly’s men fell as they fled. A javelin hit Anatoly squarely in the chest, bouncing off his dragon-steel breastplate, but still knocking him back a few feet from impact and surprise.

“Time to go,” Alexander said.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Anatoly said, climbing down from the makeshift tower, scanning the battlefield the moment he hit the ground. The enemy was advancing quickly.

“Go!” Anatoly said, pointing toward the back field. “Head for the picket line.”

Another javelin hit Anatoly, this time in the back. He fell sprawling into the dirt face first. Oliver killed the man who’d thrown it, while Liam helped Anatoly to his feet, quickly killing another approaching soldier with his crossbow before dropping it and drawing his sword.

“Shield your eyes,” Alexander said, waiting only a moment for his allies to comply before flooding the immediate area with light for several seconds.

“Now!” Alexander said, releasing his light, plunging the area into relative darkness and the enemy squad into temporary blindness.

Anatoly lunged forward, extending the top spike of his war axe into the heart of the nearest enemy, withdrawing it, spinning toward another man and taking his head in a stroke. It took Liam a moment to join the quick and terribly one-sided battle, but once he and Oliver did, the nearest group of soldiers died very quickly.

Killing the last of them with a hack to the side, Anatoly scanned the immediate area, seeing a group of enemy soldiers forming up not forty feet away.

“This way,” he said, moving toward the picket line at the far end of the gap. A few squads of enemy soldiers had gotten behind Anatoly, most fighting small units of his soldiers. The first he came upon were caught by surprise and died quickly.

The second barbarian squad they came upon was engaged in a pitched battle with a unit of pikemen, most of whom were fighting with swords. The barbarians were winning until Oliver killed three in the space of as many seconds, catching them by surprise with his force-shard spell. The sudden attack diverted their attention, giving the pikemen an opportunity to press their attack. Three enemy soldiers retreated, wounded, leaving just a handful of pikemen.

A horn sounded. The enemy began to charge, not the orderly movement of a formation, but an all-out rush to chase down the fleeing enemy and slaughter them. Sky Knights cast silent death down into the barbarians, but the enemy’s numbers were too great to diminish significantly with javelins.

Anatoly assessed the situation and nodded to himself, grim determination filling his colors. The enemy was fifty feet away and sprinting toward them—there was nowhere to run.

“Gentlemen, it has been an honor,” he said.

Javelins rained down amongst them, one hitting Anatoly on the shoulder and glancing off his armor. Another drove into Commander Blake’s neck, down through his chest and out his ribs under his opposite armpit. A look of shock and disbelief came over him as he slumped to his knees and fell over without a word. Two more javelins were deflected by Oliver’s shield.

“You have to run!” Alexander said, knowing even as he spoke that they would never make it. The enemy was closing with frightening speed, hundreds of barbarians hurtling toward them.

Liam killed the closest man with his crossbow, then dropped it in favor of his two-handed sword. Oliver wounded three more in the van of the enemy charge, causing several more men behind them to stumble over them as they fell.

“Move to the wall,” Anatoly said, running toward the cliff.

Alexander vanished, appearing on Corina’s wing as she flew, projecting himself beside her. She looked at him twice before smiling quizzically.

“I didn’t know you could do such a thing,” she said.

“Me neither,” Alexander replied. “Anatoly’s line has collapsed. Send your Sky Knights in to evacuate as many as you can and cover their retreat.”

“Understood,” she said, all business once again.

Alexander vanished, sending his point of focus back to Anatoly just as the enemy reached him. Anatoly ducked under the first man’s downward stroke, crashing into his midsection with his shoulder. The man grunted, momentarily stunned. Anatoly came up, his hands spaced wide on the haft of his war axe, driving the top spike under the man’s ribs and into his chest.

Liam waded into the carelessly charging enemy, swinging his giant sword in wide swaths, cutting deeply into men with each stroke. He bellowed in rage, driving into the advancing enemy without concern or caution, killing men with frightening violence.

“Liam!” Anatoly shouted.

He didn’t hear, or at least he didn’t respond.

Most of the enemy flowed past them, but many barbarians on the edge of the horde stopped to engage.

Oliver killed a man charging him but didn’t see a second man attacking from behind. The barbarian stabbed with his spear, a kill strike to be sure, but it hit Oliver’s magical shield and only served to shove him forward.

Two barbarians checked their mad charge and engaged Anatoly with more caution, one drawing his attention with a spear thrust while the other tried to flank him, attacking with a war axe. Anatoly swept the spear tip aside with the haft of his axe and kicked the man in the groin before spinning to meet the attack of the second man. Both axes struck at the same time, Anatoly’s cutting deeply into the man’s hip, the blade sticking in bone, while the barbarian’s axe hit Anatoly’s armor and knocked him off balance, sending him stumbling to the ground in front of another barbarian.

Alexander flashed into a ball of light, as bright as he could conjure, floating right above Anatoly. The barbarian standing over him with weapon raised flinched at the light, turning away to protect his eyes. Anatoly stabbed up into his belly with his short sword and rolled to his feet. Alexander released his light.

More men came. Anatoly parried the first man’s attack, stabbing him in the leg deeply enough to elicit a scream of pain and send him to the ground. The second man rushed him, stabbing him squarely in the chest with his spear so hard that the shaft shattered into splinters. Anatoly was lifted off his feet and thrown to his back, stunned by the impact.

Oliver killed the barbarian.

A battle cry filled the gap as Liam thrashed farther into the enemy ranks, killing and wounding with ferocious and wild abandon. A trail of dozens of wounded and dying men lay behind him. Then a javelin hit him in the leg, driving him to one knee. He killed several more soldiers as they swarmed him, men hacking and stabbing him to death from all directions.

Alexander started to feel a hint of panic, not for himself, but for Anatoly. Oliver was standing over him, protecting him with his shield, casting his force-shard as quickly as he could, but it wasn’t quickly enough. A javelin bounced off his shield, then another. Three men approached from different angles, all of them eyeing the young wizard like a predator eyes prey.

All three attacked at once. Oliver shoved one away with a force-push, but the other two managed to strike his shield with such brute strength that it failed, leaving him defenseless.

Alexander brought his light back above them both, blindingly bright. The enemy faltered in their attack. Oliver took the opportunity to cast his shield again while Anatoly regained his feet. Alexander released his light, drawing his awareness up to see the whole battlefield. It was a rout. What remained of Anatoly’s men in the gap were running for their lives with a mob of barbarians on their heels picking off the stragglers.

The Sky Knights had run out of javelins and were engaging the enemy directly with tail, claws, and fangs. Several wyverns lay dead or dying, their riders hacked to death the moment their steeds hit the ground.

Two wyverns floated in low, their tails whipping into the men surrounding Anatoly and Oliver. One of the wyverns took a javelin in the belly, faltering in flight and crashing hard into the barbarians, tumbling over many of them, killing a few before coming to a stop.

Anatoly killed a charging barbarian with a brutal hack to the neck. Oliver killed another with a force-shard to the face. One of the barbarians stopped a dozen feet from Anatoly, nodding at him with respect. He tested the weight of the javelin in his hand before hurling it hard and fast. Rather than aim for his breastplate, the barbarian had thrown for his legs, and thrown true. The javelin hit Anatoly high on the inside of his right leg, stopping halfway through. He grunted, nearly losing his balance. Oliver killed the man but three more replaced him.

Alexander was about to unleash his light again when Corina crashed into the soldiers near Anatoly, her wyvern killing barbarians indiscriminately as she cast a spell, projecting a magic circle onto the ground around Anatoly and Oliver. A shield surrounded them just in time to stop an onrushing enemy soldier, sending him falling unconscious to the ground as if he’d run into a stone wall.

Corina began to launch into the air when a dozen javelins rose up at her from all directions. The first ten hit her shield, harmlessly bouncing away, but then her defenses failed under the onslaught and the final two javelins hit her, one driving into her back, the other under the armpit. She slumped forward in her saddle as her wyvern thrashed against the enemy.

Somewhere overhead Bianca cried out. Moments later a bubble of liquid fire the size of a man’s head splashed into the barbarians near Corina’s fatally wounded wyvern, splashing orange death into their ranks, igniting a dozen men.

Anatoly stood inside the circle shield, using his axe as a cane to keep from falling over. He looked grimly at Oliver and said, “Pull it through.”

“Are you sure?” Oliver said, his face white.

“Yes,” Anatoly said, gritting his teeth.

Oliver looked at him one last time as he took a grip on the javelin. Anatoly nodded—Oliver yanked. The weapon came free of Anatoly’s leg, bright red blood spilling too quickly from the wound. He grunted, slumping to his knees.

Three men approached the circle shield cautiously, weapons extended. When they stopped against the magical barrier, they all smiled as one, raising their weapons and striking the shield with all their strength. Oliver tried to kill one of them but his force-shards stopped against the shield as well, so he turned to bandaging Anatoly’s leg.

Another bubble of liquid fire splashed into the soldiers striking the shield, setting five more on fire. They ran in a panic until the flames overcame them, then fell and burned to death.

“I can’t stop the bleeding,” Oliver said a bit frantically.

Anatoly was going white. Alexander felt entirely helpless, a wail rising in the back of his mind.

Bianca and five Sky Knights landed close by, scattering or crushing most of the nearby soldiers. She cast two force-shard spells in rapid succession, sending five shards per casting into the nearby soldiers, wounding or killing all of the closest before dispelling the circle shield.

“Come on!” she shouted to Oliver, extending her hand to him.

“What about Anatoly?”

“My wyvern will carry him to safety,” she shouted. “Hurry!”

Oliver hesitated for only a moment before taking her hand and swinging up into the saddle behind her. Her wyvern carefully gripped Anatoly in its talons, then launched into the sky, landing atop the cliff and gently laying him on the ground.

Alexander appeared beside him as Bianca came to his side. The blood was still flowing around the bandage. Anatoly was starting to lose consciousness.

“Anatoly,” Alexander said. “Stay with me.”

The old man-at-arms opened his eyes with effort, looking up at Alexander with a bit of confusion that cleared with a wince of pain. He took in a sharp breath and held it for a few moments, clenching his eyes closed.

When the spasm passed, he opened his eyes again, struggling to focus on Alexander.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispered. “You and your sister both.”

He reached up to touch Alexander’s face but his hand fell through the illusion as he lost strength.

“I wouldn’t do a single thing differently,” he whispered with his last breath, his eyes going distant and glassy.

Anatoly was dead.

***

Quite suddenly, Alexander slammed back into his body, Jataan holding him by the shoulders, Lita hovering over him, and Chloe hovering over them all. Pain flooded into his head, followed by a wave of nausea that overcame him. He pitched forward off his meditation circle and onto his hands and knees, vomiting the contents of his stomach onto the floor.

“You’re bleeding from the nose and ears,” Lita said. “Let’s get you to a cot.” It was only then that he realized it was midafternoon and he’d been projecting illusions all day … but that was such a small and insignificant thing in the face of Anatoly’s death that it hardly seemed worth his attention.

He nodded, pain sloshing around in his head from the movement as Jataan and Anja lifted him from his hands and knees and laid him on the nearest cot. He felt like his head was exploding when it hit the pillow. Lita went to work, starting her efforts with her diagnosis spell as she always did, tsk-tsking Alexander and shaking her head sadly.

“You hurt yourself more often than anyone I know, except maybe Jataan,” she said. “You really should be more careful.” She laid her hand on his forehead and started muttering.

All of the physical pain he was feeling paled in comparison to the anguish he felt at losing Anatoly. His protector, his mentor, his teacher, his friend. Anatoly had helped raise him. He’d saved his life countless times. He’d always been there … always.

Alexander clenched his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face as he succumbed to sleep under the power of Lita’s healing magic.

Chapter 33

He woke to the sounds of muffled conversation. For a few moments he felt disoriented and a bit confused, Lita’s magic still lingering in his head. He focused on his breathing, taking a moment to be grateful that the pain was gone, and then it hit him anew.

Anatoly was dead.

Sorrow washed through him. It felt as if something vital had been ripped out of him, like a part of himself, a part of his essential identity had been taken.

He rolled into a ball and sobbed.

“Looks like he’s stirring,” Mage Gamaliel said.

Lita went to Alexander’s side, touching his forehead and frowning. Chloe buzzed into a ball of light and landed on the bed a few inches from his face.

“What’s wrong, My Love?” she asked, pleadingly.

He shook his head, the pain still too raw to put into words.

Jack sat down on the cot next to his.

“What’s happened, Alexander?”

Alexander sat up, swallowing the lump in his throat and shaking off the cobwebs in his head. He stared blankly at the floor for several seconds.

A part of him still didn’t believe it … couldn’t believe it. Anatoly had been a fixture of his life. He’d always been there, as reliable as the sunrise.

“Anatoly is dead,” he whispered. “Corina, too.”

Lita gasped, her hand going to her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes.

Jack closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“I’m so sorry, My Love,” Chloe said, sitting down to cry.

The room fell silent.

“That is sad news indeed,” Kelvin said.

It was only then that Alexander noticed the Guild Mage seated at the table. His presence brought Alexander back to the moment and all of the obligations his unwanted birthright had placed upon him. With an effort of will that felt for all the world like a betrayal, he shifted his mindset to that of the witness, detached, unfeeling, safe from the heartache that was threatening to ravage his sanity.

Every part of him save his reason wanted to wallow in misery. Anatoly deserved to be mourned. His passing should be a source of crushing sadness for all who knew him, and yet, Alexander didn’t have time to mourn him. He swallowed his emotions, choked them down like bile as he took his seat at the table.

“Hello, Kelvin. It’s good to see you.”

“You as well. I’m told you pushed your magic too far and injured yourself.”

Alexander nodded. Lita’s spell had left him feeling off-kilter, just slightly out of alignment with the rest of the world.

“Anatoly was in a bad spot,” he finally said. “I had to do everything I could to help him … but it wasn’t enough.” Guilt settled on him. He should have done more.

Looking absently around the room, he saw another familiar face.

“Hello, Mason.”

“Hello, Alexander. Perhaps I can help with your discomfort. If you’ll allow me?”

Alexander blinked a few times before nodding numbly.

Mason placed a hand on Alexander’s head and spoke a few words softly. It felt like a sodden blanket was lifted from his mind all at once—clarity replacing woolen thoughts and pain in moments.

“That was amazing,” Alexander said, looking up at Mason with relief. The spell had eliminated the aftereffects of Lita’s healing magic, leaving him clearheaded, but heavyhearted.

“Something I created to overcome a hangover,” Mason said with a modest shrug.

Jack picked up his quill and started writing.

“All right, so where do we stand?” Alexander asked, turning his attention to the enemy, oddly grateful that he had someone to take his wrath out on.

“I’ve brought all that you asked for,” Kelvin said, a bit of trepidation in his colors. “Erik and Duane are seeing to accommodations for the Rangers. All forces are through the Gate.”

Constance walked in, nodding respectfully to Alexander.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” he said. “Things must really be going well in Warrenton.”

“They are, Lord Reishi. When I left, the last of the Lancers had been driven from the city and into the Pinnacles—a wild territory that I’m told is most unforgiving.”

“How many fled?”

“We estimate five thousand.”

“Oh, that’s not good,” Alexander said, heading for his circle.

“Are you sure that’s wise, Lord Reishi?” Jataan asked.

“I won’t be long. I have to speak with Tanis.”

It took him just a few minutes to find Tanis and warn her of the encroaching force. She didn’t offer a particularly warm reception when he appeared in her sleeping chamber, waking her from a nap, but she was grudgingly thankful for the warning. It took even less time to find the commander in Warrenton and warn him that the Lancers would probably be fleeing right back out of the Pinnacles and into their waiting arms. The commander seemed enthusiastic about the opportunity to end the war on Ruatha.

While he was in the firmament, he took a few moments to visit both Conner and Torin to report that Anatoly had fallen and his force in Fool’s Gap had been overrun. His orders to both men were clear and emphatic: Kill them all.

Alexander returned to his body and a mild headache. His efforts earlier in the day had taxed him more than he realized.

“It seems that the Lancers are now caught between an army and a dragon,” he said without emotion, returning to the table. “I wonder which one they’ll choose.”

“The army, if they’re smart,” Anja said.

“You’re probably right,” Alexander replied. “So, where were we?”

“Wizard Hax has accompanied us as well,” Kelvin said. “He was most eager to see the Keep. We have two legions of Rangers, a legion of Ithilian infantry and Perry’s regiment for troops. Mistress Constance has a dozen Sky Knights and I have seven acolyte wizards—all trained with three spells each: shield, force-shard and a third of their choosing, most picked force-push or light-lance.

“I also have a collection of magical weapons for distribution to the troops. The items are all expendable but they will magnify our combat power.”

“What kind of weapons?” Jataan asked, leaning forward almost imperceptibly.

“Two thousand boulder slingstones,” Kelvin said. “Sounds just like the name, a slingstone that grows into a two-foot boulder in midflight. I’ve also brought ten thousand multiplicative arrows, each of which transforms into five arrows in midflight, and two of the smaller explosive weapons, as well as my personal items.”

“Impressive,” Jataan said.

“I also have a chest from Lucky,” Kelvin said, his colors flaring with concern.

“And you know what he’s sent,” Alexander said.

Kelvin regarded him for several moments before nodding very deliberately.

“What?” Anja said.

“If I thought I had another choice, I’d take it,” Alexander said to Kelvin, ignoring Anja.

“I know,” Kelvin said. “I’ve given this some thought during my journey here. Still, I hope you will find another way.”

“What if there isn’t one?” Alexander asked.

“One what?” Anja said, a bit flustered.

“There’s always another way,” Kelvin said.

“But what if there isn’t?” Alexander whispered.

“I understand what you face, Alexander,” Kelvin said, leaning forward intently. “If Zuhl’s army is permitted to remain on Fellenden and build more ships, they will inevitably come to dominate the Seven Isles for generations to come. And honestly, in your place, I would want this option as well … I just hope that you never choose to use it.”

Anja stood up and slammed her hands down on the table. “What option!”

Alexander looked at her until she sat down, then looked at the table for several moments before speaking.

“Just after my brother was killed, when we were first running for our lives, we got trapped in the old watch tower just south of the Great Forest on the road to Southport. While we were there, Lucky, my mild, jolly old tutor, showed me a creature he has contained in a glass vial, encased in a metal tube, wired shut and stored in a locked box all its own. He called it ‘black slime,’ an apt name given its appearance. It feeds on all living things, plant or animal, reproducing more slime from its victims so quickly that a grown man can be consumed in a matter of seconds, completely transforming into a widening puddle of slime. Sunlight kills it on contact, but as long as it’s dark, it will consume everything it touches.”

“That’s horrible,” Anja said. “Why would you want something like that?”

“I need it to kill Zuhl’s army,” Alexander whispered.

She blinked, then frowned. “Maybe you’re right—war is stupid. I mean, that’s not even a fight.”

“No, it’s not. But we can’t beat them in a fight. And frankly, at the moment, I wouldn’t mind slaughtering them all.”

Chloe buzzed into existence and landed on the table in front of Alexander.

“Please don’t use that horrible thing, My Love. You’ll wound your soul if you do.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But I don’t know what else to do. Give me another way to defeat sixty legions of battle-hardened soldiers bent on conquest.”

Chloe buzzed into a ball of light, bouncing several inches off the table before landing again.

“That is a lot of blood on your hands, Alexander,” Jack said.

He nodded.

The future would be shaped by the outcome of this war. Zuhl’s army couldn’t be permitted to remain on Fellenden. As Lord Reishi, he could very easily rationalize his choice. They were aggressors in an unprovoked invasion waged with unspeakable brutality against a defenseless people. They deserved to die for their crimes.

But as a man—as a human being—he found justifying the slaughter of six hundred thousand people a bit more problematic. His conscience nagged at him whenever he considered it—though the rage beginning to build in the pit of his stomach was starting to mitigate the voice of conscience.

“Believe me, I’m looking for another way, but right now I don’t have one,” he said. “And if I have to choose between leaving them to ravage Fellenden or killing them all, I will destroy them.”

“Let’s hope another option presents itself,” Kelvin said. “The tides of war can turn unpredictably.”

Alexander nodded. “I have another question I was hoping you could help me with … it’s about Luminessence. When I project the brightest light I can with it, I feel like it’s draining my energy. I get tired to the point of not being able to stand and then I have to extinguish the light. I try to fight it, try to hold on to something while still powering the staff, but it feels like Luminessence wants it all.”

“Huh,” Kelvin said with a frown. “When I was fashioning Luminessence, I sometimes felt like it was drawing my energy as well, or perhaps more accurately, I would find myself giving it my energy. It was an odd sensation—I’ve never felt anything quite like it before.”

“Any suggestions for extending the duration of my light?”

Kelvin thought for several moments before responding.

“Have you tried giving it everything you have?”

“No,” Alexander said with a frown. “It feels like I’d die if I did.”

“I can’t imagine the staff killing you,” Kelvin said. “Can you?”

“Not really, but it feels like it might.”

“When I created Luminessence, it felt as if I was being guided to enchant it as I did. Everything about it is life-affirming. Everything about it is associated with the light. My advice, Alexander, is to trust it. Give it what it wants.”

Alexander felt a little thrill of fear. Luminessence was powerful, but its power also carried a cost. He wondered just how expensive it might be to bring forth the kind of light he would need to banish Azugorath.

“Jack, do you have something I can write with?” Alexander asked.

Jack passed him a pad and a quill.

Alexander wrote the word he’d seen atop the portal to Azugorath’s chambers under the black tower and pushed it over to Kelvin.

Kelvin frowned. “I think it says ‘Open’ in ancient Reishi.”

“It can’t be that simple,” Alexander said, going on to explain the source of the word.

“Ancient Reishi was restricted to wizards,” Kelvin said. “Maybe whoever built the black tower simply wanted to secure the lower levels from nonwizards.”

“It’s going to be a bad day if we get all the way to that door and can’t open it,” Alexander said.

Kelvin shrugged helplessly. “I wish I could tell you more, but without the opportunity to examine the portal, I’m at a loss.”

Alexander nodded. “Let’s have a look at that chest Lucky sent me.”

“Certainly, it’s in the wagons.”

“Mistress Constance,” Lita said, “I have sad news.”

Constance remained with Lita as Kelvin led Alexander to a very heavily guarded set of wagons parked nearby. Most were armored and locked. Several of Kelvin’s acolyte wizards were standing guard along with a platoon of Perry’s men.

Kelvin found the wagon he was looking for, dispelled a ward he’d placed upon it and unlocked a set of heavy and very complex-looking locks. He pulled out a large trunk. Alexander opened his Wizard’s Den and Kelvin carried the chest inside, depositing it on Alexander’s desk and handing him a simple gold key.

The lock clicked open without resistance and the lid lifted silently. Packed within were several small boxes, including the one containing the black slime. Other well-cushioned boxes were tightly packed around it. Healing potions filled the first box and most of the second. Three potions of liquid fire, two of featherlite, two of warding, and a gaseousness potion filled the rest of the second. The final case contained potions of strength, silence, levitation, and speed. An unlabeled vial glowed with the light and magic of Wizard’s Dust.

Alexander was astounded at the trove of magical treasure that lay before him. He’d sent Lucky to Glen Morillian for this very purpose, but now that he was faced with the fruits of that decision, he couldn’t help but smile at the outcome, a wave of guilt overtaking him a moment later when he remembered that Anatoly was dead.

“What’s this one?” he asked, pointing at the unlabeled potion, shoving his emotions aside yet again.

“That one is an experiment,” Kelvin said. “Lucky was able to replicate the effects of my explosive weapons in liquid form. He’s only tested it on a small scale though, so this is unreliable at best and dangerous at worst.”

“How do I activate it?”

“Expose the liquid to air,” Kelvin said. “The vial is designed to act as a kind of timer. If it’s set on its top, the liquid will eat through the stopper after about an hour and drain out, then detonate.”

“How powerful is it?”

“Possibly very powerful—this small vial might equal one of my large explosive weapons—or it might fail entirely. In small-scale tests it was very promising but this is all that Lucky was able to make in the time he had, so he wasn’t able to do more testing.”

“In that case, I’m going to need one of your explosive weapons.”

“As you wish,” Kelvin said, leading Alexander to another wagon containing two casks that looked like whisky barrels. Alexander took the detonation stone offered by Kelvin, safe in its metal vial, while the Guild Mage carried the weapon into the Wizard’s Den and carefully placed it next to Alexander’s strongbox.

“I also have something for Lady Anja,” Kelvin said, producing a small case containing three potions and handing it to Alexander.

“What is it?” Anja said, her face lighting up with anticipation as she hurried closer to see.

Alexander opened the case, revealing three unmarked glass vials.

Anja frowned.

“Lucky created three concentrated potions of shapeshift with sufficient strength to transform a dragon,” Kelvin said.

“You mean I can change into my true form and then change back?”

“Precisely,” Kelvin said.

Anja hugged him, squeezing the wind out of him and lifting him three inches off the ground in her excitement.

“I like your friend Lucky and I haven’t even met him yet,” she said.

“I’m pretty sure he’s going to like you too.”

“Finally,” Kelvin said, handing Alexander a metal case that looked more like a scroll case than a potion vial, “Lucky made a healing draught tailored for a dragon, as requested.”

“Excellent. I’m sure Tasia will appreciate his efforts.”

Erik and Duane came trotting up on horseback.

“You two look tired,” Alexander said.

“I was just thinking the same about you,” Erik said with a little grin.

Alexander nodded, checking the position of the sun in the sky. “Gather your commanders. I need to talk to them.”

“We can have them ready in half an hour,” Erik said.

“That’ll do,” Alexander said, turning back to Kelvin. “I’d like your wizards to attend as well.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Kelvin said.

“Why don’t we find something to eat in the meantime.”

With the army camped around the Reishi Keep, kitchen wagons were set up at regular intervals and they always had a pot of something ready to serve.

After a hasty meal of ox stew, they made their way to the officers awaiting Alexander. He stepped up on a wagon, surveying the crowd.

“Alexander,” Kelvin said, holding up a ring. “It’ll help them hear you.”

Alexander nodded his thanks, slipping the gold band on his finger.

“Phane and Zuhl are coming. Both want the Nether Gate—neither can be allowed to have it. My hope is that they’ll fight each other until one is defeated and the other is weakened enough that we can destroy them and their armies. But … I can’t rely on that strategy alone. Not when so much hangs in the balance.

“I have another avenue of attack available to me, one that may well end this war, but it means that I’ll have to leave you to fight this battle without me.”

The officers began murmuring amongst themselves. Alexander let them talk for a few seconds before calling for their attention again.

“I understand your concern. After all, this will likely be one of the decisive battles in this war, and I won’t be here to lead you, at least not in person. Trust that you’re in capable hands. Erik and Duane are both seasoned Ranger commanders and General Brand is an experienced officer.

“Tomorrow you’ll move to staging areas closer to the Nether Gate. Once there, you’ll dig in and wait. Zuhl is already in control of what’s left of the mountain fortress where the Gate is hidden. I expect Phane to arrive in about a week.”

In reality, Alexander’s great hope was that Phane would be dead within a week, leaving his army leaderless, and more importantly, leaving the keystones locked inside his Wizard’s Den forever, but he didn’t dare say that out loud. He could never be certain if the Reishi Prince was watching.

“I have every confidence in you and your men. You’ve all served the Old Law well, you’ve struggled for it, bled for it. This may be the last major battle we’ll have to fight, but only if we win.”

Alexander looked out over the men, hundreds of officers all neatly lined up in formation. Every one of them had heard the call of their conscience, every one of them had chosen to place their lives in harm’s way to defend life and liberty. Every one of them was a hero of the light.

Alexander stood straight and saluted, fist to heart.

There was a pause, stillness filling the air, and then the men erupted in a cheer, a deafening wave of emotion-laden sound washed over him, almost pushing him backward, it seemed to have such substance. He climbed down from the wagon, weary from his exertions earlier in the day.

“I hope I’m not making a mistake,” he muttered, looking out over the sea of newly erected tents, all lined up in neat rows, handing Kelvin his ring.

Jataan shrugged. “You can lead this battle from anywhere.”

“You might even do more good from a distance with your magic than with your sword,” Jack said.

Alexander snorted. “Tell Anatoly that.”

Chapter 34

The horizon was just beginning to show signs of the coming dawn. He took one last look at his assembled soldiers and wizards before placing his hand on the Gate. A moment passed before the flat black stone wall transformed into a passage to the Isle of Karth.

Alexander stepped off the side of the Gate platform a second later, just moments before a hail of arrows rained down through the Gate, clattering harmlessly on the platform. He opened his Wizard’s Den and went to his circle, projecting an illusion of himself to Karth and delivering the attack order to Wyatt before returning to his body.

Karth’s Gate was surrounded by a stout stone wall lined with well-armed soldiers. Any attack through the Gate would put Alexander’s men in a deadly crossfire from above, so he had coordinated his attack with Wyatt and a company of soldiers loyal to the House of Karth. A moment’s distraction was all he needed.

Sending his sight through to watch the attack, Alexander waited for the soldiers lining the wall around the Gate to turn their attention to the attack coming from Wyatt. He didn’t have to wait long. When the atlatl-thrown hail of javelins rained down on the Regency soldiers, they seemed to all but forget that the Gate was open as they turned their attention to the enemy that they’d been at war with for most of the past two thousand years.

“Now!” Alexander shouted, raising Luminessence and flooding the world with his light as he stepped through the Gate. The few enemy soldiers still paying attention turned away from the blinding display of brilliance. Kelvin and his wizards followed Alexander through.

He focused on maintaining his light, keeping the enemy blinded while the wizards, protected by their shield spells, spread out on the Gate platform and began casting force-shards at any enemy soldier foolish enough to present a target. Within seconds, the hundred soldiers manning the wall were either fighting Wyatt or hiding from the wizards’ magic.

Alexander nodded to Kelvin.

The Guild Mage strode forward purposefully, ignoring the enemy, his war hammer over his shoulder. He stopped a few dozen feet from the wall and raised his hammer, pausing for a moment before bringing it down against the ground with all of the force he could muster. It struck hard, noise like a thunderclap filling the enclosed space. A fissure opened in the ground, splitting the earth itself, opening a chasm ten feet wide that raced straight toward the wall, cracking the foundation and sending a web of thin fractures up the stone face.

Kelvin took three steps to the side and turned to face a section of the wall several dozen feet from his first attack and struck again. Again, the wall began to rupture, cracks undermining its structural soundness. He struck again, this time opening another chasm between the first two. The ground shuddered. A section of wall began to crumble, blocks of stone falling to the ground and into the three fissures that Kelvin had rent in the world.

The soldiers still atop what remained of the wall, caught between enemy forces attacking from within and from without, tried to flee, a few of them jumping to the ground with ruinous results.

Slowly at first, then all in a rush, the wall came down, filling the fissures with rubble and leaving a mound of debris and a cloud of dust where once a wall had stood.

Alexander looked back through the Gate and nodded to Duane. A hundred Rangers stormed through, racing for the pile of rubble, clambering over and fanning out to engage the fleeing enemy.

The suddenness and ferocity of the attack had broken the Regency soldiers’ spirit. Those that could, fled in a panic.

Alexander dropped his light and motioned to Ratagan and Horst. Both Sky Knights had to duck, hugging their steeds to fit through the Gate. Once through, they took to the air, hunting the remaining soldiers down in the open grasslands surrounding the Gate.

Within twenty minutes, all of Alexander’s forces were reporting success. The enemy was dead to the last man and Alexander hadn’t lost a single soul.

“Not bad,” Jack said.

“Overwhelming force and surprise against an inferior enemy,” Alexander said. “They never stood a chance.”

***

Ratagan’s wyvern coasted on the morning air high over the central plains of Karth, following Horst’s lead. Wyatt was riding with Horst and Alexander was with Ratagan while the rest of his friends were inside his Wizard’s Den. Wyatt’s men had remained at the Gate to dismantle the wall. Kelvin and his wizards along with Duane and his Rangers had returned to the Reishi Isle.

Horst began to descend toward a large mass of troops marching south. The lush southern jungle of Karth was just visible on the horizon. Alexander sent his sight south, moving quickly over the verdant rainforest to the Regency fortress city. As expected, the walls were manned and heavily armed.

The enemy knew Alexander was coming—not that it would help them. He was nearly certain about the outcome of the next battle. It was the one after that that had him concerned.

Returning to himself, he estimated that the fortress was a day and a half’s march away. Dawn two days hence he would bring the fight into Phane’s adopted home. He intended to leave little for the prince to return to—if he survived Isabel and her Maker’s light.

During the flight from the Gate to Karth’s army, Alexander had struggled to pull his mind away from thoughts of Anatoly. He felt guilty every time he wrested his focus away from his grief, but he knew it was necessary. His sadness was still too raw. When he caught himself indulging those feelings, it felt like he was standing on the edge of a great abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

Then there was the anger. Alexander had always had a good measure of control over his anger. He got mad like anyone else, but since his childhood, he always remembered his father’s admonition to be ruled by reason. When he got angry, he almost naturally detached from his emotions and tried to choose his course of action based on clear thinking and objective fact. This anger was different. Like the despair and sadness, it felt altogether bigger than him, big enough to consume him if he let it.

When the anger he felt toward those who’d killed Anatoly seeped into his psyche, he found himself imagining the death of the sixty-odd legions still encamped at the Fellenden Gate. He had the means to slaughter them. He could kill them all tonight. The rage boiling in the pit of his stomach cried out for vengeance with a bloodlust and disregard for the gentle guidance of his conscience that frightened him. Instinctively, he knew that he was standing on a moral precipice. Rage and hatred were calling on him to ignore his conscience and his humanity in favor of wanton slaughter.

Even more than the despair, he feared the anger. It had such power. He knew that if he let the fury build to its crescendo, it would overshadow all other considerations and it would justify anything in the name of vengeance. In that place of unreason, driven by righteous fury, he could easily become the very thing he was fighting against.

Once again it struck him that the most evil thing that those without conscience did to the world was to push good people into doing evil things, whether to save themselves from aggression or to avenge the wrongs done to them and their loved ones. Alexander pulled himself back from the emotional turmoil swirling within and retreated into the place of the witness—dispassionate, detached, safe.

Ratagan was descending toward the van of the marching army, the roar of his wyvern drawing all eyes, stalling the entire formation midstride as every soldier stopped to look in wonder at the wyverns gliding gracefully on the wind.

They lighted a hundred feet ahead of the column, folding their wings and crouching so Alexander and Wyatt could dismount.

“If you won’t be needing us anytime soon, our wyverns need to eat,” Ratagan said.

“Good hunting,” Alexander said.

The Sky Knights lifted off before the advance party from the army reached them. Alexander opened his Wizard’s Den and his friends filed out. Anja, Jataan, Jack, Lita, Ayela, and Chloe were standing with him when the twelve horses stopped, led by Severine Karth.

Ayela went to her father and gave him a hug the moment his feet hit the ground.

“It’s good to see you, Father.”

“You as well, Child. I came as quickly as I could. I met General Janos and the regiment he was leading north. He and his men have returned to the army and understand their orders quite well now.”

She smiled. “Father, I’d like you to meet Lord Reishi.”

Alexander stepped forward, extending his hand.

Severine took it firmly with a smile. “It’s good to meet you in person, Lord Reishi.”

“You as well, Lord Severine.”

“My daughter tells me that you’ve assigned Wyatt here to command my army. She also tells me that he’s asked for her hand in marriage. I understand that you have a unique insight into a person’s true nature. So I ask you as a father, what do you see when you look into him?”

“I see a friend,” Alexander said. “I see a man that I trust with my life without doubt or hesitation.”

Severine nodded thoughtfully, turning to Wyatt. “You have the loyalty of the Reishi Sovereign. You have my daughter’s love. And now you have my blessing. I ask only that you strive every day to live up to her.”

“Lord Severine, that is easily the most joyful and difficult challenge that I have ever accepted,” Wyatt said.

“As for command of my army, General Janos has the loyalty of many of my soldiers and officers. He is a known quantity to them. You are not. Now that I’m here to provide General Janos with clear guidance, I believe it would be wise to reinstate him as commander.”

“I’m happy to serve in whatever capacity that I can be most useful,” Wyatt said.

“Do you object, Lord Reishi?” Severine asked.

“Not in the least,” Alexander said, shaking his head. “My only concern is that your army moves into position to attack the fortress city.”

Severine hesitated for a moment, frowning. “General Janos wasn’t wrong to doubt the success of such an attack. Over the centuries, the House of Karth has made many attempts to destroy the fortress city. All have failed because those walls are impregnable.”

Alexander nodded. “Perhaps this is a discussion we should have in private. If we could have the army continue to march south while we find General Janos and Tasia, I’m confident that I can allay your concerns.”

“Tasia,” Severine said, “is another issue that I have questions about. Janos tells me that she claims to be a dragon.” His disbelief was clear in his expression and colors.

“She is a dragon, Father.”

Severine frowned at his daughter, doubt still swirling in his colors.

“Your doubts are only natural,” Alexander said.

“No they’re not,” Anja muttered.

Alexander gave her a sidelong glance to forestall any more comments.

She frowned.

“As I said, let’s have this conversation in private.”

“Where did you have in mind?”

Alexander opened his Wizard’s Den.

Severine blinked a few times before walking around the doorway, shaking his head in wonder.

“I’ve heard stories of such magic …” he said, his voice trailing off.

“Summon General Janos and have Tasia brought here,” Alexander said. “Order your army to continue south.”

Severine didn’t respond, still looking at the door.

“Father,” Ayela said.

“Oh, yes, of course,” he said, nodding to one of the men who’d accompanied him.

“Please,” Alexander said, motioning to the doorway in the fabric of the world of time and substance.

It wasn’t long before Janos arrived. The general stopped at the threshold of the Wizard’s Den, a bit wild-eyed. Fear, doubt, and wonder vied for dominance in his colors.

“Come in, General,” Alexander said.

Janos looked to Severine, who nodded with a gentle smile. Janos entered a bit wary, scanning the room for any hint of a threat.

“This is highly irregular, Lord Severine,” he said. “Magic is forbidden.”

“Not any more,” Severine said. “Sit down, General.”

He obeyed hesitantly.

Tasia arrived a few moments later as the army marched by, many soldiers craning their necks to see inside the door to Alexander’s Wizard’s Den. She gingerly climbed down from the wagon that was transporting her.

Anja rushed to meet her.

“Tasia, it’s so good to see you,” she said, offering the elder dragon her arm for support.

“You as well, Child. I’m quite certain that your mother would like to see you too.”

“I know,” Anja said, looking down with a hint of guilt. “When this is over, I promise I’ll go home to visit.”

She helped Tasia to a bed while Alexander retrieved the healing draught that Lucky had concocted for her.

“I had this made for you,” he said, handing her the oversized vial.

She frowned skeptically. “What is it?”

“It’s a healing potion suitable for a dragon,” Alexander said. “After you drink it, you’ll fall asleep for a while. When you wake, your injuries should be mended.”

She looked at it for several moments as if weighing her options before nodding to herself, taking the potion and quaffing it in one long pull. She frowned at the taste and gratefully took the flask of water offered by Anja before lying back and closing her eyes.

Alexander closed the door to his Wizard’s Den and said, “Phane can’t hear us now.”

“You mean he could before?” Janos said.

“If he was listening, yes,” Alexander said. “He has powerful magic at his disposal. Some of his spells give him the power to spy on his enemies.”

Janos shook his head with a look that was almost frantic. “How can we defeat an enemy that knows our plans? If what you say is true, he must know we’re coming. We have to abort this attack or he’ll slaughter our men.”

“General, your concerns are valid,” Alexander said. “That’s why we’re having this conversation here, where he can’t hear us. Now, here’s my plan …”

Alexander spent the better part of an hour explaining his intentions in detail, his objectives and the ruse behind it all. By the time he was finished, he wasn’t sure that Janos or Severine believed he could do what he said he could, but both were greatly relieved to learn of the role their army would actually play in the attack.

Tasia sat up just before he finished, stretching and yawning.

“I heard the last of your plan,” she said. “I think I might be able to bring something to the fight now. And, General, I think perhaps it’s time that I show you the truth of my nature. Your doubts are beginning to annoy me.” She stood, testing her injuries carefully. She smiled at Alexander and said, “My compliments to your alchemist. I feel nearly myself again.”

When Alexander opened the door, Tasia strode from the Wizard’s Den, walking onto the trampled field until she was several dozen feet away from Alexander and the others, who had all filed out behind her. She turned and faced them, holding Janos with her eyes for a moment before transforming into her true form, her iridescent silver scales shimmering in the sunlight, her catlike eyes holding the general frozen in place.

“Do you still doubt me, Human?”

Janos was speechless, visceral fear coursing through his colors. Severine stood very still, fear mingling with wonder in his aura.

Ayela started toward Tasia, but Severine grabbed her arm almost reflexively. Ayela just smiled. “Tasia is my friend, Father. She won’t hurt me.”

He let go reluctantly and watched his daughter casually and fearlessly approach the snout of the ultimate predator.

“I’m so happy you are well again,” she said.

“It does feel good to be strong,” Tasia said, abruptly transforming back into human form.

“My wonder at your true form is only exceeded by my pride in Ayela. I never imagined that she might make friends with such a magnificent being.”

Tasia smiled slightly, nodding once deferentially to the King of Karth. “Well said, Human.”

***

After Alexander summoned Ratagan and Horst, it took only a few minutes by air to rejoin the army.

Most of Karth’s soldiers were infantry, armed with short bows, blow guns, atlatl-hurled javelins, and short spears. While many of their weapons were tipped with stone blades, most were also coated with blackwort poison. The men wore no armor and moved quickly, nimbly, and quietly. A small cadre of officers and scouts rode horses, most at the van of the marching army.

While he rode, Alexander let his thoughts turn to Isabel, wondering where his wife was and how she was faring. He considered looking in on her but thought better of it while he was riding. The last time he’d sent his mind forth while on horseback, he’d nearly fallen off.

They reached the jungle by midday. Alexander’s wariness increased as they moved into the thick rainforest, but the soldiers of Karth seemed relieved to be out of the expansive grasslands and under the cover of the trees.

When they stopped to eat, Alexander took the opportunity to slip into the firmament and have a look at the progress of his enemies. The fortress city, being the closest, was his first stop and he found it about as he expected. The walls were well manned and bristling with a variety of heavy weapons from ballistae to trebuchet. The soldiers were armed with javelins, short bows, and slingshots. Barrels of arrows and baskets of stones were lined up neatly to provide each soldier with ample ammunition. Against any type of conventional assault, the Regency soldiers were virtually invincible. Fortunately, Alexander had no intention of fighting by their rules.

Next, he shifted through the firmament to Isabel. She was riding in an armored carriage with Phane through the southern grasslands of the Reishi Isle. Phane’s carriage was at the center of his entire force, surrounded by three legions of Regency soldiers and band after band of protective measures.

Alexander slipped inside the carriage, just to see his wife for a moment. Phane looked directly at him and smiled his boyish smile.

“It won’t be long now, Cousin,” he said.

Alexander materialized on the seat across from Phane and Isabel.

“Hi,” he said, ignoring Phane.

Isabel forced a smile. Her colors were a battlefield, darkness vying with her inherent light for dominance.

“You’re right, Phane, it won’t be long now. And this time, you won’t escape justice.”

“Such confidence. Too bad it’s so terribly misplaced. Two, maybe three days is all you have left before the Nether Gate is mine. And once it is, the torrent of darkness that I’ll send after you will scour your very name from existence.”

Alexander just shook his head, then looked at his wife. “I love you, Isabel. I need you to hold on to that, just a little bit longer.”

She nodded tightly. “I love you too, Alexander. Always.”

He slipped back into the firmament and focused his attention on Fool’s Gap. What remained of the force that had killed Anatoly and overrun his legion was now trapped in the gap with Conner on one side and Torin on the other. Alexander arrived just as Captain Sava and his company of Strikers crashed into the enemy line at the base of the switchback road leading up to the gap. As big as the barbarians were, they crumbled as the lances of Sava’s Strikers drove into them. Sava’s column turned immediately into the flank of the line and thundered into the exposed enemy, crushing and trampling them as they rode down their shield line.

Archers rained arrows into their back ranks and Sky Knights flew in squad formations, crisscrossing over the enemy, casting javelins into their midst. A bubble of liquid fire burst in the center of a tight cluster of Zuhl’s soldiers, sending them scrambling and screaming, running into their companions and setting them alight as well.

A flash of argent light arced from a makeshift tower behind Conner’s line, Mage Dax adding his magic to the fight. The lightning struck a single man, burning a hole through his chest in a blink, then arcing to another three, then three more, spreading out into the field, leaving a swath of charred and dead barbarians in the space of a heartbeat.

Conner was taking Alexander’s command to destroy them seriously. He decided to leave him to it. Flitting north with a thought, he stopped high over Zuhl’s main army at Fellenden’s Gate. It was much the same as it had been the last time he’d looked in on them, except that the glyph was complete. It screamed of power, arcane and dark, so much so that it hurt Alexander to look at it. Drawn in blood, Peti had imbued every inch of it with darkness like nothing he’d seen since his unhappy visit to the netherworld itself.

Just outside of their camp was a pile of rotting bodies several dozen feet tall, the corpses of thousands of barbarians all pale and bloodless. Alexander shuddered at the horror of such a sight. Peti had drained them of their life to draw the sigil occupying the middle of their camp. He could only imagine the power she would command when she activated her constructed spell and could only hope that Abigail and the Coven would kill her before that could happen.

Thinking of his sister, the world flashed by in a blur. Abigail was riding behind Magda on Taharial. Alexander was glad to see that the spellbook had been sufficient to reverse the wyvern’s transformation. They flew along the coastline toward Whitehall. The Queen of Ruatha and her small army of witches were just days away from ending Zuhl’s ambitions.

Alexander returned to himself just before the army began to move. Within an hour, he decided that riding a horse through the jungle was a fool’s errand, so he dismounted, joining the soldiers in their march. He marveled at how quietly twenty thousand men could move through the thick vegetation. They flowed like water, choosing the path of least resistance and leaving little sign of their passage.

By evening, they were half a day’s march from the fortress city. He’d originally intended to attack at dawn day after next, but seeing how close Phane was to the Gate convinced him to attack as soon as they were able. Once again, he was in a race.

They pressed forward until darkness overtook them and were on the march as soon as the sky began to show color the following morning. Alexander stopped periodically to send his sight ahead, scouting for any sign of danger. He half expected that Phane had left some sort of trap or assassin for him, but the more he thought about it, the more he discounted the possibility. Phane believed that he was nearing victory—and he’d made it fairly clear that he wanted Alexander to die badly while he watched and gloated.

By late morning, reports of contact with Regency scouts began to come in. Just after midday, Alexander called a halt and ordered the army to deploy along a line not five minutes from the imposing walls of the fortress city, but still well inside the protection and concealment of the jungle.

“Hold here until you hear my signal,” Alexander said. “And remember, there are a lot of innocents in the city. Focus on the Regency.”

“Understood, Lord Reishi,” Severine said.

Tasia joined Alexander and his friends as they moved forward. They stopped a few hundred feet short of the wood line, where the jungle had been cleared and leveled for five hundred feet surrounding the wall. Alexander sent his sight forward. The gate to the tunnel leading through the wall was closed but unguarded. Unsurprising, considering the thousands of men lining the wall above. On the face of it, the fortress city looked impregnable, but in reality, Phane had left these men defenseless and hopelessly outmatched. Without the protection of his magic, they didn’t stand a chance.

“Are you ready, Anja?”

“You’re sure these potions will work?”

“Lucky wouldn’t have sent them if he wasn’t sure.”

“You’re not trying to trick me, are you?”

“No, Anja. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“You better not,” she said, walking out into the clearing.

She hesitated for a moment, a frown creasing her brow before she seemed to make a decision. A moment later, she transformed into her true form, beautiful and terrible all at once.

“Be careful,” Alexander said.

“She’s safer and more formidable as a dragon than she ever was as a human,” Tasia said. “Besides, I’ll be flying with her.”

Anja launched into the sky, her red scales glistening in the afternoon sun. Tasia walked into the clearing a moment later, transforming into her true form and launching into the air with fluid ease.

Alexander opened his Wizard’s Den and went to the chest that Lucky had sent, selecting a potion of warding and the potion of speed. As he stepped out, closing the door behind him, Ratagan and Horst landed in the clearing, their wyverns folding their wings and settling in like birds on a nest.

“I should accompany you, Lord Reishi,” Jataan said.

“I doubt you’d be able to keep up,” Alexander said, popping the stopper off the potion of speed and quaffing the syrupy liquid.

A roar in the distance was followed by men shouting and then screaming.

Alexander drank the potion of warding next, waiting for a few moments for the magic to take effect.

A strange sensation began to come over him, as if the world were slowing down.

“I’ll be right back,” he said so quickly that his friends frowned at the high pitch of his voice. He ran through the jungle, picking his path in a blink, selecting the easiest course through the foliage. He passed the wood line and into the clearing around the walls as if moving his mind through the firmament.

Two dragons wheeled in the sky, tipping over for another pass at the men on the walls, both breathing fire in great gouts. Phane’s guards ran off the walls screaming, fully engulfed in flames, plunging to their deaths. A few arrows sought Alexander out, but he saw them coming with his magical sight and avoided them with ease on his way to the city’s single entrance.

The Thinblade was out and raised when he reached the stout stone gate, slashing into it with blurring speed, carving away chunks of stone with every cut. Flaming oil splashed down on him while he worked, splattering onto his magical shield and igniting the ground all around him. The potion of warding had saved him from a terrible death, but not from the conflagration surrounding him.

With a thought, he opened his Wizard’s Den and stepped inside, closing the door a second later. He paced for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for the flames to die down before opening the door again and stepping out onto the still smoldering ground to resume his work on the gate. It was thick, several feet of stone, but no match for the Thinblade. Within minutes, he’d carved a passage through it and slipped into the long corridor lined with arrow slits and murder holes.

He raised his light to blinding intensity and sprinted for the midpoint of the passage. Shouts of warning could be heard from the men in the corridors that ran parallel to the main entrance, but they were unable to attack quickly enough to hit him, and they were unable to look directly at him because of his light.

Amid the clatter of arrows firing behind him, he reached the center of the corridor and opened his Wizard’s Den. It took only a few seconds to roll Kelvin’s explosive weapon into the hallway and close the door again, racing back the way he’d come with such speed that the enemy never laid a scratch on him. He emerged from the hole he’d cut through the gate and sprinted toward the wood line, crossing the distance in seconds and threading his way through the jungle and back to his friends. Before he reached the clearing, a great slowness seemed to overtake him, the world around him speeding up and leaving him feeling like he was running through molasses.

He reached the clearing winded. It felt like he’d just run several miles. Stopping to catch his breath, he looked to Jataan and nodded.

Jataan transformed his Weaponere’s stone into a bow and he sent a whistler arrow into the air. Alexander began counting. When he reached one hundred, he crushed the activation stone for the explosive weapon and the world of time and substance shuddered. A deafening crack shook the trees, sending birds into the air and countless leaves fluttering to the ground. Moments later, stones began to rain down into the jungle, fragmented remnants of the once impregnable wall that had protected the fortress city for millennia.

“I’ll bet they didn’t see that coming,” Jack said.

Alexander gave him a little grin as he headed for Ratagan’s wyvern, opening his Wizard’s Den along the way for his friends. Jataan mounted up behind Horst and the pair of Sky Knights launched into the sky.

The scene of destruction that unfolded below them was awesome indeed. Where once a wall a hundred feet thick and a hundred feet high had stood, there was only a crater in the ground. A section of the wall several hundred feet wide was simply gone, blasted into fragments and dust in an instant. The men atop the wall were mostly gone as well. The few that remained were unconscious or so stunned by the force of the blast that they never even noticed Alexander float overhead.

He set his sights on the black tower at the center of the city, sending his vision forward to scout the rooftop and finding only Tasia and Anja, wings folded and waiting. Ratagan and Horst used every bit of influence they had with their steeds to get them to land close to the two dragons. Alexander and Jataan slipped to the ground and the two Sky Knights launched again.

Tasia transformed into a woman. Anja frowned, her great brow furling almost comically as she craned her neck to face Alexander.

“This had better work,” she said.

He caressed her snout and held out an oversized potion vial, placing it on her tongue when she opened her mouth. Tossing her head back, she broke the vial and swallowed it, glass and all.

Nothing happened.

“Why isn’t it working?” she said.

“You have to cast the spell, Child,” Tasia said. “The potion will provide the power, but you must guide that power with your will.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that,” she said, beginning to utter the ancient words, drawing on her natural connection with the firmament, augmented by the magic of Lucky’s potion. She finished the spell and still nothing happened. She was just about to protest when she abruptly transformed into a young woman.

She sighed. “It’s good to be back to normal again.”

“Don’t ever let your mother hear you say that,” Tasia said. “This is not normal. You are not a human, you are a dragon, and one day, you will have to face that fact.”

Anja frowned, looking down at the ground. “I know, but I don’t fit in as a dragon.”

“That’s because you’re not meant to fit in with humans—you’re meant to fit in with your own kind. Young Alexander is fond of the saying: Deal in what is. This is what is.”

Anja seemed to be searching unsuccessfully for some counterargument.

“She’s right, Anja,” Alexander said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “You’re a dragon and you’re magnificent. You should embrace your true nature.”

“But then I can’t stay with you,” she said.

“I know, but it would be for the best.”

“Maybe when this war is over,” she said, regaining her usual certainty. “Until then, you need me.”

“Anja, I will always need you, but not to protect me.”

Before she could respond, Alexander’s future sense ignited with warning. He whirled, drawing Demonrend in a fluid motion and throwing the blade before the threat had even fully materialized. It hit the wraithkin in the side of the head, burying to the hilt an instant after the demonically powered creation appeared behind Jataan.

Alexander retrieved his blade and opened the Wizard’s Den.

“Looks like they know we’re here,” Jack said, stepping out and tossing his hood over his head. Lita followed.

“Stay close and stay alert,” he said, heading for the staircase leading down to the top level of the black tower.

Chapter 35

“My dear Isabel, I hate to see you like this,” Phane said amiably. “It would be so much easier if you would just embrace it.”

Isabel ignored him, choosing instead to focus on the light within, even though that light was becoming more and more elusive. Azugorath was now a constant presence in her mind, not powerful enough to usurp her will without Phane’s help, but there nonetheless. Isabel felt dirty—unclean, as if her essential humanity had been sullied by the presence of such a vile creature in her mind.

Phane seemed to be enjoying her struggle, which made Isabel work all the harder to hide the deleterious effects that the Wraith Queen was having on her. Prior to leaving Karth, Phane had successfully transferred nearly two-thirds of his wraithkin to dependence on lesser wraith for their power, thereby freeing Azugorath to focus most of her dark will on Isabel. She knew deep down that her ability to resist was wearing thin, though she tried to avoid that truth lest her despair feed her nemesis.

The ocean voyage had been largely uneventful, at least as far as she was concerned. Phane traveled in the largest ship of his fleet, surrounded by a thousand smaller ships, each really nothing more than a giant canoe powered by one square sail and two dozen soldiers pulling oars. While crude, his fleet was effective, providing transport for three legions while dispersing them enough that any large-scale attack would do minimal damage.

Not that Phane cared about the lives of his soldiers beyond the power they allowed him to project.

As they made their way up the coast of Andalia, Tyr had joined Phane’s fleet with about a hundred ships of wide-ranging designs and capabilities. Isabel got the impression that he and his men were little more than pillagers and pirates, though they were able seamen.

When they neared the north coast of Andalia, the Babachenko had demanded that Phane give him a tenth of his fleet and soldiers to secure Andalia against Talia’s invasion. Phane just laughed. When the Babachenko pressed him, Phane flatly refused, offering to let the Babachenko have a rowboat to go to his countrymen’s rescue. Isabel found herself hoping that they would fight amongst themselves, but the Babachenko and his Acuna wizards acquiesced after Phane made it clear that he would secure Andalia on their behalf as soon as he had the Nether Gate.

Isabel had her doubts.

They’d made landfall on the Reishi Isle the previous day, the Regency soldiers working well into the night to unload the ships and prepare to march north. Phane had remained aboard his flagship with his wraithkin and his company of personal guards until his troops were ready to move. Now he was traveling in a large armored carriage drawn by six horses, surrounded by his wraithkin, his bodyguards, the Acuna wizards, and his three legions of soldiers. For the most powerful wizard in the world, he seemed a bit paranoid, which was perhaps justified given that he was also the most hated and feared man in the Seven Isles.

She kept Slyder out of sight and at a distance, observing their progress from the air from time to time, always grateful that the slave collar she wore didn’t interfere with the link she shared with her familiar. In many ways, Slyder had helped her maintain her sanity through the ordeal she’d endured over the past few months.

A horse rode up next to the carriage.

“Prince Phane,” a voice said.

Phane opened a window in the stout door.

“Scouts report that Prince Trajan is pacing us, along with a number of his men,” the soldier said.

“Ah, I wondered where he’d gone,” Phane said. “Keep an eye on him. If he attacks, kill him.”

“Shouldn’t we run him down, My Prince?”

“No, keep the soldiers in formation around me.”

“As you wish, My Prince.”

Phane closed the window and sat back with a smile.

“I suspect that he’ll show himself in due time. As I understand it, he’s become less than rational, an unfortunate side-effect of the Goiri bone, no doubt.”

Isabel continued to ignore his attempts at conversation.

A journey that would have taken a small party two days took Phane’s army twice that. Isabel felt like she was traveling toward her doom, and yet, she found herself almost anxious to arrive. One way or another, her part in this war was coming to an end, and she was so tired of war.

When she wasn’t fighting Azugorath in her mind, she tried to focus on Alexander and her family, thinking often of her childhood in Glen Morillian. At one point she realized that she was reviewing her life, evaluating past actions, taking a survey of her experiences and facing every hurt she’d ever caused an innocent person … making an effort to atone for any wrongs she’d ever committed, even those that seemed minor in hindsight. On balance, she decided that she was happy with her life, proud of her decisions and her relationships.

Come what may, she had lived well.

When the carriage rolled to a stop after several days of travel, Isabel knew instinctively that they had arrived at their destination. She felt strangely calm, content even. She smiled to herself at the realization that all of her reverie about the past had left her feeling grounded and centered. She knew who she was, she was happy with herself. If death came for her, she would face it with a clear conscience.

“Prince Phane, we’re a league away, as ordered,” a soldier said.

He flashed her his boyish smile. “It won’t be long now,” he said, opening the door and stepping out into the afternoon sun. “Come along, I want you to see this.”

Isabel took a moment to stretch her legs, shaking them to get the blood flowing before scanning the surrounding area. She saw Lacy sitting in a wagon with her wraithkin guard and gave her a reassuring smile.

“Come on, I haven’t got all day,” Phane said.

Isabel obeyed, though slowly.

Phane just smirked at her impotent act of rebellion as he led her toward the van of the army surrounded by a cordon of a dozen wraithkin blinking out of and then back into existence every few steps. Even Phane’s personal guard, two hundred men and another two hundred women, didn’t seem to like the wraithkin. Phane ignored them all.

As they walked through the sparse trees and tall grass, the Babachenko came hurrying up, shying away from the wraithkin until Phane nodded for them to allow him to pass.

“May I ask what your plan of attack is, Prince Phane?” he said with exaggerated formality.

“That will depend entirely on how our adversaries respond to my first move.”

“I see,” the Babachenko said, falling silent for a moment before he began to speak again.

As he opened his mouth, Phane cut him off. “It’ll be far easier to show you,” he said with his characteristic smile. “This should do.”

He motioned for Isabel to come closer, then burned a magic circle into the ground around them with a word. His next spell took longer to cast. Nearly a minute passed before he spoke the final word. The air grew still and the ground trembled for a moment before the place beneath their feet rose into the air a dozen feet above the trees. Isabel was a bit startled by the sudden change in geography. In an instant, she was standing atop a tower of stone jutting up out of the ground at a slight angle, rising more than seventy feet into the sky.

From their vantage point, they could see the mountain where the Nether Gate was located.

“When I had my people abduct Wren from Blackstone Keep, I also had them take a spellbook—one that should be very near and dear to your heart considering it contains the spell that Cedric used to create Glen Morillian. I never could figure out how he did that. After reading his raise-mountain spell, I can’t help but have a newfound respect for him. It’s a pity really. As brilliant as he was, he caused so much unnecessary destruction.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Isabel said.

Phane chuckled. “Don’t ever lose that, Isabel. I cherish your willingness to speak your mind. So few are willing to tell me what they really think.”

She just shook her head with a snort.

“Well, shall we begin?” he said, beginning to cast a spell. He spoke in a variety of languages, at times seeming to command the world itself to bend to his will, only to switch to another language and plead with forces unknown.

While Phane was occupied with his spell casting, Isabel sat down and tried to touch the spark of light within her. Though Azugorath was quiet, she wasn’t absent. When Isabel reached for the light, the Wraith Queen was there to block her, but that didn’t stop her from trying.

When the earth began to shake, she got to her feet to see what was happening. To her dismay, the mountain range that housed the Nether Gate began to move. The world itself seemed to groan as the mountain began to shift and shrink, sinking into the earth. Phane worked his magic for the better part of an hour, during which Isabel stood transfixed, not daring to look away, in awe of the power being unleashed. He was literally remaking the face of the Seven Isles.

The mountain slowly sank into the ground, leveling out the area around it and finally raising the Nether Gate to the surface, crushing or scattering Zuhl’s soldiers who were encamped near the entrance to the hidden fortress. When the world stopped moving, there was no trace of the mountain, no trace of the hidden fortress. All that remained was a level plain strewn with rocks and boulders, some as big as a house. For a league in every direction the ground was barren and flat. At the center was the Nether Gate.

Off to the far side of the newly formed plain was the vitalwood tree, still encased in the protective shield that Selaphiel had placed around it. Isabel was flooded with memories of her encounter with the tree. Even with all of the horrific events that had occurred in that peaceful, secluded grotto, she remembered the feeling of belonging and acceptance that she’d had in the presence of that most ancient tree.

She smiled to herself at the memory. It was one of her most profound and treasured experiences.

She noticed Phane frowning at her.

“What?”

“I didn’t expect you to smile when I cast this spell.”

She pointed to the tree. “There is light in the world that you can’t eradicate and it will always show people their true nature, it will always remind people that they can be more than they believe, that they can do more than they think they can. But more than that, it will always remind people that a child with a conscience is more worthy than a king without one.”

Phane snorted, shaking his head. “And here I thought you might be coming around.”

He spoke a word and the tower lowered back into the ground, leaving just a few misplaced stones as the only evidence that it had ever existed.

“General Hargrove!” Phane shouted.

Not a minute later, the general and an aide came riding up.

“Yes, Prince Phane.”

“Give the command to proceed.”

“As you wish, My Prince,” Hargrove said, bowing in his saddle before riding back into the main body of the army. It wasn’t long before Isabel and Phane were inside the armored carriage, rolling toward the end of the world as Isabel knew it.

They had traveled for just over an hour when Hargrove rode up to the carriage window and said, “Prince Phane, Zuhl’s forces have reached the Nether Gate.”

“Where are we?” Phane snapped.

“Less than half a league out.”

“Stop and set perimeter,” he said, turning to Isabel with a humorless grin and cold, dead eyes. “And so it begins.”

Isabel followed him out of the carriage, scanning the distance for the enemy as she stepped to the ground.

Phane stopped, looking back at her. “Come along,” he snapped.

Isabel held his stare for a few moments, obeying his command only after his temper began to show. Once again he lifted them both up on a conjured tower, well above the army. The field was littered with stones of every conceivable size and shape. Surrounding the Nether Gate was a regiment of Zuhl’s barbarians numbering in the thousands.

Phane’s army spread out evenly beneath the tower in all directions, forming layered cordons of protection, each of increasing power as they got closer to the center and the Reishi Prince. When Isabel realized that for all of his power, he was a coward at heart, she couldn’t help but smile.

He ignored her, his gaze fixed like a raptor on the enemy in the distance.

“My dear Isabel,” he said, his eyes never wavering from the Gate, “I have been waiting a very long time to cast this particular spell.” He stopped, staring off into the distance. “I envy you,” he finally said. “Your link to the netherworld is so extraordinary and so powerful … I never imagined what it could do, until now.”

He turned on her, lifting her from the ground with a gesture and walking around her until she was between him and the enemy in the distance.

“What are you doing?” Isabel shouted.

“Using you,” he said, binding her hands and feet in midair with circles of magical force, holding her in place, helpless again.

He began to chant as she struggled and railed against him.

Then she stopped shouting at him, calming herself and focusing on defending herself from the darkness that was about to come.

Phane spoke the final word of his spell with force, and the portal in her mind was torn open, flooding her psyche with cold darkness and empty despair. She heard screaming, visceral and primal. It took a moment before she realized that it was hers.

Inky blackness belched forth from her mouth, her nose, her eyes, swirling and coalescing into an indistinct mass of black magic. When the darkness finished flowing through her, and the portal to the netherworld slammed shut, she went limp, sobbing in anguish from the immoral residue left behind by so much hate and bile.

Dimly she was aware of Phane chanting again in the background. She struggled to regain control over her body and her will, grappling with the guilt, despair, and fear still coursing through her. When she managed to look up, she saw the darkness that Phane had conjured dart off toward the enemy position around the Gate.

It reached them in seconds, moving in a streak of blackness and then coming to an abrupt stop above them, where it coalesced into a sphere twenty feet wide. Then it began to spin.

At first, the soldiers below just watched as the sphere spun faster and faster. Suddenly, one of them was sucked into the vortex, his body completely desiccated in an instant as he passed through the darkness. His lifeless remains were ejected into the air with enough force to propel them several hundred of feet, leaving nothing but a stain on the landscape and a scattered collection of shattered bones where his corpse fell.

Another soldier, then another, then five, then ten and then dozens every second were drawn up into the vortex, dying in an instant and being cast into the air to fall at random, their remains scattered haphazardly across the battlefield.

A few of the soldiers on the periphery of the unit were able to escape instant death, but the vast majority of those guarding the Gate were killed, desiccated, and then very thoroughly distributed around the area in a matter of minutes.

It was the most terrifying display of deadly power that Isabel had ever seen, and it sickened her that once again, she had been instrumental in such evil by providing Phane with access to the netherworld.

“Oh, now that was special, wasn’t it?” he said, almost to himself, chuckling gently. He turned to Isabel with an appraising smile and hardness in his eyes. “My thoughts on your highest value to me are evolving.” He nodded to himself, looking down over the edge of the tower.

“General Hargrove,” he shouted, “have your first legion secure the Nether Gate and begin building defensive fortifications. Have the remaining two legions stand fast.”

“Understood, Prince Phane,” Hargrove said, turning to his commanders.

Isabel was beginning to recover, though she still felt unclean. “So is this what I can expect going forward?” she asked weakly.

“Now that all depends on you, doesn’t it?” he said. “If you cooperate, you’ll come to understand that the darkness can be remarkably rewarding. If not, you’ve proven to be invaluable as a conduit.

“Honestly, I would far prefer to have you as my willing second. You would have great leeway in the methods you use, provided they achieve the ends I require. I’m offering you the opportunity to rule the world with me, Isabel. Most people would be grateful.”

“Not if they knew you,” Isabel managed, still sapped and defenseless, suspended by magic a few feet off the ground.

“Defiant to the last,” he said. “I have to say, your resistance makes victory all the more sweet.”

Before she could muster the will or strength to respond, he released the bindings and she fell to the ground, rolling to her side and pulling her knees up to her chest. She focused on her breathing, willing all of the pain and violation she felt into the background of her mind.

For a moment, the thought of suicide crept into her thoughts, not driven by self-pity, but out of concern that through her, Phane might do unimaginable harm. Then she thought of Alexander and her will to win returned with a vengeance, followed very quickly by a feeling of abject helplessness.

She returned to her breathing while Phane watched a legion of his soldiers march toward his ultimate prize. Breath by breath, she recovered her sensibilities, and then her strength, and then her determination to turn the tables on Phane. That could only be accomplished when the time was right and that required her to be ready and to recognize it when it came.

She had limited power at her disposal. Slyder was hidden nearby and he had the slave master’s ring. But even without the Andalian slave collar, she was no match for Phane … unless she could access the light.

She remained curled up on the ground, conserving her strength and focusing her mind, ignoring Phane as he ignored her in favor of watching the progress of his war.

“Call a halt!” he shouted down to Hargrove.

A whistler arrow went up.

Isabel opened her eyes, rolling over to look in the direction of the enemy. A swarm of drakini floated a hundred feet off the ground toward the Gate. They reached it within a few minutes, one casting a single spear down into the ground. Then they retreated back toward Zuhl’s rapidly marching main army less than a mile away.

A dust devil formed around the spear, growing into a whirlwind and then a tornado. When it reached full speed, the wind-whipped dust began to turn white, raining snow and hail down for five hundred feet in all directions. The surrounding area was quickly transformed into a winter scene, white and frigid.

Isabel felt a cold gust of wind blow past her, sending a chill up her spine in spite of the temperate spring afternoon.

As abruptly as it had formed, the tornado vanished, leaving a mound of ice and snow that looked like a small mountain a hundred feet tall and twice as wide covering the Nether Gate.

The cold air that had just blown past her settled into a cool breeze emanating from the ice mountain, sapping the warmth from her and leaving her shivering on the ground. As she got to her feet, arms wrapped tightly around her chest, Phane smirked, muttering the words of another spell. A few moments later, the air within the magic circle atop the conjured tower became warm and calm.

“Interesting,” Phane said, rubbing his chin. “Let’s see what happens when I throw a big rock at it.” He flashed her a smile and then cast his gaze out over the boulder-strewn battlefield, settling on a stone the size of a large wagon. With an outstretched hand, he lifted the stone, easily several tons, a hundred feet, then two hundred feet into the air. He held it there for a moment and then propelled it at the ice mountain with terrible force and speed. The stone seemed to blur, flickering for an instant in the space between its starting point and the ice.

It hit with a deafening crack, sending a shock wave of chilled air outward that felt like a slap in the face. The ice mountain shattered into a mixture of ice shards and coarse jagged hail, raining down across a wide swath.

The icy dust didn’t have a chance to fully settle before it began to swirl, the ice tornado quickly forming again, building on the blasted-out remnants of the previous mountain to form an even larger mound of ice with an even wider area of artificial winter surrounding it.

Phane nodded to himself, frowning at the barrier blocking him from his prize. After a moment he walked to the edge of his tower and called down, “General, move the army to the edge of the cold. Make that your front line.”

He didn’t wait for Hargrove’s response, instead walking to the center of the magic circle atop the tower and sitting cross-legged on the ground, as if waiting for something.

He didn’t have to wait long. The few clouds in the sky began to build, growing in size and darkening as they roiled and turned, building and spreading until the entire battlefield was beneath a huge angry-looking cloud. Phane got to his feet, watching the sky.

The cloud settled into a slow spiral overhead with the ice mountain as its center point. Lightning flashed and then it began to rain. Large drops fell from the sky, first in a smattering, clattering into the armor of a group here and a unit there. After a few minutes, the rain was falling in wind-driven torrents, drenching the battlefield and soaking Phane’s entire army. Hail began to form, small at first, but growing quickly, until Phane’s soldiers were hunkered under their shields to defend against the unnatural deluge.

Lightning struck Phane’s shield. Isabel found herself on her hands and knees staring at the ground, dazzled and a bit stunned by the sudden flash and terrible noise. Phane began casting a spell. Another bolt struck, filling the world with cold and terrible brilliance. Phane’s chanting grew.

Another bolt struck, but this one stuck to Phane’s shield, the arc holding for several terrifying seconds, building, pulsing with power before rebounding back into the clouds swirling above and terminating with a flash of light so bright that it illuminated the entire cloud, followed by a clap of thunder that reverberated across the battlefield.

The clouds stopped moving and began to lose color, turning first grey, then white, and finally evaporating entirely, leaving the sky clear and bright in no more than a minute’s time.

***

In less than an hour, Phane had moved his army right up to the edge of the frost line, forming a bristling front of shields and spears. Zuhl’s forces had taken up positions on and around the artificial mountain.

Phane spent a few minutes preparing a spell that lifted ten towers twenty feet into the air, each with a set of stairs leading up the side and a magic circle burned into the top. They formed a line just fifty feet behind the shield wall, overlooking the enemy and the objective.

He insisted that the Babachenko and the High Overseer take the towers to either side of him, with the remaining towers for the rest of the Acuna wizards. He motioned to Isabel impatiently. She plodded up the stairs to the tower top, feeling a tingle of magic wash over her as Phane took his position and raised his defenses.

She scanned the battlefield. The main body of Zuhl’s army was just arriving, filling in behind their advance force. Phane’s army was arrayed in front of his tower line in a series of rows, each supporting those soldiers in front of them. A large contingent of reserve forces stood at the ready on the south side of the battlefield, and a guard force of several thousand surrounded Phane in concentric circles.

He was using his army more as a defensive bulwark than a general officer’s weapon of war … though after seeing the magic he was capable of wielding, Isabel had to admit that his strategy did have some merit.

To the east, two legions of Rangers were assembled around a legion of infantry. A squad of Sky Knights floated in a high orbit overhead. She estimated that it would take the Rangers ten minutes to close the distance—the infantry would take thirty. At the moment, they were holding position.

Phane motioned for the Babachenko and the High Overseer to attack. The Babachenko frowned, seeming to hesitate before turning toward Zuhl’s army with resignation and beginning to cast a spell. A few moments later, a bubble of liquid fire leapt from his hands and splashed into the enemy ranks, igniting a dozen men in a whoosh. The rest of the Acuna wizards began casting spells—force-shards and liquid fire filled the air.

Drakini swept in past the ice mountain, descending into the front ranks of Phane’s army before his men could react, breathing frost into them a moment before landing and then slashing into every soldier within reach. The initial attack was devastating to the integrity of the line. Moments after the drakini landed, they launched again, bounding over a dozen rows of soldiers to breathe frost again and land, clawing and killing.

The Acuna shifted their focus to the drakini, targeting them with force-shards and killing several with the first volley. They fled, launching into the sky and retreating over the main body of Zuhl’s forces.

Phane looked down to the ground just ahead of his tower and motioned for his wraithkin to clear the area. Within moments it was empty. With a word, he burned a magic circle into the ground, then looked out at the enemy with a smile, seeming to relish the momentary deliberation before selecting a single enemy soldier and lifting him from his position on the battlefield a hundred feet away, drawing him over the fighting and depositing him inside the circle below, his hands and feet bound with force manacles a moment later.

The man cursed and railed at Phane, who simply smiled down at him before selecting another and then a third man from the enemy ranks, plucking them from the relative safety of their place in formation and binding them with magic inside the circle.

Zuhl’s forces were pushing against Phane’s line, taking advantage of the damage caused by the drakini attack to gain ground. Phane ignored them. Isabel started wondering if she might have a chance to strike while he was preoccupied with his spell, but decided against it. Her time would come.

As the battle raged, the air grew colder. Phane stepped up his chanting. The three men in the circle below began to scream, visceral fear and tortured agony bound into one long death knell. When they fell silent, the air began to flow into the darkness swirling in the center of the circle. Phane uttered a final set of words and the darkness cleared with a clap.

Standing in the center of the circle, amid the three lifeless corpses sacrificed to call it forth, was a demon of stone and fire, its body a collection of rocks held together by joints of orange-red heat. It stood twelve feet tall and was roughly formed in the shape of a man, but without features or detail past legs, arms, body, and head. Heat radiated from it, drying the air and causing Isabel to break out in a prickly sweat.

“Destroy the spear at the center of the ice,” Phane commanded.

The creature nodded, bounding past startled soldiers until it neared the front line where it jumped over Phane’s men, landing in the middle of the barbarians and thrashing its way toward the ice mountain. Each step produced a gout of steam; each strike burned the man struck.

It reached the side of the artificial mountain and stopped, beginning to glow with heat, melting into the ice, water running away in rivulets only to freeze again as it flowed away from the heat. The demon sank through the melting ice to the ground and then began melting its way to the spear. The whirlwind started to form again as soon as the demon reached it, exposing it to the air, but the demon took it in both hands and melted it through in two places in a matter of moments.

Phane smiled. “Now for some real fun,” he said, extending his hands toward the rapidly melting remnants of the ice mountain, lifting the chunks of ice and the water itself into the air with his magic. Piece by piece, drop by drop, Phane lifted the water and ice over the barbarians’ heads, forming a large swirling mass, spinning faster and faster.

Isabel stood transfixed, as did most of the soldiers on both sides of the battlefield. Once the ice had all melted, Phane lowered the huge bubble of water onto the enemy soldiers still guarding the Nether Gate, holding it in a shape large enough that the soldiers were completely and hopelessly submerged. Phane laughed with delight as hundreds of men drowned before him. Once they were dead, he shoved the water into a wave that rolled across the short distance to the main body of Zuhl’s army, splashing into their front line and knocking over the first few ranks of soldiers.

Out of the corner of her eye, Isabel saw a man sprinting toward the Nether Gate. She frowned, squinting to see better, recognition coming over her, followed by sudden hope. It was Trajan Karth and he was carrying the Goiri bone—bane of magic. He was one of the few people in all the Seven Isles who could actually destroy the Nether Gate.

Phane noticed him, too, frowning in disbelief for only a moment before fully recognizing the threat. His gaze snapped to a boulder just a bit smaller than a house. With both hands outstretched, he focused his will, lifting the boulder and lobbing it in a gentle arc across the battlefield.

Isabel held her breath, watching helplessly as the giant stone flew unerringly. It landed squarely on Trajan, burying the Prince of Karth under dozens of tons of stone in an instant. For a moment, it didn’t seem real. One second, he was alive and running with all of the speed and purpose that a man can muster, the next second he was crushed under a boulder, effectively scoured from the face of the world in a blink.

“Oh, Trajan,” Isabel whispered.

“Charge!” Phane shouted to his army, ignoring her.

A horn blew and Phane’s army seemed to spring forward as one, racing toward the enemy with reckless abandon, moving past the Nether Gate and securing a defensive line several hundred feet beyond, facing Zuhl’s army.

“Come,” Phane said, abandoning his tower and advancing with his army, surrounded by several dozen wraithkin. They moved forward quickly, Phane’s eyes never wavering from his goal.

Twenty pillars of ice formed just inside Zuhl’s line not three hundred feet away. Atop each, a priest began casting shards of ice toward Phane and those surrounding him.

Half a dozen hit, killing a few of his personal guards, before Phane raised a shield over his companions. It formed a reddish half shell, flashing with heat as each ice shard hit. The priests turned their magic against the soldiers on Phane’s front line, ripping into them savagely, momentarily shaking their spirit. Zuhl gained ground.

Phane cast another spell, muttering for several seconds before a magic circle two hundred feet in diameter burned into the ground around the Nether Gate. As soon as his first spell was cast, he began chanting in another language.

His front line collapsed, falling back under the pressure of the barbarian attack. Phane ignored them, the words of his spell tumbling off his tongue, each word given its due attention, each syllable uttered crisply and precisely.

Suddenly, the ground shook, stalling Zuhl’s charge. A moment later, the large magic circle rose forty feet into the air, forming a perfect plateau in a matter of seconds.

Hundreds of the men in Phane’s first legion were trapped between the barbarians’ charge and the cliff that had risen so unexpectedly behind them. The result was a loss of nearly half their number, trapped and slaughtered.

Isabel scanned the surface of the huge plateau. Phane, four hundred of his personal guards, all of the Acuna wizards, the wraithkin, Lacy, Tyr and a dozen of his men were safely on top while the rest of Phane’s army was spread out below, engaged with the barbarians on either side of the plateau as both forces flowed around it.

A dozen priests rose up on pillars of ice, forming shielded battlements to protect them from arrows while giving them windows to cast their spells through. Moments after each tower was formed, the priests began casting ice shards, a foot long and as sharp as glass, into the soldiers on top of the plateau.

Phane picked up a large rock with his magic and hurled it at one of the towers, shattering it and sending the priest falling to the ground. The Acuna began to engage the priests, killing three fairly quickly, before the rest transformed into blue dragons and took to flight, gaining altitude with a few strokes before attacking all at once.

Six dragon priests breathed into the soldiers trying to defend the plateau, frost and frigid air leaving scores of men trembling, numb in the fingers and toes, entirely incapacitated with paralyzing cold. Then the priests crashed into the wraithkin. The demonic warriors blinked out of existence to avoid the attack, but that didn’t stop the priests from ripping into any soldiers they got close to with their claws and tails.

Several other priests used their magic to create ice steps up to the edge of the plateau, giving the barbarians direct access. The first five to reach the top of the stairs were blown off the edge by the High Overseer’s force bomb.

Another staircase of ice grew up to the top of the plateau. Phane’s guard rushed to defend against the barbarians’ advance.

Phane grabbed a priest with his magic and slammed him into another, throwing them both, crushed and broken, off the plateau. The remaining four priests launched into the air, taking flight in different directions.

Those priests that didn’t attack the plateau were busy wreaking havoc within Phane’s army, his men nearly defenseless against them. Phane ignored them.

Isabel heard them before she saw them. Thundering across the battlefield toward Phane and the Nether Gate were three giants, easily thirty feet tall and made entirely of ice.

The temperature fell.

A priest on a newly formed pillar directed a white beam of magical energy at the plateau, covering Phane’s shield with a half shell of ice. Phane picked the ice up with his magic and threw it at the priest, hitting his ice tower and breaking it. The priest took dragon form just in time to avoid a fatal fall.

What happened next was enough to challenge Isabel’s sanity anew. A doorway in the world opened. It looked much like the door to Alexander’s Wizard’s Den, except she knew in an instant that this door led a great distance away.

A man stood just the other side of the door, holding an ornate staff with a pure white crystal fixed to one end. He was pale and gaunt. His shock-white hair was close-cropped and his eyes were ice blue.

He directed his crystal scepter at Phane and launched a six-foot shard of ice that shattered against his shield, showering the area with powdered ice. A second shard hit his shield a moment later … and then the door closed, vanishing before Phane could counterattack.

Rage danced in his eyes as he reinforced his shield, scanning the battlefield for a target. Seeing an ice giant just reaching the top of the plateau and sweeping aside a dozen men, Phane relaxed, looking almost serene as he raised his hands and unleashed a torrent of fire at the huge creature. A coiled jet of flame five feet wide roared forth, rivaling dragon fire and hitting the giant with enough force to blow it off the plateau and enough heat to melt it into steam before it hit the ground.

With a flick of his hand, he tossed the other two giants a hundred feet into the air the moment they reached the plateau, shattering them on impact.

Drakini swept in, falling men with their frigid breath, working to incapacitate rather than kill, diminishing Phane’s personal guard quickly.

The next wave came on suddenly, over a dozen priests rising up on pillars, all firing ice shards at Phane. At the same time, a score of drakini attacked, breathing cold on his shield. Phane swatted at a few, smashing them into the ground, killing them easily, but not enough of them.

A much larger ice shard hit his shield and collapsed it with a loud popping noise. Isabel watched a perfect duplicate of herself, down to the last stitch of clothing and the smudges on her face, appear not ten feet away. Phane turned, his eyes darting from one version of her to the other. He reached out and lifted both with his magic, when the door opened behind him.

Zuhl stepped through, his crystal scepter held like a spear. He closed the distance quickly, moving like a trained soldier, reaching his preferred range and drawing back slightly to add force to the thrust.

Isabel began formulating another battle plan. If Zuhl killed Phane, then she would be in a fight for her life with a very different, though no less dangerous, enemy.

But then Zuhl stopped.

Chapter 36

Abigail signaled to hit them head on. Magda nodded, leaning into her wyvern as she rolled into a dive, thirty witches following her lead. Below was a swarm of drakini swirling over Whitehall. Every tower was manned, some with priests, others with teams of crossbowmen. Many towers were armed with light ballistae on mounts that allowed for a very wide field of fire.

The witches fanned out as they approached their targets, all of them casting a spell capable of direct damage, most relying on a light-lance or force-shard. Abigail fired five arrows into the drakini before the Sky Knights pulled up, still well above the enemy, leveled off and began to ascend again.

Behind them, Ixabrax and Zora crashed through the drakini, tearing, slashing and killing as they passed. Each dragon picked a large, well-armed tower near the center of Zuhl’s expansive keep and made a run at it. Both breathed a cone of frost at their chosen target, killing the guards in an instant and freezing the tower solid just a moment before they crashed into it with their hind talons like a raptor catching a salmon. The towers shattered, spraying stones into the courtyards below.

Abigail looked over her shoulder, assessing the damage done to the drakini—probably half had fallen. The priests would be ready for a second run, but she had her bearings now. Alexander had shown her the layout of the giant white marble fortress, pointing out the easiest points of entry to get close to Zuhl’s inner chambers.

“Begin the assault,” she shouted over the wind.

Magda signaled the command, and the formation began to separate into two groups, Abigail, Magda, Cassandra, Kat, Bree, Dalia and Amelia in one and the rest of the witches in the other.

The larger group lined up behind Zora and Ixabrax as the dragons made another run, freezing and shattering two more towers before killing a few more drakini. Magda lined up behind the larger group of witches.

Priests fired ice shards into the air, soldiers fired ballistae targeting the wyverns, and crossbowmen fired wildly into the sky. The witches counterattacked with magic. During the exchange, Magda dove almost recklessly into the interior of the keep, past towers and walls into a courtyard, the rest of her team right behind her. They landed hard, hard enough to knock the wind out of Abigail. She slipped to the ground with the rest of the witches and raced across the courtyard to a stone wall, willing herself to breathe.

The moment the witches were clear, their steeds launched into the sky. Abigail cut into the wall, drawing the Thinblade down through the marble, then across, cutting the outline of a door with four broad strokes. The stone section fell inward, crashing into the hallway with a terrible clatter.

Cassandra’s shield took an ice shard from above. Another shattered on the wall nearby.

Abigail stuck her head through the hole, looking this way and that. Seeing no one, she stepped inside, sheathing the Thinblade and nocking an arrow. Magda followed, with the rest of the witches right behind her.

“There!” a soldier shouted, pointing down the hall from a hundred feet away.

Magda sighted down her index finger, sending a single force-shard at him with terrible speed and power, ripping through his chest and killing him in an instant. Three more soldiers came around the corner at the end of the hall.

“We have to go that way,” Abigail said, pointing toward the soldiers.

Bree, Kat, and Dalia stepped forward, extending their shields to fill the entire hallway space, protecting those behind them from crossbow bolts. More soldiers rounded the corner but found their weapons to be useless against the witches’ interlocking shields.

“Now!” Magda said.

As her sisters dropped their shields, she sent a blue sphere of force down the hallway. It exploded right in the middle of the soldiers, sending men hurtling through the air, stunned and bruised, some dead or dying.

Racing forward, they reached the corner in seconds. A dozen men were scattered haphazardly on the floor like broken dolls. Abigail saw a man running away down the hall and quickly felled him with an arrow in the back.

“The end of this hall,” she said, nocking another arrow and heading down the long white corridor.

“We have a platoon coming from behind,” Kat said, sending a string of force-shards back the way they’d come.

“I’ll seal the hallway,” Cassandra said, beginning to cast a spell. Kat and Bree took up positions in front of her while she focused her will. Abigail waited impatiently, scanning the long hallway for any hint of a threat. She glanced back as the stone walls seemed to melt, forming another wall that completely closed off the hallway behind them.

“Huh,” Abigail said, leading the way deeper into Whitehall, killing the first soldier to come around the corner with a snap shot from her bow. The next three fell to Magda’s force-shards. When several more peeked around the corner, Cassandra sent a bubble of liquid fire into the wall opposite them, splattering the soldiers with deadly magical flame. They ran screaming, succumbing to the fire before they could get more than a few dozen steps.

Abigail stopped at the corner, peering around carefully.

“Nothing,” she said, slinging her bow and drawing the Thinblade. Within a few seconds, she had cut a hole in the floor. A section of stone fell into the hallway below, sending a sharp echo in every direction. Kat dropped through the hole, followed by Bree.

Abigail was next, followed by the rest of the witches. Cassandra was last, closing the hole behind her, smoothing the floor above with magical stone. It looked as if they’d never passed.

Abigail cut her way down another level and then another.

“This way,” she whispered, even though the oppressive subterranean silence had been very recently shattered by a piece of falling stone. For nearly five minutes, they moved without resistance, slipping through dark passages, unseen and unsearched for—until …

“I thought I heard something,” a soldier said.

“Go check it out,” said another.

Abigail and her witches were lined up along the wall around a corner, not thirty feet from the two soldiers. A company of a hundred more soldiers filled the large assembly room just down the hall.

Magda motioned for silence, looking to Kat and Bree. Both women nodded. Magda waited for the two men to get closer, then spelled the area where they stood with silence. Cat and Bree didn’t bother with magic, instead darting in to stab the men, letting them down slowly and then dragging them around the corner.

“We have to go through that room,” Abigail said.

“I can disable most of the men, but I need some time,” Magda said.

“I’ll cast a screen for you,” Cassandra said. “Where do you want it?”

Magda peered around the corner cautiously.

“Another ten feet down the hall will give me the angle I need to throw my spell through the door.”

Cassandra nodded, turning her attention to the hallway and casting her spell. From where Abigail stood, nothing seemed to happen. When Cassandra nodded to Magda, she walked right out in the middle of the hallway. From where she stood, she was in full view of the men inside the room, yet they didn’t seem to notice her. The spell had taken over a minute to cast, but as far as Abigail was concerned, it was worth the wait.

A tattered bolt of grey magical energy traveled in a straight line from Magda’s hand to the floor inside the room. For several dozen feet from the point of impact, gravity was suddenly reversed for a single second. All the men in the room fell up to the ceiling, landing on their heads; then they fell back to the floor when the spell lapsed.

Dalia and Amelia raced to the door, approaching as silently as possible while still moving swiftly. Dalia reached the door first, peering through and quickly hitting a man with a force-push. Amelia rushed through on Dalia’s nod, targeting someone farther away with a light-lance. Dalia went in next, then motioned to the other witches that the enemy soldiers were all down. The vast majority were dead or unconscious. Those few that were alive and aware, wanted nothing to do with anything. They were mostly curled up on the floor groaning.

“Nice,” Abigail said, running on tiptoes to the door across the room. “Looks clear.”

They were halfway down the fifty-foot corridor when two priests rounded the corner and launched ice shards at them. The first hit Abigail on the outside of her left shoulder. Numbing pain exploded in her arm. She gasped as Magda’s force-push hit her in the back and side, sending her to the ground a moment before another three ice shards flashed overhead and slammed into Magda’s and Cassandra’s shields, showering Abigail with chunks of ice. She was stunned and chilled and her arm hurt.

She looked up just in time to see the two priests suffer a barrage of magical attacks from the witches. Magda started with a force bomb that depleted their shields, Cassandra hit them with a second that finished the job and collapsed their shields. Then the other four witches tore the priests apart with a dozen force-shards. The brutal and sudden slaughter did little to satisfy Abigail’s anger.

“Let me look at that,” Magda said, offering her a hand.

Abigail allowed some of her anger to drain away, reserving some for later. She winced as she got up, looking at the bloody gash on her arm and frowning.

“I won’t be able to aim my bow very well like this,” she said.

Magda wrapped a bandage around the wound, cinching it tight. “Your sword arm is just fine,” she said.

Abigail nodded. She knew full well that they didn’t have time to stop. She would have to make do. She tested her bow, grimacing at the pain in her arm from the strain of holding it. Her accuracy would indeed suffer, but she was confident that she could put an arrow in the right general direction, if need be.

“You should stay behind us,” Magda said. “Our shields will protect you.”

Abigail nodded reluctantly, letting Cassandra take the lead. They managed to avoid the increasingly frequent patrols for several minutes, drawing closer to Zuhl’s resting chamber with every cautious step.

“It’s just around the corner,” Abigail whispered.

Cassandra stopped, peeking around, pulling her head back quickly.

“What is it?” Abigail asked.

“I’m not sure,” Cassandra said. “It looks like three apparitions made of frost hovering in front of the door.”

“Fire?” Magda said.

“Seems reasonable,” Cassandra said, stepping away from the rest of the witches. She cast her spell quickly, a cloak of flames igniting all around her, dancing and crackling, yet not harming her in the least.

Magda threw a bubble of liquid fire into the cluster of apparitions. It splattered flame all over and around them, eliciting a horrible inhuman scream. Cassandra rushed in, targeting one of the creatures with a jet of fire, burning it to steam in a matter of seconds. Another vanished into steam from Magda’s liquid fire.

Cassandra reached the entry hall to Zuhl’s resting chamber. As she stepped close to the massive doors, the stone floor flashed with a bright, cold white light. Cassandra stopped suddenly, her body entirely frozen solid in an instant.

Magda gasped as Cassandra broke at the knee and toppled over, shattering into a thousand pieces across the floor.

The Reishi triumvir put a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes tightly. “Sister, you will be missed,” she whispered.

Abigail closed her eyes and looked down, shaking her head. How many more good people had to die before all of the bad people were gone?

After a few moments of collective silence, Amelia said, “Let’s go kill Zuhl.”

Abigail nodded, scanning the entryway for evidence of more traps, but she could discern nothing. For all she knew, the magic that had killed Cassandra was still active and deadly.

“What about that wall?” she whispered. “Zuhl’s chamber should be right behind it.”

Magda nodded, beginning to tremble with rage in the moments before she hit the wall with a light-lance, burning a six-inch hole through three feet of granite.

“Is the floor between here and there safe?”

Magda cast another spell, frowning to herself. She sighed and cast another spell, this one sending a shimmering wave through the air.

“There was something, but it’ll be gone for a few minutes.”

Abigail darted to the wall, peering through the hole. Zuhl’s sarcophagus rested against the far wall of the room. She unslung her bow and drew her last arrow with red feathers.

“Are you sure about this?” Magda asked.

“This should roast him alive,” Abigail said, nocking the arrow.

Magda didn’t look convinced, but she held her tongue.

Abigail struggled to hold the bow steady, but when she finally let the arrow fly, it flew true, through the hole and into the room. It hit the sarcophagus and exploded. Abigail ducked under the jet of flame that shot out of the hole as the chamber beyond was engulfed in an inferno.

Once the roar died down, she peeked through the hole again. Fire still burned inside the charred and scorched room, but Zuhl’s sarcophagus was intact.

Abigail muttered a curse under her breath, slinging her bow and drawing the Thinblade.

“Looks like you were right,” she said, slicing into the wall, drawing lines through the stone, cutting a large chunk out and letting it fall away. She looked through the hole again and saw the lid of the sarcophagus open, a pale hand just visible on its edge.

“He’s getting up,” Abigail said, cutting into the wall with quick broad strokes, opening a passage into the chamber within a few seconds. Stone fell away in small chunks at first and then all at once enough stone collapsed into the room to allow a person to step through. Magda grabbed Abigail and yanked her aside a moment before a six-foot ice shard shot through the opening and hit Dalia’s shield with enough force to pop it like a soap bubble, blasting her to the ground, stunned but otherwise unharmed.

Kat fired a light-lance, rolling to the side of the hastily cut door as soon as her spell was away. Amelia was next, launching a bubble of liquid fire into the room. A shard of ice just missed her as she stepped past the opening.

Magda’s spell fired next, filling the room with a torrent of flame that seemed to spontaneously ignite from the air itself, burning like a roaring furnace for twenty seconds.

Abigail turned away from the opening in the wall, shielding her face. Even after the fire died down, the room still emitted enough heat to make it unbearable. They waited a few more minutes before entering.

Abigail slipped in after Magda. The room was empty except for the sarcophagus where Zuhl slept when his mind was within a simulacrum. Four crystalline alcoves were cut into the walls on either side of the sarcophagus. Inside the two to the right were two simulacra, frozen in time, waiting for Zuhl to put them on like a suit of clothes. Inside the alcoves to the left were two small masses of tissue that looked like they were growing.

A door was ajar in the back wall.

“The bastard escaped,” Abigail said, her anger rising.

She went to the two simulacra, hibernating, empty, waiting for Zuhl to inhabit them. She cut through the crystal encasing them, whipping the Thinblade back and forth, slicing through each of them six or seven times before turning her attention to the sarcophagus itself. A large blue crystal was embedded at the head of the box. She started there, slicing it into several pieces, then she went to work on the box itself, cutting it into dozens of pieces, sending them clattering to the floor. Finally, she destroyed the two alcoves containing the growing tissue masses, her rage still boiling over Zuhl’s escape.

“It looks like it goes pretty straight,” Kat said, withdrawing her head from the open passage. “And it looks like the door would be almost undetectable if it hadn’t been left open.”

Magda frowned, then began casting a spell. A few moments later, a trail of silvery footprints lit up the floor. They only lasted for a few seconds, but long enough to show where they led—to a second hidden door, which was closed and locked from the inside.

Bree blasted the door open with a force-push. Magda led the way into a seven-foot-tall, four-foot-wide passage that ran in a straight line from Zuhl’s chambers. Fifty feet in, the passage was entirely filled with ice.

Abigail started cutting large chunks away. It took several minutes to clear the obstacle, meant no doubt as a delaying tactic.

Once past the ice, the corridor continued straight for many hundreds of feet, stopping at a spiral staircase that wound upward. They proceeded with caution, coming to the top of the stairs, where they found a ladder that led up one level more.

Magda stopped to cast a spell, closing her eyes and sending her vision into the room above.

“It’s the dragon aerie,” she said, opening her eyes. “Zuhl is there with a dozen priests and it looks like they’re waiting for us.”

“Can you blow the trapdoor open?” Abigail asked.

“Of course,” Magda said.

She smiled, unslinging her bow and drawing an arrow with blue feathers.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Abigail said, nocking the arrow and bracing herself for the pain in her wounded arm.

Magda hit the trapdoor at the top of the ladder with a force-push, blasting it open, slamming it over onto the floor above hard enough to loosen the hinges.

Abigail launched the force arrow at the aerie’s ceiling two hundred feet above. Her arrow streaked into the air, rising far too quickly for Zuhl or his priests to do anything before it hit. The explosion shattered a section of the ceiling, causing it to collapse, debris large and small falling onto Zuhl and his priests. Two died quickly, one crushed under a section of roof, the other impaled with a beam, staked to the floor like a bug in a display case.

Magda started to climb the ladder, but Abigail put a hand on her arm.

“Wait,” she said with a knowing smile. She wasn’t disappointed. Not half a minute later, Ixabrax roared, deafening and intensely threatening as he crashed through the hole in the roof, descending into the aerie, breathing a great gout of icy, frigid air, freezing several of the priests solid in spite of their natural resistance to cold.

Zuhl’s shield held.

“Now,” Abigail said, following Magda up to the floor of the aerie.

Zora came in next. Zuhl and the priests were so preoccupied by the sudden arrival of two very angry dragons that they didn’t even notice Abigail and the witches.

Ixabrax attacked Zuhl, his talons out. Still the shield held, Ixabrax bouncing off, scrambling to gain purchase for a moment before launching back into the air and turning his attention to three priests who were peppering him with ice shards. He froze them solid with a gout of his icy breath.

Zora breathed frost at Zuhl, his shield turning red and boiling the ice into steam as quickly as it hit. She crashed into his shield, both talons hitting hard, then gripping the magical shell and thrusting off of it back into the air.

Abigail drew another arrow with blue feathers, firing it at Zuhl. It hit nearby, missing him entirely, but hitting close enough that the explosion of magical force collapsed his shield. The shock wave blasted him to the ground, leaving him stunned.

He regained his senses just in time to see Ixabrax land on top of him, snatching him up with one talon and launching into the air a moment later. He whipped Zuhl up to his mouth and bit him in half, tossing the legs into the air toward Zora. She snatched them like a dog catching a treat, crunching them once before swallowing the last of Lord Zuhl.

The priests ran, but not quickly enough. Ixabrax and Zora turned on them next, freezing them solid in moments and then crashing into them, shattering them into thousands of bloody chunks.

Both dragons looked around for more prey but the battle was done, the enemy dead. Abigail slung her bow and approached them slowly.

“Thank you for this, Abigail Ruatha,” Ixabrax said. “You are a true friend.”

“You as well, Ixabrax. I wish you and Zora the very best.”

“I believe we still have a witch to help you kill,” Zora said.

Abigail smiled. She remembered their bargain, but she was loathe to bring it up.

“I would welcome your help,” Abigail said, “but I need to wait until I hear from my brother before we proceed.”

“Then I suggest we fall back to a safe location,” Ixabrax said.

Abigail smiled. “I’m surprised you’re so willing to help us fight our war.”

“Zora gave her word and a dragon’s word matters,” Ixabrax said. “Also, if I had helped you kill Zuhl in the first place, he wouldn’t have collared me a second time.”

Soldiers stormed into the room from three entrances, stopping cold and backing away slightly at the sight of Ixabrax and Zora.

“Time to go,” Ixabrax said, lowering his neck for Abigail and half of the witches. The other half of the witches quickly climbed aboard Zora, and both dragons launched with a roar, leaving Whitehall broken and without a master.

Chapter 37

Isabel blinked in disbelief as her duplicate vanished and Phane whirled on the seven-hundred-year-old mage.

Zuhl stood right there behind him. He’d arrived by surprise, he’d distracted Phane just enough to open a vulnerability, he held a weapon that looked surpassingly powerful, and he was poised to strike.

Yet he did nothing, his eyes going blank and empty, as if one moment he was there and the next he wasn’t.

Phane took in the threat, a flicker of confusion dancing across his face that was quickly replaced with resolve. He hit Zuhl in the chest with his magic so forcefully that it tore him in half, blasting his remains off the plateau and into his army.

Phane cocked his head, frowning for a moment before he shrugged to himself and started laughing.

“I never once imagined that he would hesitate,” he said, still shaking his head, reaching out and pulling the crystal scepter into his hand with his magic. “This might be useful.” He opened his Wizard’s Den and leaned the staff against the wall, closing the door a moment later.

Priests rose up on new pillars of ice in a half circle surrounding the plateau just as the drakini made another attack run. Phane renewed his shield and grabbed Isabel by the upper arm, dragging her with him to the Nether Gate. The bubble of magical energy surrounding them both deflected first a series of ice shards and then a white bolt of freezing magical energy that coated the side of his shield with a foot of ice for six feet in all directions.

The Acuna struggled to repel the sudden attack, pouring most of their energy into their shields and other defensive spells while the priests continued to hurl cold and ice at them. Drakini breathed frost into Phane’s personal guard before landing to kill one or two men each.

They didn’t know about the wraithkin. Half of the drakini were killed when they landed close enough for a wraithkin to blink behind them. The rest fled, a few more falling from the Acuna wizards’ magic.

Phane ignored it all, relying on his shield for protection. He reached the control pedestal, nodding to himself at the shape and size of the keystone receptacles. He opened his Wizard’s Den with a gesture and reached inside, withdrawing a box before closing the door again. Carefully, almost gingerly, Phane set the keystones in place.

Isabel felt like she should do something. She wanted to act, to stop him, to kill him, but instead she stood there and watched him drop each keystone into its slot. As he inserted the last stone, the air became heavy and cold, sending a chill up her spine. A shadow passed overhead.

Air began to flow toward the indistinct splotch of inky blackness that occupied the interior of the Nether Gate’s stone arch.

Phane tipped his head back and laughed, very deliberately taking a moment to revel in his victory. Shards of ice shattered against his shield, a man fell nearby, frozen solid from a blast of magical coldness. Phane seemed to remember that he was in a battle and a look of pure childish glee danced across his face.

“Naberius!” he bellowed at the Gate.

The darkness swirled and a giant figure stepped through that almost looked human. He stood nine feet tall and had the body of a perfectly proportioned man, his muscles chiseled as if sculpted from black stone. He was exquisite in every detail, except that his fingers ended in long black claws, his eyes glowed like smoldering embers, and he had coarse bone horns jutting from his forehead. Large, batlike wings folded behind his broad shoulders. He was armed with an oversized halberd.

“I am Naberius, Marquis of the Undead,” he said. “For what purpose have you summoned me?”

“Destroy that army,” Phane said, pointing at the Rangers and the Ithilian infantry a league to the east.

“By your command,” Naberius said, unfurling his wings.

“No!” Isabel shouted.

Naberius regarded her for a moment, intently taking note of her before launching into the sky.

“Legion!” Phane bellowed.

A second figure stepped through the Gate, this one also in the form of a man, a large man, seven feet tall and three hundred pounds. He wore black plate armor from head to foot, only his yellow eyes visible past his defenses. Blades and spikes bristled from his joints at every angle. He carried an oversized broadsword in his left hand and a large round shield in his right.

He scanned the world of time and substance as if looking through everything and everyone until he saw Phane. His eyes stopped and he nodded slowly.

“I am Legion.”

“Destroy that army,” Phane said, pointing at Zuhl’s soldiers.

“As you wish,” Legion said, his voice somehow hollow, detached. He took two steps toward the enemy and then there were two of him, exactly the same size, same armor, same black sword. Another three steps and there were four of him. Five steps and there were eight of him. They all leapt off the edge of the plateau into the enemy.

“Samael!” Phane bellowed.

Another figure stepped forth from the darkness. It was shadowy, drawing the light in around it. After a moment it came into focus, a perfect, crisp image of a young man, but only the front shell of his face and body. Since he was slightly transparent, Isabel could see through into his empty interior. His form was a less-than-perfect façade.

“I am Samael.”

“Yes, you are,” Phane said. “Find Alexander Reishi and bring him to me unharmed but helpless.”

Samael nodded, flashing off into the sky, a shadow moving with impossible speed.

Chapter 38

Alexander stopped at the door leading from the roof of the black tower to the inner levels. He didn’t have to wait long for his battle sight to warn him of a threat. Moments before it happened in the world of time and substance, Alexander saw the wraithkin appear behind Jataan and stab him in the back.

He grabbed Jataan, pulling him toward the door while raising his light, unleashing Luminessence in all its brilliance. The wraithkin appeared, screaming before it had even fully formed. The dark shadowy essence behind the wraithkin’s unnatural power was blasted away by Alexander’s light a moment later, the body that remained becoming spontaneously wounded in a number of places, bright red blood spilling onto the stairs before he toppled over into Alexander.

“This place is dangerous,” Alexander said, opening the door. “Stay close to the light.” He raised his staff and held his light bright enough to deter creatures of the dark without demanding too much of his concentration or will.

He hadn’t taken ten steps down the hall when a wraithkin appeared thirty feet away. Alexander raised his light but the wraithkin vanished.

“I want to fight them,” Anja said.

“No, you don’t,” Alexander said, reaching a tee in the hall. One way ended in a closed door thirty feet away while the other ran for a hundred feet before turning. He sent his sight through the door into a small room that looked like an empty guard chamber. He motioned for quiet and took the other passage, slowing to look around the corner with magic when he got close.

His battle sight flared, threats appearing from all around, all at once. There was no time to warn anyone—just barely enough time to push his light to its highest radiance, flooding the corridor with pure white light in the same moment that six wraithkin appeared around them, their long, curved knives drawn and poised to strike.

They froze in the light, their demonic link severed, their past wounds manifesting all at once, killing all six with terrifying brutality. Alexander lowered his light and continued as soon as their wounds began to show, leaving the wraithkin to bleed out behind him.

A flight of stairs led to several more flights, each turning back under the previous, taking them down into the heart of the black tower level by level. Alexander stopped between level five and level six.

“Guard room with two sentinels,” he whispered. “Multiple wraithkin are close enough to blink in.”

“So?” Anja said. “We should attack.”

“No, we shouldn’t,” Alexander whispered emphatically. He drew his sword and slipped the blade into the floor at a slight angle, just beginning to draw a circle in the stone when his battle sight flared again. He dropped the Thinblade, letting it fall into the floor up to the hilt, and poured his will into Luminessence. Two wraithkin appeared as his light came up, both falling a moment later from wounds sustained long ago but unfelt until now.

He focused on his light as he reached for the Thinblade, finishing the circle he’d begun with several rough cuts, opening a three-foot-diameter, irregularly shaped hole in the floor. He dropped down to the level below, flooding the room with light, revealing a layer of fog a foot deep on the floor.

A scream broke the silence, filling the chamber with a deafening shriek that seemed to move through the room past them.

Anja drew her sword and pointed it in the direction the voice had gone.

“I don’t like ghosts.”

Tasia raised an eyebrow, looking to Alexander for confirmation.

“These aren’t ghosts, they’re illusions,” he said, cutting into the floor again. The next room they dropped into was a laboratory with all of its equipment stored neatly away. Alexander looked through the door before opening it into an empty hallway. They passed several more rooms equipped for all manner of magical research. All of the equipment was packed away into cupboards under the tables and lining the walls.

They reached a staircase but the doorway was nothing more than the outline of a door filled with stone. It looked a lot like the sealed doors in Blackstone and the Reishi Keep. Alexander cut through it.

They took the circular staircase down past several levels, each sealed off with a stone doorway. After passing six sealed levels, Alexander stopped in the middle of the staircase. One more turn and the stairs ended in a hallway with a sentinel standing motionless at the midpoint. Magic danced everywhere in the background, obscuring his aura reading.

He sent his vision wider, looking through walls and into the levels below, searching for a path through the black tower that offered the least resistance. After a few moments, he found what he was looking for—the central air shaft, an unobstructed path to the lower levels of the tower.

Alexander drew the Thinblade and looked at Jataan.

“One sentinel,” he said. “Don’t engage until you have to.”

He bounded down the stairs, turning quickly around the corner to the final staircase and leapt the distance to the landing. The sentinel woke up, turning toward him, his eyes beginning to glow red. Alexander ignored the guardian and slashed into the wall, cutting a triangle with three quick strokes. He was through before the sentinel had taken five steps.

He pointed to the door across the room. Jataan took up a position next to it. Once the last of his friends was through the hole in the wall, he raced to the door and through without hesitation, leading them down a narrow service corridor that accessed a number of Phane’s active laboratories and workspaces.

Once they’d passed several rooms, the service corridor met a main hallway that ran perpendicular to it. Alexander walked down the hall quickly and quietly, stopping at a heavy door. It opened to a small room, six feet to a side, with only a railing for the far wall. Beyond the railing was a ten-foot-by-ten-foot shaft running vertically through most of the black tower.

Alexander opened his Wizard’s Den and retrieved a featherlite potion.

Jack made no move from the railing. “You might want to drop something before you jump,” he said.

Jataan stepped up to the railing with a piece of firewood. He looked to Alexander, who nodded with a shrug. The log fell for a moment before hitting something strung across the shaft that cut it in two. A moment later a plane of magical energy flared, searing both pieces of wood black. The two pieces continued falling, trailing streamers of smoke until they became entangled in something that Alexander couldn’t see until he sent his sight in closer. An enormous web filled the entire shaft for several levels—hundreds of bright red spiders were crawling all over it.

“Nice call, Jack,” Alexander said, returning to his chest and trading the featherlite potion for a potion of gaseousness.

“Perhaps an abundance of caution is in order,” Tasia said, leaning slightly over the railing and sending a torrent of fire raging down the shaft. Alexander backed away, raising his hands to ward off the sudden heat. Tasia poured power into her dragon fire, pushing searing flames into the lowest level of the shaft. She held it for a few moments more and then released it, plunging the world into silence.

“I suspect you’ll encounter fewer surprises this way,” she said, strolling into the Wizard’s Den.

“If by surprises, she meant life of any kind, I think she’s probably right,” Jack said, shielding his face with his hand as he looked over the railing.

Alexander gave it a minute to cool before closing his friends into his Wizard’s Den and drinking the potion of gaseousness. A few moments passed before he abruptly became insubstantial and incorporeal, nothing but a cloud of vapor shaped like a man. With a thought, he flowed over the railing, falling slowly through a variety of deterrents that had been prepared for anyone attempting to pass through the air shaft.

Several areas had multiple strands of fine wire stretched taut from side to side. Other sections had magical traps but none were triggered by Alexander’s less-than-substantial passage. Within a few minutes, he was at the bottom of the shaft, a large room with a giant grate for a floor. Beneath was a massive central sewer drain for the entire tower with multiple inflows.

Alexander was momentarily grateful that Phane didn’t trust real people enough to let them into his tower. He drifted under a door and into a musty old storage room filled with ancient-looking furniture collecting dust. He shifted back into solid form and opened his Wizard’s Den.

Anja wrinkled her nose when she stepped out, but said nothing.

“This way,” Alexander whispered.

They were in an area of the tower several levels below the surface—it seemed to be reserved for the storage of things that nobody wanted. Alexander hurried through the empty halls. Beneath the sewers was a series of sublevels accessible only through a guarded and warded staircase that was itself only accessible from Phane’s personal quarters in the higher levels of the tower.

Alexander found the rounded wall that formed the outside of the staircase, cutting into it without hesitation. He headed down, hearing faint echoes of running water as the staircase passed through the sewer levels and descended into the sublevels.

The stairs ended well beneath the surface in a room fifty feet on a side with a forty-foot arched ceiling. A garden made entirely of stone plants and trees filled the space. Interspersed between the sculpted vegetation were statues of monsters, each of a similar sort—doglike heads with black fangs, brutish bodies with broad shoulders and bat wings, oversized arms ending in claws, and raptor talons for feet; each looked frighteningly real and shone with the colors of magic.

A single exit stood on the opposite wall. Alexander sent his sight out, searching for a hidden passage or a second door but found nothing. After a more careful look, he realized that the next section was designed with him in mind, or at least with his Thinblade in mind.

Twenty feet wide and ten feet high, the corridor ran straight through the bedrock for two hundred feet to a set of switchback stairs that went down fifty feet before opening into another corridor at a right angle to the one above. It ran for another two hundred feet before ending in a similar set of stairs and another identical corridor fifty feet deeper. A total of four corridors, each fifty feet beneath the last and each turning at a right angle to the previous made it almost impossible to cut through to the lower levels.

“Those things are going to come to life the moment we step out there,” Alexander said. “Unfortunately, this is the only way, and it’s going to get worse farther in.”

Anja drew her sword. Jack tossed up his hood. Lita cast her shield spell. Alexander drew the Thinblade, keeping Luminessence in his left hand. Jataan nodded readiness when Alexander looked to him.

“Now!” he said, sprinting toward the nearest gargoyle, slashing it in half as it came to life, its body returning to stone as parts of it hit the floor and shattered. He raised his light, but the gargoyles seemed immune to it.

Jataan reached the next closest as it unfurled its wings. He drove a short spear into the creature’s neck and broke off its head with a sharp wrenching motion to the side.

One leapt over Alexander and came down on Anja. She stepped aside and swept through its wing and arm with her broadsword, shattering both and causing the unnatural creature to crash into the floor, smashing into pieces.

Tasia burned the wings off another and Lita knocked one out of the air with a light-lance.

Alexander dodged as his battle sense took over, narrowly avoiding an attack from behind, then taking the gargoyle’s foot as it passed overhead. Another gargoyle right behind the first landed on top of him, its raptor talons gripping him by the shoulders, crushing into him.

It launched into the air, carrying Alexander five feet, then ten before Jataan’s spear drove through the place where the creature’s heart should have been. Despite the spear sticking through its chest, the gargoyle carried Alexander another five feet into the air. He slashed wildly at the beast but his range of motion was severely hampered by the crushing grasp of its talons on his shoulders. A light-lance hit its wing, burning a hole through it.

Alexander felt the world slow to a moment, then flash by all at once, as the creature dropped him to the floor. He heard a crack when he hit, pain shooting up his leg. He tumbled to the ground and rolled into a ball, trying to focus on the battle, but unable to get past the agony radiating from his leg. Once he came to a stop, he looked at his wound, sending his sight into his leg and seeing the bone broken in two places. He winced to himself.

Fire erupted from Tasia’s hands, a jet of orange-red heat leaping to the nearest gargoyle and melting its wings in a matter of seconds. The last one tried to attack Anja but she hacked its legs off before it could land on her, then finished it by shattering its head and torso with a single, well-placed blow.

Alexander opened his Wizard’s Den, silently thanking Balthazar Reishi for incorporating such a capability into the Sovereign Stone. Jack and Jataan carried him inside to a cot. He closed the door after everyone was inside and lay back, closing his eyes and probing his injury again.

After a few moments he sat up with some effort.

“It’s broken right here, and right here,” he said to Lita. “You’ll have to pull it straight and then realign the bones right after I drink a healing potion.”

“That’s going to be extremely painful,” Lita said.

“I know, but we don’t have time to let the potion fix my bones. If you can get them lined up, I’ll be able to fight sooner.”

She frowned for a moment, seeming to consider counterarguments before nodding agreement.

“Jataan, I need you to hold him down,” she said. “Jack, he’ll need something to bite down on and of course a healing potion.”

After a few moments everyone was in place.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she said.

He took a deep breath and drank the healing potion, noting the dull pain in his leg as he put a roll of leather in his mouth and lay back. Jataan and Anja held him down. He closed his eyes, sending his vision into his leg. Lita got a careful grip on his ankle, clenching her teeth before gently but firmly pulling his leg straight.

Alexander screamed around the bite piece, pain drowning out everything else for a few moments, flooding into him and momentarily denying him his sanity. He seemed to remember himself just a moment before Lita began to slowly relax the tension on his leg. He caught his breath as another wave of pain jolted him past the point of awareness of anything else. She gently let go. He screamed again, struggling to look into his leg at his bones, but failing to do any more than pass out from the pain.

Chapter 39

He woke feeling groggy, with echoes of agony hovering nearby. He knew that there was a great source of pain somewhere close, but he couldn’t quite remember anything about it. He held very still, measuring his breath, extending his awareness until his circumstances came back to him in a rush … along with an aching throb in his leg.

He sent his vision into his injury, searching out the places where his bones had broken. He found them mending, but less than perfectly. He would have a limp unless he wanted to deliberately break his leg again—not a prospect that he was eager to entertain. He had to admit though, given the damage of the original break, Lita saved him from a crippling injury by resetting his bones before the potion did its work.

He sat up stretching his leg gingerly, wincing as the dull ache transformed into a sharp stabbing pain. He took a quick breath, easing his feet to the floor.

“You should stay in bed,” Lita said. “Your leg still has healing to do.”

“I know,” he said almost to himself, looking down at the floor between his feet. Try as he might, he couldn’t see a way to proceed without spending more time recuperating. Feeling a great sense of defeat, Alexander lay back down, closing his eyes tightly.

“Lita, would you cast your healing spell on my leg, please?”

“Of course,” she said, coming to his side. She began with her diagnostic spell, frowning at what she saw.

“I already know,” Alexander said.

She pursed her lips and nodded, beginning her healing spell.

Alexander drifted off to sleep again, waking after what seemed like only a few minutes. His leg still hurt, but it was strong enough to bear weight, especially with Luminessence to lean on.

He got to his feet, testing his strength and balance and finding himself less stable than he would have liked.

“We can wait until you’re fully healed,” Anja said.

“No, we can’t,” Alexander said, drawing the Thinblade. “Phane is nearly to the Nether Gate.” He opened the door, waiting for some enemy or another to present itself. When none did, he ventured forth, sending his sight ahead to search out the nearest threat. He didn’t have far to go. Midway down the long corridor were a dozen sentinels standing in formation across the hall, three rows of four.

He walked to the threshold of the hallway, trying to ignore the pain of each step and stopped, raising his light. The stone guardians didn’t react. He stepped over the threshold and all twelve of them woke at once, their eyes coming alight with an ember-red glow. They began marching in step.

As they approached, Tasia lit one on fire, a torrent of flame jetting from her hands to the stone guardian. It scarcely even changed color. She raised an eyebrow at it.

“You have to hit them hard enough to break them,” Alexander said, holding his ground and waiting for the enemy to come to him.

Anja and Jataan spread out.

When the sentinels got close, they sprang forward with surprising speed and agility, the first row of four launching themselves at Anja, Tasia, Alexander, and Jataan all at once.

Anja turned sideways when the sentinel lunged at her, his spear cutting her tunic across the front. She added speed to her defensive spin, bringing the pommel of her sword around into the back of the sentinel’s head, shattering the stone into a hundred pieces and dropping the enemy where it stood.

Tasia slipped inside her attacker’s spear thrust with an annoyed frown, grabbed the stone guardian by the shoulders and threw it forty feet across the floor.

Alexander waited for the strike to come in his mind’s eye, stepping aside a moment before reality caught up with his sight, bringing the Thinblade across the sentinel and then back again, cutting it into chunks in a matter of seconds.

Jataan met his attacker, shifting away from the spear strike and landing a powerful blow with the oversized war hammer that materialized in his hands. He hit the sentinel’s shield squarely, a wave of hairline cracks spreading out across it, then into the sentinel’s arm and finally through the rest of its body. When it tried to move, it broke off at the knees, toppled forward and shattered into gravel.

Another sentinel stabbed at Anja. She rolled away from the strike but at the cost of her balance. The sentinel lunged in and smashed her with its shield, sending her crashing to the floor and leaving her stunned as it closed on her.

Tasia seemed on the verge of losing her temper as another sentinel attacked her, followed almost immediately by another. She caught the first by the wrist, throwing it past her. The second struck, leaving a thin red line across her belly. She closed quickly, grabbing it by the throat, picking it up and whipping it around and around before smashing the back of its head into the wall with such force that it shattered.

Jataan waded into the four sentinels coming for him and Alexander, sweeping his war hammer in a great arc across their legs, taking three down with a single stroke. The fourth lunged at him. He parried the spear point aside with his left hand while bringing the hammer around and jabbing the top of it into the sentinel’s knee, breaking the leg off and knocking the sentinel to the ground.

Alexander lunged, trusting that his good leg would support him when he landed, whipping out the Thinblade and catching the hip of the sentinel raising a spear over Anja. Its leg fell off with a stroke. Alexander lost his balance and crashed to the ground, rolling onto his back as quickly as he could regain his senses. His leg hurt—enough for the pain to be distracting even in the face of closing enemies.

The one-legged sentinel hopped for a moment, turning toward Alexander, but fell a moment later. Jack dragged Anja away from the downed but still dangerous sentinel. Alexander managed to regain control in time to sweep the Thinblade through the stone guardian as it crawled toward him.

Jataan made short work of the remaining guardians, breaking the three that he had toppled before they could regain their feet and then shattering the two that Tasia had downed.

“More rest,” Lita said, kneeling next to Alexander.

He tested his leg, finding it weak and in pain but strong enough to support his weight, so he got to his feet.

“There’s no time right now,” he said, limping down the hall, leaning heavily on Luminessence. At the far end, a door opened onto the staircase. Peering over the railing, he could see the next floor fifty feet below. He took a step back, resting his hand on the wall to steady himself as he sent his sight down. The stairs opened into a hall nearly identical to the one they had just traveled. It was twenty feet wide, ten feet high and two hundred feet long, ending in another staircase going down.

In the middle of the hallway, three creatures were floating in giant bubbles of softly glowing green magical light. They looked like they were frozen in time, which was good considering their appearance.

They looked like insects, similar to a preying mantis, with four legs and two arms. Their light-green exoskeleton looked almost like armor. Two large eyes were lidded with chitin, closing them off from all light while they slept. Antennae sprouted from their foreheads which swept back quickly, covering their oversized skulls with a carapace shield. Each was armed with a glaive. It was hard to judge given that they were each curled up in a ball, but Alexander estimated they would stand six feet tall and weigh two hundred pounds. Worse still, each had expansive and powerful colors.

He sat down and quietly explained what they faced as best he could.

“We could try and sneak by,” Jack said.

“The hallway itself is spelled,” Alexander said. “One step, invisible or not, and I’m pretty sure they’ll wake up.”

“Any idea what they can do?” Jack asked.

Alexander shrugged.

“If they’re armed with bladed weapons, then they can bleed,” Jataan said.

“There’s only three of them, right?” Anja said. “I say we rush ’em.”

“The fact that there’s only three of them is what bothers me,” Alexander said. “That and their colors.”

“So what then, are we going to turn around?” Anja said.

Alexander looked up at her and sighed. “No, we’re going to rush ’em, but I need rest first.”

He opened his Wizard’s Den and hobbled inside. He silently apologized to Isabel, feeling like he was letting her down with each delay, though he knew that he would just be a liability in battle in his current condition.

Lita started to cast her spell but he stopped her.

“Give me another potion,” he said.

“You’ll be out longer.”

“I know, but I’ll be stronger for it.”

She nodded approvingly. “About time you grew some common sense,” she said, bustling off to the chest and retrieving a healing potion.

Jataan gave her a stern look that she studiously ignored.

Alexander woke a few hours later, his leg aching dully, but otherwise strong enough to fight on. He tested it with a few stretches, feeling the limits of his healing with each twinge and jab. Good enough, he decided. He’d certainly gone into battle in worse condition. He just hoped that he hadn’t lost everything with his delay.

“We were thinking, maybe you should ask the sovereigns about those things,” Jack said.

“Information about an adversary is always welcome,” Jataan added.

“Fair enough,” Alexander said, going to his magic circle and touching the Stone.

He took his seat at the table and spent a few minutes describing everything that had transpired since his last visit.

“Much has happened that we should speak of,” Balthazar said, “but you expressed a concern for time, so I will offer what advice I can on the threat you face. They’re called Ravathan and they are deadly in the extreme. I only hope that the three you face are males. A breeding female would be a threat to the entire world.”

“Where do they come from?”

“They were created during the shade wars. The legend says that Shivini, in control of a powerful but unnamed magical creature, created the Ravathan to serve as his army. He used them to cause great destruction before they were finally exterminated, or so we thought.”

“Why are they so dangerous?”

“They’re fast and deadly with any bladed weapon, easily outrunning even the quickest person, but their real power rests in their ability to attack the mind. They can reach into an enemy’s mind and render him stunned and confused, unable to react to the attack that invariably follows. Also, they think in a hive mind, so the three that you face see themselves as one collective entity.”

“How do I kill them?”

“They die like anything else,” Balthazar said. “You just have to get through their defenses and their armor.”

“Thank you,” Alexander said, walking away from the table. After he recounted what the sovereigns had told him, he and his friends formed a plan.

They approached the threshold of the hallway cautiously, staying a foot behind the imaginary line. Everyone made preparations for the battle to come. Alexander tested the weight of the vial of liquid fire he held.

With a look left and right, he nodded and all of them began to run toward the enemy. At the first step into the hallway, the three bubbles burst and the creatures fell to the ground, scrambling to their feet, awake and alert in an instant, much faster than Alexander would have thought possible.

He threw the liquid fire. It flew in a shallow arc, but as it neared one of the Ravathan, its head snapped toward the vial, sending it into the wall and ceiling as if it had been hit by a force-push.

Tasia sent a jet of dragon fire three feet in diameter, roaring orange down the hallway into one of the three creatures. It screamed as its antennae singed off, then it curled into a ball, its carapace facing the onslaught of fire. Tasia shouted out in pain, falling backward and losing her balance, her fire vanishing with her focus. She hit hard, rolling onto her side and coming to a stop.

Anja raced to her side with Lita arriving a moment later. Tasia was breathing, but her eyes were staring off into the distance, vacant and empty.

“Tasia, are you all right?” Anja said.

She got no response.

Alexander and Jataan carried the charge into the enemy, Alexander raising his light to blinding brilliance. The remaining two Ravathan both began to shield their eyes. Then their chitin outer lids snapped into place, blocking out the light, rendering them blind and immune to Alexander’s light.

He and Jataan were within feet of striking distance when both Ravathan unleashed a force-push, blasting Alexander and Jataan two dozen feet across the floor. Alexander tried to roll to his feet, stumbling and nearly falling again before regaining his balance just as the Ravathan reached him, whipping its glaive around in a powerful arc and catching him across the back, knocking the wind out of him and causing his muscles to spasm as he flopped face first onto the ground.

The other Ravathan skittered across the floor toward Jataan, but the battle mage recovered much more quickly than Alexander had, tuck rolling and landing on his feet in position to counterattack. His Weaponere’s stone transformed into a spear as he lunged, reaching out and piercing the armor plate covering the Ravathan’s torso, driving through the creature and out its back. It stiffened for a moment, then looked intently at Jataan.

He fell backward as if someone had hit him in the chest with a war hammer, flopping to the ground like a dead fish and coming to an awkward stop, eyes open and distant.

Alexander rolled to his back, Thinblade still firmly in his grip. The glaive was raised to strike, but the creature stopped when a spout of blood erupted from one of its legs.

It turned and blindly directed a force-push into the area where Jack was crouched. He flew back across the stone floor, his hood coming down and dispelling his invisibility.

Lita hit the Ravathan in the shoulder with a light-lance, burning off one of its arms. It squealed and then chattered angrily as it spun its glaive up into the other hand, bringing it around on Alexander again. He rolled, letting the blade slam into the floor beside him, then slashed at the creature’s forearms, cleaving them off with a stroke.

It shrieked, holding up its severed arms just as Anja arrived and cut it in half between the torso and the legs. It toppled to the ground, focusing intently on Anja even as it died. She fell back with a shock, dropping to the floor like a sack of beans and going still, her eyes open and glazed.

“You all right, Jack?” Alexander asked.

“Just got the wind knocked out of me,” he managed, getting to his hands and knees.

Alexander opened his Wizard’s Den as he sat up and rubbed his back.

“Let’s get them inside,” he said, dragging Luminessence closer and using it to help him get to his feet.

“I can’t wake her,” Lita said, still kneeling next to Tasia.

“I’m hoping they’ll recover with time,” Alexander said, checking on Anja and finding her breathing steadily but completely unresponsive. He dragged her into the Wizard’s Den and lifted her into a bed, wincing in pain from his back injury. He sat down for a moment as Jack and Lita carried Jataan and Tasia into the Den. It hurt to breathe—a sharp stabbing pain when he filled his lungs, and yet he felt starved for air and wanted nothing more than to take a big, full breath.

He lay down while Jack and Lita did what they could to make the others comfortable. Lita cast her healing spell on them, but didn’t seem optimistic.

When they finished, Alexander rolled slowly to a sitting position, groaning slightly, in spite of his best efforts to hide the pain.

“We’re not in any condition to press on,” Lita said.

“They’re not, but I am,” Alexander said.

Chloe buzzed into existence in a ball of light right in front of him.

“You’re not either,” she said. “You have a broken rib.”

“I don’t have time for a broken rib,” he said, getting to his feet, struggling to endure the stab of pain he felt without showing it.

“You can hardly stand without wincing … how are you going to fight?” Chloe asked.

“She’s right, Alexander, you need to rest and heal,” Lita said.

He stretched his back, letting the pain wash over him, embracing it. Then he carefully took a deep breath, holding it for a moment in spite of the agony it induced before letting it out slowly. He was stiff and sore, but he felt strong enough to do what needed to be done.

“I can manage,” he said, heading for the door. Jack followed, tossing his hood up without a word. Lita frowned but followed anyway, casting her shield as she passed out of the safety of the Wizard’s Den.

Chloe buzzed out into the hall just before Alexander closed the door.

“You know there’s darkness ahead,” she said.

“I’m counting on it.”

Alexander headed to the set of stairs leading down to the next long corridor. This one was filled with fog, thick and swirling, cold and oppressive. He sent his sight into the mist and found three demons living within the confines of the hallway, the fog beginning and ending at the thresholds of the staircases at each end. The formless, shadowy creatures of the netherworld trapped inside were ravenous—desperate to feed on any source of life they could find.

Alexander took the stairs carefully, approaching to within a few yards of the corridor, and waited. The fog swirled and then something hit the plane of the threshold like a bird crashing into a window, hard and loud, bouncing away into the fog, a forlorn shriek following it into the hallway.

“Don’t much like the looks of that,” Jack said.

“Me neither, but it’s the only way,” Alexander said, raising Luminessence to just a few shades dimmer than full brilliance—enough, he hoped, to keep the creatures at bay, though probably not enough to kill any but the weakest demons.

“Stay close,” he said, stepping out into the fog. Jack and Lita followed, though both showed colors of fear. Another shriek moved past them, turning from rage to pain when it got too close to Alexander’s light. He started breathing again and increased his pace, focusing his mind on the light and the next step.

The fog swirled around them, indistinct forms just beyond the light, howling with rage, snarling and snapping with unquenched bloodlust. One came into the light, rebounding with a yelp.

Alexander pressed on, holding his light bright even as it began to sap his strength and drain his will. His awareness began to narrow to the light and the next footstep, each of paramount importance. Everything else was set aside. His pain, his worry for Isabel, the Nether Gate, even the Wraith Queen was displaced with the single-minded effort it took to maintain the light while simply walking down the hallway.

And then he found himself stopped with Jack gently shaking his shoulder.

“You did it,” Jack said.

Alexander had reached the stairwell at the far end of the hallway, the shadowy demons railing against the barrier holding them inside the corridor, Jack and Lita both alive and well, though slightly paler for the experience.

He frowned when he gently stretched his back and it felt better than it had before the harrowing passage through the mists. On reflection, he decided that he felt better in general than he had any right to feel, given all of the injuries that he’d recently sustained.

He sent his sight down the staircase and into the fourth corridor of Phane’s gauntlet. It was empty, though well-lit with softly glowing ceiling stones. The entire hallway radiated magic, but there was no specific location or concentration that he could see.

He led the way down, stopping well away from the threshold and frowning to himself.

“Nothing?” Jack asked.

Alexander shook his head. “Just lots of magic.”

He opened his Wizard’s Den and went inside, checking on Anja. She was still dazed and entirely unresponsive. Jataan and Tasia were in a similar condition. Alexander could only imagine what an army of Ravathan could do. It was no wonder that Shivini’s name had always evoked such fear.

He sighed heavily, getting to his feet.

“Only one way through,” he said, drawing the Thinblade and heading for the door.

“Alexander,” Jack said, waiting for him to stop and turn.

“Is there a potion you could drink that would help?”

Alexander blinked, the rhythmic stab of pain from each breath causing him to flinch almost involuntarily. He went to the chest and found a potion of warding, drinking it without hesitation. Then, almost as an afterthought, he took a vial of liquid fire and put it in his pouch.

Jack followed him out.

“Are you sure?” Alexander asked.

“Relatively,” Jack said with a shrug, peering out into the hallway for any hint of a threat.

Lita stepped out and cast her shield.

“We don’t know what’s out there,” Alexander said. “You might be better off in the Wizard’s Den.”

“Nonsense,” Lita said.

He closed the door with a thought and stifled a grin. Sword in one hand, staff in the other, he stepped across the threshold. The magic filling the entire corridor suddenly condensed into five points of reddish, angry-looking magical energy, the first just thirty feet ahead. They shined, swirling and refracting, sending bright red light dancing across the walls and ceiling. Then they took shape … five perfectly proportioned men, wearing plate armor and armed with swords and shields, but instead of flesh and blood, they were made entirely of red magical force, transparent and terrible.

“Get to the far side any way you can!” Alexander said, trotting toward the first enemy. It lunged at him, crackling energy radiating waves of heat toward him as he slipped past the textbook thrust and sliced through the guardian at the torso. He felt a surge of heat rush into his hand through the Thinblade a moment before the force knight vanished. He rushed ahead toward the next.

Lita hit it squarely with a light-lance before Alexander could reach it. It raised its shield, which failed a moment later, and the second guardian vanished in a flare of light. Alexander looked down the hall, expecting to see three. Instead he saw four … then a fifth appeared.

He opened the door to his Wizard’s Den and motioned for his friends to enter.

“What are you going to do?” Jack asked.

“Cheat,” Alexander said. “Inside. Hurry.”

Lita and Jack hesitated for only a moment.

Alexander closed the door and sprinted directly toward the next force knight, opening the door to his Wizard’s Den just scant feet away, barely avoiding a collision before running inside and closing the door behind him. Pain stabbed into his chest with each breath and his leg ached, but the battle was joined … he wasn’t about to stop now. After a moment to slow his heart, he opened the door, stepped out, closed the door behind himself and opened it again right in front of him, stepping back inside and closing the door before the enemy could react.

When he opened the door next, he ran into the corridor at full speed, closing the door with a thought and racing away from the magical apparitions. The force knights began to give chase, but quickly fell behind.

A moment later one appeared twenty feet ahead of Alexander. He swept into it, dodging its attack and slashing at it in passing with the Thinblade. It flickered out of existence with a flash of heat that only served to make Alexander run faster.

His leg hurt. His back hurt. His ribs hurt.

Two more appeared before him, both angling to attack simultaneously. Alexander slowed, sensing another threat. He ducked and swept his blade back through a force knight that had just materialized behind him. The other two lunged. He rolled to one side, coming to his feet and sweeping his blade up through the nearest enemy before running toward the end of the hall again.

He hadn’t made it ten steps when his battle sense showed him the coming moments—a force knight materializing behind him and killing him with a single thrust to the back of the skull. He willed the door to his Wizard’s Den open and tumbled inside, seeing the phantom blade come within inches of ending his life. He closed the door an instant before it could follow him through, then crawled to the foot of the nearest bed and sat with his back against it, breathing shallowly and carefully.

“I guess we know what they are now,” he mumbled.

“Come on, let’s get you into a bed,” Lita said. “You’re of no use to anyone like this.”

As much as he hated it, he had to agree, though he didn’t tell her that.

Chapter 40

He woke to find Jataan, Anja, and Tasia awake and well. They were all sitting around the table waiting for the effects of Lita’s spell to wear off. He still hurt, but it was more distant, less urgent.

“I’m glad to see you’re all awake,” he said, sitting up.

“How are you feeling?” Anja asked.

“Beat up. How are the three of you?”

“Well enough, considering the power of the creature’s magic to stun and confuse,” Tasia said.

“It was impressive,” Jataan said, “though somewhat unsettling.”

“You up for a fight?”

“Of course, Lord Reishi,” Commander P’Tal said.

Lita sighed, shaking her head.

“Hit them hard and keep moving,” Alexander said. “They don’t die, they just vanish for a few seconds and then reappear, so the objective is to get through the hall alive, not to kill them all.”

Anja shrugged when he looked at her pointedly.

“I’m still going to kill some of them,” she said.

“Just keep moving,” he said.

“I will,” she said, drawing her oversized sword.

Jataan was rubbing his Weaponere’s stone like a good-luck charm. Jack vanished. Lita cast her shield spell and Alexander drew the Thinblade.

He opened the door and they filed out into an empty hallway, running toward the far end, about fifty feet away now, when the five force knights materialized as one amongst them.

Alexander saw it coming, shouting, “Fight!” as he swept through one, dispelling it with a stroke. Jataan danced outside the thrust of another and stabbed into its empty skull with a short spear. The knight vanished. Lita hit another with a force-push, blasting it off its feet and out of her way. She and Jack sprinted past the remaining enemy and raced toward the staircase landing.

One stabbed at Anja. She slapped its force blade aside with her broadsword and thrust into its chest and out its back. It vanished with a loud pop.

The fifth charged Tasia. She launched a jet of fire at it that seemed to have no effect. It smashed into her, but she caught her balance with a hand on its shield. It stabbed over the top, driving its hot blade down into her shoulder. She screamed with pure rage, whipping the apparition around by the shield and throwing it into the wall with such force that it shattered in a dazzling display of sparks.

Already two had reappeared between them and the end of the hallway. Lita stopped just this side of the threshold and hit one in the back with a light-lance, causing it to vanish again for a few moments. Another appeared. Alexander reached the nearest one, walking deliberately toward it, focusing on his battle sense, waiting for the moment when he saw the coming seconds, then stepping into just the right place to avoid the enemy strike and deal a killing blow. He didn’t even break stride, his focus turning to the next closest force knight.

Jataan came up to his left about a half step back, allowing him ample room to work but closing a vulnerability in Alexander’s guard. The final push was quick and decisive. The conjured guardians were flawless swordsmen, quick and light, but without heart or instinct or experience or any of a hundred other things that make a warrior dangerous. The force knights fell with each stroke as Alexander and Jataan advanced, Anja following close behind.

They reached the far side of the corridor without further injury. As soon as they passed the threshold, the force knights vanished, leaving a subtle aura of magic filling the entire hallway again. Alexander opened the door to his Wizard’s Den and helped Tasia to a bed. She protested, but not too loudly. Her wound was deep.

Alexander handed Lita a healing potion. She helped Tasia sit up to drink it, then gently laid her back down and cast a healing spell.

“What do we face next?” Jataan asked.

Alexander nodded to himself as he sat heavily on the edge of the nearest bed and closed his eyes, taking a look at the next path they would need to negotiate. The stairs descended around and around a central shaft for over a hundred feet, some of them glowing with magic. Alexander moved in closer and found a variety of mechanical traps of gruesome and ingenious design distributed randomly but with terrifying frequency down the entire staircase.

He turned his focus to the central shaft, leaning over the railing at the top and looking down to the landing. He inspected more closely, looking for traps or wards, but found none other than those on the stairs themselves.

“Stay here,” he said, going to his chest and selecting a featherlite potion. “I’ll see you at the bottom.”

He drank the potion, then waited until the magic took effect before stepping over the railing and off the edge, falling quickly, the wind rushing by for a moment, before he slowed as he neared the ground, magic breaking his fall and depositing him safely at the base of the stairs.

When he opened the door to the Wizard’s Den, Jataan stepped out ready for a fight, then relaxed when he saw that all was calm.

“We’re through the worst of it,” Alexander said. “All that’s left are some wraithkin.”

“Is this Phane’s inner sanctum?” Jack asked.

“Part of it, I think. This level and the ones below it are where he did his demonic summoning. The stairs are this way.”

“Deeper still?” Jack said.

“I’m afraid so.”

Alexander led the way with his light raised. He kept his sight pushed out, searching the surrounding area for any hint of danger and finding a worrisome number of wraithkin. They were staying out of his light, blinking from shadow to shadow just the other side of the walls surrounding them.

He stopped at the top of a spiral staircase.

“Stay in the light … wraithkin are close.”

He led the way down slowly, keeping his light bright enough to flood the stairs with brilliance in both directions. They went down ten levels, passing floor after floor of summoning chambers and horrific-looking experimentation rooms. All the while, Alexander was tracking the progress of dozens of wraithkin blinking down, floor by floor, as they descended.

The stairs ended in a small chamber. Alexander stopped short of rounding the corner, sending his sight forward. In the middle of the room was a simple stone pedestal. At its center was a glowing red crystal spinning on its end like a top. It shined with powerful magic.

“More defenses,” he said, “and a bunch of wraithkin close enough to blink in.”

Everyone tensed a bit.

Alexander thought for a moment before coming to a decision.

“Fall back, one level up,” he said. “Stay in the light.”

The level above wasn’t defended. It was a cold unused laboratory that looked to have been in full operation when it had been abandoned and left to rot. Alexander filled the room with light, forcing a few wraithkin to blink into adjacent rooms.

He looked into the level below for the hallway he wanted and went to the spot just above it, cutting a hole in the floor with a few precise strokes. After a moment’s look, he dropped through the hole.

Chaos erupted from above, shouting and fighting. With a jolt of horror, he realized that the wraithkin had waited for him to separate from his friends. He quickly raised Luminessence, flooding both levels with brilliant light and searing away the demonic protection … the six wraithkin that had ambushed his friends all toppled over with looks of horror frozen on their faces.

A moment later Jataan lowered a limp and bloody Anja down to Alexander. He maneuvered her to the ground, letting her slide down his side so he could keep his light raised. Jack came next, holding a wound on his side. Then Jataan lowered Lita. Jack caught her, letting her gently to the ground. She’d been stabbed in the belly with a wraithkin blade. Her face was grey and her colors shone with pain. Jataan came through last, favoring a gash in his leg.

Alexander opened the door to his Wizard’s Den and he and Jataan carried their friends inside. He dimmed his light only after the door was closed, discovering that Luminessence had been projecting bright and protective light without his deliberate concentration.

“Anja was slammed into a wall,” Jack said. “She hit her head and fell like a rag doll.”

“Lita was stabbed with a wraithkin blade,” Jataan said in a monotone, more fear in his colors than Alexander had ever seen.

“Were both of you cut with the wraithkin blades as well?” Alexander asked, going to his chest and getting three healing potions.

Both nodded.

“My wound is minor,” Jataan said.

“I can manage,” Jack said, “though I wouldn’t mind some help with a bandage.”

Alexander sat Anja up in bed and tipped her head back. It lolled to one side. He fought off a wave of nausea. Her colors were alive and strong, but she looked like she was dead. He gently held her bloody head and poured the healing elixir down her throat, silently hoping that it would have enough power to help her. Once she had swallowed the potion, he eased her back onto the bed.

He took the second potion to Lita, helping her sit up to drink it. She tried to resist, tried to argue that the potion would do no good against a wraithkin wound, but Alexander poured it into her mouth anyway. He knew that it probably wouldn’t save her, but he also knew that it might—and besides, it was all that he could do at the moment. Jataan went to work cleaning and dressing her wound.

Alexander cleaned Jack’s wound. It wasn’t deep enough to be deadly under normal circumstances, but a wraithkin wound would take a long time to heal. Once he’d bandaged it, he checked Jataan’s dressing, which the battle mage had expertly applied to his own leg.

“Jack, I want you to stay here,” Alexander said.

“I might be able to help,” Jack said, wincing and almost keeling over when he tried to stand up. “Or not,” he muttered, sitting back down.

“Rest and keep an eye on our wounded.”

Jack nodded, looking up intently. “Be careful.”

Alexander raised his light and opened the door. Wraithkin vanished from the shadows when he stepped into the hallway, Jataan right behind him. He closed the door and started forward. A wraithkin appeared thirty feet down the hall. Alexander held his light and his pace. The wraithkin blinked away.

He reached the door that he’d been looking for and stepped up beside it, slipping his blade into the stone several inches outside the doorjamb at a sharp angle. Stepping across the door quickly, he sliced into the other side as well.

A moment later, the door exploded outward, sending stone and splinters into the opposite wall and filling the corridor with dust. Alexander pulled a splinter out of his cheek just a few inches from his eye, then he entered the room quickly, cutting down two sentinels that were just coming to life.

He looked around the room for the casket that held Hector Lal. It sat at an angle on a specially made rack as if on display. Alexander could see Hector through a window in the casket lid, alive but suspended in time, a prisoner to his own folly, locked in a magical box.

“I’m sorry,” Alexander whispered, closing the distance quickly, slicing through the casket several times, cutting Hector across the head and torso, killing him instantly.

“I hope you’re watching, Siduri,” he said to the ceiling.

With renewed focus on his light, his Thinblade firmly in hand, he led Jataan back into the hallway. Two wraithkin were standing at each end.

“Great darkness is near, My Love,” Chloe said, spinning into existence and then vanishing again.

“I know,” Alexander said. “We’re getting close.”

He raised his light enough to deter the wraithkin and proceeded to his next target. He passed three more doors, stopping at a fourth. He could only imagine what lay within Phane’s laboratories, but he didn’t have time to worry about it at the moment.

He slashed through the door, causing the wards protecting it to blast it away, hurling it across the hallway. This time Alexander had an arm over his face to avoid flying debris. Wraithkin appeared down the hall, close enough to be burned with Alexander’s light, which had diminished somewhat from lack of attention.

He stood in the doorway, flooding both the hall and the room with light until Jataan had passed. A howl of fear filled the level, followed by several more. Alexander’s battle sense flared, revealing multiple threats. He raised his light, killing ten more wraithkin that appeared all at once. Their desperation told Alexander that he was close.

Then he saw the gate. It was made from the same dull black stone that the Reishi Gates were crafted from, but it was smaller and its colors weren’t nearly as expansive or complex. A single word was carved into the stone at the top of the arch. Alexander smiled to himself—he’d seen this and was prepared.

He laid his hand on the stone arch and in ancient Reishi said, “Open.”

Nothing happened.

He started to feel a touch of panic. Then the arch shimmered, the interior transforming into a passage leading to another room. Alexander stepped through as wraithkin blinked into the room they were leaving. Jataan darted through and Alexander closed the gate before any Wraithkin could get close enough to follow.

They had entered a simple room, twenty feet on a side with one door on the opposite wall. Alexander looked ahead, finding an empty hallway with a number of rooms on either side, all empty as well, and a large domed room through the double doors at the far end of the hall.

Through those doors was Alexander’s nightmare.

Suddenly, a shadow rose up, taking shape out of nothing, flickering into some monstrous form for a moment before transforming into a shard of black, shadowy force about the size of a sword. Alexander tried to raise his light, he tried to shout a warning, but it happened too quickly. The shadow stabbed Jataan through the back and out his gut, holding him up for a moment, then twisting slightly before vanishing. Jataan fell to the floor.

In the back of his mind, Alexander wondered why he hadn’t seen it coming. He opened the door, dragging Jataan into the Wizard’s Den, closing the door the moment P’Tal’s feet cleared the threshold, pulling him to a bed and carefully lifting him onto the covers.

He rushed to his chest for yet another healing potion. He’d thought the treasure trove of magic that Lucky had sent would be more than he would ever need, but he was starting to think otherwise.

Jataan grunted as he struggled to sit up. Alexander helped him drink the potion and eased him back down.

“You know you can wait for some of us to heal,” Jack said. “Anja looks like she’s on the mend. And so is Tasia.”

Jataan groaned unintelligibly.

“I’m so close,” Alexander said. “I have to do this right now, before they have time to organize a counterattack.”

He went to his lock box and removed the phylactery crafted and enchanted by Malachi Reishi to contain his soul and make him immortal.

“Chloe, I want you to stay inside the Wizard’s Den. Azugorath could hurt you.”

She buzzed into a ball of light, appearing a few feet in front of him, then floated up and kissed him on the cheek.

“Be safe, My Love.”

“I will, Little One.”

He raised his light and opened the door, stepping through quickly and closing it immediately. He didn’t hesitate, striding into the cold and empty hallway, his light held bright and high. He ignored the doors to either side on his way to the chamber at the end, the place where Phane was warehousing demons to power his war effort.

He moved to the side of the door on the left and sliced down through the hinges. It clattered to the ground. Alexander sent his sight inside.

The door opened onto a small observation deck twenty feet above the circular floor of the giant domed room. Most of the magic circles spaced evenly throughout the room held wraith, each serving as the power source for an individual wraithkin.

In the center, floating above them all, contained within three magical circles working in tandem, was Azugorath, the Wraith Queen.

Alexander felt a little flutter of fear. He’d come all this way to confront her, but now that he stood at the precipice, he found himself hesitating. After a moment, he started laughing at himself. His choice had been made long ago. He’d made it when he accepted the mantle of power, the title of Lord Reishi.

That’s what it meant to hold power responsibly. Power was only honorable and righteous when it was used to protect the innocent. The battle he faced was his duty because he’d chosen to have power over others.

He sheathed the Thinblade and took the phylactery from his belt, then raised Luminessence high as he strode up to the railing separating the observation deck from the domed room. The collective shriek of angst and fury at the sudden intrusion of light filled the room with a cacophony of such varied tone and magnitude that Alexander felt overwhelmed by the sheer volume of it.

Then he saw her eyes—red and hateful—but somehow alluring and seductive. He felt his energy begin to wane.

He tore his mind’s eye away from Azugorath’s mesmerizing gaze, casting his focus far across the world to Isabel, catching a single glimpse of her in the midst of a great and terrible battle, standing right next to Phane, right where she needed to be. He slammed back into himself, a thrill of fear coursing through him from the pulsating shriek of the wraithkin crashing into him like waves.

He raised his light brighter still, pouring his will into Luminessence, flooding the chamber with such brilliance that darkness could not survive. A collective howl filled the enormous room, pain stabbing into Alexander’s ears as it reached its crescendo. Then it suddenly stopped. In a wave moving away from him, the wraith occupying the magic circles covering the floor of the room were pushed from the world of time and substance by Alexander’s light—banished.

He let his light falter for just an instant, and in that instant, Azugorath was free of her bindings. She hadn’t been banished by Alexander’s light, just held at bay. When he let his light dim for that one moment, she shot forward.

Frantically, he pushed his will into the staff, raising his light again, but it was too little, too late. She was on him, surrounding him, suffocating him, filling him with cold dry death. He leaned into Luminessence and poured his last bit of will into the staff, raising the light to its zenith. She howled, a muffled, horrible sound, but held firm as she surrounded him with her dark and dreadful essence.

He could feel his life draining away, leaking into an abyss of hatred capable of devouring everything. Numbing coldness started at his fingertips and began to move into his hands and arms. No matter how he fought, the Wraith Queen smothered him with her life-stealing presence, relishing his struggle. His lungs burned with the need for air.

His strength all but gone, he remembered the phylactery in his hand. He formed the word in his mind and then spoke forcefully, but no sound came forth. He felt a wave of panic wash over him as he slumped to his knees, pouring his renewed will into Luminessence.

It flared with brilliance that threatened to drive her off, breaking her grip on him for one precious moment, just enough time to take a breath and say a word. He spoke it just before Azugorath collapsed in on him again, crushing him, suffocating him. Alexander rolled to his side, holding on to Luminessence for dear life even though his light was waning with his strength. Death was claiming him.

Dimly, he became aware that the darkness was swirling around him instead of crushing him like a thousand wet blankets. Having no strength left, he simply watched as the Wraith Queen finally realized what was happening. Part of her essence had entered the vessel … the spell had been cast.

Her howls of rage and fury crashed over Alexander like waves, seeming to cut into him, scarring him more deeply than any physical wound could.

The coldness whipped past him, swirling into the silver bottle until Azugorath’s scream diminished and she was gone, leaving Alexander lying on the floor, clutching the phylactery in one hand and the staff in the other and wondering when he was going to die.

He was certain that he was dying.

He could feel his life force draining away.

He thought of Isabel and how much he loved her. He hoped that his plan had worked. For a moment he thought about going to have a look, but he barely had the strength to keep his eyes open.

Everything went dark.

A cracking noise reverberated through the room, dust and small pebbles raining down, clattering on the floor, pelting him. The floor jumped suddenly, jolting him as half the room abruptly rose ten feet, shearing the walls and ceiling with a single shudder of the earth. Larger stones began to fall.

Alexander watched, calmly assessing his strength and finding himself woefully lacking. He doubted that he could even get up. He felt so weak, so drained of energy and so absent of will that he found himself simply watching his life slip away with a sense of helpless detachment. A rock the size of a watermelon landed nearby, shattering into a dozen pieces and showering him with gravel. The sharp sting barely registered.

He felt like he was watching an hourglass run out. The only question that remained was would it run out before the ceiling collapsed in on him. His life force drained away like water, dripping its last out of his body.

He thought of Isabel.

And then everything went black.

Chapter 41

Isabel watched as the three summoned demons obeyed their orders, wondering how long Alexander had before he would be ambushed by Samael.

Naberius was flying toward the Rangers and infantry, but he was still a few minutes out. At the moment, Legion was the one that had her blood running cold.

She watched with a mixture of awe and horror as Legion multiplied through the ranks of Zuhl’s army in a matter of seconds, each few steps doubling his number until he reached a final count of one thousand exact duplicates of the original.

It happened so quickly that the barbarians didn’t have time to respond. Within seconds there were a thousand demonic warriors inside their line. Legion swept into them with wanton violence, killing with a delicate balance of cold precision and roaring, trembling rage.

Worse, when a barbarian did manage to cut one down, it was only a matter of a minute or so before it was replaced, bringing the number back to one thousand demonic warriors. Thousands fell in the first minutes of the onslaught.

Horns blared and the barbarians retreated, falling back in smaller units, scattering as they fled the front lines of the battle. Legion didn’t give chase, instead diminishing in proportion to the number of enemy soldiers he faced. Once the entire barbarian army was fleeing, he became a single warrior again, leaping back up onto the plateau and stopping two dozen feet from Phane.

“They are routed,” Legion said.

“Yes, well done. Hold there until I tell you otherwise,” Phane said, smiling with satisfaction at the sight of Zuhl’s army scattering into the distance.

Isabel thought she was losing her mind at first. The sound was faint and very distant, but it carried just enough that she could catch bits and pieces on the breeze. She was listening intently when the Acuna approached with the Babachenko at the lead.

“Prince Phane,” the Babachenko said, “may I ask that you send Legion to scour the invaders from the north of Andalia?”

Phane rubbed his chin, frowning to himself before shaking his head slowly.

“No, not yet,” he said. “Let’s win this battle decisively and then we can look to the rest of the world.”

“It looks like you’ve triumphed to me,” the Babachenko said. “Legion has swept aside the barbarians, and I have no doubt that Naberius is about to scatter the pretender’s army.”

Isabel caught another note on the breeze, a clear voice in the distance, a familiar voice.

“Patience,” Phane said to the Babachenko.

The little man pursed his lips.

Isabel listened. A shout, then a scream, then more shouting and screaming rose up. A clamor spread through Phane’s army, death and dying moving toward the plateau. Isabel’s mind raced. She listened closer, but heard only more sounds of fear and killing.

“General, what’s happening?” Phane snapped, when the noise distracted him from watching Naberius approach the Rangers.

“Reports of men attacking each other at random, Prince Phane,” Hargrove said.

Phane looked around wildly for just a second, before turning to Isabel.

“Where is he?”

“Who?”

Phane lifted her from the ground, crushing the air out of her with his magic as he drew her close, holding her a foot off the ground before him.

“Don’t play with me.”

“I don’t know for sure, but I can guess,” she said, a smile slowly spreading across her face.

He’d told her to be ready. He had a plan all along.

Phane dropped her. She stumbled but kept her feet.

“No matter,” he said, turning to Hargrove. “Tighten the personal guard around me.”

The general saluted and went about relaying the order.

Isabel called Slyder closer, still high overhead, but right above them, circling lazily on the wind. She scanned the people around her. Phane and the Babachenko, the High Overseer and seven Acuna wizards were fanned out around Phane’s inner cordon. Surrounding them were nearly a hundred wraithkin. Beyond them were four hundred soldiers in defensive bands.

Her eyes met Lacy’s. She winked. Lacy went a bit pale but nodded almost imperceptibly.

The screaming and shouting drew closer, right at the base of the plateau now. Steel against steel, followed by a wail of agony that trailed off into silence. There was a lull in the fighting and Isabel heard the music again.

She looked off toward the Rangers, sending her mind to Slyder for a moment to get a clearer view. The two legions of Rangers had split away from the legion of infantry. Several Sky Knights flew well above the fight with one higher still. Isabel looked closer and saw Wren riding behind Kiera. She was singing and her voice was carrying across the entire battlefield.

Noise from below drew Isabel’s attention. She looked down as Naberius landed in the middle of the infantry, howling a great battle cry. He didn’t strike with his halberd, instead planting the butt of it firmly in the ground beside him.

A wave of blackness seemed to pulse away from him through the soldiers for a hundred feet in every direction, spreading in a fraction of a second. Thousands of men screamed, contorting in pain as the darkness moved through them. Most fell to their knees, a few dropping to the ground and flailing around in agony. Those outside the range of the wave stood in stunned horror, watching helplessly as their brothers fell.

Another wave pulsed away from Naberius. The few men still on their knees fell over. Many died, others fought for their last breath.

Another pulse of darkness and everyone within a hundred feet of Naberius was dead. He tipped his head back and laughed, mocking, cruel and hateful.

He pulsed again.

Isabel thought she saw movement. Her blood went cold.

Another wave of darkness and a few of the corpses began to stir. Another and they all started getting to their feet. They weren’t human anymore, they weren’t even corpses. The dark energy radiating from Naberius had desiccated them almost entirely, mummifying their flesh and hardening their bones.

Another pulse and his army of several thousand undead raised their weapons in unison.

“Kill!” Naberius commanded.

The undead army turned against the Ithilian infantry surrounding them, sweeping into them by surprise—fearless, without pain, hungry to kill. The infantry broke, scattering away from the army of skeleton soldiers that had just been formed from the heart of their own legion.

Isabel returned to herself, shaken by what she’d just witnessed. Phane was looking out toward the battle and smiling.

“You see, gentlemen, two armies defeated effortlessly,” Phane said. “Just imagine what we’ll be able to do.”

The Babachenko bit his lip before forcing a smile. “Perhaps,” he said.

Just then a shout went up from within Phane’s personal guard.

Fighting broke out among several men on the periphery of the plateau. Phane muttered a few words under his breath, looking intently at the commotion.

“Rankosi,” he snapped.

The fighting intensified, with several more men joining in against everyone nearby. Isabel smiled to herself.

Another man caught her eye. He was walking through the cordon of soldiers, his eyes on Phane. Isabel had never seen this man before, but she could tell at a glance that he was formidable. A soldier noticed him and moved to challenge, then looked right through him as if he didn’t even exist.

Another noticed him and then forgot him just as quickly. The man was dressed in the uniform of the Regency soldiers, but he moved altogether differently. He turned abruptly to avoid a cluster of people, passing a single soldier instead, unnoticed.

He moved through the wraithkin just as easily, drawing almost no notice, and when he did, he was forgotten a moment later.

One of the Acuna wizards pointed straight at him, shouting, “Grant!”

Several looked his way, but only a few saw him. Two of them began casting spells. Both stopped in midsentence, seeming confused. Those who hadn’t seen him a moment before could suddenly see him and they began casting spells.

He was close now, moving behind the cluster, Phane and the Babachenko facing away. Both turned at the warning.

Phane frowned, looking straight through Titus Grant.

Grant drew a thin-bladed dagger, walking in an arc around the cluster of wizards, alternately touching two or three minds at a time, blotting out their awareness of his existence entirely.

Phane and the Babachenko both locked eyes on him in the same moment, then both looked confused, staring off into the distance as if trying to remember something important that wouldn’t come to mind.

Grant circled behind them, dagger in hand. One of the Acuna cast a force-shard, missing entirely for fear of hitting Phane and the Babachenko.

Grant looked straight at Isabel and nodded respectfully, hastening his pace.

Two of the Acuna wizards pointed at him as he slipped up behind the Babachenko, driving the point of his dagger into the back of his skull, slicing once through the width of his brain before drawing the blade out and running for the cliff. One of the Acuna wizards hit him with a force-shard as he jumped off the edge of the plateau.

Isabel watched with a mixture of amusement and anticipation as the Babachenko slumped to his knees and then fell over on his face, dead.

Phane looked around a bit frantically, searching for the threat that had been so close only moments before. Fear seemed to grip him. He froze in place, his eyes darting this way and that while he remained perfectly still, as if moving might give away his location to a predator. He regained control after only a moment, scanning the battlefield for someone to engage, but there were no enemies nearby.

A few moments later, just over half of the wraithkin stopped in their tracks, old wounds opening, spilling their blood into the dirt where they fell.

Phane’s panic returned. His head snapped this way and that like a trapped animal. His eyes landed on Isabel.

She smiled at him. “He’s getting closer,” she said.

A soldier attacked several of the remaining wraithkin. They killed him quickly, but then another man attacked with total abandon a moment later, his rage drawing Phane’s attention.

“Rankosi!” he shouted. “Go back where you came from.”

He started casting a spell, his eyes fixed on a single soldier walking casually through the ranks, stabbing men in the back and then casting blame on someone else. Rankosi left a trail of bodies behind him, blood spilling out of fear and confusion and false belief.

Phane focused on the shade as he chanted the words of his spell.

Isabel called Slyder to her, scanning the area again and adding Tyr and several of his unwashed to her list of enemies in the immediate vicinity. The pirate pushed through the cordon, demanding to be let through. Phane nodded to the wraithkin to allow him to pass.

Tyr opened his mouth to say something but Phane stopped him with a raised hand, continuing to chant. Tyr looked angry at the rudeness, his face going a bit red, but he held his tongue, waiting for the arch mage to complete his spell.

More and more of Phane’s personal guard were fighting each other. Some had backed themselves up against the edge of the plateau and were warning everyone else to stay away, doing their best to avoid combat. One of them abruptly dropped his guard and his sword, turned and walked off the edge, screaming a moment later, then going silent a moment after that. Rankosi’s laugh echoed over the din of battle.

Slyder came down fast and hard, landing next to Isabel. She knelt down quickly, unfastening the slave master’s ring and slipping it on her finger. As she stood, she tossed Slyder safely into the air. Then she touched the ring to her collar. It popped open with a click. She threw it to the ground and scanned the battlefield.

Phane was preoccupied with his spell. The Acuna were watching the shade rip through Phane’s best soldiers, leaving a trail of carnage and betrayal, friend killing friend. Tyr was watching Phane with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance, six of his men standing around behind him, a few of them leering at Isabel. No one seemed to notice that she’d removed her collar.

Lacy was just twenty feet away, a wraithkin standing right next to her. A dead wraithkin, dagger still in its sheath, lay not ten feet away. Isabel touched her magic. Her spells were all there, but her access to the light was still blocked by Azugorath.

She remembered the room—that horrible room deep under the black tower filled with wraith, Azugorath at the center of it all, the source of so much of Phane’s dark power. Phane had gleefully told her the purpose of the lesser wraith: to power his wraithkin so that Azugorath could focus on her. And his plan had worked. The Wraith Queen could take Isabel and control her anytime that Phane wished.

But now Azugorath was screaming.

Isabel went to her knees, the wailing, shrieking howl inside her head too much to bear. She thought she might lose her sanity as Azugorath was forcibly ripped from her mind and from the world of time and substance.

Then there was silence. Clarity. Light.

Her link to the darkness was still there, but it was closed, manageable. More importantly, her link to the light was there as well, and she could touch it as easily as she could touch her nose.

She threw it open, letting the healing and rejuvenating light fill her up to overflowing, reveling in its pure, life-affirming goodness, placing her forehead on the ground out of simple gratitude for the gift of the light. After being deprived of her unique link to the realm of light for so long, she was even more acutely aware of just how lucky she was to have it.

She took a deep breath, drawing in the Maker’s power, filling herself with a feeling of unconditional love as she slowly got to her feet. Phane was turning toward her. A moment after seeing the rest of his wraithkin fall all at once, he knew that she was a threat … but he was too late.

Her hand raised, a kind and gentle smile on her face, Isabel unleashed her Maker’s light at Phane. He threw his hands up in panicked defense, hurling power into his shield, but to no avail. The Maker’s light passed through his magical defenses as if they didn’t even exist, striking him squarely in the chest, passing through him and flooding his being with love and serenity—awakening his dormant conscience for the second time in his life.

The moment her spell lapsed, Isabel shook off the peaceful feelings of love, thrusting all of her righteous anger for Phane into the fore of her mind, transforming her emotions from love to rage as she sprinted for the nearest dead wraithkin, snatching his dagger and turning her attention to Phane. He stood stunned, looking off into the distance, wearing a look of great sadness.

She lunged, thrusting toward his heart, driving with all of her strength. She was close. Fully committed to the attack.

Phane’s expression transformed from sorrow into twisted, triumphant glee in an instant. Less than a blink later, Isabel’s hurtling lunge at Phane was stopped in midstrike. It felt like she’d run into a wall. Her blade was ripped from her hand and tossed aside, she was lifted from the ground and held, her arms crushed to her sides, her body squeezed so tightly that she could hardly breathe.

“Hello, Mother,” Rankosi said from a distance of about two feet, a smile of pure malice growing across his face. “I really couldn’t have done this without you. Not only did you let me into the world without precondition—a big mistake—you just gave me exactly what I needed to take Phane: guilt.” He tipped his head back and laughed as the Acuna wizards started to back up.

Isabel was stunned speechless, not that she could draw enough breath to speak. The implications of her actions cascaded through her mind, leading to the inevitable conclusion that she had just doomed the world.

It didn’t take long to arrive at the only solution she had left.

She had to die.

As long as she lived, Rankosi would be loose in the world. If she died, he would be banished.

Phane might win, but he wasn’t going to consume the world, just the next thousand years.

Rankosi smiled at her as if reading her mind. With a gesture, he put the slave collar back around her neck and then took the ring off her finger.

“You’ll live a long and eventful life, Mother. Your friends on the other hand, will die screaming. Especially you,” he said, turning a leering gaze on Lacy. “I intend to violate you in every way possible for your stubborn insolence.”

Lacy went whiter still.

“I want to know what’s going on here,” Tyr demanded. “We had a deal. I’ve upheld my part of the bargain, now where’s my sword?”

“Ah, yes of course, the Thinblade,” Rankosi said with a joyful smile. “I’ve dispatched one of my Master’s vassals to retrieve the sword and the man who currently carries it. Both should be along shortly. Is there anything else I can do for you right now, Lord Tyr?” His tone and demeanor changed markedly, his eyes going hard, glittering with malice and power as he spoke.

Tyr tensed, a bit taken aback by the sheer intensity of Phane’s shift in mood.

“No, thank you, Prince Phane,” he said, a tremor of fear in his voice.

“Excellent,” Rankosi said, all smiles again, turning back to Isabel almost as an afterthought. She was starting to lose consciousness from lack of air. Every breath was shallow, just enough to keep her awake. He dropped her with a gesture, smiling at her as she fell, gasping for air, curling into a ball and struggling to come to terms with how badly things had just gone.

Part of her couldn’t help but marvel in wonder at Phane’s plight. It was proof positive that the Maker had a sense of humor, though a somewhat dark one in this instance.

While she recovered, Rankosi turned to the Acuna wizards.

“You are men of power. Serve me and you will be rewarded. Challenge me or run like cowards and you will be punished.”

“Who exactly are you?” one of the wizards asked.

“I am Rankosi … and I am in possession of the most powerful wizard alive. When you think about, I believe you’ll come to realize that your options are limited.”

He spoke so amiably, so reasonably, and yet there was an unmistakable undercurrent of malice and pent-up rage beneath his words—an unnatural quality to his voice that set a person’s hair on end.

“What do—” one Acuna wizard started to say.

Rankosi’s hand shot out in a savage gesture. The wizard was lifted twenty feet into the air so quickly that the wind was sucked from his lungs, then slammed into the ground so hard that he left an indentation a foot deep filled with his pulverized remains. Blood and viscera splattered everyone. Isabel felt a string of droplets hit her cheek.

Rankosi seemed pleased.

“You will serve me faithfully and without question or hesitation. Do this and I will reward you. Fail to do this and I will punish you. I can’t make your options any clearer.”

All of the remaining Acuna wizards stood stock-still, gradually looking to the High Overseer to speak for them. Rankosi waited with exaggerated patience.

“We will serve you,” the High Overseer said.

“Excellent,” Rankosi said, cocking his head as he looked at the mage wizard. “You are a powerful one, aren’t you?”

The High Overseer hesitated for a moment, before nodding. “I am now the most powerful Acuna wizard in the Seven Isles.”

“Good,” Rankosi said, drawing the word out as he turned toward the Nether Gate.

“Jinzeri!” he called out. “I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

The shade flitted from the Nether Gate, darting across the battlefield and into the High Overseer. The two seemed to struggle for several moments before Jinzeri smiled, stretching his new body like he’d just gotten out of bed.

“Hello, Brother.”

The other Acuna wizards backed away from them both, wary and clearly searching for a way to escape.

Isabel got to her feet, looking around at her situation.

Rankosi had Phane, Jinzeri had the High Overseer, Tyr and his men seemed to be taking a wait-and-see attitude, standing off to the side a bit with Lacy. The two-hundred-odd soldiers that remained atop the plateau didn’t seem to know that Phane was now under the control of a demonic master, though they had stopped fighting amongst themselves.

The only thing going for Isabel was the fact that the Acuna wizards were on the brink of a fight for their lives. One bad decision on their part might be all the distraction she needed.

If she could make it to the cliff, Rankosi and Jinzeri would be banished.

There was a commotion amongst the soldiers, a wave of gasps. Isabel turned with Rankosi and the remaining wizards to look out into the distance to the west. The air was dark, crackling with lightning and swirling in a vortex around a spot on the ground a thousand feet to a side. The vortex stretched into the sky, darkening the otherwise mild spring day. Then, with a tremendous clap of thunder, it faded away, spiraling into nothingness and leaving an army on the battlefield less than a mile away.

Isabel blinked. What she’d just witnessed was impossible, and yet, there they were. Ten thousand soldiers, clustered together in a tight formation that began to spread out the moment they arrived.

Rankosi started laughing.

“Oh, Peti, how clever of you … and how misguided,” he said, stifling a chuckle. “You’ve brought me an army of undead and you don’t even realize it … but you will.”

“Undead?” Isabel blurted.

“Yes, her soldiers are all animated corpses,” Rankosi said. “And considering the sigil she used to get them here, it really was the only option.”

A thick, mottled green fog began to surround the Sin’Rath’s undead army, extending two dozen feet around all sides of them and ten feet overhead, with only an eye in the center clear of the noxious fumes. The fog kept pace with them as they marched toward the plateau.

The Regency Army began forming up to face the new threat on the one side and the two legions of Rangers approaching on the other. Off to the north, Zuhl’s army had regrouped, less than half of its original strength remaining, but still a formidable force.

“Well done, you half-breed abomination,” Rankosi said jovially, flashing his brother a malicious smile. “Shame she’s late to the party.”

He turned to the Nether Gate. “Sin’Rath,” he said, distinctly.

A few moments passed before the darkness at the center of the Nether Gate swirled and a woman stepped through. She was the most hideous, monstrously ugly creature that Isabel had ever seen. She was deformed, mottled, pockmarked, her contorted flesh dotted with festering pustules, little drops of reddish liquid dried in streaks beneath them. Her face looked like melted wax that had been reheated and sculpted over and over again in an effort to fix a mistake made long ago, but without success.

Looking at her made Isabel feel a mixture of revulsion and abject pity. As the thought of pity formed in her mind, Sin’Rath turned her gaze on Isabel and she transformed in an instant.

One moment she was the most vile and hideous creature, the next she was sublimely beautiful. A perfectly proportioned woman in every respect, with clear skin and straight white teeth, glistening blonde hair and an alluring, sensual look in her eyes that Isabel felt drawn to.

All of the men on the field stopped to stare at her, many dropping their weapons absentmindedly.

“Hello, Sister,” Rankosi said.

Sin’Rath turned her attention to Rankosi and the illusion faltered—she became the monster again. Isabel wondered if men always saw her as the alluring beauty.

“Hello, Brother,” Sin’Rath said with a bit of an edge in her voice.

Rankosi smiled, clearly relishing the power he had over her.

“Tell your whelp to send her army after that army,” Rankosi said, pointing at Zuhl’s remaining forces. “They don’t even know they’re fighting for a dead man.” He chuckled. “How delicious is that?”

Sin’Rath bowed slightly, transforming into a whirl of shadowy air and streaking off across the sky, nothing but a gust of dark wind headed for the newly arrived legion of undead.

A few minutes later, Peti’s army turned north.

“You see, all is well in hand,” Rankosi said, smiling with maleficent glee.

The Acuna didn’t look so certain, and Tyr was beginning to look dubious as well.

Rankosi turned his smile on Isabel and said, “Soon, Samael will bring me your husband and his precious Stone, which will give me access to the Gates. Legion here will take care of the rest.”

Chapter 42

Alexander slowly became aware, not of anything in particular, more just aware that he was aware, and that he was surrounded by darkness. He drifted for what seemed like a long time, detached and at peace, floating calmly.

Slowly, thoughts began to intrude into his serenity, flashes of memories and emotions. His brother’s death. Isabel on their wedding day. The moment his eyes met Anja’s. His life unfolded before him—every important, emotionally significant, formative event laid out before him. It happened with excruciating detail, every event scrutinized, every choice weighed, both by his own most demanding self and by some higher source of wisdom, present as though it had always been there with him.

While it happened with exacting attention to the last detail, his entire life flashed past him in the space of a heartbeat. And then all was silent again.

He reflected on his life and decided that, on balance, he was proud of the life he’d lived. Even with all of the killing he’d done, he judged that he’d done more good than harm.

An odd sensation of movement came over him and then it felt like he broke the surface of a vast ocean. A moment passed before it hit him like a lightning bolt—he was in the firmament.

He thought of Siduri, shouting the First Adept’s name with all of his will. A moment passed, then another. The firmament abruptly flashed by and then came to a stop just as quickly. Alexander stumbled and fell on his face on the banks of a river, dropping the phylactery and Luminessence.

His body was weak. Not just tired or spent, but weak, like it was failing. He got to his hands and knees, then levered himself to his feet with Luminessence. Only after he was standing, leaning heavily on his staff, did he look up.

Siduri sat on the porch of his little house beside the river.

Their eyes met. Alexander saw such sadness, loss, fear, and guilt bound up in those eyes and in his remarkably complex colors. But he also saw resolve.

“You saw,” Alexander said. Just speaking those two words felt like more effort than he could muster.

Siduri nodded, tears slipping from his eyes.

“All of the destruction they’ve wrought, all of the death, all of the war … all this time, I could have stopped it.” He stood up, walking down the three steps from his porch.

“I deserve my fate, Alexander. And I intend to embrace it. If you survive this day, and I hope that you will, I would ask that you watch over this world better than I did.”

Before Alexander could work up the energy to speak, Siduri put a hand on his shoulder and offered him a smile. They plunged into the firmament, the ocean of creation flashing by and then they were standing on a plateau on the Reishi Isle surrounded by death and chaos.

Alexander slumped to his knees, then onto the ground. He heard a gasp. Looking with his magic, he saw her. Isabel was alive and well enough given the circumstances. The sight of her gave him a jolt of new vigor, though he still didn’t have the strength to stand. He held Luminessence with both hands, waiting for his last chance to make a difference.

He scanned the battlefield. Peti and ten thousand undead were marching on Zuhl’s remaining fifteen thousand soldiers. To the east, Naberius had killed and then raised the bulk of the Ithilian legion; they were marching toward the plateau. Two legions of Rangers were minutes away from engaging Phane’s Regency Army.

Siduri took a few steps toward Rankosi and Jinzeri, drawing their attention.

“Father,” Rankosi said with a smile.

“My sword!” Tyr shouted, pointing at Alexander.

Rankosi glared at him, knocking the pirate king back onto his butt with a disdainful flick of his finger and a sneer before turning back to Siduri.

“It’s so good to have the family back together again,” Rankosi said, capitalizing on Phane’s boyish smile to add to the incongruity of his words.

“I failed you, My Sons,” Siduri said. “And through you, I have failed the world.”

“Come now, Father, we’ve been over this before,” Jinzeri said.

“Many times, as I recall,” Rankosi added. “You didn’t come all this way to see your children just to dwell on old wounds, did you?”

The shades both laughed.

Siduri muttered something to himself, closing his eyes and looking up for a moment.

“Have mercy on my children,” he said.

Both of the shades stopped laughing and frowned at him, confusion vying with concern.

He walked to Rankosi, a silvery outline cloaking his physical form, then reached out and grabbed him by the throat, ripping him from Phane’s body and holding his struggling, shadowy form as he went to Jinzeri, jerking him from his host by the throat as well. Both silently shrieked in rage, railing against Siduri, but his grip held.

He moved quickly, transforming entirely into an empty outline of silvery light, shedding his substance as he slipped into the aether. Both shades struggled wildly, flailing and whimpering as Siduri hauled them inexorably toward the Nether Gate. He didn’t look back. He had no words. He simply took his children to face the Taker.

A moment of confusion and stunned silence settled over the battlefield. Isabel gasped, filling her lungs as if she’d been drowning for all this time. The portal to the netherworld closed in her mind, all trace of it vanishing as the shades were banished from the world. The darkness within her was entirely gone. She was free of it at last. Despite her physical injuries and her current predicament, she felt better than she had in months.

Alexander opened the door to his Wizard’s Den.

“Now, Little One,” he called out in his mind. “Free Isabel and Lacy.”

Chloe darted forth, flitting across the battlefield to Isabel. Her collar vanished. Chloe disappeared again, appearing in a ball of light behind Lacy, her collar vanishing as well.

Alexander rolled to his knees, both hands on Luminessence, the butt in the dirt, his forehead against the smooth, rune-carved shaft.

“Bring forth the light,” he whispered, pouring his will and his life into the staff, giving everything he had left. He knew he was dying. He could feel his life draining away. But here, now, he had a chance to expend that last bit of himself on something worthy.

Luminessence flared brilliantly, sending a shock wave of radiance out across the battlefield, scorching the flesh of all things from the darkness. A hue and cry rose up from all quarters. The undead armies led by Sin’Rath and Naberius howled in pain. Legion shielded his yellow eyes and shouted something angry and threatening.

Alexander’s forces also saw the light. A horn blew from one Ranger legion and was answered by another as they converged to attack the Regency Army with a volley of multiplicative arrows, each shaft transforming into five in flight, savaging Phane’s army in a matter of seconds.

Alexander heard a young woman’s voice above it all. A clear, light, honest voice, singing with all her might into the afternoon sky, her song carrying across the entire battlefield, bringing doubt and guilt to those who fought for the wrong reasons and hope and glory to those who fought for the right ones.

Alexander focused on Wren’s voice, a thread of perfect clarity woven into the fabric of chaos all around him. As he listened, he poured the joy her song evoked into the staff. He poured forth his love for Isabel, his love for life, and his love for the Old Law.

His light rose to a crescendo, reaching out across the entire battlefield with a pulse of such sudden glorious radiance that all of the undead soldiers flash-burned in an instant, leaving nothing but charred shadows marking where they had stood the moment that Alexander Reishi brought the Maker’s light into the world.

Legion lunged at him, but the light overpowered him, blasting him away from Alexander and into the air, erasing him from the world in a streak of flame and ash. Naberius howled into the light as it burned him away, scouring his unwelcome presence from the Seven Isles. Sin’Rath and Peti both ignited as well, burning in screaming pillars of hot blue flame, their bodies burned to soot in moments.

A moaning, desperate, hateful wail began to emanate from the Nether Gate. Alexander held his light, wondering to himself how he still had the strength to remain alive, let alone bring forth such brilliance from Luminessence. He raised his head, still holding the staff before himself with both hands, willing the light to shine brighter still, focusing his intention on the portal to the netherworld.

The wails increased in volume and in number, more and more voices, frantically yammering in response to Alexander’s light shining into the darkness. They began to scream, howling with rage and desperation that transformed into insane, panicked gibbering.

Alexander pushed the last of his will and his life into the staff. The howling transformed into horrific, terrified wails of agony. A clawed hand reached through the Gate from out of the darkness. It was big. Big enough to pick up a man. It grabbed the top of the Gate and pulled, a thunderous roar of rage flooding the world as the hand began to burn, smoke swirling away in hot streamers. A second enormous clawed hand and then a third thrust out of the netherworld and grabbed the sides of the gate, heaving with a tortured howl of rage and pain.

The stone cracked in three places at once, large chunks breaking off and falling into the portal, leaving a spinning vortex of such darkness that it looked like it could swallow the world. It hovered in place, drawing in ever smaller pieces of the Nether Gate and then the soil and stone from around it. After all vestiges of Malachi’s worst creation were gone, the dark vortex began to collapse, closing in on itself and vanishing a few moments later, leaving nothing but a scorched spot on the ground.

The Nether Gate was destroyed.

Alexander felt a weight lift. He didn’t realize how heavy it had been until this moment. Since he’d first learned of it, the Nether Gate and all that it represented had haunted him more than any other enemy.

He released his light and fell over, plunging the world into relative darkness as he let go. Closing his eyes, he felt heavy, as if he were pinned to the ground.

Phane peeked out from behind his hands, smiling like the sunrise when he saw Alexander, lifting him from the ground with a gesture.

“We meet in person at last, Cousin.”

Isabel was up and armed with a knife. She hit Phane with her Maker’s light, disrupting his thinking and rendering him confused for a moment. Alexander crumpled to the ground.

She rushed toward Phane, dagger out and ready for blood, focused on her target to the exclusion of everything else. A blur entered her vision from the side and Tyr crashed into her, knocking her to the ground, leaving her stunned. Alexander wanted to go to her, but he couldn’t even roll to his knees. Tyr smiled down at her, kicking her in the belly before she could regain her senses, sweeping her dropped dagger aside with his foot and grinning lewdly at one of his pirates as he circled toward Alexander.

“Is this your woman?” Tyr barked, kicking Alexander in the gut, rolling him over helplessly.

He took the Thinblade from its sheath and slashed Alexander’s belt with it, drawing the tip of the blade up his belly, slicing his dragon-chain shirt nearly in half along with his tunic.

“Shame it doesn’t work on you,” Tyr said, drawing a dagger, “but this will.” One of his men yanked Isabel to her feet, turning her so she could watch Alexander die.

“Leave him alone!” she shouted.

Tyr leered at her. “Him I’ll gut, you I have other uses for.”

Alexander scanned the battlefield quickly, smiling to himself when he saw Lacy. She had her eye on the prize. Three steps, then two, blade out and ready, last step and a clean lunge, driving the long curved blade into Phane’s back, through his heart and out his chest.

His eyes went wide. Stunned confusion transformed into sudden awareness. Lacy twisted the dagger and yanked it out, stabbing him again, pushing him forward and driving him to the ground. She landed on top of him, plunging the point of the dagger through his body and into the dirt. She drove the dagger into him again, over and over, screaming and crying as she railed against him and everything that he stood for.

The High Overseer saw Phane go down and seemed to make a decision, visceral fear shining in his colors. Having been possessed by a shade himself, Alexander understood how the man felt.

“Retreat!” he shouted to the rest of the Acuna wizards.

Jataan came out of the Wizard’s Den, a bit groggy, not quite fully healed, but awake and armed. He saw Tyr standing over Alexander and threw his dagger at the pirate lord, hitting him in the ribs just behind the upper arm, driving the point of his blade into Tyr’s heart. He stiffened, looking surprised for a moment before his eyes went blank and he fell over.

Isabel hit the pirate holding her with an elbow, followed quickly by a force-push that launched him ten feet into the air. She looked for a blade on the ground as three more pirates converged on her. Jataan got there first, taking his dagger from the fallen island king and standing his ground between the pirates and Isabel.

They stopped, looking at him, laughing among themselves as they advanced, murder in their eyes. All three attacked at once. He cut one’s throat, sliced the second across the inside of the arm, and stabbed the third in the heart before they knew what had happened. All three fell, dead or dying.

Isabel scanned for a threat. She felt a wave of relief and triumph wash over her when she saw Phane down with Lacy on top of him, her dagger buried to the hilt in his back. Then she saw Alexander and her triumph crashed into despair.

He lay still. Not breathing.

“No, no, no, no,” she said, scrambling across the patch of dirt separating them.

Chloe was sitting on his chest crying.

“It feels like he’s gone, like his mind is gone, but I know it’s not,” she said. “It can’t be.”

“Don’t you leave me,” Isabel said, laying her hands on him, tears falling freely. She threw open the portal to the realm of light and held up her love for Alexander to the Maker himself, showing him her most precious and treasured possession. She closed her eyes and poured her love and the Maker’s healing light into Alexander, letting the light of creation itself flow through her into his broken and drained body.

A blade passed close to her … she ignored it, focusing instead on giving light to Alexander, letting it fill him and restore him. After a few moments, she knew instinctively that she’d done all that she could. She opened her eyes to a pitched battle, Jataan and Anja on one side, both injured, and dozens of Phane’s soldiers on the other.

Jack stabbed a soldier that tried to slip into the Wizard’s Den, flickering into sight momentarily and shouting out in pain with the sudden exertion of the attack before vanishing again. Lacy raced up to Isabel; she crouched down and looked over her shoulder.

“Men are after me,” she said urgently.

“Help me get Alexander into the Wizard’s Den,” Isabel said, taking him by the wrists. Jataan saw what they were doing and moved to protect them from a cluster of soldiers closing in on them, fending off two attackers, killing each with brutal precision. Just as Isabel and Lacy had gotten Alexander inside the door, they heard Anja cry out.

Isabel looked up and saw her flat on her back with a soldier sprawled out on top of her. Isabel started to get up, to go to her aid, when the soldier licked Anja’s face up the side of her cheek.

With a howl of rage that morphed into a roar, she transformed into a glistening, furious red dragon. The man scrambled away as she took her true form, but not quickly enough. She whipped her tail around, hitting him broadside, knocking him off the cliff thirty feet away.

A moment later, waking at the sound of Anja’s roar, Tasia shot through the door, scrambling past Alexander, Isabel, and Lacy with fluid grace, transforming into her true form the moment she was through, bounding between Anja and the largest cluster of enemy soldiers and breathing a gout of flame that singed meat from bone in seconds, leaving forty men dead.

The rest of the soldiers froze, suddenly confronted with two dragons, paralyzed by disbelief until Tasia breathed fire into another twenty men, leaving every one of them burned black to the bone across the entire front of their bodies.

The rest broke and ran, fleeing for the edge of the cliff. A few of them even made it.

Epilogue

Alexander woke to a pair of beautiful green eyes staring down at him. She blinked a few tears free when he opened his eyes.

“You’re back,” she whispered.

“You saved me,” he said.

“You saved me first,” she said, lying down on his chest and crying like a baby.

He drifted off to sleep holding her and woke with her in his arms. He felt good, stronger than he had in days. He didn’t hurt anymore. He sent his sight into his leg, searching for the deformity in the bone, but finding it smooth and straight, as if it had never been broken.

He opened his eyes with a smile and it suddenly hit him.

His vision was healed—not his magical vision, but his eyes. Isabel’s light had made him whole again in more ways than one.

Jataan was standing in the doorway. Lita and Jack were on cots, both asleep.

“Report,” Alexander said without getting up. Isabel mumbled something and nuzzled in closer to him.

“We’re secure in our position,” Jataan said. “Zuhl’s army has regrouped a league away and appears to be holding position. The Regency Army is fleeing south with a regiment of Rangers harassing them. Lita said that the taint in her wound was gone, so I gave her and Jack the last of the healing potions. Lord Abel presented himself and a prisoner to a Ranger patrol. They arrived a few minutes ago.”

“I’d like to see them both,” Alexander said.

“I’ll see to it,” Jataan said.

“Are they awake?” Wren asked, peeking inside.

“There she is,” Jack said from his bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he sat up and tested his wound, nodding to himself.

“Who?” Wren asked, a bit confused.

“The greatest bard in all of the Seven Isles, of course,” Jack said with a mischievous smile.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your song during the battle,” Jack said. “Pure genius. Every soldier who fought in this battle will remember it for the rest of their lives. Talk about capturing an audience.”

“I … I was just trying to help Isabel.”

“All the better,” Jack said. “Come, sit, I want to talk to you about a song I wrote for you.”

A few minutes later, Abel entered, followed by a large man dressed in white dragon-plate armor. The man was missing his left hand just above the wrist.

“Alexander, I’m glad to see that you’re recovering,” Abel said.

“I’m glad to see that you’re yourself again,” Alexander said.

Abel nodded with a haunted look, shaking it off a moment later and turning to his prisoner.

“I give you General Kergen, Zuhl’s most senior military officer. Peti had him under her power just like me and she brought us both here with that horrible spell she cast. After she died, Kergen tried to take me and lost a hand for it.”

“Nicely done,” Alexander said, sitting up in bed.

Isabel woke and looked around bleary-eyed. “What’s happening?” she mumbled.

“I think I’m about to avoid killing half a million people,” Alexander said.

***

Alexander stood in the center of Fellenden’s Gate platform, the Sovereign Stone resting on his tunic and the Thinblade in its scabbard. Zuhl’s head was mounted on a pike driven into the ground a few feet from the stairs leading up to him. Tasia was to his right and Anja was to his left, both crouched like cats in their true form on either side of the Gate. On the Zuhl side of the Gate were Ixabrax and Zora.

A steady stream of soldiers filed past, averting their eyes to avoid looking directly at any of the dragons. After Alexander had fully explained the options available to General Kergen and shown him the black slime, complete with a demonstration, Kergen seemed a bit taken aback. He fully expected that Alexander would kill his entire army if given the chance, so when Alexander, with the help of a few dragons, insisted instead that he lead his men home, he quickly agreed.

Alexander had never been so relieved.

He stood there all day, his eyes never wavering, his vision examining every nuance of the barbarians’ character. He looked right through them as they passed and they knew it. They knew that they were being judged, and not just by him. Four dragons stood in terrifying judgment as well.

After the last of Zuhl’s soldiers had left Fellenden, late into the night, Alexander bid Ixabrax and Zora farewell and watched them fly off into the moonlit night together before he closed the Gate to Zuhl.

***

Lacy stood on a grassy rise on the side of a rolling, forested hill. It was a perfect spring day with white clouds and a cool breeze. A stone casket rested before her. A jeweled tiara was fastened into the black lace veil she wore.

She looked out over the crowd of assembled guests, people of great importance who had traveled from all around the Seven Isles as well as commoners from every part of Fellenden.

Wren poked her in the leg from behind the podium and held up a simple gold ring, nodding for her to put it on. Lacy had decided long ago that there were people she trusted in this world and Wren was one of them. She slipped the ring on her finger and took a breath.

“I didn’t know Master Anatoly Grace, but I did know a few of the people who loved him. These people don’t give their love or their trust lightly, but when they do, they give it completely.

“That’s why I wasn’t surprised when I heard about the sacrifice that Master Grace made to save so many of our people. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t run. He did his duty. He used the power he was given to protect the innocent. No greater thing can be said of a man.”

Alexander took a deep breath to steady himself, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He was standing in a line with his father and Hanlon. Conner, Torin, and Jack stood next to them in another line.

“As a tribute to his honor and courage, Anatoly Grace will be interred in the Tomb of Fellenden’s Kings where he will rest among the most honored of our heroes.”

A horn blew, forlorn and lonely in the silence. The cohort of six marched forward and lifted Anatoly’s casket. The horn blew again and they carried him into the crypt. A third and final horn blew as they passed out of the light, taking Anatoly to his final place of rest.

***

“Wizard Oliver?” Jack said, hurrying to catch up. “I was wondering if I might have a word.”

“How can I be of help?” Oliver asked, his eyes red and bleary, though no worse than Jack’s after listening to Lacy’s speech.

“I understand that you were with Anatoly, I mean Master Grace, during his last days.”

Oliver nodded, a bit of a haunted look in his eyes.

“Would you tell me how he died? Anatoly was my friend and I want to write a song for him.”

Oliver looked at Jack for a moment, more through him really. His eyes focused as he returned to the present moment and he nodded.

“People should know what he did and why he did it,” he said. “I’d be honored to tell you the story of Fool’s Gap.”

***

Alexander and Wyatt walked out ahead of Isabel and Ayela. All were somber. Jataan was well behind them, but ever vigilant.

“It’s come to be called Trajan’s Rock,” Isabel said, stopping well away from the house-sized stone, half buried in the ground. “People come here in the hopes that they will feel different when they touch the rock. It’s a way for some to convince themselves that they have magic.”

Ayela smiled sadly. “It was so senseless. He didn’t accomplish anything.”

“No, but he gave his life trying to protect the world,” Isabel said. “That has to count for something.”

“I’d just rather have him back,” she said, handing Isabel her bag filled with potions, powders, and concoctions before taking a moment to put her hand on the stone and say goodbye to her brother.

***

At first, Alexander thought it was a good idea, combining weddings and coronations. Jack and Abigail were getting married and Wyatt and Ayela were getting married, which meant that both Jack and Wyatt would have to be crowned as well.

One ceremony had seemed like a better plan to Alexander at first. Get it all done at once. But then it grew into something that he couldn’t control, mostly because Isabel was there protecting it like a mama lion. She threw herself into all of the frivolous things that she’d never bothered with growing up. Now that the world was back to some semblance of order, or at least the enemies that they faced didn’t threaten the whole world at the moment, she was having fun.

Alexander couldn’t fault her for that, but he could hide from all of the bustle, which was what he was doing on the observation deck of the Reishi Keep when Kelvin found him.

“It looks to be a grand party,” he said.

“I like the way it looks from a distance a lot better,” Alexander said.

Kelvin chuckled, looking down at the tents and flowers on the grounds below.

A light and clear voice rose up to them, carrying easily.

Alexander looked quizzically at Kelvin.

“I gave her the ring,” he said. “She came to me just before the battle, a waif of a thing, asking to borrow my ring so that she could ride into battle for Isabel. She told me how her singing had brought Isabel back from the brink of darkness before and how she thought it would again … if only Isabel could hear her.

“I told her that I would loan it to her if she would sing for me. By the end of the song, I gave her the ring. A voice like that should be heard … and I can always make another.”

Alexander nodded with a smile. “She’ll make good use of it.”

“The wizards are all moved in,” Kelvin said after a few minutes of easy silence between them. “I’ve been thinking about the device you suggested and I think it’s entirely possible, provided we can find a gem of sufficient quality and clarity. I’ve sent a request to Wizard Jahoda that he begin looking.”

“Good. I want the Wizards Guild to always have the benefit of my sight when selecting candidates for the trials. We can’t afford to let magic fall into the wrong hands ever again.”

“I agree completely, though I would like to expand our ranks. More magic in the world has the power to change lives for the better.”

Alexander nodded agreement, staring at the party below.

“Lucky just arrived,” Kelvin said.

“Well, why didn’t you tell me?” Alexander said, hurrying off with a boyish grin on his face.

“I suspect you’ll find him near the food,” Kelvin called out after him.

***

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Isabel said.

Alexander could see her in the kitchen of their little cottage in the foothills of Glen Morillian. He was inside his Wizard’s Den with the door open in the middle of their living room.

“I won’t be long,” he said. “I just want to check on Varis.”

“Is he the one on Tyr or Andalia?” Isabel asked.

“Tyr,” Alexander said, settling in to meditate, slipping into the firmament with ease and flitting across the world to a medium-sized and heavily fortified keep on the coast of the southernmost isle of Tyr. A small fleet of ships was anchored in the protected harbor.

He slipped into the council chamber of Lord Varis, watching and listening as he and his men made plans to attack and raid a fishing village to the north. They were planning to steal their catch, of all things.

Alexander appeared behind him. All of the rest of the men in the room were startled but Varis just kept talking.

“Once we have their food, we can make them work for us if they want to eat—”

“Unlikely,” Alexander said.

Varis, a greasy man with black hair and a gaunt, pockmarked face, scrambled out of his chair and drew his long dagger, pointing it at Alexander.

“I’ve been watching you, Varis,” he said. “Up until now, you haven’t violated the Old Law too egregiously, but if you do this, you will have crossed a line.”

Varis’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not even here. Everybody knows that you’re just an illusion.”

Alexander sighed, shaking his head. He turned to the rest of the men in the room.

“Yes, I am an illusion … this time. If I have to come back, I’ll leave with all of your heads. In fact, you would all do well to distance yourselves from this one.” He pointed at Varis. “I’ll be watching him.”

Most of the men in the room couldn’t get out fast enough, leaving Varis holding his dagger and staring at Alexander.

“You’re not even here,” he said.

“No, I’m not,” Alexander said. “Be thankful for that.”

He returned to his body and strolled out into the kitchen, kissing Isabel on the neck.

“What’s for dinner?”

***

Alexander took Isabel’s hand as they stepped out of the fissure and into the valley of the Fairy Queen. Chloe burst into a ball of light and darted off into the trees. Within a few moments the fairies were singing and dancing in the air, moving in and out of the aether, bursts of light illuminating the ancient trees.

He walked with Isabel, just enjoying the day, the peace … her presence. Thoughts of their first visit here brought forth thoughts of the war, something that Alexander was trying to avoid.

They spent several days under the trees in the company of the fairies, taking great care with the planting of the first vitalwood acorn. Alexander smiled at the little mound of dirt, taking Isabel’s hand.

“Wouldn’t it be something if it grew?” she said.

He nodded, an idea suddenly striking him. He raised his light, Luminessence shining brightly with the Maker’s light, bathing the ground where the acorn was planted for a few moments.

Isabel looked at him questioningly.

He shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt, a little light might be exactly what it needs to sprout.”

A few moments later, a Linkershim rose up out of the ground not ten feet in front of Alexander. He was a bit surprised, reassuring Isabel with a squeeze of her hand before she could react.

“Alexander Reishi.”

“Yes.”

“We wish to nurture one of the great trees as our makers did.”

Alexander cocked his head, a bit confused.

“Will you give us one? We will cherish it and guard it and nurture it.”

Alexander looked to Ilona.

“It would be wise to distribute the trees,” the Fairy Queen said. “Perhaps your friends here would be good stewards.”

Alexander considered it for a moment before he retrieved a vitalwood acorn and gave it to the Linkershim.

“You are welcome to visit, Alexander Reishi. We would like to show you what we have built.”

“I just might do that,” Alexander said.

The Linkershim transformed into dirt and soil without a word, vanishing into the ground a moment later without a trace.

“Are you sure that was a good idea?” Isabel asked.

“They’re not like us, but they will take care of the tree,” Alexander said. “And the Maker help anyone who enters the underdark without their invitation.”

“Where do you think we should plant the third tree?”

“I was thinking about planting it in our front yard.”

***

Alexander turned on his heel and started walking the length of his living room again. He frowned when his cattle became spooked. Looking out the window, he saw three dragons land, transforming into women a moment later.

He resumed his pacing.

“You’ll wear a hole in the floor,” Jack said.

Abigail giggled.

Alexander ignored them both.

The door burst open, Anja breathless from running, Tasia and Bragador entering in more dignified fashion a few moments later.

“Are we in time?” Anja asked.

A scream filled the house, Alexander going white in an instant, looking to his father for reassurance for a moment before heading toward the door to the bedroom.

“Wait, Son,” Duncan said. “There’s nothing you can do.”

Another scream sent a shiver coursing down his spine. He had to remind himself to breathe. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten in front of the door, but he was standing right there when his mother opened it with a smile.

Chloe appeared between them in a ball of light.

“He’s here!” she said, zipping past Bella and into the bedroom.

“Come meet your son, Alexander,” Bella said, smiling broadly.

He entered slowly, tentatively, looking to see that Isabel was all right before his eyes fell on the baby she was cradling in her arms.

“He’s beautiful,” Alexander whispered, sitting next to her and marveling at his newborn son—Chloe floating in a circle over them all. “What should we call him?”

“I thought we’d call him Darius,” Isabel said.

Here Ends

The Sovereign of the Seven Isles

www.SovereignOfTheSevenIsles.com

***

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed reading Reishi Adept as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’m always trying to improve my stories, and ultimately, you are the best judge of my work, so I’d like to humbly ask for your help. Please click the link below and write a short review. Your honest feedback will help me do a better job in the future and will also help others decide if they would like to read my stories.

Thank you,
David A. Wells

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PPS – I have another series in the works called The Dragonfall Trilogy. Look for book one next year.

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