“Sit down, Isabel, we still have things to discuss,” he said, meeting her challenging glare with the smug satisfaction of a man who knew he held the upper hand.
Isabel sat, willing her anger into the background.
“It seems you’ve been holding out on me. I guess that’s to be expected, given the circumstances, though it makes me wonder what else you know.”
Isabel glared at him.
“It pains me to see you so miserable …”
She laughed in his face. “You don’t care one bit about how anyone else feels and you probably never have. How old were you when you realized that you’re different?”
Phane’s face contorted into sudden rage but he didn’t draw on his magic, instead backhanding Isabel across the face hard enough to send her sprawling. Bright flashes of light exploded in her head when he struck her and again when she hit the floor. She lay still for a moment, her ears ringing … then the pain came, slamming into her, full force. She groaned.
“You will learn respect … one way or another. Now get up and sit with me.”
Isabel rolled to her knees and staggered to her feet, still a little unsteady, willing the pain aside. A few wobbly steps and she was sitting at the table, still slightly dazed from the blow. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she made note of his strength, strength far greater than that of any ordinary man.
“As I was saying,” he said, all vestige of anger gone, “your misery stems from your unwillingness to accept that you have already lost. And now the inevitable string of betrayals and defections has begun. I’ve seen this sad tale play out before. When high-minded principles come up against cold, hard reality; when men see the suffering they’ll bring down on their families, or worse, experience it; when they realize that they’re fighting for a lost cause … well, they lose hope. They falter.
“In that moment of weakness, there is such profound opportunity. Just the right combination of words, delivered just so, and you can shift the tide of history. I’ve done it, more than once. In fact, I may have just done it again with poor Hector.”
Isabel worked her jaw, tenderly probing her face. It was swelling and felt hot, but nothing was broken. That didn’t stop it from hurting, though.
“That’s the wonderful thing about turning someone, it’s almost like unwrapping a gift … you never know what you’re going to get. For example, I didn’t know about Trajan Karth and his Goiri bone. This entire war might hinge on that simple piece of information. I also didn’t know about the crystal chambers in the abandoned fortress. While unlikely to provide any immediate value in this war, it has effectively solved a dilemma I’ve been struggling with for some time now-namely, how to live forever.
“So you see, in addition to enlisting one of your personal bodyguards into my service in pursuit of a goal that may prove pivotal, I’ve revealed two additional opportunities. Magic is powerful, but I know of no spell that could have accomplished so much for so little-nothing more than the right promise made to the right person at just the right moment. Words.”
“So you took advantage of a man who’s already lost his brother … that’s not really much of an accomplishment, Phane.”
“I took advantage of a situation,” Phane said. “And it has paid off richly.”
“At what cost?”
“Like I said, a few words-empty promises.”
“It’s like I’m talking to a tree,” Isabel said, shaking her head sadly.
“Hmm, that reminds me, have you had contact with any dragons since you left Tyr? The truth now.” He sat forward, scrutinizing her intently.
“What? No. Where did that come from?”
“Never mind, just following up on a report,” he said, sitting back again and glancing at the door. “I expected Enu to be here by now, not to mention your little friend.” He looked at Isabel suggestively. “Your time is running out, or rather her time is. I have to warn you, it will be difficult at first, but I’m here to help. You’re not the first I’ve mentored through this process.”
“That’s comforting,” Isabel said without looking up. Slyder had delivered his message. With any luck, Wren and Lacy would be in the sewers already.
“I was speaking with Azugorath about you earlier today. It seems that she has to focus a large amount of her energy into blocking your link with the realm of light. In fact, she believes that she could control you at will if your link with the light were eliminated altogether. Perhaps an enchantment could block the link … or a potion. But I’m getting ahead of myself. If Enu’s boasting is even half accurate, his new spell may be the key to your transformation.”
Isabel was ignoring him, facing her situation with cold hard honesty. She would probably not survive Phane. The best she could hope for was to prevent the keystone from falling into his hands. Maybe, if she was lucky, she might get another shot at him, but she doubted it.
“What’s wrong, Isabel? You aren’t your usual pithy self today.”
She didn’t bother acknowledging him.
“Can you feel the anticipation building? I can.” He looked at the door again, frowning. “We’re about to take a monumental step together. I’ve been working toward this since your beloved pretender murdered Kludge.” Phane stopped talking, crossing his arms over his chest and sulking while she continued to ignore him as best she could.
He huffed. “They really should be here by now.”
Isabel didn’t look up.
“Enu had better have a good explanation. And your little scullion, too.”
Isabel couldn’t help but laugh softly to herself.
“What’s so funny?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” she muttered. She could feel him glaring at her.
“My patience is at an end,” Phane said, opening his Wizard’s Den and going to his mirror. Isabel quietly followed him in.
“This was a gift from my father,” Phane said, caressing the edge of the mirror. “It took three arch mage enchanters over a month to create it.”
As he focused, the mirror rippled, then became clear, revealing a bedroom. Lacy and Wren stood at the foot of the bed, facing Wizard Enu.
“Where’s the box? Hand it over and I won’t hurt you,” Enu said.
Phane leaned forward. “Well, isn’t this interesting.”
“Does Phane know you’re here?” Wren asked.
“The whelp asks a good question,” Phane muttered, engrossed in the scene unfolding within his mirror.
“Does he know you’re here? With the princess?” Enu shot back.
“Get out or I’ll call for my guards,” Lacy said.
“Go ahead,” Enu said. “Do you think I’d be foolish enough to come for you without first incapacitating your house guard? I assure you, Princess, we’re all alone.”
Lacy looked about quickly, fear dancing in her eyes.
“Give me the box,” Enu said, stepping forward and raising his staff.
“No!”
As he pointed the tip of his staff at Lacy, the stone embedded in it began to glow, red and menacing. He pronounced a word, and she collapsed on the floor, gasping in pain, writhing around in a desperate attempt to escape the agony of Enu’s torture spell.
Wren darted in and tried to stab Enu but his shield turned her blade aside.
“I’m beginning to see why you like her,” Phane said, chuckling, thoroughly enjoying the events playing out before them, even as horror gripped Isabel.
Enu released his spell, leaving Lacy trembling and sobbing on the floor and raising his staff toward Wren, madness and murder in his eyes. A sudden gust of wind from the balcony distracted him. A moment later, a man strode into the room, unleashing a jet of fire from his outstretched hands at Wizard Enu.
At first Enu’s shield held, but the fire continued, second after second, pouring heat into the wizard’s magical barrier, driving him back until the shield failed and he was blasted against the wall, burnt into an unnaturally contorted, charred husk of a corpse.