Reghar the Fang finally saw first-hand the destruction wrought upon Ryndorhn.

He saw all of this from the vantage point of Graznod's air chariot which seemed, to Reghar, nothing more than a cart pulled by an enormous flock of ravens with overlarge wings. He'd learned that the Redeemer regularly fed the ravens meat marinated with a potion which greatly enhanced the strength of the birds' wings, allowing the ravens to lift any object into the air. Graznod held no reigns, and the birds seemed to know where to fly--though the Redeemer would not enlighten Reghar as to how this was accomplished.

The lands beneath, when Reghar braved a look over the lip of the chariot, were pocked with scars of black, marking the remnants of villages charred beneath the flames of White Rage. Beyond that, however, he could note no other details, since they flew so high above the ground. Still, what he saw rushing beneath the air chariot reminded Reghar of what he'd been a party to.

Reghar closed his eyes intermittently against the sharply rushing air to guard them against wind-burn. He'd never flown before--indeed never conceived that such a contraption even existed which could bear people upon the winds, so close to the clouds. He hoped that Graznod would not notice his unease and chide him for it--he'd suffered enough of that with Grafter.

Soon the high grey turreted walls of Windemere loomed in the distance. Reghar fingered the scroll he'd tied to his belt: Sandor Centlanth's Writ of Entry to Honor's Start. The Fang smiled to himself remembering how defiant the old man, upon awakening, had been at first--until his wife and son were brought before him. Their throats were held each by an impassive-faced Redeemed, awaiting the order from Graznod to snap the hostages' necks.

Sandor, his seamed face crumpling in a confusion of allegiances, reluctantly agreed to sign the Writ of Entry. Once the document was signed, Reghar had expected Graznod to release his prisoners. He did--but they did not walk from the Redeemer's abode. Graznod instead had an elixir forced down his captives' throats, causing them to fall into a deep slumber. Graznod then instructed several Redeemed to transport Sandor and his family back to the old man's townhouse, where they would not awaken for many days.

One niggling question still remained for Reghar. "I realize that you have your strategy outlined," the Fang said as he stared at the scenery passing beneath the chariot. "But I'd appreciate being briefed about it. How do you expect to trounce the Duke's army? Certainly you do not expect me to rout them with my own meager spell resources?"

"I've been planning this for months," Graznod replied, his voice smug. "Through operatives living in Windemere--some of my most recent customers, in fact--I've managed to have a growing number of my Redeemed smuggled into the city. You'd be surprised to discover how easily a gate warden's eyes can be averted once a few well-placed words have fallen into his ear. Also I've managed, through those same contacts, to engage a band of mercenaries into our service; they should be assembling my army of Redeemed as we speak."

"You really expect to defeat Lord Vaukmond's forces so easily?"

Graznod's dark eyes seemed filled with a merry light as he turned to Reghar. "Thanks to yours and Grafter's indirect help I shall. From what I've learned, your first direspawn, and your second no doubt, took quite a toll on the Weapon Master's cavalry. I now have enough Redeemed in place to match the Duke's forces nearly man for man--and adding the mercenaries, I've more than enough."

Reghar withdrew a small map from beneath his tunic, studying it for the third time since they'd left Quitonne. "You're certain that this map described by Sandor is accurate? If this chamber does not truly exist, I will be unable to harvest Aiya Lindsmund's spell energy without interruption."

"My own forces should allow you such a luxury. As for Sandor: he would not dare lie to me since I've convinced him that I still hold the lives of his family in my hands. And as for any inaccuracy: Sandor knows every secret catacomb within Honor's Start. He served the House of El'Haia, Windemere's former ruling family, as Translator long before Lord Vaukmond defeated them with his great war ax. There exist chambers even the Duke and his closest minions know nothing of."

Before Reghar could reply, he felt his stomach dip sharply within his belly. They were landing. Once they were several yards away from the main gate of Windemere, the chariot touched lightly to the ground.

###

Reghar and Graznod passed unnoticed through the entrance of Windemere, mingling easily with the clot of visitors pressing for entry.

Eavesdropping among the visitors informed Reghar and Graznod that the wedding of Terjal Rakmir and Aiya Lindsmund would take place on this very day. Such news, had he received it weeks earlier, would have sent the Fang into another

paroxysm of jealous rage. But this time, such news were quite fortuitous: for he and Graznod would defeat the Master of Cloudreach on what should be the happiest day of the conjurer's life.

Windemere's usually spartan architecture was strewn with colorful banners and flags, all proclaiming the coming joyful event--as well as the defeat of the creatures of destruction. If only they knew, the Fang thought to himself as he favored passersby with a prideful smile, that the one responsible for their earlier miseries walks among them now. And although his direspawn were no long extant, Reghar still reveled silently in his achievement.

Everywhere Reghar saw citizens laughing, strangers clapping each other upon the back in raucous delight. Children darted through the marketplace trailing stolen banners behind them: trophies of the coming wedding. Reghar's amusement was fast turning to a sickening resentment as again and again his vision was assaulted by such evidences of jubilation. He wanted so badly to get away from it.

Just when Reghar thought he would turn to a wall on which he might spatter his breakfast, Graznod touched his shoulder, pointing at an immense Keep several yards away. "Behold," the Redeemer said, a wide grin making his gaunt face seem longer. "We reach Honor's Start. Now to see if this Writ of Entry gets us through."

"Do you think you'll be recognized?"

"And what if I am? To most, I am known as a healer with some unusual, and unorthodox, talents; most know little of the conditions for payment of which I set. And those that have become my...special...patients, always choose silence to hide their own guilt and cowardice. We will be seen through."

But Reghar's puzzlement still was not placated and he asked, "But why must we even walk through? Why not enter Honor's Start as your minions will: unseen, in stealth?"

Graznod abruptly stopped walking and turned to stare at his young partner, a look of sour astonishment on the Redeemer's face. "Well, and what fun would that be?"

###

Just as Graznod had promised, their entry to Honor's Start presented no problems at all. In fact, the Duke's footmen and courtiers merely gaped in awe at the arrival of Graznod the Redeemer, barely glancing at Sandor's document. As for Reghar, no one recognized him--indeed, this was his very first visit to Windemere. To everyone he was nothing more than the Redeemer's apprentice, and they looked upon him with nearly as much fear.

As he walked beside Graznod toward the Great Hall of Honor's Pavilion, Reghar glanced furtively about, hoping that he might get a glimpse of Terjal. But the Master of Cloudreach was no where to be seen. Probably consorting with his bride-to-be, the Fang thought to himself with an inward snicker.

When they were nearly at the towering entryway of Honor's Pavilion, Graznod drew Reghar aside. Suddenly four heavily-muscled men, dressed in the mail and armor of the Duke's cavalry, joined them. Mercenaries. The tallest of the four spoke to Graznod, "We've found Aiya Lindsmund's quarters; a courtier was only too glad to give us the information in exchange for leaving his throat intact." The other three men exchanged looks of such malevolence that Reghar felt a nauseating bubble of unease burst deep within his gut. He didn't want to think of the way in which these men had obtained their uniforms.

"And the Redeemed you've brought with you," Graznod said impatiently to the tall man, "Where are they?"

Graznod made no attempt at introductions, although the four mercenaries glanced intermittently at Reghar with a kind of disgust, obviously guessing him a spellcaster and having little respect for such a calling. Reghar pretended not to notice, for he did not want to portray himself a coward by openly acquiescing, nor did he wish to inspire the men to brawl with him.

"They are placed," the man answered, "throughout Honor's Start, with several standing near Aiya Lindsmund's quarters. The maps you sent us were very helpful; we smuggled your...Redeemed...into the keep easily--no one took notice at all."

"And the state of Vaukmond's forces?"

The mercenary's wide grin made a long white scar at the corner of his mouth pucker upward. "Their numbers are down. Vaukmond has the bulk of his soldiers guarding the keep itself, and for show he's got a small contingent milling about. He obviously feels there's no longer a threat."

Graznod gave the mercenary a humorless smile of satisfaction. "Then it's time to pay a visit to Vaukmond's Adjutant." Turning abruptly to Reghar, "You are ready?"

Reghar felt a curious mixture of fear and excitement twisting his heart. It was the moment he'd waited for, yet one he dreaded still. But, he told himself, this task shall make me more powerful than Terjal, Aiya--even Grafter--combined.

So long as he performed the ritual correctly.

And he would. Tonight he and Graznod would vanquish both conjurers and the Duke himself; they would have Windemere, and soon after, Quitonne. Reghar would have every conjurer in Ryndorhn brought before him and he would drain every ounce of spell energy from them. With such powers, he and Graznod could rout the Court of Tahlahnn and make the Imperium their own.

Reghar the Fang's full lips widened in his own smile of satisfaction. "I am ready. I have always been ready."

###

With Reghar and Graznod to distract them, the four mercenaries easily dispatched the two guardsmen standing at Aiya Lindsmund's quarters.

As the conjurer and the necromancer approached Aiya's door, the two guardsmen had stepped forward, their hands outstretched as if to dissuade the two men from coming closer. Two of the mercenaries had slipped silently from the shadows stretching the corridor and stepped behind the two guards. Before the guards could turn with weapons drawn, the mercenaries drew their daggers deeply across each man's throat.

Now a number of Redeemed, their mottled faces as impassive as those Reghar had seen in Graznod's abode, joined them from the cover of the shadows. The two mercenaries who'd killed the guards gave the door a rough shove, the other two following close behind.

The Redeemed crowded behind Reghar and he felt their stiff fingers press into his back, urging him through the door. He smelled the foul sickly-sweet odor come off them as they continued to prod him. He promised himself to inform Graznod, once this task was done, to keep his Redeemed at a distance lest their stench make him ill.

Then he saw her: Aiya Lindsmund. Turning toward her visitors, already garbed in her wedding gown of white brocade and velvet.

Reghar gasped sharply as the sight of her beauty stung him. When they'd both studied at Cloudreach, Aiya had never worn dresses of any sort--indeed, on their first day, he'd nearly taken her for a boy. Her hair hadn't been as long and she wore not a trace of artificial adornment; always attired in tunic and breeches, shunning the finery most girls her age preferred.

But Reghar had seen the beauty beneath the tomboy exterior: her hair, then shoulder-length, had been as black and shiny as a lake seen under moonlight. Her elegant, wide-lidded green eyes had always made him turn away, for they seemed to discern too deeply. Reghar had been both terrified and fascinated by Aiya Lindsmund, though he never dared speak a word to her. Until this fortuitous day.

Fearless now, Reghar strode directly before her. "Do you remember me at all, Aiya Lindsmund?"

Before she could speak, Graznod stepped beside Reghar and hissed, "This is no time for reunions--take her away immediately. I will remain to deal with Rakmir, who will most surely come to rescue his lovely bride."

As two of the mercenaries seized Aiya's arms, she said to Reghar, "You are the one who was in league with Grafter the Ageless." Then smiling, added, "Your direspawn, Creeping Lust, was a flawed creature--we handily defeated it."

Reghar felt his blood begin to simmer at her taunt. Patience, he reminded himself. The only lesson of value the old master gave him. "The creature may have been defeated," the Fang ground, "but you will pay handsomely for it. You will return to me the spell energy lost--and you shall have none left for yourself."

Aiya shook her head, eyes narrowing. "I don't know what you're..."

Reghar lunged at Aiya, taking her chin into the palm of his hand, squeezing hard until she winced. "Oh yes you do! Your power to amplify the spell energy of other conjurers--I've seen you do it! That power will be mine!"

Graznod grasped Reghar's shoulder roughly. "Then take her away now! There shall be no further wasting of time." Then turning to the two men holding Aiya, "Once you have secured her, return to this chamber immediately."

The two men shoved Aiya roughly toward the door, Reghar following. Suddenly, Reghar felt a thin needle of pain thread his skull: a spell scream! He turned abruptly toward Graznod, the Fang's eyebrows raised in silent question.

"I felt it, too," the Redeemer said as his thin lips flattened in a smile. "Terjal Rakmir won't be far behind now."

###

Terjal allowed a footman to help him into the intricately embroidered, brocade robe he would wear to his wedding. Lord Vaukmond himself had donated the garment to the conjurer, and a fine piece of cloth it was: blue as a sapphire and with sleeves trimmed in ermine, Terjal felt he could have financed a full year of schooling with the selling of it. Normally he eschewed such finery: a simple robe of winter wool or thick cotton suited him quite nicely. But this was his wedding--and one he'd never thought would ever touch his own lifetime. Aiya would surely be outfitted thusly, and he would not disappoint her.

Terjal felt a twinge of guilt spread within his chest. If not for the threat of the direspawn, he might never have come to this, the day of his wedding to Aiya Lindsmund. For would she ever have gotten the courage to face him had she not been sent with urgency on orders of the Duke of Windemere? Or would he have drummed up the nerve to confront her openly, had circumstances not been so dire?

He was also glad of the news from Quitonne that Sandor Centlanth's wife and son had been returned to their home--although it was still unclear as to who had taken them in the first place. Sandor, they'd also been told, had finally awakened from his coma, but was barely able to speak. Because Sandor and his family were now reunited, Aiya seemed no longer interested in discovering the exact identity of the kidnappers--and Terjal still suspected Grazod the Redeemer had some hand in the deed. But that investigation would be saved for another day, one that Terjal was not eager to confront.

Before he could ponder that last thought further, a whistle sang out from behind him. Terjal turned to see his three Blades standing before him, their faces split with wide grins. Darman, Strandholt and Arjas wore new armor and mail: shined, oiled and winking brightly in the slant of sunlight streaming from a high window.

It had been Strandholt who'd whistled. "Behold: Terjal Rakmir, King of Conjurers!"

Terjal looked down at his robe as if only just discovering it. "Oh, this. His Grace insisted that I not be married in rags." Then, straightening, his arms crossed loosely upon his chest, added jokingly, "And the three of you! Are you ready to leave my service to join the Duke so long as he provides you with such finery of which you now wear?"

"Well," Darman spoke up, his smile ebbing slightly, "the Duke insisted."

"After all," Arjas chimed in, "you wouldn't have wanted us stinking up your wedding with swamp filth."

Before he could offer a suitable jibe, a piercing scream began to echo in his mind and he dropped to his knees. With his mind's eye he saw Aiya, framed in the blackness of thought, her eyes wide and beseeching. And then the image disappeared.

Terjal felt himself being hauled to his feet, someone patting his back. "It's Aiya," he gasped as his vision began to clear. "She's in trouble!"

"How do you know this?" Strandholt asked.

"Spell scream. Aiya sent to me a spell scream." Then Terjal broke from them, panic driving his feet toward the door. All the emotionless composure he'd maintained during the mission, even as he faced his own possible death many times, was negated by this sudden, intense fear for Aiya. "We must get to her quarters!" he shouted as he flung the door wide. "Gods above, she's been taken!"

As Terjal reached the hallway he heard the clank of the Blades' weapons behind him. For a sickening moment he thought he knew who was responsible for Aiya's abduction.

He hoped he was wrong.

^TOP OF PAGE