Mannethorn's Key

To Alisa,

the Bearer of the Key

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1 BIRD

2 TRICKSTER RELICS

3 THE BROKEN BROKER

4 END OF THE LINE

5 THE INTERVIEW

6 DEMON'S FOIL

7 BETWEEN

8 THE LAST HARVEST

9 ONE WAY OUT

10 THE CONQUERED BLESSING

11 HAN SERVANT

12 RIDDLES IN THE MIST

13 REBORN AGAIN

14 THE OMEN RULE

15 PEEKING THROUGH

16 THE RAVINE

17 NATIVE SON

18 THE NAIAD'S GIFT

19 CHANGING OF THE GUARD

20 FRIENDS OF FOES

21 FORKED TONGUES

22 AN UNLIKELY SURVIVOR

23 THE ILL CHOICE

24 THE DOOMED POSSE

25 BREAK AND ENTER

26 PLAIN RULER

27 FANTHA'S END

28 THE WAY IS A CIRCLE

29 AFTER LIFE

GLOSSARY

KA’S LANGUAGE

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

UPCOMING RELEASES

1

BIRD

Quick – to the keep!

Ka’s head snapped back as she dove from the threat, but the voice was borne by spell.

She plummeted past moss-covered cliffs toward water-chiseled rocks, spinning wildly as she tried to regain control. Keeping her massive frame aloft required focus, her body the size of a small horse – her wingspan over twice that. Although able to glide for hours, hunting from the heavens and utilizing thermals to buoy her, she was incapable of dexterous maneuvers, a limitation that occasionally cost her the taste of more agile prey. If she spread out her wings, the force of her dive would snap her hollow bones. It had to be gradual.

She righted her course in time, swooping above knife-like spires, the gorge’s waterfalls exhaling in her ears as she soared over their mists. Once out of danger her panic turned to rage, her scale-like feathers undulating in flushed hues. Her master's sudden call had almost cost her life.

Kwatipwa! she spat with a squawk, then breathed. The glow of her scale-feathers faded as she calmed, focusing instead on what the magical intrusion meant.

Master had summoned her home.

Almost a full sunturn had passed since he had sent Ka on her mission, freed from her covenant and permitted to soar alone, kept company only by the songs of Dakal’s waterfalls. But she was Damatibound, and Master needed her back at the keep.

Flapping hard, she gained the altitude lost in her plummet, until the dayfall air heated from the toil of the sun scooped her up. Below, her shadow flickered amidst the foliage as the late sun skirted the canopy. She would have roosted until dawn but sensed his urgency, correcting her course toward the north.

But what of the mysterious errand that had delivered her to Dakal? Had she completed it? The answer, she knew, lay ahead, toward the one who understood the wheels of the world.

***

Arduous hours stretched into days as she flew northward. All too soon, the lush green faded and the land withered. Ka understood why Master and his Damati race had named this desolate place the Dead Downs. The rains had been exiled, cast out by arid winds. Even the tufts of defiant grasses hidden in the shadows of sunbaked rocks barely eked out an existence. The Downs’ scar stretched out to the end of her sight where the great sun now settled in its berth after ravaging the land.

The land left her with no appetite. Creatures sometimes scurried below – strange slithery things and long, slender beasts with nimble legs and whip-like tails – fare she didn’t care to sample. Her favorite, the plump Dakalese Bobtail, favored the water but any bird would be a rarity here.

And so, she flew on without rest or food, through frozen nights and unbearably hot days, eyes always fixed on the north, seeking the slightest hint of respite from the dry, brown air that rasped her throat and ground at her will.

Four merciless suns rose and fell before the air thickened and the slight yet distinct scent of brine lit her senses. She had reached the Bay of Catoosh and the sea. Time melted away as she crossed its welcome expanse, broken only by scattered islands, sandbars, and flocks of keening, wary seabirds gathered along the shoals. But it was not to last.

She banked east, departing for unbroken land, toward the home of her birth and species. She felt a flash of yearning as she flew over marshes stretching out in a tangled mire of bald cypress and water tupelo and heated by volcanic forces deep underground, a maze of impassable murk for any legged creature. Here, beasts of feather, scale and fin reigned. If Master had not chosen her so many sunturns ago, here is where her life would have unfolded. But although the swamps of Ierloquetze still called to her heart – a wordless song, deep and ancient – she cherished the new one as much.

Ka swooped down on a nesting mallard and in a blur seized it in her massive talons, leaving orphaned eggs behind for the water snakes. The duck was dead before it twitched. Settling on a nearby stump sturdy enough to support her, Ka pulled on her prize until strings of flesh tore away.

She perched, eating, thinking of Master. Much had remained hidden behind his old eyes that day, Ka guided only by his single, cryptic command: Fly to Dakal. Observe. Await my word.

She had observed. She had waited. Now she sat, fretting, tearing the gizzard out of a duck. She must have accomplished whatever it was he sought. Why else would she be called home?

Ruffling uncomfortably, she shifted her focus to supper. By dayfall, only bones and stray feathers remained.

The air cooled as the low-lying Southlands grew distant behind her. Rolling terrain teemed with creatures – a constant distraction as she watched them scatter in fright – but she resisted until real hunger demanded otherwise. She rationed her quarry for the three-day journey ahead. Distant hills to the northeast grew into mountains, their jagged columns of granite protruding through blankets of forest at their summits.

On the second day she turned toward their peaks. Distant winds howled through high-cut valleys, pumping like blood through stone arteries as she made her way deep within the Jaggedland.

Fierce gusts battered her wings and demanded her focus as she glided, flapped, and navigated the haphazard currents threatening to steal her control. After another day of effort, the ferocity lessened as she exited the pass, swooping down beyond frontal ranges toward waiting foothills and plains. Exhausted, she skirted their final slopes seeking rest.

Master’s spell-borne voice cut through the air, Fly, you idle bird! Time is short.

"Bwawa bak ba!" No longer unnerved by his magic, she vented a quick rebuttal.

Oh, you will, will you? he replied. Well, I don't see how you can possibly do that from way over there. Stop dawdling, drakehawk. There are threats loosed. I need you here, and quick if I hope to keep you safe.

How dare he! She was no meager bird, and he certainly knew better than to call her by Damati slurs. She was Kayikwa, kindred to the great Uktena, lords of her kind. A bird, was she? Then Master could most certainly tolerate a little ‘peck’, snapping shut her razor-toothed beak. She swore an oath to address his name-calling, stowed her anger, and drummed her wings to gain back the altitude foolishly lost.

She flew the last dayhigh hours over Darvul, its Arvian Plains stretching out below, Lake Abar on her right to the south, the plains east broken only by the Wizenbow river cutting through them. Banking into the wind and toward the wizard’s keep of Phandomer’s Rock, her journey was close to an end.

But again, Master’s voice called out, this time desperate. Danger! Fly with all your might!

Ka’s eyes darted about as she braced for an attack. She saw none. Was it just fatigue and worry or had the air cooled? Master would not warn her unless he was certain. Senses heightened, the world around her – drifting clouds of pollen, waves of blowing wheat below – all moved to a new, foreboding cadence.

She set her eyes on the sunberth, head cocked; the dayfall chill shattering on the keen edge of her wings as the sense of risk grew more palpable.

Ahead, hidden beyond the sunberth stood Phandomer's Rock. Its magic pulsated, an invisible flicker of energy along the belt of the earth.

But then it flashed.

Odd. Had the magical ward guarding the keep changed? It was invisible, but she had clearly seen it reflect off the undulating wheat below. Highly unnatural, she thought, until another sharp burst illuminated Phandomer’s Rock.

It was not the ward of the keep that she had seen but lightning. The air pressure changed and she felt the lift under her wings diminish, she quickening her pace to compensate. Ka shuddered as she banked into the rising gusts and towards the course she must follow. There was no other way to reach Master.

The air reeked of malice.

A wall of cloud blocked her way. Powerful rumbles emanated from its nucleus as the sky darkened and the whine of its wind increased. A lone drop spattered on Ka's beak with a malignancy that seared her bill like a stoked coal. Into the tempest she flew, resisting her instinct to flee.

Columns of grey rage encircled her, racing and twisting about the exhausted Kayikwa like a coiling snake. Lightning flashed green, then orange. Ka flew to what she hoped was open sky, but the storm had tricked her. She called out, beckoning the aid of Master as the unholy storm hurled the full force of its hate at her.

Kai! Bwayheeeeiee!

Dive low! Stay alive!

And so, she dove, her hollow-boned wings folded in, rocketing toward the roiling grasses, then expanding them carefully to swoop low above the whipping heads of grain. Cords of lightning lashed out, setting ablaze first the spelt, then a stand of brambles before the downpour doused the flames. The lightning intensified, desperate to appease the evil commanding it, but Ka flew with returning stealth and will, the wall of Phandomer’s Rock ever closer.

A wind blew into Ka's breath with a cold that froze both throat and lungs, the unseen invader slithering deep, seeking out and latching onto her thoughts. Ka could sense it drawing up her memories. She knew what it hunted: the secret she had been called home to deliver – the one she too sought.

Ka cried out but the only response came from the victorious howls of the storm.

Barely conscious, she flew on with a mechanical defiance, seeking the entrance to the wizard’s keep that she now knew was her last hope for survival. Ahead was its ward. It seemed a lifetime away but she persevered, begging every muscle to offer more, her dragon-will carrying her beyond her physical bounds. The tingle of the ward’s magic travelled along her length as she flew into it. The moment she did, the invader fled her body.

Had she failed and exposed Master’s secret? But how could she protect something she was oblivious to? And where was Master? Why had he abandoned her when she had needed him most? He was sworn to protect her as she was to him.

Dark feelings seethed, a sense of betrayal brooded.

Was that hate? Ka had never experienced the Damati emotion. Rage, yes; anger, certainly. But hate? She harbored no such feelings, especially not for the one she had pledged her life to – and she was the last of such a covenant – a tradition that had endured for a thousand sunturns. Master would never willingly abandon her. Theirs made long ago ensured that she was never truly alone.

The edges of her beak dimpled in a grin; the intruder had left a spell inside her.

She concentrated until she spotted it in her veins working to enrage and set her upon the wizard of the keep. But no magic had such power over her. Not the tempest. Not Master himself. Her kind were as old as the volcanos of Brohamycrus, with powers as potent.

With the precision of a surgeon, she used her Talanvisum – the sixth sense of dragonkind, detecting corruption as distinctly as sight and smell – and unraveled the hidden shadow, malignant but weak. As she focused, a rich pulse of energy flowed through her as she cawed out her pledge made so long ago, Bwatwa kwatwi ti Kaaa kwatwi!

She latched on to the evil virus, her scale-like feathers undulating an orange glow – and then set it ablaze.

Master was hers. She forever his.

The sorcery that had attempted to transform her into an assassin thrashed in her breast, desperate to reattach its ember roots, but her Talanvisum incinerated it. As the shadow and the storm succumbed, a piercing wail filled the sky, and the last of the invader vanished into the quieting night.

Well done, Ka! Drakehawks – the most splendid of beasts to grace all the lands and seas of Drageverden! Lost we would be without them. Master’s magical words echoed in the smote air. You did what I could not, my Kayikwa. Come quickly – we have little time...

She sensed a deep regret in Master as she mustered the last bastion of her waning strength to fly the final meters.

To the unknowing, Ka flew on a collision course toward a cliff face of impossible height. But at the last moment the granite directly ahead shimmered and dissolved, forming a great maw that swallowed her whole. She swooped, pulled her wings back, and extended her talons to land softly inside as the magical entrance closed behind her. She would never admit it to Master – but she had blinked.

Ka blinked again as her pupils dilated to adjust to the darkness. Before she regained her sight, however, another sense overwhelmed her.

The entrance stunk. Master was one of the laziest and untidy creatures she had ever met but he had always tended her roost. Nothing short of neglect explained its present condition. It hadn’t been touched since her departure. Her old droppings still encrusted the floor like cooled magma; the acrid smell of foul straw stung her nostrils. Master must have been away, she thought.

Or had he never expected her to return?

She deserved answers. He owed her that much. She ruffled and shook, showering the walls with hot droplets, ridding any trace of the ill tempest from her body, and navigated the dark and winding tunnels beyond.

The keep’s passageways were ancient and enchanted, the stone depictions etched in their walls always disconcerting. But she had forgotten about the moving ones as a rock-carved face grinned at her.

Bwaaa! Her squawk echoed down the deep passageways. She blushed as only a Kayikwa could, her scales undulating reds and oranges upon the stone walls.

The sentinels were among many unearthly route markers, their secrets long since lost to all but her and Master. The only other way into the keep was by Chasm’s Rail, the main access past the gates that once welcomed dragonkind, locked by powerful wards and last opened by the one Master called Phandomer, a wizard who had been dead for centuries.

She found her way down the lightless passages as if under a dayhigh sun. The labyrinthine catacombs guaranteed death by either starvation or madness to any intruder who dared challenge them but Ka knew the way.

She heard fragments of Master's distant voice, barely audible.

Attacking…drakehawk – cowardly treachery….

Kwook? Who was he talking to? The air within the keep felt unbalanced. She admitted that Master had never been very stable. He was odd, even for a Damati, but after being left to fend for herself, after seeing her rancid berth – even the mysterious mission – something had been haunting the mind of the Master of Phandomer’s Keep for some time.

We have drawn him, Ka. Hurry – we must prepare! Master’s voice bounced off the cavern walls as she approached. She was still some distance, and she had to remember some of the tricky bits of the passageways. He continued speaking but she could no longer discern what he was saying, although he sounded upset.

Ka turned the final bend in the passage and saw him. Her tension heightened.

Master was prepared for nothing.

Bwatwa?

He was naked, head down, scolding a worn, brick floor. Rats of Qadam! If one thing goes wrong – just one… I curse the lot of you for leaving me in such a position! Many of the runes are missing!

He continued his nattering, his long, bony fingers feverishly wiggling, drawing intricate shapes in the air above his head, something she had seen him do when practicing spells. His long, white beard dumbly danced and swayed, bobbing tantalizing inches from tripping him. Master obviously hadn’t trimmed it for some time but Ka recalled that it tended to grow unnaturally fast.

Oblivious that Ka now stood next to him, he continued. Meld the powers - that’s what it said. Betrothed to my master’s murderer – how fitting! Thank the Shaptna the marriage will be brief.

Ka noticed Master's odd glow, wondering whether it had grown since she had last sensed it. He always appeared ready to ignite, charged by some invisible force – today more than ever, since every inch of him was embarrassingly exposed.

Before her stood the last of the great Damati wizard-warriors, Drageverden’s ZhinFantha. He looked up absently from his conversation with the floor, noticing for the first time the waiting drakehawk.

Bwatwa?

Master cracked a toothy grin, his cheeks stretching like rubber.

Ka! Ka…Ka Ka…Ka, he tittered, bounding over to the great Kayikwa, hugging her clear off the ground. You did it! You outwitted the storm. Ah, for over a sunturn you have served me from afar, denied any explanation. And to come home to all of this. He shook his head. Well, I am just happy that you survived it.

He squeezed her underbelly and jogged her in the air. Have you gained weight, or are you ripe with another nest-full? His telltale left eyebrow lifted, followed by an impish wink.

Bwatwa! Kiywa kwa kiyyy.

Well, where would the world be without a little fun? And where indeed without the likes of drakehawks! It would be a lesser place should its skies not be filled with flocks of pregnant, feathered dragons.

Bwatwaaaaa...

You were brave today – and powerful against a foe most threatening. You have successfully completed a great quest.

Ka mustered as much enthusiasm as she could at the news. Kwatwa kwik kwa bitwa twa kapiyee.

Well of course. I can always rely on you for such things. The compliment caused Ka’s scales to blush a bright purple.

Then she remembered her oath.

She sank her teeth into his soft wrinkly buttocks, not too deep, but enough to leave a welt.

Argh! The imprint of Ka's incisors set into Master's rump began to swell. What in the Pits of Qadam was that for? I’ll have you know that birds don’t bite!

Bitwap twa, boo Bwak!

Alright! he laughed, hugging her with one arm while rubbing the red row of teeth marks with the other. I deserved it. You are no bird, but I… His mirth abruptly ended, eyes wide. Listen! Down the hall –

Bitwip?

He stood frozen, still squeezing her. The keep was silent but for distant winds whispering through the tunnels.

The great Kayikwa eyed Master skeptically. Slowly, his hand rose, a single finger pointing down the long hall. Ka stared at it, following the digit’s trajectory to the grand entrance, then back at Master.

Bwatwaa.a.a.a?

A war raged behind the wizard's brow, beads of sweat forming among the long follicles of his eyebrows. Still he did not budge.

Bwatwaa.a.a.a?

He let go, sending Ka to the floor. The wards fail as we speak! Come Ka. We have but moments…. Ka? – What in the name of Shaptna are you doing lying on the floor? He began walking. Never mind. I’ll need you to do some very specific things at very specific times in very specific ways. Use the passageways. Question not a single thing I do or say. Your life depends upon it.

Had he gone mad? She remembered a time when she too had lost her mind but she had eaten bad mushrooms. He did like to nibble on forest fare along with his putrid cheeses, and his eyesight had become quite terrible.

She inched her way back toward the tunnels. Maybe one of his own kind might be able to help him if she could just get to a village.

The wards should have given me more time. Curse my feeble locks! In his pacing, he failed to notice his beard underfoot, which she swore had grown since arriving. He tripped over it, barely righting himself before careening into the wall.

Baugh! Rot in the pits of Qadam, you blasted snake! He snapped his fingers and the beard magically shrank, exposing his privates.

This was not the behavior of a wizard – not even this one. She tried a final time to reach him.

Bwatwaaaaaa!

The wizard stopped and faced her, his rage vanishing as if imagined. Did you say something?

Ka took another step back. Bwatwa? Bwat wee Khiyeee, khiwabwa?

Have I misplaced my brains? Wha –? But then he realized, reading her eyes. Oh, Ka, he sighed. No, no, no, no, no – I’m fine – just splendid, really. But I could see why you would think so.

Bitwip twa boo bwat wee boiizie fooooo?

Why don't I have my feathers on? But... Oh, my goodness! Of course, yes, that simply won't do. My humblest apologies. He reached for his robes heaped on the floor near him. I was busy – and I find it most productive when working on wards and spells to work without, well – encumbrances, he said, pulling his clothes over his head.

Wee ti zwazzzz bukie toop!

I wasn't speaking to them! I had my head down. I was venting my frustrations at some dead wizards – uh, well – don't misinterpret that. You see – He tapped his index finger thoughtfully on his chin, then waggled it, inhaling several times as if to speak. I admit that from your perspective it all may appear a tad odd...

Tak?

Don't be rude! I've been extremely preoccupied. I face one of the most treacherous tasks of our age. It can cause a person to become – well, out of sorts.

Ka wasn’t finished with scolding him. Kwipwa bak hhieey.

Well! how dreadfully uncivilized of me. I certainly didn’t mean to drop you. Once I have found a solution to this impossible situation I shall be as right as the sun, I can assure you.

Ka didn’t know if she believed him. She scanned the keep for signs of reassurance.

Most of the wizard’s years had been spent amidst his treasured scrolls and books, mulling over the smallest scraps, interrupted only by sunturn-long adventures across Drageverden. He would brood over parchments as small as several runes for moonturns at a time. If he wasn’t reading them or searching them out, he was scribbling his own, always utilizing one of Ka's discarded feather-scales dipped in ink, a practice she found demeaning.

She took stock of the keep, noticing for the first time the profound change. The chamber was typically a flowing river of literary debris, flotsam of parchment and scrolls amassed in the corners and upon shelves, dammed by mounds of his treasured diagrams. But today the keep was empty, not a scroll or book to be found. The only item she saw was a single piece of burnt wood on a great stone dais and the master’s walking staff leaning against it.

The great wards that maintain the Boundaries are failing, Ka. Dark powers are at work – and I am the only one left to stop them.

Ka understood little regarding the inner workings of the eccentric wizard she had served for so long. But she knew what the great wards were, and what they represented. If they were to fail, Grailborn would come for the world.

Trust me, dear drakehawk. I am as sane as I have ever been. It’s the wards, Ka, the ones that protect Drageverden from Grailborn. They will soon be no more. I have toiled every day since your departure to save the Damati from the consequences. Soon, the Boundaries that the wards support shall crumble and the world will again be as it was: untended and indefensible. The Great Ill created by Grailborn's Seeping Spell, the evil work he has done to undermine the spells of the Zhin, shall spread unchecked to every Hathna in Drageverden! I just hope that all I have done and all I must do will be enough. I have dedicated my whole life to this moment, to achieve what has never been done before, Ka. My choices are now reduced to one. Only I remain to resist Grailborn. He paused, his gaze unyielding. And now he comes for retribution. The evil in the storm was him – and he has likely discovered the secret of your mission.

Ka’s feathers faded to blue.

Dear drakehawk, do not fret. He scratched the ridge of her beak. As he did, his voice appeared in her mind. He is now listening. I just sensed his presence. But I need you to know this: you have delivered to me the very thread I need for the garment I must sew. Do not speak of what I now reveal to you. He shall hear it and attempt to punish you for the embarrassment you have caused him. He is more powerful than before – far more powerful than I!

You, Ka, were the decoy. You did precisely what I had hoped. You brought Grailborn right to my door, and I require him here. The quest would have failed without you. But the burden now becomes mine and mine alone. I must wield him, as dangerous as he is, to summon the greatest power of our time, the one that ended Dragon’s Rule a thousand sunturns ago – a power I only hope will be enough.

A boom interrupted. Its rumble carried down the great keep's hall, followed by a billow of dust.

The wizard’s eyes widened, his head snapping in the direction of the din – then back to Ka’s querying eyes. He gave her a quick wink. Damnation! He wind-milled his arms. He has arrived too quickly for us to escape! He touched her again. Good. I have him here as planned. But he has arrived quicker than expected. Only one escape remains for you now, my dear drakehawk. The wizard's mien turned grave. I have enjoyed your company this day, as I have since we were bound to each other, my Kayikwa. But I must again send you beyond – this time by the Zhin.

Ka's calm was set ablaze, consumed by the realization of what Master was proposing. The risk was great. For decades, Master’s magic had incrementally weakened, sometimes misfiring or failing altogether, tainted by the growing Han powers of Grailborn.

Bwatwa, Kwit ti boo Kaaa kiki kwatipwa eep kweee twipooo Kaaa!

Shh! Remember, he can hear. No, Ka. But I must try; it is your only hope. I can’t have you here when he arrives. He will certainly kill you. He raised his hands in the air. Shaptna protect you, my Damatibound.

Involuntarily, she stooped back toward the passage to escape into the catacombs.

I am sorry, Ka. I have now failed you twice.

A flash burst from the wizard’s outstretched hands and a heat like the sun engulfed the Kayikwa. Ka fought to resist but its power overwhelmed her. Whatever Master had done could not be undone by her will alone.

Kaieeeeee! It was a mournful cry, echoing throughout the vast halls and catacombs as the spell enveloped her.

When the strange light dimmed, she was gone.

But I shan’t have you trying to defend me. You would die trying. I couldn't let you interfere in what I have been up to.

Master stood alone. Nothing remained of Ka but a single, scaled feather on the cold, stone floor.

The wizard hesitated, then walked toward the dais.

And I have been up to a lot.

2

TRICKSTER RELICS

Algarth Willowbrow felt the walls shudder. The great gates, forged in dragon-fire long before he was born, collapsed with an ear-splitting crash. Grailborn, his greatest foe, had overcome his wards quicker than expected.

Unfortunate.

He searched his sleeve for the hidden inner pocket, found what he was looking for, and tapped its contents reassuringly.

His robe swayed loosely as he shifted, its rune-adorned sash still untied at the waist. He could have done without the garments. Connecting directly to the magic was critical for success, and clothes were a distraction. But the robe allowed him to keep his most important treasure hidden. He couldn't hope to fool Grailborn again with elaborate magic tricks and wild drakehawk chases. It would have to be different this time. Besides, Ka was right; it was no way to greet a guest.

Guest. Was that who Grailborn had become?

He spoke it. Grailborn – my guest, then shivered. The surrounding stone walls of the keep emitted a chill as if they too were affected.

When he had deployed Ka a full sunturn past, he had made her an irresistible target. The problem had been maintaining the ruse for so long. His most powerful spell had enveloped the drakehawk as though she carried with her the greatest of secrets. He had planned it well, keeping Ka close to the protection of her kin who resided beyond the Jaggedland in the Hathna of Ierloquetze, and then into the Hathna of Dakal, home to the elves, knowing Grailborn was yet incapable of crossing three Boundaries.

It had worked flawlessly, something increasingly rare, but it had drained him, a costly compromise, leaving him barely able to complete the most important duty of his long life. That burden fast approached – an act he doubted he would survive. Many spells had failed but he had persevered. Grailborn’s Seeping Spell was winning a silent battle, one so insidious that none of his Order had been able to detect it, designed to work its will over the course of centuries. It had weakened his Order to the point of collapse in a war waged for a thousand sunturns. Grailborn had almost succeeded in ruling the world.

But his master, Phandomer had ebbed its tide and worked to protect the Hathnas by creating magical wards against it – yet they too were now failing.

And he was the last.

Deceive to Save.

He repeated the ancient chant. Ironically, it was a Han mantra from a time when its magic had not been deemed evil. It helped little to subdue his anxiety. He had ventured beyond the fringes where his Order would have dared tread, closer to what he sought to vanquish. Phandomer, long dead, had mentored Algarth, preparing him for the task at hand. The apprentice wizard had accepted the responsibility and would see it to its end. Those who would have objected and fought to stop him were also long dead. He needn't concern himself with judgments from ghosts. History would determine whose deeds had been the greatest folly.

He turned slowly toward the dais and gripped the austere, white staff that leaned against it, striking its base to the brick floor with an audible chink. For one as old as he, the wizard moved fluidly, the blue of his eyes alive.

Dear Grailborn, how nice of you to stop by, he said. I see that you have let yourself in after braving the Boundary of Darvul. Very daring – just to see me.

A miasma billowed from the antechamber, drifting into the main hall.

A reply cut through the dust. "I require no permission to enter what I own, apprentice, or have you forgotten? As for ‘braving’ the wards between the Hathnas, your Boundaries will soon be but a memory. I already come and go as I please."

He knew that Grailborn lied. The Boundaries were weak but not failed entirely. To cross meant unearthing an ancient relic. Traces of intense magic from such a device still lingered around Grailborn’s aura. Algarth smiled. The Hanlord or his servants had used what he soon hoped to possess – critical to his precarious plan.

This shall never be your keep, Algarth said. You are no more welcome in my home than you are in all the Hathnas of Drageverden. He could not yet see Grailborn but tasted the Han’s malodorous sickness in the air.

An icy laugh penetrated the dark. "Your home? To the victor go the spoils I believe is how the saying goes. You should be grateful that I have not charged you rent."

I have not forgotten your crime.

Crime! Grailborn said. It is entirely understandable why you twist history to appease your misguided Order. You seek revenge – a powerful Han quality. I admire that. Mayhap you study the wrong magic, dear Algarth. Open your eyes. Show me some sense, and a world of opportunity will open for you.

Is that why you are here, Grailborn? To open opportunities for me?

The voice in the dark hesitated. Don’t you want me here, apprentice?

Algarth tensed.

A sickly shroud drifted into view. At its apex was a face sheathed in leathery skin with piercing yellow eyes. The hair, blond and flowing, contradicted Grailborn’s horrible features – a cruel reminder of how handsome he had once been. His slender build and long limbs, the once elegant traits of his Tss-Damati heritage, were overpowered by malformed bones, extrusions and growths. In one gnarled hand he held a staff of charcoal, black and spiraled as if encircled by a serpent, a leaden hue glowing at its tip. In the other, at the cusp of Algarth's sight, something glittered but remained concealed, emitting a familiar power.

I know all that you know, apprentice. You possess nothing that can surpass me, not even your little secret. A victorious grin stretched across Grailborn’s face. You grow weaker as we speak.

They moved toward each other. A potentially-lethal dance ensued – foot forward, foot back, staffs poised, secrets stowed – each responding to the other, synchronized in silent motion, each studying the walls, the imperfections of the keep’s construction and the ridges of the bricks underfoot. Their robes swayed in the breeze of their movements.

Algarth was the last head of his Order. Beyond him lay utter defeat. I am stronger than you think, Grailborn.

The Hanlord laughed. "Have you forgotten all those who I defeated before you were even born: the old Han Order, the Sitting Seven, and the puppet Council after them? And yet you – a man barely a magician, a mere pawn serving dragon's lies – you, apprentice Willowbrow – think that you can overcome me?" A misshapen grin creased Grailborn's hide-skin.

Fire danced in Algarth's eyes. Do not mock me with Damati nicknames, demon!

My, what a mouthful, Grailborn said. Was it me breaking your little lock and gate or playing with your scaled pet that has you so upset? He hesitated a moment. Or do you still begrudge me for butchering your master only paces from where we now stand?

May the Uktena damn you!

Those filthy dragons damned us all! Grailborn’s voice boomed off the cavernous walls, their mortar frozen white as if subjected to winter, the braziers ineffective at warming the cold emitted from the Hanlord. The only reason we war is because of their deceit. Can you not see? Let us talk of bending knees, Algarth. We are both but slaves to the real demons, the beasts who have misled us. Only a fool would continue down such a folly road, a path toward our own extinction!

He saw Grailborn clearly now, standing in the full light of the torches, but a powerful Han ward blocked the object held in the Hanlord’s hand. Why? What was he hiding? You have overcome nothing, Grailborn – and you twist truth into dogma. Why can’t you see? You are a mere shadow of the great wizard you once were when you were Ligar, apprentice to the Sitting Seven. You have been wrecked and devoured by the Han, not the Uktena.

Spittle sprayed from Grailborn’s scarred lips. Never utter that name again!

Algarth held firm. I say the name Ligar with honor and pride. Both Orders believed in you once. Why should I not speak the name of a great wizard, a wizard my master tried to save?

Your master was a fool!

It seems that he might have been after all, Algarth admitted. But if you have come to convert me, you have wasted your day. I suggest you get on with whatever plots you have in mind.

Grailborn moved toward the dais. Why? Do you think this little relic will thwart me? Algarth blocked him before he could close the distance. A mere shard of Phandomer’s staff that I destroyed along with him centuries ago, sitting there on your altar.

Stand back!

A little protective of your treasure, I see, Grailborn said. Don’t worry – I won’t spoil your final effort.

Algarth’s hope for success dwindled.

You see, Willowbrow, I stood over him the day he redirected all of his power as he died. I felt him cast the spell. Mayhap you think your master gave you enough power in his final act to defeat me? How could he, since I was the one who spread his entrails across this very floor so many sunturns ago? I find it truly fitting that I shall crush his apprentice here in the same rock if you fail to bend a knee.

Algarth's eyes were aflame. "He burned you that day – set you alight with Zhin might! He