Xabriar gripped the copper bowl full of dark water, his knuckles white around its edge, and forcibly restrained himself. The tools of his trade were becoming more valuable to him by the day, and this one let him see more of the distant goings on than most. He left it on the bench and stalked across the room, muttering to himself.

Arron jumped like he’d been hit by a crossbow bolt. He turned and drew even as he scrambled away, the clawed hand belonged to a scaly beast, like a fish in the shape of a man. Great big eyes and a wide, thin-lipped mouth lined with pointed teeth dominated the noseless face, and blue scaly fish skin covered its frame. A circle inscribed with runes that looked suspiciously like the one in the pond, stood out against its midsection in red, and it lifted a hand with claws and webbed fingers to gesture at Arron and Coranna .

“You intrude here. Leave or die..” It said with a sibilant hiss.

Corana knelt on her knees, “Oh great god of the lake, I Corana, sorceress of the First Order, Headmistress of the Academy at Gaerbron, beg that you allow us to correct this blight against the natural order. It marks you and harms your demesne!”

“Nooo. None sshall interfere with the ritual, asss per the contract.” The lake god replied with an air of harsh finality.

“Why? What do you get out of it? Isn’t it ruining your lake?” Arron yelled, frustrated at being stopped short so close to the goal they’d almost died to reach.

“You asssume too much mortal, the ritual doess not harm me nor my lake.” waving its hands towards the shore, it continued, “Now leave before I give my brother new work, ferrying your ssoulss.”

Both Arron and Coranna looked at each other, they had never imagined that a nature god could be in league with Xabriar. Arron took a deep breath and stood his ground, although he was fairly certain it was pure madness. “What did he offer you, what did that leathery bag of bones promise you that you are willing to let a mortal abuse your power?”

“What iss thisss to you, do you offer me sssomething greater?”

Catching his fingers into a fist he walked straight up to the chest of the god. “I will! Xabriar is a devil, anything he offers you will be rotten at the core! Whatever I have I will give, even if it’s my life!”

“No, don’t!” Corana shouted but was cut off by a wave of the lake god’s hand.

“Your lifeforcce nor sssoul hasss no value to me... I claim your eyess instead. You will be my eyess in the world, to sshow me the thingss that lie beyond my lake. Your eyess will grant me knowledge from beyond my domain and you will act in my interesstss. For thiss I will allow you accesss to the ritual and a boon of my power.”

Corana groaned nearby, but Arron nodded. “I agree to your terms.” Before he could move, the fishlike god reached forth and gripped Arron’s head in his webbed hands. Water flowed into his eyes , ears, and mouth, filling him, changing him. It was agonizing, a scream tried to rip free from him but the water choked out the sound. Long moments it lasted, then it was gone as if it never happened. Arron fell to the rocky ground, gasping for breath.

“The contract isss made, the termsss are met. You may do asss you pleasse, Ssservant of Ssseldiss.”

Coranna knelt next to Arron and shook him lightly “You damned fool, do you know what you have done?”

“I got you... access to the... ritual. Now it’s your turn. Do what we came here for.”

Walking towards the shore the lake god paused and gave Arron a look “More mortalsss venture into my domain, they sshall arrive by the hour.”

Corana looked from Arron to the lake god and back, then out at the water. “That is scant time for such a major undertaking. Arron, you rest, I must work quickly.”

--

Corana worked feverishly at the side of the flat circular pond. She drew her own circle around it in salt extracted from the sea itself, her own circle both larger and simpler than the original ritual. She knew she had to do this quickly. Woric could appear at any moment and her own strength, already crippled by a missing arm, would be almost completely gone whether this worked or not. Arron was now standing guard nearby, apparently fully recovered from the god’s work. He stood watch over the waters for signs of attack, but she knew he could not stop an enraged sorcerer of Woric’s power.

She had done frantic calculations and tried desperately to come up with methods of spellwork that would be effective with one arm, and she was reasonably certain she had it. So, she began. She danced waving her focusing wand, singing the words of power that would draw from her own reserves and give force to the circle she’d drawn. The circle would test Xabriar’s ritual, like blowing bubbles of air into water, disrupting the tiniest edges. The effect would increase once started, until the water bubbled away and broke the ritual, or her own life energies ran out, whichever came first.

The dance continued, the ritual bubbling and boiling even as the water in the pool roiled and splashed. Corana felt sweat drip into her eyes, but didn’t dare blink it away. She fought with tenacious need to make the air press further, and the ritual resisted like a living thing. She could see it, the point where the ritual would break, but it was so far away.

“Corana! They’re coming! There must be seven, no eight boats on the river!”

Corana ignored it, she didn’t have any concentration to spare. The critical moment was so close, but she could feel the edges of darkness creeping in around her vision as the last of her energies coursed out through the wand. She might die even if she succeeded, but there could be no turning back now. She realized she was not going to make it, she just didn’t quite have enough ability on her own. It was a pity, dying without even thanking that young man who offered up his life just to help her save her city.

Then she felt it, a great blast of wind. Woric, he must have used air magic to drive his river boats! The wind directed toward her took almost no effort to drive into the ritual, adding an amazing influx of power just when she needed it most. The ritual exploded in a concussive blast, knocking her off her feet as a blinding pillar of light roared into the sky with the sound of a volcanic eruption. The whole island shuddered and began to sink, and a great wave rolled outward from it. Corana smiled as she slipped into oblivion, her last sight as the water rushed up her body was Woric’s boats, tossed about like kites in the wind by the massive swells in the lake water.

---

Cale shuffled uneasily in his pseudo crow’s nest atop the Tower of Air, a local temple to the Air Goddess of the mountains. He had been keeping an eye on the prince the entire night, following him up until the gates of Allestro Manor on the east side of the city. The estate was the largest in the city, fitting for a prince Cale thought. Although the temporarily displaced Allestro family didn’t seem to find the prince’s whims amusing.

It had taken the better part of the night for Cale to locate the best point of entry and where the prince would sleep. But like most plans, it fell apart quickly. For one, the prince’s guards maintained double overlapping sweeps of the manor ground. At the very least he would need five minutes to breach the walls and reach the manor proper, two minutes too long.

He spent most of the night seeking alternative routes, ruling out the sewers immediately. His days of thieving taught him many things, one in particular being: never enter through the sewer. The rich of Lussax had a rather fond habit of raising stinging lizards, venomous little creatures that breed faster then rats, and dumping them into the sewer. Nearly as venomous as a black diamond snake, the masses below were quite deadly.

So here he was, peering above the city with a newly acquired longbow. A long distance strike was not how he wanted to kill the prince. A slow torturous death would have been preferable, but he had little choice. He hoped to make up for the slow torture with a specialize arrow charge. Dragon blood, a special alchemical mixture that would burn with an incredibly hot flame, nearly impossible to extinguish. It would burn for hours.

All he could do now was wait for the prince to walk through the waiting hall of the manor, a favor the Prince stubbornly refused to oblige him. The hour passed and Cale wondered if his whole plan would simply come to naught. Maybe this was fate’s way of telling him to leave be. “No, fate or no fate I will kill him!” he chastised himself for even entertaining the thought.

Calling on the power of the trinket he allowed his sight to slip slightly into the higher planes. not enough to strain him, but enough to bolster his vision three fold. Again the walk through remained empty expect for one annoying priest, who Cale was beginning to suspect had noticed his magical intrusion but had not bothered to inform anyone.

Small miracles, he thanked no deity in particular. A thunderous roar and sweeping hot air that might have felt more in place in the great desert of the far north lashed against his face, nearly causing him to lose his balance. A bright orange glare of light cast outward from behind him, Everything but what was in the shadow of the tower was lost in the glare of the reflected light.

In the surreal moments that followed Cale watched in utter shock as the prince and his compatriots filled into the walk way. It was beyond luck, fate had denied him previous chances just to set this one up just for him. He ignored the orange glow, the glare, the roar, the hot wind and drew back the string to his cheek. His enhanced vision brought the prince’s chest into direct line of fire, adjusted for that hot wind, nothing else registered at all. With a forceful snap the bow released, cloth yard shaft flashing across the open air. Then just before he could be sure the arrow struck true, that orange glow and rush of air turned into a blinding flash, a deafening roar, and Cale could see nothing.

-----

Chaos filled Rall’s senses. Fire washed over him, burning away all around him, but caressing him like a lover might. It filled him with heat, smoke, it changed him. It blinded him, deafened him, and it lasted for what seemed like an eternity. After a while he wondered if he had become the fire. And then as suddenly as it had arrived it was gone. Air that felt suddenly cold brushed his raw skin, as his vision swam and slowly returned.

He was kneeling in a smooth black obsidian bowl inlaid into the cobblestone street two feet deep. He was naked but for the sword in its sheath, hanging from the belt at his waist. A quick glance showed him he had changed further, far beyond the point of hiding with his simple illusion. Scales spread over much of his body, tiny pinkish scales that shimmered when he moved. A soft swell in his chest drove home the point that this change was turning him into a girl... but a girl WHAT? His fingernails had lengthened slightly into sharp hard red points, and he actually cut his tongue on his teeth. He was a monster!

A crowd that Rall had not noticed until they started shouting and screaming, filled the streets around him with a roar noticeably lesser than the fire that consumed and changed him.

“Abomination!” “It is a monster!” “Drive the beast from the city before it kills anyone else!”

Rall stood there confused, he had no idea what to do and he felt so exposed. The weight of sheer hate from all around him drove him down into a crouch. He was about to try running when he heard a voice he recognized among the rabble.

“Leave her alone! This isn’t her fault! I’ll thump any one of you that tries to hurt her!” Greta! She must have come to see what the explosion was about, and seen Rall change! And now she was placing herself in danger to save him. He looked up fearfully to find her standing over him with a sturdy-looking club. The man that had followed them as a guard the other day knelt nearby, holding his head with a dazed look.

“Greta, don’t... They’ll kill us both!” Rall begged her, certain that they would be overrun any moment now. But then a space opened in the crowd, horses pushing through and threatening to trample anyone in their way. Valan’s cart followed behind, drawn by the horses, and several of his caravan circled the girls.

“Greta! What are you doing with that...” Valan sounded uncertain at this point.

“Father, she’s Rana! She’s under a curse or something! I’ll explain later, but you have to save us!”

“Very well. Everyone, back away! There will be no lynch mob here today!” Valan and his men employed their horse whips and weapons protectively, and the crowd backed away, cowed for the moment. But there were still plenty of people to overrun the caravan, and more joining all the time.

“Excuse me, pardon me, everyone get out of my way! I’ll sic my dog on you if I ever find her or him! Hey, did you just steal my wallet? Oh wait, I don’t have a wallet. Watch your hands dear woman, you’ll catch something vile that way.” Another familiar voice appeared, as Martello pushed his way gently but firmly past the caravan guards, who seemed unwilling to move and yet somehow managed not to stop the frail-looking old man.

“Well, looks you found out how to replenish your sword, dear.” Martello said with a cackle. “I suppose that means I can’t have your scales when you die... What a bother, so hard to find good scales, and you’ve gone and grown even more of them. Well, you could molt...”

He suddenly looked wildly around at the still growing crowd. “Why are you all still here, I never asked for an audience!” he shouted, his voiced carrying a sort of implied authority that seemed hard for even Rall to ignore.

The crowd looked shocked and confused, and a vast majority simply wandered away, leaving the disturbance to the city guard. “Such a pain it is to entertain crowds, they never seem to like it when one gets turn into a cow or chicken.”

“Master Martello... What’s happening to me? I’m turning into a monster!” Rall looked from Greta to Martello, scared and confused.

“Oh dear girl, you’re doing no such thing! Why, even Miss Greta here is more monstrous than you! She thumped that poor man just because he was trying to keep her away from you, and stole his stick! Be a dear and give that back to him, will you? Now, as I was saying lad, you’ve been bonded to something, of course it will change you. Don’t you find this preferable to withering away with the sealed being? Children these days, no appreciation of sharing, I tell you.”

“But... The scales, and claws, and teeth... What am I turning into? And these!” Rall cupped his smallish breasts, frustrated enough to be entirely uncaring of modesty. “I’m not a girl, I was just trying to get away! I didn’t want this!”

“Oh, oh dear.” Martello blushed red as an apple and drew a voluminous cloak from his sleeve, draping it around Rall. “Child, you must not display yourself in public so. Give the boys terrible ideas, it will. Now, there comes a time in every girl’s life where she faces certain changes. Hair growing in funny places...” Rall blushed as well, holding the cloak tightly closed.

“I don’t need to hear this, Master Martello!” Rall yelled over him. “Please, what is this sword doing to me? Am I going to die?”

Valan coughed, “As much as I would like to get to the bottom of this, we have little time. We should leave before an official of the magic district or the city watch comes.”

“Come on, Rana.” Greta whispered to Rall as she led him into the back of Valan’s enclosed cart. Martello nimbly followed along. “Yes good man we must be going, much to say and do, with little time to do them and see them. Hopefuly time to eat them though...”

Valan quickly directed his caravan toward the city gates. Rall couldn’t help but notice the cart was empty. He must have negotiated the sale of his goods while Rall was wandering the city, and not yet taken on new goods.

“So, where do we stop to eat? I could really go for a big mackerel. A real whopper. No? Not even a little one?” Everyone stared at Martello for a moment, then studiously ignored him.

“Rana, are you alright? You’re not hurt or anything?” Greta was the first to ask, pulling the edge of the cloak aside to look at her friend. “Don’t worry, I just want to see.”

She sucked her breath in slowly “I think you might be turning into a girl?” she stated but in a way that sounded like a question too. Rall simply nodded, he didn’t need to look, he could feel the difference with every movement he made.

“Those scales have spread as well. They’re everywhere.” Shifting toward Martello Greta gave him the hard coldest star she could muster. “Now, old man, you better start talking, and no more of that crazy act. You know something, so talk!”

“Child, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never pretended to be crazy! Now stop screaming at my dog and listen. See, there comes a time in every girl’s life-”

“Stop it!” Greta screeched at Martello and he looked crestfallen.

“Well fine then, if you don’t want to hear it I won’t tell you then!” He turned away from her and drew a block of wood and a dull chisel from his sleeve and began carving.

“Oh, you old fool, nevermind!” Greta turned back to Rall with a huff. Then Rall heard something different, a distant ghostly voice so silky seductive he thought it perverse daydream. But it felt real and was somehow amazingly familiar, though he could swear he’d never heard it before.

“Ignore the old fool, he speaks in riddles and doesn’t understand half the truth.” The smooth voice filled with scorn.

Rall looked around, trying to determine where the voice came from, but it seemed to be all around him and at the same time far, far away.

“Down here. The sword. I’ve been trying to communicate for weeks, but you’ve not had the mental capacity to listen to my weakened voice. The human before used all my strength down to the last drop, and I didn’t quite get enough back from the seal that you broke to be able to speak. Another place of my power that was sequestered has broken now, and some of my strength has returned to me.” She sounded angry, as if the indignity of being trapped in a sword and drained were more than she could bear.

“Who... What are you? And why are you changing me?” Rall looked at the sword. He noticed the others in the cart looking oddly at him, except for Martello who ignored everyone else petulantly.

“You dare to question me? I am Granth, I am... was a dragon, you little twit. I was imprisoned in this cage for... What age is this? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that my energies leak from the damaged runes, now free me from this cursed prison! Or do you lack the mental capacity to do so? Since you are of man I suppose you do, your kind are so very stupid.”

Rall flinched back from the sword. “Master Martello said you were feeding on me. Why?” Rall slipped the sword from the sheath, noting the blade now much more polished, wavy temper lines now visible. Those very lines held the runes Martello showed him in the lens.

“I have been feeding on your magic since you picked me up. You spill out power like a sieve. I presumed you knew your place and offered me my due, but perhaps it simply further proves your stupidity. As well you did, for I would have passed the day you found me otherwise. But where my life energies bleed out, they must mingle with your own. You should be honored child, you now carry the essence of a dragon, the most powerful and noble race extant. It’s quite an improvement from a semi sentient monkey.”

Greta, half spooked, nudged Rall. “Who are you talking to? I mean one Martello is bad enough...” Martello leaned forward frowning.

“She’s speaking to the sword child, and it is quite the feisty one. Shh now it’s very rude, interrupting when we are just getting to the heart of the matter.”

Rall returned his attention to the sword, as it continued to speak. “I cannot say much more, I grow weary again. Reclaim my strength and free me... otherwise I’ll make sure we both die together, my little monkey friend.” Rall eye shot open at the pronouncement.

“Wait, don’t you dare go!“ he shook the sword trying to coerce it to speak again.

“You’re going to kill me?” He could feel his blood boiling as he slammed the sword violently broadside onto a crate. “I’ll melt you down like my master wished you stupid piece of trash!” He screeched when no further voice came to him.

“Child calm yourself, the sword is still quite damaged. You won’t get more answers banging it around like that. She may tell you more once she is stronger. Pay no heed to her temper, it should improve with time.” Martello said with a comforting voice. “She’s been trapped in there, alone, for a very long time after all.”

“Well I must be going, my poor Tinkerbell won’t find himself you know.” Martello nodded and then hopped from the moving wagon and landed flat on his face in a cloud of dust. Rall almost stood up to go after him, but the old man quickly got to his feet and dusted himself off, calling out over the growing distance, “Hey, who pushed me?”

Greta and Rall sat silently alone in the wagon, Rall looking despondently to Greta. She whispered “She said... I’m part dragon... and she wants to kill me.” Greta held Rall as he shook quietly, staring down at the sword in his arms. It shone dully in the light filtering through the curtained window of the cart.

---

Arron held Corana’s head above the surface, It had been hours since the island sank into the lake. He had never been much of a swimmer, in fact was a terrible at it, despite his father throwing him into the water upriver of Gaerbron to teach him the art.

But he supposed the situation had forced him to learn quickly because treading water had become remarkably easily. But staying afloat was the least of his issues. Corana was breathing shallowly but would not wake, and Woric’s boats floated crazily on the swelling waves. Several capsized quickly in the chaos, and Arron had watched as many men drowned, but he had to focus on saving himself and Corana.

Worse, it seemed the city guard where still actively seeking them. The remaining men had organized forming a search patrols, with Woric standing about on his flag ship arrogantly shouting orders while two other men whispered information.

Swimming close to a capsized vessel with Corana in tow, Arron slowly positioned them both out of direct line of sight hugging the side of the boat. “Corana, come on wake up!” he whispered into her ear. It was then he noticed the Corana had stopped shaking, her lips turning a dark shade of blue.

“No, no no! Wake up!” He put his lips to hers and breathed into her, trying to get her to breathe, and was rewarded by light, feathery cold breath. Cold! She was freezing! He tried rubbing her arms and legs in the water knowing it could never work... And yet somehow it did, his efforts churned the water near them and the water itself even started to feel warm. Funny, he hadn’t even noticed the cold himself.

“Mmmnn... ‘s too ‘rly...” she mumbled in his ear, and he ignored it, working hard to keep her warm and out of sight of the search teams. The guards seemed to be splitting off, checking each capsized vessel, then setting it alight. He had to do something else, or the patrols would find them! Even if he hid in the overturned boat they would burn it with them both inside.

“Lake God, please help us!” He whispered, desperate, and he could almost swear he felt an answer somehow. Then he realized what he felt was a wave, raising the capsized boat and both him and Corana, tossing over the hull until it was righted, with both of them inside. He knelt with her there in the warm water soaking the bottom of the sailboat with its broken mast, holding a quite warm Corana in his arms and staring at the inside of the boat in shock.

“There they are, get them!” The flickering light of fire sprang up behind them and Arron watched in horror as a ball of fire sped over the lake at them. He ducked, throwing his hand into the air as if to ward off the missile, and a swell of water rose up out of the lake in its path. The fireball exploded into it with a hiss of steam.

“The witch protects the dinghy! We’ll have to run them down!” Arron watched them close the distance, a strong wind blowing to push them in his direction, and wished desperately the river god, T’isstai, were here to propel the boat his way again. Then he felt the boat sink, and rise again. He braced himself and Corana just in time, as the boat shot forward into the lake.

The others grew distant in the water quickly, the wave propelling the boat much faster than summoned wind and sails could manage. Even so, the wave kept going, and Arron rested in the plank flooring keeping watch over Corana. He felt the exhaustion of the day’s events drawing him down, He stagger a step, the world seemed oddly fuzzy and thoughts where confused. He could hardly remember why he was standing on a boat in the middle of the night. Looking down at Corana , Arron huddle up next to her closing his eyes.

---

Corana woke with a start to find herself soaking wet but somehow warm, curled up in Arron’s arms. The young man even tried to protect her in his sleep! She extricated herself and took stock of their surroundings. She was on a fishing boat with a broken mast, half full of water but grounded on what she assumed was the shore of the lake. Her own energies were worryingly low, but she would survive for the moment, assuming she could get some food in her. Surprisingly Arron had managed to save the bag of supplies as well, and she made herself a meal of soggy bread and cheese.

She looked out at the water, where choppy waves still churned as far as she could see, no one would be sailing those waters well until that passed. But how in the world had Arron managed to drive a crippled boat all the way to the shore at all, much less with Woric coming for them? Thinking back, Corana had been certain they would die once she finished breaking the ritual. She glanced down at his sleeping form, now sprawled in the water filling the bottom of the vessel. She imagined he must have some story to tell.

But that telling would have to wait. She shook Arron gently and he roused with a groggy confused look.

“Arron, I know you must be tired but we have to keep moving. Woric will find us eventually, and we need to find a safe place to recover before then.”

He nodded his head slowly, as he gathered his wits.“Where are we?”

“I don’t know. I just woke up here. But the best thing we can do is not be here when Woric arrives searching for us. Can you hide our tracks? I would, but I am drained..”

Arron nodded, “We should travel inland until we find a spring or brook to setup camp.” Sifting through the soaked leather bag Arron confirmed the map had survived the ordeal, if not a little wet. “I think by night fall I can figure our location by the stars. But out real problem is Woric scrying.”

“Perhaps I can do something about that. It’s short term unless I can find more out here, but I have something...” Corana took a turn sifting through the bag herself, until she came up with one of the bottles of components she’d brought along, wrapped in soft leather. “Here we go. It’s an herbal preparation of wolfsbane and deadly nightshade. Do not get any in your mouth. If we rub this on our skin, it will make scrying for us very difficult, and I doubt Woric has the energy to spare to overcome it, after that chaos.”

Corana blushed as she slowly rubbed the herbs into Arron’s naked back. He had done the same for her only a few moment before. Thoughts of the trip down the river and their little act into the catacomb tunnels of the Academy kept coming to mind. She had expected as much on some level. The tonic truly wasn’t meant to be used confuse scrying, that was simply a side effect. Its primary use was as very powerful aphrodisiac. The heightened sexual energies should confuse Woric’s spell. But she was beginning to question her own judgment as she pressed herself hard against Arron’s strong back.

She nearly couldn’t pull herself away, when she could admit to herself it was done and more rubbing would be just for the enjoyment. She could tell Arron was feeling it too, he felt hot against her hands, and she could feel his pulse rushing under her fingers.

“We... should get going. The further we can travel the safer we’ll be. Don’t forget to remove our tracks as best you can.” Arron didn’t say a word, he turned to face her and his eyes threatened to overwhelm her with fire of the most pleasant kind.

“Of course, as you wish my lady.” he offered, and though he bent to the task of erasing the traces of their passage, his eyes lingered on her.

Travel was a slow, maddening ordeal of frustration and desire. The only thing that prevented them making mad passionate love there in the soft mossy earth below the trees was the concern of being caught so unaware by Woric. And even that could only carry them so far.

Finally, as the moon rose in the sky and the last rays of light disappeared with the setting sun, the pair sat in the soft undergrowth not far from a soft babbling brook. By unspoken agreement, they began to disrobe each other, pausing only to become lost in passionate kisses under the stars. Just as Arron was poised to enter her, a giggling voice could be heard in the undergrowth, startling him out of the near trance he’d been in.

“What was that? Who is there?” He moved to draw away, to reach for his sword and pants, but Corana drew him back easily in spite of his strength.

“Who cares! Don’t stop now!” She thrust herself against him, but he had turned aside, his eyes caught by a sparkling light in some brush. She growled at him, and thumped him in the side with a balled up fist. “Don’t you dare! The fair folk are voyeurs, but I don’t care!” she groaned as she threw Arron to the ground.

Arron didn’t need to be told again. As long as nothing was attacking, he could not bring himself to hold back anymore. The fairy folk had their show, and laughed and giggled all around over the moans and cries of the lovers in their forest.

-----

Allestro Manor was burning. The Dragon Blood had done its job quite well, just in the short time the light blinded him it spread to the roof and across the balcony, and several unidentifiable corpses smoldered in the heat of its passing. One untouched priest stared straight at him through the broken and melted panes of crystal glass, the fire dancing around him but not willing to approach.

Cale immediately collected his things and dropped a rope out the window, then rappelled swiftly down. His survival was a matter of speed and stealth now, because the rest of the priests and soldiers would be searching in mass, and with a vengeance.

He hit the cobblestones running, even as a crossbow bolt whizzed past his ear. The heavy kind, designed to tear fist sized holes in plate armor. He ran faster.

The chase seemed interminable, never had he been pursued so determinedly by those with so little regard for other people in the streets. Every time he ducked into a shadowy corner, a soldier peeked in moments later. He killed several and evaded others, but they would not stop coming! So instead he ran, ducking under and through railings, bouncing as much as climbing up walls, diving between and under carts only to come back up from a roll still running.

Winded and gasping, he came to a stop on a roof in the magic district, the prince’s men having been denied entry at the gates. It was a temporary reprieve, but it would do. In minutes he was someone else entirely, an elderly gentleman in fine clothes walking with a cane to support his bent back. He slipped silently through the gates, unnoticed by the same watchful guards who denied the prince’s men, and made his way peaceably to a seedier part of the city. Once there, he became an aged sailor with a spiteful expression who needed a room to rest his weary bones.

Settling into his room Cale carefully kept an eye on the streets. The prince’s men wandered the street harassing every passerby. If not for the city guard standing on every street watching closely, Cale was certain the prince’s guard would have taken a few of the more dodgy looking people into a back alley for further questioning.

The simple knowledge that the city guard was not directly involved indicated to Cale that the duke had not been moved to lend his men. Most likely he felt the small army that invaded his city ought to be able to protect its own leader, but it might also just mean the guard didn’t know the real situation yet. The city was certainly headed for war now, but it didn’t matter. The man responsible for Bekah’s death was dead. For some reason that didn’t seem to matter much either, now that it was done with.

So, now it was time to get back to work earning a chance to bring her back for real. Almost as if the thought of his present contract summoned him, Xabriar’s ghostly face appeared in the air over the bed.

“Cale! Why have you not completed your contract yet? Does your dear sister matter so little to you that you would waste days chasing whores rather than finish two simple children to earn her back?” The rage in Xabriar’s voice was thick, palpable, Cale could almost imagine flecks of spittle flying from his mouth as he raved like a lunatic.

“Calm down, before you hurt yourself. The contract is mine to carry out as I see fit. The girls will die, in due course.” Cale calmly answered, picking at his fingernails with a small curved knife.

“I could care less how you kill the girls, you can drown them in the city well for all I care. What I care about is you wasting my time. I do not know how they have done it, but those girls have undermined all my efforts!” The sorcerer growled, shaking a gnarled finger at Cale threateningly.

Cale’s eyes perked at this pronouncement, so the two girls really did pose something of a threat to Xabriar’s dealings. Carefully calming his voice he made his gamble “How could two little girls that can barely survive on their own in the woods be a threat to you old man?”

“Did you not see the fire? It travelled across half the region and landed in Lussax, it must have lit up the sky for leagues!” Xabriar said as he spat at the ground, “A little pesky witch broke my ritual and those two somehow stole it before I could retrieve my power!” He was shaking his fist violently or possible trembling, Cale could not tell. “You must not allow them to live long enough to take another, else I will never have the power to raise your darling sister!” The way he spat the words “darling sister” set Cale’s teeth on edge.

“Very well. I will kill them quickly. Be ready to make good on your end. I tire of this city anyway.” The ghostly image popped like a soap bubble leaving Cale along with his thoughts.

---

Xabriar gripped the copper bowl full of dark water, his knuckles white around its edge, and forcibly restrained himself. The tools of his trade were becoming more valuable to him by the day, and this one let him see more of the distant goings on than most. He left it on the bench and stalked across the room, muttering to himself.

“That damned assassin will suffer for delaying and allowing this to happen... Where did that damn boy put that cursed book?” Xabriar pulled book after book off of his shelves, casting them to the floor carelessly until he found the one he needed. A shiver ran down his spine as he held the black slippery leather, human flesh no doubt. “Why must it to come to this, dealing with their kind...” he spat in disgust.

He placed the book on a reading pedestal, opening it to a page near the back with the precise incantation he needed written in dark brownish clumpy ink on the irregular skin pages. He rested his hand on the aged vellum and chanted, dark guttural syllables that tore at his throat as if clawing their way from his chest.

The water in his scrying bowl began to bubble and boil, splashing out of it. The room itself seemed to expand and shrink as if a living breathing thing. Then he felt a presence in the room that gripped the remaining human parts of his soul in a mind-numbing terror. He pushed it aside and spoke.

“I call to you, great lord of the forgotten name, I come to offer a contract. By this book, I demand your aid, and when I am finished it will once again be returned to your keeping.”

“YOU RISK MUCH, MORTAL, TO OPEN YOUR DEMESNE TO MY PRESENCE AND OFFER ME THE BOOK.” The voice was grating and low, loud enough to vibrate the air around Xabriar’s body noticeably.

“Great risks are often the cost of greater rewards.” Xabriar answered, trusting the demon to find the offer worth considering, and knowing himself to be safe in his own tower.

The room pulsed with a dark power that threatened to smother him. “I AM AWARE OF WHAT YOU SEEK MORTAL. FOR SUCH ASSISTANCE THE BOOK WILL NOT BE ENOUGH.”

“Then let us talk of prices and payment. I offer death and destruction on a widespread scale, chaos the likes of which may rival the Great War. Already my workings bring war to the realm and it will only grow, spreading suffering and torment.”

“YOU MORTALS HAVE ALWAYS WARRED AMONG YOURSELVES LIKE RATS. COME TO MY DOMAIN AND BRING THE BOOK. WE WILL DISCUSS MY TERMS FOR OUR AID.”

Xabriar felt his stomach revolt at the concept, but kept his composure. “As you wish, but...”

“YOUR ESCORT WILL ARRIVE BY THE HOUR, PREPARE A GATEWAY FOR HIS ARRIVAL.” The voice reverberated though the tower before vanishing like a nightmare.

Xabriar staggered backward into a stool, his thoughts spinning. “By the first, what am I doing?”
he remarked to himself as he grabbed a large vial of virgin blood to draw the circle that would likely usher him to his doom.