From the diary of Abudi ibn-Nasir, Templar Stronghold of the White Lily, 23 Machl 1426.

 

Our savior, Templar Khail Walverde, returned. Concerned, he went straight to Grand Master Rosh Badulain, and they talked late into the night. Meanwhile, we explored the stronghold, which had two courtyards, a massive stable that could accommodate over a hundred horses, and a garden. When I entered, it took my breath away. The countless varieties of flowers that bloomed during the first days of spring were incredibly impressive, shimmering with hundreds of colors. And the orchard, filled with apple trees, pear trees, orange bushes, and countless other trees whose origins I could only guess at.

It was in the orchard, sitting with my companions, that we encountered Khail Walverde and the Grand Master, engaged in a heated discussion. They approached us, and I spoke.

"Greetings, esteemed benefactors. May Hebin grant you long life. May my humble self, to whom you are eternally indebted, offer you, esteemed gentlemen, her company and offer you tea with mint leaves?"

"In the face of such an invitation, we are like moths drawn to the light that you are, noble sir," the Grand Master, whom Lethian Cavalieur had introduced me yesterday, responded effusively. However, I had no opportunity to speak with him beyond exchanging pleasantries.

"I heard, sir, that you failed to capture the madman you were pursuing. He supposedly found refuge with this Gwillzeth; may Hebin punish him with blindness?" I asked the Paladin, who wore a puzzled expression.

"Indeed, you heard the truth, traveler. Tomorrow at dusk I will meet with him or his envoys on the plain of Seb. I sincerely hope that this mysterious Gwillzeth will prove wise enough not to protect the sorcerer. We must capture him at all costs and prevent him from his mad undertaking.

" "We were just discussing this matter," the Grand Master interjected.

"It is a matter of exceptional sensitivity, for we have been clashing with Gwillzeth's soldiers for a long time. We have lost many of our own, and many of his soldiers have also fallen at our hands. Therefore, tomorrow's negotiations are of great importance. We must moderate and weigh every word." From what I heard from Mr. Walverde, Gwillzeth is a very impulsive person, gifted with magical abilities.

"How long has this individual been ruling here?" I asked.

"Rule! That's no rule at all. He's just a common thug and a rogue!" the Master retorted.

"Forgive my incompetence, ladies," I hastened to apologize.

"What a time my gray hair has lived to, that I have to deal with scoundrels and bandits.

" "Grand Master, the situation is extraordinary. All disputes must recede into the background, and you must set an example so that others will follow your lead," the Paladin advised. The Grand Master nodded in understanding and replied, "I know, I know, dear Walverde, but the thought of it makes my blood boil."

"And what will you, esteemed gentleman, do if you refuse to hand over the sorcerer?" my cousin joined the conversation.

"That would be a great pity," said the paladin, "for it would lead to open war with Gwillzeth, and many good men would lose their lives for the cause."

"We will try to avoid that. However, given this bastard's determined unwillingness, there will be no other option."

The Grand Master accepted my tea and continued, "The world is in danger. Our Order was responsible for safeguarding the secret Xenor table. We failed. So now we must make every effort to restore balance. Even at the cost of our lives.

" "Dear Mr. Nasir, we would like to ask you to accompany us during these negotiations. Your presence would be helpful in the negotiations with the enemy."

The folds and convolutions of my brain began to work at full speed, the impulse sent by the nerves that, with arms and legs (assuming nerves can have arms and legs), were resisting any contact with the robbers we had just escaped. And so, my entire brain coalesced in devising a suitably polite and delicate excuse, when the ensuing (not yet awkward) silence was cut by a few words from the mouth of my "beloved" Shah Sahib. May Hebin punish him with deafness and, just in case, cut out his tongue.

"If it is your will. We will gladly grant your request as part of the repayment of our debt to you," decided my unstable cousin, whom I now felt like kicking in the ass for his recklessness. However, I had no choice but to nod in the face of the Grand Master's beaming face.

"I am very glad you agree." Your help may prove all the greater since you are not affiliated with either side," he said. Then he turned to the Paladin. "And I ask you to brief our guest on the entire matter."

With these words he concluded his speech and, having finished his tea, departed to, as he put it, "Devote yourself to contemplation and meditation."

The Paladin, with weary eyes, stared at the jug from which the mute Gamal was pouring him the soothing drink. I looked at the Sahib and placed a finger to my lips, signaling him to silence. The knight sank into thought as he sipped his tea. A light breeze rustled through the trees, raising clouds of dust on the path leading from the garden gate. After a moment, he snapped out of his reverie, cleared his throat, and turning to my cousin, seeing him restrain his curiosity with his last remaining strength, said:

"Legend has it that centuries ago, in these mountains, there was a dwelling place for ancient dragons endowed with great power." Skillfully drawing a map of the mountains on the ground with a stick, a special envoy from the Kharonaey temple began the story of the Alden Mountains.

"They were ruled by the mightiest of all dragons, Hehgzpaar the Black. Called at the dawn of time by Fromden, the god of fire, they reigned here for over six hundred years, spreading terror and fear. As old books tell, in the year of the constellations, a powerful demigod arrived at the head of an army mounted on pegasi, wielding a celestial whip that hurled lightning with each strike. He was called Hod, the Whip of the Gods. Against this weapon, no dragon, except Hehgzpaar, dared to rise." He took a small sip of the mint drink and resumed.

"They clashed in a battle that lasted five days and nights." Some dragons fled during the battle, as the mountains trembled and the sky was lit by lightning and the glow of fire. Others, fighting alongside their master, were defeated.

My cousin's eyes gleamed, betraying the greatest excitement, for he devoured such tales with the same fervor as if he were devouring roast calf, satisfying his voracious appetite. I tried to memorize everything carefully so I could later write it down in my journal. Even Gamal began listening to the tale, crouching beside me and pouring water into our cups.

"On the evening of the fifth day, Hehgzpaar fell under the weight of the divine scourge," the knight continued, now gazing at the sky above the fortress walls. "As the triumphant Hod stood over the dying dragon, with his last remaining strength, he whispered a curse that activated a magical trap that triggered an acoustic explosion. His dwelling collapsed, burying Hod and most of his army beneath the rubble. The mountains closed in on themselves from the magical power, transforming the entire region, which from then on became a temptation for third-rate treasure hunters." Over time, the southeastern mountain range was cut by the trade route we oversee. We guarded the route diligently, so King Wijnhard of Oxydia gave us Aldenia, whose lands adjoin the mountains, as a fiefdom. The Grand Master thus bears the title of Baron of Aldenia. For a year, the situation had worsened. Increasingly bold attacks by bandits and marauders—and, more importantly, the increasing losses to neighboring kingdoms, whose goods had stopped arriving—made the situation tense. New merchants were constantly encountered, speaking of a mysterious voice that, by temptation, often led them into ambushes. New resources and forces were needed to control the situation, which was spiraling out of control. Apparently, some treasure hunter had changed professions and was now plundering travelers with the aid of magic.

"Maybe he found a mountain of treasure and magical items," my crazy Sahib blurted out, bringing a pitying smile to the Paladin's face and a silent reprimand from me. But the Sahib let his imagination run wild and galloped on, oblivious to everything. He declared himself an evil king and kidnapped a beautiful maiden, demanding a ransom.

Walverde shook his head, and I blushed, spitting in my face for taking that idiot with me.

"I don't think so. We don't really know what happened. As of today, we control only the northern third of the mountains, because the rest is inaccessible. The entrance, the narrow pass, is guarded by that voice that has magical powers, causing avalanches and blizzards.

" "I once had a friend who found a lamp with a genie trapped inside..." my idiot cousin interjected.

"By Hebin!" And exploded. "You never had a friend, dear Sahib!" I interrupted, and in response to his protests, I added angrily, "And stop interrupting Mr. Walverde. You'd think we, the people of a thousand dunes, don't know good manners!"

The sahib became indignant and sat there, offended, without a word, without interrupting. I looked apologetically at the knight, who smiled and resumed his conversation.

"This caused King Wijnhard himself to come here and order the matter to be resolved as quickly as possible and once and for all. He left three days ago, offended, because I arrived four days ago and presented him with Kharonaey's will. In one night, his resolutions regarding the mountains were shattered by the Lily's oath of Allegiance, which his great-grandfather swore centuries ago, and which I reminded him of. According to her power, Wijnhard, in his greatest need, should submit to Kharonaey's Will. "The greatest need," I told the king, "is to resolve the matter of the Mountains peacefully, even at the cost of concessions from Your Highness." The Paladin took a breath, then finished his story. "

I received royal powers from Wijnhard and the powers of the Chamber of Merchants," he said slowly, "operating in the kingdoms bordering the mountains, of which he is the Lord. I can and must make concessions, because the capture of Xenor is the highest priority."

Thus, I was initiated into the Will of Kharonaey, whose ally I was to become. I deduced that the Templar Order of the White Lily wielded widespread influence in these lands. Serving higher purposes, of which I had until then been utterly unaware, they had created a secret network capable of exerting pressure on the kingdoms' governments when the situation demanded.

"We await you, dear Lord Nasir, tonight at dusk in Master Badulaine's chamber," he said, taking leave. "I will send my squire Mahel for you. See you later."**

The Cavern. A gaping, dark opening in the rock face marred an otherwise beautiful chamber, whose walls had once housed a gallery. The works gathered in this gigantic hall were the result of centuries of plunder and the rule of the Dragon Dynasty. The red marble floor bore traces of rubble freshly removed by trolls and orcs working on the excavations. The court chamberlain and originator of the archaeological and geological expedition, Alfons Rupert Quaquale, assisted by two armed orcs acting as throne guards, held back two strange figures stubbornly trying to reach the ruler's presence. The first, an unusually thin and tall figure in a dusty jerkin and matching hat, pressed against the guards, cursing. He also struck the second, smaller figure with a coiled whip, who returned the favor. The court archaeologist, the renowned Kleofas Kopidół (the tall and thin one), genuinely hated his rival. A certain gnome, a self-proclaimed geologist named Teofil Skała, who had come with the same goal as himself: to acquire additional resources and funds for his research at the expense of the competition.

"The king is busy! The king is busy!" the chamberlain kept repeating, retreating under the pressure of the scientists.

"You're lying, boy, until your ears are red!"

"But the king is really busy! You're disturbing his afternoon nap..."

"Listen, cabbage head, I'll kick you in the ass right now if you don't stop lying! And I'll kick you too! And you have it! And you have it!"

The gnome, despite his short stature, tried to reach the chamberlain with his hands, while simultaneously kicking the guards and the occasional archaeologist.

Suddenly, a low voice boomed in the cave, making the walls tremble. "Let them in, Alfons.

" As if on cue, the guards, tired of the kicks and prods, parted, and two scientists fell on the Chamberlain, all three sprawled on the floor, frozen in place.

"How's the work progressing, gentleman?"

The thin archaeologist rose first, only to fall to his knees before the king after three steps.

"Your Majesty," he began to groan and wail. "The work is going hard. There are no trolls or orcs, the equipment is old, and the tools are worn out." I need more manpower, more funds, more time to find the treasures of your ancestors...

"Even if I placed a whole mountain of burial mounds and remains in front of you, you wouldn't notice them, you loser," the geologist, kneeling next to the rising chamberlain, chimed in.

"Because there would probably be one of your useless machines there, the ones our most majestic king wastes ducats on," the archaeologist retorted.

"Useless?! It was thanks to my machines that we found this room, you scoundrel!

" "Ha! That's something! By chance, a rock moved in front of your worthless junk!

" "Gods! What an idiot!

" "Me, an idiot?" the archaeologist blushed visibly. "You idiot, how dare you...

" "Old skeleton!" the geologist continued, delighted at having unsettled his rival.

"Short-necked!"

Excavation!

" "Fossil!"

This worthless argument and exchange of insults could have lasted until evening, perhaps even all night, so the ruler, who was nevertheless amused by the situation, reluctantly decided to break it up.

"Enough!"

They both fell silent, looking at each other with hatred.

"I'll ask again. How's the work progressing?

" "Lord King!" the gnome began. "The ceiling in the southern gallery has collapsed, so we need more trolls to retrieve my machine...

" "That's what caused the ceiling to collapse," the archaeologist interrupted.

"That's not true!" the geologist shouted. "You misaligned the supports and the ceiling collapsed!

" "Nonsense!

" "It was a trick, you old gingerbread man!"

"Gingerbread man?! You're a gingerbread man yourself, you wretch!"

"Gentleman!!!" the king admonished them. "From today on, you are to cooperate. You will receive new equipment and slaves to assist you, those from Aldenhorn. I set one condition: you will no longer engage in any more trickery. If information reaches me about your lack of cooperation, you will lose my favor." The king paused to make sure his words had reached the scientists. "I order work to be carried out in the northern corridor. You will be given a detachment of dwarves to assist you. I repeat, you are to work together. Together. Understood?

" "Together? Impossible!" they replied simultaneously.

"That's an order!" the king cut him off and quickly added, seeing the wave of protests. "Remember, anyone can be replaced." Seeing that his words had finally reached their destination, he added, "The audience is over. Guards, escort the gentlemen away."

The ruler turned to his chamberlain.

"Alfons, call an assembly. We need to decide which delegation you will lead."

***

The flickering candle flames, stirred by the fresh air that effectively dispelled the smell of sulfur wafting around them, tested that the dwarves maintaining the ventilation shafts had done a good job. His Majesty's entire court (or at least the most important minority) sat at the lavishly laid table set in the audience chamber by order of the chamberlain. The chamberlain himself performed the honors, to his right sat the Guardian of the Treasury, a bawdy dwarf, Baron Rubin Westerveld. To his left, in gleaming silver armor, sat the enormously tall orc commander, Baron Fromb Eyckert. Further to the left sat Maver de L'Okullus, the royal astrologer and judge, with his daughter Yves, a beautiful, yet dangerous, and highly trained warrior, from whose slender shoulders protruded the pommels of intricately crafted sabers. Opposite the couple sat Lady Nidia Loxley, a red-haired, captivating woman who was also the head of His Majesty's spies. Next to her sat Baron Lucas de Ravenford, Commander of the Palace Guard and a member of the nobility. Adorned in an exquisitely tailored green and white tunic, girded with a diamond-encrusted gold sash, he kept his sly eyes on the beautiful Yves. The walls of the hall were decorated with clan coats of arms and the image of the ruler. Paintings and tapestries that didn't fit the décor had been moved to another room, where a new gallery was being set up. Burgundy curtains, embroidered with gold-threaded runes, descended from the high ceiling. As the servants brought in the last of the dishes, the silverware on the table trembled, for King Gwillzeth decided to open a debate and addressed the assembled guests.

"I am greatly pleased that you have so quickly responded to my call. We stand before the moment for which we have been working for over a year and a half. Thanks to the joint work and consistent action of all gathered here, we can announce to the entire lands the rise of a new power, one that will soon be reckoned with by the most powerful kingdoms and courts."

The chamberlain raised a goblet of magnificent wine, stolen from merchant caravans attacked along the route, and proposed a toast.

"Friends! Let us drink to a goal that, thanks to a fortunate coincidence, has now come within reach. Thanks to the generosity of our host and ruler, His Majesty Gwillzeth the Black, I declare the rise of the kingdom of Alden!"

Everyone raised their glasses. In the darkened part of the hall, King Gwillzeth laughed, the high ceiling multiplying the effect.

"At this joyful moment, I would like to remind you that tomorrow awaits us a very difficult evening," the chamberlain continued. "The Grand Master wishes to negotiate. What a treat!" He's even proposing a ceasefire and pardoning all those facing criminal charges!

"Exactly," the ruler interrupted. "These are very attractive and tempting offers. It's worth considering. Especially since in exchange for this mage, we can demand recognition of our kingdom by others."

He paused for a moment, gasped, and roared, as sulfur-laced steam billowed from the cave.

"Forgive me, it's the drafts.

" "Bless you! "Your Majesty," the sly chamberlain hurried.

Ravenford spoke first. "We need someone who can negotiate and who has experience in it."

"She must also command respect," added the large orc. "

She must be gifted with a keen mind and a sharp tongue." The chamberlain straightened and quickly added, "And also, she should hold a high position."

At this, Lady Loxley burst into laughter. She looked at him with pity. "You are insanely greedy, my lord." Unfortunately, you lack these qualities, so your candidacy is out of the question.

The chamberlain's face turned an unusual shade of red, prompting a burst of laughter from the assembled crowd.

"You must learn all the time," the dwarf consoled Quaqualea, "and perhaps you will be considered next time. In the meantime, let me add that our envoy should be a prudent strategist.

" "I know of only one person who meets these requirements," Ravenford said slowly. "Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to propose a man we all know very well, and whose modesty is precisely suited to this role." His gaze continued to survey the alluring Yves. "That person is the highly respected royal judge and astronomer, Mr. Maver de L'Ocullus."

Another gasp echoed through the cave. The assembled waited for the ruler's next sneeze, which, however, never came. Instead, the ruler said, "Yes, that's a good choice, I also support this candidacy.

" "Perhaps we should hear what my father has to say on the matter," the warrior spoke for the first time.

"I support this candidacy, especially since we won't find another candidate we can all agree on," Baron Westerveld remarked, adding, "But let's not split the skin of the bear. Dear Mr. Astronomer, are we curious about your opinion?"

Everyone looked at the royal astronomer. His aged face never betrayed any emotion, only his daughter knew that deep down the old man harbored feelings he had learned to hide over years of service. First at the court of King Wijnhard, then at the court of King Tervorg of Pandynia. He looked at his daughter and calmly replied, "If it is the king's will, I will undertake this mission and try not to disappoint His Majesty.

" "Excellent!" "The procession will be completed by your beautiful daughter and Baron Ravenford, who, along with his men, will ensure the safety of the royal envoy." The court chamberlain wanted to protest vehemently at his omission from the procession, but the king wouldn't let him, saying, "This is my will, to which everyone will submit. Without exception. The meeting grounds will be secured, as usual, by Madame Loxley."

Lady Loxley nodded gracefully toward the cave, a stray curl falling across her forehead. This didn't escape Ravenford's notice, who gave her a lascivious smile and said aloud,

"Will Your Majesty honor us with your presence?"

"I will be nearby, but I do not wish to reveal my presence."

New, easier-on-the-stomach dishes were served. Servants bustled about, handing the guests bowls of water to rinse their hands. The chamberlain looked enviously at the astrologer and his daughter, but he didn't dare openly oppose them in the king's presence. Especially since everyone except him was pleased with the envoy's choice. But he had known the elderly man the longest, from the Pandynian court, where, before the tragic accident of the prince and heir to the throne, the astrologer had predicted the future. He remembered the event from years ago perfectly. To this day, the old man remains unaware of the Chamberlain's great secret: that it was thanks to him, who, at the behest of his master, next in line to the throne, Prince Vidival, had ensured that de L'Okullus's warning did not reach the heir to the throne. The Prince of Sion, the rightful heir to the throne, was murdered while away hunting, and his younger brother soon after blamed the astrologer for the murder, who was forced to flee the country with his daughter. He hadn't forgotten his inconvenient servant, Quaquale, whom he'd tried to quietly remove. Naturally, the two fled to the mountains, where they joined Ravenford's expedition. These reminiscences were interrupted by the lord, who reminded him of the next matter they were to consider together. The chamberlain dismissed the memories and spoke, "The next matter we must attend to is our guest, Lord Xenor of Ashyria. He is precisely the man the Chantry desires.Drip, drip, drip. For hours, the water dripping from the dungeon ceiling had been driving him mad. The dimeritium shackles, effectively preventing spells, dug painfully into the Warlock's wrists as he hung limply in the darkened chamber. Unable to cast spells, Xenor pondered his situation intensely. He had been dragged here three days ago. He remembered little since his encounter with the powerful force in the gorge, which had robbed him of his power and strength for any struggle or resistance. His staff, whose location he could not sense, and without which he was defenseless, had also been taken from him. The mysterious voice was so powerful that he lost consciousness. He wondered intensely what creature possessed such power that even he could not resist. He tried to hypnotize the large troll who brought him a meal once a day, but that race was not susceptible to such magic. And the troll was, for now, the only person who had visited. Conversation was also fruitless. The troll carried in a platter of food and left without a word, completely ignoring the Warlock's verbal taunts. Despite the darkness, Xenor had a rough idea of ​​mealtime. According to the Warlock's stomach, mealtime was running late, and just when he thought the troll wouldn't come, he heard footsteps around the corner. This time, he judged, the troll wasn't alone. After a moment, he saw the flicker of a torch, and figures emerged from the alley. In addition to the familiar troll, an old man dressed in a colorful tunic had arrived at the dungeon, accompanied by armed orcs. He stood opposite Xenor, eyeing him closely.

"My name is Alfons Rupert Quaquale," the newcomer introduced himself.

"I am the chamberlain of King Gwillzeth, whose wish is to see you and host you for dinner."

Two orcs, without waiting for the chamberlain's command, unchained the Warlock. They led him wordlessly through corridors to a winding staircase leading to what looked like a kitchen, where the rich aromas made Xenor's stomach rumble loudly. He was led to a windowless chamber, where a large tub of steaming water stood in the center.

After a bath, assisted by two maids, he was dressed in new robes, which, apart from their yellowish color, were quite comfortable. The chamberlain appeared and gestured for him to enter, where two orcs stood. Throughout this time, Xenor remained silent, assessing his situation. He didn't attempt to cast any spells, for he sensed a powerful force that, like an invisible fog, lingered in every room.

"I advise you, ladies, against attempting to use magic in the king's presence," the chamberlain said, walking through the dragon-lined corridors.

- His Majesty also dislikes excessive familiarity and violent reactions - continued the chamberlain, not paying attention to whether the Sorcerer was listening - Also, be careful not to anger the king, because His Majesty's anger is terrible and no one has ever survived it.

They entered a chamber bustling with orcs, hanging valuable tapestries and paintings on the walls. Among the pile of packages, Xenor spotted his staff, the carved runes glowing in recognition of his presence. The Warlock flicked his wrist, and the staff slipped unnoticed beneath the carpet they were walking on. A few paces away, the staff followed its owner, and when they reached the end of the chamber, it stopped a short distance from the exit.

"We are here," the chamberlain said, signaling the two guards to halt. He looked at Xenor and, in a raised voice, said, his voice echoing up to the high ceiling, where the Warlock noticed a coat of arms depicting a dragon wielding a mace and ax in its claws:

"Lord Xenor of Ashyria."

They entered another chamber, in the center of which was a large table, already seated at which several people were seated. Their newspapers focused on the Warlock. In the farther, darkened part of the hall, Xenor sensed a source of power that, he could tell, exceeded his own considerable power a thousandfold.

They took their seats at the lavishly laid table. The chamberlain introduced each person, along with their titles. Finally, when he finished, a red-haired woman spoke up, her piercing gaze beginning to irritate Xenor.

"You were very lucky, my Lord, to escape pursuit.

" "Truly, it was very lucky," the man the chamberlain introduced as Baron Ravenford interrupted. "You should thank our lord for his assistance, my Lord."

"For the chains and the dungeon, too?" Xenor spoke for the first time. His gaze wandered toward the cave.

"I like you, Warlock," the lord spoke from the depths. "Your knowledge would be useful here. But I remember your brothers, who sowed chaos in the lands centuries ago." Those were times when even we, the ancient race, couldn't feel safe. No, dear Sorcerer, I have no intention of returning your freedom, for you are a threat.

Time will tell who will dance on the mounds of our enemies. This world belongs to Ashtar, who reaches out to take possession of it again. Join us and you will experience power beyond your wildest dreams. You will rule a nation, not a pile of rubble. You may imprison and kill me, but after me others will come, for we are many, each truly devoted to the One.

Blindly! Blindly devoted, Sorcerer. What is the point of having power and authority when there are no people to rule, when there is no way to demonstrate that power? Serving death is no pleasure, even for the power you promise.

Many among your race in ancient times made covenants with the Brotherhood of Ashtar...

"And many paid for it with their lives. No, Warlock, I will not accept your offer. You will remain here as long as you are useful. Do not try to deceive me; I know your nature and the nature of your god. The Void. This is what you wish to give me in exchange for a state whose independence I will receive in exchange for you.

" You will be swept away like the other infidels. You are not an obstacle to us, your times will not return. You are an excavation, a thing of the past!"

At that moment, events unfolded rapidly. First, a prolonged roar rank out. The dignitaries gathered at the table scattered in panic, and with a terrifying roar, the ruler leapt from the cave. He hung for a moment beneath the vault, spreading his bat-like wings, and then plummeted, landing on the shattered table. He lowered his large head, set on a reptilian neck, toward Xenor, whose consciousness began to sink in. The dragon's yellow eyes pierced him, and a powerful voice boomed in his head, causing a trickle of blood to flow from the Warlock's nose.

"You are a speck in the wind. A tiny grain of sand. A worm unworthy of my attention. You have sealed your fate, Warlock; your arrogance will be punished. I could incinerate you in an instant, and you will tell me I will be wiped out!"

The dragon roared with laughter, displaying its brown-scaled body. It was ten times larger than the Warlock, who, paralyzed with fear, sat motionless before the dragon. Xenor had seen dragons before, but this one was much bigger, faster, and more dangerous.

"You're pathetic to think you could threaten me. You and your minions are incapable of harming me! I've slept in these ruins for hundreds of years, and I won't be intimidated by a gang of wand-wielding masqueraders!"

The dragon lowered his voice and added calmly, "Remember this, Warlock, or the next time we meet, you will die. I can promise you that."

He turned his head toward the exit, where his court was gathered, watching this display of power, and ordered, "Get this carryon out of my sight!"

He flapped his wings, and the Warlock, along with his chair, was blown across the hall by the force of the generated airwave, crashing with a crash against the wall next to the disoriented chamberlain.

The dragon turned, sweeping the remains of the table with his tail, and headed for his lair. Guards accustomed to such situations lifted the unconscious Warlock and carried him out the door.

"That's all," the royal chamberlain concluded. "I consider the court meeting concluded."

"Servants!" he called. "Please clear the chamber and order the carpenters to make a new table for His Royal Majesty." He turned on his heel and left the chamber.

Dragged by the guards, the Warlock skillfully feigned unconsciousness. He glanced out of the corner of his eye in the direction where he had left his staff. "That's definitely not enough to knock him unconscious," he thought. He made a gesture with his hand, and the staff followed his master again. In the corridor, the Chamberlain caught up with them, muttering that this was the third table this month. Xenor pretended to wake up.

"Oh! Lord Magus has regained consciousness," one of the guards remarked.

"That means he can continue on his own," another added, and they both burst into throaty laughter.

"You were very lucky, Lord. The ruler doesn't tend to postpone sentences. But that doesn't matter anymore; you'll be dead by tomorrow at the latest. Too bad, too bad."

Xenor ignored the Chamberlain's remarks, concentrating on his staff, which now glided invisibly behind them a few meters away.

When they reached the dungeon, they were joined by a troll, who was clearly tending to the prisoners. They passed cells where other prisoners lay dying, awaiting execution or some other form of death. When he was chained again, Xenor turned to the Chamberlain.

"I would like to have a word with you..." Alfons Rupert Quaquale turned curiously. "...But in private, if you please."

The Royal Chamberlain signaled the guards and the troll to leave them alone. When they emerged, the Warlock didn't wait long, but immediately began to hypnotize the dignitary with his gaze. He broke through the weak resistance of the surprised Chamberlain, whose face was grimacing with pain. Within moments, the dignitary's eyes clouded over and he stared blankly at the wall above the Warlock's head.

"You are my servant now," the Sorcerer said. "No one but me can release you from service.

" "Yes, sir.

" "You will come to me after dark, in the meantime, go and perform your duties.

" "Yes, sir.

" "You are my eyes and ears."

The Sorcerer snapped his fingers. The Chamberlain blinked, looked fearfully at the Sorcerer, bowed indecisive, then waved his hand and left without a word, his face scowling.

Xenor pondered. He analyzed his situation. A band of outcasts from neighboring lands united by the beast he was now prisoner of. He couldn't engage Gwillzeth in open combat; the dragon wielded magic too powerful even for Xenor, a Necromancer of the Ninth Circle. He had to get out of here, and fast. He read in the Chamberlain's mind that he had become Gwillzeth's bargaining chip in gaining autonomy for his kingdom. He closed his eyes. He chanted a mantra and began to enter a trance. Through the thread connecting him to the Chamberlain's mind, he summoned his image. He ordered him to the chambers occupied by the royal astrologer L'Okullus, and, more importantly, his daughter, the beautiful Ives.