Locklear's eyes hardened.

At some level he wanted to believe he'd seen something in the instant of the gate's collapse. It was irrational, no doubt a vision he had conjured for himself to soften the blow of Patrus' death. As a man who had stood against many armies, Locklear knew all too well about last second visions seen on the battlefield. There was absolutely no chance that Patrus could have survived the blast. None.

By some agency beyond his control, he turned back the melancholy that threatened to overtake him, rationality brooking his grief for the lost magician. There was still an army to contend with, still moredhel to slay, still a Kingdom to defend. There would be time for grieving when it was finished.

"Such a dumb way to die," Locklear said, biting off the words bitterly.

Seigneur James nodded. "He died a good death, Locky. I wouldn't have wished for him to go, but he died to save others."

"You say that all the time, James, but there's no good way to die. They're all bad."

James stared at his old friend and saw the coldness that glimmered in Locklear's gaze. He had come to know that look over the years, an expression that had first manifested itself at the Battle of Armengar years before when Locklear's girlfriend, Bronwynn, had been slain by a troll. A bit of Locky had died then and in that place had grown the seed that had bloomed into a deadly and superior knight. But in all that time, he had never forgiven himself for letting the girl die.

"You're not mad Patrus is dead," James said finally. "You're angry that you didn't die in his place.

Locklear's eyes flashed protest, but suddenly he reached for his sword as three flashes appeared in the woods...

"Spellweavers!" Locklear shouted.

Disliking the fact that they would be at a disadvantage against a magical opponent without Patrus, James steeled himself as he grabbed for his weapon...

PUG: Stay your swords, Seigneurs. I believe it is still considered rude in the Kingdom to skewer your friends.

JAMES: Duke Pug! Never have I been half so relieved to see a friendly face. We were expecting moredhel magicians...

PUG: Tsurani magicians, James, or rather magicians trained by a Tsurani. No moredhel witch would have the capability to make a rift machine nor would they chance going into battle with such poor odds of success.

PUG: I still should like to know how exactly it was that Delekhan managed to make contact with Makala? I had hoped that the moredhel would be wary of another such attack following the defeat of Murmandamus ten years ago.

JAMES: Prince Arutha said they hope to find Murmandamus and free him. The moredhel are convinced we've been holding him captive all these long years.

PUG: So Gorath has told me. Doubtless Makala exploited that belief to his advantage. That at least explains one wrinkle. The moredhel have never forgiven us for that loss.

JAMES: But why is Makala doing all of this? Obviously he isn't in this to rescue a dead moredhel leader.

PUG: For the moment I believe I know, but I don't wish to say until I have taken a better look at something. This last problem I will have to unravel myself, with some assistance from Gorath and Owyn.

PUG: From here I think we will be able to teleport into the caverns beneath Sethanon. It is there our objective lies.

JAMES: What of Locklear and myself?

PUG: Once Prince Arutha arrives with his reinforcements, deliver my assurance that he will not face anything magical from the moredhel. If Makala indeed has assistants, they will be uninterested in the Prince.

PUG: They will be waiting for me.

Rubble choked the stairwell.

"We can't leave this hole just yet," Pug said regretfully, seeing the dour look on Owyn's face. "Come. We have an appointment with Makala."

The hallway widened.

In a few moments the path turned, opening into a large chamber where a dragon lay curled on the ground.

ORACLE: I called for you but was unable to reach your mind. The magician wields an amulet which renders this body feeble and he is in the process of disabling the last of the defenses which ring the Lifestone.

PUG: Makala is reckless, but I do not think he will have crippled you permanently. He must have unearthed some Valheru artifact, likely a product of Lyron-Baktos, the Master of Dragons. While he would be incapable of ruling your mind, he could still command your dragon's flesh.

ORACLE: My inability to know my own future blinded us to the possibility.

PUG: It's something we will have to attend to later... Gorath, I wish you to stay here and guard the Oracle.

ORACLE: Thank you. It pains me that protection is necessary.

GORATH: Pug, you may require my strength when you reach the Tsurani magician...

ORACLE: You will have a difficult time in the Lifestone chamber.

PUG: No Gorath. You have already given too much to this quest and seen what should have been seen by no one other than myself. You would never so much as scratch Makala's skin before he burned you to cinders. He will be more respectful in the presence of magicians and less likely to do anything rash. For now, you have a responsibility to guard the Oracle.

PUG: Before we move any further, I am of a mind to prepare you for what we are going to encounter. Located in these chambers is an artifact known as the Lifestone, crafted by the ancient Valheru. It has powers beyond even my comprehension, but we know that it was crafted for the purpose of great destruction. It was this that the false Murmandamus sought to achieve during the Great Uprising.

OWYN: False Murmandamus? What do you mean?

PUG: He was not truly moredhel. He was a Pantathian who took on the semblance of a moredhel so he could achieve his goal. The point is irrelevant. What he sought was to activate the Lifestone. If that had happened, the devastation of Timirianya would seem a garden compared to what would be left of Midkemia.

OWYN: If the Valheru are dead, what does it matter? If no one knows how to use it, then it can't be of any danger to us.

PUG: Not so. The souls of the Valheru are bound to the stone and it may be that tampering with it may allow them to emerge once more, perhaps even to inhabit a living body. Even in a symbiotic state, we have no certain way of knowing what destruction they would be capable of.

OWYN: So Makala wants to destroy everything?

PUG: He is not mad, but his curiosity may lead to more trouble than he imagines. Hopefully, we can find and stop him before he can do anything catastrophic.

OWYN: But why tell us about any of this? I'm a squire from Tiburn and Gorath is a renegade from the Northlands. Isn't that dangerous?

PUG: Your stations are unimportant. I was once a kitchen boy in the court of Crydee. I trust you because apparently Macros prefigured your involvement in this and did nothing to warn me before he left Midkemia. For whatever reason, I think he believes it necessary you be involved in these events and he invariably acts for the greater good, however mysterious his reasons may be.

Pug hurried Owyn under an archway.

The corridor angled sharply downward, its rough earthen floor littered with a slippery ceramic material which cracked underfoot with each step taken. In places, the boy glimpsed ancient frescoes of a moredhel-looking race who stared back at him with eyes filled with enigmatic hate, the cause of which had been millions of years dead.

Following a slow bend, they arrived at last at what looked to be a stone wall, but quickly Pug muttered a few words and the door shimmered away into nothingness. Beyond lay a vast chamber, and Makala was waiting for them.

PUG: I hoped more for you, Makala. When first you came to us years ago from the Assembly I sensed your heart full of dark calculation, but I had thought with us you would grow to gentleness.

MAKALA: We Tsurani are of course bereft of that quality.

PUG: Save your prating for the Assembly! You have returned my friendship with cold contempt, treated with my daughter as a wolf to his prey and have defied my interdict to visit Sethanon. Assume nothing between us now other than the respect due between practitioners. Why has the Assembly of Magicians seen fit to interpose itself into Midkemian affairs?

MAKALA: As a whole, the Assembly was unable to reach consensus on this matter; they hesitate to dabble in matters that might arouse your ire. Otherwise disposed with a small problem concerning House Acoma they decided those who felt this investigation necessary could conduct it of their own volition. I undertook that responsibility.

PUG: I should be careful taking such weight upon your shoulders. It may yet crush you.

MAKALA: Ten years ago you engaged in a battle to bar the Valheru entrance to your world, a battle in which you requested the service of several companies of Tsurani foot soldiers. As such, the battle became a matter of imperial interest and fell within the jurisdiction of the Assembly. You, however, have thwarted all our efforts to gather information about that battle and have forbade our investigation of Sethanon. Many sons of great houses fell but their bodies were never recovered for the proper rites.

PUG: Your attempts at evasion are execrable, Makala! Never has the Assembly concerned itself with the souls of the dead and I don't believe they are practicing a new found piety. You wished to learn how I defeated the Valheru.

MAKALA: Indeed. How could we not? The Valheru were a race of unspeakable evil and dread power who once nearly destroyed our world. Although my brothers harbor you the greatest respect Pug, you would be incapable of turning aside such monstrous power unaided. Judging by the numerous defenses that ringed this abandoned town, we assumed the only possible solution. You concealed a thing of power in the caverns here.

PUG: I cannot fault your fears, but your methodology has been despicable. The Lifestone was created in the darkest days of the Mad God's Rage, a war in which the Valheru strove to destroy the gods of Midkemia. With it they believed they could conquer every corner of the universe, and in all likelihood, they could have. It must be eternally locked away here and its existence must die out with that small handful of us that have looked upon it. You will speak to none of the Assembly about what you have found here or you shall answer to me.

MAKALA: I cannot in good conscience keep such a secret. What if such a weapon were wielded against the Empire? Could not such a weapon lay waste to all her children? We cannot simply bury such a weapon. It must be destroyed for the good of all future generations of the Empire and the Kingdom.

PUG: Impossible. We have no way to know what would happen if we attempted to destroy it. It may not be tested without potentially disturbing the Valheru whose souls now occupy the stone.

MAKALA: As I suspected. You have done nothing to study it. Great though your power may be, you haven't an inkling what secrets lie within that stone. It's very existence is obscene! It must not fall into the hands of a hostile power.

PUG: Makala, do not tamper with the stone. It must be left untouched for the good of all!

MAKALA: I judge now as is my right as a Great One of the Assembly of Magicians. It must be destroyed, Pug ... for the good of the Empire!

Makala raised his staff.

Not wanting to strike down the Tsurani, but realizing the choice was being made for him, Pug summoned what resources were left to him after the Timirianyan cup had blanked his spellcasting ability. Perhaps between he and the boy, they could still defeat Makala.

Pug noticed the Lifestone in the corner of the room.

Makala had beaten them to it! Stealing a quick glance at Owyn, Pug was reminded of the innocence that would be lost from his world if the Tsurani Great One unleashed the awesome power of the Valheru. He shuddered uncontrollably, then turned his attention to Makala.

It was over.

Pug stared at Makala's lifeless form as it lay silently on the hard stone floor. Hiding from the grief that threatened to overcome his pain and exhaustion, he turned to Owyn; saw the boy was on his knees. Pug was about to help the boy to his feet when he noticed a strange light filling the chamber.

The Lifestone pulsed warmth.

Rays of emerald light touched Owyn's solemn features, deepening the hollows of his face as he approached the blasted turf occupied moments before by Makala's towering rage. Nearby, Pug spoke softly, his voice diffusing off the cavern walls into a thousand bouncing whispers.

"It may be difficult," Pug said, "but don't judge him too harshly, Owyn. I have performed acts nearly as monstrous in the name of common good."

"I find that hard to believe," Owyn replied. "You're a good man."

"So was he, in his own way. Loyalty can sometimes misguide even the finest of men..."

Both magicians flinched in unison as muted sword strikes erupted in the corridors outside the chamber. With startling rapidity the sounds approached, dissolved into pattering desperate footfalls and howling half-screamed oaths.

"Watch yourself!" Pug shouted across the cavern. "Someone's coming!"

Harried by a shadowy assailant Gorath backed into the chamber, his sword flying in a defensive arc before him. Repeatedly, razor-like fists flashed out of the darkness to challenge him, but he skillfully turned the attacks to his advantage. Finding the rhythm of his opponent, he feinted right when he was expected to move left and a warrior barreled past him.

"Delekhan!" Owyn exclaimed.

Tripped up by Gorath, the moredhel leader crashed to the ground, snarling all the while in slavering fury. Attempting to rise, he slashed upward with his gauntleted fist but brutally Gorath stepped inside his guard and delivered a rain of heavy kicks until the older warrior fell quiet.

"I suggest you lie still," Gorath snapped, wiping rivulets of blood from his face. "I may decide to kill you yet."

"I hear you," Delekhan croaked, his voice weak. For a long moment he remained curled in a ball, his breath tearing raggedly from his throat as he clenched and unclenched his fists. With extreme effort he turned his head and looked upon the mesmerizing light of the Lifestone and froze.

"No!" Pug shook his head, apprehension welling within him like a black lake as he caught the moredhel's expression. Stumbling forward he tried to interpose himself in the way but his failing strength abandoned him. "No!"

Swatting Gorath effortlessly aside as he rose, Delekhan's eyes flashed with reflected radiance. Like a puppet on a string, he began to stagger forward, his steps almost childish in their plodding. Undoubtedly something had control of his mind...

Dazed but alive, Gorath leapt to the attack and jolted hard into the moredhel leader, his miscalculated blow carrying the both of them not down but forward, forward into the Lifestone...

Together they reached for the sword.

DELEKHAN: What madness is this?... WHO?...

GORATH: Something within the sword...consumes! Can't fight...it...HIM!...Ashen-Shugar...

PUG: The Valheru souls trapped within the stone are slipping their bonds! We will have to kill them both...

OWYN: But what about Gorath?!

GORATH: You must...Owyn...evil...Can't fight it...HIM much...ll...ON...ger...Can't...hold...him...

PUG: NOW!

Owyn stared blankly at the Lifestone.

"We killed him," Owyn said, a bitter hurt in his words. "He came to the Kingdom to warn us and we killed him."

"Don't be petulant, Owyn. This isn't a time for it."

Glaring at Pug with shock, Owyn opened his mouth to reply, but found that adequate words failed him. Angered, he turned as if to leave, but felt the master magician's hand on his shoulder.

"Wait," Pug said, his voice more gentle than it had been. Meeting the boy's hateful gaze, he motioned for him to stay. "You must understand. Gorath was dead the minute he touched the sword. If we had hesitated another moment longer, both he and Delekhan would be dead and an unspeakable evil would be loose on our world. When Delekhan began to change you could see the valheru were attempting to mold them into a form they could use. Do you remember the terrible devastation we saw on Timirianya? That would be a paradise compared to the lives we would lead under their dominion. I'm telling you this because you now have knowledge and abilities which come with terrible responsibilities. You will have to make decisions far worse than this someday if you continue down the path you are on. You are going to have to learn to think before you act, but never to regret your decisions, right or wrong. Otherwise, you will slowly begin to not make decisions at all."

"But how can I know which are the right decisions?" Owyn asked. "How can I be sure?"

Pug squeezed his shoulder. "You need to live to a ripe old age to know that and I am not nearly old enough to have an answer. All I know is what Macros the Black once told me. He said to train those around me well, to make them powerful, but also to make them loving and generous. I see those things in you."

The battle was against them.

Enraged, Warleader Moraeulf growled orders to his terror stricken lieutenants as he reviewed their weakening lines from the safety of an elm shaded hill, watched with fury as his forward ranks of pikemen retreated under an unexpectedly heavy rain of Kingdom longbow fire. In a short while, the combined mass of Prince Arutha's relief forces and the garrison at Sethanon would be in a position to push them into the only quarter of the city where they would be unable to retreat, and then it would only be a matter of hours before they would be forced to surrender or die in a blaze set to flush them out.

"Warleader Moraeulf, you must come quickly!" Hearing a commotion to his left, he muttered a silent curse on Delekhan's head for leading them on this fool's errand, then snapped his attention to a small group of moredhel who were advancing towards him, faces flushed with excitement. Their leader, a scar faced whelp of twenty summers, knelt reverently at his feet before breathlessly delivering his message. "At the Keep! Your father has taken Prince Arutha! And I believe the marked one is with him! The tide of the battle turns!"

Stalking skeptically after his messengers, he progressed through a ruined avenue and into a cobbled central square filled with conversing moredhel warriors. Above them, Delekhan mounted the fire blackened parapet walk of the keep, preceded by a mysterious robed figure and the Prince of Krondor, the later bound hand and foot, unable to do anything but follow where he was lead.

"Brethren!" Silence fell over the square as the robe clad figure stepped past Arutha and Delekhan and into an archer's turret, a hand placed over his right breast. Ripping open his white garment, he revealed a body made gaunt with hunger, but bearing an unmistakable curling purple birth mark which resembled a dragon and was the mark of legend. Instantly, a chant rose among the moredhel warriors, many of them falling to their knees in ecstatic reverence.

"I have returned, O my children!" Murmandamus shouted from the battlements, revealing a glittering sword of gold, its hilt set with stones of lapis. "Hidden deep in the chambers of earth below our feet, Prince Arutha sought to keep this sword from me, from us, the key to our future! For ten years he imprisoned me in the bowels of this hell against my will, but you have freed me," he said, sweeping the air with the sword. "Ten years ago I promised you the dawning of a new age. I was repaid with abandonment. But today I am free, because you who followed Delekhan believed in our dream. You have demonstrated your worthiness and loyalty, and as a reward you shall all bear witness to the death of the Lord of the West and the final fulfillment of the Prophesy!"

A dark cheer rippled through the crowd as Murmandamus held the sword aloft and faced Arutha, his lips curled back in a wicked smile as he advanced on the dazed prince. Considering the things that had been done to him, the crowd thought it likely their former leader would execute Arutha slowly, and they were ripe for the spectacle.

Abruptly Murmandamus halted. Beneath him, the stones of the keep began to tremble, as if the entirety of the structure were being shaken by an invisible hand. His look of proud defiance suddenly turned to outrage.

"What treachery is this?" Murmandamus screamed. "Who meddles with the Prophesy?"

As if in answer, thunder pealed overhead, announcing the arrival of a great dragon and rider, the pair seemingly having formed from the very air itself. Floating down from dizzying heights, they descended to a point level with the keep's rooftops, the dragon's wings beating great gales of wind against the crowd.

"The Prophesy is false, Murmandamus, as are you!" Pug shouted from the dragon's back. "You have betrayed the folk of the Kingdom and those of your own people for a lie! It is time for your terror to come to an end!"

At Pug's command Arutha ducked, narrowly averting death as the dragon skimmed low overhead, lashing the battlements with its titanic whip-like tail, hurling both Murmandamus and Delekhan, screaming like babes, into the horrified hordes who watched far below. Fanning away from the impact of the two, bystanders hastened to escape, fearing a possible second attack from the flying dragon and its equally menacing rider.

Standing in the midst of the crowd, Moraeulf looked on, void of pain or fear, his voice calm and clear as he addressed a goblin lieutenant who stood near him. "Gather your kin and call the retreat."

"Lord Moraeulf, we may still win! Lead us!"

Collaring the green skinned creature, Moraeulf lifted him off his feet. "I now lead the Nations of the North and my first command is that I shall lead us home."

"Call the retreat," Moraeulf spat, hurling the goblin backwards. "The day is theirs, but I must see to something first."

Disregarding the panicked warriors who sought egress from the square, Moraeulf picked his way over the burning rubble to where his father lay dead, his wolfish eyes reflecting only the clouds of smoke which drifted through Sethanon. For all his father's grand schemes, for all the things he had thought to accomplish, he was nothing now, nothing but a hulk of dead flesh. He had been a fool to trust the Tsurani magician.

Leaning over the dead body, Moraeulf snatched up the golden sword which Murmandamus had retrieved from the caverns below. Although he knew very little of the Prophesy which had inspired both his father and Murmandamus to their deaths, he had no intention of wasting what little they had gained in the battle. Perhaps when he returned to the Northlands he could still find a way to harness the power of the artifact, assuming it had any powers at all...

"Moraeulf!"

Turning, the moredhel Warleader had no time to react before the lightning-quick assassin was upon him, driving a knife skillfully through his left eye and deep into his brain, killing him instantly. Without a sound, he crumpled to the ground across his dead father, dropping the sword even before he could raise it.

Smiling coldly, Narab withdrew his knife and wiped clean the grey flesh from its bone blade, then snatched Murmandamus' prized sword from where it lay abandoned on the ground. One by one he had borne witness to the destruction of his rivals; Gorath of the Ardanien, his own brother Nago, Delekhan and his son Moraeulf, all destroyed by their own greed or inaction. Now there would be the matter of dealing with the bitch Liallan who had been Delekhan's mate, and then he might even claim the throne of Sar-Sargoth for himself, assuming no bastard get of the former warleader claimed the right. It would be of small consequence, however, for now he possessed what they had all sought. Assuming he lived, he would learn to exploit his new found advantage.

Resheathing his knife in his boot, he spotted a slow moving band of moredhel limping towards the Dimwood, and he hurried to join them, blending in with the crowd in the same manner in which he had come to Sethanon, as an unrecognizable face in a mob of the beaten and the angry.

Arutha watched with mild wonder as Pug conjured the Prince's duplicate into nonexistence, then just as quickly eliminated the remarkably life-like illusions of Delekhan and Murmandamus who lay crumpled on the ground below the Keep. The corpse of Delekhan's son would have to be removed later by less arcane means.

"A shame we didn't have you with us at Armengar, cousin Pug," Arutha said. "A performance such as that before Murmandamus' troops might have won us the battle."

Pug shook his head. "Spectacle won't win your battles, but at least it may prevent the Dark Brothers from plotting another attack against Sethanon. With the dozen or more moredhel witnesses you've left alive on the battlefield, most of them should return alive to the Northlands. Having seen their leaders die and possessing the object Murmandamus sought, they'll have little reason to return here."

"Let us hope," Arutha said. I have little desire to do this again."

"What about the artifact?" Owyn asked.

"A useless sword," Pug replied with a grin. "The Oracle of Aal indicated a hidden room where I might find it when I asked for assistance with the plan. Shortly after that moredhel gentleman who picked it up returns to Sar-Sargoth, he will discover it useless and curse the names of both of them for having spilled so much moredhel blood on false prophesies."

Seeing James and Locklear poking about in the ruins near the keep, Arutha scowled. "I have a feeling those two are going to keep me busy for months with their questions about this place. Fortunately they're loyal - if I tell them the subject is closed, they'll both trust me enough to leave the issue alone."

"You can always tell them the sword was truly what was buried here," Owyn suggested. "The answer is good enough for the moredhel."

Arutha shook his head. "Locklear will probably forget the matter once he sees a pretty young face in Krondor, but Jimmy is different. He won't accept it, though he will never ask anything more. I don't like that I will have to lie to him. He's as loyal a subject as I've ever had."

"What about the Tsurani?" Owyn asked. Nodding, Arutha seemed equally concerned with Pug's answer.

"I shall have to talk with them. A well-respected member of the Assembly of Magicians named Hochopeppa already knows something of the event and he will help me assuage their fears," Pug said. "Thankfully they have their hands tied with another bothersome individual at the moment."

Satisfied, Arutha said his farewells and moved off to be of assistance in evacuating the remaining soldiers from the area, fearing that some might become too curious and discover things best left unfound. While watching the Prince depart, Pug smiled quietly to himself, gaining Owyn's attention.

"You seem pleased about something," Owyn said." What is it?"

"You will note that the Prince said nothing about your silence," Pug said. "You know the secret of Sethanon. In all of Midkemia, only Prince Arutha, King Lyam, Duke Martin, Tomas of Elvandar and myself truly know what lies beneath our feet." As if to reinforce the point, Pug tapped his staff at Owyn's feet.

"What are you saying?"

Smiling, Pug began to lead him down the winding path towards the city's smashed southern gate. "What that means is the Prince expects me to guarantee your silence. That will be difficult to do. With you in Tiburn and me at my Academy of Magicians at Stardock, it will require that I make a number of long and tiresome journeys for the sole purpose of ensuring you keep your silence. It seems a waste of time." Stopping to look into the sunset, Pug seemed lost in thought. "Of course, it is possible I could take you on as a student of magic, your living expenses paid in full by Prince Arutha. Are you interested in becoming a true magician, Owyn?"

Laughing for the first time in a great while, Owyn twirled his staff in his hands. "I've never wanted anything else..."