The war mage stopped a few strides short of Evariste and glanced at the still-gasping mage that writhed on the ground. “Getup, Funus,” he sighed with impatience. “He’s without magic. Whatever he did, you ruddy well deserved it for failing to keep himdown.”
The mage with the jagged scargagged.
The war mage rolled his eyes, then lowered his sword and dragged it across the cave floor so sparks jumped fromit.
Evariste kept still, but he carefully studied the war mage, looking for anything his appearance might tellhim.
Although the mage was willowy and muscled leanly, his grip on the sword was familiar—he was well trained. His skin was porcelain white—almost ashen—which meant either the cave system was enormous, or the mage was arecluse.
The war mage tilted his head and rested the flat of his blade on his shoulder as he studied Evariste, a mean smirk twitching on his lips. “You seem hardly worth the fuss that’s been kicked up overyou.”
Evariste ignored him and tried to discreetly get a better measure of the room. The cave—evident by the rocky walls and sloping stone ceiling—lacked any discernable opening besides the one door. It seemed that it didn’t even have a ventilation system, for the fire—Evariste could now see—hissed and crackled, but it must have been magic-fed, for it consumed no wood orfuel.
The room was ringed with chests, items, and artifacts of all sizes and kinds. Evariste suspected if he could sense more than the infernal numbness, his senses would be lighting up from magicalartifacts.
When he finished his inspection of the room, his gaze returned to the warmage.
The war mage flicked his dark eyebrows up. “Satisfied?” He didn’t wait for Evariste to respond before he continued. “Try running again, and I won’t trouble myself with the bother of keeping youunblemished.”
The edge of the dagger pressed into Evariste’s neck, cutting a thin slice in his skin. Evariste kept his expression placid despite the bite of thedagger.
The war mage turned his back to Evariste so he faced the entrance of the cave chamber. “It seems your new toy has finally woken up,Mother.”
Two women stepped out of the shadows. One, Evariste recognized—a black-haired sorceress named Suzu who had the personality of a harpy. She had aided the other mages in using Evariste to curse Emerys and theelves.
The second, however, was radically different. While everyone in the room was dressed in dark clothes—even Evariste—she wore a gauzy, pinkish-white gown with intricate, gold beadwork. Her pale blond hair spilled down her back and shoulders in ringlets, but they were covered by a white veil held in place with a crown of flowers. She appeared to be in her late thirties or perhaps early forties but was youthful and beautiful with her pink lips budding in a smile, an unwrinkled and warm complexion, and her eyes that sparkledinvitingly.
She was a bright spot in the darkness of the shadows, and everything about her presence feltwrong.
Evariste kept his gaze level, even though instinct had him reaching for his walled off magic as she drewcloser.
“Thank you, Acri.” The woman smiled fondly at the war mage and briefly cupped his cheek with what appeared to be maternal affection. “You have done well—asalways.”
The war mage bowed slightly inresponse.
“Funus, Suzu, you may leave.” The woman’s voice wasmusical.
Suzu bowed her head, then glared at the scarred mage as he peeled himself off the ground. “Can’t do anything right, can you?” the sorceressgrowled.
Funus gave a coughing retch and hobbled after Suzu as she swept from theroom.
The woman waited with a tilted head and a slight smile until their footsteps retreated past hearing, then she turned her bright gaze onto Evariste. “Welcome, Lord Enchanter Evariste of the Fire Gates. We are so glad to have you here.” She grasped the edges of her skirts and curtsiedslightly.
“Who are you?” Evariste asked. It was hard to speak around the edge of the dagger, but this was the first time his captors were directly communicating with him.I need to gather as much information aspossible.
“I am Liliane,” shesaid.
“You’re the leader of the black mages?” Evaristeasked.
Her smile turned rueful. “I suppose you could say that, yes. Though it is a rather inelegant and small-minded way of looking atit.”
Evariste clenched his jaw and glanced from the mother to theson.
The young man, Acri, turned a chair around and sat backwards on it so he could rest his chin on the backrest, his sword balanced on hislap.
“What do you want?” Evariste asked. “What are you trying toaccomplish?”
Liliane blinked in surprise. “Trying?” She asked. “My dear Lord Enchanter, you might wish we are merelytrying, but rather it is that we have already succeeded. Now, we only need to harvest our hard work.” She smiled as she glided closer to him. “You will be given the chance to aid us—though I can tell by that mulish look of yours, it will not be your pleasure to doso.”
