to his feet and went to a small casket. It was not kept locked. Locks implied valuables, and long ago Anigrel had learned that the best way to keep something hidden and safe was in plain sight. Misdirection was the greatest protector.
On the table in the center of the room, he set out the small iron bowl and a sharp steel knife. It was his penknife; it would not do to allow an object such as a knife to gain too much sense of purpose. That in itself could betray him. Thus, the knife he used for his darkest magic was also the knife he used for the humblest of his everyday tasks.
His preparations made, Anigrel crossed to the window and opened it. He picked up his wand from the top of the bookcase and drew a careful sigil in the air; an ordinary sigil of the High Magick. It glowed brightly in half-a- dozen colors, then slowly faded.
A moment later two plump sleepy pigeons fluttered down onto the windowsill. With lightning swiftness, Anigrel reached out and grabbed them. Closing the window with a gesture, he carried the pigeons over to the table and beheaded them over the bowl, one after the other, with the sharp steel knife. His gestures were quick and neat. He had been doing this for a very long time.
Anigrel had first seen the Dark Lady as a child of eight, in a mirror in his father's study. He had been her devoted servant from that moment. With her aid he had come quickly into his inheritance, for siphoning another's life force without their knowledge was the first of the things she had taught him. No one had thought Torbet Anigrel's early death was in the least unusual, and from that moment, young Anigrel's sense of power and purpose grew.
Once the bowl was full, he set the birds aside. Another spell would dispose of them once his work here was done.
He bent over the fresh blood, eager for his communion.
A blast of furious rage struck him, its force enough to fill his head with agony. Tears of pain streamed down his cheeks and he clutched at the table, his manicured nails digging into the wood, marring the finish. Disjointed images poured into his mind, frightening, hideous beyond bearing, until he screamed for them to stop, begged for them to stop.
Suddenly the connection was gone. Anigrel fell to the floor and huddled there, weeping. She was angry with him. His Dark Lady was angry with all the world.
Because of The Outlaw. Because of Kellen.
Somehow Kellen had hurt her, hurt Anigrel's Dark Lady. He could not imagine how such a thing was possible—that Kellen, Lycaelon's Tainted whelp, could summon the power to strike out at such power, such perfection, such beauty… but he knew she could not lie, not to him.
His purpose was clear. As the worst of the agony receded, Anigrel realized that as always, he had gained much wisdom from the mere touch of her mind. What he had learned would become clearer to him in the days to come, but for now, he knew one thing absolutely.
Kellen Tavadon must die.
It would be difficult to persuade Lycaelon to renew the Hunt for his rebellious son, now that The Outlaw had taken refuge in the Elven lands, but not impossible. Lycaelon wanted to bring the Council to heel, to regain his lost prestige, to unseat Lord Volpiril from his present position of smug superiority before Volpiril managed to topple Lycaelon from power completely.
What if proof came to light that Volpiril had conspired with The Outlaw? How else could the border lands have gotten word of the Scouring Hunt in time to prepare a defense?
Proof would be difficult to arrange, but not impossible. Anigrel must move carefully. But for his Dark Lady's sake, it would be done. 'There are no failures, only opportunities.' And now Kellen Tavadon would have the opportunity to die. Chired Anigrel would make sure of it.
MERCEDES LACKEY is the author of the Heralds of Valdemar and Elemental Masters series from DAW books, the Bardic Voices (in collaboration), the SERRAted Edge, and Bedlam Bards series from Baen Books, and the Malt blood Chronicles from Tor Books, along with many other solo and collaborative works. Her hobbies include needlework, jewelry design, beadwork, and dollmaking. She lives in Oklahoma with her husband, coauthor and artist Larry Dixon, and far too many parrots for a peaceful household.
JAMES MALLORY is a professional ghostwriter with several books to his credit. Under his own name, he wrote the three-part novelization of the Hallmark Merlin miniseries: The Old Magic, The King's Wizard, and The End of Magic. Born in San Francisco, Mallory attended schools in California and the Midwest before moving to New York to pursue a career in writing. From an early age Mallory has been fascinated both with the Arthurian legends and their historical evolution, an avocation that triggered a lifelong interest in fantasy literature. Mallory's interests include hiking, comparative religion, and cinema.
