Burton Lang felt the spell that had quarantined him for twelve years suddenly lift. Informed by the trolls, he knew that Demitri had been behind the enchantment. It hurt him just knowing that his old friend had become the Nekrums’ host.
He’d watched Anna Lott descend into the deep waters of the oubliette on her way to Mern, the real Mern. And he knew that she would be under the protection of the intelligent and deadly waterbirds.
“Hide!” Burton yelled into the luminous cavern to the rest of the exiles. “Now! Someone is coming.”
The lights dimmed down to a soft orange glow.
Everyone in the cave was still silently munching on the crumbs of the delicious food Burton had made for them.
Burton had no idea who was descending the well this time. He went to investigate, alone.
Navigating his small wooden boat across the black reflective water to the oubliette landing rock, he sensed that the visitors were not of mage kind. There was no smell of sulfur or pheromone complex; a chemical mages wore to discombobulate their enemy. He heard the echo of the basket hitting the rock pile bottom.
Someone stepped out.
Approaching the landing rock, Burton could see a knight standing beside the basket—a Graleon knight, wearing black steel. He didn’t have a helmet on, but he wore a black stocking wrap around his head, exposing only the tip of his nose and his eyes.
“Hello there,” Burton said. There was something familiar in the knight’s eyes.
“I am Simon Atikan, knight of the Graleon throne,” he said.
Burton froze. He was stunned. Burton recognized him and the sword and scabbard Simon carried. He had given this very sword to Gretchen to deliver to his son, and as much as he wanted to reach out and hug Simon, he couldn’t. Burton would be leaving this world shortly. He had no more time to build a relationship with his son. And it wounded him to think that he had missed all of Simon’s childhood, when one’s soul shines brightest. Burton believed that was the time when human beings know themselves best. And at the same time, childhood was when a person was most vulnerable, easily shaped and influenced by his surroundings, good or bad.
In the recent years of the angel’s long life, Burton Lang had stripped himself of almost every fear that he had acquired in his human body. But there was one that he still couldn’t shake. With his fading memory, he couldn’t handle the fact that he might not recognize his own son if he ever saw him again. Burton had only seen him periodically throughout the years, so his son may not recognize him either. But when he heard Simon’s voice and looked into his hazel eyes, the knight didn’t have to speak his name for Burton to know that he was his father. Burton was proud of the stories he had heard about him, Sir Simon Atikan, the man who’d been to the edges of the world and back.
“You are requested at the surface by Count Indrid Cole of Grale,” said Simon. “Please, come with me.”
Burton didn’t say a word. When Simon offered his hand, Burton exited the boat onto the gravel shore. He did what his son said.
Ascending in the basket, Burton couldn’t stop staring at Simon. And Simon noticed, but kept quiet and stared away. Before meeting him face to face Burton had been prepared to die and expected to die. He trusted that Montague would figure it all out and do what needed to be done to rid the planet of the Nekrums. But standing in the basket next to his son, he felt the first feeling of hope since before he’d been imprisoned. He was glad to be alive for the little time he had left. And he couldn’t wait to see the outside world again—the sun—once again.
After living so long without sunlight, he felt that a creeping death had been upon him. He calculated only weeks until complete surrender.
The basket clicked at the top of the well. There was a black-cloaked body lying there. Burton looked to Simon. “It was the mage that lifted the spell. Indrid Cole struck him after he did so.”
Simon led him out of the tunnels that ran beneath the Illyrium castle. Burton felt the light shining from under the door just yards in front of them. The warmth of the sun surged a great illumination within him. He ran past Simon, slammed his body into the door nearly breaking the hinges off, and kept running straight into the sunlight.
Out in the open, Indrid and his men drew their swords.
Burton stripped his robe from his naked body and ran into the courtyard ruins, collapsing to his knees in the middle of the overgrown weeds. He cried out, reaching for the sun, which provided the fuel for an angel’s power. The feeling was uncanny. The inside of his body ignited into life. The dying wizard felt strong again.
It was only seconds before Ikarus soldiers placed a blanket across his back and lifted Burton to his feet. They were amused by his eccentric behavior. Burton tried several times to throw it off and run, to gather more light, only to be covered again. The third time he undressed, an Ikarus soldier hit him in the back of the knees and threw the blanket over him. “Try it again and I’ll break your legs,” he said, spitting on him.
Indrid stood over him. “So you’re the great Burton Lang,” he said. “What a first impression.”
Some of Indrid’s men laughed, but not Simon and most of the Graleon soldiers. They didn’t find humor in Burton’s embarrassment.
“I’m taking you to Ikarus. Demitri Von Cobb, a traitor who invaded the new capital, requests your presence. He agreed to leave if I deliver you to him,” Indrid said. “He is a tyrant and cannot remain in power. If you want to help mankind, you will comply.”
“How do you know this?” Burton
