Arch Wizard

seemed now to be his castle, not Lorontar's.

It wasn't that he suddenly knew its every chamber and passage, but rather as if they were forgotten parts of his home, not unfamiliar menacing corners of the most forbidding fortress known to Falconfar.

Hmm. The shieldings must have done this to him. Not just the healing; they'd left something behind in his mind that he was noticing only now that he was away from those rushing flows of magic.

A new spell was emblazoned in his mind. Shining new and unfamiliar among his deepest, oldest memories. A magic he knew had not been there before, one he'd never mastered or cast.

A spell for overcoming and compelling a mind. Like the mind whose control spell was humming and swirling down in the hidden chamber. Or perhaps not. As Narmarkoun peered at it more closely, letting his thoughts follow its workings to see what it was designed to enact rather than just marveling at its unexpected presence and its shining entirety, he perceived that it was a spell for controlling the minds of creatures of Earth, from here in Falconfar.

Though this arm of incantation, here, coupled to the larger spell with yon binding, made it also, when cast thus, into a means of conquering the minds of creatures of Falconfar while they were in the world called Earth.

So it was not a means of walking down a Stormar port street and compelling merchants to thrust all their coins into his hands, or forcing a Galathan noble to surrendering his daughter to a smiling Narmarkoun upon sight. It would work on lorn or Dark Helms he sent to Earth-or the man called Rod Everlar, here in Falconfar.

Yet even with these limitations, it was a wonder.

And best of all, it was his now, burned into his mind so deeply and securely he'd never need a scroll or to read the glyphs set down in a spellbook to cast it. Just thinking it through, letting his mind follow its intricate paths, would be enough. So long as he was conscious, and unharmed enough to remain strong of will from end to end of its casting.

Right now he felt stronger than he'd ever felt before. Brimming with vigor, on the verge of prancing through these empty rooms out of sheer joy at feeling so… alive.

No longer despairing, or longing to get out of this place and back to Closecandle before Malraun caught him here.

Now, somehow, half a dozen Malrauns alarmed him not in the slightest.

Not that this grim and empty castle around him was in any wise better than his Closecandle.

Nay, Closecandle was his, its every cavern and tunnel, chute and stair hollowed out of the heart of a great mountain by his magic. His work alone, every casting. His was the hand that had measured every handspan of rock melted away, and so tamed the greatest peak of the Howlhorns.

Just as his spells tamed and gentled every greatfangs he'd captured, and in time guided them as patiently as any greatfangs elder into breeding, one with another.

Beasts as large as villages and as deadly as armies, and they were his. His to ride, to goad them into hunting and making war at his command.

Six of them, though only the aging parents and the oldest of their hatchlings were full-grown brutes who could smash into a turret and live, toppling the castle's stone fang in their wake. The next-hatched was big enough to ride but still fighting his training, and the two younglings were little better than greedy fledglings, more interested in devouring and play-brawling with each other than obeying anyone.

Them, he missed. Not the younglings, but the elder three. Just as he ached for the caresses of his playpretties, no matter how swiftly Narmarkoun their Doom tired of them when he was nigh-buried in them.

Oh, the longings were there. Yet somehow, as he exulted in feeling stronger than ever before, they paled before the sheer joy of being here. Here, in Lorontar's ancient lair of secrets. Here, in the hidden heart of elder magic. Here where he could quite well abide for now, and spy on anyone he desired to from afar. Rod Everlar, for one.

Oh, he now knew half a dozen Shapers he could call on, to alter Falconfar with their dreams and writings; Everlar was no longer the prize.

Yet still, Everlar was the Shaper most familiar with Falconfar-and the lone Shaper in Falconfar. So he'd bear watching, if only to make sure Malraun didn't sidle up and cast a net of spells to control the Earth man utterly.

Perhaps it was time to alter some of his playpretties into false Everlars, so Malraun would have a merry dance to lay hands on the real one…

Narmarkoun found his face aching from the wide and unaccustomed grin splitting it. He laughed aloud, clapped his hands together, and strode to the very center of a great empty chamber. It was time to work magic. Lots of magic. Swiftly conjure up another spying globe of magic to watch what's happening to Everlar, then cast spells to link again with the minds of his lorn and Dark Helms on Earth, to spy on their doings through their eyes.

Nor would that be all his spying and prying. It was high time to look in on the Tesmers back in Ironthorn-and time to awaken Deldragon, too. Even a Doom of Falconfar, after all, would need at least one army to invade and conquer Earth.

Let Malraun think he'd won Falconfar for now.

Fewer places ruled by Narmarkoun meant fewer places to defend. Even Closecandle could be sacrificed as a Malraun-trap now that the greatfangs were all grown enough to fly, and the elder three wise and mighty enough to defend themselves against even the spells of the Matchless.

Aye, let Malraun gloat, and turn to conquering Galath. A Galath without Deldragon and his knights.

Then, when the time was just right, appear unlooked-for in his very lap and smash him utterly. Letting him know, as he died, who was destroying him.

Far away across Falconfar in the dim and silent chambers and passages of Closecandle, dead faces started to smile, not knowing why.

Nareyera Tesmer spat out a curse, and then a flood of stranger words. The rings on her slender fingers obediently blazed and winked in wild fury.

An instant later, the night exploded in fire.

Great rolling balls of flame, erupting out of nowhere to light up the night as they thundered away from Nareyera in all directions. The tree that held her caught alight with a great roar, hurling her down into the hollow as it blazed up angrily, warming her back.

Everywhere she looked, as she crashed down and left her breath behind, fire was racing along black, writhing branches. Through many leaping, hungry amber tongues, as she rolled over and up to her knees, gasping, Nareyera saw her brother spring at Cauldreth Jaklar. Mindful of blazing branches stabbing at him, Belard bounded aside at the last moment to thrust with his sword at the priest's side rather than sinking into a face-to- face lunge.

The priest ducked away and ran, fleeing across the hollow as the tree boughs moved by his magic dipped at his back to form a flaming wall-and flail at Belard. He staggered back from their rushing flames, but behind him Talyss was momentarily free of reaching limbs and branches. She glared at Jaklar through the flames and hurled her knife, hard.

It bit home deeply, striking to the hilt in the priest's shoulder. Nareyera saw him falter, arch over backwards in pain for a frozen moment-and then stagger forward with a great sob and run on, up out of the hollow into the night-dark forest. He was bleeding freely; there'd be a trail of blood to mark where he fled.

Yet the Lord Leaf was still very much alive, for the tree-limbs governed by his spell were reaching even more wildly for Belard and Talyss, thrusting in from all directions despite quickening flames dancing along them, seeking to throttle and entwine.

In the space of a breath her brother and sister were back to back in the heart of closing claws of living wood, hacking desperately at the burning branches that jabbed at them, fighting to stay free and alive.

They were doomed.

Nareyera triggered the ring that quelled magic. If she called on all of its power at once…

It exploded, taking her finger with it and leaving her shrieking in pain, startled and in agony-amid a sudden great hissing, that heralded the return of the night-gloom.