Bannier stormed through the halls of Shieldhaven, his black cloak trailing behind him. His customary reserve was gone, and raw fury contorted his face. Dawn was an hour away, but Ghoere’s soldiers crowded the passageways. The entire fortress had been roused by the fighting and alarms, and parties of armed Ghoerans still roamed the castle, seeking spies or collaborators who might have aided the Mhor’s escape attempt.

The wizard swept around a corner and came to the door leading to the Mhor’s audience hall. Noered Tuorel had claimed the chamber as his own headquarters and oversaw the occupation of Shieldhaven and the progress of the war from the room. Half a dozen of Tuorel’s finest guards stood before the door. “Out of my way!” Bannier hissed.

The lieutenant sketched a shallow bow. “The Baron can see you now,” he said. Bannier strode forward and roughly shouldered the man aside, ignoring the murderous looks Tuorel’s guards shot at his back. Inside, he found Tuorel standing beside a table of rich, ancient wood, a parchment map of Mhoried pinioned to its surface by sturdy knives. Officers of the baron’s army were gathered there.

Tuorel glanced up, his face betraying no annoyance at the interruption. “Well, Bannier, I see that you survived your encounter with the Mhor without injury. Quite remarkable, considering the fall.” His smile vanished and a hard look came into his eyes. “What do you want with me this morning?”

“Do you have any idea what your bungling cost me today?” Bannier said in a loud voice. The officers fell silent.

Some took a step or two back, fingering the hilts of their swords. “The Mhor and his son lie dead, you idiot! All we have to show for it is one frightened girl, and she’s of absolutely no value to us as long as Gaelin remains free!”

Tuorel’s face tightened. “I don’t care for your tone of voice,” he said. “Remember your manners, Bannier.”

“And you remember that we had a bargain, Tuorel! The Mhor was to be delivered to my hands!” Bannier took a step forward, sweeping his staff over the table with a two-handed swing. The map tore in half, the wooden markers flying across the room. “All this is meaningless now!”

“Not to me, it isn’t,” Tuorel snapped. “Instead of running around screaming like a child, I’m planning to take this wretched land with or without the Mhoried line. It may be long, and difficult, and bloody, but if I have to put half of Mhoried to the sword to rule the other half, I can and I will.

Now, make yourself useful, or get out of my way! I’ll not be threatened, wizard.”

“Is this how you keep your word, Tuorel?”

“Bannier, as I recall, Thendiere died by your hand, and the Mhor met his death while locked in hand-to-hand battle with you. If you find the Mhorieds are dying too quickly, perhaps you should stop killing them.”

The wizard’s eyes narrowed. “Strange, isn’t it? I help you to take Shieldhaven, fulfilling my part of the bargain, but before you live up to your end, the Mhor and his son meet their deaths. An unfortunate coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’ve had them for three days and done nothing with them.”

Bannier exploded. “Because I need all the Mhorieds, you dolt!”

“For what? You must be blooded, or you could not wield the sorcery I have seen you employ. And you have an impressive command of the magical arts. How much more can you want?”

“I have a debt to pay,” Bannier hissed. “And I fulfill my obligations, no matter what it takes. You would be wise to do the same.”

Tuorel folded his arms in front of his armored chest and regarded the wizard evenly. “If you must take the bloodline of the Mhorieds, you need only slay the last living Mhoried.

There are two left now: Princess Ilwyn, here in Shieldhaven, and Prince Gaelin. Your designs haven’t been thwarted, Bannier, merely delayed. For that matter, I can still invest myself as king of this miserable land. I couldn’t coerce the Mhor into handing me the kingdom, but I may break Gaelin.”

Bannier stopped his pacing to glare at the baron. “He’s mine, Tuorel. I’ve already seen how your prisoners fare.”

Tuorel’s eyes blazed, but he spoke quietly. “Then go get him yourself. Clearly, you’ve no further use for my cavalry. I’ll find more pressing business for those soldiers, I think. Good luck in your search for the prince.” He turned away deliberately, taking up the study of a map hanging on the wall.

Bannier fumed in silence. Finally he scowled and said, “You said Gaelin could hold the key to a quick victory, Tuorel.

How long will it take you to reduce Mhoried town by town?”

The baron didn’t turn, but he shrugged in his heavy armor.

“A few months, I would think.”

“And what will Mhoried be worth to you, if you have to rule every square foot of it with a soldier? Will the Mhoriens march under your banner, or murder your soldiers in the dark of night?”

“I’ll not argue the point, Bannier. The crown is no mere symbol – if I wrest the right to rule from Gaelin, my victory is complete.”

“Then you’ll agree that it suits both our purposes to capture the prince as swiftly as possible.”

Tuorel eyed the wizard contemptuously. “Considering the way you’ve threatened me, I’m not sure how much longer I should trust you. But, for the sake of argument: Yes, I agree Gaelin must be captured. Do you have any suggestions?”

Bannier smiled, a serpentine expression that showed no hint of warmth. “Sooner or later, the prince will surface. I know Gaelin; he won’t stay away from Mhoried, not if he thinks the land is in danger. Give him time to get his feet under him, and he may even claim the Mhor’s seat and stand against you, Tuorel.”

“That would be unacceptable. It will take long enough to pacify this land without a figure like the Mhor’s son for the Mhoriens to rally around. Even if he’s an idiot, he’ll be dangerous to me.”

“Make certain Gaelin isn’t killed, baron,” Bannier said quickly. “Remember our bargain – do not deny me the prince.

Believe me, it’s in your best interest to make certain I remain your ally. You can’t even guess at the resources I command.”

The wizard whirled in a flutter of night-black cloak and strode away, leaving a noticeable chill lingering in the air.

Ignoring hostile glares from the Ghoeran lords and officers he encountered, Bannier stormed back to his tower. He passed the wards that guarded his chambers and barred the door behind him. Pacing his chamber absently, he considered his options. After a moment’s thought, he selected a book of divinations from the shelf and paged through until he found the spell he wanted. “It will do,” he murmured. He sat down to study the spell’s cryptic symbology.

By sunrise, he was ready to begin. The first rays of dawn streamed into Bannier’s conjuring chamber, striking fiery gleams from a spiral of argent runes inlaid in the floor of the room. The wizard circled the design, pausing to speak a phrase or two of a forgotten language or throw a pinch of metallic powder into the air. In the center of the design stood a black bowl, filled with a dark liquid. Reading from a book cradled in his left arm, Bannier circled the bowl one last time, and spoke the spell’s final word. Gleaming silver energy coalesced around the spiraling runes, swirling toward the center where the bowl waited.

Bannier set down his tome of spells, and hurried over to peer into the dark pool within the bowl. Spells of seeking and spying did not come easily to him. This enchantment was the most potent scrying-spell he knew. Inside the bowl, the dark fluid rippled strangely, and its surface suddenly became a single sheet of gleaming silver.

The wizard rubbed his hands together in satisfaction, and then gazed into the reflective surface. In his mind’s eye, he conjured an image of Gaelin as he had last seen him – a tall, broad-shouldered man, dark hair marked by the white streak of the Mhoried blood. As his mind brought the image to life, an identical image appeared in the pool before his eyes. The face was a little more drawn and unkempt, and the image of the pool showed Gaelin saddling his horse, preparing for the day’s journey. Behind the prince, Bannier spied the sparkle of water. He recognized the Stonebyrn’s mighty flow. He returns to Mhoried already! the wizard thought.