“Besides, he’s miserable already. Look at him, Gaelin!”

Cuille made no move to defend himself. His advisors, Trebelaen and the Lady Viersha, stood frozen. Gaelin took another half-step forward, feeling cold and sick inside. He raised the sword, and held it for a moment before slamming it back into its sheath and turning away in disgust. Without a word he left Cuille standing in the center of the room. Erin gave the count one last withering glare and then followed him out.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” Gaelin replied. “I can’t stay here, though.”

In the courtyard, Gaelin found Boeric and Niesa waiting, their horses laden with full saddlebags. He patted Blackbrand on the neck, swung up into the saddle, and rode out of the castle without looking back.

Bannier stood in the dark heart of his tower, contemplating the work that lay before him. The door into night stood waiting in the corner of the chamber, and before the shadow the Princess Ilwyn trembled like a pale white flower. Her head was bowed, and her hands were bound behind her back with thin silver chains, looped gracefully over one wrist and under the other. The cold metal was far too delicate to restrain her physically, but it concealed powerful enchantments that deadened Ilwyn’s will. Her blank gaze wandered off into the darkness. “Wait here, Ilwyn, and do not move,” Bannier said.

It might have been a trick of his eyes, but the girl’s shoulders seemed to sag a little lower, and her head nodded forward.

The wizard smiled with satisfaction and left the room. In the chamber below, his sitting room, Bannier entertained another guest. Sprawled out in the center of the room lay Madislav, his chest slowly rising and falling.

The wizard examined Madislav again, reassuring himself that all was ready. He had been able to preserve the Vos warrior’s life the night before, using an elixir that was nearly irreplaceable.

Still, he considered it a worthwhile investment. Tuorel had goaded him into taking matters into his own hands; Bannier was determined to do so in the time and manner he saw fit.

He reached into the pouch at his belt and withdrew an acrid red powder. Measuring just a pinch, he tossed it into Madislav’s face. The warrior’s eyes flew open, and he drew in a great breath, then spat out a string of Vos oaths. “ Slavnyi boi! Where am I?”

Bannier leaned into his field of view. “You’re in my tower, Madislav. You recognize me, don’t you?”

Anger contorted the Vos’s face. “Bannier,” he snarled.

Then, a moment later, his face paled. “I cannot move.”

“Aye,” the wizard agreed. “Not until I allow you to, and I’ve no wish to see whether or not you have enough strength left to break me like a stick.”

Madislav closed his eyes. A moment later, he seemed to regain some of his composure. “What is it you are wanting of me?”

“I have a task for you,” Bannier said. “You are going to help me track down Gaelin and capture him.”

The Vos laughed, but the sound came out as a ghastly chuckle. “I am not thinking so,” he said after he finished.

“Trust me, Madislav, you’ll have little choice in the matter.

In fact, I intend to borrow your body for a time. Your mind will be held in this gem.” Bannier held up a large emerald, perfectly cut, with myriad flashing facets. “I will send my mind into your body. To all outward appearances, I will be Madislav. That may allow me to find our elusive prince and get close to him before Tuorel’s hounds run him to ground.”

Madislav grimaced. “And where will your body be?”

“Someplace safe, I assure you. A place where I keep many things of value to me. In fact, we’ll be going there soon.” Bannier gestured into the darkness, and Madislav heard a strange scraping and clicking sound. The air seemed stale and cold.

Two skeletons lurched into the chamber, moving with a mechanical precision. At the wizard’s direction, the horrid things seized Madislav’s arms in their yellowed talons and lifted him easily, dragging him up the stairs. The warrior’s head lolled like a corpse, and his nerveless legs trailed behind him uselessly, but he did not utter a sound.

Bannier turned to follow the skeletons and their burden, but at that moment he became aware of intruders approaching his chamber door. He scowled, but turned and headed back down into his sitting room. A moment later, a heavy sword-hilt thumped his door vigorously.

“Bannier!” called a muffled voice. “Baron Tuorel wants to see you at once! Princess Ilwyn is missing!”

“Tell Tuorel I took her, in accordance with the bargain we made,” Bannier responded. “Now, run back to your master!”

He waited until the renewed pounding paused for a moment, and said, “I will return shortly, gentlemen, and I will speak to the baron then. In the meantime, I must warn you that there are magical wards of some power that guard my chambers. I guarantee the first man to set foot in here will die, instantly and horribly. The second and third men… well, it may be they will wish they had been first. Good day.” He trotted up the stairs behind the skeletons, savoring the thoughtful silence that fell outside his door.

In the chamber upstairs, Ilwyn stood where he had left her, now with Madislav and his skeletal bearers a few paces behind.

Bannier stepped in front of Ilwyn to face the disturbing column of darkness, and spoke the words of an ancient invocation.

The room grew dark and cold as the shadow yawned deeper, waiting. “You will follow me, Ilwyn, remaining two paces behind at all times,” he said over his shoulder. The princess nodded again, her eyes on the floor.

From behind her, Madislav somehow summoned up enough strength to raise his head and glare at Bannier.

“Where are you taking us?” he rasped.

Bannier smiled coldly. “There is a world that exists beside this one. I’ve studied it for years now. The roads are strange there, and I can cover a mile with a few steps on the other side. And there are powers in the darkness with which I have become familiar.” He returned his attention to the portal of darkness. “You may know it as the Shadow World.”

What little color remained in Madislav’s face drained away.

Then the wizard turned and stepped into the cold and the dark, the shadows enfolding him like umber-scaled serpents.

The weather took a turn for the worse as Gaelin, Erin, Boeric, and Niesa rode out of Beldwyn. The temperature began to drop toward the freezing mark, while a stiff westerly wind brought low, angry clouds and stinging cold rain to slow their travel. Gaelin ignored the needles of icy water pelting his face and the chilling gusts that raked him. He stared sightlessly at the road, grappling with the sea of betrayal and grief that surrounded him.

A few miles west of Beldwyn, they overtook Piere and his kinsmen. The Sirilmeeters listened attentively as Erin recounted their visit to the count.

“You must remember, my lord Mhor, we view ourselves as Mhoriens first and Dhalsielans second,” Piere said, when she was done. “I think most common folk feel that way, these days. It’s a shame the lords can’t see it the same.”

Gaelin brooded silently. As far as he was concerned, the only reason to continue back to Sirilmeet was the fact that the road led in that direction. Toward nightfall, they found themselves approaching the village again. After hours of riding in the freezing rain, they were shivering and blue with cold. As Piere and his cousins took their leave of Gaelin, the stocky farmer looked him up and down and said, “My lord Mhor, can I ask where you’ll be staying this night?”

Gaelin shook himself out of his reverie. “What?”