In a dark chamber of hollowed stone, Bannier awoke from a nightmare of pain and confusion. He was alone, lying on a cold floor, stripped of power and defenses. It had taken every reserve of his strength to survive his encounter with Gaelin – in fact, it had taken more strength than he possessed. That could only mean one thing: his patron had intervened to spare his life, for some purpose Bannier did not understand and feared to face.

Opening his eyes, Bannier examined his surroundings, like a drowning man who notices the quality and color of the water that ends his life. The chamber was vast, illuminated only by a pair of dim tapers set at his head and feet, and the feeble light was not strong enough to illuminate the walls or ceiling of the place. Abreath of musty air, old and dry, swirled around Bannier’s tattered robes.

He recognized this place. It was the heart of his master’s power, a place of bargains and ancient compacts, redolent with the odor of dust and betrayal. Bannier fought to control his terror. He rose, contemplating flight, but his reason won out over his fear. He’d been brought to this place for a specific purpose, as a deliberate act, and it would show a lack of character if he attempted to escape now. Escape was, after all, impossible at this point. He waited.

Hours passed in the darkness before he heard the sounds he knew would come. An iron door creaked open, admitting a gust of dank air, and then a footfall echoed through the room. It was a heavy sound, the scraping of stone on stone.

The footsteps were just a heartbeat too far apart to be human; their ringing impact suggested the approach of unstoppable power. Bannier quailed, but held his ground.

“Bannier, I am disappointed in you.” The voice was close to human pitch, although deeper and stronger than normal, and possessed of a certain coldness. “You performed admirably in the beginning, but you failed to bring the Mhoried blood to me and failed to bring Mhoried to ruin. Imagine my displeasure.”

“Yes, my lord.” Bannier dared no other response. He felt a vast presence in the shadows, a hulking power that now edged closer to the light. In the darkness before him, he saw two baleful red eyes appear, half again his own height above the floor. He flinched, averting his gaze.

There was a snort of derisive laughter. “You do not care to look upon my countenance? Do you not trust me, Bannier? I trusted you. I went to great lengths to retrieve you from your precarious position and bring you here to my Battlewaite.”

Raesene – the creature men knew as the Gorgon – stepped into the candlelight. He was massive, with a deep chest and long, powerful arms. His legs were doubled back like a satyr’s, and his feet were obsidian hooves; his flesh was a dusky gray that had the quality and feel of stone. The Gorgon’s face was awful, a bestial visage crowned by sharp spikes or horns, but buried beneath the hideous features there could still be seen the outlines of the face of a man. He wore fine black breeches, and a matching tunic embroidered with gold designs. The garments were regal, befitting a lord, but they left the wide expanse of his chest and the rippling power of his arms bared, a veneer of civilization covering an ele- mental force of destruction.

Resisting the urge to throw himself to the ground and grovel for mercy, Bannier held his ground. Five hundred years ago, the Gorgon had finally brought down the empire by destroying Michael Roele, the last of the line. But his ambitions did not end there. With Anuire reeling in chaos and civil war, the Gorgon’s domain grew in strength. Bannier suspected that the awnshegh lord desired nothing less than the complete subjugation of the scattered Anuirean successorstates;

Mhoried was the nearest of these to his reach.

In a rumbling voice, the Gorgon asked, “Well? Have you anything to say for yourself?”

Bannier licked his lips. “My lord, while it is true that I failed to bring you the Mhoried bloodline, I aided Tuorel of Ghoere in defeating the Mhor Daeric and driving Gaelin’s forces to the remotest reaches of the kingdom. Even as I left to defend Caer Duirga, Tuorel’s army was finishing the Mhorien resistance.”

“The siege pro g resses well, as you say. But due to your incompetence, I am now forced to take matters into my own hands. This makes me wonder what I have received in exchange for the formidable powers I placed at your command.”

With an iron effort, Bannier met Raesene’s eyes. The Gorgon respected strength and courage. No matter what, the wizard must give him the impression he possessed both qualities.

“Allow me to return to Mhoried, my lord. I am certain I can bring down Gaelin, given another chance.”

Raesene stepped forward and laid his hand on Bannier’s shoulder, a familiar and patronizing gesture. The weight of his touch was more than Bannier could bear; the wizard was acutely conscious that with the merest act of will, the Gorgon could snuff out his life. “I knew you would say that,” the creature said. “Therefore, I have taken the liberty of making some arrangements for you. We will have this Mhorien situation resolved in our favor. Now, come with me.”

Trailing a step behind Raesene, Bannier followed obediently.

He allowed the barest degree of optimism to creep into his thoughts.

The Gorgon led him through the black halls of the Battlewaite, moving with relentless purpose, never speaking a word.

For his own part, Bannier dared not open his mouth. Eventually they came to a wide battlement, a terrace in the side of the tower that overlooked the fortress-city of Kal-Saitharak. Here the Gorgon stopped, dismissing a pair of trollish guards fro m the chamber. He gazed out over the towers and ramparts, the smoking forges and warrens of the city. “Bannier, do you wonder why I wish to see Mhoried destroyed? ”

“I only presumed it pleased you, my lord.”

The Gorgon smiled, a fierce expression. “Do not let my aspect deceive you, Bannier. I do very few things only because they gratify me. I bear Mhoried no particular malice, at least no more than any other Anuirean state. Mhoried is to be destroyed because it is one of a handful of linchpins, critical powers that hold Anuire together. And even more importantly than that, Mhoried is to be destroyed because it is necessary for Ghoere’s elevation.”

“All of this is for Tuorel’s gain? I did not realize that he was in your favor, Prince Raesene.”

“On the contrary, Bannier, I elevate Ghoere not for Tuorel’s sake, but for my own. I will build him into a great power, a warlord so strong he will dare to claim the Iron Throne. This will lead to an inevitable conflict between Ghoere and his supporters on the one hand, and those who can resist him on the other. In a year or two, all of Anuire will be immersed in the greatest war since Michael set out to claim his throne. This will be to my advantage.”

Bannier cleared his throat. “Why tell me this, my lord?”

The Gorgon turned his attention to the human sorc e rer beside him. “Because the necessary first step of this plan, a step I relied on you to complete, remains to be taken. Tuorel has not yet finished his conquest of Mhoried. Had you pursued your duties with more diligence, this affair would be concluded, and I would be free to turn my attentions elsewhere. Now a Dieman host marches to Mhoried’s relief, and Tuorel is about to be caught between Gaelin’s rebels and Vandiel’s soldiers.”

“Diemed joins the war?”

“ F rom what I understand, your treatment of Princess Seriene had something to do with it,” the Gorgon said wryly. “When you struck at her and Gaelin in the form of his Vos friend, she decided you had to be stopped. Now I find I must commit Kraith of Markazor to Mhoried again to reinforce Tuorel.”

“I am sorry, my lord. I did not mean to involve Diemed through my attempts to capture Gaelin for you.” Bannier could not restrain a shudder of fear – the Gorgon accepted few apologies.