Prologue

Chrauneos crept along the bottom of a steep cliff overlooking the ocean shore. The waters were a few feet to his left, rushing and lapping fiercely in the full moonlight. To his right was the cliff, its rocky surface towering high above. He crouched behind a boulder, peering cautiously over it to watch the strange man ahead of him walk along the shoreline.

He had seen the stranger arrive on a small boat during his nightly vigil of the Sealed Cave. At first he dismissed it as a fishing boat, but he remembered that the local fishermen typically left the island for home shortly after sunset. It was now well past midnight.

Watching cautiously, he noticed that this man had neither fish, rod, or net. He was dressed in the ornate robes of a practitioner of sorcery, and when he disembarked from his vessel he headed north along the cliff face, in the direction of a place only a mage could know about: The Sealed Cave. The place Chrauneos was charged to protect from intruders.

Chrauneos stalked him unseen, hiding behind rocks and bends in the cliff. The rushing of the ocean waves camouflaged the sound of his movements. The stranger kept going, oblivious to the fact that he was being followed. Chrauneos ducked behind a particularly large crag and peered over the side to get another glimpse of the man. He couldn’t make out any features, for the man was dressed completely in black robes with the hood drawn, obscuring his face.

If he stops here, then he’s after what I think he’s after.

The man did stop. He placed his hands on the cliff’s surface and stared at it with a critical eye, as if looking for some minute detail. He said something, but the ocean waves and the rushing of the wind tore the words away before Chrauneos could hear them clearly. The man drew a dagger and chipped away at the cliff face. As the slivers of rock fell away, a smooth surface was revealed beneath. He stood staring at it for long moments as if trying to commit every nuance to memory, then took a step back. Suddenly he looked to his right, towards where Chrauneos hid.

Chrauneos ducked behind the crag and closed his eyes. He leaned back against rock, trying to slow his breath. His heart, jolted from nearly being discovered, was pounding hard. He breathed the salty ocean air deeply through his mouth. The taste made him feel uncomfortable.

I’ve been away from the sea too long, he thought. Reflecting on this for a moment, he found the notion hilarious, and smiled despite himself. He didn’t think it was possible for a creature like him to be unused to the ocean breeze. I’ve been human too long as well.

Chrauneos, the ancient sea dragon, found the smell of the ocean distasteful? He spent most of his more than two thousand years of life beneath the waves, swimming among the marine creatures both minuscule and great. Indeed, he knew this very ocean as well as a man would know his own countryside.

He used to spend long days swimming along this very shore, guarding the entrance of the Sealed Cave. That is, until he was assigned by Alexia--Queen of the Cirnus Nation--the double task of being both protector and mentor to her children: Prince Alexander and his older brother, Crown Prince Adrian. Chrauneos was loath to leave his watch, but the queen’s order was oddly compounded by the agreement of the Twelve Dragons, the ruling council of the dragon race. It was one thing to disobey the nation he served, but it was quite another to defy his own race.

Despite his misgivings, something about spending time with the boys had actually made him enjoy his human form more than his dragon form in many ways, though he still thought longingly of his lair beneath the tides. Still, he wondered why both Queen Alexia and the Twelve Dragons wanted a dragon to watch over the young princes, and why him in particular? Why not pick a human to raise human children?

Chrauneos opened his eyes and shook his head, cursing himself for musing at a time like this. He risked peering over the crag again and saw the strange man drawing some odd symbols on the cliff’s surface. The mage dipped his index finger in a small vial of white ink and used it as a brush. Chrauneos couldn’t see what he was drawing from the distance. He cursed his human body. If he were in dragon form he’d be able to see an ant crawling between the crevices from miles away.

This mage’s activities were evidence enough of his intent. That he knew of the cave’s magically concealed entrance at all meant that he must know what’s inside. The fact that he was here, obviously attempting some spell to gain entrance, meant he wanted what lay within. As Guardian, that meant Chrauneos was honor-bound to kill him.

He could feel the magical energy emanating from the strange marks the mage was placing. If the power of those marks were any indication of the mage’s strength, Chrauneos knew that if he attacked while in human form he wouldn’t live longer than his third breath. If he changed into his true form, however, no amount of human magic could save this lone mage from death.

Chrauneos closed his eyes and focused on his inner pool of magic. The transformation spell took shape within him, as if by a will of its own. In just a moment his body would grow. His feeble alabaster human skin would become beautiful, emerald-colored scales as hard as tenfold steel, shining like jewels in the moonlight. He would grow over two hundred feet tall from reptilian head to thrashing tail. His hands would become claws; his teeth would become fangs. Ebony horns would protrude from his head as if to puncture the night sky. He would stand on his hind legs and spread his glorious wings, blanketing the foolish trespasser in a shadow of death. He would use his great magic to render the mage helpless and incapacitated, as vulnerable as a lamb in an open field. The sea dragon’s claws would rend his flesh like so many sharks Chrauneos had killed for food. Now that he thought about it, mages did tend to be tasty with their developed inner magic flavoring their meat.

Chrauneos completed his spell; braced himself for the transformation ... nothing happened.

He couldn’t understand it. He had cast that spell many times before and it had never failed. Thinking that he had perhaps miscast it somehow, he tried again, doubly conscious of the effort. He lifted his head to the sky and spread his arms, awaiting the glorious sensation of changing into his true self.

Again, nothing happened.

A thunderous explosion boomed behind him, then he realize what the mage had done. The runes he painted on the cliff were explosive, meant to blast the entrance open. The force of the spell trembled the cliff. The sound of falling rock melded with the deafening roar of the blast. Pebbles and rocks pelted Chrauneos, striking his head and upraised arms. He leapt from his hiding place just in time to avoid being crushed by a boulder. He laid on the ground, his face half-buried in the sand as rocks rained on him.

When he emerged, spitting out a mouthful of sand, he saw that the entrance had been blown open. The dark, wide mouth of the cave resembled the gaping maw of a beast, complete with jagged, irregular teeth. Beyond the threshold was total darkness. The mage was nowhere to be found and there was a trail leading inside.

Chrauneos drew a dagger from his side and eyed the entrance suspiciously. That mage had to know he was being followed now. From where he was standing, the stranger simply couldn’t have missed his desperate leap to save himself. Was he waiting in the darkness to ambush him? Chrauneos shook his head. The mage had every chance to kill him while he was laying in the sand, but instead he walked inside the cave. Why? Perhaps, by some miracle, the stranger didn’t see him after all.

A thought suddenly struck him. What if the mage knew he was being followed the whole time? What if his sudden inability to change into dragon form was his doing? The revelation sent a chill through Chrauneos’ spine. There had never been a mage strong enough to suppress dragon magic for centuries. This didn’t bode well at all.

Chrauneos cautiously stepped through the mouth of the cave; into darkness. He instantly regretted not mastering the human transformation magic enough to retain his night vision. As he was, he could only see endless darkness. Chrauneos felt his way along the narrow cave walls, not daring to summon a sphere of magical light to aid his vision. He could barely make out the shadows of the large stalagmites as he went. He could hear the screeching of bats, and the smell of mold permeated the warm and humid air. How, Chrauneos wondered, did bats survive for five centuries in a completely sealed cave? They must be far more resilient than he knew, or perhaps the cave wasn’t so well sealed as he thought.

Chrauneos saw a small dot of light in the distance ahead. He followed it, getting close enough to see the mage it belonged to. A pale globe of white light hovered over his head as he walked. Chrauneos knew he was at a disadvantage. He sensed a strange magic within the ball of light, and he suspected it did more than merely illuminate the mage’s path. He dared not get within its radius and risk finding out what else it did. If the mage knew he was being followed he was probably ready for an ambush. It didn’t matter. In his time, Chrauneos learned the value of patience. His chance would come.

After an hour, which felt like seven to Chrauneos, the mysterious mage led him to a ring of man-sized stalagmites encircling a large open space. Chrauneos ducked behind a stalagmite and peered cautiously at the mage, who walked to the center of the space. The magic light intensified to fill the whole area. It hovered at the center, even as the mage walked away from it and looked around, taking in his surroundings.

“Are you certain this is the place, master?” the mage said. “I don’t sense any magic here at all, save for the obvious.”

Who is he talking to? Chrauneos wondered. I see nobody else.

A voice spoke, seemingly out of nowhere. A hoarse, raspy sound. “This is the exact location, Arzúl, at least according to Vargas. That you sense nothing only means that Guadizett did a good job of concealing the magic.”

Arzúl shrugged. “Can a dragon be that strong? It’s one thing to defeat both a dark knight and a demon dragon and seal them into the Void, but it’s quite another to be able to hide magic, any magic, from me.”

“You overestimate yourself, child.”

“I’m five hundred and thirty six years old, master,” Arzúl said indignantly. “Don’t you think it’s about time you stopped calling me ‘child’?”

Chrauneos strained to see who Arzúl was talking to. Moving as far around the stalagmite as stealth allowed, he saw that the mage was looking at the strange ball of light as he spoke. So that’s where the voice is coming from!

“You should take that as a compliment, then,” said the ball of light. “You don’t look a day over four hundred.”

Arzúl was not amused. “At least I still live. Leave it to you to achieve immortality and still manage to get yourself killed!”

They both fell silent for a long moment. Finally, the light spoke. “Perhaps, but if all goes as planned that will change. Enough dawdling. Draw the pattern on the floor.”

Arzúl drew a knife from the folds of his robes and pulled back his hood, letting his long black hair spill over his face, brushing it back in annoyance.

Chrauneos watched him etch a perfect circle on the ground, then proceed to paint runes around the perimeter of that circle. Had Arzúl not just declared his age, Chrauneos would never have guessed it. He looked very young, perhaps in his mid-twenties. There was no room left for doubt. This man was Arzúl Vashkava, the legendary Immortal Rune Mage and the most powerful sorcerer in the world since the passing of his master: the fabled necromancer, Talth’Kor.

Finished, Arzúl proceeded to draw a deformed human skull in the center of the circle. Chrauneos recognized this spell instantly.

By the Void, they mean business! I have to put a stop to this now!

Holding his dagger tightly, Chrauneos prepared to ambush the mage. Just as he moved his legs, however, Arzúl looked in his direction.

“I know you’re there, Chrauneos,” he said.

Chrauneos sighed and slowly stepped from his hiding place. So much for killing him the easy way. He moved to stand a few feet before Arzúl.

“It’s been a long time,” Arzúl said cheerfully, smiling. “But it’s been even longer since I’ve seen your son. How’s the little one doing?”

Chrauneos gripped the hilt of the dagger so tightly that his knuckles were going white. He spoke through gritted teeth.

“You should know. You killed him while he was still a hatchling!”

Arzúl gasped and put a hand to his face, as if he’d been direly offended. “Oh my, killed? No, never. I couldn’t do such a thing. I only turned him into an obedient demon servant of our Dark God.”

“Is that so far away from killing?” Chrauneos scoffed.

“Enough!” the ball of light shouted. “We don’t have time for idle chat.”

Chrauneos looked up and sneered. “And who the hell are you?”

The ball of light flashed with dazzling brilliance. Chrauneos reflexively covered his eyes with his right hand. It took him a moment to realize when the light had returned to its normal pale radiance.

A voice spoke behind him. “You do not remember me? I must say I’m offended. How could you forget such a memorable face?”

Chrauneos turned, startled by the sudden presence. Standing behind him was a man in black robes, a hood drawn over his head that did nothing to obscure his face. Long dark-gray hair spilled from the hood and came down over his shoulders. His furrowed brow, the bags under his eyes, his gaunt features and pale, wrinkled skin gave him the appearance of one who spends much of his time locked in solitude without much food or sunlight. Behavior typical of either a mad scholar or a mad sorcerer. His slender, bony hand grasped a most unusual staff. The shaft was made of plain wood, like any normal quarterstaff. It was topped, however, by the shrunken, mummified hand of some unrecognizable beast. The fingers of that hand moved, clawing and scraping at the air as if desperately reaching for something and not finding it.

“Talth’Kor?” Chrauneos gasped. His eyes widened as he stared open-mouthed at him. “You’re dead! You died five centuries ago. I saw you die!”

Talth’Kor took a step forward. Panicked, Chrauneos thrust his dagger with the swiftness of a serpent’s strike. The blade passed through the necromancer’s chest without physical resistance. Chrauneos’ hand moved in all the way to the wrist before he pulled back, realizing now what he was dealing with.

“You are dead,” Chrauneos said grimly.

Talth’Kor slowly shook his head, a morose expression on his face. “So I am,” he said. His lips curled into a half-smile. “And so are you!”

Chrauneos yelped in pain as a knife pierced his back. He cursed himself. In his shock at seeing his old nemesis he had completely forgotten about his apprentice. Arzúl swiftly whispered an incantation into his left ear. He tried to move but couldn’t budge no matter how hard he tried. Arzúl had cast a spell on him. Pulling the knife from his back, Arzúl whispered a command; Chrauneos turned around, by no will of his own, to face him.

“Impossible,” Chrauneos breathed.

“You are such a stiff!” Arzúl chuckled. “I’ve seen the depths of your mind and I must say I’ve never met a bigger stoic since that mist dragon friend of yours. What is it with dragons and seriousness, anyway? Master Talth’Kor had that same problem, and look at him now! You really must learn to lighten up, lest you end up in such a lamentable condition as him.”

“Oh shut up!” Chrauneos and Talth’Kor said practically in unison.

Arzúl laughed. “Sorry. I do get carried away, don’t I?” Suddenly his eyes narrowed, regarding Chrauneos coldly. “You know what we are here for, I assume? You have the final ingredient for the ritual I’m about to perform.”

Chrauneos felt his left arm raise as by the pull of invisible strings. He tried desperately to snatch it back; reclaim control of his body. It took a lot of effort to even speak when the mage didn’t want him to. Despite pushing the full force of his will against the magic, he couldn’t move unless he was bidden to move.

Talth’Kor watched in anticipation as Arzúl slit Chrauneos’ wrist. A clear, colorless liquid seeped from the cut: dragon’s blood. The blood dripped into a small glass vial Arzúl held beneath his arm. He cut Chrauneos’ arm several more times to increase the flow. Soon the vial was full. Arzúl held it up, looking through the clear, thick, pungent liquid at Chrauneos.

“Perhaps your magic isn’t so strong after all,” he said. “You couldn’t even change your blood color to red. How ever did you manage to get wounded in battle without drawing suspicion upon yourself?” A swift gesture and Arzúl changed the blood from clear to red. “Much better.”

Arzúl turned around and approached the circle he had etched into the ground. He poured the dragon blood into the skull’s mouth, where it gathered into a mini pool of red. Arzúl walked the perimeter of the circle, whispering softly. At four opposite ends of the circle he would spread his arms and spin completely around, never breaking his stride. His chant got slightly louder and his pace quickened with each complete revolution. He spun faster and faster when he reached those four opposite ends. Soon he went from a whisper to a soft speaking voice, to a loud utterance, to a full blown shout. His robe and cloak fluttered in the air, caught in the motion of his body.

When it seemed he could walk no faster and speak no louder he stopped and knelt at the edge of the circle, below the skull’s mouth. The red-painted dragon blood seeped into the mouth as if being swallowed. The symbol burst into crimson light and blood began to pour from the lines, flowing like a mini-river. The circle of runes flared into bright light that raised from the ground, forming a solid column of radiance.

“It’s working, master!” Arzúl shouted excitedly.

“Indeed it is, child,” Talth’Kor said, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

Arzúl backed away, watching in anticipation. Chrauneos was drowning in rage and regret. He had to stop this somehow. There was still time to reverse the magic, if only he could move. He strained against the spell that kept his body still, willing his limbs to move. His index finger twitched. Arzúl was distracted, and Chrauneos felt the sorcerer’s focus slip for a critical moment. That was all he needed. He snatched control of his body and shattered the spell in that instant. He lunged forward to grab Arzúl, aiming to catch him off guard and snap his neck.

He was inches from the sorcerer when his body was wracked with sudden, overwhelming pain. His muscles convulsed and burned like fire. His stomach ached; he bent over and retched onto the floor. He felt his entire body swelling and getting hot. Each muscle spasm sent waves of pain and nausea through him the like of which he’d never felt before. He groaned as the pain increased. His groan soon became an anguished scream. He felt the contents of his stomach rise before he fell to his knees and vomited again.

After what felt like an eternity, Arzúl finally looked his way as if just noticing his predicament. He smiled and shook his head. “Are you alright, Chrauneos? You don’t look quite like yourself.”

Chrauneos opened his mouth to respond but another spasm choked the words from his throat. It was all he could do to keep the bile down.

Arzúl raised an eyebrow. “Dear me, you really are sick. Might I suggest a hot bowl of chicken soup? It does wonders for illness. No? Then perhaps a quick pain relief.” He reached into his robes and drew his knife. “I promise this won’t hurt any more than I want it to.”

“By Sauldus, leave the whelp alone, child!” Talth`Kor snapped. “The ritual isn’t finished yet. You can kill him after the seal is broken completely. We may still need his living blood.”

Arzúl pouted like a kid who’d just been told to stop playing with his favorite toy. Leaving Chrauneos to his condition, he returned his attention to the enchanted circle. The light had died out, leaving the symbol bare and ordinary again. A low rumble echoed all around them, like rock grinding against rock. For a moment Chrauneos feared that the sound presaged a cave-in. Talth’Kor’s triumphant smile told him otherwise.

The eyes of the demon skull glowed white. It grimaced and snarled, moving as if it were alive. The skull opened its fragmented jaw in a silent scream and everything went black. Not because the lights were extinguished, but because the symbol glowed with darkness like a lamp would glow with light. A darkness that overwhelmed all light.

Engulfed in shadow, Chrauneos lost all hope. It was simply too late to stop what was happening. The darkness eventually weakened and faded until he could make out the feint light sphere that still hovered above the circle. Soon its brightness returned to normal.

It was as if darkness itself had taken on human form. A shadow knelt on one knee in the center of the circle, its head bowed. It stayed perfectly still for a full minute before it stood and looked around in bewilderment, as if it just realized that it was somewhere different from where it used to be. It had no features, no face or hair.

Both mages either forgot about Chrauneos or dismissed him entirely.

“Welcome back, Mordukai,” Talth’Kor said without any warmth.

“Necromancer,” Mordukai said, his voice a hoarse whisper as if from a raw and diseased throat. “Where am I?”

“In a cave in the Eastern Archipelago, not far from Shilgata. You’ll find some time has passed--five hundred years, to be exact--since you were locked away.”

Mordukai stared at Talth’Kor. “And my dragon?”

“We released Nightshade some twenty years ago. He sends his regards and eagerly awaits your return. Now we must go. The Dark God has been most impatient for you to lead his forces into battle again.”

Ignoring the necromancer, Mordukai turned around and knelt in the center of the circle.

“Sauldus!” he cried. “Show me what I am to do!”

As if in response to his prayer, an image appeared in Chrauneos’ mind, so swift that it was gone before he could fathom it. From the expressions on the sorcerers’ faces, he could tell that they had seen it too.

Scenes of bloodshed and carnage flashed in his head. People scrambled in every direction, desperately trying to escape death. Men, woman and children lay scattered like discarded dolls, broken and bleeding, dead and dying. Those who died got back on their feet and walked again as one of the undead. Corpses clawed their way out of their graves to join in the slaughter.

The image shifted. The scene changed into that of a woman sitting in a rocking chair in front of a warm hearth. She cradled a baby in her arms, singing a soft lullaby to him. The infant looked up at her with soft emerald eyes and playfully batted at his mother’s dark red hair. The woman’s white dress held many tiny crystals in the fabric that sparkled in the firelight. She wore a crystal tiara and a golden pendant. The child started to cry. The woman gently rocked him in her arms, whispering to him lovingly. She brushed aside a part of her blouse and allowed him to suckle on her bosom.

The image shifted again. The woman faded in a puff of smoke and was replaced by the tall, dark figure of a man standing on the edge of a towering mountain peak. Night’s shadow hid his face. The earth was black far below; tiny dots of light shown in the darkness. Villages maybe, or perhaps the fires of an army encampment. It was hard to tell. The man raised his head to the sky, spread his arm and let out an exultant cry. He leapt from the mountain, shouting in revelry as he fell. Wings sprouted from his back and caught the wind. He flew away into the night, laughing.

The images vanished as swiftly as they had come, leaving Chrauneos once again on his hands and knees in the cave with Talth’Kor and Arzúl.

Mordukai stood up. His shadowy form was transparent against the light of the magic sphere. “Your will is my own,” he said reverently. “It shall be done. With all my power I will see that it is done!”

Mordukai screamed as his body burst into bright light. His incorporeal form became solid, black metal. His shadow arms, legs, and hands became black plates of god-fashioned armor. His chest became a breastplate and his head became a helm.

When the light receded Mordukai was no longer a shadow, but a living suit of black plate mail. Twin orbs of white light flared in the visor of his helm where his eyes would be. His hand reached out and grabbed the hilt of a night-black great sword that had materialized into the ground before him. The serrated blade cut through the hard earth like butter. Blood ran down the length of the blade as if it had recently cleaved through flesh. Mordukai swung the blade over his head and let out a sharp battle cry. His voice was no longer a hoarse whisper, but a booming sound that rumbled in Chrauneos’ ears.

“What have we done, master?” Arzúl said in awe.

Talth`Kor looked unto his apprentice. “We have fulfilled a promise.”

It was the last thing Chrauneos saw before he succumbed to Arzúl’s spell and fell into everlasting darkness.

Prince Adrian laid quietly under the sheets of his bed, resting close to the moonlit window in a futile attempt to escape the darkness of his bedroom. As he looked from the moonlit sky to the dark room he felt a sliver of fear creeping over him. He knew where everything was in his own room. He could see the toys he’d left scattered on the floor and a beam of moonlight shone on a painting he’d made under the watchful eye of his tutor, Chrauneos.

Still, he couldn’t help feeling afraid, even here, when the sun went down and the lamps went out. His mother, Queen Alexia Roseheart, and Chrauneos had always told him that there was nothing in the dark to be afraid of, but he always imagined all sorts of scary creatures living in the space under his bed. Chrauneos had reprimanded him, saying that someone of his ten years shouldn’t be so silly as to be afraid of the dark. He was, after all, Prince Adrian, next in line to inherit the thrown of the Cirnus nation, and a prince fears nothing. Especially not the dark.

Remembering his beloved tutor’s words, he became resolute.

He’s right. There’s nothing scary in here just because the lights are out. Just need to close my eyes and think happy thoughts.

He did just that. Soon he drifted into a wonderful dream world of beautiful colors, toys, and endless sweets. He dreamt of warriors and daring adventures; running recklessly in sunny fields, the whole world a place of wonder and excitement.

The creaking of the floorboards made him come wide awake. He looked into his room and saw only darkness. Just my imagination, he thought. He closed his eyes. Just as he stood on the precipice of dreams and reality he heard it again, the groaning of the wooden floor. His eyes flew open. I didn’t imagine that. That was real!

That sliver of fear came back as a tidal wave of anxiety. He stared into the dark depths of his bedroom. He couldn’t see anything, but he heard something. The soft sigh of breathing. It was very low, just barely audible, but it was there. Someone else was in the room!

“Huh--hello?” Adrian called nervously. He huddled against the wall and drew his sheets tightly around himself, as if the meager fabric could protect him.

The breathing got louder, in and out. It sounded so deep it was almost a growl. Adrian desperately tried to see what was there. The floor groaned again and he caught a glimpse of movement. A shadow within the shadows had suddenly come to life and walked slowly towards him. Adrian could see horns on the shadow’s head, and it had wings! Its eyes glowed with a soft, dull white light, like twin stars in the night sky.

Adrian’s first instinct was to cry out; call his mother, his tutor, the guards, anyone! He tried but his voice was caught in his throat. He tried to jump out of bed and run away, but he suddenly couldn’t move. The shadow’s harsh breath got louder as it neared him, like the bellows of a beast. The shadow stepped into the moonlight, and Adrian could see it clearly. Its skin was made of blue scales like a great lizard. He saw a tail thrashing about behind it. The tattered remains of grass green pajamas clung to the creature’s body, as if it were wearing them and suddenly grew too big for them to fit. On the torn remains of the left breast was a small patch depicting a teddy bear hugging a rose. It was the same patch on Adrian’s own pajamas. Only one other person wore sleeping garb like that.

“Alexander?” Adrian said. “Is that you, brother?”

The creature snarled. A forked tongue flicked from its mouth and licked its lips. It bared sharp, jagged teeth. Adrian shrank back in terror. The creature raised its arms, clenching a knife in its hands. It spread its bat-like wings as it held the blade poised over Adrian’s heart and stared into his eyes. Its hands shook nervously.

“Adrian,” the creature said. “It’s me, Alexander.”

Alexander released the knife. It dropped to the floor with a muffled clink. He fell to his knees at Adrian’s bedside and started to weep. Even his soft sobbing sounded threatening. A deep, rough sound that reminded Adrian of a sword grating against stone.

“What am I doing? Adrian, I’m scared!”

You’re scared? Adrian thought. He huddled tighter against the wall. This couldn’t be Alexander. His brother was not that tall; he didn’t look like that. Alexander was only seven years old. This couldn’t be him. Yet, watching the creature cry like that, Adrian’s conviction started to waver. In spite of his fear, he reached out to touch Alexander’s shoulder. His scales felt cold and hard as rock, yet smooth as polished glass. Alexander growled and flinched at Adrian’s touch as if he’d been struck. Adrian recoiled. Alexander buried his head in the mattress and held his head as if fighting off an intense headache.

“Please,” Alexander pleaded. “I don’t want to do this. Don’t make me!”

Alexander stood up and roared like a great bear. The knife that he’d dropped flew up as if possessed and threw its hilt into Alexander’s hand. He breathed louder, deeper, staring at Adrian with anger in his eyes.

“I hate you,” Alexander said through clenched teeth, his eyes wet with tears. He raised the knife aloft. “I hate you!”

Adrian looked up helplessly at the knife that shone in the moonlight. Alexander brought it down on him and stopped just inches from his chest.

“Get out of my head!” Alexander shouted. “I won’t do this! You can’t make me!”

A man stepped from the shadows; into the moonlight. He was the size of a grown up, towering over both of them. He wore a great suit of plated armor. The insignia of a knight of Cirnus decorated the tabard he wore over the breastplate. His armor was as black as the hair that fell below his shoulders. Adrian’s heart lifted.

“Sir Vargas!” he cried. “Save me!”

Vargas’ eyes flared with white light. In that same moment Alexander’s eyes glowed white, mirroring Vargas’.

“Please, no,” Alexander whispered.

Alexander cried out as if he’d been shocked. He threw back his head and covered his ears. Then his body relaxed. He lowered his arms and looked at Adrian again, his expression completely blank. He raised the knife over his brother’s heart, grinning viciously.

Adrian tried to bolt from his bed but his body still wouldn’t move no matter how hard he tried. It was as if someone had cast a spell on him.

“The throne is rightfully yours,” Vargas said.

“The throne is rightfully mine,” Alexander repeated.

“He can’t take it from you.”

“You can’t take it from me,” Alexander said monotonously. His grip on the knife tightened.

Vargas smiled. His eyes widened in anticipation. “Goodbye,” he said.

“Goodbye, brother,” Alexander said, tears spilling from his eyes. His hand came down swiftly, plunging the knife into Adrian’s heart.

“Mother!” was Adrian’s dying cry.