When Alex arrived that night, the palace was a-buzz with activity. Dourly dressed priests of the Black God walked through the wings reserved for residential nobility, middle-aged knights gossiped in furious whispers, well-dressed ladies gathered in large groups, some wiping their eyes with lace handkerchiefs, others hissing about something shameful.

Shaking his head, he unlocked the door to his chambers and stepped inside, happy to see that palace servants had lit a fire and that the magelights were glowing steadily, illuminating the otherwise dark room. With a tired sigh, he dropped his packs on the ground and perched on the end of his bed so he could pull his boots off.

A moment later, someone knocked on the door. Before Alex could get up and respond, it swung open, admitting the dark-haired Delia of Eldorne. She was pale, her eyes huge in a carefully painted face. Delia gazed at Alex in silence for a full minute, then said in a bleak voice,

He's dead.

Alex stared at her. Who - He stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. Who is?





The red-haired mage whirled, his silver-edged black robes swishing quietly. His violet eyes blazed as he glared at the brunette, her own green eyes defiant, daring him to do something. Both of them were oblivious to the nobles staring at them, the dancing forgotton.

The man suddenly began to laugh. You push me, Delia, he accused, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. You push me to the limit.

Her mouth formed words, but she didn't voice them. But a gasp did manage to escape her when the man continued.

I can do anything that Denmarie the Earth-Shaker did, he announced in a loud, clear voice. He glanced at the woman, eyes narrowing. Including bringing him back.