Drael eyed the Master wearily as he kneeled before the symbolic blood red throne.

Around him, his master's lair was filled with objects of the darker arts of sorcery. Runes of a forgotten language covered some of the walls, and his master's notes were scrawled beside them as if he had been trying to discern something out of them.

Recently painted frescos covered the roof with images of the dark portal and the images of the destruction of Daornost. His master always looked at them frequently, the depictions of anger, ruin and death hovering on the black background of the walls in addition with the ever mysterious runes.

Drael still wondered whether the master was a genius or truly mad as pockmarked history made him out to be. Some of the… missions he had been given were quite unusual. He even suspected that some of the others had been thinking those very same treasonous thoughts; they had received as incredulous tasks as he had. And they suspected that everyone else thought that too.

But even because of the irregularity, he was usually eager to receive a task from his master. Today, however, was different. Every victory was rewarded with knowledge and every failure with an equally suitable, and devastating, punishment. Among the Seven, knowledge was power and they used it accordingly to benefit their own needs when it did not conflict with the Master's.

It was all a struggle of power, especially between the allies, where the more allies there were dictated less position for each individual and more distribution of the power itself. The less the so called 'allies' were, the better. They would all try to steal power from another, plotting each others deaths and then knifing their own 'allies' in the back. Sometimes he did that himself.

Drael knew the mechanics of the swift but subtle game of power and so did the others. And though he was second-in-command to Draemor, that did not mean that he ruled them as he wished. They were all but subservient and submissive. The very thought of them being servants to him was impossible! He knew some would skin him alive if he acted like that, Telandra for one. They bowed to the Master, not him unless the Master gave them a direct order.

Above him, Draemor was no doubt displeased with his failure, especially on the simple mission of capturing the boy and the old man.

But it is not my fault, Drael thought reassuringly. He still had more to report on the matter. He had been surprised that the mission he had been given had not been all it had seemed to be. And the old man had been a very unpleasant surprise. He had not expected a powerful wielder of the Ability to be hiding in the desert amongst farmers; he would have imagined them as lords and ladies or advisors to kings and queens. But perhaps after the Master's Teladin Mor Ellein had been hunting for the Ability users for over two centuries, that they decided to keep low. Those… creatures, simply put, gave him the shivers. That one would even think to create the Mor Ellein was sure proof of an insane, but brilliant, mind. He had a suspicion that the Master had modelled them after the Dark Watchers, but modelling anything to those things was indeed greater madness.

His master sat on the throne, a look of intolerance and anger stirring in his dark eyes. Though his face remained neutral, Drael had seen enough of his sudden wrath to be know when to talk, grovel, take responsibility or just stay silent. This was one of the times that staying silent wouldn't go amiss.

Behind the Master, Drael could pick out the figure of Diiaral sneering out of the shadows at him and his dismal failure against a mere untrained boy. He was quite sure it was Diiaral; the uncommon grey shine of his eyes and the way his black hair melted into the darkness was unquestionable. Lately, he had been usurping Drael's authority, growing too much power for his own ambitions. But the man would be dealt with later, as soon as he got back into the Master's good graces. I will make him rue the day he was born for this affront! Shoving his anger into the dark corners of his brain, he listened as the Master began to speak.

'I do not tolerate failure, Drael, as you well know from the example I made of Sorarelune, when he was hurled into the middle of the desert without water, stripped of knowledge and… a few other things,' said Draemor in a dangerously soft voice, exactly the same voice he had used on the fateful day he had sentenced Sorarelune. Drael had been quite glad to lose another rival though and had practically had a grinning face all month. It was the day he had been promoted.

'Master, I still haven't finished. Even though of my failure, I have gleaned something of value that could give you advantage,' replied Drael, before being interrupted.

'Yes, I know! You got the girl, but she is no use to me, except bait for the boy. And I won't be able to use that until the right time. Not much of an advantage.'

'But' interceded Drael 'I have found out more than that. The old man who was accompanying him is none other than Freor Trimaerlon, one of your old enemies, master.'

'He is the reason my mission failed. The cursed man disrupted our attempts by creating illusions, waylaying our men one by one into the desert and killing the captain.'

The master halted for a moment, eying him with renewed tolerance. To Drael, it looked as if he was surveying something akin to scum at his feet.

'I see,' said Draemor. 'Though I expected better, it is clear that you are no match for one of the likes of Freor. Not alone. I will deal with him myself when Dorimune falls. I wonder if the boy knows who he really is.'

'What will we do now, master?' asked Drael, sensing the shift of fault removing responsibility from his shoulders.

A smile came to Draemor's dark lips. 'It is time for Durandor to fall. Rally the troops, and tell Liaane to go with you to Dorimune. Follow the plan at all costs. I want to make an example of Dorimune to the whole continent.'

'Liaane? Are you sure? It could be risky for her to revert…' trailed Drael, as he noticed a change in the Draemor's eyes. He was treading hazardous ground and this time, he knew where to push the limit.

'She will go with you. We can taunt the enemy with her, make their failure complete, especially to the one who I am thinking of. Once my plan in Durandor has been executed, we will go back to Delagore. There is something there at the remains of Daornost I need.'

'Yes, master,' said Drael submissively. 'But what of the Delagore Protectorate?'

'It is of no concern to me. I will crush them as I will crush Durandor. You are dismissed.'

He got up to leave and as he past through the entrance he heard Draemor say: 'Don't fail me again. I'd hate to… perform on you as I did to Sorarelune.'

Drael strode out quickly and disappeared into the labyrinth which made up the royal palace of Halyrael. He knew very well what would be the consequences of failing again and he wanted to start as quickly as possible.