It's not much of a life you're living
It's not just something you take – it's given
Round and around and around and around we go
Oh now tell me now tell me now tell me now you know
_

The young boy entered his own room, letting the darkness close in on him gratefully. He should have been used to it by now, but then perhaps he had underestimated his master's ability to effectively demonstrate cruelty. This was not the worst of it, no, he had experienced that before. But he was still left as he always would be in the aftermath. Exhausted, in pain, wanting desperately to be anywhere Destaine was not. He left from the rooms of his master and walked down the hallway with catlike silence. Not a floorboard creaked.

His own rooms were well enough. He had chosen them shortly after arriving at the Citadel and Destaine had given no argument nor even really acknowledged that Mozenrath had taken them over. So he had assumed that all was well and done with them as he wished.

They were not opulent by any means. His master believed in a Spartan existence, "So that one's mind is better occupied in the arcane arts." But the young sorcerer had managed a decent cot and drawers, even managed a bookshelf made from discarded pots and wood. It was not much. But it was his. Destaine never came to this section of the Citadel as it was furthest from the laboratory. This alone made him feel a little safer.

Mozenrath threw himself on the bed, huddling up under the covers as he tried to ignore the ache of his body and find sleep. Destaine would awaken at dawn tomorrow come hell or high water, and he would expect for his apprentice to already be hard at work. He groaned to himself. His masters 'distraction' meant he would have to rise early and reorganize the potions as well as sort through the new ingredients for anything rotten.

He turned onto his back, winced, then adjusted onto his side. He had forgotten the healing salve again but could not bring himself to rise and get it. Sleep was more important now. He got so little anymore.

Mirage's recent visit and displeasure in her sons newly acquired knowledge had made things more difficult. He could still see the bruises from where Destaine had laid into him for "embarrassing" him in front of the feline goddess. And afterwards he had been thrown into full scale tutelage, the methodology behind his education becoming more frantic and vindictive.

Did she know what her thrall was doing to her son? Did she give a damn? Regardless, it wasn't as though she stopped by every day. In all likelihood she was far more concerned with his sorcerery training than with anything else Destaine might use him for.

Mozenrath could care less what Mirage intended to do with Destaine if he should fail. In fact he admitted that he had, out of sheer spite, failed intentionally in this latest test, just to see what the result would be. But if his mentor had been given some castigation for his pupils lack of skill, the young man had seen none of it. And the punishments he'd endured were not worth a second attempt.

He managed to get a few hours of sleep before his internal clock awoke him. Mozenrath dressed for the day, rushing to the kitchen before anyone could notice and snagging a half rotted apple and some stale bread. He picked the worms from the apple and ate what he could from it while he sorted through the days ingredients. As steps began to fall closer Mozenrath scarfed down the bread quickly and swallowed the hard lump in his throat, filling out labels in long flowing script.

The door to the laboratory opened and the shadows of the rom grew long and corporeal. Mozenrath kept his eyes on his work as the familiar pattern of his masters feet came into the room.

The man the seven deserts knew as Destaine gave him a gruff noise of acknowledgement, looking past the child of twelve and into the day's work to see what had been accomplished. Mozenrath snuck a look without raising his head, trying to discern his master's mood for the day. Sometimes, not always but sometimes, the nights exercises helped, and he would leave his apprentice uninjured for most of the day. Being ignored was a good indication. If the old vulture would actually leave him alone then he could pretty much count on being allowed to finish his chores in peace…

A head, possessive hand landed on his shoulder, the long fingers traveling up his neck with intent. Mozenrath closed his eyes and held them shut as he felt his master's breath come closer.

Please just go away.

Mozenrath moaned and covered his eyes from the piercing bright light of a noon sun. He was horribly uncomfortable, feeling like he'd slept on a stair case from the way his back was positioned. He put his hand out to sit up and winced in pain, his memory coming back to him through a haze of unconsciousness. Gingerly, he lifted his good hand to feel his pectoral area.

And was surprised to find it had been bandaged neatly from shoulder to fingertip, covering all of what would be exposed bone. He moved the limb experimentally but winced at the ache still left behind. He would have to be careful with it till that subsided.

Mozenrath looked at his surroundings and was only somewhat surprised to see the dilapidated hovel was where he had been slumbering. The last thing he could remember was Aladdin looking down at him with that face of horror and pity. Of course he would have to go and try to do something about it. The necromancer scoffed. Any one else would have just let him be but damn it all if the hero didn't insist on being so…noble.

"Master awake!" Xerxes shot in from the window (which was actually a partially collapsed wall) and swung himself automatically around Mozenrath's neck, nuzzling the sorcerer with strange affection.

"Quiet Xerxes." Mozenrath slapped a hand around the eels mouth. He had just noticed something else in the room.

Aladdin was leaning against a wall, eyes closed and sleeping peacefully. His chest rose and fell with no hesitation.

Mozenrath grimaced. That was actually a little offensive. At the very least he expected to see the youth armed or the Genie hanging about somewhere for added protection. But then again… He lifted his arm and clenched his fist. They had already taken the gauntlet from him. And a quick look about the hovel told him that they were unlikely to leave anything weapon related near him.

"Xerxes…" Mozenrath stroked the eel. "Did you see where they took my gauntlet?" His familiar shook it's head sorrowfully. "Of course not. Why can't anything ever be easy?" he complained out loud.

"Maybe because you make everything more difficult out of habit." Aladdin sat up, tossing off his blanket. "You were out for two whole days." He said by way of good morning.

"And you thought a filthy hovel the best place for me to rest and recuperate?" Mozenrath sniffed with distaste.

"Oh forgive me Moze." Aladdin gestured to the palace. "Why don't I get you a nice comfy bedroom up at the palace. I'm sure the sultan would just be thrilled to give you a dungeon view." He stood up and reached into a bowl of fruit, selecting an apple and holding it out to Mozenrath.

The sorcerer looked at it as if the apple was covered in flies.

"Okay fine." Aladdin said and ate it himself. "But you haven't eaten since…well since the Citadel. You're going to be hungry."

"I'll get food when I return home."

"And what makes you think your leaving? We still have a lot of questions for you Mozenrath." He said as the blue Genie appeared in the window, blocking his exit path. "Not the least of which involve whatever happened to you?" He pointed to Mozenrath's chest.

The sorcerer stiffened. "That is none of your business street rat."

"Watch it wiz kid…"

"It's okay Genie." Aladdin waved off the insult. He was used to it by now. Besides with Mozenrath you couldn't use the direct approach. "Look…are you hurting right now? I got some herbs for pain relief if you want them."

"Give me back my gauntlet and I'll be just dandy Aladdin." Mozenrath reached to rub his sore shoulder but stopped just in time to keep from giving away just how much pain he was actually in.

"That's not gonna happen Moze. First off: I don't have it here. I don't even know where it is."

A panicked look. "What do you mean you don't know? I know you took it you thief!"

A sly smile. "Of course I did. You didn't think I'd let you keep it did you? But as to where it is, ask Genie." The blue djinn grinned, clearly happy with himself. "We decided it would be better if that glove was out of your reach entirely, at least until we figure this whole mess out."

"You conniving little…!" Mozenrath started and then stopped. He gave Aladdin a long, calculated look. "Well played hero. You're starting to think like me."

Aladdin looked uncomfortable by the comparison. "Second of all, you can't tell me that glove has nothing to do with your current situation." He leaned against the wall, looking entirely too relaxed. "So what happened Moze? Did you try something out of your league again?"

"It's none of your business."

"Probably not but that's never stopped me before."

Xerxes hissed at the hero from around his masters shoulders. "Why do you care? It's nothing you can help with at any rate, not that I would be inclined to accept." Mozenrath crossed his arms, ignoring the sickening sound of bone scraping bone.

"Because unlike you, I can't just leave someone to die in a pool of their own blood." Aladdin shot back. "Besides, why wouldn't you accept my help? I have kind of a knack for getting things to turn out all right in the end."

Mozenrath chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully and stared Aladdin down. "Fine. You want answers? My gauntlet is eating me alive." The look on Aladdin's face did not improve his mood in the least. "I don't know how long it will take, but eventually that image we both saw in the mirror will become a reality. And I have to find a way to stop this before…before that happens."

Aladdin actually looked a little sick. "But…the mirror is supposed to reflect what you really are…why would it show…?"

"The mirror works a little differently for people like myself. Someone like you, the intolerably blessed by fate, will see what you really are, or in your case what you used to be. For someone like me…" he took a deep breath. "The mirror reflects what I am becoming…the true cost behind my gauntlet."

Genie and Aladdin exchanged glances, something passing unspoken between them. "Is there any way to stop it?"

"If I knew don't you think I would have done it by now?" Mozenrath shot back angrily. "I've been researching since it began and everything I've found is either useless or a myth based on a rumor. I don't exactly have time to go chasing wild geese."

"Sounds like you could use a hand Moze…err…I mean…" Aladdin had the good grace to realize his faux pas as Mozenrath gave him a sidelong look of deep loathing. "I mean you could use some help."

"In more ways then one." Iago chimed in. "I can recommend a good psychiatrist." He hadn't even noticed the parrot sitting on a high beam.

"And you're offering?" Mozenrath arched an eyebrow.

"I'm a good guy. It's what I do. It's just not in my nature to let someone suffer…even if the suffering is of their own design." He added pointedly, and then grinned. "Of course there are some provisos."

"A few quid pro quos." Genie added.

Mozenrath sneered. "Let me guess, I have to give up my life's ambition of ruling the seven deserts?"

"Just for a start. Also, you won't be getting the gauntlet back…ever." Aladdin was prepared for the tirade and waved his hand in negation. "Nu-uh. Never mind what it's doing to you now, if we actually manage to heal you why would you even want to put that thing back on? Wherever the gauntlet is now, that's where it's staying, unless of course we can find a way to destroy it."

"You can't do that!" Mozenrath shouted. "Do you have any idea what I did to get that glove? Not to mention your magically crippling me! Cures don't come cheap Aladdin. Whatever we're going to need to help me is going to take firepower to get to. Without my gauntlet you're making me entirely useless!"

"We've got plenty of firepower right here." Aladdin gestured to the djinn. "And believe it or not I've managed to get through plenty of adventures without the added benefit of magic. We'll be just fine Moze." He couldn't resist adding. "So don't worry, we'll protect you."

The necromancer fumed at the suggestion. "Make no mistake Aladdin, I am not defenseless without my power. I'd suggest you take to sleeping with one eye open."

"How about a few dozen?" the Genie grew several eyes then, giving him the appearance of an alien life form.

"And there is a another price for our help."

Mozenrath groaned. "If you tell me I have to join your little team I'd rather just die right now."

"What makes you think we'd have you?" Aladdin said smartly. "No. If we find a cure and heal you, you have to leave the seven deserts…permanently."

"What?"

"You heard me. You are effectively banished from the seven deserts, including the land of the black sand. Once we leave Agrabah, you are not allowed to return on pain of death." Aladdin couldn't quite bring himself to have the same cold effect he was attempting as he said this. In fact as level as he managed to keep his voice, his brown eyes reflected a kind of pity for the man who had condemned himself.

A realization dawned on the sorcerer. "You planned this." He said smoothly. "You and your princess had more than ample time to come up with this little scheme while I was out didn't you?"

"It was the only way I could keep the sultan from taking your head of right away." Aladdin shrugged. "So, if you accept our help, no more gauntlet, and you never come back to the seven deserts. Not now, not ever."

A sneer of contempt. But then again what choice do I have. "Very well Aladdin. But tell me this, what happens if you fail?"

Aladdin sighed. "Well…then you won't really have to worry bout any of that, will you?"

Mozenrath swallowed visibly.

There was a shifting in the darkest shadows of the Citadel, a movement that could be felt on a non-physical level. In the secret depths, something stirred and moved, recognizing a presence that had not come about for many years. It surged forward, old powers, long dormant, now closing in on the one who had once wielded them.

The thing that had been Destaine stretched out it's worn, grey-green limbs. Something coiled about it and it breathed, the dry sound of empty lungs filling in a hollow chest. The lips opened again and a wheezing sound like dry leaves escaped. It hurt to breathe again after all this time, but it was more comforting than the frigid cold of undeath. Pain meant one was alive.

It reached a stiff hand to its lips and began to pull out the remaining stitches with care, ignoring how the blood began to sluggishly drip from the open wounds around his mouth. He stretched out his jaw, a creaking cracking sound echoing in the empty halls.

There was a dragging noise behind him and the mamluck-Destaine turned to see a man in his mid-forties being pulled into the throne room by two of the base mamlucks. He was dressed in merchant cloths and had his head bowed as he prayed to Allah for mercy.

A cruel, crooked smile hung on Destaine's pointed and sunken cheeks. "You would be better served…" he said in a voice just above a cracking whisper. "…by begging me for mercy."

His bony fingers closed on the man's skull and he squeezed. A malevolent reddish glow emanated from his palm and the poor fellow screamed, his eyes rolling back into his head as his skin began to skin against his frame. As his flesh contracted and withered, the hand placed against him began to slowly fill out.

His mouth hung open and began to foam a viscous fluid, his body convulsing as his nose, tear ducts and ears began to pour out the same noxious stuff. His hands shook uncontrollably as he was held there, the only witness to his own death.

The smile on Destaine's face became less like a grinning skull and more like a cruel and vindictive warlock. The mamlucks dropped the man to the ground when it was clear their master was finished with him. "Much better." The voice was clearer now, more callous and effective. He looked down at his wrinkled and stiff limbs. "But not quite there yet." He pointed to the mamlucks. "Go, find more." He ordered and the undead creatures shuffled off to obey.

Destaine looked down at the corpse and again his magic engulfed the frame. The skin began to turn green and sickly, the white eyes glowing with a yellow light as power imbued the figure with unnatural movement. Destaine began to understand why his pupil had chosen to sew the mouths shut. The slack jawed appearance was entirely beneath their level of sorcery. Not to mention it made the stench of rot that much more pervasive.

The thing that had once been a man shifted forward, it's will entirely non-existent. "A fair attempt. But still…" Destaine flexed his power and was not entirely satisfied with its reaction. "A bit out of practice." He turned and sat down on his throne. "Go. Assist the others." He ordered the new mamluck. "I have much to think on. Not the least of which is how to properly punish my errant little apprentice."

His eyes were like pits of blackness as he thought of the pale youth who had stood over top of him. Of the queer mixture of pride and fear that had stabbed in his chest like a knife. Of perhaps that had been the knife Mozenrath had stabbed into his chest. It shouldn't have come as such a shock, save perhaps that Mozenrath had usurped power years ahead of schedule. A pity that. He had so enjoyed the private hours spent with his dear student, showing him exactly how much more psychological pain can endure than mere physical.

"Perhaps we shall have time to play our little games again." He said aloud. "It will give me a chance to see if you have been keeping up with your studies, my dear Mozenrath." He began to laugh, and if shadows could be said to quake, they did.