Mouth agape, her arms holding herself upright, Starriace stared up at the impossibly tall creature. From her haphazard seat on the floor, he seemed even taller. She expected fear to take her, to hold her close, but was surprised that she was only startled, wrenched unexpectedly from the City of Despair. A slow blink let her know she didn’t hallucinate, then the terror sank its claws deep.

  How did he find me?

  Starriace half-scooted, half-skittered back, placing distance between them. With her eyes on him, she rose cautiously to her feet. Without thought, her hand inched closer to her wand still in her robes.

  “How did you find me?” she asked in clipped tones.

  “I’ve been tracking you for some time.”

  “How long?”

  “Over two seasons.”

  “How?” she spat the question out with alacrity. Tension poised in her shoulder blades and the Dark Lord chuckled, a humoring sound deep in his throat.

  “One of my xicx tracked you to Far Point. He placed a trace on you, though with some difficulty,” Xilor admitted.

  The night she found her window opened, the water bowl on the floor flashed through her mind.

  The night I was with Lily.

  The dream of the sheol clawing her face was a memory, attempting to get inside her mind.

  “I must admit, I lost track of you. You disappeared from my sight when you went in the Melodic Mountains. It seems that I cannot track you there.”

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  Xilor’s cowled head cocked to the side, pondering. Being unable to pierce his shadowed face unnerved her. “It is not my first choice,” he acknowledged. “If left with no other recourse, then, yes, you will die.”

  “What do you want?” she blurted. Fear, coiled in anger, surged in her tight chest, more of the former than the latter. Though she fantasized of this meeting, a moment she could destroy him, ridding Ermaeyth of his vile oppression, now was too soon. Though hard to swallow, she conceded that she wasn’t ready to face him despite the tingling surge in her aura heightened by her distress.

  “To offer you an option,” Xilor answered, his voice emotionless.

  “What option?”

  “Walk with me.” For a moment, she considered refusing. The command tasted like bile, her inner defiance rising, but stronger reasoning outweighed her discomforting compliance.

  He said killing me isn’t the first choice, but if I refuse, he may do just that.

  With cautious steps, she padded beside him, though well outside the reach of his arm. Xilor set a slow pace. Starriace’s eyes danced about, looking for possible weapons or avenues of escape. Her steps carried her over a floor made of smooth stone, near the color of beach sand. She expected something darker, more sinister. The only decoration in the floor came with large segments cut in squares, each square easily five of Starriace’s feet on end, both in length and width. Recesses, both dark and shallow, separated each square. Eight massive pillars lined the room, four on each side. A high, arched ceiling towered overhead, and the walls were chiseled ornately like balconies for homes. The decor seemed too simplistic, almost like Xilor tried to recreate a cityscape, a stark contrast to her assumptions about him.

  This place is a mausoleum and a museum.

  Two other striking objects drew her attention. The first, a throne at the far end of the room, a high-back chair of unyielding granite. The stone chair seemed an odd choice, and even more bizarre was the design, the arms tall and wide, giving the seat a bucket appearance. The other object was a tall, wide mirror unlike any she had ever seen, and made of a white and red wood. Some parts were white as milk and shifted to crimson with a blend of the two throughout.

  Xilor noted her scrutiny and spoke. “It is fitting that your eye should catch the Mirror of Razen. That is where we must go.”

  “What is it?”

  “My prison for nigh three Ages.”

  The closer Starriace drew, the more detail she could discern. The mirror boasted elaborate carvings of gods and animals. Each carving portrayed a bust of a being, or an animal ranged in color, each figure shifting in pigmentation from cloud-white to rose-red and all blendings between. An oily black wood framed the sides, dark as ink. Engraved runes gilded in gold adorned the timber. Four legs made of a precious metal she couldn’t identify formed the base.

  “What option?” she probed again, stopping in front of the large silver glass. Starriace noted her reflection, her glowing red eyes. Unnerving? Absolutely. Hideous? No.

  “To rule beside me,” he offered, his voice sincere. “To conquer all and have them bowing at your feet.”

  “That doesn’t appeal to me,” came her impulsive response.

  That has never been me.

  In the space of a few heartbeats, the thought grew on her. Her idea varied from Xilor’s, primarily, him being uninvolved. If given the chance and capable, why shouldn’t she rule? With her as a guardian, Ermaeyth would be safer, better. A society of bliss without fear and carnage.

  “Then what does appeal to you, child?” Xilor intoned beside her. His skeletal, metallic-black hand reached out and caressed her honeyed hair around her left ear, then her face, his fingers resting near her glowing eyes.

  His touch feels like ice, like death.

  His question loomed in her mind. The first thought was of riches. Wealth had its appeal, but while a pleasantry, it failed to motivate her. Gold did offer her something that nothing else could: freedom. The next thought was of a home and land. She recalled Judas’s manor clearly though she had been there a few scant moments. Property lacked allurement, but in the future, should she wish to settle down, she would need her own. Knowledge and the power it brought rushed at the heels of her previous thought. She yearned for both, but neither would serve her in death. The last inkling flickered imperceptibly through her mind, buried beneath her emotions and ambitions. Family. She coveted the feeling of belonging, a part of a whole, more than herself, love and acceptance, peace of spirit and mind.

  “Peace,” she said at last, turning to look at him.

  Xilor let out a hiss, and she took it as a laugh. “What do you think I am doing?” he mocked her.

  “Destroying lives,” she snapped, emotion bleeding into her voice. Her face flushed, emotions bubbled, and her glowing eyes flickered a shade darker and itched.

  He waved her comment away like it was frivolous, trivial. “Chaos promotes change. You view me as malevolent, malicious. A distorted perspective. You cannot judge what you do not understand.”

  “What is there to understand? You wish to stand on a pedestal of dead bodies, giving those less than you two choices: enslavement or death. And for what? Personal satisfaction? Revenge? Domination?”

  “For peace,” he whispered back, his voice still smooth and emotionless. His calm demeanor chilled Starriace, but his mockery infuriated her. The entire conversation riled her. Xilor arrogantly assumed he knew what was best for everyone, had the audacity to ask her to join his delusional spectacle.

  “I don’t understand.”

  He chuckled again. “Of course not. Once before, I started a purge, removing all thorns from society, and once again, I pick up the task but for different reasons.” The manner in which he carelessly talked about countless deaths vexed her, like a gardener conversing about a tree needing pruning. “You call my campaign domination, I call it restructure.”

  “And how does that not scream of needless slaughter?”

  “Needless?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I have taken away the weak, leaving survivors capable of resisting the purge. When I am finished, there will be no weak to prey upon. I envision powerful wizards in our realm, living without fear, able to protect. I am far from finished, and the ones left will equal with me. Who will be left to oppose? When it is done, I will cleanse Ermaeyth of the infestations I created.”

  “Infestations?” Starriace queried, perplexed.

  “The sheol, the xicx, and the Abyssians,” he supplied. “Rid the realm and Ermaeyth of them. Nothing can remain, or it would undo what I am trying to achieve.”

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  “Sounds like you are breeding an army,” Starriace sneered.

  What’s next? Kill all the unicorns, dwaven, and elyves?

  “Perhaps, in a way, you are correct. All subservient races must be purged.”

  Starriace fought to control her face, not letting her horror show. Xilor spoke of a deep-rooted hatred for anything that didn’t fit his design and plans for wizards. Extermination of all races.

  Genocide on a massive scale.

  “Breeding is such an animalistic term. Think of it as encouraging an army.”

  “Why? For what purpose? What’s the point? Why destroy everything and everybody for this army that you ‘encourage’ to be subservient to you?”

  “In the time of my … imprisonment, stranded beyond this life and the next, I discovered doorways. There are other worlds out there, other Ermaeyths. Places with beings who have no drive, ambition, or structure.”

  “And you feel it is your duty to ‘restructure’ these beings?” Bile rose in her mouth.

  “To have structure, you must have a ruler,” he cooed. “My dominion here is nothing more than readying the realm for what lies out there, beyond.” He used his hand for emphasis. “As many planets that have beings with no ambition, there are some with powers rivaling our own, even superseding. See for yourself.”

  Xilor waved his hand over the surface of the silver-looking glass. Starriace fidgeted, shifting closer. The surface flashed with creatures and beings Starriace had never laid eyes on before. Whole worlds with people living simple lives and others with dizzying, towering heights. The flashes were fast, too quick to count them all but, she guessed the number over a dozen. One such placed seemed vaguely familiar, a sense of déjà vu crawling over her.

  “Do you see, child? Do you see what lies out there?” he asked, his voice thick with hope.

  “Yes, I do,” she replied without emotion. “You want to extend your will of oppression to these unsuspecting, innocent people. For what? To bend and control them as you see fit, like you do for all your henchmen, like you’re trying to do to me now.”

  “Innocent? Who says you or they are? No one is truly innocent. Perhaps unsuspecting, but blameless?” He shook his head. “How do you know they aren’t planning the same thing this very instant?” Xilor asked, his voice oozing out from under his hood. “My aims are far simpler than suppression of other worlds that may not know we exist at all. Together, our goal should be to ready ourselves against possible incursion. I have plans in motion to do just that.”

  “What plans?”

  “Come with me, let me guide you. Who knows what achievements you could reach? Together we can demonstrate what order should be. With you at my side, the fighting will cease, and we can topple anything that rallied against us.”

  “Through domination?”

  “No!” he hissed, a slight pleading tone entering his voice. “Ruling Ermaeyth is but a small portion of the grand scheme. A necessity. We will bring order to the aimless, end conflict and war, tame the beast riders of Groyntahl, subdue the country Cronele, and topple the Kran Empire of Vesole. Can’t you see the logic? Together we are unified.”

  “And all you want in return is for me to kneel to you?”

  “Align and stand beside me. Today, you would stand beside me. Tomorrow, you would be my equal. In the future, my successor.”

  “Stand beside you?” Starriace asked, skeptically. “Not kneel at your feet?”

  “It is not necessary unless you need to learn your place—” Xilor mused aloud.

  “I bow to no one! All that I know is to hate you! I’ve seen your restructuring firsthand. I watched the trolls butcher Wizard’s Pass, seen the aftermath, the devastation.” Recounting the bodies, both in the Shadowcast and when she walked the ruins of Wizard’s Pass, made her throat constrict, burn with righteous wrath. Her hands trembled with rage and the repulsiveness he elicited. Her eyes burned like they were tearing up, but her face remained without wayward beads.

  How could I have ever empathized with him?

  “So, you will not join me?”

  She shook her head. “How could you ever—?”

  His hand moved with an alacrity that belied his size. She jerked toward her wand, but an invisible force clamped around her. His commanding presence was overbearing, more than anything she felt or recalled. Fife and Judas never called this much power so quickly, so effortlessly. Either he attained far more power than they realized, or both her former mentors never brought the full might of theirs against her.

  “You do not understand who you are dealing with.” He turned his back on her, gazing into the flashing scenery in the Mirror of Razen, but the hold never wavered. While she fought to break free, a part of her couldn’t help but admire his totalitarian control, an important lesson to learn. “I can see into your mind, and you think you are powerful, but you have only been lucky. You are a fool, misguided. The Corridor of Cruelty broke your mind beyond repair, and warped your perception. I feel the warring within you.”

  Panic rushed through Starriace. How could she, with a mere two seasons of training, overcome Xilor? She knew where it had all gone wrong, the fault not with her.

  It was my masters’.

  They failed her, blundered her teachings, and proved ineffectual at keeping her safe. They lied to her, outright or by omission, dithering in remembrance of a time long gone, rekindled with her arrival. She was a fool for not seeing it sooner.

  Enmity rallied against Xilor’s would-be truths. She would die here unless she freed herself. No one was coming to save her, they never would. Focusing her intent, she willed herself to move, to be free of Xilor’s grasp. Neck corded, a vein throbbed in her temple, her lips thinned as she concentrated. With relief, she felt her finger wiggle. A fleeting thought manifested. In the past, no matter strength of power levied against her, she always managed to answer it.

  By the time Xilor quit sputtering about idle dreams and turned around, Starriace had freed herself. In an instant, she drew her wand, sending a blast of energy. Xilor dodged to the side, reaching for his own.

  Glad to know I’m not the only one who ducks or dodges.

  Again, she lashed out, lightning quick, fire racing, bearing down on the Dark Lord. The rolling flames stopped in mid-air, turned to ice, and shattered, the shards flying out in all directions. Starriace let an invisible wall of heat rise between her and the incoming ice. The air shimmered, frozen particles turning to mist.

  Not giving him a chance to recover, she displaced the Dark Lord, and shoved with all her might, sending him hurtling away. Before he made it more than half a dozen meters, his momentum stopped, his feet touching the ground. The tip of his wand flared to life, and a spiraling green pilar spat menacingly. He disappeared, vanished. Starriace lunged a moment later, almost too late. The towering shadow winked into existence behind her, stabbing with the spiraling acid, the edge faintly scoring her left arm at the shoulder.

  Pain lanced through her as she rolled away. He lunged a quick step to impale her chest. Without thought or hesitation, she splayed her fingers, lightning arching from her tips. The red-purple plasma encompassed the dark figure, the swirling acid dissipating. His knees buckled, and he staggered, but did not collapse to the floor. A groan, more in irritation than pain, gurgled from his throat. The arching plasma shot out from his form as he stood to his full, towering height. Her eyes burned, itched, festering, watering her vision. Holding his hand up, the lightning danced from his body to the palm of his hand, congregating there before it sputtered and died altogether.

  Shock lanced her, realizing Xilor choked off the ability. In a swift movement, he jerked his palm towards her. The effect, instantaneous, launched Starriace off her feet. The hard stone floor greeted her as she landed in a heap five meters away. Stars peppered her vision, and her lungs burned as she gasped for air. Through the bright spots, she spied Xilor closing on her, his black robes smoking, tears and holes littering the cloth. His slow pace gave her hope, noticing his body wincing with every step.

  So, he can be hurt!

  Xilor’s sudden disappearance moments earlier awakened awareness of other abilities at her disposal. Rising to her feet, she charged. The unexpected advance caught him off guard, stopping short. His stance shifted, bracing, and she leaped. Winking, she reappeared behind him with all her momentum, her foot striking a solid blow to his back. The impact bowed him the wrong way, sending him reeling, landing on the floor in a pile of tangled robes and limbs.

  Capitalizing on her advantage, she charged again. With a speed she didn’t think possible, he jerked to his knees, his arm swinging in her direction as if to backhand her despite the distance separating them. A burst of kinetic energy caught her in the chest, propelling her in the opposite direction. The floor rushed up to embrace her, and she winked out of existence, coming out behind him, her body colliding with his. Sprawled across him, she rose, driving her knee into his face.

  A roar of fury bellowed from within the shadowed hood; another kinetic blast launched her away. Breath deserted her, and her mouth stood agape, trying to suck in air.

  “You are a foolish girl,” he seethed. “Young, weak, naive, the powers you possess are only the beginning of your potential, but they are no match for me.”

  I will never be weak again. I will never be helpless.

  “You should have stayed in the Melodic Mountains where you were safe.”

  In a final attempt, Starriace lashed out, unrestrained. If her end neared, she’d face it doing as much damage as possible, making him pay for taking her life. The life drain ripped from him, the red glow blindingly bright, making her want to look away. But she didn’t dare. The siphon lurched across the expanse between them, a torrent of swirling energy.

  Frantic pleas filled her head. By the fucking gods, if you let me kill him, I’ll help rebuild Wizard’s Pass. I fucking swear! Please! Shades, I’ll go back to Judas and apologize for leaving and continue training under him. Please, if you’re fucking listening, I swear I’ll do anything you ask. Just let me kill him!

  Xilor collapsed, his knees striking the hard floor. Vitality saturated her, strength returning, and she poured it back into the channeling, redoubling the siphon. Her eyes burned, her vision turned red, alight with liquid fire. Manic frenzy permeated her, the bloodlust falling over her vision.

  Red.

  All she saw was red.

  Her pulse pounded in her ears, she dared to hope that whatever gods did exist were listening to her prayers. Blood trickled from her nose, running over her lips, dripping from her chin. Xilor hitched, collapsing to all-fours.

  In a violent jerk, he swung both arms up and out like shooing away a swarm of insects. The world tilted in an explosion of pain, the blue-white force flinging her across the room like a cannonball. Her skull cracked against the floor as her body bounced nearly half a dozen times before she skidded to a stop. She lay in a tangled mess. In the jumbled tumbling, Starriace felt a sharp crack, her left arm breaking.

  Pain riddled her body, a fog of disorientation suffocated her. A blurry, dark figure ascended in the distance. A ripple of red energy flickered out. Violent convulsions wracked her body, the infliction more than she could bear. Darkness encroached, offering a comforting finale. Another volley struck and she twitched, her body seizing out of her control.

  A shadow loomed over her, a muffled voice coming from far off. Heat radiated through her body, cooking her from the inside. An acrid smell of burnt hair and flesh filled her nostrils. A spiderwebbed floor cradled her broken body.

  “Give the Lord of the Underworld my regards,” Xilor stated menacingly. The tip of his wand flared again, a familiar swirling green. The acidic blade ascended for the coup de grace, but he paused. A backwash of white light illuminated around him. His shadowed cowl turned towards the light, and he screeched in agony, his hand hiding his face. He stood for but a moment before fleeing.

  Something or someone lifted her body from the floor; a soothing presence was the last thing she could recall before she faded.