Judas sat in his assigned room. The commanding officer, Kernoyl Tyku, ensured he received adequate quarters. The hotel, The Royal Scepter, was known for its ostentatiousness and exuberance, pampering the elite lodging within. Silk sheets, exquisite and rare art, antiques, and ever-present personal services were the first entries on a long list of amenities. The Grand Royal Army now commandeered the establishment, and the higher ranks took up residence.

  The opulent rooms resided on the ground floor. The higher the floor, the less pricy the accommodations. Dlad City’s citizens, like those of Ralloc, equated the importance of a person to the distance traversed. Patrons constrained to a budget would lug themselves up many flights of stairs. Those with fewer worries remained at ground level. Judas was given a room, adjacent the kernoyl’s quarters, on the first floor.

  The warlock sat, nursing an imported rum from the Isles. Koja rum provided a comfort for the aging exile. He missed the quietness of his home. Judas fostered a fondness for the drink. Upon first sampling, it reminded him of his own special brand back home, a rum hailing from the Stratu’Geim domain. The amber liquid remained his first choice, a smooth swallow swirling with the flavor and aroma of peaches and vanilla. A hint of spiciness lingered beneath. Absentmindedly, he twisted his goatee. In truth, the hotel offered the same amenities of home but not familiarity.

  A low fire crackled in the hearth. His eyes slid out of focus while he read a dull volume recounting warring faction between the dwaven and centaurs. His cool azure eyes drooped with weariness. He had read many books on the subject; this particular volume was written by a maghai historian whose prose matched the dry tone of numerous religions.

  With a sigh, he closed the book and rubbed his eyes. A lock of his long hair fell free from behind his ear before he swept it back in place. A knock on the door shattered his fragile cocoon of solace and silence.

  “Enter.” The door opened as Kernoyl Tyku rolled through like a gust of spring wind. Judas rose from his seat. “Kernoyl, how may I help you?”

  The kernoyl stayed silent for a moment, taking in the room. That Judas was aware of, all rooms had soft rugs of fur pelts with stained, scratch-resistant hardwood floors. Methodically measured hearths crafted with stark white brick contrasted nicely against the dark floor. Large beds stuffed with soft feathers dominated most of the room, silk sheets, and mounds of comforters stretched over the surface. Chairs of light hickory and clear varnish with cotton cushions covered with soft, supple, and often dyed leather decorated the sitting room.

  The silence, he realized, was intended so the kernoyl could craft his words. The officer always thought before he spoke.

  At last, the other took a chair opposite and broke the silence. Judas mirrored him and sipped the rum. “Don’t you think it’s odd the Krey's do-don no longer attends our meetings?”

  Judas snorted. “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Why would she? Your men are jackasses.”

  Tyku blinked. “What?”

  “You heard me; your officers are jackasses. They treat her inferior because she is a woman when in reality she could kill them all without an exerted breath. If she endured anymore, she might go nuts. A part of me acknowledges this as wrong, but part of me wouldn’t mind watching the debacle.” He took another pull of his drink, rolling the liquid over his tongue before swallowing.

  “My officers brought it to my attention. They are worried the Krey aren’t being watched closely enough.”

  “Watched? What are they? Impotent children? Did you realize half of the battle preparations you and your men carried out originated from Xenomene?”

  Tyku blanched. “I doubt that!”

  Judas chuckled. “You can lie to yourself, but not to me. I was at those meetings. Each time she presented an idea, your men distracted you with other ideas. When she gave up and quit coming, her suggestions were regurgitated by your underlings.”

  Tyku looked distant for a few moments. “She needs to come back to the meetings.”

  “Why? So they can mock her again? So they can regard her with disdain? Leave them be. I’ll admit, I used to look down on them, the ones inflicted with the bloodlust ‘malady.’ They fought with a ferocity I’ve never seen before and dove in front of your men while Xilor’s horde poured through the wall. The Krey saved your army, not me.”

  “You held the dragons at bay.”

  “True, but they saved your men from immediate death. The enemy would carve a swath through you, but the Krey stopped them. You didn’t call them, they came on their own accord. They heard me yell ‘stand to’ and came running without any regard for their own safety. It should be them in these rooms, not you or I or your men, half of which haven’t seen battle yet.” Judas sighed and relented.

  “If what you say is true, then, so be it. I’ll take the meyjours and the kaptyns to council and dismiss the leftenants.”

  Judas shook his head. “We have three brigades here, maybe more. It should be you and the other two kernoyls. Trust your men to be officers and let them inform their men.”

  It was Tyku’s turn to shake his head. “They will never go for that.”

  “I thought you were in charge,” Judas pointed out. “You make the call, not them. Besides, if the rumors I hear are true coming out of Ralloc, a jynerul will be headed here soon with an entire division. It’d be best when he arrives that your men are well in hand.”

  “An entire brigade! Fifty thousand additional troops? Where are we going to put all those men?”

  “I reckon we should build additional quarters. I will talk with Xenomene, if you wish, but I strongly advise you keep your council small.”

  “What about you, Warlock Lakayre?”

  “I’m not a man of warfare. Strategy and fortifications are best left to those who study war. If it comes to mystics, well …” he took another swig of his rum, “… that’s my department.”

  Tyku stood and cleared his throat. “I will consider what you’ve said. The kernoyls and I are opening up a case of my cigars from the Forgotten Isles. Would you care to join us?”

  Judas studied him. He rarely did anything spontaneously, but there were occasions. “Yes, I think I will.”

  The warlock stood and froze. His eyes grew distant for a brief instant before they slid back into focus. “It can’t be …” he muttered.

  “What?” Tyku asked. Judas blinked as if surprised to see the kernoyl there.

  “I felt her.”

  “Who?”

  “My apprentice, Starriace. She’s angry. No, that’s not the right word. She’s furious.” Judas turned his gaze south, in the hearth’s direction. With his mind, he searched beyond the walls of stone. “She’s nearby. Just beyond the Corridor.”

  “What?” Tyku exclaimed. “You can’t be thinking of going. Xilor has minions all over the place!”

  “That doesn’t matter.” Judas waved the younger man’s concerns away.

  “Doesn’t matter? You’ll die!”

  “I’m not worried about goblins and trolls.” Judas gathered up his travel cloak and the small leather satchel he had carried on his person since the battle of Cape Gythmel. In battle, it was difficult to find a sliver of mirror to cast a Psimond spell. The elder downed the rest of his drink and set the glass on a small, white, marble stand. “I need …” The warlock searched his room in haste, checking his robes and bag.

  “What?”

  “I need some investigators. You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?”

  “You mean criminal investigators?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course, we do, we are almost a division strong. Crimes in the army happen, but why would you need them?”

  Judas paused and turned to him. “My apprentice is young and determined. She has a hardline approach to things. She’s also most likely emotionally, if not mentally, unstable because of the Corridor of Cruelty.”

  “Then, why did you let her go?” Tyku inquired, a frown formed on his brow.

  “I didn’t, she left in the night. Anyways, I felt her. I can only feel her when she’s close or is experiencing a potent emotion. I felt her hate, her … malice. Whoever wronged her may die or is already dead. If that is the case, I’ll need investigators.”

  “When did you become a pessimist?”

  “I’m a realist. They can look for clues where she might have headed, while I search with my magic. Bring them to me, I’ll take them with me when I port.”

  Tyku nodded and fled the room. Judas pulled his small mirror from his bag. With a wave of his fingers, the surface swirled green. Meristal’s face materialized on the other end.

  “Judas?”

  “Meristal. Are you busy?”

  “Yes, I’m about to finish my meeting with my War Council. Do you need me?” There was something in her voice, almost a plea.

  “Yes, whenever possible, I need you to meet me.”

  “Dlad City?”

  “No, south of the Corridor. Can you make it?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

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  “I’ll see you then.” Judas cut the communication and tucked the mirror back into the bag. Tyku burst through the door a moment later with three young wizards in tow. The warlock looked them over. “Have any of you actually done investigations before?”

  They nodded in unison but kept quiet. Judas glanced at Tyku. “Aye, they’ve done investigations, but nothing like you’re thinking.”

  Judas nodded. “Very well. Grab hold,” he told the three examiners. They teleported from the room to the mouth of the Corridor of Cruelty, a narrow strip of land bridging over the Abyss. They had teleported to the backside of Xilor’s massive camp, and because he could teleport without the telltale signs of a swirling blue mist, they went unnoticed. Judas saw the effects, but those of lesser power wouldn’t be able to. Thus, the trolls and goblins never detected their presence. He entered the Corridor with the three young wizards on his heels. By the time they emerged on the other side, the sunless sky engulfed the land in darkness. Once again, the others held on as he teleported again.

  When they stepped through the last teleport, smoke and the smell of charred meat—the latter not quite right—filled the air. Judas cleared the last of the foliage hiding the campsite. As it came into view, the wizards bustled into a flurry of activity; they moved with practiced fluidness. He conducted his own investigation. Walking among the campsite, he examined the bodies, checked their clothing and armor, weapons, and bags. Evidence suggested that at least four people were involved, maybe more, three of which lay dead. The fourth nowhere to be found. An unsettling cloud hung in the air, an acrid scent that turned his stomach. Judas hadn’t endured the uneasy queasiness since the Wizard’s War as a young man.

  The Wizard’s War was a gigantic clash of all races that started with the goblins and the elyves, all before Judas’s birth. The cause remained elusive. An unknown account was entered in the great annuals of history. By the time Judas reached the Age of Maturity, the Great War had spilled out and engulfed the entire realm. Old scores become fresh wounds between rivals; each race engaged to settle ancient debts and wrongs. Most battle lines were drawn along the races with very few coalitions until the end.

  Friends became enemies within their own ranks, turning on each other, torturing and killing in the name of a something or someone greater. Thoughts were twisted, allegiances destroyed. The chaos of battle became the new orderly annihilation. During the carnage emerged a dark lord, the traitors' and outlaws’ supreme being, and his presence sent shock waves through Ermaeyth. That monster: Xilor. Instead of creating more disorder, the races consolidated against the new threat.

  Judas never vocalized his suspicion that Xilor caused the war. Had he remained hidden in the shadows until every race wiped each other out, he might’ve succeeded. But he didn’t. Like all drunk with power, he overplayed his hand, tipped it too early, and the balance of chaos slid out of his favor.

  It was his pride.

  The united front ensured his downfall. His valiant effort took many souls with him as he fell, defeated by Judas as a young man. Xilor’s arrogance only saw a boy, not a threat. When the two engaged in combat, only then did Xilor take his advisory in earnest. That day, the impossible happened.

  Judas won.

  During times of duress, Judas discovered an ability within himself. He could slow time to a crawl. The power terrified him each instance he called upon it. The day he faced Xilor, Judas chose to call upon the ability with intent to destroy.

  Memories scattered as someone slammed into him—a group of someones.

  “Warlock Lakayre!” a young man exclaimed.

  Judas eyed him and recollected where he had seen him before. It seemed like a lifetime ago that young Todd interviewed him in Dlad City. Wizards in many different colored robes set about the place, working in tangent with the investigators.

  “Who’re you? Judas teased.

  “It’s me,” the younger exclaimed, “Todd! From the New Suns Times, the paper in Ralloc, remember? We started your interview but never finished.”

  “No,” Judas answered curtly.

  “I was interviewing you at Dlad City, remember? You invited me.”

  “You showed up hours before the scheduled time!”

  “Oh, so you do remember me?” Todd smiled, catching Judas in a trap.

  “I—” Judas closed his mouth and opened it again. ”Yeah, I remember, what can I do for you?

  “I was wondering when I was going to be able to finish the interview with the fabled warlock. I used a port stone to Dlad City, but they said you left and were getting ready to send you reinforcements, so I hitched a ride.”

  “Not now, Todd, I’m busy,” he said pointing to the carnage around him. “Catch me in Ralloc; we can set up a time then. Now would be inappropriate, like trying to continue the interview in the middle of a funeral.” Judas marked the embarrassing flush across Todd’s face as he glanced around the carnage.

  The warlock walked towards the crime scene and focused on the nearest wizard standing close by. “What happened? Find anything yet?”

  “Not exactly. We are still gathering information and can only speculate,” answered the younger man.

  “These things take time. I’m sure you’ll do well.” Judas let his eyesight fall to the campsite, searching for anything amiss—their possessions, the way the bodies lay, where their horses were supposed to be. Two were missing. At least he assumed so and vocalized that.

  “Yeah, it’s strange that there is only one horse,” the younger admitted. “Kind of hard to think they would be traveling with two walking and one riding. It’d make sense if one were a woman or a child, but that’s not the case. Perhaps one was sick?”

  “No, they traveled with three horses. Two are missing. Whoever they happened upon was most likely traveling by foot and took the horses for faster travel. You might check the remaining horse and see if it has been branded with a mark. If so, we can track down the other two,” the warlock supplied. Judas remained cautious as to not voice aloud who was responsible. The younger did as he was instructed, grabbing an aide and checking the horse. Returning, the warlock knew the answer before they spoke. “Tell me, what do you gather from what little facts we can find so far?” he posed once they finished their analysis.

  “Well,” the woman spoke, “whoever did this isn’t powerful because they wouldn’t need the horses, and they could just teleport or enchant an object to carry them.”

  “Okay,” Judas doubted, not following her logic. While that could be true, Judas had his own suspect in mind. He turned to the younger man. “What about you?”

  “I think … I’m not sure what to think. Nothing makes sense. We can’t even get a lead on these people. We don’t know anything about them or how they died.”

  “I thought it obvious. That one right there,” Judas said pointing to the body to the left, “is missing a head. It’s pretty obvious how he died. The middle one was killed by a wound to the chest with a blunt object. Maybe a hammer or a magically propelled object like a rock. Whatever it was, the wound isn’t consistent with a stab wound, thrown or otherwise. The third is charred beyond recognition, most likely burned alive, but let’s not rule out any possibilities just yet.”

  As he finished his sentence, a woman teleported into their midst. Everyone who noticed her emerge gave a quick bow before continuing with their tasks. Judas bowed, too, despite being outside their law because of his exile status. He knew the importance of position and rank.

  “Judas,” Meristal purred softly. A warm smile crossed her lips but faltered when she saw the slaughter. “Of gods and demons! Who did this?”

  Meristal’s haunting features turned to abhorrence, but even then, Judas still found her beautiful. Not a single lock of her reddish-orange hair was out of place. Her wide amethyst eyes swept the scene. Her dark robes made her porcelain skin stand out.

  “I have theories.”

  “Give me a report?” She looked from Judas to the two young investigating officers standing there with him.

  “Nothing solid yet, Consul,” the young man spoke in a rush, fumbling over the words. “The man on the left died by decapitation, the middle one by a blunt object of considerable force, and the third most likely burned from the fire, but we aren’t ruling anything out yet.”

  Judas gave the young man a long look, silently amused that he repeated everything he stated. The girl took the opportunity to speak up.

  “That horse has no identifying marks, it’s possible the other two didn’t as well,” she beamed with pride at having the opportunity to converse with the consul.

  “My work here is done,” Judas declared with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Nonsense,” Meristal replied. “I must say, Judas, good work on the findings.” The two examiners gave each other guilty glances. “What do you think happened here?” she asked. The warlock mulled over his thoughts before he chose to speak, growing older and wearier as he said it.

  “The two unburned bodies are wearing lightweight, dark armor. If you kick them now, their armor won’t jingle or make a sound. This type of armor is usually made for and worn by assassins, so they won’t be heard as they go about fulfilling their contract. Assassins aren’t the only ones who use this armor. Highly skilled thieves do, too.”

  “Thieves?” the young woman asked. “You mean like from the Sleight of Hand Society?”

  “Yes, the same. There are other guilds and factions that we don’t know much about. It’s possible that a rival faction ambushed them, and their loot was confiscated.” Inwardly, Judas cringed. He didn’t lie necessarily, he theorized. What did these men do to anger Starriace … his daughter?

  “Interesting theory,” the boy admitted. “I would’ve never made that assessment. It’s a shame you’re not part of our investigation squad.” The young man and woman left when a superior called them away. No doubt they were telling their peers the warlock had already solved the case. Meristal eyed them before turning back to Judas.

  “Now that we have the public’s take and what facts are going in the official report, what aren’t you saying?”

  Judas exhaled slowly. “Someone with a better than average understanding of magic did this. There was something the mage wanted, something important. That burned body wasn’t consumed by their fire. It isn’t hot enough to burn the skin completely off and char the bones black. Besides, even if the fire scorched him, we would’ve evidence, signs to show the slow progress of the fire.”

  “So, a mage is responsible, and their possible incentive, but how can you be sure it was a wizard? It could have been a witchen.” A witchen was a vile mage who relied on the fourth form of magic: Derengi. Their conjury was purely for offensive purposes and dealt little in the ways of healing and defense. The entire branch drew strength upon necromancy, reincarnation, and dealing with the souls of the Underworld. Most users turned evil like those who used Rumigul, however, Judas was the exception. If he could be an exception, there could be others from Derengi. Derengi users still relied upon incantations like the users of Plotus, Mussari, and Owlen branches.

  “Easy enough,” he drawled, looking at the burned body. Meristal’s gaze followed suit. “That body was blasted by some form of a fire spell which burned the body. My guess is the victim was jumping over the fire to defend against their attacker when he was caught with the spell. That’s how I know it was a wizard. Derengi played no part in this. The bodies show blunt trauma and overt damage where a witchen would’ve disintegrated the person and armor, like acid eating flesh.”

  “Okay, so one attacker, not a witchen. It’s better than looking for two loose cannons or two witchen.” Meristal sighed with relief.

  “There could have been two of them,” Judas added.

  “What?”

  “See that man’s rib cage? It is pushed out from the body. He wasn’t attacked from the front but from behind. The force of impact erupted through his body, pushing his rib cage out.”

  “You think there are two murdering wizards?”

  “No, I never said there were two wizards. I said that one was killed by a wizard. The other person may not be a mage. Whoever the wizard was startled the three men because they attacked the person in the front without paying attention to the person coming in from behind. They were doomed from the start. That is speculation, though. I could be wrong.”

  “So … this person is psychotic and intelligent? That’s a deadly combination.”

  A darkness flickered within Judas. The pang he endured by Meristal’s words cut to the core of his soul. Did she really think his daughter was a monster?

  If you only knew. Instead, he said, “Yes, it is, and that worries me.”

  “We can look back on the files at Ralloc for possible suspects which will take a lot of time. Any ideas on who it might be?

  “Only one, my dear, and it’s not good.”

  “Who?”

  How much do I divulge? It would hurt Meristal if she finds out that I was less than honest. But if I’m forthright, Meristal will have me teleporting all over creation until I’m close enough to sense her.

  “Are you aware of anyone who might be semi-powerful with more than average knowledge of magic? One who might be traveling on foot and smart enough not to teleport away from the scene of the crime? Because of recognizable signs of teleportation?”

  “Mother of gods, don’t tell me…”

  “I told you it’s not good.”

  “We have to find her, Judas. Find her and bring her back before she does anything else.”

  “If she wants to be found.”

  “We must try, for her sake.”

  “If I know anything about her and the way she thinks, after this she will try to stay as far away from Ralloc as possible. South would be my guess, staying clear of the Ralloc domain on this side of the Corridor. If she did this, I’m sure she feels remorse. Guilt will keep her from resurfacing for a time.”

  “You must find her! Promise me you’ll make an effort to find Julie before she does something like this again!”

  Judas didn’t reply. His eyes found hers, and at that moment, each knew the other’s fears.