The Purifying Fire

The death of innocents was on her head. Because of her rash acts, her impulsive nature, and her reckless deeds.

She looked around her darkened bedchamber in Keral Keep and understood, for the first time in all the years she had been having this dream, why she had had it tonight.

The Keralians had welcomed her as one of their own kind when she first arrived here, and they had shared their home, their humble comforts, and their teachings and knowledge with her ever since then.

Now, as a result of that, soldiers and white mages were massed outside their walls, laying siege to their home, intent on destroying their way of life, and threatening to kill them.

All because of her.

Chandra swung her legs over the side of her narrow bed and, feeling nauseated, rested her head between her knees and concentrated on taking slow, steady breaths.

It’s happening again. Because of me.

She must prevent it this time. She must.

Chandra knew she couldn’t live with something like that happening twice. Indeed, she couldn’t even live with what had happened-she was always running away from it.

I can’t outrun two memories like that. I can’t.

And suddenly, sitting here in the dark, breathing hard, sweating, shaking, hunched over her knees and trying not to be sick… She knew exactly what she must do.

She had been confused and uncertain ever since returning to Keral Keep. Ever since things here had instantly spiraled into this crisis upon her return. She had floundered and vacillated. She had guiltily avoided eye contact with her fellow mages. She had expressed outrage when she mostly felt consuming guilt. She had considered fleeing and rejected it, and she had resolved to stay and then wondered if that was a mistake.

And all to avoid this, she now realized.

All to avoid the decision she knew she must make now-the one thing she could do to prevent the Keralians from meeting the fate that others had met because of her.

For a moment, she felt terribly sad as she thought about what would happen shortly. She was still young. There was still so much she hadn’t seen or experienced. And now she never would.

Then a kind of peaceful resignation settled over her. Perhaps this was her fate. Perhaps she had been heading toward this choice ever since the nightmares began.

She stood up, walked over to the simple table and chair that were in the corner, and sat down there to write a brief message on a short sheet of parchment. Then she got dressed and left her chamber, heading for Brannon’s bedroom. When she got there, she shook the boy awake.

Chandra indicated the parchment in her hand. “I have to send a message. I need your help.”

He blinked sleepily. “Huh?”

“Bring your bow and arrow.” She pulled back his covers and hauled him out of his bed.

He stumbled after her, following her out of his room and along the corridors of the monastery. By the time they reached the south tower, he seemed to be awake.

“We’re sending a message to them?” he asked, looking down at the mountainside with her. The moon was full tonight, casting a glow over the landscape. “The way they sent one to us?”

“Yes.” She rolled the piece of parchment tightly around the arrow Brannon had brought, then tied it with a thin piece of twine she had brought from her room. “Here.”

He looked at her handiwork and nodded. “Yes, this will fly.”

“If they shot an arrow into the south tower…” She looked down at the rugged landscape below the tower. She could see the white glow of illumination from a base camp. “Yes, there they are. Can you shoot that far?”

“What am I aiming at?”

“That white glow. It’s probably there to help a sentry keep watch in the night. If the arrow goes that far, they’ll find it.”

Brannon took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, I can do that. I’ve been practicing.”

“Mother Luti told me. And to make sure they see it…” She filled her breath with fiery heat, then blew gently on the head of the arrow. It caught fire. “Here. Quickly now.”

He took the arrow with a nod, his talented young fingers comfortably handling the burning head as he prepared to shoot. Brannon raised the bow, drew back his arm, and aimed. After several steady breaths, he drew back a little further on the bow, his whole body taut with the strain, his gaze focused intently on his target. When he loosed the arrow, Chandra heard it sing through the air as it left the quivering bow behind. The small flame sailed through the night, landing at the edge of the base camp.

There wasn’t enough light for her to see any figures in the distant camp. But she was able to see that the flaming arrow was lifted off the ground and its fire doused.

“They’ve got it!” Brannon said. “Now what?”

“Now we wait for a reply.”

Chandra waited anxiously all the next day for a response to her message, but it didn’t arrive until the day after that. And then she understood why it had taken so long.

She was playing with Brannon, trying to help relieve the natural restlessness of an adventurous boy now forbidden to go beyond the walls of the monastery. Brother Sergil came looking for her, to tell her she was wanted in Mother Luti’s workshop. Brannon followed her there, but waited outside the door, as instructed.

When she entered the workshop, Mother Luti said to her, “Chandra, you have a visitor.”

Her stunned gaze was already fixed on him. “Gideon?”

He nodded to her in silent greeting.

Gideon looked considerably better than he had the last time she’d seen him. His thick black hair was neatly braided down his back, and his face was clean-shaven and free of bruises. His pale brown tunic and leggings were clean and tidy, and he looked healthy and alert. The healing magic of the Order was obviously effective.

He did not have his sural with him; as a member of the Order, he would not have been admitted to the monastery while carrying a weapon.

And Chandra, though surprised to see him, specifically, wasn’t at all surprised that he had agreed to come here alone and unarmed, even after a pyromancer had killed one of his colleagues at the gate the other day. She knew by now that Gideon did what others wouldn’t or couldn’t do.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Walbert accepts your terms,” he said. “I’ve come to take you into custody.”

“Terms?” Luti repeated, looking quizzically at Chandra.

“He accepts?” When Gideon nodded, Chandra took a deep breath. “Good. I’m glad.”

“What terms?” Luti asked.

“I’m turning myself in,” Chandra told her. “Once I am in custody, Walbert will withdraw his forces from the mountain.” She looked at Gideon. “Will he keep his word?”

“Yes.”

She nodded, believing him-his promise confirmed what she expected of Walbert from what others had said of the man. Then she said to Mother Luti, “There are no other conditions. The Keralians will not be expected to abide by any terms or rules.”

“Chandra,” Luti said with concern, “are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“I’m sure.” She looked at Gideon. “And I’m ready to leave.”

“No!” Brannon burst into the workshop. “You can’t go!”

Chandra turned around to look at the boy. She should have realized he would eavesdrop. “I have to go,” she said to him. “Mother Luti will explain it to you.”

“Something bad will happen to you there,” Brannon said with certainty.

“Maybe,” she said, “but I have to go.”

“I’m coming with you!”

“No.” She shook her head.

“But you promised! You said that the next time you left, I could come with you.”

“I did not promise,” she said firmly. “Anyway, I feel certain that you’d be very unhappy in the Temple.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t suit people like us,” Chandra said.

The boy looked to Mother Luti for a second opinion, but it was Gideon who spoke. “Chandra’s right. You wouldn’t like it there.”

“You won’t like it there, either,” Brannon said to Chandra.

“No, but that doesn’t matter anymore,” Chandra said. “This is my choice, Brannon.”

He looked angry and sad. “When are you coming back?”

She didn’t answer, not knowing what to say.

“Soon?” he prodded.

“No,” she said truthfully. “I don’t think I’ll be coming back soon.”

Chandra walked through the large front gate and beyond the monastery walls with Gideon at her side. When the gate closed behind them, she let out her breath in a rush.

Her decision was made, accepted, and enacted. She had committed herself to her fate, however unpleasant-and perhaps short-it might be. The Keralians wouldn’t suffer or die the way others had indeed suffered and died because of her. She had prevented it from happening again.

Mother Luti had dealt with Walbert at a distance for years, and she knew his reputation was good, though she disliked what he intended to see in the world. She would not have let Chandra leave if she suspected Walbert of treachery or dishonesty in this matter. And Gideon had said Walbert would keep his word, and Chandra believed him.

Now she stood between the walls of the monastery and the mystical white barrier that had surrounded it for days. Beyond the barrier, a dozen armed soldiers awaited her.

Not quite knowing how to proceed, she glanced at Gideon.

He was looking straight ahead, wearing the impassive expression he relied on when he wanted to conceal things from others.

“Gideon?” she prodded, wondering what to do.

“Walbert asked me to come,” he said quietly, without looking at her, “because he wanted to send someone you couldn’t ambush. In case your offer wasn’t sincere.”

“It is sincere,” she said.

“I know.” Now he looked her at her. “Why?”

She wasn’t going to answer. But then she glimpsed some of the concern that his cool expression masked, and she shrugged. “Ghosts, you might say.”

“Ghosts?”

“I can’t carry any more of them.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“No, I don’t suppose you do.”

Gideon looked ahead again, his gaze on the translucent white barrier that separated them from the soldiers. “I didn’t come to help you get out of this.”

“I didn’t think you had,” she said.

“If you were counting on-”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve made your choice,” Gideon said firmly.

“Yes. And now that I have…” She gestured to the white barrier that separated her and the monastery from the world. “I think it might create the wrong impression if I blasted a fiery hole in this thing. So how do I get through it?”

“Just walk through it,” he said.

“Just…”

“You’ll be fine.”

She shrugged again and walked forward. As soon as she entered the shimmering wall of white, she felt the binding weight of ice surrounding her. She took a breath, trying not to panic or let fire start glowing along her skin in defensive reaction… until the white barrier began collapsing and contracting, moving in on her from all directions with alarming rapidity.

Startled, she called forth fire and tried to blow her way out of the smothering blanket of white that was enfolding her.

“Don’t,” Gideon said calmly, approaching her as she struggled within the shrinking wall of light and power. “It won’t hurt you.”

White magic was surrounding her, moving in on her, and covering her. It doused her fire as soon as she called flames to life. She tried again, and it happened again. Her hands, her hair, her arms all were smoking with her futile efforts to defend herself.

A trap!

The barrier was shrinking into a cloak that draped over every bit of Chandra’s body. She struggled against it in horror, trying to tear it off or punch a hole through it, but it just kept folding in on her and shrinking. Then it started molding itself to her, following the contours of her body, the curve of her breast, the line of her thigh, and even the tapered shape of each individual finger.

“Gideon?” She heard how breathless her voice was and realized she was panting.

“It won’t hurt you,” he repeated. “It’s just to prevent… accidents.”

The thing settled all over her body and finally stopped moving. It didn’t affect her vision, but she could see that it covered her entirely, like a second skin. It even covered her hair. The enchanted sheath didn’t hurt, tingle, or sting, and it didn’t impede her physical movement in any way. But another failed attempt to create fire revealed to her exactly what it was.

“My very own portable prison,” she said grimly. Her power was trapped inside this close-fitting shell of magic, just as she was.

“They thought it was for the best.” Gideon nodded toward a place further down the hill, where the white mages who had created and maintained the barrier around the monastery were still camped. “They were a little concerned about what you might do in Zinara.”

“You didn’t do this to me?” she asked with a frown. “They did?”

“Yes,” he said. “They’re afraid of you.”

“And you’re not?” she challenged.

He gave her a bland look.

“But you knew about this,” she said with certainty. And he had told her to step into it.

“Yes.” His eyes held hers. “I told you to leave Regatha. You should have listened.”

Under other circumstances, Chandra would have found her entrance into Zinara interesting. It was an attractive city of tidy, pale stone buildings, spiraling towers, neatly-paved streets, and red-tiled roofs.

However, as she rode through the city gates with her armed escort, she was uncomfortable with the attention that she immediately attracted. She seemed to be entering the city via a major commercial street, and it was a busy afternoon. As Chandra, Gideon, and the soldiers of the Order rode slowly through the crowded area, people stopped what they were doing to stare openly at her, point her out to others, and exchange speculations about her.

She could tell from their puzzled expressions, as well as from the bits of conversation that she overheard, that nothing had been said about her beyond the walls of the temple. The common people staring and pointing at her seemed only to wonder who she was, and whether she was a dangerous prisoner or, instead, an important visitor. Either circumstance could have accounted for her impressive escort.

Above all, people were curious about the way she glowed white all over. Because of this effect, she noticed, many of the people she was passing seemed to conclude that she was an important hieromancer. Some of them even bowed respectfully as she rode past them.

It was amusing, but Chandra wasn’t in a mood to laugh about it.

The soldiers and mages of the Order had begun packing up and preparing to withdraw from the mountain as soon as Chandra had been taken into custody. She saw them making preparations even as she left the monastery behind her and followed Gideon down the mountain. The long ride across the plains to Zinara had happened in silence. She wasn’t feeling talkative, and Gideon seemed preoccupied.

It was late in the day now. Chandra was tense as she rode through the city and approached the Temple of Heliud, but it was a relief to get here at last. She was ready to find out what fate awaited her, and to get on with it. She had never been any good at waiting, and she’d been wondering what the outcome would be ever since making her decision two nights ago.

Chandra assumed Walbert was going to execute her. Since he knew she was a planeswalker, he knew how easily she could escape imprisonment, after all. She couldn’t planeswalk at the moment, of course, not with this shimmering white shell entrapping her. But it would make no sense for Walbert to keep her power ensnared for many years to come, rather than simply eliminating her altogether. Even if he kept her imprisoned and guarded, the threat of mayhem or escape would always exist while she remained alive. Executing her was Walbert’s only sensible choice.

In any event, she had achieved her goal. The Keralians were out of danger now and free of Walbert’s demands and interference. Chandra had gotten what she wanted, and she would pay the price for that, as she had promised in the message that she had sent flying through the night on a burning arrow.

Her docile horse followed the mounted soldiers to the end of this busy street, around a corner, and into a large square. On the far side of the square sat a massive palace of marble with tall, thick, white pillars. Broad steps led up to a large set of carved doors. About twenty soldiers stood guard outside the building.

“The Temple of Heliud,” she said. It was as impressive as the descriptions she had heard.

“Yes.” It was the first time Gideon had spoken since they’d left Mount Keralia.

“Oh, so you still have a tongue?” Chandra said. “I was beginning to wonder.”

He didn’t react or respond.

When they reached the other side of the broad plaza, they dismounted. Chandra stood at the foot of the broad steps and, for a long moment, gazed up at the massive white edifice where she was going to die.

“Walbert is waiting,” Gideon said.

She nodded and started ascending the steps. He made no attempt to take her elbow or touch her.

When she reached the top of the steps and started crossing the wide marble landing, two soldiers moved to open one of the massive doors so she could enter the palace.

She walked into an enormous hall of polished white marble with pale blue veins running through it. Beautiful tapestries hung on the walls, and elegantly carved stone benches sat along the outskirts of the hall at regular intervals. Two long staircases curved together to the balcony overhead. She looked up at it and saw a man looking down at her.

“Walbert,” she said with certainty.

He was exactly as Samir had described him: tall, slim, well-groomed, gray-haired, and about Luti’s age. His blue eyes were bright with interest, but chilly.

His lean face broke into a sudden smile. Samir had said that even his smile was cold; but evidently something filled Walbert with unprecedented pleasure now, because his smile looked surprisingly warm.

“Hello, Chandra. Welcome to the Temple of Heliud.”

He gazed down at her for another moment.

Then Walbert said pleasantly to Gideon, who stood beside her, “Let her refresh herself from the journey, then bring her to my study.”

Walbert’s study was grander than Mother Luti’s workshop, which Chandra had expected, but it was nonetheless a workmanlike room, rather than a showplace. He had a large desk that was covered in parchments, scrolls, inkpots, and books. The walls were also lined with books. All of the furnishings in here were obviously chosen for durability and comfort, rather than just to look elegant.

Chandra entered the room, followed by Gideon. Four soldiers, who had shown her to a private chamber where she had “refreshed” herself, remained in the corridor now, just outside Walbert’s door. The high priest of the Temple was sitting at his desk, signing a parchment that he handed to a young man, who nodded and left the room without speaking.

As soon as the door closed behind the young man, leaving the three of them in privacy, Chandra said to Walbert, “Gideon says you’ll keep your word to withdraw your forces completely from Mount Keralia and leave the monastery alone from now on. Will you?”

Walbert looked amused. “No wasting time, I see! I like that, Chandra.”

“I don’t care what you like,” she said. “I want to know-”

“Yes, I will keep my word.” His amusement vanished, and he looked serious and intent. “As long as you remain in my custody, then I will leave the Keralians alone to destroy themselves however they please.”

She ignored the provocative comment. “Then I won’t try to escape execution.”

“Execution?” He lifted his brows. “Oh, I’m not going to execute you, Chandra.”

“What do you plan to do, then? Keep me like this the rest of my life?” She made a gesture that indicated the glowing second skin that imprisoned her.

“No,” he said, “that’s just a temporary measure. After tonight, there’ll be no need for it.”

She frowned. “Why? What’s going to happen tonight?”

“Tonight, my visions will be fulfilled at long last.”

“Visions?” Chandra repeated.

“The visions I have had for years,” Walbert said, “when meditating in communion with the Purifying Fire.”

Gideon’s head moved. It was a very small motion, but he had been so still until now, it caught Chandra’s attention. She glanced at him and saw that, although nothing showed in his expression, he was staring intently at Walbert now.

Evidently Walbert had never mentioned the visions to him.

“What are your visions about?” Chandra asked.

“Mostly, Chandra, they’re about you.”

“Me?” she blurted.

Walbert smiled again, and his expression was warm and serene as he gazed at her, his enemy and prisoner. “For years I have believed you would come during my lifetime. For years, I have awaited you.”

She glanced at Gideon. He kept his face under control, but she could tell from the redoubled intensity of the gaze still focused on Walbert that he was as stunned as she was.

“You are the herald of the chaos that’s on the verge of overwhelming this plane,” Walbert said. “Your arrival on Regatha threatens to usher in an era of ungoverned madness here.”

“I just came here to study and learn,” Chandra said. “Not to, er, herald and usher.”

“I knew you would come, and you did,” Walbert said. “I knew you would return, with or without Gideon, and you did. I knew you wouldn’t leave again, even though you could have left-and, indeed, should have.” He nodded. “You are the one whom I have seen in my visions, and it’s your destiny to change everything here.”

“No, it’s not,” she said firmly. “We each make our own destiny, and the only destiny I ever intended to have here-”

“Intended? You aren’t in control of your destiny,” Walbert said contemptuously. “You flow with your impulses and bounce erratically off your own emotions. I have seen you in the Purifying Fire, and I know who you are.”

“Fine,” she said in exasperation, “so your visions told you a fire-wielding planeswalker would come to Regatha and cause trouble.”

“No, an earthquake is trouble, Chandra,” Walbert said. “You are a cataclysm.”

“A cataclysm? Oh, for-”

“I have known ever since I first bonded with the power of the Purifying Fire that this day must come. I have seen in my visions how dangerous you are, what a deadly threat you are to the Order and our goals.”

“Goals like ruling the forests and the mountains?” she said sharply. “Dominating all the mages of Regatha with your own rules, your own-”

“You came to Regatha to destroy everything I have built,” Walbert said darkly. “You came here to prevent me from bringing peace and harmony to this plane.”

“I told you why I came here,” she snapped.

“You are the kindling of the cataclysm that I have foreseen,” he said with solemn certainty, “and I must stop you.”

“Your notion of a cataclysm sounds like other people’s idea of restoring balance to Regatha,” she said. “Or being left alone to pursue their own goals instead of submitting to yours.”

“I have prepared for this day for many years,” Walbert said, “and tonight I will begin a new era on Regatha. One that is free of the destruction that threatens us here.”

Gideon asked, “What are you going to do?”

He had been silent for so long, they both reacted as if one of the chairs had spoken.

Then Walbert recovered his composure and said, “I will give her to the Purifying Fire.”

Fire won’t kill her.” Gideon’s voice was quiet and without expression.

“As I said, I don’t intend to kill her,” said Walbert.

“What will happen in the Purifying Fire?” Gideon asked.

“It will cleanse her.”

“Cleanse me of what?” said Chandra.

“Of your power. It will purify you,” Walbert said with evident devotion. “The Purifying Fire will eliminate the destructive poison of fire magic from your existence. It will forever sever your bond with the corrupting force of red mana.”

“You’re taking away my power?” Chandra said, appalled. “I don’t understand. Why don’t you just kill me?”

“Because once you’re stripped of your power, you’ll be an example for others.”

“An example?” she repeated.

“You are the most powerful fire mage on this plane,” Walbert said. “And I will take away your power.”

“She’ll be bound to this plane,” Gideon said.

“Yes,” said Walbert, holding Chandra’s gaze. “No more planeswalking. You’ll spend the rest of your life on Regatha. Powerless. Defeated. Subject to my will.”

“No,” Chandra said, a sick dread washing through her. She had anticipated death, not being stranded for life on just one plane, robbed of her power and with no reason to live.

He ignored her outburst. “I won’t have to challenge the Keralians or invade the mountains again. They will see you stripped of all power and utterly impotent, and they will realize what they risk by continuing to oppose me. And so they will submit to the rule of the Order.”

“No, they won’t!”

“They will. I have foreseen it,” he said with cold satisfaction. “The woodlanders will see you, too, vanquished and humbled, and they will understand that the Order must not be thwarted or disobeyed any longer.”

“I thought I was coming here to die!” Chandra said angrily. “I agreed to be executed, not… violated, humiliated, and put on display!”

“Your message didn’t mention execution as a condition of our agreement,” Walbert said. “As far as your part of our bargain goes, you said you would surrender to my custody. And that was all you said.”

“I didn’t say that I’d allow you to feed me to the Purifying Fire!”

“The ceremony will take place tonight,” Walbert said. “I have a great deal to do before then, so this conversation is over.”

“I won’t let you do this me, Walbert!”

He ignored her again as he shouted, “Guards!”

“No!” As the door behind her opened, Chandra leaped forward and threw herself across the desk at the old mage.

Alarmed, Walbert tried to evade her, but the speed and force of her attack shoved him back into his chair as he started to rise from it. She punched him in the face as footsteps thundered into the room. Chandra got her fingers on his throat and began squeezing just as several pairs of hands seized her. She kicked, bit, punched, and screamed threats as the soldiers pulled her off the high priest and subdued her.

Walbert tried to speak. He choked, coughed, and tried again, successfully. “Bring her hands together,” he instructed the soldiers.

They did-with some difficulty, since Chandra continued struggling violently.

Walbert covered her wrists with his hands and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Chandra felt something cool encircling her flesh, and she looked down to see a thick, shining white coil binding her wrists together, in addition to the shimmering sheath that already covered her flesh.

With her wrists bound together and four men holding her back, she tried to attack Walbert again. It was futile, but she was too enraged to give up.

Walbert turned to Gideon, who still hadn’t moved, and said angrily, “Were you just going to stand there and watch her kill me?”

Gideon shrugged. “You’ve got guards.”

Chandra was still kicking, struggling, and shouting when they dragged her from the room.

She was alone in a locked chamber, with her wrists still bound, when he came to her.

Chandra’s stomach clenched when the door to the chamber opened. Were they coming to get her for Walbert’s ceremony? There was one small window in this room, high up on the wall, so she knew that night had fallen some time ago.

When he entered the darkened room and closed the door behind him, she asked, “Is it time?”

“Not yet,” Gideon said. “Soon, though.”

“If you’ve come to tell me you didn’t know what he would do,” Chandra said coldly, “I’m not in-”

“That’s not why I came.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To tell you there may be a way out,” he said.

She blinked. “You’ll help me escape?”

“No,” he said. “That’s not possible.”

“Of course it’s possible,” she snapped. “All we have to do is-”

“It’s not possible without killing a lot of people,” he said. “So the answer is no, Chandra.”

She looked at the faintly glinting metal of the sural that was coiled at his belt. “Then kill me now.”

In the dim light, she could see him shake his head.

“Please, Gideon.” She heard the pleading in her voice and hated it, so she didn’t say more.

He shook his head again.

She looked away.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just… can’t.”

Chandra shrugged, gazing at the floor. “Maybe someone else will.” And she would do her best to encourage them.

“There may be another way,” he said.

When he didn’t continue, she looked at him again. “Well?”

“I’d have come sooner, but I’ve been with the Keepers. And since I didn’t want to arouse their suspicion, it took time. I had to be… circumspect about my questions.”

“The Keepers?”

“Of the Purifying Fire,” Gideon said. “It’s never left unguarded.”

She sat down on the narrow cot, which was the only item of furniture in the room, and looked at him in silence.

He said, “There may be a way to enter the Fire but keep your power.”

“May be? You’re not certain?”

“No one is certain,” he said. “No one has tried it in this lifetime.”

“Why not?”

“They’re afraid of being cleansed of their power if they enter the flames.” He added, “That’s why no one in the Order has ever entered the Purifying Fire. Not Walbert, not the Keepers, not anyone.”

Gideon crossed the room and sat beside her on the cot. “The Fire is very ancient, much older than the Order. Before the Temple was built, there was another temple that existed on this spot. Smaller, humbler. This place has been a holy site as far back as Heliud. The priests and priestesses of the old faith here, long ago, worshipped the Purifying Fire, and people came from all over Regatha to give themselves to it.”

She frowned. “Give themselves? As sacrifices?”

“No. To prove they were worthy,” he said. “Some died. Others survived. And if you survived the Purifying Fire, then you could become a priest or priestess of the faith. Because you had proved your soul was clean.”

“Clean,” she repeated flatly.

“That’s how they survived the flames,” Gideon said. “Not with magic, not with special protection. They entered the flames with a… a clean soul. And they didn’t die.”

She shook her head. “But I’m not going to die in the flames.”

“Yes, you are.”

Their eyes met in the shadowy room, illuminated now only by the glow emanating from her shimmering white body sheathe and the bright white coils that bound her wrists.

And she knew he was right. What would happen to her in the Purifying Fire would be, for her, the same as dying.

No, it would be worse than dying. Much worse.

“I can’t bear it.” Her voice broke.

“I know.” He put his hand over both of hers, which were clenched together on her lap. “So we need to prevent it.”

“But how does someone clean their soul?”

“You face the things you’ve done,” he said, “and accept the weight of your responsibility for your deeds, without lies or excuses.”

“That’s it?” she said skeptically.

“That’s what the Keepers said.”

“And if I do that, then I won’t… my power won’t die in the Purifying Fire?”

He didn’t answer, and she knew it was because he couldn’t guarantee it. He had searched for a solution, for a way to save her. This was what he had been able to find. It wasn’t perfect, but it was all that he could offer.

You face the things you’ve done…

“But I’ve done so many things,” she said pensively.

“What did you do that gives you nightmares?”

She drew in a sharp breath and stared at him, her heart thudding with sudden fierceness.

He asked, “What did you do that left you with ghosts to carry?”

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “I don’t talk about that. I can’t talk about that.” After a moment, she said, “I can’t even think about it.”

“But you dream about it.” It wasn’t a question.

She was silent.

His voice was kind when he said, “If you need some time alone now-”

“No,” she said.

He waited patiently, not moving at all. His hand remained resting on both of hers. His breathing was steady.

“I…” She stopped, feeling sick. Her heart was racing. She forced herself to tell him. “I caused the deaths of my family and my whole village.”

Gideon didn’t move or speak.

Her breath came out in a rush. “I’ve never told anyone that. No one alive knows.”

“That’s what happened to your mother? You… caused her death?”

She nodded. He had asked her about it on Diraden, after she had cried out for her mother in her sleep. In the burning stench of her nightmares. Now she could give him an answer.

“I was raised in a traditional mountain village,” she said, “on a plane I’ll never go back to. My family were ordinary people. Decent people. My father was gentle. My mother was strict. I had two younger sisters who irritated me, and an older brother who I adored. He taught me to ride, and to fight, and… well, a lot of things. He was killed in the war. By then I had already discovered…”

“That you had power?”

“Yes. I played with fire in secret, going off alone into the hills to practice, even though it was forbidden.”

“By whom?”

“By everyone. My parents forbade it, because they didn’t understand it and were afraid. The elders of our village told me I had to stop, because it was against the law. And the law forbidding fire magic had been passed by the new ruler, when our lands were occupied at the end of the war.”

She paused for a moment, then said, “But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. It was like… Well, you know what it’s like to discover you have that much power. That kind of talent. It’s not something you can quit or give up.”

“No.”

“The more my parents and the village elders tried to get me to stop practicing and experimenting, the more suffocated I felt. Even though I was too young for it, they started talking about marrying me off, thinking that maybe that a husband and children would solve the problem.” She shook her head. “But, of course, the problem was who I was. I didn’t yet have any idea what I was, but I knew for certain I was never going to settle down to village life. I wasn’t ever going to be one of them. With every passing day, I felt more and more… different. Separate.”

She looked down at his hand, resting on hers, and remembered how alien she had felt in her own birthplace.

“Finally, my parents, under pressure from the village elders, talked seriously to another family about getting me married to their son. When I found out, I was furious. I wanted to run away. To leave home. But…” She shrugged. “I’d never been anywhere. I had no idea where I would go. And the whole realm was under martial law. I knew I wouldn’t get far from our village before I’d be stopped by soldiers. I felt trapped there. Imprisoned in that narrow, smothering life.”

Chandra paused again. Gideon waited.

“I had been manifesting greater and greater power. Getting careless. Not hiding what I was doing, even though I knew I should. And now that I was so angry…” She started breathing harder. “I set off a huge explosion of fire on the outskirts of our village. I… yes, I wanted to frighten the village elders. And my parents. And the family who had just agreed to have their son marry me-I wanted them to change their minds, to refuse! I wanted him to refuse. I wanted to be set free.”

When she stopped again, Gideon asked, “What happened?”

“The explosion attracted soldiers. They didn’t know that one stupid, angry adolescent had done this. They thought the people in my village had to be rebels. They assumed the men had been practicing fire magic, in violation of the law, and were planning to use this secret power to attack the occupying forces.” Her voice was breathless and uneven as she continued, “So they rounded up everyone in the village, forced them into the cottages that were closest to the fire-which was spreading-and barricaded the doors.” Tears started welling up in her eyes. “The fire spread to those cottages… and everyone inside… burned.”

The tears spilled over and rolled down her cheeks.

Gideon asked, “Where were you?”

“I had gone off to be by myself after starting the fire. I came running back to the village when I heard the soldiers attacking. When I saw what was happening, I fought them.” She took shaky a breath and wiped her eyes. “It was the first time I’d ever used my power that way. For fighting. It was the first…” Tears fell again. “First time I ever killed.” She tried to steady her breathing.

“And your family?”

“They burned alive inside our home. I heard their screams. I saw my mother at the window, begging the soldiers to let my little sisters out of the burning building.” Her voice broke. “I smelled their burning flesh…” She closed her eyes and wiped her face. “They all died because of me. My parents, my sisters, and everyone in the village. Because of me. Because I played with fire.”

Gideon’s gentle clasp on her hands became a firm grip. With his other hand, he stroked her hair.

“No one was left alive,” she said. “No one. And it’s my fault. I brought that fate down on them.”

“And that’s what haunts your dreams.”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Those are my ghosts.”

“How did you live through it?”

“When everyone was dead inside the burning buildings and the screams stopped, I didn’t have the will to keep fighting. So the soldiers captured me easily then. They made me get down on my knees, so they could behead me on the spot. And when I saw the blade of that sword coming down to my neck… suddenly I wanted to live. I was terrified. And then…” She shrugged. “My spark was ignited. I planeswalked. One moment, I was kneeling in the dirt of my village with the smell of burning flesh in my nostrils and my head about to be cut off. And the next moment… I was in the Blind Eternities-with no idea where I was or what was happening.” She gave a watery sigh. “And that’s when my next life began. My life as a planeswalker.”

She took a few steadying breaths. “Sometimes since then, I’ve wanted to burn down the whole Multiverse.”

“And you never went back?”

“No. I never wanted to.”

Chandra felt his silent acceptance of everything she had told him. She supposed, from that, he understood the full weight of what she had done, but he didn’t withdraw from her or condemn her. It was a surprise to find that he might not.

“I came to the Temple because I couldn’t live with something like that happening again,” she said. “I couldn’t live with causing suffering and death at the monastery, to the people who had taken me in and treated me as one of their own.”

“You did the right thing.” His voice was very soft.

“And have I done the right thing now?” she wondered. “Telling you this?”

“Are they as heavy to carry as they were before?” he asked. “Your ghosts?”

She closed her eyes, feeling the load she carried. She felt the tears on her cheek and the hand that clasped hers. “No,” she said at last, a little surprised. “No, not as heavy as before.” The sorrow was as deep as ever, but the burden was lighter now that she had admitted what she had done.

They sat quietly together for a while.

Finally he said, “I have to go. Walbert is busy, but he’s going to start wondering where I am. Especially since…”

“Since it’s almost time?”

“Soon,” he said.

She squared her shoulders. “I think I’m ready.”

“How do you feel?”

She searched her soul. “I don’t know if this is what it’s like to feel clean,” she said, “but I feel better. I feel I can face what will happen tonight.”

Chandra remained alone in her dark chamber for longer than she had expected. Nothing in her life matched the sorrow of what had happened to her family and village because of her, but there were certainly other things she regretted, other things she had done that weighed on her. Indeed, there were enough such memories to keep her thoughts occupied until someone opened the door of her chamber and ordered her to come out. And then she wondered if she had remembered everything and taken responsibility for it.

She blinked as she entered the well-lit hallway where candles burned brightly in sconces that were spaced at regular intervals along the walls.

The four soldiers who were escorting her led her from this corridor on the upper level of the Temple down various flights of stairs until she finally thought they must be below ground level by now. There were no windows anywhere along this corridor, and the ceiling here was so low that the tallest soldier in her escort had to duck his head in a few places.

As they approached the end of the corridor, she saw Gideon waiting for her. He was holding a torch and standing beside an open doorway. He gave a brief nod to the soldiers as they turned her over to him. Then they stood guard at the door.

Chandra paused in the doorway, looked down, and said without enthusiasm, “More stairs?”

“We’re going to the caverns beneath the palace. Beneath Zinara,” Gideon said.

Samir had told her that the Purifying Fire was said to burn in ancient caverns under the city, arising out of a powerful source of white mana that ran deep beneath the plains.

“They’re waiting,” he said quietly.

She nodded. With Gideon at her side, she began descending the steep marble stairs that led down into the belly of Regatha, below the bustling streets of Zinara and the imposing pillars of the Temple of Heliud.

The passage was narrow, barely wide enough for Gideon to descend beside her as her held her elbow to steady her. The stairs were ancient and uneven, and the flickering torch in Gideon’s other hand created deceptive shadows. A misstep would be easy, and with her hands bound, she probably couldn’t save herself from a headlong tumble. The ceiling of the tunnel was so low in places that Gideon had to lower the torch, holding it out in front of them while their heads brushed the stone ceiling. Chandra focused on her footsteps and her breath as she fought the feeling of being closed in, oppressed and smothered by stone.

After what must have been two hundred steps, they reached a broad, rough-hewn landing. It was made of the same marble as the stairs, but this surface was uneven and unpolished. The low ceiling of the steep tunnel gave way here to a spacious cavern. Chandra took a deep breath, glad to be out of the dark, stony embrace of the tunnel. Gideon released her elbow and turned to set his torch in a niche carved into the stone wall. There were other torches there already, no doubt set there by those who awaited Chandra’s arrival.

The landing overlooked the chamber of the Purifying Fire. The high-domed cavern was immense, probably as big as the temple that sat above it.

Hundreds of white, crystal-encrusted stalactites hung down from the ceiling. Some were as slender as a wand, others as thick as the trunks of young trees. Some were so long they nearly reached the floor of the cave. Stalagmites rose up from the rough white-marble floor of the cavern, reaching skyward like the spiraling towers of some fabled city. In several instances, they met and embraced the massive icicles of stone that dripped down toward them from the ceiling, twining together like lovers-or like enemies frozen together in the writhing throes of mortal combat. All of the vaguely menacing shapes glowed from within with mystical light, illuminating the cavern so brightly that Chandra found herself squinting.

At the very center of this extraordinary underground world was a pure white bonfire rising out of a deep cauldron of jagged white rock that was speckled with thousands of shiny crystal shards. Many members of the Order surrounded it-at least forty of them-dressed in plain tunics and leggings. They encircled the Fire, facing it, with their hands held up, palms turned toward their faces. They were still and silent as they… communed with the Purifying Fire? Drew strength from it? Probably both, Chandra guessed.

The Purifying Fire was twice as tall as a man, and so big around that Chandra estimated it would take eight people, with their arms spread wide, to fully surround it. Its white flames licked and flickered like those of a regular fire, but it created no smoke and it made no sound. It was utterly silent.

And even from here, halfway across this vast space, Chandra could feel its cool power undulating in silent waves throughout the cavern. It quivered now, as if sensing her presence in the chamber, and seemed to lean toward her. Chandra felt sure its dancing white coolness responded to the red heat that was trapped within her by the shimmering second-skin that still covered her.

“The Purifying Fire,” Gideon said.

“Impressive,” she admitted.

“Come.” He took her elbow and led her to the left edge of the landing.

“And still more stairs,” she grumbled. Roughly chiseled into the bedrock, these steps looked lumpy, primitive, and dangerously uneven. “Did you people carve these stairs with a spoon?”

“They’re old,” Gideon said mildly.

With a firm hand on her elbow, he helped her down the rough, ancient steps to the main floor of the cavern. As their bodies touched, she could feel his tension and realized he was anxious about what would happen here tonight.

Chandra was surprised to realize that she was not anxious.

Not any longer.

Tonight, she had already faced the thing she feared most. After all these years of running from it, after the sickening nightmares, the chills and sweats in the dark, the refusal to think about it, the evasions and denials… tonight she had faced the one thing in the Multiverse that she had long thought she could never face. She had stopped running at last from her ghosts, had turned around and accepted them. She had looked directly into the face of what she had done to her loved ones and admitted it-to herself, and to another.

She had confronted that, and it was something she had feared more than she feared the Purifying Fire.

If she could survive that rending of her soul tonight, then she could survive this. Whatever was going to happen inside the Purifying Fire, Chandra was ready for it.

When they reached the circle of white mages, priests, and Keepers standing around the silent flames with their eyes closed, Gideon came to a halt and waited respectfully for them to finish their… prayers? Meditation? Whatever.

Chandra saw no reason to emulate his courtesy. “Can we get on with it?” she said loudly. “It’s been a long day for me.”

Gideon closed his eyes and his lips twitched briefly. She couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or amused.

Walbert flinched, glared at Chandra over his shoulder… then relaxed and offered her a smile.

Samir was right. It was cold.

“By all means, Chandra,” the high priest of the Order of Heliud said. “I’ve waited a long time for this. Let’s not wait any longer.”

At a signal from Walbert, the circle of worshippers around the Purifying Fire shifted position, creating an opening for Chandra to walk through so that she could approach the dancing white flames. Then six of the men stepped forward, looking directly at her. Chandra saw that they were well armed.

Walbert said to her, “I would rather perform the ceremony in a way that lends itself to your dignity, as well as mine. But if necessary, I will have you forcibly thrown into the Fire.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gideon’s chest start rising and falling faster.

“No,” Chandra said. “It’s not necessary. I have no desire to lose my dignity as well as… whatever else I’m about to lose.”

Walbert smiled again. “I’m glad to hear that, Chandra. I don’t want this to be needlessly unpleasant. For any of us.”

“If you really want me to have a pleasant night,” she said, “then let me go. Now.”

Walbert’s smiled broadened as he shook his head. “Alas, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Oh, right,” Chandra said. “Destiny.”

“Yes,” he said seriously.

“Whatever.”

“Shall we begin?” Walbert said to her.

“All right.” Chandra took a step forward, then felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Wait,” Gideon said, his voice subdued.

She turned her head to meet his gaze. What she saw there almost weakened her resolve. She said suddenly, “Don’t stay.”

He frowned a little. “Chandra…”

“Please don’t stay to watch this,” she said urgently. “Please, Gideon. Go now.”

He came to a decision and nodded. His hand tightened briefly on her shoulder before he turned away. Chandra watched as he ascended the rough steps leading up to the landing, reclaimed the torch he had left perched in a sconce there, and disappeared into the tunnel that led back up to the palace.

Then Chandra turned back to Walbert. She saw that he was gazing at her with speculative interest, but ignored it and said only, “I’m ready now.”

Walbert nodded, and turned to the gathered mages, priests, and Keepers. “Let’s begin.”

Except for Walbert and Chandra, everyone present started chanting, and it sounded as if they had practiced well for this occasion. The chant was harmonious and their voices were clear and blended well. But as the sound echoed around the cavern and bounced off the walls and high ceiling, it was so loud that Chandra had to shout at Walbert to be heard.

“What now?” she asked.

Bizarrely, the old mage took Chandra by the shoulders and kissed her forehead. He did it so quickly, she didn’t even have time to flinch away from the touch of his thin, dry lips, which she could feel even through the magical barrier that covered her skin.

Walbert did not shout the reply. He merely said, mouthing the words clearly, “Walk into the Fire.”

“That’s it?”

She hadn’t shouted this question, and she was sure he couldn’t have heard her words over the head-spinning echo of all those chanting voices. But he obviously understood her meaning. He gave a firm nod and gestured for her to enter the bonfire.

Chandra turned toward the Purifying Fire and started walking forward. The chanting grew even louder, as if her approach to the pure white flames gave strength to the voices of those watching her. When she was close enough to touch the blaze, she started shivering, covered with a piercing chill. She wasn’t sure if this came only from the Purifying Fire, or if her own fear contributed to it.

She stretched out a hand and touched the Fire. The flames didn’t burn, of course. Not with heat, not even with cold. They were chilly to the touch, but bearable. And they curled delicately around her wrist and seemed to tug gently, as if encouraging her to enter the silent, shimmering flames and prove herself there.

As Chandra stepped into the Fire, she felt the coiled magical binding around her wrists liquefy and melt away. Then the sheath that had covered her skin peeled away, too, freeing her. She didn’t know if Walbert was releasing the spells, confident that the Purifying Fire would make her powerless now, or if the Fire itself was commencing its work of eliminating the magic that had entered its flames with her.

Chandra raised her arms and turned in a circle, whirling slowly inside the head-clearing chill of the white blaze, discovering the experience was not at all what she had expected. Rather than frightened, she felt empowered. Rather than defeated, she felt energized.

She tilted her head back, looking up through the translucent, undulating light embracing her and she surrendered-to her deeds, her past, her guilt, her sorrow. She felt the weight of the things she had done and the things she had failed to do. She accepted the burden… and then let it go. She abandoned her heavy load to the Fire, accepting whatever it might do with the regrets and the ghosts that she had brought with her into its purifying chill.

The blaze that surrounded her increased in its cold intensity, closing in on her, embracing and engulfing her. It grew denser and became opaque, blocking Walbert and the other mages from Chandra’s view. The Fire stroked along her flesh and seeped inside her body, exploring her inside and out, searching out her secrets, her guilt, the stains on her soul, discovering all that she might have tried to hide from its exploration-all that she had once tried to hide from herself.

The impact of this search was so forceful, Chandra couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t even fear. She couldn’t evade the intimate exploration of Purifying Fire, and she didn’t try. She spread herself upon the cool white arms of this merciless embrace and gave herself to it without reserve or inhibition.

And when the Fire rewarded her courage by accepting her, she knew. She felt it. The searching intensity of the blaze transformed into a tender flood of welcome. Its piercing chill became a soothing coolness.

As the opacity cleared and the dancing flames again became translucent, Chandra knew that she was free. Golden heat flowed through her blood with rich, reassuring familiarity as she turned toward Walbert.

Her sorrow would always be with her, but there would be no more haunting nightmares. No more screams and acrid smoke pursuing her through her dreams.

Chandra stepped out of the Fire, out of the mysterious flow of white mana that had embraced so many souls for so long. She knew now that Walbert had misinterpreted what he had seen in the flickering white blaze. And if she did indeed have a destiny on Regatha, if there truly was a reason that she had been meant to come to this plane… now she knew what it was.

The harsh glow of victory was in Walbert’s pale blue eyes as he watched her walk out of the Fire and stand before him.

“Things had to be this way, Chandra,” he said confidently. “It’s for the best.”

She considered this. “Perhaps.”

There was no need to prepare further. She had found such focus, such strength, such certainty of intent in the Purifying Fire, all she had to do now was inhale deeply, spread her arms wide, and reach with her will for the rich red mana of Regatha.

Walbert understood an instant before it happened. “No!”

Chandra unleashed a spell that exploded with golden fire and fury throughout the entire cavern.

“You were right,” she said to Walbert, raising her voice to be heard about the thundering roar of her spell. “I guess it is my destiny to change everything here, after all. I am the cataclysm you foresaw.”

“No!” Walbert staggered backward, shock and horror contorting his face.

Above them, the ceiling of the cavern started caving in, in response to the power of Chandra’s spell as it pushed skyward with boundless fury.

The mages of the Order were screaming and racing toward the steep tunnel that led back up to the palace and a chance of survival. Some of them would make it to safety. Others certainly wouldn’t. Too many of them had come down here to watch Chandra be stripped of her power so that their Order could commence an era of unchallenged domination over Regatha.

“Bad decision,” she said to their fleeing backsides as they stampeded past her.

“You can’t!” Walbert cried, too appalled by the destruction of his dreams and plans to run for his life now.

“I can,” she said. “And I’m pretty sure I’m actually meant to.”

Walbert had gone too far. He had tried to use the Purifying Fire to disrupt the balance on Regatha, to trample on the practices of other mages and other ways of life. He had disrespected and dismissed the value of all mana except that which empowered him. And now the white mana flow that ran deep beneath the plains of Regatha had embraced and then freed the fire-wielding planeswalker whom Walbert had brought into these ancient caverns to become the key to his conquest.

Now everything would indeed change.

The madness of sudden, agonizing, unforeseen loss twisted Walbert’s face now, and he attacked Chandra, who was off-guard, watching the celebrants run. He was stronger than he looked, and she staggered backward under the weight of his enraged assault.

Overhead, the ceiling of the cavern split open with a terrible crash, and a portion of the Temple, which had sat high overhead, plunged into the far end of the cavern. Moonlight pierced the big, ragged hole that was growing above the chamber, and dust, rocks, and boulders flew recklessly across the cavern at deadly speed. The walls and floor shook, and the hysterical screams coming from the world above were scarcely loud enough to carry through the thundering roar down here of crashing stone and groaning rock face.

A raging burst of red-and-orange heat roared across the chamber. It flowed over Chandra, mingling with the fire that sparked along her skin and the flames that raged in her hair.

Walbert screamed as the fire that engulfed the two of them consumed him. He tried to fight it off with his power, but Chandra could see that none came to him now when he called on it. The white mana that had spared her had also, it seemed, abandoned the high priest of the Temple. Chandra watched dispassionately as Walbert died like any common man.

“Chandra? Chandra?”

The sound of her named brought Chandra to her senses. She opened her eyes and wondered why she was lying on the hard stone ground.

The blood that trickled down her face when she sat up, as well as the sharp, blood-smeared rock lying nearby, answered her question. Now she remembered something falling onto her head-hard-only moments after she watched Walbert die.

She looked up and saw Gideon stepping through rubble and rock fragments as he approached her. Moonlight shone down on the far end of the cavern, but this portion still relied mainly on the glowing spires of rock for illumination. Chandra looked around and noticed that some of those spires had been destroyed in the cataclysm.

The Purifying Fire, however, glowed white and strong, enduring, as it always had.

“What happened?” Gideon’s voice was hoarse.

Chandra touched her bloody forehead. “Falling rocks from overhead. I got knocked out.”

“No, I meant…” He leaned down, seized her shoulders, hauled her roughly to her feet, and gave her a hard shake. Her neck snapped back and her aching head protested as he shouted into her face, “What did you do?”

When she didn’t say anything, he shook her again. “Chandra! What did you do here?”

“You can see what I did,” she said, feeling worn out now. “It was a boom spell.”

He shoved her away so violently that she bounced off the wall behind her and nearly fell back down.

“I didn’t tell you how to save yourself so that you could do this!” His face was white with anger, pale and stark against the coal black of his hair.

Chandra looked around at the devastation she had wrought. The fire had been so hot, it had turned bodies to ashes, so it was hard to tell how many members of the Order had died here. She knew it must be at least a dozen. Perhaps more. There might also have been people in the portion of the Temple that had caved in and fallen when part of the cavern ceiling collapsed.

“The temple is ruined,” she guessed. “And the Order…” She took a breath and thought it over. “Well, in disarray, certainly. Destroyed?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. The mana flow is still strong here. They’ll regroup in time. But perhaps they’ll remember what happened here when their reach exceeded their grasp.”

Gideon grabbed her again, and he looked so enraged, she thought he was going to strike her. She didn’t resist or try to stop him. She knew he felt betrayed. In his position, she’d want to lash out, too.

But he let her go and turned away, breathing hard. “How could you do it?” he asked in a low voice.

“In a way, I think Walbert was right,” she said. “I was meant to come here.”

He gave her an incredulous look. When he saw that she was serious, he said, “You don’t believe in destiny. Neither do I.”

“I don’t really believe in visions, either, and yet Walbert had them, and I was in them.” She shrugged. “And even if none of that is true… it is true that someone had to stop him, and I was the one who could.”

“I shouldn’t have helped you.” Gideon wasn’t looking at her. He almost seemed to be talking to himself.

“Why did you help?”

For a moment, she didn’t think he would answer. Then he said wearily, “Because I learned on Diraden what it was like to be without my power, and to think I might be stuck on one plane for the rest of my life.” He met her gaze. “And because I saw there what that was like for you.” He looked away again. “I couldn’t see you like that permanently. I… couldn’t.”

“What Walbert wanted to do was wrong, Gideon,” she said.

“No.” He shook his head. “What you’ve done is wrong. And I…” He sighed and closed his eyes. “I helped you.” After a moment, he said heavily, “You planned this. It’s why you asked me to leave.” It wasn’t a question.

“I knew what I would do if I came out of the Fire with my power intact,” she said. “And I didn’t want to kill you.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “I almost wish you had.”

“No,” she said. “I… can’t.”

He let out a long, slow, shaky breath. “You’d better go. No one else was willing to come down here so soon after the… after that. But they’ll come soon. They’ll attack if you’re still here. And I don’t want any more deaths here tonight.”

She looked in the direction of the steep tunnel of stairs that led out of here, knowing that soldiers would probably be waiting at the top. “I can’t leave that way.”

And it was the only exit-unless she grew wings and flew out of the gaping hole in the ceiling, high over the far end of the cavern.

“Were you planning to stay on Regatha?” he asked skeptically. “After this?”

“No,” she realized, “I suppose not. If the remnants of the Order think I’m alive and at the monastery, there’ll just be more trouble.”

It would be better if everyone on Regatha thought she had died in the incinerating blaze that had swept through the cavern.

“You should leave now,” Gideon said.

“You mean planeswalk?” she guessed.

“Start preparing,” he corrected. “After you’re gone, I’ll convince them you died here and your body is ashes.”

Chandra hadn’t thought this far ahead and, for a moment, she had no idea where to go.

Then she realized which plane she most wanted to find now. And, despite her weary, bloody, head-spinning, thirsty condition, she suddenly looked forward to the journey.

“Gideon…”

“I know where you’re going,” he said. “I know what you want.” He shook his head. “You won’t find it. But that won’t stop you from trying, will it?” He gazed at her without warmth. “You’re a fool.”

Anger flashed through her. She welcomed its simple, familiar heat. “There’s something I didn’t tell you about the night my family were burned alive in front of me.”

“I’m not interested.” He turned away from her.

She grabbed his arm. “The soldiers who killed them belonged to an order of mages that vowed to bring harmony, protection, and law to the land.”

He froze.

“Does that sound familiar, Gideon?” she prodded in a venomous voice.

He turned his head to look at her. His expression was a mixture of suspicion, shock, and revelation.

“I have faced what I did,” Chandra said, “and laid my ghosts to rest. But I will never forgive those men for what they did that night. And anyone who believes in the things they believed in is my enemy. Now and forever.”

His breathing was faster as he stared at her, taking in what she was telling him.

“I acted on that here, and I will act on it wherever I go. Do you understand me?” she said through gritted teeth.

“I understand,” he said at last, “what you’re telling me.”

“Then don’t get in my way.” She let go of his arm and turned away, eager to leave this place. Eager to leave him.

“Chandra.”

“What?” she snapped over her shoulder, afraid she would weaken if she looked at him again.

“We will meet again.”

She couldn’t tell if it was a threat or a promise. Either way, and against her will, she held it to her heart.

Chandra heard Gideon’s footsteps behind her, echoing softly in the ruined, charred cavern as he walked away. She didn’t turn around or look back. And when the echo of his footsteps ascending the stairs that led back up to the devastated Temple faded away into silence, she prepared to planeswalk again.

The threat of domination by the Order was ended on Regatha, and balance was restored. There would still be some friction among the hieromancers of the city, the fire mages of the mountains, and the green mages of the woodlands. But there would be no more threat of one group dominating the others. Not in this lifetime.

Now, as she sat down on the charred stone floor of the chamber of the Purifying Fire, Chandra turned her thoughts to the future. She closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing as she prepared to planeswalk, and she imagined the rich and mysterious plane of Zendikar … which in her heart, she knew must surely exist somewhere in the vast and wondrous Multiverse.

As it turned out, the district of Avaric wasn’t any more appealing when one was drunk than when one was sober. The fog of irrimberry wine didn’t make the filthy cobblestones, the half-decayed roofs, or the sludge coating the roadways any more attractive; and the sweet aroma of that libation didn’t remain in the nose long enough to muffle the stagnant rot and the eye-watering miasma that passed for air. The rows of squat houses and shops leaned over the road like tottering old men, and the wide spaces between them resembled gaps left by missing teeth.

Perhaps the only redeeming quality of the entire evening was the surprising lack of mosquitoes. Normally the rains brought plague-like swarms up from the swamps and sewers that were Avaric’s unsteady foundation, but apparently even they were taking the night off for the Thralldom’s End celebration.

Kallist Rhoka, who had spent a considerable amount of coin on the journey to his current state of moderate inebriation, glared bitterly at his surroundings and felt that the world’s refusal to reshape itself into a passingly tolerable form was the height of discourtesy. Then again, the Avaric District wasn’t alone in its refusal to change its nature to suit Kallist’s desires or his drunken perceptions-and between the stubbornness of a whole neighborhood, and that of a certain raven-haired mage, he was pretty certain that the district would break first.

At the thought of the woman he’d left at the Bitter End Tavern and Restaurant, Kallist’s stomach knotted so painfully it doubled him over. For long moments he crouched, waiting as the knot worked its way up to become a lump in his throat. With shaking hands-a shake that he attributed to the multiple glasses of wine, and not to any deeper emotions-he wiped the pained expression from his face. Not for the first time, Kallist spat curses at the man who’d driven him to such a sorry state. Less than a year gone by, he’d dwelt in the shadows of Ravnica’s highest spires.

And now? Now the structures around him were barely high enough to cast shadows at all. Now he’d have had to actually live down in the sewers or the under-cities of the larger districts to sink any lower. It was enough to make even a forgiving man as bitter as fresh wormwood, and Kallist had never been all that forgiving. Still, it would all have been worth it, if she’d just said yes… Kallist, his wine-besotted mind swiftly running out of curses, stared down at his feet.

He couldn’t even see the normal color of his basilisk-skin boots, one of the few luxuries he still owned, so coated were they in the swamp sludge that always oozed up from between the cobblestones after the rain. The boots kept swimming in and out of focus, too. He wondered if he might vomit, and was angered that he might waste the expensive irrimberry wine he’d drunk. The notion of falling to hands and knees on the roadway was enough to steady him, however. He could still hear, ever so faintly, the singing and dancing of the Thralldom’s End festival, back in the direction of the Bitter End, and he’d be damned thrice over if he’d let anyone from the tavern find him pasting a dinner collage all over the road.

With a rigid, yet swaying gait that made him appear sober to nobody but himself, he resumed his trek. Avaric wasn’t really that large a place; none of the local neighborhoods were. It was a backwater district, surrounded by other backwater districts save for those few spots where the underground swamps pooled to the surface, ugly and malodorous cysts on Ravnica’s aging face. Those who dwelt here did so only because anyplace else they could afford to move was even worse, and a few small fungus gardens were more than enough to feed the lot of them.

Thus, even though the Bitter End was at the far end of Avaric from the house Kallist shared with the woman on whom he currently blamed his inebriated state, it should normally have taken only about twenty minutes to walk from one to the other.

“Normally,” of course, allowed neither for Kallist’s current shuffling gate nor the fact that he’d already taken the same wrong turn twice. It had now been well over half an hour, he could still hear the faint strains of singing off in the distance; his eyes were beginning to water and to sting… And he really, really had to find somewhere private to release some of that wine back into the wild.

Kallist looked down at his feet, looked over at the nearest alley-filled almost ankle deep with a juicy mixture of swamp-water and refuse-muttered a brief “Hell with it,” and strode off the avenue. He shuddered at the soft squishing beneath his boots, but tonight, the urging of a bladder growing fuller by the moment outweighed Kallist’s concerns for his footwear.

Had he been either a little more sober, or a little more drunk, he might’ve worried about encountering sewer goblins, or even Golgari fungus-creatures leftover from the struggles that ended guild rule, but as he wasn’t, he didn’t. With a deep sigh, Kallist relieved himself against the stained wall that was also the back wall of somebody’s house, and staggered back to the road just in time to all but run into a fellow striding the other way.

“Gariel,” he greeted the newcomer, trying to straighten himself into a semblance of sobriety.

“Who… Kallist? What’re you doing in the alleys this late at night? You’re not worried about gobbers?”

Kallist spun, expecting in his drunken haze to see a gang of the foul creatures behind him. When none appeared, he sank slowly to the muddy road, waiting for yet another surge of nausea to pass. Irritably, he looked at his friend, who failed to suppress a smirk. Physically, Gariel was everything Kallist wasn’t: dark-skinned to Kallist’s natural pallor; heavily muscled where Kallist was wiry; exceptionally tall where Kallist could have been the standard by which average was measured; and with earthen-colored eyes to contrast with Kallist’s own oceanic blue. Gariel even wore a well trimmed beard, not out of any desire to follow current trends-the styles of Ravnica’s affluent meant little here in the backwaters-but simply because the man had an intense dislike of shaving. “Any knife comes near my face,” he’d told Kallist once, “it damn well better have a sausage on the end of it.” Had their hair not been similar shades of wooden brown, they might as well have been of different species entirely. Something must have flashed across his face, something Gariel saw even in the feeble moonlight and the glow of the emberstone he held in his left fist. He dropped his hand and lowered himself to the grimy roadway beside his friend.

“This doesn’t look like a celebratory drunk,” he observed, leaning back against the nearest building.

Kallist looked up at him, all but trembling with the effort of keeping his face a stony, emotionless mask. He glared at Gariel as though daring him to say something. Silence for a few moments, broken only by the call of a spire bat flying low over the few pools of exposed swamp between the wide roadways and cheap row houses. “She said no, didn’t she?” said Gariel at last.

Kallist’s shoulders slumped.

“She said she’d ‘think about it."

Gariel forced a grin, though he felt the blood pounding in his ears, furious on his friend’s behalf. “Well, at least that’s not a ‘no,’ right?”

“Oh, come on, Gariel!” The smaller fellow punched the mud. “When was the last time you knew Liliana to take her time to think about anything? Everything she does, she does in the moment.”

He sighed, and tried to swallow the lump that had climbed once again into his throat and appeared bound and determined to stay there.

“You know as well as I do that ‘I’ll think about it’ means ‘I don’t want to hurt you by refusing.’”

Gariel wanted to argue the point, but the words clung to the roof of his mouth like a paste.

“Well… Look, Kallist. You’ve been together-what? A few months?”

“Yeah. Ever since…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. In all the time Gariel had known him, Kallist had never finished that sentence. “All right, a few months. Give it some more time. I mean, she’s obviously not ending it, or she wouldn’t have bothered to spare you the ‘no,’ right? Maybe in another year or three

…” Kallist couldn’t help but laugh, though the sound was poisonous as hemlock. “Right. Because the one thing Liliana does more often than anything else is to change her mind once it’s made up.”

In fact, in the time Kallist had known her, Liliana had done so precisely once. And again, Gariel knew them both too well to argue. All that emerged from his mouth, escaping like a fleeing convict before he could think better of it and snap his teeth shut, was,

“So maybe you’re better off this way. “I’m sorry,” he added immediately. “That didn’t come out right.”

“Nothing tonight has.” Kallist rose and set his bleary eyes toward the southeast. “I’m going home.”

“Wait.” Gariel rose, too, and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Where is she, anyway?”

“Where else would she be during Thralldom’s End?” Gariel actually saw red.

“What?” He’d doubtless have awakened half the street with that squawk, if they hadn’t all been out celebrating.

“You mean even after your talk…” Kallist shrugged, and couldn’t help but smile a bit. “She said there was no reason to ruin a perfectly good dance. Even asked me to stay, but-Gariel? Where are you going?”

The larger man was already several yards down the road. “I’m going,” he answered, barely turning his head, “to give your woman a piece of my mind for treating you this way.”

“Gariel, don’t…”

But he was already gone around the nearest bend. Were Kallist less exhausted, less depressed, and certainly less drunk, he might have caught Gariel, or at least tried. As Kallist was, he could only drop his chin to his chest and shuffle home, hoping he remembered to get even drunker before he fell asleep. He did, however, spare a brief thought to hoping that there was still a Bitter End Tavern standing, come tomorrow morning.

Though the guilds were gone, much of Ravnica still celebrated the Festival of the Guildpact, as if remembering the years of prosperity and order might keep them from fading away in these modern, more tumultuous times. Much of Ravnica-but not all. Some of the plane’s districts had suffered rather more than others beneath the guilds, and not a few were just as happy to see them gone. Some such as Avaric, whose families had long labored in all but serfdom to the usurious patriarchs of the Orzhov.

So when the so-called Guild of Deals had fallen, it was the best news the citizens here had received in several thousand years. The walls, the floor, the tables, and the chairs of the Bitter End shook as though in the midst of an earthquake, as the good folk of Avaric celebrated Thralldom’s End. In one corner, a gaggle of performers pounded on drums, plucked the strings on a variety of instruments, blew through various horns, in a veritable frenzy of activity that should have produced nothing but anarchic noise, yet somehow managed to shape itself into actual music. Around the perimeter of the common room, the people not currently caught up in the dance clapped or stomped to the highly charged beat, and the footsteps of the dancers themselves kicked up clouds of sawdust from the floor and brought showers of dust sifting from the rafters. Before the start of business tomorrow, a handful of floorboards, a couple of chairs, and a legion of mugs and plates would need replacing-but the Bitter End was the largest establishment in Avaric to hold a Thralldom’s End gala, and if a bit of ruined furniture and broken crockery was the price for such a huge influx of custom, it was a cost Ishri, barkeep and the tavern’s owner, cheerfully paid.

Liliana Vess was a whirlwind sweeping through the assembled dancers, leaving footprints not merely in the sawdust, but on the hearts of a score of hopeful men. Her midnight-black hair moved about her head like a dark cloud, or perhaps a tainted halo. Her cream-hued gown, which was cut distractingly low, rose and whirled and fell, promising constantly to reveal more than it should, but, like a teasing courtesan, always managing to renege. She breathed heavily from the exertion of the rapid dance, spinning and twisting through the arms of a dozen of her fellow celebrants. Her smile lit up her features-high and somewhat sharp, forming a face that few would envision when imagining a classic beauty, yet which all would agree was beautiful once they saw it-but that smile failed to reach her eyes.

For all that she tried to lose herself in the festivities, in the adoration of those who watched her, who reached out in hopes of a simple fleeting touch, she could not. Damn him anyway! Guilt was not an emotion with which Liliana was well acquainted, and she found swiftly that it was not at all to her liking.

The bizarre accumulation of notes and beats and rhythms successfully masquerading as a song came to an end, and so did the last of Liliana’s ability to fake any remaining enthusiasm for the celebration. The musicians, bowing to much applause and acclaim, left the stage for a well-earned break, leaving an instrument with enchanted strings to play a slow and lonesome ditty until they returned. Several couples remained in the room’s center, swaying to the somber notes, but most returned to their tables to await a more energetic piece. Liliana watched them go, marveling at these people among whom she’d made her temporary home. They were all clad in their best and fanciest-which here in Avaric meant tunics with long sleeves instead of short, trousers without obvious patches, and vests that actually boasted some faint color, rather than their normal browns and grays.

Nobody here could afford the rich dyes or the fancy buttons and clasps of the rich, yet they wore their “finery” with pride; splurged on lean steaks when they normally subsisted on fungi and the occasional fish or reptile hauled from the swampy pools. And they lived it up as though such ridiculous luxuries actually meant something. Liliana didn’t understand any of it. She approved of it, even respected it, but she didn’t understand it. Even as she floated back to her table, hand reaching for a glass of rough beer to quench her thirst, Liliana spotted a figure moving toward her through the crowd. A gruff face, split into what the owner probably thought was a charming smile, leered at her through a thick growth of beard. Two sausage-like thumbs hooked themselves through the pockets of a heavy black vest, perhaps trying to draw attention to the fine garment.

The drunkard had been watching her all night, since well before Kallist had ruined the evening and stormed off in a huff. Every night there was always at least one, and she’d wondered how long it would take him to drink enough nerve to approach.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” he slurred in a voice heavy with beer, “that you finally sent your scrawny friend packing. That mean you interested in spending some time with a real man?”

In a better mood, Liliana might’ve engaged in some light flirting before telling the drunk to find his own personal hell and stay there. Not tonight. Liliana lifted her dinner knife, still stained with remnants of her overcooked steak, from the table.

“If you don’t walk away right now,” she said sweetly, “you won’t be a ‘real man’ for very long.”

It took a moment, the battle between common sense and belligerent pride that raged across the fellow’s face-but finally, aided perhaps by the unnatural gleam in Liliana’s eyes, common sense won the field. Grumbling, he turned and shuffled back to his table, where he would tell his friends all about how he’d turned down the woman’s advances. Liliana sighed once as she lowered herself into her chair, and found herself uncharacteristically wishing that Kallist had been here to see that exchange.

Damn it, she thought once more, reaching again for her mug. If it’s not one thing.

“Hey! Bitch!”

It’s another. Half the tavern turned toward the large, dark-skinned fellow who’d just come stalking through the front door, his boots leaving a trail of castoff mud, but Liliana already knew precisely for whom his call was intended.

She rose gracefully and offered her most stunning smile. “And a joyous Thralldom’s End to you, too, Gariel.”

“Don’t ‘joyous Thralldom’s End’ me, gods damn it!” he growled, pushing his way through a few of the slow-dancing couples to stand before her table. “I want to know what the hell you think you’re-”

They were skilled, Liliana thought later, when she actually had a moment to think; you had to give them that. She hadn’t noticed them at all, until a blade sped toward her from over Gariel’s shoulder. There was no time even to shout a warning. Liliana brought a knee up sharply into Gariel’s gut-she had just enough respect for him as Kallist’s friend not to hit him any lower-and caught his shoulders as he doubled over, using his own weight to topple them both backwards over her chair. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t graceful, but it took them out of a sword’s sudden arc with half a heartbeat to spare. The sounds of the chair clattering over, and the pair of them hitting the floor, were just loud enough to penetrate the din. First a couple of faces, and then a handful more, turned away from dinner or dancers to stare at them; a ripple in a still pond, awareness that something was very much not right spread through the Bitter End. Liliana gasped as the wooden edge of the seat dug painfully into her side, but she didn’t let that stop her from rolling.

Their bodies tilted across the chair like a fulcrum, her head striking the hardwood floor, but that, too, she ignored as best she could. Twisting her grip on Gariel as they fell, she kept him from landing squarely atop her. She left him gasping on the floor as she scrabbled swiftly to her feet, trying to keep the table between herself and her attacker. No. Attackers, plural. Damn. They were strangers here, certainly. Avaric was small, yes, but not quite tiny enough for everyone to know everyone else by sight. From a distance, then, these two blended perfectly, both of roughly average height, both clad as workers gone out to hoist a few after a long day’s work, before going home to hoist a few more. But up close, their cold, emotionless eyes marked them as something else entirely. Well, that and the heavy, cleaver-like blades. They advanced unhurriedly, even casually, one passing to each side of the table. Clearly, despite the speed of Liliana’s evasion, they didn’t expect much in the way of resistance. And in terms of anyone coming to Liliana’s aid, they were correct.

The folk nearest her had only just begun to run, to scream, or to freeze in shock, as best befit their individual temperaments. From behind the bar, Ishri emerged with a heavy cudgel in hand, but hampered as she was by the bulk of the crowd retreating from the coming bloodshed, there was no way she’d reach the table before it was all over. To his credit, the suitor whom Liliana had just rebuffed was also making his way back across the tavern, fists raised, but he was already so drunk that even if he managed to reach the fray, it was unlikely he could meaningfully contribute.

But then, Liliana didn’t require anyone’s help. Crouching slightly, she shifted the dinner knife-hardly an intimidating weapon, but all she had-into an underhand grip. Beneath her breath, her lips barely moving, she began to utter a low, sonorous chant. Across her neck rose an abstract pattern of tattoos that suggested even more elaborate designs farther down her back, as though burned across her skin from the inside out. Had they been able to hear it over the ambient noise of a panicking tavern, that sound alone might have given her attackers pause.

The tone was surreal, sepulchral, far deeper than Liliana’s voice should ever have produced. The syllables formed no words of any known language, yet they carried a terrible meaning that bypassed the mind entirely, to sink directly into the listener’s soul. But they could not hear it, those deluded fools who thought themselves predator rather than prey. And even if they had, it would have been far too late to matter.

As though biting the end off a leather thong, Liliana spat a word of power into the?ther, gestured with her blade. Something moved unseen beneath the table, just one more shadow in the flickering lanterns of the Bitter End, summoned from abyssal gulfs beyond the realms of the dead themselves. With impossibly long fingers it stretched out, farther, farther, and brushed the edges of two of the table’s legs. Rotting away as though aged a hundred years, in single instant, they folded in on themselves, putrefying into soft mulch. The rest of the heavy wood surface toppled to the side, slamming hard into one of the bandit’s calves. He cried out in pain, stumbling and limping away from the unexpected assault, a handful of dishes and a half-eaten loaf of pumpernickel bread clattering around his feet. At that cry, the second man’s attention flickered away from Liliana for less than a heartbeat-but that was enough.

Ducking in low, she drew the edge of her knife across his extended arm. Cloth and flesh tore beneath the serrated steel, and the bandit barely muffled a curse of pain behind clenched teeth. Blood welled up, beading along his wrist in a narrow bracelet. It was a shallow wound, stinging but harmless, and his grimace of pain turned into a savage grin as he realized just how ineffective his target’s attack had proved. But then, Liliana’s attack wasn’t intended to cause him harm. It was meant only to draw blood-and the attention of the unseen shadowy thing sliding impossibly across the floor. Invisible to all, darkness against darkness, black on black, it stretched forth its talons once more and dipped them into the welling blood. A foul corruption leeched into the seeping wound, intertwined itself around the muscles and vessels of the man’s arm. He screamed, then, an inhuman cry of agony, as gangrenous rot shot through his flesh. The blade fell from limp fingers, lodging itself in the wood by his feet, as the skin turned sickly blue, the blood black and viscous.

Flesh grew stiff and cracked, splitting to unleash gouts of yellowed pus. Falling to his knees, the sellsword clutched his dying arm to his chest and bawled like an infant. Liliana spared him not so much as another glance. His suffering would end soon enough-when the spreading necrotic rot reached his heart. Growing ever more unnerved, the second bandit had nonetheless recovered from the impact of the table against his leg, swiftly closing to within striking range. Snarling, he raised his chopping blade high and brought it down in a vicious stroke that no parry with the fragile dinner knife could have halted. Liliana didn’t even try to lift her feeble weapon in response. No, lips still moving though she must long since have run out of breath, she raised her left hand and caught the blade as it descended. The cleaver should have torn through her upraised limb like parchment. Should have, and would have, had it not begun to turn black at the apex of its swing, suddenly cloaked and tugged by wisps of shadow. By the time it should have reached the flesh of Liliana’s hand, it was simply gone, drawn away into the nether between the worlds of the living and the dead. The swordsman was left standing, staring at his empty fist. With a shrug, Liliana bent two fingers into talons and drove them into his staring eyes. Hardly fatal, but more than enough to take him, screaming, out of the fight. And just like that, the tavern grew calm once more. The eldritch symbols across Liliana’s back faded as swiftly as they appeared, leaving her skin pristine. Ignoring the slack faces that gaped silently at her from those partygoers who hadn’t already run screaming from the Bitter End, Liliana moved away from the fallen bandit, dismissing the spectral shadow with the merest thought. Only she, of all those present, heard its woeful cry as it spiraled back into the endless dark. She placed one foot atop the fallen chair and leaned on her knee to gaze meaningfully down at Gariel-who was, himself, staring up at her as though she’d sprouted feathers.

“What… What did…

What?” “All good questions,” Liliana told him. “Are you all right?”

“I–I’ll live.” “Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet.” She reached down to offer the flustered fellow a hand up-then yanked it away as he began leaning on her, allowing him to fall flat on his face once more. The floorboards shook with the impact.

“There’s still the little matter,” she said with a predatory smile, “of you stalking through that door, yelling at me, calling me all sorts of ugly names.”

“I-you…” Gariel wiped a hand across his face, smearing rather than removing the blood that now dribbled from his nose. “People are watching, Liliana.”

“That didn’t bother you when you were shouting obscenities at me.” Gariel could only gape once more, at the gathered audience and at the injured bandits, and wonder exactly how crazy his friend’s girl actually was. He’d actually opened his mouth to ask such a question-only to choke on a spray of splinters as a bolt that appeared roughly as thick as a tree trunk slammed into the floor mere inches from his head.

Liliana heard the whir-and-click of a mechanized crossbow even as she jerked away from the sudden impact, glaring at the figures standing in the doorway. There were three more, all strongly resembling the pair who had attacked her moments ago. Only these three, Liliana realized as she stared at a trio of self-loading identical weapons, were far better equipped.

“The next one,” the man in the middle told her gruffly, “goes through his head.”

His gaze flickered to the two figures on the floor, one breathing his last, one blinded, and his face hardened.

“I don’t think you’re fast enough to stop all three of us, witch.”

She scowled in turn.

“So shoot him. He means nothing to me, and even with those fancy crossbows, I promise you’ll not have time to reload.”

“Ah,” the man said, voice oily, “but he means something to someone, don’t he?” Liliana’s scowl grew deeper still-but her shoulders slumped, and she knew that they saw it.

“What do you want?”

“What I want is to put a few shafts through you for what you did to my boys,” the bandit told her. “But what’s going to happen is this…”