The staircase opened into the upper-most level of the central spire. The king's throne room was a large chamber of silver and glass. The ceiling allowed in the light of early morning, and round columns ran the circumference. An antechamber adjoined the throne room, and three mechanized doors opened onto steam lifts. Cerulean banners bearing the crest of House Algara, a single blue eye set within a silver star, were hung at regular intervals. Thick, blue carpets covered large swaths of the floor.

    There was a crowd of at least a hundred nobles, men in double-breasted blazers and women in dresses. Their attire was finely-made and sumptuous, but not flashy. The king had little patience for fashion and demanded sensible dress within his court.

    Bare to the waist and shoeless, Krayson mused that he was underdressed.

    Doubtless he knew many of these courtiers' names if not their faces. These were heads of great houses, merchant lords, and hierarchs of the magocracy. The king relied on his court to advise the policy of the Five Kingdoms while they vied for position and prestige.

    It was at the heart of Althandi culture, the need to rise. As much as Krayson resented the people of this kingdom, he could admire that much about them. No matter how much power they acquired, they always coveted more. It must have been the Althandi blood in him that gave Krayson the same need.

    A handful of royal assassins attended court. They were unmistakable with their beast-like eyes and black studded leather armor that left their arms bare to the shoulder. All of them Algaras. They and the guards ringing the throne room were the only ones allowed weapons this near to the king.

    Except for one other. Krayson knew of Ambrose the Merovech. He was an old Althandi man, and his gray beard reached down to his navel. Old, but far from decrepit. The Merovech wore polished full plate, and a broad-bladed sword was scabbarded on his hip. As grand marshal of the Althandi legions, the Merovech was among the king's most trusted advisors and reputedly his closest confidant. He was also said to be the greatest living general on the Continent. The Merovech bloodline was one of the most powerful, if not the most powerful, that wasn't blessed with elder magic.

    Near to the Merovech's side was a woman wearing a dark red half-robe of the Order. The hood was raised, obscuring most of her face in shadow. Even so, Krayson recognized Brother Dorna. She was a kindly woman as blood runners went. Krayson had fond memories of Dorna's stories and sweetbreads from when he was just a child in the Order's care. Her contract was now directly to House Merovech as a preserver. She was insurance, the final safeguard for the Merovech's bloodsong.

    Looking around, Krayson was surprised to note the lack of blood runners. He and Dorna were the only ones here. There must have been at least a half-dozen hierarchs present, but only the Merovech had his preserver at hand. The king's court was growing lax. Perhaps the Order also.

    A tall dais with twenty-five steps was in the center of the throne room. It was rigged with clockworks to allow it to turn to face any of the five sides of the pentagonal chamber. At the top of the dais was the Highest Throne. Sitting there, presiding over his court, was the king.

    King Cathis the Algara was a man of middle-years. His hair, tied back in a short tail, was beginning to gray, but his trimmed beard remained perfectly black. An alabaster band adorned with five cruel spikes sat on his head, the Blade Crown. He was dressed in an embroidered doublet, and he wore jeweled rings on each of his fingers.

    This wasn't Krayson's first time meeting the king. Cathis had visited a number of times over the last few days, always asking the same question. Krayson did not have an answer to what the king asked. At least, not one the king wished to hear.

    The same, over and over. "Where is the Dragon Empress?"

    The ancient rulers of Shan Alee, they who long ago enslaved all other races of humanity, were the Aleesh. They and their elder bloodline, the first of its kind, were supposedly extinct after the slave uprisings that destroyed the Empire of Scales. Few knew this, as the Highest Kings of Althandor concealed the secret history from all but the other elder bloodlines and the sworn brothers of the Order. To all others, Shan Alee was little more than a fable.

    There was but one person that Krayson thought the king could be referring to with his question. In all his life, he'd only seen one Aleesh, Elise of Eastrun, and Krayson didn't know where she had gone in her pursuit of Princess Jin.

    After the third beating at Cathis' hands, Krayson began to believe that the king had someone other than Elise in mind. Whoever the king's Dragon Empress might have been, Krayson wouldn't want to trade places with her, even now. Cathis despised Krayson for his family's crimes, but her...

    Cathis would tear down the world to see her and all she loved burn.

    "The Krayson at last rewards us with his presence," the king said. "Captain Falar, I have not come to expect tardiness from you."

    Falar knelt before the dais and dragged Krayson down to kneel beside her. "My apologies, Your Grace. There was an attempt on the prisoner's life, and I brought him to your surgeon."

    Cathis' beast-like eyes grew dangerous. "The culprit?"

    "The warden of your dungeon, Your Grace," Falar said. "Princess Maya thwarted this treason, and he is now being held in custody."

    "My eldest is to be commended for her diligence," Cathis said. "As are you, Captain Falar. This latest act against me only illustrates that such diligence is needed now more than ever."

    An assassin came forward and ascended the dais to the king's side. Only the queen or those marked by the elder magic of House Algara were permitted to do so. The assassin was Prince Vintus, the king's younger brother.

    "The warden must be interrogated immediately, Brother," Vintus said. "This proves your suspicions."

    He was a compact and well-built man. His black hair was shaved on the sides of his head and the rest gathered into a tail. Vintus had an elegant, aquiline nose and a severe look about him.

    Cathis let out a slow breath. Vintus' words appeared to come as a relief to him. "Indeed. I suspect my daughter is already looking into it."

    "She is, Your Grace," Falar said. "Her Highness is most troubled by what she sees in the palace as of late."

    Krayson nearly laughed. Falar might never lie to the king, but withholding key parts must not have been so odious to her.

    "Perhaps it would be wiser to await hearing what the warden has to say," Vintus suggested. "The Krayson's testimony might carry more weight when we know more about these plots against us."

    "No," Cathis said. "The Krayson has nothing of merit to tell me. He has only one thing yet to do, and that is to die."

    Krayson's breath caught in his throat. So, he wasn't required to speak. It seemed that he wouldn't even be given the chance. He felt fear, cold and consuming. I will not die, he thought defiantly.

    Even as he told himself that, he knew it was the hopeless, final denial of the condemned. Only a miracle could spare him from the king's wrath.

    Miracles did not exist.

    Vintus looked thoughtful. "He was noted by the Order as entering the city after Tarlen was killed. It seems he is innocent of her murder."

    Cathis' glare felt exactly like his daughter's. Pure hate. "Tarlen is inconsequential. His crime is being the last remaining member of a house I commanded destroyed. Whatever else he may or may not have done, he is the Krayson, head of a dead house. He must die."

    Falar looked at Krayson sidelong. Her eyes carried a measure of pity. "Is that your judgement, Your Grace?" she asked.

    Cathis snarled. "Twenty years ago, the Nadian Courtesans came into the Palace of Towers. With treasonous intent, they spilled blood. My blood. They cut the throat of my infant son, Crown Prince Roan, and murdered three score of my loyal servants and guards."

    The king stood and approached the lip of the dais. He pointed down on Krayson, and his eyes flashed with a mad intensity.

    "House Krayson gave the Courtesans the means and opportunity to enter these halls! As the greatest of Althandi houses, they were given my trust. Yet I was blind to the poison in your forebears hearts. Each of them coveted the divine elder blood of Algara. Treacherous, they conspired with rebels to see my house destroyed. For every sin your tainted bloodline has visited upon House Algara, I shall see it visited back upon you a thousand fold. The rebellious rulers of Drok Moran were swept from the Continent for unleashing the Courtesans, and House Krayson was to share their fate. That you even exist, Joshuan Krayson, is a defiance to the will of the Highest King. You will die so that oversight can be amended."

    Cathis looked towards the Merovech.

    "Ambrose, take his head."

    The Merovech bowed to the king then drew his sword.

    "Your Grace, I protest." Brother Dorna lay her hand on the Merovech's arm. "Joshuan is a sworn brother of the Sanguine Fraternal Order. By your law, only the blood runners may pronounce judgement on our own."

    Cathis sneered. "So, the Order at last speaks on the matter. I would know their part in this outrage. For how long has a Krayson hidden under your protection?"

    Dorna weathered the king's angry eyes. "He came to us as a child of eight, Your Grace. We knew him only as Joshuan, a child of Teularon born of an Althandi womb. We did not know his mother was Vilas Krayson."

    "Ignorance can be forgiven," Cathis allowed. "Disloyalty cannot. How long have you known the truth of his blood?"

    Dorna lowered her eyes. "Since he told us, Your Grace, upon his initiation into the Order."

    "And you said nothing?" Cathis shouted. "I demand an explanation!"

    "Joshuan is a prodigy, Your Grace." Dorna looked towards Krayson and gave him a smile. "A master of witchery since his induction. He is but seventeen, born after the crimes of his house, yet he has been a sworn brother of our Order for three years. No other in history has become a blood runner so young. In your service, he has performed his duties to an exemplary standard." She raised her gaze to the king. "He stands proud among the best of us. Yes, Your Grace, we kept him. Because losing what is Joshuan for what is Krayson would be a wound to Althandor."

    As the courtiers murmured to each other over that, a curious warmth bloomed within Krayson's chest. He'd never suspected that Dorna believed... any of that. He'd always been the half-breed, mocked and derided for his Teulite face. Yet, Dorna spoke for him in full view of the Highest Court.

    Not for me, Krayson told her silently. Don't stick out your neck while he's looking for heads.

    Cathis chuckled, more out of disbelief than any true mirth. "A prodigy?" he mocked. "This boy?"

    "I understate the truth," Dorna said. "Joshuan could produce apotheosis, unaided, from the age of twelve." She looked pointedly towards the Merovech. "Even hierarchs do not find this a simple feat to perform."

    The Merovech grunted. "Your Grace, if this is so... In these troubled times, it may be the wiser course to retain a skilled arcanist. As you know, rebellion spreads and has claimed Altier Nashal, the Protectorate remains lost to us, and the tiger lords look towards a coming invasion."

    Cathis glowered. "The Krayson's own father is in position to lead Teularon as the next Tiger King. Am I to trust in the loyalty of a Teulite Krayson?"

    "Unacceptable," Vintus agreed. "You and I fought against the last invasion together, Ambrose. You should know their treachery better than anyone."

    The Merovech looked at the prince askance. "I did see treachery in Teularon. Little of it from Teulites, Your Highness."

    Vintus scoffed and didn't respond.

    "My brother acted rightly," Cathis said, but not harshly. "I will not see this argument revisited so long after the fact."

    Falar leaned close to Krayson's ear and spoke in a low voice. "They talk of the slaying of an Aleesh. Prince Vintus executed one of the Merovech's officers without trial during the last war against the Horde. There's been bad blood between them ever since."

    Krayson gave a nod of thanks. He appreciated the explanation but was surprised she gave it.

    Dorna stepped forward. "Your Grace, the Order will accept any sanction you levy against us, but we still ask that Joshuan be returned to our custody. We are no strangers to keeping our own in line."

    Cathis looked intrigued. "And should he falter?"

    Dorna turned to stare at Krayson. "If he fails to live up to our expectations, I will destroy him myself."

    Krayson could have kissed the old bat.

    The king held his chin in his hand as he deliberated. As he did so, Princess Maya strode into the throne room unannounced and took a place at the foot of the dais. She watched Krayson intently yet again, and he couldn't shake the feeling that she had come in hopes of seeing him die.

    At last, Cathis reached his decision.

    "No. Ambrose, his head."

    The Merovech nodded and readied his sword. "At once, Your Grace."

    Falar stood and held Krayson down on his knees. "The king has spoken," she said. "May the winds carry you Beyond, boy."

    Krayson couldn't believe it. He'd survived the dungeons just to die here? He clenched his jaw and seethed with anger. He should not have expected anything else. The Althandi had power, and he did not. That meant he only lived while they allowed it. Now he would die, because they wished it.

    If only I had more power, Krayson thought. I took all I could get. I studied since the day I was born to get power and even fled to the Order to take everything they could give me. It still wasn't enough.

    He looked to Maya out of desperate hope. She had power. If she would only think to use it for...

    His heart sank into his stomach. Maya was smiling.

    Even her anger towards her father couldn't eclipse her hatred for someone bearing the blood of House Krayson. He supposed he couldn't blame her. After all, the Courtesans had wanted to kill her, not her brother.

    The Merovech came to stand next to Krayson. He took his sword in both hands and raised it high. "Die well, Joshuan the Krayson."

    There came a flash of light and a blast of heated air that made Krayson flinch away in pain. He felt his eyebrows singe from the roasting heat.

    The Merovech cried out as spellfire broke upon his full plate. He staggered away, and he swiped his sword in front of him as if to ward it off.

    Dorna shouted and ran to him. Vintus placed himself in front of the king, and Maya drew her sword. Courtiers were shouting and screaming. Above it all, a chorus of clear voices cried out as one.

    "For Nadia and Drok Moran! Death to Algara!"

    Two men wearing doublets and wielding short swords came at Krayson. Before he could blink, Falar stood over him. Her blade leapt into her hand as she charged to meet them. The ringing of steel was everywhere. Attackers clashed with guards and assassins in every corner of the throne room.

    Krayson blinked to clear his vision. Spots of color swam within his eyes, dazzling him. He struggled to his feet and saw Falar engaging the two attackers. A third came at him from another direction. The woman had a small hatchet, and it was pulled back to bury itself into Krayson's skull.

    They're attacking me? he thought in a confused daze. Why am I a threat while there are assassins in the room?

    No time for questions. His hands may have been bound, but his tongue was free. Krayson drew in a breath and shouted.

    "Ingtar!"

    The woman screamed as she was engulfed in Krayson's spellfire. Her hatchet fell to the smoldering carpet.

    A single word of the Aeldenn Tones was all Krayson needed. The spirits that dwelled within the Ethereum Weave heard his voice and brought forth the magic he desired. In return for their aid, they took ether from the stores in his blood. It was closer to a fair bartering than a true partnership.

    He looked around. More than a dozen attackers remained. As many as eight were already dead. The assassins didn't hesitate to slaughter what was left. Maya was tossing lightning at anything that dared approach the dais. The stench of burning flesh filled the air.

    They had hidden among the nobles. How? Krayson remembered their rallying cry. They must have been Courtesans, but what remained of their organization was few and scattered across the Continent after the Siege of Drok Moran. They existed only in the shadows as nuisance rebels. An attack as brazen as this was unthinkable.

    "Drelb volken," Krayson muttered, "arma din garat."

    Metal break from my hands.

    His manacles shattered. A proper incantation could function with either a single word or with a line of five. A full phrasing produced greater results at the cost of more ether. More words than that, and a witch would need to pair the incantations into couplets.

    With his hands free, Krayson could better defend himself. No one here but Dorna could ever suspect how well. Barefoot and half-naked, Krayson might have appeared vulnerable, but that was not the case.

    He spied the fallen hatchet his attacker dropped. "Fa hin din toral mak."

    The hatchet flung itself into the air and into his waiting grasp. That last incantation lost something in the translation into the Althandi language. The gist of it was "Gimme that."

    Krayson was armed and just in time. One of the men Falar fought broke around her and came at Krayson. Invoking a wind spell near to the floor, Krayson made his assailant stumble. He lunged and slammed the hatchet into the man's forehead.

    It was a fatal blow, and Krayson's arms ached from so much being demanded of them after they had been treated so poorly. He felt a cramp coming to make his muscles seize up and become useless.

    Falar's sword snapped in half at a sundering blow from her opponent. She changed her tactics in an instant. Getting in close, she shoved the man onto his back, then rammed the broken blade of her sword into his gut. It drove down into the floor to pin him in place.

    The man squealed in agony. His hands scrambled to pull the razor-sharp blade from his stomach, but he only managed to slice off several of his own fingers. Falar stomped down on his head to end his suffering.

    The sounds of battle were over. There was only terrified wailing and pained moans of the wounded. Men and women were shouting, but it appeared that it was over. Althandor was victorious once again.

    Falar looked over her shoulder to check on Krayson. He returned her a smirk, then tossed his bloodstained hatchet twirling into the air to catch it by the handle. The captain snorted in amusement.

    Her eyes flickered to something behind Krayson, and they widened with shock. "Essence of all spirits, no."

    Prince Vintus had come down from the dais to join the fight. He stood next to Maya over two people on the floor. One was Brother Dorna, her throat slashed. The Merovech was the other.

    Krayson felt sudden rage. He first thought that Vintus had killed Dorna, but he cooled his head. The prince's sword was clean. He hadn't killed anyone before it was over.

    Dorna was dead, but the Merovech was still alive. As Krayson drew closer, he saw that he wouldn't be for much longer. A large scorch mark marred the front of his breastplate. Krayson knew immediately what had caused it.

    Astramancy. Krayson looked to Maya. Her sword was bloodied.

    The hatchet in his hand became a heavy weight. He gripped it tight and took a step towards the princess.

    Before Krayson could avenge Dorna, a strong grip seized on his wrist and relieved him of his weapon. Falar frowned at him and shook her head.

    "Use your eyes, boy, then use them twice. The Courtesan at Her Highness' feet, dead of lightning. He injured the Merovech."

    "I don't care about the Merovech," Krayson hissed. "Dorna... Thunder take me." He looked over to where Brother Dorna's body was being unceremoniously pushed aside so that the Merovech could be attended to. Krayson remembered her stories and her sweetbreads.

    "You've already avenged her," Falar said and raised up the hatchet for him to see. "That neck wound didn't come from a sword, but from this."

    Krayson looked again. Falar might have been right, but his eyes weren't trained to tell what manner of weapon had killed a person. He would remedy that if he ever got the opportunity. For now, he could only grit his teeth and mourn.

    The king had arrived at the Merovech's side. He knelt beside the old knight as his brother and daughter looked on. The king was distraught. "Winds and storms. See here, Ambrose, you've had worse than this. Not a thing to worry about."

    The Merovech opened his mouth, but couldn't speak. His lungs had been destroyed by the spell. He was suffocating. Cathis screamed for the surgeons.

    "Healing potions," Cathis demanded to those gathering around him. "Anyone! Does..."

    The Merovech's hand patted Cathis on the cheek. The old man smiled for his king one last time before his eyes glazed over and his labored breaths fell still.

    "Join us, your fathers call," Cathis said in a soft voice. As he did, he used a trembling hand to close the Merovech's eyes. "A place we have made for you at our side. Join us, your mothers sing. Your story shall be written in the stars. Make your home in the winds, the flames, the waves, and the stone. Prepare for the day when those you leave behind will join you."

    A dread silence fell over the throne room. Courtesans had once again spilled blood in the Palace of Towers, and a Krayson was at the heart of it.

    I'm going to die, Krayson thought. He felt numb.

    He wasn't bound any longer. The court's attention was drawn elsewhere. Perhaps he could make his escape. There would be pursuit, by the king and the Order both, but...

    Falar's grip on his bicep convinced Krayson of the futility of an escape attempt. That hatchet in her hand would reach him before any spell he cast reached her.

    "His preserver is dead," an assassin said, and her tone carried the weight of that truth. Krayson didn't know her, a younger, dusky-skinned woman.

    "Summon another," Cathis rasped.

    "There is no time, Cousin," the woman assassin said. "The window to act is small."

    Vintus sighed. "I am sorry, Brother. The Merovech will be sorely missed. The magocracy is lesser for the loss."

    Krayson became aware of Maya's eyes on him, as well as the furious scowl on her lips. She pushed through the crowd towards him. Krayson knew it was useless, but he tugged against Falar's hold on him all the same.

    Maya reached him and took his arm from Falar. She dragged him forward and threw him to his knees before the king.

    The woman assassin frowned as she looked down at Krayson. "Him? Maya, you can't be serious."

    "Heron's right," Vintus said. "The Krayson has already been sentenced."

    Krayson raised his head and found himself looking the Highest King directly in the eye. Red to blue.

    Cathis lay the Merovech's body down then rose to his feet. "We have a blood runner."

    "Cathis, no!" Vintus exclaimed. "Think of Roan."

    Cathis grimaced. "What other choice is there?" he demanded. "Am I to allow my grand marshal— my friend— to have his bloodline extinguished for my own revenge? That is not an act worthy of a king. Ambrose deserves better from me."

    Vintus held his tongue. The king looked to Princess Maya. She lowered her head, her cowled face unreadable. Cathis sighed at her unresponsiveness before turning his eyes back to Krayson.

    "If you perform this service, Krayson, I will rescind your sentence."

    Emboldened by his brushes with death, Krayson stood. "To rot in your cells? I'd prefer execution."

    Cathis drew in a calming breath. "Very well. Fulfill this contract, and you will be granted clemency. The crimes of House Krayson will be forgiven, and you may return to the Order."

    Everyone, nobles and assassins all, were stunned by the king's offer. Krayson more than any of them. He was tempted to think that this might have been one of the miracles he didn't believe in. One look at Dorna's body was all that was required to remind him that nothing in this world came without a cost.

    There was no such thing as a miracle.

    "The contract is made," Krayson said.

    Cathis stepped back, and the rest of them followed suit. When he spoke, his voice was grim.

    "Perform your rite... Blood Runner."

    Krayson went to the Merovech and knelt over him. He lifted the old man's head and spoke in the Aeldenn Tones.

    "—What has left this body lingers. Grant him strength to remain.—"

    The body spasmed. Startled gasps came from the onlookers. Krayson tried to ignore them. This was traditionally done in private. Had there been time, he would have insisted the throne room be cleared. The Order didn't make friends by having the specifics of the Final Rite known.

    "—Bequeath what he carries unto me, imbued blood of his legacy.—"

    With the speaking of the second couplet of the incantation, the Merovech's blood began to seep to the surface. His skin flushed, then broke. Crimson droplets rose from his flesh, each pulsing with power. The lifeblood swarmed Krayson, suffusing his eyes, his nose, and his skin. It passed from one body to another, carrying the bloodsong with it.

    Blind and choking on the scent of blood, Krayson uttered a fifth line of five Aeldic words of power, the closing of the highest form of incantation.

    "—His voice grants me the sought for name.—"

    Krayson lowered his ear to the Merovech's lips. The spell tethered the Merovech's soul to his body for a few precious moments before it passed. It gave him the strength to push a spare breath of air through his mouth. The name of his chosen successor.

    A bare whisper, subvocalized. Krayson heard the name and frowned.

    The energy of the spell dissipated, and the Merovech's body went limp. His soul now passed through the Ethereum, the wellspring of magic, before journeying into the Beyond. Ambrose the Merovech was gone from this world forever.

    Krayson wiped the blood from his face. It was empty now. Spent. What it had carried now resided inside Krayson.

    The bloodsong pulsed with every beat of his heart. It was a harmonious sensation of awakened ether separate from his own. The Merovech's was old, compounded again and again over countless generations. It was what truly made a hierarch greater than a common arcanist.

    They not only possessed their own power, but that of the line of their masters before them.

    By the looks on the assassins' faces, they could feel it. They sensed the bloodsong as it pulsed within Krayson's veins. They perceived the untold power it promised.

    "The Merovech has mentored twelve apprentices in his time," Vintus said. He sounded like he was struggling to keep the unease out of his voice. "Which of them has he chosen?"

    Krayson gratefully accepted a cloth Falar handed him. He used it to clean himself as best he could. "With respect, Your Highness, it is safest not to reveal that until after I have delivered it."

    Vintus gave an angry snarl. "Mind your tongue, Krayson. You're on borrowed time as it is."

    "And should the name be known?" Krayson asked as he stood. "Would that not drive those not chosen to hunt me down and take what's been denied them? This contract is weighted against us from the start. His death should not even be known until the bloodsong has already been delivered."

    Heron nodded. "As it stands, any arcanist might sense the bloodsong. They'd be tempted to take it for themselves. I do not envy you this task, Blood Runner. Must you go far?"

    "Perhaps. I must first learn their location. My first destination will be the Sanguine Tower. I can begin my search among the Order's records."

    Cathis regarded Krayson coldly. "Succeed, and you will have your clemency. Fail, or dare to take it for yourself, and no power on the Continent will save you."

    Krayson made an unpleasant face. "The Order has its ways of keeping us on task, Your Grace."

    "Even so," Cathis said. His fist struck out and hit Krayson in the mouth.

    The blow knocked him to the floor. He lay at the king's feet and touched at his split lip.

    Blood stained Cathis' rings. He touched a finger to the blood and held it up for Krayson's inspection. "Added insurance."

    A power seized upon Krayson's bones, holding him rigid. Just as the pressure felt as if it would shatter him to pieces, it released him.

    With a drop of Krayson's blood, Cathis now had complete dominion over his bones. Osteomancy, the elder magic of House Algara, was as deadly as it was terrifying. There was nowhere Krayson could run that could take him outside their reach now.

    "Captain Falar," Cathis said, "see that the Krayson is escorted from the palace. Then, I want you to find me someone to answer for what happened here. Get him out of my sight."

    Falar and Princess Maya hauled Krayson to his feet. As he was dragged away, Krayson felt a hateful gaze itching between his shoulder blades. When he looked, he saw Heron, but she appeared more troubled than angry. Then, Krayson saw Prince Vintus.

    There was death in his eyes.

    Krayson's attention was forced back to the women hauling him to the steam lifts. Wherever it was they took him, he hoped it had a change of clothes.

    "Althandor's loss is your gain, boy," Falar said. Her voice had gone cold from suppressed grief. "I pray you are worthy to carry what you do."

    "I will succeed," Krayson promised.

    What other choice is there?

    The spoken name rang in his ears. His only hope lay in finding this person, but he barely knew where even to begin. He did not know of whom the Merovech spoke.

    Krayson vowed that he wouldn't fail. He would find this "Daughter of Yora Page" and give her the bloodsong.