When his eyes closed, he saw white. A bright, burning white that sucked in and devoured all in its path. All of his magic was nothing against its consuming force. Alena's terrified face, the one time he'd seen her show fear, burned into his mind again. A monstrous laugh rang in his ears, mocking his own weak, uselessness.

A strangled cry rose to his lips as he jerked awake. Blackness covered the room, except for a silver sliver of morning light that crept in from a window far above him. Sedgewick tugged at his arms and felt the heavy weight of chains. His leg still throbbed from the arrow wound, but a quick pat revealed a bandaged wound that felt like the worse had been fixed with a healing spell. Swallowing did nothing to help the dryness of his mouth and cracked lips. "Rivian?" he cast the name into the darkness. Fear stopped his mouth more than the lack of water did.

"Do you usually scream in your sleep?" a voice from the other side of the void asked. The feminine sound echoed about the room with the cool lightness of a breeze.

"I'm looking for my apprentice," he snapped back, casting his eyes across the shadows before tilting his head up toward the only sliver of light.

"He's not here," the voice called back. "You were the only one they brought in."

Sedgewick's heart pounded like he was still fleeing. He tried to calm it, but Rivian's face flashed before his eyes and it started up its frantic pace again. Gulping down the stale air, he spoke again. "Where is here?"

A low chuckle came from the woman. "The official name is the Black Obelisk. I prefer to call it hell."

Somewhere beyond him, heavy metal groaned. A door forced open, flooding the room with light. Sedgewick winced at the sudden brightness that stung his eyes and cast a cold silver glow over the dark.

Calrock, the mage from before, lifted his silver essence flare higher. He scanned his eyes across Sedgewick and then onto the woman chain across from him. In the cool light, Sedgewick finally saw her as well.

She had hair the color of a raven's wing that was just as matted as one's nest. Her skin was Northlander white, perhaps even paler given how long it looked like she had been here. One of her eyes was blackened and swollen, along with her busted bottom lip. When she flashed her teeth at Calrock in a mockery of a smile, there was a terrifying bite to it, like she wanted nothing more than to rip out his throat with them.

"Are you ready to cooperate now?" Calrock asked her calmly.

She spat. It flew an impressive distance and landed at his feet.

The lines on Calrock's forehead deepened. "You, I will deal with again later." He beckoned two guards into the circular room. They grabbed Sedgewick roughly on either side and unlocked the longer chains binding him to the wall, looping a shorter one that bound the cuffs still on his hands together instead. Sedgewick reached for his magic, drawing on that familiar warmth to penetrate the cold of metal and essantium. But the spell sputtered out before it even had a chance to form. What little energy wasn't lost in the failed attempt filtered into the cuffs, safely contains.

The guard boxed his ear hard enough to send it ringing. Sedgewick gritted his teeth from the burst of pain but made no sound.

Calrock raised a single dark eyebrow before sweeping down the hall in an airy swish of robes. The guards on either side of him began dragging him along after.

"Same time tomorrow, boys!" the woman called out in mock cheer. Her swollen eyes met his momentarily. "Good luck."

One of the men paused to throw a grimy sack over his head and the view of her vanished.

They dragged him down a disorienting number of halls. His feet stumbled up stairs and around corners before finally he was shoved into a heavy chair and bound to the arms and feet of it. Then the sack came off.

Sedgewick blinked once again at the flood of warm, natural light from a window to his left. It rolled across the room in yellow, sunburst waves, and illuminated the study found within. The scent of fresh bread waft from the table in front of him. Pats of salted butter rested beside a bowl of fruit. His stomach growled. How long had he been unconscious?

Calrock, however, was on the right side of the room. The elder mage tapped a finger against a black spell weaver, the motion as persistent as the banging of a miner's hammer. Spell weavers used to hold especially delicate or complicated spells in place while the mage finished casting them. It also was used to view the runes that made up the inner workings of all spells. Runes like the ones Sedgewick had carved into the discs he'd hidden on the battlefield.

Gates, that felt like a lifetime ago.

Calrock levitated another chair to the table and settled down in it. He then levitated a bottle of wine to fill his own glass and a pitcher of water to fill the cup in front of Sedgewick. "I would offer wine, but you are most likely dehydrated. Drink."

At that moment, the water smelled better than wine ever could. Still, he kept his bound hands in his lap and his face blank. One of the guards raised his hand to strike again, but Calrock stopped him. "Leave us."

"But Master Calrock—"

"This conversation is for mages alone. Out," he barked. Once they'd left, he spoke again. "If I wanted you dead, I would have let you bleed out, not waited to poison you. Drink."

"There are other things a mage can put in a cup besides death," Sedgewick spoke at last.

Another dark eyebrow raised. "I know who you are, Mage Alverdyne."

"Master Alverdyne," Sedgewick corrected.

"I don't approve of handing out masterships to one so young. Even if the talent is there, younger mages require...guidance from their elders."

"Well, that's your idiotic opinion." The words were out of his mouth before he had time to consider their wisdom.

"The arrogance of youth. Thank you for demonstrating my point."

Words clawed to the base of Sedgewick's throat. "Where's the boy? If you've done anything to him, I'll—"

"Calm yourself, Mage Alverdyne. Your pupil is safe. For now, at least." Calrock plucked a berry from the bowl of fruit. "I have bushes full of these at my private residence. I find growing them soothing. You start with a young, tender plant full of potential. One that would run wild and tangled as its fruit rotted away and was devoured by lesser beasts. You nurture it under your guidance, pruning away the bad, strengthening the good. And then under the right of your efforts, you harvest the fruits of your labors."

"You didn't keep me alive to discuss gardening philosophy," Sedgewick said.

"No." Calrock dug a nail into the berry. Bloody juice spurted out onto his hand. "You do not remember me, but I first saw you at the Ivory Tower. You were younger still then, but anyone not feeling the pangs of jealousy could already see that you were gifted. You proved that via your fiery defense of the battlefront recently." Calrock licked a droplet of the juice off and let the rest stain his pale fingers. "Tell me about the rune discs you made."

"You must take me for very young indeed."

"Yes. But that is not why you will be telling me." Calrock smiled, the lines on his face making it almost paternal. "You are going to tell me because if you don't, I will personally kill your pupil in a manner slow enough to ensure he dies while heaping curses upon your name. That is why you will bend to me, Mage Alverdyne. Now drink."

Sedgewick's breath slowed to a shallow wheeze. The havoc he'd wreaked on the battlefield played before his eyes again, but Rivian's screams replaced those of the enemy. Loyalties ripped him in two. He had sworn to protect his queen and her family. Handing the spell over to Calrock would be the equivalent of letting him put a knife to Eldain and Rodren's throats. But letting Rivian die...

His mouth was too parched, his face too warm. The glass finally lifted to his lips and he drank deeply. "I don't...I don't have the spell memorized."

"Any decent mage can recreate their own spell. Which you will. Five hundred times."

Sedgewick nearly spat out the water. Five hundred rune discs? "That amount of essantium—"

"Will be provided. This is the price of your apprentice's soul, Mage Alverdyne. Your wyrgile, as your homeland calls it. One disc for every life lost in the battle you cursed against us."

Wyrgile. Soul price. The cost paid to the family of one slain. Now Orivian's price. "I can't make that many alone. If my apprentice were to help me..."

"I'm not a fool either. Any help you receive will not be from him." Calrock picked up a tiny bell from the table and rang it. The doors behind Sedgewick opened again. "This is not a negotiation. The boy will die if you don't cooperate. Think on that carefully."

Then the sack fell back on his head and Sedgewick was jerked from his chair and carried into the hall.

*****************

Author's Note: And we're back with our first look at Bilara! What does everyone think of her so far? What does Calrock plan to do with all those runs discs? Is Rivian okay? Let me know in the comments!