Tanathos hung suspended in his cell, counting the seconds until the cursed Sentinel returned. His options were limited. He held only one trump card, and if it wasn't played soon, all he could hope for was that maybe the Sentinel might miss one of the many mind-traps buried deep beneath his mental shields. He only needed to trigger one.

He hated needing them. Dying with a broken mind so close to victory was worse torture than anything the Sentinels could devise. He wanted to howl with frustrated rage, but his sealed lips blocked any sound. So he clenched his right fist repeatedly, envisioning his fingers around Kevlin's throat.

He'd held Kevlin's life in his hand, with the stone in the man's boot. Somehow, although he couldn't comprehend the reasons for it, Kevlin still carried the stone. He'd lacked time to sort through the man's memories in detail, but that one fact burned so clear he couldn't miss it.

One moment longer and he would have escaped with the prize, free to return to Grakonia and claim a seat on the Sigrun Council. Or, better yet, infiltrate the node of power in Freyarr and murder Kevlin there. He'd stood so close to limitless power, he wanted to scream his rage and wreak deadly havoc on these fools. Twice now, the man Kevlin and his companions had thwarted him. He deserved more than suicide. He deserved to rule.

Instead he hung powerless. The last of his forces were surely slaughtered, their sacrifice worthless. Soon, the dreaded Hammer Stalwart would exact vengeance and release Tanathos to endless torment in the chains of the master he'd failed. As Tanathos mulled over the infuriating situation, a distant sound echoed faintly through the heavy door barring his cell.

It sounded like a scream.

Tanathos waited, barely breathing as he watched the door and strained his ears for any other sounds. Time was nearly up.

A long minute later he smelled smoke. Only then did he notice the ironwood door had begun to glow dully. As he watched, the glow intensified. So did the smoke. Then, all at once, flames engulfed the door.

Within seconds only charred remnants of the once-sturdy ironwood door remained, clinging to the edges of the frame. Thick smoke billowed into the room, choking Tanathos and enveloping him in its sooty cloud.

A figure strode through the dense smoke into the little cell. Tanathos coughed into his sealed mouth, and his eyes burned from the smoke. Then the smoke parted to reveal the newcomer.

Remiel.

The dark-haired young man coughed a couple of times into the sleeve of his long, black leather coat and wiped soot from his face. He dropped an ornately carved wooden rod with a blackened end and kicked it into the corner.

Without a word, he produced another carved rod, this one only about three handspans long and as thick around as his thumb. He twisted the handle and pressed the other end against the glowing prison holding Tanathos immobile.

With a brilliant blue flash, the prison shattered.

Tanathos dropped to the floor and nearly fell. He caught his balance against the wall, then yanked his hand back with a snarl. His powers had been draining steadily since they had placed him here, but that brief contact with the enchanted wall chilled him to the bone. It felt as if every ounce of power and warmth was sucked out through his fingers.

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Tanathos laughed, exulting in the ability to speak again. "Remiel, you don't disappoint."

Remiel shrugged. "One must protect one's secrets."

"I was starting to wonder how far you would go."

Remiel led him through the charred remnants of the door, but paused in the next room. "I do what has to be done."

In that antechamber outside the cell, a Sentinel and two Stalwarts lay in pools of blood, riddled with crossbow bolts. They lay on their backs, mouths open in silent screams. The smell of blood and smoke hung heavy in the air, and Tanathos breathed deep the satisfying aroma. Silence reigned in the short hall beyond and Tanathos grinned at the sight of fallen enemies broken and dead at his feet.

This is how things were meant to be.

"I am impressed. How did you do this?"

Remiel picked his way around the bodies and waved a hand at a simple, unadorned wooden box stained so dark it looked black. It lay in the corner, with the one open face turned toward them to reveal an empty interior. Tanathos frowned. The box was square, barely one handspan to a side. There was no way a single crossbow bolt could be stuffed in there, let alone half a hundred.

He was about to ask Remiel to elaborate when one of the Stalwarts coughed weakly.

Remiel yelped and back-pedaled, his face white with fear. Tanathos leaped upon the still-living Stalwart and reached for his gift. He lifted a hand already glowing with crimson light as he prepared to suck the life out of this man, a member of the most hated sect of Stalwarts. After the humiliation of his recent capture, taking this life would restore a little of his battered pride.

"Don't!" Remiel hissed.

Tanathos glanced at the youth, who looked more frightened than before. "This unnerves you after you committed murder a moment ago to protect yourself?"

"No, you fool," Remiel said urgently. "If you use your powers, you'll trigger the guardian shields layered all through this part of the dungeon. We'd never get out before the Sentinels arrived."

Tanathos released his powers with a frown. "Warn me next time."

"I didn't get a chance." Remiel drew from within his leather jacket a bundle of cloth. He shook it out to reveal a simple, gray woolen cloak and tossed it to Tanathos.

"This is imbued with a personal shield. Yank off the button near your collar to activate it. It'll shield you long enough to escape the inner city if you don't waste too much time."

Tanathos donned the cloak but refused to reveal to the servant how much relief he felt under its protective cover. Remiel turned and began walking up the corridor, but Tanathos lived his life by an unbreakable creed.

At any opportunity, kill.

So he drew the Stalwart's own hammer from the fallen man's belt and buried the spiked end deep into the man's skull. He left it there, standing out from the corpse, and smiled as he followed Remiel out of the dungeon.

The outer guard, wrapped in layers of rope, lay dead with a gaping wound across his throat. The wooden rod Remiel had used to capture the man lay nearby.

"You have access to powerful tools," Tanathos said as they walked past.

"I have powerful masters. Even so, you have no idea how much those things cost me."

Tanathos shrugged. "I know how much not having them would have cost you."

Without another word, they ascended to the underground palace and Remiel led Tanathos through the long twilight corridors of the lowest level. The youth chose a convoluted path that certainly took longer, but they saw almost no one during the long walk. Those few times they did encounter another person, Tanathos kept the hood of his cloak over his face and they passed without incident.

Finally, Remiel ascended a long wooden stair and led the way through a dusty warehouse filled with dark rows of wooden crates piled almost to the high ceiling. They slipped through a creaking wooden door that emptied into a narrow alley that smelled of urine.

Remiel pointed to the right. "The inner wall lies just around that corner. The road will take you to the Iron Spoke. The gate should be open. The guards there won't bother you even at this hour since you're leaving. Keep your hood up and walk at a normal pace. I suggest you leave the city."

Without waiting for a reply, the young man headed in the opposite direction and disappeared around the corner without looking back. Tanathos took a deep breath and, with a smile on his lips, marched confidently out of the alley toward promised freedom.

Already he began forming a new plan to take the man Kevlin. Next time, he would not fail.