“Tell me again why I should listen to anything you have to say.”

Dyle didn’t answer. He continued to stare at the crystal in his hand, its dim red light blinking slowly, showing the direction to the Will-Breaker. Having the carcraime with her would extend the crystal’s range somewhat, but it wouldn’t be long before it could no longer track them. He was a bit surprised they weren’t out of range already, although it was difficult to judge distance with this thing.

“I said, tell me why—”

“I stand higher than you,” he said, looking up at her.

Lady Lidda Plavin was a cold-looking woman with pale blonde hair and even paler skin. Some men called her beautiful, but not Dyle. She was too tall and thin, with barely any hips worth speaking of. Not like Quilla.

“Higher?” she scoffed. “You are nothing. A low-born Eloorin. I am a Folith and a lady—”

“And a Servant of Sunset,” Dyle concluded for her. “There is no such thing as race among the Servants. I would love to hear you try that rhetoric on a Volg or the pundritta. Oh yes, the Dusk Supreme is an Eloorin, or had you forgotten? I stand higher than you, and you will listen to me.”

“And if I choose not to?”

“That is your choice,” Dyle said, “but you’d regret it. If you lived.”

“Have a care with your tongue, Eloorin,” the Blood at her side snapped. “This is the palace of the Lady of Plavin-Tyl. You will show the proper respect or have it beaten out of you.”

“Keep your dog under control, Lidda,” Dyle said.

“Why you!” The Blood reached for his sword, but Lidda placed her hand on his arm.

“It’s all right, Uncle,” she said.

The Blood scowled, but let go of the grip of his partially drawn sword, letting it slide back into its sheath. Mitchal Plavin was even uglier in person than the stories of him said. With a bent and crooked nose and two long scars, each running down a cheek and crossing the other at his chin, he reminded Dyle of a goblin, just without the tusks. No doubt he was one of those idiots who scarred themselves as signs of devotion to the Dark Lord.

Dyle touched the scar on his cheek. That was a sign of his devotion, but a different sort of sign. Even now, years after the girl had cut him, it still bothered him, itching continually.

“Very well,” Lidda said. “What do you want to say?”

That was better. Dyle lowered his hand from his face and said, “I want to discuss your pathetic attempt to kill the Will-Breaker. You purposely ignored all the warnings I gave you. Now, she’s on the verge of getting away.” He held up the crystal, its light even dimmer. “She’ll be out of range soon.”

“We didn’t go after her,” Lidda said. “We went after the Sword. She just happened to be there.”

Dyle scowled. He’d told her not to do that as well.

“Besides,” Lidda continued, “I don’t believe this nonsense that we can’t handle her. We just need more men next time.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Mitchal Plavin turned to his niece. “I told you I should have gone myself.”

“That wouldn’t have made a difference,” Dyle said. “She’s a wizard. She can do funny things to people’s minds. There’s a reason she’s called the Will-Breaker.”

“Pheh!” Mitchal Plavin spat. “Stories and myths. Nothing more. I’ve killed three wizards in my time, one of whom was an Isyar. Wizards are not all they’re cracked up to be. If I’d been there...”

Lidda waved her hand at him. “It’s too late now. Besides, it was the Sword that allowed their escape. According to the Knight captain’s report, one of your Knights was cut almost in half by it.”

Dyle laughed, and the two looked at him. “The Sword? You really think that oaf has the Sword?”

“We don’t know,” Lidda replied, “but our intent was to find out.”

“Do you really think some random person is just going to wander into your fair city bearing the Sword for you to take?”

“He could be the Sword-Bearer.”

“You stupid woman! Even if he is, he has to retrieve the Sword first, and the Sword is in Singea.”

“How do you know this?” her uncle asked.

“I know,” Dyle replied. “I’ve seen it.” If the oaf was the Sword-Bearer though, it would explain why the crystal was still tracking the Will-Breaker. His presence would extend its range even more.

“So, what do you suggest we do?” Lidda asked.

Dyle smiled. “You’re learning. Send word to Arnor City that the Princess Felitïa has been spotted alive and well. Have your people in the palace see to it that the King’s longing to see his daughter wins out over his wife’s hatred of her. Let her be taken back to Arnor City. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Lidda Plavin sat down in the throne she had had fashioned for herself. It was a garish affair, covered in glittering jewels, obviously designed to mock the Bear Throne in Arnor City. “So you expect us just to send a message and then do nothing?”

“I have a better idea,” a new voice said.

Almost as one, they turned to face the source of the intrusion.

“How did you get in here?” Mitchal Plavin demanded, as he drew his sword.

“I’d put that sword away, if I were you, Lord Commander,” the newcomer said. “I have a proposition for you all.”

“A proposition?” Lady Plavin said. “I don’t know how you got past the guards, but you can’t just walk in here unannounced with propositions for me. Uncle, kill this fool.”

The Lord Commander of the Red Knights approached the seemingly unarmed man. With a snarl, he raised his sword and then went flying backwards across the room, crashing into a table. A tapestry on the wall fell over on top of the Blood. On any other occasion, Dyle might have smiled, but this newcomer bothered him.

“Shall we discuss my proposition?” the stranger said.

“Why should we listen to you?” Dyle asked.

“Because I stand higher than you.” The man grinned at him, as if he were mocking the very words Dyle had spoken to Lady Plavin earlier.

“Impossible,” Dyle responded. “Only the Dusk Supreme stands higher than me, and you are not him.”

“Would you like to be Dusk Supreme?” the man asked.

Dyle didn’t respond. This man was obviously a fool, but a powerful one.

“I can make you Dusk Supreme if you listen to me,” he went on.

“And me?” Lidda questioned. “What do you offer me?”

“How about the throne of Arnor?”

This time it was Lidda’s turn to laugh. “Have you any idea how far down the succession I am?” The man nodded, and Lidda laughed again. “What are you going to do? Kill everyone ahead of me? That’s a lot of people. Or give me an army to conquer Arnor? That would be a huge army. Where have you been hiding such an army?”

“You mock now,” the man said, “but if you trust me, I will give you both what you most desire.”

“Why should we trust you?” Mitchal Plavin said, pulling himself to his feet. “Because you are capable of a paltry conjuring trick?”

The room went dark then, and yet another voice—this one powerful, but calming, soothing—said, “Trust him.”

And so they did.