"Then it shall be as you wish. Are there any further details you wish to impart to me before I leave?"

"Yes, Nezerov," she said, "I must warn you that this woman is extremely powerful."

"How powerful?" he asked.

"Likely the most powerful to ever graduate from the Volstrum. You must strike the moment you see her, to do otherwise might give her the advantage."

"Understood," he said. "It shall be as you desire."

She moved closer to him, putting her hands on his arm. "I needn't tell you how important this is, Nezerov. We all stand to profit by her removal, yourself included. Do a good job, and you shall be rewarded. Fail me, and you will incur my wrath."

He smiled, "Then I look forward to my reward."

She stepped back, outside the circle of magic, and nodded, signifying her permission for him to begin his spell.

Nezerov Sartellian placed his arms out to either side, calling forth the power within. The room buzzed with magical energy, the circle of magic coming to life, lighting up like a thousand fireflies. Flames leaped up, blocking Marakhova's view of the Fire Mage, and then they fell again, revealing only an empty centre.

Marakhova smiled, it was all done now; events had been put into motion that would secure her future. She turned from the circle, opening the door herself. The guards stood to attention once more as she exited, her footsteps echoing along the marble floor.

Flames rose from the circle, all but burning the ceiling above, then fell once more, to reveal Nezerov Sartellian. This room was similar to that in Karslev, but he noticed a distinct smell, the scent of the sea. Even here, beneath the structure, it permeated the air.

He stepped from the circle, making his way to the door. It opened to reveal, not the marble floors of the Volstrum, but the rough stone floor of a subterranean tunnel. Down the tunnel Nezerov went, then up the stairs at the end into an ornately decorated room, filled with comfortable chairs, along with an assortment of drinks, and a small bell. He smiled at a memory from past visits, and then sat, ringing the bell as he did so.

A few moments later, the door opened, and an older, well-dressed man peered in. His thinning grey hair framed a wizened face, and Nezerov struggled but a moment to remember the man's name.

"Virgil Sartellian," said Nezerov at last, "how long has it been?"

"Many years, my friend," the old man replied, "though I go by the name of Jazoc Wright, these days."

"It is good to see you," offered Nezerov, extending his hand out, palm downward.

Virgil's eyes grew wide as he noticed the deep red colour of his visitor's ring. He bowed respectfully. “You have done well for yourself, Lord."

Nezerov smiled at the change in the old man's behaviour. "Tell me, Virgil, how are things in Corassus?"