“Nothing I can imagine, and I can imagine a lot, my son. Let’s get something to eat then rest a little. I have a feeling it may be a very long night.” The two magicians left the meeting room.

Amirantha sat alone on the steps leading up into the keep. It was late afternoon and he had eaten. Sunset was an hour or more away, but he didn’t feel the need for rest. He just tried to keep his mind calm as he contemplated what they were to investigate in a few hours.

After the wet, cold weather, a series of storms, and little sunshine, this day had been a welcome respite, a balmy hint of spring and summer to come. Amirantha felt a deep mix of anticipation—the idea of discovery—and concern: the risks. It had been easy at first to throw in his lot with this bunch, the mad magicians and happy warriors who served an abstracted greater good.

Then he had watched Miranda die.

He had seen death before, even having lost those for whom he cared, but no small part of his view had always been that these were people fated to die eventually, so what mattered when? He realized with bitter self-loathing that this had been a facile apology, a not very well-considered reason why he shouldn’t care. In Miranda he had come to know a woman of stunning ability, magic knowledge that rivaled Pug’s and dwarfed Amirantha’s. Moreover, she had been long-lived, older than he by a century, yet looked no older than advancing middle age. She could have expected another century or more, yet there she was, dying in a brutal, bloody, and sudden fashion before those around her could help.

Nothing in his life’s experience had driven home to Amirantha the fragility of life more than that one instant. Pug, Magnus, himself, and other magic-users of considerable ability stood close enough to reach out and touch her, yet none could react quickly enough to keep her alive. It was like watching someone drown as you stood helpless on the shore.

It had left a sick feeling in the Warlock’s stomach that had lingered. A year after and he still felt as if he should have been able to do something to help, for he was the Warlock, he was the master of demons.

A stirring caused him to turn, and he saw Sandreena standing behind him. He started to rise, and she pushed his shoulder, forcing him back down. Trying to regain his poise, he said, “If you’re going to hit me again, please don’t. I’m really very tired of picking myself up off the floor.”

She smiled a sad smile and softly said, “Sorry. You bring out the worst in me.”

He tilted his head slightly, and said, “It’s a talent.”

She surprised him by sitting down next to him. “I’ve given some thought to this situation.”