Ryslind’s lip curled into a sneer, and another blast of fire incinerated the corpse. Seconds later, only ashes remained.

“You might try toning it down a little,” Darnak said nervously. “Better to keep a bit of power in reserve, just in case.”

Ryslind either didn’t hear or didn’t care. The flames that had destroyed the corpse moved to the next panel.

How many were there? Jig counted as fast as he could. Twenty-eight panels. He didn’t know much about magic, but he doubted Ryslind could keep up this kind of magic long enough to destroy them all. Darnak appeared to have the same idea, for he was tugging Ryslind’s robe, trying to make him stop.

The wizard brushed him away with a gesture that left Darnak angrily patting wisps of flame from his beard. One hand fell to his club, and Jig watched as Darnak fought the urge to club the wizard unconscious. Jig didn’t know if that would be an improvement or not, but in the end, the dwarf decided against it. Instead, he grabbed his amulet and began to pray. Probably trying to lend Ryslind more strength, Jig guessed.

Ryslind made it through two more panels and destroyed two more of the creatures before collapsing in pain. This time, as Ryslind fell, so did Darnak. But where the dwarf remained on the floor clutching his head, Ryslind stood back up as swiftly as he had fallen.

“Excellent,” came the Necromancer’s voice. The rest of the marble panels vanished, and two dozen dead soldiers stepped into the room. “You proved stronger than I had guessed, wizard.”

With the panels gone, the Necromancer’s voice no longer echoed from all directions. Nor was it the deep, threatening voice they had heard before.

To Jig’s left, guarded by two well armored corpses, stood a throne. Jig had never seen a real throne before, but this could be nothing else. No gold or gems decorated this chair. It had been carved from a single piece of stone, so black that even the marble looked bright by comparison. Light vanished into the throne, sucked into shadow. The legs formed claws, and the arms ended in small animal heads. Jig couldn’t see well enough to identify them. The back of the throne rose to the top of the alcove, nearly ten feet. The Necromancer himself sat cross-legged upon purple cushions of velvet. In one hand, he held a long silver wand.