Marcus reached out his hand, touched the wall, touched stone—solid and cold. He moved his hand to another part and then another, all the while telling himself that this was stupid, futile, a last desperate attempt to stave off the inevitable.

“Marcus . . .”said Evelina urgently. “The monks ...”

He saw them rounding the corner of the building, walking straight for him. Some held fire in their hands. Some held steel. All of it was death, so it didn’t much matter.

“Tell me the truth, Marcus,” said Evelina quietly. “There’s no way out, is there?”

“No,” he said. “There’s not. I had hoped . . .”He let hope hang, shook his head.

“I’m afraid,” she said and put her arms around him.

“So am I,” he said, and held her close.

A hand thrust through the stone wall.

Marcus stared at it. “I’m going mad,” he thought. “Like the wretched monks.”

He blinked his eyes. The hand vanished and Ven stood in front of him, inside the little room.

“This is the gate,” said Ven.

His blue eyes were the only color in a vast expanse of white.

“The way out!” Evelina cried. “I see it! Marcus, look!” She clutched at him. “There it is! Right in front of us! Hurry! Make haste!”

The illusion was broken and, as always when we see the truth, he wondered that he had been so blind as not to penetrate the lie at once. The gate was crudely built, constructed of wood planks and held together by iron bands. The gate stood open. From the rusted look of the hinges, the gate had not been shut for centuries. Perhaps it had rusted in place.

Beyond the gate was the forest and beyond that the river. No monks blocked the way. No dragon stood at the entrance.

Marcus looked back to the little room.

“Take care of her,” said Ven. He held out his hand.

Marcus touched his brother’s hand.

The gate vanished, dissolved into the wall.

The wall vanished, dissolved into illusion.

Dragonkeep was gone, and it might have never existed, but for the feel of his brother’s hand, firm and warm, in his own.

Marcus guided the boat he and Evelina had stolen out into the river. Evelina sat rigid and upright in the stern opposite him, holding on to the gunwales with both hands. Her face was drawn and tense. She stared fearfully into the woods that were slowly, too slowly, sliding away. When the boat dipped slightly, as Marcus wrestled with the oars, Evelina grasped the gunwales tightly.

“Sorry,” said Marcus. “I haven’t rowed a boat in a long time.”

“I thought I saw something!” she gasped. “Oh.” She relaxed. “A deer.” Evelina looked at him and managed a smile. “I’m glad you’re with me. You won’t let anything happen to me.”