With sweat coating his face and a stabbing pain in his back, Esrahaddon struggled to rise and confront his attacker, who walked casually toward him. The wizard concentrated. He spoke again, and the dirt of the square whirled into a tornado, traveling directly toward his attacker. It engulfed the man, who burst into flames. Esrahaddon could feel the heat of the inferno as the pillar surged, bathing the square in a yellow glow. At its center, the figure stood wreathed in blue tongues of flame, but when the fire faded, the man continued forward, unharmed.

Reaching the wizard, he looked curiously at Esrahaddon—the way a child might study a strange bug before crushing it. He said nothing, but revealed a silver medallion that hung from a chain he wore around his neck.

“Recognize this?” the man asked. “Word is you made it. I’m afraid the heir won’t need it any longer.”

Esrahaddon gasped.

“If only you had hands, you might rip it from my neck. Then I’d be in real trouble, wouldn’t I?”

The noise of the collapse, and the explosions of light, had woken several people in nearby buildings. Candles were lit in windows and doors opened onto the square.

“The regents bid me to tell you that your services are no longer required.” The man in the dark cloak smiled coldly. Without another word, he walked away, disappearing into the maze of dark streets.

Esrahaddon was confused. The bolt or dart lodged in his back did not feel fatal. He could breathe easily, so it had missed his lungs and was nowhere near his heart. He was bleeding but not profusely. The pain was bad, a deep burning, but he could still feel his legs and was certain he could walk.

Why did he leave me alive? Why would—poison!

The wizard concentrated and muttered a chant. It failed. He struggled with his handless arms to weave a stronger spell. It did not help. He could feel the poison now as it spread throughout his back. He was helpless without hands. Whoever the man in the cloak was, he knew exactly what he was doing.

Esrahaddon looked back at City Hall. He could not die—not yet.

The noise from the street caught Arista’s attention. She still sat against the office door as voices and shouts drifted from the square. What had happened was unclear, but the words he’s dying brought Arista to her feet.