The Dakaneese nobles and merchants who had somehow managed to avoid getting involved in the blood-letting at the Festival, were now demanding that their leader, King Ra’Gren, do something about the massive amount of wager winnings that weren’t being paid to them. The Wildermont gambling houses who were supposed to back the wagers, wouldn’t even give people back their initial bets. King Jarrek, the old Redwolf himself, was trying to investigate the whole mess, but he couldn’t imagine that gold would be such an issue after so many innocent lives had been lost under the Spire.
All those people leaving the festival, the survivors, had to cross the Everflow River at High Crossing. A troop of King Jarrek’s men were there, interrogating everyone crossing the river. Only those foolish, or brave enough to cut through the Evermore Forest could avoid it.
A soothsayer from Kandor Keep, who had no love for anything but coins, had sent word to Pael that several battles had erupted right there on the bridge into Wildermont. The whole of the realm was in chaos, and Pael couldn’t be more pleased with himself for orchestrating it all.
As he stepped into his lift, Pael was thinking that it was probably only a bird returning with news from the sorceress Shaella that had Inkling so excited. He wondered if all he had done for her would go unnoticed. So much of what was happening was for her, and she had delivered much more than he had hoped possible. He found he was proud of her, and all that she had accomplished. He hoped she didn’t get greedy. It pained him to think it, but he told himself that if she got out of hand, he could eliminate her without pause. He could do that, and would, but only if she forced his hand.
As the lift rose up into the room full of squawking, little caged hawkling chicks, Pael saw that Inkling wasn’t there. He closed his eyes and warily probed for the imp.
Inkling was up on the floor above, in the room that held the Spectral Orb. Immediately, the wizard grew excited when he realized it wasn’t Inkling who had been trying to get his attention: it was the demon Shokin.
When Pael stepped off the lift this time, all of his exhaustion had been forgotten.
“Take down the lift,” he ordered Inkling, who was wiggling excitedly in his natural red devil form.
“Yesss,” the imp hissed, as he scampered to the lift.
Before the platform even cleared the floor, Pael began cranking down the orb. Before it was in place, a small square of floor off to the side lifted on creaking hinges. Inkling crawled up through the trapdoor, shivering with glee, and let it slam closed behind him.
Pael wasted no time getting his ritual chanting started. If it cost him all the energy he had left in him, he would hear what Shokin had to say. Never in all of the eighty-seven years that he had possessed the Spectral Orb, had it beckoned to him as it did now. The message to come must be one of great importance.
The huge crystal swirled and churned in its depths as Pael’s voice grew from a singular intonation into a ghastly chorus. The gathering misty cloud filled the orb, and pulsed a deep crimson.
“THE PACT HAS BEEN BROKEN!” Shokin’s voice ground through the air, like a slab of stone being dragged across gravel.
Pael noted the excited tone in the spectral demon’s voice. The sound of it sent Inkling skittering under a small wooden table.
“I had hoped as much,” Pael said calmly.
It was taxing his essence greatly to hold the powerful spell he used to communicate with the demon, but he didn’t show it.
“Already, you’re able to reach out of the blackness and summon me.”
“When will you open the seal?” Shokin asked harshly. “I have felt the power of the sword, wizard; you need me more than you know.”
Inkling rocked to and fro under the table. He was terrified. The air in the room was full of static energy and becoming hot. It was making him frantic.
It took a moment for the implication of what the demon had just said, to register in Pael’s tired mind.
“How can that be? King Balton’s only son is here and the sword is not.”
“There is another with Pavreal’s blood flowing through his veins,” The specter growled. “He has used the sword, and it has honored his lineage.”
“Where?” was all Pael could think to ask.
“Where the land of the giants begins, in the forest that feeds off of the Life Giver. That is where the sword was used. The seal, wizard! WHEN?”
“There is still the matter of the dragon to contend with,” Pael explained weakly.
He didn’t like the commanding and demanding tone of the mighty creature before him.
“Soon,” he went on. “Are you not strong enough to lend me aid?”
He asked the question to subtly remind Shokin of his helpless state, and of his need of help, if he ever wished to escape the Nethers.
For a few heart beats the room was deathly silent. Pael could feel the weight of the magic pushing in on him, as if he were at the bottom of the sea.