Kall's sword hissed from its scabbard. "You'll have a quick death," he said.

"I was going to say I'll need your aid to break free," Dantane said sourly, "but I've just now reconsidered. Stand back."

Reluctantly, Kall moved to the far side of the room and stood near the window. He rested his sword point down in front of him and leaned against the wall, waiting.

Dantane knelt on the floor, placing the remnants of the item in a prepared circle of symbols drawn in chalk lines on the floor. His fingers moved, stiffly at first, gradually gaining speed and dexterity. Steepling his thumbs, the wizard pressed the backs of his fingers tightly together in a rough imitation of one of the symbols on the floor. The corresponding mark burst into a blue radiance. The wizard continued to gesture, and each of the symbols in turn lit to join a strange, pulsating dance around the charred item.

Kall raised a hand against the sting of the blinding light. If Dantane succeeded, he wondered, then what? Chadossa's own family didn't care what had caused Dynon's demise. Why did he? Was it simply because he'd had a taste of Dynon's life—because he'd known the father who gave nothing of himself, except his name, to his son?

He'd never known Dhairr, not truly, Kall admitted. As a boy, he'd craved the man's attention, but eventually he'd accepted the fact that Dhairr was content only when building his jewel empire and plotting against invisible assassins. Kall knew nothing about the man's past or how he'd met Kall's mother, Alytia.

He had to believe there was more to what he felt than a sense of neglect. His and Chadossa's stories were common enough among the merchant families. There were certainly worse fates than being born to an uncaring father.

Kall thought of Aazen, and wondered if his friend truly had managed to escape his father, or if he was still trapped in Balram's unyielding grip.

Wingbeats sounded behind Kall, and the scrape of talons on stone as a hawk landed in the open window. A moment later, Cesira stood beside him. Her familiar presence bolstered him.

What is he doing? Cesira asked, nodding at Dantane.

"Either divining the secrets of an ancient magic or preparing to blow the tower apart," Kall answered, as the light brightened to a blinding intensity.

Cesira's eyes narrowed. What is the second magic originating from?

"The second—what?" Kall swung toward her sharply.

Cesira pointed, but Kall saw it—the second blue glow reflected in her eyes. Twin rectangles of light outlined Dantane's cupboard on the far side of the tower.

"Dantane!" Kall shouted. He started forward, but Cesira grabbed his arm.

Do not, she said. You could injure him.

The point quickly became moot as the light from the circle soared upward in one explosive beam, trailing shattered symbols and throwing Dantane flat on his back. The wizard stared vacantly at the tower's ceiling as the wild magic ripped it apart. Support beams and planks flew into the empty sky. At the same time, the glow from the cupboard burst from its confines, blowing the cupboard doors off their hinges.

* * * * *

In a darkness lit only by columns of ancient, glowing stone, the fire beast stirred, awakened by the brutal release of power. It came from within the Delve and without at the same time, strong enough to awaken him from his forced sleep.

The beast sensed he had slumbered a long time, dreaming strange dreams of dark chambers filled with whispering mortals. They lived and scurried about like rats above his head, rats ripe for hunting.

In the beast's dream, his fire and claws were gone. He was a one-eyed wizard surrounded by bright power. He'd used the human form, and wielded magic he'd never known before to strike at someone—a woman. Where had she come from? She was a threat. She'd come too close to his secret. The beast had tried to eliminate her, but he interfered—the wizard.

Now that the beast was awake, he started to remember. Rage burned tracks of fire in the stone beneath his feet. He remembered the one-eyed wizard who had maimed him. Was it his power that had awakened him? Had the fool undone his own spell? No—it was the dwarves. The magic clearly had their mark upon it.

The realization brought the beast fully awake. He stood, muscles flexing, and filled the narrow chamber to its ceiling. The ancient columns reacted slowly—too slowly—and the creature remembered that the columns were not columns at all. The dwarves were still here, silent watchers hoping to keep him contained by the will of their pathetic god.

Not anymore, the beast thought. He let out a satisfied howl that shook the stone foundations. He dived at the nearest dwarf and bit it in half, his massive jaws tearing its spectral limbs.

He remembered the taste of dwarf flesh, the sound of dwarf screams as he ate each one alive. He found the sound as pleasing now as he remembered. The wailing of the pitiful soul was lost, and the beast turned to face its comrades.

He was free, and soon he would have living prey to hunt. He had the tools; all he needed was the opportunity.