Charles C. Eddy, Alaenar

The mages sat themselves around the stone table, eyes awake with fear. Each lit the single candle before him as Saitin began, his heart heavy with the magnitude of this rite. “Let us begin,” he intoned his tone formal and harsh. Gravity seemed to press in around them, the tension in the air like violin strings being tightened. Suddenly it snapped.

Saitin’s breath caught in his chest. Skillfully, as if he had performed the rite hundreds of times, he found his life energy—the force that gave him his vitality. As if with a blade, he cut a section with his mind and unraveled it. All the mages did the same, and Saitin guided the streams of their energy. In the center of the table he wove together the streams. They were violently bright colors that surpassed the powers of imagination. The mages sunk a bit. Piece by piece, they pulled sections of their lives away and gave them to the commander. He took theirs and his own, stringing them together.

Bit by bit, their life energy diminished. Still they watched. Because in the center of the table, sitting on nothing but air, was a sphere of the purest white. The colors had blended to form this perfect object above their heads.

With all the force remaining in him, Saitin uttered the name of Alex Varioux. It was over. Silence ruled for a moment, until a wail struck a note no man in the room would ever forget. Deacon Calisto, Rain’s second in command, grasped his head with both hands. He convulsed violently, shudders passing through him like a knife in the sand. Suddenly the man fell to the ground, the life torn from him in only seconds.

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ISBN: 978-0-9820558-1-6