Prologue
A Small Victory
Zakulas glared into the basin of swirling white mist. “SIRK!”
A figure clothed and hooded in navy blue stepped out of the shadows. “Yes, Master?”
“What are the Honorable Sword fools planning? I am growing impatient at their progression.”
“They have decided on a course of action.”
Zakulas’ glare intensified.
“They are planning to send someone into the non-magical world to bring the girl into Lesharien. Then they shall choose a companion for her, and send her to the Moon Elves,” said Sirk, crinkling his nose in disgust.
Zakulas turned and leaned against the basin with a frown and crossed arms. “Why do they want to send her to the Elves of the Moon?”
Sirk shrugged.
“You are in the Honorable Sword, Sirk. Your role in this plan is to collect information for me, that I may thwart them, and you to have your revenge.” Zakulas looked into Sirk’s eyes. “Or have you forgotten what they did to your parents?”
“I have not forgotten,” answered Silk icily. “I shall never forgive them for what they did, and they shall pay with their lives.”
Zakulas smiled satisfactorily. “Good. Now, it is possible they shall choose you to accompany her. You shall lead her, not to the Elves of the Moon, but to me.”
Sirk blinked.
“It is a fine plan,” said Zakulas. “She does not know the way, you will be her guide. Bring her here, and I shall have my revenge. Now leave.”
“As you wish, Master.”
Sirk turned and walked across the cold marble floor. He stopped in front of the brown walls, and ran his finger softly across them. A sliver of gray liquid appeared, and began enlarging and molding itself. Sirk turned to Zakulas.
“Master?”
“Speak,” said Zakulas.
“When will you address me by my first name?”
“After you bring the girl to me."
Sirk turned towards the gray sliver that was now a large gray circle. He touched it and abruptly disappeared.
