"Do it, Magemaster Kargan. I absolve you of any and all consequences. I feel imprisoned and powerless, and I wish to be free."

"Very well, Master Loras.” Kargan nodded and sighed. “I will try this for your sake."

"For the record,” the burly smith said, “I thank you with all my heart for your thaumaturgic skills and your attempts on my behalf. Drima has given her assent to these activities, whatever happens."

Kargan sat for a moment in silence, readying his mind. At last, he nodded.

"Place your right hand on Seeker, and give me your will,” he said.

Loras nodded and put his hand on the staff's brass-capped extremity.

Kargan began to chant, the runic syllables tumbling from his mouth in a cool, melodious tenor.

"Sha-ra-kak-oh-ma-do…” he began, ignoring the rivulets of sweat trickling down his face. The least tremor or hesitation could ruin the spell.

He sensed the personality within Loras’ soul; every memory, every fleeting expression, every factor that contributed to the man's being. Still chanting the complex sequence of runes, he pulled at the mind, feeling it pop into Seeker as he trilled the last three syllables.

He felt no pain or nausea: the spell was good. Now, there was no time to waste. Drawing strength from the smith's drained body; Kargan located the mental block and began to chant anew. This was no melodious incantation, but an insistent drone. The Magemaster hammered, chipped and slammed the magical clamp, pouring destructive strength into it for minute after long minute.

Come on; break, you bastard! Break!

With a huge access of relief, as if he had rid himself of a troublesome, unyielding tooth after weeks of relentless pain, he felt the magical structure crumble and shatter. Loras’ soul is free at last!

Don't sit around congratulating yourself-get him out of there! Kargan's ever-present mental guard screamed. Move, Mentalist!