With a mental push, something no Secular could ever understand, Kargan impelled the imprisoned psyche back to its body: he fell back in his chair, dropping Seeker to the stone floor. His vision blurring, he saw Loras lying back with a dull, fixed smile on his face. Had the smith's soul rejected its burden? Had the Magemaster failed?

"Master Loras, speak to me!” he croaked, panic rising within him like a bubble of sulphurous gas in a hot column of lava. “Are you there?"

Loras’ mouth moved, but no coherent speech emerged. Kargan felt the cold, slimy tentacles of pure horror running through him; he had failed, failed, failed The Magemaster lowered his head into his hands and mourned the loss of a good man.

"Mmstilere…"

Kargan looked up with a sudden jerk: this was more than an idiot's random mumbling. He looked closely into the smith's eyes; they were dull, but clearing, and they fastened upon his own. Loras coughed, blinked and sat up.

"I am still here,” the smith said with care, shaking his head as if to shoo away a wasp. The Magemaster almost cried with relief. “Did your spell succeed?"

Kargan shrugged. “There's only one way to tell."

Loras levered himself into a sitting position, but his eyes were now bright and focused. “Let me try something…” he muttered. For several moments, the smith sat on the mattress, his expression tense and pensive.

As Kargan waited with bated breath, Loras cried, “Japlya-redeteris!"

Nothing happened, and the smith's shoulders sagged.

"How did that feel?” Kargan asked, his voice soft and cautious.

Loras looked at the ceiling and shrugged. “I felt the power gathering, just as it always used to, and it drew my special Questor spell-language from me. I was trying to create a simple ball of light, but I failed. Whether that was because of a miscast, or because the block remains, I do not know."