"I am Loras Firelord!"

The Magemaster saw bright motes dancing before his eyes, but the awful pressure on his ribs eased, and he drew a rasping breath. For once in his life, Kargan could not think of a thing to say.

The Questor regarded his scarred, shovel-like hands as if noticing them for the first time.

"You lack two important things, Questor Loras:” Kargan said softly, “a Guild Ring and a Mage Staff. Questor Grimm bears the former, but you know what to do about the latter."

Loras nodded. “Blade must be buried somewhere in the bowels of Arnor House. Even when the Conclave took my powers away, they could not destroy Blade, of course."

Kargan nodded: once forged by magic, such a weapon could never be destroyed while its creator lived. Wherever hidden, a Mage Staff could not be concealed from its rightful owner: if it would fly to his hand if called, or, if the path was blocked, it would teleport to him, bypassing any intervening obstructions.

Loras bit his lip and called, “Blade! Come to me!"

Thorn yawned and wandered down to the lower levels of the House. Today, he thought, he would look in on the two renegade mages, Magemaster Crohn and Questor Dalquist.

They should be softened up by now.

He had given Questor Xylox and Magemaster Faffel orders to allow the two prisoners no rest, and they had alternated watches for three days now. Sleepless and imprisoned in their iron-walled cells-pure iron being the only element capable of suppressing magic-Dalquist and Crohn should be groggy and confused now.

Thorn would ensure they were properly washed and dressed before they appeared before the Presidium, but he wanted them subdued and befuddled when they came to trial.

They should soon be ready for preliminary interrogation, he thought, as he descended the stone staircase from his private chamber. Kargan's the senior Mentalist; I'll appoint him to carry out the first interrogation.