"Norrec," came Fauztin's voice. "When did you put that on?"

He paid no attention, instead thinking that it might be interesting to try the other gauntlet-better yet, the entire suit-and see how it felt. As a young recruit, he had once dreamed of rising to the rank of general and garnering his riches through victory in battle. Now that old, longfaded dream seemed fresh and, for the first time, so very possible…

A shadow loomed over his hand. He looked up to see the sorcerer eyeing him in concern.

"Norrec. My friend. Perhaps you should take off that glove."

Take it off? Suddenly, the notion of doing so made absolutely no sense to the soldier. The gauntlet had been the only thing that had saved their lives! Why take it off? Could it… could it be that the Vizjerei simply coveted it for himself? In things magic, Fauztin's kind knew no loyalty. If Norrec did not give him the gauntlet, the odds were that Fauztin might simply just take it when his comrade could not stop him.

A part of the veteran's mind tried to dismiss the hatefulnotions. Fauztin had saved his life more than once. He and Sadun were Norrec's best-and only-friends. The eastern mage would certainly not try something so base… would he?

"Norrec, listen to me!" An edge of emotion, perhaps envy, perhaps fear, touched the other's voice. "It is vital right now that you take that gauntlet off. We shall put it back on the platform—"

"What is it?" Sadun called. "What's wrong with him, Fauztin?"

Norrec became convinced that he had been right the first time. The sorcerer wanted his glove.

"Sadun. Ready your blade. We may have to—"

"My blade? You want me to use it on Norrec?"

Something within the older fighter took control. Norrec watched as if from a distance as the gauntleted hand darted out and caught the Vizjerei by the throat.