Poor old Doorkeeper might be regarded by many as a bumbling old fool, but Grimm recognised the cheerful, aged major-domo as the true heart of the House, always solicitous of his charges.

Doorkeeper will miss me…

Madar and Argand, the two boys who had remained Grimm's staunch friends throughout his tenure in the House Scholasticate, would glean little satisfaction from knowing their dead classmate had died a full mage.

I've hardly spared them a thought for over a year, and it's too late now…

The strong, friendly face of Questor Dalquist swam into view.

Dalquist helped me through my homesickness when I first came to Arnor. He was stern with me on our first Quest together, but he always was my friend, and he was so glad for me when I became Baron of Crar.

Grimm's spirit now knew the beginnings of despair: not only would these good friends and allies feel sorrow at his passing, but other, blameless souls had also followed him into the void. Crest, the elven thief and master of whip and knife; Tordun, the giant albino; Drexelica, the Grivense gamin he had ransomed from slavery; even the acerbic, high-handed Questor Xylox.

None of them deserves to die in this lonely, forbidding place. Neither do I; I was cut short in my attempt to expunge the stain from my family name. I don't want to die here; I want to live! I want to feel the sun on my face again. I want to drink ale, laugh, cry and sing! I want to grow old and fat, with children and grandchildren at my feet, listening to tales of glory. I want seven rings on my Mage Staff. I want so much, and I can't have it…

Death no longer seemed such a sweet release, as Grimm felt a hot, angry pain shooting through his being.

I want to live!

Grimm awoke to agonising pains in his hands, feet and eyes as the blood returned to his pale, frigid body. He groaned at the throbbing waves of anguish suffusing his body, and he half-regretted his earlier defiant demand for life.