With a roar that outdid the thunder, great chunks of masonry came loose to crash downward upon the Lord of Rondoval, crushing and burying him in an instant.

Mor straightened. The wheel slowed, becoming a staff again. He leaned heavily upon it.

As the echoes died within the hall the remaining sounds of battle came to a halt without. The storm, too, was drifting on its way, its lightnings abated, its thunders stilled in that instant.

One of Jared's lieutenants, Ardel, moved forward slowly and stood regarding the heap of rubble.

"It is over," he said, after a time. "We've won...."

"So it would seem," Mor said.

"There are still some of his men about--to be dealt with."

Mor nodded.

"...And the dragons? And his other unnatural servants?"

"Disorganized now," Mor said softly. "I will deal with them."

"Good. We--what is that noise?"

They listened for several moments.

"It could be a trick," said one of the sergeants, Marakas by name.

"Choose a detail. Go and find out. Report back immediately. "

Mouseglove crouched behind the arras, near to the stairwell that led to the dark places below. His plan was to return to his cell and secure himself within it. A prisoner of Det's would be about the only person on the premises likely to receive sympathetic treatment, he had reasoned. He had succeeded in making it this for on his journey back to duress when the gate had given way, the invaders entered and the sorcerous duel taken place. He had witnessed all of these things through a frayed place in the tapestry.

Now, while everyone's attention was elsewhere, would be the ideal time for him to slip out and head back down. Only... His curiosity, too, had been aroused. He waited.