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“Traitor!” Malvag gasped.

Szorak pointed the wand at the scroll. Raging with fury, Malvag threw himself at Szorak. His fist closed around the wand even as it went off. Chunks of ice blasted into the floor, sending shards of crystals flying.

“Faer’ghinn!” Malvag croaked through cracked and bleeding lips.

The wand became an inert stick.

Something whizzed past Malvag’s ear—a bolt from Valdar’s wrist-crossbow. It glanced off Szorak’s shoulder, deflected by an invisible barrier. So close had it come to striking Malvag that a terrible thought flashed through his mind. Was Valdar in league with Szorak? Were the pair of them trying to steal the scroll? No, that blast of ice from the wand would have destroyed it.

The traitor’s fingers flicked, and a tiny object leaped out of one of his pockets and into them. It was a chunk of amber, studded with silver dots. A spell component, Malvag realized, even as another bolt of lightning streaked toward him. It punched into Malvag’s chest, blasting him off his feet. Something sharp ground into his back and he dully realized they were the points of crystals. He’d landed on his back on the cavern floor.

Dazzled though his eyes were, he caught glimpses of what came next. Valdar fired another crossbow bolt, which struck home, punching into the wizard’s shoulder. The wizard staggered but managed to hurl a spell back at Valdar. A hollow column of fire sprang up around the cleric, trapping him inside it. Instantly, Valdar’s hair and clothing ignited. The roaring flames closed inward, then Valdar vanished. He reappeared behind the wizard, the flames extinguished, and drew his dagger in a cat-quick motion. Even as the wizard realized his danger and began to turn—sluggishly, the bolt’s poison at last taking effect—Valdar slammed his dagger into him.

The wizard’s eyes flew open wide. He sagged to the ground, gasping, a ball of gum Arabic falling from his limp fingers. Valdar slit the wizard’s throat, finishing the job. Dark blood sprayed from the wound, splattering the crystal floor.

Valdar stepped back and murmured a prayer. A heartbeat later, his flesh mended. His clothing, however, remained charred.

Malvag staggered to his feet. One wary eye on the dead wizard, he hurried to the drift disc. The scroll, praise Vhaeraun, was undamaged.

The same could not be said of Urz. Malvag kneeled beside the other cleric and touched a hand to his neck. Urz’s body felt cold and hard.

He’d been turned to stone.

Malvag felt the blood drain from his face as he realized the implications. Had Urz merely died, Malvag could have raised him from the dead. But there was only one thing that would allow the night’s work to continue—a miracle.

“Masked Lord, hear me,” Malvag said, forcing the tremble from his voice as he prayed, trying to shove his anger aside so he could concentrate on the words of the prayer. He’d only heard it spoken once, and it was well above his abilities, but he had to try. If he didn’t, all would be lost. “Send your dark energies into my hands, that they might perform a miracle. Aid me in restoring your fallen servant’s flesh to its natural state.”

Malvag waited expectantly, his palms on Urz’s stone-cold chest. Valdar stood behind him, watching, wiping his dagger clean on a charred corner of his shirt.

“It’s not working,” he observed.

Malvag’s anger flared. “Shut up,” he hissed.

The other cleric raised his dagger, inspecting the hollow point that held the poison, then shoved it home in its sheath. “My apologies.”

Malvag tried again. He put both hands upon Urz’s chest and pleaded with Vhaeraun to turn Urz’s body back to living, breathing flesh.

Nothing happened.

Vhaeraun watched. Malvag could feel the god’s presence just over his shoulder. He whispered yet another prayer, one that would allow him to touch the god’s omniscience.

“I need him,” he pleaded. “Why won’t you help me?”

The answer was a whisper only Malvag could hear. You lack the skill.

Malvag rocked back on his heels, stunned. That was it then. It was over. With only two of them remaining,