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The war would be on by tomorrow morning.

By now, Lord Malick would be dead and Kaleth would call for his cousin’s vengeance. The nation would rise with him, his people joined by the nation of Bentisvyl, who would also have endured the death of their Mage. The fact of his impending assassination attempt would bond the two nations together.

Althair and his armies lay to the north, waiting for Kaleth to publicly announce the unification of the three clans. Then his armies would roll into the Kelilynds, forcing the fourth clan to join the Shade Overclan. Keli had disregarded DaSuna’s overtures and had retreated within his walls. Althair’s armies would rectify that situation.

The Shade Overclan was a name he had devised after the dream, calling forth the clans to stand mightily before their god. The Shade Overclan. He sighed and leaned forward on the windowsill. The spring air was crisp and cold, but patches of green could be seen on the distant mountains. Circulla was built on a plain, one of the rare places where a mountain did not grace the face of Dyras. He wondered what it would be like to awaken in an Enclave built high in the mountains. It must be exciting, rejuvenating to breathe the cool crisp air every morning and night. He envisioned looking down over all he surveyed, knowing he ruled it all.

He very nearly did not sense the blade in time.

His body instinctively turned, feeling the air being cut downwards by a small sword. The man’s eyes registered surprise at the abrupt movement, having committed his all to the strike. The blade continued downwards, its tip coming to rest on the granite floor.

Even though he knew the attempt had been coming, Kaleth became unexpectedly furious. More so at himself for allowing the momentary slip of control than any other reason. The assassin had to die to make his plan complete. He had often wondered if he could truly kill a man in cold blood with his own hand. Now he had a reason.

Kaleth’s hand went to the man’s throat, black fire coursing up and down his arm. The magical fire bit into the man, causing him to lash out with the blade. The range was poor and the weapon ineffective, but blood spilled. Kaleth’s robe fluttered, gashed open along his belly, and blood spurted from the wound. The assassin uttered a high-pitched scream as fire engulfed his head.

Blacksuit guards dashed into the room, their pikes at the ready. Two attendants followed, both of whom screamed in horror at the sight. Already the black flames had consumed the man’s face, burning him beyond recognition. This too was another step in the plan. Kaleth released his hand from the throat, and fell back against the windowsill in pain from his wound. The open window flushed the stench of burning flesh from the room. The assassin writhed on the floor while the guards stood with their weapons at the ready. Together, all watched as the man thrashed and flopped, struggling as the fires overtook his body.

Kaleth’s anger faded as he saw the result of his actions. He felt sick to his stomach. Many times he had sent men to their deaths, but not once had he committed the act with his own hand. Murder was not for him. It left a horrifying taste in his mouth. From this moment on, he would manipulate but never participate.

One of the attendants rushed from the room, seeking a healer. It was a pointless gesture; Kaleth could easily heal his wound with his power, just as he could have ended the agony of the man on the floor.

But he did not.

He let the man suffer, the black flames consuming. His own wound would be the catalyst. The death of Malick would steel the people’s commitment. He looked down at the blood on his hand, knowing his blood mingled with the man who lay dead on the floor.

*

“The lord is dead, killed by the same blade as the one that struck at you,” Dellian revealed to Kaleth. “He was killed minutes before the assassin came for you.” Theo and Kaleth both sat in the Dark Mage’s quarters, awaiting the news they already knew.

“How is it that an assassin gets within the walls?” Kaleth screamed at Dellian “How is it that we have lost our lord? How is it that I am nearly skewered by that same sword?”

The officer stared at Kaleth, as if to say, I know something, but I dare not speak.

“You know something?” Theo murmured.

Dellian hesitated. “A theory. The only way would be if someone let him in. The gates are sealed, the towers closed to anyone. Only someone from the inside could make passage for him. There is no other explanation.”

Kaleth rose and grabbed the man’s tunic. “Then find this traitor and bring him to me. I will burn him like I burned this assassin.” His rage was quite believable. Dellian turned to stare at the master spy, as if to challenge him. Thinking better of it, Dellian saluted and exited the room.

Theo leaned back and pulled at his goatee. “Dellian is sharp, it might be in your best interest to include him in this discussion.”

“It won’t be necessary if you’ve done your job.”

“Alas, I am not infallible,” Theo replied. “What now? You are lord now. History has never had a Mage and lord as one. Some will say you now carry too much power.”

“Let them complain. I have been assaulted and our lord is dead. There will be war.” Kaleth walked to the nearby table, where drink awaited him. He shakily retrieved a glass and poured some of the blue liquid into it. Malakin, the drink, was made of a bittersweet mixture of fermented berries and honey. His back hid his tremors though he knew Theo had seen his distress. He downed the glass. “Send word to Althair. He may proceed.”