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endaran drifted above the engraved floor of the cavern, awake and fully aware for the first time in weeks, perhaps months. The terrible iron mask was upon him and he could barely see through a pair of its six eye slits. He could sense the vile buzz of the Mursaat’s mind but the creature was out of sight behind him and he could not turn his head. Magical potential curled and arced upon the juts of purple obsidian at the perimeter of the bloodstone. There were creatures around him, strange dull-witted slaves with savage appetites. Their warty gray hide gleamed with the Mursaat’s angular inscriptions. They were ettins. He vaguely remembered seeing their kin in Kryta while patrolling the region near the old Dunvael guild. These were much larger, and the Mursaat had fashioned a small army of animated weapons and shields to serve them.
Then he remembered that Haodrim had been ordered to kill the ettins, perhaps even the same one over and over again. Vaguely he recalled the beast dying with an agonized roar only to rise hours later fully healed and none the worse for wear.
“Haodrim,” he called within his mind. He knew better than to speak in the presence of the Mursaat, “What is it doing?”
The Margonite was always present, looming over him like some dreadful shadow seeking to blot out the light of hope. Pendaran was no longer certain where one of them began and the other ended. He had memories now that he knew could not be his, old terrible memories of crimes committed long ago. Haodrim had tried to justify his actions many times but had soon given up. Pendaran had seen too much. He would never trust him.
“It is done. It is preparing to seal the chamber. Those are its appointed guardians.”
Oddly, after all that he had been through, after all the agony and despair, this last thought was too much. He did not want to be sealed away in the darkness. Death he could handle. Staying here to be forgotten, alone and helpless, was horrible.
“I do not want that, either,” Haodrim said, “but it is within your power to choose.”
“How? I don’t understand.”
“They are egotistical creatures, Mursaat. They always assume humans can be completely broken.”
“I feel broken,” Pendaran said pointedly.
“For good or ill, we are now partners. I feasted upon your dreams and wove nightmares from your fondest memories.”
Pendaran realized what the Margonite was telling him.
“But I did not succumb to them or they held no power over me.”
“Or you altered reality.”
Stunned, he did not respond for a long time.
“When I went to the aid of my master… was that a dream?”
“For humanity, all things begin as dreams. It is ironic that calling someone a dreamer is an insult when the ability to imagine a new reality is perhaps the most powerful gift of your kind.”
“Did I save my master? Did that actually happen?”
“Yes.”
“But you were using that vision to break me…”
“Which proved to be pointless because of incidents like that one.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Dream. Give me the raw material to destroy this prison and go free.”
Pendaran felt the sharp angry presence of the Mursaat. Haodrim withdrew and for a moment he felt exposed, caught in the act of plotting rebellion.
“Dream for me,” the creature said harshly, “Dream for me of destruction at the hands of your foes, your kin crushed and beaten down by hoof and claw. Dream of orphaned children left to warm the belly of wolves. Dream the end of your kind.”
“But those are not my dreams,” Pendaran rasped, so overcome with rage he forgot himself and spoke.
“They will be now.”
The Mursaat strode to the edge of the bloodstone, its metallic visage gazing coldly up at him as it made a sweeping gesture with its talons. The lines of power etched in the black rock below him glowed violently, thrusting upward until the chamber was stark with brilliance. Then, to Pendaran’s horror, ghostly shapes oozed from the light-bleached stone. The spirits of charr and avacara, centaur and grawl, rose shrieking toward him. Hatred flooded his senses, crowded out his thoughts until his mind was filled with images of their darkest desires. He saw flashes of the terrible arena where they had fought and toiled in their last days until their hatred for their human keepers had become so intense they were ready to be harvested and sealed into the stone. Each terrible image burned into his being, was engraved upon his memory as if it were his own.
All he could do was scream and plead for it to stop. But it would not. Each spirit unleashed its hatred upon him. He could not count them in his anguish. He wanted to run, he wanted to open his eyes and discover that it had all been a horrible nightmare, that he was free.
“You can stop it,” Haodrim said to him as if from across a great distance, “Turn it against him.”
Pendaran tried to escape, struggled like a fly in the Mursaat’s terrible web.
“Surrender,” Haodrim said, “Go to sleep.”
He rolled his head back, staring toward the crystalline ceiling as the spirits swirled at his feet. How could he sleep now of all times? He was quaking with horror, his mind was brimming with images of carnage.
“I have you, lean back.”
Haodrim was standing behind him, his hands outstretched to brace Pendaran’s neck and the small of his back as he fell. Silken sheets and a goose down mattress greeted him as he lay gasping on his back. Haodrim drew blankets over him and adjusted a pillow behind his head.
“Sleep, my friend, and dream of our escape.”
His eyes grew heavy and he remarked that he did not recognize this place. If there were walls, they were hidden in shadow. Inexplicably Haodrim now held a lantern and its light glistened over the rich brocade of his robes. Haodrim was sending him away into nothingness.
“No!” he cried.
“Sleep, my friend. The sooner you succumb the sooner we’ll be free.”
Pendaran tried to get up, knowing only that he had to leave that shadowy corner of Haodrim’s mind. He understood now, they were one. Haodrim uttered a mantra, the soft patter of words soothing, overpowering. He was focusing, smoothing away distractions such as Pendaran’s pointless struggles.
“Please, Haodrim, I can cooperate, this is not necessary.”
“Oh, but it is. I cannot afford to let you interfere this time. This time you are doing as you are told.”
The blankets grew heavy, pushing down until he could hardly breathe. He looked on in mute horror as the Margonite lifted up the lantern and pinched out its flame.
“Good night.”
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