"So fascinating!" Drognan burst out when Norrec had finished, completely oblivious to the agony he had just forced the veteran to relive. "So vivid! It must be truth!"

"What… must be?"

"You actually saw the tomb! The true Arcane Sanctuary! I'm certain of it!"

If he expected Norrec to share in his delight, the wrinkled mage had to have been disappointed. Not only did the soldier not believe that what he had seen could be real… but if such a place could exist, Norrec wanted no part of it. After Bartuc's lair, the notion of entering the crypt of his hated brother chilled the otherwise steadfast fighter. He had suffered nothing but misery and terror since this had all begun; Norrec only desired to be free of the enchanted armor.

He said as much to Drognan, who replied, "You will have that chance, Vizharan… if you are willing to face the nightmare one more time."

Somehow, Norrec found himself not at all surprised that this would be the sorcerer's response. Both Bartuc and Drognan shared the history of a culture focused much on ambition regardless of the consequences. The Empire of Kehjistan had been founded on that principle and the Vizjerei, its backbone, had delved into demon summoning as a method by which to garner power over all others. Only when those demons had turned upon them had they willingly given up that course-and even these days there existed stories of corrupt Vizjerei who had turned again to the forces of Hell for their might.

Even Fauztin had, at times, hinted of a willingness to take steps beyond what his craft would have deemed safe. However, Norrec liked to believe that his friend would have been less inclined than Drognan to force another to suffer such horrific nightmares not once, but twice-and all for simple gain.

Yet, what choice did the soldier have now? Only Drognan kept the cursed suit from running off with Norrec to who knew what new monstrous destiny…

He gazed around at the multitude of books and scrollsgathered over the years by the elderly Vizjerei. Norrec suspected that they represented only a part of Drognan's storehouse of knowledge. The sorcerer had kept him to this one chamber, but surely hid some of his other secrets from the fighter. Truly, if anyone could free him, the Vizjerei could-but only if Norrec proved willing to pay the price.

Again, what other choice did he have?

"All right! Do what you must… and do it soon! I want an end to this!" Yet, even as he said it, Norrec knew that there would never be an end to the horrible guilt he felt.

"Of course." Drognan turned from him, reaching for another massive tome. He perused the pages for a few moments, nodded to himself, then shut the book. "Yes, that should do it."

"Do what?"

Replacing the book, the mage answered, "Despite the enmities between them, Bartuc and Horazon are forever bound together, even in death. That the suit has brought you here to Lut Gholein shows that bond remains strong even after all this time." He frowned. "And your bond with the armor is nearly as great. An unexpected plus, I might add, but one I find myself curious about. Perhaps after this is over, I shall make a study of it."

"You still haven't told me what you want to do," reminded the veteran, not wanting Drognan to become distracted again. He vaguely understood what the sorcerer had said about the bond between the brothers and how the suit had a link to that, but the rest made no sense to him and Norrec did not wish to pursue it any farther. His own connection with the armor had begun with entering Bartuc's tomb and would end when Drognan helped him strip the metal from his body. After that, the Vizjerei could do what he wanted with the suit- preferably melting it down to make farm tools or some other such harmless items.

"This time I will cast a spell that should enable us to find the actual physical location of the tomb, which I have always believed might very well be under the city!" Drognan's eyes lit up at the possibility. "It will require you to go back into the dream… but this time you will do so in a waking state."

"How can I dream if I'm awake?"

The mage rolled his eyes. "Preserve me from the uninitiated! Norrec Vizharan, you shall dream while awake because of my spell. Rest assured that you need to know nothing more."

With great reluctance, the weary fighter nodded. "All right, then! Let's get it done!"

"The preparations will take but a few moments…"

Coming closer, the elderly Vizjerei used the tip of his staff to draw a circle around the chair. At first Norrec saw nothing of interest in this, but the moment Drognan completed the circle, it suddenly flared to life, glowing a furious yellow and pulsating over and over. Again, the fighter would have jumped out of the chair if not for the warning glance his host gave him. In an attempt to calm down, Norrec reminded himself of the ultimate goal of all of this-freedom. Surely he could face whatever Drognan might put him through for that.

The sorcerer muttered something, then reached out with his left hand to touch Norrec's forehead. The soldier felt a slight jolt, but nothing more.

With his finger, Drognan began drawing symbols in the air, symbols that flashed into and out of existence each time he finished one. Norrec caught only glances of each, although at least one reminded him of one of the wards he had seen in Bartuc's tomb. That made him more wary again, but the time for retreat had already passed and he knew that he had to face whatever resulted from the spellcasting.

"Shazari… Shazari Tomei…"

Norrec's entire body stiffened, almost as if the armor had once more taken control. However, the veteran soldier knew that it could not be that, for Drognan had long ago proven his mastery over the enchanted suit. No, it had to be just another part of the spell.

"Tomei!" the silver-haired mage cried, raising his spell staff high above his head. Despite his advanced years, he looked more terrible, more powerful, than any man Norrec had ever met, even on the battlefield. A white, crackling aura surrounded the Vizjerei, causing Drognan's beard and hair to fluttered about almost as if with a life of their own. "Shazari Saruphi!"

Norrec gasped as his body shook violently. A force pushed him hard against the chair. The mage's sanctum suddenly receded from him with such speed it made the fighter dizzy. Norrec felt as if he floated, although neither his arms nor his legs could move at all.

An emerald haze formed before him, a haze with a vaguely circular shape to it. Far, far away, Norrec heard Drognan shout something else, but it seemed drawn out and unintelligible, as if for the Vizjerei time had slowed to a crawl and even sound could move no swifter than a snail.

The haze refined itself, forming a perfect circle now. The emerald mist within that circle then dissipated-and as it did, an image, a place, formed within.

The crypt.

But something about its appearance immediately troubled Norrec. Details seemed altered, incorrect in many ways. The Vizjerei skeletons now wore elaborate armor instead of robes and appeared not to be true dead, but rather cleverly carved from stone. The massive cobwebs gave way instead to tattered tapestries depicting magical creatures such as dragons, rocs, and more. Even the symbol of the brothers' clan had transformed, now a vast bird clutching in its talons the sun.

Norrec tried to say something, but his voice did not work. Once more, though, he heard the painfully belabored words of Drognan. The mage sounded farther away than before.

Suddenly, the image of the crypt receded. Faster and faster it rushed away from Norrec. Although he still sat in the chair, it felt to the fighter as if he ran backwards through the musty corridors leading to Horazon's tomb. Row upon row of statue darted in front of Norrec, vanishing as quickly as the crypt had. Although most faces appeared as little more than blurs, some few he recognized, but not as those from the warlord's dark past. Instead, they were faces from Norrec's own life-Sadun Tryst, Fauztin, Norrec's first commander, some of the women he had loved, and even Captain Casco. A few he did not recognize at all, including a pale but attractive young woman with hair the color of night and eyes so arresting not only for their exotic curve, but for the simple fact that they gleamed silver.