"Don't touch me. I have invoked a simple burning spell to illuminate the darkness. I find it less bothersome than carrying a torch." He turned his hand this way and that, admiring it. "It makes a vivid impression, don't you agree?"

"Yes, certainly…" Delbridge stepped back and eyed him warily in the light of the unnatural fire.

Delbridge saw that this was Balcombe, the wizard he had met the day before, Lord Curston's adviser. Standing this close, Delbridge realized he had to look up at Balcombe, as the man was taller than average. He wore a long, shiny red cape and hood with a black lining over powerful, broad shoulders. The cape was fastened with a large gem brooch. The wizard's facial skin seemed almost translucent and paper-thin, blue veins pulsing beneath the unnaturally smooth surface, like the flesh of a ripe honey dew melon. Unlike the day before, he wore a dark red, embroidered silk patch over his right eye.

Smiling slightly to himself at Delbridge's discomfort, the man blew out the flames and then, with his hand still smoking, drew forth a slim wand from the depths of his cape. With a whispered command, a dim light grew from within the wand until it cast a soft illumination across the room.

"That was an interesting tale you told yesterday," Balcombe said conversationally in his even baritone voice.

"Thank you. I'm delighted you thought so," Delbridge said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me why I've been imprisoned, then."

The mage folded his arms beneath the sleeves of his robe and rocked back on his heels. "All in good time. Your story made a great impression on Lord Curston. How did you come by your information?"

Sensing an opportunity for salvation and self-promotion, Delbridge's fear and uncertainty faded, but did not disappear entirely. He straightened to his full if unimposing height of five feet, two inches. "It was an authentic vision of the future. I told you, I am an oracle, a seer. If my ability has earned me a position on the court, I must assert that I do not like the way you deliver the news. In fact, I may have to reconsider my interest in the position-or at the very least revise my salary expectations." Delbridge waved his arms to indicate the surroundings. "This little charade, obviously meant to test my mettle, is not the least bit amusing."

"It is meant neither as a test nor any type of amusement."

The mage's voice had the timbre of heavy iron doors clanging shut. Balcombe began to pace slowly, calmly, the hem of his robe making a gentle "swish-swish" sound against the cold stone floor. He stopped and considered Delbridge over steepled fingertips pressed contemplatively to his lips.

"Omardicar… I'm not familiar with the name. You aren't from this area, are you?"

Delbridge shook his head. "I only came to Castle Tantallon to offer my services to Lord Curston. I'm from-" Delbridge remembered his ignominious departure from Thelgaard Keep-"let's just say I travel a lot."

"A nobleman's son abducted and imprisoned somehow, spirited away to face an overwhelming evil, his family left in sorrow and bereavement… Such a tragic fate." Balcombe fished something from one of his pockets and toyed with it in his palm. "Is that everything you know, or did you see something more in that 'vision'?"

Delbridge did not like being reminded of the revelation, and his shoulders slumped again. "No. I told you everything." He certainly did not like the turn the conversation was taking.

The prisoner's eyes narrowed. He decided to try one last time to learn what was going on. "I seem to be answering a lot of questions on the basis of very little information. I don't even know why I'm here. Why should I tell you anything?"

The mage fiddled absently with his wand and the other object in his hand, which Delbridge realized was a large blue gem. Then Balcombe turned to face Delbridge directly. "You should tell me what I ask, because I am the person who has been sent to interview you. If you satisfy my legal and professional curiosity, I can arrange your release from this cell. If you do not-if, instead, you create more questions or raise disturbing doubts about your intentions or motives-then you could find yourself staying here for a very, very long time." Leaning close to Delbridge, he added, "Or, even worse, a very, very short time."

The mage straightened, his expression noncommittal. "In either event, I think, perhaps, you do know why you are here. I will tell you anyway, to be sure we are both discussing the same thing."

He paced, worrying the blue gem between thumb and forefinger. 'This morning, when we opened Squire Rostrevor's room, it was empty. The squire was gone, vanished without a trace. With the guards and my magical protections in place, nothing I know of could have entered or exited that room undetected. Yet the squire was removed."

Delbridge's eyes were buggy with surprise. His worst fear had been realized: Squire Rostrevor had been abducted, and he was to blame.

The one-eyed mage stopped before Delbridge. "Only someone who knew about our plan could have executed such a bold infiltration."

Delbridge shivered uncontrollably. He'd foreseen tragedy for someone else and was now becoming its victim.

These melancholy thoughts were interrupted by Balcombe's smooth baritone. "You, of course, are very badly implicated. If you tell me what has become of the squire and how the crime was carried out, your execution will be merciful."

"Execution!" The threat of death wakened Delbridge like a slap in the face. "I had nothing to do with that boy's disappearance! I didn't even know Lord Curst on had a son until yesterday at my audience. How could I have kidnapped him? Why would I have kidnapped him?"

"That is precisely what I intend to find out."

Even through his panic, Delbridge could see that he was fighting a losing battle. Undoubtedly there was sorcery involved, something much darker than the bracelet. He had seen such witch-hunts before. If this went the way he feared, the less evidence anyone could find against him, the guiltier he would look. At the same time, he dared not say anything that could be interpreted as a confession or an admission of guilt.

"Your grace, I beg you to consider what you're accusing me of. If I was involved, why would I have announced my intention to commit the crime beforehand?"

Balcombe carefully wedged his illuminating wand into a crack in the wall, then grasped the gem between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. He held it up so the light from his wand could refract from it, spilling tiny motes across the cell walls. "A gem in the wild is an odd thing. Have you ever seen one?"

Delbridge shook his head apathetically, and Balcombe continued. "They look nothing like the finished beauties we value so much. Rough, dark, shapeless. An untrained eye would readily discard a priceless gem as a worthless rock.

"But the trained eye, the eye that is wise in the ways of gems, sees the innocent-looking rock for what it is, however much it tries to hide its nature." He dropped the gem to his right palm and snapped his fingers over it. Delbridge vaguely recalled noticing that the man had no thumb on his right hand. "Like an uncut gem, the motives of evil persons are never clear or straightforward."

"How could I have spirited away Curston's son?" squealed Delbridge. "I'm no mage. I could never have overcome your magic."

"Come now," Balcombe replied in his most condescending tone, "we are not fools. Surely you had accomplices in this. If you do not wish to confess yourself, simply give me their names. Your cooperation will be considered when sentence is handed down."

"I am innocent!" screamed Delbridge, collapsing against the stone wall. "How can I defend myself? If I admit guilt, then you will believe me and I'm doomed. If I say I'm innocent, you tell me I'm lying. Why are you even here? To torment me? I've done nothing wrong!"