Maguleth stood in the Daghaivans’ study, none too pleased, and none too forgiving, as he looked through the red-tinted water of the scrying bowl, at the treacherous councilman Armstrun’s cringing face.

“Do you think I’m going to let everything I’ve built for the last 50 of your miserable human years, be torn away by some sword-swinging wench?!” he whispered, in a voice as cold as death.  “Who is this girl?”

“Fawnlum Lichner, of the Coast of Storms!”  Armstrun grimaced, through his pain over their psychic connection.  “The Dragon Smasher!”

Maguleth calmed, and drew back from the bowl for a moment.  He composed himself, then more calmly asked, “How many other Coastals does she have with her?”

“Six!  And one youth from some other land, I don’t know where.  He walks with her as a wizard.”

“The youth’s powers – – are they great?”

“No!  Her Coastal wizard is much more powerful, according to your agent.”

“And what happened at your sudden meeting this night?”

“Lichner and Ironvein told of all they had found!  With such a threat hovering so close, we all voted to petition Humboldt for help, and the letter has already been sent to Henbrace.”

“Are you exposed?”

“No.  But Daws is.  I sent him a message – “

“Good.  Keep playing your role.”

Then Maguleth ended the spell, and slowly turned away.

“You didn’t kill him?” Puddlence asked, as he and Pouzelle were the only other Daghaivan present.

“Quiet,” the lich absently said, as he started to pace around the room, thoughtfully scratching his bony chin.

To think, he said to himself, the ladylove of the Blood of Wintermore.

Here, of all places!

He raced through the possibilities in his mind.

The magic that guarded the shroom-doors was conceived in his god Hkoshiktay’s realm, with no ties to the Grand Lattice.  No other magic in this mortal plane should be able to affect it.

The only magic that could do that, was one capable of working by its own rules, outside the influences of the Lattice, or any realm the gods tread.

He leaned against a doorjamb and paused, as one conclusion after another raced through his mind.

The Blood of Wintermore must have learned to share his power somehow, and the raiding party had used it.

If the magic in Baneck Lichner could overcome those spells, then maybe he could realize his ultimate goal, outside his obligation to his master.

“How is our schedule?” he asked.

“With the Daghaivan you brought from the northern base to supplement those lost, we’ll recover.  But of course, with the imminent arrival of Humboldt forces, we’ll lose the advantage of surprise.”

The lich looked at him with his eyeless sockets, and asked more pointedly, “What have you done since the raid, now that the damage is done?”

Puddlence straightened his shoulders, and practically beamed.  “I threw all but a handful of the Druntuss into the Slime.  The influx of life-force has helped the master spell recover.”

“Then it’s time to help it recover even more,” Maguleth said, without hesitation.

He looked right at the wet wizard.

“I’ll add my strength to the casting.  We’ll perform the final spell early.  All their efforts will be for naught, and our Lord Hkoshiktay will have his revenge on the elven god.”

Puddlence and Pouzelle looked at each other.  The snake-woman flicked her forked tongue in delight.  Puddlence looked back at his superior with echoing pleasure.