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and listen.’
    Moments later, terrified, penetrating screams erupted beyond the walls of the guest hall and echoed throughout the fortress. The screams quickly merged with the shouts of men and the clatter of boots running. The Preceptor made for the door, but his guest seized his arm and said, ‘No.’ There was the sound of wood being smashed and splintered, followed by fresh screams and the clang of weapons.
    â€˜Stay here until I declare it safe outside, Preceptor,’ the guest warned, releasing the Preceptor’s arm.
    â€˜What have you done?’ demanded the Preceptor, wide-eyed with alarm.
    â€˜I have provided a seal to our contract. You have just lost an Adept 9 and gained an Adept 12, Preceptor – me. You now depend upon me, but you will find that it is not such a bad thing.’
    High above them a much bloated blue globe slipped back between the tiles and descended slowly. The Adept 12 reached out and caressed its surface, and the coils writhed about his hand, then spread up his arm and neck. They crackled about his lips and nostrils for a few heartbeats and slowly dispersed into his body.
    Someone began pounding on the door of the Preceptor’s guest hall and the Preceptor opened it to admit his battered Captain of the Watch. The officer’s helmet was scored with what might have been claw marks. His leather scale armour was charred, and was still smoking in places.
    Something had killed the Preceptor’s Adept 9, the captain reported; something that had ripped the manapart and flung the pieces all over the benches and shelves of his alchemorium. A squad of guards had broken down the door and found a swirl of orange-green clinging to a silvery globe with spiked tendrils. It was apparently eating it.
    The guardsmen had been foolish enough to try to engage the apparition, but it fought them off with a ruthless, virulent ferocity. The orange-green predator spat fire and clawed through steel with its spiked tendrils; it seemed like a lion defending its kill. Five guards had died before it had completely absorbed the silvery thing, then it suddenly faded into the air itself and was gone, leaving not so much as a wisp of smoke.
    The Preceptor wrung his hands as he listened, his head bowed and his brow furrowed.
    â€˜The fool, he warned me that he was setting up for a dangerous invocation,’ admitted the Preceptor regretfully when the captain had finished. ‘All right then, fetch my trainee Adept 7 from the town and bring him here to the fortress. Send him to the alchemorium to clean up any lingering focus points and enchantment vortices.’
    When the captain had gone and the door was closed again the Preceptor turned to his guest.
    â€˜You are a dangerous man,’ the Preceptor said slowly, shaking with fear yet defiant. ‘Such men eventually meet even more dangerous men, then perish.’
    The big man gave a little gesture of deprecation and smiled benignly. ‘I am an Adept 12, so your mage’s death was no great victory.’
    Beads of sweat meandered down the Preceptor’s face. ‘If you will be my Adept I can pay –’
    â€˜Not so fast, Preceptor. I do not work for money.’
    â€˜What then?’
    â€˜I would be inclined to defend and protect you as my partner . Do we have a partnership?’
    The Preceptor flicked a drop of sweat from the point of his beard. ‘What do you want in return?’
    â€˜I have already told you: the use of your best lancers for some weeks and the obliteration of some difficult and troublesome people who must be killed with discretion. I also want five fast privateers for a strike deep into Hamatriol that I shall make with the two hundred best lancers of your personal guard.’
    â€˜What? Hamatriol? It’s two weeks’ voyage from here, and it’s landlocked behind Gratz.’
    â€˜Yes. We’ll have to ride and fight our way across Gratz first.’
    The Preceptor pressed