“What do you mean, you ‘haven’t got her?’ the creature roared in fury, jumping from his black monstrosity of a throne. “She was in the castle, was she not?” his voice was rising dangerously. The old spell-caster groveled on the floor, whining a pitiful excuse -something about the Golden Scepter awakening, a powerful sorceress and the sabotage of a hundred unseen knights.

The creature leaned down over the whimpering huddle of rags, blocking the light with his monstrous shadow. “You miserable maggot,” he growled, “you have one week to capture that queen,” his voiced dropped even deeper, menacing. “If, by that time, she is not bound before me, you will be dead and I will find someone worthier to take your place!”

The old wizard gulped as a sharp talon tore deep into his jaw line and bulging fiery eyes burned into his. A trickle of blood traced a red line down his face. He sobbed.“Yes, your majesty, yes…” When the master’s attention was turned elsewhere, he crawled away, nursing his cheek, grateful that he was still alive.

A pool of rippling light shimmered above Lyla, piercing the darkness in which she lay. She watched the colors dancing distantly, lacking the strength to reach out. The lights dimmed and darkness enveloped her once again.

“You puny wench,” Rachelle mocked. “You’re just a broken girl – no mother, no father… you are nothing.” The sting of her slap threw Lyla’s head back. She could taste the funny metal taste of blood in her mouth. Then Rachelle was gone. A long brown coffin was marched down the broad street in a grim procession. Lyla watched fearfully. Dala smiled a strange smile to somebody behind her, “Take her with you, then. I do not like to slay innocents, regardless of how dangerous they might be. Go on, take her!” She turned regally away, the train of her skirt bringing the heavy darkness.

She was flying, high above the world, seeing the forest spread like a quilt below her. She could see the dome of Castlebury below her and, far away, the jewel-bright snaked line of the shoreline. Voices mingled above her, mumbling, hands groping, dripping cold unwelcome water over her lips… And then she was falling… falling… tumbling through wind currents, the wicked pointed treetops rushing ever closer…

Rachelle fumbled impatiently at the golden scepter. It seemed impossible to her. Nothing was changed, nothing was working at all. But, she remembered. The entire castle had told her exactly the same story. The wand-bearer had worked the wand, and it had great power! There was nothing that Rachelle hated so much at this moment as Lyla Uverost. Well, she supposed, she mostly hated the fact that she couldn’t simply dispose of Lyla right away. She had to find out her secret! Rachelle tapped the rod against her hand, cursing at the scattering of gray dust that fell from the wand, soiling her palm and spilling over the carpeted floor of her chambers. She would just have to force Lyla to share her secret – after all, Rachelle was queen! It was her right to possess and use the Golden Scepter. And if Lyla wouldn’t share, Rachelle knew a certain gaoler who was very adept at extorting information. The young queen, her course set, swept from the room. The wand-bearer had slept long enough, she decided.