“That would seem most logical.” Krasus returned, dipping his head slightly to accent his agreement.
“A powerful one,” muttered the elf.
“Also logical.”
“Then, if so,” continued the elven mage, “who? One among us? A renegade? Surely a wizard of this
ability would be known to us!”
The younger woman leaned toward the image. “I don't recognize his face.”
“Hardly surprising,” retorted her elder counterpart. “When each of us could wear a thousand masks
ourselves . . .”
Lightning flashed through Krasus, going unnoticed by him. “A formal announcement will take place in
two weeks. After that, unless one of the other monarchs changes his mind, this Lord Prestor will be
crowned king a month later.”
“We should lodge a protest.”
“A start. However, what we really need to do, I think, is to find out the truth about this Lord Prestor,
search into every crevice and tomb and discover his past, his true calling. We dare not confront him
openly until then, for he surely has the backing of every member of the Alliance but us.”
The elder woman nodded. “And even we cannot face the combined might of the other kingdoms, should
they find us too much of a nuisance.”
“No, we cannot.”
Krasus dismissed the image of Prestor with a wave of his hand, but the young noble's countenance had
already been burned into the minds of each of the Kirin Tor. Through silence, they agreed on the
importance of this quest.
“I must depart again,” Krasus said. “I suggest all of you do as I and think hard on this dire matter.
Follow all trails, no matter how obscure and impossible, but follow them swiftly. If the throne of Alterac
is filled by this enigma, I suspect that the Alliance will not long stand firm, however of one mind its rulers
presently are.” He took a breath. “And I fear that Dalaran may fall with the rest if that happens.”
“Because of this one man?” the bearded wizard spouted.
“Because of him, yes.”
And as the rest pondered his words, Krasus vanished again—
—to rematerialize in his sanctum, still shaken by what he had discovered. Guilt wracked him, for Krasus
had not been entirely truthful with his counterparts. He knew— or rathersuspected—far more about this
mysterious Lord Prestor than he had let on to the others. He wished that he could have told them
everything, yet not only would they have questioned his sanity, but even if they had believed him, it might
only have served to reveal too much about himself and his methods.
He could ill afford to do that at this desperate juncture.
May they act as I hope they will.Alone in his darkened sanctum, Krasus dared at last pull back his hood.
A single dim light with no visible source offered the only illumination in the chamber, and in its soft glow
stood revealed a handsome, graying man with angular features treading near the cadaverous. Black,
glittering eyes hinted of even more age and weariness than the rest of the visage. Three long scars
traveled side by side down the right cheek, scars that, despite their age, still throbbed with some pain.
The master wizard turned his left hand over, revealing the gloved palm. Atop that palm suddenly
materialized a sphere of light blue. Krasus passed his other hand over the sphere and immediately images
formed within. He leaned back to observe those images, a high stone chair sliding into place behind him.
Once more Krasus observed the palace of King Terenas. The regal stone structure had served the
monarchs of the realm for generations. Twin turrets rising several stories flanked the main edifice, a gray,
stately structure like a miniature fortress. The banners of Lordaeron flew prominently not only from the
turrets, but the gated entrance as well. Soldiers clad in the uniforms of the King's Guard stood station
outside the gates, with several members of the Knights of the Silver Hand on duty within. Under normal
conditions, the paladins would not have been a part of the defense of the palace, but with some minor
matters still to be discussed by the various monarchs visiting, clearly the trustworthy warriors were
needed now.
Again the wizard passed his other hand over the sphere. To the left of the vision of the palace emerged
the picture of an inner chamber. Staring at it, the wizard brought the chamber into better view.
Terenas and his youthful protégé. So, despite the end of the summit and the other rulers' imminent
departures, Lord Prestor still remained with the king. Krasus felt a great temptation to try to probe the
mind of the ebonyclad aristocrat, but thought better of it. Let the others attempt that likely impossible
feat. One such as Prestor would no doubt expect such incursions and deal with them promptly. Krasus
did not want to reveal his hand just yet.
However, if he dared not probe the thoughts of the man, at least he could research his background . . .
and where better to start that than at the chateau where the regal refugee had taken up residence under
the king's protection? Krasus waved one hand over the sphere and a new image formed, that of the
building in question, as viewed from far away. The wizard studied it for a moment, seeing and detecting
nothing of consequence, then sent his magical probe closer.
As his probe neared the high wall surrounding the building, a minor spell, much minor than he had
expected, briefly prevented his entry. Krasus readily sidestepped the spell without setting it off. Now his
view revealed the very exterior of the chateau, a rather morbid place despite its elegant facade. Prestor
evidently believed in keeping a neat house, but not necessarily a pleasant one. Not at all a surprise to the
mage.
A quick search revealed yet another defensive spell, this one more elaborate yet still nothing Krasus
could not circumnavigate. With one deft gesture, the angular figure once more bypassed Prestor's
handiwork. Another moment and Krasus would be inside, where he could—
His sphere blackened.
The blackness spread beyond the edges of the sphere.
The blacknessreachedfor the wizard. Krasus threw himself from the chair. Tentacles of purest night enveloped the stone seat, pouring over it
as they would have the mage himself. As Krasus came to his feet, he watched the tentacles pull
away—leaving no trace of the chair behind.
Even as the first tentacles reached for him, more sprouted from what remained of the magical orb. The
mage stumbled back, for one of the few times in his life momentarily startled into inaction. Then, recalling
himself, Krasus muttered words not heard by another living soul in several lifetimes, words he himself had
never uttered, only read with fascination.
A cloud sparkled into life before him, a cloud that thickened like cotton. It immediately flowed toward
the seeking tentacles, meeting them in midair.
The first tentacles to touch the soft cloud crumbled, turning to ash that faded even as it touched the floor.
Krasus let out an exhalation of relief—then watched in horror as the second set of tentacles enshrouded
his counterspell.
“It cannot be . . .” he muttered, eyes wide. “It cannot be!”
As the others had done to the chair, these ebony limbs now took in the cloud, absorbed it,devouredit.
Krasus knew what he faced. Only theEndless Hunger,a spell forbidden, acted so. He had never
witnessed its casting before, but any who had studied the arts as long as he had would have recognized
its foul presence. Yet, something had been changed, for the counterspell he had chosen should have been
the one to end the threat. For a minute it had seemed to . . . and then a sinister transformation had
occurred, a shifting in the dark spell's essence. Now the second set of tentacles came at him, and Krasus
did not immediately know how to stop them from adding him to their meal.
He considered fleeing the chamber, but knew that the monstrous thing would simply continue after him
no matter where in the world Krasus might hide. That had been part of theEndless Hunger's special
horror; its relentless pursuit generally wore the victim down until he simply gave up.
No, Krasus had to put a stop to it here and now.
One incantation remained that might do the work. It would drain him, leave him useless for days, but it
did have the potential to rid Krasus of this dire threat.
Of course, it also could kill him as readily as Lord Prestor's trap would.
He threw himself aside as one tentacle reached out. No more time to weigh matters. Krasus had only
seconds to formulate the spell. Even now theHungermoved to cut him off, to envelop him whole.
The words which the elder mage whispered would have sounded to the ordinary person like the
language of Lordaeron spoken backwards, with the wrong syllables emphasized. Krasus carefully
pronounced each, knowing that even one slip due to his predicament meant utter oblivion for him. He
thrust out his left hand toward the reaching blackness, trying to focus on the very midst of the expanding
horror.
The shadows moved swifter than he had thought possible. As the last few words fell from his tongue, the
Hungercaught him. A single, slim tentacle wrapped itself around the third and fourth fingers of his
outstretched hand. Krasus felt no pain at first, but before his eyes those fingers simply faded, leaving
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