Fantasy Best Seller "Rage of Night": Chapter 3

Noklore shook his head in frustration.

"No, putting the Grand Wizard in stasis will only prolong the inevitable. There is nothing that can aid him. I sincerely wish there were, but I have to face the reality that is, not the one I would wish for.

"The Cial Formor is irreversible. It was designed so that there can be no counter. In over a thousand years, it has never been done. He will die."

The Council Hall fell quiet as the grave while the assembled Lords considered the young Necromancer's words. Rightfully, it was his uncle's place to present this information to them; however, he was the very man whose fate was being deliberated.

It was a grim blow for the Kingdom, already under the shadow of the bloodiest civil war in the realm's history. Now the Grand Wizard himself had been struck down by an assassin, here, in the literal heart of the Kingdom.

To make matters worse, the assassin had so far evaded all attempts at capture. Even Noklore had heard the whispers among the servants this morning: the King could no longer keep them safe.

The people were afraid, which was the assassin's purpose. The death of the Grand Wizard was trivial compared to the terror the event itself would unleash. It was only a matter of time before the citizens of Zenathea would riot. Or worse.

Noklore bowed to the Council, and stepped out of the Hall. Matters were all the more critical because Noklore's father, King Kelgrave, already had his hands full dealing with the surprising progress of the insurgency.

Now the King's attention was divided between his goals of saving the Kingdom and saving his brother. This morning, as a pall of despair settled over the palace, it seemed that both causes were doomed.

Noklore burst into the royal apartments, his face set with an expression that would send a thunderhead fleeing. He stalked to the side of his uncle's bed, dismissing the flock of healers and clergymen with a wave.