Being an account of love, the thirst for power, and the conflict thereof.

The Rescue

Mozenrath sank weakly against the cold, wet stone of the dungeon, unwilling to allow so much as a whimper to escape his lips, despite the incredible pain he was in. Logically, he knew it was time to accept defeat. His gauntlet, the sole source of his powers, was somewhere near the center of the earth, having been transported there by Aladdin’s infernal genie. He had no way to get it back, and like it or not, there was no way he could escape two legions of guards without magic. There were at least that many at the door of his cell, and an additional hundred securing the perimeter of the dungeon. That, of course, was a complete waste of manpower. Mozenrath was not a jail-breaker. He had virtually no skills outside of magic. There was no chance he was going to get free with only physical abilities to work with.

Once upon a time he might have managed something... but that time was long, long passed.

Mozenrath squirmed within the chains that bound him, forbidding him a position that even came close to comfort. They were rusted along the edges, but very thick, very strong. Very heavy. The rust cut through his silk robes, no longer immune to damage, and into his pale skin. What little he could see in the pale streaks of light was blurry and obscured. His muscles were strained, his arms and legs bruised, and a thin stream of dried blood ran from the left corner of his mouth to his chin. He'd had no rest since Aladdin had left him here; the pain was too great.

And he was reeling from hunger and thirst. He knew from the thin lines of light just above his head that two days and a night had passed, and he had been given nothing. Not that he was foolish enough to expect it.

So, that about summed it up. He was helpless and cold, hurt and tired, hungry and thirsty. He was captured, he was alone, and whether they left him in here to starve or sentenced him to execution, he was going to die. Mozenrath knew better than to expect any peace in death. He was too intelligent to expect mercy from his captors. But some belligerent ember still burned in his dark soul; he would not die meekly, nor would he show fear when faced with his fate. When he fell, he would fall with a roar of defiance and a glare of strength.

The door of his cell creaked open... the first real light he had seen in two days. Silhouetted against it was a surly, masked guard. That was all Mozenrath needed to see.

Ravyn watched from her perch atop one of the palace’s towers as Mozenrath was led the executioner’s block, ignoring the high altitude wind that played with her sun-bleached hair. He looked younger in person, though certainly no less handsome. Ravyn had been watching him in her mirror for years, but she had only chanced to be now where he needed her.

Mozenrath’s silken robes were now little more than rags, his posture betrayed the terrible strain those chains must be, his eyes narrowed in an intense glare. Ravyn’s keen eyes perceived each cut, each bruise, each subtle, disguised limp. He had been uncared for and shamefully maltreated, even for a prisoner, and now this.

Ravyn made a formidable leap from her tower top to the top of the scaffold; a good twenty meters at least, but child’s play for one with the powers of a raven.

::Is he the one you want?:: said a deceptively soft, musical voice directly in Ravyn’s mind.

::Yes, Vyxen, yes,:: she replied to the tiny air-nymph that came and went as she would. Vyxen’s ability to mind-speak was formidable and useful, and she could bestow the power on whomever she pleased. Vyxen’s favorite human was Ravyn, and she could often be found in the form of a silver-winged red fox, perched upon Ravyn’s shoulder or arm. Vyxen was small, her blue eyes were bright and large, and she had a sweet voice, but her magic was great, and she was a match for all of the Seven Deserts.

::I don't like him,:: said the nymph after a moment. ::He looks weak and bitter.::

::He’s hurt and starving,:: Ravyn replied. ::And I do like him. He’s handsome and witty, and I'm going to get him out of there whether you help me or not.::

::You're going to rescue him in front of all these people!?!:: Vyxen exclaimed, sounding positively giddy at the prospect.

Ravyn grinned at her little friend and remained silent as stone as Mozenrath was led... or rather, manhandled... to his imminent death at the block. Two surly men pushed him to his knees and held him there, another lifted a brightly polished sword.

Ravyn and Vyxen both casually leaped from the scaffold and plummeted fifty feet to the unforgiving stone below. Vyxen sent a cloud of blue-green smoke that blinded the guards and cushioned their fall. Vyxen proceeded to raise merry havoc among the humans, leaving Ravyn free to search the spreading smoke for Mozenrath.

There! He was unconscious on the floor, just at her feet. The poor man must have fainted from exhaustion and hunger just as soon as he was on his knees. Ravyn lifted him easily, cradling him like a sleeping child. ::I have him, Vyxen!:: she called. ::Finish your fun and let’s be off!::

::Ravyn!:: Vyxen called frantically. ::There’s a hero behind you!::

Ravyn turned and sure enough, a tall young man with black hair, carelessly tousled despite his finery, and deep brown eyes stood with a blade in his hand. “Put him down,” he said threateningly.

Ravyn recognized the voice at once. “Aladdin. I should have anticipated you. We've never met, but I know all about you. Now I ask you, would you strike down an unarmed girl and an unconscious man... if I promised you he will not harm you or yours again if you let me go?”

Aladdin narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and looked from Ravyn to Mozenrath and back again. At the sight of Mozenrath’s utter helplessness, he faltered. Ravyn knew he was utterly incapable of doing harm to one who was defenseless. “Where would you take him?”

“To my home,” Ravyn answered. “Which you have no chance of finding. Have no fear; Mozenrath will not see his gauntlet ever again, for it is beyond even my power to retrieve.”

“Why are you taking him?” Aladdin demanded. “Why help an evil man? And how can I be sure I can trust you?”

::He has already known pain,:: Ravyn said, speaking directly to Aladdin’s mind so that he would see the full truth behind her words. ::I want to show him strength.::

Aladdin stood for a moment, stunned by Ravyn’s obvious power, than nodded mutely. “Take him, then,” he said at last. “I don't want him near my wife or the twins ever again.”

Ravyn smiled. Not only a hero, but a father as well. These types were notoriously simple in mind and motive, as easy to reassure as to manipulate. “Your children will not suffer from my being here, I assure you. Mozenrath can harm no one while under my care. I swear it.

“And thank you.” She turned to leave.

“Wait,” said Aladdin, his voice subdued. “Who are you?”

Ravyn faced Aladdin again. “Ravyn Mystique. That is my name, and my word of honor. Now that you have it, give it to no one but the one you trust most.”

Aladdin nodded again, somehow recognizing the seriousness of this promise. “I understand. Now, get him out of here. Keep him away from my family.”

“You have my word,” she reminded him. Then, with Mozenrath safely in wing, Ravyn flew for home.

Some hours later, Aladdin lay in his bed with Jasmine in his arms, trying to make sense to her what had happened. As far as anyone else knew, Mozenrath had disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Aladdin had done his best to assure them that things would be all right without giving too much away. But he felt he owed Jasmine, at least, the truth about how her children’s recent kidnapper had escaped justice.

“But how could you let this strange woman just take him?” she asked, not so much angry as concerned.

“She gave me her word he couldn't hurt us while in her care,” he replied honestly. “She used some kind of telepathic magic. I could hear more than just words. It was like I could hear... their subtler meanings, I guess.”

Jasmine gazed into her husband’s deep brown eyes. “What did she tell you?”

“She said, 'He has already known pain, I want to show him strength.’ I have no idea what she meant by 'pain,’ but I think 'strength’ meant healing, in a sense. Or something like it.” Aladdin shook his head. “I'm just not sure. I've never experienced anything like that.”

Jasmine remained silent and thoughtful for two or three long beats. Then she said softly, “I was in no mood to watch an execution today, anyway.”

Aladdin smiled sadly. “Neither was I.” He got out of bed and went over to the gold-trimmed cradle where his twin children lay sleeping peacefully, blissfully innocent and unaware of the world outside their dreams. “Our prince and princess are safe and healthy, and I intend to see that they remain that way.”

Jasmine rose to stand behind him, and wrapped his arms around his chest. “I love you. And I trust you. I know you'd never do anything that would endanger our children. If you say Mozenrath is secure with that woman, than he is.”

Aladdin smiled. That was all he needed to hear.

Chapter Two

Mozenrath Awakens

“Don't argue with me, Vyxen,” Ravyn said sternly, as she gently placed Mozenrath’s limp body in a bed of silken pillows and thick furs. “He stays here.”

Vyxen rolled her blue eyes in exasperation. “It’s one thing to save his life, Ravyn,” she said, “but do you really want to be responsible for him?”

“I gave my word,” Ravyn replied simply.

“To a hero,” Vyxen retorted. “A lousy human hero. No dreams, no ambitions...” The airborne fox hovered nose-to-nose with her mortal compatriot. “Ravyn... what makes you different from that world? What separates you from the everyday, good-versus-evil scenario? Think, Ravyn: You have more in common with me than you do your fellow man!” Vyxen made a few laps around Ravyn’s head as she made her little speech. “We're exceptional, Ravyn. We're not like them.”

“Precisely why I intend to keep my promise,” Ravyn said, undaunted. “Now watch over our guest while I see to his needs.”

“Care to explain that little comment?” Vyxen asked sharply.

“I want you to make sure he stays comfortable while I get him something to eat.”

“Not that comment, before that.”

Ravyn smiled coyly to her friend. “No, Vyxen. I don't care to explain that. Not to you. Please watch over him.” The blond-haired sorceress swept out of the room with all the grace that her name suggested.

“Humph,” coughed Vyxen, annoyed. “I am a nymph. I watch over whom I please, when I please.” But in spite of all, she settled down on a goose-down pillow by Mozenrath’s head, and her bright blue eyes did not leave his pale countenance.

***

Mozenrath awoke well before he opened his eyes. He wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but he was afraid to. His last memories... namely, being pushed to his knees to have his head lopped off by the surly Rasoul... well, they weren't encouraging. His senses had been dulled by something... exhaustion and hunger, most likely. The comforting throb of his gauntlet was gone, and would probably remain gone, leaving nothing but the cold exposure of his bones to the air around them.

Something touched his forehead, and it took a moment for him to realize it was the sensation of warm human skin. A voice spoke, the words muffled. The voice continued, and eventually it cleared to form the whispered syllables of his own name.

“Mozenrath...”

Finally, he forced his eyes open. His efforts were rewarded with a pale blue blur, stained at one place with a pale peach blur, topped with a golden blur. These last two blurs, he realized, must be a person leaning over him.

A small, high-pitched voice... much like the ringing of tiny silver bells... spoke directly next to his head. “I told you he was a weakling. The man can't even hold his own head up.”

Anger and nothing else was what brought sensibility back to Mozenrath. He sat up quickly, ignoring the combined protests of his back, his head, and his stomach. He strained for the owner of the voice who had challenged him, and was startled by a loud, musical laughter.

Someone behind him groaned. “Vyxen, if you're going to be a bothersome pain, be one elsewhere.”

Mozenrath turned around to see who else was in the room, but he wasn't able to because at that moment the room seemed to melt and spin.

“Easy, there,” said the voice, the one that seemed to be on his side. “Here. Drink this.”

A hand was placed behind his head and a cool glass cup at his lips. At the scent of the spiced wine, he suddenly realized how dry his throat was. He drank without preamble or argument.

Whatever the wine contained, it wasn't alcohol. Mozenrath’s vision cleared abruptly... a rather disorienting sensation in and of itself... and he founded himself looking into the softest green eyes he'd ever seen. Further examination revealed that thick, long, black lashes that stood out like wings against ashen skin framed them. Full lips of the palest pink were pressed into an anxious frown just above a slightly pointed chin. Thick blond locks that fell around her shoulders, barely held in place by a golden circlet, framed her heart-shaped face. A jewel-shaped ornament of fine black glass hung from the circlet, resting on her smooth forehead. She was beautiful and exotic, and she radiated concern.

Mozenrath was immediately suspicious.

“Who are you?” he asked, still weak.

Her face softened. “In a phrase, your savior,” she replied, smiling.

Mozenrath frowned, momentarily confused. He glanced down at his hands... hand... then back at the woman. “Then... I'm not...”

“Dead?” she finished, obviously amused. “No, no. But you were quite a chore to haul back here, Mozenrath.”

Mozenrath’s eyes widened. “How do you know my name?” he asked, startled and trying not to show it.

The woman smiled. “I've known your name for years. I've had my eye on you through my magic mirror, if you must know.”

Mozenrath did his best to glare, though the effort made his head swim. “Why risk your neck to save me?”

She smirked. “Who said I risked anything? Let’s just say I'm an admirer of your work.” She placed a hand on his chest and gently pushed him back down. He felt soft furs and silks beneath him, and drowsiness came over him like a blanket. He fought it, but that just seemed to amuse her even more. “You need to sleep,” she told him. He couldn't exactly argue with that. His eyes and head were telling him the same thing. “The drink I gave you will replenish most of the strength you lost when you lost your magic, but only with the proper rest. My servants will see to you when you awake.”

***

Vyxen shook her head. “You told that... that... hero... your name. Ravyn--”

“Look,” Ravyn interrupted as she busied herself about the kitchen. Of course, she could have had her little elementals do it for her, but she had been idle for far too long and she was starting to stiffen. And starting to become irritable. “Heroes... especially the human variety... are disgustingly pure. Aladdin wouldn't even think of breaking his promise; I saw it in his mind.”

“You mind-spoke with him?!” Vyxen cried.

::Quiet!:: Ravyn snapped. ::You trying to wake the undead?!::

::You know,:: Vyxen said, ::I thought you were smart, Ravyn. I really did. But even the Witches of the Sand would bat an eye at the risks you take.::

::Why do you say that?:: Ravyn asked, smiling. ::I'm part witch, aren't I?::

“That is entirely beside the point,” Vyxen said aloud, taking care not to shout. “You may be a Half-witch, but you're also half madman. And believe me, Ravyn, it shows.”

Ravyn frowned. “My father was not a madman. He was driven out of his mind by witches who didn't approve of Half-witches who were also half-human.”

“And you were imprisoned in a magical Void-Between-the-Worlds for thousands of years,” Vyxen reminded her. “The remains of which still show in your hair.”

Ravyn grinned and shook her head of sun-gold locks. “I know. Becoming, aren't they? I'm thinking of changing my eyes to blue.”

Vyxen rolled her eyes and groaned. “Ravyn, be serious for a moment. Have you not yet noticed the knack you have for getting yourself in trouble?”

Ravyn shrugged. “So I spend a few centuries in a magical void. I amass a great amount of wisdom and I outlive all the other Witches. What’s the big deal?”

“The point is not that you survived the more evil of your ancestors. The point is that if I hadn't caught sight of you all those years ago, you'd still be floating around in Happy-Go-Looney Land... and don't try to tell me you weren't suffering.”

Ravyn smiled, but secretly winced. The magical void that the Witches of the Void had banished her to had been a place removed from the human concept of time and space. It had been immense, it had been enclosed; it had been a moment, it had been centuries; it had been peaceful, it had been maddening.

In short, it had been hell.

“Your problem,” Vyxen continued, apparently not noticing Ravyn’s discomfort, “is that you have mountains of knowledge and wisdom, but no experience to go with it. You may be brilliant, but you're incredibly naïve.”

“That’s why you're here,” Ravyn teased. “To let me know when I'm about to do something stupid.”

“And look at the thanks I get,” Vyxen muttered. “Ignored, insulted, ordered around. You'd think I was your mindless lackey instead of the third most powerful nymph in the Spirit World.”

Ravyn giggled and stroked her friend’s sleek fur. “I love you, Vyx. And I don't love easily.”

::I know, Ray. I know,:: Vyxen replied. And because she was mind-speaking, she didn't need to say the words “I love you, too.”

Chapter Three

Black Glass, Black Glass

Ravyn glanced up at the halls of glass as she strolled gracefully back to the room where she had left Mozenrath, sleeping like a baby, wrapped in silks and furs. The glass had every appearance of being air-blown like the bottles and vases sold in Agrabah’s marketplace. As a matter of fact, Ravyn had called up quite a windstorm to get the effect she wanted with the glass. The tallest arches reached exactly 572 feet... far too high for architects to get to stand on their own: thus, the glass should be shattering under their weight. But Ravyn and Vyxen had spared no magical expense for their project, particularly not in a desert where magic flowed through the very air, permeating everything that breathed.

Ravyn beamed with pride. Her fortress was entirely fashioned of glass, yet it was indestructible. The leaders of the Seven Deserts, with all their armies, would not so much as be able to scratch it.

Unfortunately, Ravyn was not so invulnerable in the outside world, which was where many of her plans of conquest took her. Ravyn had a thirst for power that only a strong-willed woman of low birth could possibly understand. In a world where men... or privileged men... ruled, Ravyn was not in a position to climb any ladder of success. Being a half-witch did not help, either. Her powers had been non-existent, buried deep in her tortured human soul, until she met Vyxen.

From there, it had all been uphill. Each challenge greater than the last.

And on the other side of the black glass door just in front of her, lay sleeping her greatest challenge ever.

Mozenrath had all the requirements for a ruler, a conqueror. He just wasn't using them. Instead, he was using his pride. Getting him out of that particular rut and into his real potential was going to take time.

For real potential couldn't be met until scars had been removed.

Ravyn didn't even have to touch the door in front of her. Like Mozenrath’s renowned crystal lamps, the doors sensed Ravyn’s magic and knew instinctively to open for her. Their glass hinges swung easily, as though the 20-foot doors were no heavier than swan-feathers.

A tiny air-nymph, on of Vyxen’s fledglings, approached her with deference. This small one was not powerful enough yet to assume the shape of anything more complicated than a solid version of his true form, which was basically a glowing pink human male with sizable eyes and long flowing hair that concealed any clothing he might or might not have been wearing. All of Vyxen’s fledglings had been ordered to serve Ravyn faithfully, but this one... Tynee, she called him... was a favorite of Ravyn because of his absolute respect and adoration.

“My lady,” he said in a surprisingly human voice... not at all squeaky or nasal like those of the sprites... but more like a twelve-year-old boy with practice in diction. He spoke very clearly, with no trace of the nymphish accent Ravyn knew so well. “Lord Mozenrath has been tended to as you ordered.”

Ravyn began reciting the list of things she'd ordered done...more out of habit than lack of trust for the nymph’s efficiency... as she swept into Mozenrath’s room with Tynee hovering close behind her. “Wounds tended to?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Warm food and drink close at hand?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“New clothes made available?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Ravyn smiled. “Excellent,” she said in a clipped, militaristic voice. “That will be all, Tynee.”

The nymph gave a deep, graceful mid-air bow. “Yes, my lady,” he said, and reverently swept out of the room, his nymphish brothers and sisters close behind.

Ravyn glanced after the tiny spirits. None of this generation were yet powerful enough to alter their height from the standard six and three-quarter inches. Very few could assume animal shape. The ones that served with most respect... that is, Ravyn’s inner circle of servants... were a band of a dozen or so pastel-colored humanoids that were still in their adolescence by nymphish standards. Their colors ranged from pink to green to violet, they were all very pale and stood out against Ravyn’s dark décor like shooting stars. Now and again, Ravyn would come across the odd blue fish, pink bird, or floating rabbit, but most were still in their humanoid stage. Either they were too weak to change, or too young to decide what form they liked best.

Ravyn envied them their ability, but she got by fine with what she had.

Shaking free of the mental distraction of the nymphs, Ravyn settled down on a pillow. She carefully positioned herself so that she would be the first thing he saw when he woke up. She would decide then if she would benefit most by letting him believe she had been with him the whole time.

***

Mozenrath opened his eyes, blinked twice, and then closed them again as the sight of that woman brought memories flooding back to him. By then he was strong enough to recognize the fact that he was, in effect, her prisoner.

On the other hand, he said to himself, thinking of his experience in Agrabah’s dungeon, and comparing those memories to the warmth and comfort he experienced now, I could certainly be worse off.

Mozenrath took a deep breath, sat up, and instinctively tried to take control of the situation. “I'm going to ask just one more time,” he said, feeling that at that point nothing would surprise him. “Who are you?”

“Ravyn. Name’s Ravyn.” Well, she surprised him all right. Because he'd been prepared for anything but a straight answer.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to go back to his first conversation with her. “You said you were... you said you saved me?” She nodded nonchalantly. “Mind telling me how you managed that?”

She shrugged. “Oh, that was easy. I just jumped off the scaffold and picked you up while my friend Vyxen distracted the guards.”

***

Ravyn hid a grin of amusement with practiced ease. So far, she hadn't needed to resort to deceit or trickery... well, unless you think overwhelming him a little bit counted as a trick. On a normal day, Ravyn knew he wouldn't have been impressed. But he had been through too much too fast. Any other human would be babbling with fear or have dropped into a dead faint at this point. Mozenrath was carrying himself with more grace and dignity than any sane man could expect from even the most rigorously trained diplomat.

Which was why it was so much fun to watch him go speechless for several seconds at a time.

“You... jumped off the scaffold,” he repeated.

“That’s right,” she said.

Mozenrath took a breath, then said, “Correct me if I'm wrong, but is that not a fifty-foot drop at least?”

“At least,” she agreed.

“Right,” Mozenrath said, quietly. He sounded as though he expected to wake up any second now. “And your friend... Vyxen? Is this another sorceress that I should know about?”

“Vyxen’s a winged fox.”

“A winged wha--?” he asked, leaning forward.

“Fox,” Ravyn repeated. “They aren't indigenous to the desert, but you do see them in the occasional oasis. I believe your little minion, Xerxes, pretended to be one caught in a trap in order to trap your old friend, Aladdin.”

Mozenrath nodded numbly, not even effected by Ravyn’s casual mention of his nemesis. Ravyn almost sighed with relief. She'd been taking an awful risk, and she knew it, but she had to establish exactly what state of mind her guest was in.

***

At that moment, Mozenrath was confused, amazed, and astounded. And all of these emotions were striking him with such force, that he was literally numb all over. Not physically, but he was acting like a babbling five-year-old, and he knew it. He tried to snap himself out of it, but every time he came close there was another surprise waiting to come out of that woman’s mouth.

“And this... Vyxen,” he said, “ is a fox with wings.”

“She’s a nymph, actually,” Ravyn. “But yes, that is her favorite form.”

“A nymph,” Mozenrath repeated. “Okay.”

Ravyn smiled innocently. “Are you hungry?”

Before Ravyn had finished the second syllable of the word, Mozenrath’s stomach growled the affirmative. He pretended it hadn't. “A little,” he said, shrugging and looking away. He didn't like those pale green eyes.

But a sudden light caused him to look back. The jewel on Ravyn’s circlet--the one of black glass--was glowing a deep purple... then a brilliant indigo... then a cool sky blue... Before him, there rose a silver tray holding a golden plate of still-steaming food, finely crafted eating utensils, a large goblet of water, and a smaller goblet of wine. The tray, plate, and cups had designs etched deeply into them that were lined with, naturally, black glass.

Mozenrath gave the floating dinner the glance of a starving man, than gave Ravyn the stare of a suspicious man.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “You've seen stranger things.”

She was right, of course, but that was hardly surprising; she seemed to know all about him. She had magic, taste, wealth, looks... Mozenrath wondered why he hadn't realized earlier that Ravyn was simply showing off.

“My apologies,” he said. Not for the first time in his life, but the first time in a while. “This looks wonderful.”

Chapter Four

Reunion

Looking at him had been her mistake. Not Mozenrath... Ravyn was thinking of Azra, her pony back when she had been a girl. When Ravyn’s mother had entered their tent to tell her that the marauders were gone but her beloved stallion was dead, Ravyn had taken the news with a stiff upper lip and a stiffer spine. She'd gone outside with her parents to clean up the damage like a good daughter. Then she'd looked at Azra.

Hysterics had followed, and each time that day returned in Ravyn’s nightmares, she awoke with red eyes and a face damp with tears or sweat. Usually both.

This time, she was sitting bolt upright when she regained consciousness. Her throat was raw; she had been screaming.

Azra... her beautiful black prancing stallion... his shiny coat would never again know the sun’s gleam, nor his silvery mane the tousle of the wind.

As Ravyn drank the warm milk with brandy that her nymphs had brought her, she shook the memory from her mind. Thoughts of Azra during the day did not bring the fresh ache that these nightmares did.

A warm tongue, rough and sweet-smelling, licked her face clean of tears. ::All right now, love?:: said Vyxen’s voice.

::Yes... I think so.:: Mozenrath’s sleep would not have been disturbed by her scream. His assigned chambers were in an entirely different tower, and they were enchanted against disturbing noises.

Vyxen put a warm velvety paw on Ravyn’s forehead, using a combination of magic and soothing animal sounds to coax away the last of Ravyn’s anxiety. She soon found herself returning to the robes of sleep. The last thing she knew was Vyxen’s sweet, songlike voice in her mind.

***

Mozenrath opened his eyes to the first lights of dawn shining in his face. But the light was filtered through a window of glass that he suspected was enchanted... there was no glare or stinging sensation when he looked.

This was his third day in Ravyn’s home, and enough strength had returned to him that he could get out of his bed and walk around for short periods of time. His room... Ravyn referred to it and he had begun thinking of it as his room... had the appearance of being planned for a magic worker: It was large and circular in shape so that any spells or workings could be comfortably preformed in the center. Lining the walls were various pieces of furniture, including a large wardrobe filled with clean clothes... mostly silk and satin, occasionally trimmed in exotically-colored fur... all in his size and preferred colors: Blue, gold, and black. Someone knew him very well, and he was betting that someone was Ravyn. There was an adjoining room just beyond the black silk curtain that contained a bath as well as anything else he needed. All was warm and fresh and clean, as though the place had never known dust. Almost every surface was trimmed with gold, just the way he liked it.

Not a single luxury had been spared. Mozenrath could be happy here for months.

By now it was certain that, whatever else Ravyn had in mind, she intended for him to recover both from his injuries and the “illness” that had resulted from the permanent loss of his gauntlet. He could trust her for that long at least. After that, well... he'd just have to make certain she had no motive to harm him until he figured out a new source of power.

One that I can be certain will surpass hers, he thought to himself.

A moment later, three miniature humanoids clothed with thick hair that flowed down to their feet were floating in front of him. Their leader was a pinkish male with a boyish voice, and he was accompanied by two females; one muted yellow and the other a milky emerald. Mozenrath was beginning to perceive the distinctions between Ravyn’s nymphish servants and already knew these three by sight. They had been ordered to attend to him as he required.

The nymphs brought him clothes from the wardrobe and a bowl of fragrant water to wash and basically waited on him the way human servants waited on royalty. In fact, since the nymphs moved all objects by levitating them, Mozenrath was probably getting faster service than even Princess Jasmine ever dreamed of.

Moments after he dismissed the nymphs, Ravyn herself appeared in the doorway of his chambers. A hot breakfast had already been prepared for him and was floating on its customary tray about six inches from Ravyn’s outstretched hand. Ravyn’s pink lips were curled in a satisfied, almost smug smile.

Dressed from head to toe in revealing silks of cream, gold, and teal; her sun-colored hair caught in a ponytail at the top of her head; gold bracelets hanging from each wrist; cunningly-crafted brown shoes that disguised the slight largeness of her feet; pale features contrasted by the dark walls, haunting half-closed green eyes... Ravyn was a vision of beauty and strangeness, of tenderness and temptation.

Mozenrath smiled and nodded in greeting. Ravyn fairly floated across the glass floor, her soft leather boots soundless in the large, sound-conducting room. She brought to mind a swan on a lake--pale softness gliding across a deep stillness... Mozenrath lowered his head to one hand and shook it slightly. He was judging by appearance, and probably underestimating her. He mustn't forget, not in the condition he was in, that he had no notion just how powerful Ravyn really was. She was a show-off, yes... but a very confident, very assured show-off.

“Are you feeling any better today?” she asked sweetly. By now he knew that that was her idea of teasing.

“Much,” he said, ignoring her expression. Mozenrath considered himself a hard man, someone who had been far afield and seen a great deal. But he had never seen eyes of Ravyn’s color. They were a green lighter than the sea, lighter than spring leaves... not that he had taken time to look at either since he was a boy.

Ravyn lowered the tray to the air in front of him. It was a trick Mozenrath no longer even blinked at. He began to eat hungrily, and she sat on the fur rug at his feet, watching him like a cat.

Cat... that’s it. They were cat’s eyes. Cat’s eyes on a woman named after a bird. Mozenrath almost smiled. He glanced up to see if Ravyn had noticed.

Ravyn had opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by a loud crash followed by a louder screech. Her head swiveled towards the door, her mouth still open and her cat’s eyes wide. “That was no nymph,” she said quietly after a moment. Then she vanished, leaving only an outline of her silhouette made of sparkling dust which sprinkled to the floor and disappeared.

Mozenrath did not miss a beat with his meal. He had seen this trick before too.

***

Ravyn reappeared in the main hall of her glass fortress, leaving the same sprinkling of sparkling dust. She had been concerned by the sound, and ready for a fight.

What she got was a laugh.

“Ravyn!” cried Vyxen through clenched teeth: Teeth
clenched around the fin of a familiarly wormy intruder. It was growling incomprehensibly and trying to wrap its tail around her neck. “Get this thing off me!”

“Let her go, Xerxes,” Ravyn ordered calmly, the black jewel of her circlet glowing a dull copper. The jewel had different colors depending on the spell she was using; copper was the color of Compliance.

When Xerxes did not comply of his own free will within 2.5 seconds, he found himself surrounded and forcibly straightened out by the same copper light. His eyes bulged comically. Ravyn wondered where he had escaped to when Mozenrath was captured, though she was not surprised he had been able to find her kingdom. She had used images from her mirror to enable his entrance: Ravyn had wanted him to find her.

“Hello, Xerxes,” Ravyn greeted the astounded little character. “Looking for Master, are we?”

Xerxes grunted, straining against the magic light, then looked at Ravyn with wide eyes. “Lady know Xerxes?”

“Oh, for a long time now,” Ravyn assured him.

Vyxen perched, ruffled, on Ravyn’s shoulder and wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Hateful little creature.”

“Now, Vyxen,” Ravyn scolded lightly. “Be polite to our guests. Show Xerxes to his master’s living quarters.” With a wave of Ravyn’s hand, the light around Xerxes dissolved.

Xerxes did a few experimental twists, as though he could quite believe he was free. Mozenrath would have simply grasped the creature by the throat in frustration, but Ravyn preferred restraints with more finesse and less exertion.

***

To say that Mozenrath was surprised to see Xerxes would actually be less than honest. Perhaps a more accurate statement would be that he was surprised Xerxes had not shown sooner. That is, if it was true what Ravyn had said about her spiced wine knocking him out for a full week.

Ravyn reappeared at his doorway. “Little Xerxes happy to see master, isn't he?” she teased, obviously enjoying herself.

“Please,” Mozenrath said, rolling his eyes. “Let’s not even go there.”

Ravyn giggled, but let it drop. In all fairness, she really didn't have to make an effort to embarrass him; Xerxes was doing fine all by himself. He kept gliding around Mozenrath’s head and nuzzling his face like a newborn puppy. “Knock it off, Xerxes,” he said finally, taking a swat at little eel. Missed.

“Master safe! Master alive!” Xerxes cried for at least the fifth time. Then, to Mozenrath’s surprise, he zipped over to Raven and nuzzled her face. “Magic Lady save Master!” was his idea of a thank-you.

Ravyn’s normally pale face turned red, and her lips lost that smile. “Uh... yeah. That’s enough.”

Mozenrath grinned, but let it drop.

Chapter Five

First Things First

Ravyn watched discreetly as Mozenrath tried to hide his skeletal hand and forearm in the folds of his robe. More than enough time had passed for the man to recover the loss of his gauntlet. He was pretty much back to his strong, healthy, arrogant self.

Which was Ravyn’s cue to repair the damage done by the gauntlet itself.

“Nice view, isn't it?” she asked lightly; she and Mozenrath were standing side-by-side on one of the luxurious balconies that wound around the high towers of her fortress. Her desert was not unlike the Land of the Black Sand...

“It reminds me of home,” Mozenrath commented.

Ravyn smiled. Then waved her hand. The motion caught Mozenrath’s attention; he watched as Ravyn’s jewel glowed silvery green. Then Ravyn gestured towards the landscape.

An over screen, like a silver-green window, hung in midair just over the balcony. Peering through it, Mozenrath saw a familiar sight.

“My citadel?”

“We've been neighbors for seven years,” she told him. Ravyn clenched a fist and the window vanished, along with the image of Mozenrath’s citadel. “You're about a three minute walk away from me.”

Mozenrath narrowed his eyes at the landscape, then at her. “I don't understand. If my citadel’s so close...”

“We aren't in the human world,” she explained patiently. “We're in” she motioned towards Vyxen and Tynee “their world.” At Mozenrath’s blank look, she clarified: “The human world and... I guess you could say 'spirit’ world or 'magic’ world... exist side-by-side with a kind of magical void separating them. Without that void and the keepers that control it, the two worlds would collide and destroy each other.

“The keepers of the two worlds change frequently. 2,000 years ago, those keepers were a band of magical entities called the Witches of the Void. They were evil and power hungry... havoc followed wherever they went, both in this world and the human world.

“During the last decade of their reign, a Witch named Rayna fell in love with a human named Kali. They married in secret... they... had two children. Twin girls.”

She took a deep breath. “Anyway, when the other witches found out about the witch-human marriage, they were enraged. More so because the twins had no apparent magical abilities. The twins were kidnapped one night. The witches ran various tests on them to find hidden magical talents. To the best of my knowledge, the tests were unsuccessful. Then the twins were separated and never saw each other again. Their mother was killed. Their father was tormented until he lost his mind.”

***

Mozenrath shivered. Something about Ravyn’s voice had an almost hypnotic effect. He wondered if that was one of her powers.

“What happened to your sister?” he asked finally.

Ravyn turned towards him abruptly, surprised. Then her features relaxed. “I should have given you more credit,” she said at last. “I don't know where Vynra is... how she died, if she died. Like I said, that was 2,000 years ago.”

Mozenrath nodded. “So, you found your powers after the Witches of the Void let you go. You're immortal, I take it?”

“No and no, but you get an 'A’ for effort.” He glared at her and she winked at him. “I'm sorry. I can see where you would arrive at that conclusion. Actually what happened was the Witches of the Void banished me to... surprise!... the Void.”

“And this Void would be...?”

Ravyn shook her head. “I'm afraid human language has yet to develop the necessary vocabulary.”

Mozenrath glanced towards Vyxen and Xerxes, then back at the landscape, and suddenly made the connection between Ravyn’s story and her Spirit World explanation. “Vyxen found you and brought you here,” he guessed.

Ravyn nodded. “Bravo! Vyxen taught me magic, and if the Witches of the Void were still alive, I'd be the most powerful they'd ever seen.”

That wasn't a boast, Mozenrath thought. “Question: Where do I enter into all of this?”

Ravyn grinned. “I've been following your career ever since you put Destane on ice,” she told him. “That guy was the worst neighbor I could ever imagine! Always striding around zapping things like I’m-all-that-and-a-side-of-baklava.”

Mozenrath smiled to himself. “Yeah. That pretty much sums him up.”

“You pretty much 1-uped that bad boy on all counts,” she said. “Except...”

Mozenrath raised an eyebrow. “Except...?

Before he realized she had done it, Ravyn had taken his right hand in both of his. “Please. Is this really the kind of price you want to pay for power?”

Mozenrath clenched the bones of his right hand self-consciously. “You have a better suggestion?”

Ravyn shook her head, not letting go of Mozenrath’s hand... which really didn't matter because that hand was perpetually numb with magical pain anyway. “You really haven't been listening, have you?” she scolded. “This is a magic world, filled with magic power sources. As in lying around for the taking, no strings attached.”

Mozenrath stared at her. Was that even possible?

“Oh, it’s possible,” she affirmed, as though she had read his mind. “Magic doesn't have a sense of morality as we know it, but it is a conscious force that craves to be used. It doesn't care how. Your gauntlet was used by whoever Destane got it from to bring pain to Destane and later to you. This” she pointed to her jewel “lay on a rock for 10,000 years and practically begged Vyxen to give it to me. Stagnant magic is like... a tiger in a cage. A cage so small that the tiger can't move an inch in any direction. Imagine the frustration!”

Mozenrath didn't care for the tiger. But he could remember his experience in the dungeon of Agrabah. “You're saying I could find another gauntlet--or something similar--that would want to be used? I could just pick it up and get started?”

Ravyn smiled. “Well... it is a bit more complicated,” she admitted, “but you've got the gist of it. A magic source needn't cost you a thing.”

***

Ravyn had seen Mozenrath’s eyes light up before, but only through her magic mirror. “Before you get all keyed up, though, you should know that you're going to need my help.”

“How?” He looked at her suspiciously.

Ravyn glanced down at his bony hand, which she was still holding. She could feel the pain it generated piercing through her finger bones, sending fire through her blood vessels. “Unless you want to settle for a fraction of your magical potential,” she answered, “this is going to need attention.”

She led him from the balcony, through the halls, and back to his room. He didn't argue. That was good; he trusted her intentions, if not her motivations.

Ravyn sat him down on the couch, and seated herself next to him. Concentrating hard, she expelled all thoughts and distractions from her mind. The jewel on her forehead glowed gold, then silver, then a blinding white that illuminated every bone of Mozenrath’s right hand. Mozenrath flinched and covered his eyes with his left hand. Just as well. He didn't need to see this.

Ravyn pushed up Mozenrath’s sleeve and brushed the fingers of her own right hand against the place where skin and muscles of his arm ended. Mozenrath gritted his teeth and groaned in pain as the blood vessels of his right arm grew and stretched and wound over the bare bones of his palm and fingers. The process was slow and complicated, and Ravyn couldn't afford to make any mistakes. She didn't have any illusions about finishing the work today or in even a week; it was just as painful for her as it was for Mozenrath.

After about ten minutes, she stopped. The light faded abruptly, and Mozenrath stared down at his hand. Five blood vessels stretched out along the top of his hand and ran along the top of his fingers. Ravyn knew that the magic-induced pain in his hand had decreased, though probably not enough yet for him to notice.

“Don't flex your hand,” she cautioned. “Or they'll rupture; they're not strong enough yet to hold.” She began to bandage his hand from the roll Tynee had brought to her side without even having been asked.

“Master hand better?”

Mozenrath looked up at Xerxes; obviously he had forgotten he was there. Ravyn smiled. “Soon, little one.”

Mozenrath glanced down at Ravyn. “Why do you call him that?”

She grinned at him. “He talks like a toddler,” she explained, patting Xerxes’ head. “Or hadn't you noticed?” She didn't wait for an answer, but tied off the bandage. “We'll go double or nothing tomorrow.”

Mozenrath stared at his bandaged hand, then glanced up at Ravyn. “There are hundreds of blood vessels in the human hand,” he said. “This will take weeks.”

“Months, if you count muscles and skin,” she told him. “But don't worry. I wouldn't drag this out if it wasn't absolutely necessary. If I tried to do more today, I'd pass out and hurt us both, perhaps irrevocably.”

Irrevocably meant they might both be killed. She was pretty sure he knew that. “Don't worry,” she assured him again. “The worst is over. From here, the rest will be easy.”

Mozenrath stood up and looked down at her suspiciously. “Why are you doing all this?”

Ravyn lowered her eyelids and smiled smugly. Let him wonder. “I'm young, I'm pretty, and I do what I like.” Then she rose from the sofa and left him to fume.

::Exactly what is the appeal of acting that way?:: Vyxen asked, catching up with her.

::It makes him mad.:: She sobered up. ::Besides, I'm not sure he'd believe me. Not yet.::

Vyxen smiled. It was a strange sight, a fox smiling. Her eyes literally glowed. “You sound stressed,” she observed. “War room?”

“War room.”

Ravyn and her familiar walked silently through the halls of their architectural wonder to a room that was set apart from the towers. It was huge and circular, surrounded by glass that looked black from the outside, but was crystal clear from the inside. In the center of the room was a round table that rose from the floor. The table was black glass and had a 10 radius in all directions. On it was a scale map of the Spirit World. Ravyn’s lands were forest green, the rest were colored according to their respective monarchs and/or subjugators.

There was an extraordinary amount of red on the map, just off of Ravyn’s boarders.

Ravyn put her hands on the table and leaned forward. She loved her work. “Decisions, decisions,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Who to conquer first?”

Chapter Six

Of Healing and Destruction,

Ravyn giggled ominously and slid another glass figure across her world map. Two of the five violet regions on her eastern boarder changed color, deepening to near black before bouncing back to forest green. That meant a stunning victory in the Finasien Valleys, but she already knew that. She had been watching it in her mirror. The inhabitants of the violet lands were primarily a psychic race, and an army of nymphs along with a few well-placed magic entities had conquered the undersea Finasien Valleys in a day. War is thrilling, she thought to herself.

::You’re psychotic,:: replied a ringing voice.

Ravyn jumped in surprise. “Jeez, Vyxen! I told you not to spy on my thoughts!”

Vyxen landed softly on the 20-foot, circular glass map and glared at her human charge. “If I’ve told you once,” she said, her bell-like voice hard with frustration, “I’ve told you 99 thousand times: No one has ever managed to conquer the entire Spirit World.”

Ravyn pointed to the map. “Whoever runs the red lands is coming pretty close.”

Vyxen glanced back at the map. It was over a third covered with red territory-coloring, as though someone had bled all over it. The borders shifted every hour, usually outward. Nobody else had that much power, and whoever was running those lands had remained a mystery for years. “That’s hardly the point.”

Ravyn pointed to the Finasien Valleys. “No, that is. Vyxen, everybody wants to expand their borders. Not waging war on people is inviting others to wage war on me.”

Vyxen sighed and consented. “True. I believe that’s how you got the western coastline; you ignored the ruler until he came to you.”

Ravyn smiled and nodded. “The map’s still dotted with yellow, but not nearly as much as before. I doubt he’ll call again.”

Vyxen shrugged. There was no winning. Ravyn couldn’t get hurt while chasing her impossible ambitions, at least no more so than while simply trying to survive. And if her conquests gave her a harder reputation, at least that would cut down on potential trouble-makers. So rather than continue the argument, she simply said, “Mozenrath’s asking for you.”

Ravyn blinked in surprise. “Asking for me?” Well, that explained Vyxen’s presence in the War Room. Not even the nymphs were allowed past her doors.

“He’s bored,” answered Vyxen. Ravyn stared at her skeptically. “It’s true!” she insisted. “I have spies.”

Ravyn shook her head. “I wish you’dve told me,” she said. “Would’ve made things a little easier. My mirror can’t spy within these walls.”

Vyxen wrinkled her nose to hide a grin. “The disadvantages of having so many anti-viewing spells all over the place.”

Ravyn shrugged the comment away and got back on topic. “So, he’s bored. What does he expect me to do about it?”

Vyxen stared back at the map. “Three of the Finasien lands remain unconquered,” she said, as though she hadn’t heard Ravyn’s question. “The outcome of this particular feud looks like it’s going to ride on who takes that canyon to the north-east.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ravyn said. “But I’m having a little trouble working out those ledges, and that overpass. The Fins are psychic, and they’ve already fought our armies. That means they’re probably preparing for another attack, and they probably know what I’m likely to do.”

Vyxen smiled. “So ask Mozenrath what he thinks. That was your whole intention, right?” She ignored Ravyn’s glare. “Bring a handsome sorcerer into your kingdom, give him a thousand reasons to be grateful to you, and then rule the Spirit World with him at your side?”

“Wrong, wrong, and wrong,” Ravyn said, snapping a little harder than she meant to. “And I do not need anyone’s help!” She turned her back on Vyxen and her attention. “I’ll figure this passage out on my own. See to the troops when they get back, will you?”

Vyxen smiled. Ravyn’s “troops” were Vyxen’s older fledglings. Unlike the childlike nymphs that served in Ravyn’s household, these were an army of hardened warriors, able to grow in height to up to ten feet, and assume forms similar to whatever they were fighting. At Ravyn’s disposal was an army of over a hundred thousand immortals, for Vyxen, tiny and innocent though she appeared, had been training her children to fight for millions of years. She herself had once been the conqueror of the green lands, but had been forced into retirement by someone stronger--two someones, in fact. Now Ravyn was her replacement, and Vyxen stayed at her elbow, sometimes the wise grandmother, sometimes a wisecracking peer.

Always brave, though, and always a valuable confidant.

With a mind-spoken caress, Vyxen left Ravyn to her thoughts of conquest.

“Of all the nerve,” muttered Ravyn, hackles raised, picking up another nymphish glass figure and gazing around the map. “Telling me to go to Mozenrath for help.” She put the figure down and circled the map, surveying territory from all angles. “What does he know about deploying armies, anyway? He can’t do much of anything... except extort people.” Ravyn was working herself into a rage, and she knew she had better calm down. But she didn’t want to. Instead, she wanted to go down to that stupid canyon herself and raise hell.

Right now.

“Tynee!” Ravyn roared as she abruptly stormed out of the War Room and into her adjoining quarters. She had already ducked behind a curtain and was changing clothes when Tynee entered, breathless.

“Yes, milady?” he said, the words blurring together.

Ravyn pulled on a skintight brown leather top with fringed belts of green braided silk crisscrossing down the front. “I want you to get divisions 5, 6, 9, and 12 ready for departure. We’re going up against the Finasien prince at the north-east canyon. Tell them I’m leading.”

Tynee jumped, which was interesting considering he was floating in midair. “T-tonight, my lady?”

Ravyn stepped from behind the curtain, now wearing green pants and heavy brown riding boots along with her leather top. Her arms were bare to the shoulders, and she wore light leather gloves trimmed in green. “Move out, Tynee!” she barked. “I want those divisions ready five minutes ago!”

Tynee fled to comply, not even pausing to acknowledge his mistress. Ravyn scolded herself for being harsh. But that was how it was when she got into a war mindset. Tynee knew that; all the nymphs knew that.

Without hesitation Ravyn vanished, rematerializing before her nymphish army.

***

Mozenrath reached for a scroll on a shelf with his right hand, glared at the bandage around it, then reached for the same scroll with his left. Not being able to use his normally better hand irked him incessantly.

Sighing, he sat down on the couch in his room and clumsily opened the scroll single-handed.

::Already tired of the glass fortress, eh?:: whispered a sly voice in his brain.

He jumped. ::Jeez, Vyxen! Don’t sneak up on me like that.::

The tiny winged fox touched down gently on Mozenrath’s knee. “It’s not easy being so suddenly... incapacitated, is it?” she asked sympathetically.

Mozenrath made a noise of distain and tossed the scroll on the floor.

Vyxen nodded. “I know. Once you’ve lived with magic, it’s impossible to completely get used to any other way of life.” She touched Mozenrath’s hand with one black velvety paw.

His hand felt suddenly and completely numb, a prickly numbness as though it had abruptly fallen asleep. It swelled until the bandage became so unbearable tight that he tore it off.

When he did, he found his hand completely whole.

He stood up abruptly. Vyxen calmly floated eye-level with him, barely moving her gossamer wings. “Why didn’t you do that in the first place?” he yelled.

Vyxen had an animal smugness in her smile that was almost maddening. “Just letting my human fledgling spread her wings a little. Unfortunately, healing isn’t her strong suit.”

Mozenrath flexed the stiff, white fingers of his newly-restored right hand and glared at Vyxen. Then he stalked to the floor-length window.

Vyxen gave a mock swoon. “Such impeccable manners” she said theatrically. “I can see why she likes you.”

“Now what are you babbling about?” Mozenrath snapped irritably.

“Ravyn, of course. You’ve completely swept her off her feet.”

Mozenrath rolled his eyes as he thought of Ravyn’s aloof manner and the enjoyment she got out of annoying him. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” Then he narrowed his eyes and turned to face Vyxen. “Where is Ravyn, anyway?”

Vyxen shrugged. “I would assume she’s still in the War Room planning her next conquest.

Mozenrath raised an eyebrow. “Conquest, huh? You’ve got my attention.”

Chapter Seven

A Conqueror Conquered

Ravyn shook her head as she surveyed the battlefield. This does not bode well, she thought. The tides of battle had turned abruptly, and Ravyn’s all-or-nothing stand might have just cost her the war. All her efforts to build her empire were now more fragile than a house of cards--one nudge at they would all collapse.

There was another factor, too, and Ravyn broke into a sweat when she remembered it. As the only human being in this dimension, she need not expect any mercy if she was defeated. Especially after she had proven to be such a poor winner. And the Fins were not known for their mercy towards even the most humble and considerate of races. It had been insulting enough to be challenged by a human, but for a while it had looked like they were going to be defeated by one as well.

To lose this battle meant she’d likely find herself with a slit throat, or possibly something more painful. And to make matters worse, Vyxen had no idea she had even left her War Room. If Ravyn had told her what she’d had in mind, Vyxen would likely have fried her for her arrogance.

***

“I ought to fry that arrogant human!”

Mozenrath smiled at Vyxen’s maternal displays of rage-slash-panic. This was all dropping right into his lap with dead-on precision. He had no reason to disbelieve what Ravyn had told him about it being difficult for her to restore his powers. But he also had every reason to believe that Vyxen was perfectly capable of doing just that without so much as breaking a sweat.

With the proper incentive...

“Not too impetuous, is she?” he asked slyly, pretending to be casual. “Is there a problem here I should know about?”

Vyxen growled. It was an interesting sound, actually, especially coming from such a miniscule creature. “She’s just gone off into battle against a psychic race without making plans, without arranging reserves, without informing me, that’s all. And worse, I made her angry before she left.” Vyxen shook her head and sounded almost guilt-stricken. “It would be child’s play for them to mess with her brain with her defenses as low as they are now.”

Mozenrath shrugged. “So go get her.”

“I can’t do that!” Vyxen cried in frustration. “I’m specifically forbidden from interfering in human affairs. All nymphs are! I don’t possess the magic energies needed to bypass laws of that caliber.”

Mozenrath raised an eyebrow and cast a side-glance at Xerxes, who was hovering nearby as usual. “Interesting,” he murmured. Then, in a slightly louder voice, he requested an explanation.

“It’s like this,” Vyxen sighed. “The nymphs are bound by the magic in their blood to abide by certain rules, one of which is to never interfere with human affairs. I... I was attached to Ravyn sometime before she was banished, and I managed to do a little bending to get her here. Now the way it works is I can help Ravyn when she’s in a jam involving another inhabitant of this dimension... if she asks. Since she just took off without telling me, I’m as helpless as though she was in an interaction with another human.”

“What would happen then?” Mozenrath asked, all the while thinking, This is just too beautiful.

“If I tried to interfere, enough deadly energies would collide to annihilate this entire universe. If I had greater power, I could separate those energies and help Ravyn, but I’m only the third most powerful of my kind. The first and second most are dead.”

“Doesn’t that remove them from the list?” Mozenrath asked.

Vyxen snorted. “No, it doesn’t. Typical human thinking. It just removes competition for them.”

Mozenrath shrugged. That was hardly the point. “So, unless you find someone who can help Ravyn, she’s as good as dead.”

“She’s worse than dead, “Vyxen groaned. She covered her face with her paws. “Oh, if only I hadn’t been so... Arggh! I’d do anything to have her back in here right now!”

There’s no way it could be this easy, Mozenrath thought. “You know,” he mused aloud, “it’s too bad I don’t have a personal source of power anymore. I’ve blown away entire armies before. I’m sure between the two of us, Ravyn and I could hold them off long enough to save her life, at least.”

Vyxen looked up at Mozenrath, black eyes wide. “You would do that?”

Mozenrath smiled reassuringly. “She saved my life, didn’t she? Took me into her home, gave me a place to stay... Yes, it’s too bad there’s really nothing I can do to help her in return.” He wandered over to the war map, where several patches of forest green were beginning to grow ashen. He was aware that he was over-playing it, but that was the fun of the whole thing. For if Vyxen wanted to see Ravyn alive again, she had better conform to what Mozenrath wanted, whether she suspected him of ulterior motives or not.

Vyxen stared at him with one eye narrowed and the other wide, rather like with a raised eyebrow. Then she said in a conspiratorial whisper, “This way.”

***

Mozenrath followed Vyxen through a passageway he had seen dozens of times, smirking to himself. Once he had his power back, he was going to bring that self-assured brat Ravyn down to where she belonged. Then he was going to figure away back into his Citadel.

Then he was going after Agrabah. Forget conquering it, he was going to lay waste to the entire city. And then he was going to send that supercilious street-rat and his bitch straight to Hell.

Vyxen floated before Mozenrath in a straight line of some thirty feet, then tapped the glass wall to her left with her front paw. The glass shimmered, than a sizable hole appeared. Vyxen motioned for him to go in.

“I have a habit of preempting my fledglings,” was her only explanation.

Mozenrath ducked through the short tunnel and found himself in a room filled wall to wall, floor to ceiling with treasures. He glanced around in appreciation. Then his eyes fell to a pedestal of gold in the center of the room, and everything else disappeared from his mind.

On the pedestal was a gauntlet. Right-handed. Black leather. Gold trim.

Mozenrath approached and picked it up. The leather was soft and supple, expertly tanned. The threads that held it together and wove the material that made the trim were threads of solid gold, yet they were as soft and fine as silk. Mozenrath slipped it on to his right hand and instantly felt the power running into his veins. It was warm and cool all at once, and it sent a momentary shiver through his bones. He could see it’s fine, pale blue light shining around his hand, making its way up his arm, disbanding the phantom pangs of Destane’s gauntlet and giving him a power that was all his own. He held up his hand, pointed towards the pedestal, and sent out a mental command.

The pedestal lifted five feet above the ground as though gravity did not exist. The power from the gauntlet rippled through Mozenrath’s muscles and fed his blood with its energy. Not a moment of the experience was unpleasant or painful.

He set the pedestal down and held his hand over his head. The satin and fur clothes Ravyn had given him were replaced by silken robes reminiscent of the ones he had once wore. His curly black hair was caught up in a black turban, which was fastened with a single sapphire. His cloak and pants were black, his boots and sash were gold, and his shirt was blue. All were cut the way his old robes had been.

Mozenrath grinned; the Lord of the Black Sand was back.

Chapter Eight

The Thrill of Power

Mozenrath appeared in a blaze of blue fire on a ledge overlooking the battlefield, with Xerxes and Vyxen close behind him. The bloody spectacle below did not concern him as he swiftly scanned the area. His black eyes caught a familiar face at the same moment Vyxen’s did.

::There she is!:: she cried out in his head.

::I see her,:: he replied. Ravyn, the woman who had kept him inside her fortress of glass all this time, was cornered against the cliff, trying to hide from her adversary. Her nymphs were being overrun by the enemy’s psychic armies, and Mozenrath saw a band of the grotesque-looking creatures advancing on her. They obviously did not mean to capture Ravyn alive. Ravyn must have known this as well, for she looked positively sick with fear.

Mozenrath flexed the fingers of his right hand, snugly fitted inside the black leather gauntlet that replaced his old brown one. This one did not drain, but fed his life-energies with vivacious power. It was simple and pleasurable to open a vortex through time and space that carried him directly to Ravyn’s side.

“Having trouble are we?” he remarked.

She gasped aloud, startled considerably. Out of breath from running, Ravyn could not respond, but only collapse behind him on the ledge.

Five or six of the unidentified creatures were drawing nearer, wielding the most convoluted blades Mozenrath had ever seen. Mozenrath waved his right hand and with less effort than it took to breathe, he sent them flying through the air.

“Now,” he said, “who’s next?”

***

Ravyn leaned against the cliff wall on the ledge where Mozenrath had set her down mere seconds before. She was gasping for breath, and her face was covered with droplets of sweat. Presently, Vyxen swooped down beside her, gazing anxiously into her eyes.

“Are you alright, Ravyn?” she cried aloud. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Ravyn sighed when she was a little less winded. “I made a run for it when they broke the back lines.” She tried to stand. “Aauhh! I think I twisted my ankle.”

“Humph,” Vyxen coughed, indignant. “It serves you right, running off like than. You could have been killed, or worse.”

“Or worse,” Ravyn agreed. She looked down at the bottom of the ravine, where Mozenrath was making short work of the Fins’ armies. She had a dreamy look in her eyes, and did not notice the anxious expression on Vyxen’s face.

***

Mozenrath laughed as another score of those weird things hit the dust. They didn’t bleed, which took some of the fun out of it, but they made a delightful scream when they were hit. In the weeks of being shut up in his rooms in Ravyn’s fortress, he had forgotten what it felt like to wield destructive power over others. Now, grinning and zapping with equal abandon, he became fully aware of what a twisted person he was.

I could keep this up all day, he thought as the field became steadily quieter.

::You have,:: said a distinctly feminine voice in his mind.

Mozenrath turned to see Ravyn, her green-and-brown military uniform nearly blended with the newly-fallen night sky. “So I have,” he observed. “What do you know?”

Ravyn took a few steps closer to him, the smile on her face nothing less than adoring. “That was an amazing display,” she said softly, almost sensually.

Mozenrath smiled to himself. So, this was why she’d kept him so close all this time. Why she’d spent those years watching him from her other dimension, and why she’d rescued him from death in Aladdin’s palace. Well, he couldn’t say he was exactly surprised. He’d had more than his share of run-ins with beautiful, powerful women, and they all seemed to have one thing in common: a love of beautiful, powerful men.

As Ravyn came even closer, Mozenrath noticed that she seemed considerably swept off her feet. He made a deep, formal bow so that she could not see the grin on his face; if there was one thing he loved more than wreaking havoc, it was playing to an audience.

His favorite of which were captive audiences.

“Thank you, lady Ravyn,” he replied with a remarkable imitation of gallantry. “You honor me with your compliments.”

She blushed, and he had to choke down a wicked snicker. “Thank you,” she said, her green eyes half-closed under the moonlight. “Thank you very much... for saving my life just now.”

He kept a steady smile as she reached up to stroke his hair. “The pleasure was mine, I assure you,” he said suavely. “Now, oughtn’t we be heading back before Miss Vyxen becomes impatient?”

“I told her to wait up on the ledge,” Ravyn said, leaning towards him with a suggestive expression. Her lips were only a few millimeters from his. “And there’s not a damn thing she can do about it.”

“Ah,” said Mozenrath, nodding. “Well, in that case...” He hesitated a second--for effect--then slammed a bolt of bright blue energy into Ravyn’s gut that sent her flying some five feet before she landed with a thud on the ravine floor. “I think you and I need to have a little discussion.”