Douglas Niles - The Heir of Kayolin

“Certainly, Master,” Facet said with a low rasp that set Willim’s blood to tingling. “But first, can we share a sip of wine?”

“A splendid idea,” the wizard said. “Please, pour us both refreshment.”

Facet shifted against the counter as she poured the wine. Her gown slipped to the side, exposing her curving leg all the way to the hip. Willim’s attention, the full force of his true sight, focused on that white skin; it was all he could do to keep his tongue from licking his lips. His pulse pounded in his head, and his breathing grew short. How could she be so beautiful, so compelling, so irresistible?

And he never saw the bottle of potion, the charm that had been serving her so well, that Facet tipped over his glass. A few drops splashed into the surface of the wizard’s wine, but the bottle was stoppered and shelved a moment later, when she turned to offer him his glass.

She smiled and his attention was swallowed by her eyes-so soft, so yielding … so impenetrable.

King Jungor Stonespringer sat in the darkness of his ruined palace. He touched the golden eye that filled his old, empty socket. The fresh wound where the wizard had destroyed his other eye was a gory gash, but he didn’t feel any pain. Even as his fingers probed at the scab, he felt a liberating joy. Reorx was his master, his comfort, his protection. He did not need to see!

Instead, he would feel, and right then he felt heat. There was a mighty warmth before him, a roasting presence that was greater than any normal fire. He turned his face toward that radiance and knew that the fresh blood on his face was crusting and drying under the baking heat. His skin reddened, his robe smoldered, but still he relished the power of that great fire.

“It is you, my master,” he said, sighing in pleasure. Finally, the heat grew too intense, and he fell back, uncaring that he lay on a floor covered with broken stones.

“I feel the power of the forge,” he said, ecstasy filling his head. “Immortal Reorx, warm your humble servant!” He turned his empty eye sockets upward, embracing the presence.

Above him, the source of the heat looked down. Great nostrils flared, while a tongue of flame licked forth from a hellish maw.

It almost seemed as if Gorathian was smiling.