The Sorcerer and the Witch-King's Heir

Since Michael couldn't be in two places at once, Parliament had graciously agreed to send their best scouts with a handful of demolition experts to set up the practical demonstration part of the plan. They also sent a full detachment of archers. The entire party was under the command of Captain Tobias which Leo wasn't thrilled about, but with his magic staff and the secrets it held strapped across his back he didn't care enough about mortal power plays to be bothered. They reached the ridge about the castle before daylight. They ran through the plan one more time, and then the demolition team left to sneak into the fortress and set their charges. Sylvia set a timer as the archers got into position. When the sun rose Leo would make his demands, Michael would conjure his dragon, and if the Evil Cult didn't immediately surrender, the ammunition charges would blow a very large hole in the wall of the castle. At that point the Evil Cult would either surrender or they would flee, leaving the castle unguarded and the rescue operation a simple matter of navigating their own damage. If all went according to plan. The first thing to go wrong was the scouting trip not returning on time. Sylvia stared at the timer in increasing distress. Michael paced. Leo sat and watched the sunrise. An hour later than they were supposed to start, about half the scouting party returned. There was an issue with their sneaking. Some of them had been captured. Only two or three of the charges had been set and they were going to blow much sooner than convenient. About twenty minutes, the leader guessed. Maybe less. "Leo," Mrs. S. snapped. "You're up." Leo stood up. The wind blew his cloak behind him. His staff glowed ominously. "Adrian Ventresta, leader of the Cult of the Witch-Lords' Legacy!" he bellowed, and magic lifted his voice and carried it to the fortress a mile down the hill. "You have taken that which does not belong to you. Release the druids immediately, and perhaps I will be merciful!" Sylvia stared. Michael stared. The archers turned and stared. This was not the script. He didn't care. Beside him, Michael finished his illusion. An incredibly realistic looking dragon stood beside Leo, as large as the fortress itself, bellowing a cloud of illusion ash that reached nearly to the valley floor. Below them, people were moving, gaping up the terrifying sight, and ducking for cover. From the fortress itself there was no reply. "We don't have time for this," Leo said. "I'm going down there." "What?" Michael said at the same time Sylvia said, "no!" "It's fine," Leo said. "I've got my power back. Be back in a minute." "But the charges," Sylvia protested. "If they go off when you're inside..." Leo ignored her and stepped into the shadows. He didn't notice, until he reemerged in that horrible council chamber, that Michael had grabbed onto his cloak and come with him. He swore. "What do you think you're doing?" "I'm not letting you face them alone," Michael said shakily. "I don't know what's going on with you, but I'm worried." "You don't have to worry about me," Leo snapped. "Just stay out of my way." He took a deep breath, and pushed open the doors. The round room was exactly as he remembered it. The giant central fire had gone out, but the smell of smoke still hung heavy and thick in the air. The runes carved into the floor were still stained from his own blood, spilled only a few days earlier. The room was empty. "Stay here," he told Michael, and vanished. The dungeons were also empty. He stepped from shadow to shadow, room to room, and found no trace of any living being. Above him, he heard the tell-tale rumbling that warned him the charges were supposed to blow. He stepped out of the fortress and back onto the ridge besides Sylvia. "There's no one home," he told her. "They must have known we were coming and relocated the druids." Sylvia glanced at him sharply. "Where is Michael?" His face went blank. "Who?" "That stupid con-artist you've been making eyes at all week! He grabbed your cloak and went with you! Don't tell me you abandoned him down there!" "There's no one down there," Leo protested. "I just finished searching it." "Go check again," Sylvia said. "But I just told you--" She grabbed his shirt in both hands and her voice rang with power and she stared into his eyes and commanded: "Check again." Leo stepped out of reality and back into the torture room. There was someone there...he blinked in surprise. He was dressed like a farm-hand in a loose-fitting white shirt, with hair so golden it looked like he stole it from the sun-god. He was on his knees, cowering with his arms over his head as dust and debris rained down around him. "Oh thank the saints," he cried, and stumbled into Leo's arms. Leo stepped backwards out of the room and back onto the ridge. "I thought something had happened to you!" the stranger cried. "Did you find them? The druids?" Leo stepped back out of his reach, brushing self-consciously at his shirt. Where had he gotten these clothes? "We have to go," he said. "The fortress is empty. They've taken the sorcerers somewhere else." "Not sorcerers," the druid in front of him said, her face creased with worry. "They've taken the druids somewhere else." He brushed it off. "Whatever. I will find them, and I will make sure they pay. These upstart Witch-Lords need to learn what they're dealing with." "Not witch-lords," the druid repeated. "Just a cult. Leo, are you feeling okay?" He looked around, but didn't see who she was talking to. "Where is Sarashta?" he asked. "She was supposed to be in charge of this retrieval mission." The golden haired stranger frowned. "Who are you talking about?" "Why don't you sit down?" the druid suggested. "We need to make sure you're feeling better before we make our next move." "I'm fine," he said, taking a step backwards. "I feel better than I have in months, in years actually. I don't know who you are, or what you want with me, but I swear, if you have anything to do with the capture of my brothers--" The golden-haired man grabbed his hand, his face wet with tears. "Leo, please," he said. "You remember me. Michael. You..." his voice broke. "You said that you love me." His eyes narrowed and he pulled his hand away. "I have never seen you before in my life," he said. "Leo," said the druid. "Stop calling me that!" Distant thunder underscored his words. "I am Ilyan du Alaise-Corvant, sorcerer of Raven's Gate and you will tell me who you are and what you have done with my brothers!"