[Lanen Kaelar 03] - Redeeming the Lost by Elizabeth Kerner

half of
the lansip harvest for my pains. I have used almost all of it al—
    ready, bar a few boxes I have retained to
control those demons who crave it: but the distilled essence of lansip has
proven the legends true. No more the protesting joints, no more the weakness,
the thousand small ills, the dimmed eyesight, the fading hearing—no more the
tread of death behind me or its shadow in the glass before my eyes.
    I have conquered time itself. Behold, I now
have that which all men desire—a mind honed by seventy years of study and nearly
ninety years of living, and a body no more than thirty years old to carry out
the demands I make of it. I had forgotten the power of this age! Every nerve
tingles with strength and youth. By all the Hells, it is a wonder.
    Of course, I do miss my hand.
    I had to cut it off to bind the Demonlord to
my will. The sacrifice will be well worth it—it was only my left hand, after
all—but the place where my hand once was itches constantly. It is of minor
interest. I suspect the illusion will end in time. Perhaps I can find a smith
to create a mechanical replacement. It is damned awkward getting dressed.
Still, that is what servants are for.
    It irks me that I have been so weak these last
several days, but even I must needs recover from such great works as the
binding of the Nameless One and the making of the Black Dragon. I labour even
as I rest, to keep the creature in the air as it flies to Kolmar from the
distant west. And I have had a rasp in my throat from the choking I had off
that witch-daughter of Marik’s when she attacked. I have ensured that she has
nor food nor fuel. The weaker her body, the easier it will be to dominate her
will.
    I know that one of the True Dragons, the
Kantrishakrim as they are called, is here—it nearly stopped me from capturing
the girl. The rest will not be far behind. Marik has done so much good, at
least: I know the Kantri are coming. Truly, that surprised me. It seems that in
the making of the Black Dragon the island was overwhelmed in fire. I had not
planned that. However, it is all moot.
    If the Black Dragon arrives first, all well
and good, for it houses the soul of the Demonlord, and will be the death of the
Kantri. I do not hope for this, for the thing is a golem, living stone despite
the half-demon soul that animates it. I must support its every wingbeat, and
even I grow weary on occasion. I shall have to make another sacrifice of
blood—not mine, of course!—this night before I face the Mages. It is proving a
great deal harder to support the creature than I had anticipated, though I am
well 3qual to the task.
    If the Kantri should arrive first—well, I have
a demonline ready and waiting, and in a breath I can be hundreds of leagues
distant and the way closed behind me, and they with no way of knowing where I
might be. And the Black Dragon, the Demon-lord incarnate, will arrive
eventually. In that moment the fate of the Kantrishakrim will be sealed.
    I am thankful now for the foresight I showed
in establishing this cantrip which records my thoughts in this book even as I
think them. It is vastly easier than sitting and writing for hours. I have one
operating on Marik as well. It has helped me to check that he is telling me the
truth. The poor idiot is too stupid to lie, it seems. It is well. And for
myself, when I come into my own, it is good that there will be a true record of
my coming to power, that the slaves may know how they came to their slavery.
Despair is truly the most satisfying sauce.
    The next step takes place this very night. I
have commanded an assembly of the College after the evening meal and they will
all attend. After all, why should they not answer the summons of their beloved
Archimage? I have hidden my true self, the power of my arts, for many long
years. I have cultivated the goodwill of my fellow Mages even while despising
them, for it has taken so very long to prepare myself—but tonight, kind, caring
Archimage Berys