Delluses put away his journal and snuffed out the candle. He downed the last of his decoction of healing and rubbed his nose where the spectacles had made indentations. He must rest now, to allow the healing bitters to douse the dark flames licking at his soul. Tomorrow would be time enough to call for the Council Of Eldarron – the council that no wizard in the land would refuse to attend.

His ordeal made sleep nearly impossible. He tossed and turned: when he was able to drift off, the nightmares woke him almost as soon as they started. He sighed. This was to be expected, of course. He was lucky to be alive at all. He counted himself fortunate indeed to have been taught by a Mentor who was able to teach him all that he needed to survive the attacks.

He smiled ever so slightly, remembering the long, pleasant years he had spent as apprentice to Iago Redivivus. He was the envy of everyone in the land, having won the right to apprentice in a contest of strength and valor. Those days brought peace to his torn soul, like salve on a firebrand scar. He studied and schemed and became the King's Wizard. He had ensured the peace and tranquility through wise counsel and just a bit of trickery. But it was for their own well-being.

That well-being was now at risk. He must, by any means, stop the menace. His initial onslaught had not fared well. He had hoped the element of surprise would give him the advantage. It had not: whether through treachery or some corrupt divine wisdom of his adversary, all had nearly been lost.

He finally drifted off into tortured and painful sleep.