Since we're still working on this volume of the trilogy, this brief plot synopsis is subject to change. Just as with book one, only the first three chapters will be outlined in depth, but sadly, we can't even do that much now. It's entirely possible that we might have to go back and change things in chapters 1-3, and we don't even have some parts written yet. So, until we know that the events in those chapters are going to stay static, you'll have to be content with this little write-up.

Two years have passed since the end of the Battle for E'dis. The Darashanian people have rebuilt their beloved city, but there are troubling rumors spreading... rumors of a sorceress dressed all in white who has bewitched the new Darashanian High Cleric, Dran Cragthorne. The people whisper about the strange woman, who lives in the Temple of the Light - supposedly only one or two doors down from the High Cleric himself! - and practices her dark magic when the sun goes down. "Who can trust mages?" they mutter amongst themselves, watching suspiciously as the witch saunters down the middle of the street. "Who can trust their kind, when they brought the first two Great Wars upon us, when they created abominations, Dragons and Immortals and unholy plants which steal your mind? Who can trust them, when they march upon us and destroy our fair city with powers which we cannot even begin to fathom?"

"We should drive her out," they whisper, but they don't dare to approach her. It's not only the High Cleric she's bewitched, but some of the veterans of the Battle, as well. The men escort her to and from the Temple when she goes to buy her arcane goods, and their eyes are ever watchful, their muscles tense. "It doesn't matter," the people finally murmur to one another. "The army will be leaving soon, leaving to destroy the mages as we should have a thousand years ago when we only drove them away from our shores. When they return, they'll deal with the witch, and free the High Cleric. We only need to be patient."

The Darashanian army returns at last, summoned back from their mission to clear the land of the remnants of the Tyrodon army. Lizardkin walk side by side with men, but it is clear from their watchful gazes that neither are comfortable with their alliance. They have fought for two long years, finding encampments of khan and grenk, of men whose hearts seem as black as those of the monsters. They have destroyed all they found, but now they have been called back, to board ships to Majitan. The Darashanian High Council has learned that the mages have fallen ill, that magic no longer works as it should. The Maji are weakened, and the Council plans to strike. K'leth Rossk leads his warriors with a heavy heart, one laden with regrets and doubts. He no longer knows what path his feet should trod, nor even if they should trod at all. He looks up at the gates of the city, and he sighs. He knows that the path will be a long one.

Riikos awakes with a gasp from a nightmare, but not the kind he's feared for every day of these two years. Xaanic hasn't yet been reborn, he's sure of it, but he doesn't understand why. Jarden sleeps soundly in a bed on the other side of the room, but Riikos ignores him, going instead to the window and looking out over the plains towards the city. Towards her.

The Council of High Mages gathers, some barely able to walk from their rooms in the tower to the great meeting hall. Their world is falling down around their ears, and there's nothing they can do to stop it. Or is there? "It's too dangerous," Khi'ris says, massaging a temple with one finger. "Too dangerous to attempt." "But we must try," L'halla says softly. "We are losing all power, all control. If we do not act, we risk losing everything. Even our lives." Swayed by eloquent words and fear of death, they try... and by the end of that night madness grips more than half them in hands of steel.

And through it all, the Darkpriests laughed... for they were the ones who had planned it all.