Angel's eyes scoured the land. What had once been a grassy expanse was now nothing but scorched earth. Toppled walls and foundations of what had once been battlements and towers were all that remained of the destroyed castle that once stood there overlooking the stormy sea. The middle-aged man stared blankly at the water. He had searched every brick and boulder, certain that the tome he craved was there.

The constant roar of the waves crashing into the rocky shore beneath him soothed his turbulent mind. He turned to face the desolation once more. Where once a grove of trees had stood tall and proud only charred stumps remained. Amidst the blackness were patches of green grass and flowers.

The earth will heal. Will I? Angel wondered.

Staring across the whole of the landscape in search of something he might have missed, he thought of the murdered archmage whose abode the castle had been. He recalled his younger days as the wizard's disciple, hanging on the mentor's every word, swallowing up his knowledge with an endless appetite. With a deft movement of his finger, Angel conjured up a ghost image of the castle in its full glory, tall towers piercing the sky, low battlements crowning a blue and white roof. The conjured image scintillated in the dying rays of the sun.

A sudden gust of wind gave him a chill. He smiled, remembering a day of particularly heavy rain. They had gone back inside but only after he at long last managed to catch a bolt of lightning. Denya sat on a cushioned armchair by the fireplace and shared with him some of the inner workings of magic, the very secrets of the Art.

That was a long time ago… The wizard heaved a sigh as he superimposed the illusion onto the ruins. He gave me what little knowledge he cared to give and then left me on my own.

Angel grew bitter at the thought and his mind turned to the master's untimely death. If Charles hadn't killed him, I would have had to do it myself. It was time for someone else to carry on. Good riddance.

He terminated his spell with a thought and waited for the conjured castle to fade into the wind.

"You won't find it," promised a hollow voice to Angel's left.

The speaker, an elderly ghost of a man, wore a flowing gown of purple and black that hung loosely over a frail skeleton of a body.

"You're not dead," Angel blurted in horror.

He studied the man's long white hair and sagging skin in disbelief, but the sunken eyes that seemed to be missing years of sleep held the same fierceness he so vividly remembered.

"And you're still in the habit of stating the obvious." Denya pursed his lips in displeasure. "I suppose I could tell you where to find the prized collection you so desperately seek. Yes? That special book containing forty years of my life and the results of my long years of research — "

"Important research brought to an untimely end," said Angel.

"You carried on for me. I made sure the right materials and the right information would always fall into your lap when you needed them. You would not be here without my help. But, I am willing to negotiate a trade. Help me kill Charles and I will give you the book."

"I see," said Angel. "And where is your revenge if I deliver it?" he asked after a moment of stunned silence.

Denya's expression turned grave. "As I've arranged for your success, so can I arrange for your demise, my dear Angel."

The former apprentice's eyes narrowed with displeasure even as his blood boiled at the outrageous proposition. Then, realizing he could use the unexpected turn of events to his advantage, he bowed his head. "Yes, Master."