Galharath reached out, took hold of their minds, and they were lost.
Diran found himself standing in a chamber that he hadn't seen for decades, though it felt as if he'd been here only yesterday. Long room, high ceiling, wooden floors, empty save for a large mahogany chest with double doors… He was back at Emon Gorsedd's academy, inside the Proving Room.
"Welcome home, Diran."
Though he'd been alone an instant before, Aldarik Cathmore now stood before Diran. The man appeared just as Diran remembered him: lean, handsome, looking like he was in his late thirties. Cathmore wore the same outfit he always did for sessions in the Proving Room-long-sleeved light brown shirt, tan pants and boots.
Diran didn't know what magic was at work here, and he didn't care. He reached for a pair of daggers sheathed at his belt, but his hands brushed only soft cloth. He looked down and saw that he wore the gray tunic of a new student at the academy. He felt around for his cloak and found he wasn't wearing it. No belt sheathes and no cloak meant no daggers. He was unarmed.
Cathmore smiled. "Missing something?"
Diran realized then that he wasn't just dressed as a student; his body was that of a much younger man… a boy. Though he retained his adult memories, his physical form had regressed to the age he'd been when he'd first entered the academy, or at least, it seemed that way. Diran remembered Solus's warning as the entrance to Mount Luster started to open. I can feel it! Psionic energy, far stronger than anything I've ever known! Somehow the kalashtar working with Cathmore had to be responsible for this.
"This isn't real," Diran said.
"That depends entirely on one's definition of reality," Cathmore countered. "You are real, I am real, and the power that gives shape to all this-" the master assassin gestured at the room surrounding them-"is real. If you die here, I'm afraid that will be real, too."
"That's a two-edged sword, isn't it? If I can die here, then so can you."
Cathmore laughed. "Your mind is as sharp as I remember, Diran. I'm tempted to offer you a chance to join me. Together, the two of us could destroy my half-brother and his vaunted Brotherhood. Then by using the power of this facility, we could create an army of psi-forged even stronger than Solus-mindslayers who would obey our every command. We could establish our own Brotherhood, one far more powerful than anything Emon could ever dream of!" Cathmore paused then sighed. "But I won't bother. I know the spineless followers of the Silver Flame have warped your mind with their foolish beliefs. Everything we taught you, Emon and I… wasted." He shook his head. "It's enough to make me weep."
"Where are my friends?" Diran demanded.
"Oh, they're around, but you shouldn't worry about them. You have problems enough of your own to deal with. Do you remember our first session here?"
"How could I forget? I only wish I'd been smart enough to slit your throat instead of hitting you in the shoulder with that dagger."
Cathmore's eyes glittered with cold anger. "Indeed, and if you'll recall, there was a third party present."
Cathmore did nothing that Diran could see, but now there was a body lying on the floor nearby. Male, naked, bronze-skinned, concentric tattoo on the top of his bald head, a droopy black mustache on his lip. The man's eyes were swollen and black-tinged, as were his lips. Diran recognized Bruk: one of the raiders responsible for killing his parents, and the man he'd poisoned in the Proving Room so many years ago.
Diran whispered the raider's name, and as if the word were a signal of some sort, the dead raider's eyes snapped open. The eyes were white and filmy, with no sign of iris or pupil. Bruk's swollen lips parted in a grotesque parody of a smile, revealing discolored teeth that were sharper than they should've been. Moving with slow, spastic motions, Bruk maneuvered himself into a sitting position and then rose to his feet.
Diran reached for his silver arrowhead charm, but it was gone, along with his daggers. No matter. The arrowhead was merely a symbol. The true power came from the Silver Flame itself. Diran raised his hand and opened his mind and soul. Silver flame ignited in the palm of his hand to form a blazing arrowhead shape. Argent light washed over the undead creature that had been Bruk, but instead of being repelled, the raider simply stood and grinned at Diran.
Diran allowed the silver light he held to dim and wink out.
"I make the rules here," Cathmore said. "Your parlor tricks will have no effect unless I say they do." He turned to the undead raider. "Now I believe Bruk has a score he'd like to settle with you."
Still grinning, the zombie reached out with hands that looked more like animal claws and started toward Diran.
It was still night, but it was no longer cold, and the rocky terrain of Mount Luster had been replaced by grass and trees. Ghaji looked around, confused.
"Where am I?" he said.
"You mean, where are we."
He turned to see Yvka standing by his side, which was odd because he could've sworn she hadn't been there an instant ago. Nevertheless, he was relieved to see her.
"Weren't we about to enter the mountain?" he asked. "What happened to everyone else?"
"I think we are inside Mount Luster," Yvka said. "We just can't see it. We're trapped inside some kind of illusion. The others are probably here too, but we can't see them because whatever is causing this illusion won't let us." She reached up and stroked his left cheek. "You look younger, too. There's no gray in your hair."
Ghaji ignored her comment about his hair. An illusion? Everything seemed so real-the cool breeze, the birds' night-songs, the rustling of leaves… And if he were truly his younger self, why did he still carry his elemental axe? "Do you think Solus went crazy again?"
Yvka shook her head. "I doubt it. It's more likely this is Cathmore's doing… or rather the kalashtar he's working with."
Ghaji frowned. "Something just occurred to me. If everything around us is an illusion, how do I know that you're real? How do you know I am?"
Yvka smiled, stepped forward, and kissed him long and slow. When she stepped back, Ghaji grinned. "All right, you're real. So… how do we get break free of the illusion?"
Yvka shrugged. "I don't know. I've had occasion to use certain devices during my career that can create illusions, but never anything like on this scale. I wouldn't know where to begin. Too bad Tresslar isn't here."
Ghaji felt that there was a reason the artificer-or any of their other companions-wasn't present, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. There was something familiar about this place… and then it hit him.
"I've been here before! During my early days in the Last War, I served with a mercenary group led by Chagai. This valley was the site of the last raid I went on with them before I left the group."
"Before you betrayed us with your weakness, you mean."
Ghaji and Yvka spun around to see Chagai standing several yards away-not Chagai as he was now, but rather as he had been when Ghaji had served under him: younger, stronger, in his prime. Ghaji was certain the orc warrior hadn't been present before, and neither had the cottage that the mercenary leader stood in front of. It was a cottage that Ghaji had visited only once but had seen many times since in his dreams.
"I see you brought a friend with you," Chagai said, "and she's an elf." The orc wrinkled his noise in disgust. "Is she your woman, Ghaji? I can smell her stink on you."
Ghaji snarled and drew his elemental axe. He willed the weapon's flame to activate, but nothing happened.
Chagai grinned, displaying a mouthful of sharp orc teeth. "You're not in control here, Ghaji. I am. You participated in the raid on the shifter's cottage, but your heart wasn't in it. You're a coward and a weakling, Ghaji, a halfbreed ruined by the taint of human blood running through your veins. You never should have been born, and that's a mistake I intend to rectify now."