“Jace,” said Emmara’s voice in his mind.
Jace struggled to turn over. His body complained, but he maintained the mental connection with Emmara.
“I’m here.”
“I need you to come to me now. I’m at the Conclave. They’ve imprisoned me. Please come.”
“I’m sorry,” he thought to her. “I can’t be there just now. Just keep listening to my voice. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid I must tell you that Calomir—the actual Calomir—is gone.”
“What?”
“The man we’ve seen is an impostor. A shapeshifter set on infiltrating the Selesnya. Calomir is dead. I’m very sorry.”
Silence. Emmara’s thoughts did not form words that Jace could hear.
“So if you see someone posing as Calomir,” Jace went on, “stay away from him, if you can. If you can’t, do whatever you have to do to stay safe. Stall him. Don’t let on that you know his secret. I’ll be there soon.”
Another silence. When he again heard her thoughts, there was a certain strained vibration to them, like an earthquake held to a slight tremor by sheer will. “This is true, isn’t it.”
“I’m afraid so. Emmara, I’m so sorry.”
“All right. I understand.”
There was another pause. Jace sat there in the darkness, waiting.
“Jace?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t lose contact with me.”
“I’ll be right here.”
“Don’t leave.”
“I won’t.”
The blackness around him was so complete that it felt useless having eyes at all. He smelled chilly, dank stone, and dust. He reached up and put his hand to the ceiling he had melded through, and touched the wall next to him. Both were solid, cold, and slightly rough, like cut granite. His breathing quickened. He may have been blindfolded during his journey down here, but he knew he was deep, far from sunlight—perhaps even far from a source of air.
He heard something move in the darkness, a shuffling against stone—something nearby.
“Is someone there?” he muttered.
“We’re glad he’s brought you to our little prison,” said a male voice. “Mirko and I are very glad you’re here indeed.”
Jace blinked in the darkness. He used a whiff of mana to conjure a globe of bluish light, and his surroundings emerged.
He was in a small stone room with a low ceiling and no apertures. Two figures appeared in the light before him: the vampire Mirko Vosk, his fangs bared, and the vedalken man who had been Jace’s research compatriot, Kavin.
“Kavin!” gasped Jace.
Kavin also bared a set of fangs. That was new.
“I owe this one a debt of pain,” said Kavin. “Let us share him.”
“What’s in his skull is mine,” said Vosk, his voice hoarse with malice. “The rest you may do with as you wish.”
Jace watched the two vampires approach him, glints in their eyes reflecting his sphere of light. His back was pressed against the wall.
“Emmara,” he thought.
“Yes?”
“Stay safe.”
“What’s happening?”
“I have to leave you.”
TO BE CONCLUDED