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something wasn’t right now. Arcannen was pressing too hard. “All right, but only if you release my sister first.”
    The sorcerer gave him a sharp look. “Why would I agree to that?”
    “If I give you the sword, you will have both the sword and my sister—here, in your own building. I’d be a fool.”
    Arcannen studied him further, then shrugged. Pulling out a knife, he severed Chrysallin’s bonds and removed the gag. She scooted off the bed and stood uncertainly, as if perhaps she hadn’t gotten her balance back. Then she moved over to stand beside her brother, ignoring Arcannen.
    “Are you all right?” Paxon asked. “Are you hurt?”
    His sister shook her head. She was almost as tall as he was, though still gangly and awkward in the way of very young fillies, but there was such determination in her eyes that it gave him pause.
    “Now give me the sword,” Arcannen ordered, still standing next to the bed.
    Paxon leaned over and kissed his sister’s cheek. “Get behind me,” he whispered, keeping his face hidden with hers. “Jayet is outside the door.”
    She moved behind him obediently. “Open the door, Chrys,” he told her, facing Arcannen again. “See what’s out there.”
    She did as he asked, then rushed out into Jayet’s arms.
    “The sword?” Arcannen pressed. “You won’t get out of here alive otherwise.”
    “Go downstairs,” Paxon called over his shoulder to the girls. “Get out of here. I’ll catch up to you in a minute.”
    “You try my patience!” Arcannen snapped, starting toward him.
    But Paxon quickly reached over his shoulder and unsheathed the sword. “Don’t you want to examine it first and make certain of what you are getting?” he asked, holding the blade in front of him. The black metal glittered in the dim light. “Come, have a look.”
    The sorcerer smiled. “You never intended to give it up, did you? You intended to keep it all along.”
    “Remember what you said about me a moment ago, about not being very honorable? It seems that, where you are concerned, it’s true.” He backed toward the doorway, eyes fixed on the sorcerer.
    “Put it down!” Arcannen ordered, his face flushed, throwing back his robes. “Do it while you still have the chance, boy!”
    “Stop calling me ‘boy,’ and I will consider your suggestion.”
    “You have no idea what I will do to you if you refuse! Don’t be a fool. I’ll finish you and go after your sister, and you will both be dead!”
    Paxon was within the open doorway now and almost clear of the room, still watching the other closely. Arcannen was going to do something; he just didn’t know what the other’s magic allowed. He backed up another step. He had no idea how he was going to get out of this; he only knew he wasn’t giving up the sword willingly because he sensed now how badly Arcannen wanted it.
    He risked a quick look out of the corner of his eye. The hallway was deserted. Chrys and Jayet were gone, and there wasn’t any sign of Arcannen’s men. Time to make a run for it.
    But Arcannen was already moving. He seemed to gather himself all at once, everything folding into his body almost as if he were collapsing. Then his arms thrust outward violently and wicked black light exploded from his fingertips, shooting across the open space that separated him from Paxon.
    Paxon, acting without thinking, brought the blade of his sword up sharply to deflect the attack.
    Then something strange happened. A surge of heat burst inside Paxon and the black blade of the Sword of Leah flared to life, its length gone bright and reflective, its metal infused with greenish snakes that wove their way through its length. It happened all at once—so quickly that Paxon had only a split second for it to register before the sorcerer’s attack struck him, throwing him backward through the doorway and across the hall to slam into the wall beyond.
    But the magic expended by Arcannen did not touch his body or harm him in any way. Instead,