Chapter oneA madman clawed at the debris with torn and bleeding fingers. The close confines of the tunnel echoed to a hoarse and desperate gasping. The detritus spilled in a heap as massive to a distraught imagination as the whole of the Stratemsk, daunting, heartbreaking, agonizingly slow to clear. Dust choked everywhere distorting the weak light of the torch wedged into a cleft. A maniac tore at the jumbled rock. A fellow bereft of his senses cursed and choked and ripped at the sarcophagus that entombed all he loved dear on two worlds.
That poor demented creature was me, Dray Prescot.
Delia had stood here to warn me, the real, wonderful Delia and no weird phantom conjured by Illusionist magic. She had warned me — and the roof had fallen on her.
The jagged chunks of rock lacerated my f
