In the realm of Ostravah, magic lies broken and forgotten. Now, with the approaching millennium, an ancient strife that has spanned aeons will soon rekindle because the capricious Gods never rest - and they want their dues... As this high fantasy continues, the mystery and darkness deepen... Facing an unpredictable foe whose obscure demands could potentially threaten everything she holds dear, life-shield Solancei Calverhana's desperate circumstances seem to take yet another turn for the worse. As she fights back, a bold escape attempt leads her only deeper into trouble as she loses her way within the bowels of an old dungeon where an unexpected, but harrowing discovery awaits. It leads her to the fearful conclusion that the nightmare-tales she and the rest of Ostravah believe to be little more than 'horrors of imagination', may, in fact, be based on terrifying fact and truth after all. However, what is the truth? The things that crawl from the fires and hunt by the shadows of night can surely not be real, can they? In fact, though a frightening concept to consider, can she actually trust what her eyes and mind show? Or is the State of Veranto spinning illusions out of her exhaustion and her extended abuse of the mind-link? Neither possibility appeals, but now physically and mentally haunted and hunted through the maze of abandoned stone tunnels, the more pressing question is: how long she can elude capture? And should she even try? As Solancei's choices rapidly dwindle, she is pushed by oaths and conscience not to give up, but as her mind seems that of someone else and as she learns more about the man who rules Zanzier, will she manage to stay head above water, or will she drown in the wave of madness that appears to surround and sweep her along? Never a Gods fearing person - nevertheless, now might be a good time for Solancei to pray for a change in luck... Excerpt Solancei stared hard at her feet. The toes of her boots were scuffed. Lingering evidence of mud dulled the mute colour and the leather bore several artistic lines of water damage besides. It'd take a lot of grease to set it right... She twisted her fingers. Would that she could somehow sneak her boots into the general pile of items that would be seen to by Iambre's multi-talented host of people. Would that she could. "...and I think you'd agree?" At the sharp lift to his words, Solancei startled, realising that he'd asked her a question, but unable to hide the fact that she'd apparently faded from attention. Fleck, her head was full of mush... "Look at me," he demanded with the same edge of danger as before and Solancei looked up, smoothing shimmering confusion. "I would see your face and those dark eyes of yours," he continued with a poignant glare, "Otherwise, how would I read what you are contemplating?"