Connor Blackman wrapped himself in an invisibility shield and flew into the cold morning sky. He sent a silent prayer to the Horned One that Mikhail didn’t destroy anything in his library or kill anyone with important information. The more he saw of the former merchant the more he feared Morana had been right to warn him away from the stupid young man. Unfortunately, Connor had invested too much time and power in creating the black knight to simply toss him away and start over. Phase two of his plan would begin in earnest within weeks if not days and Connor simply didn’t have time to make a new servant.

Connor flew east toward the Barrier Mountains. His base was only a half hour’s flight from the steep mountain range and when he reached them he stopped and hovered, gathering himself for his second great trial.

The tall, jagged peaks marked the eastern border of the kingdom. On the far side lay the haunted lands, a blasted land crawling with demons and undead. Unless you could fly over the mountains, the only way to travel between the kingdom and the haunted lands was a single, narrow pass. On the kingdom side the Order of the Shield, the largest order of paladins in the kingdom, had built a massive citadel.

How he despised the holy warriors. Each of them was bonded to an angel, gaining its power and skill. They were powerful enemies, but arrogant and overconfident. No one had challenged them in many years and they believed no one could. Connor would set them straight in due time.

The order had been formed three hundred and fifty years ago when explorers first discovered the haunted lands. The leader of the order pronounced the reclamation of the haunted lands his group’s reason for existing. The more practical members decided the first item of business was stopping the undead from wandering through the pass and into the newly formed kingdom. The citadel took five years to build, but when they’d finished, combined with the paladins’ holy power, it formed an impenetrable barrier.

Connor grimaced and focused on his mission. He surrounded himself with a crackling barrier of dark energy that should protect him from the worst of the life-draining effects of the haunted lands. For the truth was, the haunted lands were an annex of hell on earth. The living, even a warlock like Connor, had no place there. At least he needed no food or drink like a mere mortal.

The moment he passed across to the far side of the mountains, a familiar, crushing power gripped Connor with an iron fist. He pushed more power into his shield and snarled away the pain. It was nothing compared to the first time he visited the grim locale years ago as a simple sorcerer. He’d feared just crossing the border that first time would kill him instantly. It didn’t and he gained the first and most precious of his artifacts.

He touched the bronze amulet that hung around his neck under his blood-red tunic. If he was right, that amulet was the key to everything. If he’d miscalculated Connor would most likely die in the haunted lands, his soul consumed by the Horned One for his ignorance.

Below him the bleakest environment imaginable sped by. No spark of life appeared anywhere in the gray wasteland. Here and there a shambling zombie or a darting, ravenous ghoul broke the otherwise empty landscape. The zombies ignored Connor as he flew over their heads, but the clever ghouls turned hungry gazes toward the meat above them.

He didn’t fear the minor undead; none of them would last an instant longer than he wished. The danger lay with the sort of creature a display of his power might attract. Far mightier and more fearsome things lurked in the wastes than zombies.

Forty-five minutes from the mountains Connor caught sight of the first sign that anyone had once called this land home. A flat-topped, step-sided stone pyramid thrust up from the gray sand. On the top the ancients had built an altar. The Horned One alone knew how many sacrifices that altar had accepted.

This was what Connor had flown so far to find. Others had visited the pyramid, warlocks of the old cult, men and women slain long before Connor’s birth. Most considered them madmen and lunatics, but Connor honored them in his heart as his forebears. Everything he’d accomplished he owed to their early efforts. Unlike those pioneers, he didn’t intend to fail.

Connor landed beside the towering pyramid. It rose at least two hundred feet into the air. Unlike stone structures in the kingdom, no sorcerer had fused the stone blocks together. Thin lines showed where the blocks fit. The few scribblings he’d found indicated the final pyramids had been constructed in a hurry.

Connor raised a reverent hand and laid it on the polished stone. A hint of corruption flowed into him. Such power, and it constituted only the barest taste of what waited inside. Connor sent a stream of soul force into the stone, seeking the door. He found it in moments. An ancient ward kept the temple sealed against casual visitors. His power interacted with the ward. Black flames outlined the entrance thirty feet to his left. Massive stone blocks slid inward and to the right, revealing a black tunnel running straight towards the interior of the pyramid.

He stood looking into the darkness, savoring the moment. Years of study and research had led to this and Connor wanted to enjoy it.

A pair of glowing red eyes appeared ten feet above the ground, cutting his savoring short. Power gathered around those eyes and crimson flames flickered to life revealing the massive form of the guardian demon. Ridged plates covered a massive humanoid shape, but darkness obscured most of the details. Connor had expected to meet the monster in the heart of the pyramid, but it must have sensed his power and come hunting.

Better to have his first test sooner than later.