When Mikhail entered the library carrying one of the urns Connor allowed himself a brief smile. At last something had gone right. It was a pleasant surprise to see Mikhail succeed for a change. Perhaps the fault for his earlier failures lay more on Connor for believing he could trust the unhinged young man with a complex task. On simple, brute-force jobs, Mikhail served as an outstanding sledgehammer to bludgeon Connor’s enemies.

His armor creaked as he took a knee in front of the black chair and held up the urn. “Success, Master.”

Connor accepted the urn and patted Mikhail on his armored shoulder. The power in the artifact made his fingers tingle. This was the first time he’d seen an urn of binding in person. Its power didn’t disappoint.

“Well done, Mikhail. This success goes a long way toward making up for your earlier mistakes. You had no trouble?”

“None, Master. The two weaklings protecting it were hardly worth my time.”

“You killed them then?”

The helmed head looked away. “No, Master. They hurled the urn in one direction then fled in the other. I allowed the cowards to escape rather than lose the prize.”

Surprised and pleased, Connor let his smile grow. “You’re finally showing a bit of good judgment. Killing two sorcerers is meaningless compared to claiming this artifact. What about the other two?”

Mikhail rose to his feet. “I received no message from the others. Perhaps the remaining urns slipped through their fingers.”

“Perhaps. My spies will let me know eventually.”

Eventually came sooner than Connor expected. A black crystal bird flew into the library, a message clutched in its beak. It appeared his spy in the capital had news. That didn’t bode well. He unrolled the tiny scroll and read the brief message. David was a prisoner and scheduled to undergo questioning within the hour. The urn was locked in the royal vault. Both were under heavy guard. His spy couldn’t get access to either and escape.

Connor snarled and a burst of hellfire incinerated the message. So much for his good mood. David knew far too much to be allowed to talk and the second urn, at least, must be recovered. Two out of three would be sufficient if not ideal.

“Master?”

Connor shook his head. “Problems, Mikhail, always problems.”

Connor gestured and a green crystal bird flew off one of his shelves and landed on the arm of his chair. A second motion brought two scrolls, a quill and ink. He jotted two short notes, gave one to each bird, and sent them on their way. He hated to burn his best spies, but the situation demanded it.

He just had to hope Eleck did his part.