“Alexander Taylor,” a weak, fearful sounding voice said. “I didn’t think to see you again so soon, and I’m sure you didn’t think you’d see me.”

Alex could feel the cold stone floor under him, and he pushed himself up and carefully shook his head. His ears felt like they had been stuffed with cotton, and his mouth was dry. Everything he could see was in shadow except for a single beam of light coming from a window high above him. The light hit the edge of the Axe of Sundering, making it shine in the darkness.

Alex looked around to see who had spoken to him, but as far as he could tell, he was alone.

“Who . . . who are you?” he asked.

The weak voice gave a nervous giggle that was quickly cut off.

Alex picked up the axe, and with some difficulty got to his feet.

“Where am I?” he demanded.

“Where you belong,” the voice hissed back at him. “In prison.”

A shadow moved away from the far wall and limped toward him. It waved its arm, and the light from the window flared white. Alex shielded his eyes from the sudden brightness. As his eyes adjusted he looked around, trying to find answers.

Three of the walls around him were smooth, made of stone, and had a strange pearl-like color, but the fourth wall was made of gray-black bars. On the other side of the bars stood a man who Alex recognized now that he’d moved into the light. He was an old man with gray hair, wearing a long black robe that reached to the ground.

“Magnus,” Alex said. “I’m surprised the Brotherhood didn’t get rid of you after your failure in Nezza.”

Another fearful giggle escaped the old man.

“The Brotherhood protects its own. I have been waiting for this day since we last met, Master Taylor.” He sneered the word, making it sound like an insult.

“I defeated you once before, and I will defeat you again. You and the Brotherhood.”

“The Brotherhood is more powerful than you can possibly imagine. Do you honestly believe that you—alone—can do what no one else has been able to do in more than two thousand years?”

Alex gripped the handle of the Axe of Sundering more tightly.

“If I have to.”

“So brave, so proud, and so foolish.” Magnus took step toward Alex’s cell, and Alex saw that Magnus’s left leg and foot were made out of the same grey-black metal as the bars of his cell.

“I see you’ve recovered from your injury,” Alex said, nodding toward Magnus’s leg.

“This? Oh, yes. A gift from my master, Gaylan. Forged by magic and stronger than true silver. The same magical metal makes up the bars of your cell—and the walls . . . well, I’ll let you find out about the walls on your own.”

“How did I get here?” Alex asked.

“Jabez was connected to many magical people. At one time he was a member of the Brotherhood. We’ve been keeping a close eye on Jabez since he turned traitor. When you managed to break his magical connections with the Axe of Sundering, we knew exactly what was happening and where we could find you. Gaylan opened a portal, and we brought you and Whalen Vankin here. Just as our master planned.”

“It was a trap?” Alex asked.

Magnus shook his head. “No, it was an opportunity. One we had hoped for, planned for, and then seized when the moment arrived.”

“What do you want, then?” Alex asked.

Magnus lifted his shoulder in a small shrug. “You must have figured that out by now. You’ve seen what the Brotherhood has been working toward. Surely you are not blind.”

“You want to control the known lands,” Alex said quietly. “You want power.”

“We already have power,” Magnus answered, laughing at Alex’s answer. “Far more power than you dare guess. Now we will reach beyond the known lands, and you will help us achieve our goals. With you and your pretty little axe, we have the final pieces we need to win a complete victory.”

“Whatever it is you’re planning,” Alex said, “I will stop you.”

Magnus lifted his eyebrows. “How?”

Alex let loose his magic, sending a spell of destruction at Magnus and the bars that stood between them. The spell raced forward, but it never got even as far as the cell bars. The magic turned, divided, and melted into the stone walls and ceiling of his cell. Magnus stood, smiling wickedly at Alex, completely unafraid.

“Excellent,” Magnus said. “Now you learn the real power of your cell. The walls are made as the Orion stones were made. Your magic is now locked into these walls, and slowly, so very slowly, every drop of your magic will be sucked away.”

“You will never take my power!” Alex shouted, as he rushed forward and grabbed the bars of his cell. The bars burned his hands as if they were red hot, and he jerked back in pain.

Magnus laughed. “Looks like you need some time to cool off and consider things. Save what little strength you can, wizard. Gaylan will be along shortly, and if you play your part in our plans, he might just let you live.”

Magnus waved his arm again and the prison fell back into shadow. When Alex’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, Magnus was gone.

Alex sat down on the cot that was at the back of his cell. He’d let the Axe of Sundering fall when he’d rushed the bars, and it lay on the floor in front of him. The weak light that filtered into the room made the axe appear to glow. Alex flexed his burned hands, trying to get rid of the pain. The heat from the bars hadn’t done any real damage to his hands, but it hurt all the same.

Leaning back against the wall, he took a good look at his surroundings for the first time. There was nothing there to help him, or at least nothing he could see. The axe might help, but Magnus had said the gray-black bars were stronger than true silver, and Alex wasn’t sure if he dared damaging the axe on them. He could actually feel his magic slipping slowly away and there was nothing he could do about it. A way out was what he needed, but all that he could think was Where is Whalen? Magnus had said that the Brotherhood had brought both Alex and Whalen here. He had to be close. Alex reached out with his magic to see if he could find Whalen, but the walls of his cell absorbed everything. He shouted for Whalen and thought he might have heard a weak groaning nearby, but he couldn’t be sure. He slumped against the wall, his mind racing, trying to make sense of what had happened and seeking a way to escape.

None of his thoughts gave Alex much hope, and slowly his mind slipped into a dark blankness, where no clear thinking could take place.

“All is not lost,” Alex’s O’Gash reassured him. “There is always a way out, even if you don’t see it at first.”

The stone felt cold behind Alex’s back, slowly leaching away his body heat. The tips of his fingers and toes began to tingle.

Alex hated waiting. He would much rather be doing something—anything—than sitting and waiting for someone else to make the first move. He forced himself to his feet and began to pace around the small cell. The motion helped bring warmth back to his hands and feet, and it was only then that he realized how cold the entire cell had become. He exhaled, surprised to see his breath cloud in front of his face.

The shimmering bars appeared to have been coated with a layer of frost, and the stone walls were as slick as ice.

What was happening? Was it a trick of the Brotherhood? An attack of some kind?

Alex increased his pacing, hoping the extra movement would help keep the cold at bay, but the temperature was dropping too fast. The floor grew slippery under his feet, and the air around him crystalized into small snowflakes.

He moved to stand as close to the bars as he could. Ice had begun to build up between the bars, nearly closing in the one open wall to his cell.

“Whalen!” Alex called, his voice shaking with the cold. “Whalen, where are you?”

Alex knew that if he didn’t do something fast, he would freeze to death.

Magnus had told him to “cool off”—he must have cast a spell. But how did you fight cold?

With heat, Alex thought.

He returned to the cot and held his hand over the bare mattress. “Inferno,” he said, remembering the first spell he had ever learned.

Nothing happened.

Alex’s heart dropped. It was the simplest spell he knew, one that required the least amount of magic. And if he couldn’t even make that one work, what hope did he have to work any other kind of magic?

“The magic is still inside you,” Alex’s O’Gash said. “Even if you can’t feel it or access it. It is a part of you.”

Alex folded his outstretched hand into a fist. His O’Gash was right. His magic wasn’t something that could be taken away by someone else. It was a part of him as much as his bones or his blood or his mind. It was part of what made him who he was. Alex picked up the Axe of Sundering, placed the head of it on the ground between his feet, and gripped the handle with both hands. If the axe could be used to sever connections to magic, maybe it could also be used to make connections to magic.

Alex closed his eyes and turned his thoughts inward, searching for that spark of magic that no spell or wizard or member of the Brotherhood could extinguish.

He remembered the fire of excitement he’d felt when he’d first seen the sign in Mr. Clutter’s shop, calling him on an adventure.

He remembered the blaze of anticipation when he’d been measured for his weapons and learned he could be a warrior and a wizard.

He remembered the heat that emanated off Slathbog’s body when Alex looked the dragon in the eye.

He remembered the magical fire that filled him when he wielded Moon Slayer in battle, the burning sands of Nezza under his feet, the heat of dwarven forges, and the purifying beauty of the Oracle of the White Tower.

He concentrated on those memories, reliving them one by one, until the handle of the axe grew warm beneath his hands.

He pushed further into his mind. He remembered the intensity of his emotions: his anger at facing down enemies who threatened the innocent people he tried to protect; his determination to uphold his honor, no matter the situation; his belief that good would always overcome evil.

He grit his teeth and reached for his deepest self, his truest self.

Dragonfire roared to life inside of him. Visions of the dragons he’d met filled his mind, Salinor leading the way, and he remembered that he was also a dragon.

My brother, Salinor said in his mind.

Alex’s body trembled with the force traveling through it. Heat poured off of him in waves, driving back the cold that had threatened to overwhelm him. The magic he had sought rushed back into him, filling him completely.

He would never let it go again.

He would never let the Brotherhood defeat him.

Alex opened his eyes. Steam rose from the floor where the axe rested. The weapon glowed with a bright silver-blue light. Alex braced himself, then lifted the blazing Axe of Sundering up, swinging it over his shoulder. He took two steps toward the frozen bars and, with a roar that began deep in his belly, Alex brought the axe around with all his strength.

The white-hot blade cut through the magical metal bars as if they were made of wax, the ice melting at the axe’s fiery touch.

Quickly, Alex carved a hole large enough for him to walk through. Once freed from his prison, he moved swiftly down a long hallway. There was only one other cell door, and when he looked inside, he saw his friend. With three quick strokes of the Axe, Alex was inside the cell and by Whalen’s side.

Whalen’s prison wasn’t cold like Alex’s had been, but Whalen remained motionless. The only clue that he was still alive was that his chest was barely rising and falling.

“Whalen,” Alex whispered. “Wake up.” He reached out and touched the wizard’s shoulder.

The moment Alex made contact, Whalen sat upright on the cot, eyes wide open, gasping for breath.

Alex took a step back in surprise.

Whalen turned to him. “Alex? What are you doing here?” He looked around in confusion. “Where are we?”

“In the grip of the Brotherhood,” Alex answered. “But not for long. Can you walk?”

“I think so.” Whalen stood up with Alex’s help, and then squinted and held his hand in front of his eyes to block out the light shining from the Axe of Sundering. “How are you doing that?”

“I’ll explain later,” Alex said. “We have to go. Now.”

Alex slung Whalen’s arm over his shoulder and helped the old wizard from the prison cell. Together they stumbled down the hallway, past a dozen other cells—all empty—and through a dark wooden door. They emerged into what appeared to be the common area of the Golden Swan back in Telous.

Alex stumbled to a stop in surprise. He helped Whalen sit down at a nearby table before he took a closer look at the room they had entered.

The room was nearly an exact replica of the building he knew so well. Tables and chairs were placed around the room, though in the real Golden Swan they would be filled with adventurers gathering to talk and drink. Here, there was no one but Alex and Whalen. The room even had the same white walls, large windows, and emerald trim around the shutters—but instead of the image of a swan with emerald eyes hanging over the back bar there was a creature with three heads and six arms and a jaw opened wide as if to devour everything in its path.

Alex felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of it.

“The Gezbeth,” Whalen said, his eyes fixed on the image of the creature. “The symbol of the Brotherhood. It is as I feared.”

“What is it?” Alex asked.

“I fear we have arrived at the headquarters of the Brotherhood itself. We are in the very belly of the beast, Alex.” Whalen’s voice was low. He tapped his fingers on the table and frowned. “Something’s wrong. I don’t feel like myself.” Whalen closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, his face was gray. “It’s impossible,” he whispered. “My magic . . .” He opened and closed his hands as if he could grasp something that had already been taken away. “I felt it return to me when you broke the Orion stone, but now . . . the Brotherhood. . . . They haven’t taken my magic, but they have blocked me from using it.”

“They did that to me as well,” Alex said. “Or they tried to, at least.”

Whalen nodded to the Axe of Sundering Alex had slipped into his belt. It was still bright, but not blazing like the sun. “You broke the spell? How?”

Alex rested his hand on the top of the axe. “I am Alexander Taylor, adventurer, wizard, and dragon lord.” He smiled at Whalen. “And you trained me well.”

Whalen offered him a weak smile. “I am not sure how much I had to do with it.”

“Nonsense. You have been an amazing teacher—and friend.” Alex sat in the chair opposite Whalen. “What is our next step? What do we do now?”

“I believe I can answer that,” a voice said from behind them.

Alex and Whalen both turned. Alex half-rose from his seat, his hand on the axe at his side.

A man stood at the doorway. He was tall, and might have been considered handsome if not for the scar that ran down nearly the entire left side of his face. The wound bisected his left eye, leaving it milky white and cold. His right eye was dark and filled with cunning. He met Alex’s gaze with a smile.

“Gaylan,” Alex said. He had seen the man’s face before in a vision. “Head of the Brotherhood.”