
Prologue
========

Ezra Cooper hated riding. His foster brother, Lucas, could
never understand why Ezra didn't share his own love of horse
flesh. Lucas kept a large stable of massive destriers, and
was always trying to get Ezra to accept a choice foal from
his stables. Ezra always found an excuse to refuse the gifts.
To tell the truth, even the sight of Daisy, the placid little
pony he sat on right now made him a bit green about the
gills. Fortunately, he wouldn't be in the saddle much
longer.

Daisy crested the top of a gentle hill, and Ezra was treated
to the sight of a verdant valley spread out before him in
the thinning morning mist. It was beautiful, or would have
been if it were not for the slash of gray cutting through
the center of the valley, pressing on towards the far hills.
Ezra grimaced under his wiry red beard and urged Daisy on
down the hill.

When he came to the edge of the gray swath, he saw a swarm of
black insects pressing the infected zone further and further
out. He had let this go on for far, far too long. A pestilence
wildmage was one of the worst things that could happen to
a small farming community like the hamlet he had passed on
the way down the hillside. Fortunately, the insects had not
yet reached the houses and grain silos, but even if he put
a stop to this now, the peasants of this valley would face
a hard winter. Not for the first time, Ezra wished he knew
just a few of the lost secrets of the druids. He could
call hellfire and ride the wind, but a strong wheat crop
was what these people needed now.

Getting down off Daisy, Ezra tied the reigns to a tree
branch and eyed the pony suspiciously. Daisy just gave
him an indulgent snort and bent to crop some grass.
"Right then." Ezra muttered and drew a glass jar from
his overstuffed saddlebags. Casting about in the
undergrowth he chanced upon a long stick. At nearly
7 feet long it was twice as tall as he was, which
he was sure, made him look perfectly ridiculous
as he pressed on towards the expanding desolation
using it as a walking stick. His torso rolled unevenly
with each step, his limping gate resulting from a
twisted left leg being shorter than his mostly ordinary
right. He reached up with the stump of his right wrist
to rub at his beard. He hated having to leave his hand
behind.

The petulance was just twenty feet away now. Ezra
was glad that no one else was around to watch the
great and fearful sorcerer struggle to jerk a stick
out of the tangling bows of a young pine. He wished
Lucas was here. He was good at this sort of thing.

*Of course*, Ezra thought, *I'm good at _this_ sort
of thing.* He extended his branch out towards the
swarming insects. When he drew it back four or five bugs
were crawling over the tip. Clenching the stick against
his body with his stump, he grabbed one of the creepy
crawlies and dropped it into his jar. The wildmage
he was hunting must have been a good person. It hadn't
gone malevolent yet, or he would be drowning in vermin
right about now.

Ezra retreated with his prize to a safe distance, then
bent to sit on the soft forest floor. "Let's see how you
tick little one." Ezra said to the bug. He opened himself
to the magic all around him and peered at the bug with
his flame-orange eyes. He could immediately see the dark
magic which suffused the little being. After a moment
he picked out the little thread of magic which led
back towards the swarm. Carefully, oh so carefully,
he poked and prodded at the bug with his magic. Finally
satisfied he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together to
create the tiniest little spark of hellfire he could
muster.

He exhaled softly, making a puff of air that carried the
spark down to settle gently on the bug. This next part
was the tricky bit. He instructed his missing hand to
snap through a rapid series of arcane gestures and the
fleck of fire sank into the bug's body without seeming
to disturb the little creature at all. Ezra smiled at
a job well done and let the little bug go. It flew back
to the swarm with an angry buzz.

After fifteen minutes he judged that he had waited long
enough, and he rose to his feat. His joints ached as they
had since he was a boy, so he shook them out while
he waited for his carpet to arrive. A moment later
the small square of tightly woven fabric he had made
when he was 17 came hurtling down out of the sky. It
came to a rest next to him and he pulled on the black
runed belt which lay in the center of the carpet, a
silver dagger sheathed and attached to it already.
He gave a little shudder of pleasure when he thrust his
stump into the blob of molten gold which still sat on
the carpet. After a moment the blob shifted and formed
itself into a shining hand which Ezra rolled around.
Without magic he was incomplete. He hated having to leave
his tools behind in order to sneak up on another mage.

The wildmage was right where Ezra expected him to be,
at the tip of the spear of pestilence, striding through
a wide field of wheat. The creature before Ezra had once
been human, but now it's head had twisted into that of
a preying mantis and round fly's wings hung from its back.
It's legs were even more twisted than Ezra's own, but where
Ezra's legs slowed him down there was a deadly efficient
look to the taught sinews of this creature's limbs.

"If you surrender now I will help you. You can come back
from this!" It was something that Ezra knew first hand.
There was a time when his body had been more fire than
flesh.

Rather than reply, the wildmage flicked a hand at
the floating sorcerer and a ribbon of insects shot
towards him. Ezra hadn't really be expecting any
different. There weren't many mages who could come
back once they had gone wild. Even fewer could do
so while unbound.

Insects fried themselves against the shield Ezra's
belt projected. Each impact against the shield
sucked away a bit more magic stored away in the
device. If this went on much longer Ezra would have
to respond. "Stop this! I want to help you!" He
shouted once more.

The onslaught continued unabated. Ezra grimaced
and snapped his fingers. Ever bug in sight disappeared
in a flash of hellfire. Wildmages while incredibly
powerful, were unable to use more than one type of
magic. A pestilence mage usually reinforced any constructed
swarm with healing magic to counter any magical counter-infection
which tried to make use of the swarm's coordination net. That
option wasn't available to a wildmage like the one in front
of Ezra.

Gravity shifted under the insect caller, knocking it off
balance, then Ezra was upon him with a cold-iron collar
etched with runes.

That night, Ezra chained the wildmage to a long line of
similarly twisted monsters. He and the other King's
Mages had been too preoccupied by the war these last
five years. Now that peace had come to the Camerill
Empire they had a lot of work to do. The people deserved
better than being forever trodden underfoot by great
men and women, but Ezra was damned if he knew how to
bring that about.
