thousand years had passed since Merlin fell victim to the

enchantment of Morgan Le Fay and mankind had learned nothing.

And so Ambrosius had stormed throughout the world like the Four

Horsemen of the Apocalypse rolled into one, selecting men he could

control—as he had once selected Arthur, though he had learned

from his mistakes and he carefully avoided all clay-footed

idealists—and reuniting governments, propping up their collapsed

economies, supporting the technology of the pre-Collapse days with

the reborn magic of the Second Thaumaturgic Age. And anyone

who tried to stop him… simply disappeared.

Yet Kanno knew what had become of them. What happened to

their life energies, eh, Ambrosius? What kept you going all those

years, living so far beyond any normal human lifespan? What gave

you such power?

Necromancy. It was the obvious answer, of course. It was the one

truth that no one ever dared to speak out loud. It was like pointing

out the emperor’s new clothes. Oh, warlocks whispered it among

themselves, but even men, they chose to cloak it in mystical,

sentimental hero-worship. Merlin had done only what he had to do,

what his fate had demanded of him. He had shouldered the heavy

burden of his sins to save mankind, as if he were some sort of

Christ figure. And during his lifetime, he had indeed been treated

as if he were the Second Coming.

ft was not for nothing, Kanno thought, that Ambrosius had

instituted the proscriptions against necromancy. The reasons were

twofold. First, it fit in with society’s long-standing proscriptions

against the taking of human life, and in following that old,

humanistic tradition, Merlin had reinforced his status as a

benevolent lawgiver. And second, it insured that once the

knowledge he had spread was assimilated by the society of the

Second Thaumaturgic Age, no adept would ever attain the level of

his power. Ambrosius was no fool.

But Ambrosius was gone now. Zorin hardly ever left his country.

Tao Tzu was a recluse. And Yohaku… well, Kanno had already

proven himself the master of the aptly named “empty space.”

He suddenly became aware that the tapping had stopped. He had

lulled himself with the music of the shakuhachi, retreating deep