Vale stood up and dusted off his robes in the storage area behind Cain’s Tavern. It was dark, musty. Like a cellar or a cave.

“What is this place?” came a sharp, loud voice from somewhere in the darkness. Vale turned to face Roland, who emerged from the shadows.

“That’s right. I followed you and your magic trail. Did you not think that someone as powerful as I could trace such obvious magical work?”

A faint smile traced Vale’s thin lips.

“In this place, Roland, your type of magic means nothing. Here, you are nothing. Here, you will be defeated. Did you not think I was so clumsy as to leave a trail like that by accident?”

Roland’s eyes flashed with anger. In the dim light, he looked ferocious. His sword glinted.

Vale raised a hand and the sword clattered to the ground. Roland stood in the center of the room empty handed.

“It is not I whom you are destined to face,” Vale said slowly in a voice that seemed to rumble from the very walls. There was a snapping sound, and Roland was alone.