She stood on the edge of the cliff, facing out toward the ever-expanding blue ocean. He could only see the back of her head. Her long, coffee black hair fluttered effortlessly in the light breeze coming off the water. The day was perfect in every way. It was neither too hot nor too cold, and the tall, emerald grass swayed gently like ocean waves. The tulips in full bloom showed off their yellows and whites. She turned her head and smiled at Hastiand. Her tender face looked as though it had been carefully carved, shaped and smoothed by the finest of sculptors in all the world. The hazel of her irises shone like miniature golden rings.

  “Hello, Hastiand dear,” she said in that soft, airy voice of hers.

  Hastiand could say nothing. He stared at her, soaking in her beauty.

  “It’s all right," she said. "It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  Hastiand’s throat croaked as he said, “Catherine, can you ever forgive me?”

  She smiled wider, displaying her white teeth and full red lips.

  “There is nothing for me to forgive, my love. It is you who must forgive yourself. Let go of your burden.”

  “I...I can’t! I have to make this right.”

  “Yes, something must be set right, and you are the one to do it. But, you can do nothing until you first move forward.”

  A gust of wind tossed her hair, and the clouds thickened in the sky, dimming the light. Catherine gazed out over the ocean once more.

  “You have to go now, Hastiand. Remember my words.”

  “Return to me, Catherine. I love you.”

  “No, Hastiand. Not yet. Not yet.”

  The light continued to wane until finally all faded away into blackness.

  “Catherine! Catherine!”

  Hastiand awoke. It had been a dream, the same one he’d had over and over. He held his head in his hands; tears ran down his cheeks.

  “Catherine,” said Hastiand, “how can I forgive myself?”

  “What’re you whining about now?”

  Hastiand looked up at the mandolin.

  “Have a good dream, did we?” it mocked.

  Hastiand scowled at the instrument. “You were watching again.”

  “And what if I was?”

  Hastiand bit his tongue.

  “Nothing to say for yourself?” it said. “While you’ve been piddling the days away with that elf, the scroll drifts further and further away. Did you forget your task? I thought you wished to bring back your dearly beloved wife, Catherine.”

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  Rage filled every pore of Hastiand’s body. “You don’t get to say her name!”

  The mandolin chuckled. “My, aren’t we testy?”

  “I know what we have to do. What I have to do. But, I will do it in my time, not yours.”

  “Just what has that elf been telling you?”

  Hastiand looked away, disgusted. “None of your business.”

  “Oh, really?” said the mandolin in an angry voice. “I think it is!”

  A shock of hot white pain pierced through Hastiand’s head, making him scream. Tendrils of the mandolin’s mind reached into Hastiand’s. They were searching, worming their way through every part of his memories they could squirm. He could feel each memory as it was touched. The pain intensified with each passing second. Hastiand tried to resist, but the tendrils were already in deep.

  “Don’t fight me!” said the mandolin.

  The door crashed open and in ran Amon, an alarmed expression on his face.

  “Hastiand!” Amon looked at the mandolin. “Let go of him!”

  “Stay out of this, sand vermin,” growled the mandolin.

  Amon’s head kicked back. The mandolin launched a new assault on the elf, but Amon was ready. He blocked the invasive thoughts of the mandolin. Mystical chants from a language long forgotten poured from his mouth as his hands moved in a well-practiced pattern. A deep red glow formed in his palms. Red like Amon’s eyes.

  “You will not take me,” yelled the bounty hunter.

  Red flames shot from his palms, striking the mandolin and engulfing it. An unholy noise, like the cry of a banshee, emanated from the mandolin. Hastiand’s mind cleared as the probing tendrils faded away. He looked at the mandolin and saw a red glow surrounding it. The instrument's eye glowed with anger.

  “What did you do to me?” it shrieked.

  “Put you back in your place. That bind should shut you up for a while.”

  The light of the mandolin’s eye languished within the blackness of the sound hole.

  “How do you know of this kind of magic?” it asked.

  “As if I would tell you.”

  Then, in a low voice that hinted at realization, it said, “Ah, I remember now.”

  The eye faded away altogether. Hastiand grabbed his head with a grunt.

  Amon moved to the side of the bed and asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Well, it's worse than my hangover after the last Moon Festival,” said Hastiand.

  Amon couldn’t help a laugh. “It amazes me how you can keep your humor after something like that.”

  Hastiand looked into Amon’s eyes and asked, “How did you do that?”

  “Through long hours of practice.”

  Hastiand gripped Amon’s arm and said in a low voice, “Show me.” Surprise came over the elf’s face.

  “Please,” continued Hastiand, “I don’t want that thing in my head ever again.”

  Amon hesitated. “No. The strain of the training would be too much.”

  “Then I’ll get stronger. I don’t care how long it takes. After our talk last night, you know what I'm after. Give me the strength I need.”

  “But, the dangers—”

  “Forget the dangers. My life will always be in danger with the mandolin. Besides, if we both can use magic, it should make the going easier, right?”

  Amon stared at Hastiand for a long while. Finally, he sighed. He waved for Hastiand to follow him out of the room.

  Once both were seated around the table in the study, Amon said, “It will take some time. I wager several days will be needed just to prepare your mind. Humans aren’t naturally attuned for it.”

  “At this point, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  Amon nodded and started pacing the room. “We’ll need to do it in such a way that we keep the mandolin unawares.”

  “Why not just bind it again?”

  The elf shook his head. “It’s not that simple. I can only use that particular incantation once in a fortnight. It takes that long for my mind and body to be able to cast it again.”

  “Do all spells work that way?”

  “Yes and no. That one does because of its complexity and power. Other spells can be recast right away, but overcasting takers a toll on the body.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “When do you wish to start training?”

  “Today. Right now, if possible.”

  “Very well. We’ll eat breakfast and then go to the basement. That is where we will train.”

  “Can’t we start right away?”

  “Don’t rush it. You need to regain some of your strength and calm your mind after this morning’s ordeal.” Then Amon rose from his chair and said, “Now, how about that breakfast?”