Part 76 (1/2)

Two more of the leathery fiends dropped upon Cabe. He pointed at the nearest, the spell already cast- Both Necri disappeared.

Certain that it was some sort of trick, the wizard looked quickly around.

All of the Necri had vanished. Even the dead and the one Cabe had secured. The only traces of the monsters were a few tracks and some blood stains. Otherwise, it was as if they had never been.

The beaked wolf dropped to the ground just before Shade. The warlock opened the side of his cloak and it leaped into the shadows within, vanis.h.i.+ng as readily as their foes.

As Darkhorse returned to them, Shade dismissed the unsettling blade to the other side of his cloak.

”You used that with skill,” Cabe commented as the murky face of the warlock turned toward him.

”A family tradition,” the warlock returned somewhat dourly.

Cabe raised an eyebrow at this further revelation. He had learned more about Shade's familial past and understood less than he ever had since first meeting the hooded spellcaster.

”We have vanquished the demons!” roared Darkhorse. ”Let the Lords beware!”

”We held our own. What do you say, Shade?”

”Our strength was tested. They know our mettle.”

He seemed poised to say more. ”But that wasn't all?”

”Ephraim would have more in mind, yes. We shall just have to wait and see.”

”And in the meantime?”

One gloved hand gestured in the direction that they had been heading before the attack. ”We continue on.”

Darkhorse snorted, but said nothing. His torso indented on the side, making footholds for Cabe. The wizard mounted and the gaps filled again. The shadow steed did not offer a ride to Shade nor did the warlock look at all inclined to ask.

Something had been bothering Cabe and he finally had to ask, ”You watched her arrive. You saw Valea when she first came here.”

The warlock no longer looked his way. ”I did not see your daughter, but I sensed her.”

”You should've done something to send her back!” Cabe felt his rage suddenly build. If Shade had let her continue on, it was because it suited his purpose. In that, he appeared no better than the Lords of the Dead.

The warlock wrapped his cloak about himself. ”There was nothing I could do at the time. I could have no more stopped her than I could have this confrontation, Cabe Bedlam. It has been decreed. It is as it must be.”

And with that said, Shade started off.

”SO MANY NECRI dead,” muttered one of the Lords.

”There are always more Necri,” pointed out another.

From his place at the center, Ephraim said, ”They served their purpose. Our cousin and the others think we have taken their measure, which, in part, we have. They are not aware of what we also did.” His fiery eyes stared down at the crystal. ”And now their doom is set. Soon, we shall have not only our cousin at our beck and call, but the eternal and the wizard as well.” Ephraim surveyed his comrades. ”And then, at last, we shall stretch our influence to the realm of the living . . .”

V.

VALEA WHIRLED AS the door slammed behind her. She could sense no magic in the action, yet clearly some spell had come into play. However, before she could study it, the hooded figure said again, ”Sharissa . . . You should've known better . . .”

Turning back, Valea saw the ghost vanish. She and the prisoner stared at one another as if both had sprouted second heads.

His eyes narrowed. ”You are not she . . . but you are.”

”She?”

”My Sharissa-no-she was never my Sharissa.” He looked down in shame. ”For her entire life, she never knew that desire.”

From what Valea had seen of the ghost, she doubted that this Sharissa had been so ignorant of the man's interest. He had held some place in her heart, if not the one for which he had hoped.

She took a step toward him. ”Who are you?”

”The fool of fools, the coward of cowards, the sorrow of my father's grand existence . . . Gerrod, by name, Tezerenee by birth, my unfortunate lady.”

The last meant something to her. It was a name out of one of her father's journals, from his study of the Vraad. She could not recall what it was that had been written about them, though. ”Why are you a prisoner?”

”Because my cousins are malicious and obsessive.” Gerrod's features twisted into distaste. ”And quite gruesome.” He forced the expression away. ”But come! I've been remiss! So seldom do I get a visitor other than them! In fact-never!” He indicated the bench. ”Please. Sit. I'd offer you something, but-but I've nothing.”

”I've no intention of staying here,” Valea informed him. ”The two of us are leaving.”

She looked at the door, concentrating. For a brief moment, it trembled.

Then, nothing.

”You fail to understand, my lady,” Gerrod said, coming up next to her. ”They expected you to come.”

”How do you know that?”

He looked at her in open surprise. ”Why, Ephraim told me so.”

”And who is-”

”I am Ephraim,” came a voice from behind them.

Valea let out a gasp of surprise, then turned. Another gasp escaped her, this one of horror.

The figure stood a head taller than Gerrod and was clad from head to toe in black armor with the symbol of the dragon emblazoned on his breast plate. A thick, dark cloak hung over his shoulders and draped his back nearly to the floor. His helmet was topped with a savage dragon head crest.

But her horror came not from the sinister garments themselves, but rather their monstrous condition-and, worse, that of the wearer himself.

She took a step back as her eyes fixed on the rusting metal, the gaps where bone barely covered by dry skin could be seen. Within the helm itself the enchantress could make out part of the leering, fleshless mouth and the two gaps where the nose must have once been.

And the eyes . . . they still had the appearance of crystal, but within them flared a crimson light, an evil force that in itself stirred revulsion.

”Ephraim,” Gerrod remarked almost casually.