Part 79 (1/2)

Then he sensed what appeared to be the remaining part of his twin. The inky form, blacker yet than all the others, sought to seep into the cold earth, but Darkhorse's hoof crashed down before it, cutting off escape. With almost pitiful movements, Yureel attempted to race under his foe.

With a harsh laugh, Darkhorse created another limb right above where he knew the splotch would go.

The hoof came down, stamping out the last of Yureel. Blue lightning briefly crackled as the last bit burned away.

Darkhorse looked around quickly. He neither saw nor detected any other traces. Still, if anything had managed to slip by, it surely amounted to nothing. Unless the Lords of the Dead deigned to be generous and give Yureel a second opportunity-which was highly doubtful considering the latter's abysmal failure-then any bit of Darkhorse's twin still remaining was doomed to forever be only a glimmer crawling uselessly over the empty land.

Satisfied, the shadow steed considered his next move. Whatever else happened, Cabe would head toward the castle in order to find Valea. That was what Darkhorse expected of him. The children of his friend were almost as dear to the eternal as they were to Cabe and Gwen. Darkhorse would have willingly sacrificed himself for any of the humans' sakes.

So the castle was his next destination . . . yet, where was it?

Probing the haze, he discovered not the lair of the necromancers, but rather a more welcome thing. A very familiar, comfortable presence.

Cabe?

Darkhorse? returned the wizard. Where?

The stallion strengthened the link between them. I know where you are, he told Cabe. Wait and I shall be with you . . .

Picturing the human in his mind, Darkhorse concentrated.

The next moment, he stood right before the wizard.

”Praise be that you're all right!” Cabe said, smiling in relief.

”Their trap was clever, but not clever enough!”

”You, too? Darkhorse, Azran's ghost confronted me.”

”Indeed?” The shadow steed recalled all too well Azran Bedlam and s.h.i.+vered. ”And I was faced by a Yureel still intent upon devouring me.”

The wizard frowned. ”Yureel? But how could he be here?”

”The Lords no doubt salvaged some small bit of him after our last struggle. I sent that final piece of refuse to oblivion.”

Cabe could scarce believe it. ”Azran and Yureel . . .”

”Yes, we were both quite fortunate!”

”A bit too fortunate,” muttered the human, not explaining. ”It doesn't matter. You and I are together and the castle's just ahead.”

Gazing up, Darkhorse saw the grim sanctum. ”Indeed! We shouldn't let our hosts await us any longer, then, friend Cabe!”

”No, we shouldn't.” The wizard mounted. His tone matched well their surroundings. ”And if I find they've harmed her in any way, not a thousand Azrans and Yureels combined will keep me from making them pay.”

The eternal snorted ferociously, echoing his companion's sentiments, then the two started off toward the castle . . .

EPHRAIM MATERIALIZED IN the midst of the pattern, taking his rightful place. The five who had not gone with Zorane and the others looked to him for their next move.

”The Bedlam and the eternal?”

”The wizard readily sealed his father in a box much like our old 'catchers.' The eternal proved that his twin was now but a shadow of him,” reported one sorcerer, his jaw bone completely missing and his ribs showing through his rusted armor.

”They failed miserably,” mocked another in similar condition.

Ephraim nodded. ”Then everything goes as I predicted.” To the others-and even himself-his lips curled back in a triumphant smile. The sight would have been no less macabre than the eternal, fleshless grin he actually wore. ”Now it is time for the female.”

IX.

THEY WOULD BE coming soon. Whether the ghoul called Ephraim or one of the other nightmarish Lords, Valea could not say. Likely Ephraim, as he seemed the most animated of them. Whichever the case, though, the enchantress intended to be ready.

”Gerrod . . . you said to Ephraim that he ever had more than one intention whenever he did something, is that right?”

”What you see on the surface is never all there is, not where he is concerned. He looks to all details, never wastes what may be of value.”

Valea nodded. Everything about Ephraim's plan seemed to focus on the removal of Shade as a threat, but what after? The Lords of the Dead had always desired to expand their dread might beyond their realm, to make the land of the living theirs as well. Yet, surely they expected resistance, especially from her own family, unless- Unless the Bedlams were removed as an obstacle first.

It all began to fall into place. This was more than a final confrontation between the warlock and the Lords. They had expected all along that one or both of her parents would follow her trail, most likely her father. Darkhorse, his constant comrade, would also come. The two most powerful forces of magic in all the Dragonrealm in one place. Between them, they were certainly more of a threat to the necromancers than even Shade. The Lords would have to destroy them if they hoped to conquer the living world.

Or would they? Ephraim never wastes what may be of value.

Surely Cabe Bedlam and Darkhorse would be more valuable if they could be turned.

She stifled a gasp. If they turned her father and Darkhorse, they could use them to take down her mother, the Lord Gryphon, and Queen Erini-the most powerful mages. The Dragon Kings, already much weakened, would fall one by one. The deathly, still lands of the necromancers' realm would spread across the continent . . . and perhaps beyond.

But they could never have expected Valea to journey here. Her decision had been but a recent one. Only when the spirit of the elf, Galani, had spoken to her in her dream- The spirit of Galani . . .

Had the entire situation in the Manor been the creation of the Lords? Surely not. The tale had been too real, too true. She had felt Galani's presence and the elf had, in turn, acknowledged hers.

But perhaps Ephraim had given the matter a nudge. It sounded very much like him.

And at that moment, the chill voice of the necromancer filled her ears. ”You shall come with me, daughter of the Bedlam, willingly or not.”

Gerrod gasped, ever seeming so real, so alive, despite his being a ghost.

She looked up into the fleshless, ghoulish visage, steeling herself as she met the Lord's inhuman, fiery gaze. ”What could I do to stop you?”

”Pragmatic. Like death itself, this is a fate you must accept.” To Gerrod, the necromancer said, ”He is here.”

The ghost dipped his head. ”I know. I've felt him.”

”You know when he will be weakest.”