by Barb Hendee
The second one bore the ring of nothing, slick with black fluids.
Chane slipped it over his own finger without bothering to wipe it off.
The pocket's walls wavered briefly in his sight.
Leesil ran down the arcing tunnel, followed by Sgaile. He slowed only once when he spotted the skeletons in their stone cubbies. Chap raced on, giving them no notice.
The dog's eerie hunting cry rolled along the tunnel walls an instant before Leesil burst out into a widened hollow.
Hundreds more cubbies pockmarked the vast cavern before him. Vapor wafted up from the glowing chasm, partly obscuring four narrow stone bridges arcing out to a stone platform above the wide chasm's center. Magiere stood but one step off the platform along the nearest bridge-with Welstiel a few paces in front of her.
"Get to that one!" Sgaile shouted, pointing with Leesil's old blade.
The muscular undead stepped to the bridge.
Leesil didn't see Chane anywhere as he sprinted forward. Chap closed first and snapped his jaws on the hem of the undead's robe.
"Hold him!" Leesil shouted.
He grabbed the big undead's robe between the shoulders, trying to get a grip with his punching blade still in hand. From the corner of his eye, he saw Welstiel block Magiere's first swing.
Leesil heaved hard as Chap lurched backward with his jaws clenched. The undead's robe began to tear in the dog's teeth. The muscular vampire stumbled as Sgaile closed from behind, raising Leesil's old winged blade.
The undead set his feet and twisted sharply around, swinging the iron bar.
Leesil's grip broke as the robe tore in his hand. He teetered, and Sgaile barely ducked as the iron bar arced through the air. It came straight at Leesil's neck.
He had no chance to regain his balance and raised both blades.
The bar connected with a sharp metal clang. The sound vibrated through his forearms as he was thrown off his feet.
Leesil landed hard on the stone floor.
The bulky undead lunged again for the bridge.
Magiere willed rage to come, pushing everything but Welstiel from her mind. Fury, like an echo of lost hunger, flooded Magiere at her first swing.
Welstiel blocked her blow with his longsword and stroked it aside, but his maimed left hand spattered black fluids all around. He retreated another step, drawing her further out onto the bridge. Rising vapor dampened Magiere's hair and strands of it clung to her cheeks.
"This is not necessary," Welstiel nearly shouted. "I know it speaks to you and fills your head with deception. Do not listen to that thing hiding in slumber, toying with us both! Everything I have done is to protect the orb-"
"For yourself!" Magiere returned.
Mention of that whispering voice, the connection between him and her, only made fury grow inside her. She snarled and swung again.
Welstiel dipped his longsword, catching her heavier falchion.
Beneath the impact of steel, he faltered, and quickly shifted his block. Magiere's blade slid along his and spun away. Welstiel came about and slashed for her throat. She didn't have time to pull the falchion up, and had to drop low.
The longsword passed just above her head. She jerked her falchion back, slicing across his side.
Welstiel's mouth gaped beneath his widened eyes, and he retreated another step.
The blade he'd created to defend himself against their father was now used against him. He felt its searing touch just like any other undead.
Magiere flushed with pleasure at his pain-and wanted to hurt him more.
As her mother, Magelia, had lain bleeding to death in her birthing bed, Welstiel had taken her only child, born of rape by an undead father and the blood rite of a necromancer.
But Bryen and Ubad were gone. Only Welstiel remained to suffer for all three.
Magiere reached behind with her free hand. She pulled the long silvery war dagger from the back of her belt.
Leesil flopped over and slashed for the undead's leg. His blade's tip sliced across its calf, splitting cleanly through boot cuff and breeches. The vampire whipped its curly-haired head around.
Maddened eyes fixed upon Leesil. It swung down with the iron bar, and he twisted the other way. Stone chips scattered over his face as the bar's end cracked upon the floor.
Leesil slammed his blade down atop the bar before the undead could lift it again. Chap lunged in, wrapping his jaws around the undead's other ankle, and Leesil saw the split where he'd struck its calf.
Thin trails of black fluids still ran down its leg-but no wound remained. It had already closed.
The iron bar lurched, squealing with sparks as it scraped free of Leesil's blade. He looked up as Sgaile kicked out hard.
The undead's head snapped back under the blow. Chap released his jaws and bit into the side of the man's knee.
"Over the edge!" Sgaile shouted. "Into the chasm!"
Leesil kicked into the undead's other knee as Chap shredded the one in his teeth.
Sgaile whirled. His foot lashed out and connected again.
Leesil caught a glimpse of Magiere.
Welstiel backed along the bridge. Magiere charged him with both sword and dagger drawn.
Magiere flipped her dagger, gripping it point down. The heavy falchion was slower than Welstiel's longsword, and she might not parry well with the dagger. But the silvery blade braced along her forearm might keep her from losing a hand if she had to block. All that mattered was stopping Welstiel's sword, just for one moment.
His tunic was split along the side. The fabric's edges were soaked dark with his fluids. But in place of an open wound, Magiere saw only a scar.
She'd seen the marks her sword left on the undead, but the wound couldn't have closed that quickly.
"I am bolstered… fed in the orb's presence," Welstiel whispered, "but you… you still live and breathe. No matter what you gain from it, I will not need to take your head… to kill you!"
Magiere hesitated. She didn't know to what extent the orb could affect her and wasn't about to test it. If he was right, she had to take his head before she was too wounded to go on.
Welstiel rushed with an upward whip of his longsword, trying to strike for her chest between her weapons. Magiere pivoted sideways and swept her left forearm down.
She caught the sword's end with the flattened dagger. Welstiel dropped low and thrust out, and the longsword skimmed along the blade.
The sword's point buried in the upper half of Magiere's sword arm.
Without hunger to block the pain, Magiere crumpled and dropped the falchion.
Chap saw Magiere drop to one knee. And he went cold inside as Leesil shouted, "No… no!"
Sgaile's foot cracked against the muscular undead's skull.
Chap sprang, clawing up the undead's body.
He didn't care what happened to him, so long as this vampire went down and someone got to Magiere. He sank teeth into the undead's throat and called up a memory from within Leesil's mind.
The large undead teetered and began to fall toward the chasm's edge.
Chap clung to it by tooth and claw, letting his weight bring it down.
Leesil rolled to his feet as Chap latched on to the undead's throat. Between Sgaile's last kick and the dog's sudden weight, the undead began to topple toward the edge.
Chap didn't lunge away.
Leesil threw aside one winged blade. He reached out wildly to grab Chap by the scruff, but his mind was still numbed by the sight of Magiere buckling under Welstiel's thrust.
A memory erupted in his head.
Downstairs in the Sea Lion's common room, he'd been alone in the dark-drinking-as Ratboy slipped in through a window. At the sound, he'd pulled a stiletto and hurled it. But the blade had stuck into a tabletop rather than into the little vampire's head.
Only Chap could have raised that forgotten moment, trying to tell him what to do-whom to save.
Leesil snatched a stiletto from his wrist sheath, breaking the holding strap.
With one quick flip, he caught the blade and threw it.
Magiere gasped as Welstiel jerked his longsword out of her arm. Her fury held, but it wasn't enough to eat the pain-not like her missing hunger could have.
On withdrawal, Welstiel flicked the sword tip at her throat.
She barely blocked it with her dagger-shielded forearm. The longsword's tip slid off and scraped her hauberk's shoulder. It didn't cut her, but its drag on the leather pulled her off balance.
Welstiel swung his blade back, and it rose over his head. With no room to dodge aside on the narrow bridge, Magiere raised her forearm with the dagger and braced for the impact.
Welstiel lurched.
The longsword stalled and wobbled above him. His eyes widened, and his lips spread, exposing clenched teeth.
Magiere almost lost her opening in surprise. She spun the dagger in her grip and slashed fast and hard across his knee.
The blade cut through his breeches. He screeched in pain, and Magiere heard a sizzling hiss from the dagger. She started at both sounds.
Smoke rose from the severed cloth around Welstiel's leg. As he spun away along the bridge, Magiere saw the stiletto embedded below his left shoulder blade. She glanced at the dagger in her hand.
A red glow along its center hair-thin line faded quickly to its old charcoal black. Vapor thickened and sputtered softly as its moisture touched the blade-as if the metal had suddenly heated during her swing.
Welstiel came about. He fixed upon her in cold anger and advanced.
Magiere abandoned any notion of grabbing for the falchion. She came up, gripping the dagger's hilt hand over hand. Welstiel took a double hold on his sword as he brought it down.
Sparks scattered as weapons collided and then vanished rapidly in the humid air. Magiere let the dagger tilt upon the impact.
The instant Welstiel's sword slipped away, she slashed the blade back up across his face.
Welstiel whipped his head aside with a cry, and the stench of burning flesh filled Magiere's nostrils. She swung out, striking for his sword arm. Smoke erupted from his wrist as the blade slashed across. He shrieked as his grip on the sword's hilt went limp.
The longsword clanged upon the bridge and Magiere heard nothing more.
Welstiel grabbed for his wounded wrist with his fingerless hand. He tried to shield his smoking face with both arms, and one foot slipped off the side of the bridge.
"No!" Magiere screamed. "Not that easy!"
She grabbed for him as he fell, catching his forearm. Her knees hit the bridge as Welstiel's full weight dragged her down, and her grip slid up to his wrist.
Magiere held on to Welstiel and strained to pull him up.
She couldn't spend her life wondering if he'd truly died in the chasm's depths. She wouldn't live with that doubt. But she wasn't going to drop the dagger for a second grip.
Magiere slammed the blade down into Welstiel's chest.
He didn't even scream as smoke welled from the heated blade sinking into him. She heaved on the hilt, draging his torso halfway onto the bridge. She released his wrist, pinning him with her knee, and snarled her fingers into his hair.
Welstiel convulsed once as she jerked the dagger out.
The blade crackled as his black fluids burned off under its heat. Magiere pressed it to his throat.
A charred gash angled between Welstiel's eyes, running from the bridge of his nose and down through his cheek to the side of his mouth. Teeth and bone showed through smoking split skin. His eyes were filled with confusion and pain, as if none of what was happening could be real.
And it still wasn't enough for Magiere.
Not for all she had suffered or what so many others had lost because of him. She leaned close to Welstiel's mangled face, whispering, "Whatever waits for you… when you get there… give Father my hate!"
Magiere shoved the blade down.
Welstiel's face went slack as it split his throat. When she felt the dagger jam into bone, she ground it through.
The tip of the dagger grated on the stone.
Magiere let Welstiel's body tumble off the bridge.
Leesil hoped his stiletto had struck true. He rushed for Chap, but he wouldn't make it.
The large undead's back and head cracked against the bridge's side. He rolled off and fell.
Sgaile flung aside Leesil's old blade and bolted onto the bridge.
In midair, Chap tried to leap off the undead's chest. Only his forepaws hooked the bridge's edge. Sgaile reached out and grabbed for Chap, pulling the dog up. The yowling undead clawed at empty air, and fell into the chasm's clouded depths.
Leesil quickly closed on Chap and Sgaile, but then his gaze traced along the bridge.
Halfway out, Magiere knelt, staring over the edge, but Leesil saw no sign of Welstiel.
"Drop down," he said.
Sgaile buckled low, still holding Chap, and Leesil hopped over them. Before he reached Magiere, she lifted her face.
Her fingers were snarled in the hair of a severed head, and Leesil saw one white temple as he slowed. Magiere slumped and closed her eyes. Beneath her scowl, Leesil could see her pain. In the end, even killing Welstiel hadn't taken it away.
With her eyes still closed, Magiere flung the head.
Leesil watched it fall through the misty air, growing faint and small. It vanished altogether, though he never heard it strike in the chasm's obscured depths.
Magiere felt as if she'd awakened in one of those seven hells Leesil so casually spit out in his curses. Welstiel was gone, but it solved nothing-changed nothing-for her.
It didn't erase what she was, or change what might wait for her in the future.
Then Leesil crouched down before her.
Magiere gazed into his wild amber eyes, so faintly slanted beneath white-blond eyebrows. What might he say about all this? What was there to say? But the sight of his tan face and bright hair pulled her halfway from that hell.
"Where's Chane?" he asked, so softly, as if reluctant to ask anything of her.
The question shook Magiere fully back into the moment. "I don't know."
Leesil pivoted, and Magiere saw Sgaile and Chap near the bridge's end.
"Stay there," he called to them. "Watch the tunnel… Chane is still missing."
Chap spun about, and Sgaile followed the dog off the bridge. Leesil turned back and reached for Magiere.
"Let's see that arm."
She'd forgotten about the wound, and strangely, all the pain was gone. Leesil pulled apart the blood-soaked rent in the sleeve of her wool pullover. He wiped gently with his fingertips, clearing blood from her arm, and then stopped.
Magiere saw no wound. Not even a scar.
"Even you don't heal that quickly," Leesil said, looking none too pleased. "I saw a wound on that big undead close too fast. What is happening here?"
Welstiel had claimed he was untouchable in the orb's presence, and she wasn't. Apparently he'd been wrong-not that it made Magiere feel any better. She spun on one knee, looking back to the orb. Li'kan stood staring at it, and nothing on the platform had changed.
"Come on," Leesil urged, "before we get any more surprises."
He grabbed her arm, hoisting her up.
Magiere paused only to pick up her falchion, but she didn't sheathe it or the dagger. As she stepped onto the meeting place of the four bridges, she kept her eyes on the white undead.
All her dissatisfaction settled on the notion of taking Li'kan's head.
This ancient thing-and whatever controlled it-wanted Magiere to have the orb. So why had Li'kan done nothing to stop Welstiel and his minions?
"What's wrong with her?" Leesil asked.
Magiere took a long breath. "I don't think she's been down here in ages-or longer than I can guess. She just froze at the sight of it."
"So what is it?" Leesil whispered.
Magiere had no answer. She was no mystic or sage, and doubted that even those who were would understand the orb. She was just a rogue, a ch
arlatan grown tired of the game… and a tainted thing born in the worst of ways. But instinct told her this device was no longer safe here, and she believed the Chein'as knew this as well.
They had given her the circlet, what Wynn called a thorhk.
Without even thinking, Magiere sheathed her falchion and tucked away the dagger. She pulled aside her hair to lift the circlet from her neck. From the look of its open-end knobs and the grooves in the spike's head… was this thorhk a handle for lifting the orb?
Leesil's brow wrinkled as Magiere fitted the circlet over the spike.
The knobs slipped along the stone grooves, until they settled in the notches on the spike's opposing sides. Gripping the circlet like a bucket's handle, Magiere lifted with both hands, trying to clear the orb from its tall stone stand.
She expected resistance. Whatever the orb and false spike were made of, the whole of it looked heavy. To her surprise, the circlet lifted easily.
A hum rose around Magiere, seeming to fill the cavern. Or was it inside her, running through her bones, gathering in her skull?
"No!" Leesil shouted. "Put it back in!"
Magiere felt water droplets gather on her face. She saw them on her hands as the air's mist seemed to pull in around her. A light spread from somewhere beneath her grip on the circlet, and she dropped her gaze.
The spike hung free, dangling from the circlet's knobs. Rather than lifting orb and spike together, her circlet had pulled the spike, separating it.
The orb, still resting in the stand, emanated light… was made of light. Its glow sparked within the drops upon Magiere's arms and hands.
Rainbow hues swirling through the orb suddenly bled into each other, until its whole form burned pure teal.
"Put the spike back!"
Magiere heard Leesil's shout, but she couldn't turn away, and her eyes began stinging from the light. Her vision blurred like snow blindness.
Only the orb remained crisp and real.
Magiere couldn't move, though she felt someone's hands close atop her grip on the circlet.
Chap turned back as the landing hollow's dark space filled with light. He cringed at the brilliance erupting from the platform.
Three hazy silhouettes were barely visible in the glare. Then a tingle crawled over Chap's skin, making his fur bristle.
