No sooner had this registered than Kentril began to drop, but at a slower, almost cautious rate. He looked around, trying to find the cause of this miracle.
The still shadowed palace of Juris Khan greeted him.
Somehow, the light of the crystal had managed to avoid the towering structure, but now true dawn had finally arrived, and the first rays of the day had already begun to eat away at the last of the false darkness. Kentril might not have thought more of the edifice’s demise, but then he saw the figure poised at the very edge of the grand balcony, a figure with flowing hair of red.
Even so far apart, their eyes locked. Kentril saw in Atanna’s a combination of emotions that left him so startled that at first he did not realize that she continued to lower him toward safety. Only when a brief, sad smile escaped her otherwise solemn expression did he understand all she had done.
The light began to pour over the palace. Kentril felt himself drop faster, but not so fast that he risked death. Atanna leaned over the rail, her arm outstretched toward him.
Although he knew that Juris Khan’s daughter did not seek his hand, Captain Dumon could not help reaching for her. Atanna gave him another, deeper smile—
The sun touched her.
As it rose up her body, Atanna simply faded away.
At that point, the grand hilltop palace of Juris Khan collapsed in upon itself, quickly reduced to dust and ancient rubble. The hill itself seemed almost to deflate.
And without Atanna’s spell to maintain his descent, Kentril Dumon dropped like a stone toward the ground.
TWENTY-THREE
Voices pierced the darkness. “Maybe it’d be better if you just raise him from the dead and be done with it, lad.”
“He lives . . . although how that can be, I cannot possibly say.”
Kentril wanted the voices to go away, to leave him to his eternal peace, but they would not.
“I will try something else. Maybe that can stir him.”
A snort. “You should be using some of that power for mending yourself!”
“I will survive . . .”
A pinprick of light pierced the empty blackness, irritating the mercenary. Kentril tried to cover his eyes, but pain suddenly coursed through him.
“He moved, Humbart! He reacted!”
“Will wonders never cease!”
The light became insistent, glaring. It burned into his mind, forced him to look at it.
With a moan, Kentril opened his eyes.
Daylight greeted him, but it had not been the source of the glaring illumination. That proved to be the flaring light of an ivory dagger, a dagger held in the left hand of the necromancer Zayl.
The only hand remaining to the necromancer.
Zayl’s other arm ended in a bound stump just above the wrist. The pale Rathmian looked even more pale save where his face had been scarred red. His clothing hung in pieces, and he looked as if he had not slept in days.
“Welcome back, captain,” the spellcaster commented in a tone that for him almost bordered on the convivial.
“Lo! The dead rise!” chuckled the voice of Humbart Wessel. The skull sat perched on a rock next to the kneeling Zayl.
“Zayl . . .” Kentril managed to gasp. His own voice came out as more of a dry, hacking sound. “You’re . . . alive . . .”
The necromancer nodded. “You are as surprised about that as I am about finding you. How is it that you are down here among the ruins when you had to climb up to the top of Nymyr to stop Juris Khan?”
Kentril forced himself to turn. As he did, his lower chest and left shoulder ached terribly.
“Be careful, captain. You suffered broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. They can be healed a little better when I myself have recovered more, but it will take time.”
Ignoring him, Kentril looked at all that remained of fabled Ureh. Even less seemed to be left standing than when he had first come across the place. The outer wall stood in fragments, and the roof of nearly every building within had collapsed. Ureh now looked less like a haunted legend than like just one more ancient city abandoned to time and the elements.
And of the palace, only the crumbling foundation yet existed.
“Tell me what happened, Captain Dumon,” the necromancer urged. “If you do not mind.”
Of all people, Zayl certainly deserved the truth. Accepting a flask of water from the spellcaster, Kentril went into as much detail as he could recall, from the initial ascent to the pursuit, Gorst’s sacrifice, and finally his own decision to end the shadowed kingdom’s threat even at the cost of his own life. As he spoke of Atanna, the weary fighter’s throat closed, and his eyes moistened, but he continued his tale until his companion knew everything.
At the end, Zayl nodded sagely. “Perhaps a true archangel watched over you, captain. You timed it very well, especially where I was concerned. Another few seconds, and Khan’s demonic children would have torn me to shreds. Only the knife and some skillful playacting by Humbart preserved me for that long.”
“What did he do?” Kentril asked, glancing at the skull.
“Only pretended to be himself, their lord and ruler, calling to them to halt because the necromancer was needed for a spell. Did something like that with Khan, too. Maybe I should go on the stage after this!”
That brought a hint of a smile from Zayl. “Since neither our good host nor his corrupted people could see him, the idea bought a few precious seconds both times. Even still, the horde got over its confusion quite quickly”—he raised the bound stump—“as you can see.”
“Is it all over, then? Has the danger passed?”
“Yes. Ureh and her people are at rest, and the gateway to Hell is sealed once more. Before I found you, I searched the area for any traces of the corruption. There was none.”
Kentril peered up at the sky. By his reckoning, it had to be just after midday . . . but on what day? “How long was I unconscious?”
“Two-and-a-half days. I found you just before sunset of the first and have done what I could.”
Two-and-a-half days . . . Fighting the pain, the captain pushed himself up to a sitting position. “How are my legs, Zayl?”
“They appear unbroken, but you would know best.”
Testing them, Kentril discovered that although they ached, he could at least tolerate moving them. “If I can stand, I want to get out of here. I don’t want to sleep within the walls of this place another night.”
Zayl frowned. “It might be more prudent to wait another day or—”
“I want to leave.”
“As you wish. I understand.” With some effort, the necromancer rose. He put the skull in the torn pouch at his side, then moved to help the fighter.
As Kentril stood up, something clattered to the ground near his feet. Curious, he cautiously bent to pick it up.
Atanna’s face looked back at him from the brooch.
“What is it?” asked Zayl, unable to see from his angle.
The captain quickly folded his fingers over it. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Let’s go.”
They headed toward the lush jungle. As they slowly walked, the necromancer informed Kentril of his plan for them. “We can make use of your old base camp tonight, then tomorrow I will guide us safely to some of the others of my ilk. They will be able to help heal both of us, and then you can be on your way.”
“An outsider won’t be a problem?”
Zayl chuckled slightly. “Not one who faced down Diablo himself. This will be a story they will want to hear.”
Through the broken wall they stepped, leaving behind the Light among Lights forever. However, once well beyond the former limits of the shadow, Captain Dumon made Zayl come to a halt.
“Give me a moment, please,” he requested.
In silence, Kentril looked back at what had become the end of both a dream and a nightmare. The wind howled through the crumbling skeleton of the lost city, sounding like a lament for all those who had perished.
“I am sorry about y
our friends,” the necromancer said as kindly as he could.
Kentril, however, had not been thinking as much about them as about someone else. “It’s done with. Best to be forgotten . . . forever.”
He turned away once more, and they continued their trek. Yet, as he walked, Captain Kentril Dumon’s hand slipped surreptitiously to a pouch on his belt . . . and dropped the brooch inside.
Behind him, the elements renewed their patient task of slowly and inevitably erasing the last memories of the kingdom of shadow.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
RICHARD A. KNAAK is the author of more than twenty fantasy novels and over a dozen short pieces, including the New York Times bestseller The Legend of Huma for the Dragonlance series. Aside from his extensive work in Dragonlance, he is best known for his popular Dragon-realm series, which is now available again in trade paperback. His other works include several contemporary fantasies, such as Frostwing and King of the Grey, also available again. In addition to THE KINGDOM OF SHADOW, he has written LEGACY OF BLOOD for Diablo and DAY OF THE DRAGON for Warcraft. At present, he is at work on a major trilogy for Dragonlance, the first novel of which will be published in 2003. Those interested in learning more about his projects should check out his Web site at www.sff.net/people/knaak.
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About the Author
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