“Who are these people?” Kyel wondered of the priestess, flinching back from the outstretched hand of a statue.
“Nobility, for the most part,” Naia responded. “Whoever can afford to pay for such treatment; such a burial does not come without a price.”
Darien found himself staring harder at the macabre faces with the thought that he might find one he recognized. They were moving through what amounted to a maze of marble, winding around statues and sarcophagi, even stone mausoleums with family names etched into their gray and white-streaked exteriors. Soft magelight glowed from the walls, pushing back the shadows only a fraction. The air grew even colder, the stench of decay much more robust. Darien shivered, seeing his own exhaled breath turn to mist before his face.
“Stop,” the priestess commanded abruptly.
Darien glanced sidelong at Naia, noticing her staring at him with a frown of puzzlement on her face. He didn’t like the look in her eyes, one of nervous speculation.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“You have an aura,” she said, forming the words slowly as the frown on her face intensified.
Darien glanced down at himself, seeing immediately what she meant. A faint green nimbus surrounded him, seeming to emanate from his body. The glow was so pale it was difficult to see. But the aura was there, undeniably.
“What does it mean?” he wondered, spreading his arms out before him and contemplating the unsettling hue that crept up his sleeves and surrounded his hands. He didn’t like the color of the light; it reminded him too much of Meiran’s candle. A whispered breath of apprehension shivered up the back of his neck. He jerked his gaze to the priestess in alarm.
“I have no idea what it means,” Naia admitted in a low voice, her dark eyes wide and troubled. “But I gravely fear the implications.”
Darien stared at her in consternation, waiting for the priestess to elaborate. But she merely turned away with a shrug and led her horse forward again. Kyel glanced back at him with a worried look on his face before tugging on his horse’s reins, following after her.
Darien started forward, staring down at himself in mute trepidation as the priestess led them onward through the dark and eerie streets of this strange city of the dead. As he passed by a statue of a girl with disquieting stone eyes, he thought he could hear the sound of distant laughter, soft, like the faintest echo of a memory. The noise made him start. He turned to study the statue, noticing that the eyes had taken on a mischievous glint. Perhaps the expression had always been there. But he couldn’t suppress the nagging feeling that somehow the statue’s face had changed.
When he started forward he heard the sound again, this time coming from behind. He turned to find himself confronted by a softly glowing shade, a hazy reflection of a small girl with a playful glint in her eyes. The wight disappeared almost instantly the moment his eyes caught sight of it. He backed away, filled with a mixture of wonder and sadness.
When he turned back around, he found Naia staring at him, a soft smile on her lips. “Death does not discriminate; it takes the very old and the very young, alike,” she reminded him soothingly.
Darien nodded, glancing back again at the weathered granite statue. Strangely, he found himself mourning a young girl he had never met and would never have the chance to come to know. But as he moved away from the dark monument, he found himself powerfully moved by the chance encounter with her shade.
The priestess led them into what appeared on the outside to be a marble mausoleum. It was rather the entrance to a passage that opened up out of the floor and sloped downward. The corridor was lined with glistening black marble, and the horses had to struggle to keep their footing. The air grew slightly warmer again, though the faint magelight barely sufficed to light their way. Darien thought of casting a glowing mist of his own, but decided against it, not fully trusting the magic field in this place.
The corridor leveled out, curving slightly. Then it opened up into another vast chamber, this one significantly different from the first. The passageway ended at a bridge that spanned a drop of hundreds of feet over what appeared to be a slowly-moving river of black water. A chill breath of stale air stirred his cloak as Darien led his horse out onto the bridge. The walls of the chamber were vaults, just as the last had been. Only, this time there seemed no end to their height, the ceiling lost somewhere deep in shadow far above. The dark waters below churned and bubbled, releasing a foul miasma like a festering swamp ripe with old decay.
Stiffly, Darien wondered, “How much further?”
“The exit is not far,” the priestess replied with a soft smile of encouragement.
They moved off the bridge and into a wide stone passage that cut between rows of sarcophagi. The scent of death was much stronger here, so much so that Darien had to hold his cloak up to cover his nose to even stand the act of breathing. From behind came a soft but nerve-grating noise that echoed like the scraping of rusted metal against stone. The noise slowly faded. But then it grew louder again, a shrill raking sound that seemed much closer.
“What is that?” Kyel demanded.
Darien spun around, eyes searching the shadows of the passage behind them. A terrible chill ran down the back of his neck, spreading out to his arms. He’d never heard anything remotely like that in his life. The noise was ragged and eerie, abrasive as claws on the mind. Almost, it reminded him of the sound of dragging chains.
“I’ve heard that sound before,” Naia muttered, almost under her breath, frowning in worry as she glanced behind.
But then the noise faded and was gone. Swallowing against a cold lump of dread in his throat, Darien decided it was time to try the magic field. He reached out tentatively with his mind and sampled the energy of the current, relieved to find it biddable. He opened his mind to the field, submersing his consciousness in it and holding it at ready, just in case.
The noise was back. Louder. Imminently close.
Darien whirled, hand reaching for the comfort of his sword. Slithering through the fog behind them moved a glimmering mass of swirling light. The glowing tendrils writhed over the misty ground like a thousand squirming snakes. Horrified, Darien forced his mind back from the magic field; too late. The flickering threads were moving toward them with sinister purpose.
“Naia!” he gasped, tugging on the reins of his horse.
The priestess glanced back, terror on her face. Then she was running, pulling her mare behind her as Kyel moved to follow. Darien glanced back at the twisting strands of light.
His horse reared, drawing him up off the ground. He let go of the reins, dropping as the gelding bolted away from him. With a curse, Darien started after it. Then he skidded to a stop, flinching sharply back.
Out of the shadow of a doorway appeared a creature that resembled a massive wolfhound, eyes glowing menacingly green in the darkness. Its lips drew back as it growled, the crusted fur of its hackles rising. Filled with dread, Darien backed slowly away from the beast. His hand rose to his shoulder, silently baring his sword.
The blade would be little protection; the creature was a thanacryst. Ordinary steel could injure such a demon, but it would take far more than that to kill it.
Behind him, one of the writhing tendrils of light groped out toward him.
Darien threw himself sideways even as the demon-hound leaped for his throat. He spilled over the top of a sarcophagus, slipping to the ground on the other side. He lay on his back, panting, eyes frantically searching the walls for means of escape. The thanacryst appeared and peered over the lid of the sarcophagus, glaring down at him and slobbering fetid droplets from its jowls.
Darien rolled to his feet. Heaving his body forward, he staggered toward the wall as the thing sprang after him. He ran for the shadow of a doorway. Sliding around the corner, he pressed his body up close against the wall, breath coming in panicked gasps.
From the other side of the doorway came a low, threatening growl.
Darien raised his blade, drawing it back to hi
s shoulder and holding it there with trembling hands. Eyes intent on the doorway, he held his ground and waited for the beast to come.
The thanacryst’s muzzle edged around the corner. The nose quivered, scenting the air. Its growl deepened to a menacing rumble low in its throat as its glowing eyes trained on him.
Darien brought the blade down with all the strength in his forearms. The steel connected, but he didn’t pause to see the results of the strike. Spinning, he threw himself forward through a doorway.
A loud thud echoed behind him. Shocked, Darien regarded the wide marble door that had slid shut of its own accord, cutting him off from the passage behind. He groped at the door, gripped in numbing shackles of fear. Around him, the air took on a terrible chill, all traces of heat seeming to leech right out of it.
He staggered away from the door, blade drawn back in a double-fisted grip. Ahead of him loomed a broad corridor with passageways leading off at intervals to either side. His eyes swept from one doorway to the next, scouring the shadows beyond. As he passed the first dark opening, another door slid closed with a resounding thud.
Darien stopped, gaping in disbelief at the door.
He crept forward again hesitantly, only to find his way immediately blocked by another closing door, this one cutting him off from the main passage as another door swept open on his left. Darien stared at the opening warily, not wanting to pass through it. He was beginning to get the sense that he was being herded, steered purposefully by some unseen hand. He did not want to go in the direction that hand was leading. But there was no alternative; every other way had been sealed.
He moved uneasily through the opening into a lightless corridor. There was no magelight here to see by, and he was reluctant to make his own. There was a hollow echo as another door slid closed beside him, then he found himself confronted by a solid wall ahead.
Darien sheathed his sword, using his palms to grope his way along the walls. He could see nothing, only the soft green glow of the aura that surrounded his hands. The terrible absence of light sharpened the fear he already felt, gripping his chest in cold shackles of dread. Anything could be stalking silently behind him in the darkness. Anything.
He was directed into another passage just as dark and terrible as the last. He turned, feeling ahead along the rough walls. Another door slid open ahead of him, spilling a soft golden light into the corridor.
Taking heart in the glow, Darien moved toward it, slowing to step cautiously through the opening. The door slid closed as soon as he passed through it, the sound a jarring thud that shuddered through his every nerve.
Glancing around, he found himself in a large chamber suffused with golden light. The room was completely empty, just four high walls climbing upward to a vaulted ceiling. Suspended by a chain high above hung the circlet of an enormous wrought iron chandelier that shed a muted, wavering light. Only, the glow did not come from the light of tapers; it came from six golden orbs that hovered in the air above the chandelier itself.
Darien lingered by the door, not wanting to cross into the open floor of the hall. He did not like the feel of this place. His eyes scanned over the walls, desperately seeking a way out, but finding none. The door at his back was the only exit from the room.
The amber light of the hall wavered then slowly dimmed. Above him, the glowing orbs seemed to rotate, their pale light fading out smoothly into darkness. Shadows lengthened in the hall, closing in and drawing over him, almost tangible in their obscurity. A lingering stillness settled completely over the room.
Darien stared out into the blackness that consumed the chamber. An icy sweat broke out on his forehead as he edged backwards, pressing his back against the cold marble door. The silence of the hall was consummate; he could hear nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat and the shuddering tide of his breath.
Then, from out of the darkness, a dim azure glow appeared. It seemed to bleed right out of the shadows, moving silently toward him. He gasped as he realized that he was gazing upon the pale glimmer of a wight. Another appeared, this time on his right. And then another. Soon there were dozens ringing the walls of the chamber. The pale gleam of the wights illuminated the hall, casting back the shadows with their ethereal blue glow. More appeared behind, pushing the others forward.
With a terrified sense of awe, Darien found himself surrounded by a contingent of shades, each hazy form vaguely familiar. His eyes leaped from face to face, horrified recognition flooding into him at each. The wights advanced slowly, hesitantly, as more appeared behind, bleeding out of the walls and creeping silently toward him through the darkness. Darien wanted to draw back away from them, but there was nothing he could do; the marble door at his back was hard and unyielding.
Terror in his heart, he stood his ground and faced the dead of fallen Aerysius.
They were all here, every Master and Grand Master he had ever known. Tyrius Flynn, Grand Master Ezras, Lynnea, Finneus, Master Harrison. So many others. Scores of them, a host of familiar faces as well as some he had never seen. They moved toward him, crowding him, gazing at him with unreadable expressions in their muted and indistinct eyes. The shade of a man reached out an arm toward him. Startled, Darien found himself cringing away from the gnarled fingers of Edric Torrence, the strange Bird Man who had saved his life.
As Darien looked on, a lone wraith parted itself off from the host, moving toward him, stopping almost within reaching distance. Darien shook his head, knowing that he could have taken anything else, anything but this. He wanted to turn away, to deny the image that confronted him. But it was impossible to do anything but stare at the softly glowing face with features so tenderly familiar.
His father looked just as Darien remembered him, the day he had left for Meridan, the last time he had ever seen him alive.
“My son,” Gerald Lauchlin whispered in his soothingly familiar voice. “You’ve come home.”
A ghostly hand reached out toward him, beckoning.
Darien couldn’t help but obey. Impelled by nearly two decades of sorrow and remorse, he moved forward toward the comfort of his father’s embrace.
Kyel clutched his horse’s reins in a white-knuckled grip, his other hand shaking as he fought to control the wildly flailing beast that was rearing up over his head. The Tarkendar screamed, lashing out with its forelegs as Kyel jumped back away from the animal’s sharp hooves.
“Get control of it!” Naia shouted.
“I can’t!” Kyel screamed back at her.
The priestess strode forward, raising a hand before her face. She reached out toward the black gelding’s head, lips muttering soothing words that were lost to Kyel’s ears. The tension on the reins eased in his hand. The horse settled back to four legs, its withers quivering and glistening with a slick sheen of sweat. Naia’s soft touch rested on the horse’s neck, her fingers gently stroking the dampened fur. Beneath her touch, the animal seemed to relax completely. It shoved its muzzle into her chest with a questioning nicker as the priestess ran her hand down its bandaged face, whispering softly in its ear. Kyel stared on, impressed. He’d thought for certain that the horse was going to knock him over and bolt away.
He glanced back the way they had come, anxiously waiting to hear that nerve-grating noise that sounded so much like dragging chains. But the corridor behind them was dark and empty. There was no sign of the slithering lights he had seen. And there was also no sign of Darien. Suddenly realizing that the man was gone, Kyel jerked his gaze back to the priestess.
“We have to go back,” Naia gasped, her face paling as she stared down the dim and empty passage behind.
Kyel knew she was right. He’d just assumed Darien was following him the whole while, even when he saw the mage’s horse on the heels of his own. Even then, after he had caught the gelding’s reins, he had just figured the man was still back there somewhere, following at a distance. But Darien should have caught up with them by now.
“You don’t think...” he started to say, but was unable to comple
te the thought.
The priestess blinked as if awakening from a trance, eyes flicking toward him wide with fear. “We must hurry,” she insisted, a pressing urgency in her voice. “Without my guidance, the halls will assume he is a wandering shade and seek to take his spirit back into their keeping.”
Kyel frowned, troubled by her words. He didn’t want to go back, afraid of what they would find at the end of that dark passage.
Darien reached toward the glowing form of his father, bringing his hand up slowly, wonderingly. He felt just as he had as a boy of eight, when he had run bounding down the path from the widow’s home in Amberlie Grove to greet his father returning home. The tall Sentinel in his dark black cloak had swept him up in his arms, spinning him around twice before clasping him against his chest in a strong embrace. The joy of his father’s homecoming had been tempered only by the look of resentment on Aidan’s face, when he discovered that his little brother had beaten him down the dirt path, winning the race to be the first scooped up into their father’s arms. But Aidan wasn’t here now, and the proud smile on the glimmering face before him was just as warm and genuine as Darien remembered it. He moved forward, filled with a numbing euphoria.
Another wight swept forward abruptly, reaching an arm out to bar his way.
“Stop,” commanded the shade of Grand Master Ezras, turning to glance back over his shoulder. “Gerald, don’t touch him.”
As Darien looked on in confusion, the smile drained slowly from his father’s face.
Ezras turned his ghostly stare back on Darien, surveying him warily. With grim hesitance, the wraith extended his arm, holding up his hand and passing it over Darien’s body.
“There is something wrong with him. A...corruption. Can you not sense it?”
Gerald Lauchlin was shaking his head, the glimmering blue aura around him wavering. “What are you saying?” he demanded. “He is my son. He has come home to us.”
But the shade of Ezras looked adamant as he insisted firmly, “No. He does not belong here. He is not destined for this place.”
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