“What happened to us?” Cald asked Eyrmin.
“We have touched the unclean,” the prince replied. “We have experienced pure evil. I felt the same when I briefly held the sword of Mmaadag Cemfrid. It is some terrible human magic.”
“Not human magic,” Stognad said, shaking his head. “Awnshegh stink.”
Eyrmin glared at the goblin. He was usually tolerant of the two humanoids who lived in Reilmirid, but a residue of his rage still gleamed in his eyes.
“You know nothing about it,” he snapped.
Normally the goblins stayed well out of the way if any of the elves were out of sorts, but Stognad stood stolidly in front of the prince and shook his head.
“Elf prince plenty smart, but he not know awnshegh power when he feel it,” Stognad said, but Eyrmin threw up a dismissive hand and turned away.
“It like dark that not be seen with eyes. It dark on mind and plenty evil,” the goblin called after the elf.
Eyrmin stopped and turned, staring at the goblin with eyes narrowed in sudden interest.
“Does this also carry the smell of the Gorgon?” he asked.
“They came south through the deep passages,” Cald said in a rush. “They missed coming out in the Muirien Grove….” His skin crawled as he realized their enemies could find many other ways into Sielwode.
“And had turned back toward it,” Eyrmin finished the boy’s thought. “There’s no mistake; they are after the spirits in the grove. We’ll increase the watch.”
The prince saw two elven warriors in the distance, raised his hand, signaling them to wait and hurried in their direction, seeking news of the battle. Cald and the goblins followed.
“Feeling like Gorgon’s vermin, but not same,” Stognad said to Cald as he shouldered his axe.
Cald, whose mind was occupied with the danger to the spirits of the elven heroes, barely heard the goblin. He had looked back over his shoulder, irritated with Stognad, but he had seen something in the distance that made him forget the spirit warriors as well as his disapproval of the goblins.
Disappearing into the trees had been the hind end of what he thought was a deer, though the animal was larger than any he had ever seen. The rump and rear legs, all he had seen of it, had been black as night.
Did they have another enemy to fight?
Twelve
“Well?”
Klasmonde Volkir had silently entered the chamber, but Ulcher had been aware of the lich when he reached the open doorway. The flaming torches in their wall sconces and the huge candelabrum on the long table had dimmed until the large book Ulcher had been reading was nearly lost in the darkness. He could barely see the flames that usually provided illumination in the chamber; their light was being eaten by the Crown of Darkness, worn by the new lich-lord of Castle Gough.
“Well?” Ulcher snapped back. “How do you expect me to search when I can’t see?” He turned to glare at the blackness through which he could barely discern the face of his new master.
Ulcher’s attitude was a departure for him. He would never have spoken to Mmaadag Cemfrid in that tone, but the old lich-lord held the true power, and Klasmonde did not. Klasmonde’s time on the throne of Castle Gough would be limited, and Ulcher needed to give serious consideration to his own security. Klasmonde was strong, and Ulcher dared not try to escape, but if he wanted a continued existence, he should leave Castle Gough before its present ruler fell to a stronger lord.
Ulcher knew his timing had to be perfect if he were to save his life. Defecting even a day too early could cause Klasmonde to kill him. A day late, and the new ruler would take his life. His plans were not firm, and he put them aside, not sure how much power the Crown gave Klasmonde, or whether the new lich-lord could read his mind. Instead, he concentrated on Klasmonde’s impatience and its reason.
“I still have six tomes to search,” he said in a more reasonable tone of voice. It would not be wise to try Klasmonde’s anger too far.
“The ones stolen from the castle of the Black Prince?” Klasmonde demanded.
“The same. He can travel into Cerilia and has been able to stay there for extended periods of time.” If the Black Prince had not lived in Cerilia—it was said he was known by the name Gorgon when he was on that plane—Castle Gough would probably be a heap of broken stone in retaliation for the raid on the Black Prince’s domain. “If the answer exists, it must be here.”
“What do you mean, if it exists?” Klasmonde’s voice went up an octave. He tried to make himself sound enraged, but Ulcher heard the fear behind it. Without Deathirst, the blade of Azrai, Klasmonde was a figurehead, helpless against the attacks of Gough’s enemies.
Deathirst was in an elven grove in Cerilia, left behind when the portal had closed.
“Creating portals and passing through them at will may not be a feat of magic, but a result of power,” Ulcher said. “I warned Mmaadag of it many times.”
“It’s not power!” Klasmonde shouted. “It’s in here!” With two long strides he approached the table and opened the book. He peered down at it, but the Crown of Darkness prevented him from being able to see the words. In frustration, he picked up the book and threw it on the floor. The ancient binding disintegrated and pages flew all over the chamber.
“Get them!” he ordered Ulcher.
“They don’t matter,” the undead mage replied as he picked up the larger portions of the book. “I had just finished this one. There’s nothing in it to interest us.”
“Then get on with the others,” Klasmonde ordered, and left the chamber. With him went the influence of the Crown of Darkness. The sudden light thrown out by the candles and the torches caused Ulcher to blink. He picked up the loose pages, took ten minutes to put them back in place, and carried the heavy tome back to the shelves that lined one wall.
The weight nearly caused him to fall, and he frowned down at his withered left leg, still remembering a time when it had been as strong as the right. That had been before the battle of Mount Deismaar, when he had stood behind Emperor Grayconel Adriss, Supreme Emperor of Justminia, most powerful of the rulers of the southern continent and the most favored of the servants of Azrai. Like most in the Shadow World, he remembered that day with perfect clarity.
Emperor Grayconel wore the Crown of Darkness, which showered blackness and terror like a metal spear point dragging across a large rock spreads sparks. In his hand he held Deathirst, a fell weapon that had been forged and dweomered by Azrai himself, and against it no weapon could prevail.
While they waited for the battle to begin, Ulcher eased away. A young mage then, he was impatient with the delay and his inability to see beyond the blackness thrown out by the Crown. He moved down the line of warriors, trying to find a place where his magic could be most effective. Small of stature and lacking the strength and abilities of a warrior, he stayed away from the battle lines, casting his spells from afar. He escaped the explosion that destroyed the gods, Grayconel, and most of the heroes on both sides.
He regained consciousness on a different plane. The world in which he found himself was much like Aebrynis in the beginning, though the only intelligent people were a race of short demihumans known as halflings. His arrival coincided with that of thousands of others who had been in the armies of Azrai.
The most powerful of the suddenly imported leaders gathered armies and claimed vast reaches of the new lands, killing or enslaving the halflings. Through Ulcher’s power as a mage, he discovered that Deathirst and the Crown of Darkness had survived the explosion. They had been flung miles away by the force of the destruction. Mmaadag Cemfrid found the sword. The Crown of Darkness was discovered by Klasmonde Volkir, but to save his life he relinquished it to Mmaadag, who became one of the most powerful rulers in the new world.