“An army of the lake’s dead, and soon you will join them, little elf-fish.” Obelia, his wrinkled, translucent form hovering well above and behind the knights, spoke in a voice laced with regret. The Qualinesti ghost was still shaking his head, and his insubstantial fingers reached up to rub at the bridge of his nose. “You will join them, my pretty puzzlement, then I must watch you die.”
Feril’s face contorted in pain as a Knight of Neraka drifted into her body. Icy needles stabbed at her all over, and though she screamed, no sound came out.
Dhamon, uncertain how to deal with the otherworldly threat of the knights, had merged his shadow with her form, so that no one, not even Feril, could see him. He could see and hear everything through her senses, and maybe he could help her; he could speak to her now without Obelia suspecting his presence.
Feril! Hear me! You can’t fight them with a sword! Use your mind! Use your mind!
The Kagonesti couldn’t hear Dhamon. She was overwhelmed by the whispery voices of the ghosts and the pounding of her heart. She fought to stay conscious. Feril raged against the pain that pulsed through her body as a second knight melted into her. Trembling, her fingers tightly gripping the pommel of her sword, she swung the weapon with every last measure of her strength, trying to keep the rest of the ghosts at bay, but as one, the ghosts inched closer.
Her vision swirled. She could no longer make out the blue of the lake; she saw only ghosts, their ephemeral features blurred as their ranks thickened. She couldn’t even tell the difference between the knights and the Qualinesti any longer. They formed a solid, chilling wall of white, with voices keening.
“Defiler! You who dared to deface Beryl will perish at our hands.”
“You must join us.”
“You will help us guard Beryl for eternity.”
“You should die slowly and with great pain, as Beryl did. Then you will feel what our blessed Overlord felt!”
“Poor, poor elf-fish.”
Betrayer! You’re the betrayer! Feril thought. Obelia, I gave you my trust! You said you’d help me!
“I intended to, my elf-fish. I…I didn’t know…”
Know what? Feril felt stiff, her limbs impossibly heavy. She tried to bring her sword up again but couldn’t lift it and it slipped from her fingers. You’ll not defeat me! she thought, wanting the Knights of Neraka to hear her thoughts. She meant to claw their eyes out, but she could see nothing but white. She was surrounded by an eerie whiteness and a cacophony of cries. A moment later she fell to the lake bed, her head striking against one of the overlord’s talons.
“I didn’t know I couldn’t help you, elf-fish. Something keeps me from following my heart. I am sorry. Something inside me demands that I serve this overlord.”
A chorus of apologies came from Obelia’s group of companions, but Kalilnama raised a dissenting voice. The Qualinesti philosopher strove to be heard above the others, his words virtually shouted inside her head: “Do not let them win, Kagonesti! You cannot overcome them, but you can escape! Flee, Kagonesti! Win by escaping!”
I’ve no intention of lying down and surrendering, Feril thought, silently thanking Kalilnama for giving her hope, but the ghost knights who had entered her body were pinning her to the ground, holding her down as firmly as any anchor. Do you hear me, knights? You’ll not claim me! You’ll never claim me!
Feril slammed her eyes shut to blot out the ghostly horror. She ignored the cold. Instead, she reached deep inside and found one last spark of magic. She coaxed it brighter, felt it blossom in her chest and course down her arms and legs.
She pictured a silverfin, lithe and fast and likely of no interest to the dead Knights of Neraka. Such a fish would not threaten the dragon’s remains, she thought, remembering that when she’d turned herself into a catfish days ago the ghost knights had left her alone. Feril sensed her legs growing together and shortening, her arms melding into her sides, her skin giving way to scales. She was so cold she couldn’t be sure of everything that was happening, and so she prayed to Habbakuk as she vividly imagined her magical transformation When she opened her eyes, her vision had righted itself. She was still hemmed in by white, but with eyes situated on both sides of her head, she also saw beyond. Move! she told herself. By the breath of Habbakuk, move and live!
She flipped her tail and pushed away from Beryl’s corpse, leaving behind the two startled knights who had merged with her elf body and now found themselves staring at each other. She swam through their brethren. She pushed past one rank and into another, this one comprised of dead goblins and other creatures. The chill from their ghostly forms struck her like a physical blow, however, momentarily stunning her. She floated amid the spirits, gills barely moving.
I’ve failed Dhamon and myself, and both of us will be cursed to join this undead army. She struggled to regain her strength but instead found herself sinking down, a dead weight. I thought being a fish would work. I thought…
“Look! The wild elf is over there!” Feril heard someone cry. The ghost-voice was familiar…Kalilnama’s or Obelia’s, she wasn’t certain.
“The elf-defiler has tricked us and is now on the other side of the dragon. We must stop her! We cannot let her harm Beryl’s precious body!”
Obelia’s voice—Feril recognized it now—but he was pointing the ghosts in the opposite direction.
“Hurry, before she mars the magnificent Beryl! We must slay her!”
The cold receded, if only a little, as some of the ghosts moved away from her. However, not all of the undead warriors automatically heeded Obelia.
“We can’t let the elf harm the Overlord!”
A few more ghosts were prompted to follow the rest. Enough of those closest to Feril believed the Qualinesti ghost’s cries, so that, gliding away, she revived a little. Feril summoned her strength and kept swimming. Somehow she found a path through the undulating mass of white, angling away and rising up from the lakebed in search of the blue water that indicated an absence of specters.
Feril heard the voices of the undead behind her. Their words flowed together and sounded like the wind blowing strongly through the trees. Faintly she heard Obelia, who was continuing to mislead the spirits, with Kalilnama helping him.
Then she heard nothing else from the ghosts, as she had swum far enough away from the dragon corpse and its undead protectors and was surging through the unnaturally cold water toward the surface. It felt like hours had passed before the dark blue gave way to a lighter, brighter shade and the water turned obligingly warm. She was in the company of other silverfins now, swimming with them toward shallow waters, feeling the caress of soft tendrils of broadleaf water plants.
Every inch of her ached; over and over she recalled the knights melding into her and chilling her beyond feeling. For all she knew, Dhamon was still down there, but she was so incredibly tired and sore, she had to get to the shore.
Thus she pictured her elf body and swiftly felt her scales smoothing to become tanned skin, the fins separating to become legs, her eyes returning to normal. Gasping, the Kagonesti crawled out onto the bank and collapsed on the sand. It was early evening, but Nuitari and Solinari were low in the sky, and they cast just enough light for faint shadows to fall against the white sand. That was when she noticed her own shadow pulling away, flowing like oil into the grass and thickening. It expanded into an inky cloud, then began to assume the shape of a dragon. It grew larger still and some of its blackness gave way to specks of shiny blue and silver. Scales and spiky ridges rose from Dhamon’s back. The dragon’s head, all angles and planes, lowered, the barbels brushing Feril’s back.