us . . .
The last word further stirred his sense of foreboding. There were others. She was not alone.
But I shall grant you that small favor . . .
Even as the words faded, Shade noted a presence in the eastern section of the ruins. A figure clad in breastplate and mail and wearing an open helmet with a small dragon crest took form. It was quickly evident by the curve of the breastplate and the flow of silver hair from beneath the helmet that the shadowy form was female, but that was all. The cloak fastened to her shoulders billowed even though there was no wind in that direction and somehow even obscured most of her body, especially the legs.
“Kadaria . . . ,” Shade murmured, at last recognizing the voice.
So delighted you remember . . . She turned her head slightly and the crimson light of Styx briefly revealed a striking woman with a slight sardonic smile on her dark lips. Yet, it was not that smile that most demanded attention, but rather her eyes.
They were crystalline. Styx made them seem as if they burned with fire.
Kadaria shifted her gaze and her face vanished into shadow, only the helmet visible now. The land is playing with you again . . . the land will have you, as it has all . . .
His laugh held no humor. “Even the vaunted Lords of the Dead?”
We have . . . an agreement with it, let us say . . .
“Gods must make agreements? Very limited gods, you are.”
He struck a chord. The air took on a dryness that bespoke the crypt,decay. Kadaria might not have shown it, but this mockery did not sit well with her unseen companions.
You have this one chance to return to us . . . to join us . . . you need our strength, our skills, to keep you whole . . . just look at your hand again . . .
He did, and saw that once more it was transparent. Not so much as in times previous, but if he did not maintain his concentration, it would worsen.
Still, he shook his head, wishing that for this moment, he could reveal his disgust at the offer. “The art of necromancy presents only the facade of life draped over the emptiness of death.”
How poetic . . . Once more, Kadaria’s face briefly appeared. The mocking smile had grown. Her lips did not move as she added, And do you really hope that the tower will offer you better?
Although his face could not betray him, his stance evidently could. As her own pale visage returned to the darkness, the necromancer laughed more harshly. This time, she was also joined by unseen companions. The laughter of the Lords of the Dead resonated through the sorcerer’s head, making it pound.
“The tower may be able to aid me,” Shade replied without a hint of his pain or his tumultuous emotions. “But for some, there is only lingering putrefaction . . . forever . . .”
The laughter ceased. Kadaria grew more indistinct. A willing fate, if tremendous power goes with it . . . you know that power too well . . .
“And dealt harshly with those who wielded it, Kadaria.”
She chuckled. There was little visible by the light of the moon now save her silhouette. But that was Gerrod Tezerenee who did that . . . and, as you said, you are but his ghost . . . which makes you a slave to our domain . . .
The ground stirred, but Shade sensed that it was not tremors that caused it to do so. Everywhere around him, the earth pushed up, as if large beasts were burrowing to the surface. He could think of a few such creatures, such as the armored Quel of the Legar Peninsula, but with the Lords of the Dead so near, the sorcerer knew what arose.
The skeletal forms burst through the baked soil. The skulls ended in sharp beaks and the arching frames that had once been wings shifted back and forth as if the undead could still fly.
Living, they had been known to most as Seekers—a bastardization of their original, lost name that was yet apt, considering their ways—and these dead had unwillingly served Azran Bedlam up to the point
Learning to Kill: Stories