the elfwood face. “This is no epic song. I am no hero. I cannot promise that we will live happily ever after, as they say. You will see this face and this arm every day of your life if you marry me! Do you really want that?”
“Yes.”
Melicard, intending to say more, faltered at the quick, simple response. Erini pressed her advantage. “Even if you had neither the arm nor the reconstructed face, I would want that.”
A knock interrupted them. The looks on both humans’ faces said that an intrusion was the last thing either had wanted. A guard, visibly tense, announced that Drayfitt needed to speak to his majesty. Melicard looked at his betrothed and then at the sentry. “Have him wait just a moment.”
“My liege.” The sentry closed the door.
Turning, Melicard walked over to Erini and put his hands on her shoulders. She was forced to look up to see his face. “We will talk again before the day is over, I promise you that, Erini. I do.”
She wanted to kiss him again and Darkhorse, though the images had become so black as to resemble night, could sense that Melicard wanted to kiss her back. Fear held him back, though. The princess smiled nonetheless. “I look forward to it, Melicard. Perhaps, dinner?”
“Dinner.” He called out for the guard, who opened the door just in time to let the princess through. Darkhorse slowly followed her. Despite the gravity of his predicament and the definite possibility that the king and the sorcerer would be including him in their conversation, the eternal found himself with an overwhelming desire to know more about this woman who could turn Melicard around so. He wished he could contact her, speak to her, for he suspected she might be his key. Her sympathy might do what his powers could not: make the king forget his idiotic dream of harnessing a demon to his service and cause him to release the shadow steed. It was a futile wish, however, for Darkhorse could only see and hear, not speak, not with so weak a fragment, and what remained of this portion of his essence was no longer enough to even gain her attention.
The princess walked the corridors as one half-dreaming. Darkhorse, who recalled moments of similar reactions from past mortal acquaintances, knew she was picturing the days to come. The stallion wished her best, for here was a true queen who would rule wisely, but he suspected her path still had barriers, chief among them Mal Quorin. The counselor would never accept a role of lesser influence. Already, he had evidently tried to break up the two. Darkhorse wished again that he could speak to her.
She was barely visible now, a darkened figure wandering in the abyss. His sacrificed “self” was in the last stages of dying. With no other option remaining, he drifted as close as he could, hoping to pick up some last words, some last expression. It was foolish and highly useless, but, for reasons he could not understand, he felt drawn to her.
Erini stumbled as if pushed. She came to a sudden halt and looked around, her hands twitching nervously. The shadow steed, his perceptions less than perfect, tried to see what worried her so. He was not long in discovering what, for the princess finally turned in his direction.
“Who is that? Drayfitt? Is that you?” She reached up a hand toward the fading place. Darkhorse, stunned, could only watch as her hand went through.
“No, not Drayfitt, it can’t be. Did-did I summon you?” She looked down at her hands in growing horror. “Rheena! Not now!”
Summon? In his prison, Darkhorse’s ice-blue eyes glittered as the answer struck him. Small wonder he had been drawn to her! A sorceress! A spellcaster untrained!
She had the potential to release him! She had the power!
The last vestiges of strength burned away. The fragment slowly faded, the last of its essence sacrificed. Darkhorse wanted to scream. If she were truly a magic-user…
Listen to me! he called out. If she did have a natural ability, it might be enough to establish a link! Listen to me!
She looked up-and her image vanished even as the shadow steed sent one last message. Below! Go below!
The walls of the underground chamber greeted his eyes once more. The single torch flickered in seeming mockery at his attempt. Exhausted by more than his failed efforts, the shadow steed drew within himself. He had little hope that his final words had gotten through-and without that hope, there was nothing else he could do.
Darkhorse settled down, yearning for the dreamless unconsciousness that was the closest thing to true sleep he could ever know. He hoped his strength, sorely used by this poor attempt, would return long…
… before the true demon, Mal Quorin, paid him yet another instructional visit.
IX
IN ONE OF the many unused chambers of the vast palace, Shade returned to Talak.
This particular room had been closed down after the death of Rennek IV’s young bride, Melicard’s mother, though Shade neither knew that nor would have cared if he had known. It was a room where he would not be disturbed and that was all that mattered. Cloths, long buried under thick layers of dust, covered the furniture, blocked sunlight from entering through the windows, and hid the painful memories from the old king, who had come here once a year on the anniversary of his marriage. Melicard, while he did not follow his father’s example and pay homage here, did leave a standing order that no one was allowed to enter this room unless on his command. As it was, more than four years had passed since a single soul had stepped in here for even a moment. Ironically, Melicard, wrapped up in his campaign, had forgotten about his mother’s chamber completely.
“Light,” the warlock whispered, as if reminding himself. A tiny pinprick of light, all that he needed for now, glimmered in the center of the room.
Shade studied his surroundings but briefly. In a time long removed from the present rulers of this city-state and during one of his more benevolent incarnations, he had stayed in one of these rooms, the guest of a thankful prince whose life he had saved. The warlock smiled thinly. There had been a man who knew how to treat his betters.
Lowering himself down on one knee, the cloaked figure stretched his arms forward, as if reaching for an invisible object. He whispered words of a language long forgotten, the language of Vraad sorcery. Like the spells of the present-day sorcerers, the words were more a memory trick, a way of reminding him how the powers had to be bent by his will so that he could achieve the results he desired. He knew he had succeeded when he felt something squirm within his sleeves.
They say the walls have eyes and ears in most palaces, he thought in growing amusement. Now they will have noses as well.
A tiny, wormlike thing poked out of his sleeve. Shade felt a number of miniature legs and hands on his wrist; on both wrists. The wormlike thing proved to be a long and narrow proboscis that twisted and turned as its owner cautiously made its way out from the safety of the warlock’s sleeve. From the other sleeve, an identical trunk extended itself.
Shade said nothing, but he shook both arms lightly, stirring the creatures to renewed speed. Drones of his own making, they were prone to be lethargic at first. Given their own way, the simple creatures would remain on his arms for days, trying to draw strength from what they had once been part of. He had no inclination to let them do so. They were nothing to him, who had given them life of a sort. They were tools and nothing more.
A head popped out after the long trunk, a head that was little more than a single, wide orb that was nearly all pupil. Beneath the great eye, a pair each of pencil-thin legs and arms made up the rest of the tiny monstrosity that was the warlock’s spy. It scuttled onto the dust-thick floor, crouching, where it was joined by the first from the other arm.
The eye-creatures began tumbling out in astonishing numbers, many, many more than could have been hidden by Shade’s garments. As their numbers grew, the creatures began to wander about, inspecting their surroundings with great care, now eager to perform their function.
When he was at last satisfied with the quantity, Shade shook his arms once more, dislodging a final pair of the horrors. He rose and gazed down at his tiny servants.
“Find it,” he whispered harshly. “Do not let yourself be seen. Sacrifice yourself, if necessary. When you have located it, I will know. Now go!”
