cry of triumph as his magic blazed free. A blue-white bolt of magic slashed through the air, engulfing his human foe in flame. Frozen with shock, Kevin heard the necromancer give one wild scream of pain and terror. Then that sorcerous flame flared up so fiercely the bardling flung his arms protectively up over his eyes.
It took no more than a few heartbeats’ rime. The fire vanished as swiftly as it had begun. Kevin warily lowered his arms, fearful of what he might see. But there was nothing, not man, not cloak, not staff, nothing but a small swirling of ash—
The necromancer’s death shattered the binding spell. As simply as puppets with cut strings, the undead fell where they’d stood, the jumble of their bones melting quietly back into the earth. In only a few moments, the meadow had returned to grassy serenity, and nothing at all remained of the horror that had just been. I don’t believe ... I couldn’t have seen ...
Kevin hurried back to Eliathanis, Lydia, and Tich’ki, suddenly wanting nothing so much as to be near other warm, living, mortal beings. Ah, he was glad to clasp their hands, glad to let Lydia hug him and to hug her back, glad even to feel Tich’ki tousle his hair with rough affection. All three started at the same time:
“Are you hurt? I’m—”
“I’m not, not—”
“—really. Just bruised and—”
“—tired and—”
They broke off at the same time, too, then burst into laughter.
“Hey, Naitachal!” Lydia called. “Don’t you, Naitachal?”
A rigid figure swathed in his somber cloak, the Dark Elf never moved from where he stood.
“Naitachal?” Eliathanis echoed hesitantly. “Are you ... ?”
Without a sound, the Dark Elf crumpled to the ground and lay still.
“My lord. My Lord Count.”
Volmar, hurrying down the corridors of his castle, grit his teeth, trying to ignore that dry, precise voice, but it. continued relentlessly:
“Count Volmar. Please stop for a moment.”
The count sighed silently. When D’Krikas got an idea in its insectoid head, nothing would do but to hear the Arachnia out. Reluctantly, he turned to ask, “Yes, What is it?”
“You told me yesterday that you would read and sign these scrolls today.”
Curse it! An Arachnia never forgot anything^.
I don’t have time for this nonsense now!
Carlotta was hidden in the count’s solar, studying her scrying mirror, and if he wasn’t there when she learned whatever she learned—He didn’t dare let the sorceress gain any advantages over him.
“These are nothing,” Volmar said, glancing at the scrolls. “Small matters. Sign them yourself.”
D’Krikas1 silence held a world of disapproval.
“All right, all right!” The count held up a helpless hand. “I’ll sign them later. I don’t have time now.”
“No. I can see that.”
Something in the dry voice made Volmar stare up at the Arachnia. And all at once, the count felt the smallest prickle of unease run through him. Usually he managed to ignore the fact that his seneschal wasn’t human; D’Krikas kept pretty much to itself, after all, so quietly efficient Volmar could almost forget the being was there. Efficient, yes, meticulously so. The castle was never going to be short so much as a single copper coin or a loaf of bread as long as the Arachnia was in charge.
But in this narrow, close corridor, D’Krikas seemed Co loom over him. Volmar had never stopped to realize just how tall an adult Arachnia grew, how tall and thin and alien, so alien ... The great, compound eyes studied him without blinking, the shiny chitin, half hidden by the being’s cloak, gave off a faint, spicy scent that was never a human scent, and Volmar, all at once overwhelmed, forced out a brash:
