eyes bulged and his breath came in quick, labored gasps.
“G-Galani . . .”
Still in control, Valea forced herself up, then stumbled to her victim. She herself would have let him be, but her host’s emotions and memories tore at her. All the good, all the love, that the two elves had shared over their lives became part of Valea’s life, too.
She had to pull the blade free. From what Shade had said, perhaps removing the weapon would enable Arak to recover.
But just before Valea could touch the hilt, a shadow fell over both her and the stricken elf.
No . . . not a shadow . . . a shade.
The warlock plucked the weapon from Arak’s chest and the wound instantly sealed. The elf shrank in on himself, becoming smaller, more real. The sense of tremendous power that he had wielded vanished utterly. Arak looked older, much older than an elf should be.
“Well struck, Galani,” the murky figure next to Valea commented clinically. “I sensed it happened and came as soon as I could.”
Something struck Valea as wrong, but she could not put her finger on exactly what. She looked at the hooded man. “Will he-will he be all right?”
“He will live for so long as I need him, yes.”
A warning went off in the sorceress’s head. She suddenly had no desire to be near the warlock.
Stretching a hand toward her, Shade froze Valea in place. “And you, dear Galani, I want near also.”
“Tylan-”
With a slow shake of his head, the black-clad figure chuckled and said, “Call me Zaros . . . this time.”
Valea wanted to recoil . . . at some point since Galani had first met the warlock . . . Shade had died and been resurrected again.
And if he had been friend to the elves before, surely now he would be their most terrible enemy.
“How . . . when?”
He shrugged, as if the matter of his death was no significant event. “The Seekers. You recall how the one turned and fled when sighting me? That was because his kind had caught me unaware not long ago. They thought that they could destroy me . . . and so they did. Not the first time that the avians have done so . . . but they seem to keep forgetting that I come back . . . and when I did . . .” Almost it seemed a smile formed on the blurred countenance. “I made certain that this particular flock would not be able to repeat its mistake.”
All the while Shade spoke, he ran one gloved hand over the dagger, drawing momentary patterns of magic. Beyond him, Valea noticed that the Wyr Stone began to change in concert with his efforts.
Then it occurred to her that the warlock should not be able to be so near the artifact at all.
“What an utter fool my previous self was. Here the key to preserving himself lay open to him and his honor would not let him take it.” Shade paused dramatically, almost as if waiting for either Valea or the still-slumped Arak to make a comment. When neither did, he extended a hand toward the Wyr Stone. “They were too late to save themselves, my cousins were. The land-the damned, cursed land!-had already begun their transformation! By the time they wielded the Wyr Stone, saving themselves from being
Darkhorse, who had over the centuries battled beside or against more Shades than anyone, had told her and Aurim often of the varying degrees of madness with which each incarnation had been infected. She did not recall any with the name of Zaros, but then there had been so many, many Shades over the centuries that even Darkhorse could not keep them all straight in his memory. However many there had been, though, this one was the only Shade that mattered to Valea. So far, there had been no hint of her being able to escape this horrid dream or ghost or whatever it might be and that made her fear that if Galani perished, so would she. Even though these events had happened far in the past, where magic was concerned the distinctions of time were often as blurred as the warlock’s visage.
With Galani’s personality apparently dormant, Valea had to stall Shade while she tried to find some avenue of escape. An obvious question came to mind, one she suspected the bragging Zaros would be happy to answer. Fortunately, he had only frozen her legs and arms, not her mouth. “How is it you can manipulate the stone? You said you couldn’t even get near it!”
“The dagger, of course . . . and your dear cousin.” At mention of Arak, Shade leaned down to pat the male elf companionably on the shoulder. Eyes closed, Arak groaned. Although his wound was no longer visible, he seemed unable to otherwise recover. “This dagger and the one he used are twins, as I mentioned. You saw him use the other on himself without fear. They were designed to tie a sorcerer to the stone, mingle his life force with the forces within the artifact, thus enabling Arak to use it as he would his own arm.”
“You gave him the first dagger . . .”
“No . . . Tylan did or else this would have been so much easier, dear Galani.” The warlock stepped toward the Wyr Stone, his body, if not his face, revealing his great anticipation. “The dagger must first be tied to the user . . . and that is part of what you saw. Then the dagger ties the user to the stone.” He held up his own blade. “This dagger, soaked now in his blood, is tied to me . . .”
Now Valea understood. He was working through Arak. The male elf was being used as both a shield and conduit for the warlock, letting Shade do what he could not before.
“Noble Tylan believed in your cousin’s cause. He believed ridding this realm in one way or another of the Dragon Kings would earn him redemption. He gave Arak the first blade without binding it to him first, which forced me to other measures . . . but, fortunately, I had you, who could step where I could not. The binding had to be done with the Wyr Stone active and I could certainly not come near enough to do it myself.”
Something else suddenly made sense to her. “Those cousins who wielded the stone didn’t want you to be able to use its power, did they?”
“You are constantly amazing me now, dear Galani. Here you first struck me as even more of a fool than your cousin. You were certainly a more-than-willing tool. Yes . . . Vraad can be very unforgiving and he had already caused them much grief.”
There seemed no rhyme or reason to how he referred to himself, sometimes speaking as one entity, sometimes referring to other incarnations, even his original self, like separate people. Valea entertained no illusions about trying to talk sense to this variation.
“Will you destroy the Dragon Kings now?”
Shade raised the dagger over the Wyr Stone. “I could care less about my former brothers and their barbaric offspring. Let the Dragon Kings rule a thousand thousand years. I require only one gift from the Wyr Stone-to end our curse here and now!”
And, in the process, make himself the ultimate incarnation of Shade.
“Now be a good little elf and stay there, mouth shut.” A gesture from the warlock clamped Valea’s jaw tight.
Whether or not this was all an illusion, a memory, or a terrible nightmare, the sorceress knew what threat an unencumbered and evil Shade would be to the Dragonrealm. Incarnations past had caused kingdoms to fall to ruin, thousands to die, and lands to be upturned.
But what could she do?
Arak, moaned. Valea wished she could do something for him. Arak would have known what to do, but she could hardly ask him now-
Something glinted near his waist.
The first dagger.
Her initial hope faded quickly. Shade had frozen her in place, kept her even from speaking. What good would the dagger do? Her elven powers were hardly comparable to-
No! She was not an elf! Her father was Cabe Bedlam, her mother the Lady of The Amber! The thoughts were
She was a Bedlam. This was something well within her abilities.
Valea struggled against Shade’s spell, knowing it had been cast to control the much less powerful elf.
It fragmented easily under her will.
What she intended to do, the sorceress could not say, but she felt certain that seizing the first dagger had to be part of it. She sped across the chamber, diving toward Arak.
