Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

of all! There is nothing deader in your realm than you yourselves!”

“Not possible . . .” Zorane insisted weakly. “Not possible . . .”

But among them, there was one untouched by the revelation. Ephraim gestured-and the mirror exploded.

“It changes nothing! My plan will go on!”

The warlock might have frowned. “You . . . knew.”

“I know everything! I am-”

A shape fell upon him and two hands clasped tight against the sides of his helmet. A bright flash from each enveloped the necromancer’s head.

Ephraim cried out-first in agony, then in anger. He swung with one gauntleted hand at his attacker, sending the figure flying across the massive chamber.

Valea’s body crashed hard against the ancient stone.

“Sharissa!” Shade involuntarily called.

“As dead to you as we are,” Ephraim said with loathing. He raised his hand into a fist and the other necromancers suddenly straightened as if they were puppets whose strings had been tightened. “But not nearly so dead as you’ll be . . . cousin.”

But instead of Shade, it was again the lead sorcerer who was attacked, this time nearly crushed to the floor by a powerful, invisible force.

“If my daughter is dead,” Cabe Bedlam uttered, “she’ll be a far luckier person than you when I’m done.”

Among the other Lords, chaos broke out as Darkhorse reared and kicked at them in rapid succession. Thunder cracked and each necromancer fought hard against tiny but furious showers of glowing spheres.

Rising, Ephraim rubbed his fleshless chin. “Focus! Regain focus and the wizard and the beast will be ours again!”

But while some of the Lords did attempt to obey, others moved awkwardly, even listlessly. The revelation wrought by Shade had left them dumbfounded. They could not accept their deaths, but neither could they deny the truth.

The wizard closed with him. “We’ll never be yours, whether in life or in death!”

Fire covered Ephraim, a fire hotter than any natural one. It was pure white, so intense was its heat. The necromancer battled against it, but Cabe’s fury fueled it as nothing else could.

THE EMPTINESS WITHIN which Valea’s spirit drifted became stifling. She did not need to breathe, but the heat threatened to burn her to nothing. She struggled to find a way out, but there was none.

Desperately, she called out, seeking the only one she thought might hear her.

Galani! Galani!

But instead, a far different presence touched her own.

You are . . . Valea . . .

With each passing moment, the heat grew more intense. The enchantress knew that she would not last much longer. Please! The stone! It’s-

But the other presence had already vanished.

There had been few beings that Cabe had ever truly wanted dead. The lead necromancer had joined that select band and the wizard knew that in a few more moments the monstrous sorcerer would see the afterlife as it truly was. Nothing would stop Cabe from avenging Valea.

Nothing, that is, save the hard blast of pure force that tossed him several yards to the side.

The flames instantly faded. Ephraim stumbled back, recovering.

Shade hovered over him. He grabbed at the necromancer’s waist.

At which point, a black hoof capable of shattering walls nearly crushed the warlock into the floor.

“Traitor or friend, friend or traitor, one can nevermore tell with you, Shade!” rumbled Darkhorse. “A base attack on one who was ever your comrade!”

“You’re being a fool!” gasped the ragged figure.

“I am being observant!”

Shade managed to shield himself enough to turn. “Then be-be observant of the pattern! The Lords are-are regrouping!”

“Eh?” Sure enough, six of the necromancers had pulled themselves together enough to reform part of the pattern. Two others looked near to joining them.

“I can save Cabe Bedlam’s daughter, but they must be stopped! Look! In the center! That crystal!”

“What of it?”

“Smash it! Go now!”

The eternal laughed. “And turn my back on you?”

Shade lifted his blurred face toward his oldest companion. “Darkhorse . . . would I ever desire the Lords of the Dead to triumph?”

Darkhorse started. The ice blue orbs glittered. “No . . . good or ill, you never wanted that.”

“Then, please . . . go!”

With a laugh, the black stallion whirled about. Letting out a gasp, Shade stumbled away from the still- stunned Ephraim.

In the hand pressed against his chest dangled the chain from which swung the piece of the Wyr Stone.

The body lay motionless. The chest did not rise and fall. A chill coursed through Shade like none he had ever experienced.

No . . . he had. When another who was the same as this one had died. Died because of him.

Just as Valea Bedlam had.

She looked so much like Sharissa, like the elf maiden Galani, like the witch Tyrnene . . . like so many others. Yet, she also was in herself distinct.

For reasons he could not explain to himself, Shade hesitated, lost in the spectacle of her face. He finally reached a hand to her cheek.

Her eyes abruptly opened. A slight, sad smile crossed her lips. Even though her chest still did not rise, her throat did not move, from her mouth came a single word.

“Forgiven . . .”

The warlock pulled back, stunned. Valea Bedlam’s eyes closed again and her body went limp.

“No!” He brought the stone to her chest, placing it gently there. Shade knew no words would do what he sought, but trusted that the stone would do what it should.

The bit of the Wyr Stone, a thing he had once coveted more than love, briefly glowed.

At that moment, Ephraim’s voice echoed throughout the chamber. “The pattern is still set! Focus your wills through me!”

Shade rose, knowing that if the Lords of the Dead had organized themselves, then all could yet be lost. Where was Darkhorse?

There! The shadow steed sought to reach the crystal, but the necromancers had already steeled themselves enough to keep him at bay. Cabe Bedlam aided his good friend, but although with time they might have won, such a precious commodity was not theirs.

He saw Ephraim come alive with the power the others fed him. All the lead necromancer needed was a moment more.

Shade glanced down at the figure by his feet. Her chest now rose and sank and he caught the gentle movement of her breath at her mouth. The warlock sensed the life rushing within her, a life so very young and yet, as he well understood, so very old-like his own.

Without hesitation, he turned and charged the Lords.

Caught up in their battle against the wizard and the eternal, they did not at first focus on the new threat. Zorane was the first to notice his approach, by which point Shade had reached the edge of the pattern.

“There! Stop him!”