Fistandantilus heard the pulse through the ears of his host, and it was closer than it had ever been before. Blood quickened in the incorporeal stuff of his mind, and renewed hunger tingled in his tongue, tantalized his memories.
The bloodstone!
Fistandantilus lusted for the touch of that potent artifact, knew that its arcane force would allow him to master-and then destroy-this wretched kender. The wizard's essence churned with vigor as he tried-as he had tried for so many decades-to make his power felt.
And for the first time in the foggy expanse of his entrapment, he was close to succeeding. At last the bloodstone and his kender host were nearing each other, approaching the connection that would open the way to his freedom and his revenge!
For a moment, the spirit basked in anticipation of tormented victims, of the blood and the souls and the lives that would be his for the feasting. He was determined that there would be killing enough to satiate the hunger nurtured in this unthinkably long imprisonment.
But then another power intruded into his arcane awareness. This was a force that disturbed the true linkage between the essence of the wizard and his ancient bloodstone! It was a mysterious presence, a film of gauze that shrouded his control, masked his power, yet at the same time it was a force magical, spiritual, and ghostly. And it fought for the bloodstone with the same vigor and the same sense of proprietary ownership that drove the wizard's own hungry essence.
He sensed vaguely that this intrusive power was centered near the person of a human, and it was competing with Fistandantilus, powerful enough to block the arch-mage's best hope of success.
Seething, hateful of this new complication, the wizard sensed that the bloodstone was getting closer still. He heard the pulse as a loud cadence, thumping through his very self.
It was really, truly near! Now the talisman reached out to him with tendrils of glorious heat, close enough to be almost within his reach. Tingles of power and awareness shivered through the archmage's ethereal being. The cadence of life that had once been a distant suggestion was now a thunderous drumbeat resonating constantly, driving him with insatiable hunger and need.
But it was a bitter fact that the bloodstone was actually within the reach only of the pathetically directionless kender, the person who had been an unwilling and unwitting host to the spiritual essence of Fistandantilus for more than a century.
The ghostly spirit writhed and twisted, groping for a tiny snippet of control. But there was still that interference, the force that blocked him, competed for the power of the gemstone. And instead, the essence of evil could only despair as the fiery enchantment of the stone came so close that it all but sang out its message of vitality, of hope, of life itself.
Then the impending conjunction was shattered beyond restoration, cast aside by the shield he could perceive but not identify. Infuriated, Fistandantilus turned the full power of his attentions toward one of these companions. Quickly he saw that this was a human lad, a person easily distinguished from the faceless mass of humanity.
This was his enemy, the source of the mask that was a power equal to the ancient one's. The presence, the competing essence fought with him, brushed him aside. Overwhelmed, Fistandantilus felt his awareness slipping away.
The kender was once again his own master.
And another person, the human boy, was added to the list of those who had to die.
CHAPTER 27
First Kirinor, Reapember
374 AC
Danyal watched as the whole group of bandits took shelter in the ditch, while Kelryn seized Foryth and him by the arms and pulled them out of sight behind a boulder beside the mountain road. The slope above them was steep and rocky, while across the way, the ground dropped into infinite blackness. From the remembered view at sunset, the lad knew that the terrain on the other side of the road plunged down a steep incline toward a mountain stream far below.
He tried to see through the darkness, but Dan could make out nothing of what was approaching along the track. All he could hear was the tuneful whistling, the sound growing slowly louder as they waited.
'Who do you suppose it is?' Foryth asked, the sound of his voice carrying through the night air.
'Silence!' hissed Kelryn, pulling the historian farther back from the road.
Danyal, meanwhile, lowered himself to the ground and peered around the edge of the large rock, seeking some sign of the approaching whistler. He could see the vague shapes of the huddled bandits crouching in the ditch, fading moonlight reflecting dully off exposed steel. The lad remembered Zack's keen blade, the bandit's willingness to wet that razor edge in the blood of seemingly anyone within reach, and he prayed that the unwitting traveler would suddenly turn around, would flee down that dark mountain road.
The next sounds he heard dashed all those hopes, even as they sent the bandits into consternation.
'Hi there! What are you doing in that muddy ditch? It's a lot drier up here on the road.'
The eight men of Kelryn's band lunged forward to form a ring around the diminutive traveler Danyal saw in their midst. The thugs growled like wild animals, though their presence didn't seem to startle or worry the lone wanderer.
'Oh, were you waiting for me? That's nice. Pleased to make your acquaintance-Emilo Haversack, at your service. And you are…?'
'A kender!' declared Zack in disgust, advancing on the unconcerned fellow.
'Why, yes. Haversack is a kender name, after all-one of the finest, oldest, and most honorable of all the kender clans, if I say so myself. And of course I do, because nobody else will.'
Somehow the kender had passed through the ring of bandits to make his final remarks before Kelryn, Foryth, and Danyal. Though they hadn't emerged from the shelter of the concealing boulder, Danyal realized with vague surprise, the diminutive stranger had somehow wandered right up to them.
'Emilo Haversack, at your service,' he repeated, clasping Danyal's bound hands and pumping enthusiastically.
'Hey-he got my purse!' shouted one of the bandits, a burly and sullen archer known as Bolt, as the group whirled toward the kender.
'What? Oh, this?' Emilo was holding a small leather sack, a pouch that jingled as he lifted it. 'You must have dropped it. Here!'
The kender tossed the pouch back to Bolt, but as it sailed through the air, a stream of silvery coins tumbled out, bouncing and rolling across the road.
'My steel!' roared the bandit, dropping to his knees and trying to sweep together all the coins. Laughing uproariously, the other members of the band joined in the fun, snatching any of their compatriot's coins that rolled out of his reach.
Danyal watched in amazement as Emilo took Foryth's hands in a vigorous handshake, then bowed deeply to Kelryn Darewind.
'Anyone could see that you're the esteemed leader of these bold fellows. I'm honored to make your acquaintance. Emilo Haversack, at-'
'I know,' Kelryn interjected drily. 'At my service. But how, pray, can a kender offer service? And why should I accept it, if offered?'
Emilo chuckled good-naturedly. 'Both very good questions, of course. Actually, I wouldn't think that you'd get many kender around here. But if there is anything I can do for you, well, I'd be glad to talk about it.'
'Stop that confounded midget!' shouted Bolt, who was still upset about his lost steel pieces. 'I'll take each missing coin out of his hide.'
