horrible noise, like a hyena’s mad cackle mixed with the droning of carrion flies, filled the air as they enveloped Durinen. Two green slits appeared within them, flashing like storm-trapped lightning. He stiffened in its nightmarish embrace, the color draining from his face.
Eyes wide with terror, the Little Emperor opened his mouth to scream.
The darkness tore out his throat.
Blood sprayed from Durinen’s body, turning the front of his robes bright crimson in an instant. Ilista heard someone scream, then realized it was her own voice as warm droplets spattered her face. The Little Emperor stood erect a moment longer, making a ragged, gurgling noise as he clutched at the dark, wet smile that had appeared beneath his chin. Then the darkness let him go, and he toppled face-first to the floor.
No one moved. Dista’s mind cast about, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Her gaze rose from Durinen, lying in a spreading scarlet pool, to the shadow-thing that was changing now, taking on solid form-sinuous and wavering. Its poison-green slit-eyes narrowed on Beldyn.
She knew then, with a sudden rush that robbed her of breath-knew why it was here. It was no coincidence- the creature had been sent to kill the LAghtbringer. What horrified her most, however, was the certainty of who had sent it.
Time slowed as the shadow demon stared at Beldyn, tensing like a coiled serpent. It eyed him warily, wavering as it regarded the aura of light that cloaked him. He stared back, his eyes wide with fear for the first time since Ilista had known him.
A loud ringing filled the air, and time sped up as Ossirian jerked his sword from its scabbard. “Guards!” he barked. “To me!”
The door burst open at once, and the two bandits who had stood watch outside the room burst in, weapons at the ready-then stopped in their tracks, their jaws going slack as they saw the Little Emperor’s gruesome remains and trie shadow looming over the scene. They blinked, their faces turning the color of chalk.
The shadow didn’t hesitate. Whirling, it rounded on the guards with a snarl, then flowed across the room with a grace that was at once beautiful and horrific. The men froze before it, transfixed. It ripped the first man apart with three quick sweeps of its claws, hurling the scraps aside in a gory shower. The man’s partner screamed, panicking, turned to run-and died just as swiftly, a single talon of shadowstuff, as solid now as iron, punching through the back of his skull. He dangled lifelessly from the demon’s claw, then went down in a heap when it jerked free.
Seeing his men fall, Ossirian hurled himself forward, swinging his sword as the shadow turned back toward Beldyn. He hacked at it viciously, a mighty two-handed blow that would have cleft a man in two from neck to groin, but the creature was no man. The weapon passed through it as though it wasn’t there and bit into the wood- paneled wall behind it. Ossirian stumbled, thrown off balance, and barked a vicious curse.
With another shrieking laugh, the shadow grabbed his head in its claws and squeezed. Ossirian screamed, then a sickening crunch cut him off, and his arms and legs drooped. The demon let him go, and he fell beside Durinen, blood streaming from his nose, mouth, and ears.
It had all taken less than a minute.
The shadow hovered over the corpses, four ruined things that had once been men. Ilista thought, oddly, of Cathan, the boy from Luciel who had sworn to protect Beldyn. He would be a fifth, now, if he were here. A mercy, perhaps, that he was not-but neither was anyone else.
Except for her.
She watched, her whole body turning cold, as the demon turned toward Beldyn once more. It hissed, long blood-dripping claws flexing, and she knew she had to do something. Strangely, there was no fear-only sorrow that after all she had gone through, it came to this. She reached to her throat, drawing out her medallion from beneath her robes.
“Paladine,” she murmured. “Please be with me.”
The shadow leaped with a snarl, an arrow of darkness streaking across the room. Dista was quicker, though, reaching out with her free hand to shove Beldyn aside. He stumbled back with a shout, slamming against the wall.
“
Ilista ignored him. Instead, she yanked the medallion free, its chain snapping, and thrust it forward as the shadow struck her. Its claws sank into her flesh like spears of ice, and the pain was horrible, a hundred times worse than when the wyvern’s talons had struck her, but she shoved the pain aside, pressing the medallion into the heart of the shadow demon as its talons ripped her open. The creature’s laughter was all around her, sounding like a hundred leering madmen. Red mist fogged her vision, but she blinked it away, forcing her breath out in a shout, fearing she would never draw another.
The laughter twisted, turned into a furious scream as silver light flared, filling the room.
Silence, darkness.
“Open your eyes, child.”
Ilista knew the voice. She did as it bade.
She stood in Durinen’s study, surrounded by carnage. The Little Emperor and Lord Ossirian lay side by side like broken dolls. Before the doors, the bloody tatters that once had been the men who guarded the room, glistened red. At her feet…
She felt an awful rushing within her, like falling in a dream. The thing that lay before her was her own body, torn asunder by the shadow demon’s talons. Beldyn sat beside her, his fine robes smeared with her blood, cradling her head in his arms. He had his own medallion in his hand and was praying over her, and with sick understanding she knew that he was trying to heal her. Even if he’d still had the strength, though, it was too late. Finally, after a long moment, he slumped forward, pressing his face against her lifeless forehead, and began to sob.
She felt a wistful ache at that. She had never seen him weep before.
“Here, child,” said the voice again.
She looked up, at the bedchamber’s window. It was open now, the silver moon glowing behind it. Standing before it was Brother Jendle. The fat monk smiled at her, his eyes shining.
Turning from her own corpse, she stepped toward him, then knelt on the blood-slick floor, bowing her head. “My god,” she said. “I have tried to work thy will.”
“I know, child.” He rested a pudgy hand on her head. “It’s time for you to rest now.”
She looked up then, and sudden, joyful tears sprang to her eyes. Brother Jendle was gone, and in his place stood a great dragon, its scales gleaming like mirrors in the moonlight. Glancing around, she saw the bedchamber, too, had vanished. She was on a mountaintop now, bare stone and snow beneath the stars. There was something familiar about the scene, she thought, and then she knew. It was the same place she had seen when she tested Beldyn, months ago, when he had pulled the stars down from the sky.
“Come,” said the platinum dragon. “We have a long way to go.”
Ilista stared at the heavens a moment longer, then signed the triangle. “Farewell, Beldinas,” she whispered.
She turned again and climbed onto the dragon’s broad, glistening back. It vaulted into the air, rising up and away, toward the silver moon.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cathan shoved through the crowd outside the Pantheon, forcing people out of his way with shoulders and elbows, stepping on feet and drawing dark looks and curses. He didn’t slow, though, didn’t look back, even when he sent people sprawling. Nor did he shout, or even speak. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth the sound that came from it first would be an uncontrollable shriek.
He’d been with his sister only a quarter of an hour ago at an inn by the western lip of the chasm that split
