dragon's sight could penetrate.
Despite himself, Kesson found the dragon, a creature of myth on Kesson's home world, awe-inspiring to behold. Black and purple scales, some as large as tower shields, rippled with the movement of the vast muscles and sinews beneath them. Claws as long as swords sank deep into the mud. The dragon's wingspan could shade a castle.
And all around the huge body shadows danced, leaking from the creature like steam. Even to Kesson, himself a creature of shadow, the dragon's outline appeared blurred. At the margins, the dragon appeared to meld with the darkness of the plane.
Despite the dragon's majesty, Kesson knew that he was the more powerful servant of the shadows.
Still sheltered by the trees, he began to whisper the words to the first of two compulsions.
The dragon must have sensed that he was no longer under its claw. The great creature whirled a circle, seeking him out, its great head waving hack on forth on the serpentine neck, dark eyes blazing.
'You are near, human,' said Furlinastis in his susurrus voice. 'The stink of your invader temple is upon you.'
Kesson almost smiled. The Shadowlord's temple was not an invader of the Shadow Deep but an exile. Kesson had moved the temple and all its aspirants there after its ruling conclave had branded him a heretic for drinking from the Chalice. Perhaps later, he would move all of Elgrin Fau into the Shadow Deep, just to watch the City of Silver die in the darkness.
The dragon chuffed the air, searching, searching. Water lapped around its huge feet.
Kesson stepped forth from the obscuring shadows. The dragon's eyes fixed on him and the pupils dilated. The creature reared back its head, no doubt about to exhale a cloud of its life-draining black breath.
'Remain still,' Kesson said, and held up his hand.
Power went forth from his palm, the might of his will made manifest and augmented by the power of his spell. It met the will of the dragon, bound it, dominated it-but only barely. It would not last long.
The wyrm stood as still as a statue before Kesson, bound to obey his command. Wisps of shadowstuff leaked from the holes of the reptile's nostrils. The creature's respiration was as loud as a forge bellows.
Kesson waded into the water and stepped nearer the dragon until he stood within reach of its jaws. He felt the dragon continuing to struggle against his spell. Left alone, the dragon would in time escape the magical bondage. But Kesson would not be leaving the dragon alone.
'I will not harm you, beast,' Kesson said. 'But you will be made to do as I and my god require.'
Hearing those words, the dragon strained still harder against the spell-to no avail.
Kesson smiled, stretched forth a hand and laid it on the dragon's scales. The shadows leaking from Kesson's pores mingled with those surrounding Furlinastis.
'It will not be a difficult task,' he promised, and ran his fingertips over a scale. It felt cool and smooth beneath his skin, like an amethyst. 'You spoke of the invader temple, so I know you know of it. Look at me,' he commanded.
Slowly, with palpable reluctance, the power of the spell bent Furlinastis's head down until the dragon's dark eyes fixed upon Kesson. Kesson could see the anger smoldering there, the hate. He thought he had never' before seen a creature so hateful of servitude as the dragon. He wondered if all of dragonkind was similarly prideful.
'Once, I served in that temple,' Kesson said. 'But then the Shadow God made me his Chosen and allowed me to drink from his Chalice. He subsequently blessed me by transforming my flesh-' he held up his hands to show the dragon the dusky flesh, the sheathe of shadows that encapsulated him-' my spirit, and showing me this world. Rather than a blessing, the Conclave of Demarchs saw my transformation as a mark of transgression. They named me heretic.' He licked his lips and controlled his anger. 'But I name them fools. As punishment for their foolishness, I used the power bestowed on me to take the temple and all of its occupants from my world to this place, where they will die in the dark for their ignorance. You will kill them.'
To that, the dragon could say nothing.
'You wish to speak?' Kesson asked. 'Speak then.'
His words loosened the binding of the spell enough to free the dragon's tongue.
'Kill them yourself, human,' hissed the dragon, and the force of its breath pasted Kesson's cloak to his body. 'I am not-'
'Silence,' Kesson commanded, and the dragon stopped speaking in mid-sentence.
'I would do so if I could, Furlinastis.' He shook his head and smiled at the absurdity. 'But I have oathed to never directly take the life of a fellow priest-as have they oathed with regard to me. And those oaths were sealed with the most powerful binding spells known to my people: soul spells. Such spells are unbreakable and impossible to bypass, unless the two souls be willing.' He saw the dragon desired again to say something. 'Speak.'
Furlinastis said, 'Your words are nonsense. Your spells but paltry magic that fortune favored this time. And when I am free-'
'Silence,' commanded Kesson again, and again Furlinastis fell silent. 'You will never be free, dragon. The enchantment that now binds you is but a temporary measure. It is with a soul spell that I will bind you to me… forever.'
Again the dragon strained against the spell, managing in his anger to lift a claw a hand's breadth out of the water. Kesson admired the dragon's strength, but knew it would not be enough.
He began to cast the soul spell, a type of magic unique to his world, a binding fed by the strength of his own spirit. His fingers, leaking shadows, traced an intricate path through the fetid air. His lips spoke the words of power known only to the priests of his people. When he pronounced the last of the words, he felt his soul bifurcate, felt the magic of the spell siphon some small portion of his essence and shunt it to the dragon. There, it diffused into the wyrm's own soul, like a dram of ink dropped into a pail of water, and bound the creature to whatever Kesson might command.
The effort cost Kesson a small part of himself, weakening him enough that he might not have been able to defeat the dragon again had they done battle just then.
'Henceforth, in all things you will obey me,' he said, and knew that his voice was pounding like a maul into the creature's brain. 'Your first duty is this: every twenty-four hours, you will come to me here and I will give you the name of a priest in the temple. After receiving that name, you will fly thence, take up the named priest, harming no others, and bring him before me.'
Kesson imagined how it would feel to look upon his traitorous brothers, one by one, as they died. He wanted them to understand before the end how little they understood the will of their god.
'At my command you will devour the named priest, or perhaps eviscerate him. This you will do until all of the priests within the temple are dead.'
Ordering another to kill did not violate his oath. He would see them die, though he could not do it by his own hand. Kesson knew that forty-four priests of the Shadow God resided within the temple: thirty six aspirants and initiates, and the eight members of the conclave. He would begin with the aspirants. 'Vennit Dar,' he said.
The slaughter began with Vennit Dar and continued once every twenty-four hours thereafter for… How long had it been now? Furlinastis wondered. Too long.
The dragon had no qualms about the slaughter of the priests. He simply found it intolerable that the human, Kesson Rel, had bound him with a spell-a soul spell-such that Furlinastis would die to obey any command uttered by the theurge.
Soul magic. Furlinastis had never before heard the term, and hoped never to hear it again. He needed, desperately needed, to free himself of the magic. Like others of his kind, Furlinastis was a force of nature, a thunderstorm in the flesh. And storms could not be bent to another's will, not even that of a theurge.
But he had no inkling of how he might free himself of the spell.
He roared in anger, sending a blast of his life-draining breath streaking into the starless sky. Seething, he beat his wings and soared through the gloom of his home plane. As always, a cloud of shadows enswathed him. A name filled his mind, vibrated in his soul, forced him onward: Nelm Disvan.
Nelm would be the next to die.
Avnon paced the Hall of Shadows. The velvet mask he wore-the symbol of his faith-made him feel as though he was being suffocated, but he resisted the urge to pull it from his face. He knew the urge came from more than merely finding it difficult to breathe. It came from a crisis of faith. The Shadow God appeared to have abandoned them in favor of Kesson Rel, the heretic who had defiled the Chalice.
