Chapter Two

Oblivious to her guard's presence, Tannith of Ellenroh, Princess of Dragonbane, slammed the heavy shutters and crossed the deep Argesian carpet. She warmed her hands at the library fire, hoping the flames would instill warmth into her body, and her mind. Perhaps give her peace ... but there was no peace to be had. She felt like a caged beast: on one hand anxious to start the quest to free her people from the siege, on the other, afraid to try should she fail.

Although trained as a warrior, she had never tasted real battle until a few days previous. She thought she was prepared. However, the blood, noise--the horror of war--it was nothing like she had imagined--it was worse.

She poured a goblet of wine, took a sip, and glanced up at the gilt-edged portrait of her grandfather hanging above her father's chair.

Dragonbane, first King of Ellenroh, sitting astride his massive white charger, exuded power--his ash-blond hair braided at the sides did little to detract from the sense of strength and purpose that stamped his hawkish features--a strength evident in every line of his body. If only she could be more like him.

Her hand clenched the stem of her goblet. Had she taken on more than she could handle? Was she presumptuous to think that she could fill the boots of one so illustrious, and find the ancient icon the Council had said could end this war? All she knew was she had to try. After all, Dragonbane's blood coursed through her veins.

She fought to conjure thoughts of more tranquil days, times of sunshine and laughter--days when her mother was alive--before the wasting sickness took her. However, those memories were receding further into the past and it was hard to focus with so much recent carnage. She ran a shaky hand across her eyes as the lifeless faces of comrades floated before her. Jakeal, Taybold and Estrial, friends she had grown up with, shared memories with, who would have died for her. Who had died for her, she amended.

She gulped down a mouthful of spiced wine to clear the taste of bile from her throat as the sweet, sickly stench of blood filled her nostrils. She could still see Taybold's face as he dove in front of her, shielding her body, taking the spear in the back meant for her, and his agonized smile as he whispered goodbye and told her not to blame herself.

She chaffed her elbows and glanced into the fireplace, feeling like she would never be warm again. The flames leapt and danced in the grate in hypnotic rhythm allowing her thoughts to wander. Tiredness engulfed her, her eyes clouded with unshed tears, but she held them in check. It would not do for the future Queen of Ellenroh to cry. No. She had to stand fast, give her people strength. With her father missing, they relied on her now for guidance.

She strode to the window to push open the shutters. Wisps of blue mist floated through the open portal, filling the library. The mist was magical, a sorcerer's breath of that she was certain. Tendrils of moist blue air for days now had been seeping its way into every niche of the castle. Even the icy wind blowing outside did nothing to disperse the mist's insidious presence. Evil pervaded the very air that she and her people breathed. This dense alien mist seemed to surround the Urakians, camouflaging them until they were almost atop her men; its icy fingers seeping through the armor and into the bones of the Elisian warriors as they fought. They had defended well, but she could understand why they were demoralized. It was hard to fight an enemy one could not see.

She sought to penetrate the fog with her night vision. She knew there must be at least five thousand camped across the moat, but she saw nothing. She heard their animalistic chanting as it floated upward on the breeze. She crossed herself in the way of her faith--shoulder to shoulder, lips to heart. They must have another prisoner. May Magus have mercy on his soul. She had seen the remains of the other prisoners the enemy had dumped at their gates.

"Father, are you out there?" she whispered into the night. "Are you dead or held captive in some dark dungeon?

No answer came. Only silence and a gentle crackle, drifting from the fire in the grate.

She slammed the shutters.

"It cannot be that bad," whispered a small lyrical voice into her ear.

She jumped and the goblet slipped from her fingers, crashing to the floor. Wine pooled like ruby blood at her feet as she stepped aside for the guard to attend the mess, then smiled when he finished, dismissing him for the night.

A Fayrie no more than a hand tall, with red curling hair and the garb of a warrior, fluttered before her face.

"You surprised me," Tannith said, stretching out her hand for the Fayrie to step onto her palm.

"Forgive me, Highness." Skylah pushed her red-gold hair from her eyes. "I have been searching for you throughout the castle."

Settling into a padded chair by the hearth, Tannith lowered the Fayrie to her knee. She glowed with an eldritch light.

"What is this news that could not wait?" She smiled.

"The Urakians have reinforcements."

Tannith frowned. "You have numbers?"

"One thousand infantry and two hundred cavalry. Siege towers, too." The Fayrie hopped into the air and flew toward the window. Tannith hastened after her to ease open the shutters. Miraculously the fog had vanished, but what remained made her heart plummet. Hundreds of campfires lined the banks of the moat and lit up the fields. They wanted her people to see them. They wanted her men to feel despair, and then while her warrior's spirits were low, they would strike again.

"There." The Fayrie pointed to the left. "I managed to get close before I was seen. Eight war machines," she said dismally. "How can we fight those monsters?"

Tannith grimaced. "Etan will have a plan. And if not, then one of the Generals."

"Of course," the Fayrie brightened, "Etan will know."

Tannith noted the wistful note in her friend's voice. "Did you see him there tonight? He led a raid on the Urakian supply wagons."

"No, but I could see where he had been." Skylah laughed. "The camp was still in disarray." Tannith glanced unseeing across the room at the fire. "He never told me he was going. I had to hear it from Loden at the meeting."

"Etan keeps a close counsel. You know that."

"He has been doing that a lot more of late." Tannith wondered why the thought hurt her so. "They had a prisoner. Did you see who it was?"

"Captain Gadrian." The Fayrie looked away. "They killed him."

"Was it quick?"

"No."

Tannith leaned back against the windowsill. "I thank you for being so honest. Without you, we would truly be lost. We could not keep track of the Urakian's movements. You must allow me to reward you."

Skylah shook her head and swept up to hover before Tannith's face. "It is not reward, but revenge I seek, and to find what happened to my people. You cannot give me that."

"No, but--"

"And it is I who owes you the debt," Skylah cut her off, "if you had not found me that day in the forest, I would be dead now."

Tannith opened her mouth to speak, but the library door slammed, stalling her answer.

"Tannith, are you in here?" called a deep male voice from the far side of the room.

"Over here, Etan!" Tannith returned to the hearth, to wait for him to wind his way through the ancient rows of tomes. She had heard rumors among her people that one day they expected her and Etan to marry. She had never discussed the matter with him, but was certain he would be of like mind. It would be the same as marrying her brother.

"What is the story between you and Captain Jarrisendel?" Skylah asked quietly, alighting onto her shoulder.

"There is no story, really. His father, whom was my father's General, died saving the King from a daring assassination attempt when Etan was eight. He lost his mother at childbirth, and had only his grandfather. My father had us raised together."

Etanandril Jarrisendel cursed and cut his way doggedly through the two long stands of musty tomes, separating the door from the hearth. He found the princess standing by the fireplace and halted, drawing upon his experience as a warrior to keep his emotions in check.

With her features highlighted softly by the glow of golden flames, she was lovelier than ever. Reaching only to his shoulder, she was full-breasted and slim-hipped. Her skin so smooth and perfect, sometimes he ached to run his hands over every inch of its flawless beauty. And her violet eyes, he could drown in their depths and never mourn his own passing.

He had always been in love with her, could not remember a time when he was not. However, he knew his feelings were not reciprocated. Therefore, he had never spoken of what was in his heart, and probably never would. He approached, lifted her hand and touched it to his lips, silently cursing their ties of familial affection. He released her and stepped back. "You were nowhere to be found after the battle. I was afraid you were hurt."

"Your worry was unwarranted, my fine protector." She lifted her arms then lowered them. "As you see, I still have all my limbs." She sighed and ran a hand through her disheveled hair. "We lost Taybold today." She turned away. "He died saving my life."

"I know. I saw him fall, but it was what he was trained to do."

"It does not make it any less painful. He was a good friend."

"I too shall miss him. However, he will not be the last. You have to know that."

She rounded without answering and poured him a goblet of wine, then handed it to him unsmiling. "I was helping with the wounded. When I left the injured I went up to the battlements." She looked down at her hands. "I can still smell the blood."

"It will pass." He leaned his elbow casually on the wooden mantel and nodded toward the closed shutters. "What do you think they want?"

"What does any enemy want? Power, riches, slaves. But, never fear, Dragonbane Castle will stand--'tis the mightiest in all of Ellenroh. King Dragonbane had this castle built to his own specifications. It cannot be taken. Just let the Urakians send what they will; this castle will still be in the hands of the Elisi long after the demon scum are dead and rotted in their graves."

He arched a brow. "Brave speech. Who are you trying to convince, me or you?"

"If my faith should fail me, who would follow me?"

"What does it matter?" He shrugged. "We have nothing to combat sorcery."

"And if we did?"

He met her violet eyes trying to read her face. "Are you keeping secrets? We share everything, remember?"

Tannith's lips curved. "I was waiting for you to ask." She looked away. "I attended a meeting with the Council Elders, a notch of a time-candle ago. They suggested--as you know they always suggest--never order, merely suggest in a manner that cannot be refused, that the only way to free our people from the Urakian siege was to find the Cross of Tarlis. An ancient icon left over from the Great Mage War." She turned to warm her hands at the fire. "High Counselor Loden--your grandfather," she amended, "informed me of a prophecy that the royal scribes have unearthed from a tome of Tarlisian History. The book described a magical icon. A cross made up of five sections, and when it was assembled it could resurrect our God, Magus. The book said our God would battle the evil threatening us. When I asked where the icon could be found, Loden told me the only lead was an ancient Druid, living on Merrum Island. But that is not all," she paused to gauge his reaction.

"Go on."

"Loden has heard rumors the sorcerer Sernon has been magically raised from the dead, and that he also seeks the Cross. It could be why the Urakians are here. They could be in league with him, and he may well think the Cross is here at Dragonbane."

"Why would that be so?" he asked slowly, curiosity overruling his misgivings.

"Loden gave into my keeping what he called the Key--the first piece of the Cross. My ancestors have passed it down through the generations. A prophecy has been discovered, naming me, the first Princess of Dragonbane to be born in five centuries, to be the only one capable of assembling the Cross when all the pieces are brought together."

Etan laughed softly. "Let me understand this correctly. In the morning you and I are to search for the rest of an icon that might have magical powers and has not been seen for five hundred summers?"

"Since the Great Mage War," she confirmed.

He laughed out loud. "Am I also to understand, a necromancer of renowned insanity has been raised from the dead and is also searching for the Cross?" He released a heavy breath. "You cannot be--"

Tannith straightened and half turned, and Etan's words lodged in his throat. A flicker of firelight cast in shadowy relief a small being, perched in the crook of her right shoulder.

His jaw tightened. "What is she doing here? I cannot believe you allowed that creature to overhear our plans."

Skylah was about to speak, but Tannith cut her off. "Skylah just came from the Urakian camp. She learned vital information." The princess folded her arms across her chest. "Why are you always so hard on her?"

Etan ignored her question. "She made it across the lines?"

"She did more than that. The Urakian's have brought in siege towers."

"I know." His gaze rested on the Fayrie while he spoke. "I saw them myself, we torched a few." He took in the Fayrie's appearance, her long sleek legs beneath her short battle skirt; red-gold hair that hung to her waist in a tangle of ringlets, and her forest-green eyes--a pity she was only a woman in miniature.

Disgusted with the trend of his thoughts, he turned and strode to the window and threw open the shutters, breathing deeply of the night air.

Skylah watched him go with a palpable sense of loss. Head and shoulders above all other Elisians, he appeared God-like. His deep-blue eyes lit a flame in her belly whenever he came into view, but the feeling was soon quashed by some cruel word or jest thoughtlessly tossed her way. She shook her head, knowing he would never notice her as a real woman. To him she was a pest to be brushed aside--a creature of little worth. She took to the air as Tannith joined Etan's side. It would never do for the Captain to see her weep; it would just be one more thing he could taunt her with. She knew where his affections lay. She saw the way his eyes softened and heard the gentle inflection in his voice whenever he spoke Tannith's name.

Being the last of her kind, she felt more alone than ever. "Even Fayries must sleep," she said, feigning a yawn as she flew toward them. "I bid you goodnight, Princess."

'Yes," agreed Tannith. "You have done well, my friend. Rest now."

Skylah drew level with Etan's eyes and vanished in a haze of sparkling Fayrie dust.

He jumped back, muttering a curse beneath his breath. "Damn, Fayrie." He brushed down his tunic, shaking his head. "Show them a spec of kindness and they think they own a kingdom." Straightening, he took Tannith's hand and dropped a soft kiss on her palm, but she pulled away with a tight smile and rounded to look out of the window. "How did your mission go?"

He frowned, watching her closely. "Ten wagons. If rationed properly it might last three sennights.

"Forty-two days--so small a time, and so many mouths." Her tone hardened. "Why did you not tell me you were going on a raid? The first I heard of it was from the Council."

He moved to stand beside her. "The Elders made me swear an oath. They thought you would do something foolish, like want to come." He rested his hand over hers. "I could not break my oath, even to you."

She did not look at him. "Yes. I suppose it must be terrible to be torn between loyalty to your Grandfather, and loyalty to your Princess." She looked around. There was a glint in her eye and she smiled. "You would not be the same man I have admired and trusted all my life, had your decision differed."

Her words of mild affection cut him deep, deeper than he would have imagined. He took her by the shoulders and looked into her almond-shaped eyes, trying to gauge how best to ask the question hovering on his lips for what seemed an eternity. "Are they the only emotions you feel for me, Tannith? Admiration--trust? Is there nothing more?"

She squirmed in his grip. "I don't understand. There is friendship, of course." She looked away. "What else could there be?"

He stood silent, trying to read more into her words, more into the worried expression on her face, but he could not see that which he longed for--love--hope for a future. A dry laugh broke from his throat. He released her and peered down into the dark moat. The water reflected his feelings--dismal, and bleak. His palms curved painfully over the edge of the sill. She had answered his question honestly, he supposed. He should be grateful she had not realized how deeply his own feelings ran.

He felt her hand on his arm and froze. "Something troubles you? Can we not share it? We are friends."

He smiled into the night. Yes, they had always shared their problems, since they were small children. They were friends, but he wanted more, and she would never understand. For what could he say? His love for her was like a living creature wrenching at his gut night and day? He would like nothing better than to plunge into the soft depths of her body. He laughed derisively inward. She would turn from him in disgust. No. It was best he went on the way he was. However, he could not control the note of bitterness creeping into his voice when he next spoke. "How could you doubt our friendship, it is the one thing that is eternal?" She was watching him. He could feel her gaze boring into his back, but he refused to turn. He was not ready. Would he ever be ready?

"I do not," her voice sounded tight, hurt, "for it is the one thing I could never bear to lose. To do so would be like a knife in my heart. You are as close to me as my own soul."

But you cannot love me like I do you. He refused to acknowledge her words.

Her hand fell from his arm and still she stood behind him. The fire died in the grate and the blue mist began once more to seep into the library, chilling the air.

"Would you escort me to my room?" she asked. "We have an early start and already the hour grows late."

Etan gave a barely perceptible nod, and swallowed the hard lump in his throat. He stepped back and closed the shutters. "As you wish." He drained the dregs from his goblet, picked up Tannith's half-finished beverage from the ledge and placed the goblets side by side on a small table.

Pretending nothing untoward had occurred, nothing had changed between them, he slipped his arm through hers and lead her from the room. Still, he could not stop his mind from wandering as they traversed the shadowy corridors to the north wing. The ancestral portraits of Dragonbane, stared down on him, mocking him with their cold painted eyes, whispering that he could never be one of them. Never be good enough.

His relationship with Tannith had changed tonight, and nothing would ever be the same. Tonight the sweet tender friendship of youth had been lost--the simple trust. Could such things ever be regained?

Chapter Three

Dannock-Shae, High Priest of the Urakians stood on a precipice overlooking the moon-burnished waters of Dalen-Gae, the largest lake in the Carrum-Bahl Mountains.

Snow lightly gathered on his fur-lined cloak, but he ignored it as he ignored the pain of the cold that chilled his flesh and gnawed his bones. Soon it would be time for the ritual and everything he wished for would be within his grasp--riches, glory and power beyond belief. He craved power more than life itself. It was as vital to him as the air he breathed and the magic he practiced. Not enough for him the small province of Urak. It was but a speck on the face of Tarlis. He wanted the whole of the realm under his fist. And with the help of the greatest sorcerer ever to have lived, he would soon have the means by which to achieve it.

He pushed aside his musings and turned slowly to eye the young woman struggling with his henchmen.

The Princess of Glen-Dorrach pointed her chained fists at his face. "You will be dead before the next new moon cycle."

Something prophetic in the girl's eyes caused Dannock to shiver, but he dismissed it. "You are in no position to threaten me, child. Come closer so I may view you more clearly."

The girl stood her ground and dug her heels into the icy earth, but Dannock's henchmen dragged her forward. She staggered, righted herself and raised her chin.

A cruel smile curved Dannock's mouth as his gaze roamed the girl's slim, perfect body. He could feel a slow fire building in his loins despite the chill of the snow, and tempered it down. She was beautiful--there was no doubt. He licked his lips. She was the image of her mother, her eyes the color of the darkest sea. Ebony hair hung like a silken curtain to her waist, hiding the nipples he was certain thrust against the fine linen of her nightgown. She was so young and proud with a spirit to match her beauty, but he would have to forgo the exquisite pleasures of her body. The ritual called for a virgin sacrifice of royal blood, and the Princess of Glen-Dorrach possessed all the right qualities.

He beckoned her forth.

Asleena strained against her manacles and scanned the rocks for a chance of escape, but there would be no help, no one was here. Suddenly she swung, striking her fists into the face of her gorilla-like guard, knocking him backwards over a boulder.

He grunted and slowly crawled to his knees, shaking his head. Throwing her a vicious scowl, he fingered his lip where a scarlet trickle of blood ran from the side of his mouth.

Asleena smiled sweetly.

The guard rushed at her with a raised fist, but Dannock stopped him. "Let her be."

The man lowered his hand, but his fingers bit cruelly into her arm as he dragged her toward the massive slab of onyx where Dannock stood.

She lifted her chin as he stepped down from the altar, and a tight smile curved his lips. "Kneel."

Slowly, she raised her head to peer into his eyes. She saw only death, and a shiver traveled down her backbone, but she let none of her fear show. "I am Princess of the Wolfshead," she said. "I kneel before no man."

"Drop, now!"

She stood her ground.

Dannock signaled to two soldiers, and they pushed her roughly to her knees, thrusting her face into the snow. Asleena avoided their hands and spat at Dannock's feet.

Fire exploded into her head.

Dazed, fighting the stars that floated before her, she stared up at the warrior who had struck her, leaving him no doubt as to what she felt as doggedly she climbed to her feet.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, she turned and ran, but gained no more than a few paces when her foot tangled in her chains and she fell. Gaining her breath, as the rocks bit into her elbows and knees, she stubbornly crawled to her knees, then her feet, and forged on.

A guard stepped after her, but Dannock stopped him. "Leave her. She cannot get far."

Asleena heard the guard's laughter cut through the evening air and the fight drained from her body. The chains, chafing her ankles and wrists were too heavy, they hindered her every step. She dropped to her knees, staring dejectedly at the ground, a wretched and bedraggled creature indeed.

Finally, Dannock nodded at his henchman and he strode after her and dragged her unceremoniously to rest at his feet. The priest reached down and offered his hand, but she ignored it, fighting against her fears. Closing her eyes, she struggled to block out the horror of her fate. Her thoughts flowing back to the previous evening, her sixteenth nameday.

Her mother and father had presented her with her first real necklace of diamonds, knowing she favored the stones above all others. Erik, her eldest brother, had given her a music box that played such sweet melodies it brought tears to her eyes. Then there was Kaden, her favorite brother. He had not yet returned from the coastal village of Antibba, but he had promised to purchase her a fine Elisian thoroughbred. She would never see it.

She shook her head, trying to think how the Urakians had entered the castle. She had awoken with a gloved hand clamped over her mouth. Two men had torn her from her slumber, bound and gagged her. The last thing she remembered of her family was her father's voice shouting her name, then silence as the enemy whisked her down a draughty tunnel and into the cold air of dawn. She must have fainted, for when she came to her senses, she was riding belly first over the neck of an old nag, being led into a dank cave. Urakian soldiers had hidden her there for what seemed a lifetime, then brought her here--to him, betrayer of their people--priest of evil.

She gasped and doubled over as an elbow jabbed painfully into her ribs, bringing her back to reality and the horror of her situation. Fighting for breath, she glanced at the black-robed men surrounding her, then at Dannock. There was no give in any of their faces. Tonight she would die.

Tears of frustration formed in her eyes and anger burned in her heart. How dare this man, this spawn of demons, take away her life before she had truly begun to live it? "Finish this now," she ordered, looking into the priest's eyes, "Do it. And I swear on the blood of my ancestors, my death will not be in vain. My brothers will avenge me, and your screams will be heard echoing across the Void." Her voice grew stronger. "When they slice your rancid heart from your body while you still live and feed it to the Reema Jackals, I will laugh down at you from Elysium, knowing you will never reach your Paradise. She glared at the lesser priests. "And you curs that follow him. They will hunt you down like filthy dogs and mount your heads at your temple gates."

The priests squirmed and made the sign of the horned-moon above their hearts.

Dannock's lip curled. "Fools! Her threats are naught but false bravado from a girl who knows she is about to die. How can she harm you? Are you not protected by Arahmin, God of the Abyss?"

"My brothers will come. They will not rest until they find me. If you set me free, I will beg them to spare you."

"Silence!" Dannock slashed with his hand. "These men are mine. You will not sway them with false promises--and as for your brothers..." He laughed loudly. "Erik roams Tarlis as an ice-tiger. There will be no help from that quarter." He stroked her cheek and trailed his long thin fingers down her bare throat. "Such a regal creature, an ice-tiger. So befitting a future King. He shall make a fine addition to my collection of unusual beasts."

"Brave words," she countered, pulling away, "let us see how fearless you are when Kaden tracks you down. No man can defeat him in battle."

"In single combat, no, but your brother shall be dealt with, never fear. No warrior can crush a legion singlehandedly."

She pulled from his touch, and he smiled cruelly. "Did I say something to upset you?"

"You do not know Kaden the way I do," she murmured.

"Yes, well, perhaps you are right. However, my Gods demand a sacrifice, and regrettably that sacrifice is you."

She looked out across the moonlit lake. "I know of no God that condones murder."

"That is where you and I differ, princess. Whereas your Gods are weak, mine are all powerful--very powerful indeed. Unfortunately, you will not be around to see just how strong they really are. Now enough words. Have you a prayer you would offer up to your own puny God?" But he did not wait for her to respond. Instead, he laid his hand almost gently to her forehead, and light flared from his fingertips. A small sigh issued from Asleena's lips and she slumped forward to be swept up by one of the guards and carried to the altar.

Dannock followed until he stood on the edge of the precipice, his black cloak billowing out around him like a giant bat's wing. He raised his arms to the cobalt sky in supplication to his Dark God.

"He'em, navar, he'em navar, barrandoch. God of Darkness and all mighty power."

Drawing the ancient sign of the twin moons in the air, he called upon all evil, binding its elements into a tight knit spell. Draining it from the land.

"Harrem, nareem, shalha, nareem, barreen-doch..."

The two moons merged as one, bringing evil to lurk at the gates of the Abyss.

His chant ceased and his gaze met Asleena's for a last time in a silent message.

She closed her eyes and prayed, sending out words to her God in a loud clear voice. "Magus, God of Light, have mercy on my soul and grant me entry into Elysium..."

Her plea stopped on a soft sigh as a dagger pierced her back and entered her heart, stealing the life from her body, sending her soul on its way.

Dannock scooped her up into his wiry arms and tossed her into the icy waters of Dalen-Gae. As her body sank, the sky lightened to an eerie green.

Giant bubbles rose to the lake's surface, and the water churned.

Wraiths leapt from the rising waves, shimmering as they swept into the air.

Their bodies shone with an inner light; a hint of wings shadowed their shoulders. Their eyes gleamed dark gold and fangs showed razor-sharp covered with blood.

The temple priests fell to their knees, shielding their faces, cowering from the wraiths that dipped and weaved above their heads. High-pitched screams filled the bowl of the valley.

Thunder boomed and the sky came alive, torn by forks of silver lightning. The wind rose and howled, joining with the high-pitched cries of the spirits. The guards dropped to their bellies, clutching at tuffs of yellowed grass so as not to be hurled back and crushed against the jagged rocks. But through all these wild elements of nature, Dannock stood firm, chanting the ritual into the storm. He raised his arms to the sky and his tone softened as he watched a great vortex appear in the center of the lake.

The wind ceased, the rain stopped, and the lantern moon drifted behind a cloud. The wraiths vanished, sucked back into the black swirling hole. Torches jutting from beneath the overhanging ledge several feet from the altar were extinguished, and total blackened silence reigned.

Dannock peered out across the dark water for what seemed an eternity; unable to distinguish any shape or form, yet still his faith in his ability prevailed. The moon broke from the clouds, began to separate and become two again. It was the sign for which he had waited. His voice rang out into the night.

"Nevar, Beldam, Vladem-dah. Arise, Master of Evil, All Powerful Lord of Darkness!"

Out of the gloom came a chilling howl. From the vortex, a searing light burst forth, shooting straight for the heavens. The temple priests cowered, as glowing wraiths swept out of the water with sharp talons extended.

The priests scrambled to their feet and dashed for their horses. The creatures swooped; the priest's steps faltered, three heads toppled, and three bodies sank into icy mud.

Abruptly, from the vortex, seeming to float on naught but a blue mist came a man. Tall, dark, and powerfully built, he wore the long black robes of a Master Sorcerer.

Dannock dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the ground as the necromancer floated across the water to land on the altar before him. The man stepped down and touched Dannock's shoulder, and indicated he should look up. "Who are you?" His voice echoed out across the lake.

Dannock raised his head and a bead of sweat trickled down his spine. "Your humble servant, My Lord." His breath escaped in a hoarse whisper. "I have devoted my life to raising you."

Sernon inclined his head for several heartbeats. Then his mouth curved into a chilling smile and his pale eyes turned blood red.