Return of the Sorceress (19 page)

“You’re very interesting,” Sindri called out to the dracolich, “but one of my friends is being held captive in Cairngorn Keep, so we really need to be moving on.”

The half-rotted abomination stared at Sindri for a moment. At least, he
thought
it was staring—it was rather difficult to tell since it didn’t have physical eyes. Then the dracolich let out an angry
hiss and reared back its head, preparing to unleash another blast of its frigid breath.

“Sindri, watch out!” Catriona shouted.

Even in the face of his own death, Sindri still experienced the endless curiosity that lay at the core of a kender’s being. He wondered how an undead creature could still produce the same frost breath that it had it had in life. After all, it was dead and didn’t need to breathe anymore. It was magic, of course, but what was the precise nature of the enchantment? That was the truly fascinating part.

“You fool!”

Suddenly Catriona was at Sindri’s side. She snatched the lantern out of his hand and hurled it at the hovering dracolich. The lantern arced through the air and struck the creature’s chest. Glass shattered, oil spilled, and the part of the dracolich that was still flesh caught fire. The thing’s dead dry skin was better than kindling. The flames spread quickly and within moments the undead dragon was a gigantic torch that lit the entire cavern.

Sindri turned to Catriona, a hurt look on his face.

“Why did you call me a fool? That wasn’t very nice.”

    N
earra huddled silently behind a large stalagmite. On the other side of the cavern, her friends battled for their lives. The shapeshifter still held Nearra’s hand encased in the malleable flesh of its hand, and it’d wrapped the other hand around her mouth so she couldn’t call out to her friends.

“Curses! The kender got to the Daystar before us!” the shapeshifter said in a near whisper.

Nearra thought it didn’t need to keep its voice low. The burning dracolich was screaming loud enough to shake the stalagmite they hid behind. Nearra doubted the loathsome creature was in pain. After all, it was already dead. The dracolich didn’t sound hurt. It sounded
mad.

She struggled to pull free from the shapeshifter, determined to go to her friends’ aid, but its grip was like iron.

“Perhaps we should sneak up on the kender and try to take the Daystar from him,” it mused. “A burning dracolich certainly makes an effective distraction.”

The dracolich hovered in the air despite its wings burning in flame. It shook its huge body like a wet dog. But instead of
water drops, bits of burning flesh flew off and rained down upon Nearra’s companions. “But on second thought, perhaps it would be better to allow Frostclaw to finish them off. Then if it is still functional, I’ll be able to speak its true name and command—”

Nearra couldn’t stand it any longer. Before the shapeshifter could finish its sentence, Nearra bit down on its palm as hard as she could. Whatever the true nature of the creature’s form, its palm was soft as any human’s, and Nearra felt skin break and blood well forth.

It cried out in pain, and the voice that erupted from its throat sounded nothing like Jirah’s. It was a disturbing amalgamation of human, animal, and creatures impossible to name. As the shapeshifter yanked its bleeding hand away from Nearra’s mouth, she jammed her elbow into its ribs. At least, she aimed for the place on its body where the ribs should be. But when her elbow came in contact with its side, it sank into the flesh as if its chest were nothing more than a leathery pouch filled with fluid. Whatever it had in its body in place of human organs was still sensitive, for it gasped and drew away from Nearra and released her wrist.

She was free! She ran toward her friends, all of whom had taken cover from the rain of fire.

“Davyn!” she shouted. “Catriona, Sindri, Elidor! It’s me!”

Her companions remained crouching behind their meager shelter, but they turned their heads in her direction.

“Nearra!” Davyn called, a sudden grin of happy surprise on his face.

The sight of his grin sent joy pulsing through her heart.

He looks happy to see me, she thought, almost as happy as I am to see him.

But Davyn’s grin vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. “Watch out for the dracolich!” he shouted.

Nearra realized that Davyn’s first thought was always for her safety. It was at precisely this moment that she realized how much she truly loved him. As difficult as it was, she forced herself to put all thought of Davyn out her mind and concentrate on summoning Asvoria’s power. But as she began to concentrate, she felt a strange sensation, as if a wall had sprung up in her mind. It was almost as if the sorceress was trying to stop her. Nearra tried to push her way though the psychic barrier, but it was no use. The mental blockade was too strong.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder. Talons sprang from fingertips and dug into her flesh. Nearra cried out in pain as the shapershifter tightened its grip. She stumbled and would’ve fallen if it hadn’t held her.

“I need you alive, but I don’t necessarily need you unharmed,” the shapeshifter hissed in her ear. “Keep that in mind.”

It kept his grip on her shoulder and turned her around. She tried to resist but the creature was too strong, and its talons were beginning to pierce her skin.

“The odds are no longer in our favor, so we’re going back to the keep,” the shapeshifter said. “Fast as we can, understand?” And then it started running and Nearra had no choice but to try and keep up with it.

She glanced back over her shoulder, trying to catch one last glimpse of Davyn, but all she saw was the fiery blaze of the dracolich. The shapeshifter squeezed her shoulder and growled for her to look forward. With her captor’s claws digging painfully into her shoulder, she ran out of the dracolich’s cavern and into the tunnel beyond.

“Nearra!”

Davyn forgot about the dracolich, he forgot about his friends.

His only thoughts were for Nearra. He hadn’t come this far only to lose her again.

He stood, forsaking the shelter of the stalagmite, and ran after Nearra.

“Davyn!” Ayanti shouted. “Stay down!”

But Davyn barely heard her. He ran around stalagmites, leaped over burning bits of dracolich flesh, and when he couldn’t jump over them, he ran through the flames as fast as he could, ignoring the heat and the pain. His companions shouted again and he felt a wave of intense heat at his back and realized what was happening. He’d drawn the dracolich’s attention and the undead breast was coming for him. He didn’t look back. If he slowed down even a fraction, it could prove fatal. All he could do was keep running as fast as he could, and hope that the dracolich didn’t unleash a blast of ice or rain blazing gobs of flesh on him.

Davyn ran for all he was worth. Behind him, the dracolich finally succumbed to the flames and crashed to the cavern floor. Davyn felt hot sparks singe his back, but he ignored them and kept running.

“Come on!” he shouted to his companions. “We have to follow Nearra!”

Shiriki waited several moments before emerging from the dark corner of the cavern where she had been hiding. She sent a prayer of thanks to the Dark Queen for providing her an opportunity to escape. For some reason, though, Takhisis had allowed the companions to escape as well. It didn’t occur to her that another god might have been protecting them, or that their escape might have had more to do with luck than divine intervention. Perhaps, she thought, the Dark Queen had spared their lives so that Shiriki herself could find them and avenge her cousin’s death. If so, she wouldn’t let her goddess down.

She felt a pang of reluctance at the notion of slaying Elidor, though. After all, he was Kagonesti, if only by half. And she had to admit that he
was
rather cute.

As the last of the dracolich was devoured by the flames, Shiriki thought she saw a dark shadowy form rise up from its body and merge with the murky gloom of the cavern ceiling. Had she just witnessed the dracolich’s foul spirit being released, or had it simply been an illusion created by smoke and flickering firelight?

Just then she heard a shuffling, scraping noise over the hiss and pop of dying flame. She withdrew once more into the shadows and looked toward the sound. Shiriki saw a figure walk out of the tunnel and into the cavern. It was man-shaped and walked unsteadily, as if it might fall over any moment. The light cast by the remains of the burning dracolich interfered with her elf night vision, but she squinted and held up a hand to block to the light. Her eyes focused and she saw that the figure was Kuruk.

Elation welled up inside her, for despite the words to the contrary that she’d spoken to Elidor, she loved her cousin and, though she had fought not to show it, she’d been devastated by his loss. But she hadn’t lost him. He was here and alive!

She ran across the cavern toward her cousin, grinning with delight that he’d been returned to her. But before she could reach him, Kuruk collapsed to his knees and slumped over on his side.

“No!” Shiriki shouted. She felt a frigid blast of air shoot past her and for an instant Kuruk’s body was cloaked in shadow. But then it was gone, so quickly that she wasn’t certain she’d seen it.

She reached her cousin’s side and knelt, placing two fingers against his neck. She felt no pulse. She removed her fingers and stroked her cousin’s blood-matted hair. The injuries he’d suffered during the cave-in had been too severe. Only his fearsome will
had allowed him to make it this far. But no matter how strong a will one has, if the body can no longer function, there is nothing that can be done.

Tears streaming down her face, Shiriki stood. She would find rocks to build him a burial mound, and then she would commend his soul unto darkness and continue on her quest to avenge him.

But as she turned to begin looking for rocks, she heard a sound.

She turned back and saw Kuruk sitting up, his eyes open.

“Takhisis be praised!” she said.

Kuruk looked up at her and slowly smiled. “Yes, Takhisis be praised, indeed.”

A wave of cold seemed to emanate from Kuruk’s mouth and Shiriki shivered. She reached out to help him up, and when he took her hand, she found his flesh was ice cold.

It’s just the cavern’s temperature, she thought. He’ll warm up when we finally get out of these blasted caves.

She began to suspect something was wrong, but she didn’t care. She had her cousin back, and that was all that mattered.