Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

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Shade sensed the powerful forces emanating from the castle.

“So,” he whispered. “They’ve begun.”

He started up toward the wall, not at all daunted by the lack of any door. When the warlock desired to enter, he would enter.

Suddenly, something launched from the battlements. Shade did not have to look close to know that they were a pair of Necri.

“I’ve had quite enough of your kind.” He pointed at the first, which immediately exploded in flames. The Necri’s shriek cut off as the fire swiftly burned it to ash.

The other creature started to pull up, but its doom had already been set in motion. Shade gave a twist of his wrist and the batlike demon crumpled together, every bone crushed magically. The warlock continued on his trek even as the mangled remnants collided with the ground nearby.

Coming to the wall, he tested the spells surrounding it. None were beyond him. In fact, most were quite infantile compared to what the warlock had expected. His cousins might as well have created a vast, open gateway for him to walk through. Clearly they desired his presence inside and Shade saw no reason to disappoint them.

He folded his voluminous cloak about him and disappeared.

Valea felt the female Vraad’s presence begin to overwhelm her own. It was not that Sharissa wanted to do this; on the contrary, the ghost’s sadness was evident even as she began to take over.

If Valea hoped to survive at all, she had to pray that her will remained strong enough.

Galani . . . the enchantress called.

She sensed the stone stir. When she had decided that she must pursue Shade, put an end to his curse, the enchantress had returned to the place where she had discovered the entrance to the elf’s tomb. She could no longer gain admittance, but that had not been what she had wanted. All that Valea had desired was a tiny piece of that which surrounded Galani-the Wyr Stone. She had hoped to use its intricate properties to transform things in order to craft a spell to imprison Shade, then change him from the cursed warlock to a harmless and quite mortal being.

To her surprise, though, not only had the piece chipped free with barely any effort-but upon touching it, Valea had sensed the presence of her former incarnation. Galani intended to be with her on this quest, doing what she could.

No, Ephraim might have somehow stirred the matter up, but the elf’s desire to help had been very real. Now, Valea needed that help in a different way than she had intended.

There were suddenly three minds within her head. Valea felt Sharissa’s confusion. The latter’s invasion faltered as she confronted two wills, not one.

“Hold!” Ephraim immediately shouted. “Something is wrong!” He strode up to Valea, waving one hand across her form. Immediately it halted where the stone hung.

The necromancer hissed and tore at her garment, revealing the source of his frustration. Valea could do nothing as he seized the piece and pulled it free.

But as he did, a sense of total displacement enveloped her. A tremendous force pulled her from her own body and into an eternal whiteness. Valea looked around, found nothing. She put a hand to her face . . .

And discovered she had neither fingers nor face to touch.

Somehow . . . somehow her spirit had become ensnared in the Wyr Stone.

Gerrod waited. He knew that Shade would come to him. Like a fly drawn to honey, the other piece of him could not stay away from that for which it had ever searched.

Gerrod stood in the courtyard, where Ephraim had told him to make the encounter. The ghost waited, head down, knowing that the meeting was imminent.

He sensed Shade before he heard him.

“So . . . there you are.”

The specter looked up. He felt no fear, no anxiety, when he stared into that blur that was all the visage that Shade could ever have. No, Gerrod only felt sadness . . . and not just for the two parts of him. He felt sadness for what was taking place and what the Lords would do when they had what they wanted.

But he had no choice but to obey if he wanted to live.

“I admit . . . I was startled when I knew that it would be you,” Shade went on. “I expected more from you.”

“You know me as well as yourself,” Gerrod chided. “You know what I want.”

“And I’m supposed to give it to you?”

“You’ve no choice.” The ghost stamped the floor. As with his cell, it reacted to him as if he was as solid as the figure before him.

The crash of his boot echoed in their otherwise silent surroundings. Immediately, a huge pattern covering the entire courtyard flashed bright crimson.

Shade sought to react, but it was already too late. He had no hope of leaving now. He could barely even move. His arms, his legs, everything acted in slow motion. Gerrod had a twang of guilt, seeing how his shell struggled in the face of the inevitable. Almost he could imagine the torment on the unseen countenance.

“You shouldn’t battle so,” the ghost said, closing on him. “I’ll be giving you peace. You could’ve never had what you wanted . . .”

“Neither . . . can . . . you . . .”

“I’ll live.”

The warlock struggled futilely. “At what . . . cost? As . . . Ephraim’s p-puppet? What . . . what is life . . . when the Lords . . . take over . . . the living?”

Gerrod drew back in bitterness. “Be silent! What would you know about life? A shell seeking to be real? You were doomed from the start because you weren’t even our true self!” He beat his chest twice. “I am Gerrod Tezerenee! You are nothing but a walking mockery of my existence! When I’ve taken over, I will be whole again!”

“And the Lords . . . will have . . . won. And the . . . Land . . . will have won . . .”

“What do you mean?”

The murky features almost came into focus. “The Lords’ rule . . . will be short . . . in the scheme of things. In the end . . . the Land . . . will do with them . . . as it has . . . the Seekers . . . the Quel . . . and others. Only this time . . . the humans . . . the hope . . . will go with them . . .”

“You’re stalling,” Gerrod decided. He started toward the warlock again. “Stalling the inevitable.”

“And when you . . . are me . . . the Land . . . will have its greatest . . . triumph,” Shade went on despite his approaching doom. “Gerrod Tezerenee. Not Shade. You will live . . . you will change . . . the Land will finally alter you as it did our people . . .”

“No . . . I will live! I will be me! I will have all I wanted!”

“All you wanted?” The warlock’s head dipped low as his battle against the spell failed. “Any care . . . Sharissa had for one lowly . . . Gerrod Tezerenee . . . will die as surely as she.”

“Sharissa will live, too!” the ghost declared, his hand almost upon the captive’s chest. They both knew what would happen when he touched the warlock. “She will live! I give her the greatest gift-”

“As Ephraim’s. Cursing life . . . cursing you.” Shade shrugged, then leaned forward. “Do what you must. I look forward to missing the world you will help shape.”

With a frustrated roar, Gerrod thrust his hand into Shade’s ribs. It sank in without hesitation. The warlock roared in agony. The ghost pressed forward.

And as he did, he sensed the tumultuous emotions and thoughts racing through Shade’s mind-his mind.

Gerrod gasped, almost pulled his hand back in horror. He had never expected to find such a rich trove of sensations-of life-within.

Then his eyes hardened. “No . . . I will do it!”

He entered the screaming captive.