Realms of the Dragons vol.1

SOULBOUND

The Year of False Hopes (-646 DR)

Avnon Des the Seer, First Demarch of the Conclave of the Hall of Shadows, awakened from his vision. Something was amiss. He opened his eyes to the darkness of his meditation cell and listened.

Silence. Unusual silence.

The air felt changed. The shadows in the cell appeared more substantive, almost viscous. Pressure made his ears ache, made his head feel thick.

He rose from his prayer mat, pensive, uncertain, and walked to the narrow wooden door of the cell. He lifted the cold metal latch and pushed the door open.

Darkness in the apse beyond, broken only by two wan candles burning atop the square block of an altar. All appeared in order, yet….

The main double doors to the temple stood open and dark. It was midday, yet he could see no light beyond the doors. He could hear no sounds from the city streets outside.

What was happening?

Barely daring to breathe, and with a sense of foreboding heavy enough to bow his shoulders, he moved toward the temple's doors. Some of his fellow demarchs emerged from their meditation cells, others from the doors behind the altar that led into the sanctum.

All shared the same confused look; all muttered the same confused questions.

Like wraiths, they walked toward the doors. They seemed content to let Avnon lead, and he reached them first. He looked out and could not control a gasp.

There was no city beyond the doors, no streets, no carts, no horses, only plains of tall, black grass waving in a soft breeze.

His heart thumped in his chest. His brethren came up behind him, around him, and their gasps echoed his own.

His legs felt leaden, but he walked through the doors and onto the black-veined marble porch immediately beyond them. He was having trouble finding breath; it was as though the air was too thick to inhale.

All around him was dark, shadows, and gloom.

In his mind, a voice-his voice-kept repeating, "I did not foresee this. I did not foresee this…"

He looked up into the sky and saw no sun, no stars, no twin moons, only black splotches of clouds backlit by some sourceless, sickening ochre light.

"Kesson Rel has stolen the sky," he breathed.

Kesson Rel, the first Chosen of the Shadow God, stood in ankle-deep water and waited for the dragon to show itself. Protective magic sheathed his body, warding him from both physical attack and the dragon's life-draining black breath. Another dweomer allowed him to speak to and understand the dragon in any language the creature might use.

The perpetual dimness of the Shadow Deep did not limit his vision. The swamp stretched in all directions as far as he could see. Flies and bloodsucking insects thronged the air; huge bats wheeled in the sky above. Steaming pools stood here and there, leaking the stink of organic decay. Stands of droopy leafed trees sat forlornly at the edge of the pools.

And roofing it all was the black, starless sky of the Shadow Deep.

Kesson enjoyed the gloom of the place. The Deep felt like home to him. He knew it would eventually drink the life from most mortals. His former fellow demarchs of the Hall of Shadows soon would learn that lesson. They still did not realize fully what he had done, what he planned.

Perhaps Avnon Des foresaw his end? The thought brought a smile to Kesson's face. He-

The insects vanished in a blink. The sounds of the swamp fell silent. Stillness reigned.

The shadow dragon, Furlinastis, was approaching.

Kesson scanned the sky, looking for the tell-tale cloud of darkness that cloaked the dragon. He saw nothing but the thin, black clouds, backlit by the dim, ochre light of the plane.

A sound behind him, a whisper of movement. He whirled, the beginnings of a spell on his lips.

Too late.

The dragon leaped toward him, filling his field of vision with a cloud of shadows, scales, and claws. He had only a moment to marvel at the ability of the creature, as large as a temple, to move in near silence.

The dragon's hind claws hit him with the force of a trebuchet shot, wrapped him in their dark grip, and drove him flat on his back underwater. If his magic had not warded him, all of his ribs would have been shattered under the wyrm's crushing weight. "Even with the magic, the beast's claws managed to score his skin, to squeeze the breath from his lungs. If he didn't act quickly, he would be drowned.

Looking up through the lens of the dark water, he could make out no details. The mammoth form of the dragon looked like a wall of black.

"I smell the protective magic on you, human," the dragon said, and its whispery voice was audible even through the shallow water. "Let us see if it can fill your lungs."

The dragon ground him farther into the mud, farther under the water.

Kesson fought down the instinctive rise of panic that threatened to overwhelm him and gathered his thoughts. As always, he had prepared in his mind several spells that he could activate without words, without components, with only his will.

While his body strained for breath, he triggered with his mind a spell that would move him from one location to another in a blink. When the spell took effect, he vanished from underneath the dragon and reappeared, wet, muddy, and out of breath, in the shadows of a copse of trees perhaps a stone's throw behind the reptile. With an exercise of will, he pulled the shadows more closely to him, cloaking himself in a darkness that not even the 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.

No, Avnon thought; shaking his head. His visions had shown no such divine displeasure, and he and all of the other priests-aspirants, initiates, and members of the conclave alike-still could call upon the Shadow God for spells. Their god had not abandoned them.

Not now, he thought, not ever.

Kesson Rel had dared drink from the Chalice. As punishment, the Shadow God had marked him an apostate by transforming his flesh. But the god's purpose was inscrutable to Avnon. Perhaps the god wanted to test the temple priests by seemingto favor Kesson for a season. Perhaps he wanted to determine which of them was the stronger: Avnon and the orthodoxy, or Kesson Rel the heretic.

Of course, Avnon already knew the answer. None of the temple's priests could stand against the theurge. Kesson had been the First among them, and after his blasphemy, Avnon had stepped into the theurge's sandals only with reluctance. Avnon was but a simple priest. Kesson commanded both arcane and divine magic, with a skill and power unmatched by any. Even collectively, the entire conclave could not defeat the theurge. Nor could they defeat the dragon that Kesson had recruited to do his bidding. The huge reptile came "daily" to collect the tithe of flesh that Kesson took as recompense for his excommunication. Avnon had no doubt that each priest so taken died horribly, and that Kesson Rel gloated over the kills.

Why did the Shadow God permit it? Avnon wondered. He had no answer. His faith was failing. Would they all die there, on the barren plains of a dim, shadowy hell? So it appeared.

The conclave had attempted to open a portal back to their own world, but it appeared that Kesson Rel had anchored them to the Plane of Shadow when he moved the temple there. The conclave also had discussed fleeing the temple, spreading out and taking their chances on the gloomy plains. But none had been able to get farther than two hundred paces in any direction before bumping up against an invisible force that forbade further travel. The theurge had bound them fully and completely to that single world, to that single temple, on a clump of dark ground as wide as a long crossbow shot. They were penned animals awaiting their turn at the slaughter. The theurge meant to see them all dead, Avnon knew, and he wanted them to die with terror and faithlessness in their hearts.

At first Avnon and his fellow demarchs had tried to resist the dragon's assault with force of arms and spells. But their incantations and weapons bounced harmlessly off the creature's scales. The dragon had taken care not to kill anyone, but the priests had been and remained powerless to stop the creature. Terror went before it in a wave so powerful that even the most senior of the priests cowered at the dragon's approach.

Each day, the unstoppable reptile left the temple with a single priest grasped in its claws, and over time the demarchs had learned helplessness. Their faith was not failing; it had already failed. Avnon saw it in their eyes. If it had not been ingrained in them by their oaths, Avnon thought his fellow priests might have taken their own lives rather than endure the agony of watching death inevitably approach. But watch they did, and each awaited the daily return of the reptile and its dire pronouncement. They had not attempted to understand the dragon's speech. They understood enough. The reptile spoke the name of Kesson Rel, and the name of the doomed.

Thirty-five already had been claimed. The next day, the dragon would come for the thirty-sixth. After that, only the conclave would remain.

Kesson had saved the choicest morsels for last.

Avnon sat in the solitude of his meditation cell. His fellow priests had went to do as they would as they waited for death. Some slept, some prayed, some milled aimlessly about. Unprepared to surrender, unwilling to believe that the Shadow God would leave them helpless before the theurge, Avnon sought a vision. He was the Seer of the Demarch Conclave and his faith could not be shaken, even by recent events. Surely the Shadow God would provide a means to save at least some of his faithful.

Avnon sent his consciousness inward, found his center, and made his mind an open vessel.

With a suddenness that caused his body to spasm, he began to see.

Wings beat in the dark, reptilian scales sprouted mouths lined with teeth, Kesson Rel railed in the shadows, souls floated free in a swamp. He sensed motion, and knew he was seeing time and worlds pass him by. There, in another time, he saw the swamp again, bigger, darker. In it stood two men, a tall, bald man with flesh like Kesson Rel who held in one hand a blade of black steel that leaked shadows, and a smaller, one-eyed man who wielded twin blades. Avnon sensed that, like him, they too served the Shadow God. Together, they faced a dragon-the dragon-but the huge reptile was swathed not only in shadows but in…

Avnon came out of the vision in a startled rush. Sweat covered his clammy skin. His breath came hard. He understood then the purpose of his god, and it frightened him.

Kesson Rel was not a heretic. Nor were the priests of the Hall of Shadows. Both served the Shadow God, and as Avnon had thought, the god wanted to determine which of his servants was the stronger. But the determination was not between Kesson Rel and the demarchs of the temple. It was between Kesson Rel and the two men Avnon had seen in his vision.

Avnon and his fellow demarchs were to play a role in setting up that contest. They were one more challenge for Kesson Rel to face. They were allies of the two men in the vision. He felt stunned by the realization and its implications. For a fleeting moment, but only a moment, he felt betrayed by his god.

And yet he remembered the image of the enshrouded dragon.

With a sigh, he accepted his fate. Men of faith must always suffer, and many men had suffered worse than he would. Besides, he found it distantly satisfying to think that he could die in service to his god's plan. He could die to live.

For the time being, he needed to speak with his fellow priests, to convince them of what they must do. They would not like what he was going to demand but they would do it anyway. He was the First Demarch of the Conclave, and it was the only way.

After he spoke with his fellows, he would need to speak to the dragon.

Below, Furlinastis saw the temple. It sat alone in the barren plains, a rectangle of black-veined marble slabs and fluted columns. As he swooped a wide circle through the dark sky, the few humans outside the temple scurried inside, terrified.

Furlinastis took scant pleasure in their fear. His anger at his bondage denied him even that. For the thirty-sixth time, he ground his fangs against each other and struggled against the soul spell that bound him. For the thirty-sixth time, he failed to overcome the compulsion. The small piece of Kesson Rel's being that infected his soul forced him to obey his charge.

He roared in futile rage as he spiraled downward toward the temple. Still fighting, still failing, he alit and sank his claws into the marble stairs, threw open the huge bronze doors, and spoke his pronouncement into the darkened doorway:

"Kesson Rel sends you greetings, and death. I am sent to retrieve one of your number. Send forth Lorm Diivar. He is the next to die."

The temple was quiet. Furlinastis waited, gouging his claws into the marble of the temple's stairway.

After a time, not one but two priests emerged. Both wore the black masks symbolic of their faith. Furlinastis smelled the fear on both of them. They had not come to fight. The elder of the two held an arm around the younger and spoke soothingly to him. Pale and weak, the young priest looked up at the dragon.

The power of Kesson Rel's soulbinding allowed Furlinastis to know that the younger of the priests was Lorm Diivar. He extended a foreclaw.

The older priest stepped before younger and said, "My name is Avnon Des the Seer, First Demarch of the Conclave. What is your name, dragon? Are you bound?"

Furlinastis cocked his head. The priests of the temple had never before attempted to communicate with him. He started to answer but the soul magic compelled him to be about his task. He brushed aside the elderly priest and caught Lorm Diivar up.

The young priest went limp in his grasp. Perhaps he was praying. Furlinastis could not tell.

"Maintain your faith, aspirant," the elderly priest called up to Lorm. "Your death is not in vain, nor is our exile here."

Lorm made no reply that Furlinastis could see. He prepared to take wing.

"I see the soul of Kesson Rel on you, dragon," said the elderly priest. "If you would be free of it, the name you pronounce tomorrow must be mine. Do you understand?"

Furlinastis could not reply, though the priest's words struck him like arrows. Free! He leaped into the air and spread his wings. The elderly priest's voice haunted his flight.

"Avnon Des the Seer! Remember it! You must come for me tomorrow or you will remain his slave forever."

Furlinastis devoured Lorm Diivar while Kesson Rel mocked and smiled. The flesh tasted foul and the young priest's screams were unsatisfying. Furlinastis preferred his meat spoiled in his swamp before dining upon it. He also preferred to dine of his own free will.

Afterward, as he scoured with his tongue the last remnants of the human from between his fangs, he thought of the elderly priest's words. Avnon Des had spoken of freedom from Kesson Rel, from the accursed soulbinding that had made him a slave.

Kesson Rel hovered before him, floating in the air under the power of a spell, lost in thought. Despite his elaborate planning and affected glee, the theurge seemed to take little actual pleasure in the death of his former fellows.

Furlinastis glared hate at the theurge, at the human who had bound him. He decided abruptly that he had nothing to lose by cooperating with Avnon. He was nothing more than a slave to Kesson Rel, a fate that he found worse than death.

To Kesson Rel, he said, "One of the priests, other than the one called, emerged from the temple and offered a challenge."

Kesson looked up from his thoughts, frowned, and asked, "You did not harm him, did you?"

Furlinastis knew that Kesson wanted each of the priests to die before him. He had commanded Furlinastis to kill none, except at his command.

"The challenge was not to me," Furlinastis replied. "It was to you."

"Indeed?" Kesson said, arching an eyebrow. "Which priest? Describe him to me."

Even that slight command triggered the magic of the soul spell and the words poured forth from Furlinastis as of their own accord.

"He was tall and elderly, with black hair graying at the temples. His build was slight and his face was hairless. Like all of them, a mask obscured his eyes. He said his name was Avnon Des the Seer. He seemed unafraid at the mention of your name."

Furlinastis added that last to tweak Kesson's pride. The human's mouth tightened and he crossed his arms across his chest.

"Avnon… Avnon. I had planned to save him for last."

"He named you a heretic," Furlinastis said, recalling the words of Kesson Rel upon their first meeting in the swamp.

The human looked up sharply and glared at Furlinastis. The dragon knew his words had struck home.

"Tomorrow," Kesson said, "journey to the temple and bring back to me Avnon Des the Seer. He will die before this heretic."

The magic of the soul binding sank into Furlinastis's will but he did not resist. He had no lips with which to smile, though he would have if he could.

Twenty-four hours later, Furlinastis again soared over the temple. He saw no scurrying figures below, no hurried motion. The temple was as still as a tomb. He alit on the marble stairs, before the open doors.

From within, he caught the scent of blood. Lots of it.

The binding of the magic took hold and he said, "Kesson Rel sends you greetings. And death. I am sent to retrieve one of your number. Send forth Avnon Des the Seer. He is the next to die."

A figure appeared in the doors. Blood spattered his robes; crimson glistened on his hands; a peculiar aura of shifting darkness surrounded him, not shadows but … something else. His eyes behind the mask were tired but determined. He walked forward to the dragon.

"You have done well, dragon," Avnon Des said in his deep voice.

The compulsion did not allow Furlinastis time for questions or comments. He took Avnon Des in his claw and took wing. Strangely, it felt as if the priest was squirming in his grasp, though he could see that the human was motionless.

As they flew away from the temple and toward the swamp, the soul spell's grip on him grew less compelling and freed his tongue.

"You spoke of my freedom," he said.

The dragon tried to keep the urgency, the hope, from his tone. He found it odd to be conversing with prey in his claws.

"And you shall have it," the human said, over the rush of the wind.

Furlinastis thought Avnon's voice sounded different, softer, breathier, younger.

"You stink of blood," Furlinastis said. "Did you kill your fellow priests?"

To that, the human said only, "We were of like mind and they were willing."

"The darkness around you…" the dragon said. "What magic is this?"

Avnon Des twisted around in the claw to look up into Furlinastis's eyes. When he spoke, his voice sounded like that of a human female.

"A special kind," he said. "The only kind that can free you." The human looked off into the gloom, thoughtful. "I must see him, speak to him, before this ends. He must have a chance to repent his sins."

Furlinastis snorted, and streamers of shadow went forth from his nostril.

"He repents nothing, human."

"We will see," replied the priest, and his voice was his own.

For a time, they flew in silence. The human continued to feel as though he was wriggling in Furlinastis's grasp, and Furlinastis kept adjusting his grip to compensate. Soon, they would reach the swamp, and Kesson Rel.

"There is more, dragon," the human said. "Before this can be completed, I must have your oath, an oath on your soul."

Furlinastis snarled and pulled the human up before his face-a difficult maneuver while in flight. He hissed a tiny amount of shadowstuff into Avnon's face and squeezed him a little in his claw.

The priest winced, tried to turn away from the life-draining breath.

"No oaths, priest," Furlinastis said. "And no mention of souls."

He had experienced enough of oaths and souls. Avnon Des's gaze did not waver from behind his mask as he said, "Your oath, dragon, or we will not free you."

"We?"

"Oath, dragon!" the human demanded, and his voice sounded as though it were many voices.

The shadows around Furlinastis writhed with his anger. The darkness around the priest swirled as if in answer.

Furlinastis ground his fangs, roared into the sky, and shook the priest in his claw before he finally said, "Very well."

The priest managed to look relieved even through his mask.

"In a time far from now, two men will enter your swamp. The taller will be bald, and will bear a blade of black steel that leaks darkness. The shorter will have only one eye, and will carry twin blades. These are the First and Second of the Shadow God. You will allow them passage without harm and will lend them what aid you can. It is they who will fulfill the will of the Shadow God and destroy Kesson Rel. Oath it, dragon. On your soul."

Furlinastis swallowed his pride and said, "I swear it, priest. On my soul."

At those words, the piece of Kesson Rel that contaminated Furlinastis's soul wriggled in agitation.

The priest sagged in the dragon's grasp. Furlinastis moved his claw and passenger back to the more comfortable flying position. The swamp was near.

"But I will kill Kesson Rel," the dragon said. "After you've freed me from the soul magic."

Avnon spoke, and it sounded again like many voices speaking at once, "It is not for you to kill him. Nor for us."

Furlinastis spiraled downward toward the swamp and replied, "We will see."

He landed on the muddy ground behind a flat stone, almost an altar, that stood on the shore of a shallow, stinking pool. Blood from Avnon's fellow priests still stained the gray stone of the altar brown. The beat of his wings bent the black-leafed trees of the swamp and sent up a mist of water.

Kesson Rel floated above the pool, aloft under the power of a spell, cloaked in shadows. He eyed Furlinastis's passenger coldly.

As he had with each of the dead priests, Furlinastis set Avnon down on the altar and pressed the point of one of his claws into the human's abdomen. The greasy, squirming feeling surrounding the human's flesh went quiescent, as though trying to be inconspicuous.

Kesson Rel began to laugh-a hateful sound to which Furlinastis had become accustomed. The theurge floated forward, alit on the soft ground, and stood over the prone Avnon.

"Avnon Des," he said, looking down on the captive priest. "I had proposed to save you for last, that you could see the temple and all in it die before you met your own demise."

The priest squirmed under Furlinastis's grasp, trying to free his chest enough to speak.

"You are a heretic, Kesson Rel, and a thief. You drank of the Chalice of Night and thereby made yourself apostate. For that-"

Kesson Rel lunged forward, tore off Avnon's mask, and seized the priest's jaw in his hand.

"And you are a fool, First Demarch, a timid fool. Do you think the Shadow God would have made me this-"

Kesson Rel released the priest and stood back and held up his arms, showing his dusky skin, his yellow eyes, and the shadows that danced around him-"if he did not want me to drink of the Chalice? Do you?"

Under his claw, Furlinastis felt the darkness around the prone priest writhing. Kesson Rel seemed not to notice.

"Repent now, Kesson Rel," Avnon said. "It is not too late. You are the first Chosen of the Shadow God, but you are not his First. Repent, or you will die."

The theurge smiled and said, "I think not." He stared into Avnon's face while he said to Furlinastis, "Eviscerate him, dragon. Slowly."

Keep your promise, priest, Furlinastis thought, as the soulbinding forced his hand. And I will keep mine.

Furlinastis drove the tip of his foreclaw into Avnon's abdomen.

The priest grimaced, but managed to mouth a prayer. Furlinastis heard the power in the words, though most of them were lost in a bloody gurgle as Avnon's mouth began to fill with blood. Waiting for something, anything to occur, Furlinastis continued to tear open the priest. Avnon did not scream, just continued to pray as he was laid open. The prayer reminded Furlinastis of the words used by Kesson Rel to cast the soul spell that bound him.

When Avnon finally breathed his last, nothing happened. Nothing.

Furlinastis could hardly contain a roar of frustration.

Kesson Rel chuckled and said, "Goodbye, First Demarch."

In that instant, a moan sounded, as though from deep under the swamp, and a black fog rose from the freshly dead corpse of the priest. In that fog, Furlinastis saw shapes, faces.

Souls, he realized. The souls of the priests from the temple. Avnon had killed them all, sacrificed them perhaps, and borne their souls to the swamp in his own body.

Wide eyed, Kesson Rel backed up a step. His gaze went from the fog of souls, to the dragon.

"What have you done, dragon?"

Furlinastis heard the fear in the theurge's voice and knew that Avnon had not lied to him.

Kesson Rel began to cast a spell.

"Freed myself, theurge," Furlinastis replied, and hoped that he was right.

The soul binding still prevented him from harming the theurge, so all he could do was sit, wait, and hope.

The cloud of souls moved from the body of the priest, stretched around Furlinastis's body, and merged with the shadows that always surrounded him.

Instantly, a charge ran along his scales, a tremor of power. His scales began to burn, to crawl over his flesh. The shadows around him churned. It felt as if millions of insects were crawling beneath his scales, walking along his flesh, biting his skin.

Kesson Rel's voice trailed off before completing his spell.

"Stop, dragon," Kesson Rel screamed. "Stop."

But Furlinastis could not stop.

Furlinastis leaped into the air, writhing, twisting, roaring. The souls swarmed him, covered him. He hissed in agony as the priests burrowed into his being. He felt like daggers were being driven behind his eyes.

"Avnon Des, you betrayed me!" he screamed between roars.

Then he felt it, and knew that he had judged wrongly.

The souls of the priests, all eight of them, permeated his soul, scoured his being until they located the portion of Kesson Rel's soul with which the theurge had bound Furlinastis. A battle began within Furlinastis, an invisible war that he could sense but not see.

The two sides crashed into each other like warring armies. Furlinastis heard the conflict only dimly, as though from a great distance. Bolts of spiritual energy burst from the sheath of shadows that surrounded him. Distant shouts rang in his ears. Furlinastis felt the binding on the soul spell of the theurge loosen, as though someone was withdrawing a parasite that had wormed its way into the deepest recesses of his flesh.

He felt the chains on his will release, and he was free of the soul binding. The battle in his soul went quiet, though he still felt tension.

Furlinastis's mind turned immediately to vengeance. He ceased his aerial acrobatics and turned his eyes to the ground below, scanning the swamp for Kesson Rel, sniffing the air for the spoor of the theurge.

Nothing. Kesson Rel had fled.

It is not for you to kill him, he thought, recalling Avnon's words.

Breathing hard, Furlinastis landed atop the stone altar and took it into his claws. He beat his wings, hovered, and cast the sacrificial stone far out into the swamp. It vanished under the dark water.

He alit on a dry patch of ground. There, he pondered.

The seer had sacrificed his brethren and borne the souls to the swamp within his own body. As he died, the priest had cast his own soulspell, one to counter that of Kesson Rel, one that required the power of eight souls to loosen the binding of the theurge.

But why?

Furlinastis looked into the mirror of the still pool and examined the sheath of shadows that enshrouded him. They swirled around and in the swirls Furlinastis saw faces, forms. He realized the truth of it then, and it gave him a start: The souls of the priests were bound to him. He was their vessel. "Why?" he asked.

A face took shape in the shadows, distorted but visible in the reflection on the pool's surface: Avnon Des.

"His soul remains too, dragon," Avnon mouthed, and his voice was barely a whisper. "We hold it in check; we can no more harm it directly than he could us. We are prisoners so that you might be free."

Furlinastis digested that.

"Remember your oath to us," Avnon said. "The two who will come will free us all."

With that, the face dispersed back into the shadows around his body.

Furlinastis frowned. His will was once again his own, but he owed it to the priests. The shadows around him were a spiritual battlefield, and would remain so for…

How long?

He knew the answer as soon as he asked himself the question: Until the First and the Second of the Shadowlord find Kesson Rel and kill him.

The wait would be long.