Sister of the Dead

Chapter 14

W inter was not far off, and dense muck upon the roads made the journey to Apudalsat longer than expected. Or so it seemed.

The first time Wynn insisted upon taking her turn at the reins, Leesil was surprised, and Magiere was openly concerned. Did they think her so helpless that she couldn't drive a team of gentle, well-trained horses?

"I'm not so sure-," Leesil started.

"I have spent more time with horses than you have. " Wynn cut him off. "And with far less complaint about them."

Leesil scowled at her and crawled into the wagon's back to give her room to come forward. Wynn climbed onto the wagon's bench, taking the reins Magiere held out. When Magiere stayed upon the seat beside her, Wynn shot her a glare…

"I will be fine," she said in an overly polite tone. "You should take some rest, as well."

"I'm not tired," Magiere answered, eyes ahead on the road.

She had barely spoken those words when Wynn jumped as Leesil wrapped his arms around Magiere's waist.

"Hey!" Magiere snapped, but it was too late.

Leesil heaved, and Wynn ducked aside as Magiere tumbled backward into the wagon's bed.

"Leesil, dammit!" Magiere snarled. "What do you think?"

That was all she said, and Wynn did not look back to see how Leesil had silenced her. Leesil's mood, if not Magiere's, had oddly improved since the morning they left KЈonsk.

Chap scrambled up on the bench beside Wynn and settled there with a low grumble.

Aside from this one moment, their passage was peaceful, though the nights grew colder and the roads more troublesome as they reached the marshy region of eastern Droevinka. They pressed on for several days, sometimes starting before dawn and not stopping until well after dusk.

Like Leesil's, Chap's demeanor had altered. He was not his old self, begging or grouching about meals, but he had become more compliant. No longer growling each time Magiere mentioned their journey's purpose, he remained silent. Wynn was uncertain what disturbed her more, his change of attitude or his constant watchfulness as he gazed all day into the thickening wilderness. She often tried to discern what he watched at any particular moment. She saw little, hearing only croaking frogs, an occasional plop of something surfacing in a pond or marsh, or the far-off screech of a bird. The stench of a bog assaulted her nose now and again.

Near dusk on the seventh day, Leesil was at the reins when he pointed ahead.

At first, Wynn could not spot what he wanted them to see. Against the gray-white clouds, the distant skyline was only just visible through trees along the open road stretched out before them. Far ahead was a dark knob like the jut of a barren rock mesa, its top peeking above the trees on a tall hill. Wynn recognized it as the crest of a keep.

Magiere's eyes followed to where Leesil pointed.

Sympathy wrestled with wariness in Wynn when she saw Magiere's anxious expression. Each piece of Magiere's past found so far promised the next to be darker still. It was not long before they crossed a stone-and-timber bridge spanning another of the many sluggish streams.

The water was clogged with dead branches and masses of sprouting reeds, and the road beyond climbed a large rise in the land. Down a short side path to the right were the remnants of an empty village. Thatch or timber roofs were pocked with holes or had collapsed entirely. A small stable at the village's near end had a broken fence. Cottage doors were ajar or missing.

No one in the wagon said a word as they passed the village of Apudalsat.

Leesil had earlier said its name meant "water downs village" and the reason was apparent as the main road swerved toward the keep and met with another bridge. This one was a long mound of piled stone and packed earth that spanned a wide pond turned green with floating scum. The village was situated on a rise in the marshland, with filmy water, bogs, and quagmires on all sides of it. Once they crossed over, the road straightened, and the keep loomed before them as they crested its hill. Leesil pulled the horses to a stop, and they all climbed out.

Wynn grabbed her pack and approached the keep before the others finished gathering what they needed. She had searched a few abandoned buildings and strongholds with Domin Tilswith, but nothing quite like this. The keep near Magiere's village was well mended by comparison.

Half the wooden gate in the outer stockade had rotted away long ago, and the remaining half was dank with decay.

The main building's top had crumbled, leaving large moss-covered stones embedded in the courtyard around it.

Wynn looked back toward the deserted village, but she couldn't see it through the forest. "What happened here?"

"Civil war, famine, perhaps sickness that swept through long ago," Leesil said. "Any of these could leave a fief without enough people to carry on work to support it. And it's certainly not a prized piece of land. Who knows what the main livelihood was here."

Somehow, Wynn did not believe anything so easily explained had happened here. The silence of this place made the cold of the coming night more acute. Though she could not see the village, the moss-draped trees blocking her view carried their own telltale signs.

"Look," she said, pointing, and Magiere came to join her.

An ancient spruce close to the outer stockade was tainted with brown. A few limbs had broken away or rotted through, and the stumps showed the same color turned dark with dampness. Other trees were in a similar state, and tumbled stones inside the keep grounds showed patches of lichen that had faded, only to be plastered down to mere stains. Around the keep of Apudalsat, death nibbled at the world, leaving marks too recently familiar for Wynn's comfort.

Chap came to join her and growled once as he shoved his head under her hand. She stroked him absently, looking about at the creeping blemishes within the forest.

"We should go inside," she told Magiere. "Osceline said her master would know when you arrived. There is no one waiting for us, and we will learn nothing further out here."

Magiere looked into the forest, hand on sword hilt, and then turned and led the way as Wynn followed. Leesil stepped out ahead of them.

As with the stockade's gate, the keep's huge wooden door had crumbled to scraps that littered the ground and floor beneath the arched stone entrance. The pieces mulched to smears under Leesil's boots as he stepped close.

The light outside was fading, and Wynn unpacked the lamps, placing the crystals in the holders and settling their glass covers in place. Handing one to Magiere, she followed Leesil through the short entryway, and they found themselves in a center hall.

The interior was less decayed but not by much. It was an old-style keep, with a huge fire pit in the center instead of a hearth to one side. The walls held archways and doors that likely led to side rooms and antechambers. Those same walls reached up to the remnants of an upper floor. The hall's center was open all the way to the keep's top, where an iron grate would have let the fire pit's smoke escape. Now all Wynn saw was the dark sky above where the roof should have been and crumbled stone littering the fire pit and floor. There was no sign of the fallen roof grate.

Enormous tapestries hung on the walls, their images faded and streaked with grime and mold. Sections had decayed through, and some hung in folds by their tattered threads. One portrayed a battle between forces Wynn did not recognize. She stepped up to another, raising her lamp to illuminate the image of men in long cream robes and head wraps riding thin-legged, fierce horses.

"I think this is Suman," she said. "There are dunes in the distance behind the riders. It would cost a great amount to bring it all the way here. Why would a Droevinkan lord want such a thing?"

Magiere paced around the fire pit. "The place feels familiar, but I know I've never been here. I've never been this far east."

Wynn joined her. "You are certain?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Leesil stopped examining the tapestries and circled the room to peer through archways and test old doors. Wynn was about to begin herself, hoping they might still find records or other information in this place. She spotted the first dead rat and stepped back.

"Leesil!"

"What?" He hurried over. "What is it?"

Rats did not frighten Wynn, and she had certainly seen dead ones before.

Instead of being bloated or rotten, the carcass was shriveled. The skin had shrunk around its rib cage and limbs, as if it had starved to death. In a place like this, where the forest grew wild and thick, that seemed impossible.

Chap sniffed it and growled.

"Another one," Magiere said from a few steps away.

They scanned the floor, kicking aside debris and checking the shadowed comers. There were at least a dozen tiny corpses about the hall, all in the same condition.

"All right," Leesil whispered. "Do I need to say how much I don't like this?"

Chap whirled about, and his growl rose to a snarl. He cut loose an angry wail.

The sound resonated from the stone walls, and Wynn tried to cover her ears. This was Chap's hunting wail.

Magiere set down her lamp beside Wynn and pulled her falchion. Chap circled them, doubling back now and again as he looked toward the archways and doors all around.

"Leesil, blades!" Magiere shouted, but Wynn barely heard her above Chap's noise.

Leesil's cloak was already dropped to the floor. He wore his studded hauberk and slipped the holding straps on his thigh sheaths to draw both winged blades.

"Chap, quiet!" he shouted, and the dog's voice dropped back to a growl. "Where is it?"

The dog bolted toward a small archway at the back of the round hall. Magiere and Leesil rushed after him.

Wynn carried both cold lamps. She ran behind her companions down a narrow passage, more frightened of being left alone than of what they might be hunting. She had seen Chane throw Vordana's brass urn into the smithy's coals, seen it melt, and watched as the sorcerer dissipated into smoke. But the dying trees and shriveled rodents fostered doubt in her mind.

She could not see much with the others ahead of her. Chap's growl abruptly shifted to a snarl, and Leesil pulled up short. Wynn caught sight of Magiere in the jostling lamplight as she turned left. Leesil followed, and Wynn hurried to catch up.

As they passed a side opening in a widening of the passage, Chap swerved and leaped through the doorway. Magiere and Leesil turned, as well. As Wynn stepped in behind them, she glimpsed a blur, little more than a moving shadow, racing away.

She faltered as fright took a sharp hold on her.

A creature like Vordana would never flee. He would not need to.

Someone screamed out, "No, no! Please no."

Leesil and Magiere were in front her, weapons out but poised where they stood. The broken shelves and scattered pots and implements on the floor told Wynn they were in some type of kitchen. Vordana, or any undead, would not plead in fear. She pushed past her companions with a shout.

"No, Chap! Stop it!"

Leesil grabbed her from behind. Both blades were in one hand as he wrapped his other arm around her waist. He lifted her out of the way as if she were a small cat. Wynn struggled to see what they had cornered. The cold lamps jangling in her grip made light waver across the walls, and she could not make out anything beyond Chap but the arch of the cooking hearth.

Leesil dropped Wynn to her feet and grabbed Chap by the scruff of his neck. "Enough, get back."

Chap snarled but obeyed, and Wynn steadied one lamp, holding it up so that its light spilled out beyond the dog.

Cowering inside the barren hearth's hollow was a boy dressed in tatters turned dark by dirt and grime. Gaunt, with filthy brown-black hair to his shoulders, he squirmed to the hearth's far side and pressed one shoulder tightly into the comer. He covered his face as he looked out in horror, only one eye peeking between stick-thin fingers. There were fresh slashes down his arm from Chap's claws.

"Chap, what have you done?" Wynn cried.

Magiere crept forward in a crouch, ready to lunge at the boy, and her voice sounded forced and slurred. "Leesil, let Chap go!"

Wynn turned to Leesil, about to argue, but Leesil stood wary and tense with his gaze locked upon the cowering little figure. Wynn's own anger faded.

The topaz amulet Magiere had given Leesil hung in plain view, and it glowed brightly.

"It is only a boy," she whispered, looking back to the hearth in disbelief.

The boy shuddered continuously as he tried to force himself deeper into the hearth's corner.

Magiere glared back at Wynn. "I don't care what it was. "

Her irises were completely black, her words barely clear, as if her mouth wouldn't form them correctly. Wynn wasn't certain, but Magiere's teeth appeared longer between her moving lips.

'Think," Wynn insisted. "No one lives here. The village and keep were deserted long ago. Do you not find it strange that he is here alone?"

"Wynn, don't you do this again," Leesil warned.

"No!" she shouted back, and jerked out of his reach.

Chap tried to snap his jaws closed on her short robe's hem, but Wynn backed away to the wall by the hearth. She crouched down along the wall, set her lamps upon the floor, and peered around the hearth's edge. Languages came easily to her, and she had picked up enough Droevinkan now to converse in simple phrases.

"If you… attack," she said quietly, "They… take your head. Understand? Be still and we… not hurt you."

"Speak for yourself," Magiere hissed.

"Magiere, not now. " Wynn kept her gaze upon the boy. "What is your name?"

He studied her and finally pulled his hands from his face, glancing now and then at the others. "Tomas," he whispered, as if it were some secret he shared with her.

"Did you eat… the rats?"

The boy shrank back, eyes on Magiere. Wynn did not turn her attention away to see what had made him cower again. He shook his head.

"No. My food all dead now. Can't find any but dead ones. " His voice cracked. "I starve now."

Pity washed through Wynn.

"No toads, no rats, no snakes, and birds all gone," Tomas whispered, and his eyes half closed in exhaustion. "I sleep. I starve. I sleep more."

His face was so coated with filth, it was dun colored instead of the pale shade Wynn remembered of Chane and the undead of Bela. His gaunt body would not stop quivering.

Wynn dug blindly in her pack, watching Tomas cautiously. She felt the slick skin of an apple, and then another. When she had found three, she pulled them out.

"We have nothing for you," she said, holding out the fruit.

"These come from… living tree. Fresh. Perhaps some life in them."

Tomas lunged at her.

"Wynn, get back!" Leesil snapped.

She felt his grip close on the shoulder of her short robe as Chap rushed forward with snapping teeth. Before Leesil could jerk her away, Tomas's narrow fingers seized the apples. One crashed in his grip as he quickly retreated into the hearth. Wynn thrust out her arm in Chap's way, and the dog halted.

Tomas shrank into his corner. Sharp teeth and fangs sank through an apple's skin. His gaze fixed on Chap as he sucked, hunger overriding fear.

"Wynn, what are you doing?" Magiere demanded, stepping forward.

This time it was Leesil who held a hand out to stop her.

"Who did this to you?" Wynn asked.

Tomas looked at her, still sucking hard upon the apple, and his fingers made dents in the fruit from his tight grip. His brow furrowed over wide eyes, as if he did not understand the question. He glanced about the room before letting the fruit slip from his mouth.

"Long time back… very long," he said, staring at the floor before he looked up at Wynn again. 'Too many before me ran away. He said he would make me stay, wanted to be sure he could do this… good practice, he said."

Tomas set his other two apples on the floor. He flattened one hand there to lean in Wynn's direction.

"He drank me-like a rat," Tomas said firmly, as if the comparison had just occurred to him. "Like a toad, like a lizard, like a snake but not a bird, because those are too hard to catch. He made me be like him, Lord Massing, but I fooled him. Young master taught me how."

Wynn pressed her hand against the stone wall as a wave of cold sank through her, filling her with nausea. She looked up at Magiere.

Magiere crouched low, creeping forward toward Tomas. "Massing? Is mat who lived here? Was he lord of this fief?"

Tomas pulled back. He spat at her, pulling his spare apples closer to hold them between his bare feet.

"Stay away," Wynn warned Magiere.

"Warm… the warm girl is better," Tomas whispered.

He stared at Wynn and, for an instant, she thought she saw his irises fade to colorless crystalline disks. Tomas held up his mangled apple.

"Even nicer than the young master," he added.

"My name is Wynn," she said. "The young master… Did Lord Massing have a son? Tomas, do you… know the lord's first name?"

The boy shook his head and licked his fruit. "Don't know, didn't hear, never told. Wasn't here long before they went away. But the young master taught me of rats and lizards and snakes so I wouldn't need no folks from the village. Can't feed on kin, it's not right. Young master taught me."

"Cursed saints!" Leesil whispered. "Welstiel was here, and he had a son? Or was the son? What's the little monster telling us?"

Tomas looked blankly at Leesil. He seemed unaffected by the names he was called and returned to sucking on the apple.

"They left him here," Wynn said. "They abandoned him, and he's been living here on rats."

"You're eating rats?" Leesil asked the boy.

Tomas shook his head. "No more, just dead ones, all dried up the same day. All gone."

"All at once?" Wynn asked. "When?"

"Not long back. " Tomas frowned and dropped his gaze from Wynn's face. "I sleep some nights. Too hungry. I wake, not sure if same night. Don't remember but not long back."

Wynn looked up at Leesil. "The trees are not as far gone as those we saw in Pudurlatsat, and this boy says the rats all died at once. You know what this sounds like?"

"But you told us Vordana was destroyed."

"His urn was destroyed, and I watched him dissipate, yes."

Magiere still crouched, glaring at the boy, but when she spoke, it wasn't to him. "Welstiel… It's been Welstiel all this time."

"We don't know that for certain," Leesil corrected. "All we know is that he was here long ago, and he had family. Or someone or something else using the same family name."

"Tomas, is there a man here?" Wynn asked. "Living… close, in the forest?"

The boy leaned toward her, small face filled with urgency. "Don't go in that forest, Warm Wynn," he said, either sadness or fear welling up in his eyes. "There's dead things that still move. Worse than me. That's why all my kin left, long time back, but I couldn't go."

Wynn had no idea how old Tomas was. He looked like a boy of no more than ten, perhaps younger, but he had been here a long time and might be older than any of them.

"What dead things?" Leesil asked.

Tomas shook his head, and Wynn saw his furtive glances toward the doorways at either end of the kitchen.

"I don't think he can tell us much more," she said. "We should let him go."

"Let him go?" Magiere rose up to her full height. "We don't let his kind go."

Wynn stood up, as well, and stepped directly in front of Magiere. "He is a victim-like you! This is not his fault. He does not feed on anyone. We should help him. Leesil, talk to her."

"Haven't you gotten over this nonsense?" Magiere answered. "He's dead and was made to rise up and prey upon the living. He's not an innocent."

Leesil crouched down before the hearth. Wynn balled her hands into fists, ready to jump on him if he made a move toward Tomas. He lowered his blades, both still in one hand, as he spoke.

"You're going have to leave this place and hunt deeper in the forests. That's all there is for you now. We hunt your kind. If we hear you've touched anything but an animal, we'll be back for you. Understand?"

Tomas took in Leesil's words. Brown eyes wide, he nodded.

Leesil tossed his head toward the kitchen's far door. "Go."

Chap's snarl rose sharply. Leesil scooted back to put his hand on the dog's muzzle.

Tomas looked up at Wynn. He cringed, a look of shame on his gaunt little face, and then bolted for the far door and was gone.

Beneath her relief, Wynn was miffed that Tomas had been allowed to go free only when Leesil stepped in. Magiere had not argued with him at all, but she'd brushed Wynn off without even listening to her.

Magiere turned in a slow circle, examining the kitchen. "Welstiel. All this time, all this way, just to come back to him."

"We're still not sure," Leesil said. "We only know he was involved somehow."

Wynn tried to put aside her irritation. "Your Aunt Bieja said there were three who came for your mother. Osceline said Ubad was present at your birth. If Welstiel was mere, as well, perhaps, then who was the third?"

Magiere's gaze ceased roaming to turn upon Wynn. The lost look in her eyes faded, and determination returned. "When we find Ubad, we'll ask, as it seems he's not coming to us."

As they headed back outside, Wynn's thoughts were upon Tomas, who never had a choice in what had become of him. Much like another she had spent time with in a small room filled with books and old scrolls and peaceful quiet. She looked ahead in Tomas's existence and saw long solitary years in a dank forest.

They should have done more. There should have been a way to take the boy from this place. Though he would never grow up, he deserved something more than what had been left to him in the wake of his lost life. Some day, Magiere- and Chap-would have to see the individual in place of the natural enemy their instincts drove them to hunt.

They emerged in the courtyard, stepping out through the stockade's missing gate, and Wynn's breath caught as she saw Port and Imp in the light of her cold lamps.

Still harnessed to the wagon, Imp had dropped to the ground, legs folded under her. Port's eyelids sagged, his head hanging, and his massive legs trembled. Wynn rushed over to them, and the others followed. Port blinked once at her but did not lift his head.

Wynn gazed about the dark, fear creeping in upon her.

"I do not feel tired," she said. "Leesil?"

He looked around, as well. "No, I'm fine."

Chap began to growl again.

"Over there," Magiere said.

Both Wynn and Leesil turned toward the south side of the stockade as something gray walked forward through the trees. Its face was shriveled in upon its skull, so much so that its lips did not meet over the teeth of its closed jaws. There was no mistaking the wisps of long, white hair clinging to its scalp. Vordana.

Chane woke the moment the sun set.

They'd been forced by dawn to pitch their tent and hide for the day in this soggy forest, but Welstiel had told him they would reach Apudalsat shortly after dusk. Wynn might already be in danger, and Chane had no intention of waiting any longer.

"Welstiel, get up. We need to go."

His companion rose, rubbing his face. "Give me a moment."

Chane strapped on his sword, wishing he'd had time to make another wolf familiar, or whatever large animal he could find in this dismal province. "While you're taking your moment, you can explain what we're facing. This sword, and my conjury… is that going to be enough?"

Welstiel's silence was more than frustrating. Chane couldn't help Wynn if he didn't even know what waited ahead for them. Indecision weighed on Welstiel's face. He looked older with his hair askew, in a cream shirt that badly needed washing.

"Do you know what a necromancer is?" Welstiel asked.

"I've heard of conjurors who specialize in spirits of the dead. " Chane paused. "Is that what Magiere seeks?"

"His name is Ubad, and he's much more than you suppose. He served my father… and helped create Magiere."

Once again, there was more to this than Welstiel let on, and he was giving up what he had to only at the last possible moment. Magiere had been "created"? Chane harbored doubts concerning any undead fathering a child. The involvement of a conjuror-a necromancer-told him little, but it hinted that there was considerably more to the dhampir's origin that Welstiel kept to himself.

"When he finds Magiere," Welstiel continued, "he will be most anxious after all these years. I'm uncertain of specifics, but I suspect it took Ubad a lifetime's preparation for her birth. He will try to persuade her to follow him for his own purpose. When she refuses, he will not let her-or anyone in her company-leave this land alive."

Chane glared out into the dark. They should have been planning their strategy nights ago, but Welstiel's selfish secrecy left them at a disadvantage.

"I hope you have more toys than a brass disk and a ring!"

He grabbed Welstiel's pack and threw it at him. He was almost certain the ring helped Welstiel to hide his presence from mantic and divinatory magics-or unnatural senses, such as those of other undead. Welstiel was not moved by his outburst and caught the pack in midair.

"You do not know Magiere as I do," he said. "Her powers will be strong when she faces Ubad. She is resourceful, and her experience grows. And my 'toys' are more useful than you imagine. We will assist from the shadows."

Chane cared nothing for Magiere. He cared only for Wynn.

"I'll saddle the horses," he said, "while you finish your moment."

Leesil's topaz amulet glowed brightly.

Vordana's appearance was no surprise. In the back of Leesil's mind, it had always seemed the undead sorcerer had gone down too easily. Now that they knew what this creature was capable of, Leesil's only worry was how to take its head. How could he fight something he couldn't get close to?

Vordana smiled, little more than a lipless stretch of his mouth to expose grayed receding gums around clenched teeth. He raised one hand, and Magiere stepped out in front of Leesil.

"Run!" she ordered.

Wait.

The word filled Leesil's mind.

The topaz jerked upon the leather cord around his neck, extending in the air before his face. The cord snapped, and the amulet sailed into Vordana's upraised hand. Bony fingers closed around the stone, and he smiled again.

Follow me.

The voice echoed again in Leesil's head. He glanced to Magiere and then Wynn. They clearly heard the words, as well.

"An escort," Leesil said. "I think Wynn should stay here."

"No," the sage replied, her eyes on the walking corpse.

"It's all right," Magiere said. "You thought you'd finished him, but you still saved us and the town. That's all that matters."

Wynn looked away. "Wait a moment."

She set one of her cold lamps down, ran to the wagon, and dropped her heavy pack and the other lamp inside. She returned with a crossbow and quarrel case, strapping both to her back, then retrieved the cold lamp, holding it out in front.

Leesil nodded to Magiere, and they all stepped into the trees. Chap was silent, but his hackles stood up upon his neck. Magiere kept her falchion up, and Leesil gripped both his blades. Wynn and Chap followed behind him, the dog staying close to the young sage.

Vordana's clothing had changed, and he no longer wore the stained shirt from the night Stefan had murdered him. His umber brown robes were cleaned of the soil from whatever secret grave he'd crawled from. The state of his own form was another matter. The sorcerer's skin was more drawn and shriveled. He was no vampire, and his corpse succumbed to time, no matter how much life he bled from the world around him. A new brass urn hung around his neck.

He motioned for them to follow and turned back into the forest.

Strands of moss in the high branches hung down to the ground, like dark green curtains between the tree trunks. Vordana passed through them easily, but Leesil and Magiere had to hack a clear path with their blades. Soon their hands and sleeves were soaked from the damp foliage. Without sight of the night sky through the forest canopy, the dark was too thick for even Leesil's night sight. He was grateful for the illumination of Wynn's cold lamp.

Wynn gasped and grabbed the back of his cloak. "Leesil!"

She pointed beyond him, and he froze.

"On the other side, too," Magiere said. "And behind us."

In the half-circle of a sparse clearing, glowing shapes surrounded them. Leesil heard their whispers but couldn't make out their words as they drifted in and out among the trees.

When Tomas said the villagers had left, and he couldn't follow, Leesil assumed they'd abandoned the village and the boy was left behind.

Floating near a tendril of moss was the translucent figure of an aged soldier. His hauberk was slashed open, exposing internal organs that bulged, ready to spill out. Beside him was a short and tattered young woman with a ring around the skin of her throat where a rope had strangled her. She opened her mouth, trying to speak but her tongue was missing.

A scarecrow-thin peasant boy glared in hatred at Magiere. He wore no shirt, and though his visage faded in and out, Leesil saw the ribs and telltale swollen paunch of starvation. Drifting out through a curtain of wet leaves came a pretty girl no older than Wynn, with dangling black curls. She reached out at Leesil, and he sidestepped quickly, though she couldn't possibly touch him. Her throat had been ripped open.

Leesil smelled the strong scent of damp earth and decay as the cold sank into him, feeding despair. He heard Magiere's quick breaths beside him, and he looked back to Wynn.

Her eyes were downcast, watching only the ground before her feet, and she held the cold lamp in front of her like a shield. Her free hand gripped the fur between Chap's shoulders, and the dog pulled her forward.

"Ignore them," Leesil whispered with effort. "Keep moving."

He kept his eyes on Vordana's cloak, trying not to focus upon the misty figures moving around them.

"They're just ghosts," Magiere said.

There was no fear on her pale features, but Leesil still heard the rapid rhythm of her breath. Vordana held up his hand. The topaz dangled in his grip upon the leather string, and its glimmer became a beacon they followed.

Leesil was shivering from the cold when they emerged in a large clearing and saw smoke rising from the chimney of a strange little stone house. It had been built onto the side of a massive granite knoll.

Vordana walked to an oval door in the cottage's front wall and opened it. He motioned them to follow as he stepped inside.

Leesil grasped Magiere's wrist. "Whatever we find here, it doesn't change who you are."

She gently pulled her wrist from his fingers and walked toward the open door.

Welstiel hid behind the stockade fence with Chane, watching through a space left by a missing post. Magiere emerged from the keep with the others. The young sage ran to their team of gray horses, one already collapsed upon the ground.

"Stay close," he told Chane. "If you step away from me, the dog will sense you clearly."

Chane did not argue or even speak, his eyes fixed upon Wynn.

Welstiel hoped he would not have to enter the keep. In this place, his father had come home one night transformed into a Noble Dead, accompanied by the loathsome and conniving Ubad. It was not long before the people here began dying. When the remainder fled, Welstiel's "family" moved on to offer service to the Antes. How Bryen and Ubad had managed to learn exactly where Magelia had lived was still a mystery to Welstiel.

A hollow presence pulled at Welstiel from nearby, and he caught the flutter of gray hair in the forest trees. The undead sorcerer stepped out into view before Magiere and her companions.

"I thought you destroyed that," Welstiel whispered.

"So did I," Chane replied.

The sorcerer held out his hand, and the topaz amulet the half-blood wore shot into his grip. The walking corpse grinned and turned into the forest. Magiere and the others followed. Chane was about to rise, and Welstiel clamped a hand on his shoulder, holding him down.

"Wait until they are in the trees."

A small part of Welstiel pitied Magiere for what was to come, as he had once pitied her mother.