The Stone of Zoral

By Kevin J. Herbst

Malthus Kierin always dreamed of adventuring, of making his mark upon the world of Kalan. After he earns his robe and staff, rewards for passing the tests required to become a wizard, the door to his dreams stands open.

But he finds a nightmare on the other side, a black-hearted wizard who, along with his vile undead minions, systematically assassinates all of Kalan's heroes, then hunts Malthus down.

Malthus and his small band of companions survive many trials, including imprisonment deep in an enchanted wood, and meet a loremaster who claims an artifact, a sphere of stone created by the immortal Zoral, can repel the undead that hunt them, and turn back the tide of evil. But can they survive long enough to find the stone? Or will Kalan fall into an age of darkness?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 16, 2009
• ISBN: 9781452029054

Kevin J. Herbst

The Stone of Zoral is the sequel to The End of Heroes, which won the Arizona Author's Association award for "Best Unpublished Novel" in 2004, an international competition. Look for his future book, War of the Merranai, which concludes the trilogy of the struggle for Kalan. A native of Wisconsin, Kevin has worked in various capacities in the banking industry. An avid hiker, he has been to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro. He lives with his wife, Becky, in Chandler, Arizona.

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AuthorHouse™

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2009 Kevin J. Herbst. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 4/13/2009

ISBN: 978-1-4389-2978-1 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2009902235

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

MAPS

SYNOPSIS

PROLOGUE

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

XXIV

XXV

XXVI

XXVII

EPILOGUE

GLOSSARY

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I had no idea where this journey would take me when I first found Malthus Kierin taking the Tests required to become a wizard. Many people have provided their precious time and energy to help produce these first two books of the Kalan trilogy.

To Barb and Kathy, for your help in marketing. To Matt, for your internet page design prowess. To James, for making these books come alive through your incredible artwork. To the readers, for your kind comments, criticism, and willingness to take a chance on a new author. Your enjoyment of the world of Kalan is repaid to me tenfold.

And thank you to Becky—without your support, this book would not have been possible.

MAPS

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SYNOPSIS

This is the second part of the three-part series on the chronicles of Kalan.

The first part, The End of Heroes, told how Malthus Kierin was forced to flee his home shortly after passing the Tests and earning the robe and staff that marked him as a wizard.

With his last breaths, Malthus’s father sent his son a warning to leave his home of Alphi and seek Aleena Merrin, a loremaster who dwelt in the city of Corsand, far to the south. But Malthus did not flee alone; his childhood friends Karnin, Arkon, and Zylyn the thief joined him, as did Micah, the dwarf Captain of the Guard at Alphi, and Aloria, an elf wizard who passed the Tests with Malthus.

After escaping the besieged city, Malthus shared with the group their true danger: they were quarry of the Darkener and his undead minions, who’d already massacred the world’s powerful heroes in a quest for total dominion of Kalan.

They fled into the countryside, not daring to reenter civilization until reaching Gateway, far to the south, to restock supplies. However, liches, dreaded servants of the Darkener, learned of the group’s presence and waylaid the harried band just before the boughs of the enchanted Aliand Wood. Arkon fell, slain, but the liches would not follow the rest of the group, who escaped into the Aliand.

Under the enchanted trees they were captured, imprisoned, and tortured. Driven nearly mad, only through using the last of their wits were Malthus and his companions able to escape the prison and flee the wood.

Reunited outside the Aliand, they climbed into the Hills of Pendoryl, passing through a ruined tower and waking a vampire and its slaves. After a harrowing escape, the companions reentered civilization again only a short journey from their goal of Corsand. Only then did they learn that several twelvemoons had passed while they were in captivity in the wood. In the meantime, the Darkener and his minions had invaded Kalan from the north and were even now charging toward Corsand.

The company reached Corsand and Aleena Merrin, where they learned of the prophecy of the Darkener and of a group—their group—capable of reclaiming the lands taken: the Merranai. There, too, they learned of the Stone of Zoral, an artifact left for mortals to help defeat the Darkener and save Creation from a fall into evil.

The Darkener’s forces attacked the city before the Merranai could leave. Besieged, they had to fight their way out, becoming separated in the process. An inauspicious beginning; the Merranai of prophecy could not stay together more than a few brief hours.

The second part, The Stone of Zoral, now tells how each of the separated Merranai fared, and recounts the tale of the struggle to locate, and then acquire, the artifact prophecy proclaims will provide the power to destroy the Darkener and foil his designs to rule Kalan.

PROLOGUE

Even the Darkener was not immune to a splitting headache. Days ago now, one of his undead servants informed him that a group of six would-be heroes escaped the attack on Corsand. Pain that threatened to split his skull arrived promptly thereafter and had not left. True, Corsand had been added to those lands under his sway, but that fact gave him no comfort. Jacada Kierin’s son and his band of blasted nuisances still lived. That irritating gnat of a problem could turn into a swarm of locusts, and worse, if not squashed soon.

Still, reason for confidence existed. Four liches out of the remaining five tracked the group, and there would be no Aliand Wood to escape into this time. The Darkener liked his odds.

But … the wise gambler hedges his bets. With the Stone of Zoral in his possession, these new heroes would have no chance of stopping him if the prophecy from the Book of Futures could be believed. If he only knew what the blasted Stone did.

At least I may know its location soon, if that fool Arxis doesn’t get himself caught first. Finding a stand-in at Drayden Tower had been absolutely necessary so he could, with no unwanted attention, plan his invasion of Kalan. Depending on others, however, was often a recipe for disaster—most humans were incompetent fools.

A sharp knock on his study door set the Darkener’s head ringing. Come, he called out haltingly, wincing in pain.

A vaguely human creature entered, skin pale as snow, its stare as vacant as a rat-infested inn. The Darkener used only zombies for servants in his tower, for mindless automatons were the safest things he could find.

You have a visitor, said the zombie in a cavernous voice. Though exceedingly rare, the event occasioned no further comment from the Darkener’s servant.

The black-robed wizard massaged his forehead and temples with the tips of his fingers in a vain attempt to remove the throbbing. His brow furrowed in thought as he blocked out the pain. He could count on one hand the number of beings, other than liches or servants, who knew of his tower’s location. All but one were immortal.

What does the visitor call himself?

Rakeen Duvay.

The true Rakeen smiled. Very well. Leave him in the foyer. I will come to him.

As you wish. The zombie bowed awkwardly and shuffled out.

The Darkener stared after his servant for several moments, rubbing his head gingerly as he did so. Why in all Kalan would Arxis come here? Our meeting was to occur in the Freelands, and not for another three days.

Grumbling under his breath that he’d been foolish to allow Arxis knowledge of his whereabouts, the Darkener strode out of his library to meet his visitor.

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In Rakeen’s unadorned foyer, another black-robed wizard waited. A lowered hood revealed a face far too tan for the Darkener’s taste. Where has this fool been? A Sylyvnarran beach? The Darkener wondered, not for the first time, at the idiocy of the original Nine Masters. How could they accept such a clown as the actual black-robed Master? Good thing they did, he supposed. He kept the scowl off his face only with an effort.

I lack comforts here, said the Darkener unapologetically, motioning his hands around the foyer, palms up. I am unused to receiving visitors.

The visitor smiled—an annoying, ingratiating smile that suggested he was somehow cleverer than Rakeen. Again, the Darkener pushed away a frown before it could form. Quite all right, Arxis, said the visitor. I came unannounced, after all. At least you manage to keep some heat in this iceberg.

Though tempted to smite this idiot where he stood, the visitor’s appearance roused the Darkener’s curiosity. Our meeting was set for three days hence, and far south of here. Why have you come?

Again that blasted smile. Are you not glad to see me, Arxis?

Call me ‘Darkener’. I will not have you address me in my own tower again using your name.

I see. Well, your Darkenership, said Arxis with mock solemnity, would you mind if I conjure us up two chairs? Or shall we stand here, two steps from your front door, as though I were a common beggar?

This time, the Darkener smiled. In a flash, a dagger leaped into his hand from inside the arm of his robe. Dwarves forged the weapon long ago under the Argoth Mountains, a black steel blade with an onyx hilt. The King of the Dark Dwarves himself recently gave the blade to Rakeen as a gift. Cast the spell, Arxis. But I know the incantation. If I dislike what I hear, this, he said, holding up the knife, will find your throat long before you finish.

Arxis nodded gravely, which infuriated Rakeen. You can trust me, your Darkenership.

This man is too much. The Darkener longed to kill him, but alas, the fool still had his uses. I don’t have forever. Get on with it.

In moments, Arxis conjured two ottomans of exquisite purple velvet. Arxis actually sighed as he sat. The Darkener remained standing and checked yet another scowl, revolted. What a soft, lazy sot.

Now then, said Arxis, I come to you with a proposition.

The Darkener arched an eyebrow. You have no information for me on the Stone? I assumed you found something critical. No?

I have three days more, your Darkenership. I wish to discuss other matters now.

The Darkener glared at Arxis and folded his arms across his chest, hiding his hands inside the opposite arm’s sleeves. Go on.

I have sat idle for twelvemoons in that crumbling, doomed tower as you take control of more and more of Kalan. I understand Corsand just fell? The Darkener gave only a flat stare for a reply.

Arxis cleared his throat, rubbing a finger along his goatee. Thanks to my continued silence and clever disguise, you have clearly gotten the better of our arrangement.

For a black robe, you sure aren’t very subtle. The Darkener squinted at Arxis, considering him carefully. Then how’s this for an answer: I’ve been a good deal busier than have you. Besides, I recall you voiced no objections when I came to you originally. Arxis had seemed the perfect shill, then.

"You are destined for great things, Darkener, that much is clear. As for me, I feel I can put my considerable talents to use in much better ways than eavesdropping on Maldamar Malloy, which by the way I find quite impossible. He is the Head of the Nine, after all."

The Darkener was well aware Arxis could not possibly track Maldamar’s movements. He hoped that trying would keep the fool busy, minimizing idle time to consider some hairbrained scheme. That hope turned out to be ill-founded apparently, though the Darkener hoped that Arxis could at least determine what Maldamar read, perhaps providing a clue on the Stone’s location. The Head Wizard must be searching for it, too. What are you suggesting?

Rakeen’s imposter smiled so broadly that the real Rakeen swore he would slice the other’s neck open at the next hint of a grin. Your success, Darkener, hinges on the destruction of the elves. They are your only real challenge remaining. I can give you the Mirthell elves’ exposed neck.

The Darkener sat down on his ottoman, a smirk upon his sharp features. How?

Wisely, Arxis did not smile, but instead narrowed his eyes. Of course, I refuse to tell you. The cook never reveals his recipe. But know that I can achieve what I say.

Perhaps I’ll just kill you and ask your corpse.

I wouldn’t recommend trying, said Arxis evenly.

The moronic sot actually has me intrigued, blast it. What’s in it for you? Or do you offer me the Mirthell elves out of the goodness of your heart?

Perhaps Arxis possessed the gift of mind reading, for he no longer smiled. My heart shrunk and froze many twelvemoons ago. The false Master leaned forward. You ask what’s in it for me, your Darkenership? Simple: you need others to keep the rabble in line. You cannot rule all Kalan without others to keep fear in the hearts of the conquered. I merely ask to rule Mirthell and Sylyvnar in your name while you tend to other matters that shall undoubtedly keep you busy.

The Darkener tapped his fingers against his mouth. There were certainly benefits to Arxis’s plan. If successful, demolishing the elves could be far less costly. Even better, it would take the imposter out of Drayden Tower. For at this point, he harbored serious doubts over whether a sullen Arxis would continue to keep their secret. Acceptance of the offer would keep Arxis cooperative.

Yet, the Darkener’s persistent headache hadn’t fogged over his brain; something even more devious was undoubtedly involved. Arxis would make a play to unseat him if the opportunity arose.

Rakeen decided, for the time being, to use Arxis while the fool served some purpose. When the time came, he would remove Arxis permanently, and with a maximum of suffering if possible. Rakeen could envision the trap already.

So be it, Arxis. Let me know when my armies can march into Mirthell.

Very good, your Darkenership.

Do not forget—I want information on that Stone in three days.

Arxis nodded grimly. You shall have it.

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The audience over, Arxis teleported to the Traveling Chamber, the only room in Drayden Tower that could be used for such a purpose, and then only by the Nine Masters. The chamber was relocated whenever a new Master joined the Nine, so a previous Master could not gain unauthorized entry.

The grin returned to Arxis’s face as he made his way to his quarters. The fool has no idea. He suspects a trap, surely, but will never guess when and how. By the time he figures it out, it will be too late, and I will be the true black-robed Master. Arxis laughed, a laugh that, unlike his earlier smiles, was far from pleasant.

I

It was another in a long line of restless nights for Malthus Kierin. Less than a moon before, he’d been a free man, leading a group of nomads and refugees against the Darkener’s vile forces. Somehow, though he could not remember quite how, he’d been captured.

His curly, brown locks clung to his head like leeches. His parched throat grated. His stomach rumbled with hunger. Naked except for burlap shorts that itched as if fire ants filled them, Malthus moaned in pure misery.

The wizard was chained to a stone wall by the wrists and ankles. A set of thick iron bars, running horizontally and vertically, offered no hope of escape. The cell smelled of sickness and death, altogether too much like his prison in the Aliand Wood.

Malthus tried to blink away the memories and the fatigue, but his eyes struggled to reopen. Though it felt positively blissful to close them, to sleep now meant to miss a possible chance at escape, should that opportunity arise. He felt certain that glimmer of hope kept him alive.

Overriding all he saw and felt was a profound sense of unbalance, a feeling that the world dangled on the edge of a bottomless abyss. Had the Darkener won? Has my vision come true? But hope again forced its way into his head, crowding out his pessimism. There is still a chance.

Nearly delirious with fatigue, he didn’t notice the approach of a black-clad figure until he raised his head to find his visitor staring at him through his cell bars. Malthus looked the newcomer up and down, hoping to discover a clue to its identity. The stranger wore the floor-length robe of a wizard, its upraised hood securely hiding its face from view. Black leather gloves covered the figure’s hands.

Though he could not recall for certain, most likely Malthus’s incarceration could be blamed on the wizard standing before him. Malthus opened his mouth to blurt out a curse and then stopped in horror, mouth agape.

He could not speak! And it was no Silence spell—he could hear himself breathe. The effect was far more sinister: his tongue had been removed! When had that happened?

The figure in black howled, a cackling, bestial sound. Fool! the voice rasped. Do you think I’d keep a captive wizard alive and allow him speech? You’ll be no threat to me ever again. Not that you ever were.

Malthus tried desperately to talk, but only a gurgling mumble emerged. Though he tried to keep hope in sight, it faded away like the last rays of the sun at nightfall. His stomach churned, and a feeling of inevitability washed over him.

Come, my fool. I want to show you something. The figure chanted, and Malthus’s surroundings melted away.

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The young wizard found himself in a cave. Torches flickered stubbornly against chilly drafts of air; shadows from the flames danced on the cave walls. The flames illuminated the cave’s inhabitants, chained to each other in a line. Dozens of captives—dwarves, elves, and humans—were hunched over miserably, picking at the rock with dull, short hammers. They plucked at some type of mineral that glittered there, at times brilliantly white.

Kimberlite pipes, brought here by volcanic eruptions, said Malthus’s visitor. Malthus frowned, uncomprehending. Diamond mines, my prisoner. And these, he added with a sweeping gesture of his arms, are my slaves. Come, let’s take a closer look, shall we?

It was not really a question. His captor could order him about with impunity, as chains joined the shackles at Malthus’s wrists and feet. He shuffled slowly forward as best he could.

Big, hairy, warty, smelly brutes watched the doomed lot with sharp eyes. They brandished leather whips with metal barbs, which they used liberally. Hobgoblins, Malthus reckoned with a horrified gaze. Enjoying their work, no doubt.

Filth covered the slaves’ faces and arms. Many coughed, some retched. All owned backs red with fresh lash marks.

I’m building a castle out of diamonds, my dear wizard. But it’s difficult work, mining. Much better for them to work than me.

As Malthus passed each slave, he saw differences in race, hair color, thickness of beard, and strength, but one thing connected all of them: hopelessness. Utter resignation dwelled in glazed eyes and downcast mouths, a realization that they would work here until they collapsed and died. That time didn’t look very far off to Malthus.

See these two? asked Malthus’s escort, pointing to a pair. They arrived together. We keep them next to each other to tempt them. You see, we don’t allow talking, and the penalty for disobedience is steep.

In shock, Malthus recognized a dwarf and a thick-bearded, dark-skinned human about Malthus’s age. Micah Quarren and Karnin Albolar, Malthus’s longtime traveling companions, slaved away with all the others, oblivious to their surroundings. They never looked up, and Malthus could not get their attention.

Malthus turned to his captor, eyes blazing. Curse you! You will rot in eternal damnation for this evil!

That’s what Malthus wanted to say, at least. With no tongue, the words came out as nonsensical gibberish. His captor cackled softly and then chanted. Malthus thought he recognized some of the phrases of a Teleport spell, but some were in a different order, and several words sounded completely foreign.

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In an instant, Malthus’s entire surroundings changed. He stood now in a tavern, one that looked familiar: the Red Chameleon, from his hometown of Alphi.

But the place was changed. Dirt and grime covered the walls and floor. The steak and potatoes that were the tavern’s specialty had been replaced with a slimy, gray ooze. Goblins shoveled the foul grub into slavering, slobbering mouths, utterly opposite from the more civil patrons of times past.

The figure in black still accompanied him, and motioned Malthus to a worn and cracked bench soaked with an unknown liquid. The show is about to begin. Sit.

Malthus did as ordered. He felt moisture from the bench ooze into his burlap shorts, but he barely noticed. His eyes focused on a girl dragged into the main hall by two huge, muscular men—likely Warriors. Malthus frowned; no Warriors should dwell outside their exiled home of Elden. Then he remembered seeing them in Corsand, attacking the city. How long ago had that been?

The girl brought his attention back to the present. Cleaned up, she’d be considered quite pretty, with red hair, freckles, and hazel eyes that currently glared as though they could melt steel. Malthus gaped: she was Zylyn Ferlak, his childhood friend.

"Et shoktre vra a esha a common!" A murmur swept through the crowd as the figure in black called out to the assembly, and soon all those not in chains were on their knees.

The tavern’s patrons cried out as one voice, As you command, Darkener!

Malthus stared, barely resisting the urge to leap at the black-robed wizard. He gave the Darkener a look that should have made him squirm. The blasted Darkener himself. I should have guessed.

Carry on, said the Darkener.

As the crowd’s noise rose again, the Darkener spoke to Malthus alone. I told them to conduct this auction in common, so you can understand every word. Malthus tried unsuccessfully to gather enough saliva to spit in the Darkener’s face.

A burly Warrior near where the bar once stood called out, Who will bid ten silver for her?

Me! called one hobgoblin from a shadowy far corner. Algnot bids ten!

Eleven, called another almost immediately.

In minutes, the bidding rose to twenty-two. I’ll treat her like she never been before, the hobgoblin cried out after the bid. Malthus’s eyes flashed, and the Darkener had to restrain him as he rose, casting a spell that paralyzed Malthus from head to toe. For your safety, said the wizard into Malthus’s ear with a chuckle.

The bidding stalled on twenty-two. Come now. Will you look at this young body? The Warrior tore off her scraggly garments and flipped them into the crowd. Several hobgoblins scurried to grab them, like hyenas to dead meat. Zylyn scowled at the beasts but made no effort to conceal herself.

The Warriors spun the naked Zylyn around. Though emaciated, the monsters hooted and whistled at her.

The price rose to three gold coins, and tears rolled down the young wizard’s face as he pondered her fate. The Darkener turned to face Malthus. Enough fun. I can promise you that for three gold, the winner will have its way with her as many times as it can while she still breathes. Maybe even after she stops.

After a soft laugh, the Darkener chanted again.

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This time, Malthus’s surroundings magically shifted to a nightmarish landscape, the Darkener still at his side. The lands around him had been woods once. Now only lopped-off trunks remained, silent graves where vibrant, living trees once stood. The land smoldered, burned almost beyond recognition. It reeked like a battlefield after a particularly violent clash.

Come, more wonderful sights await. Malthus scowled, but shuffled along as the Darkener led him around the hewn trees.

After a few minutes, they reached a small lake, no more than a half-mile across. The water frothed and bubbled as if trying to escape its banks, hissing like a hundred angry rattlesnakes. Malthus couldn’t see a tree as far as he looked to any part of the shore, only foul, smoking soil and utter desolation.

The Darkener chanted, and Malthus rose, despite all efforts to resist, into the sky. The soil turned fuzzy below due to the hazy smoke that emerged from the tortured ground.

At length he stopped rising, and instead floated slowly forward through the air above the lake. Although no longer paralyzed, he remained quiet. Malthus would not give that blasted wizard a chance to hear any attempts at tongueless speech again.

When Malthus stopped at last, he peered down. The black lake bubbled up at him menacingly. He saw the Darkener along the shore, chanting. A length of rope appeared at Malthus’s side and wound its way around him like a constrictor snake, pinning his arms to his sides. He gurgled, a desolate moan eaten up by the smoky air. So he means to drown me, then. Fine. Get on with it. I can’t bear to see any more.

Perhaps the Darkener could read his mind, for at that moment, Malthus plummeted toward the water.

Ice, was Malthus’s first thought as he hit the lake’s surface, especially surprising as the hissing surface suggested heat. The cold sapped what little will Malthus had left to fight his fate. He sank like a rock.

Surprisingly, the lake was not deep, and Malthus touched bottom in seconds. As he squatted, about to open his mouth and gulp in enough water to drown, his eyes widened in shock.

He wasn’t sent there to die.

The water was clear enough to see several steps away, and in that range of vision, he saw a woman’s body lying on the lake floor. Her red, puffy eyes had nearly burst from their sockets, and as Malthus hopped awkwardly closer, he noticed that both her legs twisted around at impossible angles. Multiple cuts covered her naked body as though she’d been tortured.

He recognized the face: Aleena Merrin, their guide, a loremaster he’d traveled from Alphi to Corsand to find. She was the key to defeating the Darkener.

Shaking his head, he crumpled to the lake bottom. How could the gods let this happen? Then he realized he didn’t care anymore. If the gods didn’t, why should he? This is as good a place as any to die. He opened his mouth, and the frigid lake water stormed in.

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Malthus gagged, coughing up water onto a floor made of black marble inset with diamonds. Something must have gone wrong. Why can’t I just die?

Now now, Malthus. That’s not the spirit I’ve come to expect from you. The Darkener stood next to him, hooded and radiating malice despite the gentle tone. "I assure you the loremaster did not suffer much.

You know, she was the last loremaster on Kalan, a worthless lot living in the past. Kalan’s past is now meaningless. Malthus glared deep into the cowl of the Darkener’s hood, and coughed up more water.

The Darkener deftly avoided the stream of liquid. I have one last bit to show you. You’ll like this surprise best of all. The Darkener rubbed his gloved hands together as though he’d just finished mixing some wicked brew. But first, look around. This is the foyer of my castle.

Malthus obeyed, coughing out the last of the lake water, which puddled in several places on the floor. A diamond-encrusted mahogany door stood at one end of the cavernous chamber, double doors of smooth, jet-black stone at the other. Half a dozen diamond-encrusted, black marble columns rose high above him to a great domed ceiling.

A great painting covered the dome, depicting a scene that had etched itself into his mind thanks to his experience in the Aliand Wood. Flanked by Warriors on one side, Frost Lords and liches to the other, the Darkener faced a great black blot, eyes glowing a pale white: the god Night itself. The fallen ruins of Drayden Tower smoked in the background. The young wizard grimaced.

My moment of victory, Malthus. Truly glorious. You should have been there. A brief snicker emerged from the cowled face. Now, you must be wondering where your blasted elf dwells. Wonder no longer. I will summon her.

Though relieved she was alive, Malthus gave the Darkener a wicked glare that was roundly ignored. A flicker of hope returned. Aloria lives! Perhaps I can escape, and break her free.

The diamond-laced door opened, and a hunched figure shuffled in. The smell of death blew in as well. Meet your elf, Malthus Kierin.

A creature with short, stringy, white hair that partially covered its face ambled forward, a towel folded over each arm. Gaunt, with sunken cheeks and blue skin that clung begrudgingly to bone, the figure before him was a shadow, a mockery of what Aloria had been. Her eyes were the worst—hollow and vacant, staring out at nothing. Malthus could just as well have been a stone wall.

She was a ghoul, an elf zombie.

She staggered on one of the puddles Malthus had made and fell backward. He moved to catch her too late and heard a crack as bone snapped, perhaps a wrist or a forearm. Malthus stared in horror as the ghoul—Aloria—tottered to her knees and offered him a towel, her head lowered in subservience. With the other towel, and using her one good hand, she wiped up the remaining water.

Malthus fell to his knees beside Aloria, the elf condemned to living death. Tears leaked down his face. He cursed his inability to speak aloud, and in his mind uttered unspeakable curses at the Darkener. What has this monster done to you, Aloria? My love.

I think, said the Darkener above Malthus’s sobs, that instead of killing you, I’ll keep you here for a little while. Daily, you can look upon what she has become.

Then the Darkener laughed, an evil, maniacal laugh that went on, and on, and on . . .

II

Malthus? Malthus? Mal!

Somewhere deep in his subconscious, Malthus recognized that voice. He opened his eyes, discovering tears wet against his cheeks. They slid down the grey sleeve of his robe, the robe of a wizard, and then onto the grassy tuft that served as his bed. As he wiped his eyes, the fuzzy figure of Aloria came slowly into focus.

What is it? she asked, worried.

Malthus eyed her. The elf’s blond locks looked incredibly beautiful, even unkempt as they were from lying on the ground. His eyes met hers. Were Aloria’s eyes more blue or more green? He touched her face delicately.

With a start, he felt for his tongue. He exhaled shakily, finding it attached. He smiled. Is it really you?

She nodded, frowning at his strange behavior. I’m here. Dreaming again?

It was Malthus’s turn to nod, relieved beyond words. Just a dream. Though it felt so real.

Same dream?

Two nights now he’d had the dream, identical in every detail. Only four nights ago, the two wizards had fled Corsand, running south all night into the Uninhabited Lands to avoid the liches, the undead servants of the Darkener that tracked them. They hid all that next day in tall grasses, and Aloria created the illusion that the two wizards themselves were merely grass stalks. After continuing the following night, they learned they’d also been tracking west, away from the river, for they stumbled on a group of dwellings just after dawn the next day. Wikiups, their inhabitants called them. It was evening before the tribe’s leaders, the Ekkai Council, agreed to let the wizards travel