And so, with a sword gilded in silver, Captain Jeronnan had the capability of not only slicing the undead into the bait he had mentioned, but also in the process slaying the very one he sought to save.

She had to warn him. "Drayko! Jeronnan must stop!"

"It's all right, my lady! The captain knows what he does! His silver blade's just right for dealing with the likes of those! In such close quarters, he'll make quick work of them before the one can cast another spell!" Drayko wrinkled his nose. "Gods, what a stench in here! After you started acting so strangely, Captain Jeronnan finally recalled what had happened to you back in Gea Kul and felt certain that something was up! He summoned me to his cabin after dinner, related his suspicions, then told me to come with him and be prepared for Hell itself-although how close to the truth he meant that even I didn't know!"

The necromancer tried again. "Listen! They've cast an enchantment on me—"

"Which is why you couldn't say anything, aye!" He started to pull her toward the open doorway, where several of Jeronnan's men had gathered. Some had their weapons drawn, but none had yet dared enter, far more fearful of facing the undead than either the captain or his second. "Come on! Let's get you away from them!"

"But that's not the—" Kara stopped as her body suddenly twisted free of its own accord from the officer.

He reached for her arm. "Not that way! You'd better—"

To her dismay, the necromancer's hand folded into a fist-then struck her protector hard in the stomach.

While not that harsh a blow, it nevertheless caught Drayko completely by surprise. Jeronnan's second fell back, more startled than injured.

Kara turned toward the undead… and saw the grim Vizjerei beckoning her to join them.

Her limbs obeyed despite her best attempts to counter his summons. Behind the ghouls the blue haze had spread to encompass most of the wall. Discovered by the living, the undead now sought to retreat-but with them, they hoped to take their prize.

Kara tried to resist, knowing not only that she had nodesire to go with the duo, but that the only thing beyond that wall lay the dark sea. Tryst and his companion did not need to breathe, but Kara surely did.

Come to me, necromancer … she suddenly heard in her head. The eyes of Fauztin stared unblinking into her own, drowning out her own thoughts.

Unable to control herself any longer, Kara ran toward the undead.

"Lass, no!" Captain Jeronnan seized her arm, but his wound kept his grip from tightening much. She tore herself free, then reached forth to take Sadun Tryst's mutilated hand.

"I… have her!" the smiling ghoul gasped.

Fauztin grabbed his companion by the shoulder, then purposely fell backwards-vanishing through the blue haze and pulling Tryst with him.

And with Tryst went Kara.

"Grab hold of her!" the captain shouted. Drayko called out something, possibly her name, but by then they were both too late to do anything.

The dark mage fell through the haze-and into the suffocating embrace of the sea.

Thirteen

The tomb of Horazon… the Arcane Sanctuary…

Norrec Vizharan struggled through a thick, gray webbing, forcing his way down a winding, confusing arrangement of corridors.

Horazon…

Ancient statues lined the wall, each the face of someone familiar to him. He recognized Attis Zuun, his fool of an instructor. Korbia, the far too innocent acolyte he had later sacrificed for his goals. Merendi, the council leader who had fallen prey to his well-crafted words of admiration. Jeslyn Kataro, the friend who he had betrayed. Buried behind the webs he found everyone he had ever known-except one.

Everyone except his brother, Horazon.

"Where are you?" Norrec shouted. "Where are you?"

Suddenly, he stood in a darkened chamber, a vast crypt before him. Skeletons in the garb of Vizjerei sorcerers stood at attention in a series of alcoves lining the right and left walls of the room. The symbol of the clan, a dragon bent over a crescent moon, had been carved in the center of the great sarcophagus directly before the armored intruder.

"Horazon!" Norrec cried. "Horazon!"

The name echoed throughout the crypt, seeming to mock him. Angered, he marched up to the stone coffin and reached for the heavy lid.

As he touched it, a moaning arose from the skeletons on each side of him. Norrec almost shrank back, but fury and determination won out over all other emotions. Ignoring the warningsof the dead, the soldier wrenched the lid from the sarcophagus and let it drop to the floor, where it shattered in a thousand pieces.

Within the coffin, Norrec beheld a shrouded form. Sensing victory, he reached to tear the cloth from the face, to see the withered and failing countenance of his cursed brother.

A hand covered with rotting flesh and burrowing maggots seized his own at the wrist.

He struggled, but the monstrous fingers would not release him. Worse, to Norrec's horror, the corpse began to sink deeper and deeper into the coffin, as if the bottom had suddenly given way to an endless abyss. Try as he might, Norrec could not keep from being pulled into the sarcophagus, into the pit of darkness below.

He screamed as the world of the dead closed in around him-

"Awaken."

Norrec shook, his gauntleted hands reaching to fend off nightmares. He blinked, gradually realizing that he still sat in the old chair in Drognan's sanctum. The dream about his brother's crypt-no, Bartuc's brother-had seemed so real, so horribly real.

"You slept. You dreamed," the elderly Vizjerei commented.

"Yes…" Unlike most dreams, however, the veteran recalled this one quite vividly. In fact, he doubted that he would ever be able to forget it. "I'm sorry about falling asleep…"

"No need to apologize. After all, I am the one who, with the aid of some wine, made you sleep… and dream as well."

Sudden anger made Norrec try to leap up from the chair-only to have Drognan stop him in his tracks with but a warning hand. "You will sit back down."

"What did you do? How long have I been out?"

"I placed you under shortly after you sat down. As for how long you slept… nearly a day. The night has comeand gone." The sorcerer came closer, the spell staff now used as a cane. Norrec, however, did not read Drognan's use of it as any sign of weakness. "As for why I did it, let us just say that I have taken the first step toward both our goals, my friend." He smiled expectantly. "Now, tell me, what did you see in the dream?"

"Shouldn't you know?"

"I made you dream; I did not decide what you dreamed of."

"Are you saying I made up that nightmare myself?"

The ancient mage stroked his silver beard. "Perhaps I had some influence on the choice of subjects… but the results were yours alone. Now tell me what you dreamed."

"What's the point of it?"

All friendliness faded from Drognan's tone. "The point is your life."

Aware that he had no true choice in the matter, Norrec finally gave in and told the sorcerer what he wanted to know. In nearly perfect detail, the soldier described the scene, the events, and even the faces and names of the statues. Drognan nodded, quite interested in all of it. He asked questions, dredging up minor details that Norrec had initially forgotten to mention. Nothing seemed too insignificant to the listening mage.

And when it came time to relate the horrifying events taking place in the crypt, the Vizjerei paid very close attention. Drognan seemed to take special delight in having Norrec describe the skeletal mages and the opening of the sarcophagus. Even when Norrec began to shake in recollection of his descent into the abyss, the sorcerer pushed him to continue, to not leave out the most minute bit of information.