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The Wizardwar :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 138 из 208He taught me all I know of battle magic and watched over me from my earliest years. Yet I knew him as my father only on the day his life ended."
The king looked startled. "Vishna! Of course you're Vishna's son-now that I look for it, the resemblance is plain. I felt his death. Tell me why it coincided with your meeting."
Zalathorm listened as the jordain related Vishna's story. "A lich transformation. So that is why I sensed his essence still lingering. It's trapped somewhere, changing and gathering strength, awaiting a return to Vishna's body. Gods above!" he shouted, slamming one fist against the wall, "how could Akhlaur do this to a man he once called friend?"
"I fear he is not finished with Vishna," Matteo said quietly. When the king sent him a quizzical glance, the jordain added, "Akhlaur is a necromancer."
"Necromancers can command the undead," Zalathorm said in despairing tones. "As long as Akhlaur lives, Vishna will never be allowed to die."
Chapter Fifteen
Matteo stood at the base of the fairy mound into which Tzigone had disappeared. Basel Indoulur's skyship hovered overhead, but the wizard and Andris had come down into the Nath with him. Basel stood ready to cast the spell, a magehound's jeweled wand in his hand and an uncharacteristically grim expression on his round face.
Matteo glanced from the wizard to the ghostly jordain and back. "I'm not sure which of you is paler," he quipped.
"I'm not the one casting the spell," Andris responded. "Lord Basel has the responsibility of sending you in. My only task is welcoming you back." He spoke stoutly, refusing to acknowledge the possibility that Matteo might not return. The two friends clasped wrists, then fell into a brief embrace.
Matteo stepped back and nodded to Basel. The wizard began the chanting of the spell. It was a complex thing, a strange and jagged melody that sounded sinister even in Basel's pleasant, untrained baritone.
A high-pitched, eerie wind began to whistle through Matteo's thoughts, swiftly growing into gale force. The powerful wind drove him back toward the conical hill. Yet the gathering storm was for him alone-the winds did not touch the other men. Andris lifted a translucent hand in farewell.
Suddenly the Nath was gone, and Matteo was hurled into a chill, gray world. He hit and rolled, quickly coming up into a battle-ready crouch, his jordaini daggers drawn and ready.
There was no need-he was alone. In fact, as he scanned the rock-strewn moor around him, Matteo saw no other sign of life.
The king looked startled. "Vishna! Of course you're Vishna's son-now that I look for it, the resemblance is plain. I felt his death. Tell me why it coincided with your meeting."
Zalathorm listened as the jordain related Vishna's story. "A lich transformation. So that is why I sensed his essence still lingering. It's trapped somewhere, changing and gathering strength, awaiting a return to Vishna's body. Gods above!" he shouted, slamming one fist against the wall, "how could Akhlaur do this to a man he once called friend?"
"I fear he is not finished with Vishna," Matteo said quietly. When the king sent him a quizzical glance, the jordain added, "Akhlaur is a necromancer."
"Necromancers can command the undead," Zalathorm said in despairing tones. "As long as Akhlaur lives, Vishna will never be allowed to die."
Chapter Fifteen
Matteo stood at the base of the fairy mound into which Tzigone had disappeared. Basel Indoulur's skyship hovered overhead, but the wizard and Andris had come down into the Nath with him. Basel stood ready to cast the spell, a magehound's jeweled wand in his hand and an uncharacteristically grim expression on his round face.
Matteo glanced from the wizard to the ghostly jordain and back. "I'm not sure which of you is paler," he quipped.
"I'm not the one casting the spell," Andris responded. "Lord Basel has the responsibility of sending you in. My only task is welcoming you back." He spoke stoutly, refusing to acknowledge the possibility that Matteo might not return. The two friends clasped wrists, then fell into a brief embrace.
Matteo stepped back and nodded to Basel. The wizard began the chanting of the spell. It was a complex thing, a strange and jagged melody that sounded sinister even in Basel's pleasant, untrained baritone.
A high-pitched, eerie wind began to whistle through Matteo's thoughts, swiftly growing into gale force. The powerful wind drove him back toward the conical hill. Yet the gathering storm was for him alone-the winds did not touch the other men. Andris lifted a translucent hand in farewell.
Suddenly the Nath was gone, and Matteo was hurled into a chill, gray world. He hit and rolled, quickly coming up into a battle-ready crouch, his jordaini daggers drawn and ready.
There was no need-he was alone. In fact, as he scanned the rock-strewn moor around him, Matteo saw no other sign of life.