reached for the chain around her neck where hung the charm Raistlin had sent her. Grasping hold of the chain, she gave it a quick jerk, snapping it easily. Then she held the jewel in her gloved hand.
Black as dragon's blood, the jewel felt cold to the touch, radiating a chill even through her heavy, leather gloves. Unshining, unlovely, it lay heavy in her palm.
"How can these Guardians see it?" Kitiara demanded, holding it to the moons' light. "Look, it does not gleam or sparkle. It seems I hold nothing more than a lump of coal in my hand."
"The moon that shines upon the nightjewel you cannot see, nor can any see save those who worship it," Lord Soth replied. "Those—and the dead who, like me, have been damned to eternal life. We can see it! For us, it shines more clearly than any light in the sky. Hold it high, Kitiara, hold it high and walk forward. The Guardians will not stop you. Take off your helm, that they may look upon your face and see the light of the jewel reflected in your eyes."
Kitiara hesitated a moment longer. Then—with thoughts of Raistlin's mocking laughter ringing in her ears—the Dragon Highlord removed the horned dragonhelm from her head. Still she stood, glancing around. No wind ruffled her dark curls. She felt cold sweat trickle down her temple. With an angry flick of her glove, she wiped it away. Behind her, she could hear the dragon whimper—a strange sound, one she had never heard Skie make before. Her resolution faltered. The hand holding the jewel shook.
"They feed off fear, Kitiara," said Lord Soth softly. "Hold the jewel high, let them see it reflected in your eyes!"
Show him you are a coward! Those words echoed in her mind. Clutching the nightjewel, lifting it high above her head, Kitiara entered Shoikan Grove.
Darkness descended, dropping over her so suddenly Kitiara thought for one horrible, paralyzing moment she had been struck blind. Only the sight of Lord Soth's flaming eyes flickering within his pale, skeletal visage reassured her. She forced herself to stand there calmly, letting that debilitating moment of fear fade. And then she noticed, for the first time, a light gleam from the jewel. It was like no other light she had ever seen. It did not illuminate the darkness so much as allow Kitiara to distinguish all that lived within the darkness from the darkness itself.
By the jewel's power, Kitiara could begin to make out the trunks of the living trees. And now she could see a path forming at her feet. Like a river of night, it flowed onward, into the trees, and she had the eerie sensation that she was flowing along with it.
Fascinated, she watched her feet move, carrying her forward without her volition. The Grove had tried to keep her out, she realized in horror. Now, it was drawing her in!
Desperately she fought to regain control of her own body. Finally, she won—or so she presumed. At least, she quit moving. But now she could do nothing but stand in that flowing darkness and shiver, her body racked by spasms of fear. Branches creaked overhead, cackling at the joke. Leaves brushed her face. Frantically, Kit tried to bat them away, then she stopped. Their touch was chill, but not unpleasant. It was almost a caress, a gesture of respect. She had been recognized, known for one of their own. Immediately, Kit was in command of herself once more. Lifting her head, she made herself look at the path.
It was not moving. That had been an illusion borne of her own terror. Kit smiled grimly. The trees themselves were moving! Standing aside to let her pass. Kitiara's confidence rose. She walked the path with firm steps and even turned to glance triumphantly at Lord Soth, who walked a few paces behind her. The death knight did not appear to notice her, however.
"Probably communing with his fellow spirits," Kit said to herself with a laugh that was twisted, suddenly, into a shriek of sheer terror.
Something had caught hold of her ankle! A bone-freezing chill was seeping
Black as dragon's blood, the jewel felt cold to the touch, radiating a chill even through her heavy, leather gloves. Unshining, unlovely, it lay heavy in her palm.
"How can these Guardians see it?" Kitiara demanded, holding it to the moons' light. "Look, it does not gleam or sparkle. It seems I hold nothing more than a lump of coal in my hand."
"The moon that shines upon the nightjewel you cannot see, nor can any see save those who worship it," Lord Soth replied. "Those—and the dead who, like me, have been damned to eternal life. We can see it! For us, it shines more clearly than any light in the sky. Hold it high, Kitiara, hold it high and walk forward. The Guardians will not stop you. Take off your helm, that they may look upon your face and see the light of the jewel reflected in your eyes."
Kitiara hesitated a moment longer. Then—with thoughts of Raistlin's mocking laughter ringing in her ears—the Dragon Highlord removed the horned dragonhelm from her head. Still she stood, glancing around. No wind ruffled her dark curls. She felt cold sweat trickle down her temple. With an angry flick of her glove, she wiped it away. Behind her, she could hear the dragon whimper—a strange sound, one she had never heard Skie make before. Her resolution faltered. The hand holding the jewel shook.
"They feed off fear, Kitiara," said Lord Soth softly. "Hold the jewel high, let them see it reflected in your eyes!"
Show him you are a coward! Those words echoed in her mind. Clutching the nightjewel, lifting it high above her head, Kitiara entered Shoikan Grove.
Darkness descended, dropping over her so suddenly Kitiara thought for one horrible, paralyzing moment she had been struck blind. Only the sight of Lord Soth's flaming eyes flickering within his pale, skeletal visage reassured her. She forced herself to stand there calmly, letting that debilitating moment of fear fade. And then she noticed, for the first time, a light gleam from the jewel. It was like no other light she had ever seen. It did not illuminate the darkness so much as allow Kitiara to distinguish all that lived within the darkness from the darkness itself.
By the jewel's power, Kitiara could begin to make out the trunks of the living trees. And now she could see a path forming at her feet. Like a river of night, it flowed onward, into the trees, and she had the eerie sensation that she was flowing along with it.
Fascinated, she watched her feet move, carrying her forward without her volition. The Grove had tried to keep her out, she realized in horror. Now, it was drawing her in!
Desperately she fought to regain control of her own body. Finally, she won—or so she presumed. At least, she quit moving. But now she could do nothing but stand in that flowing darkness and shiver, her body racked by spasms of fear. Branches creaked overhead, cackling at the joke. Leaves brushed her face. Frantically, Kit tried to bat them away, then she stopped. Their touch was chill, but not unpleasant. It was almost a caress, a gesture of respect. She had been recognized, known for one of their own. Immediately, Kit was in command of herself once more. Lifting her head, she made herself look at the path.
It was not moving. That had been an illusion borne of her own terror. Kit smiled grimly. The trees themselves were moving! Standing aside to let her pass. Kitiara's confidence rose. She walked the path with firm steps and even turned to glance triumphantly at Lord Soth, who walked a few paces behind her. The death knight did not appear to notice her, however.
"Probably communing with his fellow spirits," Kit said to herself with a laugh that was twisted, suddenly, into a shriek of sheer terror.
Something had caught hold of her ankle! A bone-freezing chill was seeping
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