Prophesy.
“Yes, I’d like that,” Darik told Whelan. “When do we leave?”
“Very early. You’ll need more sleep than you got last night.”
But Darik couldn’t sleep that night either. Because neither did King Daniel.
Midnight found Markal and Whelan wrestling with the screaming king while Darik dabbed his face with a damp cloth. Whelan broke down at one point, weeping to see his brother reduced so low. This was too much for Darik; he hurried back to the rooms, where he threw open the window and gulped the fresh night air. The harrowing screams of the king penetrated even to his room.
His attention fell to the Tome of Prophesy. The steel book sat open on top of his bed; he supposed Markal had left it out, although this was odd, since Markal kept it hidden even from the other wizards of the Order.
Darik paused before he picked it up. Don’t touch it! a voice cried in his mind. He remembered how close he’d come to falling into the dark wizard’s power last time he tried to read it without Markal’s approval. And if he used it, he might draw the attentions of other seekers, such as Chantmer, or Kreth in the Cloud Kingdoms. But the urge was so compelling and felt right this time, somehow. He picked it up.
The book lay open to a blank page, but when he took it in his hands, a picture formed across the page, painted in bright colors. In the picture Daniel sat on his bed, hands clutching into the air, while two figures fought to restrain him. Darik blinked in amazement. The two figures were clearly Whelan and Markal.
The picture moved. The figures of Markal and Whelan struggled with the king, while he arched his back and screamed in conjunction with the actual screaming coming down the hallway. In the picture, a candle appeared on King Daniel’s bedside table, casting blue light. The blue light spread through the room and where it illuminated the air over the king’s bed, a figure appeared, a woman with a pale face and a flowing white dress. She floated in the air, lowering herself toward the king, passing through Markal and Whelan and onto Daniel. The woman wrapped her arms and legs around the king, drawing his breath into her mouth. He screamed and tried to free himself.
Darik watched in horror, unable to move or shut the book. At last, the blue candle in the picture blinked out, leaving only the three men, still struggling, the king screaming again. The meaning was clear.
Darik shut the book and ran for the king’s quarters. When he threw open the door, a smothering wave of sweat, urine, and vomit overpowered him. He fought a reflex to gag and pushed his way to the bed. No sign of the blue woman.
“Get a blue candle,” he told Markal. “Quick.”
“What?” the two men asked simultaneously, letting the king go.
Daniel thrashed free once more, foam flecking his lips. “Ah, Serena!”
“Hurry,” Darik said. “A blue candle. Markal, do you know where to get one? Then hurry, go.”
A light dawned in the wizard’s eyes. He rushed from the room, while Darik eyed the empty spot over the bed suspiciously. He saw nothing, but the air was cooler above the bed than to the side. Markal returned with the candle a moment later. He thrust the wick into the torch, catching it instantly on fire, then snuffed the torch.
And she appeared.
The blue woman floated over the bed, dressed in long robes. She lowered herself to the king, who shrank back in horror then struggled to get away.
“A wight!” Whelan exclaimed. He turned and ran. Darik watched him flee the room, alarmed that he’d abandoned them.
Markal hissed. “Tainara!”
She released her grip on the king and rose into the air. She smiled, sending a chill into Darik’s heart. He drew back in terror. Tainara. The wife of the high khalif, murdered in Veyre ten years ago. Her death had destroyed the high khalif, much as the death of King Daniel’s wife had destroyed him.
Tainara narrowed her eyes at Markal, “Leave us, old fool. Or you will
“Yes, I’d like that,” Darik told Whelan. “When do we leave?”
“Very early. You’ll need more sleep than you got last night.”
But Darik couldn’t sleep that night either. Because neither did King Daniel.
Midnight found Markal and Whelan wrestling with the screaming king while Darik dabbed his face with a damp cloth. Whelan broke down at one point, weeping to see his brother reduced so low. This was too much for Darik; he hurried back to the rooms, where he threw open the window and gulped the fresh night air. The harrowing screams of the king penetrated even to his room.
His attention fell to the Tome of Prophesy. The steel book sat open on top of his bed; he supposed Markal had left it out, although this was odd, since Markal kept it hidden even from the other wizards of the Order.
Darik paused before he picked it up. Don’t touch it! a voice cried in his mind. He remembered how close he’d come to falling into the dark wizard’s power last time he tried to read it without Markal’s approval. And if he used it, he might draw the attentions of other seekers, such as Chantmer, or Kreth in the Cloud Kingdoms. But the urge was so compelling and felt right this time, somehow. He picked it up.
The book lay open to a blank page, but when he took it in his hands, a picture formed across the page, painted in bright colors. In the picture Daniel sat on his bed, hands clutching into the air, while two figures fought to restrain him. Darik blinked in amazement. The two figures were clearly Whelan and Markal.
The picture moved. The figures of Markal and Whelan struggled with the king, while he arched his back and screamed in conjunction with the actual screaming coming down the hallway. In the picture, a candle appeared on King Daniel’s bedside table, casting blue light. The blue light spread through the room and where it illuminated the air over the king’s bed, a figure appeared, a woman with a pale face and a flowing white dress. She floated in the air, lowering herself toward the king, passing through Markal and Whelan and onto Daniel. The woman wrapped her arms and legs around the king, drawing his breath into her mouth. He screamed and tried to free himself.
Darik watched in horror, unable to move or shut the book. At last, the blue candle in the picture blinked out, leaving only the three men, still struggling, the king screaming again. The meaning was clear.
Darik shut the book and ran for the king’s quarters. When he threw open the door, a smothering wave of sweat, urine, and vomit overpowered him. He fought a reflex to gag and pushed his way to the bed. No sign of the blue woman.
“Get a blue candle,” he told Markal. “Quick.”
“What?” the two men asked simultaneously, letting the king go.
Daniel thrashed free once more, foam flecking his lips. “Ah, Serena!”
“Hurry,” Darik said. “A blue candle. Markal, do you know where to get one? Then hurry, go.”
A light dawned in the wizard’s eyes. He rushed from the room, while Darik eyed the empty spot over the bed suspiciously. He saw nothing, but the air was cooler above the bed than to the side. Markal returned with the candle a moment later. He thrust the wick into the torch, catching it instantly on fire, then snuffed the torch.
And she appeared.
The blue woman floated over the bed, dressed in long robes. She lowered herself to the king, who shrank back in horror then struggled to get away.
“A wight!” Whelan exclaimed. He turned and ran. Darik watched him flee the room, alarmed that he’d abandoned them.
Markal hissed. “Tainara!”
She released her grip on the king and rose into the air. She smiled, sending a chill into Darik’s heart. He drew back in terror. Tainara. The wife of the high khalif, murdered in Veyre ten years ago. Her death had destroyed the high khalif, much as the death of King Daniel’s wife had destroyed him.
Tainara narrowed her eyes at Markal, “Leave us, old fool. Or you will
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