A bolt struck the drenched earth a scant distance from them.

The force threw the stunned crusader from his horse. Evan heard the animal shriek, then he himself cried out as he bounced against rock and wood. His outfit did little to cushion the blow; he doubted that even his full armor would have aided. The stunned knight rolled forward, unable to stop and yet somehow still managing to hold on to his weapon.

Another bolt struck, ripping open the earth and unleashing a new element to the storm already raging, a torrential rain of dirt and stone. Clumps of dirt pelted Evan as he tried to stop himself. A crevice opened before him and the knight nearly tumbled into it, but at the last moment Evan managed to drive the tip of his sword into the remaining ground. He held on and wiped his eyes clear, finding himself staring into a black chasm that seemed to go on forever.

The rain continued to torment him, but no new bolt struck. Gasping, Evan pushed himself up to his knees, looking for Haggad. The ghost had vanished. All the ghosts had vanished, as had his horse. Laying his blade on his knees, the bedraggled warrior pulled off one muddied glove, put two fingers in his mouth, and let loose a high whistle. A moment later, he heard whinnying, but from impossibly far away.

Forcing himself to his feet, Evan again surveyed the region. The phantom warriors had indeed vanished, but somehow he knew that he had not seen the last of them.

A lupine howl cut through the storm, a howl answered immediately by one just like it, then another, then another, and another still. From all sides.

Evan immediately whistled again, but once more the reply came from too far away. The shadowy steed should have been able to reach his rider by now, and that they still remained separated by so much distance indicated that something interfered. Estimating the direction from which the horse's call had come, the mud-soaked knight trudged on, sword at the ready for whatever he would next face.

The howls grew nearer. Evan picked up his pace. He suspected the creatures would not be so easy to deal with this time, not with the numbers that he estimated hunted him and certainly not with so much power radiating from the vicinity of the mound. As with the wraiths, the wolves were clearly tied to Grimyr's tomb.

Thinking of that, Evan paused. Through the abilities Centuros had bequeathed upon him, he found he did sense some evidence of Novaris's magic, but it still seemed too faint, too old. The sorcerer-king must have set this trap long, long ago, which meant Evan had a good chance of outwitting it; the spell had to stay true to how it had been cast, unlike a thinking creature.

A more opportune decision Evan could not have made, for just then, a dark form with claws and teeth leapt upon him, humanlike eyes glaring into his own. Knight and beast rolled once, then Evan kicked at the lower torso of his attacker, freeing himself. He brought the blade up, cutting into the stomach region. As before, no blood, no organs, spilled forth, yet the creature howled as if dealt a deadly blow, then, with a sigh, evaporated.

By now they had to know that to face his sword directly meant their doom and yet still they most often tried to charge him. Did they not fear the weapon?

From both his left and right came a new pair seemingly forming out of thin air. Swinging the sword wide with both hands, Evan Wytherling severed the head of one monster, then cut across the chest of the second. The first fell, fading even as it hit the drenched and ruined ground, but the second staggered toward its intended prey as if driven by a force it could not fight. Evan felt little pride as he finished the wounded shadow beast, his adversary moving so clumsily that the knight simply thrust his jeweled blade through it to the hilt.

The hair on his neck rose as shadows in every direction separated from the surrounding trees and moved in on him. Evan glanced around, saw that he stood surrounded by more than a dozen of the murky demons. Vulnerable they might be, but sheer numbers would tell a sorrowful end to his tale after all, unless . . .

He had never cast the spell with so little preparation, but all his years of working the wizard's magic had to help him now. Muttering the words of power under his breath, Evan spun in a circle, dragging the tip of his sword over the earth. In the wake of the blade's path, a faint blue line of light grew into being.

Perhaps realizing what he intended, one of the beasts leapt toward the remaining open area. Evan muttered faster, completing the spell, then tugged the tip of the sword until it touched the beginning of the blue loop.

Airborne, the lupine monstrosity could not halt its attack. It fell across the glowing boundary that raggedly encircled the desperate knight. No cry. No gore. No ash. Its entire body simply evaporated inch by inch as the spell's victim crossed.

A second creature pulled back just before it would have committed itself. One of the half-seen monsters snarled, others following. They jostled as if trying to urge some of their members forward, but no one desired to achieve the fate of the first. As willing as they were to directly chance his sword, they clearly saw no value in throwing themselves uselessly at such a barrier.

Protected for the moment, Evan fell to one knee, gasping again for breath. Still the rain poured down, giving him little respite. Nonetheless, the knight took what rest he could get, ever, of course, keeping his eye on the beasts.

This had turned out to be a very personal trap, he realized, but one that should have been beyond Valentin's abilities. That Valentin could affect the town, Evan understood. The crimson warrior lay imprisoned directly underneath its center . . . and Evan now recalled at least in part the pattern Pretor's Hill itself created. The town's layout formed a sign of power, one that amplified a spell cast in its center. No coincidence, that. Novaris's hand surely had prompted the early settlers to a.s.sist in building the method of their own destruction.

Still, could the spell have been so well set that Valentin could reach out even here and cause such disaster for his adversary? The only other explanation seemed less likely. For all his attention to detail, even the sorcerer-king would have been hard-pressed to put together such an elaborate spell designed to last centuries and strike only when Evan appeared. Surely Novaris, if he lived, had not been so fearful of one determined yet weary warrior?

Questions and more questions, none of which he should have been presently wasting his time on. The creatures would not simply stand and watch; they were more than animal. Evan had a disturbing feeling that he knew more about them than he thought he did. He sensed a familiarity that went deep, went back to a time before he had been sent upon this endless quest.

At that moment, the faint voices began again . . . but this time there were words that Evan could make out.

whywhywhywhywhywhy . . .

lostlostlostlostlost . . .

betrayedbetrayedbetrayedbetrayed . . .

lostlostlostlostlost . . .

whywhywhywhywhywhy . . .

The sword slipped from Evan Wytherling's frozen hand. He knew not the names, but he knew the voices. They were voices from the war belonging to men he had once fought beside in that previous life. Evan clutched his ears, not wanting to hear those voices, be reminded that their owners had all perished in that battle, their lives, so many lives, wasted because of the ambitions of one sorcerer.

Nothing shielded his ears from the voices, though. They seeped through his clenched hands, ripped into the cloth of the hood of his cloak, repeating endlessly words of condemnation.

The lupine hunters crouched close, possibly waiting to see if through madness Evan himself might cross the barrier.

"This is not real," he muttered at last, almost throwing the words at the watching pack. "This is a spell of yours, Novaris, a spell to make your enemies do themselves in! I am stronger than it!"

Yet no sooner had he uttered his defiance when the next and even more foul step of his torture commenced, for the indistinct faces of the furred horrors surrounding him shifted, grew somewhat identifiable. They were not, however, the faces of beasts, but rather those of men, lost men, dead men. Slaughtered, left for the carrion crows. Each and every one of them.

Evan knew them all by face, if not by name.

And each mouthed the same words over and over . . .

why . . . lost . . .

betrayal . . .

He shut his eyes, trying to will the faces and words away. Memories welled up within, adding to his desperate situation. Faces Evan had not recalled in decades pa.s.sed through his mind. b.l.o.o.d.y skirmishes long fought replayed themselves. The whispered words continued on in the background, now accompanied by the low, consistent beat of war drums and the mournful wail of horns signaling the doomed into battle.

Despite his strong struggles, Evan Wytherling found himself slipping deeper into despair. He had never imagined reaching such a point and certainly not here. Emotions he had cast aside for so very long poured forth, the guilt of two hundred years at last seeking its due in full. The stricken knight grabbed for the hilt of the sword, uncertain at that moment whether he needed it to fend off foes or put an end to his own miserable condition.

From beyond the circle came a familiar cry, one that ripped through his despair, tore him from his descent into relentless guilt. Evan looked up in time to see a ma.s.sive, pale phantom burst through the startled creatures, turning them once more into shadow beasts, not condemning ghosts. Great hooves struck out at the nearest, sparks of magic flying as the lupine horror fell back, stunned.

Reaching forward with the sword, Evan muttered a few words, eradicating the protective circle. The ma.s.sive stallion charged up to him, turning so that the human could immediately leap onto the saddle. Evan did, then clutched at the reins. One of the beasts sought to pull him back down, but the knight's mount turned again, enabling Evan to strike. His attacker fell back, one arm severed.

The pack reformed, pressing them from two sides. Forced to higher ground, the pallid steed had to fight for footing. Evan noticed burns on the animal's sides, evidence that the steed's attempts to reach him had been fraught with danger. Disturbing enough how quickly this trap had worn the veteran warrior to the core; now Evan saw he could not even rely on the full strength of his companion.

The horse stumbled, something he rarely did. Evan nearly slipped off. He peered around them, trying to judge the landscape. They were within but a few yards of Grimyr's mound.

Another grim notion occurred to him, one that risked much but might save them. Limited though his own skills at magic might be, the tricks Centuros had taught him could still help Evan reverse his dire situation. Given a few moments' respite, he believed he could seize control of the magic spell and turn it. During that attempt he risked leaving himself open to attack, but that might be unavoidable.

Tugging hard on the reins, he steered his mount toward the dragon mound just as the shadows closed. Kicking at the nearest fiends, the animal reluctantly obeyed. Evan himself did not entirely like his choice of action but felt it best. They were already being herded farther and farther from safety.

In the rain the mound almost took on the shadowy shape of the great leviathan buried within. How Grimyr would have roared with anger if he had known that someday Evan would try to use what remained of the dragon's magic against the very power Grimyr had once served. As for Valentin, Evan realized that this might be his chance to put an end to the crimson knight's foul curse. Surely his suspicions had to be correct; Valentin had to be drawing power from this same source through his ancient link to Grimyr.

He sensed the presence of magic, a presence much stronger than during his previous visit. The moment they reached the edge of the mound, Evan leapt off, landing several feet up its side. The baleful steed snorted, then turned to a defensive position. The horse understood that he had to buy his rider precious time.

The soaked knight climbed farther up, trying to locate the highest point of the mound. He heard the nearby growls of the shadowy beasts and the defiant snort of his horse. Evan knew he did not have long; the stallion could not take them all on.

At last finding a satisfactory position atop the dragon's tomb, Evan prepared to drive his blade into the wet earth. He did not intend opening a pa.s.sage to the rotting remains of the reptilian beast; instead the sword would act as a focus, as a way of drawing what magic there was to Evan's hand.

"Grasping at straws, boy?"

The suddenness of the voice nearly made the knight stumble backward off the mound. Regaining his footing, he glared at the apparition of General Haggad, who stood but a few feet to his left. The general's cadaverous head smiled from the crook of his arm. As usual, the bloodied, jagged blade remained a fixture in the ghost's other hand.

"You are becoming tiresome, General."

"And you are becoming desperate and pathetic, boy. Give in to your guilt. Give in to the past. This isn't the course you want to take."

Evan kept his expression masked, although inside his anxiety swelled. Haggad could be no less devious in death as in life. "You are nothing but the product of a madman's spell, General. You've failed to drive me mad, so you might as well go."

"I'd like to cut you wide open," the snow-eyed ghoul commented cheerfully, "to see how yellow your blood's become . . ."

The silver knight turned from him. "I have no more time for you, General."

"Then you'll have no more head, boy!"

Evan twisted around, but too late. Haggad's fiendish blade cut through the air in line with the paladin's throat. Sheer reflex caused Evan to reach up with one hand in a futile attempt to stop the jagged blade, but the general shifted, bringing his wicked weapon over.

The blade sliced completely through Evan's neck.

He gasped, waiting for the blood, waiting for oblivion. Yet, no blood seeped onto his hand, no darkness swallowed him. Slowly the truth dawned on Evan; the sword had not beheaded him. General Haggad's weapon had been as insubstantial as the specter himself.

The wraith laughed, a mocking, chilling sound. The body of the general shook so hard the head nearly toppled from the crook of the arm. "He said I'd be able to have some sport with you even though I couldn't touch you, boy! What a gullible little fool still after all these years!"

Though breathless, heart pounding, Evan composed himself again, realizing that Haggad's tactics had been designed to stall him, nothing more. Restoring the grimness to his features, the knight once more prepared himself for the spell. He lifted his sword. He could do this. He knew enough from Centuros to turn the evil on itself.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, boy! He wouldn't like that!"

"Who?" Evan mocked, despite his efforts to remain indifferent. "Who? Valentin? Novaris?"

"Novaris? The Master's long gone from here, Wytherling, and Valentin, loyal that he is, is a mad dog, to be sure! No, I mean himself, boy! You know best not to disturb the dead . . ."

Evan reminded himself that he spoke only to a projection, that General Haggad stood there as only the simplest of ghosts. Some could do physical harm, but Haggad could only taunt, pretend. He had no real power over the knight save what Evan gave him . . . and Evan would give no more.

"Your games are over, General," Evan said as he focused on his sword. "Go back to being dead."

"You first, boy."

Just before Evan would have plunged his sword into the ground, the earth beneath his feet suddenly gave way, collapsing inward. Evan stumbled back, arms outstretched as he tried to regain his balance. His blade, which made contact with only air, was unnaturally propelled upward and over, landing far.

He rolled off the mound, collapsing facedown at its base. Groaning, Evan moved slowly, the air knocked from him.

Some distance away, his mount gave out a warning cry.

Darkness enveloped Evan, a darkness deeper than the night and even the storm warranted. With effort, Evan rolled onto his back, seeking his blade.

Laughter not that of the wraith a.s.sailed his ears, sent his head pounding. He knew that laugh, knew it erupted from no human source.

Something large and powerful struck him.

THE TURNING WAR: DRAGON MASTERS.

- Legends of the Dragonrealm - (Coming in Trade & ebook) Nathan finally landed, every bone in his body shaking as he struck. Rock and earth continued to spill down around him, but his spell held strong.

Head pounding, Nathan managed to focus on his surroundings. As he did, it became readily apparent that what he lay in was no natural pa.s.sage created by the flow of lava. What little the mage could see of the walls had the look of having been hewn by hand.

He tried to reach out with his mind to Yalak's. Not at all to Nathan's surprise, some invisible force cut off his attempt.

The rubble around him began to shift despite there being no tremor.

Leaping to his feet, Nathan illuminated the underground cave. A blinding blue brilliance spread everywhere . . . and in it stood revealed what he counted as at least a dozen ominous sh.e.l.led shapes.

And two dozen glittering eyes fixed upon him.

Despite their girth, the sh.e.l.led figures moved through the rubble with astounding fluidity. Nathan knew that they were not Quel, that race being confined to the Legar Peninsula a rarely seen. These creatures' sh.e.l.ls were akin to those of turtles and even their heads --- or rather their sharp, sharp beaks --- had some general similarity, but there the resemblance ended. The faces were broader, squatter, and a malevolent intelligence filled the eyes. In their thick fists, they held short daggers with twin blades.

Jaruu . . . Nathan had never seen the beastmen before, but knew of them from tales of the Red Dragon's domain. The Jaruu were supposed to serve the Dragon King and so should not have been about to attack him . . . yet, these clearly were.

"I am here in the name of the emperor!" Nathan shouted. The Jaruu could understand Common speech, even if they did not speak it themselves. It was the language preferred by the Dragon Kings, after all.

Nevertheless, the Jaruu did not slow and their intent for Nathan was made more apparent by the low hisses more than one emitted.

The mage wished the creatures asleep, only to have the spell fade without even slowing the Jaruu. Frowning, Nathan took a measure of his foes. He waved his hand across, sending rock flying at his attackers. Three went down under the onslaught, but the rest ducked their heads deep into their sh.e.l.ls, each utilizing a ridge atop to further shield themselves from his magical attack. At the same time, they continued to converge on him.

Nathan did not ask where his comrades were, a.s.suming that they faced troubles of their own. Someone had arranged all this, leaking the information carefully. Nathan had to a.s.sume that it had been the Gryphon. No magic had been involved in digging out the ground underneath the illusion. Any use of such would have lingered long enough to warn Nathan and the others when they had arrived.

As this all ran through his head, Nathan continued to cast. Concerned that the Jaruu attacked under some misbelief that he threatened their master, Nathan was determined not to kill them. He only wished that he could be certain that he could stop the creatures from doing harm to him.

There was no use in attempting another spell directly focused on the Jaruu. Nathan was certain that it would fail just as the first had. The rocks had only worked because they had been the true target of his spell.

The blue glow began to fade. Darkness would not bother the Jaruu, who dwelled most of their time below ground to avoid the heat of the surface. Unfortunately, the light did not bother them either, or else they would have shown some hesitation after his illumination spell.

The foremost Jaruu reached him. It thrust the blade at his throat --- The tip broke off, Nathan's magical shield holding. However, the Jaruu did not seem at all perturbed by the damage to the weapon. It immediately dropped the ruined dagger and sought to crush Nathan's throat in its huge hands.

"Awaayyy!" snarled a reptilian voice that echoed throughout the area. "Awaayyy!"

The thundering cry was followed by an angry roar.

The Jaruu froze. Nathan saw the conflict in their inhuman orbs. They wanted to continue their attack against the mage, but a primal fear now stirred within them.

Again came the roar, this time louder and obviously nearer.

One of the Jaruu broke, turning and rushing into the darkness beyond Nathan that took it farthest from the direction of the roar. That caused a flood of retreat by the other sh.e.l.led creatures, quickly leaving the wizard alone save for those Jaruu he had managed to knock unconscious with the rocks.

No . . . Nathan realized very quickly that there was still someone else with him.

"Very clever . . . you picked the one thing the Jaruu feared. I wonder how long it will take them to comprehend that they ran from a spell of your making and not actually their master?"

Part of the darkness peeled away, but remained nearly as unfathomable. Nathan took one glance at the long, flowing black cloak and hood and especially at the murky face and immediately cast a new spell.

The six silver bolts should have pinned their target to the nearest wall, but instead simply melted as they neared the other figure.

"There is no reason for that," Shade murmured. "The Jaruu were not my doing. I only made use of the moment to speak with you."