The Twilight herald

Quickly Isak took the Crystal Skulls from their places and slid them onto the shield he carried, the only part of the armour not forged by Aryn Bwr. 'Fine, do it.'

Without hesitation the dead king drifted forward through Isak's consciousness, overlaying and sliding past his mind like a gliding mist. It was done with great care, gently enough that Isak felt only a disconcerted tremble as his bands and lips began to move without his volition. Isak stood still, ready to fight back at the slightest provoca¬tion, but the dead Elf was careful not to do anything to antagonise him as he drew a sliver of magic and began to weave it.

The actions were hesitant at first, like a man playing a long neglected instrument, but they grew in confidence as past skills returned. Isak watched in fascination as he felt the syllables of the spell slither over his mind. He couldn't work out the literal meanings, but he was able to discern the shape of the spell. The scar on his chest glowed hot and sharp, as though the part of Xeliath imprinted into his skin railed against Elven touch, but Isak ignored the pain and continued to watch, drinking it all in.

With increasing assurance, Aryn Bwr drew strands of energy, weav¬ing the words of the spell so they shaped the energy and bent it to the task at hand. It required a deftness of touch and instinct beyond anything Isak had seen before; he recognised a true mastery, beyond anything he'd witnessed before.

As soon as it was completed, Aryn Bwr sent the spell forward into the stones of the walls that lined the tight spiral stair.

Isak felt the words lodge and bite like a crowbar, testing and prob¬ing at the cracks between stones as more power was fed to them. Within moments, the wall began to groan and a shudder ran through the flagstones underfoot. His eyes widened as the foot-thick stones juddered and shook in the surge of magic like sheets of paper hung up in the breeze.

Thin trails of dust fell from between the stones as first one and then another began to twist within the wall. Isak's gasp of astonishment was drowned out by the grind of others following suit as the walls on each side of the spiral stair suddenly came alive with movement. The great blocks squirmed and fought to escape as Aryn Bwr's incantation droned on, growing in intensity as the stones shook in rhythm with each syllable, the grating sound getting more insidious-

Until, suddenly, it was finished.

The last word hung tantalisingly in the air as each stone in the stairwell hesitated, teetering on the brink for an instant… until a soft, unbidden breath escaped Isak's pursed lips. He felt it drift for¬ward, but instead of dissipating, it continued on to the stairway and as it reached the stones, it gave one final spasm before spi

The echo of the spell raced away behind them to other parts of the palace as a stu

'Now it is safe for you to walk,' said the last king in Isak's head, leaving a sense of satisfaction lingering as he receded unbidden back into the depths of Isak's soul. The white-eye cast a sideways look at Ehla; her face remained inscrutable and she paid him no attention as she stared ahead.

As though in response to that final crash echoing away, a gust of wind came up from behind him, bringing another taste of smoke on the air. That stirred Isak into action and he replaced the Skulls before advancing to the foot of the spiral staircase.

After a slight hesitation he began to walk up the stairs cautiously, his shield raised above him. The warm glow of raw energy enveloped his body. Ehla followed him, two paces behind. After half a dozen steps, the stairs remained still and quiet, the stones of the wall sat neatly in line. The only trace of magic was a dwindling metallic scent and a sooty scorch-mark near the top.

Isak moved softly when he reached the scorched bit, but nothing happened and before he was really prepared he found himself before a narrow iron-studded door. He was inspecting it as Ehla caught him up, hut he could detect no magic bound into it, and Aryn Bwr kept silent in his mind. With a shrug, Isak lowered his shoulder, ready to smash the door down, when the gnarled head of the witch's staff appeared in front of him.

She slid into his field of vision, careful to keep from touching the wall. 'That door is reinforced' she said into his thoughts.

'You don't think I can break it down?' Isak replied. The energy shud¬dering through his limbs was crying out to be used.

'I'm. quite sure you can, but using power for power's sake? Don't kill when it is not necessary; don't destroy when a little elegance will suffice.' She pressed a pale hand against the iron lock and closed her eyes.

Abashed, Isak released his grip on the magic raging over his armour and pushed it back into the Skull. He eased himself back to allow Ehla a little more room, hut she didn't seem to notice as she concentrated.

A click came from inside the door, then the grind and clunk of bolts sliding back. A slight tremble ran through her body as each one shot open, but her voice rang strong in his head as she opened her eyes and smiled at him. 'There, now all it needs is a little push.'

Isak reached out the emerald pommel of Eolis and nudged the door with it, but instead of just swinging open, as he'd expected, the scrape of metal heralded the entire door crashing down onto the floor of the room beyond it. Under his helm, Isak raised his eyebrows in surprise, and a pleased sound came from Ehla's direction, almost as if she could see his face.

'I certainly didn't expect you.' The voice was unexpected.

Isak peered inside; the room was dimly lit by a single large candle on a bracket to the right of the doorway. The objects at the far end were nothing more than shadows. Ahead of him, still seated at a long desk supported by four thin legs, was the Menin necromancer, Isherin Purn.

Isak ducked through the doorway, his sword and shield ready. 'Who did you expect?' he asked cautiously.

'Someone else.' Purn's command of the Farlan dialect was flaw-less, better than Isak's, despite the fact that he was Menin by birth. 'Aracnan, to be precise.'

'Aracnan? Is he in the city?' Isak was getting a little confused.

Purn shrugged. 'Not that I've seen, but I asked myself who would not mind the mobs roaming the city, and be able to break through my defences so adeptly. I once – ahem – borrowed something that belonged to Aracnan. He claimed it back without resorting to unpleasantness, but I've always suspected he was just biding his time.' The necroman¬cer tilted his head a little to the side. 'Perhaps he wouldn't have made quite so much noise getting in here, but the question remains why you've bothered to make the journey when we've never even met.'

'Can't you guess?'

Purn thought for a moment. 'That damned vampire gave you my servant? The wretch; Nai never could stop his chattering. I doubt you even had to torture him.'

Isak said nothing. If the necromancer was in the mood to talk, perhaps just to prolong his life another few minutes, there was always the chance he would say something of interest.

'So you're aware of my orders,' Purn continued, his hands starting to slowly move.

Isak reached out an armoured hand and the necromancer's arms were stretched out and held fast, bonds of magic looped around them. Isak narrowed his eyes. An object hung from Purn's belt, a slim shard of glass encasing a raven's feather, or something similar, and glinting in the weak light. With a thought, Isak tore it away from the mage and across the room for Ehla to snatch out of the air.