Curse of the Shadowmage - Mark Anthony [68]
Morhion thought about this. "Thank you. Jewel," he said finally. "I'm not certain how, but I think that's important."
"Always glad to be of help, love."
They ate dinner in silence, each of them wondering the same thing: How far ahead of them was Caledan? As the others readied themselves for sleep, Morhion took the chance to slip away.
The mage circled around a jagged rock outcropping to be certain he was out of earshot of the others. He did not need to call out. A blast of cold air whipped the leaf litter into a miniature cyclone, and out of the swirling leaves drifted a vaporous, armor-clad figure Morhion knew well. "You are wise to come to me, mage," Serafi intoned in sepulchral voice. "Just because we have forged a new pact, it does not mean that our old pact is binding no longer."
"A fact of which I am well aware," Morhion said bitterly.
Serafi drifted closer. Pale frost tinged nearby leaves of gold and crimson. "I am angry with you, mage. You risked yourself foolishly in the ruined city. You nearly perished. Have you forgotten that your body belongs to me?"
Morhion shrugged indifferently. "And what if I die, Serafi? There is nothing you can do then." The spectral knight's laughter echoed malevolently from all directions. "Oh, you are wrong about that, mage. I have dwelt long in the twilight world of the dead, and I am powerful here. Die without granting me your body, and I will make every moment of your eternal after-existence one of pure and utter torment." Morhion shuddered despite himself. He drew out a small knife and made a cut on his forearm. Dark blood welled forth. He was glad for the pain; it cleared his head. "Get on with it, spirit," he snapped. "I cannot be long. The others will wonder where I've gone."
Serafi knelt and began to drink rapturously. "Ah, yes…" he moaned. "Exquisite. But soon I will no longer need to drink to feel the sweet warmth of blood. Soon it will flow in my own veins. Your body will be mine, Morhion. Then, perhaps, that of the woman you call Mari will be mine as well.."
"What?" Morhion hissed.
"Do not play the innocent with me, Morhion," Serafi said mockingly. "I know you desire her." The knight's laughter echoed again on the cold air. "Ah, but you have this perverse need to torture yourself, don't you? Yes, you must always deny yourself that for which you long. Well, be certain of this, Morhion-if you are too foolish to claim her, then once your body is mine, I will."
Crimson rage flared before Morhion's eyes. He snatched his arm from the spirit's chill grip. "Get away from me," he snarled. "Your drink is done. Our pact is fulfilled for this moon. Now begone."
Serafi rose, eyes glowing hotly. "As you wish, mage, But I will not go very far."
Before Morhion could spit a curse at the spectral knight, the frigid wind gusted again, and Serafi was gone. For a long moment the mage stood still, breathing deeply, trying to regain his composure. The spirit's mocking words echoed in his mind, words made all the more horrible because there was a shard of truth in them. However, those were feelings Morhion had banished long ago. It is a mage's lot to dwell in solitude, he told himself. He repeated the words again, and again, until at last his heart quieted Then he made his way through the grove, hurrying back to camp before the others noticed his absence.
Two days later they reached the small trading town of Triel.
It was more of a fortified stockade than a proper town, but they were able to buy fresh supplies, and at least there was one inn where they could spend a night indoors. As in every town, there were thieves in Triel, and it didn't take Cormik and Jewel long to ferret them out. The two returned to their rendezvous point in the town square.
"We're getting closer to Stiletto's base of operations," Cormik told Morhion and Kellen.
Jewel nodded in agreement. "The thieves here were extorted into paying tribute to Stiletto months before anyone had even so much as heard the name in Hill's Edge. We're definitely