Curse of the Shadowmage - Mark Anthony [95]
Mari stumbled backward. With a sound like thunder the graceful arch of the bridge lurched violently. K'shar fell sprawling, sliding across the onyx surface and halfway over the edge. His hands scrabbled against slick stone, searching vainly for purchase. When the other two keystones exploded in sprays of shining splinters, the bridge shuddered. K'shar slid farther over the edge, feet dangling above the chasm. For a moment he looked up, his eyes meeting Mari's. He opened his mouth, but whether to bid her farewell or to curse her to the Abyss she would never know. The bridge gave one final twitch. Then with a deafening crack! the span disintegrated. The stone arch collapsed into a rain of dark rubble, plummeting into the gorge and carrying the half-elf with it.
Mari dashed to the edge, but by the time she looked down, the remains of the bridge were already out of sight in the vast depths below. Footsteps sounded behind her "Your plan worked, Mari," Morhion said softly. She nodded slowly but did not answer. Instead she bowed her head, whispering a brief prayer for the dead. After a moment she turned and faced the others. "Let's get going." she said hoarsely.
The four mounted their horses and rode between the stone colossi into the kingdom of Ebenfar. While the High Moor had been desolate, it had still dis-played small signs of life as well as a kind of raw-edged beauty. In contrast, the realm they passed through now was utterly barren. The broken landscape was a tortuous labyrinth littered with piles of dark slag and pits halffilled with foul water. Except for the steady hoofbeats of the four horses, all was preternaturally silent. There were no birds, nor any other living creature. Even the wind had stopped. The air hung perfectly still under the dour sky, cold and breathless as a winter tomb. If ever there was a land that was truly dead, Ebenfar was one. "Cheery place," Ferret noted dryly. "I'll be sure to come here for my next vacation." The thief's words seemed uncomfortably loud against the brittle silence. He shivered in his cloak and refrained from making any further comments.
The cold was a hungry, maleficent thing. Mari moved to warm her hands under her jacket, but she could hardly unclench her fingers from the reins. It felt as if the chill had turned her flesh to pale ice. She turned to make certain Kellen was warm enough and saw that the boy rode with Morhion now. He sat in the saddle before the mage, wrapped in a blanket in addition to his cloak. Morhion had tied Flash's reins to Tenebrous's saddle, and the pony followed behind.
Such was the tomblike nature of this land that Mari was only somewhat surprised when they rounded a large slag heap and found themselves facing a ghost.
At first she thought it must be Serafi, but a moment later she knew it was not so. The spectral knight was a dark being with eyes like flames. This ghost was as gray as the leaden sky, so pale his outlines blurred into the surrounding landscape. He was clad in misty, flowing robes, like those of a wizard… or perhaps a king. His visage was proud and noble, and with a start Mari realized that she recognized the man's face. She had seen it once before, carved into the lid of an onyx sarcophagus far below the city of Iriaebor. In the crypt of the Shadowking. She opened her mouth, but Morhion beat her to the words.
"Verraketh Talembar…"
Floating several feet above the ground, the ghostly man bowed his regal head. "Yea, wizard, thou doth know me well." His colorless eyes flickered down to Kellen. "Greetings, scion of Talembar, child of my blood."
Kellen regarded the ghost with calm, curious eyes. "Hello, Grandfather," he said simply.
Mari drew in a sharp breath. "Grandfather" was hardly the proper term to describe Kellen's relationship to Verraketh. With thirty "greats" in front of the word perhaps. Despite her fear and wonder, a thought occurred to her.
"I don't understand," she said, shivering. "How is