Elaine Cunningham - The Best of the Realms, Book I

It took all the courage Orlando could muster toapproach the body. Jolind had been a friend, a companion, and more. For a time,the warrior and the druid had been lovers, seeking escape in each other's arms.Their relationship had lasted less than a year, but in that time, each hadlearned much about the other's philosophy and profession. For Orlando, that meant a keen appreciation of the ways of nature, the give-and-take of theenvironment, and an understanding of his place in it. Jolind had not feareddeath. In her mind, it was nothing more than the end of life. To Orlando, death had always been an enemy to be held at bay. In the end, he knew, deathwould triumph. For the present, however, he preferred to keep that most finalof foes as far away as possible.

"Horrible way to die," he said softly.

The same way Jaybel and Gwynn were killed, said a voice from nowhere.

Though the sound still irritated him, Orlando had already adjusted to the macabre intonations that came from empty air. It wasamazing to him how quickly the old ways of thinking returned. Indeed, even asthat thought crossed his mind, he realized he had subconsciously drawn Talonfrom its scabbard. Without the slightest thought, he had made ready to defendhimself from Jolind's attacker.

"A pretty fierce struggle," said Orlando, examining the disturbed earth around the pool of blood and beneath thedecapitated body. "But something doesn't make sense. All of thesefootprints were made by Jolind's sandals. Whomever she was fighting didn't makethe faintest impression as he moved about."

Perhaps we're dealing with a doppelganger or otherform-shifter. If her killer assumed Jolind's shape, you wouldn't be able totell one set of prints from another.

"I doubt it," responded the warrior. Hetilted his head to one side, then to the other. "No, the positioning ispretty clear. Only one person made these prints. What about the undead?Remember that vampire we tracked down near Dragonspear? He didn't leavefootprints, throw a shadow, or make any sound when he moved."

As soon as he mentioned that adventure, he wished hehadn't. It was in the ancient crypt where the vampire's coffin had been hiddenthat Lelanda found the mysterious shroud of shadows.

Possible, respondedthe enigmatic shadows of the garden, but unlikely. This place is prettyheavily warded against intrusion by the undead and other unnatural creatures.If the killer is something like that, he'd have to be extremely powerful toenter the tower. For our sakes I'd prefer to believe that isn't the answer.

Orlando said no morefor several minutes. Instead of allowing dark thoughts to dominate his mind, heforced his attention back to the matter at hand. With measured steps, he walkedto and fro around the area, using his experience in combat to piece togetherthe puzzle, whose pieces had been scattered in the darkness of the previousnight.

After a time, he noticed something and reached into abeautiful but painfully prickly shrub. Cursing and wriggling, he pulled backhis arm and drew out a slender, wooden rod some three feet long. Covered in agleaming white lacquer, it was painfully cold to the touch. From pastexperience, however, he knew that it was warmer than it should be.

What have you found? inquired the stillest part of the garden.

On some level, Orlando realized it wasn't the factthat he couldn't see Lelanda that bothered him most. It was the spectral natureof her voice while she wore the shroud. There was too much of death anddarkness in that place already.

Orlando could stand nomore of the one-sided conversation.

"Take off that damned shroud, and I'll showyou!" he hissed.

Almost at once, the shadow of a pear tree lightenedand the elegant sorceress was standing beside him. She quickly complied withhis request, making the hostility in his voice seem suddenly unnecessary.

"I'm sorry," Orlando said softly, "butyou have no idea how quickly that thing gets on your nerves."

He expected her to argue the point, just as she wouldhave in the past. To his surprise, her response was quite civil.

"No," she answered, "I suppose I don't.You see, it's been a very long time since I've had a traveling companion. I'vegotten rather used to wearing the shroud all the time. I'll try not to use itunless it's an emergency."

There was a brief pause, a moment of still contrast tothe violence that had unfolded around them. Orlando searched for something tosay, but failed.

Lelanda seemed only slightly more at ease, picking upthe frayed threads of conversation.

"I asked you what you had found," shereminded him.

"Looks like a piece of that staff Jolind used tocarry with her; feels like it too, almost as cold as those blizzards it couldsummon up."

Lelanda tilted her head and looked at the brokenstaff. Her lips pursed as she considered the broken end and several placesalong its length where something had cut deeply into it.

"There was some pretty powerful magic woven intothis thing," she said. "It wouldn't be easy to break. The weapon thathacked these notches out of it and finally broke it must have been every bit aspowerful. That doesn't bode well for our future."

Silence fell upon the garden again. Orlando went backto fishing through the shrubs, eventually finding the other section of Jolind'sstaff.

Lelanda examined the head, looking into the druid'seyes as if she might read the woman's dying thoughts. Then she walked adistance toward Orlando and called to him. He met her halfway between theshrubs and the fallen body.

"We've learned a little bit from an examinationof the area and the body, but Jolind can tell us more."

"Necromancy?" asked Orlando, the wordsounding just as bitter as it tasted in his mouth. She nodded. He growled."I suppose there's no choice. Get it over with."

"I'll have to …"

"I know," he said.

Two steps brought the witch to the edge of the bloodypool, another to the place where Jolind's severed head had come to land. Shelooked back at Orlando, flashed him an uncomfortable smile, and raised the hoodof the shroud above her head. Instantly, it became difficult for the warriorto focus his eyes on her. Even knowing where she had been standing only a fewseconds earlier, he could discern nothing but the faintest impression of the shroudedfigure.

The magical energies of death and darkness answeredLelanda's urging. She spoke words of power whose sounds had no meaning to Orlando's untrained ears. He felt the strange tugging of death at his spirit and knew thatsomething stood nearby, hungering for the taste of his soul, contained only bythe power of Lelanda's will. If her concentration failed, the consequencescould well be disastrous. Then, with a cry of agony from the unseen mage, thespell was completed.

Orlando steeled hisnerve as the eyes on Jolind's severed head snapped open. The thin-lipped mouthdid likewise, and a hissing, hollow scream filled the garden. Unable to standthe sight, Orlando turned his head away. He felt the need to vomit, butretained control of his traumatized body by remembering that a deadly enemymight lurk nearby.

Jolind, saidthe spectral necromancer, can you hear me?

"Yesss," responded an empty, lifeless voice."Who are you? Your voice is familiar … but distant."

Jolind, this is Lelanda. I'm here with Orlando. We've come to help you.

At that, the disembodied head released a humorless,rasping laugh and said, "You're a little late for that, old friend."

Orlando's nervebuckled, but did not fail him.

I know. We're sorry. But we want to find the personwho did this to you. He murdered Jaybel and Gwynn, too. Can you help us? Didyou recognize your killer?

"Yes, I know who killed me," whisperedJolind.

Then tell me, Jolind. Be quick; the spell is failingfast, urged Lelanda.