Josh Reynolds: Master of Death

‘But you will help us,’ Khemalla said warily.

‘Oh yes, yes, a bargain is a bargain,’ Melkhior said. ‘I will help your queen refine the teachings of Morath, and I will deliver unto her the pick of what resides in these vaults, as promised. And then, I will vanish, and leave your lot and Ushoran’s to squabble over these pitiful mountains in peace.’

Khemalla stared at him for a moment, and then nodded tersely. She sheathed her blade and turned away. In the blink of an eye, she was gone; truly gone, and not simply hiding.

‘Yes, a few days I think. That should be more than enough to see to things. And then… what? What then for poor — ah — Melkhior, eh,’ he murmured, looking again at his hand.

He looked down at the shrivelled corpse, as if expecting an answer. When none was forthcoming, he knelt. He reached out a hand, as if to touch the slack features and the glazed eye, now forever unblinking. He reached up and traced the edge of his own eye. Then, in a quick motion, he scooped up the body and, cradling it to his chest, he turned to face the vault.

He spoke a single word. It hummed through the air and the stone of the walls and link by link, the chains began to rattle. They rose to the height of a man and in the wide space before the stone, motes of pale light appeared and blossomed into the same ragged phantoms as before. They screamed in silence, writhing beneath the weight of the chains as they began to move forward, straining against the wedge, pulling the chains. The wedge groaned in its housing and began to pull free of the hole as it had earlier. In moments, the vault was once more open and strange lights could be seen within.

And the Master of Death smiled.