GOE 08 - Bound By Darkness [calibre 0.9.30]

The spirit reached a thin hand toward the sleeping child. “Ah, the anointed one.”

His voice rumbled through the air, bringing with it the foul scent of the netherworld.

Ariyal stepped forward, but he was abruptly distracted as the mage moved at the same time, his thin face hard with revulsion.

“Rafael.” He breathed the name as if it was a curse.

The spirit slowly lifted his head, glancing toward the mage. Amusement seemed to flutter over the gaunt features before his lips twisted into a sneer.

“It is Master Rafael to you, mage.”

“No wizard is my master,” Sergei hissed.

Ariyal shifted to keep an eye on the two magical buffoons as well as Jaelyn, who was clearly unnerved by the sight of the spirit.

“You two acquainted?” he drawled.

“Our paths have crossed,” Sergei spat out, his gaze never leaving Rafael. “But while I am a true magic-user, he has given his soul to the Dark Lord.”

Ariyal arched a brow. “And you?”

The spirit released a low laugh that sent a shudder down Ariyal’s spine. Working with spirits had never been his talent and he rarely used his powers to draw the ghosts from the netherworld. Especially not one with the strength that he could sense pulsing about the dead wizard.

“He pledges his loyalty to the highest bidder,” Rafael said, his hollow voice echoing eerily through the room. “A magical hack.”

“Rafael.” The soft whisper came directly beside him and with a low curse he turned his head to discover Jaelyn regarding the spirit with a sudden suspicion. Holy shit. He hadn’t seen her move. “I recognize the name,” she said, shifting her head to meet his startled gaze.

“You know this spirit?”

She shook her head. “No, but the Chicago vampire clan battled a dark wizard who was attempting to sacrifice the Chalice and open a pathway through the dimensions a few months ago.” She shuddered, her attention returning to the wizard. “They killed him.”

Rafael pressed a hand to his pendant, his features twisting with fury.

“I was surrounded by incompetent fools.” His gaze lowered to the babe who remained unnaturally still. “On this occasion I will have the means to restore my prince to his rightful place.”

Ariyal glanced toward Jaelyn. “Prince?”

She curled her lips in disgust. “A few of the more dedicated disciples have elevated themselves to the position of deities and the Dark Lord to their personal prince.”

“I would have thought the deity theory might be reconsidered after he actually died,” he pointed out, allowing his words to carry toward the arrogant wizard. Spirit or not he was a nasty piece of goods. “That’s not very godlike.”

“I knew it was only a matter of time before my master rescued me from the pits of hell,” the wizard snarled, a crazed light shimmering in his eyes. “Death has no hold over me.”

“Obviously neither does sanity,” Jaelyn muttered.

About to agree, Ariyal felt the familiar stir of air before a portal formed next to the wizard and Tearloch stepped into the room.

Wearing traditional leather leggings and tunic with his copper hair pulled into a braid, the Sylvermyst looked painfully familiar.

It was only when Ariyal met the fevered glitter in the silver eyes that he was forced to accept that this was no longer the friend and confidant whom he had depended upon for centuries.

“Ariyal, I’m glad you’re here, my brother,” Tearloch said with a faint bow.

Ariyal deliberately glanced toward the shimmering opening his tribesman had left open. Among Sylvermyst it was an insult to maintain a portal when in the company of friends. It implied a lack of trust.

“Are you?”

The slender fey glanced toward the nearby spirit before at last returning his attention to Ariyal.

“It’s not too late to join me,” he said, a hint of pleading in his voice. “Together we shall restore the Sylvermyst to their former glory.”

Ariyal frowned, disturbed by Tearloch’s odd hesitation. It was almost as if he had been seeking approval from the spirit.

“What former glory?” he demanded, keeping his voice soft, unthreatening. “There is nothing glorious about slavery.”

Remembered pain flared over Tearloch’s thin face. “We were slaves to that bitch. The Dark Lord will set us free.”

Ariyal spread his arms. “We are free, Tearloch. Just look around.”

“No.” He shook his head in sharp denial. “Without the power of the master we will be at the mercy of the heathens who infest this world.”

“Listen to me, my brother.” Ariyal took a cautious step forward. “That is the voice of madness whispering in your ear.”

“Do not heed him.” The spirit abruptly spoke, shifting until he could place a gaunt hand on Tearloch’s shoulder. “Clearly he now intends to sacrifice you and your brothers to the vampires, just as he sacrificed you to Morgana le Fey.”

A ball of sick dread lodged in the pit of Ariyal’s stomach. Bloody hell. What had Tearloch done?

“You know he speaks lies,” he said, concentrating on the spirit who regarded him with a smug arrogance.

“Do I?” the wizard mocked, maintaining his possessive grip on Tearloch. “You stand there with a vampire who is your obvious companion.” He glanced toward the silent Jaelyn. “Or is she your lover?”