“No!” Forral said urgently.
“No!” Shia’s voice resounded sharply in Aurian’s mind. “What good can this do?—You said yourself that the human was dead—and there is bad magic here. Leave him be, my friend, and let us get out of this dreadful place. Only harm can come of meddling.”
“That’s the best advice I’ve had all night.” Aurian smiled wryly at the swordsman, then down at the cat. “Sadly, I can’t take it. Finbarr was my friend—I can’t leave him here like this without knowing. I would wonder ever afterward if I had been wrong about his death.”
“Aurian, you’re making a big mistake,” Forral warned her. “Whatever is happening here, you shouldn’t be meddling with it.”
“You’re saying this to a Mage?” Aurian replied. “You might as well tell that fire not to burn as tell one of my blood not to meddle.” She turned toward the tall, immobile figure of the archivist. “All of you had better stand well clear,” she told her friends.
No one took any notice of her—which was about what she had expected. Stepping back, Aurian breathed deeply and calmed her mind, concentrating and gathering her powers. Carefully, she began to unravel the time spell. The crawling blue haze surrounding Finbarr writhed sluggishly and grew still. Then, with a loud cracking sound, it disintegrated into a cloud of tiny blue sparks that fell away as though a sheath of ice had shattered and fallen from the archivist’s body. Finbarr’s eyes cleared. He blinked and staggered but pulled himself upright before they could help him, backing away from their outstretched hands.
“Do not touch me. I am not what I seem.” The voice was light and dry, and completely devoid of inflexion or emotion. It was not the voice of a human.—Deep in Shia’s throat a snarl began. Under her hand, Aurian felt the hair on the great cat’s back beginning to rise. She felt much the same way herself.
“Then what are you?” she demanded. “What have you done with Finbarr?”
The voice gave a deep, eerie chuckle that echoed hollowly throughout the chamber. The sound stirred uneasy memories that lurked just out of the Mage’s reach. “Surely you remember what I am, O Mage. The Nihilim remember you.”
Aurian gasped in horror and took an involuntary step backward. It felt as though ice were sheeting across her skin. Behind her, Forral gave a cry of horror, and she heard the rasp of steel as his sword left his sheath.
“Don’t let it see you’re afraid!” The sharp warning from Shia halted the Mage’s retreat.
“You’re right,” Aurian replied grimly. “These foul monsters killed Forral.”
She raised the Staff of Earth and the air was torn by a deafening thunderclap.—Suddenly the chamber was limned in an explosion of sizzling emerald light. “I recognize you, creature,” she snarled. “And I can send you back to the oblivion you deserve.”
“Wait. Please. Do not.” Though the words contained no trace of emotion, they were spoken rapidly enough to convey great urgency. “The Nihilim can help you, Mage—if you will allow it.”
“What?” Aurian felt as though a thunderbolt had struck her. Of all the uncanny events that had befallen her on her return to the Academy, surely this must be the most bizarre. “You want to help me?” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Aurian, no. Don’t trust this—this thing.” Forral was at her side, his voice low and urgent. She saw that his hands—Anvar’s hands—were shaking, and despite the dank chill of the chamber, his skin was slick with the sweat of profound fear. Her heart went out to him. Poor Forral. The Nihilim were the only things the swordsman truly feared—and the hideous creatures had killed him. Aurian understood—she had been there when he died, and the Death-Wraiths filled her with a similar terror and revulsion. Nonetheless, if these monstrosities could give her some kind of advantage over Eliseth, then she could not afford to give in to her fear and dismiss them out of hand.—With an apologetic glance at Forral, the Mage turned back to the hideous creature that wore the guise of her old friend. “Very well. I’ll hear you out—but be aware that this time, you are alone. If you make a move against me or my companions, it will be the last move you make.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” Aurian took a deep breath. “Well, Wraith? What is it you want of me? I know better than to believe that you’re offering me your assistance for nothing.”
The inhuman blue eyes glittered with a fiery light. “You are right—it was my need that called out to you, even through the confinement or the time spell.—Even such magic cannot silence an anguished soul. You must help my people, Mage. Only you can set them free.”
Aurian felt her jaw drop. At her side, she heard Forral gasp. “What?” he shouted. “You must be mad! Let the Nihilim loose upon the world? What sort of bloody idiot do you think she is?”
“Shut up, Forral,” Aurian muttered. She turned back to the Wraith. “What sort of bloody idiot do you think I am?”
“Patience, Mage. Permit me to explain. I do not wish you to release us into this world—we do not belong here. I want you to help us return to our own home.”
“Your home?” Aurian’s eyes widened. She forgot to fear the creature as, once again, the Magefolk curiosity stirred and awakened within her. “And where is your home?” she asked softly.
Finbarr’s glittering blue eyes took on an avid gleam, and for the first time, the Mage heard a swell of emotion in the Death-Wraith’s voice. “We were not always as you see us now,” it told her. “Once, we lived Between the Worlds in beauty and in grace. We were Death’s radiant angels—his servants who flew forth into the world to end the pain and suffering of living creatures. We would come to the old, the sick, the wretched and the weary, and bear them gently home so that they could enter the Well of Souls once again and begin a bright new life.”
The Wraith sighed, and its voice darkened once more. “All this we were and more—Keepers of the Balance, Guardians of the Door—until the accursed Magefolk intervened, creating the Artifacts of Power and meddling where they had no right. In the Wars of the Cataclysm, Chiannala enslaved us to the Caldron, to turn us from givers of mercy into a deadly weapon. And so we have remained down the long, weary ages: hideous and twisted, our powers maimed and unbalanced. Without us, death has become a fearful thing for Mortal creatures.” Once again the inhuman eyes fixed on Aurian. “Help us, Mage—I beg you. This chance may never come again. Undo the evil committed by your ancestors and release us. Break the slavery of the Caldron, and set us free.”
“And you will help me recover the grail that was once the Caldron?” Aurian asked softly.
“We will. For our own sakes, we must.”
“And what about Finbarr? If I help you, can you return him to me?”
The Wraith sighed. “That I do not know. We had no means of communicating with you humans without using a human form ourselves. I entered this body at the moment of the owner’s death—but your enemy took me out of time before I could act. Finbarr’s spirit did not have time to pass Beyond, but I fear that when I quit this shell, it will be forced to do so. If you wish to prevent his death from becoming complete, your only hope is to capture the Caldron and put it to the use for which it was intended.”
“And what about my death?” Forral broke in angrily. “You had no compunction about finishing me.”
The creature’s cold gaze fell upon the swordsman. “I told you—the Nihilim were not responsible. It was not your time to die, but we are enslaved by the Caldron. We are compelled to do as its wielder commands.”
Forral scowled, brushing aside Aurian’s attempts to hush him. “Well, that makes you very unsafe allies, doesn’t it? Eliseth has only to command you to turn on Aurian, and we’re finished. Do you really expect the lass to take that kind of risk?”
Aurian glared at him. “Do you mind? He’s right, though,” she told the creature. “For a moment, I thought you’d be our secret weapon to defeat Eliseth, for what can withstand the Nihilim? But while she holds the grail, you’re a weapon that can turn in our hands.” She held out empty hands to convey her helplessness. “What can I do? I daren’t take the risk. If I gain control of what remains of the Caldron, I give you my word I’ll use it to release you, but sadly, it seems I must manage without your help.”