Krystin surprised him by asking a series of questions about Myrmeen. She wanted to know when he first had met her and what Myrmeen had been like as a child. With a little coaxing, she even managed to get Reisz to relate the tale of Myrmeen's embarrassing first mission as a ranger. She wanted to know everything, and the lights in her eyes danced with fascination at Reisz's every word. When they were finished, he knew his suspicions were misplaced.
Krystin had stared into his face as he had spoken. He had beamed with pride, and the tiny scars marring his face had seemed much less noticeable. His face was relaxed, his eyes dancing with fire.
"You're still in love with her, aren't you?" Krystin said.
Watching his expression, she immediately understood her mistake. His eyes once again became dark, and he seized her wrist and dragged her from the crystal cave without saying another word.
They rejoined the others and spent what remained of the day becoming acclimated to their surroundings and enjoying a feast that Shandower prepared with their assistance from his well-stocked food stores. After eveningfeast, the Harpers and Shandower discussed the future of his private war, which he agreed could no longer remain as such. It was decided that Ord and Reisz would be sent to Berdusk in the morning to enlist the aid of the Harpers at Twilight Hall.
That evening, Shandower sat on a polished crystal bench in his chamber. He flexed the muscles in his remaining hand, darkly contemplating the magically charged gauntlet, which gleamed in the semidarkness. He whispered, "I wonder how many this one will kill?"
The assassin sat alone in the gloom for several minutes, until a sudden panic consumed him. He raced through the room, lighting every torch and candle, then he checked the oil in his lanterns and fired each one. Soon the room was bathed in light, the shadows fully dispelled. He paused, realizing that he was acting like a child who was afraid of the dark, or a madman.
Suddenly, he heard a sound from the corner of the room. His heart racing, he turned and held the gauntlet before him, the weapon suddenly wreathed in blue-white fire. A woman dressed in a beautiful white gown stood before him. She pulled back the shroud covering her face as she slowly approached him.
"Mahrissah," he whispered, his senses rebelling at the sight of his dead wife. A trick! he thought. The monsters know everything. They are using the past to trick me.
The woman did not slow, even when green strands of lightning flared from the glove. Her face was stunning, if slightly pale, her dark eyes reflecting the light shining from his weapon. Her eyebrows moved together as she gave him a mock frown. Then she laughed, her almost red lips pulled back in a wicked smile that he had seen many times.
"Erin," she said as she took his hand in hers, the arcane fires from his weapon snaking across her skin to no ill effect, "You don't have to worry. I've come for you. It's time for us. Finally, my love, our time may begin."
"You're not real," he said.
She touched the side of his face with her free hand. Gently she raised his hand until the gauntlet was at eye level. "Take this thing off, that I may kiss your fingers, one by one. Then you may tell me if I am real."
Shandower felt his legs weaken, and Mahrissah guided him to the bed they once had shared. "It can't come off. Don't you see, it's fused to my skin. The magic-"
"The power does as you command," she said. "You are afraid to be parted from your weapon and so it makes that a near impossibility. Will it and it may be so. Anything you will, anything you desire, may be made so. You have only to want it, only to want me."
His lips trembled as he said, "Mahrissah, you died!"
"Yes," she said as she caressed his fingers, touching only metal that was now cooling, the magic fading like the surrender of twilight to the darkness. "\bu buried me here, and you vowed that when it was your time, you would return here and we would be together. Erin, that time has come."
"The battle-"
"Will be fought and won," she said as she touched the stump of his severed arm. "You have already given too much. Come with me and be whole."
"I don't know," he whispered in anguish. "I can still feel it, do you understand? My hand, the one that is gone, I can still feel it."
She leaned forward and kissed the gauntlet. "Surrender your avenging sword, Erin. You have done enough. Your reward has come. Do not torture yourself anymore."
"Am I dying?" he asked dully.
"Yes. A clot of blood is racing to your brain. Your wounds were more severe than you knew. In moments your life will pass. Please, Erin," she said as she bit her lip, "You cannot face what comes next if you are determined to bring the tools of slaughter with you."
Shandower stared at the skin surrounding the base of the gauntlet. The weave of flesh connecting the two was coming apart, and suddenly his hand was no longer fused to the weapon. "Take it off for me," he said in desperation, "Hurry!"
Mahrissah did as he asked, her eyes alight with rapture as she discarded the weapon and allowed the bare flesh of his hand to close around hers. Suddenly her grip became too tight and she said, "Watch my eyes, Erin, and see the truth."
Within her eyes he saw a particular patch of darkness, which the light had not been able to ward off, a tiny splash of shadow that threatened to grow and fill the canvas of his thoughts with nightmares engineered to drive him to the point of madness and beyond.
"Kill yourself," a voice whispered from the darkness.
Shandower rose and walked to a display of edged weapons he had collected from the corpses of the monsters he had killed. His fingers were inches from the hilt of a dagger, which he planned to ram into his own throat, when he identified the owner of that voice.
By then it was too late.
Seventeen
Myrmeen found Krystin sitting at the edge of the pit where Shandower had secreted the apparatus. Her long legs hung over the edge and she kicked absently as if she were trying to swim through the darkness that seemed to rise from below. Myrmeen sat beside her, tucking her legs beneath her, afraid of the abyss waiting beyond the shaft's cleanly polished lip.
The locket was in Krystin's hand, and she stared at its emerald surface in frustration. "So close," she whispered. "I'm sorry?" Myrmeen asked. "I didn't hear you." "Nothing," Krystin said as she slipped the locket into her breast pocket and looked at Myrmeen with eyes that mirrored the older woman's sadness and exhaustion.
They sat quietly, appreciating each other's company, when a sudden flicker of memory came to Myrmeen, chilling her. "By the gods," she whispered. "What's wrong?" Krystin asked.
Myrmeen hesitated, then decided she would never keep secrets from Krystin again. Haltingly, she began her story.
"Fourteen years ago I did something terrible. It was the night of the great storm. I guess I was delirious with pain. I couldn't think clearly. I know that's no excuse, but-"
"Go on," Krystin urged.
"It was a few seconds after the delivery. My mind was swimming. Dak said the baby was gone. In that moment, a nightmare came to me. I saw a madwoman in red carrying her dead child in her arms. The woman wailed her agony for all to hear as she shambled through the streets. She begged anyone who came close to her for the smallest gesture of reassurance, a hint of kindness, a compliment for the noisome, bloated body she cradled in her arms.