Carpathian 05 - Dark Challenge

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    Darius , Julian whispered in the leader's mind.
    I am aware of them. They are not aware of you. Has Desari anchored Syndil to us yet ? Darius continued moving toward the center of the blackened forest. He looked neither right nor left, striding with easy, fluid steps, as if out for a mere walk. No one would have guessed he was communicating with another or that he had a single care in the world.
    Julian noticed he had shifted his line of travel slightly so that he was veering toward the west. Desari drew Syndil back toward us enough to give Barack a chance to merge his spirit with Syndil's. They are together, all three matching their strength against the power of the vampire. He must abandon his minions to their own fate if he wishes to capture her.
    He will go for her body if he cannot take possession of her spirit.
    Julian knew Darius's assessment of the situation was correct. Julian would have to keep the undead from Barack and Syndil's bodies. He could not afford to turn too much attention to Darius's coming battle. He would have his own soon enough. Barack and Syndil's flesh-and-blood bodies must be guarded at all costs.
    Above the bird, dark storm clouds began to gather. They were large and ominous, filled to overflowing with water and energy. The arcing of lightning lit the sky, followed quickly by the rumble of thunder, as if heralding the opening to the great battle. Not fire , Julian urged quickly.
    I am not completely without sense. These creatures are honed in fire. Fire will only increase their power . Darius sounded as calm as ever, without expression of any kind.
    Within the bird's body, Julian found himself smiling despite the danger surrounding them. Darius was a warrior. He had total and complete confidence in his own abilities. Julian found himself believing that confidence was well-founded.
    Lighting flashed from cloud to cloud, long whips of fiery energy. Thunder crashed directly overhead, slamming the earth with a roar of sound, shaking the ground with tremendous vibrations. The black shadow figures seemed to flinch at the sound, their strange shapes contorting, lengthening, so that they appeared to be thin caricatures of humans clothed in long, hooded robes, empty, staring sockets where their eyes should have been, the slashes of their mouths gaping open and moaning low and incessantly.
    The robed figures stretched their tree-branch arms outward and began to form a loose circle around Darius.
    Still the leader did not look toward them. His pace did not falter, nor did he appear to hear the awful groans escaping from the ghouls pursuing him. Once he shook his head slightly so that his long ebony hair fell around his shoulders loosely, giving him even more the appearance of an ancient warrior. He looked what he was—a dangerous fighter, his face harsh and merciless. There was no pity in his black eyes, no compassion for those fashioned by the undead.
    The shadow figures began to murmur softly, an ancient chant as they circled toward the left, the ring loose and flowing as they appeared to float above the charred earth.
    Julian felt his heart slam hard in his chest. A binding from the depths of darkness. Could Darius possibly know a counterspell? It was difficult not to become too absorbed in what was happening below him, not to rush to aid. Julian's task was to watch those two bodies, to ensure that no harm came to them. He Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    circled lazily above Barack and Syndil, watching the earth for signs of disturbance. His mind was still merged partially with Desari, that he might know the battle they waged with Syndil for her freedom from the undead's trap. The vampire was patient, pulling at Syndil relentlessly, bending his will to one purpose only. His best chance was to draw Syndil's spirit away from Desari and Barack, that he might triumph.
    Desari was a formidable opponent, her beautiful voice casting a safety net of silver and gold for Syndil's spirit to wrap itself in. The tone was so pure that the undead, without soul, wholly evil as he was, found the voice diminishing his immense skills. He was unclean, and the purity of the notes was a gentle but powerful reminder of the foul, vile path he had deliberately chosen for himself. He saw himself as clearly as if Desari were holding a mirror to his face. The long centuries showed on his face, his skin rotten and decayed,