Dreams Made Flesh

copies of songs as well as a flute and drum. They're gone now."
    "I need to talk to someone from Zuulaman," Andulvar said, deciding against telling Geoffrey about the other stolen items that had come from Zuulaman…at least until his own business at the Keep was concluded. "Can you check the Registers and…"
    "There aren't any Registers."
    Andulvar swore. "There have to be. These people are Blood. Some of them have to be in the Registers. Even if they didn't officially register as they should, you would have made some notation about the Blood who wear darker Jewels."
    "Yesterday, there were Registers for Zuulaman," Geoffrey said. "Now they're gone. As if they had never existed."
    Beads of sweat broke out on Andulvar's forehead. "I'd like to talk to Draca."
    Geoffrey nodded. "She's waiting for you."
    Retracing his steps, Andulvar returned to the room that held a large blackwood table where scholars and other Blood could sit and read the books Geoffrey didn't permit to leave this part of the library.
    The Keep's Seneschal was ancient… and didn't look quite human. She'd unnerved him the first time he'd met her when he came to the Keep as one of Cassandra's First Circle Escorts. She still unnerved him.
    "I need to talk to one of the Zuulaman Blood," Andulvar said.
    "They are gone," Draca replied.
    "From Terreille, yes. But there must be some who are demon-dead. You could arrange this."
    "They are gone," she repeated. "The Dark Realm wass purged of Zuulaman Blood."
    Andulvar grabbed one of the chairs that surrounded the table to keep himself upright. "You purged Hell?"
    "No."
    "Then… ?"
    "The Prince of the Darknesss. The High Lord of Hell." Draca stared at him. "Grief wass the hammer they ussed to break hiss control. Rage wass the forge in which he sshaped hiss power into a weapon."
    "So there's no one left."
    "There's no one left," Geoffrey agreed. He looked at Draca. "If Saetan did what we think he did, there isn't a shard of pottery, a scrap of cloth, or a line from a poem, story, or song left that came from the Zuulaman people. There isn't any trace of them in any of the Realms."
    Including the islands they came from, Andulvar thought, feeling sick.
    "It's as if they never existed," Geoffrey said.
    Draca took a step toward Andulvar. "Ssaetan iss the ssame man today ass he wass a year ago, the ssame ass he hass been ssince he made the Offering to the Darknesss and wass gifted with the Black Jewelss. He iss the ssame man who hass been your friend for many yearss."
    "But now I know what he's capable of doing if he's pushed too hard or too far," Andulvar said, shuddering.
    "Yess," Draca replied gently. "Now you know."
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    15
    « ^ »
    The next morning, Andulvar walked into the informal receiving room at the same moment Saetan began descending the stairway that led to the family wing. They stopped at the same time and studied each other.
    Andulvar felt a chill twist up his spine as he looked into Saetan's glazed, gold eyes.
    "The boys?" Saetan asked.
    "They're fine. I'll bring them back later today. I came now to see how you're doing." To see if you're sane.
    "I…" Frowning, Saetan descended the rest of the stairs. He wasn't moving with his usual grace, and the hand that clutched the banister trembled. "Have I been ill?"
    The glazed look gave way to puzzlement.
    "How do you feel?" Andulvar asked, not quite sure how to answer the question.
    "Hollowed out," Saetan replied, rubbing his forehead. "Like I've had a fever. Thoughts keep swimming through my head, but I can't put them together in a way that makes sense. Andulvar…"
    He didn't see a Warlord Prince capable of destroying an entire race of people. He saw the man who had been his friend for centuries. He saw a man who was exhausted, a man so heartsick it was a kind of illness.
    He held out his hand, certain that if Saetan accepted that hand, he would get his friend back. Saetan would regain his emotional balance, and the leash he used to protect the rest of the Blood from the full violence of what he was would be restored.
    Then Hekatah burst into the room. The hand reaching for his fell away. The gold eyes glazed again, and in their depths swam something Andulvar had never seen before.
    This is why the demon-dead call him the High Lord, Andulvar thought in despair. This is why they fear him enough that he can rule the Dark Realm even though he's still among the living. It's too late. There's no going back. For any of us.
    "What have you done?" Hekatah