Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

sacrifice.
    But it was Kisrah who said, “Don’t let him die in vain, Wolf.”

    Wolf hesitated, torn between the horror of using yet another person’s death to fuel his magic and the desires of the man who had given his life for his convictions.
    “Please,” whispered Aralorn, tears of grief sliding down her face.
    He dropped his knife and lifted his arms, drawing the power of Nevyn’s death to him. He waited for the filth to settle on his soul, but the death magic rested quietly within his grasp, as if a dead man’s blessing had the ability to wipe clean the foul work to which Wolf had been put.
    The respite was brief, for as he willed it, the hold that had kept the spell in abeyance began to fade slowly, allowing Wolf to take control of one part before releasing another. No benediction could wash away the evil of the black art that comprised the spell, and Wolf shook under the force of it even as he threaded death magic through it in completion.
    The spell pulsed wildly for a moment before concentrating upon the still form of the Lyon, then, as swiftly as the flight of a hawk, it was gone, leaving the room reeking with the stench of evil.
    Wolf dropped to his knees.
    Aralorn slid across the floor to the small mess of charred bones, where Kisrah and Gerem already knelt.
    “What is happening? Who is that man?”
    Aralorn looked up to see Irrenna standing in the entranceway, clad only in her nightrobes. The lady’s gaze traveled around the room, pausing at the silent form of her husband before halting on Aralorn’s tear-streaked face.
    “There is a dead howlaa by the stables,” Irrenna said. “We were trying to find out how it got there when there was a terrible noise, as if the stones of the keep were shifting.”
    “Oh, Mother,” croaked Aralorn, as Correy and Falhart, who must have been drawn by the same sound, came into the room as well. “Irrenna,” she tried again. “Nevyn saved Father, but he died in the doing of it.”
    “The Lyon’s waking now,” said Kisrah.
    Gerem jumped up and ran to the bier. Kisrah lingered a moment. He murmured something that Aralorn couldn’t hear and conjured a white rose, which he set just inside the charred area. Then he, too, left the dead for the living.
    Irrenna froze for an instant before she, Falhart, and Correy all ran to the Lyon’s side.
    Bound by weakness and inclination, Aralorn stayed by Nevyn’s remains. She touched the blackened skull gently, as if a stronger touch would have hurt him. “Rest in peace, Nevyn.”
    A cold nose touched her hand, and she turned to Wolf, who wore his wolf form once more.
    His golden eyes were dim with sorrow, and Aralorn drew him close, pressing her face into Wolf’s shoulder. “I know,” she said. “I know.”

FINIS

    Far to the east, the Dreamer stirred. It had been for naught—all the manipulation, all the work, and its own tool had betrayed it.
    It had known the dreamwalker was not stable, but it had not expected him to choose to die so that the Lyon would live. By that choice, he had rendered the magic useless for the Dreamer to feed upon. Cain’s death would not have been useless, for the Archmage’s son had been used by the Dreamer before; not even the purity of Cain’s willing self-sacrifice would have stopped the Dreamer from feeding.
    It would sleep now, but its sleep would not be as long, or as deep. It would not have to wait another millennium for a corrupt Archmage to awaken it. When Geoffrey ae’Magi had died, it had seen to it that the Master Spells would not be used again.
    The Dreamer stirred, then settled beneath the weight of the ancient bindings. It would wait.

    Aralorn examined the healing cut on Sheen’s side. It looked as if it had been healing a week rather than three days; she was going to have to talk to the stablemaster and find out what he used for ointment.
    She wouldn’t need it for her shoulder. Halven had taken care of the cuts left by the howlaa’s claws, though it still ached a bit when she overworked her arm. She heard someone enter the stables and stuck her head over Sheen’s door.
    “You’re leaving today.” Her father moved a little stiffly, but otherwise showed little sign of any aftereffects of the spell.
    Aralorn smiled. “Yes, sir, as soon as Kisrah comes back with my wolf. They went hunting with the boys—I include Falhart in that category.”
    He reached up and rubbed Sheen’s forehead. “I understand you’ve been making quite a reputation for