Stalking Darkness

The coin, as you so amusingly refer to it, the cup, and the crown are all elements of a greater design. When brought together with theother fragments at the proper time, they will rejoin to form the Helm revealed to our ancestors by Seriamaius more than six centuries ago.”
    “It is the ultimate artifact of necromantic power,” Irtuk Beshar told him. “He who wears it becomes the
Vatharna
, the living embodiment of Seriamaius.”
    “The legends from the Great War. Armies of walking dead,” Alec said softly, thinking of the ancient journal he and Seregil had discovered in the Orëska library.
    “Perhaps we have underestimated this child,” the dyrmagnos observed, cocking her head to regard Alec more closely. “There may be depths within him still to be sounded.”
    Alec shuddered inwardly under the greediness of her scrutiny.
    “Yet these tales of yours said nothing of the Helm?” Mardus continued. “I am not surprised. At the end of that war we were betrayed. Aided by traitors, fawning Aurënfaie wizards, and a pack of ragged drysians, the wizards of the Second Orëska managed to capture and dismantle the Helm before its full power could be invoked. Fortunately, they could not destroy the individual pieces. Our necromancers managed to recapture a few of them; the rest were carried off and hidden. For six centuries my predecessors have hunted for them, and one by one, they have been recovered.”
    “That’s what you were doing in Wolde,” Alec said slowly. “You’d been to the Fens, that village Mi—”
    “Micum Cavish?” Ashnazai smiled as he broke off suddenly. “Don’t trouble yourself. You screamed that name out to us already, just as you did all the rest of it.”
    Mardus paused as the serving boy brought in platters of roasted doves and vegetables.
    “Do try to eat something,” he said, serving Alec himself.
    Surprised at his own hunger, Alec obliged.
    “Now, where was I?” Mardus asked, spearing a dove for himself. “Ah yes. The three fragments guarded by Nysander were the last, and of those, the bowl was the most gratifying discovery. We knew of the others, you see, both stolen from under our very noses by your friend Seregil, as it turns out. But all trace of the bowl had been lost until the two of you led us to it with the theft of the Eye. And only just in time, too. As it is, we’ve only just enough time to complete the ritual preparations.”
    “The—sacrifices, you mean?” asked Alec.
    “Yes.” Mardus sat forward as the servant brought in a course of roasted pork. “Each soul taken, each libation of heart’s blood, brings us closer to Seriamaius, to his great power. No man could be a vessel for such power, but through the Helm we may partake of some small portion of it. By ‘small portion’ you must understand I am speaking in relative terms. Once restored, the Helm will increase in power as more lives are fed to it until a single thought by the wearer can level whole cities, control thousands. And you, Alec, you and Thero, I am holding in reserve for the final sacrifice of the reconstruction ceremony. A hundred people will have perished before you, allowing you the privilege of watching every death until your own turns come, two last, perfect sacrifices. The blood is to a great extent merely symbolic of the life force given up to the god. The younger the victim, the more years taken, the richer the sacrifice.”
    Irtuk Beshar patted Alec and Thero on the shoulders. “A young Orëska wizard and a half ’faie boy—the youth of our greatest enemies! What could be more pleasing to our god than that?”
    Alec regarded them a moment in stunned silence, trying to take it all in.
    No
, he thought numbly.
No, I will not be a part of that
.
    “Thank you,” he said finally. “I think I’m beginning to understand.”
    There were no guards in the room now. No spells or chains held him. Forcing himself to give no leading hint of his intentions, Alec suddenly lashed out across the table and snatched up a carving knife lying next to the platter of fowl. Clutching it in both hands, he drove the blade at his own ribs, praying for a quick kill.
    To his horror and astonishment, however, he twisted around instead and plunged the blade into the chest of the young servant. The boy let out a single startled cry and collapsed.
    “Really, Alec, where are your manners tonight?” Mardus exclaimed regretfully. “I’ve owned him since he was a child.”
    Alec stared down at the body,