Cry of the Ghost Wolf: Neverwinter NiChosen of Nendawen, Book III Read Online Free Page B

into fists to keep them from trembling.
    “As you wish, my lord.” Vazhad had bowed and left the room.
    It seemed some strange sort of madness to be standing here again. Another torch sputtered out.
    “Come in,” said the voice from the other side of the door. Not Argalath’s voice. It was the other. The burning hunger.
    Vazhad’s hand trembled as he grasped the knob.

     
    The sun had not yet broken over the eastern walls when Vazhad escorted his master into the empty courtyard. The wind rattled in the dead leaves of the ivy creeping up the walls. The high haze over the foothills glowed a deep orange like dying embers. Vazhad treasured the last of the light in the courtyard, then he and his master entered the door in the cliff and walked back into the darkness of the inner fortress.
    His master leaned against Vazhad as they walked. But the voice that spoke had no hint of weakness in it.
    “You have seen my brother Kathkur since I slept?” Jagun Ghen asked.
    “No, my lord,” said Vazhad.
    “He has eaten?”
    “No. The others took him to the chamber.”
    “Everything is prepared?” asked Jagun Ghen.
    “As you commanded.”
    “Very good.”
    Vazhad did not understand all the rituals that brought Jagun Ghen’s brethren into the world. He had seen firsthand that those who were given a dead body to inhabit had to be fed almost immediately. But for those who possessed living flesh, things seemed to be different. So far, those few his master had managed to create had all been humans. Vazhad suspected the runes and other symbols gouged into their skin had something to do with opening the way for the spirit.Perhaps something like a beacon showing the way in, then a sort of magic lock to help keep the thing inside. But this newcomer was something else, something other than mortal.
    “Master—” Vazhad’s voice caught, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “How is it that this one is able to resist your brother?”
    “This one, this … 
eladrin
”—Jagun Ghen sneered at the word—“he is the first of his kind to house us. The eladrin are no stronger than the other sheep of this world. Their strengths and weaknesses are simply different. But this one … he is still more than that. He has the stink of the Ice Queen about him. Whatever he did with her—or she did to him—it left him … changed.”
    “Changed? Changed how?”
    Jagun Ghen chuckled, a hollow rattling sound. “We shall find out.”
    They walked a while longer, the silence seeming even heavier than the darkness. As they descended a small flight of stairs, Jagun Ghen leaned on Vazhad for support. “Tell me, my friend,” he said, “do you long for your … metamorphosis? Does it still haunt your dreams? Are you ready?”
    It was all Vazhad could do to keep his feet moving down the steps. He had sworn his service to Argalath for the promise of immortality, that he would become like Argalath—both himself and joined to another of great power. But now that he saw where that path had taken Argalath …
    “I live to serve,” said Vazhad. It took all his strength and control to keep his voice even.
    “Your day will come. Fear not. But first we must deal with our new friend. He must learn to submit. His strengths are unexpected, but they are not beyond our control. Besides, he knows the Hand. I can taste it on his breath. What he knows might prove useful.”

     
    No lamps or torches had burned in the deep chambers in a long time, and Vazhad ran one hand along the wall to keephis bearings. As they left the upper regions of the fortress, the darkness became complete, an almost physical sensation so strong that Vazhad felt it pressing against his skin.
    He was relieved when he saw the glow ahead. The guards had torches, which meant that they were not yet the baazuled that haunted many of the dark places of Highwatch these days. This brought a small consolation to Vazhad. Many Nar still camped in the valley outside the main fortress,