Wearing traditional leather leggings and tunic with his copper hair pulled into a braid, the Sylvermyst looked painfully familiar.
It was only when Ariyal met the fevered glitter in the silver eyes that he was forced to accept that this was no longer the friend and confidant whom he had depended upon for centuries.
“Ariyal, I’m glad you’re here, my brother,” Tearloch said with a faint bow.
Ariyal deliberately glanced toward the shimmering opening his tribesman had left open. Among Sylvermyst it was an insult to maintain a portal when in the company of friends. It implied a lack of trust.
“Are you?”
The slender fey glanced toward the nearby spirit before at last returning his attention to Ariyal.
“It’s not too late to join me,” he said, a hint of pleading in his voice. “Together we shall restore the Sylvermyst to their former glory.”
Ariyal frowned, disturbed by Tearloch’s odd hesitation. It was almost as if he had been seeking approval from the spirit.
“What former glory?” he demanded, keeping his voice soft, unthreatening. “There is nothing glorious about slavery.”
Remembered pain flared over Tearloch’s thin face. “We were slaves to that bitch. The Dark Lord will set us free.”
Ariyal spread his arms. “We are free, Tearloch. Just look around.”
“No.” He shook his head in sharp denial. “Without the power of the master we will be at the mercy of the heathens who infest this world.”
“Listen to me, my brother.” Ariyal took a cautious step forward. “That is the voice of madness whispering in your ear.”
“Do not heed him.” The spirit abruptly spoke, shifting until he could place a gaunt hand on Tearloch’s shoulder. “Clearly he now intends to sacrifice you and your brothers to the vampires, just as he sacrificed you to Morgana le Fey.”
A ball of sick dread lodged in the pit of Ariyal’s stomach. Bloody hell. What had Tearloch done?
“You know he speaks lies,” he said, concentrating on the spirit who regarded him with a smug arrogance.
“Do I?” the wizard mocked, maintaining his possessive grip on Tearloch. “You stand there with a vampire who is your obvious companion.” He glanced toward the silent Jaelyn. “Or is she your lover?”
Instinctively he shifted to stand directly in front of Jaelyn, hiding her from the spirit’s dangerous gaze. For all her power, a vampire was always vulnerable to magic.
Not that he knew why the hell he would bother. She was as likely to stab him in the back as to appreciate his efforts.
For now, however, he was far more intent on his friend who was in obvious trouble.
“Tearloch, look at me,” he commanded, the authority in his voice rippling the air and making his tribesman jerk in reaction.
“Do not,” the wizard hissed, leaning down to whisper directly into Tearloch’s ear. “He is jealous of your powers and he knows you shall be rewarded above him once our master is returned.” His malevolent power swirled through the room with far too much force for a mere spirit, battering against Ariyal with a dangerous strength. “Why else would he be so eager to destroy the child and halt your efforts to resurrect your lord?”
Ariyal lifted his hand, muttering a word of command in the harsh Sylvermyst language.
A smile curved his lips as the wizard attempted to speak, his face twisting with fury when he realized that Ariyal had managed to silence him.
“Much better,” Ariyal taunted.
Something perilously close to fear tightened Tearloch’s expression.
“What have you done?”
“Brought a welcome end to the poison he is spewing.” Tearloch shifted in agitation. “Release him.”
“Not until you have listened to sense.”
Tearloch shook his head, moving closer to the spirit, who glared at Ariyal with a baleful intensity.