Bound By Darkness Page 0,24

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.

“I listened to you once before,” the younger man breathed, “and see where that got us.”

Ariyal flinched. Although it had been the previous prince’s decision to accept Morgana’s bargain, he’d offered his full support, which had swayed more than a few into agreeing to break ties with the Dark Lord.

“You would prefer to have been banished with the others?” he asked.

The younger Sylvermyst glanced toward the spirit, almost as if seeking the answer to Ariyal’s question.

“We should have remained pure,” he at last muttered. Ariyal forced himself to crush the angry accusations that trembled on his lips. Tearloch was clinging to sanity by a thread.

He didn’t intend to snap it.

“Tearloch,” he said, his tone low and soothing, “when did you first call this particular spirit?”

Tearloch blinked in bewilderment. “I don’t remember. What does it matter?”

“You better than anyone understand the dangers of calling upon the same spirit too often,” Ariyal pointed out. Every Sylvermyst was taught to limit their contact with spirits. Not only was there a danger of becoming emotionally attached to the ghost, but there was always the nasty possibility that the spirit might manage to twist the relationship so that they became the master rather than the servant. “Especially such a powerful spirit.”

“No, you’re just trying to deceive me.”

“I’m not the one trying to deceive you, brother,” Ariyal murmured softly, inching closer. “But together we can make this right.”

Tearloch blinked, his silver eyes focusing on his friend. “Ariyal?”

“Yes, old friend, we have fought side by side. You know you can trust me.”

“Yes ...” For a split second Ariyal thought he might actually have gotten through the fog that was obviously clouding his friend’s mind. The copper-haired Sylvermyst even took a half step toward him. Then the damned wizard squeezed his shoulder and Tearloch was once again under the sway of the bastard. With a faltering shake of his head, he came to an abrupt halt. “I mean no.”

Ariyal leashed his frustration. As much as he might want to grab his friend and beat some sense into him, he knew it would be a waste of time so long as he was in the power of the spirit.

And worse, he couldn’t return the wizard to the hell, where he belonged. He might be able to manipulate Rafael on a small scale, but only the actual summoner could dismiss him.

He would have to somehow convince Tearloch to do the deed.

Lifting a hand in a gesture of peace, Ariyal took a step back, feeling Jaelyn punch him in the ribs as he stepped on her toe.

“Fine, I’ll stay here, and we can just talk.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.” Tearloch flicked a glance toward the hovering spirit, who reached into the crib and scooped the child into his arms. “I intend to resurrect the Dark Lord.”

“Of course.” Sergei abruptly thrust his way into the conversation, licking his thin lips as he realized that he was about to be cut out of the deal. “We can begin preparing for the ceremony this very moment, if you wish.”

Tearloch jerked his gaze toward the mage, his face hardening with disgust.

“You had your opportunity, mage. I no longer trust your ... enthusiasm for returning our master.”

Sergei stretched out his hands as he edged toward the cradle, ignoring the spirit of Rafael, who was furiously attempting to speak, no doubt hoping to cast a spell against his nemesis.

“Don’t be a fool, Tearloch,” he chastised. “I have prepared for years for this moment. There is no other mage who could possible match my skills or my powers.”

“You are the fool,” Tearloch snapped. “And now you will suffer for your lack of commitment.” His gaze shifted back to Ariyal. “You will all suffer.”

Ariyal’s attention never shifted from the