as he at last reached solid ground and sought a passageway that would lead him up and out of the caverns.
Following the faint scent of fresh air, he was desperate to leave behind the choking cloud of dust that billowed through the tunnels. Obviously too desperate, since he was unprepared when Tearloch abruptly darted from a side tunnel to block his path.
“Tearloch,” he growled, skidding to a reluctant halt at the sight of his tribesman.
Good ... gods.
The younger Sylvermyst looked like shit.
His hair was tangled and hung limply down his back, his skin was a strange, grayish hue, and there were bruises beneath his eyes that revealed he hadn’t slept in far too long.
Obviously the effort to keep control of Rafael was taking its toll on him.
Or was it the damned spirit draining Tearloch’s power?
Either way, it was a dangerous situation that might very well kill the Sylvermyst if something wasn’t done.
Soon.
A pity he wasn’t about to let Ariyal help him.
Not if the hectic glow in the silver of his eyes and the big-ass sword he was currently pointing at Ariyal’s heart were any indication.
“I should have suspected that you would manage to cause trouble no matter how clever our plans,” Tearloch growled.
Ariyal forced a stiff smile to his lips. He had wanted to be a distraction, hadn’t he?
It looked as if he was roaring success.
Yippee ki yay.
“You know me, I can’t resist crashing a party.” He glanced down at the dust covering him from head to toe. “Sometimes literally.”
Tearloch’s jaw locked even as he tried to look as if he was indifferent to the considerable damage.
“It’s annoying, but nothing that can’t be repaired.”
Ariyal smiled. “In time.”
The silver eyes narrowed. “So you sacrificed yourself just to delay the inevitable?”
“But it isn’t inevitable, Tearloch.” Ariyal held his companion’s gaze. “Your mind has been twisted by those who only want to use you for their own glory.”
“No.” Tearloch shook his head with more force than necessary. “It’s your mind that has been twisted. That vampire has seduced you and stolen you from those who have always offered you their loyalty.”
Ariyal grimly refused to allow his thoughts to stray to Jaelyn. This wasn’t the time for distractions.
“But your loyalty wasn’t unwavering, was it?” he reminded his one-time friend. “You betrayed me.”
The bastard managed to look offended. “I didn’t betray you. I was only trying to protect our tribe.”
“Were you?” Ariyal gave a lift of his shoulder, knowing that he couldn’t force the man to accept blame for his treachery. “A pity then that they no longer trust you.”
Tearloch’s fingers tightened on the sword. “That’s a lie.”
“I heard them complaining only a few minutes ago. They fear you’re now the slave of your spirit instead of the master. And who could blame them? You obviously take your orders from the creature.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Ariyal folded his arms over his chest. “Then banish him.”
“I ...” Tearloch licked his lips, his eyes nervously darting over Ariyal’s shoulder as if fearing the spirit might be hovering just out of sight. “I can’t.”
Ariyal swallowed a curse.
It was revolting to witness one of his people in thrall of a spirit.
“You see?”
“I need him to cast the spell to resurrect the Dark Lord.”
“There are other magic-users who could do the task just as well, if not better.”
“No.” Tearloch pressed a hand to his forehead. “We’re too close.”
Ariyal took a stealthy step forward. Tearloch was weary. Unfocused.
If he could just get close enough, he could strike.
“What happened to Sergei?” he asked, hoping to keep Tearloch off balance.
“I don’t know.”
“You could no doubt track him down and let him perform the ceremony.”
“Haven’t you heard me?” Tearloch lowered his hand, his face flushed. “It’s too late.”
“No, it’s not.” Ariyal took another step forward. “Let me help you.”
“You should really listen to your brother,” a voice mocked from behind him.
“Wizard,” Ariyal hissed, spinning around to fire two arrows directly in the center of Rafael’s chest. Predictably, the arrows passed directly through the bastard, but Ariyal noticed that the spirit briefly flickered, as if he’d been injured.
Something to remember.
“Don’t be hasty, Sylvermyst,” Rafael drawled.
“Hasty?” Ariyal curled his lips in disgust. “I should have destroyed you the moment I realized your power over Tearloch.”
Flames smoldered in his sunken eyes. “Ah, but I have something you want.”
Ariyal snorted. “You have nothing ...”
His words died on his lips as the wizard gave a wave of his skeleton hand and pointed toward the wall of the tunnel. There was an odd glow; then a strange mist formed on the