Page 68 of Heart of the Shadow King

I gasp. My arms wrap around my stomach, as though it was I who received that blow. His crumpled, dying form fills my vision as the light from the crystals intensifies.

“He would die soon anyway,” Maylin says, standing over her victim. “He inhaled too much poison. This is a kinder death and one that might save other lives in the process.” Her head snaps up, her gaze fixed on me. “Stop being so squeamish. Are you thekurspari-gluror aren’t you? The Fist of the Deeper Dark? The gods-gifted queen, savior of the Under Realm?”

Another crash, followed by the growl of falling stone. “They’re breaking through!” Theodre cries, assuming a fighting stance between me and the open arch.

“It’s your choice, Faraine.” Maylin’s eyes never waver from mine. “Will you save our lives this day? Or should your brother and I prepare ourselves to be torn apart?”

I drag my gaze from the witch to the dying man, watch his blood seep from that gory wound. Watch how the crystals devour it, pulsing with greater and greater resonance, which calls to my bones and being. This is the moment of choice. The moment when I will either become what the gods-intended me to be . . . or nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing is the answer.

Nothing, deep inside me.

Down below all fear, all hope. All revulsion, sorrow, or pain.

Nothing from which purejormay be drawn.

I must be stone.

One foot placed purposefully before the other, I ascend the dais and step into the circle with the dying man. Stretching out my hands to the pulsing crystals, I draw their resonance to me, draw it deep and deeper still, down to the center of my being. Down to that place of nothing where once my heart beat. Layer upon layer ofjorenwraps me, inside and out.

A small part of my will protests:This is wrong! Vor would not want this! How can such dark magic be blessed of the gods?

Maybe the gods do not bless this magic. Maybe only one god can: the god of darkness whom the trolde worship. And it is the trolde who will be blessed by his will.

My eyes open. A faceted world of crystal lies before me. I am more trulyjorthan I have ever been, down to my core.

“Faraine!” Maylin’s voice chimes on the edge of awareness. “Faraine, are you there?”

Slowly, I turn to the old witch. She stares at me, her complexion bloodless in the light of herlorst, her eyes twin blue orbs in her skull.

“I am here, Maylin,” I answer, cold, hard, distant. “I will do what must be done.”

The door to the outer chamber bursts open. Trolde pour inside, the first appearing in the dark archway within moments. Theodre stands between me and them and can’t seem to decide who he should fear more, the poisoned ones or his own, terrifying sister. One trolde, slavering green foam from her jaws, rushes him, arms outstretched. “No,” I say, and raise one hand.

Power pours through me, channeled straight from the blood-fedurzul. It strikes that trolde within two paces of Theodre. One moment she is alive and roaring. The next she is solid stone.

The resonance does not stop with her. It ripples out to those behind her. One after another the oncoming trolde halt in their tracks. Their eyes go blank, their limbs rigid, their feet planted to the floor. A wall of bodies fills up the space beyond the arch, blocking the other trolde from entering. They rave and wave their limbs, trying to break through, striving still to reach their prey.

I lift my other hand, send another pulse out from my palm. From my soul. From that deep well of nothing. The resonance ofva-jorsweeps through those already enstoned and catches those still living in a second, more profound wave. For a brief, shining instant, their rage, their pain, their fear flares. I hear the chorus of their final resistance, but they cannot touch me, cannot reach me. I am impervious to all.

Theva-jorspreads. On and on, throughout the temple, out into the town beyond, until not a single raving soul remains.

There is only stone.

I am stilljor-wrapped when we exit the temple. Maylin and Theodre hang back in the shadow of the broken door as I descend into the street, into the forest of enstoned bodies, taking in what I have wrought. It is an eerie sight. All those figures, caught in the throes of their final madness. Are they at peace? An air of quiet akin to calm covers the town in a heavy blanket. Perhaps that is peaceful enough.

“Well,” Theodre’s voice breathes behind me, his whisper as clear as a shout in this stillness. “I certainly didn’t seethatcoming.”

“I did,” Maylin says coldly.

Movement draws my crystal-lensed eye. I look up to see a morleth swoop down from above. Hael clings to its back, her eyes wide above the strange beaked mask she wears. So, she was not caught in the resonance wave. I consider this fact without emotion; it is merely something that is.

Hael lands her morleth further down the sloped street. Dismounting, she turns, stares at me. What does she see? A monster? A miracle? Slowly, she makes her way up the street, weaving between the enstoned people. Her pace slows as she draws near, but she keeps coming no matter how her limbs tremble. When she is still some ten paces away, she drops to her knees, gazing up at me with a mingling of wonder and fear.

---