Page 84 of Storm of Shadows

Water descends, crashing into the crater below. With the tremendous force, it splashes out and soaks me from head to toe. Zephyr has the sense to dart away, narrowly avoiding the water.

Though Natharius ends up as drenched as me, he doesn’t seem to notice. His gaze remains on the water’s surface, staring at the spot where the altar lay beneath its murky depths.

Normally I would scold him for soaking me, but both his and Taria’s words have sent panic coursing through me.

“Natharius?” I try again. Must I command him to answering my question? Before I can make my decision, the demon finally speaks of his own accord.

“This lake was frozen when I was last here,” he mutters. From how low his voice is, he might be talking to himself.

“Well, now it’s clearly not,” I scoff, pointing to the water’s very liquid surface. “What’s the problem with a bit of ice melting?”

Natharius shakes his head. “The problem is that things which have long been laid to rest now rise once more.”

I turn to Taria, hoping she’ll offer a clearer explanation, but she doesn’t meet my gaze. Her eyes are fixed on the lake, and her pale brows are knitted together. Maybe she’s as in the dark as I am, and Caya’s blank gaze suggests she also has no idea, though I’m not sure she’s thinking about anything other than her brother.

“Things like what?” I demand to Natharius.

“Things like Kazhul Nightbringer, the Lich Lord.”

I stare at him, wishing I imagined those words. That name. The wind rustles through the canopy of gnarled branches overhead. For several heartbeats, no one speaks.

“The Lich Lord?” I echo, repeating each syllable slowly. I hope Natharius will tell me I’ve somehow misheard him.

To my dismay, he nods. “Though the Lich Lord was defeated over a thousand years ago, he was not entirely destroyed. Only sealed away in the far reaches of Kralaxxas.”

“Why would an enemy as dangerous as him not be completely obliterated from this world?” I ask with a frown.

“Because a lich is only truly defeated when all remnants of their soul are destroyed,” Natharius replies. “And the Lich Lord, the first lich, was able to divide his soul into three parts. Each he placed into a separate phylactery. We could not find them, and there was little time to act. Already, the Lich Lord’s crusade on the living had wiped out most of Imyria. The only hope was to seal him away with the most powerful sorcerers from each race of man, orc, and elf.”

I peer at Natharius, not missing the ‘we’ he used. I shouldn’t be surprised, since the Void Prince is old enough to have been alive at the time of Kazhul Nightbringer. The question is whether he was a demon or an elf then, but I strongly suspect that it was the latter. Is the past Natharius didn’t want Taria to reveal in Esterra City linked to this? It would explain his horrified expression over the lake.

Though I want to ask, I know he’ll refuse to answer, and I don’t want to stoop so low as to command him to tell me.

“What has the Lich Lord got to do with this lake?” I ask.

Natharius turns to the water, a shadow drifting over his expression. “Three centuries ago, I was summoned to Imyria by an orcish necromancer. He sought the Amulet of Kazhul, and his quest led him here. To this very lake.”

My heart skips a beat.

An amulet?

It can’t be . . .

I swallow. “The amulet was here? You saw it for yourself?”

“I did,” Natharius says. “I used my magic to shatter the ice, and the two of us ventured into the frozen water. Hundreds of undead lurked in the lake’s depths, and the warlock who had summoned me was defeated by them. Before I returned to the Abyss, I glimpsed the amulet on the obsidian altar below. There was no denying that the Lich Lord’s soul, or at least part of it, dwelled within.”

“This amulet,” I begin, the words grating across the back of my throat, “what did it look like?”

“A skull of obsidian like its altar, with a blue stone hanging from its jawless mouth.”

The blood drains from my face. A wind rolls over me, almost shoving me into the lake. My legs offer little resistance against its might.

In the water below, my reflection distorts into the streets of Nolderan. I see Eliya’s lifeless body slumped against the wall. I see Father atop the Aether Tower, his dead eyes burning into me.

My fists tighten. The Lich Lord’s Amulet—it explains everything. How Arluin could defeat Father so easily, the Grandmage of Nolderan.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting past the pain coiling around my heart. “I . . . I know who took the Lich Lord’s amulet.” I don’t look up at Natharius. Horrifying images of Nolderan’s fall continue swirling in the lake’s waters.

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