‘We will wreak havoc on the Volken people and anyone else who seeks to stop us. Together with Lorgukk, we will usher in a new age. A new power.’

A sound, like a wave pulling back from a pebble-strewn shore, filled Kelewulf’s head, and it took him a moment to realise the lich was laughing.

‘You have a dark heart, boy. Perhaps as dark as mine once was – when I had one.’ It looked down through its own smoky body at the wooden phylactery. When the lich looked back at Kelewulf, it seemed to have come to a decision. ‘I have been trapped for too long, in a place so terrible that the human mind would tear itself apart trying to imagine it.’ It paused, but Kelewulf could tell it had already made up its mind. ‘Very well, young necromancer-to-be, I agree to the conditions of our covenant. Let us join together and create the havoc you seek. Let us rule these petty humans with a reign of terror.’

Kelewulf hesitated for a second; he knew that Yirgan, while living, was famed for his trickery and his cunning mind. ‘Be aware, lich. I have read the Book of Roth’gurd well, and I have learned the Spell of Revocation. If I believe you have reneged on this agreement in any way, I will use it to return you to that terrible place you spoke of. There will be no third coming for you, Yirgan. If I send you back again, your dark soul will remain in hell forever.’

‘Naturally. I would expect nothing less from as formidable a partner as you.’

Kelewulf could not tell if the lich was mocking him or not.

‘Well?’ the lich asked.

Steeling himself, Kelewulf stretched out with a foot, placing it inside the salt boundary before dragging his heel back to break the salt circle. As he did so, a wave of icy cold struck him like a slap. Opening his mouth to gasp, he almost managed a scream as the smoky creature poured through that hole and entered him, filling him with a terrifying coldness that permeated first his lungs, then his blood, and then every part of him.

The boy wobbled on the spot, but managed to stay upright.

Where shall we start? asked the voice inside his head.

‘With the seat of power,’ he answered. ‘I have business with the rest of the Rivengeld family. They have taken what was rightfully mine, and even though I had no wish to rule, I will nevertheless have them pay.’

Faun Forest

8

Fleya sat in a small clearing in the woods. It was two hours before dawn and the ground was sodden with the night dew, the moisture soaking into her woollen garments and boots. The witch, deep in a trance-like state, hardly noticed. Her senses were all turned inwards to the bright thing at the centre of her being: her majik.