"I sought out the king of this isle, a vain and foolish man, and I beguiled him. He showed me the chart which I sought, and the chart revealed to me a wonder which my shadow conveyed immediately to my mistress. Now she knows precisely where the final meeting is to take place. I prevailed upon the king's gullibility and was able to lead him into various acts which delayed the Child of Light and his companions so that my mistress might arrive at the Place Which Is No More before him and thereby avoid the necessity of leaving the issue in the hands of a certain seeress whom my mistress distrusts."

"How is it that thy mistress did not herself perform this task, which was lain upon her and not upon thee?" Cyradis' voice was stern.

"Zandramas had other concerns. I was her right hand, and all that I did was as if she had done the deeds herself."

"His spirit doth begin to sink out of reach, Holy Seeress," the necromancer said in a more normal tone of voice. "Ask quickly, for soon I will no longer be able to wrest further answers from him."

"What were these concerns of thy mistress which prevented her from seeking the answer to the last riddle herself as she was commanded to do?"

"A certain Grolim Hierarch from Cthol Murgos, Agachak by name, had come to Mallorea seeking the Place Which Is No More, hoping to supplant my mistress. He was the last of our race with enough power to challenge her. She met him near the barrens of Finda and killed him there.” The hollow voice broke off, and then there came a despairing wail. "Zandramas!" the voice cried. "You said that I would not die! You promised, Zandramas!" The last word seemed to fall away into some unimaginable abyss.

The dark-hooded necromancer's head slumped forward, and she was shuddering violently. "His spirit has gone, Holy Seeress," she said in a weary voice. "The midnight hour is past, and he can no longer be reached."

"I thank thee," Cyradis said simply.

"I but hope, Holy Seeress, that I have been able in some small way to aid thee in thine awesome task. May I retire now? For contact with this diseased mind hath distressed me beyond measure."

Cyradis nodded briefly, and the necromancer quietly left the chapel.

The King of Perivor, his face ashen but firmly set, walked to the bier. He took hold of the golden cloth that covered Naradas to the chest and hurled it to the floor. "Some rag perhaps," he said from between clenched teeth. "I would not look upon the face of this foul Grolim more."

"I'll see what I can find, your Majesty," Durnik said sympathetically. He stepped out into the hall.

The rest stood silently by as the king, his back to the bier and his jaws clenching and unclenching, stared at the back wall of the chapel.