The room beyond was dark and cold. Alec pulled the lightstone from his tool roll and found a box of slender tapers on the receiving room mantel. Micum lit one from a lamp in the corridor and soon every candle and lamp in the room was shining brightly and a cheerful fire was crackling on the hearth. They uncovered several chairs and a settee and pushed them over by the fire.

“That’s more like it!” Micum said, rubbing his hands.

“I guess we should check the rest of the rooms,” said Alec.

Seregil gave him a wry, knowing look. “If it’s any comfort, this place scares me, too.”

“You’d be touched in the head not to be,” Micum put in.

“It’s not that. I just—I don’t know.” Alec stood and settled his sword belt on his hip. “But I do know we’re not going to learn much hiding here by the fire. Shouldn’t we check out the bedchamber?”

Alec took the lead as they walked down the short passageway to the bath, coming to a stop outside the death chamber. Even with the door closed, he caught a whiff of the stench inside through the large keyhole. It was only then that they realized that Zella had locked the door again and forgotten to give them the key.

“Allow me,” said Seregil, taking out a stout lock pick.

“Alec, hold the light closer, would you?” Seregil quickly jiggered the lock. “Ready?” he asked, grasping the latch.

Alec and Micum drew their swords, more out of habit than any expectation that what might be lurking on the other side would be affected by cold steel.

Seregil swung the door open and Alec held up his light.

“Do you see that?” Micum whispered.

“See what?” asked Seregil.

“There! In the far corner.”

Alec shifted the light and then froze as it fell across a tall, black shrouded figure.

As they stood watching, it slowly turned to face them. Fathomless darkness took the place of head and face. A horrible, rasping laugh bubbled out of that darkness and in the blink of an eye it was across the room, reaching for Alec. Alec slashed at it with his sword but connected with nothing. It threw long, misjointed arms around him and for a moment he was overwhelmed by a noxious, rotting-flesh foulness and horrible coldness.

Its insidious voice tickled his ear with incomprehensible words as icy needle-tipped fingers clutched at his throat. Alec’s sword and light slipped from numbed fingers. His tongue was like wood as he tried to gasp out a plea to Illior but he could not make a sound. The world was beginning to go dark when suddenly a shriek pierced the air and the shadowy figure was gone. As his wits slowly returned, he found himself on the floor, clutching at Seregil and Micum as they supported him.