There came a gasp, a low hush and turning of heads. A ghastly, ghostly, fluid shadow ascended over North Gate, casting a blanket of darkness over the walled courtyard.

Ethwin froze for the first time. He came in unwanted view of the wraith’s horrible, obscene, dark-socketed eyes. Two ugly orbs, exuding tremendous hate, ogled back with paralyzing evil.

“May your aim be true!” Darc cried. “Fly free thy arrows!”

Bowstrings hummed as a volley of arrows shot upward, piercing the very heart of the cloaked shadow. Arrowheads passed through the wraith, deflecting harmlessly against Dracon Wall’s high interior walls. The cowled presence released a silent yet impossible hiss that sent shivers to both brain and spine. The shrouded spirit hovered, swirled around the courtyard, darted laterally and lunged straight for the King of Athfar. Kydon fell to his

knees, curled into a ball and braced for contact. The billowing cape fell darkly over Kydon, wrapping the king in a sheet of black ice. Sticklike hands and fingers jabbed out, piercing into Kydon’s ribcage. Black fell a cold wind, quick to seize the shuddering king. Kydon went limp as the tall Rivernaut dove toward the clutching shadow, landing hard, fingers tearing at chilled transparency. Living folds of unworldly cloth spun skyward in a dark funnel of unnatural fury. The cyclone shape stopped, gathered itself, returned to form and arched over the brawny mortal. Within the empty cowl two oval eyes widened with hate. The being of eternal night swept downward in a tattered blanket of whiplike thongs. Hooked palms and daggered fingers reached for Kydon’s protector. The cloaked Rivernaut sidestepped the attack but a chill wind cut beneath his feet, sending him tumbling near a herd of frightened horses. Swift spun a shapeless horror, bending low, wrapping itself around Kydon.