Skeletal fingers curved inward and embraced the fallen king, turning Kydon’s face into a frozen grimace of sheer agony. The Royal Guard moved in and lanced out with long billhooks. Distracted, the figure of black nothing released its hold and ascended over the courtyard, blotting out the sun before entering deep shadows outside the castle.

Ethwin rushed over to Kydon and helped him to his feet. He frowned at Kydon’s gaunt, sickly face and looked into the tormented eyes of a beaten king, a man aged beyond the passing of middle years. Ethwin wiped frosty beads that clung to Kydon’s rigid brow and angular jaw, all the while sharing the pity and remorse of onlookers.

“Vauntlin’s Bite!” Ethwin gasped at the fat welt strapped to Kydon’s left cheek. “Scratched… stricken by the devil itself. Let me help you.”

Kydon came to his feet unsteadily.

“Thank you, old friend, late I arrive to encumber your kingdom. Hope has failed, I am beyond help or redemption.”

A windy murmur fell over the crowded square.

Kydon took a long shuttering gasp. “Lord Ethwin, King of Fenmuir, I come seeking council. I have endangered the Homeland.”

“A thousand haunts!” Ethwin said, startled out of his wits. “A wretched spirit enters the House of Eldoren? What befalls both king and comrade?”

"M-my doppelganger,” Kydon stuttered. “If legend speaks true… my d-death cometh.”

Ethwin’s mind reeled with doubt. “Hardly, ye Son of Grand Exodus. Rest in the company of bravehearts. Soon shall we rid the shade from sane minds. The Ally will search and destroy the