Chapter 3

            He should have been back by now. I fretted as I sat beside my room's fireplace, anxiously tapping a fingernail on the arm of my chair.

            I had not seen Corim since this morning. What was he doing? Whatever it was, it shouldn't have been taking this long. Taking someone's memories took but a moment, not a few hours, let alone a whole day. By all rights, we should have been on our way out of the city by now.

            I swear I will give him an earful when he gets back for making me worry like this. And the king too, should I see him. I thought impatiently, quitting my chair to pace about the room. Sweet bloody hell, I should not have been this anxious.

            Several times I told myself I was being ridiculous. But still I was on edge and a sinking feeling seemed to have hold of my stomach and the rest of my anatomy. I didn't like it. Not at all. Not even reading succeeded in occupying my mind.

            Perhaps if I retreated into my memories again, I would feel better. But no, I couldn't. I was going to remain alert and wait for my master's return so I could properly tell him off. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time I'd done so. His reaction was usually just one of his lazy smiles however. Still, it would make me feel better.

            It had to be soon. He couldn't attend to business forever. Besides, he knew that if he did, I would find him.

            We both knew I would be bold enough to do just that.

            Supper had been brought to my room and eaten by the time I heard Corim dragging his feet outside my door. Fully prepared to berate him, I opened the door to find him just outside his room, a weary expression on his face. He turned to smile at my stern visage.

            "Ah, Serinda, how was your day?" he greeted me, as if the footman had never snubbed me this morning.

            With my hands on my hips, I drew myself up to my full height in front of him.

            "Oh, don't you 'ah, Serinda' me," I sharply retorted. "Where were you? Whoever's memories you took, it can't have taken you from morning until night! I've been sitting here wondering just what was keeping you and worrying."

            To my annoyance, my tongue lashing appeared to amuse him. Yet at the same time, there was something else behind those gray eyes. Concern? Maybe even fear? My master never showed fear. I'd yet to see him afraid of anything. In my petty little fury, I ignored it. After all, I was probably imagining it anyway.

            He placed his gloved hand under my stubborn chin and gingerly tilted it up to him. I pursed my lips, my body kept rigid.

            "It's complicated, Serinda. This is no simple assimilation. It will take time. Do you understand?" he said softly, his eyes never leaving my face.

            "I could understand better if I knew just what was going on. If it is so complicated, then I should be helping you, not sitting here like a stone. I'm your apprentice, it's my job to aid you. Did you even speak to the king?" I argued vehemently.

            "I did." sighed Corim. "And after discussing the matter, we both agreed it best that you not be involved. I'm sorry, but it is how it must be."

            My master might as well have slapped me across the face. It was impossible to hide my shock as I stared at him in disbelief. This could not be happening. He had actually agreed to leave me out. He had never denied me before, even as a girl. He had always allowed me to at least observe if nothing else. But for him to disregard me and leave me twiddling my thumbs to wait for him like an old maid. It stung and cut like a rusty knife. It felt, dare I say it, almost like a betrayal. I felt as though I had been infantilized, deemed no more than a child not yet ready for the difficult tasks of adulthood.

            "What?" I exclaimed incredulously. "Y-you can't be serious! I am not a child, Corim! Whatever it is, I can handle it."

            His smile faded and I was unable to tell whether he was concerned or angry with me.

            "No. I cannot let you and that is final. For now, it is better that you do not know." he answered sternly, his hands moving to grip my slim shoulders. I glared at him.

            "That's not fair! You've never kept anything from me before!" I spat, unintentionally raising my voice.

            Instantly I regretted my outburst, for Corim's eyes widened. His grip on my shoulders tightened painfully.

            "If you only knew how many secrets I've kept to protect you," he murmured ruefully, t hen let go of me. "Now go to bed."

            Rubbing my shoulder, I stared at him coldly. Go to bed he said, as if I were a little girl again.

            "Kindly do not speak to me for the remainder of our stay here. I would hate to get in your way." I scowled bitterly.

            I sulked back into my room without waiting for a reply, slamming the door behind me. I didn't think I could have ever said such a thing to Corim.

            When Corim smiled at me in passing the next morning, I ignored him, still upset with him from the night before. I did not look behind me to see his reaction. Part of me felt guilty for treating him like this, but the other part kept reminding me that I was angry and that I didn't deserve to be sidelined like this.

            Never before in my life had I felt there so little for me to do. As much as I delighted in reading, I couldn't do it forever. After a long while, I simply had to stretch my legs. Losing myself in the palace's infernal labyrinth of hallways was only pleasant for so long, particularly when I started to become frustrated. I didn't dare step out to observe the dragons again for fear of seeing Jerrison and dealing with more awkwardness. Sleeping might have been an option to pass the time, but I was not at all tired. The entire day made me feel like I was stagnating.

            Eventually I simply stayed in my room and decided to kill time with memories. At least then I could find something interesting.

            I was at a festival. The night was balmy with the fragrance of a summer's eve. Lively music and dancing filled the air. Girls wore wreaths of flowers in their hair as their skirts billowed and twirled about them. Young men spun them about, excited grins on their faces, stealing kisses or pulling them away from the dance to steal more.

            And I, an old man, sat in the shade of my son's home, watching the festivities with quiet delight. The youngest of my grandchildren sat upon his plump rump on the ground, sucking his thumb as he played with a wooden toy his father had carved for him. I stared at the dancers peacefully, watching as the people I once thought of as children passed into adulthood.

Corim

            I wished I could have told her. I wished I could have told her everything.

            I'm sorry, little Seri, I swear I'll explain it all when this is over, I thought as I looked across the table at King Roland and his general.

            In the king's chambers were also gathered his two advisers, Waldon and Sharem, both competent men not much older than me. General Vereux stood protectively behind her monarch. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of his chair. At any point I kept expecting him to reach out and take her hand. Yet each and every one of them watched me intently, motionless.

            I was grateful that Roland had only called for me and barred Serinda. Had he not, I would have forbidden her myself. I would not put her in danger. I absolutely would not. If keeping her blind meant keeping her safe, then I would happily suffer her ire. Grand Memorium Harlin would probably reprimand me for coddling her when I made my report, but then the bitter old bastard had always held disdain for me anyway. He hated even more that I knew why.

            When we leave, I'll be glad never to set foot here again. I looked up to the faces around me.

            "While it is possible I could handle the matter on my own, I would much rather have the Memoriums' aid. Preferably with a mage or two for good measure to contain the situation until we can find the exact one we need." I sighed, anxiously toying with the ring on my finger.

            This did not suit Waldon. He frowned deeply, his brow crinkling, lines deepening on his gaunt face.

            "That could take days. Will the cell hold him till then?" he questioned worriedly.

            "And what if he has other agents within the palace? Surely where there's one, there's more." fretted Sharem, the more rotund of the two. "There's no telling what he is capable of."
            Oh, yes, there is. And you would not like it, I thought grimly, feeling older than I'd felt in a long time.

            Finally, the king spoke up.

            "Is there no other way?" he asked, a grave shadow passing over his handsome features.

            "To deal with the matter as it is, there is, but their chances of success are slim. While it may not be the fastest, it is the safest and surest, if not the only way to rid ourselves of the problem for good." I answered.

            Vereux pursed her pretty lips. The advisers exchanged nervous glances. Roland Helmshod merely stared straight at me, solemn certainty in those young eyes.

            "Then it is the one we must take," he turned his attention to his general, so still that one really could have mistaken her for a porcelain doll. "I want you to strengthen the guard on the prisoner. I don't want him getting loose. And be careful."

            His last words were no more than a whisper. If he was trying to hide his attachment to her, then it was a good thing he hadn't become an actor. The king was an open book. He couldn't have hidden his passion for her even if his life or his kingdom depended on it. Even the advisers seemed to have knowledge of what existed between them. At least the leader of the Dragon Corps was better at masking her emotions than her lover.

            "It will be done." replied Vereux dutifully.

            Now there was just one more thing. It would probably sicken my heart to do it, but if I didn't, I knew I would never rest easy. Besides, if everything turned out as it should, then it would only be temporary. She would be back at my side within months.

            "Your highness," I entreated. He shifted his gaze to me. "I ask that my apprentice be sent to the Memorium Conservatory for the time being. I will not have her put in harm's way."

            Each word felt like a heavy rock and tasted of dread. They shouldn't have. It was for the best. But even when a decision was wise, it was still undeniably bitter.

            Thirteen years I had spent raising a little know-it-all girl into a studious but no less bold young woman. In that time, she had become more than my apprentice. She was my little Seri, my daughter. There was no one I loved more in this world. Every day I had spent teaching and teasing her had allowed her to worm her way into my heart and bring out every fatherly instinct and desire I never even knew myself capable of.  If I could, I would have held her to me to shield her from all the pain the world had to offer. The idea of sending my little girl away unnerved me, twisted my heart with worry. It scared me, but the thought of her being in danger by selfishly keeping her to me terrified me.

            More than your old man's brutality? a voice in my mind inquired almost mockingly.

            Yes, much more than that, I firmly answered it.

            "I will have preparations made for her departure by tomorrow." the king told me with a weak, but understanding smile.

            "Thank you, your grace," I replied, then went to write my letter to the Conservatory and Mage Collegium.

Serinda

            I sat at my room's writing desk, hair loose and damp from a long, hot bath and in my nightgown and robe. My slippered feet scuffed the carpet absentmindedly. The blank pages of a journal lay before me, patiently waiting for the quill in my hand to mark it. After a few moments of thought, I did so.    

           In many ways, animal memory is not much different from that of humans. Both can easily recall         names, faces, and a social hierarchy. A prime example of this are dogs. Dogs view the humans in their lives in the structure of a pack.

            Again, I stopped there, wondering how to phrase my next thoughts. I placed my quill back in the inkwell and went to pull my notes out of my pack to leaf through them. As I skimmed through a page, a loud bang resounded from somewhere in the halls, then a shout. I jumped in shock. My heart raced for a moment, then, blinking in bewilderment, I looked to the door. What on earth had that been?

            I heard quickened footsteps, more shouting. I couldn't interpret what they were saying, but they sounded furious and in a hurry. Had someone gotten into the palace? Was there some danger? Had anyone been hurt?

            Believing the noise to be the palace guards, I briskly went to lock the door. The ruckus seemed to grow louder with every step, more voices, more urgency. My heart began to race again as I turned the lock to secure the door. I took a deep breath, then exhaled. It was nothing. The guards would take care of the matter and all would be fine by morning. Yet my heart still pounded erratically in my chest.

            Do some work, go to bed, and you will feel fine again come morning. I told myself sensibly.

            No sooner had I taken a step away did a scream freeze me to the spot. It made every hair on my body stand on end. Suddenly my body's will to obey my mind had severely diminished.

            That was when I heard the sound of someone smashing their fist against the wood of my door. My frightened trance broken, I frantically grabbed the sharp little knife I always carried in my bag and cautiously approached the door. My grip on the knife was iron. I'd never used it for more than peeling apples before. I prayed I wouldn't hesitate to use it now if I had to.

            "Serinda! Serinda, it's me!" my mentor shouted through the door.

            Relief washed over me, though not enough to rid me of my fear. I scurried to the door and unlocked it. Corim staggered in, a hand clutching his side. He just about collapsed into a chair as I swung the door shut and locked it. He rested his head against the back of the chair, breathing heavily.

            "Thank the gods you're safe," he panted.

            "What happened? Are you alright?" I demanded worriedly, my eyes drawn to his hand pressed tightly to his abdomen. His black leather glove was stained with red.

            "No time. Doesn't matter." groaned Corim, trying to sit up. "Get your things. We need to leave."

            "Not until your wound has been treated," I rebuked, sensibility beginning to return to me in my master's presence.

            "It's nothing, I can manage. But we must leave." he argued, his eyes pleading.

            I shook my head. The door was locked and there was no chance I would let Corim leave without at least bandaging his injury. We had time, if only a little. He tried to shake me off, but his attempt was feeble and I was able to take hold of his wrist to look at the gash in his side, oozing blood. It didn't look deep, but it would slow him down.

            "Enough, Serinda!" Corim gritted his teeth in exasperation, struggling to keep his voice down. "We're the ones they're looking for!"

            His tone, though understandable, shocked me, for he hadn't ever spoken to me as such. But I ignored him and got some bandages out of my pack.

            "Open your shirt, Corim," I instructed him, surprising myself with how calm my voice was.

            "We are wasting time!" Corim pressed, urgency in his stormy eyes.

            Steeling myself, I continued to pretend as if I hadn't heard his protests, pulling back memories of physicians and healers. Trough them I attempted to channel their profession calm. It helped somewhat.

            "Open your shirt." I repeated. "Do it or this will only take longer."

            Scowling, my usually pleasant and contented master undid the buttons of his shirt and pulled it away. He could not hide the flinch or the hiss of pain as he revealed the bloody cut in his flesh. I blocked out the escalating noise, pushing his shirt back even further and kneeling to administer the wrappings. I didn't have the time nor materials to make a poultice to prevent infection. The most I could do was staunch the bleeding. I could make him one later once we were safe. I tried to be quick, yet careful not to touch his skin. Somehow I successfully managed both. Then I hurried to button his shirt again.

            In a rush, I grabbed as many of my things as I could, shoving my feet into my boots, my hands in my gloves. Meanwhile Corim staggered to his feet and went to the bed. He shoved his hands under the mattress as I pulled on my cloak.

            "Help me," he groaned with the effort.

            I didn't ask him what he was doing. Odds were that he had gotten the memories of someone who knew an inconspicuous way out of the palace. For all I knew, it was a trapdoor somewhere in my room. No doubt there were deeper secrets than that lying around here.

            Sure enough, it was. I helped Corim to lift the mattress off the bed frame and drop it to the side. As he ripped out a plank of wood in the frame, I heard a violent pounding at the door. The entire bed frame came tumbling apart to reveal a square door with a metal handle that appeared as though it had to be turned like some complex knob.

            Corim reached down and turned it one way, then another, and another. I glanced frantically from him to the door, fear rising in me as the sickening splitting of wood assaulted our ears. Finally the square came up. A deep blackness stretched beneath us, so dark that I could barely recognize the ladder leading into it.

            "Get in." he urged, his hand on my back.

            Without a word, I grabbed onto the ladder and made my way down, silently praying that he was right behind me. Once the door was closed, I saw nothing. The world was navigated by touch and sound. Relief flooded through me when I realized Corim's footfalls above me. I felt as though I could breathe again.

            "Are you alright?" I asked with concern.

            "I'm fine," I heard him respond, keeping his voice low. "The door should have disappeared the moment I shut it. You really must give old King Lyall some credit. The Kyrel family knew how to practically apply their magic."

            "I wonder if they still believe his ghost protects the palace," I pondered as my foot touched solid ground. I stepped off the ladder, the sound of running water reaching my ears.

            "They do," Corim affirmed, his hand on my shoulder to balance himself as he joined me. "And for the city's sake, I hope the legend is true."

            His last word had barely left his lips when the area was bathed in a strange greenish-blue light, illuminating everything around us. We stood upon a stone floor, a curved ceiling of the same material stretched above us, around us. Water ran in a wide trough at our feet. I was quite grateful to find it wasn't raw sewage. It smelled clean, probably the water that went to the city's wells and fountains. We must have been in the sewers that carried Laeith's drinking water.

            On the walls were elaborate images and runes. Each every one glowed with the same light that lit up our surroundings. The most distinctive of these pictures was that of a woman with a babe nestled in her arms, a peaceful smile on her lips.          

            "King Lyall certainly didn't lack for creativity," I observed with no small amount of awe. Had we the time, I would have loved to study them in greater detail.

            "He was considered to be quite the artist. He liked to feature his wife in much of his work." Corim commented admirably, leaning against the wall for a moment.

            "Do you need to rest? I think we're safe now." I asked him, feeling cold despite my cloak.

            He shook his head and stubbornly pushed himself off the wall.

            "No. They'll still be looking for us. No doubt there will be a few of them already outside the city waiting for us." he answered, looking suddenly tired as he began walking.

            "But who is 'them'?" I pressed, following him and debating whether or not to give him my cloak as he wore nothing save his usual clothes. He would be freezing the moment we set foot outside. But I knew that if I offered, he would refuse, telling me I would need it.

            "A group of very dangerous people, mages and Memoriums who have gone against their own people. And we happen to be just what they need to make themselves invincible." replied Corim cryptically.

            "It's a little late for being vague, Corim," I retorted frustratedly.

            I was sick and tired of being kept in the dark. I wanted answers. I more than deserved them after that little escapade and now this. Shouldn't I have known just what forces endangered my master's life and mine? Wouldn't it be at least practical so as to find a way out of this gods forsaken mess?

            He looked back at me with a wry grin. I noticed his hand still cradled the spot where he had been stabbed. The white linen wrappings were already stained red and starting to seep.

            "I know. But I haven't the time to explain everything." he said softly, guilt finding its way into his voice. "I need you to trust me and do as I say. There is a great deal at stake here, more than you could ever imagine."

            His words chilled me. His answer had only given me more questions. I opened my mouth to further question him, but realized that Corim would never give me a straight answer and shut it, feeling even more exasperated and frightened than I did before. The worried, strained face of my mentor only made the unease I felt all the worse.

            "Once we're somewhere safe, I'm taking you to the nearest healer. No exceptions." I announced, wondering whether I was trying to reassure him or me.

            He only smiled quietly and we fell silent. Perhaps it was better that way. Staring at the passing glowing runes as we walked on helped to distract me somewhat. Every now and then we had to stop to allow Corim to catch his breath. The further we went, the more frequent his respites became. Each time he seemed to appear more drained than before. I'd known the injury would hinder him, but not this much. Not once did he ask for assistance, only stopped and kept going.

            We seemed to wander in that sewer forever, following the runes with the flowing water beside us. The hem of my gown was damp from the spray, the soles of my boots as well.

            "We should be almost there now," Corim muttered expectantly.

            A ladder soon came into sight, a metal grating at the very top leading to the outside world.

            "Come on, up you go, my dear," my master sighed with relief.

            I ascended the ladder and peeked through the grating above. Through the tiny slits in the metal I could make out a clear night sky and the frosted tops of trees. Bracing my shoulder against the forged barrier, I pushed the grating up and out. The cold evening air caressed my face, smelling of fresh snow and sharp pine. Trees and forest surrounded us. There was no one to be seen.

            I scrambled out of the sewer, shivering as the chill bit into my bones, easily passing through the thin fabric of my robe and sleeping gown. I was glad I had exchanged my flimsy slipper for boots.

            Corim clambered up after me, taking my hand when I offered it. He went to put the grating back over the hole, but I did it for him. There was no need for him to strain himself further. Already my teeth were chattering. I could only imagine how Corim felt, fleeing with a stab wound and without so much as a cloak to warm him.

            "If only we had a blizzard, then they wouldn't stand a chance," my master muttered to himself, as if unaware of my presence.

            It only took a moment, if that, for us to go from relative safety to fleeing for our lives. For in that brief expanse of time a growl like that of a wolf reached out ears. But it wasn't a wolf. It couldn't be. I knew that without even thinking. It was too low, too sinister, too knowing, as if sentient. I barely had time to catch a flash of sickly bright golden eyes with something thick and black like inky smoke or cloying mist or shadows swirling in tendrils about them through the trees before Corim grabbed my hand, shouting at me to run.

            We ran, Corim pulling desperately and me struggling to keep up with him, fearing I would trip over my gown. The cold burnt our throats and lungs. Everytime I glimpsed through the trees I saw those yellow eyes and the bodies like smoke snarling and pursuing us. They seemed to be everywhere. One moment they were in one place, the next they were somewhere three feet away or more. Yet Corim picked up speed each time he caught sight of them, having no thought for the wound he bore. I don't think we had ever fled so fast in our lives.

            I don't remember the land or what Corim shouted to me or how far we ran. All I recall are the malicious yellow eyes, branches whipping my face and limbs, the world blurring as my spectacles jostled up and down, and the horrible growling and howling all around us.

            How we ever stopped to find them not pursuing us, I still don't know, and probably never will. Though we both knew it was only a matter of time before they caught up to us.

            The two of us panting and sweating in spite of the cold, Corim let go of my trembling hand and went to lean against the nearest tree. His form appeared to crumble as he collapsed against it, sitting there, breathing heavily as he had done in the chair just an hour ago, if it had even been that long. Blood had soaked through the bandaging and ran down his shirt in rivulets, dripping form the torn hem of his black shirt onto the snow in a way that made me sick. Were I not so out of breath, I would have questioned if he could go on. Even if I were to ask it though, we both knew the answer.

            My legs feeling like lead, I knelt down beside him and shook him by the shoulders.

            "Corim, please!" I begged desperately. "I know it hurts, but we have to keep moving! You'll be fine."

            Slowly, a smile stretched across his face. He had never looked so pale. His skin was like milk. My master shook his head so weakly. A welt on the bridge of his nose where a branch must have hit him created a river of red down his visage and over his mouth.

            "No, Seri, I won't," rasped Corim baldly, looping a loose strand of hair behind my ear. He had not called me Seri since I was a child. "Not like this. I will only slow you down."

            "Don't you dare talk like that! You know I won't let you give up! You can't!" I snapped vehemently.

            Death surely awaited him if I left. I didn't care what happened, I wouldn't leave him to whatever chased us. I couldn't. He couldn't make me. His face became serious, earnest.

            "Listen to me, Seri. I'm afraid this is your burden now. I wish it wasn't. You were never prepared for this." he said softly.

            "Stop it!" I demanded. "Stop it!"

            But he just went on. I wanted to shove my fingers in my ears so I wouldn't have to hear him. How could he accept death so easily? This was Corim Danyr, the man of smiling faces and commonly insufferable leniency, the man who loved and embraced his life more than anything. How could he allow himself to do this?

            "You must get to the Conservatory. Contact the Mage Collegium as well. Need a mage of the blood." he grimaced, hissing through his teeth as the cold bit into him. "You will need my memories."

            That one sentence could have frozen my blood more than anything else he could have said. A master passing on their memories only happened when an apprenticeship ended. I shook my head in disbelief, distress, tears pressing behind my eyes. He stopped me by cupping my face in his hands. I could smell the metallic tang of dried blood on his cold, stiff gloves. There was a weight, a gravity in his gaze that I had never seen before.

            "Corim, please," I whispered, like a scared child. He paid no mind to my plea.

            "There is a memory. It will try to elude you and fight you. Everytime you try to grab it, it will try and slip from your grasp. Hold it. Do not let it get away from you. It is the only way to stop what is to come before it spreads too far." my mentor murmured. I said nothing. What could I say?

            This was why you didn't tell me. You would have revealed it to me through memory anyway. You knew something like this was a possibility all along.

            He smiled solemnly, an undercurrent of pride lifting his features, as if I understood my task. For the first time in my life, I knew I did not. I had no grasp of the situation. I was walking in the dark without so much as a candle to see even a foot in front of me.

            My master leaned in and kissed my forehead, gently, much like how he used to affectionately kiss my hair when I was young. Only now it carried with it the memories of Corim Danyr, all the Memoriums before him and all those they had ever touched. They came in like a relentless flood. Images, scents, sounds, touches, and tastes bombarded me. Brewing potions, battles, childhood fancies, the lives of thousands rushed upon me so fast I could scarcely make sense of them. It was overwhelming, like having an immense tidalwave crashing over me.

            Then there came a stream of memories that ebbed and flowed. Steady waves of familiarity and scenes of a bright-eyed, bespectacled little girl never far away. A freckle-faced woman in red with a mischievous smile. Another, a Memorium, older, compassionate. My master's memories were assimilated into my mind easily, probably the easiest it had ever been.

            Finally, one last thing was given to me. A strange, nameless, unidentifiable thing. It was someone's memories, I did not doubt that. But there was nothing. Just thick, impenetrable mist filled with whispers of numerous noises. Then as quickly as it had come, it was gone, faded into the conglomeration of all the memories. What had felt like a dozen centuries had passed with just a moment.

            My head spinning, Corim reluctantly pulled away, resting back against the tree again. It seemed impossible for him to have looked any wearier. Transferring memories was a daunting process, expending so much of one's energy, often leaving a Memorium with intense headaches and fatigue. He removed the ring from his finger and thrust it into my almost numb hand. All of a sudden I heard the terrible snarls again.

            "Run, Seri!" Corim commanded, pushing me away.

            I gasped in surprise and stumbled, but scrambled to my feet and ran. I had barely made it but a few feet before I stopped, feeling dizzy and about to vomit. I was out of sight, yet not far enough to be safe. Were I to look behind the dead tree I stood pressed against, I would still have seen Corim sitting there. The hellish, bestial noises grew closer, maddeningly so, until finally I could not deny they had found my poor master.

            "A scrapper of a little man, isn't he?" a voice chuckled in nettled amusement.

            "Why, Arkan, I never thought you one to join lost causes. Such a subdued gray just isn't your color." Corim taunted coolly. "Canary yellow would suit you better."

            "Mock me all you want, Danyr," the other man replied confidently. "Won't change a damn thing."

            "It won't? And here I thought I could charm the lot of you into letting me go with my silver tongue." said Corim innocently.

            I made myself look. There, around Corim, were our pursuers. A group of men and women, all clad in shadowy gray, light and limber on their bodies. Inside me, Corim's memory flickered at the sight of them. Memoriums, all of them. The leader, Arkan Penthill. Clera Basleigh. Norton Welk. The rest it couldn't recognize. Writhing and coiling all about them were those horrendous creatures. Pairs of gold eyes shone in a hungry, frenzied light. If I focused enough, I could see the near imperceptable forms of wolves. That clarity never lasted long, for the moment the shape was identifiable it warped and became nothing but shifting shadowy masses.

            They weren't what struck fear into my heart, however. It was Corim sitting casually with his own simple gleaming knife to his throat. One of the women stepped forward.         

            "Where's the girl? She was with him." she questioned Penthill angrily.

            "Long gone." Corim lied with ease, a satisfied smirk on his lips. "So sorry to disappoint you."

            Penthill snarled and started to advance upon him, removing his glove. Corim pressed the point of his knife to his neck. That halted Penthill. They needed him and he knew it.

            "You won't get anything from me." he grinned defiantly. "You won't win. You never could."

            Then it happened. The movement was quick, precise, but it seemed to make time slow. Beaming, Corim thrust the blade upward into the junction of where his jaw met his throat with not a hint of regret. Crimson blood spilled forth as the life gurgled out of him.

            That was it. He was gone. In nothing but a single moment.

            Corim Danyr was dead.