Free Death of a Darklord by Laurell K. Hamilton Page A

the dead with a terrible purpose. What was that purpose, Elaine?”
    “It wanted Pegin dead.”
    “It?”
    “The maker of the spell wanted him dead.”
    “Why?”
    Her hand closed over the piece of bone. “The spell’s creator didn’t want Pegin to bring help. He, or she, fears Jonathan, fears the mage-finder.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “The bone reeks of fear.”
    “Could that not be the fear of the hand from which the bone came?”
    Elaine nodded. “It could be that, but the maker of the spell is afraid also.”
    “Is it only the mage-finder that the spell’s caster fears?”
    “No.”
    “What else?”
    “Death, he fears death.” She squeezed the shard of bone until the edges bit into her skin. The bones in her hand trembled in sympathy with the thing she held. The pain was sharp and final, the injury so great that the body deadened the nerves. It was not her own pain she was remembering. The finger had been severed while the woman still lived. There had been many spells, many bones, much blood.
    Fingers curled around her hand. “Let go, Elaine.” Gersalius tried to open her hand. “Let go.”
    “I cannot.”
    “Tereza, help me.”
    Tereza did not ask questions. She just knelt, flinging her gloves to the snow, helping to pry Elaine’s fingers apart. One finger at a time, they opened her hand.
    Gersalius turned her hand palm down, spilling the bone to the snow. Blood welled in a small cut where the bone had bitten into her skin.
    Tears trailed down Elaine’s face. She wasn’t sure why she was crying. “What happened?”
    “Your magic feeds on light, heat. Other magic feeds on other things,” Gersalius said.
    “What other things?”
    The wizard held her hand up to the dim starlight. He smeared his thumb through the darkness on her palm. “Blood, Elaine. It feeds on blood.”

JON at H a N sat at HIS D e SK , a R ms CRO sse D OV e R HIS chest. He could feel his face set in a scowl, but didn’t care. If anything was worth scowling about, it was this.
    Tereza stood against the far wall. Her arms were also crossed, tucked tight against her stomach, angry. Her long, dark hair gleamed like fur in the lamplight. The rich colors of her clothing glowed with reflected radiance. The strong planes of her face were set in high relief by the light and shadows. The sight of her made his body ache, but what she asked was impossible.
    “No, Tereza, I cannot condone it.” His voice sounded firm and reasonable. He was right, and she would see that.
    “You did not see Elaine in the shed tonight, Jonathan. Now that she knows she is a mage, her magic is coming out stronger, faster. If Gersalius had not been there, she might have been sucked to death’s door again.”
    “From what you tell me, if the wizard had not urged it, she would not have tried this … magic.”
    “No, but the next vision would have endangered her. At least now she knows how to control the magic, a little.” She pushed away from the wall and began to pace the small room. Her energyseemed to fill the room, making it shrink and pale compared to her. She was so very alive, all nerve endings and emotion, all physical. Jonathan was aware that she balanced him, his careful calculation to her impetuousness, his thinking to her heart, his age to her youth. Even as he argued, part of him wanted to say yes just because it was her. But no, not this time. He would, by the gods, stand his ground.
    “Before tonight, I would have agreed with you.” She stopped in front of him, hands on hips. “Gersalius must accompany us to Cortton.”
    He shook his head. “No.” One simple word; why couldn’t she understand it?
    Tereza paced away from him, stalking the room as though it were a cage. “Then Elaine must remain behind, with the wizard.”
    “No.”
    She whirled. “Why not?”
    “I do not trust the wizard here at our home with us away. He could bewitch the entire household, including Elaine, before we return.”
    “Do you really believe