He's with us, the druid thought, but should I be glad—or afraid?.
Praz turned back to him.
"Where are they?" he asked.
"On the Isle of the Dead."
"How far?"
"Several days' journey, but we have a fast ship and a loyal crew."
Praz turned to Telop and River.
Watching Praz, Alagar saw some of the Darkness soften inside the warrior. Despite all the Darkness that filled him, Praz had true feelings for his friends. He wanted them to go, but he wouldn't ask them. The realization surprised the druid and gave him hope. Perhaps, although Praz was born of Darkness, he could become more than that. It's what Bo had told him all along.
"I have to warn you, Praz-El," the druid said, "the menace we're facing is far greater than simply Mandel and Lenik. With luck, you may never face it. But if you do, know you will have a good man at your back."
Telop stepped forward. "He already has a good man at his back."
River looked at the elf.
"You're going?"
Telop pointed at the Towers in the city, then at the dark ships waiting out in the misty, mystical Sea.
"I think school's out for a while," he said.
"Then let's not waste any more time," Jarrell said. He turned to Noleta, who nodded and looked at Praz.
"Let's go," she whispered.
Praz turned to her and then took one last look at Bo's grave site. I'm coming, he thought, feeling anger course through him. I'm coming to avenge you.
He turned to Telop and River, both of whom had stayed with him through so much. "Thank you," he said.
River clasped his arm and began walking him down the hill.
"Don't thank us yet," she said.
The others began to turn and go, but Alagar stayed behind. When they were far enough away, he turned back to Bo's grave.
Spreading his hands above the soil, Alagar dropped seeds in the wet earth. Then, shimmering force drifted from his fingers and touched the soil. Immediately, the seeds germinated and sprouted into purple, gold, and red blossoms the size of a man's fist until they covered the grave.
Alagar stood up and observed his work. "They'll help keep the zombies away," he said "no matter where you are."
Sendark stood at the stern of his ship and watched as the newly recruited undead file in.
More than three hundred new zombies had stepped onto the ships and fell into the routine of patrolling the waters as if they'd been there all along.
Sendark was pleased, and it amused him to see many of the newest zombies wearing the leathers of the Guardsmen. Tonight, when it was dark and he raided again, the city would face friends and even family members battling against them.
The thought made him smile.
In the past, Sendark knew, it was facing the undead, the familiar, their own soldiers that tore the resistance out of an opposing force. He relished the thought of the coming battle. The city wouldn't sleep much beforehand, he knew, since they could still see his ships in the harbor.
And they wouldn't sleep much afterward.
He glanced around at the roiling green mist mixing with the normal white of the fog. Good, Sendark thought, the mist has no intention of withdrawing from this world. He could tell because the Mist always turned green when it was traveling between dimensions.
Sendark switched his attention back to the six Towers. They will fall, he thought. Maybe not tonight or the night after, but they will fall, and if I can hand them over to Necros, I will be one step closer to godhood myself.
It was godhood, of course, that would allow him to finally face Necros as an equal, and not the discarded lackey he was often treated as.