reflected in your eyes.”
Kitiara hesitated a moment longer. Then – with thoughts of
Raistlin’s mocking laughter ringing in her ears – the Dragon
Highlord removed the horned dragonhelm from her head. Still
she stood, glancing around. No wind ruffled her dark curls.
She felt cold sweat trickle down her temple. With an angry flick
of her glove, she wiped it away. Behind her, she could hear the
dragon whimper – a strange sound, one she had never heard
Skie make before. Her resolution faltered. The hand holding
the jewel shook.
“They feed off fear, Kitiara,” said Lord Soth softly. “Hold the
jewel high, let them see it reflected in your eyes!”
Show him you are a coward! Those words echoed in her
mind. Clutching the nightjewel, lifting it high above her head,
Kitiara entered Shoikan Grove.
Darkness descended, dropping over her so suddenly Kitiara
thought for one horrible, paralyzing moment she had been
struck blind. Only the sight of Lord Soth’s flaming eyes flicker-
ing within his pale, skeletal visage reassured her. She forced
herself to stand there calmly, letting that debilitating moment
of fear fade. And then she noticed, for the first time, a light
gleam from the jewel. It was like no other light she had ever
seen. It did not illuminate the darkness so much as allow Kiti-
ara to distinguish all that lived within the darkness from the
darkness itself.
By the jewel’s power, Kitiara could begin to make out the
trunks of the living trees. And now she could see a path form-
ing at her feet. Like a river of night, it flowed onward, into the
trees, and she had the eerie sensation that she was flowing
along with it.
Fascinated, she watched her feet move, carrying her forward
without her volition. The Grove had tried to keep her out, she
realized in horror. Now, it was drawing her in!
Desperately she fought to regain control of her own body.
Finally, she won – or so she presumed. At least, she quit mov-
ing. But now she could do nothing but stand in that flowing
darkness and shiver, her body racked by spasms of fear.
Branches creaked overhead, cackling at the joke. Leaves
brushed her face. Frantically, Kit tried to bat them away, then
she stopped. Their touch was chill, but not unpleasant. It was
almost a caress, a gesture of respect. She had been recognized,
known for one of their own. Immediately, Kit was in command
of herself once more. Lifting her head, she made herself look at
the path.
It was not moving. That had been an illusion borne of her
own terror. Kit smiled grimly. The trees themselves were mov-
ing! Standing aside to let her pass. Kitiara’s confidence rose.
She walked the path with firm steps and even turned to glance
triumphantly at Lord Soth, who walked a few paces behind
her. The death knight did not appear to notice her, however.
“Probably communing with his fellow spirits,” Kit said to
herself with a laugh that was twisted, suddenly, into a shriek of
sheer terror.
Something had caught hold of her ankle! A bone-freezing
chill was seeping slowly through her body, turning her blood
and her nerves to ice. The pain was intense. She screamed in
agony. Clutching at her leg, Kitiara saw what had grabbed
her – a white hand! Reaching up from the ground, its bony fin-
gers were wrapped tightly around her ankle. It was sucking the
life out of her, Kit realized, feeling the warmth leave. And then,
horrified, she saw her foot begin to disappear into the oozing
soil.
Panic swept her mind. Frantically she kicked at the hand,
trying to break its freezing grip. But it held her fast, and yet
another hand reached up from the black path and grabbed hold
of her other ankle. Screaming in terror, Kitiara lost her balance
and plunged to the ground.
“Don’t drop the jewel!” came Lord Soth’s lifeless voice.
“They will drag you under!”
Kitiara kept hold of the jewel, clutching it in her hand even as
she fought and twisted, trying to escape the deathly grasp that
was slowly drawing her down to share its grave. “Help me!”