lost

your bodies? Look what has become of you. The mighty Council of the White,

reduced to three gaudy little pebbles. Helpless without this common flesh

that

you have bonded to."

The ruby over Modred's heart suddenly blazed, and his eyes became suffused

with

blood-red light. Twin crimson beams of pure thaumaturgic energy shot from

them,

striking the necromancer full in the chest, but the force beams merely passed

through his insubstantial form, spending their tremendous force against the

far

wall of the cell, opening a fissure in the wall as the huge stones cracked,

sending chips and dust whirling through the musty air.

"That was foolish," said the shade of the necromancer. "Did you really think

that I would risk confronting you in the flesh? No, I have waited far too

long

to be so careless now. You should have saved your strength. Now you are

weaker

still. You only hasten the inevitable. Another such blast—assuming you could

summon up the strength for it—would only succeed in bringing tons of stone

tumbling down upon you."

"Why not kill me and have done with it?" said Modred, his voice a hoarse

whisper, his breathing ragged.

"You, halfling, I could kill without a moment's thought. You are nothing to

me.

But for those whose life force is now joined to yours, I would have long

since

consumed your energy. But their strength protects you. At least for now. Yet

I

grow stronger while they weaken. And soon I shall be stronger than they ever

were. Still," he added, sounding wistful, "it will be a poor revenge on those

who kept me buried alive for eons, because I will not see their faces and I

will

not hear them scream. But I will take what solace I can find in the agony

that

you shall suffer, knowing they will share in it. And when I have milked your

soul of all its sanity, I will rip that stone out from your chest together

with

your still beating heart."

The runestone flickered with a feeble glow. Modred's head sagged down upon

his

chest. He was dizzy with thirst and hunger, exhausted from lack of sleep, and

drained by the attack upon the necromancer, which had taken every last ounce

of

strength he had left. It was all over. He could feel his life force ebbing.

Perhaps, he thought, after two thousand years it was only fitting for it all

to

end in a cold stone dungeon of some ancient castle. A deserving end for one

who

had committed both patricide and regicide in one fell blow.

"It really is a pity in a way," the necromancer said, his image slowly

fading,

leaving his voice to echo in the cell. "It is all so easy. Perhaps the other