Page 100 of Storm of Shadows
I lower my gaze, not meeting his scowl. Guilt claws at my heart. Why, I don’t understand. After all, Natharius is a demon. The weapon which is bound to me, enslaved to my will.
“Can I sit down?” he demands.
Though I hear him—his growl is hard to miss—his question doesn’t register in my mind. My brows are knitted together as I struggle to understand the unpleasant feelings churning within. I tell myself I shouldn’t care about a demon being injured, but it does nothing to banish the guilt gnawing on me.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say, my voice quiet.
“For what?”
“You were injured because of me.”
“I was injured because of Mulgath,” he replies.
“But that attack was intended for me,” I say. “You could have let it strike me. I gave you no order to save me.”
“If the spell had struck you, then you would have died.”
“And if I died, you would have returned to the Abyss. So, why did you save me?”
“Because if I return to the Abyss, then that necromancer of yours might succeed in unsealing the Lich Lord.”
“You’re a demon of the Abyss. You despise mortals. Why would you care what happens to Imyria?”
Natharius’s jaw clenches. “I do not care about what happens to Imyria. But I do care about ensuring that what I have done isn’t undone and that the sacrifices I have made are not in vain.”
“Like your kingdom? Your family? Your soul?”
“My soul matters not.”
I can almost hear the words he doesn’t speak. That though his soul doesn’t matter, both his kingdom and his family do. How does it feel to be consumed by guilt for a thousand years? Does Natharius often contemplate what happened? Is he regretful over the choices he made?
I suppose that enduring guilt for a millennium explains the Void Prince’s volatile temperament.
“Besides,” he continues, catching me off guard. “Even if it were not for the Lich Lord, I would have no choice but to save you. When you first summoned me from the Abyss, you commanded me to keep you alive. Since the spell would have killed you had it struck you, I therefore had little choice in the matter.”
“Oh. That’s right.”
He casts me a bored look. “Now that we have settled this matter, can I sit down?”
“Yes, of course you can.”
Natharius doesn’t hesitate to sit down and lean against the pillar behind him.
I remain in front of him for a moment longer, mulling over my thoughts.
“Is there something else?” he asks, peering at me and examining my expression.
Indeed, there is something else: the matter of reaching Gerazad before Arluin and his necromancers do. Though I try not to reveal my worries, I can’t help my hands from wringing together.
Even before we entered the Ghost Woods, the chance of us arriving at Gerazad first was slim. Now we have strayed far from our path, and I’ve lost track of how long we’ve spent here.
Is reaching Gerazad before Arluin now an impossible hope? Will we arrive long after the necromancers have besieged the orcish settlement and stolen the ring of Lagartha the Old?
I sigh and turn away from Natharius before he notices my expression. I have no desire to ask him whether or not he thinks we will succeed, because I know his answer will only confirm my suspicions. And I have to believe there’s hope we will reach Gerazad first, no matter how foolish it may be. I can’t bear the burden of the alternative.
“It’s nothing,” I murmur as I start away from Natharius, returning to where Zephyr is curled up. My father’s crystalline staff lies beside him, and I crouch to retrieve it. I clench the staff and stare into the aether-infused crystalline surface which ripples in the low light. Though Mulgath has been defeated, the braziers lining the hall flicker with ghostly lights. The dark magic in the air must keep them illuminated.
When we reach Gerazad, provided we aren’t too late, will I have the opportunity to free Father from Arluin’s shackles? Will I be able to avenge everything I’ve lost?