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Perhaps we're dealing with a doppleganger or other form-shifter. If her killer assumed Jolind's shape,
you wouldn't be able to tell one set of prints from another.
"I doubt it," responded the warrior. He tilted his head to one side, and then to the other. "No, the
positioning is pretty clear. Only one person made these prints. What about the undead? Remember that
vampire we tracked down near Dragonspear? He didn't leave footprints, throw a shadow, or make any
sound when he moved." As soon as he mentioned that adventure, he wished he hadn't. It was in the
ancient crypt where the vampire's coffin had been hidden that Lelanda found the mysterious shroud of
shadows.
Possible, responded the enigmatic shadows of the garden, but unlikely. This place is pretty heavily
warded against intrusion by the undead and other unnatural creatures. If the killer is something like that,
he'd have to be extremely powerful to enter the tower. For our sakes I'd prefer to believe that isn't the
answer.
Orlando said no more for several minutes. Instead of allowing dark thoughts to dominate his mind, he
forced his attention back to the matter at hand. With measured steps, he walked to and fro around the
area, using his experience in combat to piece together this puzzle, whose pieces had been scattered in the
darkness of the previous night.
After a time, he noticed something and reached into a beautiful but painfully prickly shrub. Cursing and
wriggling, he pulled back his arm and drew out a slender, wooden rod some three feet long. Covered in a
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gleaming white lacquer, it was painfully cold to the touch. From past experience, however, he knew that
it was warmer than it should be.
What have you found?inquired the stillest part of the garden.
On some level, Orlando realized it wasn't the fact that
he couldn't see Lelanda that bothered him most. It was the spectral nature of her voice while she wore
the shroud. There was too much of death and darkness in this place already.
Orlando could stand no more of this one-sided conversation. "Take off that damned shroud, and I'll
show you!" he hissed.
Almost at once, the shadow of a pear tree lightened and the elegant sorceress was standing beside him.
She quickly complied with his request, making the hostility in his voice seem suddenly unnecessary.
"I'm sorry," Orlando said softly, "but you have no idea how quickly that thing gets on your nerves." He
expected her to argue the point, just as she would have in the past. To his surprise, her response was
quite civil.
"No," she answered, "I suppose I don't. You see, it's been a very long time since I've had a traveling
companion. I've gotten rather used to wearing the shroud all the time. I'll try not to use it unless it's an
emergency."
There was a brief pause, a moment of still contrast to the violence that had unfolded around them.
Orlando searched for something to say, but failed.
Lelanda seemed only slightly more at ease, picking up the frayed threads of conversation. "I asked you
what you had found," she reminded him.
"Looks like a piece of that staff Jolind used to carry with her; feels like it too, almost as cold as those
blizzards it could summon up."
Lelanda tilted her head and looked at the broken staff. Her lips pursed as she considered the broken
end and several places along its length where something had cut deeply into it. "There was some pretty
powerful magic woven into this thing. It wouldn't be easy to break. The weapon that hacked these
notches out of it and finally broke it must have been every bit as powerful. That doesn't bode well for our
future."
Silence fell upon the garden again. Orlando went back to fishing through the shrubs, eventually finding
the other section of Jolind's staff.
Lelanda examined the head, looking into the druid's
eyes as if she might read the woman's dying thoughts. Then she walked a distance toward Orlando and
called to him. He met her halfway between the shrubs and the fallen body.
"We've learned a little bit from an examination of the area and the body, but Jolind can tell us more."
"Necromancy?" asked Orlando, the word sounding just as bitter as it tasted in his mouth. She nodded.
He growled. "I suppose there's no choice. Get it over with."
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"I'll have to..."
"I know," he said.
Two steps brought the witch to the edge of the bloody pool, another to the place where Jolind's severed
head had come to land. She looked back at Orlando, flashed him an uncomfortable smile, and raised the
hood of the shroud above her head. Instantly, it became difficult for the warrior to focus his eyes on her.
Even knowing where she had been standing only a few seconds earlier, he could discern nothing but the
faintest impression of the shrouded figure.
The magical energies of death and darkness answered Lelanda's urging. She spoke words of power
whose sounds had no meaning to Orlando's untrained ears. He felt the strange tugging of death at his
spirit and knew that something stood nearby, hungering for the taste of his soul, contained only by the
power of Lelanda's will. If her concentration failed, the consequences could well be disastrous. Then,
with a cry of agony from the unseen mage, the spell was completed.
Orlando steeled his nerve as the eyes on Jolind's severed head snapped open. The thin-lipped mouth did
likewise, and a hissing, hollow scream filled the garden. Unable to stand the sight, Orlando turned his
head away. He felt the need to vomit, but retained control of his traumatized body by remembering that a
deadly enemy might lurk nearby.
Jolind,said the spectral necromancer,can you hear me?
"Yesss," responded an empty, lifeless voice. "Who are you? Your voice is familiar ... but distant."
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