Fredrick spoke low as they walked, the same soothing tone he had used with the waterhorse. “My clan settled here long ago, but we soon found the caves reach far beyond Wenderdowne. Some dens we disturbed, then chose to keep watch and guard the realms above from the fell beasts that sleep below.” Jo cocked her head and teased, “Like a balrog?” “If by balrog you mean a creature of shadow and malice, then aye,” Fredrick replied, perfectly serious.
The ghostly servants of Bitterhelm, those thralls forced to linger even after their bodies withered away over the centuries, were pitifully few. Too many had faded from wisps into shadow, and their whispers haunted Vynasha’s waking steps. Even here, in the room of their sleeping prince. “Be strong of will…” The walls whispered voices were softer today, at least. But the voices sounded far too much like her faded friend for comfort. “Face your reflection… Claim the mirror you must before the end…” Digging her claws deeper into her palm, Vynasha reached into the threads that bound her to the castle and hissed, “Enough, Hvalla. I know what I have to do.”
