Journey into the Void by Margaret Weis

reckless thing to try to do—save the young king from a Vrykyl. I put the lives of my friends in peril. I put our mission to save the Sovereign Stone in jeopardy. All for my own selfish thrills. If I had just given it a rational moment’s thought, I could have figured it out.
    â€œThe king suddenly dead. His son the last person with him. Nobody would suspect a child, of course. Nobody suspects now that the boy is anything other than he appears to be. And who would believe me if I told them? Who will believe a profligate adventurer, who never spoke a serious word in his life? A man who was granted the right to become a Dominion Lord and refused, not because I was protesting the politics, not out of any philosophical compunctions or any moral convictions. The truth was that I refused because, plain and simple, I didn’t want the responsibility.
    â€œAlise, Alise,” he whispered, holding her close. “If I were a Dominion Lord, I could save you. I could have saved myself. Through my own damn, selfish laziness, I have lost the only thing I ever held dear. And you will leave me never knowing that I love you. For I do love you, Alise,” said Shadamehr, kissing her gently. “You are my lady.”
    She had ceased to moan. Her body was growing colder, her breathinglabored. Holding her close, he breathed each breath with her, as if he could breathe each breath for her.
    â€œIf you die, Alise, I do not want to live. If you are not part of life, I have no care for this empty gift you have given me. But though I have no care for life myself, I will not waste it. I will make you proud of me, Alise. I will. I swear it to the gods.”

T HE VRYKYL JEDASH FOUGHT TO RETAIN THE ILLUSION. FIRE Storm returned for an instant, but by then people were screaming and pointing. He realized that his mask had slipped and people had seen through his disguise. He abandoned the useless Trevinici illusion, called upon his magic. The Void protected him, covered him in its own black armor, gave him deadly magicks and the power to wield them.
    The power of the Void affects not only the mind, but the heart. The Void’s weapon is fear. The Void’s shield is terror, its armor despair. The best and bravest find it difficult to battle the Void, for it forces a person to battle two foes simultaneously—the terror within and the horror without.
    The pecwae stood frozen, helpless. The Vrykyl made a grab for the two, and he nearly had the Grandmother, when some bastard cast a magical spell that caused the floorboards to lurch and roll. He lost his balance, stumbled backward, and crashed up against the wall.
    â€œThrow things at him!” a voice yelled, and the tavern’s patrons began their crockery assault.
    Plates and bowls smashed against the Vrykyl’s armor, mugs struck his helm. The missles could not harm him, but they were an irritation, kept him from thinking clearly so that he could cast a spell of his own.
    The air around Jessan grew chill and dank as the air in a burial mound. He smelled the sweet, sickening stench of decay. Fire Storm’s face dissolved. The illusion of flesh vanished, revealing the reality of a hideously grinning, gap-toothed skull.
    Jessan had only one weapon, the Blood-knife. He had fought a Vrykyl before and, though he had very nearly died, he remembered that this small bone knife had done a great deal of damage to the undead creature. Jessan grabbed hold of the Grandmother and thrust her behind him, putting himself between her and the Vrykyl, who was floundering amid smashed bowls and coagulating stew. A badly aimed mug struck Jessan in the back, between his shoulder blades. He hardly felt it.
    â€œWhere is Bashae?” he yelled, glancing over his shoulder.
    The Grandmother shook her head.
    Keeping one eye on his foe, Jessan searched about frantically for the pecwae. He shouted his friend’s name, but if Bashae answered, Jessan couldn’t hear him above the roars