The Nighthaunt are everywhere. The very wind carries them across the Realms, here and there, mostly loose notions of malice drifting by or little breezes of regret in the hearts of the sensitive. Now the mists of Concendia had lifted, and the wind blew there once more. A skilled mage may focus the little bits of being – a very skilled mage may glean from them secrets that mortal eyes do not see. A Guardian of Souls may call them up and command them. Such spells did Kemja cast, for she was a Guardian of Souls and a great one at that, and dread songs rang out across Concendia’s coast.
“Eklath! A-fhpeloth tagnath! Come, spirits! A-fhpeloth tebonath!” Power! There is nothing like power. Kemja laughed as she summoned. “Eklath! Takladrath! Nem-fshregoth’tan agl’tan nemar’tan! I conjure thee! Ekk’rth rethal emnodoth levon, tepratas a-fhpeloth tebonath!”
And they came. From everywhere the spirits came, the sand and the sea and the sky, and they coalesced before Kemja in a great groaning mass.
“Inform me!” she commanded. “Tell me of the doings of the Beastmen and the Ghouls, and tell me of how the treemen move. I want their positions and their plans.”
The spirits heaved, and became a smooth black pool. Kemja grinned as she saw the Sylvaneth take shape. There were the Treelords that had harried Lord Delarosa, and there were the Dryads and Spite-Revenants and Branchwyches and all the rest of them. She committed to memory their number and their doings. They didn’t seem very imaginative. Same doings, over and over. A side-effect of the Mists, perhaps? Impatiently, Kemja commanded the spirits to show their findings faster. So the images continued at breakneck speed. Kemja watched as a week, then two, then a month of those same movements repeated itself on the pool.
Then she hissed and knew that she was not alone.
Kemja drew her Nightmare Lantern high and chanted a new song, one of unraveling and undoing. She watched as the pool began to shift again, and something new showed in the depths. She quickly made a ward and felt an intruding power strike against it in fury. Shrieking, Kemja threw herself into the sorcerous duel with all her might.
Long and hard was the battle. That nght, the sea burned with ghost-lights, and the ground was awash with Ghyran. Yet the invading power had a home-field advantage and Kemja, screaming her hatred, flung the last of her spirit-pool up into a spell of transportation and was gone from the coast of Concendia.
But she knew now where the Sylvaneth had their home and how many there were of them, and besides, she had distracted some great mage of theirs. As she coalesced in the Underworld she thought on her small victories and found that they outweighed her great loss. Laughing, Kemja sped towards Lord Delarosas camp on Concendia by the misty pathways only spirits know.
