Had Ilsabet not been certain that she was alone in this room, she would have whirled and faced the intruder. Instead, Ilsabet pretended not to have heard the spectre. She began to fold the bloodstained tunic into the center of her father's cape. As she did, the stains brightened and began to spread, dripping from the woolen folds onto the polished wooden floor. Ilsabet stifled a scream and dropped the tunic, then looked down at her hands.
They were coated with new blood, which dripped from some hidden source off the tips of her fingers, leaving black stains on the brilliant green satin of her robe. The hallucination stole the breath from her lungs, and her heart pounded.
"At what cost?" the voice repeated.
Then she did whirl, but there was no one there at all.
PART II
THE DANCE OF DEATHEIGHT
Jorani had been nine years old when he first entered Nimbus Castle. He had no title then, his family no wealth. His father played the flute and dulcimer, his uncle the drums, while his mother danced and sang. His duty was to keep watch over their instruments, and to bring new ones when needed.
He was sitting at the side of the hall, engrossed in the beauty of his mother's singing, when out of the corner of his eye he spied a boy a few years older than he moving toward the family's pipes, lutes, and drums. He did not notice the boy's rich clothing. If he had, it would have made no difference. Everyone in the castle seemed wealthy to him, which made his family's scant possessions all the more precious.
Jorani waited until the thief picked up the set of carved wooden pipes, the most beautiful instrument his family owned and his own favorite to play. Jorani faced him. " Put that down," he ordered.
Instead the boy turned to run. Jorani sprang. He had expected the boy to put up a silent fight and run as soon as he broke away. Instead, the youth, who turned out to be considerably more muscular than he, let out a terrible scream, then got the better of him and dragged him through the center of hall to the baron's table.