Read Black Magic for Free Online

Concentration? Sorin wasn't sure.
    "What are you doing?" he asked again.
    Koray sighed in annoyance, but said, "Purifying the field, banishing the ghosts of the fallen. If I do not, then more battles will come to this place, the land will suffer, people who pass through will always fall ill or find trouble, or suffer in some other manner. All things die, but not all deaths are right. Unjust deaths leave malcontent spirits, and such spirits poison the land and the people." He turned his head, scowling up at Sorin. "Can you not feel it? The sadness in the air, the wrongness? You're the High Paladin, can you not feel it?"
    "Yes," Sorin said. "I can feel it. I always feel when lives are snuffed, taken away forever—when they are ripped away to feed demons."
    The words seemed to soothe some of Koray's ire. "Then pay attention, High Paladin, and perhaps for once in your life you'll bother to learn something important. Generally, we can only do this after everyone else has gone. My brothers have tried before when knights remained…" His lips pulled into a grimace, and he said nothing further.
    He moved forward a bit and pressed his hands together as though in prayer, murmuring softly, and Sorin's skin prickled as he felt the magic in the air, felt it twist and shift and twine around Koray—the same as the incense, which seemed as drawn to him as the magic he was summoning.
    Slowly, Koray drew his hands apart, still whispering softly, until his arms were extended fully at his sides, fingers splayed. He opened his eyes, and Sorin had not even realized until then that they'd fallen shut. They glowed violet, just like when the High Priest was lost in a trance or Sorin was lost in a battle haze.
    What did it mean that Koray was so much like them in terms of power?
    Before he could follow the thought the wind kicked up, cold and sharp, tossing about the bitter scent of incense so strong that it mostly drowned out the stench of the bodies. The incense seemed to follow the spread of the magic, the fragrant smoke trailing out across the battlefield, covering everything, following the wind that seemed itself to be guided by Koray's whispered words.
    Prayers, Sorin realized, or at least the flow and rhythm of the words reminded him of prayers.
    He shivered as some strange sensation washed over him, and stared as shadows and hazy shapes appeared in the smoke. Whipping back around to ask Koray what was going on, he instead drew up short to see the brilliant violet of his eyes, the intense focus upon his face, and the way it was obviously taxing him.
    No different, Sorin realized with a shock, than the way he'd exhausted himself fighting the demon lord.
    In his chest, the Goddess' sudden excitement and joy was so hot it was nearly too painful. What was making her so happy? The realization that necromancers were a lot like him, like the priests?
    The answering throb seemed to indicate that was, indeed, the reason.
    Confused, exhausted, and not certain what he was supposed to say or do—and underneath everything, there was the grief over Alfrey, dead not even a day—he simply stood and continued to watch as Koray performed his necromancy. Several minutes later, the strange, shadowy figures faded away.
    Sorin realized abruptly that he did not feel quite as … heavy as he had before, as he always felt after a battle. He still felt overheated, but not as burdened. Something in him eased, simple as that.
    Before him, Koray seemed to droop. For a moment, it almost seemed as though he might topple right over. But even as Sorin reached out to catch him, Koray gathered himself, straightening his shoulders as glanced up.
    "That was like nothing I've ever seen before," Sorin said.
    Koray said nothing, only knelt and retrieved the incense dish and his staff.
    "May I ask—why the incense?" Sorin asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
    Koray eyed him suspiciously, but said, "It makes a good conduit between myself and the dead. The living are not