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"Who's there? Who spoke? Enough of this! I've heard
you before! Show yourself!"
Rennard, alarmed, looked to see if his pursuers had
come while he had been lost in reverie. For a moment, the
shadows of night became the hunters, but the ghost soon
saw that there was no one, living or dead, other than Dor-
nay and himself.
"You hear me, then, Knight of the Prickly Rose?"
Rennard asked, not expecting an answer.
"I hear you too well, cur! Come out of hiding! Reveal
yourself to me or I will let my blade find you!"
Dornay shifted to face the location where the ghost
stood.
Rennard stared, amazed.
"You would not like me, mortal," the ghost replied,
testing. "And your blade would be sorely disappointed."
"Where are you?" Exhausted as he was, Dornay was
calm, alert. "I hear where you must be, but I see nothing
there!"
Rennard walked slowly toward his young counterpart.
"There is something here, Knight of the Rose, but nothing
you can touch, not even the smallest bone remains. The
physical shell I once wore was burned shortly after I killed
myself, so very long ago."
"Killed yourself?" Erik's eyes rounded. "So you claim
to be a ghost? You lie! More likely a spellcaster in hiding!
Yes, that's who you must be!"
Rennard shook his head. "I am no mage, Erik Dornay.
Do you recall the body you found not too far from here?
The old man? I was watching you then. You thought you
heard something . . . even saw something, didn't you?"
Dornay's countenance was nearly as pale as that of his
unholy companion
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