A fantasy love story. To Lady Sibele, the witchstone meant eternal youth and beauty; to the wizard Fenrulf, it meant dark revenge; to the king, the stone meant unending power for evil.
Lured by their passion for the hell-born stone, they invaded a sybaritic and savage underworld, and at last descended into the fearful place of the frozen damned.
"Nightwind," she called. "Nightwind!"
The wind rose with a shaking of branches and a rushing in the sky.The black scarf snapped and fluttered and lengthened in the wind, one end trailing away and vanishing into the shadows. Still the wind rose like a long drawn-out roar, like the thundering of a multitude of hooves converging from all directions . . .there plunging mistily like entangled streamers of fog was a horse. He was a pale gray shadowed with flecks of darker gray, his mane and tail streaming away like wisps of mist into the shadow and his hooves making no sound on the stones, so that in the dim light he seemed illusory and phantomlike, the fragmentary dream of a horse. But his eyes as he turned them on her were dark and clear, the fathomless dark blue of the early night sky, with a light like stars shining in their depths.