A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [107]
After her first awed, hard-swallowing glance at what a Dwaer could do when its wielder was lost in slaying fury, Tshamarra Talasorn had been glancing swiftly around the room, seeking perils directed at Embra, and ways to thwart them before they could do the Lady Overduke harm or interrupt her in cooking Bloodblade's army. Upward was the first place Tshamarra looked, and the moment she was sure that none of Blood-blade's warriors had brought bows to this battle, she glanced up at the Serpent-priests again, and murmured a spell of her own. It was almost her last-but then, if a sorceress worried about such things and allowed such prudence to guide her, every spell she cast might prove to be her very last, forever.
With careful swiftness Tshamarra worked her casting, her eyes never leaving the hissing Serpent-priests-and none of them had finished their spellweavings when her green fire struck and raged among them, swift and painful. It was nothing beside the searing oblivion that Embra was dealing, but it was enough to leave the scaled men reeling or on their knees, their spells ruined. One of them obligingly fell into the throne room-and Baron Ornentar raised his blade in desperate haste and spitted the Snake-priest while the scaled man still lay twisting on the floor, winded and shuddering.
The surviving Serpent-priests retreated from the edge of the hole in the ceiling, weaving hasty shielding spells, and Tshamarra raised her hands, feigning the casting of another spell, but did nothing. She had too little fire left in her to waste anything.
Armed with her Dwaer, Embra had no such cares. As the Worldstone flamed above her, the Lady Overduke slaughtered on-and, in moments, an army was slain.
The three barons saw their handful of armsmen ducking behind stones and among corpses, and hastily did the same. Here and mere around the room armaragors of the usurper did the same-particularly after Embra took special care to burn down anyone who tried to flee out a door.
Crouching behind one of the largest piles of fallen stone, Bloodblade watched in disbelief as these last few of his men died. The room before him was a charnel house, and only a bare handful of his swordcaptains remained, clustered grimly around him. Wondering what door he dared try to flee to, the warlord glanced up at the riven ceiling-and saw the Serpent-priests looking down at him coldly, from within the spark-shot flickerings of many overlapping shielding spells. Thus protected, they had returned to the very edge of the hole, and now stood watching-doing nothing.
Something in dusty leather burst over the heap of stones, and an armaragor who had sword up and ready died with a dagger in one eye before he could even cry an alarm. A second gurgled, throat cut, ere the other three got their blades up to force back the procurer.
Delnbone, the little rat of the overdukes! Well, his swordcaptains could deal with-
An armored form loomed up over the stones and smashed aside Bloodblade's swift thrust with one swing of a long, well-used warsword. The Lord of All Aglirta sprang back, stumbling on rubble, and Hawkril Anharu stalked after him.
Bloodblade looked up at the snake-men. As before, they stared dispassionately down, arms folded and shields strong.
"Aid!" Bloodblade called to them desperately, as Hawkril hewed through Duthjack’s parry and drove the warlord back.
Bloodblade caught the overduke's next titanic swordcut on his blade, but the blow left his arm burning and without strength. He couldn't feel his fingers-fingers that his sword was already slipping from! Frantically, Bloodblade snatched it in his other hand and backed desperately away from Hawkril's slow, grim advance. His swordarm, the warlord knew, was broken.
"Aid!" Bloodblade cried, looking up at the Serpent-priests.