A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [39]
"We're the last," the ranking sword panted, as Ilibar joined him. They backed around behind the throne, so that it guarded one flank, and stood back to back. "I hope you're at peace with the Three." Ilibar nodded. "That I am. You?"
Garzhar grinned. "There's this girl I always meant to marry, but never did," he panted, between thrusts and hackings, "but it doesn't seem to matter now… so I suppose I am." He beheaded a Melted with a wild whirl of his blade, and shouted, "For Aglirta!"
"For Aglirta!" Ilibar took up the cry, and they hacked and chopped like angry butchers for a long time before Old Garzhar went down silently. Then Ilibar did something he'd never dared try before-he leaped up onto the throne itself, and fought from its height, shouting his defiance at the seemingly endless waves of walking dead.
Above a glowing mirror, there was a soft hiss of disgust, and then a few muttered words. The mirror flashed blinding bright.:
The Melted around him suddenly burst into flames, and Ilibar screamed at the pain-screamed and sprang forward, howling, hacking blindly in the inferno as dead men crumbled all around him. More of the cadavers were tottering in by the doors he was charged to guard, he knew-unburned dead men, coming to hack him. down.
Unseeing, he swung his blade, lurching towards where he knew the doors must be, the stink of his own burning hair and sizzling flesh overwhelming him, choking him-
Something hard and heavy took him in the ribs, and he reeled, losing his sword somewhere in the raging flames before another blow ended it all, and drove Ilibar Quelver down, down, into the waiting, cool darkness…
Soft laughter rose above the flickering mirror. It displayed dying flames in the Throne Chamber of Flowfoam, then dozens of Melted converging on the Throne of Aglirta, and then empty halls and feast chambers, followed by deserted kitchens, and more scenes of marching corpses, lurching into every room of Flowfoam Palace while even the bats flapped hastily away above their heads.
"I wonder," that soft voice said then. "The Master of Bats? Lives he yet?"
And then it snorted dismissively and passed a hand over the mirror-which went dark in an instant.
Robes whirred as their owner hurried out, to stride along a corridor-and through a whorl of sorcery spinning lazily at its end.
That same soft laughter rose again, echoing around the Throne Chamber of Flowfoam. An almost casual hand gestured, and in silent obedience the Melted shuffled back to leave clear a path to the high seat.
Shadows cloaked the robed man who stood facing the throne down that open way-the shadows of protective spells, writhing in a ready man-de. Their owner raised his hands and carefully cast a new magic. From the shadows cloaking him a new, brighter rathance stole forth, drifting along the marble to ascend the throne dais, and slowly encircle the seat. It was bare of crown or scepter, and the radiance seemed to prowl around it, searching for something, before slowly dying away.
Silence followed, and the man cloaked in shadows cast the spell a second time. Another wave of seeking rathance toured the dais, the ceiling above, and the throne itself-but no lurking magics could he find. Magic was bound about the seat, deep and many-layered, yes, but no triggers were to be found, and nothing that was awake in its power.
With a chuckle of relief the robed figure strode forward-and sat on the throne.
His mantle of shadows billowed away into nothingness in an instant, and Ingryl Ambelter, Spellmaster of Flowfoam, threw back his head and laughed aloud. The crown itself might yet be adorning the head of that fool Blackgult, but the River Throne held even stronger enchantments, and could be used to power mighty spells indeed. King or not, know it or not, Aglirta now had a new ruler.
He