A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [57]
Steel clanged, and then was gone, trailing a scream. Blackgult sent a snarl after it. Another Aglirtan he'd had to slay-another good man who should have drawn sword in the name of the Rightful King for years yet.
Men were dying and screaming all around him, and his warhorse had crashed to the ground seemingly hours ago, almost taking him with it into death. Now he stood hip deep in dead warriors, sending forth fire from the two Dwaer whirling serenely above his head-blasting down this band of warriors, and then that one.
They hadn't made it to the trees. Halvan was dead and the loyalty of his Swords with him, there seemed no end to the armsmen-and hedge-wizards, too-who'd rallied to Bloodblade, and the Royal Host of Aglirta was now no more than a handful of wounded or exhausted men.
He would not abandon them, these loyal few. They'd fought for him, standing when they knew it meant their doom, and he'd fight the Three alone and unaided before he'd call on the Dwaer to flee, and leave good men to be slaughtered behind him. To die knowing they'd been abandoned by the regent who'd led them into this.
And yet there were wizards here in the fray, however feeble their magics- could he escape? If he fought on to the bitter end, no magic could snatch him away if he was struck senseless, or overwhelmed by pain or an arrow in the eye or throat… and what of the Dwaer then?
How could Embra escape-or Aglirta withstand the lurking Serpent-clergy-with the Dwaer-Stones in the wrong hands?
Embra! Yes! That was it!
Through the Dwaer he called to her, shouting with his mind: Embra, daughter mine! Farewell! Blackgult must Jail, that Aglirta live-but lass, use your Dwaer to call mine to you, or they'll be lost with me! Embra, swiftly! Call my Dwaer, and take them from here!
His cry echoed away into nothingness. No familiar mind brushed his, no warmth of regard or even fury… nothing.
Three Above, was his Embra dead?
"Gods," he whispered despairingly, swinging his sword almost out of habit to turn aside the blade of a snarling armaragor, and sidestep the lunge of another. Almost absentmindedly he spun to slice the throat of one man, and called on the Dwaer to blind the other, hacking the man down ruthlessly an instant later.
Waves of knights were advancing towards him, now-stalking menacingly forward, and then drawing aside. Through the gap they were creating, the Regent of Aglirta saw more armaragors striding proudly forward-and, glaring at him over their drawn swords, Sendrith Duthjack. Bloodblade was coming for him.
Embra, hear me!
Bloodblade was pressing forward now, and the knights crossing swords with Blackgult were falling back, bringing up their blades to ring him with glittering steel, where he stood alone among the fallen.
Alone with-his heart leaped-a sudden burst of magical rathance, in the air before him. Armaragors shouted, some snatched out daggers to throw-and out of the spell-glow stepped a tall, slender, darkly handsome man, in dark garb. A small vertical dagger was emblazoned on his left cheek.
He reached up for Blackgult's Dwaer, orbiting out of reach, and the regent saw that his long, slender fingers bore rings-rings that flashed and made Blackgult's blade sear his hands ere he could swing it, and bring this stranger-wizard down.
"I am Jhavarr Bowdragon!" the man snapped, as if that name would make men tremble, or bow down.
Blackgult glared at him, reaching for his dagger. "Aye. So?"
"Give me those," the wizard snarled, stabbing a pointing hand up at the two Dwaerindim, his eyes alight with excitement. "Such power! I must have them! Yield them to me, Blackgult, or die!"
Chapter Ten
Confounded Wizards Everywhere
The scrying whorl turned serenely-but the Koglaur from Sarinda suddenly extended an impossibly long finger down at its brightness,