A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [74]
"Ride on! Bloodblade bellowed. The cowled man riding on his right made a tiny gesture, and the warlord's words rang out like a trumpet into every man's ear, across his entire army. "If perchance the king does dare to stand against us, he will fall before our blades, and Aglirta shall be cleansed at last! Ride on! To Flowfoam, and victory!"
"To Flowfoam, and victory!" a thousand throats echoed, and the thunder of hooves began again, drowning out the last echoes from the mountains.
Curved slabs of stone crashed down, shattered-spraying shards of marble in all directions as they broke what they landed on, too-bounced or rolled over ponderously, and came to a halt, trailing dust.
Crushed and mangled Melted lay half-buried everywhere, and Sarasper scrambled through the choking dust to get out from under descending blue flames. The coughing and retching sounds from overhead told him that the four sorceresses weren't going to be smiting anyone or anything for the next few breaths, at least.
Time enough to find Raulin and the baron, if they yet lived. In the next moment he was twisting desperately aside from a sword, and then hearing Glarsimber's muttered apology. Time enough, indeed!
"Where're Embra? And Hawk?" Raulin hissed, at the baron's elbow.
Sarasper gave them a shrug in the dust gloom, and pointed in the general direction of where he'd seen them rumbling through the air-into the far reaches of the room, thankfully beyond where the ceiling had collapsed.
He glanced up, into the darkness of what had been the gallery above the throne chamber, and was now an even higher ceiling for it. Nothing but swirling dust. The blue flames were dying away now, at floor level, flickering feebly around the booted ankles of the four tall, dark-gowned women.
They looked slender, agile, discomfited by all the dust-and furious. If they hadn't been so angry and so dangerous, they might have seemed beautiful.
Gods, even cloaked in dust, they were beautiful. Like so many of the perils the Three sent to torment other mortals: alluring but deadly. Sarasper waved at Raulin and the baron to crouch low behind a heap of broken stone slabs, and took, himself to his knees, a hand over his nose against the dust.
One of the Talasorn sorceresses glanced right at him, but seemed uninterested. Her gaze, like those of her sisters, strayed again and again-when they weren't looking at each other, glances that were clearly silent converse-at the riven throne.
A glow was growing there, an eerie blue darker than the flames of the Talasorn. Darker, yet growing slowly brighter and lighter in hue. Three broken shards, like reaching fingers, were all that was left of the River Throne, mere fragments of its back… and this rathance was growing brighter and stronger in front of them.
Ariathe Talasorn lifted a hand to hurl magic at it, but Olone said sharply, "No! Not yet! See what befalls, first!"
"I am so sick of waiting to see what befalls…" Ariathe said in a voice of low, angry warning-but although she kept her hand raised and ready, no blue fire kindled in it.
The light before the throne was white now, and the sorceresses gazed at nothing else; Sarasper rose and went softly to join Raulin and the baron, pointing again to where Embra and Hawkril had been thrown. Slowly they proceeded in that direction, carefully threading their ways around the smouldering, half-buried bodies of the fallen Melted and much broken stone, pausing often to glance back at the throne.
The rathance in front of the throne seemed shot through with whirling stars, now. Olone Talasorn took a cautious step closer to it, and then another, and her sisters did the same. As they watched, that light grew brighter, more slender, and taller.
Abruptly the whirling motes within it rushed together, into a shape-and Kelgrael Snowsar stood looking at them, drawn sword in hand. The King of All Aglirta was wearing a sad smile as he gazed upon