From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [3]
Slivers of fire knocked Sidal to the floor, breaking his contact with Macoun. Heat flooded back into Sidal’s body. He lay on his side, facing the open floor. His vision spun, everything a blur of flashing green light and dancing shadows. He blinked until his sight cleared. He wanted to get up, to slip down the stairs and flee the stronghold, but Macoun had taken all his strength.
The two sorcerers circled one another, throwing bolts of green lightning like spears. The bitter tang of charred wool wrinkled Sidal’s nose. When the green light flashed, Sidal could see feathers floating in the air. Hundreds of gowzals circled the tower outside, squawking, shrieking, passing by the window in a tangle of black wings.
Macoun struck the Hadad with a blast of green steam. The Hadad’s robe and hair blew back. He countered by flinging a glowing scythe. Macoun spun to the side, and the scythe cut through the back hem of his robe.
Macoun attacked again, as did the Hadad. Their power clashed between them. Knotted. Macoun pushed. The Hadad pushed. They stood on opposite sides of the chamber, the Hadad with his back to Sidal, his heels barely an arm’s length from Sidal’s limp hand. Peering around the hem of the Hadad’s robe, Sidal could see only half of Macoun’s face across the room.
They stood like that, grunting, pushing. The gowzals continued to screech and flap their wings. Sidal stared at his fingers, squeezed his fist. He could move again. His energy had returned. He sat up and backed against the wall.
“Haahh!” the Hadad roared. A blast shook the tower. Sidal looked around the Hadad in time to see Macoun’s body fall.
A snare coiled around Sidal’s stomach. His master! What could he do to—
Sidal’s limbs turned again to ice. He stiffened, cold, yet mobile this time. Immense. Strong. Against his will, his body pushed to his feet, crept forward a step. And another. His hand slid to his belt, withdrew his dagger.
Watch and learn, boy.
The voice was Macoun’s, yet it was Sidal’s thoughts, deeper and more intimate than mere bloodvoicing.
The Hadad, lit now by nothing but the lone candle, stood over Macoun’s body, kicked it. “Fool that you are, Macoun. As if you could ever defeat—”
Sidal plunged the dagger into the Hadad’s back. The act horrified him, thrilled him, confused him. He still had no control over his own actions.
The Hadad screamed, turned to look at Sidal, but before he could speak, his body seized, his back arched, and a pale face rose out of his chest.
Tall and impossibly thin, a semi-transparent creature seeped out of the Hadad’s body until it loomed over him, hunching under the ceiling. Its long limbs were corded in muscles. It had no hair, but cragged ridges ran from its chin, up its cheeks, over its head, then curled and darkened into black ram’s horns. Charcoal veins bulged all over the creature’s milky skin. Its eyes, mouth, and stub of a nose were blackened.
“No! Don’t leave me!” The Hadad crumpled to his knees at the creature’s feet. “I have nearly completed your task. Heal me. Let me finish what I started, I beg you!”
The creature roared, a sound that shook the tower and Sidal’s bones. The Hadad whimpered and ducked his head under his arms.
The creature turned its black eyes to Sidal and spoke in a gravelly voice. “Set the snare.”
Sidal wanted to run, but Macoun still controlled his body. He flicked Sidal’s hand at the ceiling, conjuring a dome of light over the Hadad’s body. The entire chamber glowed green, illuminating bits of feathers floating on the air from the birds flying outside.
“Master, please.” The Hadad sucked in a short breath. “If my body must die…” He wheezed. “At least let my soul serve you here.”
But the creature glided over the Hadad and sank into Macoun’s body that still lay lifeless across the room.
The Hadad, the great teacher, fell, choking in hitches of breath. Suddenly, a transparent image of the man floated out of