Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [71]
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In the silence, she wept at the absence of Arantar's laughter. Within it she had heard a power and majesty from beyond the circles of this world, and in its absence her heart felt heavy, yet strangely empty.
Sound returned before sight, speaking a language she had never heard. Still, the meaning came through in her mind.
"He is dangerous, Khasoreth." In this voice, deep and rich, she heard the faintest echo of that sweet laughter. "You know this."
"I do know it," said another voice, this one younger. "Gaugan is dangerous, master. As are you-the most dangerous man in all the Empire."
"I do not use my power to dominate. To conquer."
"Nor did he, at first. He was as much victim as victor. You saw those devils he summoned. They fought at his command, but the leash by which he held them tore at his soul. You sensed it as well as I. They were using him as much as he used them."
"All the more reason to be wary of him."
"Wary, yes. But to murder him-"
"Execute, Khasoreth. Execute. You know his crimes. None would call his death unjust."
"No. But what is it that you have told me since before you taught me my first spell? 'In justice, let us remember mercy.'"
Sight began to return to her, slowly at first but growing with each breath. Arantar and the other, younger man, Khasoreth obviously-where had she heard that name?-stood in an empty hall. As she saw it more clearly, she realized that to call this a hall would be like calling the Trackless Sea a "body of water." Words did it no justice.
Stone so white that it almost hurt the eyes made up the floor, the ceiling, and the great columns that joined them. Veins of gold and silver ran throughout the stone, fine as spider silk. The walls were of a darker, though no less smooth, stone. More the color of summer-sky clouds, heavy with rain, though not yet to the point of bursting.
Artisans had carved scenes of battle into the very walls with such skill that she thought they might move at any moment. The grasses upon which heroes trod seemed to wave, and the blossom-laden trees through which they walked seemed to flutter in a unseen wind. Set between the great columns, brass braziers lit the room and filled it with warmth, their coals glowing with an almost golden radiance.
Arantar stood a few paces away from one of the great columns, his arms crossed over his chest and his brows low and heavy over his eyes. He was dressed much as she had first seen him-in rough cloth and leathers covered by an animal-skin cloak.
Before him stood Khasoreth, resplendent in clothes of linen and silk. The wine-red cloak draping his shoulders had threads of gold and gems woven into the hem, and his boots and gloves were of the finest lambskin.
Arantar looked away, more intent on his own thoughts, and said, "It might be no mercy to let him live, my friend. His heart is dark as winter's heart."
"Is he beyond redemption, then?"
Arantar shook his head, then smiled down upon the younger man, but there was more sadness in the expression than anything. "The emperor has spoken, Khasoreth. Gaugan must die. You know this."
"Yes," said the younger man. "And I know that the emperor's sister loves you, and you her. Were you to suggest-"
"You would have me meddle? Question the word of the emperor?"
Khasoreth laughed. "It's not as though you've never done it before. Were it not for Isenith whispering in his ear, he would have banished you dozens of times already. That business three years ago almost had him ordering your head brought to him on a spear. I'm not asking you to do anything you don't know to be right. 'In justice, remember mercy.' Yes?"
Arantar opened his mouth to answer, but what he said she did not hear. The world melted away again, and she felt herself falling.
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Images swirled before her, running together so that she could not often separate one from another. She saw-
–Arantar walking the grasslands in