Realms of Infamy - James Lowder [7]
"I find no magic," the high priest said firmly. "But there is something…"
He crooked a finger, and a small flask rose from the breast of the hunched lord's robe, sparkling as it drifted smoothly into the air. All could see the potent wine within.
"Ah," Fzoul said, amid a spreading ripple of laughter. When the mirth had diminished, he let the flask sink back and said delicately, "Lord Phandymm seems in some… emotional distress, but his deep feelings for the safety of our city are clear. And from the wisdom of more years than most of us boast, he has called for a revote."
The Zhentarim wizard who'd denied the presence of magic sprang to his feet, voice triumphant. "I move a revote proceed!"
Councilor Urathyl almost fell over his feet as he rose to shout, "I speak in support!"
Fzoul bowed again. "A revote must now occur."
Manshoon sat silently at his front bench, smiling a little. His gaze never left the face of the sweating Lord Phandymm.
From his high vantage, Lord Chess saw a little glow in the first lord's eyes, and was sure: magic. He leapt to his feet. "Enough, Manshoon-and all of you Zhentarim! Let all foul magic be left outside this hall. The councilors of Zhentil Keep must deliberate with clear wits!"
Manshoon turned his burning gaze from Phandymm-who fell back senseless in his seat, head lolling-to Chess.
The nobleman felt a sudden heaviness tearing at his mind. He gasped, then roared in fury as he felt his tongue thicken and words come unbidden into his mouth.
The first lord smiled at him as cruelly as any cat cornering his prey.
Chess glared into that mocking smile as he struggled against his own muscles. The lesser rings of protection on his fingers smoked, flared into tiny blue flames, and burned away. The searing pain cleared his senses. Desperately, Chess drove his arm up-it moved slowly, as if coming from a great distance-to stare at the one ring still on his hand. It flashed.
Sudden golden radiance swirled in the air over the central well of the High Hall. It spun ever-brighter until the stunned councilors saw it become a large black dragon, vast and scaled, its head like a gigantic horned snake. Mighty wings clapped, once.
The wind of that wingbeat smashed many men flat against their benches. The dragon hissed, loud and angry. Acid foamed and bubbled at the edges of its jaws, and the chamber was suddenly full of the eye-watering stink of its breath. Men screamed. The dragon turned its snakelike head, terrible hunger and mirth in its eyes. With its tail, the wyrm casually smashed a councilor and his bench into a bloody heap of pulp and splinters.
That crash was answered with a ringing like angry bells as the tall windows of the chamber shattered-and true nightmare descended on the council.
The dragon whirled, gleaming scales shifting.
Three orbs, black against the bright sunlight, drifted into the chamber through the broken windows. Eyestalks writhed as each dark sphere looked down with a single unwinking, central eye. A large, many-toothed mouth split one sphere in cruel laughter.
"Beholders!" a councilor shrieked.
"The rumors were true!" another shouted. "The Zhentarim are in league with beholders!"
All across the chamber, councilors and citizens shrieked and scrambled over benches in a frantic rush to flee. The dragon roared and spat a smoking plume of acid at the foremost beholder, but the air suddenly filled with glowing rays, which lanced out from the beholders' many eyes. At their touch, the acid hissed into smoke.
Lord Chess felt Manshoon's mind-attack falter and fade. The noble flung himself under his bench and tried to reach the dragon's mind, to turn its fury on the first lord before Manshoon could work worse magic.
The dragon's will was clear and hard, far mightier than the nobleman's. Bent on destroying its many-eyed foes, the dragon ignored his silent commands. Chess growled in exasperation.
Across the hall, Zhentarim mages