Realms of Valor - James Lowder [87]
“Here they are, Toz, just as the cards foretold,” Kelshara said. “The priest who is not a priest.” She waved a hand, and an intricately drawn card appeared in her fingers. It depicted a holy man. The card was turned upside down. “His was a violent heart, and violently has he died.” She crumpled the card in a fist. It burst into flame as she dropped it, turning to ash before it even hit the floor. “And the warrior who is not a warrior,” the kobold croaked. “Yes,” Kelshara said, her violet eyes gleaming speculatively, “but I think there is more warrior in this one's heart than he wishes to believe. He kills with practiced ease. But then, so do I.” Too late Tyveris realized his peril. Before he could leap forward another card appeared in Kelshara's hand, this depicting an armored knight. It was also upside down. With a swift motion, she tore the card in half. Tyveris screamed. He had never screamed before, not in all his years of battle. He'd taken wounds that would have killed other men, borne the torture of whip and hot iron without ever giving his tormentors the satisfaction of hearing him hiss in pain. But this time he screamed, the agony ripping the sound out of him like a claw reaching down his throat to tear out his heart. Mercifully, a numbing coldness washed over him then. He fell to the floor, his limbs frozen motionless, his heart shuddering in his chest. Kelshara bent over Alamric's body and took something from his pocket. It was a small, clear gemstone. Everard's Tear. “I have what I came for,” Kelshara purred. “Farewell, warrior. Do not fear, though. You won't live long enough for your brothers to mete out justice to you for this unfortunate murder.” The dark-haired necromancer turned to the open window. She spread her arms wide and called out in a strange, guttural tongue. A huge creature swooped down from the night sky to hover before the window. In life the thing might have been a griffin, a feral but noble beast with a lion's body and an eagle's head and wings. But Kelshara's mount was a creature of death. Rotting flesh hung in tatters from its bones, and its eyes glowed with a sick, unearthly light. It let out a shriek, but the sound was muffled by the dirt filling the thing's beak. Kelshara climbed onto the nightmarish steed, the kobold clambering up after her. There was a rush of dank, charnel-house air as the creature spread its wings. It soared triumphantly into the sky, leaving Tyveris alone and utterly defeated. Some time later, Loremaster Orven came upon the former sell-sword lying beside Alamric's already stiffening body, still clutching the bloodstained dagger in his frozen hand. Then came the ringing of bells, shattering the night. * * * * * It was a chill, gray morning. The wind smelled faintly of snow. Tyveris stood before the open gates of the abbey, alone. No one had come to bid him farewell, though that was hardly surprising since everyone believed him a murderer. And
he supposed they were right, though not in the way they so smugly believed. He gathered his travel-stained cloak about