• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Raunthur the Wise nodded. "We can't get terrified farmers and villagers to rise in arms in any numbers or effectiveness. If we move openly to take Flowfoam, we'll be forced to hire outlanders to forge an army of our own."

"And so? A shortage of coins has never seemed to be among your problems."

"No," Caronthom agreed, "we've hired armies before and could do so again-but we dare not begin whelming until the new Great Serpent has been found, or we face the danger of becoming the victims of our hirelings. Some brute of an outlander warlord will crown himself King of Aglirta-and we'll have achieved nothing but to rouse the whole realm, weaken it, and empty our coffers."

Ingryl Ambelter nodded. "That's more wisdom than I've heard in many a year. So how will I know if I've found your Great Serpent for you? How do you tell when you've found him?"

Raunthur the Wise shook his head with a smile, remembering. "There's a… feeling. Any Priest of the Serpent knows, the moment they're in the same room as the chosen one. We can feel the power of the Dark One, flowing from him."

Ingryl Ambelter nodded again. "Well, that seems clear enough. I accept, with thanks." He smiled-and the Dwaer beneath his robes erupted in a bright blast of force that stabbed out at the shieldings of Caronthom and Raunthur.

In an instant they flared to a blinding brightness, and the Dwaer-bolts sped on to the shieldings of the other priests, leaping from one to another. Some of the Serpent-lords tried to weave magics of their own, in the space of a scant breath, or rose to flee; but when their shields were struck, those magics were rooted to the spot, and then-one after another, like mushrooms frying in a pan-popped and died to shrunken darkness, leaving nothing of themselves or the men they'd held behind but a little sizzling wetness. So passed most of the Lords of the Serpent.

The slaying was done in less than four breaths. The Spellmaster of All Aglirta smiled around at the last drifting smokes, used the Dwaer to suck in every vestige of heat and spilled power, cast another long look at the Serpent-statue, just to be sure, and calmly strode to the door.

It was trembling and straining under a magic cast by some of the boldest priests outside. Ambelter smiled tightly. Before leaving the ruined house in Sirlptar, he'd knotted his thieves' sack into a bulky neck scarf that looked more like a bib than anything else, to cover the Dwaer. He adjusted it now so that the Dwaer was completely hidden beneath it again, carefully put one hand on the Stone beneath its concealment, and banished the scry-seal spell on the doors-apparently with an airy wave of his other hand.

Several priests almost tumbled into the room. His hand never leaving the hidden Dwaer, the Spellmaster stepped back and let them all flood in.

They stared around at the empty room, still echoing with power and sharp with the smell of fiery death, and then looked at him in dawning terror and anger. But before any of them could yell or hurl anything, he said coolly, "The most senior Lords of the Church have charged me with a great task, and then taken themselves into seclusion with a very powerful magic. I have been set in office over you until the Great Serpent himself commands otherwise."

He turned to the man he judged the most dangerous, and added, "My first orders to you are to go and summon to me here Maskalos and Cheldraem from Ibryn. They are to meet with me without delay." Without pause he pointed at the next man and ordered, "Bring here also Naumun of Sirlptar."

Continuing to turn, he pointed at the next priest and commanded, "Escort to me Lethsais, from Telbonter."

The next priest was trembling with fear or rage, and Ambelter spoke to him gently. "Bring me the Lord of the Serpent Yedren." He continued naming the Lords he'd been told of, and issuing firm orders for them to be brought to this chamber.

"And who are you to give such orders?" a Masterpriest demanded furiously. "I see no Carondiom assuring us that we are to obey