The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [138]
That meant he'd been able to steal past wards upon wards undetected and could reach out at any time now to hand them their doom. It was clear enough that none of them commanded a Dwaer or had any secret scheme or powerful magic at the ready. The council would, therefore, soon become tiresome. It was time.
Ingryl smiled, said softly and gently, "Now," and waved his hands in a last spell-gesture. A tiny blue flame began to leap and lick up and down the dagger on the table in front of him.
The Spellmaster took it up, plunged it with a sudden, grunting effort into the heart of the man on the table, and as the guard's body convulsed and arched in the spasm of a life's passing, he plucked forth the dagger again and touched it to the thorn wand.
Blue flames whirled around the wand in a sudden rising fury, and the wand cracked, blackened, and crumbled to dust.
In the Chamber of the Falcon a weird ball of coiling and sputtering fire burst into sudden being above the table-and then raced around it in a widening spiral. Men shouted, toppled chairs in their haste to rise, and snatched out swords or wands or scepters. Rings winked like scattered stars on fingers all around the chamber.
Blue and hungry were the flames that raced around the seated circle of mages, burning away one head after another. Fearful warriors threw themselves at the doorway after one look at the stump-necked, spasming torsos the rolling fire left in its wake…
Ingryl smiled at what he saw in the scrying-sphere. Spellmasters should never indulge overmuch in gloating, but…
A door that no one but Ingryl should have been able to open banged behind him. The Spellmaster of Silvertree whirled around, his hand closing again on the dagger.
"Put that down," Baron Faerod Silvertree said with terrible gentleness, over the blasting wand he held aimed and ready, "or lose the hand that holds it, mage."
The smile frozen on his face, Ingryl let the dagger fall. The baron cast a glance at the dead guard, whose blood was starting to drip steadily from the edge of the table now, but the cold, calm expression on his face did not change.
"My patience is at an end, Ingryl. My daughter is still out of our hands, and your deeds have cost the barony two of its mages. Spellmaster, your own life is forfeit if you fail to deliver a Dwaer safely, without magical traps or coercions bound to it, into my hands-soon."
Silence fell as cold eyes met. After it had stretched for too long a time the baron added, "Never forget those vials of blood. I've only to shatter one to burst your heart."
Ingryl nodded soberly. "I will succeed in my present task. Lord," he said grimly.
Faerod Silvertree flashed a mirthless smile, raised the wand in what might have been a salute, and strode out of the room, exuding menacing grace and exultant power.
When he was gone, Ingryl looked at the open door, shrugged, and then smiled. He'd long since subverted the baron's magical hold by switching his own heart's blood with that of an innocent mage elsewhere. As he quietly closed the door, his smile grew broader. This was going to be fun.
Embra Silvertree let the Stone rest on her knees, stared up at the riven dome above her, and drew in a long, tremulous breath. What would happen now, if she lost this wonderful, deadly thing-and was left powerless to undo blunders and wounds to herself and her companions?
"Solve the worries of the world later, lass," Hawkril Anharu rumbled, close beside her. "We must be moving; Indraevyn is full of hungry human wolves."
Embra smiled and nodded. She trusted the armaragor. More than that… she loved him. She loved and respected all of these men. Feelings born such a short time ago, but none the less for that. Together, the Four would stand against all Darsar could hurl at them.
She shook her head at such