The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [13]
"Magic shields him!" a warrior growled fearfully, falling back. In smooth, unhurried calm King Snowsar arose, set his scepter down on the throne behind him, its ends still winking with magic, and slowly drew his sword.
The crossbowman turned on his heels and fled, his bow clattering to the floor. The Tersept of Rithrym watched him go, glanced back at the advancing king, and then backed away, turning to flee after only a few steps.
Armored men were jostling each other, shoulder-plates ringing, as they sought to stream out of the double doors they'd thrown so rudely open not long before. Men cursed and shoved and punched-until something dark rippled in the stone of the door arch, and became the looming arms and head and shoulders of another stone knight.
Arms that swept up-and then down, dashing warriors to the floor in bloody pulp.
Shouts and screams fought for supremacy as the cortahars of Rithrym tried now to turn and move away from the doors. The tersept came to a helpless halt in front of their surging, trampling chaos, cast a look back at the king striding tall and terrible towards him, and fell to his knees.
"Mercy, O King!" he cried. "Spare me!"
"Mercy," Kelgrael Snowsar told him almost sadly, as he took one slow step forward and swept his sword around in an arc that would lop Augrath Naerimdon's head off, "lies beyond what I can now afford. You leave me needing you too dearly as an example-" there came a wet, solid thud as the blade bit home "-O idiot of Rithrym."
Blood spurted and flailing-armed armor toppled.
The Risen King looked past it, at the rush of warriors stampeding out the side doors, and found himself staring into the frightened faces of many cowering courtiers.
He lifted his hand and pointed at one he'd seen sneering earlier. Holding the man's eyes with his own, he let his pointing finger descend to indicate the slumped body on the floor in front of him. "Clean this up," he said shortly.
The man wavered, licking pale lips, and the king added quietly, "That's a royal command."
The man swallowed, stepped gingerly forward-and vomited violently, pitching onto his knees. As his tortured eyes met the royal gaze once more, the king pointed at the mess on the tiles and added, "That, too!"
The man went gray and toppled facedown into his own spew, in a dead faint. King Snowsar sighed, and pointed at the next courtier.
4
The Sword Settles All
Coldly clawing fingers were climbing her cheeks, only moments away from blinding her forever with cruel gougings. Tears were near blinding her already, streaming from her swimming eyes, and the world was spinning crazily as a dozen hard hands pinched and tore at and throttled her. Embra thrashed helplessly in a sea of pain, everything slowly darkening as the hands at her throat tightened. Mighty sorceress she might be, but she couldn't even touch the floor, or grab hold of anything, she couldn't…
Feebly she struggled against tugging fingers, trying to lift her arms so she could reach the spiderlike bones climbing onto her face, and pluck them away before they-before they-
As a helpless scream rose up in her and the first bony probing caught at her eyelid, despite her violent headshakings, Embra's fingers brushed the Dwaer at her breast.
Power surged through her, pouring forth in a wave of blinding-bright magic before she quite realized what she was doing.
Golden air roiled in the wake of the surge she sent forth, a shielding spell that swept away bones before it, shattering and crumbling them like sand struck by an angry sea. Skeletal fingers tumbled through the air, shredding the hand of many bones from around Sarasper's struggling body.
On and on her magic howled, born of her fear and revulsion and urgent need. So suddenly had Embra Silvertree been thrust to the brink of death or disfigurement, through