The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [146]
Filled with sudden exultation, he willed himself to rise with more fierceness than ever-and something gave way around and beneath him, something wet and sighing. Ingryl tugged, and surged… and came free.
The Spellmaster would have scoffed at the idea that his carefully nurtured slime-worms could think, and see well enough to recognize him or any particular creature. They were mindless, gnawing things whose slime, thanks to a careful many-spells procedure, happened to be only distasteful to him-but fatal to others.
Nevertheless, their many tiny heads turned in unison to watch as a blood-drenched skull burst up out of the bloody sprawl that had been Ingryl Ambelter, trailing a backbone like a grotesque tail, and flew through the air at them.
Ingryl did notice what happened next, and was astonished: as he approached the curtain of worms, it silently parted.
He ignored everything in the small stone chamber beyond the curtain except the coffin on its table. Its protective lightnings would help and not harm him in the state he was in now, but he had to hook or smash the coffin lid open without losing much of himself in the process… and the enchantments on the coffin made it much harder than bone.
Within lay the skeleton of his former master, Gadaster Mulkyn, still holding fire enough, if he could but touch it and hiss out a word, to charge him with so much magic that he could shape a body with ease. Gadaster would crumble a little more, of course… but then, that was what enspelled skeletons-of masters one has treacherously slain-were for.
Swooping carefully to just the right place, Ingryl hooked his jaw onto a coffin handle, and flew upwards. The coffin opened as easily as if its lid had been made of silk. He let the lid fall open to crash and bounce against the table amid much dust, and then lowered himself thankfully within, hissing the word that would awaken Gadaster's cold fire.
Once his body was rebuilt, he'd hide here for a time, spying on Koglaur with his spells, and betimes, when they slept, sending forth "godly visions" into the minds of some senior Serpent clergy, of specific Koglaur and the guises they took-if he could discover such. In the Snake-lovers' dreams he would hiss commands to destroy these "our darkest foe," speaking as if he was the Serpent himself.
For Ingryl Ambelter was the Spellmaster, and he would dare to do such things.
And more than that. When he was strong enough, Ingryl would shape his new body into the likeness of the Risen King, and take the River Throne as the ruler of Aglirta.
Who would say he was not? A mind-blasted man, or a courtier now back in Sirlptar, or the Faceless of legend, whom Aglirtans would hate and fear on sight?
His first imperial act would be to summon the Lord Baron Berias Loushoond to attend him at court. He'd mindspeak Loushoond first, to make sure the dolt brought a goodly whelming of armaragors with him, in case Flowfoam needed defending. With the Serpent and the king both gone, this was back to a battle of warriors and spells. So long as he sat on the throne, hunger for it should bring all his foes to him.
A bloody worm of bone lying in an open coffin, Ingryl laughed aloud as he thought of all the traps he could conduct in the former Castle Silvertree, using magics he'd hidden long ago in various secret places, like this one, all over the castle.
As for the Lady Embra and her three bumpkins of lovers-well, Velvetfoot was worth his fees. He should have taken care of those irritating adventurers by now…