The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [32]
A large and dusty chased metal bowl stood atop one of the dark, glossy highboards along the back wall of the room. Something rose out of it, upwards in silence without wings or hands to lift it.
It was a severed human head that had left its body long enough ago that the flesh cloaking the skull was gray and mold-mottled… but not so long ago that the jaw had fallen away. A thin line of drool was spilling from that sagging jawbone as the head turned towards the Tersept of Sart, the light of fell, cold life glowing in its eyesockets. The jaw worked for a moment before tightening into a smile. "Yes," the skull hissed. "More than enough."
The tersept nodded, not knowing what more to say. He'd feared the Spellmaster of Silvertree when Ingryl Ambelter had been alive and whole and in distant Silvertree; he feared this head, floating mere feet from him right now, infinitely more. It flew to and from the ruins of Indraevyn, somewhere in the forest east of Silvertree, with apparent ease and swifter than any falcon-and it seemed to be able to wield magic at will.
The dry, rasping voice of the Spellmaster's skull sounded again, a little closer to him. "When you do attend that meeting in Sirlptar," it advised, "try not to act unsurprised when all of you seem to have hit upon almost exactly the same plan."
Tersept Glarsimber Belklarravus did not look at the gray head as it drifted nearer, its smile broadening. Icy fear was tightening clutching fingers around his heart, and he was too busy trembling uncontrollably…
7
Battles and Bodies
Hawkril looked around at every tree as if it was a foe glaring at him with sword drawn. "Did the spell not say what direction this Stone lay in?"
"No," Embra said shortly, "it did not. 'Twas like a blinding light, overwhelming my sight."
Bristling brows drew together in a frown. "So we almost died… for nothing."
The sorceress let out a long sigh, and sat down on the mossy hillside. By the Three, but she was weary. "You could say that," she admitted. On the other hand, it tells us we're very close to a Stone we seek-and almost certainly that an enemy of the realm is near, for I can't believe any of the Dwaerindim remain unclaimed, or that anyone now holding one, after all this strife, will be a friend of the king… or anyone who stands in their way."
The armaragor nodded as curtly as if she'd rebuked him, stamped his feet, hefted the blade in his hand, and strode a few steps away before wheeling and tramping back.
Embra made no move to rise, despite Hawkril's obvious restlessness and the feeling of tension that hung over the hill. The Stone throbbed in her hands, yet she could tell from the faces of her companions that they felt just as she did-dazed or brain-mazed, like a wizard who's hurled spells half a day without rest.
Hawkril gave the trees another suspicious glance, turning on his heel to look around in all directions, and asked slowly, "Do all spells drink that much life, to cast?"
The Lady Silvertree shrugged. "Many take far more; that one was mild, for I crafted it with the Stone, and sourced it in you three only after it was begun."
The armaragor frowned. "The spell: just what was it?"
"A mistake," Embra replied crisply. "Hush, now," she added, pointing. "Craer's heard something."
The procurer was crouched beneath the leaves of the nearest tree, head low to the ground, hand raised to give a signal. He'd been poised thus for a long time, as Sarasper moved slowly along the hillside to look and listen in another direction. There was something about this hill that made for uneasiness; there seemed to be a watchfulness, a tension in the air. Perhaps some foe was standing right behind them now, using a Dwaer-Stone to hide its true shape and seem a tree. Or perhaps-
Craer's arm swept down. An instant later, the