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Though the appeal was no more than a ragged whisper, Heggen moved in answer.
'Yield,' said Taroith again.
His soulfocus pulsed at the extreme edge of violet.
Energy backlashed, distilled into nightmare. Faisix flinched, pinned
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grotesquely against the cabinet doors.
His hands scrabbled at the latch. 'Heggen!'
Sweat gleamed on the cowled man's knuckles as he caught the latch and wrenched
the cupboard open. Knives gleamed within, eerily ablaze with reflections from
Tar-
oith's sorcery. Faisix seized the handle of the nearest.
Taroith moved sharply forward, and his steps spun glass fragments across the
floor. 'Put up your blade. Physical violence will gain you nothing.'
A ghastly smile curved Faisix's lips. He whirled with deadly grace and drove
the dagger to the hilt in the heart of his assistant. Heggen gasped in mortal
surprise, and crumpled. Blood splashed across the tiles. Too late, Elienne
covered her eyes. The image of the murder was already clenched forever in her
memory, along with the rustle of Heggen's contortions as the life left his
frame. A
stench thickened in her nostrils. Sickened by the taste of bile, E!ienne
choked and, looking up, saw Faisix trace symbols upon the air with crimson
hands. Smoke boiled forth, backlit by the yellow glow of runes. Impressed by a
sense of wrongness, Elienne knew at once she witnessed
Black Sorcery.
A hard glimmer of blue-white drew her eye. With an expression seamed and grim,
Taroith erected a protective lattice of light. Concentration made him seem
inhuman.
Colored highlights flickered over shoulders stiff as flint, 170
as though he channeled the sum of his being into the spells carved into
existence by his mastery.
Yet Faisix moved first. Elienne watched him stoop over
Heggen's corpse; the runes fanned a crown of broiling smoke above his hair as
he traced an arrow in wet blood upon the floor, then uttered a guttural
phrase. His cipher pulsed and came to life. Fumes roiled ceilingward, and the
blood leaped forth and ran in a sizzling stream toward
Taroith's corner of the room. Its evil advance struck the clean luminosity of
the Master Sorcerer's defenses with a hideous shriek of steam. Wind fanned the
chamber in a hot breath, extinguishing Taroith's sorceries like blown
candleflame; even the ward surrounding Elienne flicked out with a brittle
snap.
Gray-black streamers of smoke caught acridly in her throat and left her
choking. Through tear-stung eyes, she saw the blood settle, a scarlet puddle
at Taroith's feet, with edges geometrically frayed by runoff into cracks
between the tiles.
Faisix stood, unsteady and breathing hard. 'Which of us is helpless now,
Master? I can unbind your most powerful ward.'
Taroith offered no reply.
The Regent smiled with courtly diplomacy. 'I am not unsporting.' He gestured
with streaked hands at the pool beside his opponent's boots. 'I have evened
the odds between us; quite generously granted you means to triumph over me.
Once, before the Grand Justice, you
denounced me for Black Sorcery and named me con-
demned by Ma'Diere's Law.' The smile became honeyed with sarcasm. 'Join me in
Damnation, and you might save your Prince's Consort.'
Expressionless with exhaustion, Taroith lowered his head. Eyes dark as old
ebony fixed, stricken, on the
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stained floor, and sudden apprehension locked the breath in Elienne's chest.
Surely Taroith was wise enough to resist such an end.
Yet Faisix resumed his taunts, confidently anticipating a victory. 'You hold
the advantage, with all your League training. If you dared apply the Black
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arts, you would defeat me.'
Taroith said nothing. The knuckles of his locked hands whitened with stress.
Heggen's blood inches from his boots, the Sorcerer seemed tormented by
indecision.
Elienne recalled a statement of Ielond's, uttered in anguish on the ice
plains; 'I'd suffer Damnation gladly, Mistress, if I could spare Darion.t But
my Prince forbade me permission to work the darklore.'
The royal Guardian's love for his ward had instead driven him beyond the known
limits of sorcery: he had broken the barrier of Time to ensure his Prince's
succes-
sion. Elienne bit her lip. The temptation to battle Faisix with Black Sorcery
was great; Ielond's prodigious sacri-
fices in Darion's behalf might easily make Damnation seem inconsequential if
the royal succussion might be secured as a result.
'Why the great delay?' the Regent goaded. 'Don't you know? You have no
choice.'
He thinks to save himself, Elienne thought and, with a horrid flash of
perception, realized Taroith's use of Black
Sorcery might jeopardize the integrity so recently and precariously restored
him by the Grand Council's acquit-
tal. Should he fail now, all past actions could become tainted by doubt; a
lifetime of honorable service under-
mined at a stroke. Faced by such betrayal, Pendaire's fickle court might well
turn back to the familiar leadership of Faisix.
And still Taroith seemed torn by doubt. Spent as he
172
was, Elienne wondered whether he realized his present danger. Necessity forced
her to control the fear that shackled her against action. Like a hunted
animal, she searched for some measure she could engage in her own behalf,
should Taroith's wisdom falter. Her attention caught on the bright, deadly
glitter of a glass shard.
Cautiously Elienne extended her foot and scuffed the fragment within reach.
That moment, Taroith looked up.
White hair lay limp over the damp folds of his hood, bracketing an expression
of raw sorrow. 'Faisix, there is always choice,' he said softly.
The Regent kicked Heggen's hand out of his path and stepped forward,
triumphant. 'Ah, you're ignorant.
Didn't you know? The Lady Elienne is the sole key to
Darion's succession. Without her, he will certainly face the headsman's ax.'
Dread chilled Elienne to the marrow. Faisix intended to expose the fact that
Darion's seed was sterile. And if her son by Cinndel was revealed to be other
than the royal blood of Haigarid, the vindictive rage of the court would
surely destroy them both. Elienne stooped and caught the glass from the floor,
her only recourse to end the conflict before Faisix could speak and ruin her.
'Ielond knew.' Faisix prepared to drive home his crown- [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]