Now, somehow, half a dozen Malrauns alarmed him not in the slightest.
Not that this grim and empty castle around him was in any wise better than his Closecandle.
Nay, Closecandle was his, its every cavern and tunnel, chute and stair hollowed out of the heart of a great mountain by his magic. His work alone, every casting. His was the hand that had measured every handspan of rock melted away, and so tamed the greatest peak of the Howlhorns.
Just as his spells tamed and gentled every greatfangs he'd captured, and in time guided them as patiently as any greatfangs elder into breeding, one with another.
Beasts as large as villages and as deadly as armies, and they were his. His to ride, to goad them into hunting and making war at his command.
Six of them, though only the aging parents and the oldest of their hatchlings were full-grown brutes who could smash into a turret and live, toppling the castle's stone fang in their wake. The next-hatched was big enough to ride but still fighting his training, and the two younglings were little better than greedy fledglings, more interested in devouring and play-brawling with each other than obeying anyone.
Them, he missed. Not the younglings, but the elder three. Just as he ached for the caresses of his playpretties, no matter how swiftly Narmarkoun their Doom tired of them when he was nigh-buried in them.
Oh, the longings were there. Yet somehow, as he exulted in feeling stronger than ever before, they paled before the sheer joy of being here. Here, in Lorontar's ancient lair of secrets. Here, in the hidden heart of elder magic. Here where he could quite well abide for now, and spy on anyone he desired to from afar. Rod Everlar, for one.
Oh, he now knew half a dozen Shapers he could call on, to alter Falconfar with their dreams and writings; Everlar was no longer the prize.
Yet still, Everlar was the Shaper most familiar with Falconfar-and the lone Shaper in Falconfar. So he'd bear watching, if only to make sure Malraun didn't sidle up and cast a net of spells to control the Earth man utterly.
Perhaps it was time to alter some of his playpretties into false Everlars, so Malraun would have a merry dance to lay hands on the real one…
Narmarkoun found his face aching from the wide and unaccustomed grin splitting it. He laughed aloud, clapped his hands together, and strode to the very center of a great empty chamber. It was time to work magic. Lots of magic. Swiftly conjure up another spying globe of magic to watch what's happening to Everlar, then cast spells to link again with the minds of his lorn and Dark Helms on Earth, to spy on their doings through their eyes.
Nor would that be all his spying and prying. It was high time to look in on the Tesmers back in Ironthorn-and time to awaken Deldragon, too. Even a Doom of Falconfar, after all, would need at least one army to invade and conquer Earth.
Let Malraun think he'd won Falconfar for now.
Fewer places ruled by Narmarkoun meant fewer places to defend. Even Closecandle could be sacrificed as a Malraun-trap now that the greatfangs were all grown enough to fly, and the elder three wise and mighty enough to defend themselves against even the spells of the Matchless.
Aye, let Malraun gloat, and turn to conquering Galath. A Galath without Deldragon and his knights.
Then, when the time was just right, appear unlooked-for in his very lap and smash him utterly. Letting him know, as he died, who was destroying him.
Far away across Falconfar in the dim and silent chambers and passages of Closecandle, dead faces started to smile, not knowing why.
Nareyera Tesmer spat out a curse, and then a flood of stranger words. The rings on her slender fingers obediently blazed and winked in wild fury.
An instant later, the night exploded in fire.
Great rolling balls of flame, erupting out of nowhere to light up the night as they thundered away from Nareyera in all directions. The tree that held her caught alight with a great roar, hurling her down into the hollow as it blazed up angrily, warming her back.
Everywhere she looked, as she crashed down and left her breath behind, fire was racing along black, writhing branches. Through many leaping, hungry amber tongues, as she rolled over and up to her knees, gasping, Nareyera saw her brother spring at Cauldreth Jaklar. Mindful of blazing branches stabbing at him, Belard bounded aside at the last moment to thrust with his sword at the priest's side rather than sinking into a face-to-face lunge.
The priest ducked away and ran, fleeing across the hollow as the tree boughs moved by his magic dipped at his back to form a flaming wall-and flail at Belard. He staggered back from their rushing flames, but behind him Talyss was momentarily free of reaching limbs and branches. She glared at Jaklar through the flames and hurled her knife, hard.
It bit home deeply, striking to the hilt in the priest's shoulder. Nareyera saw him falter, arch over backwards in pain for a frozen moment-and then stagger forward with a great sob and run on, up out of the hollow into the night-dark forest. He was bleeding freely; there'd be a trail of blood to mark where he fled.
Yet the Lord Leaf was still very much alive, for the tree-limbs governed by his spell were reaching even more wildly for Belard and Talyss, thrusting in from all directions despite quickening flames dancing along them, seeking to throttle and entwine.
In the space of a breath her brother and sister were back to back in the heart of closing claws of living wood, hacking desperately at the burning branches that jabbed at them, fighting to stay free and alive.
They were doomed.
Nareyera triggered the ring that quelled magic. If she called on all of its power at once…
It exploded, taking her finger with it and leaving her shrieking in pain, startled and in agony-amid a sudden great hissing, that heralded the return of the night-gloom.
All around the hollow, the fires she'd caused were sinking down into smoke, leaving behind only the hissing of their dying. The smoke-wreathed tree limbs were falling limp, no longer growing or moving purposefully anywhere. They started to creak and groan as they cooled. Amidst the cacophony, the ward-spells of all three Tesmers flickered-and failed.
The pain! Falcon Above, it hurt! Nareyera could not seem to stop weeping. On her knees, she wrung her hand wildly, trying to quell the pain, trying not to look at the twisted and blackened ruin of where her finger had been. The rings on her slender, unmarked neighboring fingers winked and gleamed almost mockingly.
Out of the sagging boughs strode Belard and Talyss, swords glittering and faces grim.
Two swordpoints menaced Nareyera, who stared up at them in teary disbelief. "What're you-fools! I just saved your lives!"
"So you could use us as your little spell-driven dupes," Belard sneered. "Well, behold my gratitude, sister!"
His sword swung back-and then down.
Still weeping, Nareyera spat out a word that took her far away.
Her brother and sister saw a ring wink, and their sister vanish, the winking ring becoming a fading spark in midair. Belard's blade swept through empty air.
He turned to look at Talyss. She was turning slowly on one boot heel to peer at the forest all around. Seeking any sign of Nareyera-or Jaklar-standing nearby in the night, looking murderously back at her.
Belard lowered his sword and waited in silence as she looked, slowly and thoroughly, going around twice.
"Alone," she breathed at last, turning to look at him.
Belard set his teeth in a snarl and sliced away the nearest smoldering branch.
"Good," he spat. Jabbing his blade into the soil, he opened his arms.
Talyss smiled, planted her own sword, and sprang into his embrace.
Their cloaks, still draped over the boughs that now thrust aggressively out into the hollow, were giving off plumes of smoke. He bore her down onto them regardless, almost clawing at her.