Dusklake now stands in need of strong swords to defend it against brigands and the ores of the mountains, Rammast's words went on-and Grand Thentor had need of her magic, just as his heart had need of her hand. A wise woman would gladly see that the union of their two lands would set them all on the road to a brighter future; but if she lacked that wisdom or inclination, his duty was clear. His people needed the protection of a sorceress, and he must win her by formal duel if not by willing submission. At the next going down of the sun, he would come for her answer.
It had taken all of Aerindel's brittle self-control to keep from crumpling and shredding the parchment in fearful fury. She had grown less and less fond of darkly handsome, cruel Rammast as the years had passed.
In the pale, slim, so often silent days of her youth, he'd been the first man to look upon her with hunger in his eyes. Later, he had been the first to see that though she'd inherited the rings and staff and spellbooks of the mighty Thabras, her magic was no more than a feeble, faltering echo of his… and that Dusklake, secure for so long behind his might, had far fewer hardened warriors to ride to its defense than other neighboring holds could muster.
Once, at a wedding in Hulduth Hold, he'd been particularly forceful in his attentions during a private walk in the gardens. Freeing herself from his grasp, Aerindel had made her own feelings about him coldly and crisply plain. Unperturbed, Rammast had given her the special swift, sly grin he used when gloating, and told her softly that one day Dusklake would be his, and her with it-as his slave, willing and eager to serve him once his magic controlled her wits.
Now, the final taunting words of his missive said that his own magic remained regrettably inadequate to the task of defending Grand Thentor against its foes, but that he had learned some measure of… control. He hoped she'd remember, and greet his suit fondly.
Aerindel hadn't heard anything of Rammast's own dabblings in magic since he'd inherited Grand Then-tor-beyond a few rumors of summoned beasts running amok and hired hedge-wizard tutors disappearing mysteriously. His reminder of wanting her as a mind-controlled slave, however, was clear enough. And that confidence meant that he'd measured her magic, and knew himself to be clearly the more powerful of the two.
Bringing her thoughts back to here and now, Aerindel licked lips that had gone dry and glanced again at the banner-pole, one of a pair flanking the tall window. The pole was really her father's staff. No doubt she'd be needing it soon.
She would need it, and some greater magical aid or ally she knew not where to find, let alone to plead with. What could she give in payment? Herself and her land were all she had… and the very things Rammast sought. She could see no way to keep from losing one-or both-before dawn.
Night was coming down swiftly now, the last light fading from the still waters of the lake.
Then, suddenly, she saw him: a lone, dark figure walking steadily across the lake toward her-walking upon the waters as if they were a vast courtyard. He spent the spell to show her how powerful he was, powerful enough that he could afford to waste magic before a duel.
Aerindel turned slowly, her dark gown rustling about her hips, and wondered idly why she'd dressed in her best finery to meet her most hated enemy. Looking all around the hall, she raised her voice and said calmly to the unseen watchers, "Withdraw, all of you. Danger comes swiftly."
She turned back to the window in time to see Ram-mast Tarangar smile broadly in sardonic greeting, incline his head to her, and raise one hand.
The bright bolt that burst from it shattered the tall window from top to bottom, sending singing shards of glass flying down the chamber like scattered fragments of a rainbow.
The Lady of Dusklake did not flinch. " Tis a sirange man," Aerindel observed, her voice calmer than it might have been, "whose wooing takes the form of battle."
Rammast stepped through the empty window frame and into the room, the tiny lightning of a warding spell flickering briefly about his shoulders. When no attack came, he glanced around the room, seeking warriors with ready weapons. Finding none, he smiled at her more broadly, advancing across the tiles at an insolent stroll.
"You are as beautiful as ever, my lady," he said to her through his smile, "and your tongue remains as cold and cruel as I recall. Yet tongues can be tamed, Aerindel."
"Ah, but can ambition also be tamed, Lord Rammast? I am not 'your lady;' not now, not ever. Yet I see no need not to be the ally of Grand Thentor. Our two realms can be friendly without our being wed… or my taking up the position you suggested."
Ramniast's eyes burned into hers. "Ah, but I believe you'll enjoy being my slave. You'll find me the most gentle and thoughtful of men-until I have two strong sons to be my heirs." He shrugged. "By then, of course, you may have grown weary of being my consort, or of being Lady of Dusklake, or even-who knows? — of life itself."
They both heard an angry gasp from behind a tapestry, as one of the warriors who'd refused to leave his lady wrestled with his temper. Rammast casually raised a hand and sent lightning crackling along that side of the room. In two places, down the long sweep of tapestries, forms stiffened, slid down the far side of the heavy cloth, and lay still.
The Lord of Grand Thentor raised an eyebrow. "Am I too late, Lady? Have you consorts already?"
Aerindel bit her lip, trembling in grief and rage, until she could master her words. He waited, smiling mockingly, until she opened her mouth deliberately and said, "In Dusklake we have laws against slaying, Lord Rammast-and you now stand in violation of those laws. Are you willing to submit to my justice, or is it to be war between us?"
Rammast raised his other eyebrow. "Are you threatening me?"
With the same casual ease as last time, he cast lightning along the other side of the hall, scarring hangings and statues alike. "Or do you just ache to see me on my knees?"
"It's a pose you've no doubt pictured me in often enough," Aerindel replied grimly, raising her own hands to weave a spell.
Rammast smiled broadly and, with a formal bow, beckoned her magic toward him. "I wondered how long you'd tremble and haw before loosing some of that vast and mighty magic all of us in the Esmeltaran talk about! Hurl away, bright lady!" He crossed his arms and stood waiting.
Roaring pinwheels of green flame were his reply, snarling out of the empty air around her slim fingers to fly at him, spinning and expanding.
Rammast stood unmoving as they reached him and burst-and for the briefest of moments Aerindel thought she could see their dying flashes through him. Then he yawned and stepped forward again.
"Your fame is not undeserved," he said lightly, dismissive boredom in his tone. "Impressive. Very impressive." And he opened his hand.
Something small fluttered from it: a serpent with wings. It circled his head once as Aerindel quickly cast another spell, and then it flew toward her.
A stream of lightning flashed at Rammast. Two crackling arcs curled aside to meet the flying thing, but expired in brief halos as they encountered some sort of shield around it.
The Lord of Grand Thentor stood immobile, still smiling, as her lightning lashed him. Aerindel saw the snake swooping at her, and ducked away-but it followed, eyes bright and fangs agape. It was glistening, wet with slime, and mottled like an uncooked sausage.
She hissed a quick magical shield as she retreated from it-but the very air shattered with screams and flashing radiances as the flying monster darted right through her magic.
Aerindel covered her face as it roared down at her- and her cry was answered by the crack of a crossbow, fired from a high balcony.
The Lady of Dusklake rolled and hit out at the serpent. Above, she saw a crossbow bolt halt in midair, catch fire from end to end with blue flame that did not consume it, and spin around to race back the way it had come.