"Agents of Endren High Corrinthal tainted my final meal with an untraceable magical poison. Endren Corrinthal murdered me."
Elyril almost danced while the chamber exploded into shouted accusations and counter accusations. Mirabeta could not stop smiling.
The members of the Council jostled, pushed, shouted into one another's faces. Endren Corrinthal screamed denials, his face as red as an apple.
"A lie! That is a lie!"
Mirabeta swallowed her smile and took full advantage of her gift. "You are a murderer, Endren Corrinthal!" she shouted, standing behind the high lord abbot and pointing her finger at Endren. "Name those whom you employed to perform this dark deed."
Elyril glanced at Abelar, who looked on with shock.
"A lie!" Endren answered. "Arranged by you."
A melee broke out among several members and knocked Zarin Terb to the floor. Without warning, Weerdon Kost drew his blade and charged Inmin. Other members responded by drawing their own steel and the chamber erupted into a chaos of screams, shouts, and swinging swords. The underpriests swarmed the dais to protect the body and their high priest. The wallmen drew weapons and rushed into the melee. Abelar ran headlong for his father into the confused combat of swinging fists and blades.
Rising to his knees, an enraged Zarin Terb pulled a thin wand from his jacket and discharged a bolt of lightning that cut a swath through the chamber, knocking several members to the floor. A long sword severed Terb's wrist and the wand skittered across the stones. Zarin screamed for aid, clutching the bleeding stump. Someone kicked him in the temple and he toppled to the floor.
Elyril sprinted to the nearest door and shouted down the hall. "Guards! Guards to the Council Chamber! The High Council is attacked!"
She did not wait to determine whether she had been heard. Instead she whispered a hurried imprecation to Shar, charged her hands with dark, poisonous magic, and turned back to the combat to seek a likely target. Abelar Corrinthal stood before his father with his blade at the ready and the rosy glow of protective magics surrounding him. The pair was backing out of the chamber. Elyril guessed that Abelar was either a priest or templar of the Morninglord.
Mirabeta lurked in safety beside High Lord Abbot Jemb, within a circle of the six junior Tyrrans who ringed the dais, warhammers swinging. Both her aunt and Jemb were shouting into the melee but their words were drowned out by the combat. The highspeaker futilely shouted for a return to order.
Elyril spotted Zarin Terb on the floor. He lay senseless in a pool of his blood and his wallman was not nearby.
Elyril pushed through the chamber, avoiding the blades, and knelt at Terb's side. She made the motions of trying to stanch the blood from his severed wrist, but she actually discharged the magical poison of her spell into his veins. He died instantly, and his support for Endren Corrinthal died with him. Elyril watched his spirit exit the body and streak through the roof. She stood and backed away from Terb.
She caught sight of Abelar pulling his protesting father toward an exit. She put her hand to her holy symbol, whispered an imprecation to Shar, and surreptitiously pointed a finger at the Corrinthals. Instantly a swirling, life-draining cloud of black mist took shape around them. Endren Corrinthal shouted and flailed against the darkness as it engulfed him and his son, drank their lifeforces.
The rest of the High Council had little time to pay heed to the fate of the Corrinthals. Steel was flying in the rotunda.
Elyril smiled as she thought of the husks her spell would leave behind, but the mirth vanished when a rose-colored light flared and annihilated her cloud of darkness. The light emanated from a holy symbol in the hand of Abelar Corrinthal. He held his weakened father with one arm and his holy symbol high with the other hand. His gaze fell on Elyril and his eyes narrowed.
Elyril saw in his face that he knew she had cast the spell. She smiled and paid him his overdue curtsy. He said something to his father, lowered him to the floor, and started across the rotunda for her, smashing with his sword hilt any who got in his way. A rosy glow surrounded him.
Elyril put her hand to her invisible holy symbol and snarled. She welcomed the chance to-
The sound of a horn interrupted Abelar's advance and a score of city guards burst in from two of the entrances. They shouted for order and bashed indiscriminately with their shields. Abelar shot Elyril a final glare and retreated to his father's side.
In moments the guards had quieted the melee.
The members and their wallmen stared at one another, gasping for breath. Weapons hung loosely in numb hands. Zarin Terb lay dead. Graffen Disteaf sat on the floor, clutching his chest but still alive. Inmin Dossir's dead body lay blackened and smoking from Zarin's lightning bolt. Four wallmen lay dead.
"What have we done?" asked Yens Derstill of Daerlun. Blood stained his sword.
"Inmin drew first!" exclaimed Weerdon Kost.
"That is not true," said Abelar Corrinthal from near the door, his voice preternaturally calm. "You drew steel first, Weerdon Kost."
While Kost sputtered, Highspeaker Lossit stepped atop the dais. Stopping beside Mirabeta, he dabbed at his bleeding nose.
"That is enough," he shouted, his voice muffled by a handkerchief bunched around his nose. "This will be sorted in due time." He eyed the rotunda, the fallen council members. "Gods, look at this! What will the people say?"
"The people should never hear of it," Mirabeta said, pointing her finger at Endren. "You are responsible for this, Endren Corrinthal."
Endren shook his head, apparently too drained from Elyril's spell to speak for himself. A cut above his right eye would not stop bleeding. Abelar spoke a word and touched his fingertips to his father's face. Endren's wound closed immediately and the color returned to his face. Abelar looked across the chamber at Mirabeta.
"You are responsible for this, Countess. You and your foul niece."
Elyril feigned a gasp.
Abelar continued. "Your niece summoned that dark cloud to try to kill my father. And you inflamed the High Council's passions with theatrics. The two of you arranged for this lie to be spoken."
Mirabeta scowled. "You mind is addled, Abelar Corrinthal. My niece is incapable of casting spells. And it was not I, but the overmaster's corpse that named your father a murderer. You defame two members of my family in a single stroke while you cradle the head of a murderer."
"My father is not a murderer," Abelar insisted, anger in his eyes. "It is a lie. Your lie."
Some of those allied with Endren murmured agreement. Hands tightened around hilts.
"The high lord abbot cast the spell himself," Mirabeta said. "Will you gainsay the priests of the Justicar?"
Abelar stood and pointed his sword at Mirabeta. "I would gainsay you. Countess. Who has more to gain from my father's fall than you?" He looked to the other members of the High Council. "There is dark magic afoot here."
"Yes," Mirabeta said. "There is dark magic afoot. And with it, your father murdered my cousin."
"Do not believe her," Abelar said to the members. "You know my father. He is an honorable man. He murdered no one."
Mirabeta's face flushed when several of the members nodded. She turned to the priest. "High Lord Abbot, can you use your spells to detect a lie?"
Jemb nodded.
"Please do so," Mirabeta ordered. "And ask whether I had anything to do with the overmaster's death, and whether I had anything to do with his naming of Endren as his murderer."
Jemb looked at Endren and Abelar, at Mirabeta, at the council members. The highspeaker nodded. Jemb grasped his holy symbol and intoned a prayer to Tyr. When he finished, a nimbus of pale light extended outward from him. Mirabeta stood within its glow.