Maelani had to shake her head and blink twice before her mind would accept what she saw. The four wizards all looked exactly like Vargussel. They walked the same way, were dressed the same way, and all four were casting a spell. The words, their meaning unfamiliar to Maelani, came out of all four mouths at the same time, with the same tone and cadence. All four of them moved their hands in precisely the same intricate pattern.
"Stop him!" Maelani shouted, and her father finally turned to her. She spoke to him. "Vargussel killed all those young men because he didn't want them to marry me."
"Why wouldn't he…?" asked the duke, though she could tell he was already working out the reasoning in his mind.
"Vargussel has made it plain that he intended to have my hand," she said, though the thought of it made her ill. "He killed those men, and will kill Regdar now, because they were competing for the same prize."
"Your hand," the duke said, then turned to the wizards and his lord constable. "The duchy."
The four identical Vargussels finished their incantation and converged on Regdar, one hand thrust forward as if to grab the lord constable by the top of his head.
"Vargussel!" the duke roared. His voice rolled across the ruin like thunder but the wizards didn't stop, didn't even glance at the duke. "Stop, Vargussel! In the name of New Koratia!"
But Vargussel didn't stop. All four of them converged on Regdar, and all four of them grabbed the top of his head, fingers sliding under the lord constable's helm.
Regdar, who was buried to the neck in a mound of gray-brown mud, twisted and quivered. Maelani heard a crackling, buzzing sound, and saw sparks dance along the slick surface of the mud pile. Those same sparks danced along the legs of the quartet of wizards, and when they touched each in turn, that wizard disappeared into thin air. First one, then another, then a third, until only one Vargussel remained, twitching and grimacing himself.
The lone wizard stepped back-staggered really-and Regdar's head slumped forward. Only one of the lord constable's arms was free of the mud. Maelani puzzled at the rod of what appeared to be platinum he clutched in his free hand. Regdar's head rolled back so that he was looking up at the sky. His eyes were red, his face pale.
Vargussel shook himself and stared down at Regdar with undisguised hate. Maelani found herself stepping backward, and she only stopped when the elite guard with the halberd put a hand gently on her arm.
The power, she thought. To bury Lord Constable Regdar, to sap his strength with the pain of burning spells, to kill him in front of the duke, the watch, and the elite guard…
Maelani watched her behavior toward the old wizard play back in her mind in a cascade of petty humiliations and catty dismissals. Never had it occurred to her that the man was capable not only of murder but murder on an unprecedented scale directed at the very heart of the duchy. She almost wretched when she realized how badly the hideous monstrosity of a man wanted her, the lengths to which he was willing to go, and the horrifying power at his command.
For the first time in years, Maelani felt every bit the helpless, ignorant little girl.
Regdar could breathe but only with small, childlike, panting gasps. Pain had settled down to a dull, humming numbness. Blood rushed in his ears. The mud pressed on him, squeezed him, and chilled him. Regdar couldn't remember a time when he'd been so cold.
He looked up at the gray sky because he couldn't keep his neck from bending that direction. The chilly drizzle stung his eyes, and he blinked. As if that movement alone was enough to move his head, he found his neck turning, his head rolling down. On the way he saw Vargussel standing over him and took note that there was only one of him. The wizard's shock must have traveled through the wet mud with enough energy to dispel the last of the images.
"You did it…" Regdar coughed out, "to yourself…that time."
"Give me what is mine," the wizard said.
His voice was strong, steady, and confident. He might have been tickled by that last spell, it might have been enough to dispel his conjured doppelgangers, but otherwise he was fine.
"And I'm dying," Regdar said aloud.
"Yes," the wizard hissed, his voice even more than his words conveying perfect, pure confidence in that truth. "You are dying, Regdar."
The lord constable closed his eyes. In that moment, in the time it took for Vargussel to say those last words, Regdar wondered if it was true. Had he failed?
His patrol had been chopped out from under him to a man. Naull was not just dead but irretrievably so. Had he failed the duke, failed the city, failed the duchy, failed Maelani, failed Naull, and failed himself? The wizard was going to kill him. The next spell, whatever it was, would be enough. The wizard would kill him and be free to make up any story he wanted. He would convince the duke, through guile or spell, that it was Regdar who killed all those people. Vargussel would have Maelani, he would be duke, and ultimately, it would be Regdar who condemned all of Koratia to that fate.
"I don't think so," he said.
Regdar felt his left arm jerk, and instinctively he took a tighter grip on his sword. He opened his eyes and saw that it wasn't his sword he was holding.
Vargussel was trying to pull the rod from his hand.
Regdar coughed, then champed his teeth down. His body shook. He looked up at the wizard's triumphant, gloating, hateful grin, and a fire swept through his body.
Hate.
It was hate that warmed him, hate that made him look Vargussel in the eyes, hate that strengthened his grip, moved his arm, and thrust the platinum rod into the wizard's gut.
Regdar tensed every muscle in his body, drove his very blood forward. He let that hate, that pure contempt, flow from him and into the rod. He let his hate power the death ray.
Vargussel couldn't believe it.
He couldn't believe that Regdar could do it.
He couldn't believe that after all his sacrifices, it came to this.
He couldn't believe he was feeling the same thing the others had.
This is it, he thought. This is what it feels like?
There was a blinding flash of light that illuminated the rain and smoke around them so that Vargussel felt as if he had burst into flame. He heard a dull boom, like something heavy but soft hitting the ground after a long fall. Was that his soul?
Is that my soul falling? he wondered.
The wizard froze, no longer able to feel the rod pressing into his abdomen. It was as if a great, invisible hand had reached up from the ground, grabbed him, and was squeezing him from all directions. His breath was forced from his lungs, and he knew that he'd never draw another one. His flesh quivered and stretched over ribs that snapped under the force of his own constricting muscles. Vargussel felt every bone in his body snapping. He felt every agonizing, burning break, one at a time.
With lungs devoid of air, he couldn't speak, but his mind threw out a desperate call the same way he would send his thoughts, his commands, and his hatred into the shield guardian.
Master…help me!
Everything was dark and cold, and Vargussel was alone. He felt nothing but there was a whisper, as faint as the footsteps of a fly:
You have failed me, as you have failed Vecna.
Vargussel wanted to beg, wanted to say anything, argue…anything, but he couldn't.
He will be waiting for you, whispered his dark master, in Hell.
Epilogue
Maelani hoped she wouldn't have to attend another state funeral for a long time. Too many had been held of late, and Naull's was the saddest of all. Maelani took her turn at the casket and apologized to the young woman's still, lifeless face, but she knew that would never be enough.