“Didn’t ask their names,” he said quickly, before Slin could answer.
The fortress commander was not satisfied with that. “Which house was it, then?”
I shan’t betray them. Ireheart swung himself up into the saddle and moved up to be next to Tungdil. Hargorin had to move aside. “No idea. Some house where all the furniture was too big for me.” He gave an innocent grin.
Slin laughed out loud and Balyndar joined in. They mounted up and the band of riders set off.
Ireheart looked around: They were now a group of over a hundred and fifty. “I assume the Zhadar and the Black Squadron have mingled?”
“Indeed, Ireheart.” Tungdil’s response was not ironic. “The Dson Aklan are to think they are still busy trying to steal kordrion eggs.”
“What about the strategy meeting, Scholar?” asked Ireheart, pushing down his visor. “Where are we holding that?”
“We’ve already had it. We brought it forward.” Tungdil looked at him amicably and reprovingly at one and the same time. “We didn’t know where to send the messenger to tell you.”
Ireheart saw the sense in that. “Then tell me what’s been decided.” The one-eyed dwarf turned to the front and raised his arm in a signal to the company. Behind him a standard was hoisted high, displaying the unfamiliar rune that seemed a mixture of dwarf and alfar script. “There’s time enough to tell you on the way.” He lowered his head slightly. “What do you say to my coat of arms, Ireheart? Isn’t it fine?”
Boindil nodded. But it wasn’t fine. Not fine at all.
XIV
Girdlegard,
Former Queendom of Weyurn,
Lakepride,
Late Winter, 6491st/6492nd Solar Cycles
Wey’s mouth moved, her hands jerked into the air, forming signs to avert approaching doom-but the spell her daughter had invoked came too fast. She closed her eyes and held her breath.
“Mother!” Coira exclaimed at the sight of the flames.
Sisaroth had provoked her into using her magic without thinking and now a disaster had occurred. The magic fire burned like glowing coals.
Coira had attempted a counter-spell but could only watch the flames imprison her mother. The young woman shook and her lips went numb.
The alf had not left. He had ducked away under the ball of magic and was crouching on the floor. From there he could attack with his two-hander; the blade tip was close to Coira’s throat.
“Watch out!” Mallenia saw the maga was paralyzed with horror, and pulled her out of the way. The knife blade missed her narrowly.
Sisaroth followed through but was held back by the swords of the Ido warrior maid. The two-hander clanged as it crashed into her blades. “Aha! Our rebel!” He gave an evil laugh and kicked sharply in her direction. “This time you won’t get away.”
Mallenia dodged the flying boot and dropped back onto the bed. “Coira! Do something!” The alf leaped toward her. She had to admire the incredible elegance of his movements, but she was poised either to parry or to dodge his next attack. “Coira! For goodness’ sake!”
The flickering light in the corridor died and there was the sound of a body falling to the floor.
Mallenia glanced past Sisaroth. Queen Wey the Eleventh lay on the marble floor slabs, a smoking blackened bundle; her wide-open eyes were the only touch of white in the scorched face. Her skin hung off her in shreds and her hair had been burned away. But-did the eyes not just move? She looked more closely. “Coira! Your mother is alive!”
The alf laughed. “Death has not forgotten her.” He threw his two-hander at the Ido, striking her on the upper arm just where the night-mare had bitten her. His blade cut through her flesh as if it were soft butter, nailing Mallenia through the bone to the wardrobe.
Groaning, she dropped one of her own swords, but pointed the second at her enemy’s face. “By the gods, Princess. Hurry! Or we are done for!”
Coira took two paces and held fast to the doorframe, looking wildly around her, still in deep shock.
Sisaroth watched the maga before turning back to deal with Mallenia. He sat down on the bed in front of her. “The last of Prince Mallen’s line,” he said. “You have caused us much trouble, but the hunt has been enjoyable. Now the chase is over.” He looked over to the corridor and gave a signal to someone outside. “You will die in your own land in full view of all, Mallenia of Ido. On the executioner’s block. Your blond hair will fall into your own blood. This is the punishment for rebellion, conspiracy and murder.”
“I know your plans,” she answered in the language of the alfar. “You can’t fool me.”
Sisaroth scowled in pain. “What excruciating pronunciation! Who taught you that? Tell me his name, so I can kill him.”
“So I’ve found out how to torture you?” She laughed.
The alf hardly moved, it was more a jerk; he punched her in the face. Her knees gave way. As she sank down the two-handed sword cut deeper into her arm. Another metallic clang: She had dropped her second sword.
“Use our language again and I will tear out your tongue.” Sisaroth opened the cupboard door Mallenia was fastened to. He moved the door so that she should see what was happening in the passage: The alf woman was bent over Wey, sticking the point of her two-handed sword into the queen’s back. “The name of her death is Firusha,” he said in a low, dark voice.
“No!” cried the Ido woman in despair. “Kill me but let her live. What use is her death to you?”
“We will gain the Dragon’s gratitude. We have done what he does not dare to do himself.” Sisaroth raised his hand, his sister nodded.
“She sent a message to Lohasbrand,” Mallenia gasped. “The Dragon will guess that you killed not only her but also the orcs and Prases. He will wage war on Idoslane and the alfar regions. Everywhere! Your plan will fail.” She looked down at the injured monarch. “Only she can keep you safe.”
Sisaroth’s face lost its superior expression. His sister looked at him. “If she speaks true then we should let her live.”
“Why? So she can tell Lohasbrand more lies? Or so she can go back to her magic source for fresh energy and launch a campaign against us in revenge?” Sisaroth’s decision had been made. “It was the will of Tion and Samusin that brought us to Lakepride. Now it’s time changes were wrought among the mighty of Girdlegard. Why not start in Weyurn and shoot the first arrow here?”
“Is that the right choice?” wondered Firusha. “Yes.” He stood up, drew his dagger and went out to the corridor. “A shame not to be able to take the bones with us. What a waste.” The alf knelt down and stabbed the maga at the base of the neck. He quickly decapitated her and discarded the head to ensure no healing magic could ever reunite skull and torso. He raised his eyes and looked at Coira. “The daughter must follow. You shall be her death, sister.”
Mallenia gritted her teeth and let herself drop. The blade she was pinioned by severed flesh and bone, and blood streamed out-but she was free. Her fingers closed around the sword handle and she ran to the defenseless young maga to protect her from Sisaroth. A final act of defiance.
Firusha sprang to intercept her and struck a blow that shattered the Ido’s blade. “These human weapons are worth nothing.” She laughed and grabbed hold of Mallenia’s wound, pressing hard, then she tossed her back onto the bed. “Good blood,” she said over her shoulder to her brother. “We should collect it when we execute her. Who knows what we could create with that.” Then she looked at Coira. “Sweet maga blood. That will add a certain something to any work of art.” Then she gave a sigh of regret. “But we have nothing to save it in.”
She dimly heard voices out in the corridor. The guards must be coming.
“Help! We’ve been attacked!” shouted Mallenia.
Firusha and Sisaroth laughed. They were not going to be put to flight by the soldiers charging up to them. The palace would soon have more dead to mourn.