Lord Arnmigal and Hourli each lost their footing twice because the earth would not lie quiet. Both were down, facing a Rascal trying to get to his feet, when Hope and the Widow arrived. The latter tripped. She fell forward onto Hourli’s back. Hope had no trouble staying upright. She charged the bug-eyed sorcerer, who recognized her as a serious Instrumentality targeting him for some extremely special attention.
Er-Rashal squealed the first word of some prayer, invocation, or spell. Hope blurred. Her hands clamped on his throat.
The gale generated by Hope’s sudden movement extinguished Lord Arnmigal’s time candle. Almost anticlimactically, from his point of view, er-Rashal’s head popped off.
What?
The pretty girl had a grip that savage?
A man might ought to keep that in mind and not get on her bad side.
Reality wavered. Lord Arnmigal heard the roar of falcons. He had not, before. Their bellowing lasted a short while, then was replaced by the shrieks of Fastthal and Sprenghul. Other Shining Ones added their own ferocious commentary.
The confrontation between Instrumentalities ended before Lord Arnmigal and the Widow climbed back high enough to see the slag heap that had wanted to become Asher renewed. Aldi and Hourli had gone ahead, joining the assault by skipping the space between.
The Instrumentality carcass resembled newly excreted magma. Heat boiled off. Scarlet winked through cracks in its crispy black crust. Nearly invisible little Instrumentalities cavorted around the heap, jubilant. The monster would never claim dominion.
Lord Arnmigal settled on a broken block as close as the heat would allow, ignored the celebrating demons. He tapped the earth with the end of a broken Ansa spear, lost in thought.
Hourli, still in Helspeth guise, settled beside him, nearer than what was appropriate for the Empress’s reputation. “She knows I’m not her.” Meaning the Widow had seen more than she should.
He shrugged. Aldi would handle it. An errant bit of curiosity: how come nobody ever asked why Lady Hilda stayed in Vantrad instead of sticking with her Empress?
“That was some all-time weird shit,” Pinkus Ghort mused, from behind Lord Arnmigal. He took a long pull off a fresh wineskin.
Before Lord Arnmigal could reply, Pella said, “Totally weird.” He stepped out of shadow into the moonlight, which had grown thin. “The weirdest.” Then, “Dad, the girls are here. As usual, after all the heavy lifting is over. They claim they need to see you.”
Startled, Lord Arnmigal turned, stared past Pinkus and his liquid companion. Vali and Lila looked embarrassed, put out with their brother, more grown-up than he remembered, and worried. Heris stood behind them. She eyed Hourli grimly. He figured that none of those three, schooled by the Ninth Unknown, would be deceived.
Heris looked like she had survived some hard times recently.
He sighed. Likely sooner than later he would pay for his latest poor choice involving an Ege sister-though it was not a choice he would unmake even if the magic candle had the power to turn back time.
He might show more care about avoiding the natural consequences, however.
“What is it, ladies?” Resigned and ignoring the baffled, fearful looks of people who knew those three could not possibly be out here, half a world away from home.
Lila and Vali glowered at Hourli. Heris talked about Hourlr, Asgrimmur Grimmsson, the Ninth Unknown, Korban Iron Eyes, the road to Eucereme, spicing all of it with targeted snippets from the life of Anna Mozilla, waiting quietly in Brothe.
Humming a Connecten rondelet celebrating romantic love, Aldi seated herself beside Lord Arnmigal, to his left, opposite Hourli, and leaned against him. She showed no consciousness whatsoever of the ferocious disapproval steaming darkly off every woman in sight, Hourli preeminent. She held er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen’s head in her lap, stroking its hairless scalp as though petting a cat. Song sung, she whispered to the dead sorcerer, issuing prophecies for a journey into Twilight. She finished with, “He’ll find his shadow again. I will make that happen.”