King of Sword and Sky
Page 53
One small chest, protected by no fewer than twelve deadly wards, contained his bands of power. Vadim released the wards and opened the chest. Trays of magical rings and armbands gleamed up at him. He spread them out across the counter. Four trays were filled with gleaming Tairen's Eye crystals set in gold rings; eight overflowed with black selkahr set in platinum.
From a deep pocket in his robes, he withdrew the small vial of Shia's still-warm blood. He uncapped the vial and poured several drops of the blood into one palm. He touched his tongue to the blood, taking the taste of it into his mouth, then rubbed his hands together until a thin, rapidly drying sheen of red coated both palms.
"Gaz mora khan," he whispered. From blood power. His eyes closed as runners of rich, seductive darkness sparked in his veins. The blood on his hands grew warm, heating his palms. The remnants on his tongue assumed a dark honey flavor, rapidly taking on an overpowering sweetness that made his teeth ache.
His eyes snapped open, black now and glowing with the dark red embers of Azrahn. To his Azrahn-enhanced vision, the small treasure room was a well of shadow, set afire with blazing magical lights. The Tairen's Eye crystals were near-blinding prisms of multicolored light. He splayed his blood-smeared hands over them.
"Vi mora ulchis," he commanded. To blood obedience. His palms, glowing a dull, dim red, passed slowly over the crystals. A score of the crystals gleamed brighter, minute sparks leaping from them like a shower of embers bursting from a fire. He plucked them from the tray and retested the smaller group several more times until he had whittled the score of crystals down to the four that responded most strongly to his testing spell.
Using a similar process, he selected four black selkahr from the other trays, then chose two of his purest, most powerful deep purple amethyst rings to adorn each thumb. Finally, the High Mage opened a separate set of trays below the first and withdrew two armbands of gold chased with ancient Merellian runes.
When he finished, he reactivated the wards guarding the chests and exited the small room.
The darkest bell of night was approaching. The time for great magic was near.
Chapter nine
The Fading Lands ~ Lissilin
The cry cut through Rain like a knife. He bolted upright on the pallet he'd carried up to the rooftop in Lissilin so he and Ellysetta could sleep beneath the stars. The rush of blinding grief left him breathless and trembling. Beside him, Ellysetta gave a low cry of pain and jolted awake as well, clutching the soft sheet to her chest.
"Rain…" Tears thickened her voice. She did not understand what it was she felt, but she was Fey enough, tairen enough, to feel the terrible sorrow in every cell of her being.
He bent his head. His eyes burned with unshed tears. Ah, gods, too late. He should have flown straight through to Fey'Bahren, but he'd let Sybharukai's reassurances of Cahlah's improving condition convince him he still had time.
He pressed his palms to his forehead and sang a short prayer of farewell. "Soar high and laugh on the wind," he whispered.
"What's happened, Rain?" The tears had spilled over and were running down Ellysetta's cheeks.
"Cahlah is dead, and one of her kits has perished in the egg." He thumbed her tears away, kissed her gently before releasing her. "I must go. I'd like you to come with me, though when we reach Fey'Bahren you may have to wait until the worst of the pride's grief has passed before they will welcome you."
"Of course I'll go," she said without hesitation.
"Beylah vo." As they dressed, he sent a probe of Spirit downstairs and found Dax awake and worried for his mate, who had suddenly woken and begun weeping for no reason she could explain.
«Sieks'ta,» Rain apologized. «Two of the tairen are dead. Ellysetta and I must have been broadcasting our grief too strongly. Forgive us for disturbing your mate. We are flying to Fey'Bahren. You and Marissya join us there as soon as you can. »
Moments later, he and Ellysetta soared from the rooftops of Lissilin and began winging north, towards the Feyls.
Eld ~ Boura Fell
The High Mage groaned. Naked, bathed in blood, he lay prostrate on the cold stone floor and twitched while the last of the painful spasms that had racked every muscle of his body made its final angry statement.
"Master?" Booted feet shuffled close.
"Do not touch me." He issued the warning between clenched teeth. The ringing in his ears, caused by his own screams, began to fade, and in its place he heard another sound: a steady dripping, like overturned milk spilling onto a hard surface. But he knew it was not milk. The rich, metallic scent was instantly recognizable.
Blood, thick, still warm, and lots of it. The fluid of life and of recent violent death.
No wonder the servants were terrified. If Vadim had lost his prize after the ferocious, agonizing battle he had just won, his fury would be savage.
"The child?"
"Alive, master." The voice quavered. "And unharmed."
It was not him the servants feared then. Vadim closed his eyes, focused, summoned every vestige of strength. The battle this time had been worse than any he'd ever fought before, draining every hint of magic from him, every reserve of strength. He'd almost lost. Unimaginable, but there it was. Death had been so near, he'd felt its cold breath upon the back of his neck, an enveloping mist wrapping about him like a shroud.
Without the pulse of magic throbbing within, the full weight of his age fell upon him. His bones ached; his muscles felt weak and flaccid. Will alone roused him from the stone floor, forced his spine to straighten when his body wanted instead to remain bent and hunched like an old man's. He was the High Mage. He could not afford to show weakness.
From a deep pocket in his robes, he withdrew the small vial of Shia's still-warm blood. He uncapped the vial and poured several drops of the blood into one palm. He touched his tongue to the blood, taking the taste of it into his mouth, then rubbed his hands together until a thin, rapidly drying sheen of red coated both palms.
"Gaz mora khan," he whispered. From blood power. His eyes closed as runners of rich, seductive darkness sparked in his veins. The blood on his hands grew warm, heating his palms. The remnants on his tongue assumed a dark honey flavor, rapidly taking on an overpowering sweetness that made his teeth ache.
His eyes snapped open, black now and glowing with the dark red embers of Azrahn. To his Azrahn-enhanced vision, the small treasure room was a well of shadow, set afire with blazing magical lights. The Tairen's Eye crystals were near-blinding prisms of multicolored light. He splayed his blood-smeared hands over them.
"Vi mora ulchis," he commanded. To blood obedience. His palms, glowing a dull, dim red, passed slowly over the crystals. A score of the crystals gleamed brighter, minute sparks leaping from them like a shower of embers bursting from a fire. He plucked them from the tray and retested the smaller group several more times until he had whittled the score of crystals down to the four that responded most strongly to his testing spell.
Using a similar process, he selected four black selkahr from the other trays, then chose two of his purest, most powerful deep purple amethyst rings to adorn each thumb. Finally, the High Mage opened a separate set of trays below the first and withdrew two armbands of gold chased with ancient Merellian runes.
When he finished, he reactivated the wards guarding the chests and exited the small room.
The darkest bell of night was approaching. The time for great magic was near.
Chapter nine
The Fading Lands ~ Lissilin
The cry cut through Rain like a knife. He bolted upright on the pallet he'd carried up to the rooftop in Lissilin so he and Ellysetta could sleep beneath the stars. The rush of blinding grief left him breathless and trembling. Beside him, Ellysetta gave a low cry of pain and jolted awake as well, clutching the soft sheet to her chest.
"Rain…" Tears thickened her voice. She did not understand what it was she felt, but she was Fey enough, tairen enough, to feel the terrible sorrow in every cell of her being.
He bent his head. His eyes burned with unshed tears. Ah, gods, too late. He should have flown straight through to Fey'Bahren, but he'd let Sybharukai's reassurances of Cahlah's improving condition convince him he still had time.
He pressed his palms to his forehead and sang a short prayer of farewell. "Soar high and laugh on the wind," he whispered.
"What's happened, Rain?" The tears had spilled over and were running down Ellysetta's cheeks.
"Cahlah is dead, and one of her kits has perished in the egg." He thumbed her tears away, kissed her gently before releasing her. "I must go. I'd like you to come with me, though when we reach Fey'Bahren you may have to wait until the worst of the pride's grief has passed before they will welcome you."
"Of course I'll go," she said without hesitation.
"Beylah vo." As they dressed, he sent a probe of Spirit downstairs and found Dax awake and worried for his mate, who had suddenly woken and begun weeping for no reason she could explain.
«Sieks'ta,» Rain apologized. «Two of the tairen are dead. Ellysetta and I must have been broadcasting our grief too strongly. Forgive us for disturbing your mate. We are flying to Fey'Bahren. You and Marissya join us there as soon as you can. »
Moments later, he and Ellysetta soared from the rooftops of Lissilin and began winging north, towards the Feyls.
Eld ~ Boura Fell
The High Mage groaned. Naked, bathed in blood, he lay prostrate on the cold stone floor and twitched while the last of the painful spasms that had racked every muscle of his body made its final angry statement.
"Master?" Booted feet shuffled close.
"Do not touch me." He issued the warning between clenched teeth. The ringing in his ears, caused by his own screams, began to fade, and in its place he heard another sound: a steady dripping, like overturned milk spilling onto a hard surface. But he knew it was not milk. The rich, metallic scent was instantly recognizable.
Blood, thick, still warm, and lots of it. The fluid of life and of recent violent death.
No wonder the servants were terrified. If Vadim had lost his prize after the ferocious, agonizing battle he had just won, his fury would be savage.
"The child?"
"Alive, master." The voice quavered. "And unharmed."
It was not him the servants feared then. Vadim closed his eyes, focused, summoned every vestige of strength. The battle this time had been worse than any he'd ever fought before, draining every hint of magic from him, every reserve of strength. He'd almost lost. Unimaginable, but there it was. Death had been so near, he'd felt its cold breath upon the back of his neck, an enveloping mist wrapping about him like a shroud.
Without the pulse of magic throbbing within, the full weight of his age fell upon him. His bones ached; his muscles felt weak and flaccid. Will alone roused him from the stone floor, forced his spine to straighten when his body wanted instead to remain bent and hunched like an old man's. He was the High Mage. He could not afford to show weakness.
