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brass in a dissonant jangle of sound.
The Kielmark locked eyes with the sorcerer like a wolf whose pack mate had
foolishly intervened with his kill. 'Are we women, faint at the thought of
blood? Kor's Fires, Prince! That's not like you.'
Anskiere shook his head. More than compassion tempered his reply. 'No. I've
not abandoned reason for mercy. For Keithland's sake, we must understand
what's happened here. I very much doubt that the Dark-dreamer's collapse was
anything planned by Shadowfane.'
The Kielmark lowered his sword, point rested with dangerous care against the
floor. 'Just how will we accomplish that? Taen's not fit to sound the mind of
a mouse. If you ask any more of her, I'll stop you.'
Anskiere sighed with weary resignation. 'I'd thought to contact the Morbrith
burrow of Llondelei.' The light in his staff faded slowly as he added, 'Now,
please, would you sheath that weapon? Gierj can't build power in the presence
of steel. Between you and Jaric, we've swords enough to safeguard a garrison.'
The chamber in the north spire of Shadowfane was curtained, walls and windows,
with drapes of woven wool. Yet draughts still seeped through the cracks when
wind swept across the fells. A swirl of chilly air teased the flame in the
red-shuttered lantern. The wick guttered, thinned to a spark as Scait Demon
Lord stepped through the door, into stillness and shadows.
'The Morrigierj stirs,' rasped a voice from the chamber's dimmest corner. It
spoke a language unknown to men, and used by demons only when contention for
dominance made the sharing of thoughts an unavoidable challenge.
Scait stopped. 'You say?' He narrowed sultry eyes and waited.
The voice resumed, dry over the moan of the wind beyond the drapes. 'I know.
Maelgrim's Gierj have deserted. The call of their true master drew them while
he was engaged in mind-link. The damage caused then is irreparable. Your
Dark-dreamer lies dying and Sha-dowfane itself is endangered.'
The gust ended. Icy air mantled Scait's ankles, and the flame in the lantern
brightened, throwing ruddy light over the chamber. On a reed pallet by the
wall, a young Thienz with turquoise markings lay ill and gasping for air.
Scait recognized the one who had bonded the Sathid that once had controlled
the witch Tathagres; when Marlson Emien had stolen that matrix, the process of
cross-link had inseparably paired the boy's life with that of the Thienz. The
elder who attended the sick one crouched on pillows in the corner, its flesh
wrinkled and hideous, and its gillflaps yellowed with age. Honour bracelets
crusted all four of its limbs, badges of superior status among its fellows. As
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the Demon Lord crossed the chamber, the creature watched with bead-black eyes
and no sign of humility.
Scait read censure in the creature's manner; short hackles prickled at his
neck. 'Show me.'
The old Thienz delayed, implying defiance. By granting the Dark-dreamer a
twelve Gierj-circle, the Demon Lord had directly jeopardized the young Thienz
whose Sathid base Maelgrim shared. The old one's outrage swelled as draught
eddied the lantern, and shadow dimmed the chamber once again.
Scait ruffled his hackles down, disdaining challenge. 'Yes, your kind have
grown few in number. But no life has passed to memory in vain. Firelord,
Stormwarden, and Dreamweaver, and also the Thienz-murderer called Kielmark,
are presently in Maelgrim's presence, true?'
The old Thienz pinched its lips in acquiescence.
Scait gestured. 'So, then. Our control of Maelgrim will last so long as life
remains. Let us work together and arrange the downfall of enemies.'
The elder demon considered and grudgingly yielded. While the flame in the
lantern stretched upright and brightened, it shuffled over to its ailing
companion. There it crouched, eyes hooded by lashless lids. Presently theone
on the pallet sighed and stirred weakly upon the cushions. Scait shifted his
weight, impatient, but the older Thienz would not be hurried. It removed an
honour bracelet and bent the ornament around the supine Thienz' wrist. The
fact that the recipient lacked strength to acknowledge the accolade gave the
Demon Lord pause; Maelgrim must be failing fast, to have drained a Thienz to
the point where it abandoned indulgence of vanity.
At last the elder raised its head. 'To the death of enemies,' it sent, then
passed its ludicrously tiny hand before the lantern. Awareness joined with the
underling linked to Maelgrim in Sathid-bond, and an image shimmered to
visibility above the flame. The Earl's hall at Morbrith became manifest
through the distant eyes of the Dark-dreamer ...
Night darkened the high, arched windows there, but no stars shone. Hedged by
deep shadow, fallen trestles and furnishings bulked like the broken bones of
dragons against a solitary gleam of light, a candle shielded behind panes of
violet glass. Tinted illumination was unnatural for mankind; at least one
figure gathered around the stricken form of the Dark-dreamer was not human.
From the shadowy depths of a cloak hood gleamed the eyes of a Llondian empath.
The Kielmark stood to one side, both fists clasped to his great sword.
Distrustful as he was of strangers at the best of times, the presence of a
demon called in as ally did little to settle him. He watched with predatory
vigilance as the Llondel sat forward and laid six-fingered hands upon the
unconscious form of Maelgrim Dark-dreamer.
Taen's brother did not flinch from the touch. The tissue of his brain had
suffered massive disruption, and internal bleeding impaired what bodily
function remained. After the briefest moment of rapport, the Llondelei lifted
her hands and broke contact. She turned bleak eyes upon the humans.
'He dies the Gierj-death, this human enslaved by Shadow-fane.' Her
thought-image came tinged with anger, a bitterness indefinably deep.
Maelgrim's affliction resulted directly from manipulation of a Gierj-circle.
Demons at Shadowfane well understood the consequences attached to such power;
they ensnared humans in Sathid-bond expressly for the purpose of manipulating
Gierj-born forces without sacrificing one of their own. When their victim
collapsed from haemorrhage, a replacement could always be created, until the
store of stolen matrix was exhausted.
The Llondel ended with a flourish of apology and sorrow. The crystals had come
to Keithland with her kind; malicious creatures from Shadowfane had plundered
the heritage of the Llondelei young expressly to engineer betrayals such as
Emien's, and before him, Merya Tathagres'.
The Kielmark's grip tightened on his weapon. Taen sat with her face in her
hands; Jaric's arm tightened around her shoulder.
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