Michael Stackpole - When Dragons Rage

And there was a part of her that did not shy from watching her mother’s enemies die. She would have preferred to see them led to see reason, but it was obvious that having an army camped outside a city was hardly something that would encourage compromise. As it was, they opposed her mother, so they were a threat that had to be neutralized.

Death duels between the wizards was accomplishing that rather well. Isaura admired the courage with which combatants from both sides approached the battleground. Though they were mortal enemies, they still showed respect for each other. Neskartu had been very careful in selecting the opposition for his mages. He had previously cast a spell that allowed him to assess the strength and number of the sorcerers hidden in Nawal, and he planned accordingly.

The Aurolani had fared very well in the combats. While a handful of the kryalniri had been killed, and two of Neskartu’s Apprentices had been slain, a full dozen of the sorcerers from Nawal had been destroyed—including the last four in a row. Corde had dispatched two of them by herself, one after the other, and gave the appearance of remaining for a third. While that did seem a bold move, the Murosans had the habit of sending their strongest mages out first and working down.

Neskartu, who was able to sit without a chair, was a varicolored presence between Isaura and the dracomorph. They are reduced to Apprentices, all of whom will be swept away. Naelros, you will have little opposition from the realm of sorcery .

The dracomorph nodded slowly. He, likewise, used no chair but instead squatted back on his heels. A hooded cloak covered him, but Isaura could still see his large eyes glittering from within the hood’s shadow. “There is no haste. The longer we wait, the less powerful they become, and the more time we have to build our stores of firedirt.”

His assessment came firm and even, yet sent a chill down Isaura’s spine. She had seen Porjal fall, and its subjugation had been savage. Anarus’ assault had concentrated the dragonels such that they collapsed a section of wall; the army then poured through the breach. The slaughter had been horrifying and the city was taken in short order.

Naelros, however, had been given two weeks to take Nawal and showed signs of using every minute of it. The dragonels had been laid such that they would shoot over the walls and destroy buildings within—proving the walls to be ineffective protection. That could suffice as inducement for surrender and might allow him to take the city with the walls intact, which would make it very difficult for anyone to retake.

Isaura realized their strategy would save Aurolani lives, and she applauded that idea. What she hated was the visiting of the war on those who were not warriors. She had seen the same thing in Porjal, but it had resulted in the bloodlust frenzy of the city’s storming. Here the death would be random and its only purpose would be to terrorize the people so badly they could not think of resistance.

She wondered, though, if such random slaughter might not stiffen resistance. She further wondered why Naelros couldn’t see that as a possibility. Being a dracomorph who likely was centuries old—though this mind might only possess decades of consciousness—he doubtless had a differing view of humans than she did. She was even willing to consider that her interaction with Neskartu’s Apprentices had inflated her view of their capabilities, since his students were drawn from the smartest of the humans.

When she had raised this point with Naelros, the dracomorph had thanked her for her words. “I shall consider your ideas, Princess.” His voice rang with sincerity, but he commented no more on what she offered. Instead, he concentrated on his preparations, and seemed not to have altered things one bit.

The small mageport in Nawal’s gate opened again. A heavyset, dark-haired youth squeezed through it and strode toward the battleground. He wore a simple robe of dark brown that had been secured around his bulbous middle with a length of white cord. He tried to stride purposefully, but a trick of wind lashed him with the smoke from the burning woman. He sidestepped awkwardly, stumbled for a moment, then caught himself against the black dolmen and slowly straightened up.

Laughter and hooting sounded from the Aurolani lines, but it did not appear to daunt him. He straightened his robe, then lifted his chin. “I am Kerrigan Reese, Adept of Vilwan. I come in challenge.”

His right hand came up and forward. His fingers were curled into a fist around the middle of a wand. His hand glowed blue for a moment, then that glow sprang off into a soft sphere. It bounced across the snowy ground between Nawal and the Aurolani lines. It took short, high hops, and some long ones as well. It leaped over warriors, then rolled for a bit before coming to rest before Lord Neskartu.

The sullanciri flowed down to one knee and scooped a hand beneath the spell. His fingers contracted, raking through it. A similar color played through him. In an eyeblink he was standing full upright and the colors quickened as they flowed through him.

Most curious.

The dracomorph lifted a hand to suppress a yawn. “How so?”

He was undetected in the survey of Nawal. And the wand he is carrying is one I created and gave to Wheele. Wheele used it to slay an old acquaintance of mine.

Isaura studied the youth. The brown robe indicated his area of expertise was conveyance magick—though she admitted it could just have been the only color robe he could find. That he was from Vilwan and in a Murosan city was a bit of a curiosity. His moving into the dueling circle, which was a Murosan custom, was unusual, and his daring to challenge a sullanciri remarkable.

Young and very foolish, or young and wise beyond his years.

Corde, who yet stood in the circle, turned to face the youth. “I am Corde of the Aurolani Conservatory. I will face your challenge.”

No, Corde . Neskartu’s command barely brushed Isaura’s mind, but she felt a tingle. One kryalniri who had the misfortune of standing between the sullanciri and Corde caught the full brunt of it and fell twitching to the ground. It hit Corde hard, shaking her badly, but she bowed and withdrew to her own lines.

Naelros peeled his hood back and looked at the sullanciri . “You will accept this challenge?”

/ have no reason not to. He possesses that wand and clearly wishes to avenge Orla’s death. He cannot stand against me, and if he uses that wand, it will be his certain death . Without another comment, the sullanciri took a step forward with his left foot. In an eyeblink he was there, ten yards from the Adept, his colors rippling down his body in tigerish stripes.

Naelros shook his head. “So foolish.”

“That is not certain.”

The dracomorph’s forked tongue flicked out through the air for a moment. “Ah, you refer to the boy. I do not.”

Isaura watched Kerrigan intently. He was obese and awkward, yet there was something about him. Not anything attractive in any sexual sense. Some of the Murosans had intrigued her in that way, but in Kerrigan she had not the least flicker of interest. She realized, after a moment’s reflection, it was less because of his appearance than another sense she had of him.

One of kinship.

They were linked in some manner, but that feeling was completely outside her ability to understand. She felt as if she were trying to hear a color or taste a song. She had no means by which to identify what she was feeling.

Neskartu let his thoughts seep out in a circle. You are the youth. You may strike first .

Kerrigan shifted his shoulders, then clasped his hands on the wand at the small of his back. “I issued the challenge. Yours is the first strike.”