Michael Stackpole - When Dragons Rage

Another part of him, that which had studied magick, likewise recognized the threat. He analyzed it in an instant, knew the spell, and had a choice of a half-dozen spells that would counter it. A couple he could have cast quickly enough to stop her spell from even being cast. Her effort would have been bottled up in her body, and would have savaged her. As an exercise in magery, he viewed his counter and the consequences in a completely clinical matter—the human cost merely a minor abstraction.

A third part of him, the part tempered by all he had seen and done since leaving Vilwan, won out. He ignored the fear. He acknowledged the cost. Then he gestured with his right hand, simply and easily, triggering a spell he knew so well that using it was hardly an effort.

It was the telekinetic spell he’d used to pluck books from a library shelf and, just as easily, had used to pluck a ship from the ocean. In this case he used it to tickle snow from a roof and brought it sliding down upon her in a small avalanche. The snowfall slammed heavily into her back, pitching her forward and burying her. It knocked the wind from her and shattered the concentration she needed to cast her spell.

Kar leaped back a step. He looked at her, then carefully brushed a dusting of snow from his chest and arms before turning toward Kerrigan. “You took a chance dealing with her that way.”

Kerrigan shook his head. “No chance at all.” He looked up at the roofline and Kar turned to follow his gaze. Up there, at the peak of the red tile wedge, squatted Lombo. “If I hadn’t done something, he would have. Please tell Vilwan I am well protected.”

The Magister blinked, then glanced at Tetther struggling to free herself from the mound of snow. “You are not what I was led to believe you would be.”

“And what was that?”

Kar started to answer, then snapped his mouth shut. “It doesn’t matter. I shall get the authorization. But I suppose I should ask what you will consider sufficient.”

Kerrigan shrugged. “I suppose that is a point I can discuss with the Grand Magister when he arrives.”

“You can’t honestly believe…”

Kerrigan held a hand up. “My last mentor was slain by Chytrine, but she was your senior by decades. You know enough about me to know I am assigned to no one school of magick, so I have no Magister over me. With Orla dead, the Grand Magister is the only one to whom I should answer. That is the way of Vilwan. It is the system from which you derive your authority.“

Kar frowned. “Now you have me puzzled, Adept.”

“About what?”

“You have concluded that I am not sufficiently versed in combat magicks to apprehend you. If I were, I’d not have brought Adept Tetther along, and had I had any inkling of this outcome, I would have brought more people. You are powerful enough to ignore me, but you provide me this reasonable request to give me a way to preserve my dignity and avoid having to explain how I failed to bring you in.”

Kerrigan fought mightily to keep any expression off his face. Will had recently confessed to Kerrigan that he didn’t really know what Kerrigan had been carrying until Kerrigan himself had confirmed his guess. Will called it a bluff . Just as Kerrigan had assumed Will had known something he did not, Kar was assuming Kerrigan had drawn certain conclusions and Kerrigan clearly saw it was in his best interest to let the Magister go right on believing them.

“Magister, no disrespect intended, but I’ve been at Svoin and Port Gold and Fortress Draconis. I’ve lived with Panqui. I’ve fought pirates. I’ve fought bandits in Yslin and gibberers in the woodlands of the Black Marches. There are events unfolding that are more important than the orders you’ve been given. If I have to choose between obeying you and defeating Chytrine, well, my choice is clear. As should yours be.”

Kar nodded slowly; then walked to the half-buried Tetther. With the help of the other Adept, he dragged her clear. Kar sent the two Adepts off, then turned and bowed in Kerrigan’s direction. “I would like to say I shall see you shortly, but I do not feel I will. My school, by the way, is Clairvoyance—this is how we knew where to find you.”

“Clairvoyance is one of the most difficult schools to master.” Kerrigan glanced at the pile of snow. “You said you had no idea that she could not handle me. Your visions stopped with meeting me here?”

“One did. Others, well…” The man sighed out a cloud of steam. “Your path, Adept, moves through more darkness than light. Be wary, but of stout heart.”

Kerrigan nodded, then bowed respectfully. “Thank you, Magister. If our paths do cross again, I hope it will be in the light.”

“As do I, Adept Reese, as do I.”

The grey-robed mage departed and a heartbeat after he turned a corner and disappeared from sight, Lombo leaped from the roof and landed in the snowpile that had buried Tetther. His claws raked through the snow, then he smiled up at Kerrigan. “Good no kill.”

“Sorry for robbing you of your fun, my friend. She didn’t deserve to die.”

“More smart live longer.”

“True enough.” Kerrigan smiled. “Had you not been up there, I’d not have thought of bringing the snow down on her.”

“Kerrigan no kill.” Lombo shrugged. “No kill hard.”

“No. It’s just that killing is a lot easier for some. I just can’t…”

“No need.” Lombo ambled over to him and draped a long arm over his shoulders. “Kerrigan make Will-talk. But less.”

The magicker laughed. “Yes, Will can talk a lot but sometimes, what he says is useful. It was here. It saved a lot of trouble. That’s good, I guess.”

Lombo nodded. “Much trouble coming.”

“So Magister Kar said.” Kerrigan sighed out a misty cloud. “Let’s just hope it’s not so much trouble that Will-talk and no kill can’t get us out of it.”

Will did his best not to gawk as Count Marsham led him into the palace throne room. While the building had the external architecture of a fortress, with narrowed windows and thick walls, parts of the interior had clearly undergone extensive renovation. For while the throne room did still feature thick columns that supported a vaulted ceiling, the walls had been covered with wooden panels framed in gilt. Wonderful murals covered the panels, and while a quick glance suggested a few hid secret doors, they were obviously there for decoration more than utility.

A thick green carpet led from the doorway to the throne. On either side of it a marble mosaic floor with grand patterns in white, black, and red spread out. It looked fairly new based on the lack of wear. The throne itself sat on a small dais and consisted of a high-backed chair and canopy, with two extensions on either side for Scrainwood’s sons. The fact that their seats were little more than a green velvet cushion over a slab of wood would do nothing at all to encourage them to attend court.

Marsham stopped just inside the door. “Highness, I present Lord Norrington.”

Scrainwood looked up from the small book he had been perusing. Though Will himself couldn’t read and hadn’t much studied the habits of readers, he knew Scrainwood had affected the pose to make himself seem smarter. The light slanting in from the windows didn’t fall close enough to the throne actually to let the king read. This realization put Will further on his guard as he composed a smile for the king.

Scrainwood snapped the book closed and smiled, then rose. “Of course, Marsham, I know my friend Lord Norrington by sight. Who does not? He’s quite taken our city by storm. Our people love him as I do, as the world does.“

“Of course, Highness. As I love him as well.”

“As well you should, Marsham.” The king nodded once, then shooed Mar-sham off with a flick of his hand. The gesture seemed small at so long a range, but it shook Marsham. The man clearly did not like being dismissed, especially in so casual a manner.