Shadowbred_ The Twilight War Part 12

The members of the High Council, all of them worldly and accustomed to magic, nevertheless stared wide-eyed at the spectacle.

The rhythm of the abbot's cadence sharpened as the spell progressed. His voice grew louder. The violet glow around the body intensified, flared. The High Lord Abbot commanded the body to answer his questions.

Everyone leaned forward, straining to see.

The overmaster's eyelids opened to reveal orbs as black as squid ink.

[image]

I hear the voice, but its words make no sense.

"What do you mean, 'there is no here'? That's nonsense."

The voice says through the slit, "There is no time for this. He does not have much time. He has already awakened it and is losing himself even now. You feel as if you need to do something, yes?"

The hairs on my neck rise. My heart beats so hard I can scarcely breathe. "Who ... who do you mean by 'he'?"

"You feel as if you must do something, do you not? Answer the question."

I back away from the wall but cannot take my eyes from the slit. "How can you know that? Who are you? What are you?"

"I am another piece of the same core," the voice answers. "That does not make sense to you, I know."

I nod but feel silly for doing so. The speaker cannot see me. Or can he?

The voice goes on. "We are personality shards. You and I are all he could spare."

I shake my head in denial. I feel dizzy again. I cannot breathe. "Who is 'he'?" I manage, and desperation seeps into my tone. "Who is 'he'?"

"He is Magadon, the core, the whole. I am his courage, blended with some of his intellect. You are mostly his sense of duty."

My legs give out under me and I sag to the floor, shaking my head over and over again. This cannot be. "That's not possible. That is not not possible." possible."

The voice goes on, unrelenting. "It is not only possible, it is. And it is the only thing that makes sense. You know that. Here's your charge. Go to the wall. Find the rest of us."

Inexplicably, the words send a thrill through me. I know with certainty that going to the wall is exactly what I am supposed to do.

"You are trying to understand," the voice says. "It is difficult, I know. Stop and evaluate your response to my request. I charged you to go to the wall and you felt complete the moment I tasked you, did you not?"

"No. Yes."

"Yes. Because you are his sense of duty. Fulfilling tasks is why you exist. Go to the wall and find the rest of us. That is your duty."

My response bursts out before I can think. "Where is the wall?"

"Out there, beyond the door," the voice says. "You must break through the wall. Part of us is behind it, untouched by the Source, untouched by the magic of our captors. Make it contact Erevis or Riven."

The names Erevis and Riven trigger a memory. I cannot remember details but I know I have done my duty by them. I know just as certainly that they have done their duty by me. They are my friends, my comrades.

And I know something else: the voice is telling me the truth.

I stand, nervous, but resolved to fulfill my duty.

"How do I break through the wall?"

The voice is quiet for a moment, then says, "I do not know. You must find a way. And ... what lies behind the wall is dangerous. But there is no choice. You must do it to save all of us."

I say, "Come with me. If it's dangerous, two will accomplish what one cannot."

"I cannot."

"Why?"

"I told you. I am courage. I must stay with him. He needs me more."

"But why me?"

Courage says, "Because you are the strongest of us. You always have been."

The words fortify me. I am am strong. "You said there is no 'here.' What did you mean? Where is this place?" strong. "You said there is no 'here.' What did you mean? Where is this place?"

"It is not a where but a what. A thought bubble. A microcosm of his mindscape. Go to the wall. Get through it. Find that part of us that is on the other side and force it to call our friends."

I nod, but look uncertainly at my empty hands. "I have no weapon."

"Yes, you do. You are a weapon. And you must hurry. We will all be lost in the Source if you do not hurry."

"What is the Source?"

Saying the word makes me uneasy. It echoes in my mind.

The voice does not answer.

"Are you there?"

No response.

I listen to the silence for a moment before I listen to myself. I know what I must do.

I walk across the room and put my hand to the door handle of the cell. It turns, silently-and I push it open.

CHAPTER SIX

10 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms.

The members of the High Council crowded in close, craning their necks to see. The dead, black eyes of the overmaster stared up at the rotunda dome.

The high lord abbot began his questions.

"Are you Kendrick Selkirk, once Overmaster of Sembia?"

The body's mouth opened and said in a broken tone: "Yes."

Elyril smiled, knowing that Nightseer Rivalen had made a flesh puppet of the overmaster's body. She did not know what shadow creature was speaking through his lips, but she knew it was not the spirit of Kendrick Selkirk.

"Were you murdered?" Jemb asked.

Silence for a moment, then, "Yes."

The chamber erupted in conversation. The wallmen started forward but stopped when the high lord abbot raised his hands. Silence fell anew. The tension in the room made Elyril giddy.

"Do you know who did this deed?"

"Yes."

Another rustle ran through the chamber. Nervous eyes glanced about. Hands went to blade hilts. Elyril licked her lips with antic.i.p.ation. Mirabeta eyed the corpse the way she might a trove of gold.

The high lord abbot looked out on the a.s.sembly.

"Perhaps this question would be better asked in the presence of Raithspur and the city guard?"

"Ask him," Mirabeta said hotly, waving him on. "Do it now, High Lord Abbot. The council holds power in this city and this nation, not Raithspur."

The priest knew better than to challenge Mirabeta. She had too many political weapons with which she could destroy his church, from increased taxation to revocation of the Tyrrans' land charter. He swallowed and nodded.

"Who murdered you, Overmaster Kendrick?"

The corpse stiffly turned its head and fixed the council with its dark-eyed glare. The flaccid lips labored but the words were clear enough.

"Agents of Endren High Corrinthal tainted my final meal with an untraceable magical poison. Endren Corrinthal murdered me." Elyril almost danced while the chamber exploded into shouted accusations and counter accusations. Mirabeta could not stop smiling.

The members of the Council jostled, pushed, shouted into one another's faces. Endren Corrinthal screamed denials, his face as red as an apple.

"A lie! That is a lie!"

Mirabeta swallowed her smile and took full advantage of her gift. "You are a murderer, Endren Corrinthal!" she shouted, standing behind the high lord abbot and pointing her finger at Endren. "Name those whom you employed to perform this dark deed."

Elyril glanced at Abelar, who looked on with shock.

"A lie!" Endren answered. "Arranged by you."

A melee broke out among several members and knocked Zarin Terb to the floor. Without warning, Weerdon Kost drew his blade and charged Inmin. Other members responded by drawing their own steel and the chamber erupted into a chaos of screams, shouts, and swinging swords. The underpriests swarmed the dais to protect the body and their high priest. The wallmen drew weapons and rushed into the melee. Abelar ran headlong for his father into the confused combat of swinging fists and blades.

Rising to his knees, an enraged Zarin Terb pulled a thin wand from his jacket and discharged a bolt of lightning that cut a swath through the chamber, knocking several members to the floor. A long sword severed Terb's wrist and the wand skittered across the stones. Zarin screamed for aid, clutching the bleeding stump. Someone kicked him in the temple and he toppled to the floor.

Elyril sprinted to the nearest door and shouted down the hall. "Guards! Guards to the Council Chamber! The High Council is attacked!"

She did not wait to determine whether she had been heard. Instead she whispered a hurried imprecation to Shar, charged her hands with dark, poisonous magic, and turned back to the combat to seek a likely target. Abelar Corrinthal stood before his father with his blade at the ready and the rosy glow of protective magics surrounding him. The pair was backing out of the chamber. Elyril guessed that Abelar was either a priest or templar of the Morninglord.

Mirabeta lurked in safety beside High Lord Abbot Jemb, within a circle of the six junior Tyrrans who ringed the dais, warhammers swinging. Both her aunt and Jemb were shouting into the melee but their words were drowned out by the combat. The highspeaker futilely shouted for a return to order.

Elyril spotted Zarin Terb on the floor. He lay senseless in a pool of his blood and his wallman was not nearby.

Elyril pushed through the chamber, avoiding the blades, and knelt at Terb's side. She made the motions of trying to stanch the blood from his severed wrist, but she actually discharged the magical poison of her spell into his veins. He died instantly, and his support for Endren Corrinthal died with him. Elyril watched his spirit exit the body and streak through the roof. She stood and backed away from Terb.

She caught sight of Abelar pulling his protesting father toward an exit. She put her hand to her holy symbol, whispered an imprecation to Shar, and surrept.i.tiously pointed a finger at the Corrinthals. Instantly a swirling, life-draining cloud of black mist took shape around them. Endren Corrinthal shouted and flailed against the darkness as it engulfed him and his son, drank their lifeforces.

The rest of the High Council had little time to pay heed to the fate of the Corrinthals. Steel was flying in the rotunda.

Elyril smiled as she thought of the husks her spell would leave behind, but the mirth vanished when a rose-colored light flared and annihilated her cloud of darkness. The light emanated from a holy symbol in the hand of Abelar Corrinthal. He held his weakened father with one arm and his holy symbol high with the other hand. His gaze fell on Elyril and his eyes narrowed.

Elyril saw in his face that he knew she had cast the spell. She smiled and paid him his overdue curtsy. He said something to his father, lowered him to the floor, and started across the rotunda for her, smas.h.i.+ng with his sword hilt any who got in his way. A rosy glow surrounded him.

Elyril put her hand to her invisible holy symbol and snarled. She welcomed the chance to- The sound of a horn interrupted Abelar's advance and a score of city guards burst in from two of the entrances. They shouted for order and bashed indiscriminately with their s.h.i.+elds. Abelar shot Elyril a final glare and retreated to his father's side.

In moments the guards had quieted the melee.

The members and their wallmen stared at one another, gasping for breath. Weapons hung loosely in numb hands. Zarin Terb lay dead. Graffen Disteaf sat on the floor, clutching his chest but still alive. Inmin Dossir's dead body lay blackened and smoking from Zarin's lightning bolt. Four wallmen lay dead.

"What have we done?" asked Vens Derstill of Daerlun. Blood stained his sword.

"Inmin drew first!" exclaimed Weerdon Kost.

"That is not true," said Abelar Corrinthal from near the door, his voice preternaturally calm. "You drew steel first, Weerdon Kost."

While Kost sputtered, Highspeaker Lossit stepped atop the dais. Stopping beside Mirabeta, he dabbed at his bleeding nose.

"That is enough," he shouted, his voice m.u.f.fled by a handkerchief bunched around his nose. "This will be sorted in due time." He eyed the rotunda, the fallen council members. "G.o.ds, look at this! What will the people say?"

"The people should never hear of it," Mirabeta said, pointing her finger at Endren. "You are responsible for this, Endren Corrinthal."

Endren shook his head, apparently too drained from Elyril's spell to speak for himself. A cut above his right eye would not stop bleeding. Abelar spoke a word and touched his fingertips to his father's face. Endren's wound closed immediately and the color returned to his face. Abelar looked across the chamber at Mirabeta.

"You are responsible for this, Countess. You and your foul niece."

Elyril feigned a gasp.

Abelar continued. "Your niece summoned that dark cloud to try to kill my father. And you inflamed the High Council's pa.s.sions with theatrics. The two of you arranged for this lie to be spoken."

Mirabeta scowled. "You mind is addled, Abelar Corrinthal. My niece is incapable of casting spells. And it was not I, but the overmaster's corpse that named your father a murderer. You defame two members of my family in a single stroke while you cradle the head of a murderer."