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dark-kyndi deep inside her. The villager's screams turned into low moans
blended of anguish and ecstasy. Her body jerked each time Margren slipped the
knife in, but she never again cried aloud.
Intense pleasure burned in Margren's face, her red robe covered both of them,
concealing everything except the rhythmic thrusting of her body, driving the
dark-kyndi deeper and deeper. With each thrust Margren slipped the knife in
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again until the villager's body became a mass of wounds growing less and less
human in appearance. Margren felt the woman's heart faltering, struggling, and
knew that her victim was now only moments from death. The dark-kyndi had
become a roar within Margren, the power built until she felt ready to explode.
Margren reared up, sinking her fangs into the villager's throat, sucking
deeply, wanting to feel her death at both levels: blood and dark-kyndi.
Margren brought the knife up and shoved it into the woman's heart, stealing
her last moment of life. Power erupted through Margren, every cell in her body
felt seared. Her head reared back, releasing her hold on the villager's
throat. With a cry of pleasure, Margren sank to her knees, dropping her bloody
knife.
Before she could rise, Mephistis seized her, pushing her down onto the
recessed bleeding table on her back. He entered her, their blood-covered
bodies moving together. Her teeth delicately broke the skin of his neck,
finding the favored artery, and she drank just a little, remembering even in
the throes of her passion that she did not want to endanger him or the others
who would follow him. The acolytes gathered around them, chanting. The
dark-kyndi rose, engulfing the powerful sa'necari in an auric web, draining
him magically, sexually, and physically. The chamber hummed loudly with sheer
energy, the air filling with dancing black sparks. The servants fled the
chamber first. Mephistis pushed himself off Margren, staggering drunkenly to
his feet. Three novices caught him before he could fall, carrying him to a
room where he could rest and be well tended.
Bodramet came next, murmuring into her ear where only she could hear it. "The
half-a-mon should have been tabled on his belly with these others."
"Yesss," Margren moaned as Bodramet moved inside her, and her fangs broke the
skin of his neck.
"You shall have his death."
An image swept through Margren and for an instant she saw Isranon: he stood
upon the highest tier of an edifice similar to the Altar of Hecatomb with a
staff of incredible power, calling down the winds, the lances of sunfire, and
lightning to destroy the altars of darkness. Then it was gone as Bodramet's
power rushed into her.
One after another the three initiates followed Mephistis, taking their turn
with Margren. She drank from each of them as they pierced her, and the
dark-kyndi sheathed them. By the time that the third was led staggering away
by servants, the dancing sparks had become like a heavy mist that could barely
be seen through. The power pressed upon everyone in the chamber. The soldiers
withdrew swiftly as if shoved down by the tremendous energy. Only the acolytes
and novices remained. The acolytes followed the initiates, entering her and
being drained by the dark-kyndi. Margren's eyes gleamed red within an orb of
black as the last one mounted her. She wrapped her legs and arms around him,
her teeth going deep and savage into the artery. Too late he realized what she
intended, trying desperately to pull away as the dark-kyndi imprisoned him.
The novices fled when they realized that Margren was killing him. She took the
death-gift from him and with him the power gained from more than two dozen
mortgiefan he himself had taken in the course of his training. Margren lay
alone on the altar in the empty chamber, the body of the dead acolyte draping
her, twenty drained corpses hanging from the scaffolding. The power screamed
about the room, seeking release, growing beyond restraining and Margren spoke
a single word: "Aejys!"
* * * *
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A gale force wind came raging out of nowhere: unforeseen and unexpected, it
slammed through the narrow forested pass, breaking trees, ripping loose
boulders which had sat secure for millennia upon the mountain's side, sending
them hurtling down on the company. Horses and riders screamed, trying to
scatter from the path of the careening juggernauts. The pass was too narrow
and for several there was simply no place to run. Eliahu cast off the last
vestiges of his pretense; raising CallThunder high in both hands, he shouted
out words of power, demanding an answer from the skies. Lightning flashed and
struck, shattering many of the huge stones. But not even the High Mage of
Winter could get them all. Myn died around him, the life crushed from them
while those more fortunate lifted their shields as shelter from the flying
fragments of those boulders Eliahu stopped.
"It's a sending," Grawl snarled, rising on his hind legs. He sheathed his
claws, extending his paws as they slowly changed into long fingered heavily
furred hands. He pulled his staff from his back where it rested strapped
beside his pack. Clemmerick, standing next to Grawl and Josh, squatted down
beside a tree, wrapped his arms around the trunk and heaved as he
straightened, bringing the tree with him. Grawl, seeing what he was up to
stripped most of the branches away with a swipe of his paws.
"Take shelter!" the ogre bellowed, charging into the rolling stones and
batting them away from the company.
"Everyone! Up against the cliffs. Get as flat as you can!" As her company
hurried to obey, many dismounting and shoving their horses up against the
stone, Aejys turned desperately to Laurelyanne, "Where? You know the area 
where?"
"Hundred yards further, a cave."
"Tag, pass the word, everyone dismount, get close to the cliffside, stay
under the overhang as much as possible."
Aejys slipped from the saddle, landing lightly despite the wind. "Go find
it," she ordered Gwyndar. The big wynderjyn snorted and moved out into the
wind, his head down as he struggled for each step.
Debris flew around them, filling the air with missiles of earth, stone and
tree parts, but pressed closely to the steeper side of the cliffs, they made
smaller targets and fewer got hit. Terrified animals screamed and pulled, even
the rangers were controlling their mounts with increasing difficulty. Only the
wynderjyns remained steady beneath the clearly unnatural assault.
"I see it," Aejys shouted. For just a single heartbeat the lapsed ha'taren
felt hope rise, then a wild howling began in the air above them. Aejys looked
up and saw skeletally thin figures on gaunt, parchment-skinned mounts riding
the air currents. A dirty yellow aura surrounded them. Her stomach tightened:
she had not seen them since the day that Kalestari Desharen, Tamlestari's
ma'aram, slew Aurean of Waejontor.
"Vargeis!" She shouted, pointing, her voice carrying like a warcry.
No banewitch, necromancer, or sa'necari other than Aurean, greatest banewitch
of Waejontor now ten years dead by the hand of Kalestari Desharen, had had the
power to summon them until now, much less give them that stale urine aura
which meant that they had substance and were not merely wraiths of terror
magic. "Form up! Tag, get the mages in the cave, pull the reds and then my
blacks in around them."
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The stout dwarf nodded, reined back, shouting orders.
Aejys turned to Tamlestari standing at her shoulder, "Go with the mages."
"No." Tamlestari growled.
"Damn it! Get in the fucking cave!" Aejys shouted angrily, giving the young
woman a shove.
Tamlestari bristled, looking for just a moment as if she would like to hit [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]