craft.
Several more figures approached, an aftertrail of glow following them with the same color as the snow. One man trudged with head down, carrying a bow. One Bright Palm wore only the short red robe of a tribesman, and he set down his spear to grip Fos’s arm. Another Bright Palm with an obsidian-toothed club strapped to his back took the spellsword’s other arm.
Hiresha felt a crushing vulnerability. They’re too many, too spread out. She reached for another jewel. The lead Bright Palm slid her staff from Fos’s throat and lashed out at the enchantress. The black length of wood smacked Hiresha’s hand from her sash with such force that she worried the limb would fly free at the wrist.
The Bright Palm swept her staff in a warding motion, to keep the other elder enchantresses from approaching the door to close it. Next she slammed the length of wood into the frame to prop it open. The serenity of her voice jarred with the violence of her actions.
“I, Bright Palm Sheamab, am taking command of this establishment until the Oasis Empire consents to protecting the innocent.”
Hiresha could not understand all of what the Bright Palm leader had said, especially not when Sheamab wrenched the enchantress’s bruised hand behind her back. Hiresha made a low murmuring of pain.
Bright Palm Sheamab gripped her tighter. “You would be most wise to continue doing exactly as I say, Elder Enchantress Hiresha. Provost of Applied Enchantment. Paragon of Morimound. Once Bride to the Golden Scoundrel.”
Hiresha stiffened, and chills cut through her. For a stranger, she knows me far too well.
Fos thrashed in the arms of the two Bright Palms holding him. He Burdened himself downward and out of their grasps, and scrambled toward Hiresha. One Bright Palm grabbed his leg. The other reached around Fos’s throat and rammed fingers into his bound length of black hair. Hiresha was thrilled to see Fos struggling to help her, though in the end the two men torqued his limbs and returned him to a headlock.
Sheamab gazed past the spellsword and the wreck of his eye. The sight of it sent Hiresha’s own eyes streaming.
“Take him to the cliff,” the Bright Palm woman said, “above the College of Active Enchantment .”
The Bright Palms dragged Fos to the edge of the plateau. Hiresha was forced after him, shocks of yellow pain flashing up her arm with each step Sheamab pulled her. The provost felt detached, reality swimming around her.
Snow had refrozen in ripples, wind sweeping over it and off the cliff. Four hands shining with white light pushed Fos to the edge. His metal boots scraped as he tried to lean against them, but the Bright Palms had both his arms locked behind his back in a double pin.
Below them, the glass monument of the Blade protruded into the sky. In the moonlight, it looked like a sword of silver. Hiresha thought, Do they mean to push him off the cliff, have him break through the crystal walls of the Blade?
“You promised he wouldn’t be harmed.” Even as Hiresha said it, she had a sinking feeling that the Bright Palm had not made so general a vow. She only said she wouldn’t kill him herself.
“Sixteenth tenet, ‘You shall not speak an untruth,’ and this I have fulfilled.” Sheamab yanked Hiresha a step closer to Fos. “Tell the other spellswords that if they attempt the climb to this establishment or otherwise interfere with our purposes, the enchantresses will be executed by our hands.”
Fos kicked at her. She caught his leg, the nail beds of her fingers flaring white as she angled his leg aside. Fos glared at her, his one eye gleaming with more hatred than any two could ever possess.
She latched a scroll case onto his belt. “This message will serve in place of your voice, should you die in the fall.”
Hiresha had thought to sneak out a jewel with the Bright Palms distracted, but Sheamab snatched her hand again, twisting it. The enchantress willed herself to speak through the pain.
“You
Several more figures approached, an aftertrail of glow following them with the same color as the snow. One man trudged with head down, carrying a bow. One Bright Palm wore only the short red robe of a tribesman, and he set down his spear to grip Fos’s arm. Another Bright Palm with an obsidian-toothed club strapped to his back took the spellsword’s other arm.
Hiresha felt a crushing vulnerability. They’re too many, too spread out. She reached for another jewel. The lead Bright Palm slid her staff from Fos’s throat and lashed out at the enchantress. The black length of wood smacked Hiresha’s hand from her sash with such force that she worried the limb would fly free at the wrist.
The Bright Palm swept her staff in a warding motion, to keep the other elder enchantresses from approaching the door to close it. Next she slammed the length of wood into the frame to prop it open. The serenity of her voice jarred with the violence of her actions.
“I, Bright Palm Sheamab, am taking command of this establishment until the Oasis Empire consents to protecting the innocent.”
Hiresha could not understand all of what the Bright Palm leader had said, especially not when Sheamab wrenched the enchantress’s bruised hand behind her back. Hiresha made a low murmuring of pain.
Bright Palm Sheamab gripped her tighter. “You would be most wise to continue doing exactly as I say, Elder Enchantress Hiresha. Provost of Applied Enchantment. Paragon of Morimound. Once Bride to the Golden Scoundrel.”
Hiresha stiffened, and chills cut through her. For a stranger, she knows me far too well.
Fos thrashed in the arms of the two Bright Palms holding him. He Burdened himself downward and out of their grasps, and scrambled toward Hiresha. One Bright Palm grabbed his leg. The other reached around Fos’s throat and rammed fingers into his bound length of black hair. Hiresha was thrilled to see Fos struggling to help her, though in the end the two men torqued his limbs and returned him to a headlock.
Sheamab gazed past the spellsword and the wreck of his eye. The sight of it sent Hiresha’s own eyes streaming.
“Take him to the cliff,” the Bright Palm woman said, “above the College of Active Enchantment .”
The Bright Palms dragged Fos to the edge of the plateau. Hiresha was forced after him, shocks of yellow pain flashing up her arm with each step Sheamab pulled her. The provost felt detached, reality swimming around her.
Snow had refrozen in ripples, wind sweeping over it and off the cliff. Four hands shining with white light pushed Fos to the edge. His metal boots scraped as he tried to lean against them, but the Bright Palms had both his arms locked behind his back in a double pin.
Below them, the glass monument of the Blade protruded into the sky. In the moonlight, it looked like a sword of silver. Hiresha thought, Do they mean to push him off the cliff, have him break through the crystal walls of the Blade?
“You promised he wouldn’t be harmed.” Even as Hiresha said it, she had a sinking feeling that the Bright Palm had not made so general a vow. She only said she wouldn’t kill him herself.
“Sixteenth tenet, ‘You shall not speak an untruth,’ and this I have fulfilled.” Sheamab yanked Hiresha a step closer to Fos. “Tell the other spellswords that if they attempt the climb to this establishment or otherwise interfere with our purposes, the enchantresses will be executed by our hands.”
Fos kicked at her. She caught his leg, the nail beds of her fingers flaring white as she angled his leg aside. Fos glared at her, his one eye gleaming with more hatred than any two could ever possess.
She latched a scroll case onto his belt. “This message will serve in place of your voice, should you die in the fall.”
Hiresha had thought to sneak out a jewel with the Bright Palms distracted, but Sheamab snatched her hand again, twisting it. The enchantress willed herself to speak through the pain.
“You
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