the nameless, enables
you
to be virtuous?”
Ned and Will Brandiman looked at each other with extremely pained expressions.
“Such calumny.” The Named shook her head, tutting. “Never fear, my halflings. Evil cannot trick me. I know your hearts, and they are pure.”
The black-haired halfling squatted, just out of reach of Ashnak’s fangs, his round, apple-cheeked face smiling.
“The dragon’s curse was powerful indeed, Master Ashnak. The Order of White Mages have detected the curse that Dagurashibanipal laid—it is ‘
You will become what you steal.
’ As the dragon collected the terrible weapons of evil, so you have become their user, and one of them. It’s tragic, truly tragic. For I am not one to believe even an orc beyond salvation.”
Ashnak spat. The halfling avoided his acidic saliva. Ashnak wrestled himself around, freezing pain searing through his wrecked body. “Shazgurim was right. Dark Lord, yes!
Tricksy halflings
. She said you’d do for us in the end. And I
do
regret stopping her killing you! Master!”
The nameless necromancer ignored him.
A breath of warm wind blew, smelling of dead leaves, summer’s end, cornstalks, and the sea. Frost melted.
“Sister…”
On thawing, blood-wet grass, in late-afternoon sunlight grown suddenly strong, the nameless necromancer fell to his knees. His dark head bowed, and his back bent. He touched his pale forehead to the turf.
His voice came plainly audible:
“Sister, even the darkest may turn towards the Light.”
Disgust and anguish brought a roar from Ashnak. “
Master!
”
“These orcish scum are nothing.” The nameless necromancer spread his pale hands, still kneeling. One hand grasped the neck of the silicon bottle. He drank, waving the bottle in the general direction of the last fighting. “A few less to battle on the Dark Lord’s side when Samhain comes. But if you will have me, sister, the Army of Light shall be increased by one, and my power is not small.”
Silence breathed over the field. Ashnak heard it, despite the screams and shouts of the massacre, the hoarse sound of his own protest, the crack of thawing ice. The silence of destiny.
“I have waited long for this, brother.”
The female Man stripped off her remaining plate gauntlet, dropping it on the turf. She stood in the hot sun, among bodies of fallen orcs and Men, with the miasma of corruption rising from corpses in the moat. Her golden hair blazed.
“Duel me,” she challenged. “Single combat, brother. YourDark power against my power of light. Come—combat, hand against bare hand. Fight me!”
“She’s stronger—” Ashnak’s fierce warning cut off as an elven hand clamped across his mouth. Witch-fires singed the horn hide of his face. He opened his mouth to bite.
“I will not.” The nameless necromancer rose gracefully to his feet. There were patches of orc blood on his silver-thread-and-skin robe where he had knelt on it. He flicked a spell-finger and was again spotless. “I have surrendered to you. To your mercy and honour.”
“I don’t trust—”
“And if you will it,” the pale Man said, “I shall wear my own shape again, sister, and you shall wear yours.”
The Named stared for a moment as if into bright light.
“
Yes.
” Her blotched fingers fumbled at her wet lips. She dragged the back of her grey-and-white-skinned hand across her mouth.
The elven mage demanded, “Lady, how can you trust him!”
“Has he not humbled himself before us? Knelt, in the humiliation of his defeat? And come defenceless amongst us? You do not know me,” the female Man said, and her surcoat shot back the crimson of the setting sun. “I am always merciful to those who serve the Light. Brother, be welcome.”
In his last pain, blood soaking into the hot earth, Ashnak made the effort to cry out: “Master, no! You betray us!”
The nameless necromancer did not even turn his head. “Be silent, scum!”
The tall elven-mage with the much-lined face stepped
you
to be virtuous?”
Ned and Will Brandiman looked at each other with extremely pained expressions.
“Such calumny.” The Named shook her head, tutting. “Never fear, my halflings. Evil cannot trick me. I know your hearts, and they are pure.”
The black-haired halfling squatted, just out of reach of Ashnak’s fangs, his round, apple-cheeked face smiling.
“The dragon’s curse was powerful indeed, Master Ashnak. The Order of White Mages have detected the curse that Dagurashibanipal laid—it is ‘
You will become what you steal.
’ As the dragon collected the terrible weapons of evil, so you have become their user, and one of them. It’s tragic, truly tragic. For I am not one to believe even an orc beyond salvation.”
Ashnak spat. The halfling avoided his acidic saliva. Ashnak wrestled himself around, freezing pain searing through his wrecked body. “Shazgurim was right. Dark Lord, yes!
Tricksy halflings
. She said you’d do for us in the end. And I
do
regret stopping her killing you! Master!”
The nameless necromancer ignored him.
A breath of warm wind blew, smelling of dead leaves, summer’s end, cornstalks, and the sea. Frost melted.
“Sister…”
On thawing, blood-wet grass, in late-afternoon sunlight grown suddenly strong, the nameless necromancer fell to his knees. His dark head bowed, and his back bent. He touched his pale forehead to the turf.
His voice came plainly audible:
“Sister, even the darkest may turn towards the Light.”
Disgust and anguish brought a roar from Ashnak. “
Master!
”
“These orcish scum are nothing.” The nameless necromancer spread his pale hands, still kneeling. One hand grasped the neck of the silicon bottle. He drank, waving the bottle in the general direction of the last fighting. “A few less to battle on the Dark Lord’s side when Samhain comes. But if you will have me, sister, the Army of Light shall be increased by one, and my power is not small.”
Silence breathed over the field. Ashnak heard it, despite the screams and shouts of the massacre, the hoarse sound of his own protest, the crack of thawing ice. The silence of destiny.
“I have waited long for this, brother.”
The female Man stripped off her remaining plate gauntlet, dropping it on the turf. She stood in the hot sun, among bodies of fallen orcs and Men, with the miasma of corruption rising from corpses in the moat. Her golden hair blazed.
“Duel me,” she challenged. “Single combat, brother. YourDark power against my power of light. Come—combat, hand against bare hand. Fight me!”
“She’s stronger—” Ashnak’s fierce warning cut off as an elven hand clamped across his mouth. Witch-fires singed the horn hide of his face. He opened his mouth to bite.
“I will not.” The nameless necromancer rose gracefully to his feet. There were patches of orc blood on his silver-thread-and-skin robe where he had knelt on it. He flicked a spell-finger and was again spotless. “I have surrendered to you. To your mercy and honour.”
“I don’t trust—”
“And if you will it,” the pale Man said, “I shall wear my own shape again, sister, and you shall wear yours.”
The Named stared for a moment as if into bright light.
“
Yes.
” Her blotched fingers fumbled at her wet lips. She dragged the back of her grey-and-white-skinned hand across her mouth.
The elven mage demanded, “Lady, how can you trust him!”
“Has he not humbled himself before us? Knelt, in the humiliation of his defeat? And come defenceless amongst us? You do not know me,” the female Man said, and her surcoat shot back the crimson of the setting sun. “I am always merciful to those who serve the Light. Brother, be welcome.”
In his last pain, blood soaking into the hot earth, Ashnak made the effort to cry out: “Master, no! You betray us!”
The nameless necromancer did not even turn his head. “Be silent, scum!”
The tall elven-mage with the much-lined face stepped
Similar Books
