sniffed. “And I know about your dietary predilections, witch. I prefer to be
at
the table come supper, not
on
it.”
“I see.” Seilloah’s lips pursed ever so slightly. “Have you come for vengeance, then, my lord Jassion? Do you fancy yourself my magistrate and executioner?”
“I should,” he said, his voice thoughtful despite the rage that quivered behind his teeth. “Your crimes are nearly as monstrous as those of your master.
“But no.” He sighed. “We’re here to speak with you. Cooperate with us, and you may escape your just sentence for some time yet.”
“I see. And what am I to tell you?”
Kaleb and Jassion glanced briefly at each other. “Where,” the sorcerer asked her, “might we find Corvis Rebaine?”
Seilloah glanced at the man beside her. “You should know … I’m sorry, I don’t believe I got your name.”
“Kaleb.”
“All right. You should know, Kaleb, that I’ve not seen Corvis in three years. A little longer, actually. I haven’t the slightest notion of where he might be these days.”
“I don’t believe you!” Jassion insisted, stepping forward with fists clenched.
“I’m not the least surprised,” she said. “It’s true just the same. And even if I did know, it would take far more than you’re capable of to make me tell you.”
“We’ll see about—”
“I
will
, however,” she interrupted, “offer you a piece of advice in lieu of the information you seek.”
“And what would that be?” he asked, his tone dripping scorn so thickly it nearly splattered across the toes of his boots.
Seilloah offered a beatific smile. “Never attack a witch in her own home, you silly goose.”
It hung there for the briefest instant, mocking them. Jassion’s eyes grew wide, Kaleb drew breath to shout a warning, his hands already rising.
The torn linens unraveled themselves from Seilloah’s wrists and lashed outward, leaving twin welts across Kaleb’s face, causing even the proud sorcerer to flinch away. Vines detached from the walls, roots burst through the sides of clay pots, stretching impossibly across the chamber to wrap about Jassion’s ankles, his knees, his elbows, his wrists … His throat. Gagging and twisting, trying to wrench free evenas the foliage dragged him bodily upward, Jassion somehow had the presence of mind to wish bitterly that the world’s warlocks and witches had better things to do than lift him off the damn floor.
Seilloah rose to her feet without flexing a muscle, raised by an unseen force. Her arms, her fingers, stretched and twitched as though puppeteering the thrashing vines, and her brown eyes had assumed the hue of Theaghl-gohlatch’s leaves, complete with jagged veins of lighter green.
Kaleb hurled fire, but it arced aside before kissing the witch’s flesh, pouring into and up the chimney in a burst of thick smoke. The floorboards shattered, flinging splinters to gouge the flesh of all three, as tree roots rose, swaying, enraged serpents of bark and wood. Viciously they tore into the flesh of Kaleb’s calves, slapping his legs from under him so he fell hard to the broken floor.
Jassion, who once again lacked the mobility to swing, flexed his aching wrist, sawing at the ivy with Talon’s edge. He felt his pulse pounding in his ears. His chest burned, begging for air, and the wound on his side dribbled blood, threatening to reopen as the plants wrenched him back and forth.
But even as Seilloah stepped from the bed to the floor, the smile slipped from her face. Kaleb, spitting syllables nearly unpronounceable by human lips, reached out and grabbed the roots pummeling him. At his touch they halted, bark flaking from beneath his palms as a swift rot consumed them from within. The sorcerer rose to his feet, steady despite the terrible wounds to his legs, and raised his arms once more.
Jassion felt the first of the vines snap beneath Talon’s edge. With greater mobility, he went to work next on the ivy that had wrapped
at
the table come supper, not
on
it.”
“I see.” Seilloah’s lips pursed ever so slightly. “Have you come for vengeance, then, my lord Jassion? Do you fancy yourself my magistrate and executioner?”
“I should,” he said, his voice thoughtful despite the rage that quivered behind his teeth. “Your crimes are nearly as monstrous as those of your master.
“But no.” He sighed. “We’re here to speak with you. Cooperate with us, and you may escape your just sentence for some time yet.”
“I see. And what am I to tell you?”
Kaleb and Jassion glanced briefly at each other. “Where,” the sorcerer asked her, “might we find Corvis Rebaine?”
Seilloah glanced at the man beside her. “You should know … I’m sorry, I don’t believe I got your name.”
“Kaleb.”
“All right. You should know, Kaleb, that I’ve not seen Corvis in three years. A little longer, actually. I haven’t the slightest notion of where he might be these days.”
“I don’t believe you!” Jassion insisted, stepping forward with fists clenched.
“I’m not the least surprised,” she said. “It’s true just the same. And even if I did know, it would take far more than you’re capable of to make me tell you.”
“We’ll see about—”
“I
will
, however,” she interrupted, “offer you a piece of advice in lieu of the information you seek.”
“And what would that be?” he asked, his tone dripping scorn so thickly it nearly splattered across the toes of his boots.
Seilloah offered a beatific smile. “Never attack a witch in her own home, you silly goose.”
It hung there for the briefest instant, mocking them. Jassion’s eyes grew wide, Kaleb drew breath to shout a warning, his hands already rising.
The torn linens unraveled themselves from Seilloah’s wrists and lashed outward, leaving twin welts across Kaleb’s face, causing even the proud sorcerer to flinch away. Vines detached from the walls, roots burst through the sides of clay pots, stretching impossibly across the chamber to wrap about Jassion’s ankles, his knees, his elbows, his wrists … His throat. Gagging and twisting, trying to wrench free evenas the foliage dragged him bodily upward, Jassion somehow had the presence of mind to wish bitterly that the world’s warlocks and witches had better things to do than lift him off the damn floor.
Seilloah rose to her feet without flexing a muscle, raised by an unseen force. Her arms, her fingers, stretched and twitched as though puppeteering the thrashing vines, and her brown eyes had assumed the hue of Theaghl-gohlatch’s leaves, complete with jagged veins of lighter green.
Kaleb hurled fire, but it arced aside before kissing the witch’s flesh, pouring into and up the chimney in a burst of thick smoke. The floorboards shattered, flinging splinters to gouge the flesh of all three, as tree roots rose, swaying, enraged serpents of bark and wood. Viciously they tore into the flesh of Kaleb’s calves, slapping his legs from under him so he fell hard to the broken floor.
Jassion, who once again lacked the mobility to swing, flexed his aching wrist, sawing at the ivy with Talon’s edge. He felt his pulse pounding in his ears. His chest burned, begging for air, and the wound on his side dribbled blood, threatening to reopen as the plants wrenched him back and forth.
But even as Seilloah stepped from the bed to the floor, the smile slipped from her face. Kaleb, spitting syllables nearly unpronounceable by human lips, reached out and grabbed the roots pummeling him. At his touch they halted, bark flaking from beneath his palms as a swift rot consumed them from within. The sorcerer rose to his feet, steady despite the terrible wounds to his legs, and raised his arms once more.
Jassion felt the first of the vines snap beneath Talon’s edge. With greater mobility, he went to work next on the ivy that had wrapped
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