Worldbinder by David Farland

with the High King and his lords, having a shouting match. Daylan Hammer was there, too, and the Wizard Sisel. High King Urstone looked haggard upon his dais, as much shocked by the devastation as Alun. The Warlords standing in the audience hall appeared angry, as if seeking a target for their frustrations.
    “I say we strike now, and strike hard!” Madoc roared.
    “And leave ourselves defenseless?” the Emir asked. “There are breaches in our defenses. We need men to repair them, strong men like our warriors, and we need time.” The Emir was a tall man for one of his kind. He was shorter than Madoc, and much narrower of shoulder. But he held himself like a king, and thus seemed to cast a long shadow.
    “And if the wyrmlings have such breaches in their defenses,” Warlord Barrest asked, “would it not be the chance of a lifetime? We might break into their prison with ease, and release the prince, and send out assassins against Zul-torac.”
    “What weapon would you use to pierce his shadow?” the Emir asked. “Can it even be slain?”
    “It can,” Madoc said, “with cold iron and sunlight.”
    “That is but a presumption,” King Urstone said. “No one has ever killed a Death Lord.”
    The Wizard Sisel said, “I think it is more than a presumption, it is a calculated chance. Sunlight would loosen the monstrous spells that bind his spirit to this world. It should weaken him to the point that he could be slain.”
    King Urstone was a bit taller than Warlord Madoc, but narrower at the shoulder. He wore no badge of office. Instead, he wore a shirt of plain chain mail, covered by a brown cape, as if he were but another soldier in the castle. His face was wise and lined with wrinkles, and his beard, which was light brown going gray, made him look wiser still. He said reasonably “Attacking Zul-torac is foolhardy. You can’t reach him. He never leaves the warrens beneath Mount Rugassa. He hides among the shadows with the other Death Lords. You’ll never expose him to light. And if you were to attack, his reprisals would tear our realm apart. Let there be no talk of antagonizing Zul-torac. It is only because we hold his daughter hostage that we have enjoyed what little peace we could find these last few years. So long as Zul-torac lives, we can hope to live.”
    The Emir had always been wise in counsel. Now he bent his head in thought. “Even if we tried to strike at the north, we might well find that this devastation—this spell—is but a local affair. It may have no effect upon Rugassa.”
    He looked to the Wizard Sisel. “What think you, wizard? Is it a local affair?”
    The Wizard Sisel leaned upon his staff and bent his head in thought. His face was burned by sun and wind, with cheeks the color of a ripe apple. His hands and fingernails were dirty from his garden, and his robes looked bedraggled. But he carried himself with dignity despite his ragged attire.
    He was a powerful wizard, and it was his wards and enchantments that had long helped protect Caer Luciare. All ears bent as he voiced his opinion.
    “It is no local affair,” the wizard said. Of them all, only his voice sounded calm and reasonable. “We saw a world fall from the sky, and now the whole world has changed. Grave changes have occurred. I feel it. The earth groans in pain. I can feel it in the soil, and hear it among the rocks. What the cause is, I do not yet know. But this I can say: it is time to prepare for war, not go to war. Did a wyrmling cast this spell—perhaps even Zul-torac himself? If so, he may have known the destruction it would bring. Leaving the castle now, leaving it undefended, would mean that we are playing into the enemy’s hands. And even if it was not a wyrmling who caused this destruction, this spell will rile them. Casting it is like beating a hornets’ nest with a stick. My feeling is that the wyrmlings will strike at us, no matter what.”
    “Then it is even more imperative that we take Cantular now,”