[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

considering and approving. "However, I feel most uneasy in undertaking such a
mission or indeed, any major expedition outside the city without even a single
priest of Bane to pray for our success and aid us with the favor of the god's
will. What say you, Lord Marsh, as one who neither serves Bane nor works art?"
Weaken them at least by one priest, Sememmon thought, and cut that one down as
a warning to Fzoul. And if we win the spellfire, we'll come back and try it on
one of the beholders. Had Fzoul done something to Manshoon? Sememmon
ED GREENWOOD
wondered with a sudden chill. Perhaps Manshoon was behind this, to be rid of
all his most powerful rivals in art in the brotherhood. If not, and he did
return, would Fzoul tell him that all the mages had denounced him and gone off
to act as they pleased?
Lord Marsh rubbed his jaw, frowning at the tabletop, thereby avoiding both the
calm scrutiny of the beholder and the icy stares of Fzoul, Casildar, and
Zhessae. He then looked up. "I must concur with you on this, brother
Semem-mon. We have always won our greatest gains by careful use of all three
of our strengths: the favor of great Bane; the versatile art of mages; and the
might of the swords of our men-at-arms. It would go ill to deliberately
neglect more than one of those strengths now.
"Our men-at-arms cannot reach the dale in time without use of art, or in
numbers enough to be useful without alarming our foes. We must, therefore,
forego our warriors. I believe that it would be foolish as foolish as
deliberately going into battle without shield and armor to abandon also the
strength of Bane in this matter. Moreover, I feel that the warriors under me,
and probably many un-derclerics and magelings here and in Darkhold, would
think the same and seriously question our collective wisdom in doing so,
whatever the outcome of the venture." i
With that emphatic point. Marsh sat back and looked directly at Fzoul, fingers
toying with a bauble at his throat which Sememmon, and no doubt most of the
others at the table, knew to be an explosive globe from a magical necklace of
missiles. Sememmon almost smiled. The hard-faced warrior was another who bore
no love for the Master of The Black Altar.
The eye tyrant hung over them all this time, silent and terrible. Ignoring it,
bearded Sarhthor rubbed his hands and said, "Well, I'm for such a strike, and
the sooner the better. The spellfire must be ours."
Sememmon did not turn to look at his fellow mages, but nodded absently as he
raged inwardly. Was the fool actually that simple and enthusiastic? Or was he
working with Fzoul? Nay, listen to the way his words were spoken, the little
soft twists at the end of the words that flashed like dag-
SPELLFIHE
ger blades turning over! Sarhthor was telling Fzoul, openly and cuttingly,
that he knew Fzoul's game and thought very little of it.
"I'm so glad that we were able to come to an understanding so quickly," Fzoul
said softly. His voice was like an assassin's bloody dagger being wiped clean
on velvet.
The deep voice of the beholder rolled out from overhead, shocking them all
with its sudden interjection. "Consider, and consider well, the nature of your
understanding."
As Sememmon looked up to meet Manxam's many gazes for the first time, he took
sudden satisfaction in the fact that Fzoul had to be more upset at the eye
tyrant's comment than any of the rest of them. Its disapproval was directed at
him. Sememmon nodded, deliberately, and saw all of the other mages nodding,
too. Sememmon left that chamber feeling almost satisfied, despite the danger
ahead.
The moon scudded through tattered gray clouds high overhead. The air was cold
and still around the spires of the city. Fzoul stood on a high balcony of The
Black Altar and smiled up at Selune in satisfaction. Strong magic protected
his person from attack by art, and none but servants of Bane could enter the
courtyard below.
The mages would have no choice. No doubt they would slaughter Casildar, but he
was too ambitious anyway, and a small price to pay for the destruction of
Manshoon's pet spellhurlers. The Zhentarim would serve Fzoul at last.
Even if Manshoon did return now, he would find himself isolated, with only
upstart magelings all too eager to betray him for their own advancement to
stand with him against the loyal of Bane, who served Fzoul. The beholders
cared not which humans they dealt with, so long as their wants were met. The
city would be his at last.
Until someone took it from him.
Fzoul never noticed the wizard eye floating above and behind him among the
dark spires, keeping carefully out of sight. He could not see its invisible
owner, regarding him from the dark window of a tower nearby.
He did hear the commotion in the courtyard below, as the
ED GREENWOOD
warrior-priests of the High Imperceptor crept over the wall, and were met by
alert and waiting underpriests of the Altar. Fzoul leaned forward and
indiscriminately cast a blade barrier down into the growing fray below, caring
nothing for the fate of his own acolytes. Let them see Bane the sooner, all of
them.
Sememmon heard the clash and clatter of many whirling blades and screams
below, and suddenly saw the bloody slaughter as one of the attackers boiling
over the temple wall cast magical light upon the scene. He leaned out swiftly
before Fzoul could leave the balcony and attacked with his Ring of the Ram. He
struck with all the force that the magical ring could muster, draining it of
multiple charges to do the task quickly and surely. He did not aim directly at
the Master of The Black Altar, for he knew Fzoul would be well protected, but
struck instead at the balcony.
It shivered and cracked, as if struck by a battering ram, and then fell away, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]