Dark Vengeance by Ed Greenwood Page B

power. Cold-faced and cold-eyed, Ithmeira and Semmeira stood with their arms folded across their breasts as if in disapproving judgment. Aloun found himself very glad to be back in the shadows, as Luelldar stood forth under the weight of their unfriendly gazes.
    â€œTalonnorn has a new High Lord,” the Senior Watcher said calmly, his quiet, carefully spaced words falling into a vast and cold silence, as if they were stones falling into a bottomless well.
    â€œJalandral Evendoom has just proclaimed himself, at a gathering of Talonar whereat some of the few nobles to survive his purges sent the flying Hunt to publicly slay him—and he surprised everyone by destroying that force with a similar one of his own, created in secret and magically brought to the confrontation in an instant. So the City of Spires is remade, under one commander who has none of the scruples—nor obedience to law or tradition—of the Talonar rulers of old.”
    â€œ
Your
opinions mean less than nothing—” Exalted Daughter of the Ice Semmeira began cuttingly, almost strutting forward.
    She halted both stride and speech in the next instant, stiffening into frozen silence, when the eyes of the seated Lolonmae suddenly blazed with the vivid deep blue of the Ever-Ice.
    â€œOur thanks, Luelldar,” the young Revered Mother said calmly, as if Semmeira hadn’t spoken. “Keep watching this Jalandral Evendoom; there will be strife in Talonnorn, and we should miss nothing.” She lifted a finger without waiting for the Senior Watcher to begin to agree—and the great whorl vanished in an instant, leaving only a brief stirring of torn air behind.
    Luelldar’s smaller whorl shot away from that turbulence like the head of an arrow sent streaking from a bow, to turn in a swift arc and glide to a smooth stop, intact and spinning slowly, under Aloun’s nose.
    Even before the Senior Watcher bent over the far side of the small whorl, Aloun found himself swallowing—as he stared fearfully at the same temple chamber they had just been seeing in the large whorl.
    â€œRevered Mother,” Semmeira was saying excitedly, “we cannot wait longer! The time to strike is now!”
    Lolonmae seemed amused.
    Shifting on her melting throne of ice to a lounging pose, she replied, “Semmeira, to those who share your character, the time to strike is always ‘now.’ Convince me—with a reason rather better than ‘we have the might, so it should be used,’ please.”
    â€œKlarandarr has said that we should—”
    â€œThe great spellrobe Klarandarr says many things, and it was he, working with
you,
Semmeira, who so fervently urged Ouvahlor to muster this new army. Of
course
you both want to use the force you have built, and win more praise—and real power, in Ouvahlor—thereby. Yet I am not disposed, just now, and without him standing here himself to give us his words in person, to be swayed by your report as to what Klarandarr may have said to you.”
    â€œForgive me, Revered Mother Lolonmae, but I intend to give you no such thing,” Semmeira replied, contriving to sound contrite, wounded, and scandalized all at the same time. “Klarandarr spoke to all the elders of our city—the Revered Mother who came before you among them—and convinced them that this army should be assembled despite our then-fresh victory over Talonnorn . . . assembled for one purpose: attacking our rival again, at the very moment when Talonnorn is weakest. That moment is
now!
”
    Lolonmae shook her head, not bothering to hide the utter dismissal in her expression.
    â€œYour recollection of Klarandarr’s purpose and Ouvahlor’s acceptance of it are correct, but your identification of the ‘moment of weakness’ is your own opinion—one which I consider both unsupported and wrong,” she replied. “Jalandral has named himself High Lord, and thereby