Swordmage by Richard Baker Read Free Book Online Page B

too, I suppose we might cross the Moonsea and burn Myth Drannor while we’re at it! Why not?”
    The Warlock Knight’s mouth twisted in a cold smile. “I don’t think we’ll have to burn the elves out of their forest— yet. But as for the rest, so be it. The cities you named I will give to you to sack or enslave as you wish.”
    “They are not yours to give away, human.”
    “No, but they are yours to take, Chief of the Bloody Skulls. Glister you might manage without my help, perhaps Hulburg too, but the others are beyond your strength. I can change that. Are you interested? Or shall I go to Guld of the Skullsmashers or Kraashk of the Red Claws and make one of them king in your place?”
    The warchief’s laughter died in his throat. Mhurren leaned forward in his throne and scowled at the Vaasan. “You mock me, Vaasan,” he said slowly. “Assuming you can do all that you say, why would you? What price do you demand?”
    Kardhel Terov glanced at the crowded audience chamber and switched to the human tongue. “I am told you understand Vaasan, but few of your warriors do,” he said in that language. “My price is an oath of fealty to the High Circle of Fellthanes, sworn on my iron ring.”
    “You come into my keep and expect me to bend my knee to you? “Mhurren hissed in the human’s language. He surged up from his seat and seized a spear from the nearest of his Skull Guards. With a fierce cry he hurled the weapon with all the strength of his rage right at the Vaasan’s heart.
    The heavy iron-shod spear flashed through the air, striking Terov in the center of his chest—and rebounded, shattered into kindling. The Warlock Knight staggered back a step and grunted from the sheer mass of the spear, but he was otherwise unhurt. Mhurren’s sudden fury abandoned him. He knew his own strength. Thrown at ten paces, the spear should have transfixed the human and carried two feet or more through his back. But instead the weapon had snapped like a dry twig.
    The surrounding ores roared in anger and astonishment at the sorcery revealed in their midst. Some recoiled in fear, while others rushed forward to drown the Vaasans in a
    black tide of stabbing blades before any more magic could be used. But the black-veiled woman behind the Warlock Knight quickly slashed her hand across her body and hissed a few words in some sibilant language. A racing windblast of ebon flames appeared around the Vaasan party, howling and swirling as it walled the Bloody Skull warriors away from the humans. A warrior in the back of the room threw another spear, but it was caught by the sorceress’s black flames and burned to ash in midair.
    “Hold your warriors, Mhurren!” Terov shouted. “We are protected by powerful magic, and any who approach will be killed!”
    Mhurren was sorely tempted to put the Vaasans threat to the test, but somehow he found the last vestige of his patience. He could always order his warriors to fall on the humans later, but clearly Terov wanted to talk, and he’d been respectful enough of Mhurren’s strength to protect himself with magic before entering the audience chamber.
    The warchief motioned to the warriors filling the room and said, “Hold, warriors! We will see how long their spells last.”
    The Bloody Skulls gnashed their fangs and growled in frustration, but they obeyed, slowly edging away from the whirling black firestorm. A forest of spearpoints surrounded the small party of Vaasans, waiting for the black-veiled woman’s spell to show any signs of weakening. Mhurren turned his attention back to Terov and said, “I do not know how long your woman’s spells will last, but if you want to leave this room alive, convince me to spare you before they fail. Choose your next words with care, Vaasan!”
    Terov held up his fist in reply. A heavy iron band carved with dire runes encircled his ring finger. “Do you know what this is? ” he said in Vaasan.
    “Your ring,” Mhurren snarled. He’d heard stories