Chapter Twenty
Sweet, warm blood courses down my throat. The frayed edges of torn flesh brush against my tongue and the pulses of the beating heart shudder and grow dim. The body sags downward, the life ebbing from it like the receding tide.
Regretfully, I let the corpse fall. It lands solidly on its side, held in place where the floor meets the wall. A bended knee brings my fingers to the wounded throat. It is dry.
My tongue draws a circle around my lips, collecting the last stray drops of blood. He was a refreshing feast, this young man, one much needed after an eventful evening. Now sated, I can proceed with my plans.
This appears to be a small chamber located on the third floor of the guild. It is a sparsely furnished room, with but a lonely cedar bench and a nondescript arched window. There are a few particles of dust along the sill—all that remains of the young mage’s spell. An arm’s length from the corpse, an old wooden door stands closed. It is the only exit from the room.
With blood in me, my rage begins to dwindle, slipping away like a leaf in the wind. I must make a special effort to rekindle it and remind myself of the dire need. There are only two hours before the dawn—hardly enough time to slay all the wizards and destroy the guild. If the night were still young, their fates would be sealed. As it is, I shall have to content myself with the head of the serpent that threatens me.
There is a noise beyond the door: the sound of heavy footsteps falling on hallway stones. The clinking of hundreds of iron circles accompanies it, echoing distinctly through the air. If all my life were taken from me, all my thoughts and all my deeds, I would still know that sound. There is a man in armor beyond this door: a guardsman dressed in chain walking on patrol. He is a man wedded to his sword and wedded to a life of servitude. A mage’s puppy, content with his existence as long as he knows he has done his master well: served him long and hard, served him until his dying day.
There is a crack between wall and door and it is through this that my body passes. The man starts as I appear before him. His hand lurches awkwardly toward his sword, his thoughts vividly playing out across the features of his face. An enemy of his master has appeared! It is a threat. It must be destroyed.
“Hold.” My voice carries strength his feeble mind cannot possibly comprehend, much less resist. He stands stock still, like a statue, with only a trace of motion in breath and pulse. His mouth seems frozen in a silent challenge and his eyes are covered with a polished glaze. By the oddest fancy, my eyes catch sight of the apple in his throat. It is large, for a human, sticking out in a peculiar fashion that makes me think he has swallowed his fist. A distraction, nothing more. “Minion, tell me where the guild master sleeps. Include the councilmen and councilwomen as well.”
He responds in a dry and lifeless voice, robbed of even the faintest glimmer of self will. “Guild Master Regecon does not sleep tonight. Nor does the council.”
Not asleep? This will be either interesting or perhaps even difficult. “Where can I find them?”
“They are all in the High Council Chamber.”
All? This may indeed prove difficult. “How many? Include their names.”
“There are five. Guild Master Regecon, High Mage of Fire, Ambrisia, Mistress of Earth—”
“Skip the titles. Just the names and the elements.”
“Jacindra, air, Toreg, water, Morcallenon, divination.” The guardsman stops, his litany complete.
“How can I find this High Council Chamber?”
With careful words, he spells out the quickest path to the chamber, then stops. He does not move, but waits patiently for my next command. A pity that I have no more use for him.
“You have served your master well.” Careful examination shows that the apple of the man’s throat is only large by nature. Within or without, there is no sign of disease.
Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin) Page 39